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senualothbrok · 6 months

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Summary: You agreed to help Astarion with the Rite of Profane Ascension, but you can't watch him go through with it. You interrupt the ritual, and Astarion turns on you. Now, you must deal with the aftermath of your actions.

Word count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Angst. Trauma and recovery. A very angry Astarion.

AO3 link

This is the first fanfic I have written for about 20 years. I should be working on my novel, but this story honestly possessed me. I hope someone out there reads and enjoys this! If not, it was therapeutic and cathartic to write it.

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You have heard it a thousand times. The tales and the histories, all the songs you have sung. You are a bard, after all, and this story is as old and worn as your heart. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

You know this, and you have seen it. You have seen it twist kind men into savages, transform wary women into beasts. Your own family had suffocated you under its clutches, leveraging your gifts and talents for ever more power and influence. Stripping you bare, squeezing out every drop they could get from you. You were their very own song bird, pushed about and paraded until your fingers were raw and throat was hoarse, to grant them entry into the best parties and social circles. But you were never enough. You never sang sweetly enough, or got large enough crowds. Not enough people knew you. You should have been prettier, more alluring. All the things they made you do, but you never did enough. It was never enough.

When you had escaped from them, you had vowed you would never be like them. You had promised yourself you would never become the thing you fought against. You would be different. Better. You would be good.

And yet.

You are standing in Cazador’s palace. Blood spatters the smooth ivory of Astarion’s skin. In the nightmarish hue of the ritual chamber, he glows a strange green. His crimson eyes are all fear and desperation.

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

In that moment, you cannot say no. If it were anyone else, you would refuse. There have been many conversations with Astarion - around the campfire, in his tent, even as you walked around the labyrinth of Cazador’s living hell. You have talked to him at length about this moment. You have listened as he has confessed guilt and need and hesitation and rage. You have been kind and patient, always careful not to criticise him, not to push back too much, not to hurt him. You have been good. He must make his own decision, you have been telling yourself. He has suffered enough.

So you open your mind to him, because he asks you to. You feel his frenzied hunger as he devours the sight of every scar on his back, as though their cruelty is now beauty. You watch his features which you have come to know so well. You have seen them in sleep, in battle, in laughter, in pain. You have seen them shrouded and masked, bare and open. You watch now as they contort into something that you recognise from so many other faces and times. And as you watch, you can barely hear Cazador’s deafening screams, or register the way his mangled mess writhes and gushes. All you can see is Astarion’s widening smile as he carves at Cazador’s back, his eyes dilating like sinkholes.

You think it, even as he whisks away Cazador’s mutilated body like a rag doll. Even when Astarion slams the staff on the ground and everything around you blazes red as the blood of his convulsing siblings and the seven thousand spawn about to be slaughtered. Even when Gale and Karlach cry out at Astarion to stop, that this is a mistake, that the cost is too great. Even then, you think to yourself: this is what he wants. It is his choice. It is his right.

But in the scarlet haze, you are remembering. You are thinking of his trembling voice when he promised a broken husk called Sebastian, just moments ago, that he would free him. You think of the way his soft eyes glistened when he had thanked you and clasped your hand, stunned with the realisation that he was not just a thing to be used. You feel the crushing weight of Vellioth and Cazador and the decaying dungeons and centuries upon centuries of madness and terror. And you remember the tenderness with which he had looked at you, not days ago, believing the power of the ritual would keep you both safe. That he would protect you with it.

“I can feel their power flowing into me!”

You stare at him, spreadeagled, monstrous.

Something has begun to well inside you, like a cracking of ice, a convulsion of tears. In that whispering, you remember the promise you made yourself all those years ago. And you know, from a deep and tattered place within you, that that promise is greater than your yearning for his love.

The blade springs from your hand on its own. You watch it sing through the air and hit its perfect note in Cazador’s maimed gut. Astarion and his siblings crumple to the floor. The crimson mist lifts, and in the silence you know, with the certainty of death, that you have lost him.

You say something, but you know it is meaningless. Nothing can repair the mistake you have made. You could have refused to help him when he asked. You could have reasoned with him, urged him to stop and think. You could have told him, from the start, that you could not go through with it. And now, you have kept your promise to yourself, but not to the man you love.

When he rises from his knees and turns to you, it is the face of a stranger that you see.

“I was so close. I could have had it all, but you took everything from me.”

Hatred hardens in his every word. And then, a tide of despair.

“Cazador won after all. I’ll never escape the hell he built.”

You cannot bear it. Your failure rips through you, and you want to reach out to him, to beg and plead and weep. But you just stand there.

He looks down at the staff in his hand.

“And if I can’t escape, then no one can.”

He splits the staff on his knee. It makes such a small sound as it splinters, but it echoes through you like an avalanche. It is the sound of seven thousand spawn being condemned to death. It is the sound of their eternal suffering. And it is all because of you. The horror and guilt erupts inside you.

It happens so fast after that. There is no time to think, to feel, to act. There is the glint of a dagger raised. You are knocked back, and a searing pain slices through your shoulder as you stare up at bared fangs looming over you. Your limbs are heavy with shock, and suddenly you feel a surge of heat and the great arc of Karlach’s war hammer over you. You hear Gale shout out a spell, and you watch as Astarion topples to the side, frozen except for the furious twitching of his eyes.

“Don’t!” you hear yourself shout. “Please, stop!”

Karlach and Gale rush to your side, cradling you up, fussing over your shoulder. But you do not feel it. You do not really feel anything. All you can do is look from them back to Astarion, pleading, but you are not sure what for.

---

“You can release his hold now.”

You are back at camp, and you have recovered your voice. For a long time, you could not speak. Shadowheart and Halsin tended to your arm, speaking soothing words over you. Gale and Karlach came to sit with you, their faces creased with concern. Wyll, Lae’zel and Jaheira stood at a distance, arguing in hushed voices. All the while, you stared into the distance, thinking of the hatred in Astarion’s gaze, and everything you had done to deserve it.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gale says, frowning.

“We can’t keep him like that forever.”

“The man turned on us. He tried to kill you.”

You look into Gale’s eyes. There is warmth there, streaked with pity.

“Can you blame him?”

Gale scoffs. “Yes, I can.” Then he pauses. His voice softens. “Well, perhaps in the circumstances, in the heat of the moment…” He shakes his head. “But he truly would have killed you, had Karlach and I not intervened. And that is inexcusable, after everything you – all of us - have been through with him. After everything you have done for him.”

Your vision blurs and stings.

“I fucked up, Gale. How could I have fucked up so royally? I should never have let him start the ritual. I should never have agreed with it. I’ve broken him. Seven thousand innocent people will die in agony because of me. Because I was…”

You are not used to burdening others with your emotions. You give and not take, even when you have nothing. When you are nothing. But now, you are afraid that you will break.

“…Because I failed.”

Without hesitation, Gale lays a hand on yours. It is a such a kind gesture that it chokes you. You have always been the one to look after others, to give them what they need. That is your role. It is what you exist for. If you cannot do that, what are you good for?

“Those things were never your responsibility, my dear friend. They were never your burdens to carry.”

“But he trusted me.”

“That does not mean that you must give him everything, or watch him destroy thousands of people and himself.”

You ball your fists. “Then I should have told him that, from the start. But I went along with it-”

“Because you love him.”

You have not spoken about this with Gale or anyone else. You know it is common knowledge that you and Astarion are entangled, but you have always wanted to hide the love you feel for him away. You have always known that whatever it was that lay between you was fragile. Astarion himself was not sure what you were.

Attachment does not come easily to you. You know that if you give people what they need, there is a chance that they will stay. But there is also a chance that they will snap their heads one day and no longer want what you have to offer. And then, they will go.

You have always tried to guard yourself against the pain of that departure. Even with Astarion.

“Many a mistake has been made for love,” Gale continues. “I understand this better than most.”

“This is a monumental fuck up,” you breathe. “Not a simple mistake.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really want to start a competition about the magnitude and impact of our mistakes? Because if so, I believe that I would be a clear winner, and some others in our camp may also be worthy competitors.”

You are too weary to laugh. Too broken.

“Besides, I am sure if we knock our considerably enriched heads together, we can find a way to open those dungeons and release those prisoners. Especially with such a range of talented and well-resourced allies to draw on.”

You can see the questions taking shape in Gale’s head already. You give him a weak smile.

“You are only human, my friend. I know you try to be better than any of us, but even you are permitted to make mistakes.”

When he clasps you tightly to his chest, you let yourself rest into it. You want so badly to believe he is right, but you are not sure you can.

---

As you approach Astarion, you gesture behind you. You know the rest of them are all watching, wary and ready to strike at the faintest sign of danger. But you stand them down, and they linger at a respectful distance.

Released from Gale’s hold, Astarion hunches over slightly, like a cat backed into a corner. He knows he is outnumbered and vulnerable. He does not lunge towards you. His arms lie flat against his sides, his hands free of weapons. His fangs are hidden behind the tight line of his lips.

“What you did to me is worse than staking me. You might as well finish me off now.”

Every word is a cut. You flinch at each one, but you do not avert your gaze from his. Any gentleness, affection, and truth in those eyes is gone, locked behind blood-red walls. And in his abject contempt, you find a kind of freedom.

If he has already left, then you need not please him. If you are not enough, then it does not matter what you say. You have lost him already. He does not love you.

So you say what you wish you had said, from the moment that he showed you who he was, the moment you fell in love with him.

“The ritual would have killed you, your siblings, and seven thousand innocents.”

“Spare me,” he snarls. “You nodded and cooed at me, like you understood me, like you would help me. ‘I’m here for you, Astarion. I’ll help you Astarion. Tell me what you need and I’ll be there, Astarion.’ You fucking liar. You godsdamned hypocrite. You never understood me. You never wanted to help me.”

His fury is like a lash, but the pain is sobering. You brace yourself against it.

“I never said I would help you become Cazador, or let you kill thousands of people for power.”

“Please.” His laugh is vicious. “I told you from the start what I wanted. If you didn’t see that, then you’re blind. Delusional. A self-righteous idiot, living in a fantasy.”

“You wanted to be free, Astarion. To be safe.”

“You never wanted me to be free,” he seethes. “You liked me weak and broken, so I could come to you on my knees, and you could nod and smile and promise to fix me. Your own personal project, kept on a leash like a little puppy. Cuddly, harmless Astarion, healing from his hurts, all thanks to you. My saviour.”

Behind you, you can hear voices erupting and subsiding, a scuffle of shifting feet. You are grateful when no one interjects or rushes forward. This is for you and Astarion alone. It is your punishment to bear, and his truth to hear.

“You took all that power away from me,” he hisses. “It wasn’t your choice to make. It was my decision. You’re worse than Cazador.”

The words wound you like arrows, but you half expect them. You have called yourself worse things.

“Cazador would have just compelled me not to do the ritual. But you gave me a taste of what I wanted, then ripped it away from me. You’re the cruellest bitch I’ve ever known.”

You do not care that hot tears stream down your cheeks, and that your voice trembles. You let yourself say what needs to be said, not what you think he wants to hear.

“You’re right.” You take a step towards him. “I should never have let you do it. I went along with it, when I should have pushed back. But I wanted you to feel you always had someone on your side. Someone who understood. I wanted you to feel loved.”

His disgust does not deter you anymore.

“You think that this is all you are. You can’t see beyond it. What was done to you. What he made you do to others. But it isn’t. It never was. You were always strong. You can be more than what happened to you. You are more than what happened to you.”

“Like you?” he sneers. “A hero? Someone so chained to other people’s approval that you’re lost without a saving mission? That’s what you so desperately want to see when you look at me, isn’t it?”

“No.” You are surprised by the strength of your voice. “Only someone who won’t let thousands of people suffer just because you did.”

Jolts of anger course through him. “You have no idea what I suffered,” he growls. “No idea what I am owed. If you had the faintest idea of it, if you truly loved me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would be burning the world with me.”

You have listened silently before, when he talked about this. What he deserves after two centuries of agony. His comeuppance. You did not challenge him because you were afraid. Afraid you would offend him. Terrified that he would leave.

“Look around you, Astarion,” you say now. “Look at everyone here. We have all suffered. No, none of us have suffered what you have suffered, and I am so deeply sorry for that. But Cazador is dead and no one else will have to suffer under him. And now, no one will have to suffer under an Ascended either.”

A snide sound of disbelief. “You are so full of bullshit I can hardly breathe from the stench.”

Your tadpole rages, ramming into his mind. You expect the resistance of loathing, but he does not fight. He allows you in. And for the first time, you show him. You let him see him your parents, and your pain, and everything that was done to you. You open yourself up, the masks you put on that you recognise in him, the performances you too are familiar with in the economy of survival. You show him your promise to yourself, and your choices, and the failures you carry around with you like a noose.

He glares at you after it is over, but you think there may be less hatred in his eyes than there was a moment before.

“Why did you show me that?”

It is easier, now that there is nothing to hide.

“Because if we all burned the world because of our suffering, there would be nothing left. And because you said you wanted something real.”

He seems backfooted that you mention it. His first moment of honesty. Your first moment of connection. The beginning of your love.

“This is real, Astarion.” Your gaze is a waterfall. You cannot stop it. “Real love, messy and painful, with a real person who makes mistakes and tells you things that you don’t want to hear. Someone who sees who you really are and who you can be, the worst and the best of you, and still loves you anyway.”

He steps back, his features clenched in spasm. You think of how his hands felt on your skin, cold as ice to the touch, yet warming you inside out like summer sunlight. You remember the lilt of his laughter as you traded jibes and jests under the furs of your tent on cold nights. You breathe in his scent on the air for the last time, those hints of bergamot, rosemary and brandy that you could recognise anywhere. You are already mourning their loss.

“Then I don’t want it,” he spits out. “And I don’t want you.”

And then he leaves.

---

You are alone. You are lying in a clearing a short walk away from camp. It is spring, and the smell of earth and grass hangs around you as the sun streaks through the trees above you. Your ears are drunk with birdsong.

It has been weeks since he left. You would be lying if you said you did not miss him. Sometimes you feel his absence like a presence. It haunts and stalks you, and when the darkness comes, you cling to your pillow in your tent and weep through waves of grief that surge through you like labour pains. But at other times, you find a kind of solace in your solitude. You are not shackled by a desperation for love from a man so broken he is not capable of giving it. You are not trapped by your own brokenness in this yearning, this ache to fill the holes in his heart. And this freedom is worth the pain.

