#then again I’m not sure the surname helps much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saetoru · 1 year

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imagine rich boy gojo finding out your name for him in his phone is just “satoru” or something 💀 and then from the side geto is like “mine’s got an emoji!”

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。NO HEART — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

rich boy! gojo, college au, fluff, established relationships, dramatic gojo which is consistent in every version of him no matter the au

studying with gojo satoru is the worst idea you could ever allow to happen—and yet, every time he asks, you let it happen.

“baby, aren’t you getting my texts?” gojo pouts. it earns him an unimpressed glare from you as you look up from your textbook, a glare that makes him wilt while geto snickers from the corner.

“satoru, if you don’t stop bothering me while we’re supposed to be studying, so help me—”

“but it’s funny, look,” he whines. and before you can stop him, he picks up the untouched phone beside you, tapping the screen to unlock it. except, he doesn’t make it that far.

suddenly the world stills. it stops spinning on its axis. and suddenly, gojo satoru’s face is the dictionary definition of devastation.

“satoru, what’s wrong,” you furrow your brows.

“satoru. satoru? satoru?” he repeats, each time in more disbelief than the last.

“that’s….your name, yes?” you raise a brow. and then realization strikes your features—or so he thinks. he’s soon to find out he’s mistaken. “oh, sorry,” you snort, “toru, is that better? toru, get to studying—”

“my name in your phone is just satoru?” he asks, cutting you off like you’ve genuinely wounded him—the betrayal on his face and the shock in his voice are all too real.

you blink for a moment before you realize the source of his tantrum seems to be the contact name you have for him in your phone. only gojo satoru would find a way to make a big deal out of his own name, you think.

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “it’s your name. plus i had it set when i first got your number from that project. i hated you back then.”

“you called me gojo back then,” he squints accusingly.

“yeah that’s because it was gojo satoru at first,” you nod. from the side, you hear geto snicker again about the full government name to himself—which earns him a pillow thrown at his direction by gojo. “i deleted the gojo part when we started dating,” you add.

“oh so you can delete my surname once we started dating but you couldn’t even add a heart?” he asks, jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed in that dramatic way he does. it’s a bit cute, the way he’s worked up over something so small—but it’s also entirely theatric, making you roll your eyes.

“would a heart make you feel better, satoru?” you purse your lips.

“no! not if you don’t add it because you want to,” he huffs, “you might as well just say you don’t love me!”

“satoru,” you sigh in exasperation. maybe if you didn’t have physics 1302 problems to work through—a whole six of them due before midnight, in fact—you would humor him in his elaborately dramatized attempt at getting your attention. but you have classes to pass and gpa’s to maintain, so you purse your lips instead. “it’s just a contact name. what’s mine?”

“it’s baby <3. with a heart. see?” sure enough, when his phone is turned to face you, it’s baby <3. with a heart.

“i have an emoji in my contact,” geto adds from the side, ever the instigator, “maybe it’s because i’m cuter—”

“you gave suguru’s an emoji?” he asks in distress, staring at you like you’ve told him you’ve cheated. you think you might hurt his feelings less if you did, with the way his lips are curled in a genuine frown.

“suguru set his own contact,” you defend, shooting the nuisance in the corner a sharp glare. geto only offers you a sly wink in return. “i didn’t realize you cared that much about contact names,” you shrug, “i can change it—”

“no need,” gojo huffs, holding up a hand to silence you as he turns away and sticks his nose in the air in defiance. “i’ll just change yours to your full government name. see how you like it.”

“satoru—”

“and you’re not getting a heart either,” he glares, deleting the <3 slowly just for show, making eye contact with you so you know the severity of your actions.

you roll your eyes, snatching your phone back as you shake your head. “if i make your contact baby <3 with a heart because you’re my baby, will that cheer you up,” you sigh.

he ponders it for a moment, as if debating the offer. and then his arms cross in defiance once more. “no. make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss emoji.”

“gross,” geto twists his face in disgust.

gojo turns to him, face blank and serious as he shoots, “single people should not speak when it’s not their turn,” before turning back to you. “i’ll consider forgiving you if you make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss.”

“okay,” you sigh, “baby boy it is.”

“with a kiss!” he glares.

“with a kiss,” you assure, rolling your eyes.

“can i also get a kiss?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and bright and earnest enough to warm your heart.

you smile, chuckling at the way he looks so cute, at the way he melts your heart and makes you forget you have physics homework for a moment—but only for a moment because then you mumble, “no. now do your homework.”

PLS THIS PROMPT KILLED ME

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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maeby-cursed · 2 months

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TRACK 1: MISDIAL !

Toji never calls.

It’s one of his most peculiar habits, that although he does carry his phone (a cheap flip-phone he hasn’t ever bothered upgrading) everywhere he goes, he never calls, never texts, never cares to take it out of his back pocket. And most importantly, he never picks it up.

Taking this into account, it’s no wonder that when his phone begins to ring at 4.30am on one of his off days, his first thought is to end it all. He spends so little time with it, he hasn’t quite yet figured how to turn off the sound... and now he’s annoyed.

He grabs the item and stares at it, trying to make sense of the number that flashes on the screen, the green light blinding him momentarily.

“Fucking thing,” Toji mutters, trying to press any button that could make the ringing stop. Eventually he gives up and shoves it under his pillow.

It keeps on ringing.

“You’ve gotta be… fucking…” The phone flips open. “What?”

“Toji?”

He freezes, his hand suddenly tightening around the metal as if to try and cage the sound.

It’s you. Your voice whispers his name once again and he’s never woken up this abruptly since Megumi was an infant.

“Uhm hello,” he stutters. Like an idiot.

“Oh God it’s really you! Fuck, I’m sorry, I meant to call my friend and your surnames are so similar I must’ve pressed the wrong number… Fuck, it’s four in the morning! Christ, I’m really really sorry–”

As you ramble he starts to shake his head, mouth agape, until he realizes you can’t see him. You have his number saved. You are on the other side of the line and he can listen to your breathing.

He starts to feel dizzy.

Did you just ask him a question?

“Uhm, it’s okay, uh… I was about to wake up anyway.” Sure. At 5am on a Sunday.

“Were you? Ugh, I feel terrible… Listen, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I have to hang up and call my friend or she’ll freak out but I will make it up to you, seriously. Please go back to whatever you were doing! I’m sorry. Again.”

And then you’re gone.

The line goes dead and his hand drops to his lap with the phone still hugged inside the palm. He’s going to engrave the thing into his flesh at this point but he can’t mind.

Toji Fushiguro has known you for two years and yet he was unaware that you had his phone number. Did he give it to you? Did you write it down from the records? You called, you called, you called.

It’s been unbearable these past few weeks; he’s been off taking care of a less than legitimate job, which meant being away from his actually legal office job, which meant less time to stare at you as you pick up calls and take notes and greet clients and smile that pretty smile of yours.

Now, your voice reverberates through his spine and he can’t help but imagine your eyes in the back of his mind.

He’s never been a corny person, he’s not a great romancer and contrary to popular belief, he’s not much of a Casanova, but he knows when he’s in love. Toji’s but a man with a shielded heart whose barriers you’ve taken down with a hammer and a laugh.

So he yields. For the first time since he bought it, Toji opens his phone and saves a number under his son’s.

For the first time in twenty years he chooses to pick up a call, to think of what you’ll come up with to make it up to him, to dream of you searching for him with your eyes… just this once.

And, for the first time in a long long time, he falls asleep just fine, with a smirk toying with the corners of his lips and some hope with the strings of his heart.

#🎐 𓂃 mae’s typing !#and you guys will be like ! 'mae what is this ?' and i'll be like ! 'fuck if i know !'#seriously this is just really random ideas i get and am too tired to elaborate but... yeah #toji fushiguro is a grandpa and i adore him down to his very bones #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #toji x reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader

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sheluvv-gambino · 11 months

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“Huh, you sound British.”

pairings : e-42 miles morales x black fem!reader

summary : Being a new student is already hard, just imagine being British in high school within Brooklyn.

warnings : I put a slash between the difference of American and British words so no one is confused since I’m not actually American myself.

part 2

Switching from an English secondary school to an American high school was not something that you could say you were actually excited for.

But yet here you are sitting in your mothers car listening to ‘Bonfire’ by Childish Gambino, trying not stress over being in a totally new environment.

“Okay, we’ve arrived.” Your mum/mom said rubbing the back of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna go now, I love you.” You sigh.

“I love you too but get your arse out this car so your not late please!”

You laugh whilst unbuckling your seatbelt and getting out of the car walking towards the entrance.

Once you enter your immediately overwhelmed with the amount of loud new accents filtering the air. I mean sure you had been in New York for a few days before being introduced to the school but that doesn’t mean you were used to the variety of accents.

Making your way towards the principals office you ended up lost and having to scout the help of one your new peers.

Looking to your left you spot a fairly handsome guy with two cainrows/cornrows going down his neck, sharp jaw, and very plumed lips.

Damn, guess NYC ain’t that bad after all.

Tapping his shoulder you timidly ask “Sorry to disturb you but do you think your could show me to the principals office.”

He looked you up and down for a good thirty seconds before his focus finally set on your face.

“Huh, you sound British.”

“I mean I am from London.” You deadpan.

“Sure I’ll take you, c’mon.”

He takes off swiftly leaving you trailing behind him.

Once you finally reach the principals office

he stops and looks you dead in the eye tilting his head which ultimately makes you cast your gaze down to the floor.

“I’m Miles but I never caught your name.”

You look up and end up locking eyes.

“I’m Y/N” You smile downward.

“We’ll Y/N ion know much about British people but I hope we can get to know each other a bit more…”

And with that he walked away leaving you at the door of the principal.

Now all you have to is KNOCK.

————————

Getting halfway through the day was particularly easy except from the bombardment of questions from people you don’t even know.

Asking things about Britain like you were the Queen (R.I.P Queen Lizzy) It was like they had never heard of Google before.

Fortunately a group of girls adopted you into their circle and you were currently sitting with them at lunch.

“So how’s your day been except y’know all the weird questions?” One girl asks with a chuckle.

“We’ll it’s been a bit annoying relearning the stuff I’ve already done which by the way don’t you think it’s a bit weird that you guys do algebra for like a whole year. In England once we finish a topic we move onto the next.” You ramble with a sigh.

“Eh I mean I guess but it’s not anything new for us. Anyways since being here, have you caught your eye on anyone yet?” Another girl answers and questions.

“We’ll there was this one guy but I haven’t spotted him again since he dropped me off at the Principal’s.”

Some girls squeal in excitement at a new potential crush to gossip about.

“He was quite fit actually and he had these two braids going down. He gave a really good conversation on the way their actually.” You finish off going back to your food nonchalantly.

There must be a shift in the air because the table of girls stopped talking until someone pipes up.

“Your not talking ‘bout Miles Morales are you?!” She squeaks with widened eyes.

“We’ll yeah he said his name was Miles but he didn’t give his surname/lastname.”You start to nod.

“No way! Girls have been trying to get with him ever since we got to the school but he’s always cold and quiet around people who aren’t his friends. Girl you are so lucky.” She blurts out.

“We’ll I’m sure he was just being nice, I mean I am new.” You defend.

And with that Miles Morales walks past your table trailing behind his friends he gives a smirk and waves towards you.

Yeah, I guess you are lucky…very lucky!

#across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles g morales #prowler miles #spiderverse

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losersimonriley · 10 months

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every way that matters

(Ghost/Soap, marriage proposals, first kiss, in that order actually)

“MacRiley.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ravish!”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

The longer he thinks on it (the longer Johnny goes on listing horrid mash-ups of their surnames,) the more convinced he becomes that they should just keep their own as is. It would make the streamlining process a hell of a lot easier (as easy as it can be for a dead man with a high-clearance-only military file to get legally married. Ghost’s paperwork will be a nightmare no matter if his name is changed or not.) Plus it would mean no unnecessary confusement in the field.

