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veala2 · 7 months

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“ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ꜱʜᴇɴᴀɴɪɢᴀɴꜱ.”

☀︎ luffy, zoro, sanji, ace, sabo. ☀︎

SYNOPSIS - Some mornings are the same, some change for the better or the worse. But being with your boyfriend will always be something different. And definitely something stupid. ft. Izou in Ace’s!

CW - nothing but silliness and fluff, as per usual. gn! reader, mentions of throwing up (as a joke), some perverted- ness (sanji), and that’s it.

A/N - when I tell you this idea was so random. My aunt gave me this idea after telling me about how she almost died on her own acid reflux when she woke up. Anyways, enjoy!

Holy SHIT when I tell you how messy this man’s morning routine is, it.. well, it won’t shock you ‘cause it’s Luffy.

The moment you open your eyes, you're hit with Luffy snoring, drooling, and hot breath right up in your face.

Not to mention he’s practically turned himself into a pretzel cuddling you. You have to detangle your stretchy boyfriend every morning.

He wakes up, confused on how he managed to get on the floor.

A series of giggles followed in pursuit of Luffy gargling mouthwash in his mouth, proceeding to then shoot it out like a spray bottle into the sink. Whether day or night, your goofy boyfriend always did manage to make you laugh.

“Luffy! You got mouthwash all over the sink!” You said, trying to stay serious, a smile on your face despite your efforts to scold him. He shot you back a toothy grin. A shiny grin, you threw in, from all the cleaning you forced him to endure.

“Wasn’t my fault. My tongue felt like it was on fire!” He retorted, sticking his tongue as if to show legitimate fire, hot and blazing.

The night before, your boy feasted himself on the meat of an extremely large animal he caught. He gobbled the thing down, and it was too little too late before you realized how rank his breath was from it.

He passed out, leaving you exasperated and annoyed.

“Well, captain, next time brush your teeth before you head to bed. Your breath reeked, it’s a miracle I’m still alive right now.” You retorted, pinching his round cheeks. Luffy let you stretch his face out and play around with his features, causing you to giggle. Letting go, you place a chaste kiss on his lips, before going back to brushing your own teeth.

“But… you can get away with it this time ‘cause your cute.”

Zoro is a late sleeper and an early riser on most days. But, when Nami say’s the skies are clear and there isn’t a single marine in sight, he will take this slim opportunity to sleep in for hours.

When you wake, you're not greeted with his face. Rather, his sculpted back and a strong arm around your torso that he kept for the entire night.

He snoozes into his pillow, face first. As if he’s completely dead to the world.

Well… there have been times you thought so.

Literally.

Rays of the morning sun hit your face as you wake up from a night of well deserved rest. Being a pirate is a tiring and thankless lifestyle, so a night’s rest feels like heaven. You think this, silently laughing to yourself as you slept next to the ‘king of hell’, ironically enough.

Zoro’s out cold. His effortless back on prominent display, embraced by the sun’s glow.

You smile to yourself, admiring his features that aren’t so obviously impressive to some. Surprisingly, you couldn’t hear any snoring from the swordsman. Almost as if he was actually dead…

“Zoro… honey, wake up.” You whisper, hands grabbing both of his shoulders to wake him. He give’s no response in return, causing you some worry. “Zoro, c’mon, it’s time to get up.”

Yet again, nothing. The worry was starting to take over, so you leaned down to check for any signs of him breathing. In the blink of an eye, your swordsman boyfriend lifts his upper body up, knocking you in the nose.

“Yawn, ‘morning. Babe, what are you doing holding your nose like tha-“ Before he could finish the question, he was greeted by you with a loving pillow to his face.

At the start of your relationship, the idea of being near you all the time already made him all heart- eyed and cheerful. So, when you suggested sleeping in the same bed, this man was over the moon and beyond!

He’d stay as still as a plank, not wanting to move or disturb you in your realm of slumber.

Sanji would be so happy, he’d make you bed in breakfast when you woke up!

Now that the two of you have been together for a while, he’s gotten used to cuddling you and being the big spoon.

But, that doesn’t stop him from surprising you now and then.

“Sanji, you really don’t need to keep doing this.”

You say to him, as if it would stop him from setting the lovingly decorated tray in front of you with a giddy smile.

“Nonsense! I insist on taking care of my precious partner. A man can show his love in many ways, and I’m no ordinary, greasy and gross man. Mine is just a fraction of what I can do for you, my love!”

His proclamation of love made your cheeks turn red, a dreamy sigh escaping your lips. It didn’t take you long after your relationship with Sanji started that you realised you were in for the long haul. Through thick and thin, young and old, the strawhat chef is honestly and inexplicably in love with you.

He sat beside you, placing his head on your shoulder and sighing lovingly. You brought a spoon up to your mouth and took the first bite, eyes lighting up.

“Wow,” you gasped, “you remembered my favourite breakfast!” You happily munched down on the hot meal, cheeks stuffed and nose hit with the delicious aroma. “You tend to remember all my favourite things, huh?”

“Of course! I know your favourite meals, favourite smells, music, clothes… under garments. Like your favourite underwear you’re wearing right now-“

“SANJI!”

It’s a 50/50 chance with your hot boyfriend if your morning is gonna be filled with passionate kisses, cuddling, maybe some extra time in bed…

Or having him come back from an early morning mission, stinky and sweaty (like his brother), and absolutely, positively, drool all over you.

Unfortunately, you let it slide. ‘Cause he’s a hottie with an even hotter body.

Nevertheless, there are some days when you just want to kick him out and get a couple hours of sleep without the need of throwing up yesterday’s dinner. Thatch would be pissed!

“I’m telling you, Izou, he just keeps doing it! Next time it happens, and I smell it-” You stop yourself, before bringing a free hand up to make a slashing motion near your neck. The sniper got a quick chuckle out of that.

“Precisely the reason pirates should avoid intimate relationships.” He stated, taking a sip of his morning tea. You scoffed.

“Well, that’s boring. And besides, it’s no use on me, his puppy- dog eyes always bring me back to why I love him.” You sigh. As if on cue, your goofy boyfriend comes bursting through the door. Scratches on his face and body, in one hand he carries a large bag of jingling gold, and the other hides behind his back.

“Baby! I’m back from my mission, hope I didn’t keep you waiting! Oh, ‘morning, Izou.” He greets you and his friend. You pout, looking at his muddy and dirty outfit.

“Hope you don’t expect to come back to bed with me like that.” You mumbled, taking a sip of your drink. Planting a kiss on your head, he gets down on one knee and looks you in the eye.

“I know you don’t like it when I come home dirty, and I promise I’ll try my best to clean up for you. On my way back, I passed by a hill and thought you might like this.”

Ace pulls out a bunch of pretty flowers, making you gasp. You couldn’t help but feel cheery, smelling the flowers and giving him a big ‘ol smooch. Izou tsk’s and walks out of the kitchen.

“Kids these days.”

You wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, but Sabo takes pretty good care of himself.

His seamless, flawless skin is not entirely genetic. The countless skincare products scattered among his bathroom sink is the answer to that question.

Didn’t take long for you to start using it as well, leaving him to catch you in the act. He’d come busting through the door like SWAT when you put on his moisturiser.

They were just sitting there, ready to be used! Was this really your fault, though? Sabo definitely thinks so.

Like thunder, the mahogany door slammed open, leaving you to scream and jump. You turn your head, eyes wide and freightened. Not at the thought of who it might be. Oh, no. Rather, who you already know and what he might do.

“I knew it! Love, you gotta stop using my products, I’m running out twice as quickly and it’s a bitch to get more.” He sighs, eyebrows furrowed, already grabbing a towel to wipe down your wet face.

He gently ran the fluffy material all over your face. Making sure to not poke your eyes. Even when your boyfriend is mad at you, he can’t help but take care of you. Kind of weird considering he was trying to be mad at you, getting a chuckle out of you.

“I’m sorry, hon. I just felt really gross when I woke up, and thought how nice everything you have looked.”

He huffed, puffing his cheeks out and placing his hands on his hips. You couldn’t help but laugh again, grabbing his face and placing a long kiss on his cheek.

“‘Tell you what, I’ll go out today and get you more stuff. And, I’ll keep buying you this stuff if you let me use it. We got a deal, sweet thing, mr. love-of-my-life?”

Sabo sighed, grabbing you by the waist and giving you a proper kiss.

“Sure, baby, sure.”

#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x you #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #ace x reader #sabo x reader #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #blackleg sanji #portgas d ace #op sabo

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honeydippedwaffles · 8 months

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Smallest Drop

Summary: Tav overhears Astarion complaining about their situation and decides to do what she can to make it a little better for him and she ends up surprising him in the process.

Tav isn't referred to by name. There might be a part 2 if this is well-received.

Content Warnings: She/Her Tav

Word Count: 1.8k words

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

It started when she overheard a passing comment from behind her, grumbled in response to something Lae’zel said.

From the earliest parts of the day, they’d been making their way through difficult terrain; surrounded by thousands of bugs and mud up to their ankles. She’d tried not to complain about it though Astarion never shared her focus on quiet suffering and he had a fair point.

Though they’d managed to set up a fairly comfortable camp outside the grove – not wanting to impose nor deal with the druids for too long – they hadn’t really found any chance to properly bathe since their abduction.

The late afternoon glinted into her eyes as an idea presented itself.

She slipped away from the group almost excitedly to find the abandoned house where she’d spied it not long ago. After making sure it contained no nasty surprises, she’d left. It didn’t really have a roof and the majority of it had been burned down by some form of magical fire but most importantly, it had a tub.

One night together shouldn’t have made her so weak for the elf but despite all his sweetened words and falsities, he captivated her attention. She knew he meant little by it but sometimes those words made her days brighter regardless.

And she wanted to return the favour given how the muddy path came from her badly thought-out route.

The river running close by provided her with clean and cool water, not the easiest to move in large amounts but still able to fill the tub. It didn’t leak (a minor miracle) and she managed to use a little more of her already-exhausted magic to get a few charms warming the water up.

She smiled at her work proudly and left the charms to do her work while she made her way back to the grove to get some soaps.

Her shoulders shook a little as she eyed her small surprise. Proud and excited, she now faced the greatest of tasks.

Encouraging Astarion to actually step away from camp.

“No, thank you,” he said, dismissed her with the casual wave of a hand. “I’ve had quite enough traipsing through the forest for one day. If you want to continue finding every possible swamp insect to attack you, you’re welcome to be my guest.”

She sighed. “But I have something to show you. It’s a surprise.”

He smiled, strained. “My, aren’t you a desperate little thing. Maybe I’ll join you a little later in the night but for now, I’m afraid I don’t have the energy or the interest.”

“No, it’s not…” she groaned. “It’s just a bath, alright? I overheard you complaining about being dirty earlier so I found one for you.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. Come along. Those runes aren’t going to last forever and I know you’re going to fuss about the water temperature.”

Astarion chuckled and she immediately knew he didn’t believe her. “I appreciate the creativity, darling. Really, I do, but you’ll find direct offers are far more effective on me.” He leaned closer and she became suddenly aware of how many eyes watched them from around the camp. “But if you’re really going to such lengths, I’m not going to deny you forever.”

Flushed, she stepped away and ducked her head. “Fine. I’ll use it myself but you better not complain once more about it.”

She ignored the slightly concerned expressions of her friends as she stormed back into the tree line by herself. Why she even thought he’d appreciate it… she shouldn’t have even bothered offering it to him. She really needed to be more selfish if she wanted to not get turned down by the vampire spawn again.

It stung more than she expected it to, even if she wasn’t offering anything more than an actual bath.

She brushed her fingers over the surface of the still-warm water when she got there and sighed. It still felt like a waste, even if she used it. Amazing how homesick she’d grown for her house when stuck out in the wild with nothing more of comfort than a single bedroll.

Maybe she should have stolen one of those beds from the goblin den they cleared.

The floor creaked and her hand flew to her weapon, spun around only to find a very arrogant elf who appeared annoyingly surprised.

“My, so it wasn’t even a ploy alone,” he said. “You genuinely managed to find a bath. I respect your dedication if nothing else. There are certainly easier ways of seeing me undressed.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the water. “I was trying to do something nice for you but as you’re not interested, feel free to return back to camp.”

He stepped close enough to brush his fingers against her cheek. “Whoever said I wasn’t interested?”

“You did. In very direct words.”

“Well, things change. I’ve decided you’re quite right. It’s been far too long since I got to wash and you’ve been so sweet, setting it all up for me. I couldn’t be rude and turn you down right now, could I?”

Cursing the elf beneath her breath for his indecisiveness, she moved to walk past him. “Enjoy.”

Once again, she surprised him and Astarion took a second to respond, calling to her as she reached the edge of the charred flooring.

“You’re not joining me?”

She looked back at him. “Am I meant to be?”

“Why, yes. I can hardly be expected to do things like washing my hair all by myself. What if I get lonely or attacked?”

She frowned at him but he kept smiling at her in the same insistent way he did when he wanted something. The corner of his lips pulled up as though he knew a joke and didn’t want to share it. She couldn’t help herself but relent under his burning gaze; he’d done the same thing when she’d agreed to let him drink blood from her throat. Perhaps she should be concerned with where her willpower went when it came to this man.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll help with your hair if you really need.”

“How fun.”

He insisted on being as distracting as possible when he got undressed. His constant glances at her met nothing in return but she couldn’t help glancing at the scars as he lowered himself into the tub.

Their ridges made her uncomfortable. Not knowing what it said frightened her for Astarion’s safety rather than her own.

Nothing good ever came from runes carved into flesh.

“There’s no need to act so shy, beautiful. You’ve seen me in far more compromising situations than this.”

She wouldn’t call their night together compromising but she ignored the comment regardless. His soft sigh of relaxation as he settled into the water worked wonders for clearing up her irritation.

How he managed to be so magnetic astounded her. She found a spot to sit behind him and slowly, gingerly, began to help him with his hair. Despite being ridiculously soft considering how long they adventured in the wilderness, it needed some careful care and attention.

She took care to stay gentle when she found where tangles turned into knots and worked them free without pulling. He gave a small hum when she had to give a soft tug and she took it as an okay to use a little more force.

“We don’t have much to work with but I did manage to get some things from the grove,” she said. “It won’t be up to your standards but I don’t think anything really is.”

Cagey about his past, all she knew surrounded the small snippets he gave her when upset or ranting. She doubted he’d ever had much time to fuss over which hair products he used, too busy watching over his shoulder for a constant threat. He still did so now when he thought nobody could see. His meditation never held him deeply as sleep took her.

“Regardless of whether or not it’s professional, I won’t complain about your skills with this.”

“Skills at detangling your hair?”

“At winning my favour.”

She frowned a little and focused on the white locks where they curled between her fingers. “I’m not only doing this because I want to impress you.”

“I’m sure you have other motivations,” he hummed, teasing. “But you know you’re more than welcome to join me whenever you’re ready. You chose a good-sized tub for both of us.”

She ignored him again, instead focusing on working out a tight knot. Once done, she encouraged him to lean back a little so she could massage the soap gently into his hair, rubbing soft circles against his scalp until his eyes fluttered closed and the smallest hint of relaxation showed in his expression.

Good. He carried far too much tension and she stopped herself from continuing the slight massage down to where she could see the stress in his neck and shoulders. How uncomfortable it must be but she didn’t want to encourage whatever strange idea he had about this situation.

Still, even if she hadn’t planned anything, she couldn’t deny her attraction.

She wanted to press her lips to the pale skin of his neck and trace the path of the water droplets as they pooled against his collar bone. She wanted to trail her hands over his sides and pull him close.

She coughed to stop her thoughts before they ran too far.

If the parasite in her skull didn’t kill her soon, she may just die from the way this elf made her heart pulse unnaturally fast.

“Everything alright?”

He sounded… well, still as flirtatious as ever but more concerned than she thought he would. She snapped her attention back to him and almost lost herself in those stunning eyes.

If she wanted to, she could so easily fall prey to his sweetened words and he really wouldn’t mind. He would encourage it even.

She finished washing the last of the soap from his hair and stood up somewhat uneasily. Pride still shone in her chest as he sat up properly, appearing far cuter than she anticipated with his hair falling flat against his skin.

She saw the invite on his lips before he even said it. Watched him flick whatever switch he had to draw her in and she hurried to leave.

“I’ll see you back in camp, alright?”

His confused expression followed her as she stepped away from the building but he didn’t call her back. She found her way back to camp with a slight heave to her chest and a desperate need for a distraction.

Though she really should have thought it through before she asked Lae-zel to spar with her. The bruise kept her up for the entire night – long enough to realise he didn’t come past for a taste of her blood in the evening.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader

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cozage · 11 months

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Hey hey hey! It's me again XD I'm here to send you another angst request and you can write it with any OP charaters that you like! The request is how they would react to their s/o dying unexpectedly from an illness but when they kissed them goodbye on the lips, their s/o came back to life and said 'your love is my cure' or other cheesy phrases cuz Idk what to write lol ?

A/N: RAINBOWSTAR HI IVE MISSED YOU I HOPE YOU ARE WELL

Characters: reader x Law, Luffy, Zoro

Cw: reader death, angst

Total word count: 800

True Love's Kiss

Law

He can’t figure out why your heart rate is dropping so fast. He’s done everything he could to try and help you, but nothing is working.

Your heart stops, and he’s in a full panic now. Immediately starting CPR. Praying to anything and anyone to let you live somehow.

When he presses his lips to yours, he’s desperately hoping for a miracle.

He hesitates just a moment before breathing air into your lungs, and he’s startled to see your eyes fly open.

A gasp escapes your mouth, and he looks at you, unbelieving that you’re really still alive.

He buries his face in your chest, taking a few uneasy breaths and trying not to cry from the relief of you being okay.