When you had asked Astarion what he wanted, he had never known. And perhaps that had struck you so deeply because you had never known either. You had never truly known what you wanted, who you really were outside of what you could do for others. You thought you were only a thing to be used, a tool to fill someone else’s need, whatever that may be. You could be good at that. You needed to be good at that. If not, you were nothing.

But you are learning. Since he has left, you are learning that you are more than that. You are learning that you can live with your mistakes. That you are enough, just as you are.

You find that you sing now, even when there is no one around. Even when it is not for a performance, or for support in battle. You sing for yourself, and you take pleasure in it, even when your notes are off key and you cannot remember the right words, even when no one is there to praise you or reward you for it. For the first time, you are enjoying your gift for no other reason than that you wish to. It is a gift, and it comes without dread or shame or conditions.

You are humming softly as you stroll back to camp. Scratch greets you with a frenzied tail, and you roll around with him, kneeling as he plasters sloppy kisses all over your face. The simple joy of this dances over the cracks in your heart. When Scratch suddenly stops, you are almost disappointed. You glance in the direction where he has bounded, an ecstatic flurry of delight. Then your eyes catch on silver shining in the sun, two bright rubies on white silk. Your breath halts.

There he is. He is different, but the same. You look at each other. And in that moment, it is enough that there is no hatred in his eyes, which flicker with uncertainty. It is enough that his mouth is not curled into a sneer, and his brow is soft and even. It is enough that you have both survived. You have shown each other who you are, and you are still here.

He reaches his hand out to you, and you take it.

---

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psychedelic-ink · 11 months

Text

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 6.5k

series summary: frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "Whiskey".

chapter summary: you bump into "whiskey" at the farmer's market and learn more about him.

warnings: awkward moments, fluff, mutual pining, sexual tension, bondage via jack's belt, piv, oral (female receiving), praise kink, fingering, dirty talking, brief mention of jack being widowed, angst & arguing at the end

a/n: sadly no stripping in this one folks but I promise we're gonna get some more (and our happy ending) in part three!

part two of i can feel your heartbeat

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

You don’t visit the farmer’s market as often as you used to but when you do, man, do you love it.

It’s almost therapeutic. You love the gentle morning sun warming your skin, you love the scent of fresh produce wafting through the air. You enjoy looking at the colorful display of flowers. While you walk, you look up into the sky, the clouds looking fluffier than ever. A soft wind blows and ruffles the leaves of the trees, the sound of it strong enough to make you believe you’re in another, more exciting world.

The crowd mimics the motion of waves in the sea. You follow the current, not having a particular stand in mind. The only thing on your list is buying some fresh fruit; some juicy peaches, and maybe some strawberries.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice a man stepping into your path until it's too late.

With an unexpected jolt, you collide into him, your momentum abruptly halting. Startled, you blink and take a step back, a mix of embarrassment and surprise washing over you.

It’s then that you notice an item slipping from his bag, plummeting toward the ground.

In that split second, your senses heighten, and you catch a whiff of familiar leather and a trace of a perfume that sparks a distant memory. But you can't dwell on it for long as your gaze fixates on what has fallen—a meticulously hand-carved wooden horse.

The delicate figurine lies there, its intricate details captivating your attention. The sunlight dances upon its smooth surface, casting intricate shadows that accentuate the craftsmanship. It is a thing of beauty, captivating in its simplicity and elegance.

You kneel down, carefully picking up the wooden horse. Its weight in your hand feels grounding. Your fingertips trace the curves and contours, marveling at the artistry that brings it to life.

Distracted by the wooden horse, you momentarily forget about the man with whom you collided. But as you rise to your feet, you finally take notice of him, standing there with a surprised expression on his face. Recognition flickers in his eyes, and a smile slowly curves his lips; meanwhile, you’re absolutely shocked. Your mouth falls open and your eyes go wide at the sight of a cowboy hat you’ve grown accustomed to seeing almost every night.

“Whiskey?” you say in a hushed, yet loud, whisper. “W-What are you—”

His smile falters at the sound of his stage name, it seems to you that he’s forgotten that you don’t actually know his birth-given name. He crowds your space, the scent of pine filling the air, unmistakable and comforting. When you part your lips the second time, it’s to apologize, but before you can, he claps a hand over your mouth and gently pushes you towards the back of one of the market stalls. Your heart races, his grip firm yet strangely gentle.

The rough surface of wood meets your back. You feel the subtle grooves and indentations beneath your palms and a shiver runs down your spine as his intense stare penetrates your defenses. He breathes heavily through his nostrils, lips a thin line.

“It’s Jack,” he grunts, almost begrudgingly. “My name’s Jack.”

“Jack,” you say, enjoying the way his name rolls off of your tongue. Then your brows furrow with realization. “Wait, is that why you call yourself Whiskey? Like, Jack, as in Jack Daniels?”

He gives you a pained expression, the corner of his lips lifting, “Guess my last name.”

“Nooooo,” you let out a hushed gasp. “Your last name is Daniels?”

“I told you my real name wasn’t any less embarrassin’.”

You tut with a grin, “You poor thing.”

He inches closer, leg almost between your thighs but not quite. Jack always makes his presence known. He is used to being center stage, garnering all the attention and whisking anyone away from their thoughts. His very being overwhelming and affective. You stiffen as awareness starts creeping in— the large hand cupping the column of your neck, his body imposing as it blankets yours, the thick wood behind your back. In the distance, you still hear the clamoring of people. Your breath catches in your throat, he’s only an inch away.

Your fingers twitch and you remember the wooden horse he’d dropped.

“Um, I think this is yours,” you blurt out, handing him the carving. He’s briefly startled but then pulls away, taking it from you. “It’s lovely by the way. Where’d you get it?”

“I. . . uh. . . I made it,” he mutters, tilting his head forward. Hiding from you.

“You made it?”

He nods and steps away from you.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” you tease, pushing yourself away from the market wall. You follow him into the crowd. “You’re truly a man of many talents. . . Jack.”

“Don’t make me regret tellin’ you my name.”

“I won’t,” you answer with a hint of mischief. You eye the bags he’s holding. “Are all of those wood carvings?”

“Yea,” he says. “I bring them for my mother-in-law, she sells them along with other stuff.”

“You—” your mouth dries and you swallow around the know forming rapidly in your throat. “Wait, you told me you were single.”

“Widowed.”

He says it in a way that doesn’t allow for any follow-up questions. His voice is curt, nonchalant. Tearing your gaze away from the crowd, you stare at him, your heart squeezing in your chest. You want to hold him, whether it's a hug or just a delicate brush of your fingers. You want him to know that you're here for him.

But you just can’t.

If you two hadn’t bumped into each other, he wouldn’t have ever told you. This was a truth that was spoken due to circumstance, not something he wanted to admit and that makes you feel incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry,” is the only thing you’re able to say.

You might be imagining it, but you think he starts walking closer to you. His hand brushes your waist and pulls you close—right then you realize you were about to crash into some poor unsuspecting woman with enough goods to feed an army.

He snorts, “You really out to be more careful, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, distracted by the hand cupping your side. The woman had already disappeared into the crowd but he’s still holding you close. Heat drips down your spine.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

The question takes you by surprise but you indulge him with an answer, “Foxes.”

“Hmm,” he looks down at his bag. “Darn, I don’t think I made a fox.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” a nervous chuckle bubbles from your lips. He makes a sound and the two of you continue walking through the crowd. When you reach almost the end of the stalls, he stops you.

“Wait here,” he says. “I’ll drop these off and we can look around together.”

“O-Oh you don’t have to—”

“If today is any indication you can’t function properly without me, sunshine,” he grins. “You’ll probably headbutt a fruit stand or somethin’.”

You stand there, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaves you. Your eyes trace his figure until he stops beside a middle-aged, elegant-looking blond woman at a nearby stand. They engage in conversation, their voices carrying faintly to your ears.

They seem comfortable in each other's presence, their conversation carrying a lightness that betrays a shared history. Her smile lights up her face, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours. You feel a jolt of nervousness, your instinct urging you to avert your gaze, fearing that you may be intruding upon a private moment.

You don’t want to pry, but you would be damned if you said you weren’t hungry for more information. . . .among other things.

Soon Jack returns, the bags he carried earlier now gone. His presence draws you back to the present, grounding you in the here and now. “You ready to go?” he asks.

“Sure.”

When your eyes find the woman’s once more, she waves at the both of you. Jack tilts his hat as he places his hand protectively over the small of your back, heat seeping through the fabric of your shirt and into your skin. You stumble for a moment before waving back.

You’re not sure how to react to any of this. Seeing Jack outside of the strip club feels forbidden, in a way. Like a certain spell has been broken. Before you knew his name it was easy to pretend your growing emotions were nothing other than you enoying the attention he was giving you. But now you’re in the real world. He has his hand on your back unprompted and is willing to walk around with you at the farmer’s market. In the club, a curtain of illusion looms most of the time. It’s another world. A separate little nook where you can disappear into and be pampered in.

That spell is broken now.

He’s a real person. Your emotions are real. Everything is.

And that terrifies you.

With the heel of his palm pressed firmly against the steering wheel, Jack parks in your driveway. Your eyes drop to his lap where his legs are spread, an enticing view by any means. His belt buckle shines under the street light coming through the windshield. The soft yellow softens the edges of his face, giving him an almost somber look.

He kills the engine, you wait for him to speak but he doesn’t say anything.

“Thank you for dropping me off,” you say, breaking the silence. You unwillingly grip the latch of the door. “So,” you add.

“So,” he clears his throat, and drags a thumb down the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see you around darlin’. Today was nice.”

“Yeah. It was.”

The two of you had ended up spending time together until the sun had set. You even had dinner together which was a pleasant surprise. It wasn’t awkward then, so you have no idea why you feel so unnerved right now. It’s as if your entire vocabulary had dropped from your head.

You swallow, thinking of your next words very carefully, “Would you. . . like to come in? I have a bottle of wine.”

Time seems to slow down, every sound around you amplified. The cacophony of crickets fills the night air, a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of nearby trees. You hold your breath as the car emits a soft creak. The muscle in his jaw twitches. He seems hesitant, his eyes glazed as if looking at the horizon. You shouldn’t have asked. Just because he was friendly doesn’t mean he wants to date, or have a relationship. And from what you’ve learned today, there is a very high chance that Jack wouldn’t be interested in any form of intimacy.

“Sure,” he finally says, his voice rough. “Lead the way, sugar.”

Despite the hot summer air, your skin is ice cold. He follows you inside, his body close yet painfully far at the same time. The skin at the base of your spine tingles. You have a feeling that he wants to wrap his arms around you but it remains only a thought. Briefly you imagine the phantom feel of his limbs coiling around you, the warmth you would feel.

You quickly unlock the door and invite him inside. You’re not sure what to do now that he’s in your apartment. Hands in his pockets, he gives his surroundings a quick once-over.

“Cozy,” he says.

“Thanks,” you mumble, not sure if that was a compliment or not. “So, wine?” without waiting for an answer you head to the kitchen. Jack follows. You're desperately racking your brain for conversation topics that won't be awkward, but your mind seems determined to make your life miserable by providing no ideas.

“Today was fun,” you say, reaching for the glasses. He makes a sound of approval and your gut simmers with something unpleasant. You grab the bottle of wine from the fridge and the cork from the drawer. With a frown, you struggle with pulling out the cork. “I hope. . .” you pull at it again. “you had fun. . .” you let out a loud grunt, too distracted to realize he’s rounding the small island. “. . . too—shit!”

Jack is right behind you when the cork finally comes loose and sends your arm flying back.

Your elbow slams loudly against something hard and pointy, the pain that blossoms from skin to bone immediate. Jack lets out a shout and when you turn you see him hunched over, holding his chin.

Oh god, you’re a moron.

“What were you doing behind me!?” you chide, your voice shrill.

“I should be the one fuckin’ yellin’,” he hisses, each word bouncing against the back of his teeth. He breathes heavily through his nose and slowly stands back up. He moves his jaw as if he’s testing if it’s broken. “I was gonna offer help. It didn’t look like you were gettin’ anywhere with the bottle.”

Your chest heaves, heart pounding maniacally beneath the cage, “I’m so so so sorry,” you say quickly. “I—I wasn’t paying attention. Do you need anything? Should I get the first aid kit?”

He’s still moving his jaw when his eyes meet yours. You hear the faint clicking of bone, the sound ominous to your ears. “Sorry,” you whisper again, feeling like a parrot.

Jack’s gaze grows softer the longer he stares at you. Momentarily his eyes flutter closed. He takes a deep breath and opens them back up again. The air around you is still, the only sound not drowned by the drum of your heart is the faint traffic coming from outside. With long strides, he’s at you in an instant, his body feeling larger than life itself. His fingers gingerly brush your cheek and you swear you feel electricity crackling across the skin.

“I should be the one apologizin’. It’s my fault for sneaking up on you like that,” he sighs, turning his hand, he drags his knuckles down your face. You’re reminded of the first time he danced for you, how he wrapped his hands around your neck. “I didn’t mean to shut down like that. Of course, I had fun today. I’m glad we ran into each other.”

In order to avoid appearing desperate and insecure, you sink your teeth into the tip of your tongue, consciously refraining from uttering the question: "Really?"

“That’s good,” you say instead, hating how unsure you sound. He definitely thinks that you don’t believe him. “For a while there I felt bad. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“Okay.”

His touch feels good on your skin. You don’t ever want him to leave, at least, not for tonight. It’s odd really, you’ve been much closer than this before but this feels more intimate, more nerve-wracking. His head tilts towards the bottle, the corner’s of his mouth curling up.

“Now pour us what’s left in the bottle.”

You’re grinning now, a sound between a chuckle and a snort dropping from your lips, “Okay.”

Jack picks up the glasses of wine as you lead him to the living room. You can definitely sense an energy shift between you two. You don’t need to force yourself to fill the silence anymore. Everything is more natural, just like it was before.

“I’m just glad you didn’t get my nose,” he says as he takes a seat on the couch. “It would’ve been bad for business.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you roll your tongue. “People love a rugged handsome man with a bit of blood.”

