#don’t mind the other occupants of the page
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Tim from my random sketch page
#first time I’ve successfully drawn like#any of the robins fksbck l#I love him tho Tim’s my favorite#dc#Tim drake#red robin#my art#don’t mind the other occupants of the page
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KINKTOBER DAY 12
TITLE: Like Throwing Petrol on a Fire
WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.
SUMMARY: Hyunjin can't get either his or your clothes off in time for him to fuck you. Unfortunately, he has to resort to and put up with another method.
TAGS: pre-established relationship, dry humping, swearing, poor Hyunjin can’t help himself (also both reader and Hyunjin are mentioned to be at the club but there is no alcohol involved with this story)
KINK: Dry humping.
KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST
TAGLIST: @kbitties @luneskies @mal-lunar-28 @kibs-and-bits @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @queenmea604
🩷🩷🩷
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It was meant to be a good night out for you and Hyunjin, which it was to begin with. You, him, and a group of friends all collectively decided to go clubbing together for the first time in a while. However, later in the night, Hyunjin would find himself in a predicament that he never would've been able to climb his way out of.
What started off as innocently taking you to the dance floor, turned out to be the worst decision he had ever made.
Had you not been pressing your ass against his hips for the entirety of the night, Hyunjin wouldn’t be where he is now; sexually frustrated and pissed off because you were teasing him in public. The fact that you knew and felt that he was getting hard, yet continued to grind on him was enough for Hyunjin to take you by the wrist, and pull you with him to the bathroom.
Sneaky, public, bathroom sex would’ve been ideal for you both at the club – had it not already been full to the brim with other occupants already going at each other. It was either that or go home, and Hyunjin is not one to muck around when he’s horny.
He gets desperate, almost borderline agitated when he’s in the mood because he can’t fuck you.
Seeing him like that always makes you want to tease him, but you know better. Teasing him means pure punishment for you and Hyunjin has a very creative mind so you always tread carefully around him when he’s in that state. He could deprive you of his body for an entire week or fuck you every day if he wanted. He’s just full of surprises.
But now and then, Hyunjin becomes so needy that punishments and rewards don’t even cross his mind. That instance just so happened to occur at the club.
Having been so frustrated with not being able to find a decent place to fuck you, the pair of you needed to go home. Alleyways and narrow streets weren’t going to cut it for him, not when there were too many people loitering around.
So Hyunjin led you back to his car, jumping in and nearly racing off. To make matters worse for him, you decide to test him by palming over his already hard cock. He couldn’t bear the strain he felt against his pants regardless of the small easements of pressure you were giving him as he drove you both back home.
His head presses back into his chair, trying with every ounce of strength to keep his eyes on the road, “baby, why can’t you wait until we get home?”
“Because I need you now Jinnie,” you mutter, taking advantage of the state that he’s in.
Hyunjin does his best to ignore your answer as he turns the last corner onto the street of the house. He eventually slows down and pulls into the driveway to park. As he gets out, he’s thankful that it’s pitch black and everyone in the neighbourhood is asleep, otherwise they would’ve easily seen how hard is.
“Keys,” you say to him.
Hyunjin is already on it, barely saying anything as he pulls the house key out of his pocket with a shaky hand and unlocks the front door. The second it’s open, it’s Hyunjin’s game now.
He pulls you in by the wrist, slamming the door, and backs you right against the entryway table with such force that it dents the wall behind it. There’s no making it to the room, let alone the lounge at this rate.
Hyunjin helps lift you onto the surface of the table, hoisting your legs up just to push and spread them for him to slide in between. Even just feeling the heat in between your thighs is enough to give him some relief, but not the kind that he's craving.
“I need you…so bad baby,” he groans, pressing his hard, clothed cock into your pussy.
The friction for you is incredible against your clit, but you do feel for Hyunjin who can’t do much when he’s in formal black slacks. All the while one of Hyunjin’s arms wraps around your lower back so that he can grope the other side of your body while the other hooks around and digs into your thigh.
“Yeah?” You ask, allowing him to continue to fake fuck you while his face is buried in your neck. He can’t even think straight enough to try to take his pants off.
Hyunjin groans, his voice raspy yet hurried, “fuck, I-“
“You know I’m ready for you, so wet for you Jinnie,” you egg him on even further. “Just want you to fuck me.”
His moans are exasperated and breathy, he always sounds beautiful to you when he’s like this, “I can’t – fuck I’m gonna cum…”
You’re not surprised given that you’ve technically been teasing him for the past hour now. So now all you can do is sympathise and let him do what he needs to.
“It’s okay,” you assure him, breathing just as fast as he is. “Just cum for me.”
Hyunjin’s hips stagger out of their pace, continuing to thrust his dick repeatedly until he has to bite down on your shoulder to suppress the loud moans that are straining out of his throat. Not even a few seconds later, Hyunjin is rocked with an orgasm that has him gripping tightly onto your body, nails digging into you.
The pace of his thrusts slows down after his breathing reaches its peak height. Hyunjin has forgotten what it felt like to not cum inside you for once. It reminds him of the time when you first got together and were scared to take each other's virginities so only dry humping really made the cut. It still feels good, but not as nearly as glorious as busting a warm load inside of you.
"Fuck," Hyunjin sighs.
"Feel better?" You ask, carding your hand through the back of his black hair.
He looks down in between your legs, seeing the hairline-like, sticky strings of cum that connect from his clothed dick to your damp underwear. Hyunjin can barely tell if it's from him, or if that's just because you're wet. Maybe it's both. Either way, he finds it hot.
"You drive me crazy you know that?" Hyunjin says to you, leaning back in to snuggle his face into your neck once more. “Now I have to get hard again to fuck you.”
#rosiewritesskz#stray kids smut#skz smut#lee know smut#bang chan smut#han jisung smut#hyunjin smut#changbin smut#felix smut#i.n smut#hyunjin x reader
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Incognito - JHS (WDBHG Drabble)
A Where Do Broken Hearts Go Drabble
Pairing: Hoseok X Fem!Reader X Jungkook
Wordcount: 1k+
Summary: Hoseok is curious about the guy who left you behind. So, he goes incognito.
Warnings: drinking!
Minors are not allowed in this blog!!
A/N: This takes place after chapter 4 and before chapter 5
Try as he might - Hoseok can’t think of anything else other than your lips, which he was about to kiss.
He doesn’t know what had possessed him earlier tonight but he really regrets it. He had been trying hard not to look at you for the better part of the day. But he failed
As if he hasn’t sold himself as a creep by continuously ogling his daughter’s therapist, that he had to lean down and almost kiss you.
Thank god Sua woke up and stopped him, otherwise things might have changed from the next session and he doesn’t want that. Not only Sua but also he have been forming a genuine relationship with someone for the first time in all these years, he doesn’t wanna fuck things up now. Even though you seemed ready for him to take you over.
He pours a good amount of Hibiki in his fancy diamond cut glass. Looking at the liquid he sighs, he thinks to himself of the countless identical nights that he has been spending locking himself up in his study after putting Sua to sleep.
He could have called Mina tonight. She is always ready and one call away. But somehow Hoseok feels greatly turned off by the idea.
He almost had a taste of you, he almost put his mouth on yours and lord, he can still somehow smell your sweet subtle vanilla scent in the air. How the fuck he can think of anyone else when you were ready to jump in his arms just an an hour ago?
He groans at the thought.
What is this feeling of confusion? Why does he want you but is grateful that things didn’t escalate?
The whiskey burns at the back of his throat but does nothing to take away the troubled thoughts he has been having.
Then something ticks in his mind.
“Jungkoo-?” he murmurs to himself. You didn’t say the full name but this jungkoo person has to be the ex boyfriend that supposedly fell out of love with you.
And suddenly Hoseok is curious. He wants to see the face of this idiot who let you go. He wants to see the person who broke you and whom you still probably love. Whom you probably thought of while he was about to kiss you.
He takes a big gulp from the glass and walks towards his desk. Settling down in the huge chair he opens his laptop, taps on the browser and goes into incognito mode. Typing a specific address and agreeing on using the site on guest mode, he filters out the search criteria.
Location: Seoul,
Gender: Male,
Age: he thinks hard about it. You don’t seem like the type to go for very older or very younger guys. Given the fact that you are still under 30, he selects the age bar from 20 to 35.
Name: Jungko
Enter.
There are 5 results that pop up:
Jeon Jung Kook
Shin Jung Kook
Kim Jeong Gguk
Kim Jeong Guen
Lee Jung Min
It’s good that your ex-boyfriend has a distinct name, it makes it easy to find him. The website showed him the most relevant results, so there are 5. But he knows which two he has to work with.
So, he clicks on the first profile:
Name: Jeon Jung Kook
Age: 28
Occupation: Modeling
Address: Unknown
Email ID: Unknown
Website: www.goldenstudios.kr
Hoseok frowns at that. He has been using this people finder tool for the better part of his career but this ‘website’ section is added only on special cases. Either this jungkook guy is a bigshot or a celebrity. And he doubts if you settle for those types.
But he clicks on the link regardless.
His breath hitches upon seeing Jungkook’s face. He is the Calvin Klein model, whose face is in every possible billboard?
Jesus. Is he really Y/N’s ex? He thinks to himself as he scrolls down the page.
He can be wrong as well. There is another guy with the same name, so yeah. And he doesn’t really think you would have the mind to put up with a celebrity for three years.
But something keeps him from exiting the page. He clicks on the instagram icon that is added at the end of Jungkook's bio.
When the instagram opens, the first thing he tries is to look for your face but he finds none. Then he clicks on a random post and starts scrolling.
Hoseok stumbles upon a post from a month ago. In the picture a pretty lady is hugging Jungkook tightly. As Jungkook lovingly wraps up her waist with one of his hands, laying his head on the top of her head. There are no captions but a ton of congratulations in the comments.
So, this guy is already committed.
Hoseok thinks of the likeliness of this guy being your ex. You said he broke up with you but didn’t mention when. Given the fact that your wounds are still fresh, it might haven’t been that long. And this guy just got into a relationship a month ago. So, he can very well be the Jungkook you were talking about.
However, still, you dating a celebrity doesn’t sit right with Hoseok. So he decides to exit instagram and investigate the other guy.
Before exiting, though, he decides to tap on the profile picture to view the recent stories.
There is a picture of Jungkook, with another strikingly beautiful guy inside a condo. The caption says “happy birthday @j.m” with a tagged location.
And.. it is the same location Hoseok picked you up from today. You also mentioned visiting a friend just before the session.
Hoseok’s eyes narrow at the screen as he takes a better look at Jungkook’s face.
“So you left Y/N for the girl in the photo, huh?” He talks to the screen as if Jungkook can hear him.
“What an idiot you are, Jeon Jungkook.” Hoseok takes a swig from his glass making a silent promise of making you forget your ex.
Taglist 1:-
@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @xjoonchildx @justmewondering-recs @cuteipat @miakey98 @purpleanchorcrown @chimmisbae @ane102 @junniesoleilkth @terjeonbebas @kookssecret @appleh4ad @kayleeshinee @whoa-jo @definetlythinkimanalien @lovelgirl22 @agrika
Taglist 2:-
@llallaaa @mikrokookiex @parkinglot-nights @hiqhkey @diamonddia-mond @00frenchfries00 @koalasandcuddles @superchamchi88 @ttanniett @coralmusicblaze @multiasf @kookscumrag @sumzysworld @knjjjk @xtrataerrestrial @survivalistghost @kelsyx33 @aann95 @btsffreader92 @jjk174 @dragonflygurl4 @xwniazx
#bts angst#jhope angst#hoseok angst#bts x reader#hoseok x reader#jhope x reader#bts fanfiction#bts oneshot#bts scenarios
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If your requests are open, can you please do Jouno with a lover whose love language is physical touch? Ignore this if you don't want to do this :]
this is so cute! i loved thinking about how he’d react and actually writing it out. thank you for requesting!!
Physical Touch; Saigiku Jouno
Format: Headcanons and scenario
Genre: Fluff
Possible warnings: Slightly out of character Jouno
Jouno wouldn’t mind a lover that enjoyed touching him because it was their love language, but he would most definitely tease them about it if they were more clingy than usual. It was in his nature after all.
In fact, Jouno would like it if you liked to touch him. It showed you that he trusted you since his skin was more sensitive compared to others.
Whenever you wanted to touch Jouno, you would always have to make sure that your clothes rustled just loud enough so that he could hear your hand incoming. You didn’t want to accidentally scare him, and sometimes you didn’t feel like speaking, so this was the best solution for the two of you. 
…
It was late at night, and Jouno had just gotten home from his exhausting job at the Hunting Dogs. He lazily kicked off his boots into the direction of the shoe rack, and he practically threw off his hat in a pit of annoyance. He then put his hat down on a shelf nearby begrudgingly, just like he did each time he did when he came home.
All while he was doing this, he didn’t hear the usual blaring of the television. Instead, he heard your steady breathing and the occasional rustling of paper as you flipped a page of a book you were reading.
As Jouno entered your shared bedroom, he took off his cape with ease. He then dropped it down somewhere at random, not caring if either of you slipped on it later in the night.
“Tough day?” You asked as you kept your eyes on the page you were reading, not bothering to look up at him.
“Insufferable day,” Jouno murmured as he sat down on the bed next to you. He then unbuttoned the top buttons of his uniform. “Everything was so infuriating today. I don’t think I even got a moment of peace the whole day.”
You chuckled as you flipped to the next page of your book. You then slid your hand over the top of his, lightly squeezing it. “Do you want to tell me about it? It may make you feel less… tense.”
“One word; criminal,” Jouno huffed. “This one criminal thought that he could easily escape detainment. Of course I caught him, but he still made me use my ability to catch up to him. Honestly, the criminals I’ve been catching are getting stupider and stupider with their escape attempts these days. It annoys me greatly. How come they can’t just form a well thought out plan? Is it that much of an inconvenience for them? Idiots…”
You gave Jouno’s hand another light squeeze, then you leaned to rest your head onto his shoulder. “That does sound annoying… What about that one coworker of yours? Tecchou, was it? Did something happen with him as well? Because from what I’ve heard from you, not a day goes by where he doesn’t annoy you.”
Jouno slightly tensed up as you rested your head onto his shoulder, but he almost immediately relaxed his muscles. Although he did hear your clothes rustling as you moved near him, it still surprised him how affectionate you are sometimes. Though, he’d never complain about it. It was… refreshing to him since his occupation was so violent.
“Don’t get me started on that scatterbrain. You know how much me pisses me off on a regular basis,” Jouno groaned.
“I know. I guess it was a rather stupid question, huh?” You let out a soft chuckle.
Jouno hummed in agreement. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his head against your chest. He positioned himself so that his ear was right above your heart so he could hear it beat.
All the while your boyfriend was doing this, you placed a bookmark in your book and put it on your nightstand. You then wrapped an arm around his upper back and you put the other on his lower back.
“You’re never this cuddly. Was today really that bad?” You questioned.
“No, I just wanted to be closer to you.”
“Huh? Why? What’s gotten into you…?”
Jouno groaned. “I know how you like being close to me. I thought I’d indulge you just this once.”
You slowly started to rub his back with your right hand. You then lightly kissed the top of his head. If he was really going to allow you to be touchy with him without him teasing you, then you were going to take full advantage of that moment.
“That’s very unlike you, y’know. But hey, I won’t complain,” you chuckled.
Jouno brought a hand down to the side of your stomach and pinched it lightly. “Shut up.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” you snickered. You then laid back and got comfortable. “Are you really going to sleep in your uniform?”
“I am. And what of it?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if you felt the need to point it out,” Jouno huffed.
“You smell like sweat.”
“Do I really?”
“Kind of. I’m honestly kinda surprised that you haven’t picked up on it with your heightened sense of smell and all,” you said with a small smile on your face. “Go take a shower. We can cuddle once you’re all clean and in your pajamas.”
Jouno groaned, then went up to kiss your cheek. “Fine then.” He got up from your embrace and stretched for a moment. Jouno then tilted his head back in your direction. “Don’t move while I’m showering.”
“Wasn’t planning on it, love,” you snickered.
“Sure,” Jouno simply said. He then started to go towards the direction towards the bathroom.
“I love you,” you called out to him.
Jouno playfully groaned. “I love you too.”
#bungou stray dogs#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bsd headcanons#bsd x gender neutral reader#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd jouno#jouno bsd#jouno x you#bungou stray dogs jouno#jouno saigiku#saigiku jouno#saigiku jouno x reader#saigiku jōno#jōno saigiku#jouno x reader#jouno fluff
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LIAR, LIAR !!
!! ksj x m!reader
!! wc | 5.7k
!! tags | guns, threats, mentions of violence/sex work, drinking, reader has an older sister
[ event masterlist ]
petty thief/mob boss
stuck in interrogation rooms across from one another
“i’ve been waiting to kick your ass all week.”
“i’m telling you, the guy’s innocent. just look at his file – look at his face. nobody that young and anxious can lead the country’s most notorious crime syndicate.”
the two officers glance into the plain white room. a dark-haired man sits inside, hands in his lap. he wears scuffed white sneakers and ripped blue jeans, and he shivers in a plain t-shirt. he’s staring across the hall into another room, where a younger man lazes with handcuffs around his wrists and a bored, dangerously calm expression – his head rolls in his direction and their supposed gang leader snaps his gaze quickly away, eyes wide as his knee bounces rapidly.
the older officer scoffs. “looks can be deceiving, junior. his handsomeness doesn’t make him innocent.” he shares a glance with another officer on the other side of the bullpen and claps a hand on his shoulder, herding him towards their suspect. the cadet fumbles with the manilla folder and clutches it to his chest.
“now,” he says assertively, “don’t speak to him. let me do the talking. guard the door in case he makes a run for it.”
the cadet isn’t sure that’s exactly protocol, but the senior officer has several major cases under his belt, and he’d be damned if he told an expert how to conduct himself. he nods, passing it over, and opens the door for him.
the officer takes a seat opposite the man, who watches them rigidly. he opens the folder and shuffles through the stapled and free sheets of paper silently, letting the room stew in uncomfortable tightness.
he whistles, impressed. “you’re a sky university graduate and student, mr kim? already one doctorate under your belt and you’re still studying?”
seokjin smiles tightly. “yes, sir.”
“what in, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“radiopathology. i’m going for a medical degree this round. sir,” he adds as an afterthought.
the officer locks his fingers together on the table. “studies like this – must cost you a fortune. how are you, financially?”
his gaze flicks to the younger officer by the door. he shrugs, small and tight, and his shoes scuff against the floor. he sighs, a haunted look in his eyes. “fine, i guess, but i’ll die before i pay off my student debt.”
the cadet snorts and covers it up with a cough. the senior officer gives him a sharp glance.
“then why continue?” he flicks through the pages, more for appearance than any mental refreshment. “your academic records tell me you could get a hefty paycheck, even fresh out of university, with your current doctorate. seems like overkill to me.”
something flickers over seokjin’s features. he drops his gaze and sits straighter, as if bracing himself. “my father developed cancer. an occupational hazard. with both degrees, i’ll gain the ability to not only prevent such deaths, but also to treat those in suffering, alleviating their pain.”
the officer eyes him with an unreadable smile. “you’ve practiced that.”
“yeah. i’ve had lots of experience with therapists and applying for tertiary grants. it gets easier to say every time.”
the officer leans in. seokjin leans away.
"so, will i be free to go anytime soon? i'm not trying to obstruct justice or anything, but i have a tutorial tomorrow at eight in the morning and i really need to get my affairs in order." seokjin frowns, mostly to himself. "i haven't even started my flashcards. i'm so screwed..."
"you'll be right to leave when i say so," he says sharply. "i've got a couple more questions for you, mr kim."
across the hall, a young woman in a blue pencil skirt and black heels enters the interrogation room. she shuts the door gently, sharp eyes raking the young man's figure, and shifts the folders against her chest.
"eyes up, little brother."
your gaze flickers upwards, following her without raising your head as she takes a seat across from you, smoothing her skirt beneath her legs.
"hello, yn," she murmurs, clasping neatly manicured hands over the files. "i haven't found you here since you were twelve. what would father say?"
