#San shoots the breeze

[shrikeseams]

If elves have flexible/mobile ears, they should also reflexively flatten them against their skulls when they yawn. Like a cat.

#tolkien #hasn't someone done art of like. finrod doing the big cat yawn that's all teeth? #san shoots the breeze

[callmerainman]

Cameras | Reigen Arataka x fem!model!Reader

plot. The last thing you expected when you entered the office of Reigen Arataka, was to be head over heels for him. Reigen can't seem to believe it himself when Dimple points out that the beautiful model who came in his office for help is, in fact, flirting her way towards him. It's your first time chasing a man and not the other way around, and it's so much fun.

fandom. mob psycho 100

word count. 2.2k

tags. fem!reader, reader is a model, flirting, seducing, awkwardness, suggestive tones, implied sexual reference, oblivious Reigen Arataka, photoshoots, smoking, wingman Dimple.

part. 1/2

An elegant smile softly spread across your face, your hands touching your soft hair with delicacy, your legs crossed under the wooden desk. And, hard to ignore, your foot moving slowly in a circling motion. Your classy composure hides your real emotions so well, you're a woman of style. But, in reality, you're completely losing it.

Shit, he's handsome.

The blond man sitting in front of you is explaining his parcels and exorcism plans as he moves his hands left and right. He looks serious, professional, and focused. His name is Reigen Arataka, or The Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century. You didn't know anything about him until twenty minutes earlier, when you entered his office.

You work as a photo model in a well known modeling agency in Seasoning City. You recently started catwalks, but you're mainly featured on local fashion magazines covers and billboard signs across the city. Your career is going well, except for this feeling that you just can't shake off. In the last few months, every time you pose for a picture you feel a haunting presence weighing on your shoulders. It's like a cold, gloomy breeze. It didn't stop you from getting your work done, but it was more energy consuming than it should be. You didn't believe in ghosts, to be clear. But your friends suggested you call a psychic, and so you did. You chose the cheapest in town, just to give it a try. But nothing could have prepared you for this situation.

«So, considering the context, I think the best exorcism plan is the second in my list, miss»

You snap back to reality and quickly realize that you didn't listen to a single word he said. Too busy staring at the smooth gestures of his hands. You have to play it cool.

«How about you come with me to my next shooting? I have to get there in 30 minutes. Maybe you can take care of the problem on the spot. I'll be glad to pose for you if it can help, Reigen-san» you smile, resting your chin on your open palm.

It's weird. Usually men were the ones who chased you, and fell for you right on the spot. This is your first time being head over heels for a man, and at first sight too. You can't exactly pin point what it is that makes you twirl your hair around your index, and smile so intently. Maybe his ginger hair, or the way he articulates words. Or his grey suit and eccentric pink tie, and charismatic smile.

The man exudes sex. In sort of a pathetic, sketchy way.

«Fine by me» Reigen replies.

You clap your hands together and spark him a shiny smile «Great! Let's go then!»

As you go ahead to bring your car in front of the building, Reigen closes the office. Mob is at school and no clients are expected to come for the next few hours.

The conman trots down the stairs quickly so that he can go wait for you outside the building. But he feels a presence floating behind him.

«Oi, Reigen»

Reigen turns around and grumbles as his gaze meets a familiar green cloud.

«What, Dimple»

«That lady is most certainly hitting on you»

Reigen almost trips down the stairs. He quickly recollects himself as he stops in the middle of the stairwell.

«That's not true»

«Pff» the spirit spits «it's so obvious»

Reigen descends the stairs again, the sound of his shoes stomping on the floor booming in the echoey building.

«It's not obvious because she's not hitting on me! You're just saying it to make fun of me»

The green spirit floats backwards, in front of Reigen's face. He looks dead serious.

«Look man, I would never use such a poor excuse for a joke. I mean, a knockout of a model hitting on you? That would be too unrealistic!»

Reigen rolls his eyes and just keeps going, trying to ignore Dimple.

The latter agitates a little green arm in front of his face «Hellooo? She was literally eating you up with her preying eyes! Basically giggling and kicking her feet like a schoolgirl! And what about the "I'll be glad to pose for you~"»

Dimple channeled his most feminine, high-pitched voice to say that. Green little hands intertwined, eyes glittering and lashes fluttering. It pisses Reigen off.

«Miss (Y/N) is not hitting on me. And even if she were, obviously in a very parallel and distant world, I would never get my way with her. She's my client, and I'm a professional»

«Whatever you say dude...I warned you»

Dimple didn't pop out until later on, when you and Reigen get to your modeling agency. Everything is ready for today's photoshoot: lights, cameras, setting. As Reigen wanders around pretending to scan for spirits, you're approached by your publicist, Haru.

«Is he the male stripper we rented for Sakura's birthday?» she asks, pointing a finger towards Reigen.

«What? No! That's the psychic you suggested I call!» you exclaim.

«Oooh! Is he here to help you exorcise that spirit?»

«We don't know if there's a spirit yet, but he's here to help me out»

«And how are things going?»

«I want to sleep with him»

«(Y/N)!»

«I'm sorry, I can't help it!»

«Okay, I'll reschedule your Christmas jumpers shooting for next week. No big deal even if we don't do it today. Now go put some lingerie on»

«I love you so much, dearie»

In the end, there really was a spirit giving you a hard time during shootings. Or, to be specific, a curse. Dimple was able to detect it in no time, a cloud of gloomy, red smoke hovering over your shoulders. He absorbed it completely and you immediately felt the pressure on your back being released. Your pics came out perfect, flawless. You even put some extra work with that lingerie since you had a guest. And you did catch his brown eyes getting lost in the fabric of your garments, not without a sprinkle of guilt. It was a sight you yearned from men. Seeing them guilty for how mesmerized they are. But Reigen was dense. All afternoon you sent many hints that you, in fact, were flirting with him, but he didn't catch them. You still have time. Of course you have no idea that the one to get rid of the curse was Dimple, Reigen played it out as if he was the one doing all the magic. Dimple got accustomed to it.

«Thank you so much, Reigen-san» you smile, stunning as always. You already changed in your casual clothes, your body covered in a long, beige trenchcoat.

«No big deal, it was a small fish»

Dimple rolls his eyes behind Reigen's shoulder, but you can't see him. The sun is setting behind the building of your modeling agency. Reigen is smoking a cigarette, he asked you in advance if it bothers you, and you asked if you can join him. Reigen takes a quick glimpse at you. Even the way you smoke transpires elegance. His cheeks are lightly powdered in pink.

«I feel kinda bad though, I didn't pay you enough»

«No need to feel bad, I'm confident in my pricings»

«So you're gonna reject my drink invitation?»

Reigen chokes a puff of smoke. He throws you a quick glance and sees you smiling calmly, smoke slowly flowing out of your half-open lips. Dimple's words started floating in his own head. Was he right all along? Or you're just being nice? Do you really want to go out for a drink? Then, words just spill out on their own.