As soon as you sit, his arm comes up to lay above the backrest. His fingers draw patterns across your skin; stars, hearts, circles. Your muscles tighten, nipples left tingling at his touch. You breathe out slowly. Jack shuffles closer and spreads his legs, his knee digging into the meat of your thigh. His thumb smooths over the stem of the wine glass. You have his full focus, gaze brimming with intrigue.

“Is that what you like?” Every word is said tantalizingly slow, you shudder. “A bit of blood.”

Not the blood, you want to say, but the thought of someone stepping in to be a shield for me.

The words don’t come however and you just stare, your cheeks warm as he continues to toy with the small hairs scattered across the back of your neck. You’re actually glad you managed not to answer. You’re not sure if he’d want to stay after hearing it. There’s just something so intoxicating about another person caring enough to want to protect you, no matter what happens. And your lizard brain just thinks it’s hot. You’re aware it’s not the strangest thing but still, you don’t think it’s the best course of action to admit this to your stripper.

Well, not your stripper. He doesn’t belong to anyone but you digress.

“Tell me whatcha thinkin’ pretty girl,” he spreads his fingers around your nape, gently squeezing the side. You practically purr at the pressure. “You should know by now that I’m good at keepin’ secrets.”

The reminder brings a rush of warmth between your legs. You squirm and bring the glass of wine to your lips, taking two large gulps. “I don’t know what I’m thinking,” you answer, swallowing at the same time. “Besides you already know what the people want, don’t pretend that you don’t.”

“I do,” he hums. “But right now I’m more interested in what you want, sugar.”

“You. . .” you furrow your brows. “What?”

Placing the wine glass on the coffee table, he leans closer. His lips are tinted from the wine. “What do you want, darlin’?” he pressed his palm flat on your thigh. “Because to me, it seems like you have an itch you just can’t seem to scratch.”

Holy freaking hell.

You’re a goner— what kind of steamy cowboy romance book did this man climb out of?

“What about you?”

Your question startles him and his fingers twitch around your thigh, “What do you mean ‘what about me’?”

“Well,” you shrug. “What do you want?”

You’re giving yourself mental pats on the back for keeping your voice leveled. The fabric of your underwear is damp with arousal, your clit throbbing and aching for his fingers. There’s a storm raging inside you. A storm that you’re glad he’s not able to witness. You keep your breathing even. Nice and slow. His hand starts sliding up your leg, stopping when he reaches the crease between your legs. He smiles.

“I want to fuck you, darlin'.”

You hold your breath, your pussy bottoming out at his deep southern drawl. He leans in, lips brushing your ear before gently nipping the hard shell. Electricity spikes up your spine, a strangled moan parting your lips.

“I want to fuck you slow,” he continues on, tongue wet and warm over your skin. “Then I want to fuck you hard. I want to look in your eyes as you come for me again, sunshine.” without warning Jack cups your sex, fingers digging into your clothed folds. Your head snaps up, every bone going rigid in your body. “Want to feel that pretty pussy chokin’ my cock.”

You’re shaking and your ears are left ringing. It’s just one touch. One touch and your entire body is locked up, aching, begging. Your jaw hurts from how hard you’re clenching your teeth. He blows a puff of air, goosebumps rising over your skin. He kisses your neck, such a gentle, fleeting feeling. All blood gathers under his lips, pounding. You swallow.

“Your turn,” he rasps, circling your clit with two fingers. “What do you want, gorgeous?”

“I—I—” you look down to where his hand is, the sight knocking the air from your lungs. He’s actually touching you, fingers deep between your legs. Sweat beads at your temple. “I want that too.”

“Hm?” he’s amused, you can tell. A tone you’d grown accustomed to that you both hate and adore. You refuse to look at him. “You like the sound of that, pretty girl? Me fucking this neglected pussy? Has a man ever made you come before, sunshine?”

You don’t want to answer but you forget that silence is an answer on its own. “What is this a questionnaire?” His eyes glimmer under the dimmed light, how can he look so delighted while taking you apart you’ll never know.

“I’m takin’ that as a no,” he tuts and sticks his bottom lip out. “Poor thing.”

You might not admit it, but that doesn’t make him any less right. You haven’t really been lucky when it came to previous sexual endeavors. None of them really made you that comfortable to just let go. There were some that came really close, and some felt good despite you not finishing—some were just downright bad at it— That’s why his dance had surprised you. He worked you up so thoroughly and that added with the thought that you’d never see him again bred the perfect ground for you to just relax.

You had no idea the end result would be him in your apartment, telling you how badly he wanted to fuck you. If this is a dream you never want to wake up from it.

His hands slide to your hip, holding you tight as he leans over. You gasp when you feel his lips, so soft, so tender. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip hungrily, not asking but demanding to be let inside. You part your lips with a feverish groan and he slips inside. You seize him by the collar, pulling him closer, wanting more of him. Your head spins as he tilts his head, shoving more of him inside you, your tongue eagerly backing down so he takes full control. He squeezes the breath out of you, swallowing your tender moans of his name.

Jack’s hand tenderly cups your cheek as he pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting you two together. You breathe heavily, your lips stinging in the best way. Your eyes flit over his face. His lips kiss swollen, chocolate eyes a shade darker. With a thumb, he tugs down your bottom lip and swallows.

“Take me to your bedroom.”

“I’ve never seen you take off your clothes so fast before.”

He snorts, “Shut up. I ain’t on the clock. You think that’s how I undress all the time? I would get nothin’ else done.”

Jack unbuckles his belt while you take in the sight of his bare torso. A shudder crawls up your spine at the sound of the metal buckle coming loose. He has a smooth chest, which you already knew but still, to have it all to yourself makes your entire mouth water.

Your eyes drop when he rips the belt away with one smooth motion. Anticipation stirs in your chest, causing your eyebrows to raise. Before you can avert your eyes, he catches your gaze, his trademark grin tugging at his mouth. Belt still in hand, he comes closer. With a gentle touch, Jack's hands grasp the fabric of your shirt. Carefully, he pulls upward, the fabric gradually lifts, revealing the tender skin beneath. You instinctively raise your arms for him and he slids it completely off, leaving you in nothing else but your bra.

He dips down, kissing the soft swell of your breasts, one by one, “Can’t do anythin’ without me,” he says with no conviction. His lips move over your skin. “My helpless sweetheart.”

You barely hear the second part of his sentence, he had uttered the words softly, just above a whisper. The words resonate in you, short-circuiting your brain and shutting out unrelated thoughts. You like this. You like him taking care of you, guiding you. His tone holds no pity, only care.

His thumb follows the lace of your bra, tongue tasting the salt of your skin. You whine as your knees weeken, his mouth has no right feeling this good. He cups them from underneath and slowly pushes the satin fabric up, calloused palm grazing your peaked nipples. He swirls his tongue around the areola then closes his lips around the hardened flesh. Your back arches, filling his mouth with more of you. He groans as he opens his mouth wider, teeth softly caressing the skin.

“Jaack,” you breathe out as you shift from one leg to the other. Your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You palm him through his jeans, feeling the weight of him. He sucks your nipple harder, pinching the other one. You want to taste him. “Let me,” you say, already going down.

Much to your surprise, he stills your movements. “No,” he groans. “Let me take care of you first.”

He pushes your arms behind you, locking your wrists together with one hand. Your breath stills when you feel the leather of his belt circling your wrists. “Can I?” he asks, breath fanning your neck.

Your stomach flips and not trusting yourself to remain upright, you brace yourself by dropping your forehead to his shoulder. Your entire body is winded. You place a small, chaste kiss over his clavicle, his chest raises with a deep inhale.

“Just promise this isn’t where you tie me up and steal my watch,” you joke, immediately regretting it when you look up to see his brows drawn together, a small snarl tracing his lips. “Sorry, that was in bad taste.”

“We don’t have to,” he says, his grip around your hands loosening. “And if we do we can stop whenever. I just. . .” he swallows thickly. Anticipation burrows into your skin. “I like the idea of you trustin’ me to make you feel good.”

“I do trust you,” you answer quickly. “And I want to. I just wasn’t aware how much I wanted it which is why I made that dumb joke.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” he answers with a crooked grin. Suddenly, he tightens the belt around you and you let out a quick gasp, his lips are on your instantly, teeth nipping at your chin. “Does this feel okay?” he asks, slightly tugging on the leather.

It’s funny how such a simple thing can alter one’s mindset. You’re almost subdued, in a way, completely at his mercy. However, you don’t feel helpless either. His heavy palms move up and down your arms, you quiver as you drip for him, wetness gathering between your folds. You’re breathing heavily, heart bellowing in your chest, loud and strong. His skin against yours feels warmer somehow.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Feels more than okay.”

You hear the smile in his voice, “Well a’right then,” he helps you towards the bed, you drop head first into the pillows, hands securely at your back. His lips brush the tender skin between your shoulder blades. “Gonna taste this sweet pussy now, sunshine. I’ve been eager for dessert.”

“God, the mouth on you,” you swallow, feeling his breath ghosting your wet core. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Not yet,” he sighs, kissing right where the curve of your ass begins. “First I gotta make you come.”

You’re in the midst of thinking of a quip to answer with when you feel it. The wet, warmth of his tongue gliding up between your folds. Your body coils and unwinds almost simultaneously. He moves his jaw, pushing his tongue deeper. He traces your entrance with a pointed tip, licking himself deeper. The sound he makes are sinful—loud in the silence of the room.

Your wrists strain against the restraint, you push back wanting more of him. He groans into you, the reverberations seeping into your cunt. You’re withering helplessly, heat coiling tight in your stomach as your insides flutter and clench around nothing. Jack parts you with two fingers, his teeth like daggers against the sensitive flesh. With a loud cry, you feel your slick dripping out of you, making a mess of his face.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, giving you another fat stroke of his tongue. His hand comes up to your asscheek, kneading the flesh playfully. You relax at the touch and drool over the pillows. It’s too much, yet not nearly enough. He circles his tongue around your throbbing clit and sucks it between his lips, you jolt at the pleasure and wiggle helplessly.

He gives you a gentle, yet firm, smack on the ass. A whimper echoes in your throat, your eyes shutting closed as your nails bite into your sweaty palms. “Settle,” he warns, voice deep and rich like molasses. “Use your words when you want something darlin’. Or else you ain’t getting it.”

You make a sound between a choke and a moan, despite your non-answer answer, he seems to understand.

“You want my fingers, sweetheart?”

You nod, another moan slipping from your lips.

He presses his lips over the heated skin and you keen at the soft touch of his mouth. “Can’t wait to be filled, hm?” he grins “You think you’re wet enough to take two, darlin’?”

The tips of his fingers press against your entrance, his touch nothing but a tease. “Yeah,” you answer, voice hoarse. He kisses your core before pushing two fingers in, they slide in easily, the sound of how et you are making you shudder.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises. “Fuckin’ soaked for her cowboy.”

He moves his fingers in and out of your slickened depths, coating them. His tongue returns to your cunt, your head left spinning as his talented tongue flicks, licks, and swirls. He moves his fingers in time with his tongue, plunging deeper into your sopping core.

Jack’s free hand roams your body, cupping your breasts as the intensity of his movements increases. His thumb brushes your hard nipple as he pulls you closer to his mouth, greedy to take more of you. Sparks of pleasure zig-zag through your body and you gasp as pleasure heaves through you.

Your hips buck as he moves his fingers faster, slipping them in then out with a maddening rhythm. His tongue slides faster and harder against your clit and you arch your back. You feel yourself clenching around his fingers, pleasure building and building until you’re a trembling mass panting for release.

Jack’s fingers fill you up to the brim, your inner walls quivering and contracting around them, eager for more. He pinches your nipples, sending shivers up your spine. You gasp and cry out as you build up towards your peak, trembling against him.

Finally, with one final thrust of his fingers and swipe of his tongue, you let out a loud moan as your orgasm rocks your entire body. Your walls weakly gripping his fingers as the pleasure spreads through your body, leaving you a boneless, exhausted mess.

He pulls his fingers from you and kisses your neck tenderly. “Oh darlin’,” his deep voice whispers into your ear before trailing kisses down your jaw. “Look at you, fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His cock lays heavy above your ass, smearing precum across your skin. You whimper, rolling your hips back, showing him what you need. His breath hitches. He meets your movements, slowly, grinding onto you.

“You want my cock?”

“Y-Yes, please,” your eyes roll as he teases you with the fat tip of his lenght. But before he fills you, a longing stirs in your chest. “Wait,” you gasp and he still in an instant, without looking at him you know his eyes are painted with worry. “I want to see you.”

“See me?” he repeats slowly, as if the words are foreign to his tongue.

“Please,” you add. “I want to touch you too.”

Swiftly, he unties you and throws the belt to the floor. Your arms drop loosely to your sides, a pleasant ache stirring in your muscles. Jack turns you side ways, your thighs offering him a velvet entrance to your tight heat. He caresses your back, his touch soothing. When your gaze meet his, there’s a slightly hesitation in them. Almost like he’s afraid of something.

“Is this alright?” he asks and you nod, reaching out to him. He sighs as your arms weakly wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

While your tongues intertwine, he enters you. Just like he promised, he does it slowly, every ridge felt by you. You tear away from him with a gasp, you’re overwhelmed by the size of him, stretching your sensitive cunt perfectly. When he’s buried himself in your completey, he pulls out in an equally slow manner. Your jaw drops wide, your walls trembling at the slow guide. The inside of your thighs shake. With only the tip inside, he pushes forward, slowly. Your nails bite into his back, tension coiling in your stomach as he presses his lips against yours once more.

“So warm,” he groans, eyes staring deep into yours. “Fuckin’ pussy was made for me.”

“Yes,” you cry out, holding him closer. “Made for you, Jack. Made for your cock.”

His hips stutter and your eyes go wide, a gutteral moan tainting your lips. “Please,” you beg. “Please, please, please—”

“Please. . . what, darlin’?” his lips brush your teary eyelids.

“Fuck me,” you whisper. “I-It’s too much, please just fuck me. Stop teasing.”

“Alright, sugar. I won’t.”

There’s a small window of clarity where the softness of his voice catches you off guard, but that feeling is quickly replaced by the overwhelming strike of pleasure hitting your spine. His demeanour completely changes. Slow and sensual grind of his hips becoming fast and merciless, he snaps into you, length gliding against a spot you can barely reach with your fingers. He breathes into your neck. Your mind is in a complete haze, the four walls around you dssapearing from existence.