"that i'm a terrible son. now everyone knows that i failed to get the job done."
she sighs, pursing her lips. "don't joke like this. what were you thinking? you're here for charges of petty theft and assault and battery. you're a better man than that."
"i fucked up, okay? it should've been a clean job – in and out without so much as a whisper. how the hell was i supposed to know that the lady had a side bitch? and," you lean forward, chains clinking as you press your palms against the table, "and, he threw the first punch. all i did was defend myself."
her eyes narrow into a glare. "you nearly killed the man! you're lucky he's not going to the media with this. there's only so much i can do for you, idiot, and i've only got two choices for you."
"jail time or – let me guess – community service?"
"no. jail time or help me find evidence for a case."
you blink. "what?"
she glances up at the camera in the corner of the room and sighs. "do you see the man across from you? white shirt."
you don't need to look over. "yeah. why, he your boyfriend?"
"he's the leader of an international crime syndicate. i know it. i just don't have the legal proof of it." she drums her fingers against the table. "this is where you come in. i need you to get close to him, grab some irrefutable audio recordings, and return to me. that's all i need."
you lean back in your chair, which creaks. you rub your eyes and wince. "fuck, noona, i'm not a grifter. i don't do long-cons. i like jewellery and shitty safes."
"it's either this or jail," she says firmly. "i can clean these charges off your record if i get him. let's just say that some very important people are banking on his arrest. please, yn – do it for me."
you shake your head incredulously, pressing your lips together. "you're asking cats to bark, noona. even if i wanted to, i don't have the right skillset – i'm no actor. and besides, what the fuck can someone like me do to get into a gang leader's inner circle?"
"i don't care how you get it done. if my intel serves, then he's partial to men like you," she emphasises, widening her eyes meaningfully. "get him chatty in bed if you have to; i don't give a shit. i believe in you, yn – you've got a solid history of excelling at everything you set your mind to. you could've been a brain surgeon, if you really wanted it."
you glance over at the man himself. your tongue darts over your lower lip. you turn back to the sergeant, slumping back in your chair. "there's no way that he's got any experience. he looks like a prude. he'll probably be asleep before i close his legs."
she makes a face. "i don't ever want to hear about that. listen, just try. for me? maybe you can get by with a little flirting – finally put that face of yours to good use. you didn't suffer through our family pinching your cheeks and telling you how you'd be a heartbreaker when you grew up to do absolutely nothing with it, right?"
"noona, i don't know..."
"oh, come on. it's not like he's hideous. can't be too hard to tell him he has nice eyes, can it?"
you sneak another glance, doubt written all over your features. it crumbles and you grimace, lifting a hand to rub the back of your neck. the other arm dangles from the cuffs. "fine! fine. i'll do it. for you. if i die, it's entirely your fault."
she lights up. "thank you! you've got this. stop by my apartment tonight, alright? i'll fill you in on the details, and you can get started in the morning. you can crash on my couch if you want to – i'm sure i've got enough of your clothes in a box somewhere to last you until you leave."
"yeah, yeah." you lift your hands towards her. "just get these fucking things off me, noona."
—
"what is this?"
"a good time, hyung!" taehyung grabs seokjin's elbow and drags him out of the sleek black car. he grins, bright and giddy, with a childish charm that suits his face but not the price tag of his suit. he wears burgundy, and if one looks closely, his glossy black shoes carry scars and scuffs from many tumbles. a surprising number of people have been close enough to notice – taehyung's carefree demeanour always masks his brutality.
seokjin's face twists, lightly peeved, as taehyung breezes past security without so much as a glance. "you told me you needed to pick something up. you lied to me."
he lifts a finger as the heavy bass music squeezes his lungs. "nuh-uh. i didn't lie – i do need to pick something up! i'll grab you something on the way in, too."
"can't you go one night without getting your rocks off?" seokjin nearly shouts. he can barely hear himself over the music. it is, however, satisfying to raise his voice, especially as taehyung flaps a dismissive hand in his direction.
"of course i can! but would i like to? no! oh – is that a new dancer? he's cute."
seokjin lets taehyung reel him through the club, blinking against the blue strobe lights. someone brushes against him and the hard steel lump in seokjin's jacket gives him pause, but seokjin meets his eyes unflinchingly and he drops his own, pushing his way through the crowds.
"i have better things to spend my time on," seokjin says, rather crossly. taehyung sits him down at an empty booth, firm hands on his shoulders. "not even a private room? i didn't raise you this way!"
taehyung huffs. "come on, hyung. it's not like it'll kill you. you deserve a little rest, especially after that fiasco with the mole! private rooms are quiet, and quiet means space to think, and space to think means that you'll be grumpy for the next two days. just let the music drown out the stresses of everyday life."
as he speaks, arms animated and dramatic, a good-looking man sashays over, wearing nothing but a pair of tight black shorts that leave little to the imagination. he sets down a beer in front of taehyung, who pushes the glass across the table towards seokjin.
then, when taehyung's mouth opens to continue his lecture, the man crawls onto the table with a seductive smile and begins to dance – or grind, really, against the air.
he's good. seokjin notices the snappy, controlled edge to his smooth, rolling movements more than his nakedness, and he wonders if he's a dancer. he wouldn't be surprised – with a body like that, he's bound to do well in such a place.
"are those moccasins?"
evidently, taehyung has different priorities.
taehyung prods at the dancer's ankles and he slides into a neat perch on the table's edge, his thighs trapping taehyung in the booth. he tilts taehyung's chin upwards with a flirty smile.
seokjin half-expects taehyung to vanish into a bathroom with him, but to his surprise, he shakes his head and gently places his legs aside.
"we're here for you," taehyung explains in response to seokjin's raised eyebrow as the dancer sways away. "plus, you're my ride home; my car's still being fixed up, can you believe it?"
"it's been a day, taehyung. give them time." seokjin glances around, hands resting almost mechanically on his thighs. if it wasn't for the frown on his face, he would look at home on set and in front of a camera. "so, your plan was to get me drunk? i'm not going to drink this."
"why not? you're getting paranoid again."
"someone could've spiked it," he argues. "and it's not paranoia – it's called vigilance and helps me stay alive. do you know how many times you would've died if i wasn't there? more times than i can count."
"oh, please. you're holding air above my head. i can take perfectly good care of myself. you just like to feel important."
if he were anyone but his little brother, he would no longer have a tongue to wag.
taehyung shrugs and reaches for seokjin's untouched beer. he lifts it to his lips, sipping delicately, and his face screws up in disgust. he gags, pushing it back towards seokjin. "no. still gross. ew."
he shakes his head like a dog ridding itself of water before his expression clears. he leans forward. "anybody here catch your eye?"
"no."
"come on. someone here has to at least touch your impossibly high standards."
seokjin rolls his eyes. his gaze sweeps over the dark club. "the bartender."
"bold move." he squints harder at the bartender through the strobe lights. he purses his lips. "you know what? i don't think i know him. damn. but finders keepers, i suppose – i'll go find out who he is."
"taehyung," seokjin says sharply. "he's working. don't make it harder than it needs to be."
he blows a raspberry, settling back down in his seat. "buzzkill. fine – you go talk to him, then. give him your number, or something."
"and do what everyone else does? present myself as desperate? absurd."
taehyung groans. "you are making my job way too hard. i am trying to get you laid. you're as good-looking as me – this should be easy!"
"as good-looking," seokjin mutters disdainfully. he raises his voice slightly. "i was just accused of a myriad of crimes, embezzlement and racketeering included. forgive me if i'm a little wary of strangers."
"you're fine," taehyung drawls. "you played the good boy so well. i barely recognised you in cuffed levi's." he casts an appreciative glance in the bartender's direction and begins to stand. "i'm gonna shoot my shot with smiley over there. my dear, he's a sight for sore eyes. wish me luck!"
"i'll break your legs."
"it's 'break a leg', generally."
"sit," he demands.
taehyung whines, "i'm not a dog," but sits anyway.
seokjin rises to his feet. "stay," he says, as if he hadn't heard his last words at all.
taehyung wiggles a finger. "that's the kind of attitude that makes people dislike you, hyung." he starts to sway. "be open-minded. easy as the ocean waves. light as a sea breeze."
"are you drunk from one sip of beer?"
he stops swaying. "you're so cruel! you'd be nicer if you just shot me in the head. since you care about your stupid reputation so much, i'm gonna go have my fun, and you can sit here and brood like the handsome and emotionally-unavailable man that you are. good-fucking-bye."
he stomps off – far too suavely, so that it looks more like a catwalk stride than a temper tantrum. however, once his grumpy gaze catches sight of a familiar head of blond hair sitting at a booth with three equally-familiar friends, he brightens and waves his arms, shouting over the music in frantic german.
the woman turns, her arm linked with a pretty korean girl. she grabs taehyung's hand and pulls him down next to her, squishing the three of them into the wall, and the beaming grins and laughter around the table suggests to seokjin that taehyung has been rather well-received.
a small smile tugs at seokjin's lips. at least he has his friends.
he sighs and stands, dusting off his trousers. he pauses by the end of the booth's table, his attention caught by the bartender. he's smiling, chatting to a co-worker as he shakes a mixer. he wears a bowtie and a waistcoat, the sleeves of a crisp white dress shirt rolled up tight at the elbows – same as the other bartender. but he seems to glow in it: everything around him appears brighter, sharper, more vivid.
maybe taehyung was right. maybe he does need to loosen up.
"hey. what can i get for you?"
seokjin slides onto a bar stool. "just a rum and coke, please. thanks."
the bartender grins. nods. he looks better up close. "not a problem. shall i open up a tab for you?"
seokjin hums in thought. he shakes his head. "i'll just take this one. you have a nice smile."
it takes a half-second for the bartender to register the compliment. that smile grows slightly flustered. "oh! thank you. one rum and coke."
he bustles away. seokjin thinks it's a shame that he wears no name tag.
he returns quickly with seokjin's drink in his hand, and seokjin almost smiles at the fact that he skipped over all the other waiting patrons to complete his drink first. he hides his amusement with the chilled rim of the glass.
"so, handsome... when does your shift end?"
the bartender grins. "half an hour. is there any reason in particular you're asking?"
"i'm not so ill-mannered as to take your attention off the other lovely patrons just to compliment your arms or the way that bowtie looks on you. i can appreciate a strong work ethic."
"you're starting to sound like my boss," the bartender laughs. "but for you, handsome, i can make it twenty minutes. think you can nurse a rum and coke for that long?"
"for you?" he raises the glass. "as long as you need."
—
seokjin's waist fits in your hand ever so perfectly. when you'd first met him, you'd played it so safe that you'd almost forgotten to give him your name. you gave yourself a new last name and a subtle accent, but that was as far as the changes went. sure, you were well-known for being in the drama club in high school, but it wasn't your... passion. nothing quite hit the spot like black gloves and diamonds.
"you look lovely tonight," you comment with a smile, leaning in to keep the waitress out of it. she slows to a stop beside a table set for two and bows before taking her leave.
"as do you," seokjin says gently, a smile lighting up his face when you pull his chair out for him. if it's not the candlelight throwing shadows, you think there's a warm blush on his cheekbones. "i adore the way you dress. i can appreciate a taste for the finer things."
you finger the diamond choker around your neck, set with white gold. it sits above the deep v of your black shirt, accentuating just how deep it falls, and provides a nice contrast. it matches the chopard watch and its woven steel bracelet on your wrist.
"finer things?" you tease, stroking the collar of your shirt. his eyes flicker from the diamonds to the split of your chest. "it's more of a... bad habit, to be truthful. but when i heard where we were headed tonight, i was afraid i'd be wildly underdressed, and then overdressed."
he laughs softly – a sweetly unique sound that has your lips curving up automatically. "you don't have anything to be worried about. you look like you were born for this life. actually, you make me self-conscious – i should've tried something more avant-garde than a suit."
you shake your head with a laugh. "it's a learned skill. you've found something you look ravishing in; why not exploit it?"
"you're too kind." he's had a thousand people compliment the cut of his jacket and tailoring of his pants, but none felt quite so heart-fluttering as yours. he hides his smile with his slender fingers and averts his eyes to escape the alluring heat of your gaze. "but, truly – those diamonds do look stunning on you. do you have much of a collection?"
"oh, no; i couldn't afford it if i tried. it's such a shame. i feel like they're calling for me to touch them, and sometimes the desire is simply too strong to resist, you know? i indulge myself terribly."
he brushes his fingers over his plush lower lip. "it's alright. i know the feeling. i really do love the way you look with them, so would you mind bringing me the next time you go to a jeweller's? anything that catches your eye, you can have. anything at all. it'd be a sin to deprive you of them when i've seen you in these simple ones – i can't imagine what i'd do with myself if you wore something a little more... eye-catching."
you pause. your eyes widen. "oh – oh, no, seokjin – i couldn't ask that of you."
"that's why i'm offering, love." he smiles sweetly.
"you'd really buy such expensive things for me? i'm flattered, truly, but i wouldn't want our relationship to become... transactional." you reach across the table and place your hand on his. his bright smile turns shy. "i've loved our time together, seokjin. i don't want to lose that."
it takes a second longer than usual for him to compose himself and find his words. "you wouldn't lose it. they'd just be gifts – you wouldn't have to do anything in return. don't worry," he emphasises, squeezing your hand gently, "about the money. i have lifetimes of it. i'd be glad to know where it's going."
you squeeze his hand as well, turning your palm up to grasp his knuckles as if you're about to kiss them. your thumb runs over his joints and the curves of his knuckles, and chuckle. "you really are too good to me, seokjin."
the hum of the restaurant fades away into a low murmuring ripple. the lights fade to dull spots. everything but him vanishes, pushed to the furthest extremities of your consciousness, and you lean in. he follows.
the kiss is soft and silky. his lips tingle where they press to yours, like the gentle tang of a teaspoon of lime juice. you sip on him slowly, like mezcal, and relish in the sweet sting, as rich and bright as an amaretto sour.
he tilts his head, and the kiss deepens to something more appropriate for the bedroom. he catches himself before it goes too far with a soft gasp, pulling away. his dark eyes flutter open, flicking up to yours.
he clears his throat. "so, are you hungry?"
"of course," you reply, matching his nonchalance. you shrug with an embarrassed, lopsided grin. "i've just never been to a restaurant that doesn't offer their menu anywhere..."
seokjin's eyes widen slightly. a flush remains on his cheeks – the memory of your lips on his sticks to the forefront of his mind, crowding out much else. "oh! it's a fixed menu, love. it's why i asked for your dietary requirements the other day. they base the size on how many people there are. i'm so sorry – i'd forgotten all about it the moment i saw you." he giggles at himself endearingly. that severe, revenge-served-cold persona at the bar seems entirely removed. he even sits differently – a little more open, relaxed.
you watch him with a soft smile. "you're quite the charmer, did you know that? i could sit here and listen to your voice the whole night long."
"well," he laughs again, "i think that's how dinner dates work, so you’re in luck."
a waitress, different to the one who seated you, stops by with a polite smile and the entrees. you thank her and glance back down at each other, smiling when your eyes meet.
this might not be so hard, after all.
—
it doesn't take much to slide into seokjin's 'inner circle' – and not the one he lets you into in the bedroom. that one came first. after that, it was simply existing by his side, practically living in his luxurious penthouse apartment and massaging his shoulders when work became rough, until he grew comfortable enough not to flip over his classified papers when you leant over his chair to kiss him on the cheek.
you have yet to find anything incriminating in those glances; it's all reasonable numbers in those financial year statements. he takes his work with him – not just between work and home, but even to the bedroom. he sets his messenger bag on a chair with his tie next to the wardrobe, which means that you can't creep away and take a late-night sneak peek at anything under those superficial numbers.
one night, you're milling around the living room directly in front of the entrance, your shoes patient by the front door. the apartment is oddly shaped, as far as apartments go. maybe they're different for rich people, but you haven't seen one quite like it before. the living room branches out like a capital 't' and hooks around in a loop, with a staircase on the right leading up to a mezzanine containing the bedroom, office, and bathroom. in the day, it's brightly lit; huge panels of glass stretching across the walls from floor to ceiling display downtown seoul's skyline. at night, spots of light glimmer in the darkness, and a slow, blinking red dot will sometimes make its way over the roofs. before you, seokjin says, he kept the curtains closed as soon as the sun went down, but that you've shown him a beauty in the night that he can no longer ignore.
you lie along the leather couch, a pillow folded beneath your head. your eyes are closed. conventional, inoffensive radio songs float through speakers inset in the ceiling. despite those speakers in every room – so that he doesn't have to carry one around with him – he still has a dedicated movie setup, complete with atmos speakers. somehow, he'd found the sweet spot for the audio, despite his open-plan home being a noticeable springboard for sound.
the door opens, and a set of footsteps enters. the door closes behind them. your brow furrows and you're on your feet in half a second – those aren't seokjin's steps.
the young man in front of you instinctively reaches for something at the back of his belt. you've watched enough movies to know what it is that he's got his fingers around.
"well, he-llo, gorgeous," he greets flirtatiously in a deep, smooth voice. he wears a peach-coloured three-piece with a matching tie and a black shirt. a lock of dark hair curls romantically over his eyebrow, and you wonder how long he took in the bathroom to get it right. "you look familiar. have we met?"
you don't relax. neither does he. you smile politely. "i don't believe we have. i imagine someone like you would be hard to forget."
"hm." his lips curve up. "then allow me to introduce myself. kim taehyung: art aficionado, music connoisseur, and lover of many. i decorated this place – do you like what i've done with it?"
"it's better than most apartments i've been to."
he hums and moves towards the bar on the corner. he moves behind it to pour himself a glass of cherry cola – he's not as clueless as he looks, then. he'll keep an eye on you this way. he adds ice, and it clinks in his glass.
he begins, "my brother... he's not one for aesthetics. i'm certain he'd live in a cement box if it had everything he needed in it. i've made it my personal mission to fill his homes with as many useless objects as i can before he becomes suspicious. take this, for example."
he points to a white vase of lilacs on the end of the bar and fixes it, brushing his knuckles over the flowers. "this vase... it's beautiful, but it cost as much as a car. i haven't the slightest idea why. i could go to the nearest department store and get something identical for a handful of spare change."
he lifts his glacial gaze, staring at you from the corner of his eyes. he's not talking about vases.
you scoff and sit back down, turning your back to him. he's not going to do anything – not when he's assuming such things about you. "you don't even know my name, but you're already insulting me."
"i've been pushing him to release some stress. he takes himself too seriously – someone needs to loosen the stick up his ass, maybe replace it with something better." he pops a blue umbrella in his glass with a twirly pink straw and lifts it to his lips. "i've had this conversation with three other men before you, did you know? you're the first to understand it." he tilts his glass in your direction, almost a toast. "i like you."
"what are you here for, kim taehyung?" you ask bluntly. you rest your arm over the backrest and watch him over your shoulder. his sad little glass of cola makes your fingers itch – you need to make him a proper drink.
he gestures vaguely at the city skyline with the cola. it sloshes dangerously close to the rim. "what we're all here for. a good time. that, and i wanted to know who had my stoic brother wrapped around their pinky finger. seeing you now – i can see why."
"thought he wasn't one for aesthetics," you comment drily.
he laughs at that, full and animable. "oh, attractive and witty. that must be the reason why my brother can't think straight anymore – as soon as someone has a sharp tongue, he's completely enamoured. do you like him as much as he likes you?"
you rise to your feet, finally unable to hold back the carnal desire to make him a drink of the clothes he's wearing – that little party glass won't do. smoothly, he moves around the bar, keeping to the opposite side at all times as you slip off your white jacket and drape it over the bench you wouldn't notice the action if you weren't looking for it. you already had seokjin in the palm of your hand – it was this boy you needed to worry about. his suspicion might brush against something it shouldn't.
you reach for a coca-cola and the bottle of grenadine syrup. "i keep his company because i enjoy our conversations."
"sounding more and more like an escort," he comments blithely. "there's no need to be so tense around me, big boy. i just want to know if my big brother is in good hands. yours seem very capable."
plucking a couple of maraschino cherries out of the fridge, you balance them on the ice in the tall glass. you turn, and you bite back a smirk as taehyung's brow twitches upwards.
