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paperultra · 1 year

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mise en rose.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 3,806 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use

The tune that your father used to whistle now leaves your lips the same way it left his.

Notes skip offkey across the water as your boat rocks gently, waves lapping up against the wooden sides. The moon shines brightly overhead. You shift in place and wait for a tug on your fishing line, the basket at your feet waiting patiently for its first meal.

Archy will be happy if you actually catch something for once. There’s not a lot of fish around here, and you’re not exactly sure why; something about the aquatic plants in the area, or if you were to believe the old man in the village square, a curse that swallows anything with fins that swims too close. The last time you caught something was months ago, and it was tiny and more bone than flesh.

You don’t really care. It’s enough to just sit out here and feel the waves.

Cheeks puffing up with air for another round of music, you let your gaze drift out towards the ocean and abruptly freeze.

There’s something floating in the distance.

A piece of debris. Wood from a hull, a scrap of sail perhaps?

The thought that it may be the remnant of a ship destroyed at sea is enough for you to reel in your line and start rowing towards it, anticipation bubbling up and drowning out any thoughts of a midnight snack.

You get close enough and your anticipation gives way to shock.

“Oh, shit.”

The guy clinging to the chunk of wood stirs and lifts his head, and you almost hit him upside the head with your oar.

“Oh, shit. You’re alive.”

—

“You say you’re going out fishing and you come back with a half-dead man with three swords?” Archy looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, but this time, you don’t blame him. This is certainly uncharted territory and your older brother is hopeless without a map. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What was I supposed to do, leave him to die?”

“I dunno! Yeah!” he gestures to the waterlogged man lying halfway on the living room couch, one arm and leg hanging off the side. “Look at him. He’s probably a pirate!”

“Damn, you think?” Crouching down, you drag your eyes across Swordsman’s ragged clothing and grin. You might’ve just rescued someone with a bounty on his head. “That’d be so cool.”

“That would not be cool.”

You shrug. “Well, I brought him in already, so you might as well help me unless you want a dead body in our living room.”

“You little –” Taking a deep breath, Archy pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long, loud groan, and you know that you’ve won once more. “Fine. But as soon as he’s even a little bit better, we’re calling the Marines.”

“Okay,” you agree amicably. “So, what do we do first?”

“We have to undress him and warm him up.”

“Got it.” Your eager fingers go straight for the swords.

The man comes to life without warning. Seizing your wrist, he cracks one eye open and speaks in a low and rasping voice.

“Don’t. Touch. My swords.”

“Uh,” you say.

“We got to get everything off, mate,” Archy grumbles, and your guest turns his glare onto your brother. “I know how to clean swords and scabbards. I’ll dry them off and put them under the couch afterward.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

With a grunt, Swordsman pushes you away and attempts to sit up. He struggles for a full minute, jaw clenched and muscles trembling; his arms, strong and sturdy as they are, look like they’ll buckle at any moment.

Your eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling when he actually manages to prop himself up.

“Well, that’s impressive,” you mutter, making eye contact with Archy. He rolls his eyes. “Can you remove your clothes and wrap yourself up too?”

It takes a few moments before Swordsman has enough breath to respond. “I’m fine,” he says once he can.

“You’re really not,” Archy replies.

“You’re probably really dehydrated,” you say. “How long were you out there?”

The man stares at you, opens his mouth, pauses.

“Three days. Maybe.”

You gape. “You spent three days floating in the East Blue and you’re not dead?” You look at his neck for gills. “Are you a fishman or something?”

“No.”

“Really? I mean, I never met any fishmen before, so …”

His eye twitches. “I’m not a fishman.”

“Well, okay, if you say so.”

What a weird guy. Then again, you’ve heard that all sorts of characters traverse the Blue Sea. Devil fruit users, talking animals, clowns. A person who can survive the ocean for a couple days on a piece of wood is hardly out of the question.

“You’re dehydrated, in any case,” you conclude. “I’ll get you some water.”

—

After gruffly accepting a glass of water and putting on some dry clothes, Swordsman proceeds to “sleep it off” for the next twenty-four hours. When he finally wakes up, it’s in the middle of the night and you’ve just started rereading your favorite book.

“Oh, he’s awake,” you say when he stirs, swinging your feet off the coffee table and leaning forward in your chair to observe.

He grimaces under the dim light of your lamp, lifting an arm to press it over his eyes. “How long was I out,” he grouses.

“’Bout a day.”

“Shit.” He wriggles around in the fuzzy blanket you’ve wrapped around him. Once he’s loosened its hold enough, he sits up slowly and looks around, expression equal parts drowsy and wary. “Where –”

“Archy took your swords and cleaned them. They’re under the couch.”

“I told you not to touch them.”

“I didn’t. My brother did.”

Casting you the most unamused glare, Swordsman bends over to look underneath the couch. He pulls his swords out and places them in his lap, inspecting the white one first with a care that makes you rest your chin in your hand, curious and charmed. His brow furrows and you know that he finds your brother’s work to be satisfactory when he moves on to inspect the other two.

“Our uncle was a bladesmith in Loguetown. He taught Archy a thing or two before he passed.”

“You’re bladesmiths?”

“Coopers. Uncle was the rebel, I guess.” You close your book and stand up. “There’s leftover soup in the fridge. I’ll heat up the broth for you.”

This time, the man does not refuse your help and only nods. As you head to the kitchen and start to reheat the soup, you glance over and catch him sipping from the glass of water you’d topped off while he was asleep. Somehow, even that small action intrigues you. You smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Ladling the steaming broth into a small bowl, you stick a spoon in and walk back to where Swordsman is, sitting beside him. “Here you go. Don’t drink it too fast, and all that.”

He takes the soup, blows on a spoonful, tastes it. His eyes close, and something funny happens in your stomach when he opens them again to look at you.

“’S good.”

“Really?” He nods and puts the bowl to his lips to drink directly from it. “Thanks.”

You let him finish the miso broth in silence. It gives you time to stare at him some more; even with the horrible sunburn and petroleum jelly smeared everywhere, he’s a very handsome man, that much you can tell, with broad shoulders and a pretty face and hair as green as forest moss. The three earrings on his left ear gleam gold and sway with every movement he makes.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna ask me questions?”

“Hm? Oh!” Shaking your head in slight bewilderment, you smile. “Yeah, I guess it would be good to ask some questions … so, what’s your name, anyway?”

“Roronoa Zoro.”

You tilt your head with a frown. “Roronoa Zoro.” You taste the name in your mouth. “That sounds really familiar. Are you a pirate?”

“No. I hunt them.”

“You hunt them?”

“That’s what I said.”

You look at his swords again. His earrings. Three and three.

Shooting up from the couch, you dash to Archy’s room and slam the door open.

“Archimead! Wake up!” You grab your brother’s shoulders and rattle him.

“Shit – what?!” he gargles, pushing your face away with one meaty hand and sitting up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s Roronoa Zoro!”

“What?”

“The guy in our living room,” you shriek at him, practically shaking, “is the Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro. I fished Roronoa Zoro out of the fucking ocean.”

Archy stops rubbing his eye. “What.”

Soon enough, Zoro faces both you and your brother in the living room once more.

“You’re Roronoa Zoro? For real?” Archy asks him.

Zoro blinks up him. “Yeah.”

“Can you prove it?”

“‘Can you prove it’ – Archy, look at him. He’s got three earrings in his left ear and three fucking swords.”

“He could be some sort of copycat. We have no idea what Roronoa Zoro actually looks like.”

“You’re such a pessimist. Nobody would lug around three swords if they couldn’t use all of them at once.” You turn your attention back onto Zoro. “How the hell did you get stranded out there?”

He looks between the two of you, waiting for a moment before crossing his arms. “I was headed to Mirror Ball Island, but the boat I was on got caught in a whirlpool,” he says, displeased. “Then I got separated from the rest of the crew. Don’t know if they survived or not.”

“Mirror Ball Island?” you repeat. “That’s a three-day journey from here, at least.”

“Where’s here?”

“Dokusha Village.” You open one of the books on the table and point to a tiny strip of coast you’d labeled on the edge of the East Blue map. “Right there. You could buy a boat and sail west, straight to Mirror Ball Island.”

“I don’t have any beri on me right now,” Zoro says.

“Oh, yeah. Of course you don’t.” Archy puts his hands on his hips. “Well, the merchant ship is coming by in two weeks. If you’re all good by then, you can hitch a ride.”

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow night.”

You snort, closing the book and reclining back. “The rate you’re going, I don’t doubt it. Does that mean you want to leave earlier? You’ll still need a boat and supplies. Food, water, towels, sleeping gear. That all costs money. I mean, we could lend you some, but still.”

“I’ll work for it,” Zoro replies. “I don’t take and give nothing in return.”

Both you and Archy give a hum of approval.

—

True to his word, Roronoa Zoro is up and off the couch by the fourth day.

He doesn’t have a clue as to how to make barrels or buckets, which is expected, so he ends up helping with the grunt work of carrying staves into the workshop and stacking finished barrels. Other than that, there’s not much for him to do.

“Sorry if it’s boring,” you apologize during lunch, speaking through a mouthful of sandwich. “You’re kind of just hired muscle.”

Zoro shrugs, chewing on his own sandwich. Two girls walking by – Phoebe and Iris, the blacksmith’s daughters – spot him on the bench and giggle, hurrying past with glances over their shoulders. He appears not to care. “It’s fine.”

“I think you’re even stronger than my brother. Is it because of your training as a swordsman?”

“Probably,” he says.

“When did you start?”

“When I was eight.”

You nod sagely. “Not surprised. I’ve been helping around the workshop since I was a kid, and I only just finished my apprenticeship a few weeks ago. It’s good to start young.”

It seems that Zoro agrees by the way he grunts, stuffing the last piece of crust into his mouth.

When he’s done, you muster the courage to ask, “What’s it like, being a bounty hunter?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow at you. Then he gazes back out at the street. “It’s fine,” he responds. “Makes good money.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Yeah, but, like, is it fun? Do you spend a lot of time at sea? See a lot of different places? Stuff like that.”

“I don’t do it for fun. My only goal is to become the world’s greatest swordsman.” He leans back and puts his hands behind his head. “It’s a shitton of traveling, both on ships and on land. I’ve been all over the East Blue.”

“Wow.” The word comes out as a sigh. You crunch longingly on a carrot stick. “That sounds amazing. It’s my dream to travel all over the world on a ship.”

“How come you’re here, then?”

You wince, hushing him hastily. Glancing behind you, you clear your throat and lean in to speak softly. “Archy hates the ocean. He worked on a merchant ship for a few months when he was eighteen and got super sick.” Upon reading Zoro’s blank expression, you clarify, “I can’t just leave him. I’m the only family he’s got now, and his younger sibling to boot. So Dokusha Village it is.”

“You’re staying because of your brother.”

“Yeah. I love him, so it’s fine.” There’s a familiar ache in your chest, but you push it down and elbow Zoro’s ribs in jest. (He doesn’t even move a muscle. Geez.) “Makes okay money. I got a bunch of adventure books to live through, anyway.”

It’s a little hard to meet your lunch companion’s eyes after that. You eat the rest of your carrots in silence, pretending to be occupied with finishing them. Zoro doesn’t utter another word.

But as the two of you get back to work, he seems a little warmer, a little less stiff. You make a silly joke and Zoro huffs out something that almost sounds like a laugh while Archy threatens to stick you in a rum barrel and roll you down a hill.

Perhaps you’ve made another friend.

—

“What are you making?”

You blow off the wood dust, closing one eye to cut a fin just right. “Shark. See?”

The bonfire you’d made crackles just a few feet away as you place the half-finished carving into Zoro’s palm. He picks it up with his other hand and twists it around, touching with intention, and you almost feel self-conscious with the way he’s examining it.

“Nice,” he finally says, and the praise makes you giddy. He hands the shark back to you.

“Thanks. I had a lot of practice.”

Zoro rests his elbows on the rock behind him and takes another swig of sake. You resume carving the shark’s fins, bare feet buried in the cool sand.

Archy’s on a date for once, so he left the two of you to your own devices for the night with a distracted wave goodbye and a warning that he’ll be back late. You took that as a chance to break into the alcohol after supper and drag Zoro down to the beach. The swordsman was willing to come along, though you suspect it was mostly for the sake.

“Ain’t that your third bottle?”

“I can hold my liquor.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “No need to brag.”

He wipes his mouth, dark brown eyes black in the firelight. They glint like steel when he looks over at you, but he doesn’t say anything – not that you’re surprised; sometimes Zoro just looks at whatever he wants without any reason. He’s not particularly complicated in that sense.

(You like that. Too many things in life are complicated.)

“Hey, Zoro.”

“Hm.”

Your lips purse. “Do you think my brother will get married one day?”

“How am I supposed to know?” His tone is flat.

“Well, I dunno! It’s just a question.” You frown, slowing in your work. “It’s just that after our parents died, he’s been too busy looking after me and the shop to court someone. He’s turning thirty next year and most people his age have settled down already. I feel kind of bad.”

“It’s not your fault,” Zoro says. “Wouldn’t he have more time now, anyway, since you can take care of yourself?”

“I think he’s been out for so long he doesn’t know how to date anymore.”

Zoro downs the rest of his sake. You know that there’s no advice he can give you regarding Archy’s marriage prospects, which doesn’t surprise you either. You suppose you just need someone to listen. It’s not like you can talk to Archy about it.

“Hell,” you remember, “I’m expected to be married by now, too. I’ve never even been on a date.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Why, are you surprised?”

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Zoro yawns and closes his eyes. “You just seem like the type.”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk a lot,” he says.

You burst out laughing. “Yeah, I do. Would that make me a good date?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I’m guessing you’ve never been on one, either?”

Zoro shrugs. He doesn’t look too torn up about it. “Waste of time,” he mutters.

Your grin widens. “Figured you’d say that,” you drawl, digging your blade into the shark’s mouth. “Dating doesn’t really help you become the world’s greatest swordsman, does it?”

“Nope.”

“I still think it might be fun, though. If you’re with the right person.” With that, you brush away the last curl of wood from your carving. After admiring it for a few seconds, you offer the shark to Zoro, bumping the nose softly against his cheek. He opens his eyes and turns his head to squint at it. “Here you go. All yours.”

His brow furrows as he takes it.

“It’s a going away gift. Since you’re leaving tomorrow,” you say. Folding your knife and putting it down beside you, you grab your bottle of sake and gulp down half of what remains. “Don’t forget it.”

One of the logs in the bonfire crumbles, falling into the coals. Orange sparks fly up into the smoke and disappear just as quickly. You poke at the fire with a stick, trying not to think about how sad you’re going to be tomorrow morning.

“I won’t forget,” Zoro says.

“I know.”

—

It’s almost dawn, and the family boat is packed up and ready to set sail.

“Got everything?” Archy asks, lowering into a squat to scan over all the supplies.

“Yeah.” The swordsman drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks again for the boat.”

“It’s nothing.” Your brother elbows your arm, and you sway. “Oi. He said thank you.”

“I know,” you mumble. For the first time this morning, you spare Zoro a glance and smile at him, but it’s shaky and fake and you really hate how your voice wobbles when you say, “You don’t have to thank us. Just have a safe – have a safe –” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your feet, eyes burning. “Have a safe trip,” you finish quietly.

You can feel two pairs of eyes on you as your vision goes blurry. Shit. This is so embarrassing.

The fact of the matter is that Roronoa Zoro has been in Dokusha Village for only a week, and you’re already missing him like he’s been in your life for years. You’re going to watch him get into your family’s fishing boat and sail away, the wind at his back, the East Blue before him, and you will remain on the dock with your big brother beside you and your dream in your head.

You’re being selfish, but it’s not … it’s not fair.

Archy puts his hand on your shoulder and says your name.

You wipe your nose. “What?”

“… I’ve been thinking.” He sounds hesitant, taking in a deep breath and letting it go slowly, carefully. “You’ve always wanted to travel the world on a ship.”

It’s like the world tilts on its axis.

Rigidly, you look up at your brother, eyes wide.

“I’m not dumb, you know. You’ve only stayed here because of me,” Archy says. “I’m the one who’s supposed to look after you and protect you. But you’ve been able to do that for yourself for a while, now. Right?”

“Archy.” You swallow. “What are you …?”

“I talked with Zoro last night. He’s willing to take you to Mirror Ball Island, if you want.” His smile is crooked, but it trembles at the corners as he continues. “You know how to sail, how to navigate. We’ll just have to add some extra stuff to the boat.”

You can barely breathe.

“There’s plenty of merchant ships there,” Zoro adds, leaning on his sword. “Your skills are valuable. Just be willing to pull your own weight, and they’ll take you on board. If not, I’ll tell them to.”

“You don’t have to –” Now you’re full-on bawling. You throw your arms around Archy, who wraps you in a bear hug, and then around Zoro, who stiffens. “Thank you so much. Thank you thank you thank you.”

“No problem,” Zoro mumbles, patting you on the back. When you let go to beam at him, he averts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “Just hurry up.”

Nodding, you dash back up to your house, Archy following close behind. You grab your bag, throw what you need into it, snatch your hat from your bedpost. Less than twenty minutes pass before you’re all ready to go.

“Got everything?” Archy asks once more at the dock. You nod and look at Zoro, who nods as well. “All right.”

You hug Archy for the last time. Tears spill over and down your cheeks. “Thank you for everything, big bro. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, kid.” His voice is rough and trembly, muffled against your head. “Come back to visit sometime, okay?”

“Okay.”

Getting into the boat with Zoro, you help him check the rigging and hoist the sail. Archy unties the vessel and pushes the two of you off. As you float away, he waves, and you wave back, staring as he gets smaller and smaller.

“I’m not turning back,” Zoro tells you as you eventually settle in your seat. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Is it?

You cast one last glance back at Dokusha Village, at the small point of your brother. Then you look out at the broad expanse of the ocean. And you feel many things – joy, sadness, apprehension – but above all that, you feel –

Free.

“Yes,” you say firmly. You push your hat down and smile at Zoro, and this time, it’s genuine. “It is.”

Zoro smiles back. And as the sun begins to warm your face, you whistle your father’s song and think about the journey to come.

#opla #one piece #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #opla zoro #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #once again i underestimated how long this would take. hoowee #opla zoro my grumpy old man :)#good thing reader is coming along otherwise he'd NEVER make it to mirror ball island rip

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gamblersdoll · 3 months

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yuji thought it was a good idea to invite megumi, gojo and choso to his apartment to introduce them to his new cute girlfriend.

it's a shame that after eating he receives a message from nanami saying that he needs his help with something.

but it's okay! yuji thinks this is a good opportunity for them to get to know her better! surely they would find a way to have a good time…but yuji didn't know that their fun would be in his bedroom.

he also didn't know that nanami doesn't really need his help. it's just that gojo was texting him during dinner to make yuji leave so they can spend time with his cute girl.

with the promise of sending a video of the meeting to nanami.

disclaimer: i do not do illegal ships. (gojo x yuuji for example.)

things were going good, really good.

yuuji finally landing himself a smoking hot chick, one that is everything he wants and needs. shit, probably fantasized about.

and what’s even better? he could introduce you to his friend, his old teacher, his big brother too! all in the same night, even better!

his thoughts are snapped back to reality, receiving a message from his old mentor, nanami. something about him needing help from yuuji.