You yelp when he flips you over to your back, spreading your trembling legs wide, his thumb falls on your clit and he begins to draw fast, precise circles around the bundle of nerves. You scream his name, pulsing around him as he fucks you deeper, harder until you’re coming undone around him once again.

You squeeze him tight before gushing around him, your back arching almost painfully with his continued thrusts. Pleasure rolls over your body in the form of tidal waves, and just as you’re coming down from your high, he pulls out, spilling over your stomach.

You look at him blearily, eyes barely able to focus on the heavy way his chest moves. He breathes heavily, the muscles that surround his stomach tense. Before you can utter a word, Jack dips down, claiming your lips in a heady kiss that you can only describe as a finality.

Jack parts away and hops off of the bed.

Your eyes widen, confusion swirling in them. Why is he getting dressed? You’re still within a heavy haze of pleasure, your surroundings feeling disoriented and dreamlike. With a weak hand, you reach towards him, hoping the action will convey to him not to go.

Jack already has one leg shoved into his pants when he sees you. Helpless. Needy. Your heart suddenly feels too big for your chest, tears build in your eyes. He hasn’t said anything yet, but you know. You just do.

He’s quick to clamber over to you, dropping to his knees and taking your hand into his own before dragging damp lips over your knuckles. Your chest heaves. You don’t want him to go.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice choked. “I can’t stay.”

“Why?”

He ignores your question, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stop by the club either, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap. He stiffens at your tongue, shoulders raising. He still has your hand enclosed in his. Your eyes sting. “I thought. . . I thought you liked me. . .”

You hate the way your voice cracks. You hate seeing the remorse in his eyes. You hate how tortured he looks, as if you’re the one hurting him.

“This ain’t gonna work out. Whatever it is.”

“Then why even come here? Why even. . .” you viciously pull your hand back, startling him. He stands as you straighten, leaning against the bed rest. You reek of sweat and sex. Marks of him, all of it, on you, on the bed, on the pillows. You cross your arms over your chest, refusing to pull up a blanket over your naked body. Refusing to be ashamed.

It doesn’t matter. Embarrassment sears your skin.

He doesn’t answer and you realize. Your heart lurches, your stomach dropping and churning uncomfortably. You can’t breathe—fuck, you can’t breathe.

“This was a goodbye,” you say coldly, the next words you whisper, broken. “That’s why you were distracted in the kitchen. You knew this was going to be a one-time thing.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, surprising you, “I thought somewhere along the way you would’ve figured that out too,” he snarls. “Wans’t it obvious from the start this couldn’t go anywhere?”

“It wasn’t obvious to me!” your hands drop from your chest and you’re crawling off the bed to meet him halfway. Just as you’re stepping down, your knees gave way beneath you, still weak. Jack takes a step forward and catches you, one arm securely wrapped around your torso. You push him away. “Fuck you—stop being nice to me!”

“Fuck me?” he repeats, bewildered. “Fuck you! I was just tryin’ to help.”

“Oh please, you were just helping yourself,” you hiss between gritted teeth. “Spare me any favors!”

Silence falls, the air still crackling with tension. You breathe heavily. Both your gazes remain locked on one another, both of you refusing to step down. You feel like a wounded animal, trying to bite back after being kicked.

“Just because someone does the bare minimum,” he says slowly, pulling up his pants. “Don’t mean their kind. I’m not the type of person you think I am, I’m just savin’ you the trouble of figuring it out yourself.”

He shakes his head, tormented.

“I’m sorry whoever it was who hurt you. I’m sorry they made you believe that every person is a shithead that’ll treat you like crap—but that just ain’t true. They are better people out there,” he sighs and pulls his shirt over his head. “I hate the way you look at me.”

“I look at you the same way I look at everyone else.”

“No, you don’t,” he smiles and all oxygen leaves your lungs. It’s a broken smile, the corners of his lips twitch. “You look at me like I’m more than I am. I can’t handle it. Not again.”

Not again.

What does that mean? What happened? What’s again?

The face of the elderly blond woman you barely saw flashes before your eyes. His mother-in-law. You shrink under his gaze, guilt, and regret coursing through your veins. You didn’t ask him how she died. He didn’t let you as and you figured he’d tell you when the time was right.

Now it looks like such a time won’t ever come.

“I’m sorry,” he says for how many times you lost count. His voice cracks. “This is the best for you, I promise, sunshine.”

He leaves and you break.

The way he said sunshine. . . it echoes in the loud emptiness of your bedroom.

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female!reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #kingsman the golden circle #stripper!jack

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ao3commentoftheday · 4 months

Text

in a very strange way, coding ao3 site skins has become therapeutic for me?

all that to say - I kinda feel like making something vibe-y. Maybe with gradients? Or shades of the same colour? Or a colour palette instead of an image?

my thoughts are too vague. tumblr - what kind of site skin should I hit my head against next?

#gonna make dinner and see if that shakes anything loose in my brain #but request away #I need some guidance here lol

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crezz-star · 6 months

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I can't help but wonder about your One Piece OC! I know you've mentioned that he's a mature person in the crew, but do you see him as more of a sibling/parental role to Luffy, or is he part of the shenanigans with usopp/chopper/luffy, or is he like tired uncle like Jinbei (or secretly amused like zoro) ? I am eager to hear about where he meshes in with crew especially luffy

I also can't help but wonder if our first mate gets jealous of him often. You mentioned that you do, but I think about like what if some days luffy just misses Ace, and luff will stare at Jean a lot more sometimes or just hover around him just to relive being with his brother *cries*

✨Kira kira yoho!✨

Hello!

Ahhh!! Im so happy and excited every time I get question about my OCs (❤´艸｀❤) Thank you for taking interest and being curious about Jean!

To answer. He is more of big brother type. Not just to Luffy but to everyone. Even the older mature straw hats. Jean just have so much love to give, growing up not knowing much about the world, isolated and thinking himself to be a slave until death. It really is Luffy and the strawhats who saved him and his fellow slaves so, he's enthusiastic in showing them how much he cares for them. how thankful he is to them for saving him, and along with that, his life. So he spoils everyone like this cool doting brother.

I'm actually planning to make one paged comic series ( kind of like 4 koma? ) in his interactions with the strawhats. As well as discovering more of the world. little sneak peek with Sanji ( ignore the cross. i changed that to a locket )

Here, Jean becomes the big brother Sanji dreamed and should have had. At first it annoys Sanji to no end even saying stuff like " gross, dont touch me. its weird! " but Jean is so gentle towards the crew, even helping Sanji wash the dishes, even cleaning the kitchen at night to surprise Sanji that eventually, Sanji accepts Jean. And finally allows himself to be spoiled. Even bringing out that side of Sanji that longs for a caring brother. One he only dreamed back then.

Jean has that ability to let everyone's hidden side of wanting to be spoiled and Jean is all to happy to do so. He is just so happy to be there with everyone. That he never really asks for anything in return.

--------------

As for Zoro being made Jealous by Jean. Yes he does that. but there is a moment only the three of them knows. Its when Luffy gets nightmares about Ace every now and then. most of the time he can deal with it, but there are times he's so shaken. When Jean wasn't around yet, it's Zoro trying to calm him down. But when jean arrived, the three of them found out that, despite being freaked out by jean and Ace looking alike, Jean helps Luffy calm down due to his voice being exactly like Ace's. Along with it, Jean's hugs is just one of the best. Even beating hugs from Jinbei. There's a strange therapeutic effect.

Here is a comic I doodled quickly just now to show that.

I still wanted to emphasize the eerie feeling from Jean and Ace's similarities are so the comic ended up a bit off. (laughs) please forgive me!

Every time this happens, Luffy does apologize to Jean for asking him to 'talk' like Ace. He knows it's wrong, but honestly, Jean would do anything to calm Luffy. and He knows Luffy doesn't mean it and that he's just suffering, So Jean is very patient with him and never really feels offended at all.

And that is all the answers I have!

Thank you for being interested in Jean!! 💖💖

✨Have a sparkling day!✨

#zolu #ゾロル #portgas d ace #one piece #one piece oc #kureask

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moondustpugh · 1 month

Note

hey darling, how are you? You asked to leave requests in your inbox, so I'm doing that, even though I think this request is stupid

Well, would I like to ask for something where the reader and Kenji have a strange friendship? compliments and curses, maybe they are always fighting with each other but just for fun, but other people don't know, so one time Aaron sees kenji offending the reader and threatens kenji? and another scenario is where the reader is crying and Aaron hugs her and consoles her

Thanks!!

Inside Jokes and Bowling Alleys

Aaron Warner x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Kenji were always comfortable with each other and calling each other mean names all the time playfully. However, Aaron just doesn't get that.

Author's Note: This request was sooo much fun! Thank you!

Disclaimer: 18+, smutty-ish

Wordcount: 4.5K

The night sky was clear tonight. The stars twinkled in the sky and the cold night breeze greeted you and Kenji as you both walked out of the restaurant. You both were having your usual Friday night dinner. It has become a tradition for the both of you. It was something that you two found therapeutic because you could talk about anything with each other. Not that Aaron and Nazeera didn’t understand you both, it was just that you both tend to match each other’s energy.

“You’re such a bitch!” Kenji laughed, pushing you lightly by your arm.

“I’m the bitch?” Your eyes widened, a fake gasp escaping your lips. “Weren’t you just scared of the little horror movie we watched earlier?”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re such a bitch for teasing me about it.” Kenji rolled his eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing through the dark empty streets. You knew if anyone would hear the little mean nicknames that you two gave each other, people would probably think of something else. Though, this was a normal conversation between you and Kenji. You both knew you cared and loved each other and was just comfortable enough to be playfully mean.

“I don’t know how Nazeera deals with your scaredy ass.” You added.

“Hey! Don’t bring my girl into this.” Kenji’s voice got defensive. “I’ll have you know, Nazeera loves me for me.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the sentence that he just told you. Kenji dropped his jaw as if he was hurt by your reaction and paused in his tracks, his eyes widened and brows raised.

“I’m sure Warner got his hands full.” Kenji joked as you playfully pushed him towards the wall.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath as he laughed.

“Yeah?” Kenji picked you up, threw you over his shoulder and spun you around as you let out a shriek.

“Kenji! Put me down!” You exclaimed as Kenji laughed.

You kicked your feet up in the air as you reached your hand to slap his ass, making him let out a small squeal. You laughed at his reaction as you kept kicking your feet and wiggling your body to start sliding off from his grip. He finally set you back down as the both of you started playfully air punching each other. Kenji wrapped his arm around your neck as you laughed and tried to kick him on the leg.

“C’mon, Princess. Show me your strength.” Kenji chuckled, his arm not letting go of you. “I thought Warner has been training you at the gym, hm?”

You started slapping Kenji on the stomach, coughing out air as you gave him a signal that you actually couldn’t breathe.

“Kenj—” You breathed heavily as he finally let go of you.

“Oh, shit! Are you okay?” His eyes widened, eyes full of worry.

You laughed and nudged him on the stomach. “Ha! Gotcha!”

Kenji stood there with his mouth open, stunned at the little prank that you just did to him. His hands started reaching for you, while you slowly took a step back, shaking your head.

“Uh uh.” You said. “No.”

“Come here.” Kenji’s voice was soft, his hand still reaching for you. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, that’s a trustworthy sentence.” You laughed, your feet still backing up from him.

Then, Kenji started running towards you. A loud shriek escaped from you as you turned and started running away from him. Your laughter echoed the empty streets as Kenji kept calling out your name.

“You’re such a cheater, Princess!” He exclaimed.

Stopping at the corner of the sidewalk, you panted and set your palm on your knees, hunching down as you tried to catch your breath. Finally catching up to you, Kenji set his hands on his hips, throwing his head back as he also tried to catch his breath.

“Damn, Princess. Warner really has been training you at the gym. You’re fast.”

You laughed, gazing up at him before finally straightening your body. “Yeah, well, you gotta catch up with your training too.”

Kenji wrapped an arm around your shoulders as the both of you continued walking down the street. The rest of the walk home was calm. You both had stopped teasing each other and finally had some normal conversation without one of you being sarcastic. As you arrived at your front door, you saw Aaron immediately walk out of the front porch and waited for you as you said goodbye to Kenji.

“We should go bowling next time or something.” Kenji suggested, his eyes shifted at Aaron behind you from a distance. “Bring Mr. Asshole over there.”

You furrowed your brows, lightly slapping him on the arm. “Don’t be like that. You don’t see me calling Nazeera names.”

“That’s because Nazeera is perfect.” Kenji argued.

“Yeah, whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “Bring Ms. Perfect too then and we could compete.”

“Deal.” Kenji smiled, pulling you into an embrace. “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, idiot.” You chuckled and waved goodbye to your best friend.

Excitedly walking towards your boyfriend, Aaron immediately smiled at you and took you in his arms, pulling you inside the house.

“Hi, love.” He kissed you softly. “How was your night?”

“Good.” You smiled.

Aaron closed the door behind him before pulling you into his arms again, nuzzling your neck and a soft hum escaped his lips. He trailed kisses down your neck as you smiled and ran your fingers through his golden hair.

“Missed you.” He murmured through your skin as breathed in your scent.

“I missed you too.” You smiled, cupping his face and lifting it up to stare at him.

His dimples slowly appeared on his cheeks as he grinned at you. Leaning down, he kissed you softly and scooped you up in his arms, carrying you down the hall towards the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, setting your head on his shoulder before your lips started trailing down his neck. You felt Aaron’s gripped under your thighs tightened, a whine caught in his throat.

“Love, you make me crazy, you know that?” He whispered as he set you back down.

“Hmm…” You smiled, cupping his face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Aaron smiled, leaning down to kiss you. He quickly parted from the kiss and walked towards the bathroom. You furrowed your brows as you heard the water start running. You already knew what he was planning as he walked back into the room.

“Aaron—!” You squealed as he laughed softly, scooping you up in his arms.

You kicked your legs in the air as Aaron chuckled softly, setting you down as soon as you both entered the bathroom. Aaron pressed his body against yours as he tugged on your sweater.

“My beautiful love.” He whispered.

“I love you.” You murmured, kissing him softly.

He pulled your sweater over your head and leaned down to kiss your collarbone. You could never get tired of him. Every time you felt his kisses and touch on your body, it always brought you back to life. It was like electricity that made you feel so alive.

“Aaron.” You gasped.