"thank you," you say, setting the glass down and sliding it across the bar. "i didn't poison it, if you're wondering. just a simple roy rogers. a man of your standing deserves better than a can of coke garnished with an umbrella."
he watches you move around the bar, whipping up a pisco sour. he plucks the cherries off their stems with his teeth and chews slowly, savouring the sweetness. "huh. you're ticking all the boxes – hyung might have to share you with me. that – or you can tell me why you're really after him. you're not an escort, so it's not about money. you don't fuck him nearly as often as he needs to be, so it's not about sex."
a dull, steely thump. you turn around, the shaker in your hands.
his fingers slide off of the silver handgun on the bar. he raises the roy rogers to his lips, his eyes fixed on yours.
he's seen a lot of reactions to a gun. he's seen fear, he's seen hysteria – hell, he's even seen lust. the drink pauses halfway to the bar when you laugh boisterously.
"you can't intimidate me, kim taehyung," you chuckle, shaking it dry. "you wouldn't believe the number of people who've pulled a weapon on me. some were twice your size – ex-military types, far too trigger-happy to continue shooting and call it patriotism. i'm not going to hurt you or your brother, and i won't tell the cops that you're packing. pleased?"
you pop open the shaker and drop in the ice. you resume shaking.
the front door opens. those are seokjin's footsteps.
you turn around with bright eyes, grabbing a glass. "oh, seokjin! how was your day? i've been waiting to kick your ass all week – my mario kart skills are getting better."
"my day was boring, but much better now that i've seen you. you'll have to show me your new moves." he looks up from digging around in his messenger bag and halts at the sight of taehyung in his peach-coloured suit and platform boots. his gaze hones in on the glint of steel taehyung didn't quite manage to hide.
his eyes narrow and his expression hardens. his voice snaps their consonants, arctic-cold. "are you threatening my partner, taehyung?"
"of course not," you interrupt, sending taehyung a candied grin. "your little brother was just making himself comfortable. it'd be hard to be at ease with that digging into your back, wouldn't it?"
the thick silence between them is palpable.
"come now, darling," you hum, pouring the cocktail. you add the garnishes and hold it out with an inviting smile. "you're at home. relax."
after a pause, he steps forward. another step. he dumps his bag on the couch as he passes it and accepts the drink with a grateful sigh.
"you're too good to me, love," he murmurs, tilting his head to allow you better access with your kisses. "i'm sorry i didn't introduce you to taehyung earlier. he's always so busy with the family business. did he play nice with you?"
"mm, of course," you whisper sweetly, sliding your hands up over his thighs and hips. you press a kiss to his jaw and lift your eyes to taehyung's – he glares daggers back, and his mouth thin into a tight line. "we're getting along well. a few initial speed bumps, yes, but all relationships have their rocks and pitfalls. even if we didn't," you nibble on his earlobe just to see taehyung divert his gaze, "he'd have to get used to me, sooner or later."
#seokjin#kim seokjin#kim seokjin x male reader#seokjin x male reader#seokjin x reader#bts x male reader#bts x reader#kpop x male reader#x male reader#male reader#m!reader
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Here’s a little scene I wrote and decided to publish on here for anyone who may like it. Set after Valkyrie leaves the ship with the Skrull. Please note I don’t usually write any fanfic, but The Marvels have really got me invested, so it’s definitely not perfect!
***
Carol turned her back as soon as the bifrost beamed Val and the Skrulls back to New Asgard. Sombrely making her way back to her “unintentional team”
Kamala squealed. “So who was that?” Asking in a sing songy voice to Carol.
Monica sighed
Carol looked up very seriously. “The king of New Asgard.” She said matter of factly.
Monica laughed as Kamala scrunched up her face. “No I know who she is. I mean WHOOOO is she?” Kamala ensured she put a great emphasis on who. Hoping the great Captain Marvel would get the hint.
“Valkyrie. The King of New Asgard.” Carol said still not understanding Kamala’s undertone.
Kamala smacked her forehead. “No, I know her name and occupation. Who is she?” The super teen decided to wink really hard on the who.
“I’m going to bed.” Monica announced. Kamala watched her climb into the single bed ensuring her back was facing the other two.
“Well I call her Val…” Carol said while taking a seat at the table in the center of the ship.
“UGH” Kamala exclaimed “but who is she?” Kamala knew better than to ask point blank the relationship status of two people. Her parents would be ashamed. Especially if it was about someone she’s looked up to for years and years. Someone who is so amazing she deserves to have someone to love and be loved …
“The last Valkyrie of the Asgard Court.”
It went on like this for sometime until a deep sigh is heard from the woman on the bed. “Kamala is asking, who she is to you.” Monica said. She knew this game would never end. Her Aunt Carol maybe earth’s mightiest hero, but she does not pick up on subtile hints.
“Oh.” Carol exclaimed. “A friend.”
Kamala falls to the floor ever so dramatically. “It didn’t look like you were just friends. Seemed like you had a history?” She peered up at Carol from her position on the floor.
“Well we figured we were better off as friends.” Carol picked up a newspaper off the table she was sitting at and flipped through its pages.
How could she be so nonchalant about this! The Captain Marvel just admitting to having a past fling with The King of Asgard! “I’ve never had a moment like that with anyone I’m just friends with.” Kamala scooted herself closer to Carol using her feet to move her body up. It was too late Carol was enthralled in her newspaper and she could hear Monica’s light snores from the bed. “Ugh never mind. I can just write about it.”
“Yeah you do that.” Carol said who really didn’t hear what the young girl said. Just wanted to have some alone time.
Kamala’s mouth dropped open. “Permission from THE Captain Marvel!” She squealed in delight quickly pulling out her phone. “This is gonna get so many hits!”
#the marvels#carol danvers#king valkyrie#carol x valkyrie#monica rambeau#valkyrie x carol danvers#marvel#valcarol#fanfic#carol danvers fanfiction#new asgard#ms marvel
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. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
Your wedding is a beautiful event.
Everything is arranged just so. Although it’s a small affair, only your own family joining you, it’s a grand event. You suppose that if your father has the money to spend he can do as he pleases. You don’t feel like you’re being held prisoner, or forced, but there isn’t much you have a say in about all of this.
You decide on smaller things. Carefully selecting the flowers that line the ceremony room. The scent of incense floats through the air. Natural, slightly muskier smells complement the florals. The candlelight bathes the room in softer yellow shades. It does little to battle the cold outside, though your heavy layers of cloth do well to warm your skin.
The robe, and accompanying headdress, are made from piles and piles of silk. They are hand-painted with soft pink camellias, outlined with a subtle silver. The pale colors melt perfectly into the rest of the white fabric. Your tsunokakushi accompanies it, made in the same expensive silk. The white stays perfect and pure, though fresh flowers are helping to accent it. The uniform weighs you down and helps to keep you from squirming. Nerves would get to anyone on a day like this.
Your husband is beautiful as everything else.
His raven hair is combed back, bangs brushed out from his face. The color blends in perfectly with the dark kimono. All the black points your focus towards his pale face and crystal blue eyes. They stare forward at the priest and paintings behind the altar.
He is a complete stranger to you.
Though you’ve only met the man once there’s a strange lack of apprehension. The first meeting didn’t even count, not really. It was negotiations and talks of money while you bowed timidly in the corner.
Despite the lack of any sort of acknowledgment you have some admiration for him. Silent and solitary he carries a sense of dignity. Knowing his occupation only makes your heart grows fonder.
The first time you touch him is as you exchange saki cups. His fingers barely brush against yours as the cups get passed over. The tiny touch sends electricity racing up your arm. Eyes softly evade your own piercing look.
Warmth makes its way down your throat with each sip. The alcohol isn’t enough to do anything more than heat your blood, but it’s a welcome feeling. Glancing over at Tomioka you admire his reddened cheeks. The thought of his lips touching the same cup that yours now linger on is embarrassing.
You wonder if the same feelings pass through the man as you drink from the second cup first.
Once more the cycle goes around. Giyuu drinks from the cup, his fingers brush yours, and you linger on the taste of his lips.
As each cup is whisked away you grow more and more nervous. The ceremony rushes by before your eyes. On the table, alongside other offerings, lie your wedding rings. They’re simple woven bands, a subtle golden white.
Giyuu’s mouth opens to recite his vows. His flat and quiet voice is soothing. The words disappear in your mind the moment they’re spoken. You don’t mind that the vows are simple and standard, inspired instead by the music of his tone. He never hesitates as he speaks the pages of words all tucked inside his mind.
The rest of the ceremony holds the same kind of quiet reverence.
Everyone performs their duty exactly as instructed. It passes by quickly without you even noticing. Offerings are brought forward, rings are exchanged. Your head is filled with rushing blood. As you’re shuffled the world around you warps and rushes.
Within a few moments, you have become a married woman.
A thin band sits on your finger. You can hardly remember the hand sliding the ring onto yours. The feeling grows until it nearly bursts your heart open. It’s a combination of joy and apprehension and a million other things that race through your mind.
There is not a single moment for you to rest. Even though there is no celebration afterward, you don’t get time to focus on anything that’s happening. Once you have completed all pieces of tradition, sent offers, and exchanged every bit of your life, you are whisked away to change. The excitement of all the women around leaves no room for a proper conversation. The dress you’re pulled into is simple, less intricate though just as elegant. It’s a softer blue, a strange combination of modern and traditional styles. Finally, you have graduated to shorter sleeves that don’t weigh down your arms quite as much.
Your hair is still done up in an awful complicated mess. Pins don’t quite stab your skull, but they come close. Later tonight you’ll have to spend hours undoing every decoration on your head and skin.
There is little to keep you distracted now. The tender hands of your mother and sisters continue to run over the fabric of your dress. It stands a few inches above the floor, unlike your wedding kimono which had to be carried. There is little they can do now too.
Outside the engine of a car roars to life. Your father should have loaded most of your luggage by now. Most of it is frivolous material possessions, clothes, trinkets, and anything else deemed important enough to carry into your next life.
Your husband is already seated. He does not glance at you as you exit your home.
The goodbyes are short. Your family already spent much of last night saying everything that could be said. There’s little to do now except hug and be sent off.
You climb into the seat beside Tomioka. He does not greet you. Hesitance floods through you for a moment, but in the end, you make no effort either. His silence is unsurprising.
In fact, the ride home is silent, as equally expected. A thousand questions are racing through your mind. Despite the excitement buzzing underneath your skin your lips stay sealed shut.
Holding your hands in your lap you force yourself to gaze out the window. It’s not your first time inside an automobile, but you find it fascinating how fast the scenery moves by.
Tomioka does not hold the same kind of interest. His eyes burn holes into the headrest in front of him. The stiffness he sits with is nearly funny. The man’s spine is perfectly straight, hands folded in front of him. If he notices your eyes occasionally flicker over to trace his face, he doesn’t say anything about it.
The driver in the front remains quiet too. He’s some friend of a friend of your father’s. Which makes him a complete stranger to you. You’re still glad for the company. You haven’t been alone with a man, only boys when you were small enough to not understand the importance of anything.
It occurs to you that you’ll have to get used to it. There’s a myriad of new experiences that you’ll face within such a short period of time. You don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.
—-
The car ride passes much too quickly. Although Tomioka’s estate is a good ways away from your smaller town, the car travels over the terrain with ease. Even as you pass through rural areas and up the large winding path to his home the machine never stutters in its ascent.
Just before you disappear into the small grove of trees, you pass a small town. Several of the residents look up into the car as you go by. One small child waves to you. Though you can’t particularly focus on anything, you try to map out the businesses and homes you see. Within the blink of an eye, you’re carried into the forest, eyes shielded from the town.
The last stretch of the journey is as grand as the house itself. A long pathway leads up to the gate, lined with stones and tall skinny trees. As you grow closer the flora only grows more spectacular. Bamboo begins to rise to accompany the rest of the scenery. It shoots up and stretches backward until you can’t see where it ends.
The gate hangs open, showing off a glimpse of the estate. It’s several floors tall, balconies coming off the side. The building leads perfectly into the stone garden, intertwined with a small river. Everything is grand and perfectly groomed. It looks like something out of a photograph rather than somewhere a human could live.
The car stops just beyond the front door. You remain immobile even as the engine shuts off. Without the rumbling of the automobile, it is completely silent. It’s engulfing. Every rustle of your clothes and shift against the seats is loud.
“I can take your bags inside.” It’s the first thing Giyuu has said to you, directly to you, all day.
Your lips grow suddenly dry. No response can be mustered other than a quick nod of your head. Internally you curse yourself.
Leaping down from the car you feel the stones move beneath your feet. With only a small second of delay, you make your way to the entrance.
The door would slide open easily. Your hands rest against the thick wood. Looking back Giyuu is still unloading your luggage from the trunk. Despite the size and volume of the bags, he manages to balance everything within his arms. Hoping to be at least somewhat helpful you decide to slide the door open.
Holding yourself off to the side you let the man pass you. His eyes still don’t stray even close to your face. Looking straight ahead he slows his pace slightly, just until you perk up and follow behind him.
Giyuu is still dressed in the dark and elegant groom’s kimono. The wide legs and arms obscure his true figure. You had seen a glimpse of it during your first meeting, less hidden underneath the form-fitting demon slayer’s uniform. His broad shoulders stretched the sleeves of the shirt, visible even below his unique haori.
Suddenly it occurs to you what most couples do on their wedding night. Almost dizzy you brush the thought from your mind. The idea of his muscular body is as enticing as it is terrifying. Those kinds of ideas should be saved for when you’re absolutely alone and can’t be caught in your shame.
Tomioka opens the door to (presumably) your bedroom with such force that you nearly scamper backward. If he was surprised by the clanging of the door he shows no visible reaction.
Looking around the space it’s… empty.
There’s a bed in the corner, covered in plain gray sheets. It’s accompanied by an equally boring nightstand and matching dresser made from dark wood. They’re perfectly square with perfectly round handles.
Everything is completely devoid of personality. You had noticed the blank hallways only accented with an occasional floral arrangement but assumed such a personal place would not carry the same stale feeling. This looks like the kind of place only a psychopath could live.
“This’ll be your room. It’s rather empty now, but you’re free to do what you’d like with the space.”
Again you can only nod.
He only stays for a mere moment to stack your luggage neatly in the corner. Without a word of goodbye, he disappears around the corner. The man only acknowledges you with a dip of his head. You have the feeling that this time you aren’t meant to follow him. You close the door slowly, silently, as he makes his exit.
Down the hallway, you hear another door open and shut. It feels like the period at the end of a sentence. The action effectively marks the end of your wedding day. The large window in the center of his room shows you the dark moon rising.
Though the thick layers of makeup on your face feel like they're melting and the kimono you wear is slightly too tight, you make no action to undo anything. You move carefully, making your way to the bed instead.
It’s almost frigid when you sit on it. The mattress is stiff beneath you, a clear lack of use. There’s a nightstand to your right. The drawers you check are all empty. When you move off the bed, it’s chill clinging to you, you check the dresser drawers as well. Those are empty too, it’s clear the place has not belonged to anyone else.
Following the outline of the your bedroom you find nothing other than plain white walls and dark trim. There’s a door that connects to a bathroom. In theory, it’s as grand as your bedroom, in the fact that it’s wide and spacious. The tub is large enough for a few people, sunken into the floor, and surrounded by stone. Snooping around the cabinets you find basic amenities and not much else.
As you fiddle with the faucet it sputters before spewing forth scalding water. You’re hand turns an angry red for a minute until the temperature shifts to something bearable. Watching water cover the pebbled bottom you sigh and turn back to your room.
Opening your luggage you sort through the piles of clothes until you find a soft cotton robe. You unbutton your dress slowly. In some way, you wish you could’ve been putting on a show for someone. Underneath your kimono, you wear a sinful chiffon slip. It’s hidden below several other layers of fabric, that you slowly reveal with no one to see.
The light pink fabric casts a light shadow over your breasts. Along the edges, it’s patterned with frills and ribbons. The slip was one last gift from your mother, opened only in the privacy of your own room. Stripped down almost bare you can feel the air tickle your skin.
Making your way back to the bathroom you remain in the gentle slip. As water crashes down to continually fill the tub, steam rises to warm your chilly skin. Though the small set is beautiful, it does little to keep heat in.
The only other article of clothing remaining is your thin socks. Slipping them off you test the water again, perfectly heated. Soon after the translucent slip disappears too. You’ll banish it to the back of your drawers soon after, no reason to try it on again.
Sinking into the tub you rub at your face first. White and red and pink mix with the water. As heat and steam engulf you, you keep rubbing until your skin feels raw. You pull pins from your hair after you’ve effectively taken off a few layers of skin from your face. They scrape over the fragile top of your head, hair coming undone in tendrils. There’s an awful throbbing behind your temples, blood rushing to the tender spots on your scalp. You can hardly touch the area without wincing in pain. It’s hard to decide whether putting on the ensemble or taking it off was more painful.
You soak until the water is barely warm and your fingers are wrinkled. The soft floral scents of whatever soap was under the cabinet have soothed you somewhat. Tears, from physical pain or emotional, have fed the bath and let its line grow up to your chin. It weighs down heavily on your chest until you push yourself out from the water and take a clean breath.
The shock of cool air is awful on your way out. It strips you of everything again, shivering as you stalk back to your luggage.
You pull on a heavier robe, something to protect your wet and naked body It’s mostly plain, only accented with patterned edges. You had a softer and prettier one right on top of everything. Seeing as you’ll be bedding alone tonight you choose what’s more comfortable. You haven’t heard a single noise from anyone since you were essentially dumped into your room.
The bed is still cold. It’s a Western-style frame, lifted up from the ground and leaving you aloft. Springs seem to pierce into you from below.
As you drag yourself into bed alone you finally feel something familiar. It creeps in during the quiet night when everything is perfectly still. You’re not quite alert, but nowhere near sleep either. No matter how much you try, your eyes can’t close. They stare across the bed towards the wall, an empty side waiting to be filled.
Lying on your side it squeezes wetness from your eye. It’s not tears, but feeling the water trace your cheeks, inspires real sadness in their wake. Stubborn, you refuse to curl up into the sorrow. With a stone face, you let the pillow soak up the tears. They haven’t dried by the time you finally fall asleep.
—-
In the morning you feel no grogginess. There are no clocks within the room, but the outside window tells you that it’s later in the day. You move quicker than last night, putting on a much simpler kimono, barely messing with your hair. You still bother with makeup, making sure you look at least somewhat proper.
It’s quiet as you peer out into the hallway. With no lights on it’s painted in a dusty blue hue. There’s only a sliver of light coming from the window, which fails to illuminate the edges of the walls. There’s a light switch towards the end of the wall, which you creep out to flip on.
The hum of electricity sparks to life a row of lights. They produce a warm golden glow that inspires you to wake up further. Looking down the hall you assume one of the doors towards the end belongs to Tomioka’s room. All the spaces look the same.
Turning away you trace your way back through the route Giyuu had taken you down the way before. As you walk nearly silently you keep your ears out for the sound of another human.
Yesterday’s tour, if it could be called that, only covered the most basic of rooms. Dragging your hand against the wall you trace your way to the kitchen.
Going through the cabinets you find a pitiful amount of food. It’s mostly dried materials, beans, and rice, alongside a few fresh vegetables that already look slightly wilted. The sight isn’t completely unappetizing on its own, but coupled with the empty feeling in your stomach you wish you had something already done. You start some oats right away and chew some dry carrots in the meantime. They do nothing to fill you.
Almost immediately you’re already visualizing a list of things to buy. More veggies, fresh fruit, and probably a treat or two to try and satisfy your insatiable sweet tooth. Thinking about food only serves to make you hungrier, for now, you try and distract yourself with thoughts of anything else.
Listening quietly you hear nothing besides the sizzling of the porridge. There’s no creaking of wood down the hall. As hard as you try you can’t sense the presence of any other person. The idea that Giyuu has already left the house seems unlikely, but it also seems that you don’t know much about his habits at all.
Still, the silence remains throughout breakfast. The porridge is bland despite the brown sugar and cinnamon you’ve mixed in. Fresh fruit is definitely at the top of your list. The paste moves down your throat at a slow pace.