Johnny is quick to veto that idea.

“Where’s the romance in that, ye numpty? C’mon. What sounds better, John Riley or Simon MacTavish?”

Ghost actually full body snorts at that one. “They both sound dead weird.”

“Och, ye wound me. There’s no other choice then. Plain ol’ Riley-MacTavish it is. Simon Rhys Riley-MacTavish,” Johnny says his name with such softness that it hurts.

And that one…that one might work. Bit of a mouthful but nobody besides an officiant is ever going to be saying his full name anyway. And Johnny, apparently.

An officiant. With the highest of clearances. At their wedding. Their make-believe wedding.

This is all, of course, a joke. They’re meant to be having a laugh on watch duty while Garrick and Price sleep their dedicated four hours. Simon had maybe forgotten himself and delved a little too deep into the idea. Maybe he forgot this wasn’t a real conversation. Easy to do with electric blue eyes lit by a full moon and a perfect mouth spouting random, sleep deprived nuggets like “What if we got married?”

“Sure. That’s the one,” he says, regretting every single one of his life choices that led him to this moment. They need to stop. Now.

“That’s the one,” Johnny repeats.

Despite it all, his own jaws keep fucking flapping. Soap tends to have that effect on him. Curious, that.

“When I was a little brat,” he’s already second-guessing the confession about to escape his lips, “I used to think I’d make the perfect husband one day. Cause my old man showed me everything not to be.”

He tries to ignore the sharp inhale that Johnny attempts to mask with a clearing of his throat.

“You would be. Anyone would be lucky to have ye, Simon. I’d certainly be beside myself,” he says that last part in a mutter, looking off into the dark of the forest.

“Right,” he whispers, sarcasm dripping from the word. He hopes they leave it at that. He thinks they have left it at that, peaceful silence promising until Soap picks it up again within minutes.

“If it weren’t for the military, the task force, would ye marry me?”

“Maybe if you asked nicely.”

“Simon. I’m serious.”

He glances up and, yes, that is Soap’s serious face. He’s staring at him so intently it might burn a hole straight through the hard shell mask and into his skull. Fuck. Fucking hell. What is this? The fuck is going on here?

“I—Johnny, we aren’t…we aren’t together,” he can’t help but ease into it as if he’s breaking the truth to Soap. And yet he phrases it as a question instead of the statement it’s meant to be.

“Ye didnae answer the question proper.”

“You didn’t ask proper,” he quips, agitation rising in his voice. Why can’t Soap just stop this? Can he not see how much it’s hurting him? He’s usually so good about reading him.

Johnny grins evilly and plucks a blade of grass from the ground, quickly tying it off. “Need ye to stand up for a sec.”

“What,” he deadpans.

“Up.”

He stands, ever the obedient dog for John fucking MacTavish.

And John fucking MacTavish stays sat on the ground, switching his position to a kneel right in front of him.

He’s going to throw up.

This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening. He’s in a dream and he’ll wake up screaming and sweating and shaking any second.

“It’s not funny anymore, Soap,” he croaks.

It hurts.

“I’m not laughin’,'' he holds the blade of grass up, haphazardly knotted into a tiny circle. “Simon Rhys Riley, would ye do me the absolute fucking honor of being my husband in all ways except legal? Sir.”

It’s so stupid. It’s pretend—he knows that, but he’s sinking to his knees anyway. “This would make me your fiancé. Not husband.”

“That a yes then?”

Johnny is serious and his smile is blinding. Not for the first time, he’s bloody thankful for having his mask on around this ridiculous man. He’s sure his entire face could rival a tomato.

Maybe it’s not a real proposal but, Simon realizes, it’s real to them. Maybe not so far as a promise, but a wish. A what if.

“We’ll wait a bit, let it marinate. Maybe this’ll turn to gold, aye?” Johnny makes to slip the…ring…onto his finger but hesitates, motioning to the glove covering Simon’s hand. “Can I?”

He nods once and the skelly glove is far too gently pulled off and replaced with another far too gentle glide of grass up his ring finger. It’s the perfect fit. It doesn’t rip, doesn’t fall off when Johnny moves his hand back into his glove. It’s as if that stupid blade of grass was meant for him.

What a stupid thought. A stupid thought for a stupid, lovesick ghost.

They blink at each other, both seeming to be in a daze of their own when something possesses Simon—something unhinged and desperate and absolutely necessary in this moment.

He yanks the mask completely off before surging forward and kissing hard enough to hurt both of their noses and quick enough to leave them both aching for more. Johnny whines pitifully and follows his lips when he pulls back.

“Think we’ve done this all backwards, LT,” Johnny breathes into his mouth, hands coming up to pet his face.

This is everything. Everything. Backwards, frontwards, sideways, he doesn’t give a fuck because Johnny is everything.

“You started it, Sergeant.”

***

Six months and six thousand kisses later, Johnny presents him with a gunmetal black ring. Fucker had it planned from the start.

Engraved on the outside:

Riley-MacTavish

And the inside:

In every way that matters.

#don’t mind me just posting it here as well #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #my writing #cod

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idyllic-affections · 1 year

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hello! i’m relatively new to your blog but i stumbled across your muichiro and hasira mentor!reader and i fell in love (has been a brainrot of mine for a couple weeks now), i was wondering if you could write a scenario about muichiro getting back from one of his first solo missions and the reader just doting over him and helping him clean up minor wounds, despite knowing he’s capable of doing it himself. (i loved the way your characterized the two in your previous writings <3) thank you! hope you have a lovely day!

the first solo mission's aftermath.

summary. muichiro's first solo mission would be a tough time for both him and his mentor, but when he returns, they are there to dote endlessly on him.

trigger & content warnings. self-doubt, depictions of minor injury.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, comfort. muichiro tokito & hashira mentor!reader. 0.7k words. they/them pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. this post is an expansion of out of all the clouds in the sky, you are my favorite. hello dear!! welcome to my blog, i hope to see you again in my ask box at some point <3 mui requests are always welcomed. hes my beloved son frfr. thank you so so much, any compliments about how i characterize canon characters are very much appreciated! thats one of the highest forms of praise i could get as a writer. it means a lot when people tell me they like the way i write certain characters, so i really do appreciate it!

tbh i think [name] would cry when seeing him off for the first time.

they would try to hold it together solely for muichiro's peace of mind, offering him a shaky smile and, in a trembling voice, wishing him well as he departs from their mansion.

there's no way seeing one's tsuguko off is an easy experience. each hashira surely has to wonder if their respective student will return or not, if they have taught their student well enough, if their first mission will be easy or go terribly wrong.

there's just... so, so many things that could go wrong.

while mui is gone, i think the cloud hashira would sit and nitpick everything they taught him. they'd worry that it wasn't enough. they know he is impossibly strong for his age, but...

strength does not inherently equal experience. a demon slayer can have all the biological advantages that they want, but if they don't have adequate experience, all that strength will mean absolutely nothing.

meanwhile, mui feels a distinct sense of discomfort and unrest after he leaves.

something about leaving doesn't sit well with him. he doesn't want to leave. he wants to go back, or he wants them to come along.

(he does not understand why at the time, but a few years later, he'll begin to understand that he simply didn't want to leave them on the brink of tears like that.)

in the end, though, muichiro returns after only a few days in one piece, completely unharmed except for a few minor scratches.

his face might not change when his beloved mentor immediately brings him into a tight embrace, but the way his body relaxes into their arms is telling enough.

"welcome back, tokito-kun," they'd whisper, cheek pressed to the top of his head.

"...i'm home, [surname]-sama."

home... the implications of that statement would make their heart burst. indeed, he is home if he's with his mentor. if he's with them. they squeeze him just a little tighter after that.

"[surname]-sama, i can't breathe."

"ah?! i'm sorry! sorry, i didn't mean it!"

mui honestly would just let them dote on him.

they'd gently brush his hair and pull it back into a braid, sending a distinct feeling of nostalgia through his foggy mind.

they'd clean his wounds, opting to take him to the butterfly estate if anything seemed wrong or infected.

they'd just dote on him.

he does enjoy the attention and he realizes that it helps them feel better, so... he just lets them do whatever they feel is necessary.

the attention is really comforting for him, though. he's so young. he shouldn't be fighting demons at this age, and yet, he is. [name] knows this.

to make up for it, they spoil him in all the attention someone so young would need to grow properly.

"So... how did your mission go? I suppose it must have gone rather well," they mused with a gentle smile, gingerly flushing a small yet somewhat deep scratch on his cheek with a saline solution that they'd borrowed from those at the Butterfly Estate. "You're hardly hurt."

"Yes. It went fine," he confirmed in a murmur, doing his best not to move in order not to disrupt their work. "...I thought I was fast enough."

"Hm?"

"I thought I was fast enough to avoid being scratched."

"You did your best," they chuckled, securing a small patch over the scratch to keep any bacteria out, "and believe me, this is nothing. The kinds of injuries you can get in this line of work... this is nothing, really. It's fine. Just make sure it doesn't get infected."

Backing away from his face, they looked over their work before nodding firmly. "Alright. I'm done."

Slowly, the boy raised a hand to his cheek, fingertips ghosting over the freshly-dressed wound. Some kind of foreign warmth spread through his chest. He shifted in place, timidly avoiding their eyes. "...Thank you."

"Hehe. Of course." Not a single thing got past them, it seemed. They brought no attention to his sudden embarrassment, however. "Anyways, are you hungry? Kanroji-san invited us to come out with her to this place a few towns over. I hear they're really good."

He simply listened to them ramble, nodding along absentmindedly when they asked for his input.

He liked their voice.

It was comforting.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion's headcanons 🌸#: [ the cloud hashira! 🌸 ]#demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #platonic kny x reader #platonic demon slayer #platonic demon slayer x reader #platonic muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #tokito muichiro x reader #demon slayer platonic

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strawberryxfieldz · 1 year

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Garden of Eden (Wally x Reader)

a fluffy Wally/Reader one-shot I posted on my AO3 and figured I’d post on Tumblr!

since my main Wally/Reader fic has a darker plot, I really wanted to write some fluff for the puppet man. no experiencing the dreadful horrors here! Just pure fluff and stuff. short and sweet! Enjoy! @:)

CW for eye contact (yknow how it is)

Welcome Home Masterlist

When you wake up in the morning, you always have the assurance of Wally’s presence beside you. He had a sleep mask on and pajamas but you knew he wasn’t really asleep. Wally didn’t really understand the concept of sleep and took to repeating “I’m sleeping” over and over again in a hushed whisper that lulled you to sleep at night. Right now, though, he was simply smiling, hands folded on his chest.

You leaned over to pull his sleep mask off his face and press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Oh!” His face lit up with delight. “You’re awake!”

You cuddled into his side, resting your head in the space between his neck and shoulder. He smiled and put an arm around you, hugging you closer.

“Yeah…” you replied with a tired groan. “Five more minutes before we get out of bed, though. I’m still sleepy.”

“Take your time, my love.” Wally kissed your head as you lay there, peaceful and happy in his arms.

You weren’t sure what you did to deserve this life with Wally but you certainly knew you loved it. You loved that you realized your feelings for each other, that you moved into Home with him, and that you were able to start off every morning like this.

Soon, you’d be out of bed and in the kitchen, helping each other make pancakes. Perhaps some would burn—Wally wasn’t the greatest cook—but you would laugh it off. At some point, you’d push back Wally’s long blue hair that liked to cover half of his face when down. He didn’t enjoy having to go without his pompadour (he used to hate you seeing him like that especially) but he was used to it now. You’d told him enough about how pretty you found him without all his hair products until he believed it. When his whole face was revealed, you gave him a loving, sweet kiss that he'd lean into with a smile.