Your hands clutched on his shirt as you pulled him even more close to you. He pinned you against the wall, his hands sliding down under your thighs. He holsted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Aaron whispered, biting your bottom lip softly.

A soft moan escaped from your lips as he led you towards the bathtub. As you both took each other’s clothes off, Aaron helped you settle inside the bathtub. The soap was foaming on the water as Aaron leaned back against the tub, pulling you close to his chest. You leaned your back against him and closed your eyes, feeling the peace that was blanketing around you. His hands softly stroked your hair and his lips pressed feather like kisses on your bare shoulder.

“You spend too much time with Kishimoto, love.” He murmured.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly and looked over your shoulder to stare at him. You raised your brow at him and gave him a playful smile.

“Don’t be jealous.” You said. “Kenji is my best friend.”

“I’m not jealous.” Aaron retorted. “I don’t know how Nazeera handles him, honestly. I feel bad for her.”

You let out a laugh as you laid your head on his shoulder. Aaron leaned his cheek against your head, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead. If you could stay like this with him forever, you would.

“Actually,” You said, lifting your head and gazing up at him. “Kenji and I were thinking that we should go bowling. Me, him, you, and Nazeera.”

Aaron’s eyes went dim as he gazed down at you, brows raised at the idea you suggested. You could see the disapproval look on his face that immediately washed over him. It wasn’t that Aaron hated bowling. It was the fact that he had to spend time with Kenji, and you could see that idea spinning in his mind at the moment. You always wanted those two men to get along but for some reason, they just couldn’t seem to no matter what you did. You didn’t understand because you and Nazeera were getting along just fine.

“Please?” You pouted, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Aaron threw his head back and said, “Fine. I know I’ll beat Kishimoto in bowling anyway.”

“Hm…” You nuzzled your face on his neck. “You’d look hot bowling, honestly. I’ll enjoy my night so much.”

Aaron smiled, setting his index finger under your chin and lifted your head to kiss you softly. This time, his kiss was so soft and gentle. Something like he wanted to study and enjoy this time with you. You love Aaron so much, and you know he has a hard time making friends. Even when he grew up knowing Nazeera and her brother, he felt like they were never that close. Nazeera would argue otherwise. She had told you that they always played together as kids whenever her parents would come over or when Aaron was dragged by his parents to Nazeera’s house. Aaron never thought they were friends because they only knew each other through their parents doing business together. Besides, Aaron never liked talking about his childhood.

It was dark.

Never happy.

He liked to push that thought away, especially when the subject of his father came up. Ever since you started dating Aaron, he never got along with Kenji. He always was irritated by him, and he never understood how the two of you got along. Overtime, he just started accepting your friendship with Kenji. Tolerate it, most of the time. Although you knew that deep inside, Aaron didn’t dislike Kenji like that. He saw Kenji’s intelligence and cared for you. Aaron, at least, was grateful for that.

So, when the weekend came, you found yourself with Aaron at the bowling alley. You both waited for Kenji and Nazeera to arrive as you rented yourself a pair of bowling shoes.

“Love, no.” Aaron shook his head, giving the boy from behind the counter the shoes back.

He took out two pairs of bowling shoes from his bag and gave you one that was just about your size. You held the pair of shoes, stunned as you stared at him.

“Of course, you would.”

You heard Nazeera’s voice as she walked towards the both of you. Kenji was walking right behind her, and she looked like she wasn’t even remotely surprised that Aaron brought his own pair of bowling shoes.

“Do you know they don’t disinfect that properly?” Aaron argued, taking out two more shoes.

Nazeera rolled her eyes at Aaron as she pulled you into a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you? I’ve missed you.”

“I know. Things have just been busy.” Nazeera smiled.

“I hope your brother isn’t still annoying you.” Aaron interrupted.

Immediately, Nazeera’s attention turned to him as you let them have their own conversation. Kenji walked towards you and nudged you on the side. His eyes shifted towards the pair of bowling shoes that you were holding.

“Your boyfriend is insane.” Kenji said.

“I heard that.” Aaron turned to face the both of you as he threw the shoes at Kenji. “You’re welcome.”

“I think I can handle renting my own shoes.” He handed the bowling shoes back to Aaron.

You and Nazeera immediately gave each other a look. They only just arrived at the place, and they were arguing already. You just hoped no bowling balls would be flying across the room later on, especially that both of them could be so competitive.

“Suit yourself, Kishimoto. Enjoy the germs.” Aaron shoved the shoes back inside his bag, but you reached for his hand.

“Kenji, stop.” You said, taking the shoes from Aaron’s hands. “Just take the shoes.”

“Fine, Princess.” Kenji rolled his eyes, taking the shoes from you.

You smiled at your best friend as Aaron handed Nazeera a pair also. Sitting on the bench, you started untying your sneakers and froze when you saw Aaron knelt down in front of you.

“Here, love.”

He gently took your hand and took the bowling shoes from you. He slid your sneakers from your feet and replaced them with the bowling shoes. You couldn’t help but stare at him in awe. He was so sweet. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks as he held out his hand and helped you up. Nazeera told the boy from behind the counter that you all were doing three games as Aaron went to pay for it.

“You’re so spoiled.” Kenji whispered to you, bumping his arm with yours as you all walked towards one of the bowling lanes.

“You’re so spoiled.” You mocked him, pushing him by the arm. “You should be spoiling Nazeera. Instead, she spoils you.”

Kenji mocked you by mouthing the words you just told him as you pushed him away from you, laughing.

“You’re so annoying and such an ass.” You told Kenji.

Nazeera and Aaron already started picking out their bowling balls and setting up the game, while you and Kenji kept teasing each other and pushing each other like two little kids in the park.

“I will beat you and Warner.” Kenji held up his index and middle finger and repeatedly pointed at his eyes and you, gesturing that he was watching every move you would be making.

“We’ll see about that. My boyfriend is pretty trained in these things.”

Kenji huffed out a loud “Ha!” as he shook his head and said, “This is not the gym.”

“Kishimoto!” Aaron called out. “Are you gonna be all talk or you will actually play?”

Kenji gave Aaron a death glare as you chuckled softly and Aaron pulled you in his lap. You watched as Kenji stared at the different bowling balls in front of him and picked one of them up and then set them down once he realized it was too heavy for him. Then, he picked another one up and set it down again. You couldn’t help but giggled softly as Aaron buried his face on your shoulder, shaking his head.

“We’re gonna be here all night.” Aaron murmured through the fabric of your sweater.

You laughed softly, leaning your back against him as you patted his cheek softly.

“I’m here.” You smiled, looking over your shoulder. “I can be your distraction then.”

Aaron let out a soft hum before leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the lips.

“Hey! No, no.” Kenji pointed his index finger at the both of you. “Don’t be doing that shit in front of me.”

You heard as Nazeera sighed behind him, shaking her head. “Just play already!”

Kenji turned to give Nazeera a look before finally picking up a ball and throwing it on the lane in front of him. Immediately, you heard Aaron chuckled and buried his face on your shoulder again. His shoulders were shaking from the laughter that he was trying to hold in. The bowling ball that Kenji threw immediately went towards the gutter and didn’t hit any pins. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing.

“That’s not fair!” Kenji turned to the both of you. “I was distracted!”

Nazeera shook her head and rolled her eyes as Kenji picked up the ball again and this time it hit two pins from the corner before going into the gutter completely. You turned your body to bury your face on Aaron’s neck as he pursed his lips and held you close.

“I see you, Princess!” Kenji called out. “Stop laughing at me. It’s just the first round.”

Lifting your face from Aaron’s neck, it was all flushed as you nodded your head at him and held in your smile. Nazeera was next and she immediately hit a perfect strike, making Kenji’s jaw drop on the floor.

“How—” Kenji stared at his girlfriend in awe as she gave him a proud smile.

You got up from Aaron’s lap and sat on the sofa as you watched him pick up the bowling ball. You could already see Kenji rolling his eyes from the corner of your eye. He made a perfect strike as Kenji threw his head back and groaned softly. You couldn’t help but grin widely at your boyfriend as he walked towards you and leaned down to give you a kiss.

“You got this, love.” He whispered before squeezing your waist softly.

Picking up the bowling ball, you threw it towards the lane and hit about half of the pins. You heard Nazeera cheered behind you and when you turned to look at Aaron, he had a proud grin on his face. You threw the bowling ball again and you got a spare.

“Yes!” You fist pumped the air as you skipped towards Aaron.

“Exactly what I thought.” Aaron murmured, kissing your hair softly and pulled you into his lap again.

As Kenji took his turn, he was able to finally hit a good spare, but he was still struggling throughout the night. Nazeera started ordering drinks from the bar and the alcohol was starting to hit Kenji hard. Nazeera had to literally calm him down because he was starting to get so competitive, especially with Aaron.

“Kenji, it’s okay.” You said as he flopped down on the sofa. “We have one more game and you’ll be able to practice more.”

“I don’t need practice.” He said.

You could tell his pride was starting to go up as Nazeera chuckled softly, squeezing his hand in hers. Aaron gave you a small secret smile as he walked back to you after taking his turn. He just hit another strike, and Kenji wasn’t having it. You got up from where you were sitting and took your turn, hitting a strike.

“Princess, I know you’re cheating.” Kenji teased.

You laughed and walked towards him. “I’m not cheating.”

Kenji had a playful smile on his face as he clapped his hands and got up from his seat. Unfortunately for him, you and Aaron won this round. Nazeera, on the other hand, was just peacefully sitting and would whisper little jokes to you about how she bet Kenji would cry later tonight if he didn’t win this round.

“Okay, one more game.” Kenji called as he set up the names on the screen again.

Nazeera got up from her seat and ordered herself another drink, while you heard Aaron let out a deep sigh, burying his face on your neck. You smiled and watched Kenji’s determined expression as he looked over his shoulder and saw the smirk on your face.

“Just watch, Princess.” He said.

You raised your brows and nodded your head as if you were agreeing with whatever crazy idea he was having in his mind. After Nazeera came back with some drinks, you leaned back on your seat and watched as Kenji took his turn. This time, his determination was truly starting to pay off because he started getting better throughout the third game. It got to the point where he and Aaron started competing with each other.

“If we leave, I’m sure they won’t even notice.” Nazeera whispered to you.

“Honestly, I’m starting to suggest the same thing that maybe you and I should just leave any minute.” You whispered back as you and Nazeera laughed

Towards the end of the game, both Kenji and Aaron were tied and for some reason, your score was a lot higher than the both of them. Nazeera was just tired to the point where she didn’t care anymore. The alcohol that was running in Kenji’s blood was making him more competitive. You have been teasing him all night, and he kept rolling his eyes, which amused Aaron and Nazeera.

“Princess, I swear, I don’t know how you’re so good at cheating.” Kenji picked up the ball.

“I’m not cheating. Don’t be a sore loser, Kenji.” You joked.

“Watch.” Kenji threw the ball and immediately hit a strike as he threw his fists in the air. “Ah! See!”

You shook your head and at this point, Nazeera was just sliding in her seat in embarrassment as she drank the rest of her alcohol. Aaron had wrapped his arm around your shoulder and yawned softly. All of you were getting a bit tired, and Kenji was the only one who still had some energy in him. After throwing the ball for the second round, Kenji hit another strike, which made his score higher and beat everyone in the game.

“Oh good.” Aaron got up from his seat. “We can finally go home.”

You clapped your hands, laughing as you walked towards him. You lightly punched Kenji on the arm as he wrapped an arm around your neck and pulled you against him.

“Who are you calling a bitch now, huh?” Kenji said. “Not me.”

“Alright, alright.” You shrugged, slipping his arm away from you. “I mean… you still kinda are.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Kenji pointed his index finger at you as you rolled your eyes and chuckled.

“What did you just say to her?” Aaron suddenly appeared behind you.

You looked over your shoulder and saw the anger that was washing over Aaron. His eyes were giving Kenji a death glare

“Aaron, it’s fine.” You reassured him as you held onto his forearm.

“No, it’s not, love.” He gazed down at you before looking back at Kenji. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

Aaron took a step forward as you tried to stop him. “Aaron, no. It’s fine.”

“Hey, man.” Kenji held up his hands in the air. “We were just kidding.”

You could see the fear in Kenji’s eyes as Nazeera joined the three of you. She intertwined her fingers with his as she looked at Aaron with big eyes.

“Aaron, calm down.” Nazeera said. “He was just kidding.”

“It doesn’t matter if he was kidding,” Aaron looked at Nazeera before looking back at Kenji with his wild emerald eyes. “You don’t talk to her like that!”

You saw how Aaron really took this seriously as you set a palm on his chest. He was breathing heavily as you squeezed his forearm.

“Aaron, look at me.” You said, trying to calm him down but it was no use.

“I will rip your head off your body if you talk to her like that again.”

You looked over your shoulder and glanced at Nazeera, who was also holding Kenji back.

“Nazeera, get him out of here for a minute. I’ll see you outside.” You stated.

Just like that, Nazeera took Kenji’s hand and tugged on it. For a moment, Kenji was still staring at Aaron before he finally squeezed Nazeera’s hand and walked out with her. You let out a sigh as Aaron let go of you from his arms. You watched as he sat back down and shook his head. You could see the anger inside him slowly fading away as soon as Kenji was out of sight.

You stood in front of Aaron as he gazed up at you, his green eyes looked tired and crestfallen as he saw you staring at him. He got up from his seat and cupped your face in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured. “I’m sorry for making a scene.”

“It’s okay.” You slid your hands and gripped his wrists gently. “Aaron, that’s just how Kenji and I talk to each other. I know he didn’t mean it.”

“I just…” Aaron exhaled a sharp breath. “I hate seeing other people talk to you like that. They shouldn’t be talking to you like that, love.”

“I know but seriously, this is a normal thing about me and Kenji. We’re just comfortable.”

“Too comfortable.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you. He gave you a small soft smile, his nose grazing softly on yours. He let out a soft hum before pressing his lips on yours, kissing you so softly. You smiled through the kiss as you ran your fingers through his golden hair.

“C’mon. They’re waiting outside.” You murmured as you parted from the kiss.

Aaron threw his head back in frustration as you intertwined your fingers with his and dragged him out of the bowling place. In the parking lot, you found Nazeera and Kenji talking to each other by Kenji’s car. As soon as they saw the both of you, Kenji immediately crossed his arms in front of his chest, his brows all furrowed and he looked irritated. You glanced up at Aaron, giving him a look as he let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Aaron said, his voice was cold.