You barely finish a few bites of the meal before brushing it off to the side. Your stomach is still empty, but you can’t bring yourself to eat anymore. Though you should force yourself to eat more, something substantial, you can barely push the food around in the bowl.
Instead, you stumble around the house trying to find anything. Each room is blank and empty, and that’s without even traveling upstairs. It’s not anything different than what you saw yesterday, white walls and dark wood and nothing else.
You don’t bother with looking around more, expecting to find most of the same. Instead, you wander back toward the direction of your room. There’s not much waiting for you there, but you can at least busy yourself with unpacking.
You find a note stuck to the door when you make your way toward it. If it was there before you must’ve missed it.
‘Gone on a mission, will be back.’
And you suppose that’s that.
—-
He’s gone for long stretches of time. Though nothing is ever explained to you, some things become clear through observation. A paycheck comes every few days, you assume whenever he’s finished slaying whatever creature he’s been sent after. Tomioka arrives home only once a month at most, usually after long stretches of silence. If you’re lucky his crow will be sent ahead to announce his presence.
The bird ends up being a better companion than his owner in many ways. The crow, Kanzaburou, is old. He’s senile in the way an old man is, sweet and a bit air-headed. In many ways, he has more personality than your husband.
None of that changes the fact that you spend most days alone. Every single one since the first seem both eternal and yet much too quick. With little to keep you busy once things are put into place, you feel as if you’re going insane. Cleaning only takes up so much time, and there is little you can dirty on your own. The two or so dishes you use in a day take a week to fill up the sink. There’s no point in changing, not most days, but even then your laundry doesn’t fill up often. Sometimes you purposefully spill something just to have an actual purpose to your scrubbing.
Nothing changes when Giyuu comes home, not the first time or second or third. He hides inside his room. The only sign he even exists is the food that disappears from the freezer and cabinets. You always make extra meals, things with real substance, and those disappear too. Whether he actually enjoys your cooking is a complete mystery.
At first, you try to remain in common areas, with the small hope that he’ll stumble across you. You save most of your cleaning for the time he is home, simply for appearing useful. Standing outside to hang up sheets or sitting in the living room to rearrange the florals could entice him out.
Within the first few months, you give up.
If Giyuu does ever stumble upon you he’s quick to mumble an excuse and exit. Every time you feel scorned and scolded, despite the man’s gentle nature. You resign to hiding within your room. Despite your attempts to bring some color into the area it still feels rather depressing in there.
For a long time, you coexist in that quiet sort of way. You hate it more than if he just admitted to despising you, or didn’t come home at all. It’s the barest hope that something will change, keeping you strung along and nearly begging that he’ll even talk to you one day.
Not even the small town can comfort your lonely soul. Most of the typical shop owners and citizens seem wary of your presence. They conduct business and make small talk, but do almost nothing else. Your shyness engulfs you before you can even consider reaching out for company.
The weeks pass in a bit of a blur. The only contact you get is from Giyuu’s crow. He comes unpredictably, and yet somehow remains a single constant within your life besides the loneliness. You look forward to the sound of his slightly too screechy calls more than you do the paycheck he brings.
Most of the money stays put anyways. It’s more than you could ever know what to do with. Even after spending an extravagant amount, you have piles of it left. The things you do spend it on go towards brightening up your home. Collecting anything that captures your eye has become a common practice. Tapestries and paintings and all kinds of knickknacks cover the walls of your home. You buy things in bright colors to contrast the pale walls and dark ceilings. Your room is the worst case of this, crammed completely full of anything remotely beautiful.
If Tomioka dislikes the changes he again says nothing. If you hadn’t heard him speak wedding vows you’d be convinced the man was mute. Almost nothing else gives away his emotions either. No longer above spying, you try to peek and see any sort of twitch in his features. On occasion, he’ll pause his trek down the hallway and gaze at a new addition to the area. Despite this, you can’t tell if his blank eyes express any kind of adoration or distaste.
Your mental state is much more apparent. Tears become a common companion. They creep up suddenly when you’re cooking or leaving the town or just trying to sleep. It’s annoying more than anything. You’re already painfully aware of the fact that you’re not particularly happy. A reminder does nothing for you.
It gets worse when Giyuu is home. You can’t help the way your sobs increase in volume when his shadow moves over your door. Sometimes you swear he lingers there.
After that, you try to rebel, or at least do something interesting enough to spice up your days. Sometimes you’ll buy hideous decor, clashing curtains that sit in the living room, or twisted vases. You even start venturing into Giyuu’s room.
It’s the one place you haven’t entered. As you push the door open you’re surprised by how crowded the room is. The walls are still relatively blank, but they don’t feel empty. There’s a desk in the corner, it’s covered in papers that you at least have the sense to let be. On the opposite side of the room sits a bookshelf, though the stories that lie in there seem almost random. There’s an assortment of genres, action and romance and tragedies, and an assortment of styles. There are a few books even written in English, alongside one in what you think is Mandarin, though that one looks untouched. Occasionally you’ll steal one for a night or two. Most of the stories are in good condition. When you stumble across a dog-eared page or wrinkled edge you’re pleased by the touch of humanity. Still, when you tear through each book you’re left much in the same position by the end.
His closet is full of mostly extra uniforms. There are a few casual clothes, mostly in dark blues. He seems partial to the color, though the haori he wears constantly is a shocking red. In the corner, his groom's outfit has been carefully folded and stored. You suppose there’s no reason he’d need to hang it, having fulfilled its use.
There’s not much else there. Tomioka uses a futon, that sits folded up in the corner. Your room came with a Western-style bed, and you don’t care enough to push it out somewhere and replace it. His is a simple black, with no pattern other than the small grid made from the stitches.
One night you sleep on it. The mattress in your room is slightly too soft, you prefer the firm feel of sleeping over tatami flooring. With your face surrounded by fabric, you catch the scent woven within it. It’s musky and a little salty but in a pleasant way. The smell is outdoorsy, not dirty, but rather a natural tone. Underneath all of that is the scent of wisteria. All of it wound together is rather pleasant. You feel slightly less alone, being surrounded by the warm fabric that’s different enough to be new without sacrificing the comfort of its familiarity.
It becomes a habit.
You creep into his room once a week or so to cuddle in the space. Often you enter with some excuse, to dust his shelves or pick out a new book or leave any trace of your presence. Shambling around for a bit and doing much of nothing you wait until the sun rests on the horizon.
Once you notice, you pull out the futon. It doesn’t carry the same scent the third or fourth time you tuck into the sheets, but it’s still warmer than your bed. You stick your face into the pillows to try and let the smell linger.
You’re terrified of him coming home to you sleeping in that bed. It’s not the thought of him getting angry, but the embarrassment of it all. You feel like a child sneaking into her mother’s room rather than a proper wife. The feeling is mostly constant, only ebbing away as you sleep.
—-
You’re surprised that life can be this stagnant. Wallowing in your sorrow doesn’t do much other than dig a deeper hole.
There is some quiet joy to be found. Beyond the house, there are calm gardens. When the sun is out and the wind isn’t strong you find more comfort outside than trapped within the walls.
Living so far away from everything has one advantage. Not only do you have acres of sprawling forest to explore, but it tends to attract all kinds of wildlife. The chatter of birds sounds human enough to keep you company. If you’re lucky they’ll come so close you can feel the beat of their wings.
As the weather slowly gets warmer your mood lifts as well. You turn your thoughts away from your husband's absence, the loneliness slowly easing its touch on you. There are still sudden pangs of regret when you get a coin bag with no letter, or the sound of his footsteps passing you, but the days without him aren’t so unbearable.
The habit of you sleeping in his bed isn’t broken, if anything you start to spend nearly every night there. There’s a certain pattern to when he comes home, usually a week or so after his crow gifts you his paycheck. It’s a gamble if he’ll return or simply be set off on another mission, but either way, you learn to hide away in your own room.
You’re careful to leave his room mostly alone. Though you dust the few shelves and scrub the floors you strive to make your presence there unnoticed. It appears to be working, but again you’re mostly left in the dark about his thoughts.
The town remains just as wary, though more used to your presence. A few of the shopkeepers who you visit often enough smile as you sort through the wares.
Routine builds a softer kind of comfort, one that doesn’t brush away any of the other sorrows, but mutes the noise of them somewhat.
—-
And just as you settle an abrupt change knocks you off your feet. Tomioka coming home isn’t a particularly new development. You’re in the middle of preparing dinner, barely looking over as he passes by the doorway. You don’t even move until he’s out of sight, moving to peek at his back beyond the door.
As you approach you notice the spattering of blood sinking into the tatami. Looking upwards you notice his shamble of a walk. His uniform is missing a sleeve, arm wrapped sloppily with bandages. Blood has soaked through as it's slipping down his hand, leaving a trail behind.
If he hears your loud gasp he doesn’t signify it in any way. Instead, the man wanders towards his room while you retreat back into the kitchen. You stare at the pot of curry sizzling over the stove. You can’t focus on the food, although the smell of it is incredibly enticing. With shaky hands you attempt to stir the meal, even raising a spoon to taste it. You hope the spice will entice you more and attract your attention, but the combination of meat and curry powder is a beautiful deep red color that looks a little too much like blood.
Eventually, you have to force yourself away, your stomach twisting in knots. Still striving to be useful, even after months of being ignored, you instead fill a bowl with cold water and grab some washcloths. You move far too slowly, held back by hesitance. There’s a clear line of red that points you toward his room. It pulls you forward slowly. In the back of your mind, you mourn the freshly cleaned flooring.
Without knocking, slight fear in the response you’ll get, you nudge the door to the side. Barely peeking through you spot him laying in the corner of the room. He hasn’t unfolded the futon, rather leaning against the block of fabric.
As you move in slowly his eyes flicker toward you. Even from his far position in the corner, you can hear his labored breathing. Holding back a whimper at the sight of blood you approach the man more like you would a wounded animal.
Absolute silence engulfs the room, even as you sit beside him. You’re worried that you won’t be able to speak at all, throat sealed shut from misuse. Words bubble up until they finally loosen the cement keeping your lips closed.
“Can I help?”
The words are deviously simple, quiet, and barely audible. Despite the dry whisper that struggles out from out, the noise seems to take over everything else. The only other thing you hear is your heartbeat within your ears.
Giyuu seems to consider your question earnestly. As he shifts you can see the way his brows knit together, drawing closer whenever his arms shifts. “I admit that bandaging the wound was much more difficult with only one hand.” It’s not exactly a direct answer, but the way his body relaxes slightly seems to indicate a yes.
You still move a little too slowly. Watching the ground you’re careful to not let the water spill, while also trying to stop yourself from staring too hard at the crimson staining. Your sleeves are already pulled back, hands dipping into the bowl of water to grab the towel within it.
The warmth calms your nerves only slightly. It emboldens you to find the edge of the bandages and unwind. You’re surprisingly unbothered by the sight underneath, a mass of blood and flesh that is mostly unrecognizable.
The wounds are long stripes that wind down his arm. They don’t seem to be particularly deep, or even wide, but there’s a myriad of them stretching down the limb. Some of the smallest ones have already clotted. The largest are still spewing out red.
“You should get stitches for these.” It’s amazing that he even walked home in this condition. You’re not very aware of the inner workings of the demon slayer corps. Some knowledge was granted to you by your father, other things overheard in conversation. At the very least you know that they are prepared to treat injuries.
Despite your light chastisement (which receives no response) you still pull the soft cloth from the water. Fresh blood oozes out as you rub away the dirt and slightly crusted scabs. The sight gets worse to look at when it’s not hidden behind gauze.
There’s absolute silence taking over again. You’re too nervous to look up and possibly meet his eyes, instead focusing solely on his arm. Though you’re no professional you manage to wipe off most of the blood. It’s slowed down to a weak dribble, that stops when you put a slight amount of pressure on it.
You’ve piled the old bandages off to the side. They don’t look very old, but considering the state they’re in, you’re not very inclined to reuse them.
“There’s more in the bathroom.” Tomioka gestures off to the side. “2nd cabinet below the sink.”
You trot off with your head low. It's tempting to snoop, already having indulged in the bad habit plenty. Brushing the thought away, you dig through the medical supplies until you can find the roll of bandage.
He hasn’t moved a single inch in the quick minutes you’ve been gone. Tomioka’s eyes again look anywhere that isn’t where you are. Even as you hold his arm and feel the warmth of blood rushing through it, he acts more like a doll than anything.
You work slowly. Though you don’t have much experience, wrapping the gauze around his arm isn’t too difficult. At the very least it’s leagues better than the sloppy job he did himself.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Internally you’re begging for a reason to linger. His skin is still hot against your fingers. The pale skin is deceptive, giving him a cool appearance. Your eyes are tracing his hands, imagining them pressed against your own.
As your sight flickers towards his other side, you notice the fabric balled up in his fist. It’s the two-toned haori you normally see the man wearing. You hadn’t noticed its absence earlier.
He still hasn’t answered. You dare to prompt him a second time. “Or I could clean that for you.” You’re surprised that the man chooses this moment to look directly at you. For once you can read the emotion on his face, see the surprise in his blue eyes.
“It’s fine.” His voice sounds a little dry. “I’m sure the fabric is ruined.”
It’s easy to keep talking, now that you’ve dared to open your lips. “Oh, I’m sure I can fix it! If it’s blood you’re worried about then that’s no problem.” The tone you chose is perhaps too cheerful, but you feel a bit excited and the prospect of being truly helpful.
Tomioka’s fist loosens slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be a struggle, but there’s not much that could make it worst at least.” He’s not very encouraging, which you try to not let dampen your mood.
As you pull it from his grasp you can already tell the fabric is in tatters. The soft maroon sleeve has turned into strings of fabric dyed burgundy from blood. Some parts are crusted together, other pieces are barely attached by a thread. You certainly have your work cut out for you.
With one last smile, you carefully fold the haori and leave his room.
—-
You still can’t tell if you like the change or not. Tomioka still seems set on seeing you as little as possible. You bring him dinner and on occasion rewrap his bandages, but other than that he likes to hole up in his room.
His haori keeps you busy most of the time. It takes 3 washes just to get the blood out, carefully peeling the red free from the thin threads. As you wash you ultimately decide to chop off some of the strings that barely cling on. Anything thinner than the width of your finger gets discarded, a pile to find its place somewhere else.
Weaving the salvageable pieces back together is a near-impossible task. Trying your best to make the seams invisible you carefully line up each thread. Staring so intensely at the woven pattern makes your eyes water. It’s hard work to make sure the needle punctures exactly where it needs to so the flow remains. Several times you puncture the skin on your fingers. It’s never deep enough to pull blood out, but it turns your skin a bright throbbing red.
Even with the careful work only about a fourth of the sleeve can be salvaged. It’s a pitiful sight, strings hanging from the short shoulder. Days of work and sore thumbs have amounted to only a few inches of fabric.
You try to color-match the piece so you can fix the rest. It’s a difficult color, softened with years of use and age. Even when you bring the hoari along with you all the colors you find are too bright.
It’s twice as expensive to get something custom dyed, but you don’t have the expertise to do it yourself. You certainly have the money for it, coins and bills shoved away in the back of your drawers. Though the order adds a few weeks to your small project, you can’t settle for anything less than perfect.
Tomioka says nothing about the piece. He spots you once scrubbing away the blood outside. At that moment he stays for a few short seconds, watching your hands work. They’re dry from the rough cleaning chemicals and wrinkled from the soapy water.
—-
Just as your hands stop twitching and aching the replacement fabric arrives. Tomioka leaves sometime while you’re waiting for the package. The briefest contact keeps your heart light, even as the solitude creeps back in. There’s an actual purpose to your actions now, something to take up hours of your time.
The few short yards of burgundy fabric that arrive are still slightly too bright. It’s the shine of new cloth that differentiates it from the well-worn pieces. Regardless you go through the same tedious act of lining up the woven fabric and sewing it together.
There’s a thin line that marks the transition. Once you step a few feet away it’s harder to mark where the difference begins. The work is good, but you can only scrutinize it with the patterns burned into your eyes.
Several mistakes are clear over the rest of the fabric. They’re not your own doing, more likely Giyuu’s attempts to fix earlier tears. It’s cute to see the fumbles stitches, done in a hideous dark black. In most places, it stands out clearly from the pattern, even more so with the blank side.
You decide to fix those pieces, using a gentle green or maroon when appropriate. Though the seam holding the two pieces together makes you cringe, you don’t touch the threads. It’s uneven, both in length of the stitches and space between them. The other “fixes” were clumsy too, but the lines here seem childish almost. You’re sure that the pieces of Giyuu’s haori were bound together by the man himself.
As tempting as it is to make the piece look brand new, there’s history in its torn edges and paling fabric. You wonder if he’d tell you the story behind it.
Probably not.
—-
You haven’t entered Tomioka’s room in quite some time. After he was home for a few short weeks you grew too embarrassed about the actions. In your arms, you carry his carefully folded haori. After giving it one last wash you have no more reason to mess with it. If anything, picking at your work will just ruin it.
Ultimately you let it rest atop his desk. You think for a moment about hanging it up in the closet, but it feels too embarrassing to let him know about your snooping, even inadvertently.
Back inside the room, warmed from the sun and painted in a low gold, you’re tempted to wrap yourself up in his futon again.
For some time you repeat your old routine. After over a month without indulging yourself in old ways, the process comes a little unnaturally. You dust his shelves, fingers dancing over his array of trinkets. They seem almost random, stuffed dolls and broken pieces of painted wood. You’re extremely careful as you move them to clean.
It’s hard to keep yourself busy as you did before. You entered his room earlier in the day, not expecting to be tempted again by the lull of sleeping enveloped in traces of your husband’s warmth.
Still, as you manage to keep yourself busy the sun slowly drifts downwards. It’s on the opposite side of the window, but you can see the moon rise in turn. Though the sky isn’t particularly dark, your quick to pull out the futon.
Before you tuck yourself fully into bed you draw another book from his small shelves. For a few hours, you’ll be able to keep yourself busy with stories. Once it gets truly dark you can simply slide under the sheets and fall asleep.
—-
Beyond the edges of your consciousness, there’s movement that grows steadily louder as it urges you to wake. Eyes open slowly, useless in the dark. Instead, you wave a hand in front of yourself, which is also mostly useless.
It takes a moment for you to adjust to the dim room. As your pupils dilate there’s a sudden figure standing on the edge of the futon. With your position on the floor, he towers over you, face invisible still.
Thinking through the sleep you let your hand sweep over the floor. It bumps into the man’s ankles, forcing you to pull back.
A startled gasp leaves your lips as you move further into consciousness. You don’t scream, but you’re immediately on edge. Panicking, you mostly flail around for a bit until you realize it’s Tomioka standing before you. He’s tilted his face down to stare at you, letting you recognize him even within the darkness.
Instead of the tired fear you felt before, you’re mostly filled with shame. It’s the worst amalgamation of all your fears, caught cuddled up in his sheets.
For a moment you’re unsure of how to proceed. You’re mostly frozen for now, clutching his blankets against your chest.
“S-sorry!” The word comes out quietly, muffled by the lingering sleep in your head. It’s hard to think, brain muddled by all sorts of different things. If Giyuu would speak for once it’d let you put your thoughts in order.
You don’t know why he’s still staring at you. It’s hard to find his eyes, clouded by darkness. The dim lighting masks any emotion you could hope to find on his face.
As the adrenaline leaves your body you’re left feeling tired again. Rubbing your eyes, it seemingly prompts him to move again. The situation had somewhat halted in the pauses between your words.
“I’ll leave.” There’s a certain air to his voice, not angry, but certainly not welcoming either. You’re still not fully awake, a glance towards the window tells you that it’s too early to be awake. There’s possibly a shimmer of pale blue that signals the sun's arrival, but it won’t develop into an actual light until much later. It explains the bleariness in your eyes.
You look like a ghost as you sit up, fabric wrapping around your form. Hair hangs over your head, reaching downwards.
Halting his actions you mumble a combination of words that doesn’t really make sense. There’s a “wait” buried somewhere in there, which is what makes the man pause. You have nothing to follow the sentence up with, still trying to figure out exactly what’s going on.
You’re still shocked by embarrassment. Giyuu has finally stumbled upon you hiding in his bed. The habit was bound to get you caught eventually, so of course it happens right as you start up the trend again.