“hey uh– ill be back! i promise!” he rushes, landing a kiss on your forehead and rushing out the door to be of use to kento.

he only hopes and prays that things go well without him there, knowing his older brother was skeptical of him out in the dating world.

he really hopes you have fun.

and fun did you have, wandering hands of different shapes and sizes invading your body.

“you know, yuuji really did luck up.” gojo says, keeping your arms held tight and him just kissing behind your neck. there was no doubt that, he was rock solid.

but then your attention is drawn to your lips being kissed by megumi, his hands on your hips from the side and only groaning. he palms his hardened cock, bumping it into your thigh more than once.

and oh, choso. he feels somewhat bad about touching his brothers girl, but damn was he a little too lucky. he spent most of his time trying not slip his dick into you, because a, you couldnt fit all of him in one sitting no doubt. and b, it was too soon, he wanted it just right.

this was too much, his old teacher, his brother, and his friend’s senses were all over you, only hoping that yuuji would walk in and they would all take his time with you.

but gojo couldnt forget the end of his deal. sending the best sensual touching (since kento was more attracted to sensual touches in foreplay) and said yuuji could come back. cleaning up after everyone, of course.

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writingoddess1125 · 11 months

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The Buggy Twins as Adults pt. 2 🤡 🤡

Art by Vamos_MK check them out on Twitter!

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Check out the rest of The Old Man Series

• When the guys get their incredibly high bounty they realize quickly- They actually need a crew and ship.

• It was only the blessings of some sick God that was keeping them alive and pure stupid luck. But they needed a ship-

• Which for them was easier said then done.

• In truth Buggy had gifted them a ship when they first set sail- However it burned down after Bee was trying to make a new bomb and it quite literally exploded it his face-

• Which was what lead them to the Marine Base, which was also accidently exploded by you guest it- Bee

• So a ship was needed Pronto

Dee looked over the maps to the nearest village, their small dingy bobbing him side to side as he looked over his compass.

"This is so fucking stupid-" He groaned, looking to his brother who was snoring barely a foot from him. Dee kicking his brother hard on the shin making his twin shoot up in surprise.

"Hey watch it!-" Bee grumbled as he glared at his brother, fixing the hat on his head as he saw Dee glare at him.

"Watch it my ass- We need a real fucking ship yesterday. How come you manage to blow up a damn navel base but can't find a proper ship!?" He screamed as his brother shrugged it off in a lazy matter.

"Lucky!? We have a 500,000,000 berry on our head and no God damn ship! We are fucked"

"Lucky I guess?-" Bee said which made Dee damn near blow a fuse.

"Well maybe we don't have to be-"

Bee said with a smirk as he pointed ahead, Seeing a growing mass right in the distance. Dee's eyes widened at this, looking at the map in confusion.

"Wait- There are no islands for at least another day or two what is that?-"

Bee smirked at this as he winked at his twin.

"It's a floating military base dear brother. Aka our ticket to supplies and a ship-"

• The twins despite better judgment rowed their little dingy to the side of the massive tanker and climbed up- Thanks to Dee's devil fruit abilties.

• Bee whistled at the sight of her, She was hot to say the least- Long red hair and face that was soft and delicate paired with the guns at her hip he wondered if she was good with her han-

• In truth it was far easier then they expected-

• The twins slinked through the ship, Fortunate that they were able to disguise themselves far better as it just required removing their makeup and stashing the fake red nose in their pockets. Deciding shirtless was better since they looked like lazy cadets who had rolled out of bed-

• Snagging a few hats and rushing with other groups they separated. Bee to make a distraction and Dee to find some supplies and hopefully take over the ship.

• Bee walked through the corridors of the ship, hiding in random spots to hopefully get to the helm.

• She turned the corner and he realized she was sneaking around too... deciding that it was best to leave her be.

• He had other things to do anyway-

• Dee went down below and saw that the ship was towing another- clearly a captured pirate ship of sorts. Which ment there was a crew on board.

Going down to the brig he snuck through, his head lowered like some cadet who was terrified. Glancing about he noted the lazed security, sneaking in he didn't see a whole crew but instead a lone guy chained up- each arm chained seperate and he had clearly been well beaten.

"If you're here to try again you aren't getting squat- You hit like a girl" He stranger grumbled-

"No im not a Marine- I'm not going to do whatever they've done to you" Dee said calmly, glancing around to look for keys.

"Is that your ship they are towing?" Dee questioned, the man glancing up and he saw yellow for a split second.

"Yes?.."

"If I get you out of here, can we all use your ship to go? Me and my brother need one" Dee admitted, feeling like honesty was the best option.

"Whats you and your brothers name?" He questioned.

"Dee and Bee... the Buggy Twins" He heard the man snort a laugh at this and nodded in agreement to the terms.

Dee stared at the man, Hesitant for only a moment before pulling out two pins from his hair and cracking the cage open. Starting on each arm of the chain to get him out, till pausing when he felt cold metal touch his head.

"Woah Woah-" Here helping Dee said calmly, glancing to see some red head girl pointing the gun at his face.

"Hold it Vi- He's with us.." The black haired man said quickly.

"Besides I'm Bullet Proof so let's lower the gun. We can all board the ship and get out of here before we get executed? Sound like a Deal?" Dee said quickly.

She lowered the gun quickly and sighed- "And here I thought you were anti-social Alu.." She said with a roll of his eyes. "This is Vivian, my gunner and hopefully first mate" The prisoner introduced as Dee finished taking off his final restraints.

The red head rolled her eyes "In your dreams... and Let's go-"

• The trio ran through the corridors. Hiding whenever solider passed them by and keeping low-

• However it seemed they were having better luck then the other twin. While had found himself at the haul of the ship all right- along with the Vice-Admiral of the ship.

"H-Hey There Cap just passing throu-" She cut him a look and held a hand up up.

"That is by far the worse get up of a pirate sneaking on my ship... are you stupid?" She questioned.

Bee stared at the Vice-Admiral watching as she pulled a sword and glared at him, noting he didnt even have a chance to lie.

"Fucking Pirates.. getting lazier by the day" She hissed at his idiocy, blade raised already to cut him down but he held up his hands with a dazzling smile.

"Woah Woah- before you off me Wanna see a magic trick?" Bee said with a wink making the women look at him comfused- Before in less then a second he pulled put 3 balls suddently and tossed them her way, her immediate reaction to swipe them away with her sword that was till mid air she saw the skulls painted on them.

"Shit-!"

BOOM!-

• The trio jumping from the massive ship to the lower towed away ship- As they Fell Vivian shooting at the rope connecting them to seperate.

• As the exposition hit the trio heard it and the alarms that rang out. Dee grabbing the two of them quickly already knowing it was his twin

• "MOVE Move!" He yelled as they went to the back of the ship were the smaller pirate vessel was being towed.

"GO GO! NOW!" Vi screamed as the three started to set sail to get as far away as possible.

The Marines seeing this as the sounds of Marines yelling 'THE PRISONER IS ESCAPING' Sounded and gunfire rang out from the Marines trying to shoot at them.

"DONT FORGET ME YOU ASSHOLES!" Bee screamed as the Marines shot behind him- soot covering his face as he clearly was caught in the explosion. Swan diving onto the smaller ship face first into solid wood. But it was better then being shot at!

• The prisoner helping the other blue haired teen to his feet-

• "Did you cause that fucking explosion?" He questioned as the twin of the man who saved him groaned and nodded.

• "Not spooky dude.. Alucare.. Dracule Alucare" He dark haired man grumbled, pushing back his dark locks as he looked at the twins. Both seeing the undeniable yellow eyes of the famed pirate lord son.

• "Damn right spooky dude.." Bee groaned out, The prisoner sighing as he helped him up.

• Canon fire rocking the ship as they all yelled and tried to stay put. As the ship groaned and creaked from the attack- Vivian jumping up quickly to help set the sails to get the ship moving faster.

• "Dracule? Like Mihawk? Holy shit dude your dad is like super famous!" Bee said in shock, Alucare shrugging at this. "Same goes with you.. The Buggy Twins, sons of a Yonko and having 500,000,000 Berry for the both of you. Not bad" The two men nodding in agreement of fluffing egos.

• Vivian rolling her eyes at both of them.

• "Wait how were you even arrested? You and your family are kind bad asses?" Bee questioned amused, The dark haired man sighing heavily.

• "Better term would be hunted down-" Alucare grumbled, rolling his shoulder with a heavy sigh.

• "Hunted? By who man!?" Bee yelled, Alucare glancing back at the massive ship thay they were sailing away from- Clearly the explosive damage from the Buggy Twins forcing the Marine Boat to stop for repairs completely and forcing the pirates to sail on woth minimum damage.

• "By her-" Alucare explained as he pointed out to the massive ship and the person who was clearly fuming standing at the front of the ship, Dressed in ger vice admiral uniform she glared hard down at the group of small time pirates- Fist clenched over her sword as she knew it was foolish to chase them.

• "The youngest and probably most brutal Vice-Admiral in history.. Lyra Beckman-" Alucare said with a hearty sigh- Bee jaw dropping.

• "WE FINALLY HAVE A CREW!" Bee yelled as the rest stared at the Clown, even Dee rolling his eyes.

• "Fuck dude-"

• "Fuck indeed... Now let's get some distance before she decides killing me is more important then ship repairs"

• They all agreed and began to haul ass away- until they were sure they were safe enough from the ship and it was a dot in the horizon. Vi glaring at Alucare before tossing a wrapped bundle at him, Opening it to glance and see some clothes and his sword.

• "Don't expect me to rescue you again-" She said shortly. Alucare brushing her off as he went to get changed.

• Bee took note of this- A swordsman... a Gunner.. his brother as a Navigator-

• "We are not a crew!" They all yelled at him.

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #dad buggy #buggy twins #Buggy!children

539 notes · View notes

vyzz-undercover · 7 days

Text

pspspsps dinner time everyone

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,700ish words) (im cooked)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon [again]

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions of virginity

•vague breathplay

•even more negligible aftercare

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•tumblr's pisspoor formatting as per last time

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im once again doing a free magic show here and pulling a rabbit (this fic) out my ass. so, without further a-do the tagging... @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @pluvio-tea, @the-raven-lady, @bispecsual, @egrets-not-regrets, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @lemon-russ. let me know if anyone else wanna be tagged if i do a part three HAHAHAHHAHA i might double down on the comedy-of-errors and have Guilliman get involved. Not like a three-way with this particular fic, even if I'd love to slut papa smurf out. There's always another time and another chance to sexualise an old man :3

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Cato finds you relatively easily.

Truthfully, you make no actual sport of it. But he's never going to pass up a cheap bit of entertainment at your expense.

At this time of the ship's cycle you're most likely to be in the east wing, pointedly the lower libraries. He knows this. He won't confess why or how he knows, though—so, fuck off.

You're lazy and predictable. To say nothing of the fact you're far too comfortable scuttling about his Father's vessel. If a hypothetical assassin ever could get onto the ship without being stomped into paste by him immediately, they'd have no problems tracking you down. You may as well be a sevitor running on rails for all your movements stay the same.

He notes you're not on the first level.

Nor the second.

You are on the third, in the leftmost quadrant.

In the restricted reading area.

You do have clearance—but the fact still irks him. Typically, this was for his more decorated brothers to catalogue Xenos. Typically, one needed to be accompanied to even access this level.

But oh, no—no, you're allowed.

You're allowed because you are a damnable leach of a woman. And also the bane of his existence, did he mention that? And you're—you're—tucked up in secure side-room, reading on a data-slate; half-asleep in a little blue robe and looking the pict of adorable sloth.

You don't notice him immediately.

Clearly too absorbed in your gerrymandering-for-servitors cheat-sheet.

And that annoys him even more.

Because, are you really that obtuse? So unassailable in your own mind that you're this blatantly fucking oblivious? He's an Astartes, damn it. Sure, he's in casual rest attire instead of clanking plate—but he's a large, two-and-a-bit meter tall trans-human war-machine standing in the doorway—and you haven't even noticed him. Ignorant like some little rodent chewing away at crumbs in it's hovel.

His Father's got a vermin problem on board, and the mice are stupid and bold and literate... along with rather cozy, apparently.

A finely woven navy throw is swaddled around you where you're lying on the chaise lounge. And the sight of you bundled up inspires a vivid déjà-vu of the last time you were alone with him with little more than a blanket over you.

Cato hesitates for a heartbeat, swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and sets his jaw.

He steps into the room and waves a hand over the laser-pad locking mechanism.

There's a fractional second in which you become cognisant to the sound of the shutter door closing and where you actively notice him.

Then there's a shrill scream as if you've pinched a nerve.

The data-slate goes flying, pelted at his head. But it hits the shutter door and clatters to the floor, far-off any hint of a good mark.

Useless woman.

Realising it's him a moment later, you heave out a racketing sigh.

"Throne of Terra, Ca—" you start, and it sounds like you're going to say his first name before you rightly correct yourself and say, "C-Commander, you scared me half to death."

He immediately sets about accosting you, "Have you been sitting here with the door open this whole time?"

"No," you nip out.

"You are aware that I can tell when you're lying?"

"I'm certain you can," your tone flattens in a way he's only ever heard you talk to particularly sleazy representatives with. It's not an honest exchange, it's double-speak. It's mocking. You're mocking him.

He grits his teeth.

You've grown more open in your defiance towards him as of late, certainly not because of any revelation or reason and it rubs him in a dangerous, new way. He's not about to let it slide, either.

"Is that so?" His words are sharp and accusative and he hopes—he hopes he'll get the delight of watching you cower like you usually do when confronted by him. "Have you been lying to me often, then?"

Half his hopes come true. You look away nervously and mumble something almost inaudibly, and he'd not have noticed if not for his far superior hearing.

It was, "...maybe," and all Cato can help but do being himself, is detonate.

"And what have you been deceiving me of, you scheming little whore?" He snarls, fuming—a dozen crimes and sins crowding his mind you might be tried for. Maybe he's been far too lenient to the actual reality of your evil. Finally, validation to corroborate his deviation—maybe you'll admit you're some Slanneshi fleshchanger, and that you intended to have burrowed so deep in his mind.

Nonetheless, you're nowhere near even close to fast enough to defend yourself. But it's not like he gives you the chance.

He's crossed the distance with a practiced speed. And quicker than you can even yelp, you are pinned to the lounge—a shackle in the form of his fist around your smaller throat.

The pressure is a limp handshake by his standards. You're not really choking. Just stifled slightly for good measure.

Still, it'd be a mere flex to break your neck. He could snap you like a stylus with what was to him, ultimately, nothing but a simple twitch of his fingers. And he would think more about the blatant contrasts between you both much longer if he wasn't far too distracted by the fact you even struggle prettily wantonly. Big eyes wide and glossy with animal panic. Involuntary tears gather at the corners as you register what's going on at last. The mad temptation to lick them if they so much as dare trail down your cheeks begins eating at him.

Some rational part of his rational mind reminds him he can't get the truth out of you when he's vaguely throttling you, though—and he lets you go begrudgingly. Instead opting for looming over you as you roll sidelong on the couch, breathing fast.

He crouches down to your level and grumbles, still absorbed in his raging.

"Speak," he barks, and pointedly grabs you by the chin.

"I–I hadn't actually—" you start, breathless as you mumble. "Actually, uh, laid with anyone, even though I nodded I sort of... had."

He's staggered at the statement, "...that's it?"

A vague lie of omission, but it's not the great corruption he sought to root out.

Then he actually thinks about what you've just admitted.

Like fog banished under a rising sun, his anger at the thought of treachery immediately dissipates into blistering revelation.

"Hold on, you..." Cato starts, baffled and completely knocked for a six, meeting your gaze slowly—genuinely stunned as he pulls his hand back fully. "I... I was the first?"

You look away cursorily, face reddening not only with your previous strains, but with embarrassment.

Now, that was the reaction of a guilty conscience.

Cato doesn't know what to do with the information. Nor does he really know what he feels.

He'd been the first. He feels like he's won something over his brothers. Therefore, fuck the lot of them—and fuck Titus, specifically. Even if he's not sure why. He truly couldn't believe it. There's success, sure—but then there's taking the laurels: whole and absolute. And this... this is exactly that. But oh, for some apparently vestal thing, you'd let him bully down to the hilt in your tight cunt; whining like a whore when he spilled himself inside you. Throne, it was almost suffocating to think back on it now. So willing to have your maidenhead taken, nevermind the fact you weren't the only one who'd had a new experience that day. But you didn't need to know that.

"Another notch to my mantel of victories then," he ultimately decides is the best thing to say, gloating to himself.

"Unbelievable," you sigh softly as you shakily sit yourself up.

But there's the problem again. The one tangible, constant problem with having laid you. It's made you mouthy. He only ever glimpsed your boldness when you interacted with other baselines in the past. You never sassed Astartes, or at least, he's never seen you do it. But now that stubbornness and unwillingness to back down in a political forum is on full display heedless of situation. As if you've suddenly become one of the auto-felating Imperial Fists—or any of Dorn's insufferable ball-busting scions, really. Worst of all, it's only managed to somehow make him even more enthralled annoyed with you than usual. You're still too good at quashing your anger, hard as it is to rouse. But he loves loathes that you bite the lure instead of shying off now.

"To think that I was the first—is your entire professional role not centred around charm? Would no one else have you with that rotten attitude you've been hiding?" he says, knowing he's being nasty, knowing he's twisting the knife; and absolutely praying for you to fall for it.

Cato watches a rainbow of emotions pass over your features, before you settle on one that makes you look like you ate something sour. He's hit a weak spot. But the sentiment holds true. His Primarch thinks you the best and brightest to sway planets? You couldn't even seduce some daft, drunken aristocratic fool to fuck you.

You, the prettiest baseline he's ever seen.

...maybe Guilliman is right in saying the Imperium has rolled belly-up with bloat.

"That's not—that's not why and you know it," you open your mouth and jumble your words briefly before getting out, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone who won't have a panic attack because of the several Astartes that insist on following you around?" You continue, raving and flustered, "Do you think anyone would get near me with you—or—or... maybe Captain Acheran, or the good Chaplain, let's say, breathing over my shoulder?"

"You should be grateful any of us waste our time babysitting you," Cato oafishly shoots back like a petulant child, brows furrowing, "You should be thanking me for doing the brunt of it."

Your nose scrunches up, "Pardon me, Commander, it's surely entirely my fault that we are both at the whims of our Lord Primarch."

He pauses.

Something about this interaction isn't stirring his temper like it should.

He should be absolutely livid with anger, or at the very least blowing your eardrums out with a 'shut the fuck up,' at full Astartesian line-command volume.

Yes, he should be seething, and yet he's not. To his surprise, he's actually feeling more enthused than anything.

This feels... exciting, almost.

"You've only grown the backbone to talk back to me because I fucked one into you," he remarks sharply in reply.

You sputter, and go red, robbed of your words.

"Or maybe this is mere performance," He adds with a sneer, tipping his chin up proudly.

You roll your eyes and let out a dramatic puff of air, "Y-You're such a..." you start, but your voice tapers off—and you look away, pouting.

"I'm a... what?" He taunts, leaning close.