“For?” Kenji raised his brows, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“For telling you that I will rip your head out of your body.” Aaron’s grip on your waist tightened as you held in your chuckle.

Nazeera, on the other hand, couldn’t help but let out a snort as soon as Aaron said those words. You pursed your lips as you softly rubbed Aaron’s back, comforting him.

“Water under the bridge.” Kenji replied.

“Well,” Nazeera clapped her hands. “This was fun. We should do it again. Although, I don’t think we should drink next time.”

“I didn’t.” Aaron argued.

Nazeera tilted her head at him before shaking her head. She said her goodbye to you, pulling you into a hug and whispered, “Next time, it’s just going to be us girls.”

You laughed softly, nodding your head as you embraced her before giving Kenji a look and giving him a hug goodbye. As soon as Kenji and Nazeera drove off, Aaron turned you around to face him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Let’s go home?” You asked.

“Why don’t we get ice cream first?” Aaron suggested.

“Hm… Ice cream sounds good. It will cool off that head of yours.” You teased, patting the back of his head.

Aaron chuckled softly, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Ice cream it is then.” He murmured, opening the passenger door for you.

The End.

***********

@gracie-221 @his-littlefox @annamatix @hannahmarie71 @ecliphttlunar @indythefandomhoarder @reminiscentreader @hrtsbecca @soulaires @shattermelyhfmlblog @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove

#Aaron Warner #Aaron Warner x Reader #Aaron Warner x You #Aaron Warner x Fem!Reader #Aaron Warner Fics #Aaron Warner Fanfics #Aaron Warner Imagines #Shatter Me #Shatter Me Fics #Shatter Me Fanfics #Kenji Kishimoto #Kenji Kishimoto x You #Kenji Kishimoto x Reader #Kenji Kishimoto x Fem!Reader #Nazeera Ibrahim #Kenji Kishimoto Fics #Nazeera Ibrahim x Reader #blairrwaldorfs #one shots

127 notes · View notes

eluxcastar · 5 months

Note

idk if we're meant to req this way but Pantalone Dottore and Capitano (separate) with #6?? please we're starving out here ri

Opening up to their s/o

── ୨୧：pantalone, il dottore, il capitano x reader (separate)

୨୧﹑synopsis :: more of this prompt more comfort drabbles spins

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff but I would maybe not call it straight fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, literally none of these people effectively communicate, kinda vague on purpose

୨୧﹑words :: 1.3k

Opening up for the first time.

is nobody feeding you?? I mean I know I've been slow but anon honey are you ok 😭

sorry this has taken so long as I said medical issues I swear I'm back to not starve you I've been thinking of this since I received it actually because you said you're starving. to everyone else, I'm getting off my ass

prompt list

── ୨୧：pantalone

Pantalone is not typically emotional. He is prone to fronts and lies, and he is not enthusiastic about the idea of sharing his feelings with you. It's not in his nature to be emotional, though Pantalone feigns such things and uses it to hide things from you. Playful with you each time you question him, he'll evade it and convince you, to his satisfaction, that everything is fine.

You hardly believe him, as is the case with many of the things he says. His well-crafted exterior hardly masks his stress once caught off guard, crushed under the pressure of maintaining the image of a well-groomed and high-class businessman.

The people he associates with disgust him, as do their actions and worldviews. They were raised in a world of glamour and decadence where he's belittled, new money in a sea of people living off of old money. It never seems to get to Pantalone until it does; the outbursts of anger are what follow. It's fine, he always says. He just needed a moment.

But nothing will ever be enough, he realises, your arms so inviting as you stand by the chair at his desk, running your hands through his hair, only a month after you made it official you were dating. Pantalone's poker face was pretty while it lasted, but his messier sides were always lurking just around the corner. To hold his head in your arms and console him through his pent-up anger is therapeutic to him, a labour of love for you.

His composure is fragile at times as he dances on the occasionally very thin line between put together and on the verge of smashing his wine glass in frustration right in front of an acquaintance. It's certainly not pretty, and he makes his fingers hurt at times from how hard he fights to refrain from doing it, but it keeps the very thing he works so hard for—his reputation.

Pantalone got so far, but it still amounts to nothing, even when he's the wealthiest man in the world. Nothing matters in the face of a reputation lingering, a poor man pretending to be rich, new money already too big for his britches. You don't care about his reputation, and you're not caught up in appearances. He likes that.

He likes how you laugh as you tell him that's junk, rich people crap, aristocratic bullshit. It feels comforting, like home to laugh his problems off as the pettiness of others. It's nice to let go of such a serious outlook.

── ୨୧：il dottore

Dottore's idea of sharing with you very much involves deflecting, avoiding and dancing around the many problems in his life, not eager to rely on a person when he could solve the issue himself. If you never need to know, you never start worrying and never dwell on it. He never has to face the problem properly.

For small things, that doesn't seem so strange. Dottore can quickly move on without them bothering him too much because that's the natural way of dealing with minor inconveniences, short of being ironically dramatic. Something goes wrong, and he can solve it within fifteen minutes. It's like water off a duck's back. Other times, Dottore will wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and his greatest worry is how to make sure he doesn't wake you up as he slips out of bed.

No matter how often you tell Dottore to tell you what's wrong, he tries to assure you it's nothing, insignificant or a temporary setback. It's not that, as evidenced by his troubled face. It doesn't shake his lies. He'll run off and try to fix it all himself just as he always has, previously stemming entirely from the fact he had to, now purely by habit. If it ain't broke, don't fix it (it's broke).

So to hear him open up is…strange, though you are used to long-winded rambles reminiscent of a raving madman. He talks quickly sometimes and expects you to follow to the best of your abilities. Whether you can or not is another question. It is different, tired and spent from a day of hard work, hands raking through his messy blue hair as words fall from his lips as quickly as they enter his mind, barely coherent sentences of every inconvenience big and small he faced.

In a way, he hopes it's so hurried and jumbled you'll hardly catch half of it, though you sit by his side and debate between rubbing his back and not startling him with the sudden touch. It feels like the release of every little thing he bottled up overflows, and he doesn't want to speak once he settles, quiet. He looks at you with such exhaustion in his eyes, and you touch your hands to his face with as much caution as you can muster. He lets out a sigh the closest filled with the closest to relief he can get.

It is not perfect; he is an imperfect man. But it is his first step, and he can be nurtured.

── ୨୧：il capitano

Capitano doesn't intentionally hide things at a glance. He's usually very open with what he says, but some things slip his mind, and he's hardly keen on speaking from an emotional standpoint. Everything is objective, a piece of news and not a conversation about what happened. Someone fell down a ravine. What happened? They died. And his reaction? It happens all the time.

Objectively, that measure is correct, but it ignores the fact that people are people. He never wants to acknowledge being part of something because Capitano can tell you things without needing to. You notice it but avoid bringing it up, wondering maybe if that's just how he copes with it all. The years of death and bloodshed will weigh down on him, but if he doesn't bring it up to you, he'll have a reprieve to retreat to.

It's not good enough, but people never are. Everyone has their vice, and perhaps Capitano's vice is separating himself from who he is in battle once he returns home.

He never had a single point at which everything came crashing down, and the world felt bleak, but a series of small moments where Capitano let it slip that he mourned each loss with unimaginable care. Capitano remembers their names and keeps items to memorialise them. Somehow, that's not unthinkable with the way he keeps his regiment running like a well-oiled machine, every person there to better it in some way. He picked those people by hand.

Capitano paces when he thinks. He paces more than usual around the room in circles on a particularly rough night. He suffered a great setback, as it was put. You try everything you can think of to get through to him, from asking him to talk to you to telling him to sit down. He insists on just being preoccupied.

Coincidentally, that gets you the furthest as he tries to push you away with excuses.

He's preoccupied. Why? He had a difficult mission. What happened? People died. And? And what? There shouldn't be more, yet it unravels, the loose thread of his stoic composure suddenly coming apart. He knew them by name; it hurt to lose them, and he wishes to personally deliver their belongings to their families as soon as possible. That's it. That's enough for him to curl up on the couch and quietly accept that you finally got him to say something and that it was pleasant to have it be less of a burden to carry such things.

#♡ — anon visit.#✦ — headcanons.#pantalone #pantalone x reader #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #capitano #il capitano #capitano x reader #il capitano x reader

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felixethereal · 10 months

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Stray kids for Harper's bazaar

Stray kids cut interview

[Bang Chan]

Q: Who eats the most?

A: I.N!

Q: Who has the strongest mentality?

A: All of us!

Q: Who is the most indecisive?

A: It must be me! I decide what to buy when I go shopping, but I spend three hours not being able to decide. And I end up not being able to buy anything, hahaha. But when I go shopping with Felix, I don’t hesitate. Felix is persuasive and he always encourages me like, “That’s great, you look good in that.” So, I go like, “yeah?” and buying things becomes really easy.

Q: Who relies on you the most?

A: Felix, perhaps? But we have a good relationship where all the members can rely on each other. As we have spent so much time together, we have very deep ties, and we believe in each other. We are such a great team!

Editor’s NOTE

He really takes control of the conversation! He even answered in Japanese to some questions. He has such an elegant and gentlemanly behavior and has an extremely great communication skills.

[Lee Know]

Q: Of all the members who has changed the most since you first met?

A: At the beginning, I had an impression that it might be difficult to get along with Bang Chan as he seemed dignified as a leader, but now he has more affection to SKZ than anyone and is very charming man.

Q: Who is the best listener?

A: It may change according to the situation, but I think Changbin listens to everyone a lot. So does Hyunjin and so does HAN, oh that means we all listen to one another really well.

Q: What is the chemi you cannot resist recently?

A: It’s Seungmin and I.N. They both love coffee but they promised not to drink it for their health. But in fact, they are drinking coffee behind their back. It’s funny and it’s sweet to see them like that.

Q: Who relies on you the most?

A: My cat that I have at home.

Editor’s NOTE

During the recording of 25 Questions, Lee Know was speaking fluent Japanese. He was so caring. When Changbin was about to digress from the main subject, he warns Changbin like a big brother, and he was making a nice atmosphere. We gave them some instant tonkotsu ramen to enjoy back home, Lee Know was so delighted.

[Changbin]

Q: Of all the members who has changed the most since you first met?

A: I think Seungmin. I first thought he was gracious and neat, but actually he is the most mischievous and unique.

Q: Who is the best listener?

A: I talk to all the members and every one of them listens to each other very well. So, it is difficult to pick one.

Q: Please tell me about hidden faces of the members that only you know.

A: When we were living in the same dorm, I heard someone calling me. I peeked into his room, but he was fast asleep. Lee Know speaks very clearly even in his sleep and that was very funny.

Q: Who relies on you the most?

A: All the members younger than myself!

Editor’s NOTE

Changbin came in to see other members’ interviews and shooting sessions for a while. As he received the gaze from the production staff he had met for the first time, he was a bit shy at the beginning, but all through the shoot, he spoke to the members, and really set the mood for 25 Questions recording. He is the unsung hero of the team. Whenever he says something funny, or when other members react to him funnily, he keeps cool. But before you know he is always in the center of the circle. That is the charm he has, and I was drawn in.

[Hyunjin]

Q: Of all the members who has changed the most since you first met?

A: I think Seungmin. At first, he was a no-joker, serious guy but I think he is the strangest person of all the members. He really is, strange!

Q: Who is the best listener?

A: I think I.N. Whenever I talk with him, he is so warm and makes me calm. He is so therapeutic to be with.

Q: Please tell me about hidden faces of the members that only you know.

A: HAN and I.N like drawing and they often paint still life in oils. They paint characters so well and they show the drawings at STAY’s events.

Q: What is the chemistry you cannot resist recently?

A: It’s Changbin and Seungmin. Seungmin teases Changbin first and it starts from there. Then Changbin gets angry at Seungmin and Seungmin laughs at Changbin. It’s always the same and they love it (lol).

Editor’s NOTE

He has the most beautiful pose, and it was extremely difficult to choose which picture to post. You might think whoever is good at dance performance maybe good at posing, but it is not true. Whether you zoom in or zoom out, Hyunjin has wide variations of poses and has a knack for making the clothes look better. Every time he gets one step closer to success, his parents tell him “I believed in you”. Watching the shooting session and interviewing him, I felt that with that self-esteem, his innate ability to express himself will bloom even more.

[HAN]

Q: Who is the no.1 trendsetter?

A: I think Seungmin sets the trend with the way he talks. He talks in such a way so that the members laugh and gradually we all begin mimicking it. It’s kind of difficult to explain, but he uses that funny voice, or he teases us quite often.

Q: Who has the strongest mentality?

A: It is definitely Seungmin. He is really mentally strong. No matter what people say to him, he is never distracted. He has got that kind of strength. Unbreakable strength.

Q: Who is the most indecisive?

A: Felix maybe? He changes his mind a lot, haha.

Q: Please tell me about hidden faces of the members that only you know.

A: There are not many hidden secrets... Bang Chan cannot drink coffee! Well, this maybe famous. But it could be a new information for someone who came to know us recently.

Editor’s NOTE

A soft-spoken man, HAN was embracing other members’ words during the 25 Questions recording. He answered the interview politely and shyly. It was hard to believe that he was the same HAN who has got into the rap bag with the rap legend Tiger JK in the single, “TOPLINE (feat. Tiger JK)” , from the album “★★★★★ (5-STAR)”.

[Felix]

Q: Who is the most particular about food?

A: All of us eat well and eat a lot but if I were to pick one person, it is Changbin. He takes care of his body and does lots of exercise, so he is really healthy!

Q: Who is the no.1 trendsetter?

A: Changbin teaches us lots of buzzwords. HAN is also funny. They are such entertainers, they mimic comedians’ way of talking and moves, and it is so funny we laugh so much.

Q: Who is the most indecisive?

A: Perhaps myself, haha. I decide and I buy something, and I often think something is different afterwards. I regret a bit, then I think “but maybe it’s good in the end”. I keep doing that. I can give good shopping advice to others, though. Bang Chan gave me confidence when he said that I was persuasive.

Q: Please tell me about hidden faces of the members that only you know.