After, you’d find yourselves underneath the big apple tree in your yard, humming songs and telling stories. Wally’s hair was done by now, and he had a sketchbook in his lap as he doodled many things, including you. You, meanwhile, were doing your best to make a flower crown. Julie taught you how to the other day. Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be a quick learner.

“It’s not coming out right,” you whined, disappointment high in your voice.

Wally glanced up from his drawing to look at you. “Here. Let me see.”

You handed him your sad attempt at a flower crown with a frown. Wally didn’t hesitate to put it on his head and he gave you a small smile.

“How do I look?” he asked.

You suppressed a laugh at seeing the ridiculous mess of already-unwinding flowers sat atop him.

“The most.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Just as always.”

Wally smiled warmly at you, a bit lovestruck, and you couldn’t help but kiss him again, this time on his mouth.

Being a puppet, Wally didn’t exactly have lips to kiss, just felt. It also meant he didn’t understand the concept of kissing. He knew it was a declaration of love and, by now, he knew it was one of your favorite ways of giving affection. Still, he didn’t actually kiss back so much as press his face against yours as best as possible and make a ‘mwah’ sound when you leaned away. You considered it kissing, though, even if he did it wrong. He was just too adorable.

“You’re the one who's the most, darling,” he cooed.

You felt something ignite in your chest when he called you that. ‘Darling’ being his surname made it all the more flustering.

“But you’re so beautiful,” you insisted. You moved to cradle his face with your hands and he instantly stilled. “Here…” You kissed his forehead. “…here…” You kissed the space between his eyes where a nose would be. “…and here…!” You quickly pressed another kiss to his mouth.

“Mwah!” Wally said enthusiastically when you pulled back.

You giggled and scooted closer beside him. He rested against your side, leaning his head against your arm.

"What're you drawing there?" you hummed after another minute or two.

Wally held up his sketchpad proudly. He was only working with a few crayons and there was nothing but scribbles on the page, yet you were able to recognize your likeness pretty well between the lines.

"You!" he replied with a sappy smile. "It's my favorite thing to draw, after all!"

You immediately threw him into a hug. Wally was much more accustomed to hugs thanks to his fellow neighbors but still went limp in them. It was like embracing a warm ragdoll, and you'd think Wally didn't like it from his lack of reciprocation if it weren't for the happy hum he made when his face was pressed against your shoulder.

"Wally, you're so talented," you told him as you leaned away. "I'm so lucky."

Wally beamed back at you before continuing to color, content. You let him draw, relaxing in the relative silence between you, mind still whirring. As peaceful as the moment was, you couldn't help feeling dismayed.

Wally did too much for you. He was always making art for you, his greatest muse, and he learned your ways of physical affection for you, even if he still didn't understand it all too well. There had to be something you could do for him in return before you felt like a totally inadequate partner to him. You racked your brain as you sat there, quiet, listening only to the sound of Wally's crayons moving against paper. That gave you an idea and you bit back a cheery smile as you made sure to store it away in your thoughts for later.

A few days later, you found yourself in the living room of Home, putting the finishing touches on your masterpiece. Well, okay, 'masterpiece' was a bit of an overstatement. In front of you, sitting atop a pile of old newspapers was a lump of clay very generously deemed a ceramic sculpture of an apple. There were too many bumps in the wrong places and the stem was leaning too far in one direction, making it askew, but it was still an apple!

At least, this is what you told yourself as you leaned back to examine your work. You put a finger to your mouth thoughtfully.

"I don't know..." you talked out loud to yourself. Then, remembering who you were with, asked, "What do you think, Home?"

Home made a sound that sounded like a door squeaking. You were pretty sure that was a good thing.

But, before you could mull over it any longer, you heard the front door open. You shot up from your spot on the couch, taking the ceramic in your hands and hiding it behind your back. A moment later, Wally walked in, a slight smile on his face that grew bigger upon seeing you.

"Hi, love!" you greeted, trying to seem as not suspicious as possible. "How was hanging out with Julie and Frank?"

"Fun." Wally nodded. "We chased a lot of butterflies. Frank got mad when I asked if I could keep them."

"Aw, I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Wally shrugged. "Friends shouldn't be caged in anyway. They should be flying free."

You smiled at the sentiment and leaned in to kiss his cheek, only to stop when he spoke again.

"What do you have behind you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You leaned back suddenly with a nervous smile. "Huh? Oh, nothing!"

"Can I see it?"

You rolled the ceramic in your hand, feeling every lump and crevice with a frown. Yet, you looked into Wally's big, black eyes, soft and caring as they stared back at you intently, and couldn't help but give in.

"Okay. Fine..." you sighed as you pulled the apple out from behind you. "It's, um, a thing I made for you."

You held it out to him so he could see it, bracing yourself for his reaction.

Wally's eyes widened and his mouth parted with a small gasp. "An apple?"

"Yeah! It's made out of clay," you explained. You watched as he studied it before carefully taking it into his own hands. "You know, I figured since you like staring at your apples but they eventually all go bad... I'd make you one that never goes bad!"

Wally was quiet for a moment and his whole face brightened. "It's perfect!"

He walked over to the mantel and placed the ceramic there gently as you continued.

"Really?" Your smile twitched. "I know art is kind of your thing, I'm not as good at it but I just thought I'd do something for you since you do so much for me and-"

Wally smiled before pressing his mouth against the side of your face, effectively cutting off your rambling. You relaxed when he made a 'mwah!' sound as he leaned away.

"I love it," he reassured you, voice soft.

"Oh." You let out a sigh of relief. "Good."

"But why would you think you have to make something for me, silly?" Wally tilted his head.

You looked down, suddenly feeling sheepish. Wally gingerly took one of your hands with his, giving you an encouraging nod. In return, you gave him a warm smile.

"I don't want you to think I'm inadequate," you replied with a shrug. "Because you're so talented and nice to me and all these other things and you deserve the best!"

Wally chuckled. You couldn't help but smile more at the sound of it, slow and monotone. You loved his laugh.

"You are the best," he told you, rubbing your hand with his thumb. "You're the most, darling. Your love is more than enough."

You felt a bundle of emotions begin to take over you, all so overwhelmingly happy you could hardly even fathom it. Gratitude, comfort, and pure love rushed through you as you continued to stare adoringly into those beautiful eyes. You wanted to jump for joy, hold Wally close to you and never, ever let go, and see to it that you made every day of the rest of his life perfect and full of love. Maybe then he would be able to feel a fraction of the amount of adoration you had for him and understand just how much he meant to you.

Instead, you frowned playfully. "See what I mean?! You're too kind! It's not fair!"

Wally just laughed again.

#wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home x reader #welcome home wally #welcome home fanfiction #strawbs fics #mine #...and nothing bad happened to them ever and they lived happily ever after the end. *bats my eyelashes quirkily*

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crzyimp · 1 month

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AITA for not wanting to divorce my wife when my in-laws are racist and fat phobic about it?

I’m(M) recently married to my(F) wife. For some context, I’ve known this family for roughly 3 years and worked for them; I never complained about the hard labor or long hours, hell I did the work of 3 men or more without breaking a sweat! I’m very self conscious about my looks and weight, so I glamorize myself and sometimes use a wrap to make myself thin. It hurts sometimes, but it’s better than being stared at or comments thrown at me. Now my in-laws, let's call them Mr. and Mrs. G, are big on tradition about passing the family business to a son, but they only have daughters and the oldest two are already married, and they can’t find a guy who will give up his surname for theirs (I can’t blame them, I haven’t met a guy who’s willing to do that). Anyways during those three years I’ve gotten to know Mr. and Mrs. G’s youngest daughter and currently my wife, Cui.

Sweetest, nicest girl I ever met and we hit it off without a hitch, she’s everything I wished for in a wife. She knows the ins and out of how to run her family business, but Mr. G refuses to just let her take over unless she’s married to a man who can take their surname…well after she told me that I said I can be her husband since I’m technically an orphan and I don’t have any attachments to the surname given to me. Originally it was going to be more of a business relationship or front until she can find someone she can love, especially how I actually look, and I told her that. Cui thought that was sweet of me. So we talked to her parents together and they gave their blessing once they learned I’m an orphan.

Wedding planning, preparations, and the actual wedding was nice but very stressful; I didn’t have much time to myself and decompress as my in-laws wanted my attention 24/7. I can feel my glamor smearing off and the wraps digging into my skin to the point it’s cutting into my skin. Though during the wedding I can’t just walk away for a moment to be alone and I don’t want to disappoint Cui, so I bear through the ceremony and during the reception I drink to get my mind off the pain and my insecurities. Now I may be an asshole here since I drank way too much and I haven’t had a drink in 3ish years, so I get more drunk than I wanted and got way too relaxed…where I took off the wraps under my clothes and my glam is off.

All hell broke loose, as if a hungry ghost or one of the kings was there! People were screaming about a fatass pig demon crashing the party and I was ready to throw this asshole out until Cui, my sweet wife, told me that they were talking about me. Still drunk and now shocked, I bawled my eyes out and ran out of the room, accidentally knocking stuff and people over on the way out. Cui followed after me to make sure I’m okay.

Ever since that, her parents bully and pick on me about my appearance and my weight, telling me I’m a fatso that doesn’t have the right to be part of their family, saying I stink up the place (I’m still working hard to support the business and during the hot summers I can’t help but sweat), to how much I eat (again it’s hard work and I do eat to cope from the abuse), to how they never see Cui anymore (she locked up in our house and I have the key so her parents can’t have surprise visits and abuse me more), to how I should go back to where I came from (and other racist remarks, but I don’t want to be flagged by the mods). They even hired thugs to get me to divorce Cui! Thugs who try to chase me out of my own home and wife! Thankfully I had years of experience in combat, and so far none bested me. Though their words are starting to get to me and that’s why I’m here asking you guys. Am I the asshole?

#zhu bajie #journey to the west #jttw #xiyouji #Gao Family #Fake AITA #Wukong would definitely have multiple accounts(almost all of them banned and one hacked)

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gojosatorailme · 9 months

Text

I’m desperate for Nagumo from Sakamoto Days so might as well take the initiative and write a fic myself. I’m now taking over this hashtag, this man shall be KNOWN.

Lovesick

A blood tainted battlefield. This is the life you chose the moment you entered the JCC. It wasn’t going to be “sugar spice and everything nice” oh no, it was gonna be hell and you knew it. The longer time passes, the more comrades were bound to fall..bound to die. It was inevitable.

But that doesn’t stop the racing of your anxious heart when you saw them fight.

It doesn’t stop your heart from worrying about him.

Nagumo.

Sakamoto, Akao, Nagumo, and you. The four of you were tasked to infiltrate an enemy from Thailand, the four actually meaning three.

You were only a first year, you tagged along as an observer. The three were the strongest in the assassin class, you wanted to experience their missions first hand.

Before the mission, you didn’t exactly know much about the three nor did you have a strong opinion on them.

“Taro Sakamoto. Strong.. does he talk??”

“Rion Akao. Totally a hot babe”

“Nagumo…. dunno?”

None of them caught your interest, you just wanted to see them fight and maybe steal a few signature moves for your own benefit.. with your own tweaks of course.

None of them caught your eye, besides him of course. Who the hell is he? I mean, he was attractive sure. He had big eyes, remotely long lashes, long shaggy-ish black hair and.. his tattoo’s. His tattoos were what got you, it was like he was a canvas. Works of art were painted throughout his entire body, it was beautiful. Not to mention his physique, he was so your type.