«Never said that»

You take a hit of your cigarette «Good, I'll lead the way»

There's something in your presence. So resolute, classy, confident. A different kind of confidence compared to Reigen. You always know how to behave, how to present yourself. It's hypnotic, magnetic even. Reigen can't help but be left speechless. He would lie to himself if he said that you weren't the prettiest woman he has ever seen. As you two walk towards your parked car, Reigen feels a familiar presence again.

«I told you, dude! She's all over you!» Dimple exlciams, waving his cloudy hands in front of Reigen.

«Shut the fuck up, she's not!»

You turn around «Did you say something?»

Reigen shakes his head vigorously, a bead of sweat running down his temple in embarrassment «N-nothing!»

The lounge bar you picked looks too expensive for Reigen's pockets. But you assured him that the drinks were on you, and ignored his insistence in paying. So now you and Reigen are sitting in front of each other, still dressed as you were this afternoon. He kinda feels out of place with his office suit on. But you fit the luxurious atmosphere so well. Your figure, your red dress, your make-up and smile. The way you talk, and laugh, and politely order two martinis. This place looks like it was made for you and you only. Talking with Reigen is an experience that you honestly expected very much. He's an interesting person, he's kind, funny, and smart. You didn't get the hots for him only for his looks. You understood the kind of person he was the moment he started listening to your problems this afternoon. He might look like the average japanese functional working citizen, but you saw right through him immediately.

And Reigen thinks the same of you. You're not only extremely attractive, confident and classy. You're cultured, intelligent, witty. He feels like talking to you is so easy, a feeling he didn't always get from others, or at least it wasn't often reciprocated. He wants to listen more of your words, of your mind. He's slowly getting hypnotized. You have a way with words, with gestures. The way you place your hand on your chin, or tuck hair behind your ear, is not casual. Everything you do is measure and balance. And the way you listen to his most complicated thoughts makes him want to tell you more, to stay a bit longer. He's enjoying himself for once in a while, laughing without thinking about anything else.

You put down your martini after taking a sip «By the way, Reigen, I think my photoshoot came out really, really well»

In a slow, sensual movement, you cross your legs under the table, your dress brushing against your bare skin with a velvet-like sound. You let one of your heels hang from the tip of your foot, then drop it down to the floor completely. Without any premeditation, you let your foot travel up Reigen's leg, first his ankle and then all the way up under the fabric of his pants.

«Maybe you should come to all my shootings from now on» you coo.

His shock is evident. Reigen locks his lips and holds his breath as he feels your foot stroking his leg under his pants. He wants to say something, but he can't.

Is she playing footsie with me?!

And then, for only God knows how many times, Dimple pops out again behind him, making Reigen jump on the spot.

«I fucking told you man!»

«I'm flirting with you, Reigen-san»

«Okay Dimple maybe you were right but what the fuck do I- say what?!»

You suppress a small giggle «I said that I'm flirting with you, Reigen. Since you didn't really seem to catch it»

Reigen is too stunned to speak «Oh!»

«I can stop though, if you're not interested in...more. Pursuing men so much is not my style. But I don't regret trying»

Your foot falls down from his leg and gets back to your heel, sliding it inside. You rest your chin in your hand, scanning Arataka's face for a reaction. He looks so embarrassed that it has you concerned. Did you go too far? To be completely honest, you liked messing with men. Making them look at you, leaving them speechless. But in a completely harmless way. Your last wish was to make Reigen uncomfortable in any way. You're about to say something, but you get interrupted.

«No, it's fine!» Reigen yelps, a nervous smile cracking on his face.

He mentally facepalms himself for sounding too excited, and too high pitched. But the reassuring smile you show him makes all his worries fade away. He doesn't feel judged, or under scrutiny.

«I-I mean» he resumes «I won't hold back if you're interested in...more»

Jesus he feels so stupid. But maybe you like stupid. It's written in the way you lean forward on your shared table, your hand reaching for his pink tie. You lightly pull it to encourage Reigen to come forward as well, sensually stroking it with two hands as you see his throat gulp out of nervousness.

«I'm glad to hear, Reigen. Otherwise I would have felt very lonely tonight, in my apartment»

«Good...»

Then, you let go of his tie and get up from your seat, and Reigen does the same. Mustering up some courage, Reigen extends his hand for you to take it. You happily oblige, placing yours in his palm. With a satisfied look on your face, you proceed to walk out of the lounge bar, hand in hand.

Without you noticing, Dimple appears in front of Reigen one last time.

«Can I come?» he asks.

«Fuck, no!» Reigen growls under his teeth.

«What did you say?» you ask.

«Nothing!»

#Spotify #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mp100 reigen #reader insert #reigen arataka #tumblr sexyman #fanfic #x reader #mob psycho reigen #reigen arataka x reader #reigen x reader #reigen manga #ao3 writer #writers on tumblr #mob psycho #dimple #ekubo #mp100 ekubo

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins | Chapter: Six

Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Six: It’s Awful, Do It Again.

The daylight drapes across the horizon like a turned curtain, folding across the contours of your eyelids in a sweet, murmured hello. As you lay there, hunched over your desk, the sounds of cackling birds echo through your idle body, nipping at the well-crafted frame of your dreams until it all fades away… subsequently plunging you into reality.

Suddenly, you jolt up. The familiar summer breeze hits your bare arms as you look at your desk, taking in the sight of the vials loosely clutched in your palms. Typical, you think in disgruntlement, pushing your sooty arms against the bench. Sleeping on the job…

You don’t register the existing company that lingers in the corners of your vision; a blur of different colours whizz around in the background as quiet as they can be – which, if Luffy and Usopp are ever involved, that’s just them talking in their outside voices. That is, until your brain jumpstarts itself to come around.

Zoro, seated about six seats away from you, is the first to notice your awakening. He glances at you, a faint trace of annoyance evident in his gaze as if your sleep disrupted the natural order of things. With his arms crossed, he grumbles in his usual gruff tone, “Finally decided to join the land of living?”

You stretch lazily, letting out a low, exaggerated yawn. "Well, well, good morning, Sunshine. Did someone forget to leave their attitude back at their ship?"

He snorts, unimpressed. "You wish I cared that much."

"You're right; I must’ve confused you with someone who has a personality," you say, genuinely yawning this time. "My bad."

"Save your witty remarks for someone who has the time," he mutters.

"Oh, Zoro, I'll treasure your indifference forever," you gasp, mockingly.

He shoots you a deadpan look. "You're exhausting."

You eye him up and down, displeasure colouring your face. “Trust me, it’s intentional.”

Pushing yourself away from your wooden stool, your back bluntly pulses as a reminder of last night’s gruelling work. You give yourself a long-deserved twist and stretch, feeling sporadic parts of your body crack in misery as you take in the chaos that’s unfolding in your studio.

With your lips parted open, you gape at Luffy who’s spinning one of your swords like a frisbee, narrowly missing a blunt forced chop to Usopp’s nose. Usopp yelps out loud before his terror transmutes into rage, indeed a deadly turn of events, as he immediately wrestles Luffy to the ground.

“What did I wake up to?” You laugh.