A: Sometimes I can hear a tiger roaring when I am sleeping. Yes, anyone can snore when he is tired. Bang Chan is so busy he often works at dawn, or many times we start early in the morning, so I figure he is tired.

Editor’s NOTE

It was impressive to see Felix greet each of the shooting staff he met for the first time. When a staff from Australia gave him a local sweet the kids love, he showed the biggest smile. It was great to see his facial expressions change so much. He is open-minded to everyone. When I asked them, “Who is the most indecisive?” almost all the members said Felix as if it was prearranged. That was where I caught the glimpse of their relationship.

[Seungmin]

Q: Who is the most particular about food?

A: Changbin. He has this strict rule that the dinner must be finished before the date changes.

Q: Who is the no.1 trendsetter?

A: Changbin talks about buzzwords a lot. He is so good at that kind of things. For example, when he was eating chili crab, he got excited and started singing, “chili chili crab crab” after the lyrics of “chili chili men men”. It just comes at the right point.

Q: Who has the strongest mentality?

A: I think it is Changbin. He has an ability to deal in any situation.

Q: Who is the most indecisive?

A: Felix often changes what he is interested in. Hyunjin changes his mind a lot when he tries to choose something from the menu, or simple things like that.

Q: Tell me about your recent TMI (random incidents).

A: Lee Know is doing a lot of cooking at the dormitory recently. He buys some cooked food and arranges it his way. He’s very good.

Editor’s NOTE

I asked him, “If you were to be reborn, what do you want to be?” “A Stray Kids fan,” Seungmin said. “I want to see how Stray Kids are from STAY’s point of view.” Everyone marveled at this answer. He is a quick thinker but also witty as he answered many questions pretending to be Changbin.

[I.N]

Q: Of all the members who has changed the most since you first met?

A: I think Changbin for me. At first, I thought he was a bit scary but as I got to know him better, he is such a good big brother and making us laugh all the time.

Q: Who is the best listener?

A: "kon kon jeu"(those who are born in 2000, Hyunjin, HAN, Felix, Seungmin ) listen to me a lot. They are a bit older than I am, but they are nice big brothers for me that I can be with like friends.

Q: Please tell me about hidden faces of the members that only you know.

A: It’s Felix’s recent hobby. He seems to like to paint to customize his keyboards.

Q: What is the chemistry you cannot resist recently?

A: Lee Know goes on and on about some facts to Changbin. The words he uses and the fact he talks about can only be called truth, but it is just so funny and Changbin’s pressured face is also hilarious. It is not that he does not talk back, but the rule is that Changbin always loses.

Editor’s NOTE

I.N has a brother who always gives him good feedback. “My brother really gives me great advice and it is very useful for me. As he looks at our team, he always thinks we are great and that also becomes my driving force.” A lovable man-ne(the youngest), how I.N shows his talent freely and purely is because of the affection his big brothers give him.

youtube

#Stray kids #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #I.N #skz #Harper's bazaar #スキズ #Youtube

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outlanderfandomfollies · 9 months

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MIK s2e2: MĀORI CULTURE: Sam recalls some poignant moments when he gets a Māori "moko"

After reading a post about a TV Line recap of MIK episode 202, I decided to watch this episode about Māori culture for myself. I was touched by the scenes where Sam and Graham each tell their stories in the process of getting a nonpermanent version of a "moko" (or tā moko), a deeply meaningful form of tattoo in the Māori culture.

Tā moko artist Hohua Mohi explains that someone who wants a moko will "sit down for a good hour" and start talking about some part of their life that is meaningful, like their family, where they came from, etc. As they are talking, the moko artist is drawing, and consequently, every moko is unique and very personal.

The Story Behind Sam's Moko

SAM: Well my dad left, when I was, uh, very young, three years old, so I didn't--I didn't know him at all. HOHUA: Yeah. SAM: I actually didn't know his name.

SAM: And uh, my mum brought me up with my elder brother in the south of Scotland. She's--she's been very, very strong my whole life. And she struggled, I think, to look after two young boys.

SAM: Um, and it probably wasn't until I was… mid-20s that I finally, uh, met my dad. And, actually, very recently, I got to see him just before he died, which was uh, incredible, just to learn about him and his life.

SAM: And, uh, we spent a few days together. I work a lot, and I'm very fortunate. But I always put it first. So I guess, uh, relationships are difficult.

Sam's Moko Explained and Revealed

HOHUA: So, if you look at it, it talks about your--your father. It talks about your dad and then your brother in here. This manaia here represents your mum. And so it's obviously facing upwards. SAM: Yeah. HOHUA: I've been giving you advice. SAM: Ah, so she's been giving me advice, mm.

HOHUA: And if you look at it, rather than just follow a single line, all of these colors, they branch off, they branch off, they branch off. SAM: Yeah, yeah. HOHUA: And it was-- They came from you talking about how you wanted-- ultimately, you know, you don't know whether or not you're gonna settle down there, but you- you want to go and see the world. SAM: Somewhere else, yeah, yeah. HOHUA: So that's what--that's what this will remind you of. You know? SAM: Different branches.

HOHUA: Yeah, but also, no matter which way you branch off, never forget where... [speaking native language] SAM: Wow. HOHUA: Hmm. SAM: My friend. [shakes hand] So beautiful. GRAHAM: That is really-- SAM: Thank you so much. GRAHAM: It's pretty. SAM: Isn't that awesome?

SAM: A strange experience as well. GRAHAM: A unique experience. SAM: Yeah, just also very personal. It felt like going to therapy a little bit. GRAHAM: Yeah. SAM: But, uh, very, very honored. GRAHAM: Yeah. Yeah. Really, thank you so much.

Being a therapist myself, it seemed to me that the process of getting a moko is very much a therapeutic experience. The person getting a moko focuses inwardly and shares important parts of their past that define who they are. The moko artist appears not to be judgmental and listens at a deep level. Then the artist presents the moko, which is a visual symbol of something very unique about the person. And they also give verbal feedback to the person about what they have understood to be the essence of their story.

Sounds like a "therapeutic" encounter to me!

[edited]

___________ NOTE: Images of Sam's moko were enhanced for clarity and to accentuate the colors. Thanks @thetruthwilloutsworld for making the TV Line Recap post. I'd never watched any episode of MIK before. I'm glad I watched this episode. I enjoyed learning about Māori culture, as well as finding out more about Sam's and Graham's personal backgrounds.

#men in kilts #season 2 #episode 202 #maori culture #sam heughan #graham mctavish #moko #tā moko #hohua mohi #outlander cast #my gifs #my edits

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starstruckkittensweets · 2 months

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puppy love (ii)

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

fandom: bungo stray dogs

Another part to the Chuuya with puppies series! Honestly it's been pretty therapeutic to write this out and plan out future parts. I don't really have any kind of direction for this series, it's just for fun and I write when I get inspired! But luckily my love for Chuuya isn't going away anytime soon, so you can look forward to more. I hope you enjoy!

warnings: fem reader, pet names ("doll"), rambunctious puppies who just wanna play, mutual pining perhaps (if you squint) || words: 2.6k

Part I | Part II | Part III

The next time you see Chuuya, you’re on your way home from the vet—with Kotaro, Pochi, and Shiro in tow.

Kotaro’s the first to notice him. His ears shoot forward, nose pointed straight in the cool night air, and he gives a hard yank on the leash in your hand. You start to scold him, but the words die on your tongue at the familiar sight of orange hair and bright blue eyes.

The really pretty eyes you haven’t stopped thinking about for the last few days or so. (As embarrassing as it sounds.)

Kotaro tugs hard on the leash, nearly ripping the thing right from your grasp, his tail swishing from side to side. He’s not the only one who’s noticed your new friend; Pochi is sniffing the air, trying to catch the stranger’s scent, while Shiro is digging his paws deeper into the ground, eyes fixed on the newcomer’s every move.

“Sorry,” you manage a smile, despite wrangling all three dogs back under your control. (It’s hard not to get the leashes all tangled up.) “They can be excitable sometimes—I didn’t expect to see you again so soon…”

To be honest, you thought he’d forgotten about your little meetup for lunch altogether (if his attire is anything to go by, he’s a busy man with a tight schedule). The sight of him now makes your chest feel warm, your fingertips buzzing around the handles of Kotaro’s leash.

You don’t even know his name; to you, he’s just the nice stranger who brought your dog back home to you that fateful night.

But that’s plenty enough for Kotaro, who’s scrabbling against the sidewalk to the man’s outstretched hands. You really should invest in some retractable leashes. Then again, Kotaro would probably just break them in two.

Not like Pochi and Shiro, who wait patiently at your side, despite their own curiosity.

“Out for a walk, huh?” The man lets out a chuckle, even as Kotaro presses his dirty paws against his knees. “Hope you’re not causin’ your girl too much trouble.”

“Not that much,” you mumble, cheeks burning beneath his gaze. “…Is it okay if the others say hi?”

There’s a sparkle in his eye, the same one you saw the first night you met. Something that reminds you of the children you pass on the street, the ones who pull at their mother’s arms, begging to let them pet the puppy by your side. Strange to say you recognize that kind of look on a grown man’s face, but it seems to suit him all the same.

Makes his eyes look so much prettier than they already are.

He slips a glove off and crouches down to the dogs’ level, while simultaneously trying to push Kotaro off him. Pochi’s the first one to step forward, his nose twitching almost violently. Shiro hangs back, pawing at the ground before plopping his bottom right down on your shoes.

You stifle a laugh at the bulldog’s expression. My human, don’t come any closer.

“Sorry about that!” It’s hard not to smile at the man’s baffled expression, at the way Shiro’s practically glaring at him from his spot in front of you. “He’s a little protective. But I promise he’s a sweetheart once you get to know him.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I get it.” And he actually does, by the way he only focuses on Pochi and Kotaro, taking turns scratching them behind their ears. Giving the grouchy bulldog some much-needed space, only smiling at him over the other dogs’ heads.

Huh, that’s a first.

How many times have you had to shoo an eager child’s hand away or scoop Shiro up in your arms just to keep him safe? Shiro’s a rare case, comfortable with dogs but a bit uneasy around most humans. And it’s hard to find people who acknowledge that and just leave him be. No poking or prodding, or pulling on his stubby little tail and risk losing a finger or two. And that’s the last thing anyone wants.

“Just one pet wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“Not a fan of people? That’s kinda strange…”

“He won’t bite me, right? You shouldn’t have him out in public if he’s aggressive.”

The man’s voice jerks you from your thoughts; he’s too fixated on Pochi now, smiling as the beagle kisses his cheek, so much that Kotaro is starting to look a bit jealous.

“What’s his name?”

“Pochi,” you answer with a smile. “You already know Kotaro. And this big boy is Shiro.” You lean down to rub the bulldog’s chest; he grunts and leans into your touch, all the while keeping his eyes on the man before him. “Sorry about them, they can get a little excited.”

Quite an understatement, judging by the bits of dog hair flayed across his black suit. He swipes a hand through his hair, and your eyes linger on the frayed orange strands just a little longer than they should. Until his voice snaps you out of it, as his blue gaze flickers up to meet your own.

“Only three today? Thought you said you had eight of them.”

It’s hard not to smile at his words. He remembered that, huh? “The others are back at home. These three had their check-ups at the vet today. I’ll have to bring the next three in sometime later this week.”

“Only a couple at a time, eh?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried taking all eight of them at once—it was not fun for anyone, except for maybe this little mess.” You lean over and scratch Kotaro behind the ear; the dog looks pretty damn proud of himself as you recall that stressful memory.

But before you can say anything else the man rises to his feet, tucking his hands into his pockets, but not before giving Kotaro and Pochi one last pat on their heads. There’s a soft pang in your chest; is he leaving already?

“A little late for a vet appointment, isn’t it?”

You shrug, your eyes falling to the ground. “I gotta work around the shop’s hours. We don’t close until seven, and it takes about an hour to get these guys all leashed up and ready to go. The vet the next block over doesn’t mind, though. He even knocks a bit off the price whenever one of the dogs is sick. And sometimes it’s nice, being the only ones in there. You don’t have to worry about any other dogs or people over there.”

Are you rambling again? Probably, but he doesn’t seem to mind. At least he doesn’t make it noticeable, with the way he’s looking at you.

“This a usual thing for you, then? These nighttime walks?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you answer with a giggle. “Any major shopping or appointments don’t get done until after work. I’m used to the late hours, though.”

The man hums in agreement, but his eyes tell a different story. Slowly he takes his hands back out of his pockets, eyes roaming the ground before landing back on your own. You swallow the lump in your throat (that definitely wasn’t there a few minutes ago).

“You sure you’re safe out here at this time of night?”

Another shrug, albeit a little more hesitant than the one before. “As long as I’ve got these guys, I think I am.”

He huffs out a breath, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. An uneasy silence settles over the two of you, only broken by the sound of Kotaro’s whining. He wants to get back home.

They all do, by the looks of it. A trip to the vet always wears them out. Not to mention, they’ve been hard at work guarding the shop all day. Being the faithful watchdogs you’ve trained them to be, alerting you whenever a new face shows up at the door.

(Not really, but you let them think they’re helping. It boosts their morale, lets them know they’re appreciated for all their hard work.)

“Let me walk you home,” the man finally says. “Just this once, alright?”

Maybe it’s the adorable wagging of Kotaro’s and Pochi’s tails, or the way Shiro doesn’t outright growl when the man steps closer to you, beckoning you closer with a gloved hand and a gentle smile. Or perhaps it’s the way you try to hold back a yawn, only to fail in the most unattractive way possible, as the weight of the day finally comes crashing down on your shoulders. For the first time since you woke up this morning, you realize just how damn tired you actually are.

Whatever it is, it has you nodding your head almost eagerly, your lips pulled up in a sleepy smile. “Sounds good to me.”

The walk back home is surprisingly comfortable, despite two of the three dogs yanking hard on their leashes. The friendly stranger keeps to the outer half of the sidewalk, a protective barrier between your dogs and the looming road ahead. The two of you are lost in your own little world, making casual conversation here and there, ignoring the skeptical looks of the few passerby’s out on a midnight stroll.

And by the time you see the dim lights and rickety old sign of the shop, you’ve learned three things about your new friend.

First, his name is Chuuya. He says it with a smile, orange hair falling into his face. It prompts you to share your own name, and hearing it roll off his tongue in that slightly raspy voice of his sends a shiver down your spine. (You decide then and there you like hearing your name fall from his lips.)