You grumble, apparently feeling brave again; meeting his gaze and puffing yourself up.

"You're a bully," you hiss, clearly upset but undeniably frazzled enough to be somewhat ranting again as you add, "A bully w-who's so disgustingly egotistical you've convinced yourself you're some great conqueror or... something... j-just for having been in me, as if I've never put anything in myself before."

Oh, but wait, Cato likes the idea of that. He likes it so much he completely forgets to acknowledge the insults in your statement prior. He likes the idea of you suffering like he had been—alone, yearning—aching for something you didn't know the dizzying reality of. He can imagine you smothering your sounds, those blessed whines he's got memorised, into a pillow in that cushy little quarters of yours, squirming on your meagre fingers, or maybe cold silicon. You didn't need that lesser imitation now. Cato'd gladly fill that role. He'd glad to fill that hole, too.

Nonetheless, he immediately wonders who you were getting off thinking about.

He'd streak the length of the ship for it to've been him you'd been fucking yourself over.

"Who were you thinking of?"

You blink at the completely offhanded question, then start sputtering, stalling.

"What? I-I—" you stammer, "That's not important or relevant—I just... did it, it's—"

"Keep lying and see where it gets you," He cuts in, raking you with an aggravated frown, and oh, excellent, you're starting to relearn he's not fond of your half-truthing, finally.

You duck your head a little, cringing under his gaze, trying to scoot yourself backwards. But there's nowhere to go.

Cato realises belatedly that in the middle of your antics, the sleeve of your robe has started to fall from your shoulder. His brain short-circuits momentarily with the sheer amount of air that floods his head. Your warm, soft skin on display just for him. He didn't get to see all of you last time. He felt a good portion of you, yes—but he didn't get the chance to admire acknowledge the whole vista. Not because he was too desperate to rut against to try. Or because he was probably going to swoon like a fool if he did. Shut up, he's no coward. Afterall, his hands had been close to your chest, but now—now he can actually look.

He's going to absolutely ruin that lovely canvas you've given him.

"Nobody," you say softly.

"Groxshit," he snaps.

"Fine—" You swallow and start scrambling for a response, "Malum C-Caedo."

Cato genuinely cannot help but bark a laugh at that, "Spare me, you haven't even met the man, moron—you're only saying that because your most recent reading was on his last briefing," he rolls his eyes. "You forgot I was there with Guilliman when you were given it."

You look at him like a cornered little mouse, and finally—finally, your sleeve falls just enough that he's given a perfect view of one of your tits.

"You already..." you grumble softly. "You already know who, then, so I shouldn't even have to dignify this."

"It's me, isn't it?" He asks darkly, and while he tries to sound haughty, the fact he's thrilled by both the notion and the sight of your partial nudity ends up warping his tone into a vaguely manic chuff.

You glance aside and stammer loudly, "N-No."

No, you say—but he hears your little heart flutter. And sees your pupils dilate.

"I hope you're aware you can't lie to save your life," Cato drawls.

Your gaze snaps back to his, and for a brief second, your expression is flushed with embarrassment; until it changes to a sour little scowl.

"I'm not a bad liar, you're just an Astartes—" you start furiously, but check your flustered anger.

Cato smirks.

It's not a completely clean victory, but it's good.

It means his own lusting madness is at least reciprocally vindicated.

And at that realisation, Cato's impulse control violently loses balance; and he's painfully aware he cannot, for the life of him, contain the hungered almost purr-like sound that crawls up his throat.

You go back to looking transfixed at that, and he pauses.

There's something... pulling him in even more than before. He feels as if he's taken the bait, and the hook, and the line and sinker—hell, he's taken a good bit of the rod, too. Everything's a little too heated, and he's got an innate, intuitive feeling you're just as wound up as he is—wait. He breathes in deep and slow, and scents the air. Throne, he may as well have been cold-clocked at the temple by a Dreadnaut for all the innate information he suddenly receives. You're quite frankly drenched in want. You're getting off on this. Smothering him in a dizzying biological chant of hormones that scream—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

He leans close, and puts a hand on the arm-rest; the other palm slowly moving towards your chest.

Your eyes follow it—but you voice no complaints nor rejections.

Justified now, he's ecstatic. And your skin is as perfect to the touch as he remembers.

His hand looks huge compared to the breast cupped in it, idly toying with the consistency of the flesh in his grasp. It's much softer and malleable than he thought it'd be. Almost like a water-skin. Thumb depressing your right nipple, before drawing a thoughtless circle.

You sigh lightly and relax a bit, and Cato takes that as another open invitation.

He uses the same hand to tug away the fabric from your other shoulder.

Quick as anything, he's practically stuffing his face against you without any real warning, ignoring your flinch at his haste. Cato's letting the urges he'd withheld in that wretched shack out. And it's so worth the wait. He groans, licks a fat band over your left breast, and worries at the perked little bud with his teeth until you're squirming; only to drag his attention up to nip at your fragile throat.

You're breathing hard, and you open your mouth as if about to speak—but ever spiteful, Cato rewards your attempt with the drag of his tongue and the press of his teeth; and that promptly shuts you up. The faint salt on your skin isn't half bad of a thing either, honestly. He rather likes it. It tastes like how you smell—and he's absolutely luxuriating in it. It makes it all the easier to map your chest from the curve of your breast to your collarbones, garnishing you with eager drags of his tongue and mouth-wrought bruises.

And now you're glorious. The marks on your skin are vivid—he's guaranteed you won't be wearing anything showy for a good while. No lovely vile plunging necklines for you to display to bastard dignitaries. Not unless you want to explain why they're Cato Sicarius sized. They'll also be a good reminder to you of exactly who's superior.

You're still too dazed by his efforts to realise the extent of his actions, but he knows exactly how hot and bothered it's made you. That honeyed reek of arousal is driving him insane.

Urged on, he digs a hand down and around your back and drags you off the lounge. Manoeuvring to turn so his back rests against the lip of the lounge, nigh dumping you before him on the rug.

"W-Why...?" You blink, stunned for a second before righting yourself and meeting his eyes. Cato's sat himself cross-legged, before letting them unfold, one tenting and the other splaying out.

"I did all the work last time," he starts impatiently, and leans up to grab you by the forearm; bringing your hand close close to the cradle of his hips, "Now it's your turn to do something for once."

...Cato's not sure you're actually listening, because he could've bet his helm you'd've become irate at statement that if you were. That, and you're glaring between his thighs.

Ironically, he also almost instantaneously finds he doesn't really care to continue the train of thought. Not when you trace the engorged bulge of him through the folds of his tunic. Groping at the base, before smoothing your palm to the rounded tip.

There's no accursed buttons between him and the open this time, thankfully—and that means he can simply tug aside the folds of his layered tunic and bare himself from the belly down.

His cock lays fat and heavy with blood, smearing precum as it moves from his navel to leftward on his hip when he straightens up.

You're staring.

He scoffs at your apprehension and says, "Alternatively, perhaps you can—"

A soft, "Shhh," leaves you.

He snorts like a big, angry stock horse, brow raised. No baseline, regardless of rank, would dare treat Cato like this; none would dare even think to treat to him like this. Except you now, apparently. You forget your station, your place. Making demands of an Astartes is nowhere near your clearance. Your best option is to implore, not command. Yours is to nod your pretty thick head and smile your fair rotten little smile and obey your betters.

"Did—did you just shush me, woman?" Cato's nigh instantly consumed by a rush of anger at the sheer audacity, sneering. "In what reality do you think you've any right to shush me? I'm Commander of the Victrix Honor Guard, Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of—"

Of... of something.

Suddenly your insolence is inconsequential to him. All that matters is the smooth glide of your dainty hand on his cock, and the sight of your thumb and pointer being unable to wrap around and meet given how thick he is.

You look up at him slowly for a second, before your focus returns to apparently sussing out how best to saddle him. It's a timid gesture, like you're anticipating overstepping—you're cautious.

He's about to remind you of the fact you've taken him before, so Cato's proven he fits and all this coyness of yours is arbitrary. But he guesses the point is moot when you're suddenly already stradling his hips.

With one small hand finding a place on his stomach, and the other holding his cock straight beneath the obscurity of your garbs, he feels you lower yourself enough to make contact; testing before offering a little more urgency.

With an agonisingly careful roll of your pelvis, the head of his cock catches against the soft ring of muscle at your entrance for a second.

He grumbles despite himself.

He can't watch his cock sink into you like last time thanks to the curtain of your robe, but at least he can certainly feel every millimeter of it happening.

Tight heat feels like a death shroud over his mind as he draws a blank on anything else.

And finally—finally he's stuffed down to the hilt—and oh, he's filled you to your end just like the last time. Throne, he's drunk off the spongy heat the thick head of cock is squared right up against.

This position's made your cunt just that bit shorter inside thanks to gravity.

You whimper, clearly trying desperately not to start shaking.

You start shaking anyways.

He's fascinated by the small, restless palms now pressed flat and trying to find a counterpoint on his broad, tunic'd chest. Soft and un-calloused aside from the small bump of a pen's rest on your writing hand. Everything about you is warm and soft. Inside and out, you're all his.

He exhales harshly through his nose and blinks, gaze shifting from your hands to your tits, then to your face.

You wear an even more flushed expression now, overwhelmed, with all your focus on him.

Right where it always should be.

"Hurry up," he grunts sharply.

You swallow hard, and promptly drop your gaze.

You, surprisingly, manage to lift yourself up despite your theatrics. And, little by little, he watches you strain up until just the tip of him is still buried in you.

Angling yourself, you keen, carefully sinking back down on his cock and reeling at the stretch again as you settle, ass meeting his dense quads with a soft plomf.

He can see you biting back a moan, pointless as the act is.

"Keep going," Cato grits out, "I didn't tell you to stop."

You frown halfheartedly, and your insides clench around him despite yourself.

You start a slow rhythm, the noise of colliding skin on skin echoes in his ears. Slick friction, and fucked-out, half-stifled cries. Your pace quickening. Riding him. Using him at your own leisure, like the precious wretched little thing you are. You repeat the same dizzying motion again and again, and again—rising and sinking up, down, up, down; until it's clear you've found an angle that hits something just right, sending you over the edge with a rattling gasp.

A low groan crawls up the back of Cato's throat and slips free without restraint.

He's barely able to cope through the tight squeeze of your orgasm around his cock; but he steels himself, winning the fight to not spill in you right then and there at that. No small thanks to the furious couple hours he'd spent earlier in the simulated night cycle furiously attending his urges.

You stop suddenly, seated to the hilt, trembling and oversensitive—grinding back and forth, nails digging into his pectorals through his tunic.

"Just... n-need t'catch my breath..." You whimper, and that debauched tone wreaks havoc through his mind. An unceasing urge to pound you to tears overtaking what little sense he has left. It's the ravenous fact that you, the little parchment-pushing temptress, are all tuckered out from cumming on him so quickly. He's preening at the fact he feels that good to you—oh, he's going to send you limping back to your quarters.

He wants to watch you break.

"You lazy little cunt, you can't do a thing right, can you?" Cato groans, your thighs twitching as he lifts you by the hips and makes you sink back down.

He gets the treat of seeing your eyes swim back in your skull, dumb with sensation.

Lulled by the reedy, oversexed moans slipping from you with each motion; and he can't help but start thrusting up, matching pace.

"Hardly even four and a half minutes—and you're a mess, absolutely useless." He heaves, dropping you to full-hilt for a second to manoeuvre you better. You're nigh but a gasping dead-weight, delirious.

If you're going to act the entitled bitch, he'll screw you into something alike submission. Which is exactly why he's then pulling out, shoving you against the lounge on your back; and moving your thighs to bracket his hips as he half kneels on the rug. Just to slide himself back inside, balls-deep in willing flesh. The only dignity he affords you then is the space to wrap your arms around and behind his shoulders. Which you rightly do without demand.

Hold on, was the unspoken order.

Then he's fucking you into the lounge like his life depends on it. He's glad to notice it's bolted down, but the damned thing creaks—nonetheless, he can barely even hear it over the perfect sounds you're making.

Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, barely holding back the noises that choke his own gullet.

"You're so damn lucky you're a nice tight hole," he rasps harshly, "That's all you're good for, hm? For me to fill?"

There's a gutting sort of beauty in the way you're looking up at him with open desperation. He's trying so hard not to fall victim to the siren call of it, but it's perfect vile and he can't help but fold. He'd kill for that look to never leave your face when your eyes fell on him.

"Fuck, I must be in your womb at this rate—would you like that? My load in your womb?" Cato says between a great lungful of air, only to start huffing madly to himself when you nod drunkenly. "Good, because that's exactly where i-it's going."

Mind reeling with every resounding sticky slap of his balls against you, paired with scorching wet slide of him pumping in and out of you. You're crying, all your sensibilities lost in the thorough pace he's ploughing into you with; trying to pull him in by tugging at his shoulders, but with your meagre strength it's merely a vague suggestion.

Still, he leans into it, if only to finally seize the chance to lap the tears off your cheek, and you sob; trying to turn nose to nose with him. Your pathetic pawing at his broad back only exacerbates the overwhelming urgency in his blood.

He's so close.

Bliss crests up like a tide inside him, building and building, stunned with how it makes him buck into you. He's dazed in a way he surely wasn't designed to be resilient against. He can't even shut his damn mouth to stop moaning—and only technically manages to do so when you cover it with your own the very second he's about to finish; your legs squeezing impotently down on his hips, trembling through another climax.

His nerves light up like an orbital barrage, body rocking against the pretty, willing thing below him that you are. He has no idea what's going on beyond that. Are you kissing him? Is that what you're doing? Half his brain is stunned by the idea and the other half is flooded by the rushes of pleasure in his system making his tendons cramp, ravaging him with the sound of his hearts thudding in his ears.

Working himself right into agony; he's tensing against you as he empties himself as deep as he can. His pace finally breaks pattern and staccatos as his mind leadens.

Lulled by the molten satisfaction that swamps him soon thereafter, Cato blindly tries to chase forward and keep your lips on his. Emphasis on tries. He thinks he likes it, foreign as the sensation and sentiment is. He's got his tongue in your mouth, but no real clue what to do beyond lapping further in like a man dying of thirst—and then, of course, you decide to start weakly thrashing for air, blunt teeth grazing against the invading muscle—so, with a miffed groan; he pulls away, drooling as he slumps front-long against you and the lounge with a rumbling sigh, letting his eyes close as he basks in the afterglow.

You're panting still, nosing against the nape of his neck—likely having difficulty respiring under his weight—but despite that, you're still twitching around his spent cock, just like last time.

Wistfully, he wonders if he could sleep with you stuffed full of him like this. Slotted together and absolutely buried in your cunt; reaming you out as far as your small frame will allow. He enjoys the idea of that, and of holding you close.

He listens meditatively as your breathing steadily evens out, a soft in-out rhythm he can hear start in your chest only to feel warmly dancing across his collarbone a moment later.

Your small hand glides up the back of his trapezoid and combs through the short hair at his crown.

He shivers almost immediately at the act, thoughts clouding. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do, now. He can't really bring himself to do anything. He's locked in. It's like he's been sedated, or scruffed about the neck. Then your fingers trace the bare skin behind his ear, and he snaps from the trance enough to crack an eye open to glance down.

"Don't push your luck," he bites out automatically and leers away.

You immediately stiffen, and lurch yourself back—seemingly completely confused.

He's not exactly sure why he reacted that way either, but he's certainly not going to address it.

Ultimately, he opts to pull his cock out of you with scant decorum rather than linger on the topic. Then he settles into a kneel as he eyes the soaked-in stain below the bunched-up fabric of your robe.

"Well," he snorts.

And damn, it's difficult to hold a straight face at the overdramatic, painfully oblivious pout you shoot him.

So, Cato just continues watching you with a cruel sort of satisfaction as you sit yourself up shakily, and realise the mess.

You blanch, promptly shutting your legs and fussing—your ass is half stuck to the fabric of the lounge by your own slick and his spent when you move to stand on shaky, unsure legs.

He's aware of the fact you're after something to wipe away the aftermath. But he's far too content observing you struggle for the moment. Pleased, even. Especially when he's treated to the cringing gasp that slips from you when his semen no doubt starts dripping down your thighs.

You're panicking within seconds. He can hear your heartbeat quickening, plus the acrid tang of baseline stress hormones pervading the room.

There's nothing to spare. Unless you want to leave another smear across the lounge cushioning, but he doubts you'd go so low. He, however, has no such reservations—and yanks the plush velour padded square up to wipe his cock off. It's not as if he wasn't going to toss it down one of the incinerator shafts on the library's second floor anyways.

"Do—" you begin softly, but amend yourself, "Would y-you have anything... to..."

He stares at you, brows furrowed.

Floundering now, you waddle close and swallow harshly.

"To... wipe this up?" You finish, barely a whisper. He can tell you're sour at the fact you're stroking his ego and essentially too full of him to go anywhere.

Cato scoffs, holding up the seating cushion, "What? Too spoilt to use this?"

You cringe at him, "People have sat on that—hundreds of people, probably. I-I don't have your immunity to infection."

Cato cedes on that point at least, because he assumes being a baseline is hell. And so very not his problem, too.

Completely out of left field, comes the temptation to lick you clean. His mulish hind-brain reasons it's a brilliant idea, namely because you'd likely be squirming for him again. Even if he has no real idea of what to do beyond that. Lap at your clit, probably—he's not actually done any of this before except—well, except just slamming into you. He has the basic gist of all of this from biologis graphics and pornographic motionpicts. Yes, the latter are technically contraband on Ultramarine chapter vessels—Throne, he actually remembers when that was put into force. He was still green behind the ears when that'd happened. But those specific brothers had displayed it for abstract amusement, not... it's intended purpose—rather: 'Lo, look at this curiosity, brothers! See they're fornicating, how very so strange! Baselines am-i-right?'

Honestly, it's never actually anything heretical, except for maybe the terrible acting.

He'd deem that punishable by death.

Regardless, Cato's guessing the process of licking something can't really be some sage art form. Not like duelling, and fuck, he's stellar at that. He's stellar at almost everything, he reasons. So why not that? You're such a wanton little thing he'd probably make you finish on accident.

Yet he decides against it as soon as the logical part of his brain boots back up. Largely given the fact he's probably already going to have a hard time as it is trying to avoid others on his way to mask the stink of sex. His brothers have keen noses, it wouldn't be difficult for them to notice the smell of you on his way to his chamber if he's not careful. Let alone if it's smeared all over his face. Next time, however—

"Surely it's not that bad," he says off-handedly.

A surge of shame appears on your face as a red, blotchy belt across your cheeks, and you seem about to protest before he grumbles.

"Still, you really ought to find a solution," he remarks idly, and he notices the implication isn't lost on you.

You frown softly, and wrinkle your nose at him.

"Maybe some manners would help you achieve your goals," he adds, with a clearer spite.

Your frown grows nigh comically harsh.

Cato grunts wryly, satisfied at your annoyance and paws at the hem of his tunic—tearing a portion off and holding it out to you.

You grab the edge of it and tug, but he doesn't let go.

"And what do you say?"

"Thanks," you answer hastily.

He raises an eyebrow and pulls the torn fabric back towards himself ever so slightly, causing you to over extend closer to him.