But he was just so mysterious? There wasn’t much about him that you could pin point, he wasn’t as readable. He’s smart and strong yeah but what goes on in his head you don’t get it? What even is his surname? Meaning to his tattoos? If he wants to fu- he was a mystery.

That’s why he was so captivating. His movements were smooth and quick, you barely saw it as he sliced open an enemies head. Then down another, and another, then eventually there was a pile of bodies that littered the floor accompanied by the reeking stench of blood.

You were supposed to only tag along for one mission, but after meeting Nagumo, you practically begged to tag along again. Then you became a permanent member of the team.

At first, you wanted to see what you can learn from them in order to be stronger. But now, it’s for him. You wanted an excuse to see him. It didn’t take you long to realize that this interests developed into a crush.

You couldn’t help it, the more you hung around him the more entranced you became. You wanted to believe he was using a sort of assassin technique to seduce you, maybe his dark eyes were the culprit? Everytime you gazed into them you couldn’t find yourself looking away.

He’s so silly, he’s pretty cool too. It was strange, you thought he was kinda weird but his laugh never fails to make your face feel warm. The room felt hot when he was there, at one point you wanted to escape.

At one point the feelings made you feel trapped, suffocated maybe. Seeing him made you anxious, you made a fool of yourself. Fumbling over your words and avoiding his gaze, he’s a smart guy so your sure he’s caught on by now. It got so bad you began throwing up in the morning worried you’d see him, what does he think of you?? Your stomach would always feel funny at the thought.

His laugh began to make you feel dizzy.

Why was he so cute?

It didn’t help that he smelled sooo good, a cold blooded assassin that smells GOOD? You don’t hear that everyday.

These feelings stop you from reaching your full potential as an assassin, even limiting you from your original powers.

Even now, as Nagumo is on the ground with a bloodied stomach, you can’t protect him. The others were in another building and it was only you two, being overcome with the tension, you messed up and he was forced to take the blow.

He could’ve easily taken on the enemy on his own, he was strong after all, but he had to save you. Why? You don’t know. You don’t even want to bother deluding yourself with the thought that he’d like you back.

The enemy was eventually killed but what do you do with a bloodied Nagumo? You don’t know either. He’s just laughing.

“It’s okay I’ll be fine in a bit, that guy was a small fry anyway!! He barely stabbed me no worries.”

Oh but you were worried. You were so worried, you felt disgusted about yourself, he was bleeding from the stomach and your getting butterflies from the mere thought of his hand touching your shoulder. Gross.

The butterflies remained as Akao and Sakamoto helped you carry Nagumo back to base where he can get proper treatment.

The butterflies remained when you got back to your dorm at the JCC.

The butterflies remained for a long time.

You cant possibly continue like this could you? your an assassin, a killer. That’s your purpose here, there’s no room for love.

with trembling legs, you walked to the infirmary where Nagumo layed.

His stomach was recovering quickly, the doctor said he’d be able to go on missions by next week.

“Hey y/n! ya here to visit me?”

He waited for your answer as you sat down near his bed side.

“You look pretty serious, something wrong?”

first, an apology.

“I’m sorry, I was weak so you had to save me. I’ll be better, thank you.”

and before he could answer, with a shaky sigh and eyes tightly shut you took in a deep breath.

“I love you.”

It came out as a whisper, barely audible. You were worried he didn’t hear you and you were dreading the thought. You seriously didn’t want to repeat it.

His expression was blank.

It scared you.

The atmosphere was choking you, you wanted to cry.

Noticing his expression, you took the hint and turned to leave. How silly right? You almost git the guy killed and you have the audacity to confess? hah!

“I know.”

You stopped in your tracks. He knows? He knows what?? That your stupid? That someone like him was out of your league? That you were weak and almost killed hi-

hm? whats this?

Your lips feel warm.

Oh. He was kissing you.

he was.. HE WAS WHAT?

you froze still, eyes wide. You were sure you looked like an idiot. Even after he pulled away and a small string of saliva was visible, even after he smiled at you. You couldn’t comprehend what was happening? The situation seemed foreign to you.

It wasn’t until you heard loud cackling that you snapped out of your trance.

“I love you too stup- y/n.”

#sakamoto days nagumo #sakamoto days #taro sakamoto #rion akao #sakamoto days x reader #nagumo sakamoto days #I WANT HIM SO BAD MORE FICS OF HIM DOMEOME MAKE IT #i cant make cute fics they all always end up angsty or just unserious someone send help this was supposed to be about cuddling #why did I decided to start this off with murder when I was going for a cuddling on the couch type fic…

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mochisdoll · 2 years

Text

You must be out of your mind

Feat. Atsumu

I think this counts as my first hurt/comfort

“When are ya gonna take him back? He’s goin crazy without you.”

You looked over at Osamu slowly. “Why would I even want to talk to him? I want him crawling back to me on his knees.”

The two of you sat at the bar of Onigiri Miya. You had just finished cleaning up the shop for the night and had sat down for beers. You worked for Osamu whenever you were in town for extra cash.

“You know that will be hard for him.” He sighed. The two of you bickered often, but it had never gotten to the point of breaking up, until now.

“If he thinks he can just press rewind on our relationship, he must be out of his mind. He’s gonna beg, or else he’s not getting me back.”

“It’s been three weeks.” Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Exactly! He expects me to cave! He thinks I’ll run to him. He thinks I’m just enamored with him and he can do no wrong. But that’s not true.” You scoffed and look away. Your voice softened when you spoke again. “He thinks I’m crazy about him, but he hasn’t given me much reason to be. He doesn’t give me much proof that he cares. Even if I know he does, I don’t feel it. So in order for him to prove his feelings that he claims he has, he has to be the one to come to me.”

Osamu just listened quietly as you spoke. “I understand, but… no, I get it. He’s an ass who takes things for granted. He’s just going to have to get over himself.”

“Thank you. You can go ahead and go home now. I’ll finish closing, you worked yourself to the bone.” You said, collecting your empty beer bottles.

“Normally, I’d put up a fight and help but I’m dead tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Osamu gave you a wave over his shoulder and left.

You took your time closing up the shop, making sure everything was in order before you stepped out the door and locked it. But right after you opened the door you were met with the face of a very out of breath blond Miya.

“What do you want, Miya.” You said as you locked the door.

He winced at the sound of his surname but continued on anyways. “Samu told me what ya said.”

“Loosed lipped lightweight.” You muttered. Before he continued.

“I know I’m hard ta deal with, but I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel loved.” He spoke so earnestly, staring into your eyes like he was searching for something in them. He reached your hands, rubbing his thumb over the back of them.

“It’s not that.” Oh god you were starting to tear up. “I just feel you’re scared of something, like you’re holding back, like you think you’re too cool to love me.” Now you were actually crying.

He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. “That’s not it! I just haven’t dated anyone this long, and afraid that if I get too intense, I’ll scare you away.”

“I want your intensity. I love you for it. I love how you put your all into everything.” You told him, pulling away to look into his love.

Now your teary eyed expression was really getting to him, and be began to tear up as well. “I love you, and I miss ya so much. I’m going crazy.”

You sniffle and smile. “I love you too. And miss you too.” You dive in for another embrace. “Take me home tonight?”

“Yer crazy if you think you’re getting away from me ever again. You said you wanted my intensity, well you’re getting it. The full force of my love.”

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu!!#haikyuu atsumu #atsumu hq #hurt/comfort

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kaigarax · 6 months

Text

Lie

Or This is How to Under Stand

Rhya x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with by understanding another."

It is of the utmost importance, regardless of someone’s age, gender or race, to be excellent in at least one thing. One must not merely excel at this single task but be fundamentally better than anyone else within similar circumstances attempting to accomplish that very same task and in a location relative to yours.

Of course, this entire theory can be ultimately tossed out and entirely forsaken if one does not wish to become important (in any way whatsoever) and hopes to maintain an ordinary life. It should be noted that by choosing to ignore this most radical and sensible piece of advice you are outright denying oneself of all human pleasures that fall into either category of dreams or desires.

This piece is, of course, only one of seven different instructionals to help guide you into a world of excellence. One should hope to not just entertain themselves with these pieces of work but look to apply them into their everyday life. Once again, it should be noted that all pieces should be read and thought on for a maximum absorption of the materials.

Now, without further ado, this is how to under stand.

---

“What’re you doing, (L/n)?” Rhya asks, taking a seat beside you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

The bar is loud and the chairs are kinda sticky but Rhya chooses to stay seated.

He always does.

At least when you’re there.

You don’t seem surprised by his sudden appearance, instead answering his question with one of your own, a grin on your face, “what do you think I’m doing?”

Rhya pouts, “I asked you first.”

“I suppose you did. Yeah.”

“So…”

You smile teasingly, “so?”

Rhya leans his head on your shoulder, “I just wanted to know how my favourite person was doing.”

“Yeah,” you say, “me too.”

But there’s a subtle shift in the beating of your heart that tells him otherwise. An ever so slight shift in your breathing and a brief moment of you stiffening beneath his hold. The situation is almost amusing for Rhya.

The relationship between you and Rhya has always been a strange one. Once strangers on different sides of a war. Now… companions? Friends? Acquaintances? Rhya isn’t all too sure. What he is sure of, on the other hand, is that he likes being around you. Feels as though you understand him better than others. Even better than some Elves.

It has something to do with your power. It must.

Rhya’s almost like a walking and breathing lie detector. He just can’t help but notice all the different symptoms of the human (or elf) body that give way to lies. Sometimes it even feels magical. Part of his abilities though there's nothing in his grimoire that would say otherwise.

You’re like him. You aren’t a walking lie detector but you might as well be. The expanse of your abilities is much more… vast. Creates an almost involuntary connection between yourself and the others.

“I’m surprised.” You suddenly proclaim, pushing Rhya off your shoulder and ordering another drink from the bartender.

“And what has surprised you, (L/n)?” Rhya asked, your surname slowly rolling off his lips.

“You,” you began.

“Me?”

“You, coming to a place like this.”

“Oh?” Rhya leans in towards you as you push a shot over for him to take, “and why wouldn’t I ‘come to a place like this’?”

“Because this,” you hold up your own shot glass, “is a place where people go to lie.”

“Now that,” Rhya cheers his cup against yours, “is something I can cheer to.”

The liquid, despite being cool, burns as it runs down his throat. Sits hotly in his stomach and leaves him feeling uneasy for a moment or two longer than he thought it would’ve. Rhya isn’t against indulging in mortal sin but doesn't actually do so unless the situation actually calls for it. Unless a pretty girl like you is the one offering him the drink in the first place.

“Another?” You ask.

Already?

Rhya nods along anyways.

The bartender leans in close to you and flashes a flirtatious smile, “what’re you hoping for sweetheart?”

The hot liquid seems to rumble in Rhya’s stomach as you lean forward, “the usual, Cliff.”

“Just for you?” His eyes flicker over to Rhya, “or one for your friend as well?”

“One for my friend too.”

The bartender nods and makes quick work to get the drinks prepared. He flitters across the bar and makes conversation with the other people seated around the bar.

Rhya's mouth feels sour. Probably just the aftertaste of the first shot. But that doesn't explain the strange pang in his chest or the anger rising up in his stomach. Or maybe it does? Rhya can’t be too sure. It’s definitely not his first time drinking but he’s never had a reaction like this before. Maybe it has something to do with the specific drink you gave him.

Maybe not.

“Friend?” Rhya asked, surprised with his own choice of words.

You smile knowingly, “yeah. He’s my friend. I like him.”

Rhya frowns, his eyes narrowing in on the man.

There doesn't seem to be anything all too special about the bartender. He’s not that attractive. Average at best. Really everything, from his aura to general vibe screams utterly ordinary. Not that there’s anything wrong with him, bring ordinary, it’s just that Rhya had always imagined you with someone more… spontaneous? Adventurous? Courageous.