Second, he’s fairly wealthy. He doesn’t say it outright, but he doesn’t exactly make an effort to hide it either. From the way he dresses to how he casually mentions different brands and flavors of wine—names you’ve only ever seen next to their outrageous dollar amounts in the store. But at least he doesn’t seem snobbish about it. He doesn’t turn his nose up at the less-than fortunate state of the shop you run. Hell, he even turned down the promise of some quick and painless money just for bringing your puppy back to you that night, when most people would’ve jumped at the idea of a financial reward. Or maybe that’s just the way he is? You’re undecided about that for now.

And third, and probably most importantly, he wants to adopt a dog of his own sometime in the future.

“That’s…great! Amazing, actually! We have a lot of dogs back at the shop, it’s more of a makeshift shelter than a pet store, though. I don’t really like that term, pet store—sounds too cold and distant, right? Anyway, it’s nothing too official, none of them are really purebreds so we don’t have to worry about too many legal troubles. But if you don’t mind, you’re more than welcome to visit and see the rest of the pups. Get to meet them and see if you wanna take one home with you!”

Of course, it’ll be hard letting go of one of them. But that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Taking care of these dogs until they find their forever homes. Nothing’s permanent, it never has been. But it’s been quite a while since you’ve come across someone who’s interested in adopting a former street dog, sometimes it just slips your mind. You have to remind yourself it’s only a matter of time before you have to say goodbye to them.

Except Kotaro. You’ve got dibs on the shiba.

Chuuya doesn’t interrupt your little speech, but he’s not ignoring you either. He keeps his eyes on you the entire time, only pausing to steal a glance at the dogs at your side. He still keeps his distance from Shiro, who’s lumbering at your side at a steady trot. Pochi won’t stop pulling on his leash trying to get closer to him, and Kotaro’s tail hasn’t stopped wagging ever since you started your walk back home.

Honestly, he’s kind of impressed you’re able to hold a conversation while keeping a hold on three rambunctious dogs. However fun they seem to be, they all look like they’d be a handful to take care of.

“…Well?” You’re staring at him now, eyes wide and hopeful, holding your breath as you wait for his answer. “I know it’s a little late in the day now to meet them all, but what about tomorrow?”

And maybe the prospect of seeing Chuuya again so soon has you on edge, but in the best possible way.

But then he’s shaking his head, holding up a hand, and you feel your chest deflate just a bit.

…Okay, maybe a lot, actually.

“I’d love to, doll, believe me… But adopting a pup ain’t in the cards for me anytime soon.”

“Oh…that’s a shame…”

He winces at the pitiful look in your eyes, the way your shoulders sag slightly—for the love of God, even the dogs look disappointed in him. Kotaro’s ears are drooping, Pochi hangs his head, and Shiro gives a disapproving grunt under his breath.

No fucking way these dogs can understand us.

“I-I mean, not in the near future,” he says quickly, trying to remedy the situation. Trying to make you smile at least one more time tonight. “I’d still wanna meet ‘em, though, if you’ll let me.”

Right on cue you’re giggling again, and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Sounds good to me! Just drop by whenever you can, the doors are always open.”

As tempting as it is to stay out here and talk with him just a bit longer, exhaustion is weighing you down. The dogs have to be tucked in for the night, and you have to get a few hours of sleep before the shop opens up early tomorrow morning. Or would that be later today? It’s already past midnight, isn’t it?

“C’mon, boys.”

Thankfully, none of the dogs put up much of a fight. Pochi holds his head high as he follows you up the steps to the door. Shiro sticks close to your ankles and practically snubs Chuuya with a grumpy snort. Only Kotaro lingers long enough to get one final scratch behind the ears, and then he’s joining you and the rest of the dogs with a soft happy yip.

Your chest feels unnaturally full as you unlock the door and let the dogs inside. But before you shut it completely you poke your head out—and your cheeks heat up when you realize Chuuya hasn’t moved an inch from his spot on the sidewalk.

What a true gentleman.

“…Thanks for walking us home.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a smile. “It was my pleasure.”

Kotaro nudges his way back out the door; you groan and tug on his collar, dragging the poor pup back inside. And Chuuya can’t help but laugh at the flustered look on your face.

“Sorry about that… Have a goodnight, Chuuya.”

He stiffens—so that’s what his name sounds like in your voice, huh?—but recovers quickly with a cough. Hopefully you can’t see the light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“…Yeah, goodnight, doll…”

You close the door and latch it shut behind you. Chuuya remains rooted to his spot on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets, until he sees a light flicker on upstairs.

Safe and sound inside.

Then he turns his back and heads down the length of the sidewalk. Unbeknownst to him, you’re watching him go from your bedroom window, peeking through the blinds.

For the rest of the night your chest stays uncomfortably full, even when the dogs are tucked in for the night and you’re left alone with your thoughts in the dark. Staring up at the ceiling, hands bunched around the bedsheets, replaying every single detail you can remember about your little meetup.

It takes a while to fall asleep, but once you do, all you can dream about are blue eyes and wagging tails, with a smile on your face.

#chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x reader #bsd fics #puppy love

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spaceyaceface · 11 months

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Hi this is me officially begging for some Ominis x reader blurb/fic ideas, please I want to write for him

Ominis finds out that MC hasn't been healing their wounds because they feel bad about hurting others (not intentionally, just the whole Ranrok situation and they feel that everything is their fault).

Ominis finds out by realising that MC has been acting strange and tries to stop them to talk, but they don't want to and try to get away, so he catches their wrist and MC hisses in pain, so he takes their arm in his hand to see what's wrong and why it hurt MC and feels countless cuts and wounds.

MC feels embarrassed and bad, so they try to get away, but his hold on them is firm.

Ominis asks what it is (the wounds) and they try to brush it off, but he's persistent.

Eventually Ominis explains to them how it's not their fault and makes them drink some Wiggenweld potions and helps them bandage the wounds (and it gets very cute and fluffy and wholesome).

So yeah, something like that if you want to ╮⁠(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠╭

AHHHH we love us some good ole angst/hurt/comfort/fluff :) thanks so much for the request! If I'm honest, I got a bit carried away with this one, it was sort of therapeutic to write this sort of comfort. I hope I did it justice!

Ominis Gaunt x gn!Reader/MC

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Injuries (minor), guilt, self-destructive tendencies, overall just kinda heavy so watch out for that (but ends with some good fluff)

The sleeves of your robe brushed against your skin—even that light amount of pressure made you wince. But you pushed away the pain, instead focusing on the candle in front of you, blasting out a precise Confringo to just light the wick. The movement caused more brushing against your arms—it made the bruises in your side ache, too. That didn’t stop you from turning to the next candle, unleashing the spell once again.

Sebastian had been right about Confringo—it was a great spell. Wonderful for letting some of the fire inside out.

You knew you should leave the Undercroft soon, but the place had become a safe haven just like it was for the ones who showed it to you. Here, no one gave their condolences for Professor Figg. No one asked for more favors you simply couldn’t refuse. No one praised you for the destruction you had caused. It didn’t matter if all of it had resulted in saving Hogwarts, or the whole world, for that matter. Causing death and pain took a toll on one’s soul, even in self defense.

You sucked in a sharp breath as a twist of your arm pull a scratch the wrong way—you cursed quietly, not bothering to check if it was bleeding again or not. It didn’t matter to you.

To say you were avoiding people was an understatement. You took every opportunity to be alone you could find, skipping classes and meals, telling friends you had plans, running “errands” in the Highlands. You’d venture into the darker parts of the forest, daring any creature that stood in your way to challenge you. You always came out on top—but you always came home a bit more battered and scrapped up. You’d stopped taking potions or dressing your wounds. They didn’t matter to you. The pain didn’t matter. You couldn’t fix the destruction you’ve caused, why should you allow yourself the luxury of fixing yourself?

People had died for you. You didn’t deserve to feel whole.

There was the sound of clanging behind you—the unmistakable cacophony of someone entered the Undercroft. You lower your wand, glancing down quickly to make sure your cuts and scraps were covered. Looking up, you realized it didn’t matter either way as Ominis walked into the room.

He called out your name. “Are you in here?”

He held out his wand. There was no chance he didn’t sense you already. He was just doing you the service of allowing you to announce yourself.

“I’m here, Ominis,” you said.

“Merlin’s beard, it smells like fireworks in here,” he said, coming closer to you. You resisted your instinct to run—whether towards him or away from him, you didn’t know.

Truth was, of all the people you’d been avoiding, you’d missed him the most. He was the one you felt the most guilty lying to before slipping off. You felt like you were betraying the trust he put in you—something you should have honored, because Ominis Gaunt did not trust easily.

“I was just practicing Confringo a bit,” you said.

Ominis sighed, shaking his head. “I long for the day you and Sebastian tire of that spell.”

Silence hung in the air. You should talk to him. Ask how he’s been. Tell him how hopeless you felt. But that voice in the back of your head nagged you to run.

And just as you had at every turn leading up to this point, you listened.

“I should go,” you said. “I haven’t tended to my nifflers yet tonight, they’ll be angry at me.” You turned to leave, walking past him and towards the door.

“Wait a moment,” Ominis said. You stopped in your tracks. If it had been anyone else, you would have kept walking, but there was something about Ominis that made you want to stay. “I… you haven’t been acting yourself, lately. I’m… worried about you.”

You stayed frozen where you stood, pressing your lips together. He took a couple steps closer to you, hesitant, like you were a wild animal.

“Just… got a lot going on,” you said weakly. He was at your shoulder now. You had to escape. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

You took another step towards the door, but a hand wrapped around your wrist. You gasped as a sharp pain ran through you and you struggled to pull away, stopping when it only caused to sensation to worsen. Ominis’s hand trembled a bit, grip loosening, but not letting go.

“Wh-what was that? What happened?” There was panic in his voice. You didn’t want to hear it.

“Nothing,” you said, trying to catch your breath as the pain dulled again. “Nothing, Ominis, I’m fine, let me—“

But he stepped closer, dragging the sleeve of your robe up with his other hand, fingers tracing softly over the cuts and marks on your arm. His mouth dropped open and you tried with one final tug to free yourself from him, but he held fast.

He said your name softly. “What is this? Tell me.” It was was a demand, gentle but firm. It held a warning in the tone of it—don’t lie to me.

“I just... I needed to let off some steam, so I went to the Forbidden Forest to fight some spiders," you answered. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

Ominis sensed this immediately. "So why haven't you healed them yet?"

"Haven't gotten around to it." Your voice was hard, cold, daring him to push you further.

His hand traced up your arm once again, ghosting over the wounds. "Some of these are starting to heal on their own. They're days old--weeks, even."

"Leave it alone, Ominis," you spat back at him.

"I will not leave it alone!" he growled. "How could I not have noticed this? Is this why you've been avoiding everyone?"

"Well I couldn't bloody well go around looking like this, could I?" you said sarcastically.

"Why aren't you taking care of yourself?" Ominis asked, voice raising. "You know better than this, why would you--"

"Because I don't deserve it!" you shouted. Your voice ached with emotion as you continued, trembling. "After everything that's happened--how could I deserve to be well? People have died for me, and I let it happen. How could I let myself carry on after all the pain I've caused? You could never under--"

But you stopped yourself, staring at the hardness that had overtaken Ominis's features. Of course he understood. Perhaps he was the one person who could.

"I dare you to finish that sentence." His voice was low and even. It cut you like a knife.

"I-I'm sorry," you stuttered. The anger you felt only seconds ago had dissipated completely. "I wasn't thinking straight. I haven't been for some time now," you admitted.

"No, you bloody well haven't," Ominis said. He finally dropped your wrist, moving to place a hand to the small of your back as he led you to a crate to sit on. "If you had, maybe you would have come to someone who knows a thing or two about this sort of guilt."

He leaned forward, removing the robe from off your shoulders and down your arms before sitting beside you.

"I'm sorry," you said again, softer this time.

He let out a deep sigh, shoulders losing tension as the anger melted off of him. "You need to take care of yourself. Even when it doesn't feel like you should. Do you understand me?" His tone was gentle as held out his hand, face up. You placed your wrist in his palm.

"I-I know. It's just..." You trailed off, eyes closing to hold back tears. There weren't words to explain the tormented feeling twisting inside of you. But Ominis didn't push you to describe it--he knew it all to well already.

"You need to take some Wiggenweld. It's no use arguing--I know you have some with you."

You sighed but obeyed, digging through the pocket of your robes until you found one, uncorking the top and downing it. The sensation was familiar, even if you hadn't felt it in weeks; a slight tingle across your body, intensifying at the places where it healed wounds.

Ominis hummed softly, feeling some of the cuts and scraped vanish under his fingertips. "Some of these are a bit deeper. They'll take some time to heal on their own." He pulled out his wand, pointing it at your arm and saying "Ferula." You watched the bandages wrap around you as he moved to repeat the action on your other arm.

"Any more I should be concerned about?" he asked.

"No," you said honestly. "Those were the worst of them. I'm sure the rest of them were taken care of by the Wiggenweld."

Ominis nodded, sensing you were telling the truth. "I should really take you to Nurse Blainey. But... as long as you let me check on them, I'll be content."

"I suppose I can live with that," you said, offering a small smile.

He gave a huff, but you could tell it was a good natured one. "You better not get any new ones, or so help me I'll force Wiggenweld down your throat."

A true smile graced your face now. "Funny, I've missed your threats."

"If you hadn't been avoiding me, you wouldn't have anything to miss."

You didn't have a response to that. He was right, as he had been with many things that night. He shifted to face you more fully.

"I care about you, deeply. Perhaps... perhaps more deeply than I should." He paused after the admission. "But it doesn't matter to me if you share those feelings. What matters to me as that you take care of yourself, and allow others to help when you don't feel up to doing that task alone."

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He stiffened momentarily, surprised at your forward action. But then he relaxed, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "For what it's worth," you said softly. "I do share those feelings. I... I can't promise to be perfect with what you ask of me, at least not right away. But I won't push you away again. I can promise that."

He smiled softly, bringing your hand up to press and soft kiss on the back of it. Your heart fluttered at the gentleness of his lips--after weeks of hardening yourself to everything around you, you found yourself ready to start opening up again.

You leaned your head on Ominis's shoulder and let that night be the first step in the right direction.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt imagine #hogwarts legacy x reader #ominis gaunt x mc

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