You comb your fingers through his hair and steady yourself, trying to recall what happened or why he’s reacting this way, until he finally speaks.

“You died,” he says. His voice is thick with tears, which you try your best to ignore. If Law is crying, then it must’ve been serious.

“You saved me,” you reply. You don’t feel like you have just died. Just like you woke up from a really long nap.

“No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any-“

“I’m alive now aren’t I?” You ask. “I guess your lips really can heal anything”.

He’s so thankful that you’re alive, he doesn’t even respond to your stupid joke

Luffy

He’s shaking you, begging you to come back to him. He’s screaming and sobbing and impossible to console.

Zoro tries to pull him away so Chopper can treat you, but Luffy knows. He’s been here before.

Chopper knows too. Everyone knows. So they just sit and watch their captain fall apart.

He’s clutching you to his chest, he doesn’t want anyone else near you or touching you. He’s still sobbing, but it’s growing softer into whimpers.

He gives you soft kisses across your face, silent pleas for you to wake up. His lips finally meet yours, a final goodbye to you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips, and the entire crew takes back a step in shock.

“Luffy?” You groan, still pressed against him so tightly it hurts. “You’re crushing me.”

He just holds you tighter, returning to hard sobbing again. “Stay with me,” he chokes out. “Please don’t die.”

“That’s impossible,” Chopper whispers. “Y/N was dead.”

You take a second to process. “I guess a true love's kiss brought me back.”

“If I give you more, you better live forever,” Luffy says, covering you in even more kisses.

Zoro

He carries your limp body to Chopper, begging him to fix you. But he knows it’s too late. He doesn’t know what you were hit by, but he knew when he pressed his head against your chest, your heart was still.

He lays you on the ground for Chopper to run an examination. Chopper confirms his worst fear. It was too late.

He holds you, running his hands through your hair, whispering words of apologies to you. He blames himself, of course. He wasn’t strong enough to keep you safe.

He presses his lips into your forehead first, taking a deep inhale to try and remember your smell. He’s having trouble accepting the fact he’ll never smell your shampoo again, never see your smile.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He moves his lips down to yours, giving you one last kiss as a goodbye. He pulls away to find your eyes staring at him, scared to see him so sad.

He drops you in shock, his face contorting into a weird mix of confusion and joy. He doesn’t know how to feel or what’s going on, and you're just as confused.

“What the hell?” he yelled, prompting Chopper to look up and see you alive and well. The reindeer screams while you look at your boyfriend in confusion.

“What?” you ask, irritated that was his reaction to kissing you.

Zoro just stares at you, mouth agape. You can see his eyes are still watery, and the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds until Chopper screams. “You were dead, Y/N! Really dead!”

“No I wasn’t,” you shoot back, trying to hide your panic.

“You were,” Zoro whispered. He lunged at you, his lips pressing against yours for a long time.

You finally push him off of you, gasping for air. “Damn, Zoro! Don’t kill me again!” you said, feigning a coughing fit. “Although, I guess you could, as long as you bring me back with another kiss, mmkay?”

Before he has the chance to say something snarky back, you lean in for another kiss, and he happily accepts it.

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tripleyeeet · 6 months

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WEAVED TOGETHER (SAY IT'S FOREVER)

SUMMARY: After faking your death years ago, Astarion finally finds you in Waterdeep.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,128

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, fingering, orgasm denial, sex used as a manipulation tactic, biting, blood sucking, descriptions of past/current abuse, Ascendent Astarion (feel like I need to tag this just in case), a whole lot of angst.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic gave me so much grief. I really hope my labour translates into something good because man, if it doesn't I might fucking cry. :') Also, fic title is inspired this bop!

MASTERLIST

You’ve never been particularly keen on parties. Favouring quite possibly anything above the stuffy insides of a ballroom packed with people, it’s a miracle that you haven’t already left Gale’s side for some air. To take even the shortest of moments to allow yourself some alone time.

Feeling the fabric of your dress uncomfortably stick to your skin, you can’t help but squirm at the thought of having to stay any later. Considering you’ve been here for a good few hours already, you’re tempted to ask Gale if maybe now’s the time to part ways.

At this point you’ve been well and truly shown off to the entire party, gawked at by countless of his old academic friends, so surely he wouldn’t mind if you up and left now, right?

Before you can think to ask, he’s already wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a friendly kiss to the cheek. “I really do appreciate you coming,” he tells you, drunkenly swaying as he speaks, letting out a chuckle as you hold him steady. “I would’ve been terribly embarrassed to show up at such a renowned event without a date.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” You shoot him a smug look, watching him roll his eyes and take a sip of wine, debating whether or not to take the glass from him, knowing just how much he’s had.

“I mean it, you’ve been nothing short of wonderful to me in my time of need, so thank you.”

Despite the urge to play down his thanks, to remind him of all the things he’s done for you as of late, you merely take it, offering him a quick you’re welcome in return, knowing just how persistent a drunken Gale can get. How the man hardly pauses to breathe in the midst of a conversation —his endless string of words seeming to lose you almost instantly every time.

Even now, as he begins to go on some long-winded speech about the importance of your friendship, you’re already miles away, longing to drift towards the balcony that rests just across the room, taunting you with its open air and lack of people.

“Anyways, would you care for another drink? I’m in need of one myself thanks to the hole at the bottom of my glass.” Pulling you back in, Gale lets out a joyous laugh, throwing his head back while you merely shake your head.

“I’m uh, no I’m fine Gale. You go ahead and get that drink. I think I’m going to head outside and get some air.”

All he does is give you a tight hug before he leaves, stumbling across the marble floors, bumping into various bodies that suddenly get caught up in his inebriated storm, allowing you a moment to yourself.

You let out a sigh of relief then, turning your attention to your desired spot, gathering up the skirt of your dress so that you can race to its opening, breathing in the scent of fresh air once you step past the threshold.

Somehow once you’re out there, you notice that there isn’t a body in sight. No couples having late-night trysts in the corner or other lonesome individuals stood painfully reflecting on their night. It’s just you by yourself, walking slowly towards the railing, gripping it tight as you allow your mind to settle. To shut down for just a moment after being on for so long.

It feels like forever since you’ve felt this calm. After years of endless journeys —of fighting and running and, as of late, hiding away— you feel that old sense of ease wash over you. Like the waves of Waterdeep’s coast, they gently lap at your feet, rising and falling with each breath you take, watching from afar the bustling city streets below as they begin to die out for the night.

It reminds you of home, a bit. Of the nights you used to spend wandering around Baldur’s Gate, your belly full of the cheapest ale and your mind empty of anything other than the prospect of fun. Back then, you were always full of reckless abandon, constantly getting into trouble only to talk your way out of it not long after and unfortunately, you can’t help but begin to miss it all. The life before the war. Before you were taken in the dead of night and forced into a life you never wanted to live.

Things were simpler then. You didn’t have the scars of clashing swords or the kind of memories that often shook you awake each night, covered in sweat and gasping for air. Devoid of anything truly awful, all you had was the blissful ignorance of a fool. One hellbent on solitude in a world of constant interaction.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the people you’d met along the way you’d be jealous of that life. The one where you were seemingly untouchable, your mind vacant of regret and resentment and—

Before you can continue, you shake those same feelings from your mind, forcing out a heavy breath as you try to maintain the calm. The ocean of waves of Waterdeep pooling between your toes, knowing it’s the only way you’ll move on. If you focus on the positives —if you refuse to look back even for the slightest of moments you’ll forget all about those other lives you lived. All the chapters you spent haphazardly scribbling down, trying desperately to get to this moment.

It seems impossible sometimes, remembering how much shit you had to go through to get here. Not only did you have to survive countless wars involving mind flayers and cultists, but you also had to die to get it. And not die in the metaphorical sense, either. No, you had to literally die —to off yourself in front of countless people and hope to god the Necromancer that you hired actually turned up.

It was a whole process. One that you refuse to think about as you let out a scoff and raise your hands to your head, pressing two fingers to either temple to relieve yourself of the sudden ache that hits.

“Remember what we said about thinking,” you remind yourself then, allowing your eyes to slowly roll back, savouring the alleviated pressure your fingers provide.

Repeating the mantra in your head, you rub your skin and hum aloud, standing for a few more minutes as you listen to the sounds of the bustling party behind you. How the music swells into a crescendo of excitement, various strings and woodwinds all playing in time with one another.

Alongside it, a calming voice echoes over, rising and falling with each passing note that carries through the air to your ears. At first, it’s soft and silky —comforting in a way that wills you to drop your hands and take a few steps towards the entrance of the building, watching as a beautifully freckled bard strums her lute and smiles at the crowd.

Suddenly intrigued, you move to your previous spot inside the ballroom, spotting a rather awestruck Gale who’s holding onto two glasses of red, staring with widened eyes.

“She’s rather pretty.” You grin wickedly and bump your hip against his, hearing him grunt as he blinks and glances at you.

“I’m sorry?”

Taking the glass nearest to you, you then use that same hand to motion to the bard that’s begun to erupt in an upbeat chorus, her voice lowering to a wild growl as she kicks up her feet, dancing around the stage with some of the other musicians. “The bard. Fancy a taste?”

He narrows his eyes at you, a grin of his own peeling across his face as he shakes his head. “I think a conversation would suffice. Least, for starters.”

Biting your bottom lip, you jokingly wrap your arm around his shoulders and shake, pressing your face against his cheek to make obnoxious kissing sounds that leave him laughing and shoving you off.

“Unhand me, you harlot!”

“What? Afraid she’ll see?”

He opens his mouth, almost offended, staring for a moment as you wiggle your brows and take a sip of the wine. “Excuse you, that was my drink.”

“You got yourself two drinks?” You raise your brow.

He scrunches up his face in response before subtly craning his neck towards the other side of the ballroom. “No, it’s for Astarion.”

Your stomach sinks at the mention of his name, filling you with the kind of dread you’ve only felt one other time in your life. All at once it sends you into a panic. Your chest aching and your throat tightening. Even your hands, once carefully wrapped around the vessel of liquid seemingly shifts to a close, resulting in shattering glass that pokes and prods your skin before it falls to the ground.

Crying out in surprise, Gale’s previously mischievous expression quickly fades. Replacing it, an air of worry envelopes the both of you. As he reaches for your arm, allowing his hand to carefully slide down to view your newfound injury, you try to swallow and scan the room, picking apart face after face to no avail, wondering if somehow he’s already found you. If perhaps, instead of where Gale assumes he is he’s instead directly behind you, lingering like the creature of the night he is, waiting to strike.

A shaky breath escapes you then. Peeling away from Gale’s cautious grasp, you take a minute to blink and look him up and down, noticing the growing fear in his eyes. How his lack of understanding only spurs your head to whip behind you, to find more curious eyes staring back.

“Are you alright?”

The question comes from a voice you’ve never heard before. So, instead of entertaining it you merely turn back to Gale, suddenly catching an unfortunate glimpse of pale skin and ivory hair quite a ways back.

Immediately, it strengthens the dread inside, ripping the breath from your lungs as you press a nervous hand to your neck, realizing that somehow it’s already been years since you’ve last seen him. Months and days and hours all collectively bundled together, only to be completely ruined by this one moment.

As you stand there, staring —watching as he does nothing but the same, you feel your mind yelling for you to run. To discard whatever reservations you may have left to push violently through the crowd because, at this rate, it’s the only option left. Having already tried hiding beneath the freezing hands of Death himself, it’s obvious you’ve exhausted all other options. No matter what you do —what you say— nothing will be deemed feasible enough to grant you the escape you so foolishly desire. You’re too vulnerable now, standing there in your ballroom gown, bleeding from your injured hand, trying not to have a full-blown panic attack as he takes that first stride forward.

Matching his step, you feel your body waver backwards, everything suddenly swirling across your vision as Gale reaches out to grab your arm, asking if you’re okay.

“I’m aware the breakup wasn’t amicable but maybe if you two just talk?” he suggests, his voice bouncing off your ears like a war drum, reminding you that Sufferance is coming. And that he’s dressed in his fanciest suit to mark the occasion, practically gliding through the room with knitted brows and frowning lips, pushing aside everybody who gets in his way.

“Gale, we —I need to go.”

Suddenly your palm, still filled with glass pushes against his robes, staining the fabric as your blood begins to drip, reminding you of his hunger —of the way he used to feed. How he took and took, ignoring your starvation for something other than submission. Refusing to acknowledge the withering of your soul each day you spent wrapped around his pretty little fingers.

As he shoves a woman to the ground, you can feel the emptiness within your stomach start to grow at the memory. The shuddering of your limbs driving Gale to look behind him, noticing the wild look in Astarion’s eyes as the crowd begins to part in fear, watching as he bares his teeth.

It’s a look that makes you instantly flinch. Closing your eyes, your shoulders rise to touch your ears in anticipation. Waiting for the moment to strike, you all but freeze in place, holding your breath as the steps of his boots draw near, reverberating through the air until they suddenly stop.

In fact, everything stops. The sound of him —the sound of the party. All of it falls onto deaf ears, creating a new fear that has you so terrified you merely stand in place until you eventually hear the clapping sound of a hand on someone’s back, followed by the swirling of your head again, forcing your eyes to jolt open.

“Oh, hello darling, didn’t see you there.”

Once again trying to breathe, you glance between the two men in confusion, watching as they share a lengthy embrace before Astarion’s pushing himself onto you. Gentler than expected, his arms slowly wrap around your shoulders as he does it, pulling you to his chest in a way that feels both frightening and familiar. A mix of home and hell encased around your nervous frame as he lowers his head to yours.

In response, you reluctantly raise your hands and place them on his back, applying a bit of pressure at the centre as you mutter out a muddled hi, looking to see that the commotion he so violently caused before seems to have evaporated into thin air.

“You’re awfully far from home, aren’t you?” His voice is barely above a whisper, ghosting against the shell of your ear as you force out a shaky breath.

“So are you.”

“I wonder why that is.”

You hum in response. Using the short moment of silence that’s granted to stare. To watch the way he looks you up and down, the edges of his lips pulling into a smirk of amusement.

It’s obvious then that he’s thinking of playing tricks. Of taunting and teasing —using all the usual charming tactics before he decides it’s worth it to raise a little hell.

Because of this, you merely swallow hard and spare Gale a glance, watching him magic away the bloodstain on his robes before looking back towards the stage.

“How did you find me?”

Astarion reaches for your chin. Taking hold of it with his thumb and forefinger, he then waits patiently for you to share his gaze, looking your face up and down until he can finally see the fear in your eyes. “Does it really matter?”

It does, but you know he won’t tell you so you move on to another question. “Why are you here then?”

Immediately he scoffs, the smirk on his face falling for a split second. “Do you really have to ask?” he says, letting his thumb run across the length of your bottom lip. “Obviously, I’ve come to enjoy a spot of red with old friends.”

“Hm.”

“Among other things, of course.”

“Like?”

“Reclaiming my dead consort, for one.”

“And two?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he taps your chin. “Not sure. Depends on how the night goes.”

You’re not sure what to say then. Growing increasingly lost to the feeling of his hands and voice —remembering all the moments shared when it was just him and you and the power imbalance of ascension hadn’t yet existed— all you can do is pull him in a bit tighter.

Knowing that Gale is probably growing more curious by the second, you suddenly feel a sense of protection. An urge to get rid of him so that he’s no longer at risk.

Well aware of the power Astarion now holds within his grasp, you know it’s hardly worth it to try and get him involved anyway, especially considering how much alcohol he’s consumed. The poor man couldn’t be helpful even if he tried, so instead of asking you merely hold on. Tightening your grip as the other parts of you desperately try to rationalize just how much you’ve missed this. How even after years spent fleeing his hold —years of constant moving and hiding and watching your back for signs of his presence— his touch is still the only thing that makes you feel safe.

Which is a fact that makes you sick to your stomach, discovering that, regardless of being able to name a million reasons why you should be fleeing rather than falling, suddenly you’re able to name just as much for why you’d stay. Why you’d more than willingly follow his footsteps if he asked.

And not because you fear him, no. Despite having just been found out —despite that growing uncertainty of how you’ll inevitably be taken back— it’s as if your mind resets on impact. As he holds you close, speaking in obvious threats to your safety if you don’t listen, you can feel the defiance in you quickly dwindle. Evaporating into thin air as he leans away to give Gale an overly friendly smack to the shoulder.

“Gale, darling, you wouldn’t mind giving us a bit of privacy would you? Seems we have much to discuss.”

The hold he has on you tightens as he speaks, reminding you that such a conversation is anything but optional as Gale almost immediately buggers off, drunkenly mumbling something about drinks and fun before Astarion’s whisking you away.

Leading you through a crowd of bodies, you quickly find your hand gripping his shoulder absentmindedly. All splayed out, your fingers nervously caress the fabric of his doublet, feeling the texture shift beneath your skin, reminding you that he’s here. That’s he’s present and real and not just some illusion conjured up to scare you into coming back.

“Your entrance back there was…”

You’re not sure what to say anymore. Not with the underlying rage you can feel radiating off of him. Given the fact that it’s been so long, you’ve almost forgotten how to please him. To make his mind ease into those old spaces of pity where sometimes he’d grant you reprieve amongst the punishment.

Knowing this, he looks at you with feigned innocence, taunting you with his still raised lip as though he’s having fun despite slowly inching towards the blowout. “Did you like it? I figured, it’s been so long since I’ve last toyed with that little mind of yours, best to give it a proper show.”

He wipes his thumb across your forehead and watches you frown; your head suddenly darting back only to be ripped forward when that same hand tightens around your throat.

All at once the action leaves you gasping for air. As his thumb presses down on the centre of your neck, applying just enough pressure to pull from you a nervous wheeze as the two of you stop, he can’t help but lower his face to yours.