“Raya, you’re awake!” Chopper exclaims, firmly holding a tiny dagger he’s found himself somewhere. Deep down, you know that what he’s so lovingly caressing in his hand isn’t an awesome miniature dagger, but actually a mere old box cutter– but, come on, he doesn’t need to know that.

Everyone turns to your direction, their eyes lighting up when they see you awake and blinking. It seems like they were trying their best to let you sleep, aware that you probably had a long night of purifying disturbed metal.

“Oh no…Did they wake you up?” Nami’s furious eyes frantically divert from you to the two wrestling boys. “I told them to be quiet, for fuck’s sake.”

“Nah, let them have fun,” you smile, placing a comforting hand on Nami’s shoulder. “It’s not every day you find an underground workshop ran by runaway swordsmiths.”

Gramps Suki, who enters at his usual hour with a cup of tea, raises an eyebrow at the commotion. An approving smile twitches on his mouth as his eyes meet the familiar band of pirates. “Well, good morning…What brings you all here?”

“We stick to our promises, Hitetsu-san,” Brook says, coolly lounging across a worktable as his skeletal fingers strum melodies across his guitar. “We’re here to make amends for Zoro’s cruel mess…

"Ohhh, the marimooo,

From what we knoooww,

With a demonic smileeee,

Attacks in his three sword styleee~”

The swordsman's brow furrows in a mix of irritation and mild disbelief at the timing of the skeletal musician's impromptu performance. Brook, with his bony fingers strumming the guitar, continues to belt out his tune with an energy that seemed to rattle the very bones that composed him.

As the rhythmic melody fills the air, Zoro's expression remains stoic, but there was an undeniable edge to his demeanour. He shot a piercing look in Brook's direction, one that carried a silent message of, “Are you serious right now?"

“We were?” Luffy frowns in response to Brook, scratching his head. “I just came to talk to Swords and Gramps…”

“Do you ever listen to what I say?” Nami barks, snarling against Luffy’s neck.

“No - seriously, Zoro. Why did you do this?” Franky frowns, admiring the work that limply hangs in his robotic palms.

“I told you - she started it first.” Zoro bursts out with a scowl, unable to brush off his pestering crewmates any further. It's like they were all competing in the 'Blame Zoro for Everything' championship, and he was determined to win... or lose, depending on how you looked at it.

“Just swallow your humongous pride and help us clean, moss-head,” Sanji loudly retorts. “Besides…:

With a hopeful drag of his cigarette, Sanji turns to Gramps Suki, his eyes holding a little glimmer of excitement.

"When are you gonna show me those knives, old man?" The cook raises an eyebrow.

You faintly remember the conversation Gramps had with Sanji from last night; they were both chatting so animatedly - so passionately - on the importance of culinary knives, of each make and consequent use for specific ingredients – and, most importantly, on how truly important they are to a cook’s honour.

“One’s blades reflect what type of cook someone is…It’s similar to a marimo and the relationship with their sword,” Gramps had described to Sanji. “Are they sharpened properly? Are they well-kept, polished, and stored? Do your blades feel like an extension of your hand, or does it feel like what you’re holding is heavy, dull – almost like a corpse?”

Sanji vigorously nodded his head, deeply attentive to the old man’s words.

“Absolutely agree. That’s what distinguishes a good cook from a great one,” he had said, developing a newfound respect for Gramps Suki.

Gramps was so impressed by this blond cook and how palpable his passion for his cuisine was, that he’d offered to show him something he’d never mention in conversation to anyone else – his own artisanal culinary knives.

Gramps Suki smirks at him, taking a long sip of his tea. "You can use them when we make dinner later."

An authoritative decree thunders through the air as Nami, with a raised eyebrow, sticks her finger at the cook. “Hey, you’re not getting out of this. Start cleaning.”

Suddenly, Sanji, like a lovestruck marionette, succumbs to her authority. He stumbles toward her, a cigarette hanging precariously from his lips, his movements resembling a gleeful dance of compliance.

“Nami wields authority like a sorceress,” Sanji sighs dreamily, a sweet smile gracing his lips.

Quite blatantly ignoring him, Nami turns to you with a smile. “Leave the battlefield to us! We’ll make this place spotless.”

Your forehead creases. “I’m cleaning too, right?”

“You have more important things to do!”

You give her another confused look. Besides crafting Zoro’s swords, what else is there that you need to do?

Leaning in with a theatrical flair, she drops this gem in your ear, “Oh, you haven't noticed? Zoro's just been a beacon of patience lately. Losing his swords is clearly putting him in a state of enlightenment, don't you think?'"

Raising an eyebrow, you pivot to glance at Zoro, who conveniently nods off the moment 'cleaning' slips from Nami's lips. You didn't realize he was so emotionally attached to his swords – I mean, who could've guessed, especially considering the sorry state his blades were in?

As everyone's battling the clutter in the studio — no thanks to Zoro — you notice Usopp stumbling upon some wild contraption in the middle of the cleanup.

"Hey, what's this gizmo?" Usopp shouts, giving a crank a good twist.

Franky barrels over, suddenly hyped by the crank action. "Whoa! What do we got here? Move aside, Usopp! Lemme look at it!"

Smiling at their curiosity, you decide to gravitate towards the two gadget-loving-nerds. "Oh, that’s my cannon. It's not quite perfected yet," you explain, unveiling the inner workings. “See? I’ve added a better scope…here… and used a lighter alloy…there…to increase its efficiency. The form’ll be slimmed more like this…”

You excitedly point at the sketches pinned on the wall, clearly passionate about the work that you’ve devoted your life to. As you continue explaining your design with evident love in your voice, a peculiar sensation washes over you—an instinct that you're being discreetly observed. A pair of eyes lingers in the distance, silently drinking in every detail of your explanation.

Caught in this enigmatic gaze, you spin around, anticipating a mischievous culprit - only to find Zoro, still sound asleep...

Franky’s eyes are glistening as he whispers to himself, breaking you out of your little bubble. “I think…I think I’ve finally found my work-soulmate…”

You grin at him, crossing your arms. “I’d like to see some of your stuff, actually. You’re the shipwright they keep talking about, right?”

Franky nods wildly, unable to contain his excitement – finally, he’s able to nerd out to someone about his designs and they’ll be able to actually understand them.

After making promises to work with each other in the near future, you decide to excuse yourself from distracting the crew with their little self-appointed mission.

Gently, your hands fumble over the apron slung gracefully over your neck and the goggles adorning your head. A soft exhale precedes the enchantment – once, then twice – each fingertip and thumb gradually igniting into a decadent, sizzling red.

In a subtle movement, your eyes dart to your side, catching the marimo's watchful gaze.

“You don’t have to pretend to sleep if you want to watch me work, you know,” you smirk as you stretch your fingers out, letting the blood run through your most important tools.

Zoro grumbles, trying to maintain his usual stoic demeanour, but the red hue on his cheeks deepens. "I ain't watchin' or pretendin' anything," he mutters, avoiding eye contact. “Just making sure you don’t burn down the whole place.”

In a graceful swoop, your hand clasps over the first glass tube, the glinting Enma serenely solidified in its throat. After a few minutes, the purified alloy begins to release its tension, swimming in its own silver sea. You close your eyes, reaching out with your Haki, searching for her.