The room is filled with silence as you try to jumpstart your brain. “I’m uh-“ You pause again. Averting your eyes you find the words again. “I’m the one who’s intruding. I shouldn’t have…” Trailing off you stare at the ground again.
Your chest fills up with something akin to shame. It’s slightly less painful than before, but as your hands hold your face you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.
He completely ignores your blubbering. “You fixed my haori.” The sudden topic change catches you off guard. It brings your eyes back to him, despite the fact that your heart is still racing.
Furrowing your brows you nod. “I said I would.”
“It was ruined.”
Your brain is working very hard. “It was hard, but I didn’t mind the work. I don’t think that excuses me being so intrusive.”
“Thank you.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible. You can see that he holds the cloak in
his hands. They grip the fabric so tightly you’re worried it might rip again. The show of emotion renders you silent.
As the room settles back down you shuffle your robes around you and move to stand up. “I can um-“ You lick your lips. At a constant loss for words, you vaguely gesture toward the door.
Tomioka moves back to the conversation at hand. Though his fingers continue to skate over the fabric his eyes turn back to you. “You can stay where you like, the house is as much yours as it is mine.”
That really isn’t true at all. Tomioka pays for everything, in money and blood. Your only contribution is decorating and occasionally throwing a fit in one of the rooms.
“I didn’t think you’d want me here. I should’ve asked but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me either.” The truth slips through your lips easily. You can’t quite look him in the eye, but you don’t hide from his gaze either. Stepping self-consciously off the futon you shiver at the cold wood against the soles of your feet.
When you steal a glance at the man you’re surprised at the confused look on his face. Giyuu’s mouth is pulled into a slight pout, head tilted. It’s an attractive look, a distracted part of you points out. It’s times like this that you don’t mind being married to him.
Shaking off the thoughts you open your mouth again. “You gave me my own room, so I guessed that you wanted me there.” You dig your nails into your palms. “And you didn’t talk to me after or anything.” Remembering the feeling makes your heart squeeze. Tears well up in the corner of your eyes.
“I thought you hated me.” He admits it so simply. There’s no regret in his voice about the sentiment. The thought forces a whimper from your throat.
“What?” Your voice is wobbly.
Carefully the man sinks to his knees. guiding you down with him. One fist clings to his wrist. The other ends up wound in the fabric of your sleeping gown.
Tomioka at least seems softer about this bit. “You cry often.”
Calming down you try to focus on the feeling of his arm on your back. You’re glad you’re wearing one of your worse kimonos because the sleeves have become impromptu handkerchiefs. With the sudden onslaught of your tears, you’re left unprepared. You’re not sure whether it’s the result of your body begging to go back to sleep or the wave of months of emotions catching up on you. It’s probably a combination of both. Using the piles of fabric you wipe at your nose and under your eyes.
“I thought you hated me because you didn’t talk to me at all, ‘nd you made me stay in another room, ‘nd you’re always gone.” He looks a little pained, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “And you never sent letters. So I was just stuck here all alone and I thought I would die.” The last part isn’t true, but you’re small tears have started to turn into full-on sobs.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Giyuu sounds much more unsure of himself. His fingers on you twitch whenever your back shakes. It’s horrible reasoning considering that he’s already married to you in the first place. You say as much to him.
Tomioka is showing the biggest amount of emotion possible. His face is twisted into an expression that suggests deep thoughts. It’s nearly enough to shock you out of the sadness, but not quite.
Under his breath, he mumbles an apology. It’s not very meaningful, but you suppose he’s at least trying. You continue to rub at your face, trying to stall your tears.
For a moment you simply sit, facing each other. Though you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere other than your lap. A hand finds its way to your back, creeping hesitantly. You can’t think of a time he’s willingly touched you otherwise.
Finally, overcome you fling yourself into his side. With the sturdiness of his uniform, it’s not particularly soft against your face, but heat radiates from his body. Tomioka doesn’t hold you particularly tight. His other arm wraps around your back, though the grasp is loose and hesitant.
Whether he cares about your tears or not he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve seated yourself in his lap. Your crying shows no signs of stopping anytime soon, built up behind months of feeling stuck. It’s a horrible mess of wet and snot and a very ugly grimace that you’re glad is hidden.
His hands eventually wander up to your hair, ghosting over the top of your scalp. You can feel how rough they are now, covered in callouses. They’re warm against your head. Almost fiery hot they brush back stray hairs.
Focusing on the repetitive feeling of his hand, alongside the steady beating of his heart, you’re able to stop the tears. A small hiccup or gasp manages to leave you every few seconds, but it’s much less intense than before.
Not very inclined to move, you’re content to keep your face buried within the body in front of you. His hands don’t stop their gentle motions even as you stop your small noises. It’s perhaps the most comfortable you’ve felt in a very long time. Giyuu smells like his futon, but a thousand times more powerful.
As your eyes dry they also begin to drag downward. It’s the inevitable end to every single one of your emotional explosions. Your arms are drooping, their grasp loosening. Distantly you realize that you should move, excuse yourself to your room or do anything to move. Instead, you bury yourself deeper into his chest.
As he begins to move you almost pull yourself back from him. Arms flex around you and tighten their hold. Just when you muster the energy to uncurl your fingers and force your eyes back open, he lifts you up. You’re not surprised by the strength, you’ve seen it before, but it does set a little shock through your stomach.
Suddenly you’re not very inclined to do much of anything.
If he notices the way your hands dig back into his shirt, he doesn’t say anything. You’re pleased by the feeling of muscles flexing around you. Giyuu’s actions aren’t entirely discernible, not from your position, but the way he moves is slightly soothing. It’s reminiscent of being rocked to sleep, his movements graceful.
You let yourself remain in the limbo between rest and wakefulness. The edges of the world ebb away until you’re sat back down, nestled within his futon. It’s been smoothed again, rustled from your whining. It offers the same comfort it always has once you’re enveloped within the warm sheets. As his arms pull away from you, your lips form a ghost of his name.
—-
In the morning you keep your eyes shut for as long as possible. Your mind has snapped awake, reminding you of last night's events. There’s a dryness around your eyes from where your tears have evaporated. As tempting as it is to reach a hand up to rub away the grogginess you keep them in place for now.
Feeling your surroundings gives you almost no clues. All you know is that it is very warm, and you are very comfortable. Slowly you let your eyes barely peek open, a small slit to peer through.
Giyuu is lying next to you, in the sense that he is curled up in on himself at the opposite end of the futon. It’s not a very great length, but the gap between your bodies stretches endlessly in your mind. His back faces you, to which you let your eyes open almost fully. There are small imperfections to his posture, his spine shifting with his breath. It's a slow movement, a reassurance that he’s still slumbering.
You don’t trust yourself to escape without notice. Every sound you make as you settle seems to make the man pause. You’re not sure what that might accomplish either, the events from the night before too embarrassing to accept, but too poignant to ignore.
Softly you let your body relax again. For now, you’re content to watch his body move slightly with each breath. It’s convincing to reach across the gap and feel the warmth you’ve longed for more directly.
Is peaceful, the sun still low enough to not pierce through the window. It still allows faint light inside, illuminating the area.
You’re feeling surprisingly well-rested. There’s a deep calmness in your bones. Lazing about in the bed feels nice, natural. It reminds you of celebrations back home when you were free from responsibilities. There are whispers of summer streaming through the window.
For a few moments, you bask in the light starting to make its way across the floor. lt caresses your face and finally prompts you to move.
Slowly you rise upwards. Tomioka seems to rest still, unmoving. Slowly you creep out of the room, and back towards your own.
It’s chilly in your room, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. With the window facing West, no sun will warm it until the evening. The temperature makes the changing process nearly impossible. Your holding your chest, shivering before you can slip on another dress. Bouncing on your feet you shuffle around until you’re fully clothed again.
It’s easy to move around the house with a light heart. Whether Tomioka has awoken yet or not is a thought that hardly crosses your mind as you cook. Mostly you hope he’ll dine with you, tired of eating in months of silence.
Your hands move quickly as you shuffle around rooting through cabinets. Over time you’ve switched to much more appetizing meals than rice porridge. For today, with your want for a quick breakfast, you mostly work with eggs and fried rice. Throwing in a couple of diced peppers and onions your stomach growls as the sizzling veggies.
The presentation is important to you too. It feels like you’re actually doing something, being a wife. Maybe. You still don’t know if this is right, but you shared a bed last night with your husband. He wasn’t particularly close, but closer than a hallway and walls that separated you before.
So you balance the plates on your arms and move carefully back towards his room. The sense of nervousness creeps up again but isn’t as fierce as before. It at least isn’t enough to deter you from using your foot to slide the door open.
Tomioka has finally risen. His hair is sticking in all sorts of directions, sleep evident in his eyes. You’re surprised at how late he’s slept in.
“Good morning.” A blush creeps back onto your cheeks. It raises your temperature by a few degrees at least, bringing warmth to your face.
“I uh-“ Your mouth is suddenly dry. “I brought food.” The words come out a shy squeak. For a moment the plates wobble in your hold until you square your shoulders and regain control.
He regards you with a surprising amount of warmth, what you think is warmth at least. It’s not indifference, or anger, something kinder.
“Thank you.” He doesn’t smile as he talks, not exactly a frown either. The man exists in the crevices between emotions, which is how he manages to be completely indecipherable most of the time.
You manage to look somewhat graceful as you lower yourself, plates still balancing in your hands. Once you’re close enough he swipes one from your hand, instead letting it sit in his lap.
“You can eat with me,” Giyuu says in a matter-of-fact way that makes your eyebrows raise. He waits for only a second, letting the silence hang, before continuing. “I thought I should be more direct.”
His explanation forces a small light laugh from your lips. “Right, I’m glad. I’ll be sure to do the same.” The corner of his eyes curl up, even though his lips don’t form a smile quite yet. You’re not even sure if he can smile, maybe the man has some sort of disease.
He eats though. And though he’s careful there are little bits of rice stuck to his face. In the corner of his mouth is a little line of ketchup. It’s such a human sight, a clumsy eater that doesn’t know anything about romance or women. There’s some sadness too, the lack of proper social understanding, formed by a life dedicated to fighting.
Realizing the fact that you’re staring quite obviously (something that he somehow does not notice) you look down to eat your own food. The sound of chewing is slightly grating on your ears, but you cannot muster up anymore to say.
Within just a few moments, when you’ve only finished a few bites of food, his fork is scraping against the plates. There’s a decent amount of rice still scattered over his face, some on the floor and his shirt, but most seem to have made it into his mouth. It’s hard not to laugh at the sight, of crumbs sticking to the corner of his lips. Though you’re able to remain silent, your nose scrunches up, eyes narrowing as your lips tug upwards.
“I can make more if you’d like.”
Tomioka still seems half-asleep as he turns to you. “It’s fine.” Despite his appearance, the man’s voice is soft and even. “But I did enjoy it.”
Your lips move into an even bigger smile. It’s half hidden behind your hand, fear of food stuck in your teeth, but the message is still translated clearly. “Did you like the egg too? I don’t know your tastes, so I’ve mostly been guessing.”
His eyebrows furrow again, that concentrated look crossing his face. “I like salmon, salmon daikon. Though I don’t know if that’s appropriate for a breakfast.” He answers quickly.
“Dinner then,” you offer.
He shakes his head. “I’ll have to leave for another mission tonight.” Your shoulders deflate slightly. At least a warning is more than you’ve gotten before. “But I can send you a letter before I arrive back.”
The offer brings your smile back. “I’ll make sure to buy some things for Salmon Daikon. It’ll be the best you’ve ever had!”
—-
He lets you spend most of the morning bothering him. Tomioka says that there’s no point leaving for a few more hours, which you don’t really get, but he probably knows best. While you anxiously watch the sun climb higher into the sky Giyuu gets ready. He doesn’t give you any warning, or tell you to leave, before stripping off most of his clothes.
His back is covered in long strips of scar and muscle. You’ve once again tucked yourself into the folds of the futon, content to watch from there. It’s pleasing the way his shoulders move as he strips the shirt off.
As he moves to remove his pants too, you have the decency to look away. The man doesn’t seem concerned with your presence, but even the thought of seeing him mostly bare makes your eyes screw themselves shut. They don’t crack open until the rustling of fabric and movement stops.
He’s donned the common uniform once again, haori placed overtopped. Tomioka looks so normal again, like he used to every time he flew in and out of the house. You’re staring at the junction where you fixed the sleeve, wondering if he too has noticed the shift.
“I think it looks good,” he tells you. “Much better than anything I could do. I’m not very good at mending things.”
“I can tell,” the words slip from your lips easily. It’s a careless comment, meant to be taken as a joke, but sounds a little too cruel. Your eyes widen, mouth quickly covered with your hands. “I didn’t mean, I uh-“
“You’re fine.” His mouth has quirked upwards just slightly. “It’s true, but I do like to think I’ve improved over the years.”
A hand is still raised over your lips, hoping to keep another dumb comment from slipping through. Once you’re sure you’ve stopped yourself from spoiling the moment you let your hands drop back to your lap. “I’m sure you have.”
He takes sword from where it’s stood carefully in the corner. You watch as he slides the sheath into place along his belt. It completes his ensemble, making him look like a proper soldier. If it were possible (which is to say, if it didn’t put you in mortal danger) you’d like to see him in action. Maybe he’ll let you watch him train sometime.
“Are you going then?”
He nods. “It’s not too far. If I’m lucky I can come back before getting another notice. So you won’t feel so lonely.”
His concern makes your heart throb. Biting your lower lip you try not to let it quiver. “I’ll make you something, give me a few minutes. That way you won’t starve.” Without waiting for his answer you leave the room and rush to the kitchen.
The truth was that you had already prepared some onigiri earlier, tucked away inside the fridge. It’s stuffed with tuna and onions are you’re trying hard not to eat them as you tuck them into a bento. There’s plenty of extra, and you can leave the more… unsightly ones for yourself.
Tomioka comes down the hall just a few moments after you finish. It’s perfect timing. There’s a small sack on his back, which he lets you tuck the lunch into. “Don’t wait too long before eating it though,” you instruct. “I don’t want it to go bad.”
“Right.”
“And be safe!”
“Ok.”
“And-“ You have to curl your hands into fists to force the words the words out, “Iloveyou.”
You’re prepared to turn tail and hide back in your own room (and probably cry—or die—from embarrassment). Before you can even point your feet in the right direction he’s caught your wrist. Though you can barely look at him, you are welcomed to the sight of his pretty pink cheeks. He pulls you toward him, perhaps with more force than necessary, and plants a kiss on your own fiery skin.
You’ve barely registered what’s happened when he’s disappeared beyond the doorway. You don’t know if you’ll be able to drag your feet anywhere else until he gets back, scared of loosing this feeling.
#kny fanfic#Tomioka Giyuu#tomioka giyuu x reader#kny#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer#tomioka x reader#giyuu x reader#Tomioka giyuu x you#fem!reader#mxf#this took so long#too long#reblogs appreciated
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OKAY HEAR ME OUT. i saw you wanted to write an izzy x reader that had to do with swordfighting—what if the reader is one of olu and/or jim’s friends whom they stumbled upon again randomly either at sea or on land and they bring the reader back to join the crew. izzy’s skeptical at first, i can picture him saying something like “so we’re really just letting anyone on this ship now, are we?” but some time passes and they are getting attacked but the reader shows up and shows out with their AMAZING swordsmanship skills and izzy is blown away but also a little jealous haha. it takes him some time to finally get over his ego and do this, but he ends up asking for some lessons from the reader and so they start doing it a few times a week when everyone is asleep and while they’re dueling and practicing is the only time they really get to talk but they do talk while they’re doing so and they’re learning a lot about each other and then they gradually fall in love?? please feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to do it by any means, but i feel like you’d write it so well! i love your fics so much🫶
Izzy Hands x Reader
words: 4000
google docs pages: 8,5
Warnings: None, I don’t think. A minor injury, at most?
opening: You bump into some old friends who offer you a new occupation. The first mate of the ship is sceptical of you, but his mind changes when he witnesses a sword fight you’re having. Izzy builds up the courage to ask for tutoring lessons, and there start the long hours of teaching him your knowledge.
AN// Reader can be any gender, though I guess I’ve forgotten to mention in the previous fanfics that the pirate terminology is rather male based, since women weren’t allowed on ships. But feel free to ignore that as gender affirming and take it as just generic terms. Thank you so much for this request, I was dying to write something related to swords and Izzy !! I had a lot of fun with this, and I hope yall will enjoy it as well^^ ! (This became a little longer than intended, apologies for that :”D)
“A victory and the reward”
A new ship had appeared near the shore of the Republic of Pirates, and those usually intrigued you. You hadn’t been on a vessel yourself for years now, but each time you saw a new ship appear it did bring back memories, so you would go and watch them. After your sailing days, you’d told yourself that a life at sea wasn’t for you. And you started believing that after surviving the latest sinking of a ship you’d been on. But that might have been a lie, knowing you had regretted the decision almost every day after.
Now, this new ship laid upon your eyes. In no time at all a jolly boat started making distance from the main vessel, making its way towards the shore. You made sure to stay hidden enough that your staring wasn’t obvious. You could never know who you’d come across with foreign ships.
The men left the boat, spreading across the shore and towards the more urban area of the Republic. Though, two of them stayed behind, and at least to you it was rather clear they’d done it on purpose. Being in your thoughts, you hadn’t even realised that one of them had noticed you, surreptitiously pointing your presence out to their friend. You weren’t armed but they most certainly were, so running away straight after being pointed out wasn’t going to end well for you.
They approached you, but the closer they came the more familiar their faces became. One of them being more familiar to you than the other, but you’d seen them both before. The pair stopped at a safe distance, but by the way they looked they must have been feeling the same way as you. Confused. “Jim? Olu…?” You asked carefully, voice a little lost as you stared at the pair. You’d met Jim multiple years ago, when they were only at the beginning of their ‘quest’. You’d spent time with them for quite a while, up until you’d found a new crew and left for the sea, as it called you. Olu you had only met more briefly through Spanish Jackie. But both of them you were familiar with.
“How are you alive?” Jim asked straight away, clearly a little curious through the initial shock. You stared at them blankly for a moment. Oh, yeah. The sunken ship. “You know, what could kill the evil?” You shrugged in almost an animated way, adding a chuckle at the end. Both of them seemingly had heard of what had gone down on the last ship you’d been on, Olu clearly interested as well. “Come on, you have to tell us!” Jim added, walking closer in a friendly manner. “Those days are behind me, I’m only a mere landlubber nowadays.” You chuckled, the sting of saying that still hitting deep. “You?” Olu asked, tone of voice making it clear he didn’t want to believe it. And you wouldn’t have either, only if you weren’t saying it yourself. “Mm, you know how it goes. I retired, as they say.” You replied, an attempt to lighten the mood on your part. “Mm, and I don’t believe that?” He insisted, making you give them both an intense stare before your shoulders slumped. “I haven’t dared to go back since the last sinking. Though, I regret leaving that life behind”, You sighed with a defeated shrug, expression soon turning to a more confused one due to what you heard next.
Jim had suggested for you to join the Revenge’s crew, who had already come together with Blackbeard’s crew. The old sailor in you activated almost immediately, shaking their hand in agreement. Before hopping on the boat you’d be calling home, you met their captain, Stede. He wasn’t the typical captain you’d sail with, but seeing as he’d accepted you rather quickly, you did the same for him. Accepted him as your captain. But after getting on the ship itself, you would meet someone who wouldn’t accept you so warmly. Like one of the old sea dogs you’d sailed with years before. A relic, you thought sometimes when he got on your nerves enough.
Almost the moment you stepped a foot on deck, you could feel the first mate’s eyes on your back, like you were the target for something. And after greeting the crew briefly, he made his presence known. He pulled the black bearded man aside, and even through his attempt at whispering you could hear what he said, “so we’re really just letting anyone in nowadays?” Or perhaps he’d done it on purpose so you would hear it too.