“I’d consider yourself lucky that the temperament I showed back there was merely an illusion,” he tells you, pressing his forehead to yours.

Swallowing to no avail, you feel the lump in your throat become pressurized by the growing frustrations in his hand. Prompting you to panic, another airless sound emits from your lips as your eyes begin to dart around, looking at all the curious eyes that seemingly look away the second you make contact.

You realize then that nobody cares. Whether it’s due to the intimidating presence he exudes or the potential word of mouth of his ascendance circulating the room, you don’t care, knowing it doesn’t really matter anyway. He’s untouchable regardless. A force so unmovable that all you can do is pray that he’s merciless.

As he grips your throat amongst a sea of avoidant faces, unwavering in his efforts to patronize your past behaviours, you know then that this marks the end of your freedom. That from this moment on his control over you has been reenacted without discussion.

“Now, are we going to obey and have a nice evening or are we going to do something we might regret?”

Looking back at him, all you can do is nod, feeling that alleviation slowly come. Granting you the chance to breathe again, you cough quietly and reach for your throat, rubbing the pain away as you watch his previously aggressive demeanour fall into amusement, once again stringing you along.

At which point you effectively zone out. Still feeling his hand flush against the small of your back, it’s as if suddenly your mind becomes null, avoiding all thoughts as he leads you through the main entry of the ballroom, turning down a seemingly endless stream of corridors until you find yourself face to face with an ornate door.

Once there, he peels away from your frame and begins to pick the lock, wickedly grinning at you once that familiar click rings out, reminding you of the old him. Of how he was before the ritual, all doe-eyed and excited to experience the world and all its gifts.

It makes your lip pull between your teeth nervously, seeing him unbend the length of his back to look at you. To smirk in a way that feels so real and him that you almost forget that he’s changed. That, instead of picking the lock to loot the room and make charming little jokes at your expense, he’s doing it so he can get you alone. So that he can do unspeakable things the old Astarion would never think to do.

“Shall we?”

His voice rings out like a request even though you know deep down it’s a command, secretly telling you to hurry up. So, doing just that, you brush past him without so much as a glance, taking in the endless wall of books that greets you as you enter, opening your mouth in slight awe until the door closes behind you.

Turning back, you’re then given all but a second before he’s on you. Grabbing you with such violent desperation, a hand snakes around your waist, claiming you like he used to do when you were still devoted to being his. When this idea of free will was nothing more than a passing thought that barely grazed the surface.

Back when he was still yours.

Immediately, the familiarity of it wreaks havoc on your chest. Your heart, once filled with longing and fear now radiates nothing but need. Demanding that old sensation of flesh brushing against flesh as his other hand takes hold of the base of your neck.

The second you feel it, all thoughts are lost. Every previous reservation you once had melting into nothing against the hot feeling of your mouth pushing against his, prying open both lips to taste his tongue. To remind yourself of what it felt like to be wanted in the simplest sense.

Deepening the kiss, he moans and somehow pulls you closer, forcing your chests together as he maneuvers you backwards, stumbling over a raised edge of a rug before practically tossing you onto the floor.

“Years,” he groans then, pulling away to stare down at you with knitted brows and swollen lips, distracting you with that pretty face as he begins to rip the bodice of your dress. “I’ve spent years without this flesh —without this blood.”

His fingers pry at the fabric, peeling back the only layer you have to hide behind until you’re left exposed from the waist up, anxiously breathing at the sight of his hunger.

A sight that leaves you helpless beneath his grasp as he quickly leans forward, palming one breast while holding your face with the other. Beneath him, all you’re able to do is take each touch as it comes, savouring the uncharacteristic softness as his thumb brushes against your nipple, teasing it with gentle swipes as he goes in for another kiss.

Similar to his hands, there’s a strange feeling that comes along with it. As he nibbles your bottom lip, choosing to give you control, you know that something’s off. That instead of displaying the softest version of him you’ve felt in years, he should be punishing you with reckless brutality. Taking what’s rightfully his without so much as a thought.

Because of this, you reluctantly pull away, gasping for air as he hovers above you, still stroking your chest and face.

“Why are you doing this?”

Normally, such a question would result in some sort of punishment. A night of solitary confinement. Perhaps the silent treatment for up to a week.

Back before you realized just how fucked up everything had gotten he used to isolate you for things as simple as this. Forcing everyone around to ignore your every waking move, he found that loneliness was the key to your obedience. The only way to control whatever reckless thoughts entered your mind.

So, it’s surprising when he answers —when he lowers his mouth to give your lips one final kiss before flashing that smirk. “What do you mean?”

You raise your brow and move to sit up, leaning against your elbows as your face contorts in confusion. “Why are you acting like him?”

“You mean me?”

You open your mouth to respond —to fight against his words, knowing now more than ever that you should. Considering the door’s already open for conversation, you might as well get all your thoughts out while you’re able. Because after this it’s apparent, you’ll be stuck all over again, wasting away at the foot of a God who’s anything but forgiving.

“You aren’t punishing me.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

His hand explores your face, swiping across skin that hasn’t felt a single touch since your departure. “There’s always time for punishment —for penance,” he tells you, tracing your features with featherlight strokes that have you begging for more as you push yourself upward. “Now that I have you again, there’s far more important things I want before I subject you to what you deserve.”

“Which is?”

He pauses for a while, continuing his ministrations in a way that has you forgetting why you left in the first place. Why, instead of subjecting yourself to the torment of his hand to feel the grace that often coincides, you decided to give it all up.

“I haven’t quite decided yet.”

It’s a simple statement, yet it holds far too much weight against your ears. As he speaks, your heart flutters in your chest nervously, reminding you that this thing between you is nothing more than an imbalance. A tipping scale so unevenly distributed that you’ve lost all hope for rebalance.

Because of this, you don’t fight him when he inevitably leans forward. Nor when he presses a slightly rougher kiss to your lips, biting down with a newfound vigour that splits your lip in half. Feeling the blood pool out, you hardly react when Astarion’s lips begin to suckle the wound, lapping up whatever spills through as he rips away the rest of your clothes, tossing it all aside.

Suddenly cold, you find your arms rising to hold him all over again. Wanting to feel the fabric of his clothes pressing against your bare skin, you grip him tight and groan, relishing in this moment. Enjoying the familiarity of it as something warm blooms across your aching core, fuelling the need for your hips to slightly buck up, making him laugh.

Light and airy, the sound filters through your mouth like smoke, taking hold of your lungs in a way that leaves you addicted. Wanting to chase that past feeling, your hands swiftly lower to his waist, your fingers tucking themselves under his clothes to touch the texture of his scar —to feel the old him amongst all the new.

Realizing this, his movements become suddenly erratic. Forcing himself up with a grin, he then begins to quickly trail down your body, pressing his mouth to every exposed bit within his sightline, making sure to glance up at your heavy eyes and parted lips along the way.

“Mm, still as desperate as ever, my little consort,” he tuts.

Between the kisses he places to your freshly bruised flesh, he releases another laugh that lingers in your mind, further reminding you of him. Of the man you fell in love with. Of the man who swiftly slips between your thighs with little notice, raising the backs to rest against his shoulders.

A sound of shock escapes your lips at the new position, craning your neck to watch him latch onto your inner thigh, suckling the plush through such a guttural moan that it forces your jaw to drop.

“Fucking hell,” you mumble then, prompting his lips to curl into a grin before he’s biting your thigh, forcing his teeth through the tender flesh before you can even think to object.

It feels better than you remember. Almost like a hot flash of pleasure before that familiar coldness kicks in, numbing the space that he suckles with haste. As his lips hollow out to drink whatever he can get, you feel his hand slip against your entrance, knuckles grazing the outer folds of your sex just right.

Bucking your hips again, you feel his movements become one. Each time his tongue licks up, his fingers raise to the top of your cunt, flowing back down in such delicious unison you’re already ready to submit. To surrender yourself to whatever pleasures might await through the pain of your punishment.

So much so that you’re already begging for it. Through gasps that barely hit his ears, your voice whines for more. For more pressure or movement or frankly, whatever the hell he’s willing to give despite how undeserving you are.

“Please, Astarion.”

The moment he hears that little please he’s pulling away, grinning at you with teeth and tongue all covered in your blood.

“I’m sorry, you want me to please you?”

He gently pushes two fingers into your entrance, curling the ends ever so slightly while keeping them still, watching as you press your lips together, unable to speak.

“To pleasure you?”

Slowly, he angles his head to suck your thigh again, dragging a fresh wave of blood through his hungry lips before shifting towards your cunt and licking a tentative strip directly above his fingers.

“To taste you, perhaps?”

His voice is low, droning on in that teasing way that has you looking down annoyed, taking in the way he goes back and forth, debating whether or not to relent. To give in to the indulgence, watching you squirm beneath him. Forcing you to stir in your own prolonged pleasure until he all but sits back up, digging his fingers into the holes in your thigh, telling you you’ll get what you deserve once you’ve come back home.

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TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

#weaved together (say it's forever)#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #ascended astarion #summer writes

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siempre-bucky · 1 year

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Sweet Dreams

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: After soothing Jake after a nightmare, Jake comforts his son after one of his own

wc: 1.1k

warnings: talks of nightmares

A/n: It's been a HOT minute since I've written anything. Please enjoy some domestic hurt/comfort :')

“Was the mission successful, Lieutenant?”

“Rooster and Mav… I-I wasn’t fast enough?”

Jake jolted awake; cotton-mouthed, and forehead ridden with beads of sweat. He almost forgot he was shaking until he felt the soothing touch of your hand slide down his bare bicep. The fire in his lungs started to subside as you turned him around, the cold from the fabric of your nightgown soothing his chest once he was pressed against you. “What happened?” you whispered into his ear.

“Same shit as every year, darlin’,” he whispered back, lips dancing along the crook of your neck. You let him stay silent after that, his hands roaming the body he knew almost better than his own. His bloodshot eyes closed, nose pressing deeper into your neck as if it would help him memorize the new perfume you had bought.

You sighed and held him close, fingertips scratching the nape of his neck for his comfort. It was like this every October since the mission the Navy deemed a miracle. Jake would mark off the days on his calendar with a red pen and the nightmares came back when night fell. “My love?” you spoke after a while, making sure he was still with you.

“It was the one with Mav and Rooster,” he managed, pulling back to lie down on his pillow.

You followed him, wrapping your arms and legs around him with your head on his chest. “You could always call Rooster,” you mostly joked, “check in on him.”

“No way in hell am I gonna call Slow Ride,” he pouted. Even though he did once, on the one-year anniversary of the mission when the nightmares were at their peak. The blond rolled his eyes at your knowing giggles, he playfully shoved you away and got up from the bed. “I’m going downstairs for water, you want anythin’?”

You shook your head and got back under the blanket, turning away from him. Jake smiled kindly in return and made his way out of the room, fingers gliding along the wall to ground him. He was in this house, he was part of a team because he succeeded, Rooster’s a part of that team. It became his mantra as he descended the stairs, eyes glued to the floor.

The kitchen light was already on, it took Hangman a few seconds to register it. His brows furrowed at the freezer door that was still cracked open from the last user. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he shut both doors and turned towards the island. “Jesus,” he cursed in shock, seeing his son silently sitting there, wrist deep in the tub of ice cream. “What are you doin’ up, son?” he breathed, masking the panic.

Luke looked up from his phone, matching bloodshot green eyes meeting his. “Late-night snack,” the thirteen-year-old responded. Jake could see beyond his answer, he knew the way his shoulders were hunched and the slight tremor in his hands—he knew it all too well. Plus he wore the faded Navy hoodie that used to be his father's, he wore it whenever you or Jake went on a mission.

“Luke,” Jake said, turning on the dad voice he perfected. He rounded the island and took a seat on the bar tool beside him, stealing his son's spoon.

“It’s nothing, dad,” Luke grumbled.

“Bullshit,” Jake smirked, raising his brows. “You know what your ma would say.”

Luke rolled his eyes and threw his head back in defeat. “I had a bad dream, but it’s alright! I’m not a baby, we don’t need to talk,” I’m a man now, men don’t talk about bad dreams.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Jake took his pointer finger and poked the side of his head. He earned a weak smile in return “We don’t talk like that in this house, son, you know that.” Sucking it up was never an option in the Seresin household, not in this Seresin household.

“I dreamt that you and mom didn’t make it back— no one made it back—grandma and grandpa didn’t want us,” Luke began to say, his grip tightening around his phone. Jake draped an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him closer. “We had nowhere to go, we were alone.”

“I’m right here, your mom's right upstairs, and your uncle Javy is a phone call away,” Jake reminded him calmly. Luke’s frame relaxed, his head finally leaning on Jake’s shoulder. “You know there’s a plan if something happens, we’d never leave you alone, kiddo.”

The two Seresin men sat in silence for a while, the ice cream on the counter beginning to melt in front of them. “I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” Luke admitted after a while.

“Yeah, me too.”

“D-did you have a nightmare too?”

Jake’s lips thinned, his initial reaction was to deny it, suck it up, and move on as his dad beat into him growing up. But even in his darkest time, he was still an example to his children, “Yeah, but it was just a dream,” he nodded along with his words, then he nudged him, “but there’s someone who always makes it better.”

You felt restless after Jake left the bed, tossing and turning, turning the lamp off and on until it remained permanently on while you waited for your husband. When the door started to creak open, you sat up, the blanket pooling around you. Of course, you expected a six-foot aviator to walk through the door, but you didn’t expect the lanky boy by his side “Hi honey,” you greeted Luke, your eyes fixed on Jake cautiously.

“Got room for another tonight? told him you’re the best sandman around,” Jake questioned, sending you a look. Taking the hint, you smiled and opened your arms. Your son grinned and crawled into the bed, hugging you tighter than normal. It all made sense.

Jake climbed in beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple before getting comfortable.

“Want to talk about it?” you asked, pushing back his hair.

Luke shook his head, pulling out his dog tags and running his fingers along your name and call sign. “No,” he muttered, “Dad and I already did…I’m feeling better. Just sleepy.” He pulled the blanket to his nose, slipping off you and finding his place in the middle. You playfully covered his eyes, making him laugh which resulted in Jake turning around to face the action. You and Jake locked eyes, your hand left Luke’s face to brush along your husband's face.

Jake wrapped his hand around your hand, pulling it closer to kiss your palm. “Goodnight boys, sweet dreams.”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fluff #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin is a good dad #top gun #top gun maverick

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malum-forev · 9 months

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Non Exclusive

Bucky warmed the single beer he’d been nursing for hours by holding it with both hands. He blew air into the top of the bottle, making the glass whistle as he shifted on both legs. He glanced your way twice, not wanting to make it obvious he was staring.

Sam pulled up next to the brunet, switching up his flat beer for a newer, colder one.

“How much longer are you going to be lurking in the shadows?” Sam asked. “People have already started asking me who the peeping tom is.”

“I’m not staring.” Was all Bucky said.

“Staring, wanting to burst Garrett’s head with your mind, tomato, tomato.” Sam sipped his beer, leaning back on the wall to join his friend. “You look pretty jealous Buck. I thought you said you and (Y/N) had agreed on just sex.”

“It is just sex.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

Bucky let his blue eyes roam your body, he had made it his personal mission to memorize the curves on your body. It was like he had X-Ray vision and he could accurately pinpoint where each and every one of your moles and scars were.

Sam hummed. “If you two aren’t exclusive, then tell me who you’ve fucked other than her lately.”

Bucky realized it would have been too embarrassing for him to say he’d turned down more than a couple of offers. To be honest, once he got used to this new world, Bucky was- what’s the correct word?- he was liberated.

When Dr. Raynor told him he was free and he’d asked her “Free to do what?”

He didn’t think fucking every single woman within a five-mile radius would be her answer- but that’s what he did. And it was amazing. He wasn’t used to women being so open about how he made them feel, Bucky had even asked for pointers to make the experience more pleasurable for them. There wasn’t a clause in his contract that forbid him from fraternizing with other agents and boy did he make some of his higher ups wish they did.

The Winter Soldier had gotten quite the reputation for being an expert in the one and done category. Making women all around the compound want him even more, wishing they would be the ones to return the soldier back to his 40’s ways. None of them had been successful.

But something changed when he met you. You’d been on the team for some time now but you had never expressed any interest in him. Until that night. For Bucky, his life would be separated into two categories: Before You and After You.

It was a late night and you came into his office with your tactical suit zipped down to your waist with a tight cropped shirt underneath that begged to be taken off, your hair that was usually up in a ponytail had been let free a long time ago.

Bucky gulped as you leaned over the table to reach for something, your breasts taunting him.

Before he knew it, your lips were on his. You were running your hands through his short hair, trying to grip anything. Your ragged breaths only pushed your breasts closer to him, making him go feral.

“I’m not looking for anything serious.” He panted.

Your devious smile only made him harder. “Neither am I.”

Ever since that day, he’d been entranced. Of course he enjoyed sex with other women but with you, Bucky felt a deep connection. Like you were made for him, you introduced Bucky to a pleasure high he didn’t think was even possible or existed for that matter.

It started when he called you after a mission, wanting to get rid of pent-up aggression. Bucky was extra happy when you’d told him you were more than happy to let him use your body, that day he’d introduced you to the stars. Fucking you into oblivion.

Then, it was once a week at least.

“Training has been-“ Bucky said between thrusts but you shushed him.

You craned your neck from your position on all fours, locking with his darkened and lustful eyes. “Concentrate on me, on us.”

Bucky thought it was a miracle he didn’t come then and there, just from your words.

You laid in bed with him after the two of you had finished. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back on his almost flat pillows before focusing all your energy- whatever he hadn’t drained- into lifting your body.