His stare stays locked on yours, and he gets the treat of watching you dither and fluster under his focus momentarily before you amend, "T-Thank you..." you swallow, and break eye contact, adding; "Commander Sicarius."

"Was that so hard?" Cato scoffs, especially thrilled as he lets go of the scrap—eyeing you as you trot aside, and gingerly begin to wipe away the mess of satisfaction coating your thighs and rear.

When you're decidedly done, you stomp back over to him and hold out the soiled fabric.

He reaches for it, only to have it promptly pulled away.

Cato scowls, and takes a step forward into your space—only for you to inch forward into his.

You're tormenting him then, he decides; or rather he thinks. He's not sure. You don't look smug—you look... nervous? Your lips have drawn into a thin line and you keep glancing between his eyes and behind him randomly.

"What?" He huffs, narrowing his eyes.

"Lean down," you mumble, then quietly make the additional effort of throwing in a "...please."

Cato grumbles at the request but complies, and Throne, he's glad he does; because suddenly you're up on your tip-toes, your hand on his jaw—and your lips are on his cheek.

He blinks, dumb as a mule. It's over as fast as it started and he can't even begin to unpack the elation he's abruptly feeling.

Heedless of his dazzled state, you clear your throat with a bashful laugh—and then the rag is suddenly stuffed into his open hand. He's still frozen there as you practically rush out the room, scooping your previously flung data-slate up as you frantically wave the door mechanism open and vanish from view.

A long wheeze escapes his throat in the empty room, his face thudding with heat.

Oh, he's fucked fucked.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #ultramarines #cato sicarius x reader #cato sicarius #honestly its more like:#cato 'allergic to introspection' sicarius #writing

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sytoran · 1 year

Text

pretty woman | teom part ii

You receive a nice welcoming gift. Feelings you thought were long gone begin to surface.

──── PAIRING. sub!milf!wanda x dark!player!reader

──── CONT. established wandavision, heavy flirting, thirsting, unresolved sexual tension, reader uses she/they pronouns, tommy and billy ship it

──── WORD COUNT. 2.0k

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“Mom, mom! Let’s go and meet the new neighbour!”

“Can we show her Sparky? Please?”

Wanda nods to her boys, trying to get them to calm down. Her seven-year-olds were far too energetic and lively, and sometimes taking care of them was excessively taxing. But of course, Vision was rarely there to help.

Shooing the boys away for the moment, despite cries of protest, Wanda escapes into the kitchen to finish her housewarming gift for you.

It had been a day since that incident, and Wanda had just gotten over her initial embarrassment.

Wanda wipes the sweat off her forehead as she uses oven mittens to take the baked cookies out of the oven. She sighs in relief to see that they turned out alright. It took Wanda about three tries to get it right. (No, she wasn’t trying hard to impress you. Obviously.)

The scent of the melted chocolate chips wafts over the house. “Want one!” Billy screeches, bounding over to the kitchen in record timing at the smell. He goes to grab at a cookie, before letting a cry and dropping it when he realizes just how hot it was.

Tommy, following closely behind his brother, bursts into shrieks of laughter. “You’re so stupid!” he yells, as Sparky — their dog — barks vehemently in agreement. Billy pouts.

Wanda rolls her eyes, letting out an exhausted huff. All this over a woman you held eye contact with for three seconds. Way to go, wanda. Your marriage with your husband is thriving.

After about half an hour, Wanda deems herself presentable enough to show up next door without foolishly embarrassing herself. The boys sprint over in record time, ringing on their new neighbours’ doorbell.

“Oh, hang on! gimme a moment!” A voice yells from inside. Wanda holds her breath in unexpected anticipation, internally dying to actually see you for the first time. Would you remember her staring from your window? I mean, of course you would, there was no doubt about that — but you had just looked so-

“Pretty.”

Wanda chokes on air, and you’re pretty sure you do as well. The word that had filled the silence was words of your own, blurted out the moment you set your eyes on her.

“Yeah, my mom’s pretty,” Tommy says nonchalantly, flicking his dark hair with a childishly aloof expression. Billy merely giggles, shoving his brother, raising his eyebrows at you like he knew something.

You, on the other hand, are lost in your trance of checking out your neighbour you briefly saw the previous day. Naturally, you just had a stronger attraction to women older than you, with their curves and edges and breasts and motherly eyes and the way they cared for their young children — Wanda was currently ticking all of the boxes in your fantasy like she could read your mind, and your eyes kept going back to her damn cleavage, because who the hell allowed her to wear such a low-cut shirt that pulled at all the right angles?

“I’m Y/N L/N, pleasure to meet you,” You manage to spit out after what seemed like an eternity. Your voice was definitely too hoarse, but you played it off like it was due to sleep deprivation in the morning.

When you try to make eye contact with the woman again, you realise she’s looking elsewhere. The ‘elsewhere’ in question, happens to be your partially-clothed body. You smirk inwardly, for you hadn’t been the only one ogling.

Wanda had been running her experienced eyes run over your messily-tousled hair and black sports bra and the glorious artifact that is your sculpted torso. She harbours the criminal urge to run her palms all over it, and trace your chiseled v-line that goes into hiding beyond your grey sweatpants. Wanda’s mouth dries up. she has to consciously snap her jaw shut or else she would’ve been ogling at you for an eternity.

Finally managing to tear her eyes off your distracting physique, Wanda’s greeted with the sight of your mischievous grin and twinkling eyes. Caught. The brunette woman shifts her footing in embarrassment, brushing at a stray lock of hair.

You chance a quick wink at her, just like the day before, and Wanda flushes from head to toe. Cute.

This time, you choose the safe option, to send the boys a friendly grin – they're her children, you deduce. “I’m Tommy,” a blonde boy announces cheekily, and his dark-haired brother shoves him in retaliation. “No, I’m Tommy.” he corrects, folding his arms and then sticking his tongue out at his brother. “His name is Little Prat.”

“Oi! That’s rude!”

“You started it, dude.”

“Boys!” the woman calls out in exasperation, looking at them with a mildly disappointed and evidently tired expression. She glances at you wearily, and you smile in understanding.

“Why don’t you guys come on in and watch some TV? There’s still some boxes around, but I’ve cleaned out the place and the sofa is pretty comfy,” you suggest, meeting Wanda’s eyes in search for approval. She nods, letting out a sigh of relief for the escape.

Almost immediately, the boys stop arguing and sprint inside with shouts of ‘my show!’. The brunette looks at them fondly, a small smile on her face. You think you’d like to make her smile like that. Gratefully, she turns to you. “Thank you for that,” she murmurs sincerely.

“My pleasure. Also, am i going to get to know your name, or am I going to be kept in the dark?” you tease.

“Right,” Wanda responds sheepishly, forgetting she hadn’t introduced herself yet. She clears her throat, determined to get it right this time. “I’m Wanda Maximoff, and we live just next door. But you already knew that. As a housewarming gift, I actually baked some chocolate chip cookies, if you’d like them.”

“Oh wow, Wanda,” you say, as she hands over a paper bag with containers of cookies. “Damn, if I get food like this all the time I’ll stay here forever.”

Wanda giggles, then grows internal fear at the fact she just giggled. Like, what was that? A giggle? Seriously? Way to impress the hot neighbour, Wanda. Wait, why am I trying to impress the hot neighbour? I’m married!

You move to hold the door open for her. Chivalry, Am i right? As Wanda walks past you, your eyes fall to the curve of her ass. Nope, still a whore for hot moms.

After pulling back a chair for Wanda at the dining table and bringing her hot coffee, you sit down beside her, glancing over at the boys. They’re invested in an episode of Phineas and Ferb. You recognize it as the one from Season Three where Doofenshmirtz creates the Stain-inator to ruin the town mayor’s painting. Hey, don’t blame me for having a young soul — Phineas and Ferb is for all ages.

“You’re so good to the kids,” Wanda says softly, hauling you out of your temporal trance. Once again, you’re reminded of Wanda’s effortless beauty, with her small hands cradling the steaming coffee mug, long eyelashes fluttering as she blows at the hot beverage.

“Is that hard to believe?” you respond slowly, eyes trailing over her expression. Wanda’s face morphs from a relaxed one to another that is clouded with trouble and burdens. You frown in concern.

“Well,” Wanda hesitates. “I suppose so. I’m not used to someone caring for my boys so blatantly and openly. Their father…… is not always present. He’s busy all the time. His head is always tucked down, and I’m just scared that by the time he looks up again, the boys won’t be waiting with an eager smile anymore. Sometimes I wonder, if he’s married to me or his job.”

You absorb this information with a growing frown, jaw clicking as it clenches. You decide that you do not like Wanda Maximoff’s husband.

For the first time in a long time, your chest flares, and your inner demons crawl, clawing in…… Possessiveness? Jealousy? Anger? You physically shudder, and Wanda notices.

“Sorry,” she says hurriedly, looking down in shame. “I shouldn’t have told you all that, you must think of me as a terrible mother now. I’m so sorry–”

“Don’t be,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her thigh. “I just…… your husband sounds like an asshole, with all due respect.”

Wanda laughs, a trinkle of a melody, and you calm down. “Thank you,” she murmurs softly, batting her lashes while looking at you. You’re pretty sure she doesn’t even know what it does to you.

Well, you could have your fun as well.

You take your time with it, using your thumb to brush against the skin of her thigh, under the guise of comforting a friend. You pretend not to notice how wanda fidgets under your touch, pressing her legs together and blushing a whole lot more.

This hardly does anything to satiate your true urges. Wanda turns to you with a curious gaze, almost innocent. You try to shove it down, try to quell it, but you’re growing ravenous. She opens her mouth, asking you something. You don’t hear it, you’re too busy staring at her lips.

“...Are you even listening to me?” Wanda asks with an adorable smile, shaking her head at you in faux disappointment.

“Nope,” you answer boldly with a cheeky smile, sliding your hand further up her thigh, knuckles brushing against the hem of skirt. You delight in the way Wanda’s breath hitches, conflicting emotions flickering across her pretty face. You want more.

Your left foot hooks around the leg of her chair, dragging it closer to yours. Wanda looks up at you, frozen. She still hasn’t moved from your grasp.

“Tell me more about you,” you ask, with an innocent smile, As if you hadn’t been the causation of Wanda’s inner turmoil. “I’d like to get to know my neighbour better, hm?”

“Uhm,” Wanda begins, not knowing how to act with the close proximity. She hates how her thighs are clenching, how she seems to be sweating abnormally. “I-”

“Momma! It’s time to go home, Sparky needs to go for his walk,” Billy states, shattering the moment in a matter of milliseconds. Wanda doesn’t know how your hand disappears from the territory of her thighs so quickly, but she already misses your fleeting touch.

When she snaps out of it, you’re already chattering excitedly with boys, playing up to their energies exceedingly well. It’s highly evident that her boys enjoy your company, but Wanda is at a loss of how you’re acting as if your hand hadn’t just been inches from her underwear a few moments ago.

What’s more jarring is the fact that her panties were damp, even, with the evanescent presence of your ring-adorned fingers.

‘You’re a woman with needs, it’s normal,’ Wanda tells herself, shaking off her intrusive thoughts. ‘Vision doesn’t want sex, but you have to respect that.’

But then Wanda looks at the way you scoop up both Tommy and Billy with an effortless ease, then spinning them around, your biceps seemingly blinding with the reflection of the light. Or maybe that was her own wilding imagination.

Wanda clears her throat in an attempt to find a semblance of composure. She ushers Tommy and Billy out the door with a newfound haste, disliking the storm of conflict within her. “Be sure to give me a call if you need anything,” Wanda adds, daring herself to make eye contact with you. You’d exchanged numbers earlier.

“Oh, I’ll call you,” comes your witty reply, and a quick wink.

The brunette looks away, knowing the tips of her ears are burning. Damn it, get it together, woman.

You lean against the cashew-coloured doorframe with your arms folded across your chest, watching Wanda chastising the boys’ rowdiness as they walk back to their own place.

As you expect, just before she escapes back into the comfort of her own home, Wanda chances a look back at your front porch. When the brunette realizes you were still watching, she fumbles flusteredly.

‘Pretty’, you mouth to the older woman once again, then lifting up a hand to blow her a flirtatious kiss. You duck back into your house before Wanda can even react, unable to stop the sides of your mouth from tugging up into a stifled chortle.

With Wanda Maximoff living right next door, your time spent at Westview was guaranteed to be a rather eventful one.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @girllcver @natashaswife4125 @godsfavouritelesbiann @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @kellyc30-blog @eatkobi @cqllarbones @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight @gingerninja1993 @yourfavdummy @iliketigobities

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#marvel women #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximommy #wanda maximilf #x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #dom reader #top reader #bottom wanda maximoff #sub wanda maximoff #marvel #my works #teom series

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izzabela · 1 month

Note

hello!! How are you?? If requests are open,I have an idea of some kind. So,basically ,Kuai Liang x fem!reader. They were dating a while,and then broke up,reader found a new partner and they didn’t talk much,but still loved each other. Then reader and this new partner broke up too. It’s like a slow burn when reader and Kuai start talking again and slowly start getting closer and eventually confess again!! Thank you in advance!!!

Tsunami - Kuai Liang x fem!reader

in which you and Kuai Liang find each other again

a/n: do we have any NIKI/niki zefanya listeners here? also, finna try a new format of writing, tell me if yall like it or not

ship[s]: kuai liang x fem!reader

warming(s): none

Kuai Liang, who's been your childhood best friend since forever. Who always hugged you when you "came over to his house". Who always included you in his and Bi Han's games when you three were children.

He, who loved you before he even knew what "love" was.

Kuai Liang, who had to shut Tomas up from spilling his secret from you. Who dragged him away when he began chanting "k-i-s-s-i-n-g" every time he saw you and Kuai liang together.

Kuai Liang, who sought advice from Bi Han on his feelings about you. Who got warnings about emotions, the future he'd be inheriting, and the outcome of such a choice.

But it's the same brother who told Kuai Liang, "If you love this woman so much, what do you wait for?"

You, who watched Kuai Liang go through his ceremony for his ascension in the Lin Kuei. Who turned beet-red seeing him in the traditional ceremonial attire the Lin kuei only brought out for this occasion. Whose ears rang with the echoes of your heartbeat.

You, who loved him from the moment you laid eyes on him all those years ago.

It's Kuai Liang, who waited patiently for you to go through your coming-of-age ceremony. Who watched in the ballroom of your palace in your ornate attire, recite the words and swears of your ancestors to inherit your clan. Whose heart beat so loudly in his chest that he requested earplugs.

He, who was the first to congratulate you on this new milestone in your life- and for the life of your clan.

It was a twenty-three year old Kuai Liang that asked you to be his girlfriend under the huge maple tree that resides in his family's garden. Who you saw stutter for the first time; and, who made your own heart beat so loud you began crying out of fear he'd hear.

Kuai Liang, who comforted you as he offered you a beautiful bouquet of flowers he and his brothers collected from the missions they went on. Who chuckled as he wiped your tears, and you gave him your answer through wet noises of post-crying mania.

It was the both of you that planted a sturdy anchor in the beginning years of your relationship. It was the both of you having weekly dinners, monthly date outings, even occasional joint missions. The both of you, sending letters back and forth as the years caught up to you in this relationship.

It's you two, who breached the four year dating mark, where things become rough.

Kuai Liang, who tried to make this long distance relationship business work. Who wrote to you often, sent you flowers and little gifts, and other things to keep your mind always on him. But, with your responsibilities being the sole inheritor of your clan, you felt the red twine of fate began to unravel with you two.

You, who was stuck trying to run your clan. Who was stressed and slowly losing it with the weight of your duty- especially with the need of an heir (damn the patriarchs). You, who relied on letters to keep you grounded in your love for Kuai Liang.

You, who felt your grip on this tug-of-war, slip and out of your reach.

It was Kuai Liang, who met up with you because of a letter you wrote him. Who was exhausted after coming home from a gruesome mission from Liu Kang. Who still wanted to see your face for relief.

Kuai Liang, who was met with your glossy eyes and a fairly-large box in your hands the minute he entered the courtyard of your home. Who asked you what's wrong, why you must shed so many tears, and why he saw the petals from his flowers were in there as well.

Kuai Liang, who shook with anger at the fact you were leaving him. Who was not angry at you, but the situation, and how he would do the same if it came to. Kuai Liang, who dropped the box and kissed you one last time- slowly, like you'd be carried away in the wind and never return home.

You, after months of staying single, were set up with the son of another clan. You, "for the glory of your people" were you dating this man. Who, as much as you miss the pyromancer, cannot go back to him.

You're stuck with him.

Anytime you were around with your suitor, it's Kuai Liang's eyes that followed your figure silently. Whose eyes longed for yours to meet his, whose hands wanted to wrap around your waist and pull you in.

Whose lips he wanted to badly to meet with his.

You, who didn't talk to Kuai Liang after that break-up. You, who yearned for him just as much he yearned for you. Who wanted nothing more than to run into his warm embrace. To hear his voice- anything of his.

You, who missed Kuai Liang more than words could explain.

It wasn't until a year later that Kuai Liang learned you were alone once more. Kuai Liang, who only heard this through word of mouth from his brothers. Who realized that the prayers he'd been giving to the elder gods actually worked.

But it's this same Kuai Liang that didn't dare make a move- not yet. Who saw how dejected you were every time you came over for meetings with him and his brothers. Who caught the faintest glimpse of a tear lining your eye.

You, though newly single, felt uneasy around Kuai Liang. Who felt ashamed that while you were with one man, you dreamt of another. Who feared his judgement, who was scared he'd look at you differently.

Still, you wanted him near, so you took the smallest of steps to regain the bond you once had with him. You, who fully greeting him instead of mumbling "hello". Who smiled at him, even if it was fake.

You, who began to rebuild the bridge you burned down.

Oh, Kuai Liang. He, who didn't rush you or your words. Who answered your rhetorical conversation starters whole-heartedly. Who smiled at you as well, making sure that it met his eyes so you'd feel at ease with him again.

It's also this Kuai Liang who receives teasing from his brothers. Tomas, who recalled his childhood when he first saw him get together with you. Bi Han, who kept a distance between this, but watched between both of you intently, with hope that things go right this time.

After some time, you begin conversing with him more thoroughly. You, who talk beyond the weather and training, beyond missions and paperwork.

You, who talks to him about the most horrid suitor proposal ever. Who talks to him about the funniest thing you had heard from the servants regarding your hunt for suitors, and agenda pushed by your clan elders.

And it's Kuai Liang who laughs along your anecdotes. Who tells you about the craziest missions he's been on, the places he's seen. He, who talks to you about a Hollywood actor that Bi Han punched into a sculpture. Or the young farmer that he grappled with his kunai.

And overtime, it's you who goes to him when you want a break from leading. You, who knocked on the Lin Kuei palace doors in the middle of a blizzard because the elders were pressing you to take on even more tasks. You, who cried into Kuai Liang's shoulder about giving up and quitting your people.

And it is this beloved Kuai Liang who helps you always. Who reassures you that you are doing well and leading perfectly, and that sometimes you need a break. While, yes, the clan is important, so are you- and you need a break.

And months later, it's you who confesses to Kuai Liang. You, who led him to the weeping willow tree in your family's garden, who gifted him an assortment of flowers like he once did.