Yes, I’m still here, she whispers, her metallic hum reverberating through your bones.

Your eyes open in shock. That’s the same voice of his old Enma.

She’s still alive, you think, and you beam widely at your revelation.

Hello, you think to the metal. You’ll be back in his hands very soon.

As Luffy throws out his arms parallel to his body, he stretches out across the studio, stuffing your hammers and screwdrivers back into random open drawers. But then, just like rubber, they furiously sling back to its owner like a boomerang, completely wiping out anything and everything that’s standing in between his body and arms.

He strings his hands all around the studio, making more of a mess than being of help. Nami’s having a heart attack as she trails behind Luffy’s wriggling arms, trying to minimise the wreckage he’s manifesting.

This time, Chopper falls victim to Luffy’s antics.

In an instant, Luffy inadvertently threads his arm through the reindeer’s legs, who's precariously balancing a tower of ores. Chopper yelps as the ground beneath him vanishes, desperately clawing at the air to maintain balance.

Swiftly, Robin leaps into action. Delicate hands sprout like blossoming flowers around the reindeer in a perfect circle, deftly capturing each airborne tool and, most importantly, keeping Chopper up before he crashes to the floor.

“Thanks, Robin,” Chopper pants, his eyes as wide as cannonballs.

“You know what Luffy?” Nami pants, wiping sweat from her face. She points at the naughty corner wedged between where you and Zoro are seated. “Just sit down there. We got it from here.”

“Okay!” Luffy shrugs, happily skipping over to you. He assumes his seat like a picture-perfect student.

But as a few seconds elapse, Luffy's initial obedience wanes, and he starts groaning, incapable of staying in one spot for more than a moment. Gradually, his head nudges against yours as he watches your meticulous hands at work, releasing random ‘ooooh’s’ and ‘ahhhh’s’ at various intervals. You can't help but grin at his antics, finding yourself more entertained than annoyed by his intervention.

“Sooooo, Swords!” Luffy pipes out. “When did you start making swords?”

“When I was eight, I think?” You start smiling, relishing in the memory of your first ever sword-making experience.

“Tell me the story!” he demands, his hands propped on both cheeks, eyes wide with anticipation.

Gramps suddenly guffaws from his usual seat in the back of the shop. “She was such a brat!”

Lowering the book that he was reading, you notice a smile very much like yours resting across his face. No doubt, he's savouring the same memory that you're thinking of.

You nod sheepishly, while flipping through hundreds of blueprints for the right make. “He wouldn’t let me make swords at first, which I thought was totally ridiculous.”

“You were eight!” Gramps exclaims. “What kind of responsible adult lets a child run around with murderous weapons?”

 You stick your tongue out at him cheekily.

“I had to learn by watching. Back in our homeland, I’d sneak into Gramps’s studio in the evening, and I’d watch him work in the shadows. And when he’d go back upstairs, I’d push my sleeves up and get started…

“I remember the first time looking at all these terrifying, massive tools and wondering if I was going to get into trouble. ‘Using your hands other than for serving tea or playing instruments is unwomanly,’ they’d drill into me. ‘Women must keep their hands soft, slender and clean.’”

“That’s awful,” Nami frowns as she and the rest of the crew gather on a bench behind you. Sanji lights another cigarette, deeply inhaling his first puff.

“I never understood stuff like that,” Franky mutters, making Chopper fiercely hum in agreement.

“I can’t tell you how many times I hurt myself on my first try. I burnt myself - millions of times, actually – melted metal on my fingers, hammered my own hands—”

“Hit your head on the anvil…” Gramps lists while reading his book.

Everyone immediately bursts out in laughter, especially Luffy, and even Zoro - who’s supposed to be asleep - has a faint smile twitching on his lips.

“You did what?!” Luffy shouts, grinning.

“Thanks for that,” you hiss, glaring at your old man; this time, he sticks his tongue out at you. You turn back around, continuing to recount the story.

“I didn’t go to sleep that night. I worked until dawn, put my whole soul into it. So when Gramps came climbing downstairs—"

“It was AWFUL!” Gramps exclaims, chucking his book on the table. “Her sword looked like a massive sausage! Wobbly and wriggly and chunky!”

“You know what he said to me?” You grin, remembering the moment like it was yesterday. “He took my sword, silently inspected it…And I swear I thought he was going to shout at me because little girls shouldn’t be doing men’s work… but instead, he looked down at me, sausage sword in hand, and said –

“’It’s awful. Do it again.’” You and Gramps quote together.

The crew erupts into laughter, and even Zoro's eyes open slightly as a tiny smile crosses his face. Luffy slaps his knee, thoroughly entertained.

“Gramps, you’re mean!” Luffy accuses between laughs.

“I was just being honest,” Gramps defends himself with a big grin.

Nami, with a smirk, interjects, “Well, it looks like that didn’t discourage you.”

You shake your head, “Nope. If anything, what he said pissed me off so much that I worked ten times harder. I kept at it. And eventually, Gramps couldn’t deny that I had a talent for it.”

“More like stubbornness,” Gramps adds, but there's a fondness in his eyes.

“Maybe a bit of both,” you concede with a grin. “But it was the start of my journey as a swordsmith. And now, here we are.”

Luffy, still chuckling, claps you on the back. “That’s awesome, Swords! I like you!”

“Speaking of swords,” Usopp interjects, smugly smiling to himself, “I think that we’re missing a huge opportunity here – something that won’t ever be allowed again in different circumstances.”

“What? What?” Chopper and Luffy bounce together, both completely captivated by his words.

Usopp grins, closing one eye. Dramatically, he shoots his finger into the air before slowly cocking it downwards.

He points at the marimo like a sniper rifle. Everyone turns to stare at him.

“Zoro, would you say you are a swordsman?” Usopp demands in a fake dramatic voice.

Zoro, clearly unimpressed by Usopp's theatrics, narrows his eyes and sighs.

“Are you stupid?”

“And would you say you like swords?” Usopp continues, intentionally ignoring his comment.

Zoro’s eyebrow twitches a little. This time, he doesn’t even grace him with an answer.

“’Why yes, I love swords, Usopp - my fearless crewmate!’” Usopp impersonates Zoro, quickly scrawling a fake scar on his eye with your marker pen. “Well, Zoro, my friend, since you're a swordsman, I've got a ground-breaking idea that will shake the very foundations of the ground you stand on!”

Luffy cackles, smacking his hand on his knee. “What is it? Tell us!”

“Yes, do tell us!” Gramps claps.

Usopp grins at the positive reception that he’s receiving– even Gramps is now captivated by this oddly stellar performance.

 “We are here, with the best swordsmiths of the land, with unlimited swords at our disposal, with a swordsman who loves swords….” Usopp looks at each and every one of you with meaning. He leans in, a mischievous glint in his eye.

 “In honour to show our appreciation for our sword-loving friend… I think it’s time for a Zoro-impersonation performance.”