You couldn’t hear what the other captain replied to his first mate, but you continued to stare at them both with a confused, slightly displeased look. In your humble opinion, you’d been on the sea for long enough to have gained a good set of skills. And you were damn motivated to prove to him that you weren’t going to be no swab. A hand placed on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts. “Ignore him, he’s like that always.” Jim said and with that you started settling in.
Days on the ship passed, and you got accustomed to their way of doing things and by the first months you’d gotten to know the rest of the crew, not just Jim and Olu. Though, as much as you workedand as skilled as you were, Izzy’s mind didn’t seem to budge. It almost felt like he would scowl at you as soon as you weren’t looking. You’d tried talking to him, but each time you tried the reply would be either ‘fuck off’ because he was ‘busy’ or he would come up with tasks for you to do. You could tell he’d been sailing for a long time, and you could tell he was skilled too. But the way he was doing everything in his power to keep you away was odd. Though, you tried to tell yourself that he was softening up to you, thinking he was a little different than at the start.
Swipe by swipe the deck got cleaner, and all the while the action you kept telling yourself you were only doing it because Izzy had told you to. Thankfully that day the wind wasn’t all that cool, though blowing nicely. You straightened your back to stretch, a low groan escaping you at the movement. From the new position you could see an incoming ship. From the looks of it, it was another pirate ship. It didn’t carry the British flag, so it couldn’t have been their navy. Not that they would usually attack pirate ships on sight either way. You didn’t take more time to ponder before running to the captain’s quarters to inform them about the possible incoming attack.
And you’d been correct, it was another pirate ship with a crew willing to fight for some plunder. All the men on the Revenge had been called on deck, each one of them carrying a weapon of their choice. Yours was a sword, the one that’d been your trusty companion for as long as you could remember. You held it firmly, but with ease due to the knowledge in this type of combat.
The deck was busy, like an ant nest. You had a man charging at you with a sword in hand, parrying his attack without much emotion. Their initial attack gave you a chance to cutover, quickly fixing your footwork after. The man was down with a nasty wound on his neck, and that is where you left him. Another of the crew was coming towards, you doing your best to keep a good distance to him. He disengaged, giving you a chance to circle perry the attack and allow you to have more space to continue, which you used to lunge and strike the man to his chest. With a swift motion you pulled the sword back, giving it a quick flourish for showmanship even if no one was looking. Or so you thought.
Izzy had fought himself to a position where he had time to watch you fight off the two men. His brows furrowed while following your footwork and the advanced attacks he rarely saw being used. Some of them he couldn’t even name, having not seen them done before. A sting of jealousy hit him through the amazement, his pride in his own skills being shaken. He hadn’t seen you in action before, having no idea of your past or where you’d learned such a set of skills. The first mate’s grip on his sword tightened, his gaze leaving you after the flourish, continuing his own fight.
After the victorious fight the Revenge kept sailing, days passing the same as before. You were spending the evening with some of the crew, laughter coming from around the table as stories were told along with casual chatter. As the night went on, most of the people around the table started leaving, soon you being the only one left. You drank the last drops of rum from the glass in front of you and pushed the chair back with your legs as you stood up. “Aye.” Came from the stairs as a familiar figure descended from the main deck. Your gaze shot up to him, brows furrowing. “Yes?” Your voice came out a little whiny due to the confusion. The first mate got a little closer, out of the shadows and into the faint light of the few lanterns still lit. “I have something to ask from you.” Slight hesitation in his voice, you noted. You didn’t say anything after, only giving him a nod as a sign to continue. This was already odd enough as it was, Izzy asking for something from you? “Well you know, I saw you fight in the attack earlier.” He started, leaning his hand on the table next to you. “And I think some parts of your tactics were…impressive.” The first mate said with a slight scowl appearing on his face for a moment. A smirk had made its way on yours, amused by the fact that he had finally seen you in action and had to admit his admiration in order to ask of whatever he had to ask. “And I was wondering if you could teach me a few of the attacks you used.” He asked with a slightly pained sigh at the end. The smirk on your face only grew, having to bite it back by chewing on your inner lip.
The man who’d been ‘tormenting’ you from the day you’d joined was asking for you to teach him a few of your attacks, which you’d learned from the years of piracy and studying the ‘art’ of it. You raised your gaze a little, proud of this achievement on the first mate. Hell, you’d barely been able to talk to the man without him shooing you away like some cabin boy. So, your first response would have been to be a little cocky about this, but you quickly decided against it. “I suppose I could teach you a thing or two, yeah.” You ended up saying, tone loose and relaxed. “You free tomorrow morning?” You asked in return, watching his expression tighten like he was disgusted with the suggestion. “Tomorrow night, when I have the lookout shift.” He said, not giving you more reason for the timing he’d chosen. You furrowed your brows with a slight smirk. Was he trying to arrange the meeting in a way no one would see him training with you? Even the thought made you almost laugh, but you kept it to yourself. “Sure.” You nodded, and without any other words the man was gone.
You watched him leave, the smirk you’d been holding back finally freely expressed. You couldn’t believe the interaction you’d just had with him. You’d thought the man was slightly amusing from the start, by the way he was commanding the crew around when they clearly couldn’t care less, yet he continued. But seeing him come to ask you for lessons with his tail between his legs was more than amusing. But maybe you’d finally proven yourself to him, and would start getting along with the man from now on.
The next day passed, the evening dragging the night along. You’d waited until most of the crew was asleep, expecting Izzy to want complete peace. You made your way to the deck just below the main, finding Izzy there along with a few lit candles.
“Evening.” You greeted him, knowing it was well into the night by this point. “You know, we could have met earlier.” You added, gaining a slight eye roll from the man. “Get to the point, or this lesson will be cut short.” The first mate said, seemingly his defences still up. You put your hands up in defence, pouting slightly. “Alright.”
You didn’t expect him to have read anything related to fencing or sword fighting, so there was most likely no point in trying to explain any theory to him. The man must have learned his set of skills by just having to fight, learning from errors he’d made along the way. So you thought you’d show him an attack and if he didn’t know it yet, you’d teach it to him.
Either way, the man was looking at you with an expression that read ‘what now?’ all over it. “How about you show me what you know in action?” You asked, taking your sword out and going into position in front of him. He followed the action, you taking note of the good grip he had of his sword. He didn’t take more time to prepare, using a false thrust to trick you into parrying from the wrong angle before lunging to strike. Or what would have been a good false thrust, if you hadn’t seen it coming. You used a circular perry to deflect it, countering it with a quick flick to his shoulder, making sure not to cause any actual damage. You’d known you couldn’t possibly kick the sword out of his hands due to his strong hold, but the flick had worked nicely enough to get his blade out of your way.
You backed down after, flourishing the sword in your hand before placing the tip of it against the floor and slightly leaning on it. From the looks of it, Izzy had his brows furrowed but not out of confusion. He had seen the attack performed before, yet it was only now that he’d seen it at such close range, getting a better hang of how it was done. “That good for the first lesson?” You asked, an excited smirk on your face. This would have been a good first step. He already had a good grip of his sword, footwork being nearly perfect, yet his timing and distance needed some training to make the flick work. “Suppose so, yeah.” Izzy replied, voice still a little unfriendly, like he didn’t want to admit to the fact that he was actually taking lessons from you .
That night was a long one, possibly the longest one of the meetings you would continue to have from there. But the later it got, the more Izzy seemed like his guard wasn’t up as much. You explained and showed him a good distance from where to make the attack and the spots on the body where it's the most effective if landed correctly. By the end he was performing it nicely, noting that he seemed to be a rather quick learner. You told him this before going your separate ways, oddly enough, looking forward to the next lesson with him.
You didn’t talk to him during the day, finding that he was still acting the same when other people were around. But lesson by lesson he started easing out to you, talking to you like a friend after a few meetings. You didn’t mind, not at all. In fact you’d grown a little fond of him over the lessons, finding the two of you often talking while teaching him an attack he didn’t know yet. You’d learned more about him during those nightly lessons than you thought most of the crew knew.
And as these lessons went on, you found yourself more than keen on the first mate. And at some point you started fearing that maybe he’d seen through you, and your feelings were affecting the way you were teaching him. But trying to push those thoughts aside, you kept giving him the lessons.
But by some point, you could have sworn you had started noticing him opening up to you more and on some rare days he’d even come up to you during the day. He’d of course never admit that during the lessons, but you began to wonder if you should tell him of the crush you’d developed. And after building some courage you decided the best time to tell him would be at some point during the next lesson, when he was the most natural with you.
The weather outside wasn't the best that night. There was a smaller storm happening, but not fully on the ship itself. This caused some of the heavier waves to hit the vessel and sway it from side to side, at times rather roughly. Even your sea legs gave out at times when a heavier wave hit the ship, having to hold on to the nearest wall.
It was safe to say that this lesson would again be held in the lower deck, below the main. The main deck had more space to practise attacks involving long distance movement, but it was no use going there tonight. At best, one of you would fall overboard.
You descended from the stairs, finding Izzy already stationed where he usually waited for you. “Took you so long, I almost thought you’d fallen overboard”,the man commented while pressing his food against the nearest wall as the ship swayed yet again, in order to keep balance. You raised your eyebrows for a moment, giving him a light shrug. He was struggling as well. “Whatever you say.” You hummed while taking out your sword, leaning it against the wooden flooring as per usual. He was waiting for you to start the lesson. “I thought we’d have a duel tonight. See if you’re any good.” You chuckled silently, the man giving you a low huff with a ‘fuck off’ somewhere in the mix. Though, it seemed he had agreed to the idea as he was taking out his sword, going into position. You followed after.
Izzy moved fast, quickly lunging at you which you were able to deflect with a parry, having to take a few steps back as he was moving rather fast. “You’re wasting your energy.” You hummed, taking a tighter grip of your sword. You would try to use a flèche to end the duel, but you needed some space before doing that. He knew the move by now, but you wanted to try if he’d be able to parry or block it.
After gaining enough distance, you got ready. Izzy shrugged at you, eyes keenly on your form. “Maybe, or maybe I almost just got you.” He replied. You rolled your eyes, not out of annoyance but more out of habit. He was preparing to lunge, or maybe trying to fake it to trick you. Either way, you took a longer jump forward, circling his sword to the side and aiming for the area around his shoulder, a successful flèche. Or would have been, if the ship didn’t sway at the exact same time.
Due to your lunge just now, you didn’t have a proper stance to hold your ground. This caused you to lunge further than intended, and with the added force of the swaying you crashed onto Izzy. You heard the swords clash onto the floor, you feeling the nearest wall hit your head as you landed on Izzy, bringing him down with you.
You groaned, slowly opening your eyes again. The spot on your head that had hit the wall ached, but you dragged your torso up by lifting with your arms. “You alright?” Came from under you, making your eyes widen. You couldn’t even think of the pain from the hit, embarrassed for tripping him over as well. “I’m- fine! Because I won, obviously.” You tried to ease your own panic by talking, scrambling off of him and back on your feet.
You watched the first mate get up after you. “We can continue later. I don’t want to duel you like this, not fighting dirty.” Izzy then said, not wanting to argue over your wellbeing, but eyes still keenly on you as you tried collecting yourself. “Then let’s take a break, I can still continue.” You said, holding onto the table behind you. He didn’t say anything to that, not giving you a sign if he’d agreed to it or not. By the sound of it, he’d kneeled down to pick up the swords.
He walked up to you, handing your sword back. “You don’t look fine.” He said, eyes looking for signs of damage. “Rude”, you almost chuckled, biting your inner lip to fight it back. “What?” He asked almost immediately after. “You don’t think I’m fine?” You asked, having to bite your inner lip with more force after. This hadn’t been how you imagined this going, but it wasn’t going to get much better. Izzy’s eyes widened at the comment, but catching up to what you were doing rather quickly. “I didn’t say that.” He squinted his eyes slightly. “Then do you?” The first mate looked to the side for a moment thinking about the question. “And you would like to know because?” He asked, voice a little awkward now that the moment truly started settling in. You furrowed your brows, not sure if the tone in his voice was a good or a bad thing. “Because I do think that way of you.” You blurted out, the air becoming tense. His eyes were on you once more, but more cautious this time. “Are you tricking me?” He asked carefully, as if that had been a mandatory question to ask before saying whatever he wanted to say next. The chuckle from earlier came out as an amused huff, trying to lift up the mood. “Of course not. What kind of a tutor would I be if I’d take up lying.” His eyes met yours once more. The jokes weren’t working, he was truly getting a little more emotional than usual. “I do…have love for you.” He said, hand careful as it placed itself on top of yours, on the table. As if he was scared you’d pull away.
You had to hold back a smile, afraid that would scare him off. “I don’t think you understand how relieved I am to hear that.” You said, saying whatever came to mind, as finding any thought out words were getting difficult to find. “I feel the same.” You added, just to make it all the more clear to him.
You watched the man carefully move his hand from yours to your forearm, slightly frozen in place, as if he didn’t know what to do next. He looked lost somewhere in his own mind. You swallowed hard, swiftly placing your hand at the nape of his neck, bringing him in for a kiss, to which he responded to. You didn’t pull away, a sly smirk forming on your face.
You’d tried your best to keep it hidden, but it was no use anymore. You switched positions, pushing him gently against the nearest wall, raising your sword up to his chest as you pulled away from the kiss. “I still won.” You smiled.
#izzy hands#israel hands#izzy hands x reader#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd x reader#our flag means death x reader#x reader#fanfic#izzy hands beloved#yar har i love pirates#lowkey got into fencing because of this too??
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Make It Quiet
Confessions in an old house.
A/N: Me?… writing?… no way! It’s been a rough couple (so many) months but hopefully I can get back into my groove.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Gn!Reader
Content Warnings: ANGST, tears, repressed emotions, cuddling, reader has no physical description, did I mention angst?
The house is silent, its previous occupants long gone. It now acts as a refuge from the storm bellowing outside. The horses sleep in the shed beside the rotting house. Inside the building, Joel is stoking the fire. The wood is damp so he replaces it with pages of some old novel left by the owner. You set the sleeping bags beside the fire and sit.
“Do you think people back home will worry?” You ask. Joel looks back.
“Maybe but Tommy wouldn’t want us riding out there, not with this weather,” he explains.
In the year you and Joel have taken patrols together, there’s only been a handful of times you two exchanged more than a few necessary sentences. You don’t mind. You’re not one for mindless chatter, even back home. When you arrived in the town, a few people had and failed to try to befriend you, bringing food and other small gifts to your new house but it felt too unnatural. After years of lone survival, the thought of settling down and living was so foreign. After your first restless night, you signed up for patrol duty.
Tommy thought pairing the two loners would do you both some good. The shared connection helped you work efficiently together but there was no “opening up” as Tommy hoped for. At least not in the way he’d thought.
You both trusted each other. Whether it was to watch each over when the other slept or to stand up for each other when they come across the odd stranger. You both fell into a comfortable routine quickly.
You look through your pack and pull out a can of preserved meat. Your knife is handy to slice and roast over the fire. You casually hand Joel a few pieces and he gives a subtle nod of thanks and hands you some crackers. It’s a peaceful dinner, one you two have shared many times.
Goodnights are exchanged and the both of you get to sleep tonight on account of the house having a functional fence and sturdy doors. A rarity nowadays. Joel drifts off easily. You, not so much.
The rain against the roof seems to amplify the silence. It used to scare you as a child. The nothingness and darkness. Nights void of sound or life. Your mother would remedy this by singing and holding the flashlight overhead as you drifted off. This is now replaced by Joel’s subtle snores and dim firelight.
You look over at him for a moment. His brow is furrowed, even in his sleep. His eyes move rapidly and he tenses now and again. No doubt troubled by memories turned to nightmares. You don’t wake him. Even uneasy sleep is better than nothing. You lay down, still looking at him. You’re not sure why. Maybe just so you can remember you’re not alone in this old house so that you aren’t alone in the dark.
After some mumbling and movement, Joel stiffens and his eyes fly open. He’s caught you staring. He holds your eyes for a moment before his muscle begin to relax.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” You tell him. He rubs his eyes and sits up.
“It’s alright.” his voice is deep with sleep. He does a quick check of the fire and adds more paper.
“You get any sleep?” You shake your head. He looks a little disappointed. “You’re vulnerable when you’re tired,” he says. “I can watch over if that’s what you’re worried about.” His tone is uncharacteristically empathetic, well maybe to others. You look at the crumbling ceiling. Avoiding his eyes.
“It’s not that, just restless.” You explain. It’s half true. Your body still seems to be holding on to the adrenaline of rushing through the storm and finding shelter but there’s more. You’re not quite sure what to call it. The feeling you experience around Joel is different to anything you’ve felt before. It’s a sense of belonging, a sense that this is where you're meant to fit. Always finding yourself settling when beside him. Having the confidence to speak up for him. Wishing he was there when stuck in awkward situations. It only started to feel intrusive when you’d fall asleep thinking about him. His voice repeats in your mind. The smell of his leather jacket somehow stuck to you.
Your mind goes into danger mode when you think of it too much. Wanting, yearning, craving… Is it too much to ask? Is it possible to do this without losing everything? Is it worth the risk? It begins to spin out of control in your mind making you dizzy. You have to sit up.
“You know you could tell me if something was bothering ya,” Joel tells you. As you turn to look back at him you see he’s just a little closer. Now sat just a few inches from your sleeping bag. You feel your heart race as the musky scent of him hits your nose. It nearly bursts from your chest as he places a hand on your knee.
“Hope you don’t take offence it’s just.” A thinks a bit, hoping the words on his tongue match the ones in his brain. “You been acting more distant recently.” He frowns. “And I know we don’t do too much talking but I hope you know I care for you.” He mutters. There is this look on his face that twists your guts up. It’s this sad but hopeful look. Like the one, you would see on a child. So fond and tender. You can’t take it. Your mouth feels dry. You want to run and hide but you can’t move. All you can do is allow a tear to slip. Just one hot tear that stings your cheek. His hand reaches up and gingerly wipes it away.
“Oh, darlin’ it’s alright.” He sighs. Your mind fogs. Thought rushing, hitting you like a tidal wave. Want, take, hold, mine, need. Like a dam had been broken in your very soul. Every desire spills out threatening to drown you. You impulsively throw your arms around his middle. He holds you and buries his nose in your hair. Whispering to you. “I’m not going anywhere.” You squeeze him tighter. Your chest burns and the tears start, seeping into Joel’s jacket.
“That’s good darlin’, I got ya’.” He moves to bring you closer, chest against his and your legs across his lap. You melt in his arms, letting him support you as you can’t do it yourself.
“I’m sorry,” you manage to murmur between sobs. You’ve never felt weaker. You’ve also never felt safer. Joel shakes his head.
“Don’t be, you’ve done nothing wrong,” he assures. You separate from him and sit back.
“Not yet.” You cry. You pull your knees to your chest, making yourself as small as possible. “I let everyone I love slip away a-and.” Your throat seems to close around the words. Clawing to keep them in. You force in a breath and try again. “I want to be able to do it, I want to care again but I’m so scared and I'm so tired.” You choke up. “It’s not fair to you Joel.” He brings his hands up and holds your face. He brings you closer.
“I’ve lost people too, I know the fear,” he confesses. “But I’m willing to fight that to be with the people I love and if you can’t do that right now that’s okay because I can fight enough for the both of us.” With that, he lets his head rest against yours. Forehead to forehead, just breathing together.
You bring your knees down and hold him again, head now against his chest. Laying back he brings the both of you onto the sleeping bag. After a few minutes, the rain seems to slow and all you can hear is the beat of Joel’s heart. He lets your breathing settle before speaking again.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers against your hair. “Just know I mean what I say.”
“I know.” You whisper. With that, you sleep. Knowing tomorrow he will be there. With you.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x gender neutral reader#joel miller#the last of us#Pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#angst
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To Hear a Heartbeat [m.m.]
Fandom: Daredevil (Marvel)
Pairing: Matt x reader
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: angst, but fluff :), religious imagery/references bc it's matt
A/N: takes place during/after the blip in which Matt tries to cope without you
Five years had passed since Matt Murdock lost his heart. Ripped straight from his heart with an electric fist, leaving in its wake a barely there shock which erupted daily. Hourly. By the minute, by the second.