It's you two, although nearing your thirties, you two feel like you're twenty again.

It's you who tells Kuai Liang what he makes you feel every time he's around you. It's you who tells him how you fall for him again.

It's you who tells him what you were actually thinking when with that former lover.

It's Kuai Liang who asks you, "What if we mess up again?" as he approaches you. You laugh and caress his cheek with your thumb.

"We'll figure it out," you told him. "If we had it before, who's to say we can't again?"

And it's Kuai Liang who lifted you from the ground and spun you around under the dancing leaves of the willow tree. Who thanked the elder gods above that you were finally his again.

So, Kuai Liang set you down and gave you the deepest kiss under that weeping willow tree. The same guy who digged deeper with his tongue, his hands around your waist and against the small of your back.

And you, who moaned in response as your tongues collide and crash into one another. You, whose hands fling around his neck as you pull him in for more, more, more.

It's the both of you, letting go after neither of you wanted to leave the warmth of one another. You two, who looked into each other's eyes with exasperation and bated breath before you both smiled.

Finally, it's the both of you resting your foreheads together after realizing that you were always where you were meant to be.

bonus ================

"You owe fifty yuan," Tomas whispers excitedly to his grumbling brother.

Bi Han groans as he pulls out the note, handing it to him.

"I can't believe you were right," Bi Han grumbles, and Tomas just chuckles and nudges his shoulder playfully.

"Patience is a virtue, brother," Tomas teases, walking away with a content face.

Bi Han quirks a brow and smirks.

"Meet me in a spar, and I'll show you virtue."

=====================

i hope you guys enjoyed this fic and new format i tried.

slow burns are the worst for me to right because i rather have two characters kiss already LOL. but i still tried, anon i hope you enjoyed!

imma see yall in the next fic

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #x reader #kuai liang #scorpion #kuai liang x you #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang scorpion #scorpion x you #scorpion x reader

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dulceackles · 3 months

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Ambivalent Part three- The crime

Previous part: (x)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, strong language, sex, violence, enemies to lovers, alcohol, all that. Mention of dead body, a little bit of horror. English is not my first language, so sorry for typos. Also, it is a Y/N, but I've created a background story and a fictional place around it for creative and storytelling reasons. Will not be describing exterior characteristics, tho!

Summary: Dean used to be really important to Y/N but ever since he suddenly left her without telling her why, she's been avoiding even mentioning him. Now, after years, he's back in town, but not because of her. There's a case. The only things she's certain is that she doesn't like him being back.

Word count: 4.1k

Y/N had left her apartment about 5 minutes ago. Joselyn and she had decided to meet up in front of the bar. Luckily the bar wasn't too far from her apartment but then again, nothing in Dimdale was that far.

Y/N: gonna be there in 10 mins!

She texted her friend. It was mid-spring, but the weather had been freezing for the past two weeks. Y/N wrapped her jacket tighter around her as a breeze of wind ran through her hair.

The streetlights flickered once, then twice. The streetlights had not been fixed in years. They were old and rusty, and it was not one bit surprising they lived a life of their own when it came to nighttime. A few citizens had made complaints about them to the mayor, but the reply was always the same; The electricity crisis is the most real thread this town has. We have to keep that in mind. By saving electricity and redirecting our funds carefully, we assure to postpone the catastrophic effects the crisis as it worsts could provide. Every time, every election, and always the same mayor. If you asked Y/N, she thought it was all bullshit. The town was broke, it was obvious. Lost of all founds to keep even the streetlight in order and apart from couple new apartment buildings, public park and a shopping center, everything in Dimdale was rotting in place. It was like a ghost town, yet the townies kept it alive. And the moving out rate was surprisingly low, it was like something just kept them there. A love for a familiar hometown, perhaps.

The light flickered again, and then suddenly all the yellow streams of light disappeared. The lights went off.

"Damn it." Y/N went through her handbag to find her phone to check the time. 10:53pm. It isn't even midnight yet, why the lights go off already? Y/N thought while continuing to walk. Luckily she had lived Dimdale her whole life, and she knew the roads like her own pocket even in the dark. She hoped Joselyn didn't have to wait on her. Sure she wasn't late, but she hated it when she arrived last even if she wasn't late. She hated to be the one to make others wait. She made her way on a dark sidewalk until she heard a shrill rattle behind her. She turned around. Had she dropped something? She pointed a flashlight from her phone to a ground but saw nothing. She kept walking.

"He is drunk as a skunk! How are we going to get anything out of him." Sam studied the man sitting a few bar stools from him.

"Hey, it's not my fault, dude is lightweight;" Dean shrugged his shoulders and took a ship of his beer.

"I didn't say it was your fault, I'm just point out a fact," Sam said.

"Let's just try it out, work it or not. Nothing to lose here." Dean voiced his plan, already on his way towards the drunken shell of a man, Victor.

"Hey man! Having fun I see," Dean greeted Victor, taking the barstool next to him.

"Dë'éaån...! havEen't sEeN YuO in Agesss!" Victor launched himself to hug Dean like he was his life-long friend. Dean awkwardly hugged him back and waited for Victor to get back to his seat. Sam took a stand next to Dean, trying not to laugh at the sign of his brother and Victor reuniting.

Victor finally leaned back to his barstool, and only then he noticed Sam standing next to him.

"This is Sam, my brother." Dean introduced him.

"SäM! I'VE heard Of YoU!" Victor nearly giggled excitedly, "YeaHH DéaNie told ME a lot ábout you!"

"Oh Deanie? He has?" Sam looked at Dean amused. Dean gave him a look that clearly said, "shut up".

"So, Victor, How's it been?" Dean asked, smiling to Victor and leaning his elbow against the dirty bar counter.

Victor went on excitedly telling about his new job and new car and how they were expecting a second child with his wife, Hilda. He told them about his dump ass boss who thought he was a little bit more important than god himself and how he was planning on proposing to Hilda (Even tho they were already married. Dean knew it, but he had no heart to break it to Victor. That's how excited he was about proposing to her.) God, this dude had had about ten drinks too much.

"Hmm interesting. We heard about Sandra. Such a terrible thing." Dean shook his head.

"Yeah, must have been hard for you too, to be witnessing it." Sam added.

"Yup, I saw it with my own eyes too," Victors demeanor changed into a more serious one. It was clear the man was terrified of the memories he had.

"Saw what?" Dean asked, pretending not to know everything.

"The thing," Victors eyes locked with the wall in front of him. "It was not a human, I could tell, and no one, even the police, believed me. They said that maybe the killer had just dressed himself in a costume, but it was not a costume. It was floating, and it appeared out of nothing and disappeared into thin air."

"So Victor.. What did it do? Just came and left with Sandra?" Sam asked.

"No. I was walking behind her, not close to her, but the road was straight so I could see her all the time. I don't think she knew I was behind her. It was late...or early, a little bit before 4am. The streetlight were off, but the sun was just about to start rising so it wasn't pitch black, I swear. I SAW HER FINE." Victor started to yell suddenly and hit his fist into the bar counter.

"Woah, dude, we believe you." Dean tried to calm him down. Few people in the bar turned to look at them.

"Sorry it's just.. I saw it and no one believes me. The police claimed that I was drunk, and it was dark but...," Victor sighed. "She turned around, she was looking for something from her pockets, but she couldn't find it so she started to look from the ground and walk back. Towards me, she looked panicked even from far, and I was planning on asking from her if everything was fine once she came close enough but then.. Then the thing appeared. It was behind her, she never saw it, she was looking so closely to the ground. It reached out to touch her and then they both just disappeared. I called the police immediately, but they did nothing. They came and took me to jail for "prank calling". Then the next day Sandra's mom called about her being missing just as they were to let me go, they were about to take me as main suspect but then they took it back. I mean, for fuck's sake. And then her body was found."

"Hmm, That's something." Sam thought outloud.

"But there's something more weird." Victor looked betrified.

"And what's that?" Dean asked, taking a ship of his beer.

"Before the thing took Sandra, before it even appeared, the streeth lights... they all just blasted on, like fully on. The whole road was lit on like it was on fire." Victor said his voice shaking.

"The streetlights went on? Really? at night, aren't they supposed to be on?" Dean asked, a light amusement and disbelief in his voice.

"You don't get it, you outsider. They never ever put them on after 12am." He turned to look at Dean for the first time during their talk.

"Who's they?" Dean asked.

Victor was about to answer but then his eyes locked to the front door, right behind Dean. His face changed, it was like a new man morphied into him. This... a smile came to his face, like something super amusing was about to happen and he completely forgot the previous conversation that had brought this man into a state of true fear.

"Victor?" Dean asked, he was about to turn himself to check what had just walked through those doors but he didn't have to.

"Y/N, GIRLLL! Check who's hereee!" Victor yelled, he fully nearly screamed across the whole bar.

"God damn it, Victor." Dean

"Okay pal, It's your time to go home." A doorman walked over to Victor and grapped him by his upper arm.

"No please, we'll look after him, he'll behave." Sam tried to save Victor from being kicked out.

"Trust me, this one never does. I'm doing you a favor, you don't want to watch after him." The doorman laughed before escorting Victor out. Man he was drunk.

Dean's eyes locked with hers. She's so beautiful, He thought. She was wearing a black maxi dress, casual but sexy. Her hair was carefully done and she was wearing this...a god awful look on her face, like she had just withnessed something so disgusting it was classified as a crime. Oh, right, she had locked her eyes with Dean himself.

"Okay pall, it's your time to go home." A doorman came to stand next to Victor and grapped his upper arm.

"No, please. We'll look after him, he'll behave." Sam tried to save Victor from being kicked out.

"Trust me, he won't and you don't want to." The doorman said and escorted Victor out.

How dare he be here ruining the night? The one night I decide to go out and he's here, Y/N thought. She had been glaring the back of his head for 20 minutes now. He and Sam were still sitting in the same spot next to a bar counter they had been sitting since she and Joselyn arrived. They had took a table across the room but the bar was not big enough for Y/N to forget his presence.

"Like I will go get you some binoculars if you want me to." Joselyn commented. Joselyn had been sitting silently next to her friend.

"Sorry, I just... Why the fuck he needs to be here?" Y/N sighed, breaking her glare and turning to look at Joselyn.

"Free country I guess.. Anyways, I say we forget about him and have fun. Who's with me? I know I am." Joselyn grinned.

"suree," Y/N smiled. She promised she was going to try. She came to have a good night and one fuckboy wasn't going to stop that. besides, she know how annoying she was being and unfair to Joselyn. She too had had and experience of asking a friend out and then the friend is all obsessed over some and completely forgets her friend and original conversation subjects exist.

"I feel like im too old for this, sitting in a bar and beefing with a fuckboy. Like I didn't know fuckboys at this age existed anymore but apparently they do." Y/N shook his head.

"Trust me, they never go out of style. I bet there's a 87-year-old guy named Larry going around a nursing home breaking them old poor hearts." Joselyn giggled, "Let's go get drinks."

"No we can't" Y/N grapped Joselyns hand in panic, "He's literally right there next to a bar counter."

"I know and he's there for a purpose trying to pretend he didn't even see you but secretly waiting for you to go get a drink." Joselyn pointed out, "I'll go, you wait here."

"Okay but don't say anything to him." Y/N wasn't sure if she trusted her friend with this task.

"I would never!" Joselyn acted like she was hurt by her even thinking she'd do such a think and then winked at her and turned on her heels to trot to the bar counter.

Y/N pulled her phone from her handbag and started scrolling through it. She had no notifications, not a single text or anything but she still went through her phone, pretending she had like atleast thousand messages to reply. To her defence, feeling awkward when left alone at a bar was a really common feeling and distracting yourself with a weather app was a common response.

She had already checked next week's weather in Dimdale, Vancouver and Dallas when Joselyn finally came back with a tray with four drinks and four shots on it.

"Woah, what's all this?" Y/N looked at the tray in shock almost.

"Our drinks! Two drinks and two shots for you, same for me." Joselyn said and started to sort out the drinks on the table.

"Are we gonna like crawl back home from here?" Y/N giggled.

"No I was planning on passing out on the toilet and then taking a ambulance but you can take build-in the four-wheeler if you feel like it." Joselyn joked.

"truth or drink?" Joselyn asked, "But even if you pick truth you still have to drink tho."

"Okay, sure." Y/N was pretty sure she knew what was coming so she just picked up the first shot she got and downed it.

"What happened between you and Dean? You never talk about it and don't take this the wrong way but it was only like under a year old undefined long-distance relationship and you''ve been like shit about it for years after." Joselyn asked, she had always been curious.

"Well, I just.. It just sucked." Short but effective answer.

"Breakups usually do...And?" Joselyn didn't settle for that.

"I just really liked him. Like really, truly liked liked him.." Y/N continued

"Huge crush you had, I remember," Joselyn added. She knew Y/N maybe even had fallen in love but she knew better than poke at that. But two years crying over it was still a bit much she thought.

"Yeah, sure.," Y/N took her second shot and then drank little bit of her mixed drink to get the taste of alcohol out of her mouth, "He was the first guy I truly liked liked and I felt like it was mutual and I knew he had this job and all and he was away a lot and he never really even lived here but I feel like it was worth the wait and maybe even worth like you know.. eventually moving with him if it got that serious. And before he left me he gave me this ring.."

Joselyn gasped and took a sip of her drink. She was really into the story like she was watching a reality tv.

"Not a engagement ring you idiot!" Y/N laughed at her friends shocked expression, "It was just an old ring, he said it was special to him. It was really pretty tho. he said that he wanted me to have it. However, then two weeks later, he was supposed to be back in a week yet he calls me that he's not gonna come and that I should lose his number."

"No way!" Joselyn gasped again.

"Yeah, the way that he did it, like he couldn't even wait a week to get here and dump me face to face. I just know he lied about something and you know what I think it is?" Y/N turned to look check if Dean was still sitting where he had been. He was, he said something to Sam. "I think he lived a double live. I mean think of it."

"Yeah it does sound suspicios." Joselyn agreed.

"I tried to google this so called 'Family business' and nothing, not a single result nanywhere and his whole story was that the business was one of the fields best so kinda weird it's nowhere to be found.I think he had another woman, or like I was the another woman. And she must have found out and he panic because clearly he chose her." Y/N secretly wished she had third shot but she didn't.

"in that case not your lose girl, not your lose." Joselyn shook her head.

"I guess." She didn't see it as black and white, "Anyways, I think I know why he's now back. I think he wants to propose and needs the ring back."

"NO WAY" Joselyn yelped.

"shhhhhhh!" Y/N didn't dare to check who had turned around to look at them.

"Yup, I think he wants to propose with it and have it back but because he's such a dump ass liar he can't even be honest and ask it back but he has to put all of this show of being back in town with his brother. Sam even came talk to me and was like 'Idk what happened but I'm sorry blaahblaah' and trying to befriend me. I think Dean has put Sam in the business so he could ask the ring back because, i don't know, maybe they think i wouldn't give it back to him." Y/N said.

"Would you tho? Do you even have it anymore?" Joselyn knitted her eyebrows.

Y/N laughed a little bit, "Of course I have, I mean all of his other stuff he had left I threw away but I wouldn't throw away something he said was special to him. It's just a ring i mean, if he said it was special it had to have background story.."

"But don't you think it's bit weird he'd give the ring to you if he planned to propose with it one day?" The way Joselyn worded her gueston hurt Y/N feeling a little bit.

Truthfully, Y/N had felt her whole life that she was somewhat 'unloveable', like she just wasn't good enough for someone to love. And before Dean she had felt nearly invisiable and like she had to plant herself infront of people for them to even notice her and like beg for them to be with her and even then, if they happened to see her, they only wanted sex, sort time pleasure from her and nothing else. But with Dean, it had felt different. It had felt like she didn't have to try so hard to be loved and valued. She wasn't gonna admit it outloud but she thought she had loved him and that he loved her too but when it had begun clear that was not the case, it had broke her in ways she didn't even know her spirit could be broken. So for even Joselyn to guestion why he would give the ring to her made her feel stupid. Like had she fallen for a stupid lie? What it that transparent that he hadn't loved her,

"I don't know why he gave it to me. Maybe he was trying to keep the show on. I thought that maybe he lied and the ring was just a ring but why else would they be back? There's literally nothing else here for them exept the ring?" she replied, she felt herself getting drunk and she also felt a lump starting to form in her throat. Great.

She hated him, more than anything. She felt stupid, like she had walked around with rose pink glasses on thinking she had a love of her life next to her and he had let her believe that. And then she maybe was just a side chick. She couldn't proof it but she knew he had lied about something so if not that then what?.

"Yeah so that's that. That's his crime, that's what happened" Y/N leaned back in her seat. She wasn't feeling too well.

"I have to go to toilet," Y/N said and got up.

As she walked to the toilet she could feel her eyes watering and legs thumbling. She was more drunk than she thought she had been. But she was not going to cry in public, not over him.

But as she reached the bathroom and the door closed, she just felt tears escaping her eyes no matter how she tried to fight it.

"Stop it, you crybaby." She whispered to herself and she was going to insult herself more but she heard the door open. It was probably Joselyn, she probably noticed Y/N was crying.

"What happened?" concerned voice asked.

"I -" Y/n was about to start sobbing to her best friend but then she realized she was not in the room with her, "You nasty donkey what are you doing here? It's women's bathroom.

"Why are you crying?" Dean asked again, crossing his arms infront of her. Y/N tried to go around him and leave but he just stepped infront of her, blocking her exit.

"I'm not crying!" It came out in a full angry sob.

Dean trying to take a hold of her face and wipe her tears with his thumb but Y/N pushed his hands away.

"Don't touch me:" She hissed.

"Y/N please, I'm begging you. Don't be like this," Dean plead.

"Like what?" she asked him. Secretly she was glad she had done something that bothered him enough for him to ask her to stop.

"Don't be so angry and passive-agressive all the time and don't push me away constantly. Just tell me what happened?" He grapped her by her arms gently but firmly.

"I'm crying because..." Y/N started, "I just learned that when sloths mate the female sloth will climb up a tree and scream till a male finds her. And that just really moved me to tears."

"Very funny, very clever Y/N" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Isn't it." Y/N gave him a sarcastic smile and she could tell he was not happy at all about her behaviour. She thought that maybe he was getting a little bit angry too, "Would that work on you?" She asked.

"You can try." He looked her up and down.

"Do you want just like a full scream or would you prefer some pronunciation in there? Like maybe even a full phrase like ´somebody help me, There's a man in wome's bathroom!´ or something like that."

"You're in men's bathroom." Dean pointed out.

"No, i'm not."

"Yes, you are you sloppy drunk." Dean smiled a little bit but not in a malicious way. He thought it was cute how disoriented she was now that she was not fully crying anymore.

Y/N looked to her right, there indeed was a row of urinals that had not caught her attention earlier.

"So did you follow me here or did you just come here to have a shit?" Y/N asked and now she felt like crying again. She really thought he had came in for her.

"Maybe I came in to watch out for my fellow pals," He smirked, he had that smirk. Y/N stared at his lips. He noticed. She was going to tell him to go fuck himself just out of habbit at this point but then he pushed her against the bathroom wall and pressed his lips to hers.