#one piece #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #one piece luffy #luffy #monkey d luffy #one piece ace #straw hat pirates #usopp #sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #straw hat luffy #one piece fanfiction #one piece fic #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #op fandom #female reader x zoro #zoro x female reader #zoro x fem reader #three sword style #zoro roronoa #zoro rorono x you #zoro roronoa x y/n #straw hats

[bussyslayer333]

i don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else, but you

summary: midnight conversations with your boyfriend mickey

pairing: mickey garcia x girlfriend!reader

word count: 0.5k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, general nonsense hehe

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” you question, eyes intently locked on his.

“Yes. Next question.” Mickey answers simply.

“No, let’s circle back. I want an explanation.”

Mickey stares in your eyes for a moment. He’s conjuring up the correct answer.

You’re both lying on the grass in your garden, beer bottles lying to the side of you. You were hosting a small get together with your friends at your house, everyone had left now. Leaving you and Mickey basking in the warm breeze brought by summers in San Diego, even at just gone midnight.

“I have a question.” Mickey finally decides.

“Shoot, my love.” You hum.

“Are we still able to communicate?”

“Hmmmmm. Considering you’re a human and I’m a worm; probably not. However, I think our love transcends those barriers so maybe.”

Mickey nods, taking in what you’ve said. “What if I found a way to become a worm as well, then we could both be worms and we could build a little worm life together.”

You squeeze his hand that is intertwined with yours, “that sounds nice.”

“I know right. Can I ask a question now?” He continues.

“Of course.” You lean up only to take a sip from your beer then lay your head back down amongst the grass.

“Would you rather we be a couple of worms or a couple of butterflies?”

“That’s a tough one.” You declare, “okay give me the facts.”

“We stay together no matter which one we become. But, in one we are worms and the other we are butterflies.” He answers, reaching a hand forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

He leaves his hand on your face, stroking at your cheek absentmindedly.

“Upon first inspection, I would say butterflies because they’re cuter obviously, but now i’m thinking about us living in a cute little vegetable patch as worms. Ooh could it be Bob’s veg patch?” You rant.

“The vegetable patch is wherever you want, baby.” He coos.

You nod in acknowledgment, “okay so we’re in Bob’s bountiful vegetable patch and we’re creating fertile soil so his vegetable’s can flourish as well as just having fun being a worm power couple.”

“Bet the other worms are so jealous,” Mickey chuckles.

“Totally. We’re like the Beyoncé and Jay-Z of worm couples.” You giggle.

Mickey rolls over and cages his arms above your head. He leans down and smushes his lips into yours. It’s kind of sloppy from both ends, and when you pull back breathless there is a string of spit connecting the two of you.

“Should we go inside, wormy?” He asks, rolling back down and pulling you into his chest.

You rest your head on his pec and look up to the moon.

“Five more minutes, wormy?” You tease.

“Fine.” He smiles.

“Why do we end up worms in all of these scenarios?” You ponder.

“I think it’s just testament to the idea that we’ll always find each other.” Mickey affirms.

You hum. “Sounds about right.”

a/n: sorry if this is crazy 😭😭 i just thought the worm question needed to be asked and obviously mickey would be the only to answer correctly

i hope u enjoy this weird little piece,, pls comment or reblog and tell me what you thought hehe

jake fic will be posted soon!

ty for reading!!

- honey <333

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fandom #top gun fanboy #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia x you #fanboy x reader #fanboy x you #mickey garcia imagine #fanboy top gun #fanboy imagine #danny ramirez #top gun imagine

[keroujack]

after chasing sunsets (9k, t)

The sun had long set in San Diego, and the temperature was finally starting to dip. Ice was wearing a worn, grey USNA hoodie and jeans, tequila warm and starshine pleasant, but all Mav had on was a t-shirt. Sixty to zero, he’d ditched the heat of the volleyball court to sit with Ice on the shore, where the ocean breeze was sweet, but constant, and he was freezing. Left Ice with no other option. He sat up, pulled his hoodie off, and tossed it into Mav’s lap in one swift motion. Easier than breathing. Mav didn’t move, except to let his brow shoot up. To let his mouth fall open. “What are you doing?” Easier than breathing. “Giving you my sweatshirt.” “No, I know what-” he huffed. “That’s not what I-” Mav cut himself off again. To huff again. To look up at the sky and give Ice five good seconds to watch his eyelashes flutter before he looked back over at him again. “I mean why.” “Because you’re cold.” Because it was that simple.

read on ao3

#icemav #icemav fic #my fic #top gun #ik i already made a post for this fic but i wanted to make a moodboard sooooo

[yoshikoooo]

Tsurune: Fujiwara shuu x Reader.

shuu x reader.

The tranquil sound of the night and released arrows filled the entire dojo. The soft and melodic sound you always hear and longed or maybe... loath for everyday ranged through your ears. In the middle of the blissful night there you were shooting your nine thousand and ninety-eight shot.

‘Fwip’

Applying every knowledge you learned from your grandfather and past experiences, really showed its result as you landed your arrow at the middle of the target. A profound sense of accomplishment washes over you as you stand there, silently contemplating the significance of this achievement.

'Kyudo... Kyudo... Kyudo..?'

With a heavy heart, you confront the forbidden recollections that threaten to engulf you. Each memory is a double-edged sword, carrying the weight of past triumphs and defeats alike. As you gaze upon the target, the turmoil within you becomes palpable, manifesting in the trembling of your hands and the turmoil in your eyes.

To an onlooker, it might seem as though you're battling an invisible force—a caged banshee struggling against the constraints of its own existence. Every fiber of your being is stretched taut, bound by threads of emotion that seem to have no end.

In that moment, you realize that kyudo is not merely a physical discipline—it is a journey of self-discovery, a quest to confront the demons that lurk within. And as you stand there, grappling with your inner turmoil, you understand that true mastery lies not in hitting the target, but in finding peace amidst the chaos of the mind.

'One more... just one more.. and It'll all end'

  You made up your mind as you snapped from your thoughts to get your bow to continue. 10,000 shots for a Wish.

An oath. A promise. A will.

before you could even continue, A figure outside the dojo was seen. A silhoutte of a tall man with loose hair.

As you watch, anticipation coiling within you, the figure steps closer to the source of light, revealing loose strands of brown hair framing a face illuminated by the gentle glow.

Your breath catches in your throat as the figure's large purple eyes meet yours, sending a shiver down your spine. In that moment of profound connection, a name escapes your lips, whispered softly into the stillness of the night.

“Fujiwara...Shuu..san” 

He was the one everyone idolized at school, the one whose mere presence seemed to command attention and admiration. But for you, he remained an enigma—a distant figure glimpsed from afar, yet never truly known.  So what was your relationship with him? A classmate, A teammate? A Friend..? but nonetheless he felt like a stranger to you. 

“Y/n san, Good evening” 

His deep, melodic voice seems to cut through the chaos that had enveloped you moments before, offering a brief respite from the tumult of your thoughts.

Summoning a smile, you decide to take the initiative, breaking the silence that hangs between you like a heavy curtain. It's clear that he's not one to dominate the conversation, leaving you to steer its course with your own words.