“A-are you leaving already?” Bucky’s voice was just above a whisper.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to stay longer.” You chuckled.

Bucky’s eyes furrowed. “What makes you think that?”

“I thought you used those as a quick fuck quick exit tactic.” You pointed at the uncomfortable pillows. “You know, to make your guest understand they shouldn’t overstay their welcome.”

When you came over a week later, a couple of things had changed in his room. On the nightstand opposite his were a couple of boxes of tampons, one candle, a toothbrush and an oversized vintage t-shirt of his. You fought back a smile as you saw a brand-new fluffy pillow rest next to his flat one on the bed with the tags still attached.

“Did you take some pointers from romantic comedies?” You bit your bottom lip.

Bucky smiled, kneeling between your legs perched at the edge of the bed. “Concentrate on me.”

You threw your head back with a moan as he lowered his head in between your thighs.

“I’ll take your lack of an answer as a no.” Sam laughed. “The fuckboy became the simp.”

“What of course I’ve been seeing other people.” Bucky scoffed. “Yes, I’ve been doing a lot of that. Recently. Constantly.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Then I assume you won’t care if I told you Thor is coming to the compound next week.”

The sound of his name made the blood coursing through Bucky’s veins become hot. He clamped down on his molars.

“I thought he wasn’t returning, at least not soon.” Bucky tried to sound relaxed, like he totally didn’t care that the man you have the biggest crush on would be training with the team.

Sam shrugged. “Something about having intel.”

“What kind of intel could he have that we couldn’t easily get.” Bucky rolled his eyes and sipped the beer.

“You’re seriously considering you have more information than the literal God of Thunder?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s not like I care anyways.”

“You don’t?” Sam pushed.

“I. don’t. care.” Bucky enunciated each word, following your hands as you placed them on Garrett’s chest.

“When’s the whole Mr. Casual act going to stop?” Sam asked.

“You know me-“ Bucky let out a strained smile. “Monogamy bores me. Being with only one woman, for the rest of my life, the whole get married and spend eternity wishing I would die at the same time as her so I don’t need to spend another minute of my time on Earth without her- yeah that doesn’t sound like me.”

Sam judged his friend silently.

“She can go home with Garrett and I wouldn’t care-“ Bucky laughed into his beer. “Plus he’s like a full four inches shorter than me so- yeah I don’t care.”

Just as Sam was about to say something, his friends eyes lit up and for the first time in hours he saw Bucky look not miserable- dare he even say happy?

You strutted towards the soldier, your happy glow transferring onto him.

“How about you take me back to your place, Sarge?” You whispered into his ear.

Bucky’s face lit up and he took your hand, quickly waving back at Sam. “If you have an emergency, don't call!”

I'm the worst at writing even mild spice so pls don't kill me if this is cringeeee. I triedddd and I'm a sucker for slutty Buck.

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour@hallecarey1

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dumbificat · 4 months

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Day 11 -> xiao + christmas miracle

☆ - xiao h/c fluff | wc: 623 ♡ - non-graphic descriptions of a wound/blood | gn reader ♪ - note:: day 11 of my event ! one more to go… i’m sorry again about the delay but i hope you enjoy nonetheless <3 ★ - taglist -> @https-furina @ryuryuryuyurboat @imapencil @mccnstruck | join my taglist

soft, icy crystals of silken snow fell from liyuen skies, a crisp blanket over wangshu inn. said inn had never appeared so serene before; there was a gentle whisper of the wind that breezed through leaves, the divine light of the moon a stark contrast to the deep inky black of the winter sky.

you were sat, awaiting your lover’s return. on the table- two plates of freshly prepared grilled tiger fish, made just for him. the favourite meal of your favourite guy, just in time for the festive season. they were cooling quickly due to his absence, yet you didn’t want to eat without him. he was late. later than he usually was when his duties would keep him out for longer than intended. worry clawed its way into your heart, ripping any semblance of hope to shreds. it made its way to your head, screaming at you to go find him.

right as you were about to move from the table, there was a smoky flashy. wisps of anemo disappeared as quick as they came, leaving in their wake your beloved xiao.

you rushed towards him, arms wrapping tight around his. you peppered his face with small kisses, doing more than enough to convey your worry to your adeptus. you pulled away, hands shifting to his shoulders, to ask,

“xiao, where have you been?”

to this, he winced, and that’s when you noticed. his hand was clutching his side. traces of blood seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt and onto the scarred skin of his hand.

you gasped, shocked still. it took a second to realise he was still bleeding while you stood before him, so you rushed to move him to a chair. seeing the urgency in your eyes, he followed without complaint, knowing any resistance will just worsen the pain. you hurried over to the cabinet, returning to your lover with bandages and disinfectant after washing and drying your hands. he rested awkwardly on his side, jaw clenched and eyes shut tight. gently, you reached for his hand, disinfectant at the ready.

the wound was, admittedly, not terrible. not as bad as one would assume, what with it being more of an unfortunately placed graze than anything. a deep, stinging graze. but not bad. regardless, you dressed the wound to the best of your ability, a skill you’ve been practicing since you fell in love with the yaksha.

with your main concerns put to rest, you remained on the floor, hands resting on xiao’s knees. you gazed up at his face expectantly, his eyes now open, but averted.

“darling..? are you alright?” receiving no response, you followed his eye-line, having completely forgotten what was on the table. there was… your stone cold dinner. before you could voice your apologies, xiao spoke up,

“don’t worry, my qingxin. im sure it was delicious, your cooking always is. i appreciate it still,” despite his shaky breaths, you could hear in sincerity in his voice. you looked to him, his favourite smile on your lips.

“here, for you,” he hands you a small qingxin, its petals somehow still pristine, “i picked it for you before the fight. i’m… surprised it lasted this long.”

“it’s a christmas miracle…” he offers a rare smile, placing the pretty flora behind your ear before reaching for the back of your neck, pulling you in. wanting to avoid any strain, you leaned up the rest of the way, meeting his lips in a sweet kiss.

his injuries may not have been lethal, and as regular an occurrence they may have been, you were glad he was still there with you to spend christmas together. you’ll have to thank your lucky stars for the miracle of him.

thank you for reading day 11 ! please reblog with tags if you enjoyed :)

link to event post

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salmonskinrolltf · 16 days

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this is soooo embarrassing. I can’t believe I’m even typing it out. But dude, I’ve been a gaymer for as long as I remember. I’m 30 pounds too heavy. I’m 27 and living. With too many roommates in the suburbs. And well. I’ve been watching Glee lately. And I just got to the season around college and I was hoping I could rent some tapes. See, I’ve got this major crush on Darren’s character Blaine and itd be awesome to always be singing and dancing and having fun. I was never a theatre kid myself. Any chance you can help?

Almost like a miracle, right when you considered ordering a tape from Be Kind Rewind, one of your roommates got a VCR. You suppose. You’re not sure which one of them actually got it, but it’s right there, plugged into the TV in your living room, so someone must have. The only thing is, you’ve had to wait until everyone was out to use it. You double check that the door is locked and everybody is out for the evening. You’re embarrassed to be seen watching the show, but you’re embarrassed for another reason tonight, too. Because renting this tape feels like a special occasion, you’ve decided to cosplay as Blaine a little bit. Your hair is neatly slicked back and you’ve donned a cardigan and bow tie to match his put-together preppy look.

When you’re certain the coast is clear, you open the (thankfully discretely marked) package and a die rolls out into your hand. Oh yeah. The die thing. Weird. You toss it onto the coffee table and it lands on 4.

When the VCR whirs to life, you hear those a cappella credit trills that indicate whatever episode that was playing has already ended, so you jab the rewind button, humming the music quietly to yourself. You scratch your stomach and realize the fabric of your cardigan is much looser than it should be. You lift it up and see that your stomach has shrunk, flattening against your torso, which seems firmer and more lithe in general.

Stunned, you gaze at yourself in the nearest mirror, noticing how the new outfit looks even more Blaine-like after your bizarre transformation. In fact, everything is looking more Blaine-like. Your eyebrows thicken and darken, your slicked-back hair darkening along with them. As your lips plump up and your skin tans slightly, you realize you look like a total Blaine doppelganger. Your dick hardens in the thrift store pants you bought to match the overall preppy look. You look just like your crush! You’re not even questioning it, you just figure you must be dreaming or something. But even if you’re only dreaming, why let the opportunity pass you by to admire yourself more… privately?

In a daze, you wander into the bathroom. Instead of the pigsty it normally is, living with so many roommates, it looks neat and tidy. Tubs of hair gel neatly line the sides of the sink, and the mirror is decorated with playbills, a photo of Blaine and Kurt, and a bumper sticker for a local Lima, Ohio radio station. Not only do you look exactly like Blaine, you’re now in what seems to be his bathroom! You admire yourself in the mirror.

A thrill of excitement thrums through you and you unzip your pants, rubbing yourself at the thought of looking just like your crush.

As you pleasure yourself, you think about the various Glee characters you have the biggest crushes on. Could you use this VHS service to become them all? The thought makes you even more aroused. However, when Blaine returns to your mind, your dick deflates. Suddenly it feels wrong to be thinking about him. You try to cycle back through the other characters in your mind, but suddenly only the female ones come to mind. Brittany, Quinn, even Rachel. Your dick springs back to full hardness and you panic at the sudden shift in your sex drive. You shove your erection back into your pants but not before cum explodes into the sink. You hurriedly wipe it up with some toilet paper.

What the hell is going on? As you scrub, you don’t notice that the gel is slowly easing out of your hair, which curls and falls over your face in a more lackadaisical, unkempt fashion. Stubble sprouts from your cheeks, chin, and upper lip, slowly growing into a short beard. Your clothes morph from your preppy ensemble into more of a rocker vibe, your shredded T-shirt dipping into a V-neck that exposes the dark, matted chest hair that has been busy unfurling across your newly taut torso.

Right when you flush the balled-up wad of TP, a voice interrupts your panic.

“What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?”

You turn to the doorway and see Blaine Anderson standing there. Wait, that can’t be. Weren’t you just him? You turn to look at yourself in the mirror and see a much more rugged, sloppy individual than the person you were just a moment before. You look like Blaine, but… different. Older, somehow. And more unkempt, definitely.

This intruder, on the other hand, looks exactly like Blaine. He also looks annoyed. He taps his toe and runs a hand across his impeccably coiffed hair. “This is why I asked Mom for my own bathroom, so I wouldn’t have to wait for you all the time. How is it that I use 12 hair products a day and you still take longer than I do for everything?”

You’re too shocked to say anything. You’re unsure whether you’re more shocked by the words he’s saying or the fact that Blaine is standing just feet away and you feel nothing about it whatsoever. As your brain sputters, your body kicks into autopilot and you shrug.

“The gays haven’t cornered the market on looking good just yet, little bro,” you chuckle, punching his arm as you head back out into the hallway, which now looks like one that belongs in a pristine suburban home.

As you head back into your room, you notice that it looks entirely different. No game consoles in sight, just laundry strewn everywhere and a mini basketball hoop on the back of the doorway. You absent-mindedly toss a NERF basketball toward the hoop and it hits the rim, flying back in your direction and smacking you in the face, knocking you back onto the unkempt mattress that’s on the floor without a bed frame.

You groggily open your eyes and look around. Where the hell are you? Who the hell are you? You rack your brains. Oh yeah. David Anderson. Eldest son of one of the lamest families on the planet, smack dab in the middle of Buttfuck, Ohio. You scratch your hairy chest underneath your T-shirt and check the time.

You remember you have plans to grab some brews with the boys this evening before seeing the latest movie starring that hot actress you like, so you’d better head out quick so you can hit up the gym beforehand. You throw on your gym clothes, grab your water bottle, and rush out the door.

As you pass by your little bro’s room, you see him singing along to a Mariah Carey tune and practicing his dance moves. You roll your eyes good-naturedly. Singing and dancing aren’t for you, but you appreciate how into it he is. You figure that, for him, singing and dancing brings him the same joy that going to the gym and playing ball with your bros does for you. You leap up to smack the top of the door frame as you head outside, barely giving Blaine another thought as you walk down the street, anticipating the awesome evening ahead of you.

#roll the die #Be Kind Rewind #Gay to Straight #Chest Hair #Facial Hair #Jock

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milawritesstuff · 1 year

Note

Could you write where pedri is having a bad day and reader takes care of him. maybe they take a bath together, reader cooks his favorite food, they watch a movie at home. JUST PURE FLUFF SINCE HE NEEDS ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD and also very sensual (lots of innocent touching) because pedri deserves that

A/N: I’ve been having writer’s block & Im worried about him and Barça with all of the ppl out for the return with ManU. So I hope you guys like this one.

•••

-Joder!- You saw Pedri yell as he walked off the pitch and sat next to Ferran. The first half wasn’t over yet and he had been subbed out for an injury. It didn’t look serious but you knew if Xavi had subbed him out it was serious. You waited anxiously in the bleachers until the end of the match when you could finally go to the tunnels and find him.

You approached the locker room and you ran into Gavi.

-How is he?-

He shrugged his shoulders.-Probably his harm string. He’s fine but he’s upset.-

You walked into the room where Pedri was sitting on a table. -Babe!- He looked over at you and smiled. -Sorry.-

-Sorry for what? How are you feeling?-

-You came to watch me play and I didn’t even finish the first half. They’re saying I’ll be out for 4 weeks.-

You hugged him. -I just care that you’re fine.- you placed a kiss on his head and felt how he hugged you in closer to his body. -Te quiero.- he whispered.

An hour later you were on your way home. Pedri still upset but trying to mask it in. -You heard them, they’ll run more tests tomorrow and then decide how long you will be out for, nothing’s set in stone.-

-I won’t play against ManU next week unless there’s a miracle.- he explained looking defeated.

When you got home he went straight to the bedroom. You could hear him saying profanities under his breath until he finally came out and found you in the kitchen.

-Are you okay?- you asked. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. -No, but I’ll be fine.- the two of you stayed like that for a few minutes. You could tell he needed it. Eventually he turned you around. -Te quiero.- he said with a shy smile. -Yo te amo tonto.- you responded which caused him to laugh and take you in for a soft kiss.

-I just feel like I left them down, it sucks that I had to get injured right now.-

-Calm down Pedri it’s not like you chose to get injured. Besides you’re not that great, it’s not like you can’t be replaced.- you teased him causing him to begin to tickle you.

Despite being late into the night he wasn’t tired. The usual routine of coming home after a match and getting into bed to watch something on TV and drift into sleep was scratched for the night.

-I’m making you some croquetas.- he smiled. -But first, I think you need a shower.-

He laughed. -Are you saying I smell?-

You turned over to look at him and rolled your eyes. -No. Let me rephrase that, I think we need a nice warm bath.- you said as you began to unbutton your blouse. He smirks and you lightly punch his chest. -You’re injured Pedrito, don’t get any ideas.- he rolls his eyes. -Don’t tell me you’re going to use that excuse for the next four weeks.-

The bath water was warm, Pedri was already in the bathtub. You went in and sat in between his legs with your bare back against his chest. As soon as your bodies touched he let out a sigh of relief. You rested your head against his body. He intertwined his hands with yours. -Have I ever told you how much I love you?- You smile. -I think you have mentioned it.-

You turn your head over to give him a kiss. He leaves small kisses on your shoulders and pours water over you. His arm around your stomach, you can feel his breathing against your back. The two of you sit there until the water no longer feels warm.

-You’ve been working so hard maybe it will be nice for you to have some rest.- you tell him as you help him put on his shirt. You wrap your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you and lifts your head up to give you a kiss. -I feel defeated but you always know how to cheer me up.- You leave another kiss on his lips and leave him to finish getting ready.

When Pedri finally comes out to the kitchen you have his croquetas ready. He walks over to you and caresses your face. -I don’t deserve you.- He says and you shake your head taking him in for a hug. -I got so lucky with you Pedrito.-

After the two of you eat you decide to go watch a movie in bed. His arm behind your back as the two of you lay in bed. You love the way his arm feels around you. He makes you feel safe. Every time a funny scene comes on Pedri looks over at you and scrunches his nose up before letting out a laugh. The sound of his laugh fills you up. You can’t believe he’s all yours.

As the night goes on you drape your legs over his and rest your head on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat and that along with his fingers caressing your hair puts you to sleep.

TAG LIST: @cinderellawithashoe @httpswiftie @simpingmyassoff @bubblebeep69 @fictional-l0v3r @httpspedri26 @0alanasworld0 @l0verl4ne @gaviypedrisbride @footballerficsposts @fashphotolife @beaschampagneproblems @jvsgnjrtpdar5stkd-tv-m @ikkehehe @jjishotasf @quemirasboboandapaya @maricciardo @gaviswh0re @pedriwifefrfr @dustell @elijahslover @formula1mount

#pedri gonzalez #pedri #pedri imagine #pedri x reader #pedro gonzalez #pedri blurb #pedri x y/n #pedri is so damn hot #pedri requests #pedri fluff

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gloryofroses19 · 2 years

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FaceTime Follies

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x girlfriend!reader

If being in the Navy had taught Lieutenant Bradley Bradhsaw anything, it’s that waking up early is a pain. Despite a full 8 hours of sleep, because what else is he supposed to do stuck on a naval ship in the middle of the Pacific, Bradley nursed a warm cup of coffee as he prepared.

Grabbing his watch from his nightstand, Bradley moved himself in front of the small, mounted mirror. With motoric precision, Bradley ran a handful of pomade through his hair and the remnants over his mustache. With the final adjustment to the well-worn white t-shirt that adorned his body, he unlocked his phone and hit the contact titled “Chicken ❤️”.

Rooster smiled to himself as he waited for her to pick up, recalling the fateful date that had him changing her contact to match his callsign. But his reminiscing was cut short as her image filled his iPhone screen.