Yeah. Courageous.

He always imagined you with someone courageous. Not a bartender for a bar in the middle of God knows where. You, afterall, deserve nothing less than the best.

You laugh, leaning in towards Rhya, “but I like you more~”

And that puts a smile on his face.

---

There had been plenty of women Rhya had canoodled with. Many he’d had the chance to court and take to bed but they all seem to suddenly become background noise compared to you. Actually, it feels as though almost everything in Rhya’s life has become background noise when you’re around.

There’s a promise in the back of his mind.

Something he needs to do.

But those words are quiet. Basically ignored as you lean closer towards him, your body warm pressed tightly against his own.

“That’s a lie.”

You stiffen beneath Rhya’s arms, your movements suddenly stopped. Rhya’s own heart seems to have stopped as well - almost as if waiting for the realization of his own words to finally kick in. For the weight of everything to suddenly strike him. It takes a moment - but only just a moment. Of course, that brief moment of hesitation doesn't show on his face as he lets out a low chuckle and pulls you closer towards himself.

He’s always, always, known when someone was lying. No matter how well they trained their bodies to stay calm, conditioned their minds to stay strong or told their hearts to be steady he always knew. Something about the shift in the magic, Rhya thinks, - as if their very essence has been moved.

Huh.

Rhya wonders if your own abilities are like his own.

Earlier that night he had speculated on them. Wondered about the specifics of how they might work. He’s never taken the chance to ask you though. Never wanted to show you another vulnerable side of himself. Isn’t certain if you’d want to show that side of yourself either so he never asks. Not when he’s too scared to know. And regardless of how you answer that question he’ll know.

He’ll know just as he knows that you’re lying right now.

Now, Rhya doesn’t exactly hate his abilities but it’s times like this where they seem more like a curse than they do a blessing. Actually, it’s a little impudent to call them a blessing at all. It’s almost a physical manifestation of the sins committed against them back before everything had happened as it was. A reminder to never let himself get too close.

But you’re different. You always have been. All Rhya has to do now is decide if that’s a good thing or not. You seem to be caught in the same internal debate. Perhaps, for once, stuck more in your feelings than his own.

Your abilities might be a little like his. A reminder of your bloodline. A burden you’ve been forced to carry for longer than you’ll ever know. He imagines you’ve had a rough life with abilities like yours. Like him, it’s not something you can just suddenly turn off, and it makes it harder for you to truly connect with other people. Abilities meant to torment the two of you in moments just like this.

“I-” you tail off.

“But that’s okay,” Rhya mumbles against your neck, his lips lingering on your soft skin as though he can’t bear to be without its touch, “your lies are different.” And they are. He just can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.

Perhaps you know.

---

“What’re you thinking about, Rhya?” You ask, talking a breadths width away, the back of your hand brushing against his own.

Rhya smiles, “you can’t tell?”

You roll your eyes, “you know I can only feel another person’s feelings. Not their thoughts.”

“Oh, can you now?” Rhya smirks, “now isn’t that a shame.”

“Fine,” you huff, “be like that.” You break away from the path the two of you seemed to be walking and break off into the field of flowers. The flowers are bright and colourful, reminding Rhya of a time when everything was simpler. Make him feel as though you’re simply a girl and he’s simply a boy.

That there isn’t this seemingly insurmountable distance that’ll always be there between the two of you. That it isn’t written in the stars for you to be apart.

Your words ring loud and true in his ears.

Send a pang to his heart.

He makes his way towards you, pushing through the grassy fields. Rhya’s never been a big fan of grass. Not that he’s disliked it but it’s not exactly his favourite thing in the world. It’s nice against his back when he takes a nap but that’s about it. There’s nothing… special about it. Nothing that makes it stand out against everything else in this world.

“What ya got there?” Rhya asks.

You’re hunched over something as Rhya takes a seat beside you. He flashes you a lazy smile.

You smile, holding up a flower for Rhya to see.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Rhya says. Perhaps today will be the day he finally confesses his feelings for you.

Rhya practically stumbles out of his dream, waking up in the room the two of you ended up renting the night before. The bed creaks beneath him as he sits up, the blanket falling off his chest and pooling around his waist.

He looks over to the other side of the bed, surprised to see you there fiddling around with a bundle of strings.

The windows open slightly, allowing for a beam of light to hit you directly and allow you to see what you’re doing. He smiles. He never took you to be the considerate type.

“I love you.” Rhya says, the words slipping from his mouth. It seems as though speaking before thinking is becoming a bad habit for him. At least when he’s around you it is, but he doesn't mind it all too much.

You, on the other hand, don’t seem to be of the same opinion.

You don’t bother turning around but you do, for the briefest of moments, sit stunned. Halted momentarily before replying coolly, “I thought you said you were going to forget me as quickly as you could?”

“I am.”

“Then how are you going to easily forget me if you love me?” You ask, your voice laced in amusement as you weave the threads of string together.

Huh.

He hadn’t really thought that through. Though he’s always had a tendency to do and say things without thinking about everything properly.

Oh well.

He’d much rather do things one day at a time then spend his days wondering about ‘could haves’ and ‘should haves’. Besides, you were here right now so why should he have to worry about you being gone?

“Rhya.”

Rhya pushes himself away from the edge of the bed and leans over to you. It’s barely an inch that he’s moved but he feels as though he’s suddenly traversed hundreds of miles. The movement in the bed causes the sheets to russell. When you turn to look at him he snatches the bundle of strings from your hand with a smirk.

Surprisingly, you don’t immediately move to attack him. In fact, you don’t move at all. Instead sitting frozen to the spot. He wonders if it’s because of his physical presence or emotional one.

You look so pretty like this. With your hair a mess from sleep and your eyes curious as they await for his next movement. Rhya thinks that you looked a little something like this when the two of you first met. He’d been attacking in the middle of the night and you, being the great Magic Knight you are, jumped out of bed to meet him in the midst of battle. If only he’d know just how important you’d end up becoming in his life.

He forgets just how pretty you are sometimes. He obviously always knows that you’re pretty but it’s moments like this that help remind him of your beauty. Simple moments. Moments like this.

He, more than anything, wonders what kind of life you must’ve led up until now with powers like yours. If you used it to your advantage (like he did) when working with and against others. If it did nothing but make you want to push others away. If it makes your stomach turn and your hands temple.

If it’s changed the way you feel about others.

If it’s changed the way you feel about him.

You know, perhaps even better than him, exactly how he feels. Exactly what he’s feeling right now. You don’t need to hear the loud pounding of his heart or feel the warmth of his cheeks like everyone else to know exactly how you make him feel. You don’t need to turn around and look at him like he wants you to.

“(Y/n).” He says, your name feeling almost soft as it leaves his lips.

Your response is slow. A simple “yes?”

And his eyes soften.

Fall in love by understanding another.

#black clover #black clover x reader #rhya x reader #100 ways to fall in love

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ghoulishsleep · 1 year

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The Doctor | Part 2 | The Mandalorian

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

summary: You learn more about the Child and prescribe a remedy; another answer is received.

pairing: eventual Din Djarin x OC afab!reader (no physical descriptions; reader has relatives, a surname, and backstory/personality)

word count: +1.4k

a/n: I wonder if this is overly descriptive and boring, but I'm hoping for the best. I would love feedback regarding Mando! Also, please take this as me sending out an SOS for someone to beta read lmao, because I am so uncertain.

I have Plans™ for this, so do stay tuned. And! I have an idea for a prequel fic to explain exactly how Mando knows the reader and dad. Not sure if I should make a separate work in the same universe, or include it under "The Doctor." Pls share your thoughts.

A huuuge thanks for the love so far, and also to local-fanfic-addict for the name idea on the first installment. Happy reading!

warnings: rated T, descriptions of illness, medical inaccuracies (probably), referenced character death, no y/n

You can’t help the way your eyes bug when the Mandalorian tells you his foundling’s age.

“He’s fifty?”

You regard the dollop of a creature with an air of incredulity, who now sits in a heap of brown robes on your exam table, looking to be a toss-up of misery and curiosity. Tiny, clawed fingers rest atop the bunched fabric while big, dark eyes absorb the new surroundings.

“According to his chain code, yes.”

“Huh. Can’t argue with that, ” you nod, logging the sparse information the Mandalorian proffered into your datapad along with symptoms, height, and weight.

“Any idea what species he is?” you query next, which prompts the helmet to simply shake “no.”

“Mm. So you don’t know whether he has any allergies or intolerances?”

Another shake of the helmet, “No.”

After entering a few further notes, you set your datapad aside and don a pair of exam gloves.

The Mandalorian continues to stand uncomfortably off to one side, seemingly trying to act preoccupied with taupe-hued walls and generic artwork. Part of you wishes he would just sit down and quit hovering – though you’d already offered him such once, to no avail.

You roll your stool over to the exam table, adjusting, so you’re as close to eye level with the Child as possible. Gloved hands extend in an offer for his tiny ones, which wrap around your index and middle fingers. “Hello, sweet baby. What seems to be going on with you?” you murmur, knowing well that he can’t actually tell you. However, the way he meets your eyes makes you believe he wants to.

An elongated coo that ends in another wet cough, like the one you heard earlier from within the bag, has you nodding deeply again, “Mmm, I understand. You must have had a terrible last few days.”

You can feel the Mandalorian watching as you maneuver your side of the room, retrieving items from a few drawers that slide quietly shut behind you. In truth, you feel out of place yourself without 2-1B present. He was the doctor by qualification – always there, your security blanket, your brother-droid – while you were more the shadow of one, indoctrinated by experience rather than schooling or hard-written code.

Returning to the table, you beckon the Child to open his mouth with an exaggerated “ahh” to swab the inside, which you deposit into a small machine integrated into the counter. Then you delicately prod the Child, eliciting a giggle as you listen to his heart and breathing, which pops wetly inside little lungs.

“Good job, ” you praise gently, brushing the Child’s chubby cheek with the backs of your fingers, then step away to peel off your gloves and enter your findings. Results from the machine import with a trill, populating more of the profile, and the Mandalorian shifts his weight in your periphery while you read over it, arms crossed over a broad chest.

“Although I’m sure you already figured as much, ” your hands fold briefly upon your lap. “The Child has significant lung inflammation, most commonly a result of bacterial infection. In addition to an antibiotic, I believe an antihistamine would be ideal, just in case he’s sensitive to it. Does that sound fine with you?”

Perhaps he expected you to simply tell him what he needed rather than ask because the helmet swivels the tiniest bit toward the Child, then back to you. “Yes, that’s fine.”

With a nod and the squeak of new gloves, you adjust your seat back to full height and roll between two mounted cupboards. A clear glass mortar and pestle clink together when you set them down, as do three labeled containers. All the while, the Mandalorian finally seems to relax the tiniest bit: with the Child now in the crux of one arm, he leans against the exam table.

Chalky off-white pills clatter against the glass, and you begin to gradually grind them into a fine dust, enough to eventually incorporate another viscous substance into a cohesive, opaque fluid.

Near the end, the Mandalorian breaks the relative silence, “What are you doing?”

“Compounding an oral suspension.” The pestle moves in one final pass around the bowl before you set them aside to retrieve a glass dropper bottle and funnel the liquid in. “Have you ever tried to get a child to take a pill?” Your eyes flit up to his visor briefly, imploringly. It shakes, and you smile. “It doesn’t really go over well.”

“I see, ” comes a flat reply. When you glance at the Child again, it seems he’s falling asleep resting against the Mandalorian’s cuirass. Big eyes droop shut, peeking open each time one of you speaks.