“Hmm, What is the prince doing at saionji sensei’s dojo at this godly hour?” 

you inquire, injecting a playful lilt into your voice. The weight that had hung over you moments ago dissipates, as if it were nothing more than a fleeting illusion.

Shuu's chuckle dances through the air like a gentle breeze, drawing your attention to the enigmatic figure before you. His gaze meets yours, and you can't help but tilt your head in curiosity, captivated by the subtle shifts in his expression.

"Saionji Sensei had me run an errand that ended up taking longer than expected," he explains, his voice carrying a hint of apology. "But I found myself drawn here, captivated by the sound of your tsurune."

His words are accompanied by a familiar smile, one that he seems to offer effortlessly to those around him. Despite his sincerity, you can't help but inwardly cringe at his straightforwardness, though you respond with a soft giggle.

"You flatter me," you reply, your smile unwavering as you deflect the compliment. "If that's the case, perhaps you should hurry back to Saionji Sensei before she falls asleep. It's quite late already."

You offer the suggestion with a gentle brush-off, hoping he'll take the hint.

“That I should.. Then Please excuse me..” 

he responds with a slight bow, his departure signaling the end of your brief encounter. You watch in silence as he makes his way out of the dojo, his figure gradually fading into the darkness beyond.

With his departure, the smile on your face begins to falter, replaced by a weariness that settles deep within your bones. The moon hangs overhead, casting its ethereal glow upon the world below, a silent witness to the turmoil that churns within your soul.

"Tired... I'm so tired,"

With a resigned sigh, you straighten your posture and adjust your grip on the bow, steeling yourself for one final effort.

“One more shot...” 

“Just one more..”

As you attempt to fix your form, you're suddenly overcome by a sensation of unease. Your body begins to tremble uncontrollably, sending a shiver down your spine. With a startled gasp, you drop the bow once again, collapsing to your knees in the dimly lit dojo.

"I'm shaking pretty badly," you mutter to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to regain control of your trembling limbs. Panic threatens to overtake you as you frantically search for an explanation for your sudden physical reaction.

Could it be hunger, you wonder, your mind grasping for any rational explanation. But deep down, you know that this tremor isn't the result of a skipped meal. It's something else entirely, something primal and instinctual that defies logic.

Taking in a shaky breath, you attempt to calm the racing of your heart, forcing yourself to focus on the rise and fall of your chest. Slowly, gradually, the trembling begins to subside, leaving you drained but determined to press on.

The cold embrace of the night air wraps around your frail body like a whispered plea, urging you to seek shelter and warmth. But you refuse to heed its call, not when you're so close to achieving your goal.

You clenched your jaw as you turn your gaze back to the target, willing yourself to push past the tremors that course through your body. Each shake sends ripples of doubt and fear coursing through your veins, but you refuse to let them hold you back.  

‘no... not now...I just need 1 more... just 1 more!’

‘thud‘ 

you lash out, your fist connecting with the unforgiving wooden floor. Pain shoots through your hand, a sharp reminder of your own vulnerability. But you refuse to yield, gritting your teeth as you try to reign in the storm of emotions threatening to engulf you.

"Calm down... calm down... calm down..." you chant, the words tumbling from your lips like a desperate plea. Each repetition is a lifeline, a tether anchoring you to reality as you struggle to regain control.

But the bow remains just out of reach, mocking you with its proximity. Your hands tremble violently, betraying your inner turmoil, as you fight to grasp it once more.

“It’s not beautiful enough... Repeat!” 

“You have no time mopping the floor, get up!” 

The words echo through your ears, a reminder of the expectations placed upon you, both by others and by yourself. You can feel the weight of his disappointment bearing down on you, driving you to push past the pain and the fear.

But as the tears blur your vision and the sting of emotion threatens to overwhelm you, you can't help but wonder if you're losing your grip on reality. Madness seems to loom on the horizon, a specter taunting you with its proximity.

“Y/n...san?” 

you're pulled back to reality by a soft and familiar voice echoing in the darkness. Relief floods through you as you draw a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling with the rhythm of newfound calm.

Slowly, you turn towards the source of the voice, your gaze meeting his familiar purple pupils. His presence is like a beacon of light in the midst of the darkness, offering solace and reassurance in a moment of profound vulnerability.

You watch as his soft features contort into a frown of concern, his brows furrowing as he approaches you with cautious steps. There's a tenderness in his demeanor, a gentle sincerity that washes over you like a wave, banishing the lingering shadows of fear and doubt.

“Y/n san... Do you feel unwell...?”

His voice, though soft as usual, carries a hint of uncertainty, and his eyes betray a flicker of sorrow.

You try to respond, to articulate the turmoil raging within you, but the words catch in your throat like a fish struggling against the current. Frustration wells up inside you, manifesting in the tight balling of your fists until your knuckles turn white. You can't bear to face him, feeling utterly pathetic in your vulnerability.

‘confiding into someone like the prince is so pathetic.. He surely won’t understand..”

Conflicting thoughts swirl in your mind like a tempest, each one more damning than the last. You can't help but feel that confiding in someone like him, someone who seems to effortlessly embody talent and grace, is an act of weakness. After all, unlike you, he was born with innate abilities that set him apart from the rest.

‘Damn it.. I’m.. so disgusting’ the word heavy with self-loathing. How could you dare to think so poorly of yourself? How could you let such toxic thoughts poison your mind?

But even as you chastise yourself, you can't shake the feeling of inadequacy that gnaws at your insides. It's a vicious cycle, a spiral of doubt and despair that threatens to consume you whole.

You feel the chill of his hand against your fevered forehead, a stark contrast to the heat that radiates from your flushed skin. With a sense of resignation, you lift your gaze to meet his, finding his face mere centimeters from yours.

"You seem to have a fever, Y/n san," he says, his voice carrying a note of concern. "I think you should rest for today."

As he withdraws his hand, you find yourself caught in the intensity of his gaze. There's a seriousness in his expression, tempered by genuine concern, that touches something deep within you. Despite your instinct to retreat, you can't help but feel a glimmer of gratitude for his kindness.

Feeling defeated and vulnerable, you look away once more, your gaze falling to the ground as you struggle to compose yourself. With a shaky breath, you attempt to gather your thoughts, to find the words that have eluded you thus far.

"No..." you begin, your voice wavering slightly as you reject the suggestion of going home. You can't ignore the way his brow twitches in concern, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of your situation.

But even as you speak the word, you can't help but feel a pang of guilt gnawing at your insides. The weight of his unspoken worry hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the burden you're placing on those around you.

You watch as his expression shifts, his concern mingling with frustration at your stubbornness. It's clear that even the spoiled prince recognizes the stupidity of overworking oneself to the point of destruction.

For a moment, silence hangs between you, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. You can feel the weight of his gaze upon you, a silent plea for you to reconsider.

"Saionji Sensei told me that you've been here since dawn," he begins, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. "Breaking your own body just for the sake of archery is not something I would recommend, as an archer myself."

His words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the toll your relentless pursuit of perfection has taken on your physical and mental well-being. You can feel the weight of his gaze boring into you, a silent accusation of your stubbornness and recklessness.