“Well hello sailor!”

Chucking to himself, Bradley moved to correct her. “Dalin’, I’m a pilot.”

“In the Navy!” [y/n] responded in a matter-of-fact tone. “Also ‘well hello pilot’, just doesn’t have as nice of a ring to it.”

“True but it is more accurate.” Pausing to enjoy the giggle that followed, Rooster continued. “Anyway, good morning pretty girl, how was your day?” And Bradley Bradshaw meant every word of the term of endearment. Despite the late night hour in San Diego, she looked as beautiful as ever freshly showered with wet hair and outfitted in a gray hoodie.

“Oh so it’s morning where you are…” Moving out of frame for a fraction of a second, Rooster was met with the sight of his girlfriend returning with her iPad. “If you'd just excuse me while I look up places in the Pacific where it’s currently 4:14AM.”

“How do you know it’s 4:14AM?”

[y/n] often joked to her friends that despite his callsign, Rooster reminded her of a golden retriever. Especially now with his head tilted to the side in confusion. “The clock behind you, Bradshaw.”

“Hey Sherlock, cool it or I’m going to lose my phone privileges when you figure out classified information.”

“You’re right, ending up in jail on espionage charges does sound terrible doesn’t it?”

“Who cares about the espionage charges? The bigger problem would be the week and half we’d not be able to talk to each other!”

If dating a Top Gun aviator taught her anything, it was to accept the small miracles that happen everyday. Like for example, her boyfriend looking ruggedly handsome and healthy despite the poor lighting and spotty internet connection. [y/n] bit her lip as she watched him adjust his t-shirt across his broad chest and wished so desperately that she was cuddled up against him.

“I had a dream last night and it got me thinking, did I leave my light blue Hawaiian shirt at your place?”

“You’ve got a bunch that could be described like that, Rooster. I'm going to need some more specifics.”

“So bossy…” Rooster joked knowing that if they’d have been together, she would have poked him. “The light blue with little scenes of a guy surfing and palm trees. Oh, and there’s turtles!”

“Oh, that one! Yes, you did. It’s sitting freshly cleaned and ironed in my closet awaiting your return.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Of course, but I have to ask. Do you normally dream about your wardrobe? Don’t get me wrong, kudos for rocking the Hawaiian shirts before they came back in style but you’ve been gone for two weeks so dreaming about it seems like a serious commitment.”

“Ha ha very fun.” He grinned at her, before shyly moving his gaze off screen. “It belonged to my dad, it actually was the last shirt he wore before his final flight.”

Being with Bradley had taught [y/n] when to push for more information and when to accept what is being given to her. “Oh, well like I said it’s waiting for you.”

“I’m in no rush, I know it’s in good hands.” Bradley paused, looking at her through the screen and wishing that his career didn’t take him away from the person he loved most in this world. When he lost his parents and Maverick betrayed him, Rooster thought he could never trust, let alone love someone wholeheartedly. The heartbreak was too much for him…or so he thought until he met [y/n].

A knock on his door followed by a low murmur of conversation drew Rooster’s attention and body away from the phone. [y/n] accepted the gift being given to her and shamelessly observed her boyfriend’s profile. However, the wording on Bradley’s shirt caught her attention.

“Sorry baby, we got 5 minutes left. I should have called earlier.” Returning to his phone, Bradley did not miss the Chesire grin that his girlfriend was sporting.

“It’s okay, you should get as much sleep as you can.” With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Rooster excitedly braced for whatever was to come. “But I do have a question of my own. Nice university shirt, remind me when exactly did you attend?”

“I’m sorry but where’s the question?” Rooster asked in an attempt to stall for time. He never intended to take [y/n]’s old, oversized college t-shirt. He just had seen it sitting atop her pile of clean laundry and thought of the night she first told him she loved him while wearing it as they sat on his apartment floor looking at pictures of his parents at 12AM.

“The question is that you're a thief Bradley Bradhsaw! I wonder how the Navy would feel knowing that one of their star pilots is a robber!” But the effectiveness of her statement decreased as her phone began to tumble. Bradley began to laugh as he heard her curse and scramble to catch her phone. Her rush, however, allowed Rooster to catch sight of the words adorning her sweatshirt. “Oh and when exactly did you attend Top Gun Academy [full name]?”

With an exaggerated gasp, [y/n] threw her hands over the front of his sweatshirt before joining Bradley in laughing. “God, we’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love, baby girl.” Bradley corrected her. He knew he idolized his parents' relationship despite his limited memory of them together. He also knew that memory was fickle and biased. But he had never heard anyone deny that Goose Bradshaw loved his wife with every ounce of his being. How Goose felt like the luckiest man in the world to be able to have his wife by his side who loved him. And the way Bradley Bradshaw felt when [full name] looked at him, even through a phone, struck him that maybe all his memories and people’s stories about his parents were right.

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way.” [y/n] confirmed. As if on cue, Rooster’s alarm sounded informing the pair that their time was up.

“I love you, be safe.”

“I’ll try my best, ma’am. I love you.”

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading! As always, I'd love any feedback!

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun imagine #top gun maverick x reader #rooster x reader

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 1 year

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Moonlight -x- Sunlight

ch.3 -- Demons' 101 (cw// banner has flashing txt!)

r.kyojuro/f.reader

genre: modern!au, teacher!kyojuro by day/demonslayer by night, izakayaworker!reader, slowburn?, romance, angst

warning(s): slight implications of anxiety, rengoku info-dumps about demons, Taco being Taco

w.count: 6.3k

synopsis: if someone told you that one night you’d find yourself walking down the street at three in the morning before you were running for your life away from a disjointed monster hot on your heels- you’d probably check for fever or intoxication. but, when that actually happens, all you think of is running and praying for a miracle as you stare death in the face. turns out, that miracle comes in the form of reassuring smiles and a red sword beneath a bridge and by the riverside.

-x-x-x-

a/n: hope y'all are ready bc shes back!! read the a/n pt.2 at the end for further instructions heheh (if there's still grammatical errors soz i edited this in chunks and couldn't be bothered to reread everything one more time)

-x-x-x-

You were slouched against your locker in the back room where your aprons and extra clothes are kept by the end of your shift. The izakaya had finally closed, and while it was closed earlier than usual since patrons seemed to have filed out pretty quick tonight, the way your throbbing ankle felt didn't make the early closing any better. You had willed away most of the pain, carrying on as if nothing was wrong, and kept yourself busy with micro-breaks here and there, but now that it was all said and done, well, you’ve felt better.

You quickly took off your apron and tossed it in your locker and grabbed your purse, slinging it over your shoulder. Snatching your crutch, you placed it under your shoulder and sighed when you lifted your foot and relieved it of your weight.

“Christ,” you mutter to yourself before you’re hobbling your way out of the locker room, through the main lobby all the way to the entrance. You shouted to whoever may be around still, be it lingering coworkers or your boss, before you slid open the door and left. With a small show of your balance, you pushed the door shut with your crutch as you stood on your one good leg before bringing the crutch back down where it needed to be.

You sidle to the right away from the entrance, just out of reach for the hanging lamps to cast a shadow over you when you take a shaky breath. You found yourself paranoid in the early morning hours- but, you couldn’t blame yourself. The last time you were out this late after a shift, you almost died. You took a deep breath, then another… then another. You try calming yourself down, convincing yourself that what happened was a once-in-a-lifetime freak accident and there was no way you’d be unlucky enough to get caught up in something like that again.

“It’s fine,” you tell yourself. “I’m fine,” you repeat. The palm you used to grab the handle of your crutch felt sweaty, so you took it off for a moment and furiously wiped it on your shirt before returning it. “You’re going to be fine,” you hiss to yourself, looking down at your feet, one uninjured and the other replaced with a crutch foot. The same feet that still wouldn’t move despite your pep talk.

Stuck in your mental battle on when you’re finally going to get your limbs to start taking you home, you completely miss the person walking up behind you until they call out to you.

“Is your ankle in much pain?”

You squawk, your crutch jumping out away from your leg and making your teeter before correcting yourself and using your other arm to reach across your body and grab onto the medical addition to your body in further stability. Whipping your head up, you once again come face to face with Rengoku. Still smiling, even if there’s a hint of concern in his wide eyes since he didn’t exactly mean to spook you. You also took notice of his arms that were outstretched and ready to catch you if you began careening down to the pavement.

You correct your posture and face him, feeling embarrassed for a number of reasons.

“I’m slated to never have a normal greeting with you, am I?” You speak more to yourself than him since every time you’ve encountered him so far- not including when he was a paying customer not so long ago- has been riddled with embarrassment or fear. You’ve come face to face with him three times now, and you conducted yourself better in front of Kocho who you had met once and stripped down to your bones in front of. “What are you still doing out at this hour?”

“I am doing a simple round of patrols for this sector of the city,” he tells you and your eyes finally drift down to see the white sheath on his hip supported by the harness he wore on his chest and over his shoulders- the same items he had when you first saw him. Seeing them again made a lump form in your throat that you tried to choke down. You felt a bit stupid for the question because what else would he be doing out this late when you’ve seen first hand what could happen.

“Yeah, sorry,” you shake your head and scoff at yourself, “I could’ve guessed.”

“No need to apologize!” That didn’t exactly reassure you. Rengoku was good at reading people, he spent a lot of time doing so among his years, so your unsteady and somewhat jittery presence did not fly over his head. “Are you heading home?”

“Planning on it, yeah.”

“It’s much earlier than last time, that is good!”

“It was a slow night so we closed down earlier.”

“Would you like an escort home?”

“An escort?” Your words were short as you confirm what he’s just asked you. Part of you hates that he basically just told you that he can see your paranoia and anxiousness as clear as day. You glance away and gnaw at your lip, conflicted. You most certainly didn’t want to walk home alone, the nightmarish memories haunting you like a... well like a demon. But you also didn’t want to appear fragile because you couldn’t walk home like you had a thousand times before.

You take a deep, shaky breath as Rengoku steps closer to you, his hair lighting up further as he gets closer to the hanging lanterns behind you. The colors and shades nearing the light resembling a warm campfire to keep woodland terrors at bay. A safe beacon.

“It is not wrong to be afraid.”

“I'm not!” You instinctively argue back, but immediately bite your own tongue realizing that raising your voice at his kindness was most certainly rude. However, even a two year old could tell that your words were clearly a lie. You sigh again, apologizing for your outburst. “Yes, I am,” you admit more to yourself than to him.

Rengoku just smiles down at your averted eyes and moves to stand beside you before gently slipping your purse off your shoulder and slotting it up his arm to rest on his own. He outstretched his opposite arm as he caught your eyes again and gently signaled you to start moving at your own pace.

“Allow me to walk you home then.” With him already having taken your purse and gestured his intent to not be swayed on his decision, you smirk teasing up at him and chuckle.

“Arguing won’t get me anywhere, will it?”

Not that you really wanted it to.

“It will not!” Well, at least he was honest.

The walk back was relatively quiet, save for the nighttime crickets that chirped along with the toads hidden away in corners. The sounds of the cicadas had lessened from this afternoon to a dull buzz instead of mind-numbing shrills. You kept taking glances at Rengoku, your purse hanging off the shoulder closest to you as you hobbled along on your crutches. You could barely see the tip of his sword's hilt from around him without being too obvious you were even looking to begin with. He must’ve kept it as horizontal to his leg as possible to avoid catching whatever riff-raff attention could be mangling around.

“Does something interest you?” Apparently, you weren’t as sneaky as you thought. You shoot your gaze forwards, nearly stumbling on your set of extra rubber feet and clearing your throat, the summer air suddenly way too dry for the humid season.

“I just, well, I didn’t think you’d notice?” You tell him honestly. He chuckles at your words and you feel a little better since he doesn’t sound freaked out by your clearly awkward behavior. “I guess I was a little curious about your, what do you call it, second job? The whole,” you lift one of your crutches, stopping your movements momentarily as you whip it around and grunt (rather embarrassingly) before putting it back down, “sword job thing?”

He laughs before letting out a small “Ah!” in recognition of your curiosity. Maybe it was because of the early hours, but part of you feared an apartment window flicking on in response to his boisterous laughter. Still, you easily admitting to yourself that it was a lovely sound.

“Curiosity may not be the wisest decision when it is about what goes on after the sun sets. Sometimes, it’s best that people believe demon’s are nothing but fictional stories made up simply to spook children.”

“Oh,” you were a little disappointed. You had already been attacked and injured, it’s not like you’d call him a liar if he told you. “I see.” You still wanted to know more, even if it was terrifying. With your crestfallen expression and new goal to just get home without creating an uncomfortable atmosphere, you missed the small look the flame-haired man gave you.

“Regardless of my skills, being out so late at night can be dangerous for anyone,” he starts, eyes casting forwards once more as he continues to lead you home. “There are many kinds of demons under the moon, and some can be more ferocious than others. If one catches sight of myself or another of my…” he pauses to find a decent word. “... coworkers,” he decides on, “chances are split that they flee from us, or do the opposite and begin a confrontation if they’re feeling particularly omnipotent.”

That small piece of information made you feel a little better about his choice to stay quiet about it all, his choice to disclose that even he wasn’t always 100% safe was bone chilling. Still, it did not soothe your curiousity completely. You decided to shake it off, you were acting like a child- it wasn’t your business and this man was nothing more than a stranger you’ve run into a couple times. The fact he literally saved your life had nothing to do with it- you had to let it go.

It was rude to pry.

“Perhaps when we get to your home I can answer your questions there.” You stop in your limping steps as you look at him. He was smiling at you, something warm and comforting and you seemed to light up. “That is if I would be allowed inside a young woman’s house at this hour.”

“Of course!” Perhaps you were too loud because you immediately covered your mouth with one hand, nearly dropping one of your crutches. You look around, seeing no light flick on and no windows opening to yell for you to keep it down. You lower your hand, a small smile on your face as you clear your throat. “Of course,” you repeat, much more quietly this time. “As long as you don’t mind a temporarily handicapped host and one obnxiously sassy cat.”

He laughs loudly again. “I happen to be fond of cats and your company as well!”

“We’ve met twice, and one of those times I was covered in grass stains, dirt, and sweat.”

“I am a very good judge of character!” You roll your eyes, but somehow, you believe him.

-x-x-x-

“Um, just take your shoes off at the door please.” You tell Rengoku as you sit yourself on the small stool you’ve set up by the front door so you can take your shoes off without much fuss. He easily complies, as he steps into your house only to turn and patiently wait for you to finish up. As you drop your shoes, he offers his arm as you gratefully take it and hoist yourself up with the use of the cane you keep at your door in exchange for your crutches.

In the comfort of your own home that you could maneuver through blindfolded, you greatly preferred the short, ease of use of a cane. You kept it a secret from Kocho though, who knows if she’d scold you for the unprompted buy since she was probably the most professional and strict doctor you’ve been the patient of.

Luckily, since Rengoku had been in your home this much before, he let you use his arm with your free hand all the way until you got into the living room. Much like how he carried you in before. You slip your palm off his forearm and step around him, much less clunky without your crutches.

“Have a seat. I don’t have much to offer, but I do have cold bottled water I can promise hasn't been opened,” you joke as he laughs.

“I appreciate the hospitality, however you do not need to-”

“Ah-tata,” you cut him off, “just because my foot isn’t at peak recovery doesn’t mean I can’t get you a small bottle of water. The kitchen isn’t far anyways.” Rengoku relented. Just as it was impossible to argue with him, it seemed to go both ways. He smiled.

He liked that.

As you disappeared into the kitchen, a small meow and curious tap against his shin caught his attention as he stood by the couch. He smiled down at the black cat as he slid his sword out of the harness he wore and set it gently against the couch so as to not startle your pet. He knelt, offering his hand out as Taco’s little nose bumped against it, sniffing before rubbing his head against the warm knuckles of Rengoku.

“Aren’t you cute,” he mumbles to himself.

“Only around guests,” you add, coming back into the living room to see Rengoku loving on your cat. “He’s cute now, but he’s a big pain in my butt when he wants to be.” You offer him a cold bottle of some random brand of water you bought on sale.

“Aren’t many animals that way?” He graciously takes the plastic bottle from you, the chill of it is a welcome change in his warm palm.

“I think it’s because I spoil him too much. He was a very unprompted rescue, so I went a little overboard raising him.”

“There is nothing wrong with raising an animal with so much care! He seems very happy!”

You plop yourself on the couch and Taco was quick to abandon Rengoku’s side in favor of yourself as he jumped on the cushions and stepped onto your lap where he folded his legs and lay himself down. You scratch at his back, making him stretch and roll before he’s trying to play and swipe at your hand and fingers.

The small little tag that read ‘TACO’ in engraved letters caught Rengoku’s eye and he chuckled at the name. Indeed, that was a very happy and loved cat, he had no doubt.

“You’re welcome to sit on the couch,” you lightly joke at his still kneeling form on your livingroom floor. He does as you suggest, thanking you before sitting a cushion away from you as to not push personal boundaries or opposingly seem too standoff-ish. It was quiet for a bit as you fiddle with your own waterbottle in your hand. “I hope I’m not causing any trouble,” you announce bashfully.

“Pardon?”

“Well,” you breathe, untwisting, then retwisting, just to untwist your bottle cap again to try and focus on something other than your sudden anxiety. “I just sort of dragged you here. I dunno, I feel like I’m pulling you away from your job? I know how important it is.”

“Worry not,” he quells. “There are many others like myself who also patrol the streets when the sun sets! I am not the only one, so my company here is no trouble at all!”

“Oh, right, you mentioned other coworkers. Are there a lot of you?”

“There is! We’re an organization of many people, but since we’re unrecognized by the government and since people do not believe in demon’s unless they survive an encounter with one, we are very scarcely known.” You nod at him. You feel a little sad at the fact he, and others like him, were risking their safety and no one even knew. “In fact, there are even a few of my students who work along side me as well!”