She was going to push him away but her hands betrayed her, instead, they wrapped themselves around his neck. His skin was soft and his lips moved gently with hers. She could smell his musky aftershave. She tried to take a step and leave but her legs didn't listen to her either. Instead her right leg lifted itself up and pressed her thigh against the side of his hip. She could feel tingles at the bottom of her stomach. Dean grapped the back of her thighs and her legs, without a premision, wrapped themselves around him. Her hands wandered into his hair, pulling his soft hair a little bit. She could feel his tongue slid into her mouth and his stubble rubbed against her chin. she loved hated the taste of him so much. His fingers digged into the flesh of her thighs as he hold her body, pressing her more inbetween the wall and himself. she wanted him to kiss her deeply and tell her that whatever he had done before was a mistake and he loved her and wanted to be with her and he was ready to do what ever it took to proof to her that she was worthy of her trust and that there was no other woman and that she was everything to him fuck off, she wanted him to fuck off.

Someone moaned and Y/N realised it was her. Did I just fucking moan?? She thought, oh no.

He smiled into her lips, he had heard that. He was about to break the kiss and ask her if they should leave it for later and if she'd let him by her a drink (non-alcoholic because she had had enough) but she broke the kiss first.

"What do you think you're doing?" She sounded angry, again, per usual.

"Uhm.." Dean looked genuinedly suprised, and a little bit hurt. He put her down, carefully holding her till she found her balance.

"Y/N, I thought..." Dean started to apologize but what cut off.

"Don't think." She hissed and stormed out of the bathroom...

Next part (x)

// this chapter was literal hell to write. I lost it like 2 times because tumblr hates me and had to rewrite it so sorry if there's apnormal amount on typos, I tried to edit it the best I could.

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x female!reader

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atlasxspeaks · 1 year

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I love the idea of Tsu’tey adopting Spider so here are some headcanons I have of that old grumpy guy raising his little son.

Tsu’tey’s injuries from the Great War caused him a lot of mobility issues. He often wakes up in pain from stiff joints and muscle spasms. To help, Spider will crawl over him and lay on whatever limb is hurting him to most in the morning because his body puts off a lot of heat and relaxes his muscles. He’s like a little heat pack.

Spider originally did need to wear his mask constantly, but over time, through constant communion with Eywa, she changes his lungs to be able to breathe the air. He doesn’t tell anyone though, because it happens years into him realizing nothing he can do will make most see past his humanness. Tsu’tey, however, finds out after seeing Spider lift his mask to shove a large piece of fruit in his mouth that he specifically told Spider not to eat.

Spider’s English is abysmal. He barely has the patience to sit through the normal lessons he gets from Mo’at and some of the other elders who like him, let alone enough to go to Hell’s Gate to learn about Earth. Mo’at scolds Tsu’tey for slacking in teaching Spider his native language, but he isn’t too worried about it.

Tsu’tey’s biggest mistake as a parent (in his mind) is letting Spider believe his hiss was intimidating. It was the best thing in the world for Tsu’tey when Spider was a baby. But then came a stint of time where Spider would hiss openly at anyone when annoyed which just made his reputation among villagers worst. The kids who made fun of him got bitten, mask be damned, which does not help his case.

Despite his short stature, Spider can actually fight and hold his own against fully grown Na’vi. Tsu’tey teaches him how to strike fast and hard, going for weak points in Na’vi anatomy and focusing on their legs and feet, places Spider can reach easily and do a fair amount of damage. This does mean Spider gets into a larger number of fights with other Na’vi adolescents compared to canon.

Spider is still best friends with Lo'ak and Kiri in this AU, much to Tsu'tey's dismay. He likes them well enough, Lo'ak is kind of loud and Kiri has an unnerving tendency to stare directly into his soul when talking, but overall they're good kids. He does wish they would stop eating him out of house and home though.

In canon, Tsu’tey has a brother named Arvok, who lives with them. Tsu’tey also takes in Tarsem, whose entire family died in the fall of Home Tree. He and Arvok are best friends, so it makes sense for him to live with them. The boys are like Spider’s brothers, but they pull out the "We're your uncles" card whenever he’s not listening to them or when they want to get out of doing chores.

Regardless of who you ship Spider with, Tsu’tey would find a fault in them. Neteyam? Too obedient to his parents, he needs to rebel more. Lo’ak? Too rebellious, he will get Spider killed doing one of his hair-brain stunts. Kiri? Eywa help him; she’s too much of everything. Any of the Metkayina kids? It’s laughable you’d even think for a second he’d let Spider marry into another clan.

Spider has an ikran in this AU cause I say he does. He finds a baby ikran abandoned during one of the trials he attends with his father. She’s the runt, too small and weak to fly with her family away from their nest back to their roost. Spider takes pity on her and nurses her back to health, hiding her away so no one knows because it’s technically illegal to raise an ikran. She imprints on Spider and the rest is history once Tsu’tey finds out she exists. He’s adamant they cannot keep her but one look from their combined puppy eyes breaks his will.

Tsu’tey and Spider’s ikran have the same relationship as those dads who say they hate the dog and then the dog becomes their best friend. When Spider gets kidnapped, Tsu’tey spends several nights awake with only the ikran for company, praying and begging Eywa to bring his son back to him.

Spider overall was a pretty healthy child, but there was one time when he got very sick and slipped into a coma. The scientists genuinely thought he wouldn’t make it for a while. This is the first time Tsu’tey has ever contemplated suicide, something that is forbidden under Eywa’s laws. He cannot imagine a life without Spider. The second time is after he’s taken by the RDA, but seeing Spider’s friends rally to try and get him bad makes him push the thoughts away.

After the battle at Three Brothers Rock, Neteyam lives but is mortally injured. The combined knowledge of Norm, Max, Ronal, and Mo’at is the only thing that keeps the boy from being paralyzed for life, but he’s essentially got the same disabilities as Tsu’tey now. And he’s a shell of himself. Tsu’tey doesn’t really have time to focus on him, though, because Spider is in just as bad shape as Neteyam, but mentally. After weeks of seeing both boys break down physically and mentally, Tsu’tey comes up with an idea. He gives both boys the task of planting and raising a plant together. Almost everyone thinks he’s crazy for this, but after a few weeks of watching their efforts to make this tiny plant bloom, they see that their moods have improved. Neteyam does his physical activity more to get outside and care for the plant, and Spider uses the plant as an outlet to air thoughts he knows would devastate his family.

When asked how he knew making them care for a plant would help, Tsu’tey simply replies by saying that the only thing that saved him after his injuries was Spider. Carrying for another helpless creature forced you, in turn, to care for yourself. His son saved his life.

#spider socorro #dad!tsu’tey #tsu’tey te rangloa ateyitan

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 7 months

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𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Yandere Dick Grayson x GN Reader

❥ Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: This is basically just Dick metronoming between overly-coddling, emotionally distant, cool older brother, and scary. And also everyone collectively shaving 30 years off of Alfred’s life.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: platonic sibling yandere content, older brother Dick Grayson, younger sibling reader, non-vigilante reader, adopted reader, slow burn yandere(?), the pacing is very a-day-in-the-life-esque, overbearing Dick Grayson, lowkey-infantilism, flu-shot/needles (barely mentioned), emotionally constipated Bruce, estranged father Bruce, Dick is a liar (his pants are indeed on fire), Dick just knows shit somehow, Dick’s lowkey a dick, scary Dick Grayson.

“It’ll just be a little poke, kid. You’ll be fine.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes at the man’s babying, you couldn’t find the courage to do so. It had nothing to do with the upcoming needle (well, thinking about it may or may not have made you the tiniest bit apprehensive, but that’s besides the point). Rather, for the past 30 minutes or so, you’ve been haunted by the words of the lady at the front desk.

“A walk-in for flu shots today?”

A walk-in.

Dick said this was an appointment.

The whole reason why you were missing school today was because of this appointment. Dick scheduled it under the pretense that it was a Saturday rather than a Friday, and that’s why you were running around doing errands with him all morning instead of making up that damn world history test. So why the hell did she call it a walk-in instead of an appointment?

Of course, while you so desperately wanted an answer, there’s no way in hell you were asking; not after whatever… that… was earlier.

The absence of your response must’ve been translated as nervousness. “Hey,” Dick softly began, “it’ll be okay. I’ll be right here, alright?”

Before you could even think of what to respond with, the doctor walked in with a trey of needed utensils. When it was set down on the counter, you spotted the needle and packet of alcohol wipes, and you couldn’t help but quirk a brow at the array of different bandaids. There was the typical neutral type, but there was also ones with fun patterns, like rocket ships or flowers. The one with a classic comic book style caught your eye as the doctor began to talk.

“Sorry for the small wait,” she said, ripping open the packet of alcohol wipes. “Lots of people coming in for the flu shot.”

“‘Tis the season,” Dick chimed next to you.

You fought the urge to scoff at the doctor’s polite chuckle. Don’t validate his ego…

After instructing you to roll up your sleeve, she gently swabbed your upper arm with the cold alcohol wipe, the strong stench hitting your nose like a truck. Once that was done, she turned towards the counter to prep the needed, and you let out a small sigh. Once this was over with, you could finally go home and hide in your room for the rest of the day. It would finally grant you refuge from a whole day spent running around with Dick (he could be a fun guy, sure, but the awkward air of the morning was still lingering in the back of your brain, and you wanted some time to yourself to actually figure out what the hell the deal was).

A warm hand suddenly engulfed yours, causing you to flinch from surprise.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Dick assured, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “You can always squeeze my hand if you need to.”

Your teeth aggressively bit down on the inside of your cheek. There were many things you wanted to say — “dude, I’m not a baby,” “the coddling is so weird,” “what the hell is up with you” — but you held them back the best you could, barely even registering the small prick in your arm until the needle was being pulled out.

“All done,” the doctor announced. You watched her put down the syringe on the tray as she picked up the different assortment of bandaids. “Hope you’re not too old for fun patterns. I’ve got tiger stripes, flowers, stars, butterflies…”

You obviously picked the comic book one, which you immediately regretted after hearing Dick’s small chortle (was he seriously making fun of you for choosing the objectively coolest looking bandaid?). As soon as the bandaid flaps were carefully rolled onto your upper arm, the doctor told you that the soreness should last for a couple of days, and before you knew it, you were hopping off of the chair and ready to go.

“Told ya you’d be fine,” Dick cooed, one of his hands coming up to pat your head. As if that wasn’t enough to rub you the wrong way, the doctor had the nerve to giggle at you two. Why was she endorsing this bastard’s behavior?!

And it gets worse. Because of course it does. After her little schoolgirl giggle, she let out a humored awww. Like she found your torment adorable in some sick way. You weren’t even worried about this to begin with, so what’s with all the infantilism, huh?!

God, I just wanna go home…

He was out for the night; you had to double, triple check just to make sure. Hell, you even looked up the Nightwing-sightings Twitter account to confirm that he was, in fact, out of the house (fortunately, a video of him grappling to Bludhäven’s Orthodox Cathedral was posted 7 minutes ago, which meant he was on the other side of the city). When you were 100% absolutely certain that — beyond a shadow of a doubt — he wasn’t hiding somewhere in the apartment for whatever reason, you took a few deep breaths and conjured up the bravery to hit the “call” button on your phone.

… Beeeeeeeeep…

“Master (Y/N), is everything alright?”

A small sigh of relief left your lips. Alfred’s voice sounded fully awake, and you could even hear the clinking of dishes in the background of the call. Not even questioning why the butler was doing dishes at midnight, you tried to make your voice sound casual. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just wanted to check up on the manor.”

“It’s a rather rare night, here. For once, Master Bruce is asleep upstairs at this hour.” His tone then shifted to something more pointed. “Much like you should be.”

“And you,” you shot back. “Why are you awake if Bruce isn’t?”

“I’ve found myself working on The Batman’s schedule,” the old man explained, speaking over the squeak of a cabinet. “I usually don’t sleep for another couple of hours, when Master Bruce returns from his nightly activities.”

Well, that explains why breakfast is closer to lunch in Wayne Manor. Before he could return the question, you decided to cut to the chase. “Do you think it’d be okay if I tried to call him sometime? Or sent him a text?”

“I believe a call would be an excellent idea.” You could’ve sworn you heard a chortle on the other end. “A text would give him the leeway to procrastinate, and possibly never answer. It’s better to catch him off-guard.”

Something about having to surprise-attack your own adoptive father with a conversation made your chest feel heavy. While you figured out very early on he didn’t like socializing (must suck to be a playboy billionaire CEO and an introvert at the same time), did he really want to avoid talking to you that badly? Ouch…

“Well,” you awkwardly shifted on your bed, “when’s the best time to call him, then?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that,” replied Alfred. “But I’ll be sure to let you know when the opportunity arises. It’s about time the two of you actually talked, after all. Even if it’s just a simple hello.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. If you were reading in between the lines correctly, Alfred was suggesting that a call with Bruce at this rate would be a simple, “hi, how are you, how’s it going,” exchange. Which, okay, makes sense, considering your adoptive father may as well be a stranger at this point (you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you had to reintroduce yourself to him), but that meant it was going to take a while before you could even consider asking him if you could move back into the manor.

Which meant you were stuck in Blüdhaven for an indefinite amount of time.

Okay, it’s not like living with Dick is the worst thing ever. He’s starting to get weird, sure, but all of your basic needs are met, and you’ve got the added benefit of having Nightwing as your older brother, probably making you the safest kid in Blüdhaven right now. If anything, you were being totally ridiculous right now; trying to get in touch with your reclusive adoptive father — who obviously wants nothing to do with you at the moment — just because you didn’t want to talk to Dick about his weird behaviors.

(In other words, you’re opting to avoid the problem altogether instead of addressing it. Why does that sound eerily familiar…)

But nevertheless, even before Dick started to get weird, you’ve been extremely anxious about your relationship with Bruce (or lack thereof). It’d be nice to put your best foot forward and try to make up for being a burden to him.

“I’ll take what I can get,” you sadly admitted. “I just hope I don’t make him upset.”

“I can assure you, Master Bruce would be more than thrilled that you’re reaching out to him.” Ah. So now Alfred’s reverted to lying to you. “Now, it’s about time you get some sleep, don’t you think? Master Dick would be most displeased that you’re taking up The Batman schedule yourself.”

You tried to ignore the way your stomach churned at the mention of Dick. “I guess so… goodnight, Alfred.”

“Good night, Master (Y/N). I hope your next call is at a more reasonable hour for the sake of your sleep cycle.”

And, with that, the call ended.

Just in time to hear the window in the living room open.

“The Flash.”

“Fortnite.”

“Superman.”

“Wordscapes.”

“Green Lantern.”

“Which one?”

“Uh… the one with the brown swoopy hair.”

“Halo.”

“Wonder Woman.”

“Minecraft.”

The sputter you let out almost made you lose your focus. “Wonder Woman plays Minecraft?!”

“Not often,” Dick elaborated, “she only started playing because she saw Donna has it.”

You spared him a glance, though quickly returned your attention back to the computer screen on your lap. “Who’s Donna?”

“Well, you might’ve known her as Wondergirl…” the way that Dick referred to her in the past tense made your heart drop, “but she’s been bouncing between Darkstar and Troia recently. Lots of people still call her Wondergirl.”

Oh, thank god. She’s not dead. “Didn’t take Wondergirl for a Minecraft player.”

“She wanted to play with the rest of the Titans,” was Dick’s simple reply. “We’re hoping she doesn’t check in with the server, though, cuz Wally accidentally blew up part of her house and I don’t think any of us have fixed it yet.”

“And Wally’s Kid Flash,” you presumed, barely registering Dick’s hum of approval after you watched your character get knocked off the track. “Should’ve known the Titans are a bunch of gamers.”

Dick chuckled. “I don’t know about all that. We don’t get to play with each other often, with how busy our lives are, but it’s a nice way to goof around during the holidays.”

“What do you guys play?” You had to fight the urge to let out a curse upon seeing you got 1st place stolen from you. Total bullshit. “Besides Minecraft and, y’know, Garfield Kart.”

“Okay, to set the record straight, I’ve only played Garfield Kart once.”

“Mhm.”

“And Wally thought it would be funny.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I figured it was fine to only spend 5 dollars on a game I knew I’d play once.”

“Why’s it still in your library, then?”

“Because I still spent money on it,” Dick retorted, his arms gesturing wildly in the air. “Might as well keep it just in case Wally wants us to play it again!”

“You’re getting oddly defensive about this.”

“Cuz it’s the truth!”

“Alright, then. Let’s see.” You dragged the mouse down to his dock and clicked on Steam, pulling up his library tab. “You have a total of 5 hours in Garfield Kart.”

“All from one night,” Dick tried to justify.

“You guys were playing Garfield Kart for 5 hours straight?”

“Roy was having connection issues!!”

“There’s no— I’m calling bullshit!!”

“I’m not making this up, I swear it’s the truth!!”

“Nah, man,” you were fighting through your giggling fits as best as you could. “I don’t believe it. 5 hours in Garfield Kart over connection issues??”

“I have witnesses!!” Dick started to fish into the pocket of his sweatpants for his phone. “I’m calling Wally right now. He’s gonna tell you the exact same shit, and you gonna formally apologize to me with a third party present to…”

Something on his phone screen made him trail off.

You at first thought it was because he couldn’t multitask between pulling up Wally’s contact information and talking. But his fingers weren’t doing anything, instead stagnantly clutching his phone. He looked to be reading something, like a notification on his lock screen. You watched in real time as his humored smile (a genuine smile, not a Richard Grayson smile), dropped into a deep frown. The switch up was enough to kill your own smile, brows knitting together as you asked, “what is it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he muttered a curse under his breath and abruptly stood from his seat on the couch to make a b-line for his room. The door slamming shut caused your shoulders to jerk upwards, the sound echoing through your brain as you quickly put the pieces together; Nightwing was needed.

Low muttering came from his room — probably a phone call, though you weren’t a hundred percent certain on that — making you wonder just what the hell was going on. Was this a Gotham emergency? Titans emergency? Hell, even a Justice League emergency (if that’s the case, it’s a bit weird to think that Leaguers just text each other when they need back-up, but then again, you’re not entire sure what else they would do… there’s probably a whole system to it that you wouldn’t understand).

Dick’s bedroom door swinging up snapped you out of your thoughts, your pseudo brother now dressed in his Nightwing costume with his phone up to his ear. “I’ll call you back over comms. Just give me a minute, okay?” He then hung up, tossing his phone onto the couch and making his way to the window. “Duty calls, kid.” The pane of glass automatically slid open at his touch. “Leftovers are in the fridge if I come back late.” Before you could even ask what was going on, he jabbed a finger at you in an accusatory manner. “Stay put. You hear me?”

You thickly swallowed. “Try not to cause any explosions this time.”

A ghost of a smile danced on his features, and, within a blink of an eye, he was gone.

The apartment was eerily quiet now. Just a few minutes prior, you were laughing and carrying on about what games each Leaguer played, and now this happened. God, the vigilante lifestyle is one hell of a rollercoaster.

You’ve long forgotten about Garfield Kart, setting the laptop right next to where Dick’s phone landed on the couch. Instead, you tried to focus on taking deep breaths to keep your anxiety at bay. Dick was going to be fine. He’s always come home before, this time should be no different, right?

“I bet this is what Alfred thinks about Bruce,” you humorously thought out loud.