“You’ll need to give him one dropper full of the antibiotic with food twice a day for seven days, ” you explain, more softly now, then gesture to another pre-dosed bottle of tablets. “These are chewable antihistamines, which can be given once daily.”

“Seems simple enough, ” agrees the Mandalorian, standing fully as you circle the table and toggle the door open.

Your lips part soundlessly at first, shutting as a new wave of trepidation washes over you. The Mandalorian breezes past and you catch the soft green of one pointy ear beyond his arm. It feels like a risky offer, but your curiosity gets the better of you, watching his cape shift as he walks back the way you came.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here while he recovers, ” you offer quickly, closing the door and following behind. “I’ve got a guest room with an en-suite refresher, so you don’t need to pay for lodging. If everything’s right, it should be maybe a week, if that.”

You’d hate to be on the business side of that ambiguous visor – when it turns back at you, your stomach drops. Fortunately, he only seems to deliberate for a moment before you receive your next answer:

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

The Mandalorian had left you for the remainder of the afternoon – perhaps to gather items from his ship or peruse the market lining the downtown corridor – returning just as the sun began its slow descent. A short walk beyond the edge of town brought you to your home, largely unchanged by time. With some prodding, you learned the Child preferred bone broth, and anything would do for the Mandalorian.

The Child had been reluctant to take the fruit-flavored antihistamine, so you worried he would too reject a broth laden with bitter medicine. Much to your relief, however, he sucked down the nourishment – deservedly – seeming not to notice anything amiss thanks to the peppery, sweet root you’d grated in.

The Mandalorian lounges in your den, some rigidity seeming to have melted from his frame. An empty porringer sits on the caf table across from him, and the Child dozes in the sling of his arms, full of broth and medicine, button eyes narrowed to slits as he fights a losing battle against his slumber once more.

The near soundless shuffle of heavy boots upon the floor causes you to look up in time to see the Mandalorian stalking down the guest hall. You plate the food and set it on the bar counter, turning to retrieve flatware.

“I didn’t think you were going to school to be a doctor.”

The voice surprises you, its owner’s soundless return causing your hands to jostle the lip of the drawer you were in. Lips press thin to stifle a curse. You grab what you need and turn.

Then, you process what has been said.

Oh.

He remembers you, too.

You aren’t sure whether you flush, but it feels like you do, the notion softening your features somewhat, “I didn’t. I didn’t even finish the degree I was in for.”

“You seem capable enough without it.” It’s spoken matter of factly. “What happened?”

“I attended the University of Alderaan at a satellite campus for botany, and … you know. Halfway through my third year, I came home and started working with my dad, shadowing while doing side work.”

Silence draws out between you – and you’re torn about whether it’s comfortable. The Child’s soft, congested snore traveling down the hall is the only thing to disrupt it.

“My condolences, ” comes his even, modulated reply, and at first, you’re not sure what for.

“It’s fine. It was … a relief.” Your shoulder rolls in a shrug, and you smile. “All things considered, he lived a long life. This was a fun, easy retirement.”

A hum comes in reply.

“You should go eat. Rest, ” you press after another beat. “You can leave your dishes out here; I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”

“Thank you, ” the Mandalorian reiterates. You watch him retreat down the hall, food in tow.

You retire to the opposite hall, ducking your head into 2-1B’s room.

“It is the Mandalorian, ” he says decisively, as though reading your mind.

“I know.”

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

@fatima-marisa @3zae-zae3

Join My Taglist! (google forms)

#still figuring out how to tag #and still slightly embarrassed to share my writing #yeeHAW #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #mando

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broodwolf221 · 4 months

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Welcome to DADWC!! This friday, howabout some Solas/Varric with the prompt "scripturient- having a strong urge to write" from your rare/unusual word prompts?

oh this was a delight, tysm! i love writing these two, and what a perfect prompt for them /u\ @dadrunkwriting 931 words

“Solas.”

“Hm?” Varric sighed as Solas didn’t even look up from the book he was studying - he knew the mage could have his attention on two things at once, but it never really felt like he was listening.

“I’ve been thinking about a new book.”

“Naturally,” Solas countered drily, turning the page.

“Well, the thing is...” as he trailed off, the other man finally looked up with a frown. Then his eyes widened slightly.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, Chuckles, it’s the story of the century!”

“That may be so, but it is not a story I want told.” Solas pushed up from the table to sit beside Varric, taking one of his hands in both of his. “Please understand. This is... too much. I don’t want the world to know.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” he rushed to say, Solas’ frown deepening. “See, I could swing it as fiction. The people who already know would get a fuller account, and those that don’t... well, it’d be a fun story.” Shit. That was the wrong angle. Solas’ frown turned from contemplative to frosty as he withdrew his hands.

“Fun?”

“I just meant-”

“I know what you meant, Master Tethras.” Damn. Switching to Varric’s surname. He was pissed. “I’m sure it’d sell incredibly well, too. The “Fall of the Dread Wolf,” perhaps? I’m sure you’ll line your pockets.” Okay, that stung.

“C’mon, Solas, you know I didn’t mean it like that. And I’m not trying to make a quick sovereign off you. It’s just... don’t you think it should be recorded? You’re all about records!”

“Not about this.” Fuck. Solas sounded downright wounded. Varric would’ve preferred it if he still sounded angry.

“Look, if you really don’t want me to, I won’t. But... I think it might help you, too.” Solas turned back to him, looking wary but not quite as upset. “It helped, didn’t it, to let the Inquisitor know the truth? To tell me?” Solas didn’t reply, but he didn’t turn away, either. Slight progress. “You act like it doesn’t bother you, but I’ve seen you react to mentions of Fen’Harel. You don’t like the way you’re portrayed.”

“Would you?” The mage asked quietly. “One side painting you as a horrible villain, the other side a glamorous hero, and seeing nothing of who you really are reflected anywhere?”

Now Varric was the one to reach out, setting his hand on Solas’ thigh. The mage sighed before shifting to hold Varric’s hand again, their fingers woven together. They were so different, but so far they’d managed to make everything work. He was pretty sure they could manage this, too. “That’s what I want to do, if you’ll let me,” he pointed out, Solas arching a brow. “I want to tell the truth.”

“Your truth or the truth?” Solas’ voice had a faintly teasing quality to it now, although Varric wasn’t fooled - he was still upset. So he squeezed the mage’s hand.

“Look, I know I can get carried away-” Solas snorted and he rolled his eyes, “but, I can tell the truth, too.”

“What would you say, if I agreed to this?”

Ah. Now they were getting somewhere.

“I would tell the world,” Varric began, raising one leg up onto the couch so he could turn to face Solas properly, “that Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, was a man, someone who was doing what he thought was best. That he fought for the freedom of slaves. That he-”

“Destroyed the world?” Solas interrupted grimly, Varric sighing.

“That he paid a horrible price to complete his mission. That many died so that others could be freed. That magic was taken from the world so it could survive into the next age, and the one after that, and the one after that. And I would tell the world that this man still walks the earth, that he still mourns his mistakes and the price paid, that he still seeks restitution... And that he made other mistakes in his efforts to fix his old ones.” He watched Solas wince and glance away, his chest aching. But he did say he would tell the truth. “Solas, you know who my friends are. You know what they’ve done, the lives they’ve taken, the changes they’ve wrought.”

“... I do,” he admitted after a long moment.

“I don’t think you were right to let Corypheus have your orb, but I understand why you did it. And maybe it was the only way forward, I don’t know, but I do know that a lot of people got killed, too. At the same time... a lot of people are still alive because of you. You’re just like anyone else, aside from living longer. You make the best choice you can figure out at the time. Sometimes it’s the wrong one. Sometimes it’s the right one. Sometimes it’s the only one. But that’s... normal, really. The difference is the scale you're working at.” Varric shrugs - he’s not trying to make light of any of this, but it’s still the truth. “We all do the best we can, right? And sometimes we fuck up. And sometimes we fuck up in a really catastrophic way. Hell, it’s my fault red lyrium got out of control...” He trailed off, now the one glancing away. At least until Solas squeezed his hand.

“This is what you would write?” He asks, sounding worn. Varric nods.

“Yeah. The truth.”

Solas sighs before leaning forward - and bending down - in order to press their foreheads together. “I will consider it, Varric. But please... give me time.”

“You got it.” Solas’ faint smile warmed him, made everything feel alright.

#dadw time #solarric #solas #varric #themmmmm #broodwrites

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xleon-hayashix · 1 month

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𝕿𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 ⌞𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛⌝

Wattpad Book

Chapter 1

As soon as Y/n arrived in his room, he made sure that everything he needed was there already, his custom uniform of red and black colours, money to cover the train ticket, blood collecting needles and his sheathed katana.

He got ready and left the room, it was around 10 pm when he made his way to the back garden of the tea house, a small prick on the needle was all he needed for it to fill to the brim with his blood, taking short steps with his geta as the something on the tree began to move.

“LORD L/n! I missed you so much!” the demoness jumped at the sight of her favourite demon hunter. Her name was Aoyama Kazue, a girl who was turned to a demon at the age of 14, and had been working for the demon hunters since then, he had been welcomed in when a Lord (the equivalent of a hashira) had seen that her blood demon art allowed her to create a subspace where you could cut distances, for that, the demon hunter draws their own blood with a needle and stabs it onto a special kind of tree that acts as a portal. “I need you to take me near tokyo, close to a train station, but not that close” Y/n spoke as he handed her his blood for her to drink and use her blood demon art. “Yes Lord L/n! I'll take you there, do you need me to take you back as well?” She walked up to the tree as it began to uncurl to reveal a forest behind it, it was nighttime there “I’ll call you if I need your help, let’s go Kazue” He patted her on the head and began walking.

Meanwhile, Rengoku Kyojuro was waiting on the train station for the mugen train to be ready, the demon he had slayed the last night was but a mere distraction for the real danger that lurked on that place, it was around 8am, the sun shined on the horizon and the place was calm, he was eating one of the bentos he had bought from the lady and granddaughter.

“UMAI” Kyojuro said which each bite he took, the rice and beef were a good combination for a bento, and he still had around 20 to eat later so it would be a feast for him!.

RENGOKU’S POV

“That’s a nice bento, isn’t it?” a voice said behind me, wait, behind me?? I turned around to find a male on a expensive looking hakama pants and a hakamashita with a untied kimono, H/c and radiant E/c. “Yes! It is a nice bento! Who may you be?” looking down I could see high geta sandals, he shouldn’t be able to get behind me even with my dense hearing, I didn’t get alerted by his presence at all.

“My name is L/n F/n (Fake name) nice to meet you, what’s your name?” L/n sat on the other side of the bench while he placed his bag in front of his legs. He wasn’t a demon because he was in full contact with sunlight and he didn’t look like a demon at all.

“Nice to meet you as well L/n-San, my name is Rengoku Kyojuro!” I shook his hand as he offered it to me and gave him a smile. On his hand he had a boarding ticket that said “mugen train” with red letters. “Are you boarding on the mugen train tonight? Where are you heading?” He looked down at his ticket and looked up again “Yes, I assume you are boarding as well Rengoku-san? I'm going to visit a friend of mine” His voice was calm and relaxed, like the ocean waves. “Yes! I am boarding to slay a demon that has been killing people on the train! I was sent by the demon slayer corps!”

Y/n POV

He’s the Hashira I’m looking for, I doubt Ubuyashiki would sent two hashira on a mission, maybe a kinoe but not two hashira, as soon as he said his name I realised he was one, Rengoku is not a surname that you hear everyday, they are flame wielders, a respected family inside the demon slayer corps and not counting that fact, he has golden buttons on the gakuran, he’s 100% the hashira I was sent to protect. “You are a demon slayer, am I right? That uniform seemed familiar to me” I want him to lower his guard around me so he can trust me better when the time comes. I don’t want to knock him out, that would be a waste of my time.