“Students?” You whip your full attention to him at mention of children. “You’re a teacher?”

“I am!”

“And you all just, what? Let children into your little demon-slaying job?”

“Well, not exactly, no.” Rengoku worried he wold break into a sweat at your accusatory tone of getting children involved in clearly dangerous work. “Although it is dangerous, younger slayers are put through rigirous training and must past a very specific qualification test before they can even take to the field like I do. We of higher ranking always make sure to watch out for our young underlings. They are our future after all!”

The idea of kids fighting those… things still didn’t sit quite right with you, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. And if Rengoku says that they’re well taken care of, and skillful above that, then surely they weren’t in too much danger. You wanted to trust his words so you shut your eyes and willed yourself to do so.

“Plus, we are not so reckless as to just assign anything to anyone. No demon is slain by a slayer who is weaker than the task at hand. We’re very meticulous about such things.”

“I understand.” You open your eyes and glance over at your cane for a moment then speak up again. “So, what are demons exactly?”

“Demons are former humans who have either been killed and revived by demon blood, or made a deal with another demon for power.”

“Former humans?” Your mind flashed back to the spindly, disfigured, skeletal demon that attacked you. “So, that thing that attacked me? That was once a person?” Rengoku nodded and a chill ran violently down your spine.

“At some point, yes it was. However, based on its appearance, it must’ve been a demon for a very long time to change that much.” That didn’t exactly make you feel better about it. “You must understand that demons are dangerous creatures regardless of what they used to be. They will not hesitate to attack and slaughter humans. We do not kill demons for sport, it is necessary to protect future victims.”

“I believe you and I understand- I do, it’s just… a lot to process, I guess?” You blow a harsh breath out of your lips. “So, how do you kill them? I mean with your sword I guess, but is there any other way?”

Rengoku nodded, grabbing his sword’s scabbard and hilt before drawing it. The red blade you had gotten a glimpse of the night of the attack shone brilliantly in your well-lit living room. It was truly a beautiful blade to look at and the sword guard in the shape of flames was very fitting to its wielder.

“To kill a demon it must be done with a very specific sword with a blade made out of a specific mineral that’s been bathed in sunlight for many years. This is a nichirin sword, a sword that has a color changing blade.”

“So, a regular sword wouldn’t work?”

“Correct!” He offers his sword over for you to hold and inspect it. You gently take it from him after you move Taco out of the way so that he wouldn’t start playing with it like it was a toy. “You can hack a demon into pieces with a regular blade, but it will always regenerate. A demon must be decapitated with a nichirin sword or it will continue to wreck havoc.” You hand the sword back to him and he easily sheaths it with practiced ease. “However, there are ways to defend yourself from demons, if you’d like to hear?”

You nod, intrigued by the entirely new concept of the world you had been so oblivious to for so many years of your life. You wanted to know more, to understand more. It was captivating and if he was willing to tell, you were willing to listen.

“There are special guns forged in our line of work that have crafted bullets that cause great harm to demons! Among other ways to deter them, demons are unable to stand wisteria.”

“Wistera? Like the flower?”

“Yes! Clusters of Wisteria trees are always a safe place to run to in the event one is close by. Even wisteria-scented charms and poisons are toxic and painful to their kind, they actively avoid anything to do with it. In fact, Kocho is a demon slayer, the same as I!”

“Really?!” Rengoku laughs loudly at your shock, but after a moment it did make sense. She was specifically referred by him and knew everything about what you experienced and believed it easily. If you had stopped to think about it, it was pretty easy to assume she was involved somehow, but a fighter? That was a bit of a shock considering her stature.

“Though she does not have the strength to cut a demon’s head off its shoulders, she’s developed a technique that incorporates poisons in her duty that are lethal upon injection.”

“Wow,” you awe. She was more impressive by the day.

“Of course, it helps that she’s also a very skilled doctor!”

“That’s true,” you lightly giggle. There’s silence in your living room once more as you glance over at the blond haired man. “So,” you start and gain his attention, “you’re a teacher?” You already knew the answer, he answered you earlier but it was the best ice breaker you could think of.

“That is correct.”

“I feel like I could’ve guessed if you didn’t already tell me. You explain things well. Your students must like you.”

“I cannot say how well I am at teaching in particular, but my student’s grades never drop to failing marks! You must keep the children interested in the lesson if you wish for them to grow. I do my best to achieve nothing less!”

“What do you teach?”

“History! I find it very fascinating- the past that is.” You nod. “Not to mention, I have been teaching my younger brother many things since we were young and I always enjoyed doing so. So, the profession grew on me. I very quickly knew what I wanted to do with my life during the time the sun is in the sky.”

“A younger brother? How old is he?”

“He’s currently in high school. Despite our age gap, we get along very well!”

“That’s great that you both get along. I’m an only child myself, but I do have a younger cousin. He feels more like a kid brother though, so I can sort of understand. The school’s he’s attending right now has dorm buildings for it’s students, so we don’t visit much,” you reminisce as you comfortably cross your arms.

“I’m sure you miss him.”

“Sometimes,” you chuckle. “Then there are times I’m glad he’s not actually my brother, as horrible as that sounds.”

“Regardless, I’m sure he feels the same!”

Thankfully, before the conversation took a turn for the mushy, Taco started to meow at you. He had jumped onto the floor earlier after being taken off your lap and roamed before coming back to paw at your leg. You leaned down and scratched under his chin as you felt him purr.

“I know, you need to be fed,” you tell him as you start coddling him. You excuse yourself as Rengoku got off the couch to help you to your feet before you were off to the kitchen again, Taco trotting eagerly behind you.

In the silence of your living room alone again, Kyojuro Rengoku looked around the room at all the decorations. Some frames on the wall here, some dry plants there, a couple cat toys scattered around the floor that was no doubt Taco’s doing, and a grey cat tower was close to the main window in the room where the dark curtains were drawn for the night. Despite all that he was visually taking in, he was stuck in his thoughts.

Kyojuro was always a people person, he enjoyed chatting and making connections, it was another reason he loved teaching so much. Something about tonight felt different to him though. Like this one experience with this one person- you- was something out of the ordinary. LIke it was something special.

When you came back from feeding Taco, you carried random conversation topics before an ill-timed alarm went off on his phone that had been stuffed in his pocket this whole time. The sudden sound startled you and Rengoku was quick to apologize before realizing how late it was. If he didn’t get home and get at least some sleep, tomorrow’s lesson would surely be a lackadaisical one.

You saw him out, despite how much he insisted you not be on your feet, and before you knew it he was outside your door and then gone.

“He’s fast,” you muttered to the air he used to occupy before shutting your door and double-checking to make sure you did in fact lock it. You looked at both sides of your front door devoid of any decorations. “Maybe I should get some tables or something to put some flowers on so the front entrance isn’t so boring.”

With that last thought, you called for Taco because you needed to get to bed yourself. Sleep found you easily as opposed to the last few nights, and with it brought nothing but calm darkness. You were grateful for a night of sleep without nightmares.

-x-x-x-

Another week had passed and a small part of you was disappointed that you hadn’t heard or seen heads or tails of Rengoku again. He hadn’t been by the izakaya with his friend or anyone else for that matter, and you haven’t had the pleasure of running into him in the streets. Of course, the moment the feeling of disappointment nagged at you, you immediately tried to squash it down.

Despite the fact that he was A) someone who saved your life and B) a man you allowed into your home a grand total of two times didn’t erase the fact that he was still practically a stranger. A stranger who spilled his guts about his profession and gave a brief history lesson about demons in your living room, but a stranger nonetheless.

Your foot had improved drastically since a week ago and you could now walk without dragging a crutch or cane around with you. The pain would still sometimes ebb at the joint, but you’d always try and find a place for a pitstop to rest and take any on-hand pain medication before it got too bad.

Your current pitstop? Your local library.

You didn’t really have any explanation why you decided to come here on your spare time, furthermore why you were nosing around in the historical section. Granted, the books you picked up weren’t full of information you didn’t already know- but you still flipped through the pages standing in the empty isle regardless completely engrossed in the material.

After your skip around history, you made sure to replace all the books from where you got them (or the best you could remember) and moved to make your way out into the open space between sections. The library attendant's desk with a single employee sitting behind it with their nose in a book to pass by the shift was within sight of the wide open space.

The day was slowly starting to wane and you sat yourself at an unoccupied table close to a window that showed the streets that were starting the transformation of throngs of people to freckles of bodies. You push your chin into your palm as you watch out the window mindlessly. You didn’t have a shift tonight that demanded your attendance and you felt restless. It was strange, normally you’d have no issues just spending a lazy day inside on the time you didn’t have plans or work.

Now? Now you felt like any free moment you spent inside was wasted. You felt bad about it since you were leaving Taco alone, but you promised that you’d take your beloved cat out on more walks if this new behavior keeps up. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a harness and leash for walking, it was purely because finding the right time to take him out never worked in your favor.

You blew air out your lips as you lay your head down on the table. Maybe it was the fact that you experienced a near-death experience and were recovering from it that made you not want to take time for granted. You cringed at your cliche thinking.

You didn’t sit at the table long, grabbing your purse and making sure you didn’t leave anything behind before you left the library entirely- it was getting close to closing hours anyways. The last thing you needed was a staff member chasing you out.

The sky bathed the concrete jungle that was the thinning streets a warm orange as you felt the simmering of heat stick uncomfortably to your skin and under yout clothes. The walk back home felt shorter than it was and when Taco didn’t come running to the sound of the opening and closing door, you felt confusion morph your face. Was he sleeping? Normally, he would be rushing to the door before you managed to slam it shut and lock it while he cried at his once again failure to bolt out the door.

His escape artistry isn’t as honed as other alley cats and he had a hard time accepting that if it wasn’t obvious by the fits he throws.

Toeing your shoes off, you stepped inside and as you got closer to your living room you could hear rattling. Rattling? You speed up your steps thinking your nosey cat had gotten into or broken something and was foolishly playing with the pieces, but when you come into the living room with the waning sunlight forcing your to turn on the house lights, you gasp at what you see.

It was Taco, your beloved cat, yes, but he hadn’t knocked anything down or broken anything that your eye could see. Instead, he was sitting on his cat tower that sat by the large window of your living room you would normally decorate for holidays pawing at the glass as a large black bird sat opposite of him behind the pane.

The bird, you couldn’t tell what kind from your shock and slight panic-blinded eyes, was sat perfectly still on the outside of the window, knocking its beak lightly against the glass every time Taco mewled or pawed. Its head turned and cocked when it noticed the light flick on and you swore you saw its dark eyes zero in on you before its wings spread out wide spooking Taco off of his tower and onto the floor where he made a less than gracious landing.

Its wings flapped and then folded back in before tapping two more times on the window. You swallowed the lump in your throat before you slowly treaded up to the window. The bird's beak and eyes followed you, lifting higher to keep its sight on your face the closer you got before you were standing next to Taco’s tower. The black cat himself had seemingly forgotten about the mysterious bird and instead took purchase weaving between your ankles and rubbing his fur over you, soaking in your scent of outside.

“Are you stuck,” you lightly ask the bird as if he could answer you. Maybe he had flown into your window by mistake- that happens sometimes in tall buildings right? Birds not telling the difference between open space and glass? But, when you looked at his taloned feet there was nothing constriction him and his body was free of anything binding him too, the evidence was in the way his wings would still occasional expand then fold again. It was like he was inviting you to do something.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t speak bird.

You jumped when its beak opened and a sharp, quick nose came out. A muffled caw! catching you by surprise as you nearly tripped over Taco’s still-weaving body. Then, the bird’s beak came to tap at the metal frame where the lock was.

Did it want inside? Could you really do that? Let some random bird inside your house after it’s been sitting outside your livingroom window for god knows how long just entertaining your cat while you were gone?

All probability flew out the proverbial window when you, without thinking, unlatched the window and slid it open allowing the big blackbird to fly right in. You screamed, not in terror, but in more shock as it flew inside and the flap of its wings was louder than you were expecting.

The bird flew a lap around your living room before coming around to you and landing on Taco’s tower beside your shoulder. It was staring at you at eye level now and you could finally identify the bird as a crow. You knew that crows were intelligent birds, but this was clearly a trained bird, not just some random bird who decided to make a nest in your home for no good reason.

You flinched for the umptheeth time when the crow’s left wing expanded and exposed half of it’s body. You were fully expecting it to folded up again, but it didn’t. Then you noticed it, a small crimson thread tied around it’s leg with a small dark capsule attached to it.

You relaxed your shoulders and chuckled.

“What are you, a messenger pigeon?” You wondered if crows could get offended by the way they can remember faces and whatnot. “That was a joke,” you followed yourself just in case. “Is that for me?” You ask hesitantly and when the crow did not move or make any indication of disagreement, you slowly and as carefully as possible unscrewed the bottom of the capsule and a small rolled-up piece of paper slid out of it. The crow softly folded its wing back up once you screwed the bottom piece back on.

The paper was thin and rolled expertly like a scroll. You walked over to the coffee table and knelt to unfold it to read.

My apologies for sending word to you this way! It must have been quite the shock to find a crow hanging around your home, however, I have neglected to ask of any other means of connection to you in our few encounters! If appropriate, how many I contact you from here on out? -K.Rengoku

You re-read the well-written note- scroll? -about three times before you broke down into a fit of laughter, kicking your still-healing foot into the table leg and wincing as the dull throb brought you back to your mind.

You looked over your shoulder at the crow still perched on the tower and used your hand to pat an empty space on your table.

“Come down here,” you invite and the crow listened well. Fluttering down easily and its talons clacking satisfyingly on your wooden table. You curled your finger, letting the back of your knuckles run over the bird's feathers careful not to accidentally pluck one. “So, you’re Rengoku’s bir-er-crow?” You corrected yourself midword thinking that just calling the crow ‘bird’ would be a bit demeaning. A soft caw was your answer.

You looked around your coffee table but found nothing close enough to resemble a piece of paper small enough like his to send on the crows return back. Flipping the tiny-scroll over you decided to just use the back side and the nearest pen you had laying around.

I knew you were into history, but a messenger crow? Now that’s old school. Does he have a name?

Beside your short messaged reply, you scribbled your number down in the best handwriting you could muster so there was no way the numbers could be confused with another number. You then tried rolling it back up as expecrtly as it was put in- and failed- before you ended up folding the paper into small enough rectangles it fit inside the capsule just as well as when it was rolled up. You then pet the crow one more time before you walked back toyour window and called for it to sit on the sill.

“You fly back home safely, okay?” The sun had declared the last lights of dusk before the sky covered your section of the world in a dark blanket and the crow’s dark eyes shimmered in earnest before it cawed once more and took off like a friendly goodbye! to its newfound friend.

You were practically giddy the rest of the night, skipping around and giving Taco an extra treat or two in your good mood. You couldn’t remember the last time you had this feeling in your stomach, butterflies. As you lay in bed you wonder why it was you were feeling those butterflies that took you back to your high school days with flings and crushes and unrealistic romantic daydreams that would make even the most Christmas-y Hallmark movie plot to shame.

Followed by the intriguing thought of it was all because of the still semi-stranger man named Rengoku who taught history and also happened to kill demons, the feeling of being on some pranked tv show with hidden cameras felt less and less likely the more time passed. But still- it all sounded so unreal when you thought about it all.

The next morning, after not remembering when you even fell asleep, you checked your phone to see you had an unread text from an unknown number. You smiled at it, not even bothering to shut off the alarm clock that had woken you up as you quickly saved the number into your contacts.

(Rengoku) His name is Kaname!

-x-x-x-

a/n pt2) DID YOU MISS ME? I know after such a long wait it's a pretty slow boring chapter, but I think the soft pacing was a good ease back into things.

I dunno where the inspo to finish this chapter even came from, but you won't see me complaining. Lemme know what you guys thought, I know it's been a while since I updated much of anything really, so the feedback is critical!!! and ofc im always up for any ideas y'all could have for the future since we all know how touch and go I am with inspiration lol

if you dont tell me anything, you're fired

#rengoku x reader #rengoku x y/n #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku #demon slayer #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku x f.y/n #rengoku x f.reader #female reader #f.reader #rengoku series #rengoku fluff

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fruchtfleisch-art · 2 months

Note

fic prompt: tomoshino - balance, unfamiliar, or starting over!

Oh wow, some anonymous artist did guest art for this prompt! I wonder who it could be... everyone say thank you to them for donating two tender and beautiful pieces of housewife yaoi, they've done a tremendous service O7

Like usual, Shinobu ruins her evening at Tomoko’s before it begins. She has a new pair of kitten heels, cherry red, and the vague hope that they could be her new work shoes, but they’re not broken in and pinch terribly by the end of the day.

Her lack of sensible footwear makes them almost half an hour late to the Higashikata’s house, Hayato trailing ahead as his mother limps behind, willing herself to ignore the pain of each step. She wishes she had changed into sandals, or sneakers, even if they would have looked ridiculous next to her silky blouse and sensible, knee-length skirt.

Tomoko insists that it’s fine, but the table is already set, the central pot of zosui cold and congealing. Dinner is accompanied by the low hum of the microwave as everyone takes turns trying to revive their meal. Josuke, too impatient to wait, bolts his food cold and is gone, taking Hayato with him and leaving the adults to clean up.

That’s typical for the boys, but tonight Tomoko takes one look at Shinobu hobbling to the sink with a stack of plates and sends her away, too. It feels like taking advantage. It feels terrible.

“You want a cup of tea, baby?” Tomoko calls from the kitchen, interrupting Shinobu’s sulk. The faucet squeaks to a stop.