Every time he thought of you. The milliseconds of his mind infiltrated by you, seizing his being. He went through every day feeling as if a hand laid on his throat, skin sewn close to his. Each day, the fingers around his jugular would squeeze tighter, and tighter. He had forgotten how to breathe the second you left.
He had forgotten how to do a lot of things since the day you were taken away from him.
Like how to tilt his chin heavenward, when his head pressed into your lap so he could feel your warmth, a setting sun, tickle his face. Now, it only hung forward, as if an anvil chain suspended from his neck.
Or how to make the muscles in his cheeks cramp from smiling too hard. When he was around you, surrounded by your presence, he didn’t think it was possible not to smile.
That day, he didn’t just hear over a million heartbeats cease in their thumps at once.
He heard yours stop, too.
Skies became darker after that, an overbearing chill creeping into the air that, once it settled into his bones, it never truly left. If he didn’t know any better, he’d suspected that, when you left, the sun followed after you.
Or, better yet, that you were one and the same.
Tuesday after Tuesday. Friday after Friday. They were all molding into the same day, difficult to depict separate images of—like a subway taking its blurry flight through a tunnel. That specific observation had always felt ironic to him, as the days scrawled by much slower than that, as if by boat. Something slower than that, even. A dinghy. Canoe.
Sundays didn’t even happen anymore without you around. No sweet caress of your voice in his ears, delicate cursive manuscript on yellowed parchment. Your laugh, angelic and loud, kickstarting his heart over and over again with its repeated staccato. Your touch, sweet and kind, a delicious spread of fire to his veins, despite its inability to pass the threshold of platonic.
Having known you and loved you for as long as he can remember, you had come close many times. Fingers tracing fingers over the pretense of passing papers in the office. Hands gracing shoulder blades or backs, a communicative maneuver around one another in the kitchen. Dancing around one another in graceful twirls and side steps to triplets in triple meter.
Even on his walk home from work, Karen and Foggy on either side of him, a protective forcefield from further heartache, his mind couldn’t detach itself from you. As if chemically connected. His axons only activated if they tilted in the axis of your heart.
“Matt, buddy, back me up!” Foggy’s voice shot through his muddled thoughts like a laser through metal. Matt tried to conceal how it had startled him, how he had been caught drifting away again. “Would you please tell Ms. Page over here that Liar Liar is one of the best films of all time?”
“You sure you’re not a bit biased, buddy?” He asks, referencing the occupation of the film’s main character, same as their own. Though the chuckle he emits is forced, the smile comes a little easier at the absurdity of the conversation.
“Thank you!” Karen exasperates in a shriek, heels producing a hollow click against the concrete. “Foggy, don’t deny that your favorite movie would be literally any other movie if your profession were different.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite movie then? Come on, hit me.”
She hesitates. “Sleepless in Seattle.”
The howl that leaves Foggy is borderline barbaric, Matt clutching his friend’s shoulder as an uncontrollable sputter of laughter skips past his typically pouty lips. “Foggy, you’ll wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“Meg Ryan is literally a journalist in that, Karen!” The blonde man babbles on, pointing an accusatory finger at Karen. “You are literally going home after working with us all day to work on another project for Ellison!”
“Well, I’m a bad example!” She giggles.
Shaking his head to himself, Foggy turns back to Matt to acknowledge his previous remark. “Buddy, it’s Saturday. It’s not like anyone has to work tomorrow.”
Matt huffs out a laugh, nodding in agreement, even though he does have to work tomorrow. He doesn’t expect Foggy to remember that, however, as you normally need to tell someone something in order for them to remember in the first place.
Karen knew, but only by mistake, that Matt had picked up a second job in order to pay your rent while you’ve been gone. Begrudgingly, he had accepted her help in exchange for sealed lips.
Though he never wanted either of them to know. He didn’t want them to know that he was delusional enough to think that he’d ever hold you in his arms again. Finally whisper those sweet words of admission in your ear, standing before you in your apartment, lips parted, words on the tip of his tongue, before your heartbeat vanished.
Foggy and Karen, they were there for him, and he was trying his damndest not to push them away in his grief. He knew he hadn’t been doing a great job at keeping them close when they offered to start walking him home after work each night. Whether they worried about him stumbling around the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen in a hazy, drunken stupor, or the simple image of him, alone, they were there. Laughing, and talking. And breathing.
Though it was proving difficult to hear laughter if it wasn’t coming from your tongue. To hear a heartbeat, healthy and alive, and right in front of him, if it wasn’t attached to you.
He hadn’t noticed that he was drifting away again until he was face to face with his apartment door. Karen and Foggy, tucked away on either side of him, like always. They’re always here, he muses. I wish I could be, too.
“Good night, Matt.” Karen’s voice is sweet and comforting, hand squeezing his shoulder briefly, before backing away. “Try to get some sleep.”
“Text or call if you need anything, man.” Foggy throws the words into the air, like he does every time, hoping that one day Matt will be there to catch them.
“Yeah, of course,” Matt answers, like he does every time. The offer tumbles between his fingers like sand. Today, like all the others, isn’t going to be that fateful one day where he catches them. “Thank you, guys. Really.”
Then he’s alone. Body filling the mold imprinted in his couch, still in his clothes from the day, as he stays awake and awaits your return. Like he does every night. Until his eyes begin to slip close from pure exhaustion, rather than content with the present day and an eagerness to do it all over again tomorrow. A fresh layer of tears help to seal his eyes for the minimal amount of sleep he will inevitably grant himself.
It’s the next morning that feels different from all the others. Conscious mind rescuing him from the nightmares of your absence, Matt jolts awake. His eyes almost hurt to open from the dried tears, a taught tension in his brow from the emotional night behind him. He readjusts his glasses, having jostled to a crooked stance on his nose.
His alarm clock goes off in his bedroom, a faint, melodic thump that brings a crease to his brow.
He never set the alarm clock for today.
That’s when he hears it. Like an uproar of a million souls, scattered, but standing together. A rush of different sounds, different voices, painting the otherwise dull canvas of Hell’s Kitchen with its gradients of radiance.
He can taste the tears of a mother and son just outside the apartment complex, reunited with their husband and father. Three bodies smashed together in a tight communion.
He can feel the relief of an elderly man from a block away, as his wife reappears beside him on a park bench. Her hand intertwined with his, as if she’d never left his side in the first place.
He can smell the coffee, spilled by a startled secretary on the first floor as an interested renter from five years ago is suddenly seated before her again.
He can hear the heartbeat, blood bringing oxygen to the pumping organ of a warm body two floors above him. Their shuffling feet, unsure of their trek. His name dangling from their lips, a concerned vibration of mystery.
Matt chokes on a sob, because, even though it’s been five years, spotting your heartbeat in a sea of millions came easier to him than brushing his teeth. Your name desperately dribbles down his tongue like a prayer, and it turns into an under-his-breath chant as he fights against hypoxicated lungs to make it to you before your heart has to take another beat without him. Newfound rejuvenation tugs on his already loose tie, tugs him up staircases, past reconnecting families, until he’s at your doorstep.
Clouds swim around his head as he struggles to find his breath. He wanted to say his heart stopped beating the second he heard yours again, but he knew that would be a lie.
Because his heart didn’t start beating again until yours fluttered into his eardrums today.
The door opens before he can even raise his fist to knock, and he’s quickly overcome by all things you. As if capsized, overturned to drown in your elegant waves. Be washed away by your captive touch. Float amongst the chuckles of your laughter.
“Matt?” Your voice, thick with unshed tears and concern.
Suddenly, breathing’s never felt easier.
He could hear your heartbeat, healthy and alive.
And right in front of him.
Ushering him inside, hand furtively locked around his wrist, your skin is etched upon his like a tattoo. This is when the dam shatters, broken sobs clawing up his esophagus until they’re free. He clutches onto your forearms as he sinks to his knees, taking you with him. You draw him in so tightly you worry that he’ll pop, hands carding through his hair as he cries into your collarbones. His fingers clutch your body as if you could disappear again, and he’ll be damned if he lets it happen again. They can take him, too, so long as he doesn’t have to spend another five years suffocating without his lungs.
“I’m here, darling.” Soft coos drip from your tongue, sweet honey, as you hold onto one another tighter. Resting your head on his, you sway his body gently. “I’m right here.”
“You’re here,” he repeats with a rasp, more of a reassurance to himself than an attempt at conversation. Pressing his forehead to your chest, where your heart now beats vividly against his ears, he mutters around a dry cry, “right here.”
Reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his, you raise your connected fists and press a series of kisses to his knuckles, watching a smile slowly tug at his lips. Your fingers depart from his to caress his cheek and jaw, and he leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm. He holds onto your wrist, skimming the skin gently.
“I know you’re confused,” he says, kissing your palm again. “And I promise I’ll fill you in, but I need to finish what I was gonna say five—before.”
“Of course,” you say, and he wants to bottle up the sound, so used to your voice, yet so deprived of it at the same time. He presses a kiss, slow and gentle, to your forehead, your eyes momentarily sliding to a close from the gesture.
Sliding off his glasses, he places them on the cold wooden floor beside your warm bodies. His fingers find your face, brushing your soft skin tenderly, slowly, as if memorizing your features all over again. A trail of heat travels across your face, beginning with your brow, and ending with your lips. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, pouted lips just barely grazing yours before he stops himself.
He takes a deep breath, since he can actually do that now. Voice soft, he goes, “you know, growing up, I was taught to keep my faith. No matter what. Because, if I don’t have my faith, then I won’t have salvation. ‘You always gotta stay faithful, Matty,’ they’d say. ‘It’ll hold you together, even as you feel the rest of the world crumble around you.’ And I believed them.
“Until I held onto that faith with a tighter grip than I’d ever known, with a grip tighter than I know even God himself doesn’t possess, only to turn up empty-handed. Because I still didn’t have you. You’re my entire world, Y/N. I’d compare you to the sun if it could even hold a candle to your warmth. Your humility. Your generosity.”
A deluge of tears glide down your cheeks, and Matt is quick to wipe them away. His face is closer to yours now, whispering this next set of words so softly he has as well be breathing them into your very being. Inflating your heart with every exhale, and shrinking it with every inhale, until your breaths become one. “I don’t deserve your love, and I don’t even know if I have it yet, but I'll be damned if I don’t fight for my chance at salvation.”
“That’s the thing, Matty,” you sniffle, laughing into a sob. For a moment, you just look at him. Taking him in. This man, who would go through Hell or high water for you. He who makes you feel safe, and grounded, and cherished. Who makes you feel so crazy with love and adoration that you’d trail the streets of Hell’s Kitchen until everyone in the damn city knew about just how loved this man made you feel. Despite ever having said the words out loud, until now. “You’ve always had it. With every beat of my heart, Matt Murdock. I’m yours.”
His laugh is breathless, as if sent to the heavens to float amongst the clouds. To soar high in the skies on a bird’s feather. It’s pressed into your cheek, just as the faint rumble of his chest transcends to yours, and you swear it kick starts your heart to beat in tandem with his. “And I’m yours, sweetheart.” Swiping the tip of his nose against yours, a gentle side-to-side motion that has you arching into him, lips craving his own. “My heart was only created to beat beside yours.”
When his lips collide with yours, you feel lightheaded, thoughts turned to vapor under his warm caress. His fingers, brushing into your hair from the base of your skull, tug you closer to deepen the connection. A soft moan settles in the back of your throat from his passionate touch, heat dusting your cheeks with pink stardust as his hands trace the path to their hue. They end their descent at the column of your throat, gently curved around the skin, to feel the impact of his closeness.
The proverbial fingers around his own throat slither away, like the snake in the garden of Eden. As if they knew he was not to be tempted when his temptation, his salvation, was already right in front of him. An ethereal glow cascades the expanses of his face, from his hairline to his jaw. Like all the colors of you chose to shine, just for him, reflected through your stained glass and orange, yellow, and red.
Even when you part, you remain close, Matt’s nose pressing into your cheek to cough out a laugh of disbelief. You grin, captivated by the ethereal beauty of his happiness.
“What day is it?”
You’re thrown off by the stamina of the question, pushed in one breath with an eager lilt. Recalling the date you had seen on your phone, you answer, “um, Sunday. Why?”
Letting out a quick breath, an almost knowing grin grips his cheeks so hard they begin to hurt. “No reason.”
Once again, his ears were tickled by the quiet, steady thumps of a heart.
This time, it was his own.
#matt murdock#matt murdock imagines#matt murdock imagine#matt x reader#matt murdock x reader#daredevil imagines#daredevil imagine#daredevil x reader#marvel imagines#marvel imagine#maroonmusings#matt murdock angst#matt murdock fluff
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HELLO if you are free at the time can you write and eren x reader insta post prt 2? With both of his moms again that was really good if that isn’t to much may I ask if it’s like him spending money on her too ? LOVE YOURE WORKS BTW
Eren’s Insta Spam (Pt.3)
eren x black!fem reader
part 1
part 2
AHH! Yes thank you so much for the request! A part 3 was definitely overdue so thank you for reminding me lool! Hope you enjoy beloved 🫶🏾
Also: BIG UP! TUN UP! to @erenxh for helping me out with a few of the translations for Carla,, you truly an OG 🫰🏾💙 + @quiveringdeer as the honorary tag for these aus
Okay so as we know, Eren has a lot of ‘fans’ who are genuinely really nice to him — but only him — and so whenever he takes you out, he tries to be low-key.
Buuuut it doesn’t mean YOU have to be lowkey and so whenever youre out and about you take pics of him and he occasionally posts these
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ej__jaeger dump! taken by the one who captures me thru the lens of love xx @ynprivnotpriv
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ynprivnotpriv the caption??? you’re so cheessyyyy 😭😭 luv you thoo 💖💖
grishaj__ 👍🫰
ej__jaeger @ynprivnotpriv only this cheesy for you my love
ej__jaeger @grishaj ❤️❤️
But besides that, Eren loves to take you out and spoil you with stuff. It’s kinda controversial though because look okay, Eren’s not a bum per se, but he also HATES working or doing anything labour wise so it’s really Grisha’s money he’s spending on you 😭😭😭 Like he gets a lil money from sponsors and that but its barely liveable earnings
And although you don’t mind, at times it’s like “Okay, Eren. We need to get you a job.” Because he’s at the checkout but on a phone call with his Dad talking bout “Just send it to me now, I’ll explain when I get home.” And you really dont wanna be spending Mr. Jaeger Sr.’s hard earned surgery money like that shdjdjd but Eren wouldn’t take the initiative to do any of that shit himself so you get Carla and Dina involved
“What about a Barista? You’ve got that cute hipster look to you, they’ll love you there.” You said.
All four of you sat in the living room around your laptop, scrolling on various job searching sites to find Eren an occupation. He however seemed to be the least enthusiastic.
“Noooo. Too many of my fan— People, I know go there. It’ll be too bait.”
“That’s okay!” Carla exclaims. “It means you can give them discounts and talk to your friends while you’re on your shift.”
You stifled a giggle, knowing those weren’t the type of people Eren was talking about but alas, we move.
Annoyingly bouncing a tennis ball onto the ceiling and then catching it, Eren sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and paced around the room.
“Man, I need something that pays good money but small hours and allows me all the flexi shifts I want.”
“öyle iş istiyorsan git de sihirli fasulye ye!” Carla tuts.
The brunette whizzed round in shock.
“You urging me to become a drug dealer?!”
“What?!” You look towards Carla with a gasp.
Shaking her head and hands, the woman tried to clear the allegations her son stuck on her.
“No! I told him to go eat magic beans if he wants a job so easy!” Carla explained but then followed up her words with a taunt in Eren’s direction — a warning not to make her look bad.
“Well, what about Zeke’s place? I’m pretty sure he could get you a nice position over there.”
All of you looked towards Dina who had a rather elated expression on her face. This also seemed to pique Eren’s interest seeing as he stopped pacing and gave Dina an intrigued look.
“Wouldn’t that make me a Nepo baby?” He asked.
With a straight face you narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend.
“Boy, that’s really your concern?” You deadpanned. This seriously couldn’t be the most testing factor of working with Zeke of all people but apparently Dina and Eren were on the same page.
“I don’t think it will.” Dina made a thinking face before bringing up her phone to do a quick search. “I only think it affects you if it’s passed down from a parent and not across from a sibling.”
With a groan, Carla threw her head onto your shoulders, feigning fatigue.
“Oh my goodness, my annecim only wants to be rich. Not a hard working bone in his body — Oh! I’ve failed.”
With a soft laugh, you patted the woman’s head.
“Sorry, Carla. I know you tried your best.”
At the end of the day though, Eren makes sure he always spoils you with nice things and doesnt mind spending maintenance money on you! He’ll always have coin for you regardless and loves when he sees you all dolled up under his appendage
he’s THAT Guy: he’ll wait for you when you get your manicures done and talks smooth with all the workers so he can get discounts and shii dhjddk 😭😭
“Girl, can I just say, your boyfriend is such goals? Like how he so smood with it?”
The nail technician briefly removed her face mask to whisper that to you, eyeing the way he was making easy conversation with the other woman.
With a small laugh, you tapped on side of your Airpod to pause your music so that you could also turn round to observe his antics.
“Yeah, no he treat me real well.”
Turning round back to her, you gave her a knowing look.
“You want me to hook you up with one of his friends?”
“What, they just as good as him?!” She whispered.
“Oh, nobody as good as him but they good.” Giving her a knowing look, you pursed your lips over at the woman.
With a nod and an impressed look back, the techniciane moved back to continue her work on your nails, her mood more excited.
“Okay, okay. I’ll see what you got to offer.”
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ej__jaeger she keeps saying her feet are cold but she never wants to wear socks 🤨⁉️ LIKE??? if your lil white manny toes are cold, SOCK EM! 🗣🗣
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sashabear7891 FOR FREE EREN???? FOR FREE???! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
uchihabapegod put dem dawgs away son 🌭
ej__jaeger @sashabear7891 you always know where to get the prem shit thoooo
ej__jaeger @uchihabapegod okay zeke so now that youve said that explain to me why exactly youre perceiving my girls toes??? 🤨📸
ej__jaeger @jeankirjr_ I am giving you three working minutes to unlike this post.
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ej__jaeger ROD 🚀
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mikamikamii THATS A BIG ROCK??
uchihabapegod Marriage?? In this economy???
carlaakarjaeg_34 Eren Text Me Right Now. Please Eren
yummir @ynprivnotpriv lmaooooooo i know you aint sleeping rn bitch come explaaiinn???
conniethe_conman only reason i know you lot are playing us is bc i know eren DOES NAWT have the funds for that and because y/n wouldn’t say yes to an unemployed MAN 😆😆
ej__jaeger @conniethe_conman the way you’re the only one to not fall for it but DAMN???
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Teenage Dream
“You think I’m pretty, without any makeup on.”
“Does this look good to you?” Jinx asked, sitting at her work desk, a makeup brush in hand and concealer in the other as she looked into her mirror.
“What does?” You asked, walking over as you leaned your head onto her shoulder, taking a seat beside her. “My makeup.” She confirmed, looking at you finally.
“You look pretty with and without.” You smiled, but then frowned when you noticed Jinx’s shoulders slump and a frown make its way onto her face as she turned back to the mirror.
“What's wrong?” You asked, grabbing her chin gently with your fingers to turn her face back to you. “I’m tryin’ to look pretty.” She shrugged. “You already look pretty. What makes you think that you don't?” You asked, confused.
“My eyebags. They’re too dark, and the stupid freckles on my cheeks.” Jinx sighed, frowning as you sighed, turning her chair to fully face her to you as you leaned closer to her.
“Your freckles aren’t stupid, I love them. And who cares about the eyebags? I love ‘em.” You smiled, Jinx raising an eyebrow. “Really? Ya sure about that?” She asked.
“Yeah, now if you still wanna put it on, go for it. But I like you either way.” You smiled, Jinx smiling back.
Her smile grew wider as she giggled when you pecked her face over and over, counting with each kiss as you counted the freckles on her face.
“You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong.”
“Baby!” Jinx yelled, you jumped as she jumped onto your bed, a small book in hand.
“What is it?” You asked, chuckling at her.
“Listen!” She smiled, opening the book as you sat up, leaning your head onto your hand as you watched her flip through the pages.