It’s probably what he thought about Jason, too.

… Not helping.

Taking another deep breath, you wrapped your arms around yourself and sank further into the couch. He’s going to be fine. If he’s coming in as backup, then that means he won’t be alone. Other heroes will have his back and make sure nothing bad happens.

“He’ll be fine,” you had to reassure yourself.

Everything’s fine.

Thunkthunk…

…

Thunkthunkthunkthunk…

…

Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk…

Okay, either a giant bug was trying to get into your room in the middle of the night, or someone was at your window.

Your first thought was to ignore it. What if it was a murderer or a robber? There’s no way in hell you’re about to find out when Dick still hasn’t returned. That’s when you remembered, oh yeah, Dick still hasn’t returned, and that very well could’ve been him. Why was he trying to get into your room instead of the easy-access, less conspicuous window in the living room? No idea. But you decided to risk it anyway, rolling out of bed to face the window.

Sure enough, sticking outside of the building like an overgrown spider was Blüdhaven’s very own Nightwing, his blue stripes shimmering under the full moon. You could slightly make out the sheepish expression on his face as he asked, “could you let me in?”

If your brain wasn’t still foggy with sleep, you probably would’ve been an asshole and toyed with him for a bit, but it was too late for that. Flipping the window’s switch, the locking mechanism came undone with a resonate click, and you pathetically struggled to slide the glass upwards (in your defense, Bat-certified security windows are kinda heavy). Sparing you from further embarrassment, Dick helped out on his end. You found it unfair that he was able to make it look easy with one hand.

“You’re home,” you tiredly noted, allowing relief to flood your senses. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s alright.” As soon as he took a couple steps forward, you realized that everything was not alright. He seemed to be favoring his left leg over his right, limping towards your bed and sitting himself down on it as gracefully as he could. “Just some business in Gotham, is all.”

Your brows furrowed at how dismissive he was. “What happened to your leg?”

He didn’t answer for a few moments, instead working on tearing his domino mask off (there was an inky black substance left around his eyes, and you wondered if it was some sort of adhesive for his mask or something like that). “Uh… nothing too bad. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Nothing too bad,” you flatly echoed. “What does that mean?”

“Minor scratch,” he half-heartedly replied.

“… Right.” You didn’t believe him, but you couldn’t see any sort of obvious dents or deformities to his leg, so at least there was that. “So, is the living room window broken, or…?”

“Jammed,” was his curt answer.

For whatever reason, his total vagueness was starting to get on your nerves. Not only is he keeping you in the dark about what happened in Gotham, but he’s obviously lying about his leg and now reverting to giving you one-word answers. You also didn’t like how nonchalant he was being, like this has been scripted and rehearsed several times (god, he must’ve been a menace for Bruce and Alfred back in the day).

“Probably should get that fixed, then,” you said through a yawn.

“Yup.” He even popped the p. What a jackass. “Was everything fine while I was away?”

Christ. Even when asking a how were things question he sounds so dismissive. Maybe it was just because he was so tired after a long day. You should probably stop assuming he does everything out of pure condescending intent and general assholery. “Yeah, every—”

The sound of your phone ringing cut your answer short. Before you could make a move, Dick leaned across your bed to inspect your device picking it up and reading the caller ID. “It’s Alfred,” he chirped. Now, you would think he would hand the phone over to you (you know, cuz you’re the actual owner of the device), but you were grimly reminded that Dick was still the biggest bastard you know when he answered the call himself, bringing it up to his ear and greeting Alfred with a simple, “yo.”

“Dick, what the fuck are you doing,” you whispered, hoping that Alfred couldn’t hear you curse from the other end. You reached for your device, but he easily caught your hand with his free one.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said over the line. He continued to talk with that stupid nonchalant tone, and from how Alfred’s voice bellowed out of your phone, you could tell the butler wasn’t having it. Attempted to obtain the device again, you swiped at it with your freehand, only for Dick to catch you off guard by pulling you towards his chest. You barely had time to start squirming before he locked you in place under his arm. “I’m fine, Alfred,” he said after he managed to finagle you onto his uninjured leg. “Honest. I am.”

Now that you were at a closer proximity, you could vaguely make out what Alfred was saying. “You had me scared to death, boy!! The least you could’ve done was answer your communicator, you know!!”

“Didn’t hear you trying to contact me,” he sheepishly replied, an almost chuckle spilling from his lips. “My comm must be jammed after the impact. Sorry, Alfred.”

First the window’s jammed, now his comm’s jammed. Why is everything jammed tonight?

… Also, what’s this about an impact?

“You’ve outgrown the manor and yet you’re still fixed on giving us heart attacks,” Alfred exasperatedly sighed. “Master Bruce was worried you were—”

“Hey, hey,” Dick reassured. “I’m okay, alright?”

You took this as an opportunity to speak up. “No, he’s not!! He did someth—gmgfhfmhm!!”

Dick partially stopped constricting your body to slam your face into his chest, muffling the rest of your sentence.

“… Master Dick, are you hurt?”

“No, Alfred.” A bit of venom laced Dick’s words, but he was quick to recover. “I’m fine. (Y/N)’s just being a little brat again.”

From the small beat of silence, you 100% knew Alfred was not buying Dick’s bullshit. But there wasn’t much the old man could do to call him out for it over the phone. “Well, then, how is Master (Y/N)? You seemed very worried over how they were—”

Dick didn’t even let Alfred finish. “They’re fine, but up way past their bedtime.”

… Wait a minute.

“Master (Y/N),” Alfred chided, this time directly talking to you. “What did I tell you about getting your proper rest?”

This. Mother. Fucker.

You tried to swivel your head out of his chest to A.) breathe again, and B.) give him a deadly glare. Why the fuck was he throwing you under the bus when he was the one that woke you up in the first place?! God, as soon as he lets you loose, you were gonna let him have it.

“It’sh no’muy fauh,” you defended, your words distorted from your cheek being smushed against Dick’s body. Unfortunately, Alfred still allowed his disapproval to shine through with yet another sigh, mumbling something about how everyone in this family is a hazard.

“Don’t worry, Alfred.” Dick shifted you on his lap so you were no longer being manhandled like a teddy bear. “I’ll get them to bed right now. Tell Bruce I’m fine, alright?”

“You should tell him yourself, boy!! He’s been trying to call you non—”

Dick then did the unthinkable; hang up on Alfred.

Oh, hell no. Absolutely not. You do not hang up on Alfred while he’s mid-chastising. Even if he’s a massive douche, Dick should know better than this, especially considering he was practically raised by the man.

So, as soon as he unceremoniously tossed your phone back onto your bedside table, you got vengeance on behalf of the butler.

CHOMP.

“OW!!” Dick unraveled his arm from your form, trying to rip his hand out of your mouth. “You little brat!! What the hell?!”

“Urr fveeinn uh pphrickhh!!”

Be some miracle, he managed to pry your teeth off of him, wiping the saliva off of his glove. “Care to repeat that, you vile creature?”

Spitting the taste of latex out of your mouth, you tried again. “You’re being a prick!! Why are you lying to everyone, huh?! I was worried, Alfred’s worried, Bruce is worried, and here you are, waving everyone off like it’s nothing?! What the hell even happened out there, huh?!”

Dick’s expression hardened. “(Y/N), it’s way too late for this.”

“No!! Don’t even do that!!” You shoved jabbed a finger into his chest. “You can’t come in here waking me up at… whatever the fuck hour it is right now and brush everything to the side!! You’re obviously hurt, dipped out on everyone over in Gotham without a word, have Alfred and apparently Bruce try to get in touch with you cuz they didn’t know what the fuck happened to you, and you expect me to not want any answers?! What’s your problem?!”

“My problem is that I have a high schooler yelling in my face like a 3rd grader,” Dick bitterly snapped. “People are trying to sleep right now, (Y/N)! What if you wake the one of the neighbors and they file a noise complaint?!”

“Wha— don’t try to change the—”

He grabbed your forearms tightly, catching you off guard and killing your sentence then and there. His tone got dangerously low as he pulled you closer to him. “I’m serious, (Y/N). Cut it out. Now’s not the time for this. Can’t you just listen to me for once?!”

… This was unfair. He’s trying to pull some intimidating authority bullshit on you, all to avoid actually answering you. It was so painfully obvious that’s what he was doing.

And yet, despite knowing that…

That look was back in his eyes.

It was the same coldness that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, vocal cords constricting as though your very subconscious was warning your brain to shut the fuck up as a self-preservation tactic. A ghost hand was creeping up your spine, sending electric signals of unease through your shoulders and into your skin.

Something was wrong again.

Something was so wrong again.

Even if you know this was all just some cheap intimidation tactic, it sure as hell was working.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your head away so you didn’t have to continue eye contact with him. “But this isn’t over, okay?”

Dick didn’t have anything to say to that. Rather, he picked you up from his lap gently, setting you back down on your bed. “Get some sleep. Okay, kiddo? It’s been a long night.”

You merely hummed, watching him carefully. His calculating gaze — which still held that weird edge — scanned over your form before a certified Richard Grayson smile tugged at the corner of his lips. After a few seconds of just staring at you, he turned towards the door and began to limp out the room.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“… ‘Night, Dick.”

Your door squeaked open, then softly clicked shut.

After he was gone, it dawned upon you that you were holding in your breath. Allowing yourself the gift of oxygen, you flopped back down on your bed, mulling over the timeline of the day. Hours prior, Dick left for a Gotham emergency, must’ve done something to fuck up his leg (you recall him saying something about an impact to Alfred), left for Blüdhaven without telling anyone, ignored comms because they were jammed, woke you up because the Bat Door (the living room window) was also jammed, and then the phone call with Alfred.

And also him being weird again (the scary weird this time, not the coddling weird), but you didn’t really wanna think about that right now.

In fact, if you were being honest, you realized you were too tired to think about everything else, as well. It really has been a long day, and you weren’t even the one dealing with Gotham bullshit (no, your job was to deal with Bat bullshit… batshit). All this dismissive lying shit really tuckers a kid out.

So, as your eyelids began to flutter shut, you could only mutter one last thing;

“… What the fuck is happening.”

#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ LIFE WITH OLDER BROTHER #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ PLATONIC YANDERE #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON X READER

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veala2 · 1 year

Text

“ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ.”

fluff prompt: “I thought you knew that you’ve always been my favourite.”

SYNOPSIS - After joining the Whitebeard pirates, you start to lose the sense of belonging you once had, only thinking of yourself as the “non- favourite.” Ace quickly reminds you something you should have realized sooner than later.

CW - gn!reader, could be either seen as romantic or platonic, up to you, angst but ends up fluffy as hell.

A/N - works killing me, but I managed to find the time to make this. I have a soft spot for writing Ace because he’s so damn cute!

“Y’know, I think the old man is going easy on us.”

The wind blew gently through the air of the hilltops that you’ve been travelling through with your pirate partner, 2nd commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, Ace. It had been about a year since the two of you met, after joining Whitebeard at his request.

The two of you often got sent on missions where you defeat certain pests that Whitebeard wants to “shut up”, as he would say.

In turn with you helping him in battle (and other things where he might be challenged), he trains you to be stronger and defend yourself in the heat of battle. It’s a win- win!

Despite how smoothly your life has been going so far, you’ve been starting to feel… out of place, compared to your fellow crew members. They never treated you poorly or made you feel less than, oh no! Everybody was kind and caring.

But, when you come back to the crew laughing and drinking with Pops or when Marco would joke that Pops had favourite kids, your stomach unintentionally drops. Making you question yourself.

Was it insecurity? Or did everyone not care for you?

Anyways, after having defeated a particularly easy opponent, you and Ace decided to take the long, nice way back to where your mini- ship had docked. Taking in the scenic route.

“He’s just mad. Probably ‘cause you kept making those ancient jokes last week.”

You said, kicking a lone rock on the path you took. He heartily laughed, throwing his head back.

“Ah, but it was funny! Everyone laughed, including him. Besides, I’m his favourite, he won’t stay mad forever. Y’know?” He smirked, turning his head towards you.

Despite his antics, you couldn’t help but agree. Sure, the emperor loves all his children the same, but there was something about Ace that made him treat him differently. Maybe it was that shiny, raven hair or devil- may-care smile, you jokingly thought. Either way, having favourites was not a new topic.

“Yeah, none of us are as lucky as you, Portgas. Being the favourite must be nice.” you confessed.

His usual carefree smile turned into a frown, noticing your now sad face. He stepped in front of you, placing a hand on your shoulder, stopping you and forcing you to look up into his warm eyes.

“Hey, you know that it was just a joke, right? The old man hates and loves us equally.” He chuckled, trying to make your face break. Which it did.

“I know. Just… kind of wouldn’t mind being someone’s preference.” You said, exasperated. Continuing to trek down the path. Ace scoffed, catching up to you.

“Y/N, you act as if you aren’t my favourite!” He exclaims, a bit annoyed.

You paused, stopping in your tracks. Turning to him with a quizzical yet intrigued expression. Almost like you trying and wanting to believe him.

“No! Give me a break, Ace, you're just saying that.”

He’s taken aback. Both with your words and the glossy look starting to form in your eyes. He looked at you like a kicked puppy, and like a frustrated toddler trying to explain his emotions.

“I’m serious! I thought you knew that you’ve always been my favourite person.” His voice is only a decimal short of yelling, as he puts his hand up in the air.

“You’re up here with my brother, I swear! There’s a reason why I didn’t reject Pop’s telling me you have to come on missions too, and that’s because I enjoy your company and you. You’re kind, thoughtful and smart, that’s why he paired his idiot son with you,” He says, pointing to himself.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is: everybody goes lower ‘cause you're my favourite, and there’s no other explanation. I’ve always cared about you and forever wi-“

A swift wrapping of your arms around his body shuts him up. You squeeze tightly, as to disguise your overcome emotions. He doesn’t say anything, simply reciprocating the hug. Letting you enjoy his warmth.

“… Thanks, Ace…” You whispered, not being able to get anything else out. He welcomed you, patting your back gently but firmly.

“Don’t mention it. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride back. My favourite person deserves it after kicking ass today.” He laughs, giving a toothy grin. With that, he kneels down in front of you. Arms reaching behind him to hold you in place. You blushed, not used to the sudden act of affection the man was displaying.

“Oh, by the way,” He starts, adjusting to you on his back, “Don’t think we all don’t think the same. Trust me, Marco and Izou will hound me if you get a single scratch, they always worry about you. Especially Pops.”

The sinking feeling that had once been had changed into warmth. Ace’s kind warmth.

“Thanks, Ace. Just so you know, you’re my favourite, too.”

#not my best work #but its something!#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece x you #ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace fluff #portgas ace x you

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someonebeatyoutothisuser · 2 months

Note

Can you please rant to me about how much you hate GingerBrave smut and Pure Vanilla? I hate GingerBrave smut too

OML YES PLEASE. For starters, it's clear that pure vanilla cannot handle his own problems alone and I'm honestly sick of people not talking about it, people be saying that he's one of the strongest ancients but I'm not seeing it, it's no shit people see him as a TWINK because he fucking acts like one, He can't face his own problems and relies on others to do so, like white lily with shadow milk cookie and GingerBrave for the cookie of darkness + dark enchantress cookie, it's also clear he gives no shits about his own people nor about his own fucking family, let's talk about how his youngest descendant was left in a forest to fucking die by his own family and pure vanilla didn't even know, also, you get how pure vanilla is ONLY involving GingerBrave? Talking about taking him to war and everything? Like what the fuck makes him think it's okay? Even if GingerBrave wants this, why the fuck would he still do it?! GingerBrave is a three year old in a twelve year olds body, and also I'm pretty damn sure GingerBrave was being sent into this, the others were given a choice and he couldn't even be there for his friend. If he had just heard her out he would've prevented this, GingerBrave had no reason at all to be thrown in this, and also im sick of people victimizing him, like "ohh poor pure vanilla" or "pure vanilla is a good guy!" Even if he regretted his past mistakes, he is clearly training GingerBrave to be his tool only to toss him out when he's done, he doesn't care about GingerBrave or anybody that isn't himself, I'd actually argue he's worse than dark enchantress cookie, pure vanilla is dumb and that's saying a lot for the supposed ancient of wisdom, then when I say this to his fans about why I don't like him they want to get all mad and shit, pure vanilla cookie failed to represent and lead his people which was why the raisin village was being invaded by waffle bots and the vanilla kingdom became timeless and over taken by DE, I'm surprised everyone forgave him after everything he did, it's like he has everyone wrapped around his finger, in my opinion pure vanilla is the WEAKEST ancient I ever fucking seen, at least the other ancients can handle their own fucking problems and not send a literal child into this, pure vanilla is supposed to be this peace maker and voice of reason but I feel like people are glorifying him way too much. Pure vanilla lacks general remorse and emotion towards his people and those around him. Better yet, I'm sick of people making pure vanilla cookie seem like a father figure for GingerBrave, like dark cacao or dark Choco or the other ancients I can see that but pure vanilla?

And as for GingerBrave smut, I fucking hate it, people are generally sick in the head, especially the bitches who would age him up to make it okay, like when will they learn that it isn't fucking okay, people would proship this boy, draw him pregnant and even make jokes of the one ad, if it was someone like sorbet shark cookie or sherbet cookie, there would be absolute out rage, but the minute it's GingerBrave all of a sudden it doesn't matter. People had pair GingerBrave up with everyone, his fucking brother included, I swear if it was some other character there would be actual cancelations. When it comes to other characters being proshipped, they wanna scream, get angry, start an actual outrage, rant on how their minors but the minute it's GingerBrave who is one of the most shipped fucking characters is the victim of this, people wanna make jokes or not care, it's actually hard to find people who would actually act out on proshippers who'd proship GingerBrave to no end, like people would do it for cream puff, people would do it for wizard cookie, hell people will do it for strawberry crepe cookie but the minute it's GingerBrave it's fucking SILENCE. Like not a word, NOTHING. I hate how people turn a blind eye on GingerBrave, hell I swear the only reason people are even talking about it is because their favorite adult cookie is in it, hell some people would say they like it when it comes to GingerBrave, you notice how they would age GingerBrave up in some aus to ship him with adults, even making some rape him it's wrong and fucking nasty but people are acting like it's okay because it's fucking GingerBrave.