“Sure, but I can get it-”

“No, you stay there. I’m already up, it’s no trouble.”

Maybe Shinobu is way overthinking things, but she can’t help it. Every invitation for coffee, every phone call or letter in the mail, every time Tomoko hugs her and tells her to come back soon feels like a minor miracle, some fantastic alignment of the stars and planets. If she can’t correct the balance, offer something of herself in return, how is that possibly fair?

And yet… here she is, a steaming cup of green tea in her hands. There Tomoko is, thumping down next to her with a heavy sigh. She looks tired, but that’s all. No anger. No resentment.

“Long day?” Shinobu ventures.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Something nice about Tomoko is that she always has a story ready. It’s usually something mundane- a funny thing one of her students did, an argument she got into with the drugstore clerk- but occasionally something truly bizarre surfaces, usually involving Josuke. The Higashikatas attract weird like magnets and metal filings. Today the subject is her coworker’s hunky new aid, a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man who can’t be older than twenty-five. Normal workplace gossip.

What little Shinobu has learned of Tomoko’s dating history paints a daring, provocative picture: the mysterious older American who impregnated her as a college student, a number of risky flings in hotels or work breakrooms, a man she was seriously considering marrying at one point, except for the fact that Josuke hated his guts. At some unspecified time, she worked for an elderly woman, delivering groceries and tidying her shoebox apartment. The woman offered a huge sum to Tomoko for her to stay and warm the bed one night, saying how lonely she was, how late and dark it had gotten. Tomoko turned her down, trudging home through snow and icy rain, only for the old woman to call the next day asking her to pick up a quart of milk like nothing had happened.

They’re not that far apart in age, but their vast gap in experience makes Shinobu feel awkward and stunted, a child playing at adulthood. She often thinks that she might never close that gap. The men at her office are mostly middle-aged and comfortably settled, with wives and children and mortgages. Even if she wanted to date (and she doesn’t), it would be slim pickings.

It’s not like anyone would go for her, anyways, not the way she is now. She’s too needy, too insecure. It clings to her like a bad smell. Shinobu sets her empty teacup down, feeling atrociously guilty. She couldn’t boil her own water, take her own teabag out of the wrapper?

“You know, I wasn’t saying you couldn’t do it, earlier,” Tomoko says, as if she can read Shinobu’s mind. “I was asking if I could do it for you.”

“I… oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tomoko shifts a little closer, coming up off the arm of the couch. “Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet today.”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just my stupid work shoes. They’re too tight.”

Another nice thing about Tomoko: she asks for forgiveness before permission. Shinobu is sitting with her legs tucked under her, but Tomoko gradually coaxes them into her lap, casual as you please, and starts to rub hard circles into the balls of her stockinged feet.

The conversation continues, light and insubstantial, but Shinobu can’t seem to focus.

I was asking if I could do it for you. But why does she want to do it in the first place?

“Is that any better?” Tomoko eventually asks. “I’m not much of a masseuse.”

“No, it’s wonderful. Thank you.” When’s the last time anyone touched her like this? A year ago? More? What has she done to be treated with such care?

“Tomoko,” Shinobu says, “are you sure it’s not- I don’t want you to feel like you have to have Hayato and me over all the time. You’ve done so much for us, more than you need to-”

“And what? You think I feel sorry for you?”

How can she not? Tomoko has a beautiful house, a good son, a decent-paying job. She’s confident and grounded; she doesn’t base her self-worth on the opinions of a man who left her behind without so much as a goodbye note.

“I mean, I do,” Tomoko says, and Shinobu feels a little pang in her chest. “But shit, doesn’t everyone have a hard time sometimes? You’re doing your best, all by yourself. Why can’t I make life a little easier?”

“Because- because-” she sputters, and the realization is like turning on a light. Because Kosaku never did. Because Kosaku never would. Because I’m the one who has to do everything myself, always, forever.

“Oh, hey,” Tomoko says, her face softening. “It’s no big deal, really. Don’t cry, alright?”

Shinobu kisses her instead.

She thinks, what the hell am I doing?

Tomoko sets one hand on Shinobu’s waist, the other on her back.

She thinks, I’m so selfish.

Tomoko pulls herself forward, into Shinobu’s lap. She feels the warm heavy weight of Tomoko’s bare thigh, the sharp tug of teeth at her lip. It’s like being set on fire.

She thinks, I want to crawl inside of you and never come back out again.

“Stay over tonight,” Tomoko says, when they stop. There’s a smear of Shinobu’s lipstick at the corner of her mouth.

“Does that mean you want me to buy milk tomorrow?”

“Hm?”

“The story about the old woman?”

“Oh, that. I made it up. I was trying to see if you were…” She shakes her head. “It was stupid.”

“I thought it was sweet. You’re a friend to lonely women everywhere.”

“No way, never. I only care about one lonely woman, right here,” Tomoko says, kissing her again, and Shinobu’s heart soars.

Ask box is still open, send me p4 prompts for minifics!

#jjba part 4 #tomoko higashikata #shinobu kawajiri #tomoshino #diamond is unbreakable #SERIOUSLY YOUR ART HERE DANNY. INCREDIBLE. STUPENDOUS. extremely kissable.

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

Text

First Time Realizing They’re in Love / Scarlet Ribbons.

Note: sometimes we just need cute stuff in this world ... and i am here to provide... on very rare occasions. this being one of them. reader is fem here and uses she/her pronouns!

[Scarlet Ribbons Index]

Giorno

It was an innocuous instance that, while likely nothing of note to you, opened the door to a colorful new world for him.

Giorno always knew that he enjoyed being in your presence. He never considered it much past that, likely hesitant to uncover all that awaits should he give it more than a precursory glance. Ignorance is bliss when the other option might permanently change the trajectory of his relationship with you forever.

"Alright, GioGio, so I’m thinking— now, you’re really going to need to track with me on this one,” you clear your throat, as if trying to capture his full attention. Little did you know there was rarely a moment you didn’t already have it.

“Three words for you: great white sharks. We know they have their little meetings on a yacht once a month. Now, you use Gold Experience, turn some seaweed or whatever into great white sharks near their yacht, and bam. Problem solved.”

The apparent logistics to such a feat don’t seem to dawn on you from the way you’re beaming, proud of your solution about a mole problem within Passione’s ranks. It’s been the root of multiple headaches for Giorno lately. Though sitting here with you, in this quaint little caffé, his troubles seem to be momentarily at rest. You ease the ache better than any painkiller.

The back of Giorno’s hand goes to cover the smile blooming on his lips. It’s a genuine smile — not the plastic variation he uses when meeting with other organizations or politicians — and he can’t remember the last time he experienced such a simple pleasure. A soft chuckle accompanies this act, something you apparently weren’t even expecting if your widening eyes are to be of any indicator.

“I’ll, ahem, consider your suggestion.”

After your initial shock wears off, you return his smile in full. “If that’s the strategy you end up using, I’m expecting a hefty bonus.”

Giorno wonders what exactly it is you do to him. He could at times feel like a dead man walking, the weight of countless expectations heavy on his shoulders, only for you to make him forget about it with ease. It’s a miracle that he believes to overshadow even the power of his own Stand.

Could this be...?

He cuts the train of thought off prematurely. Ignorance might be bliss, unfortunately, he’s anything but. The boiling in his blood that urges him to intervene when others make moves on you, akin to a devil on his shoulder, courtesy of his father. The elation he shares in your success and the shared sorrow in your failures. You make him easily experience emotions he used to practice in the mirror every morning.

There’s no other explanation, he thinks.

The next sip he takes of his espresso tastes sweeter than the rest.

(Bruno, Fugo, Mista, Narancia & Abbacchio under the cut for length!)

Bruno

It wasn’t unusual for Bruno to be flagged down by various people when walking the streets of Napoli. He was something of a local celebrity, and while he had made plenty of enemies, he had won over even more friends.

“Is everything alright, Signora Menini?”

The elderly lady in question had approached him yet kept looking around, as if searching for someone in particular. “Oh, yes, everything is fine. I was just wondering where that young lady I often see with you might be.”

The only individual that fits this description has to be you, who happens to be out on a job he assigned. Naturally, he wouldn’t indulge this information to a civilian, but his interest is undoubtedly piqued.

“Do you mean [First]?”

“Yes, that sounds right,” she nods. She then lifts a tinfoil-covered platter up to him. “The other night, I was sitting at that bus stop over there alone, when she happened by and joined me on the bench. It was a relief to hear she had to take the bus too since things have been so violent as of late. We sat together and had the most lovely chat. I ended up promising to give her a slice of my tiramisu the next time I made it, so this is for her, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Bruno takes the gift and promises to do just that.

“Please, do take good care of [First], Bucciarati. She’s a sweet girl.”

“... Trust me, I intend to.”

A detail that stuck out to him in particular is that you don’t use the bus; your shared apartment is within walking distance from here. You must’ve wanted to lend a helping hand without making it too obvious. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his heart light enough to soar. This goes beyond simple pride in seeing you help another. It’s more personal, intimate, a connection that goes taut whenever he’s too far away from you so that he is pulled back.

“And another thing, Signore,” she continues on. “Someone like that is bound to attract suitors. Don’t miss your chance. She’d make an excellent wife, don’t you think?"

He coughs into his hand, trying to suppress the burning of his cheeks that cannot be blamed on the Mediterranean sun. It’s unprofessional to think of you in such a manner when you’re his subordinate. Okay, a subordinate that he’s on very good terms with, but a subordinate nonetheless.

“I see you’re giving it some thought. Good. I’m always open to being a godmother should the need ever arise.”

Bruno Bucciarati, who could keep his cool even when a gun was being pointed at him, almost combusts on the spot. He buries his head in his hands yet remains ever respectful of his elders, since that’s how he was raised.

“Thank you... for the advice, Signora,” he manages to squeeze the words out.

“Of course. It’s always important to support young love.”

She’s off after that, bidding Bucciarati a good rest of his day. It’s not until minutes later that the full impact of her words hits him like a ton of bricks.

Wait... love...?

Fugo

Fugo wouldn’t like to say he’s eavesdropping. No, eavesdropping has a bit of a negative connotation, he’d prefer the term listening on the sly. In his defense, he did announce to you he was home upon returning to your shared apartment (a fact he’s still getting used to). You simply... didn’t notice, oblivious creature that you are. Maybe it was because you were too preoccupied talking on the phone while pacing the balcony, but alas. Details, details.

He chalks this up to a synchronicity. You just didn’t hear him, he just so happens to be standing by the open window in the kitchen, the universe basically lined this up for him. Might as well go along for the ride.

That was his original intention, but you’ve been gushing about Bucciarati on the phone to your parents for the past ten minutes. Fugo has been keeping count. He gets it, Bucciarati is great, he looks up to him too; this is just putting a damper on his mood. Fugo can’t think of a single reason why this would trouble him so viscerally, yet there’s no denying that it is. He can practically feel Purple Haze writhing inside him in agony. Begging to be released so it can wreak all kinds of havoc.

He’s about to go walk his negative bundle of emotions off when you change the subject.

“And yeah, that guy I told you about, Fugo, remember? No dad, I didn’t say boyfriend, stop looking for tickets to fly on over... y’know, the genius. Mhm. That’s him.”

Wallowing in his dejection, Fugo assumes you’ll stop there; most people tend to. They recognize him for his intelligence and nothing else. It’s a foreign, unwelcome sensation of emptiness that builds in his chest, engulfing his former irritation like a blackhole.

“I think we’ve been getting along better lately. There’s some untapped synergy potential. He’s actually really funny, in this dry humor sort of way. I was worried I’d never get close to him at first, since I kinda got this sense he found me annoying, but I’d say we’re pretty good friends now. Like there was this time I forgot my wallet and...”

Fugo can barely hear you recount your story over his heart thundering away, his face turning red enough that any onlooker might think he’s been burnt to a crisp. There’s a new development in his once hollow chest — a faint tingling — unknown yet far from unpleasant. Or maybe it is. He can’t really tell. This... he can’t chalk the impact you have on him up to hormones anymore, can he? These physiological responses are extending way past that.

He grasps the countertop hard enough that his knuckles turn white to ground himself.

Whatever it is you’re doing to him, you need to take responsibility for it, because it’s really freaking him out.

Mista

Whoever invented the radio, or radio waves, just whatever that stuff is called, Mista gives his sincerest kudos to. They did him a service that could not be understated. More importantly, however, he needs to sincerely thank you for tagging along. This job was going to be a monotonous one, dropping off a delivery from Polpo to some old money that had zero high adrenaline stakes but a painfully long drive. Real mundane stuff.

That is until you offered to come along, apparently having nothing else better to do that day. Did Mista accept your request to join him embarrassingly fast? Yes, he sure did, not that it matters. Okay, well it mattered for the first hour when he kept internally beating himself up for not coming off as the super-cool-suave-machismo-emanating being that he knows he is, but that doesn’t matter now.

Because right now, you’re hitting him with the most passionate aria of Bohemian Rhapsody he’s ever been graced with.

He’s somewhat blubbering along to the lyrics, not entirely getting everything right down to the last consonant due to it being in English, but the general sounds are there. You, on the other hand, are a master of the craft. Carrying the tone with ease and lining up the words perfectly with Freddie’s.

And wow, not to be cheesy, but what a sight it is. You’re basically glowing sitting beside him in the passenger seat. You even did a rendition of the little electric guitar solo! Holy shit! How cute is that?

Cruising down the highway, while he sings loudly (and badly) with you, it occurs to him that he never wants this moment to end. He never wants his time with you to end. How would he be able to accomplish that...? There’s a word right on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason or another, he can’t bring himself to fully form it.

“Marriage,” a voice whispers in his ear.

At first, Guido Mista thought God himself may have seen fit to reach out to him during his plight. After further consideration, it becomes clear that the big man in the sky likely wasn’t the source of this revelation. Turns out one of the Pistols decided to manifest and give him that final push.

You turn your head to face him, momentarily putting an end to the karaoke. Turns out that push may have been off a cliff. Into spikes. And shark-infested water.

“Hm? Did you say something, Mista?”

Wow you’re pretty and you smell good and your voice is the loveliest fucking thing he’s ever heard he just wants to scoop you up into his arms and hold you forever—

“N-Nope, not at all, don’t know what gave you that idea, aha.”

(This might be the one thing the Pistols are right about. Marriage with you... sounds nice. Yeah. He likes the thought of that).

Narancia

“Why do you keep visiting me?”

Narancia didn’t mean for the assertion to sound as aggressive as it did, and by your facial expression, you must not have been expecting it either. Prickly bits of guilt stab at him in rapid succession. He tries to will them away, having made up his mind on this matter long ago. He can’t stand the thought of people looking down at him — especially not you. For reasons unknown, it irks him on a level unheard of.

Here in this sanitized world of white walls, beeping machines, and a constant rotation of medical personnel, you've made it your personal mission to visit him. Aside from Bucciarati, whose lone appearance ended in a passionate scolding toward him, you've been his only visitor.

"When I heard about you from Fugo, I wanted to make sure you were doing alright," you explain. He inhales sharply through his nose. So that's how it is, then. Pity. You pity him, in the same way one would a kicked puppy. Narancia bunches together his sheets by how tightly he grips them. He'll heal up, get discharged from the hospital, then you'll go on with your life and forget about that one poor kid you used to visit.

"But... to be honest, I just like to hang out with you," you smile, your voice soft. Narancia blinks, uncertain if he heard you right. "I look forward to our heated debates over if Biggie or Tupac is better. It’s fun. I feel... I feel more like someone my age, for once.”

You clear your throat and get up from the chair beside his bed. “If I’m bothering you though, I’m really sorry. I can go—”

“N-No, that’s not, er,” his face feels painfully warm. He can tell your eyes are on him, but he can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, finding the prospect embarrassing. “I should be the one saying sorry. I like it too. So, uh, yeah. Sorry.”

You’re about to respond when his heart monitor picks up in speed and volume.

“Oh, Nara, your heart rate...! Um, it’s fine, don’t panic, let me just get the doctor real quick.”

With this, you scurry out of the room.

He looks at the number on the monitor, which reads 140. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for this to happen whenever you visit. Sometimes it happens when you laugh at one of his jokes, put your hand on his shoulder, or wear a cute outfit. The doctor always just shook his head and chuckled whenever you asked for an explanation on the phenomena.

This time, after you leave, having ensured Narancia was fine, his doctor gave him some parting words that kept him up the rest of the night. And all the following nights after that.

“The best diagnosis that I can give, Narancia, is that you’re lovesick for a certain Signorina.”

Abbacchio

It feels illegal to see you like this.

You’re usually... annoyingly peppy. Upbeat. A proverbial ray of sunshine that he wore shades to avoid being blinded by. That’s how it was meant to be. How, if he were honest with himself, he likes it to be. So finding you a sniffling mess is a jarring experience, if not borderline surreal. His initial instinct is to check for physical damage — he finds none — leaving him at a loss on what to do. You still haven’t noticed him. He could, in theory, make a clean break and sneak off with you being none the wiser.

It would admittedly be coldhearted, but he wasn’t good at this sort of icky emotional stuff. Someone more empathetic and talented with their words like Bucciarati would better suit this situation. Besides, you’re just co-workers at the end of the day; nothing more, nothing less. This is what Abbacchio tells himself as he walks onward.

Straight toward you.

“... Hey.”

You jolt, finding his presence unexpected amidst your lamenting. A few more sniffles, hasty this time. You wipe at your puffy eyes and give your most convincing smile.

“Oh, Abbacchio, hi,” you’re smearing your mascara from how much you’re rubbing your eyes. “Ah... this is... y’know, well...”

You slump your shoulders and give up on making any excuses.

“Mind if I sit?” Abbacchio isn’t sure if he sounds gentle, for he didn’t think he had the capacity for the tone anymore. It might just be the closest thing he can get to it.