“What are you doing?” You asked, smiling. “It’s a joke book.” JInx said matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders.
“Okay, ready?” She asked, you nodded.
“A book fell on my head. I only have myself to blame.” Jinx said, looking up at you proudly as you just looked confused until it registered in her head.
“Oh! Wait, I said it wrong. Hold on, let me read it again.” Jinx giggled as you laughed. “Amazing joke as is.” You amused, Jinx waving her hand at you.
“A book fell on my head, I only have my shelf to blame!” Jinx finished, proud now.
“Wow, that was amazing.” You nodded. “It was, wasn’t it?” JInx nodded back, leaning her face closer to you as she laughed.
“I know you get me, so I let my walls come down. Yeah, come down.”
Jinx sat in your arms, repeating over and over it wasn’t her fault as she kept a grip onto your arm.
She had an episode, freaking out and sobbing when you found her. You knew why, never talked about them. But sometimes you knew it messed with her, your guys’ dead friends haunting her mind.
She always thought you would be fed up with it one day and leave, but you refused to. You pinky powder promised her years ago to never leave.
And you never will.
“Before you met me, yeah I was alright.”
Powder, even at seven years old, was very observant. She held hands with Vi as Vander brought them to buy food, Mylo and Claggor were messing with each other as she looked around the occupants of the Undercity streets.
It was a year after her parents died on the bridge, she always walked with some pressure on her chest. She didn’t know how to feel, it all felt heavy.
She eventually slipped her hand from her sisters, walking the streets as people waved at her and some even smiled, her being her, she smiled back.
But she eventually stopped, tilting her head confused as she saw another kid her age, their back was too her until it wasn’t.
It was you, you noticed her staring and your eyes lit up. You never really saw a lot of kids around, you weren’t with anybody. Powder noticed.
“But things were kind of heavy, you brought me to life.”
“Hi.” Powder smiled as she walked up to you, you smiled back at her.
“Hi, what’s your name?” You asked her. “Powder, what’s yours?” she asked back. “I’m (Name)!” You answered, your smile bright as Powder giggled. “What’re you doing here?” Pow asked.
“I got bored.” You shrugged, turning back to the booth and grabbing two apples, one for you and one for Powder.
“Here.” You handed her it, Powder taking it and looking down at it before back to you as you bit into your own. She then shrugged, finally biting it.
“Hey! You didn’t pay for that!”
Powder jumped at the booth owners yell, alarmed at your giggle.
You then grabbed her hand as the man at the booth tried to grab you guys, ducking and running away all while laughing.
Powder then found it hard not to laugh along with you, so she did. And that's how she met you. You brought something she seemed to be missing into her life. And she loved the thrill and high she got from it.
“Now, every February, yeah you’ll be my Valentine.”
“What’s this?” Jinx asked as you held some cape pops in front of her with a singular blue rose.
“It’s valentine's day.” You answered, smiling. “You like Valentine's day?” She asked, smiling as she took them. “Yeah, you don’t?” You answered, confused.
“Of course I do!” She jumped up, skipping off to who knows where and when she came back you jumped when she tossed a large bouquet of flowers into your hands.
“Valentine.”
“Happy valentines day!” Jinx exclaimed, setting off a button to trigger mechanical, colorful butterflies to fly around you.
You watched in awe as they flew around you before looking back to Jinx as she smiled proudly.
She then ran up to you, hugging you as you held her in one arm and the flowers in another.
How did you get so lucky?
“So let’s go all the way tonight.”
“You see that? That’s a knife!” Jinx exclaimed, laying beside you on her back as you both sat on the roof of a building. “You have an amazing visionary, Bluey.” You chuckled, not seeing the shape but going along for it.
“What do you see?” Jinx asked, now moving to lay on her side to admire you.
“I see, hm, you.” You smiled, looking back over at her as she smiled. “That doesn’t count! You’re looking at me!” Jinx poked your forehead.
“How can I not?” You shrugged, sitting up also as she shook her head, leaning it on your shoulder as you wrapped an arm around her.
“I like this.” Jinx spoke up, breaking a small silence.
“...Me too.”
“No regrets.”
“Do you ever regret anything?” Jinx suddenly spoke up, looking at you as you sat on the small count in her lair.
“Like what?” You asked, confused at her question.
“Ya know, do you ever regret…coming with me?” Jinx asked, frowning. “How could I regret anything? I never would switch my place for anything.” You smiled, Jinx returning it before laughing as you poked her stomach.
Jinx then got up, sitting on your lap and leaning into you as she scrunched her body into yours.
“Just love.”
She sighed, smiling and closing her eyes as you messed with her, very rarely, unbraided hair.
“I love you.” You spoke up, Jinx looking up at you finally to see your smile.
“I love you more.” Jinx stated, feeling your thumb run over her cheek.
“I’ll never regret being with you. Ever.” You said, Jinx staying silent before suddenly hugging you.
“Yeah we can dance, until we die,”
Jinx laughed as you spun her by her hand, a song playing in the background from the bar’s music box.
She sang along loudly to the lyrics, her voice mixing in with the song as you dipped her.
You dipped her too deep, though, as you both yelped when you fell.
It didn’t phase the blue headed girl though, she simply laughed as you joined in.
Both laying there, laughing in a pile of limbs, in your own small world full of love.
“We’ll be young forever.”
“Powder!” You laughed, almost falling off the couch as the girl stumbled into you. “Sorry!” Powder yelped back, jumping up higher on the couch as you tried to catch up.
“(Name)!” Powder exclaimed, laughing as you tripped over the armrest and fell off the couch.
“I’m good!” You got up, laughing before you yelped when she jumped onto your back. “Oh!” Powder yelped when you both fell to the floor now.
“No! You’re evil!” You yelled, getting up and running behind the couch.
“Get back here!” Powder tried catching you, but it just ended up with you both on either side of the couch, moving when the other did in an endless circle until Powder climbed the couch and tried getting you.
“Vi!” You yelled, evading the girl and running up the steps to the older girl in the bar, accompanied by your other family.
“She’s trying to hurt me!” You hid behind Vander, the man almost spilling the drinks he hand on the tray he had as he lifted it when Powder and you ran around him.
“Ah!” You yelled when Powder tackled you, the girl giggling before getting up and dragging you away by your foot.
“Vi!” You yelled for help, Vi laughing as she shook her head.
“Nope.”
“Traitor!” You yelled at her, grabbing the wall to try and help but Powder was too strong as she drugged you back.
“‘Cause you make me feel like I’m livin’ a teenage dream.”
Jinx ran, giggling with spray bottles in her hand with your hand in the other.
You both snuck up topside, bored and wanted to annoy enforcers and ran once they caught you both spray painting a building.
Jinx and you were always caught up in something, your life was a chaotic dream, and she loved it.
“The way you turn me on.”
Jinx giggled in between kisses, her legs wrapped around your waist as you sat her on her work desk.
“I can’t sleep.”
“(Name), are you up?” Jinx whispered, the room dark as the clock read 3 AM. She couldn’t sleep. The voices are always pickering at her.
“What's wrong?” You whispered back, turning over onto your side to look at her as JInx did the same.
“I can’t sleep.” Jinx answered, quiet as you sighed before falling back onto your back. “Come on.” You gestured for Jinx to join you, and she did with a smile.
Jinx rested her head onto your chest, hearing the rhythmic sound of your heart beat under her ear as she sighed in contempt.
She didn’t remember when she did, but she did fall asleep. And she woke up with you with her, she was always better with you.
“Let’s run away, and don’t ever look back.”
“Are you sure about this?” Jinx asked, hesitant as you packed up your guys’ bags and she helped.
“I mean, if you want to go, we will. But if you want to stay, we can.” You answered, Jinx thinking about it as she had her backpack on her back already.
She then sighed, screw it.
“Okay.” Jinx nodded, smiling as you did. “Really?” You asked, shocked she would join you finally.
“He’s gonna be so pissed.” Jinx giggled. “Then let’s go before he finds out.” You smirked.
“Ever look back.”
You took her hand, pulling her along as Jinx laughed, leaving behind it all to be with you. And only you.
As long as she had you, she was okay with whatever life threw at you guys.
Jinx loved the high you gave her. She loved your touch, your voice and you in general.
Jinx was glad you stuck with her and loved her through everything.
The best she could do was return the favor.
#jinx x reader#Jinx x you#jinx x y/n#jinx arcane#jinx x gender neutral reader#arcane powder#arcane x reader#arcane x you#arcane x y/n#arcane violet#arcane mylo#Arcane claggor#arcane vander#jinx league of legends#powder arcane
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Intro: Hello there!
Name: Orange
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 24
Occupation: Full-time flirt (consensually, of course)
NSFW
I am a pansexual switch from Texas. I am also a cisgender Indian woman.
If I am spamming you, I am basically flirting with you tbh
If you are a minor, please do not interact with my page.
If you are racist, homophobic, transphobic, islamaphobic, or are hateful towards any other marginalized group, you will be blocked. Also don’t try to fetishize me being Indian. I deal with enough outside of this and I would appreciate it if you didn’t sexualize my culture.
If you wanna DM me, you can. IF YOU ARE CREEPY I WILL BLOCK YOU. I am also NOT interested in being someone tickle slave, housewife, pet, or full-time submissive right now. If that changes, I will make an update. Respect me and treat me with kindness. If you just want to jump in and try to be my dom or sub without even getting to know me, you will get the boot.
Be gentle with me. I am already anxious enough so don’t scare me away.
Also, sad that I have to remind ppl of this but, CONSENT IS KEY. If you are not consensual and try forcing me into something without my approval, you will get blocked.
I do not feel comfortable sending pictures of me unless I already posted them. I am also not comfortable to meet in-person with anyone. I like my privacy, so be respect that.
My kinks:
Tickling, navel play, nipple play, voice, hands, overstimulation, body worship, praise, light bondage, blindfolds, light gagging, teasing, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, sensation play, temperature play, food play, checking how wet I am
What I am NOT into:
Penetration (including fingers and tongue), anal (also including fingers and tongue), choking, piss/scat/blood play, pain, edging/orgasm denial (I don’t like this one for myself, but I don’t mind doing it to others), crying, screaming, degradation, humiliation (especially public humiliation), CNC, r*peplay
Btw, I write tickle stories!
Here is the master list!
With that out of the way…I enjoy chatting with ppl so feel free to DM me.
Hobbies: Sewing, Baking, Reading
Movies I like: Wes Anderson films, The Menu, Matilda, Disney, Marvel
Shows I like: Mad Men, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Only Murders in the Building, WandaVision, The Good Place, Mister Rogers Neighborhood, UnBreakable Kimmy Schmidt
Conversation starters (in case you might be shy but wanna DM me)
What is your favorite Wes Anderson movie?
What is your favorite song?
What is the last book you read and would you recommend it?
If you had a sandwich named after you, what be in it?
What is your favorite color? (The answer will surprise you!)
What is your favorite thing to bake?
What food are you currently craving?
What type of music do you listen to?
What is your favorite flower?
You may simply ask me about The Darjeeling Limited.
I promise I am fun. Just get to know me and see.
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hmm...001 for Yuujin x Herlock, and 002 for our girl Susato
001 for HomuMiko (Sholmes x Mikotoba)
When I started shipping it if I did: That final case. When they did the dance of deduction together I was absolutely sold! They were in perfect sync with their movements and their thoughts. A phenomenal moment!
My thoughts: I loved the twist that Mikotoba was Sholmes’s partner in crime solving. It just makes him all that more important to the story. And these two can be both fun and serious when the situation calls for it! Also because they trusted one another with a very important secret, Iris Wilson is alive and well and seems to have a relatively happy life as Sholmes’s adopted daughter. I’m sure these two saved more lives with their deductions too.
What makes me happy about them: They are the Great Ace Attorney’s version of JohnLock! What’s not to love? They really bring out the best in each other when they put their minds together. The fondness is there too and it’s just so warm!
What makes me sad about them: I’ll state the obvious in that they’re separated by geography. Mikotoba lives in Japan, and Sholmes lives in England. And if we go by ACD Holmes canon, that means they’ll both have to live through WW I. But since the original Holmes and Watson survive The Great War in the short story “His Last Bow” then it’s very likely that Sholmes and Mikotoba will too.
Things done in fanfic that annoys me: I’ll be honest and say I don’t have the time or energy to read much fanfic, TGAA fic included. But it would annoy me if either of them got killed off for obviously cheap drama. Because they both avoided the Mentor Occupational Hazard and deserve to live into old age!
Things I look for in fanfic: If I were to go looking for fanfic, I’d probably want more of them solving mysteries. I’d also want soft domesticity, and maybe even family time with their daughters. A family portrait with Yujin, Sholmes, Susato and Iris needs to happen!
Who I’d be comfortable with them ending up with, if not each other: For Sholmes, I could either see him with Ryunosuke because of how well they deduced together or Barok van Zieks partially for how they would argue like an old married couple, and also for their shared interest of co-parenting/helping raise Iris.
For Yujin it’s harder to say. Maybe if Jigoku hadn’t made his canon mistakes I could see them together. But we all know he’d rather have Ayame still be alive. :(
My Happily Ever After for them: When they get old, they retire from crime solving. After Iris is grown and married, Sholmes retires to the countryside having grown weary from city life in London. He and Yujin exchange letters at first, and then Yujin comes for an unexpected visit out of the blue. He’s been doing a lot of traveling since leaving his job at the university, and wonders if Sholmes will go with him to see the world.
Sholmes happily accepts and they go on to see many interesting places, meeting interesting people, and sometimes finding one of a kind souvenirs to send to their family and friends. When the years go by they eventually end up staying in Sholmes’s countryside home, where they write pages and pages about their adventures that will be remembered long after they’re gone.
Who is the big spoon/little spoon: Sholmes is the big spoon. He’s the more cuddly of the two of them.
What is their favorite non-sexual activity: Solving mysteries, anywhere and everywhere. It could be as trivial as one of Iris’s missing teacups or as important as the case of The Naval Treaty. If there are clues to be followed, they’ll find out what they mean!
002 for Susato Mikotoba
How I feel about this character: She’s the greatest judicial assistant in the world! Seriously, she’s awesome. I like her book smarts and her attention to detail. She’s tough and will throw anyone with a Susato Takedown, but she also has her soft, empathetic side that I like to see. She’s the definition of “silk hiding steel” and will stand up to anyone when she has to.
All the people I ship romantically with this character: I’ll be honest and say I don’t really romantically ship her? I just didn’t see any romantic chemistry between her and anyone else. I know that GinaSusa, SusaRei and RyuSusa are all ships I’ve seen. Whatever floats your boat I guess, but to me Susato seems to have other priorities than romance at the moment.
My non-romantic OTP for this character: With Ryunosuke. They are legal partners and slowly become good friends! Their bond is natural and withstands a lot of adversity that they each face, both separately and together. They can count on one another. That’s exactly what friends are for!
My unpopular opinion about this character: Susato doesn’t necessarily need to become a lawyer. She went on the study trip to become a judicial assistant, and I could picture her staying on that path. In the Ace Attorney franchise, the legal assistants are just as important as the lawyers and their contributions are invaluable.
One thing I wish would happen/had happened with the character in canon: I would have liked to know more about her home life and the grandmother she lived with. Was her grandmother strict, or was she kind, possibly a mixture of both? Does Susato write poetry or do calligraphy? Let me know about her hobbies! (Maybe some of this was covered and I overlooked it through.)
My OTP: Not really with a person. But Susato x Literature is definitely canon though
My crossover ship: Not any I can think of at the moment.
A headcanon fact: The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles is split into chapters because Susato wrote a book about those events in her life. The book was a best-seller, and a treasured family heirloom that was passed down to her descendants in the modern days of the first Phoenix Wright trilogy.
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There is no such thing as unbiased reporting. Not only check your sources but check where they’re getting their info from and the other kinds of things they’re saying. Even if you trust your source because you’ve gotten it from a friend or youve seen it a lot check it. EVEN IF YOU AGREE WITH WHAT A SOURCE IS SAYING, CHECK WHO IT’S FROM. The next time I see a link that’s supposed to support palestine and click it and scroll for two seconds and see something like ‘down with Israhell’ (that phrase has been a right-wing antisemitic dogwhistle for many many years) I’m going to explode. We can protest human rights violations and push for peace without spreading misinformation or propaganda.
Please keep in mind that if you just started paying attention to Palestine on October 7th, propaganda and misinformation pre-dates your interest in this. Jews have been in what is now Palestine for thousands of years, and the current clusterfuck dates back much farther than 1948. If you think there is nothing complicated, that there is no nuance in the current conflict, you don’t know enough about it. You can (and should) condemn the IDF’s human rights violations and condemn that warmongering idiot Netanyahu and support liberation of Palestinians and protest the occupation of the West Bank and apartheid and all the horrendous things happening there WITHOUT spreading easily disproven falsehoods about Hamas or falling for old shitty propaganda that uses Zionist as a code word for ‘Jew’. If you feel the need to post about the situation in Palestine beyond the obviously good and necessary calls for humanitarian aid, pleeease do just a little reading up on it first. Even just a little. Read at least the Wikipedia page on the war of 1948, AKA the Nakba (the whole article, if you don’t branch out to other sources; Israel and Palestine have different narratives about it, as you might expect). Read the Hamas charter of 1988 and the revised one of 2017 where they changed their language to be more palatable to international support, notice what they leave out of the more recent version, how they claim indigineity solely for themselves while implicitly denying it to Arab Jews who have inhabited that land for thousands of years, how in the newer version they call Israel ‘the Zionist project’ and erase the fact of the British colonial experiment that got us into this mess and lay all the blame at the feet of Israel. Horrible shit Israel is doing is just as important, but given you’re on tumblr, I assume you already know all about that. Just make room in your mind for multiple truths: that Israel is committing horrific human rights abuses with a tremendous disregard for civilian lives; that the Palestinian people are suffering and in desperate need of humanitarian aid; that Hamas is a right wing extremist organization whose leaders proudly say they will repeat October 7th over and over, and who call their own citizens martyrs to their cause after using them as shields. Hamas is not Palestine, Netanyahu is not Israel, and you are not immune to propaganda.
#first and last time I post about current events#if anyone twists this into Islamophobia or antisemitism I’ll also explode#both are hugely on the rise and a huge reason for that is uncritical swallowing of propaganda#just. think about what you post. this is a public platform.#yes I am more emotional about this than would be politically useful#my family was threatened so. I’m upset.#anyway I’ll never talk about this again I hope#might chicken out and delete this anyway#anyway. explodes
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I discovered an illuminating report on how industries deal with the fact that people don’t want them to move in next door. It was written by J. Stephen Powell of the Los Angeles–based consulting firm Cerrell Associates, Inc., and was entitled “Political Difficulties Facing Waste-to-Energy Conversion Plant Siting.” The fifty-seven-page report was proprietary and eventually leaked—by whom, I couldn’t find out. It was produced in a different time (1984) and place (Los Angeles) but is as relevant today as it was then. The California Waste Management Board paid Cerrell Associates $500,000 to define communities that would not resist “locally undesirable land use” (LULU). .... The plant that the Waste Management Board wanted to set up would be hard to live near. The facility being considered would smell and sometimes be noisy. “Waste-to-Energy facilities also pose a potential health risk in terms of air pollution,” Powell wrote. “Emissions from a plant may include varying amounts of nitrogen oxides, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, hydrocarbons, and particulate matter and other matter for which health standards have not yet been established.” Company trucks could cause traffic congestion. The plant would reduce property values and provide relatively few jobs, he also pointed out. So how can such a company get a community to accept it? The plant manager’s best course of action, Powell concluded, would not be to try to change the minds of residents predisposed to resist. It would be to find a citizenry unlikely to resist. Based on interviews and questionnaires, Powell drew up a list of characteristics of the “least resistant personality profile”:
Longtime residents of small towns in the South or Midwest
High school educated only
Catholic
Uninvolved in social issues, and without a culture of activism
Involved in mining, farming, ranching (what Cerrell called “nature exploitative occupations”)
Conservative
Republican
Advocates of the free market
From Strangers In Their Own Land by Arlie Russell Hochschild
#strangers in their own land#arlie russell hochschild#company towns#companies choosing who to poison
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