#gingerbrave #cookie run kingdom #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk

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sharks-n-bones · 8 months

Text

JOHN DORY TIME LET'S GO

Survivalist pre-flood

Luckily already good at surviving after being alone in the woods for 20 years

When the water first started rising, he and Rhonda went to higher ground and JD started building his boat. When the rains started coming, a nearby river let into a flash flood and washed them away

JD woke up fine on a dry (for now) piece of land, covered in cuts and scratches but nothing serious

Rhonda was nowhere to be found

He has this hiking pack/backpack type deal he keeps on him that he luckily managed to hold onto, so he still had his survival stuff (and some memorabilia)

Most of his clothes and stuff, though, were lost with Rhonda

He managed to make a decent boat before the water rose too high. With every island he stops at, he tries to expand it to fit Rhonda (and his brothers) when he finds them

Despite losing Rhonda… she isn't his biggest concern. He's looking for his brothers, first and foremost

He doesn't believe they're dead, and he refuses to believe this flood could kill them, but he's a Big Bro™ and he's concerned for his bros so you bet your bottom dollar he's gonna be lookin for them

His boat started small, and he fashioned a paddle out of an old shovel just in case there was no wind to catch the sail

Once the storms finally cleared, the sun started doing its duty, and John Dory had to stop wearing his beloved jacket because it's just too damn hot in the sun

He did, however, fashion himself an open shirt out of some leaves

Now, the seas are pretty trying, a and the creatures even more so. JD can fish better than most, but sometimes fish fight back. He's got a couple scars from having to fight some off

From being alone for 20 years and now the flood, JD is a bit on the feral side. Trusts his instincts, knows how to hunt, great nose and better hearing

Perches on the front of his ship sometimes

He was actually perched on the front of his ship when he saw the tiniest troll floating along on a piece of driftwood

Poor thing looked exhausted and — he looked closer — fuck, the poor thing was bloody-

He quickly jumped into the water, grabbed him gently and brought him onto his boat. The poor thing immediately passed out once it was out of the water and that's when John Dory realized it wasn't just an abnormally small troll, it was a baby

John cursed to himself and quickly brought him inside. He washed him off with a damp rag, wincing at the wounds and hearing the baby's weak grunt of pain, and quickly set about sanitizing and patching the wounds

It was a bit difficult, considering just how small the baby was, but John had plenty of practice patching himself up over the past 20 years living alone in the woods, so he got the job done

He even ground up some medicinal herbs into a paste and smeared it on bandages before wrapping the wounds with them. The salt water would've helped sanitize them and kill the bacteria as it was, the paste was just an extra precaution

JD made a little space in his room for the baby to sleep. Built a little bed the same height as his own with a little railing for safety. Washed an old shirt and cut it up to make a decent blanket

It was a day or two later when the tiny baby woke up. John had placed the baby in the bed he'd made for him for the time being and was brushing his teeth in the connected bathroom at the time. So imagine his surprise when he hears a loud, deep-ass voice calling out and wondering where he was

John Dory got over his shock fairly quickly, and explained how he found him and what he'd done to help. John asked what happened, and Tiny explained his situation

JD felt bad for him. Almost being eaten, almost dying, now not knowing where his dad could be? Tiny Diamond (apparently that's the baby's name) had been put through the wringer

JD mentioned that he was looking for his brothers. Maybe he could help Tiny find his dad too? He was glad he offered ‘cause Tiny little up and, if he wasn't injured, JD was certain he would've jumped on him

It took a few weeks for Tiny to recover, but JD found it was nice to have company on the ship. He didn't realize how lonely it was before

Tiny was such an energetic thing, despite his injuries. JD gave him a stick to help him walk around, and once his wounds had healed, he sharpened the end so he'd be able to defend himself if another fish tried to attack him. He even made a little strap that goes over his chest with a holster in the back so he could carry it around easier

Sometimes he and Tiny would sit in the front of the ship together, Tiny nestled in his hair, and they'd watch the waves and the sky. Sometimes Tiny would talk about his dad and how much he missed him, what he was like, his aunt, and a few others. John got a kick out of his stories

John would tell Tiny stories of his brothers. How they were all in a band, what they were like. He'd tell Tiny silly stories about them to help cheer him up sometimes

John found himself looking out for Tiny more. Making sure he was okay and not doing anything reckless. Helping him when he tried to do “grownup stuff” like furl the sails when they reached land or when he tried so hard to lower or raise the anchor

He started treating Tiny as if he was his own kid, he'd realized at one point after teaching him how to fish. He'd miss the little guy when they eventually find his dad. Having Tiny around almost made him want a kid of his own

Eventually, they found another ship at an island, and JD had Tiny hide in his hair while he spoke to them, just in case

JD lowered the anchor and jumped onto their ship from his own, saying how he was looking for his brothers. That was, of course, right before he spotted one of them. His youngest brother-

"Baby Branch!"

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desceros · 5 months

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Hatred. That has to be the emotion Leo is feeling, Right?

Leo looks to the Tupperware of cookies next to his bed. Against his better judgement he opens it and pops one of them into his mouth. Immediately the buttery delight of sweetness hits his tongue. Making him swoon, making him cringe. "Too sweet." Leo clenches his hands into fists and presses them into his face. She is taking Donnie away from him, She is touching and taking what should be his to do based on birthright alone. He was the one who taught Donnie how to speak again, was the one who sat at his twins bedside as Donnie shook and cried and begged to be put back in that fucking hellish ship. NOT HER. She wasn't fucking here for any of it. So why. Why did Donnie have to go and choose her over him. What comfort could be found in some girl that Leo or anyone else in the family couldn't already provide. Leo is practically doing this chick a favor by allowing her this close in the first place, and She goes and breaks down every barrier this family has like its an Olympic sport. Healing them all like its easy. Like being helped could have been this easy all along. He should be bitter, he should hate her, and be doing his best to shut her out. Steer her away from the wounds Leo has diligently spent the past decade trying the guard. So why.

Why cant he stop thinking about her. The way she smells, the way she smiles. Why cant he help but want her close where she can be warm and inviting and so, so bright, And kind, trusting. so, so trusting and willing to do anything to be apart of this family. Leo can see it in her eyes. The little glints of past heartbreak and trauma that make her so pliable. Hell, he is half convinced that if April hadn't been the one to find her first she might have joined the first cult she bumped into. So desperate for belonging she would listen and trust any shred of friendship that was thrown her way. So desperate for belonging in fact, that when Leo touches her she accepts it like its nothing. Because what would Leo have to hide, right? He's old reliable Leo, your bestfriend. Totally not the type of guy to rub one out to you while your in the shower. Leo feels himself tense and grow wet at the memory. How the smell of her swirling with the steam in the air had intoxicated him to the point of damn near insanity. He had to do something about it. His hand pressed inside himself as he did his best not to leave a trace of the deed behind. Shame and euphoria heating him from the inside out. God its pathetic, Its maddening. She's fucking and taking his brother from him and Leo cant fucking stop thinking about how she might taste. How she might sound as he sinks into her, Imaging how she might tighten around him as he takes her by the throat and squeezes. His hands painting her throat in pretty blue bruises. He wants to hurt her, He wants to claim her. He wants her. God, he wants her. He wants to hold her close and protect her like he has been protecting the rest of them, with barred teeth and selfishness. He wants to sent her as his and mean it. Fuck, maybe he already does. Maybe he has been this whole time and has just never realized. Every touch, every caress, every teasing remark and every coy little twist of the knife, has actually been him craving something sweet.

Idk what happened the song started playing and I blacked out and then when I woke up I realized I had sent this to your inbox. Symphony Leo save me save me Symphony Leo

ohhhh that hit the spot

#ask tag #blurple symphony au #not my fic #does lines of this

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putaposyinyourhair · 1 year

Text

Slowly but Also Like All at Once

noah diaz x mirage (the ship of dreams or whatever that old bitch said in titanic)

warnings : reek gets his own flirt on, noah is tired™️, and breanna diaz is here but she ain't here to play

side note: this fic is also on ao3!

Noah’s kind of glad that as soon as he has the apartment door unlocked, Reek shoves him aside and barges his way inside like he owns the place. Because not a second later, a chancla comes flying across the room and slaps into the wall not one foot away from Reek’s head— the poor guy freezing up immediately, his eyes wide.

“Ma!” Noah admonishes, pocketing his keys and pushing past Reek so he can set down his box of electronics atop the short bookcase his ma insists on using as a foyer table. “You can’t just be whippin’ those around! You’re gonna seriously injure somebody that ain’t me one of these days.”

His ma has both her hands over her mouth, like she recognizes her mistake too, and when she lowers them, Noah can see she has the decency to at least look sheepish about nearly clocking his friend with her slipper. Still, it doesn’t stop her from also outright glaring at him— like it’s his fault.

“Pero escuché tu voz, so I thought it was you, and you deserve it,” she snaps at him pointedly, before she looks to Reek. “Reek, honey, I’m so sor—” she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp at the sight of all the blood on the lower half of Reek’s face.

“What the hell happened?” she demands instead, clearly concerned. Although the concern doesn’t last very long. Because she seems quick to come to her own conclusions and narrows her eyes at the both of them.

“You boys weren’t out gettin’ into trouble, were you? I swear to God, you two are gonna—”

The loud slam of a door sounds from down the hall.

“Is that Sonic?” Kris cries, rushing into the room like the namesake should be his instead.

Noah grins widely, toeing off his sneakers and simultaneously slipping off his backpack— letting it fall to the floor beside the bookcase with a small thud— just in time to catch his little brother who comes flying at him and nearly knocks the breath straight out of him with what feels like the world’s tightest hug.

“You missed it!” Kris proclaims eagerly, pulling back only far enough to look up at Noah. “I almost beat Bowser! I was so close!”

“Damn, really?” Noah inquires, reaching up to ruffle the kid’s curls affectionately. “That’s cool, bro. Just a few more tries and you gon’ get his ass. I know it.”

Kris beams and pulls away completely, releasing Noah, before he looks over at Reek and frowns, one brow arching.

“Who beat the shit out of you?” he queries openly.

“Language, Kris!” their ma shouts from the kitchen, where she’s already gathered some napkins and is bent over under the kitchen sink, probably looking for that bottle of rubbing alcohol they keep down there. “Reek, sweetie, come over here so we can get your face cleaned up.”

Reek relaxes— his momentary stupor fading— and his lips curl up into a dreamy sort of smile as he kicks off his sneakers then floats across the room to lean against the kitchen table.

Noah narrows his eyes at the other man, already knowing where this is going.

Noah’s ma slaps Reek’s knees open so she can step in between them to be able to reach his face— she’s already kicking up a fuss, telling Reek he has to take better care of himself— and Reek, of course, can’t help the self-satisfied little smirk he shoots in Noah’s direction.

Noah’s hands ball into fists at his sides.

“You hit on my mama one time today man, just one, and I’m throwing your ass out the window,” Noah warns him. Because, unfortunately, it’s a thing.

Reek, the absolute bastard, swears that one day he’s going to bag Breanna Diaz.

Which is absurd.

The only way that’s ever going to happen is if it’s right over Noah’s dead body.

“Ay, Noah, don’t be ridiculous,” his ma chastises casually, shaking her head as she dabs at Reek’s nose with a wad of wet napkins— completely oblivious to the fact that Reek is practically preening under her care. “Reek, how did this happen?”

Before Reek can respond, Kris looks up at Noah with a frown.

“And why didn’t you come home for dinner last night?” he questions. Their ma scoffs.

“You mean why he didn’t come home at all,” she points out, glancing over with a look on her face that clearly reads as disapproval. “You could at least call, mijo.”

Noah releases a sharp sigh, his shoulders drooping as he deflates under the weight of the guilt.

Kris wanders away from him, sauntering over to their ma and Reek so he can get a closer look at the damage on Reek’s face.

“I know, ma,” Noah acquiesces, defeated and exhausted, even as he reaches up behind his neck to grab at the collar of his Henley so he can pull it off— he’s been wearing it for over twenty-four hours at this point, and all he really wants is a shower. “I’m sorry. I just… I got caught up.”

His ma looks over for a second, both brows arched, before she returns to the task at hand.

“Ooh,” Kris teases. “Is it a girl? It’s a girl, isn’t it? What’s her name?”

Noah rolls his eyes at his baby brother’s antics, reaching down to unbuckle his belt and laughing when his ma presses a napkin soaked in rubbing alcohol to Reek’s nose, pulling an incredibly high-pitched yelp from the man’s throat.

Reek narrows his eyes at Noah.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

Noah grins crookedly at him, his shirt and belt clutched in one hand.

“It’s hilarious, dude.”

The slow menacing look-and-smirk combination that distorts Reek’s face is quite frankly terrifying and Noah stills, tensing.

Reek leans back, just slightly, and his gaze slides over to Kris.

“Nah, li’l man, there ain’t no girl,” he drawls wickedly. “Our boy Noah over here, he’s a man of taste. He’s got a preference for something different; little metal, some rubber, six cylinders.”

Noah wants to wrangle his thick ass neck with his bare hands.

Kris’ lips purse to the side, his forehead scrunching— clearly bewildered.

“For the last time, man,” Noah snaps. “I didn’t fu—” he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, throwing his hands into the air— completely done with trying to deny it any further— before he exhales at length.

Reek’s just going to believe what he wants anyway. Fuck it.

Noah’s ma glances over at him again, one perfectly plucked brow arched in question.

“I’ma go shower,” Noah decides, then points a long finger at Reek. “You better not still be in my damn house by the time I get out. I swear to God, bro.” He crosses the room and pretends not to hear Kris asking Reek what he meant by metal, rubber, and cylinders.

“Ay, mijo, por qué eres tan grosero?” his ma calls after him as he goes, and Noah does his best to not react when he hears her add on a quieter, “Well, there’s clearly no girl. He wouldn’t have a stick up his ass if he was seein’ any action.”

Reek’s raucous laughter echoes down the hall, following Noah right into the bathroom.

Noah slams the door closed behind him.

“Carajo, Noah! Don’t be slammin’ doors in my house!”

Noah huffs, dropping his shirt into the hamper that’s wedged in between the toilet and the sink— where it’s not supposed to be, because Kris has a habit of getting up during the night to piss, and being half-asleep, he drips all over the place. It’s nasty. His little brother’s kind of a slob but being the baby, their ma just keeps letting him get away with it.

Noah hangs his belt off of one of the hooks behind the door before he turns to the mirrored vanity cabinet and takes a second to study his reflection.

His curls are wild and he’s pretty sure he can still spot sand in there. The bags under his eyes are puffy and a slightly deeper color than usual and— Noah leans in closer— his lips look like they’ve been bitten raw, no doubt courtesy of the wild rollercoaster ride of emotions he’d experienced overnight.

All in all, he looks like shit.

With an utterly drained sigh, Noah slips out of both his jeans and boxer briefs and tosses them into the hamper as well, before he throws open the shower curtain and steps into the bathtub.

He showers rather quickly— which is kind of a miracle because he’d honestly thought getting all the sand out of his hair would take a lot longer. He washes up in a sort of automatic way, his hands and body going through the motions, while his mind wanders.

He finds himself going over every single moment of the last twenty-four hours with a fine-toothed comb. From heading into the garage the day before, wondering if he’d ever see his mech friend again. To Mirage’s sudden miraculous return— which Noah can still hardly believe even happened. To spending the night with the bot on that beach in Long Island under the lighthouse.

And getting the chance to meet Ratchet. Noah makes a mental note to thank the medic when or even if he gets the chance.

Ratchet had managed to do what Noah couldn’t; fix Mirage.

Ratchet had been the one to right Noah’s colossal fuck-up with the plate he’d cracked in half.

Ratchet had given him his best friend back.

Noah owes him a lot.

His mind shifts then, turning his attention to the metaphorical elephant in the room; the offer to join the autobots on their, hopefully simple, scouting mission to Colorado.

He purposely ignores the tiny voice in the back of his head— the one that, obnoxiously, sounds like Reek— that tries to remind him the mission isn’t the only metaphorical elephant in the room.

There’s also the matter of Mirage’s completely spontaneous flirting.

Because, yeah, Noah can definitely recognize it for what it is now. He might not have any game himself but he’s not that dense.

Plus, Reek had clearly read and interpreted it as just so— coming to the assumption after hearing just one of Mirage’s lines.

The man had badgered Noah the whole way up to the apartment over it; over whether or not Noah had ‘fucked the car.’

He’s honestly more surprised over the fact that the man had managed to go straight from ‘the car talks’ to ‘did you fuck it, Noah’ than over the fact that Reek apparently has zero issues with Noah theoretically fucking a car.

Which is wild. Especially seeing as Reek is completely unaware that the aforementioned car is actually a twelve foot alien.

But he’s not thinking about any of that though.

No. He’s thinking about whether or not he’s ready to drop everything— drop his entire life, not that he really has much going on at the moment— to go on an impromptu road trip with a bunch of aliens. To the Rockies. To possibly locate another alien. One that may or may not be one of the bad guys.

“Fuck,” Noah sighs, reaching out to turn off the water.

He wonders when his life got so complicated.

Unbidden, a vivid image of Mirage fucking with him as he’d tried to jimmy the lock and open the door on the Porsche simultaneously comes to mind.

Right.

That’s when.

Noah pulls a towel out of the bathroom closet— a blue one because his ma has them color-coordinated and assigned; Noah’s are blue, Kris’ are green, and hers are red. The woman’s surprisingly laid back about a lot of stuff— for example, Kris being an utter slob— but bathroom linens are not one of them.

Noah’s not sure why and at this point in his life, he’s kind of scared to ask. It’s easier to just roll with it.

He dries off then wraps his towel around his waist and steps back over to the mirror so he can try and get his curls under control. If he doesn’t, they’ll just dry up all frizzy and crazy. And he hates it when that happens. Because he’s kind of lazy and he won’t bother trying to fix it, he’ll just wear a cap over it every time he steps out of the house until he washes his hair again.

When he’s satisfied, Noah turns and steps out of the bathroom.

“Damn, mami, that’s cold,” he instantly hears— Reek’s voice coming from the kitchen. “Why you gotta do me like that?”

The asshole is still in his house, hitting on his ma. The kitchen’s out of view from where Noah’s standing just outside the bathroom so he can’t see his friend but he narrows his eyes in that general direction anyway.

Then, an idea pops into his head. And his lips curl.

“Reek, man if you don’t get yo’ ass outta my house, I’ma tell Rosie from downstairs about your special friendship with that white girl from Staten Island!”

He hears an abrupt thud from the kitchen and watches gleefully as Reek trips his way across the room, apologizing to his ma and telling her he has to go because he thinks he, ‘left the stove on.’

Chump.

Noah grins when the front door slams, signifying the other man’s departure. Then he spins around and strolls languidly into his bedroom, lips pursed smugly. He shuts his bedroom door behind him with a foot so he can change into a fresh pair of boxer briefs then throws on a random pair of basketball shorts and a wife beater, before immediately throwing himself face first onto his bed, groaning loudly as his body relaxes into the mattress.

He gazes up at the stuff on his wall— his Wu-Tang Clan poster and his vinyl sleeves— for a moment.

But he must fall asleep immediately after that because one second he’s blinking at the Puerto Rican flag on his wall and the next, he’s waking up on his side, facing the bedroom door, after hearing his name be called in a low sort of hiss.

Kris is standing underneath the frame of his bedroom door, staring at him with a sort of apprehensive look on his face. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder to his own room every other second.

“Hmm?” Noah slurs, still half-asleep and struggling to keep his eyes open. “Wassup, Tails?”

Kris’ wide-eyed gaze snaps back over to him.

“Dude, Knuckles is in my room.”

Noah groans, lifting a hand to wave the kid away.

“That don’t even make no sense, Kris,” he grunts out. “He wouldn’t fit.” With that said, Noah pulls his pillow out from beneath his face and covers his head with it, hoping his little brother will take it for what it is; a dismissal.

“He says he’s taking you to Colorado?”

It takes a second for Kris’ words to register.

But when they do, Noah’s pretty sure he sets the world record for the fastest anyone’s ever jumped out of bed

#noah x mirage #norage #noah diaz #mirage #mirage rotb #transformers rise of the beasts #transformers rotb #mirage x noah

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