“Yes! Do you happen to know the demon slayer corps? I’ll protect the train and each one of the passengers on it!” He’s loud. Charming appearance but loud. Maybe he’s hard of hearing so I won’t say anything to him yet. “I do know the demon slayer corps” and now it’s the time for charming. Lady Kichijoten please help me and forgive me for what I’m about to do.

“Is that so? Thank you so much Rengoku-san” I placed my hand atop of his and gave him the kindest smile I could, an unorthodox but working method. His face had a faint blush on it as I moved one of my fingers to make small circles on the palm of his hand. “DO NOT WORRY, I’LL PROTECT YO- I MEAN i’LL PROTECT EVERYONE ON THE TRAIN” The stutter of his voice was a clear sign that my plan was working, he got up faster than a thunder and began to talk loudly “I’LL FULFIL MY DUTY AS A HASHIRA AND PROTECT THE PEOPLE, DO NOT WORRY L/N-SAN!” he was clearly embarrassed as he said those words.

“Fufu~, how about I treat you to breakfast after the train arrives? That way I can thank you for protecting me and everyone on the train, Rengoku-san~” Man, not even 30 minutes in and this guy is already blushing? Has he ever had a lover? Maybe not.

“THAT WOULD BE DELIGHTFUL L/N-SAN! I’LL LOOK FORWARD TO IT” He was somewhat attractive, his flashy hair and eyes were beautiful, he looked like an owl.

3rd PERSON POV

The conversation between the two men got interrupted when the train tracks began to clack signalling the arrival of the train to the station, “Rengoku-san, it’s time to part away but when the train stops, I’ll wait for you” Y/n gave him a smile and began to walk to the open door in front of him ignoring Kyojuro and making his way to his seat.

To Y/n’s misfortune, it turns out Kyojuro had followed him and now they were sitting in front of each other, the hashira was eating a new bento every 2 minutes while Y/n kept all his attention on all the people passing by to other carts.

“Rengoku-san, do you happen to enjoy my company? I don’t see why following me would help your mission” The demon hunter spoke with a flirty tone as he looked at the hashira, “I wanted to talk with you! After all, we are to have breakfast after this! You said it yourself!” his tone of voice and cheeriness never faded, that got a smile on Y/n’s face. Thanks to his eating speed, Kyojuro had some rice grains near his lips that he was planning to clean

“Let’s hope I don’t distract you too much on your mission then” Y/n licked his thumb and cleaned the rice stuck on Kyojuro’s face. “I may go poor for how much you’re eating, not that I mind, Men with an appetite are quite cute if I say so myself” with a slight chuckle from Y/n’s lips, the hashira was blushing once again.

After some time waiting for the train to depart, 3 voices from another cart were getting louder, no doubt the slayers that were to accompany Kyojuro on this mission, Y/n thought.

Y/n POV

3 men stood behind Rengoku as he continued to eat, with each bite he took he repeated the word “Umai” loudly, after a while it didn’t bother me anymore, though I couldn’t say the same about the other passengers of the cart.

They were not older than 17, maybe 16 to 15, The first to approach Rengoku was a kid with burgundy hair and a scar on his face, green chequered haori and a box that reaked of a demon, I suppose that was Tanjiro Kamado, the kid who carries his demon sister on his back. “Um, excuse me, Rengoku-san?” With every word he said, Rengoky paid no mind while he continued to eat. “We get that part already” He sounded more tired than anything, while the two other kids behind him were silent.

While Rengoku and Kamado talked I looked at the other two, a blond scared looking kid with a yellow haori and a kid with a boar mask?? Isn’t that a flashy sight to look at, and he was naked on his upper torso. “WHAT YOU LOOKIN’ AT FANCY MAN?” I guess he caught me staring because the next moment he was pointing one of his fingers at me.

In a moment, all the attention of the 4 slayers was on me, yipee. What mess did I get myself into?

“I’m sorry for my friend over there beautiful lady, he doesn’t have any manners” the blond kid said while trying to push his friend aside. “What’s your name, beautiful lady?” and now he thinks I’m a girl, awesome.

“My name is L/n Y/n, I may be beautiful but I’m not a lady, young man” I got to admit that it was funny seeing his face contort at my revelation.

“Oh, I see” with a defeated look he went to sit down on a nearby chair with the boar kid following him close after. Kamado looked back at me and bowed his head “I’m so sorry for my friends, they don’t mean any harm but they can be quite annoying, my name is Kamado Tanjiro, it’s nice to meet you” I bowed a bit and he continued to talk “Their names are Agatsuma Zenitsu and Hashibira Inosuke, i’m so sorry if they were a bother” at least Kamado has manners.

#demon slayer x male reade #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x male reader #male reader #fanfic #wattpad #demon slayer fanfic #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader

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gerrysherry · 6 months

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AU where Magda lives and Erik finds her

written as part of a Magneto/Moon Knight tone swap where each character does something the other typically does. For example, Marc's chapter has him infiltrate a neo-nazi group and then killing everyone once they start to trust him. This is based on real comics but very badly written ones so I kinda fixed it.

Something Marc does a lot is convince his love interests that he is fine mentally and he's never going back to senseless violence and to please, please move back in with him. Erik never does this but what if he did?

for @rooskaya-belova15 who asked for Erik and Magda reconnecting. This is for you my friend.

Erik carrying an exhausted tween Wanda in his arms, lands in in front of an incredulous and horrified Magda. Pietro is hiding behind her dress.

Erik: I saved her from the scared villagers, who thought her a witch.

Pietro: I told you so, Mama! I told you the strange flying man who saved Wanda was going to find us!

Magda takes Wanda from Erik’s arms and slams the door. She is surprised Erik is still there when she opens the door again.

Magda: What do you want, Max?

Erik: A lot has changed. We’ve changed. We’ve both changed surnames, I go by Erik Magnus now. I’m …

Magda: Currently run a terrorist organization after stealing some gold from Kenya. Where were you these ten years?!

Erik: : Getting treatment. I was in a hospital for survivors. It helped. I’ve some new friends from that time. One’s a doctor and another’s a lawyer. We keep in touch. Besides, Magda, darling, it was already stolen gold and I put it to much better use. I don’t run a terrorist organization, I take in troubled Mutant teenagers who had nowhere to go. Mortimer is with Jason but I do have to check in on him. They were going to hang him Magda! Just for the way he looked! I just want to do well by your children. They should see their own kind.

Magda: they aren’t going anywhere. We are safe here. Nor will you bring your merry band of revolutionaries anywhere near this settlement. But Max…

Erik: It’s Erik, now….

Magda: Erik...Surely you realize they’re OUR children. Pietro looks just like you. Or are you feigning ignorance to appear innocent?

Erik, mulling over her words and reeling that, yes, he’s a father again.

Erik: Magda, you wound me! A safe third location, then. Only as a visit. Trust me, Magda, I’m not the monster you saw me as all those years ago.

Magda: Spare me… but alright…it’s about time the children met their father.

#madga eisenhardt #erik lehnsherr #max eisenhardt #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff #mortimer toynbee #mentioned #my writing #my fanfiction #angst #Erik is not ok #but when is he ever #your honor they are divorced #the other great divorced erik ship #erik/magda

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istorkyou · 1 year

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The Price Of Love (Modern!Ivar AU)

Modern!Ivar x Female reader

Warnings - Strictly 18+ NSFW. Language. Smut smutty smut.

Synopsis - Money isn’t everything.

Word Count - 3361

Note - This is the second fic I ever wrote and I’m not sure why I never posted it. I think I started writing The Arrangement not long after and kind of fell out of love with this one. Still, it’s been festering in my completed docs for well over a year so I figure I might as well post it 😬 It’s fluffy, and maybe a little cheesy (and by a little I mean a lot!) so if that’s your bag I hope you enjoy it!

Moodboard - The beautiful moodboard is made the magical, amazing @serasvictoria. Thank you so much xxxx

This was beta read by my aussie wife who has left Tumblr. All love, all the time Lou x

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :)@smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius @momowhoo @zuxiezendler @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer @pieces-by-me @heavenly1927 @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy @petite-hime @serasvictoria @mimiiinspace @itsmysticalmystery @lonewolf471 @mylifeisactuallyamess @draculasbride-blog @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @redhead7799 @kaybee87 @ivarlover @ivarhoegh @idgafiamallthefandoms @darkphoenix5037 @profoundtyrantharmony @snarling-through-our-smiles @crazyunsexycool @xceafh @bragisrunes@noway4u @batmandallyboy @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73 @meandmycherrytree @wonton-wrappers

Masterpost

CHAPTER 8

Your taxi pulls up outside a huge glass building that looks full of swanky apartments. Of course he lives somewhere like this. You walk in through the massive doors and there is a man at the front desk who looks up at you with a big smile on his face.

“You must be Miss Y/L/N. Mr Lothbrok has been expecting you.”

“Hi Sir. What’s your name?” You ask him.

“I am Preston, Miss Y/L/N,” he replies.

“Can I call you Preston? Nice to meet you,” you shake his hand and he nods at your question. “Please just call me Y/N, I feel like an old lady when I get called by my surname!” You laugh.

“Y/N it is then,” he smiles “Mr Lothbrok lives in the penthouse.” He gives you a card key “swipe that in the elevator and it will give you access,” he says.

“Penthouse? Of course he does,” you roll your eyes slightly and look at Preston, “without wanting you to be indiscreet, Preston, am I one in a long line of girls you have given these key cards out to, just between us of course,” you wink at him.

A smile creeps over his face as you ask the question. “You are the first,” he tells you.

Your eyes narrow at him, you don’t believe that. The look he has on his face is one of pure honesty “I don’t say anything I don’t mean, Ma’am. I mean, Y/N.”

He points towards the elevator. You smile at him and head over.

You swipe the card and start to ascend. When the elevator dings and the doors open Ivar is standing, an arm above his head leaning on the wall next to the doors, eyes at the floor, his eyes travel up your body. You can't help but laugh when you see him in the same position as in his office, he laughs as well.

“Y/N, I am so happy you are here, thanks so much for coming,” he pulls you into his arms for a big hug. He smells amazing. He grabs your hand and leads you through his penthouse.

It’s gigantic. The furniture is very minimal and there are black and white photos and colourful abstract paintings all over the walls. There is an amazing view of the city out of the massive windows.

He leads you to the kitchen which is open plan with massive ovens, a huge fridge, super modern and impressive.

The whole place is intimidating.

“I ordered us some sushi, shit, do you like sushi?” He turns to you with a panicked expression. You smile and nod at him. “Thank god, I thought I screwed up again! Sushi is my favourite food ever. Are you sure you like it? I will get you anything you want if you don’t,” you can feel the nervous energy emanating from him.

You watch him faffing around his kitchen getting plates, tiny bowls for soy and chopsticks ready. He reaches for some wine glasses, then stops.

“Do you want wine? Red or white? I’ve got beer, or anything really. Or do you want a soft drink? Coke? Lemonade? Orange juice? Water?” He is rambling anxiously.

“Ivar?” His head whips around to you.

“Calm down,” your voice is soothing.

He huffs out a laugh then looks at the floor.

“Sorry, I’m just really nervous,” he admits, barely catching your eye. “I’m petrified I’m going to fuck up again.”

He is adorable like this. A complete change to the cocky guy that turned up at your house joking about your dress being easy access. A change from the confident kisser. A change from the relaxed guy he was over dinner.

“I will have a glass of white wine, please.”

You are leaning against the fridge enjoying watching him. He reaches for the wine glasses and his shirt rides up, exposing his stomach slightly.