You nod.

He sits down next to you and leaves enough space for propriety. Meanwhile, you’re back to your previous task, tears cascading down your cheeks one after the other. The main difference is that you’re trying to be less noisy about it. Eventually, the downpour settles into a drizzle. You scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. His muscles go stiff at first, only to relax not long after.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Since when has he cared? What is urging him into such a fruitless and uncomfortable endeavor that he stands to gain nothing from? He could say something insensitive, further sour your relationship, make things awkward at work—

“In a bit, if you don’t mind,” you close your eyes and take a shuddering breath. “I wanna stay like this a few more minutes. Please.”

His lips part and close just as fast. He nods, certain he’d stay still for days, so long as it was you who requested it. This isn’t a one-off instance, he realizes. Abbacchio would go further for you than he ever would bother for himself. It’s always been this way. You have him wrapped so tight around your finger, that he doesn’t think even a pair of scissors would cut him free.

Maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad.

#giorno x reader #bruno x reader #fugo x reader #mista x reader #narancia x reader #abbacchio x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #bucciarati x reader #pannacotta fugo x reader #guido mista x reader #narancia ghirgha x reader #leone abbacchio x reader #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #vento aureo x reader #scarlet ribbons #my stuff

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zeldahime · 3 months

Text

Highway to Pail Day 10

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 10: What's the difference between a poorly-dressed man on a bicycle and a well-dressed man on a tricycle? Attire.

Crowley had a ridiculous new contraption and outfit to match, and Aziraphale strongly suspected that her ability to balance on the thing was truly miraculous.

“What, angel, never seen a bicycle before?” she asked, jumping from her perch and landing with her hip cocked and legs spread, knickerbockers on full display. “Surely you’ve noticed them, they’re all the rage.”

“Yes, I have seen the various kinds of velocipedes being driven around,” Aziraphale said testily, “but my dear girl, that is not a bicycle.”

“’Tis. They’re calling them penny-farthings. Fastest bike on the market! Never have to ride a horse again!”

“Or a hansom, I suppose? Though in that getup, I doubt any reputable cabbie would allow you in his vehicle.”

“Oh, don’t get your crinolines in a twist, angel. It’s called fashion.” Crowley lowered her glasses and raked her eyes over Aziraphale’s more conservative dress, which was made by the same seamstress currently styling the Lady Edmondstone, thank you. “Not that you seem to have heard of it. Did you borrow that bustle from the Queen Mother?”

“She passed thirty years ago, you old fiend.”

“My point exactly, you old killjoy,” Crowley retorted, but she had clearly become distracted. “Aziraphale, what on earth is that thing? You said you were bringing your bike.”

“No, I said I was bringing my velocipede,” she corrected, feeling a bit smug. “This is a ‘foldable safety tricycle, convenient for the needs and pursuits of the modern urban woman,’ my dear. Much more practical than your ha’penny.”

Crowley had already taken it from her, experimenting with the little levers and hooks that allowed it to fold and to hold steady while unfolded. “Penny-farthing, angel, do you ever listen to a word I—no, no you’re doing it on purpose and I’m not responding. Aziraphale, how in the world is this death trap at all convenient? Are you trying to get discorporated?”

Aziraphale bristled. “The tricycle has excellent balance and steerage and ample room for cargo—for me to transport my books, Crowley—and its being foldable allows me to store it in the bookshop without disturbing—“

“Since when do you make book deliveries?” Crowley interrupted.

“Books I buy, Crowley, do keep up,” Aziraphale said, now slightly irritated. “It’s a waste of miracles to transport them that way, I have a reprimand from Michael telling me so, and I prefer not to entrust their care to non-experts.”

Crowley raised her eyebrows. “And this gets you across London in good time, does it?” she asked, refolding the tricycle and returning it to Aziraphale.

“It does, rather,” she said, mollified.

“Well, angel. We’re here, we have our ‘velocipedesssss.’ Nobody ‘round to tell us off.” Crowley smiled brightly and climbed up on her penny-farthing, her hips and legs not quite operating the way human ones were supposed to and managing even less grace than she showed mounting horses; it was incredibly charming. “Race you to the city gates!” She took off pedaling, cackling as she disappeared down the lane, and Aziraphale watched her go for a moment before she scrambled to unfold her own velocipede.

Author’s note:

The late 19th century had an absolute craze for bicycles and similar contraptions, which are collectively called velocipedes. The penny-farthing is a bicycle with a giant front wheel and a small back one, and was popular in the 1870s and 1880s. They were mostly ridden by young men because they were fast, expensive, and required a bifurcated garment to ride. Tricycles tended to be favored by women and gentlemen (meaning, doctors and clergy and merchants and so on). I couldn’t find a picture of the foldable tricycle that Wikipedia says was introduced in 1882 by the Leicester Safety Bicycle Company, but I did find this ad with both a penny-farthing and a tricycle on it from Triumph Bicycle Company:

Aziraphale and Crowley are also both dressed in contemporary Victorian fashion, but in radically different ways. Crowley is wearing a bicycle suit with knickerbockers, a garment like pants, while Aziraphale is wearing a more conservative dress with all the fixings: a big bustle, crinolines, petticoat, everything. Crowley would look something like the lady on the left in this cartoon, while Aziraphale more like the image below it:

(Below image from historicalsewing.com, here)

#my writing #do it with style events #highway to pail #Aziraphale #Crowley good omens #good omens #ineffable wives #aziracrow #azicrow #good omens fanfiction #SoundCloud

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maddascanbe-blog · 5 months

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MLB Rewrite: Origins prt. 1 &2

Note- I'm using (POV) to mention who the 'camera' is following for the most part. Also I skim over things that happen nearly the same as in cannon.

Hawkmoth Re-design

Origins Part 1

(Hawkmoths POV)

Starts the same with Nooroo explaining the miraculous and Hawkmoth’s first transformation, though we wouldn’t see him outside of his hands. As the butterflies crowd him to transform a scream of pain rings from his throat.

(Fu’s POV)

Like before, Wayzz fills Master Fu in on the butterfly being active. But I’m gonna pull from the movie's idea of letting Tikki and Plagg choose their own wielders. Fu does bring them to the school though with the intent of choosing a young initiate.

(Marinette’s POV)

Marinette is 16 years old, this is her Junior year.

Marinette meanwhile has had a day of it. Working herself up over everything she might need for her first day and nearly being late after reorganizing her bag for the 4th time that morning. Finally, Sabine dragged her downstairs and Tom gave her the macarons.

(Adrien’s POV)

Adrien is also 16 at the moment.

Boy is forever trying to get educated but gets caught by Nathalie.

(Fu’s POV)

Master Fu briefly loses Plagg before seeing a black cat sitting on the back of Adrien’s car as it drives away. Since he saw Adiren get in, and the boy’s face is all over Paris, he knows who his Cat is.

Marinette still saves Fu’s life as he had run into traffic looking for Plagg and paused in the middle of the road after seeing him. Tikki jumps into Marinette’s bag while she’s picking up the macarons.

Content Fu heads home.

(Marinette's POV)

Chloe basically just says “Switch.” And Marinette decides it honestly is not worth the hustle and does. Alya introduces herself and berates Chloe’s actions to which Marinette shrugs and says, “I don’t really care, she probably has a reason.”

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good people to do nothing.”

“A nice rule, but remember you can’t judge someone evil based on their first impression. You never know what they could be going through.”

(Adrein’s POV)

It fades to Adrien being told his father is busy and can’t scold him right now. Once Adrien goes back to his room he finds a cat sitting on his table, confused he tries to approach it but the animal just bounds away. But on the table still, is a ring box.

(Ivan’s POV)

Que Kim and Ivan’s argument. A black butterfly lands on the crumpled up paper. All that we see or hear is the mask appearing on Ivan’s face and Hawkmoth's voice. “Stoneheart, I am Hawkmoth. You feel unsupported, and unseen. Allow me to harden your heart and take that pain away.”

(Adrein’s POV)

Adrien is observing the ring when a quiet meow is heard behind him. The cat is balanced in the back of his couch and looks between the ring and Adrien.

“You want me to put it on?” He asks and gets a purr in return. He does and there is a flash of light.

(Marinette’s POV)

Worrying herself to death over Alya chasing the monster, but too scared to follow her. Marinette finds a box that had fallen out of her bag. A ladybug lands on the box.

“Bug Mouse!” And the cup things.

As Tikki explains, Marinette is working herself into a fit. She’s terrified, but Tikki assures her that very little harm can come to her in the suit. That she’ll have a partner to help her, and that it will give her a chance to protect Alya. Unwilling to not even try when an innocent person is being puppeteered by an evil asshole she agrees.

Ladybug Re-design

Chat Noir Re-design

Key Power differences:

Ladybug:

Lucky Charm is specifically stated to give you a solution, not just an object. The object is only to point you in the right direction.

Purification allows her to cleanse the akuma.

Miracle Cure allows the world to heal from and injuries caused by a miraculous (Only Physical Damage) "Miraculous *Insert Name*"

Cat:

Cataclysm can either turn an object to dust or cause it to stop functioning.

Purgation destroys the dark energy in an akuma

Miracle Purge allows the world to burn out any effects a miraculous had on a person (Only works on Non Physical Effects) "Miraculous *insert Name*"

(Marientte’s POV)

They meet about the same way as cannon. The fight up to a point is pretty similar, except Marinette is very thinly veiling her utter panic with humor. Chat picks up on this and starts cracking jokes to help put her at ease.

After breaking the akumatized object they part ways, but the butterfly goes “Oops, bye bitch.”

Tikki’s like- “So you got the akuma right? Right?”

“I can’t do this Tikki, I couldn’t even listen long enough to know what my one job was. There are two many bad things that could happen, and all I can think about is how I can continue to mess things up in the future. Paris doesn't need a Ladybug who can’t trust herself. You deserve better.”

She removes the earrings and puts them back in the box.

Marinette goes to sleep with plans to give up the miraculous to Alya in the morning.

The akuma is targeting people who had been rejected or feel unseen, turning them to stone more medusa style statues than Stoneheart’s golem influences.

Marinette wakes up late that night to the miraculous in its box buzzing, asking to be let out.

She goes to beg Tikki to please choose someone else. Except when she picks up the box the earrings shoot from the box. It leads her down and out of the house. To a stone woman frozen in misery.

Marinette can’t stand to see someone suffering like this and tells herself she’ll do what she can to help until either Stoneheart is defeated or she can hand the miraculous off to Alya.

Origins Part 2.

In the morning, Marinette finally returns home to get ready for school. She was up all night finding every akuma still loose and catching it. She tells her parents she just went for an early morning run (technically true) and is okay, she is late for school though.

On TV she see’s Ivan has once again been re-akumatized, after trying to read Mylene his poem when they both got to school. Knowing Alya will be chasing the akuma Marinette chugs some coffee and chases him too.

When Alya gets trapped Chat Noir is captured, same as cannon, she decides to be Ladybug just a little longer.

(Though she finds a hiding place first, gosh cannon Alya was like 20 feet away)

As Ladybug chases down Stoneheart she catches Chloe after she is thrown from the Eiffel tower.

Hawkmoth does not do the floating head thing. Instead Stoneheart mentions that the butterfly that made him strong wants the miraculous.

Officer Raimcomprix tells Chat Noir that they’ve already failed one.

Chat Noir scoffs. “No shit. We’re two teenagers in spandex. Of course we're gonna make mistakes. But you don’t really have a choice but to trust us. Because you can’t beat this thing, and we can.”

He turns to face Stoneheart.

“I know you can hear me, you’ll be looking through his eyes right? Well listen up little Papillion. I don’t know what you want, what drove you to this. But I'll give you a bit of a friendly tip, you messed up. Because you chose to prey on an innocent teenager, tried to force him to nearly kill Chloe Bourgeois, and attacked the girl he loves. You’ve definitely made a mistake, bigger than either of ours. Because you honestly thought that we would roll over and let you get away with it.”

Ladybug, in awe of her partner's confidence even in the face of failure, starts planning how to take out Stoneheart.

They do the kiss thing and both teens are rescued safely. Ladybug catches the akuma and uses the Miracle Cure to fix the damage and bring the stone people back to themselves.

Chat asks to meet with Ladybug to talk about their new jobs later that night.

When Marinette arrives back at school she meets Adrien. Because Nathalie is awesome.

+x+

“So you’re the rival Chloe’s told me so much about?”

Marinette floundered a little at the son of her favorite fashion designer, and a supermodel in his own right, stuck his hand out. “A- Adrien. You’re Adrien Agreste.”

He winced a little. “Yeah that’s me.”

Somehow the girl managed to snap herself out of the stupor enough to shake the boy's hand.

“Adrikins,” Chloe called. “Come on, I need to show you around before class starts.”

Marinette was in a daze all the way back to Mme. Bustiers class. She just met Adrien Agreste, the Adrien Agreste. And she was a total spaz about it.

She sat down in her seat and placed her head on the desk.

She didn’t remember the seat change until Chloe reemerged with her friends in tow.

“Move.” She told Marinette.

Marinette really didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to be next to Adrien where she could potentially embarrass herself more. If he told his father about the mess of a girl in his class her dreams would be crushed before they even got off the ground.

(It is of course bold of Mari to assume Adrien’s father speaks to his son.)

Maybe- maybe if she was going to stand up for herself as Ladybug, at least until she found a better candidate, then starting as Marinette would help.

“No.” She said plainly. “It’s my seat, and I don’t really want to.”

She clenched her hands into her jeans as Chloe raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever. This isn’t worth my time.” Chloe sighed like she had just wasted precious hours on that interaction.

Marinette let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

Alya slid into the seat next to her and grinned triumphantly. “Nice job girl.”

Marinette smiled back, but it was shaky. She hadn’t slept last night and was really starting to feel it.

“So girl, check this out.” Alya held up her phone.

On it was a blog template with red and black spots covering it.

“The Ladyblog?” Marinette read the title at the top.

Alya practically squealed in excitement. “Isn’t it cool? Since your’s truly got the best footage on the attack I thought I’d start my own blog. The one stop spot for everything Ladybug.”

“What about Chat Noir?” Marinette mused. “He’s super cool, Ladybug just kinda fumbles around after him.”

“Don’t be like that.” Alya pushed the girl’s shoulder. “Ladybug was the one to come up with the plan to save the day both times. And she saved me today.”

Marinette wished she could point out that Chat Noir had saved Alya twice, but that would reveal that she was there.

“But you are right, I need to think up something good for Chat Noir.” Alya leaned back.

+x+

(Adrien POV)

Vibing, waiting for the car. Marinette comes outside and waits too.

Adrien’s like, “Hey.”

And Marinette apologizes for being a spaz. Explaining that she was just caught off guard and that she didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable.

Adrien explains that he’s pretty used to it, and laments that no matter where he goes people will always know him before ever speaking to him.

“I almost don’t even know how to act in public. I wanna make friends but- I feel like people will only ever see the boy on the posters. … Sorry, that’s kind of a lot to dump on a stranger.”

Marinette paused. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. I can’t change the fact that people know who you are. But we are still kind strangers. So- Hi, I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

He chuckles at her outstretched hand. “Hello, I’m Adrien Agreste.” He shakes her hand and smiles.

“So, you’re new to the school? What do you think of Mme. Bustier?”

(Fu’s POV)

He watches on as Ladybug and Chat Noir meet each other for the first time, again. Making idle small talk until the same car from before arrives to take Adrien home.

Before getting in the teen hands Marinette his umbrella with a parting goodbye.

Wayzz asks if he came to check in because he questioned Tikki and Plagg’s choice.

Fu admits that he was worried, but he needn’t be. Those two will help each other, in and out of the mask. They’ll be okay.

(Ladybug’s POV)

Ladybug meets Chat at the Eiffel tower.

She tells him how much his words of confidence helped her, since she had been so upset about her failure she forgot that mistakes are not the end of everything. So long as you try and fix them.

She confides that she’s still considering giving up the Ladybug miraculous, since she’s worried her catastrophizing will cause her to be overwhelmed and fail.

“Well m’ lady. I know a thing or two about Cat-astrophizing. And if you promise not to give up just yet, then I promise to help keep you from spiraling. Deal?”

She agrees to keep trying.

END

Okay let's get into the details.

1. Hawkmoth's transformation hurts like a bitch. His head is full on splitting open to make way for the butterfly wings, that's part of his face. He's spending most of his time lying on the floor in too much pain to move until Ivan get's akumatized.

2. Marinette will have the first suit design, with the plain suit and boots. Chat Noir will also have his first design, but his is a bit more interesting than LB's since Adrien has a little more faith in himself.

3. Since I'm overhauling Chloe's personality there was no reason for the gum incident, so I just dropped it all together. There would have been 0 purpose. Instead their rough start is caused by Marinette having a fairly normal reaction to meeting a super model who is also your idol's son. She does feel bad about it later, but Adrien harbored no ill will.

4. Around here is when the crush starts developing, but it's just that. A crush, she has the vague idea that she might like Adrien, but she doesn't know him super well yet.

5. Fu, you bastard. He really does think choosing two legal children is a good idea. I'll partially blame the Order of Guardians, but he knew what he was doing. Children are more likely to believe that they are just "The Chosen Ones" and not question anything, or wonder gave them the miraculous. Tikki and Plagg actually don't like that they had to choose two teenagers, but they aren't going to take that out on the kids. Fu's probably gonna get hot sauce in his tea curtesy of Wayzz for pulling that though.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous rewrite #miraculous origins #ml ladybug #ladybug and chat noir #hawkmoth suffering cause I said so #Adrien Agreste rewrite #Marinette Dupain-Cheng rewrite #mlb #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir

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