Yet, despite the gravity of his words, you remain rooted in place, your eyes fixed on the target before you. The arrows embedded within it serve as a testament to your determination, each one a marker of the sacrifices you've made in your quest for mastery.

"I... I know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. His expression softens, a silent understanding passing between you.

As the cool breeze continues to drift through the dojo, you finally gather the strength to speak, the words tumbling from your lips in a hesitant whisper. Your energy slowly returns, the fog in your mind lifting ever so slightly as your vision clears and the lightheadedness begins to fade.

"Hey... what if you found kyudo to be the main source of your pain, yet you can't find a good reason to stop since it's something deeply attached to your heart?" you begin, your voice betraying a vulnerability that you've kept hidden for far too long.

You pause, gathering your thoughts as you meet his gaze, locking eyes with him as the wind gently tousles his loose brown hair. His purple eyes hold a depth of understanding that both comforts and unsettles you, a silent witness to the inner turmoil that plagues your soul.

"What would you do?" you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the question hangs heavy in the air, a reflection of the existential crisis that has consumed your every waking moment.

His reaction is subtle yet profound, his demeanor shifting slightly as he processes the gravity of your inquiry. You can see the gears turning in his mind, a silent acknowledgment of the seriousness of the situation.

For a moment, the dojo is enveloped in silence, the only sound the gentle rustle of the wind outside. And then, finally, he speaks, his voice steady and measured.

"I would listen to my heart," he says, his gaze unwavering as he meets your tired, empty eyes. "If kyudou may be a source of pain, but it's also a part of who you are. Only you can decide if the pain is worth the passion it brings."

His words resonate within you, stirring something deep within your soul. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel a glimmer of hope flickering to life within you.

‘Listening to your heart...’  It sounds simple enough, but in reality, it's a daunting task. Your heart is a labyrinth of desires and fears, a maze of conflicting emotions that often lead you astray.

But as you stand there, locked in his gaze, you find yourself drawn to the truth in his words. Kyudo may be a source of pain, but it's also a source of passion and purpose—a part of you that refuses to be ignored.

With a newfound sense of clarity, you take a deep breath, letting the weight of your burdens fall away, if only for a moment. The wind whispers through the dojo, carrying with it a sense of possibility and renewal.

"Thank you," you say softly, your voice barely a whisper amidst the stillness of the night. "I needed to hear that."

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. There's a warmth in his eyes, a silent reassurance that you're not alone in this journey.

As your gaze shifts to the arrows embedded in the target, a newfound clarity washes over you, illuminating your path forward. The weight of the world seems to lift from your shoulders as you come to a decision.

"I guess I can continue it tomorrow," you mumble softly to yourself, your smile genuine and free from the facade you've worn for so long. In that moment, the world seems to shift, offering you a glimpse of a future filled with possibility and promise.

Shu's smile mirrors your own as he extends his hand towards you, a silent offer of support and companionship. Without hesitation, you reach out and take it, a sense of gratitude swelling within you as you lock eyes with him once more.

"I can drop you off," he says, his voice warm and reassuring. Before you can decline, he continues in a joking tone, "I would get scolded if I let a sick person like you get home on your own, right?"

His playful remark catches you off guard, eliciting a chuckle from deep within your chest. It's a side of him you hadn't seen before, a glimpse of the warmth and humor that lies beneath his cool exterior.

"You're really interesting, Fujiwara-san,"

#shuu x reader #kyudou #fujiwara shuu #tsurune #tsurune x reader #slight angst #or maybe just a whole shit of angst. #noticed the lack of delulu shit about tsurune #trauma

[oneirataxia-girl]

aim for the sun ⇝ the wings & the wind of the pirate king

ft. Marionette Mari, Roronoa Zoro, Blackleg Sanji

“Peabrain.”

Blinking open a lazy eye, Zoro makes out the silhouette of a black-haired crewmate staring down at him, and opens his other eye.

“Sighs,” He grumbles, already missing the heat of the sun on his face, “The hell do you want?”

“Oi, Mosshead!”

The remaining scraps of sunshine fade as the blond cook stomps to a stop above him. Zoro glances at him, then recalls the bottle of soju he swiped from the kitchen last night.

Ah.

Sanji peers down at him, smoke from his cigarette wafting in his face. Zoro ignores the smell and returns his gaze. He isn’t sorry for grabbing the booze, and he’s not going to let the lovecook make him feel guilty.

A sigh sounds somewhere on the other side of Zoro, followed by a rough tug as he’s pulled to his feet. Mari’s eyes are bored when he meets them with screwed-up ones of his own, and she simply shrugs and takes a step back.

“Thought you were paralyzed.” she says, folding her outstretched hand back across her chest.

Zoro makes a face at her. Then dodges a kick to his face.

“Don’t be rude to a woman, you shitty swordsman!” hisses the idiot cook because of course he does, “Now pay up for that bottle of soju!”

“Luffy’s going to drown,” when both of them turn to stare at Mari, she tilts her head vaguely in the direction behind her. Perfect timing.

“Again?” mutters Sanji as he takes in a deep breath, then directs a sappy smile at Mari, “Thank you so much for telling us, Mari-chan!”

“I said to not call me that.”

“Of course! My apologies, Mari-san!”

Zoro doesn’t bother to stifle his snort this time.

“Sanji, Zoro!” Usopp voices drifts along the salt-filled breeze, sounding like he got his hand caught with something he shouldn’t have, “Luffy’s drowning!”

the enablers' call: @arrthurpendragon, @bibaybe, @daughter-of-melpomene, @auxiliarydetective, @starcrossedjedis, @fakedatings , @supermarine-silvally -- want to be added? shoot me an ask!!

#not really good but eh #here's something mildly happy abt sariro #before i dump some sweet sweet angst #not lying this time!! i have the drabble done already #bear with me as i figure out how to format my posts #fic: aim for the sun #oc: marionette mari #brotp: the wings and the wind #alvita’s writing

[wordstro]

[18] apocalypse + ex!san + "what else am i supposed to do?"

part 17 | masterlist | part 19

a/n: 5.8k words, warnings for mild su1cidal thoughts, guilt, mentions of murder, death, and violence. also a lot of introspection going on in this chapter. also gonna just say i really enjoy writing unlikely allies lol

-

you were prepared to die. you had prepared for it the moment you stepped out from your blood-splattered home with san's radio clipped to your belt loop and decided you would try to survive. you'd wondered once, long long ago, somewhere between cowering in silence in a beautifully impractical marble bathtub of an abandoned home in the upper end of gangnam and the quiet drip-drop of the leaky sink faucet and crouching under a rusty little sink in the bathroom of a rundown gas station at the outskirts of seoul for hours as you listened to the rhythmic thuds of a body slamming against the deadbolted door all night, whether survival was merely instinctual. you never thought you'd had so much fight in you until everything went to shit. something had to explain why you thought surviving was even worth it in a world as hopeless as this one.

you were always prepared to die.

as you come to, the sun's warmth on your face is the first thing you notice. the next is the aching pain curling through your body, the back of your head, your face. the last thing is the realization that you are not dead.