Your resolve has gone already.

You wanted to talk everything through with him, make sure he understands how he made you feel, but watching him bumble around his place, how nervous he is around you, how sexy he looks in his casual clothes and remembering the way he kisses you is making your mouth water and heat grow between your legs.

You want him, you want to feel him against you. He glances at you and does a double take, searching your face.

“What is it?” He asks you, his brow furrowing.

“Where is your bedroom?” Your voice is low.

“What?” He chokes out.

“Is it this way?” You ask as you push off the fridge and head away from the kitchen.

He watches you walk away from him. “Yeah.” He breathes out shakily and puts everything down hurriedly to follow you.

By the time he reaches the bedroom you are sitting on the edge of his bed taking your shoes off and then your jacket. He watches you from the doorway, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Are you coming over here? I haven’t stopped thinking about how good you said you are with your tongue,” you tell him, eyes full of lust.

You stand up, undo your buttons and let your trousers fall around your feet. You take off your top and you're standing in your lacy red underwear. Waiting for him to come over to you, you sit on the edge of his bed again.

He hasn’t moved an inch. He is just staring at you, mouth wide open, eyes travelling all over your body.

“Hello? Are you ok?” You ask him, with your eyebrows raised and you scoot back so you are propped up on his pillows.

“Is this a trick? Because it’s a very cruel one if it is.”

“No trick, now come over here and make that pretty mouth useful,” you purr at him.

He is on his way before you finish your sentence, he peels his top off before crawling up over you and starts kissing you frantically. You melt at the feel of him. God, what is it about this man's kisses?

“I did not see the night going like this, Y/N. I am not complaining though. Fuck you look smoking in this underwear.” He starts kissing your neck and quickly travels down your chest and stomach, trailing his tongue down you.

He settles between your legs, you can feel his hot breath fanning over the crotch of your panties. His eyes see the bows on the side of your underwear and slowly pull on the silk ties as he looks into your eyes. When the first side is open he runs his tongue over your hip and down into the crease of your thigh. He pulls the other side open and does the same with his tongue. You can’t take your eyes off him, he is so fucking sexy, and his slow pace is setting you on fire.

You lift up your ass a bit and he reads your movement and slips your underwear out from under you, tossing them on the bed.

Your legs drop open fully and he takes a beat to appreciate the view before his tongue gives a tentative lick of your clit, making your head drop back in pleasure. More small soft flicks have you moaning, he flattens his tongue and licks stripes from your clit down and eventually pushes his tongue into your pussy.

“Oh fuck, Ivar that feels amazing,” you tell him between moans and you can feel his mouth smiling against you.

“Use your fingers,” you tell him with a shaky voice and he starts to rub your clit. His tongue moves in and out of you then he switches quickly, his tongue back on your clit and his fingers are inside you curled up on your G spot.

“Oh god.. fuck Ivar.. so good.. your tongue.. fuck.. don’t stop,” you moan at him.

Ivar carries on at the exact right pace and pressure until you are almost falling over the edge.

“Ivar.. fuck I’m going to cum” you tell him, he doesn’t speed up at all, just stays at the same pace until you are screaming his name, fingers in his hair bucking onto his tongue to ride it out your orgasm as long as you can.

You eventually let his hair go and he crawls up, face slick from your orgasm, you rub your hand over his mouth and he kisses you, you can taste yourself in his mouth and you both groan and he collapses down next to you.

“Jesus Christ, I haven’t cum that hard in a long time. Thank you,” you tell him. He gives you a deep kiss and you pull away so you are eye to eye. “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Are you even real?” He huffs out in shock but not wasting any time unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them and his boxers down to his mid thigh.

“Do you mind if I leave them on?” He asks almost shyly. You shake your head and kiss him before heading down.

You waste no time with teasing, you just take him into your mouth as he gets fully hard on your tongue. You immediately deep throat him, letting saliva dribble down his shaft, you swirl your tongue around over and over until you pull your mouth off him knowing you will leave a string of spit attached to your lips, his face priceless, disbelief and lust. You let more saliva dribble onto the tip before you slide him in all the way into the back of your throat, gagging around him. The noises coming from him are turning you on so much you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and jerk him off as your mouth sucks him hard. You hear his noises getting higher so you pull your mouth and hand away before he reaches release. His head snaps up to you and he groans at the loss of feeling.

“I haven’t finished, I just don’t want you to cum yet, I’m enjoying this too much,” you tell him and travel up to kiss his mouth.

“Shiiiiit,” he breathes out as you move down again.

You curl your finger around his hard cock, sliding your mouth back onto him, using your hand and mouth to push him to the edge again.

“Stick your ass up in the air more, such an amazing view” his breathing is shallow. You do as you are told and he groans out again.

You deny him his orgasm three more times before you can’t hold off any longer, the need to see him come takes over. You up the speed of your hand and mouth movement and suck harder with each pass, his voice turning the air blue with obscenities.

He grabs your head and starts to thrust up into your mouth, you take your hand away and let him take what he needs from you. The noise he makes as he cums down your throat turns you on so much you are moaning in between swallowing his load. His hips stop fucking into your mouth and his hand leaves your hair, your mouth leaves him and you lick him clean.

“You enjoy that?” You purr in his ear.

“No words,” he manages to get out between heavy breaths, laying back on his pillow looking up at the ceiling. You let out a little giggle.

You find your underwear and put them on, doing up the ties on the side.

“Shall I go and get us some drinks and the sushi?” You ask him.

He is staring at you now, his post orgasm eyes are heavily lidded and he nods.

“Still no words, huh?” You laugh as you pad out into the kitchen.

You come back with two plates full of food and drinks for you both, he has pulled his jeans back up.

“Can I borrow a tshirt?” You ask him “don’t think I’m going to feel too sexy with my bloated food stomach on display in this underwear.”

He laughs and points towards some drawers you go over and pull the first one you find over your head.

“That was the best blow job I’ve ever had in my entire life,” he finally says.

“Words!” You laugh at him as you crawl up into the bed and settle next to him sitting on your knees. You start dipping some sushi in soy and eating a roll. He laughs at you.

“Do you know you do a little happy jiggle when you eat?” He asks, smiling at you.

“Do I? I fucking love food,” you say before popping another sushi roll in your mouth. He is watching you eat with a massive grin on his face.

You hear a faint ding and Ivars eyes swivel to the bedroom door.

“What the fuck? That's the elevator” he says with a look of confusion on his face.

“Ivar!” A woman’s voice is calling him from inside his apartment.

He grabs his phone and checks it.

“Fucking shit! Please stay here,” he can see your face has dropped “it’s not what you are thinking, I promise it’s not. Please believe me”

He swings his legs out of bed and quickly straps his braces on, hand finding his walking stick.

You watch him lurch unevenly out his bedroom

“There you are, Ivar! Something has come up and you are needed at an event. It’s a perfect photo opportunity,” the woman says.

You know who it is now. It’s Freydis.

“How the fuck did you get in here? You can’t just come up to my place, for fucks sake” Ivar says in a hushed tone.

“The doorman gave me a card. He really didn’t want to, I basically threatened to get him fired if he didn’t and told him you would be furious if he didn’t let me up. He tried to call you a bunch of times and told me it was a bad time. Stupid old man, does he not know who I am?” The voice asks, dripping with contempt.

“How the fuck would he know who you are? You’ve never been here before! I’m not going anywhere tonight. I’m busy.” Ivar says.

“No you aren’t, you are in jeans, come on where's your bedroom I will pick you out something to wear.”

You can hear her heels clicking on the floor getting closer to his bedroom.

“Can you just leave? Don’t go in my bedroom, for fucks sake!!” Ivar's voice is full of anger. “What makes you think you can just barge in here?”

You pick up your glass and clothes so there is no evidence of you and quickly run into his en suite, closing the door quietly and locking it. You don’t know why but he doesn’t want her to know you are here, and you aren’t in the mood for confrontation, hiding seems the best option.

You have heard everything he has said to her and it’s left you no doubt at all that there is nothing going on between them.

“Freydis, I’m not coming out with you. I am eating dinner and want to relax. I think we’ve been photographed together enough.” His voice is a bit frantic.

As they enter the bedroom you can hear a sound of confusion from Ivar.

“Ivar, my darling. Why must you deny the chemistry between us? We would be a great match if we dated properly. We would be the new power couple, I know my father would approve. I’m not going to wait around for you forever,” she says with a sulky tone in her voice.

“Freydis, I’ve told you many times. I’m not ready to settle down. I’m enjoying being young, free and single,” he says, his tone is sweet like honey. You don’t recognise his voice at all when he speaks like that.

“Well I suppose you must sow your wild oats, but I warn you Alfred Wessex has showed a great deal of interest in me, he bought me a sapphire necklace last week, so you will have to up your game when you decide to pursue me, I will be expecting bigger and better things from you,” she giggles.

“Fine, don’t come out tonight, I will tell the paparazzi you are too busy working. Don’t eat all that sushi, white rice will make you fat. Ciao darling, see you soon.” The sounds of her clicking heels gets quieter until you hear the elevator ding again.

“Y/N?” Ivar asks. You unlock the bathroom door and stand there for a second.

“She’s a charmer isn't she?! Give Preston a call and let him know he isn’t fired. Seriously, Ivar.” He looks puzzled but does as you say.

“Honestly Preston, it’s not your fault. I had my phone on silent, just please don’t let anyone up again.”

A strange look crosses over his face and he turns to look at you.

“Yes, she’s still here. Ok, I’ll put her on,” he hands his phone to you with a mix of amusement and confusion on his face.

“Hiya Preston, I know, she’s a gem hey?! Not a problem, I believe you, honestly. See you later, or in the morning, I haven’t decided yet. Bye!” You hang up and give Ivar the phone back.

“How are you on first name terms with him?!” Ivar asks with a curious look on his face.

“Preston and I are buds, my guy,” you shrug. He laughs at you then his face turns serious.

“I’m so sorry about her, she’s honestly never been here before.” Ivars tone has a hint of panic again, like he thinks he’s just blown his last chance with you.

“I heard everything, no big deal. I hid because I didn’t want anything messing up your business shit. I don’t usually say this but I don’t like her very much. I wonder what she is expecting you to buy her?” You laugh.

“I need you to know that I’m not sleeping with anyone, I know I implied to her that I was, but it was just to get her off my back. I haven’t slept with anyone for over a year. Just so you know.”

“Well I’ve only slept with your close blood relative, no one else in the last year” you look at him through your eyelashes and you both start laughing.

“Let’s get back to the food, I’m starving!” you giggle as you head towards the bed.

After the sushi is finished Ivar puts on a film and you snuggle together in his bed. Ivar sits up suddenly, turning to you and pulls you up to sit, facing him.

“Y/N. I want you to know how sorry I am about the last few weeks. I am so ashamed of myself. The way I treated you is unforgivable. I want you to know that I’m very aware how lucky I am that you are here with me. That you have allowed me to try and make it up to you.” His eyes have the most sincere look in them you’ve ever seen.

“Listen, Ivar. I think I’ve been very clear about how you made me feel. I’m a strong woman but what you did cut me deep.” His face is so hurt and his eyes drop to his hands. “Hey, I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, that’s just the reality of it. I’ve chosen to open up to you, to give you another chance. I’m trusting you to treat me better this time, OK? Please don’t keep apologising for the past, just focus on doing better in the future,” you give a one shouldered shrug and place your hand gently in his cheek. He turns and kisses your palm.

“Oh I will. I promise. Do you want to stay over?” He asks quietly.

You give him a squeeze. “It depends, will you be here in the morning?” You tease him.

He kisses the top of your head and tickles your side playfully. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Cancel your plans, you are mine for the rest of the weekend!”

Chapter 9

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