why are you not dead?

you shoot up too fast, and your head spins at the feeling, nausea making you groan. your hands shake as you blink away sleep and sun. you're hungry and dehydrated and exhausted and alive.

someone clears their throat.

you whip your head in the direction of the sound, scrambling away immediately, only to -

"mrs. kim?" you croak out, coughing to clear your throat as you stiffen at the sight of her. a blackened bandage is wrapped around her head, her cheek bruised and her lip cut.

your eyes dart around you, but you're not back at the sanctuary. you're on a bed of grass in front of a small cabin. mrs. kim sits in front of an unlit firepit. her rifle sits at her feet. you stare at it. she places her foot on top of it, and when your gaze flickers back to her face, she is staring at you with an unreadable expression.

she fiddles with her hands, an awkward gesture you've never seen from her before. she chews on her bottom lip as she quietly observes you.

you're too tired to continue sitting up, so you let yourself flop back down on the grass. it's soft enough, and the gentle earthy smell of morning dew is kind on your senses. it's a comfort you hadn't felt in so, so long, and the way your body melts is almost disconcerting. you stare at the green foliage above you, the clear blue sky, the fluffy, picturesque clouds floating on. birds sing to each other. it reminds you of Before. maybe you are dead. your voice is hoarse as you speak without looking at mrs. kim, "where are we?"

"five kilometers south of the sanctuary," mrs. kim responds, her voice as soft as the breeze curling around your cheek. she speaks to you as if you are a small rabbit who will run at the first sign of loudness. it's funny, almost. she's always been loud in the sanctuary, as the sanctuary's resident nosy gossip. she'd never been considerate of such things. her voice always echoed through the halls. when you worked quietly with jongho folding laundry, you could hear her laugh from the guard towers or the sounds of her scolding someone from the sleeping quarters. oh.

you blink at those thoughts. the sanctuary.

you've destroyed it, you remember. you've destroyed everyone in it - aliens and humans alike. you can hear the bomb blasts in ringing in your ears. you can feel the heat of the flames against your skin. you can see yeosang pulling san away. oh.

you think of all the people who weren't guards, the children. that's when your hands start trembling. their deaths are on your shoulders, whether you want to admit aloud or not. maybe that's why mrs. kim is here. like the grim reaper, she's waited for you to wake up so you could watch as she killed you for destroying her home and killing her friends, aliens and humans alike. you want to hate the idea, but you think maybe...you deserve it. mrs. kim's voice rings in your ears, "i stayed here on one of my solo runs once."

you crane your neck to look her straight on. as you observe the lines along her eyes, the wrinkles around her mouth, the gray strands of hair peppered along deep black, you are reminded of the woman you'd imagined was talking over the radio airwaves you'd clung to after you'd escaped seoul. mrs. kim looks older than your mom had been, and the thought subdues the irritation clawing at the underside of your skin.

you don't comment on any of it, or what she said, though. you only ask, "is it gone?"

she frowns at you, "is what gone?"

"the sanctuary."

mrs. kim closes her eyes, and the pain there is something you think will remain etched into your brain for eternity. the only other time you've seen such utter grief was when you'd told him to get into the car. when it clicked for him. it is the same kind of loss you saw on -

mrs. kim nods, "it was still burning when i dragged you out of there. it's probably a pile of ashes by now. everyone was...the sleeping quarters was the first to go."

you bite your tongue so hard, you taste blood.

"why would you..." you clear your throat, eyes fixed on mrs. kim, "why would you save me, then?"

her eyes flicker over your face for a long, long time, "i wanted to get at least one person out."

you blink. a guilty conscience, you know, can make people do the strangest things. it has you sitting here entertaining mrs. kim.

mrs. kim sighs, "i'm sorry."

it has mrs. kim apologizing.

her brows are furrowed with sincerity. her eyes hold yours for just a moment before she lowers her gaze. is she apologizing for how you were treated in the sanctuary? or is she apologizing for not letting you die?

mrs. kim nudges the rifle with her toe, a small tap at first before she kicks it towards your outstretched form. she pulls out a flask from the inside of her jacket. you watch her warily as she takes a large gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she leans across the space between you both and places the old silver flask next to the rifle. next to your hand.

she cranes her neck, admiring the clouds and foliage above you both. the sun illuminates more gray strands, a cloud-like halo over her that gives the impression of an angel. it's funny, you think, because neither of you are anything of the sort. the proof is in her black-blood stained bandages. the proof is in the blood you have on your hands, visibly dry and invisible.

she clears her throat, "my world ended long before the world actually ended. it was the first time my husband hit me..."

maybe it's the pain, maybe it's the disappointment of finding yourself alive still, maybe it's hongjoong and yeosang and everyone else speaking into existence that you are just like them, horrible and mean and self serving, maybe it's the near death experience, maybe you're just super fucking tired. maybe it's something else. but you let out a small groan, cutting off mrs. kim mid-sentence. she trails off, her lips pursed as she frowns down at you. the halo of sunlight is gone, and she is just the nosy, old woman you've known all this time.

you match her frown, rolling your eyes, "how is this relevant? so you were abused, and then you finally gave him the death he deserved? why does that matter to me?"

mrs. kim lets out the smallest of laughs. "san told you."

you barely hide the flinch at his name, choosing instead to close your eyes and let the sun's warmth on your face comfort you once more. "he mentioned it."

"he helped me with this."

you turn your head and peer up at her. she's pointing at the bandage wrapped around her head. you stare at her until she squirms in her seat and fiddles with the bandage around her head. your mother would have berated you for your rudeness towards an elderly person, but you can't help it. everything about mrs. kim is irritating. her ignorance. her saving you. her mentioning him so casually. her looking at you as if she understands you.

"so what if he did? why should i care?" you finally break the silence.

"i joined seonghwa's guard because i didn't believe people could be good. the alien gave me...power. at least that is how seonghwa described it. that's how it felt. i lost everything when i finally dragged that my pig husband to seonghwa, and seonghwa gave me a reason to keep living."

your heart curls at her shaky tone, but you mumble, "you still haven't answered my question. why the hell should i care? what is your point?"

mrs. kim lets out a dry chuckle, dragging her hand over her wrinkled face, "i used to have children. they left me long before the apocalypse ever happened - another thing my husband took from me. they - they had their own children and i…but... i look at san. at seonghwa and hongjoong. at you. and it reminds me of what i lost. all i can think of is how sorry i am."

"you feel sorry?" you let out a small laugh, "finally."

"huh," mrs. kim snorts, "maybe i should have left you back there."

"why didn't you?" this time your voice is not soft. it's loud. it's angry. it's a tightness in your breath and the heaving of your chest and this visceral, bone deep anger that makes your thoughts disappear. it’s suffocation in ways you've never felt before. as you lay in the dirt and crane your neck to glare at mrs. kim, it is not just anger. it is fury. it's the sharp pain at the back of your head. it's the way your chest feels hollow. it's everything and nothing all at once. it's everything you've pushed away to deal with later finally coming to surface. it's nothing because mrs. kim is a fucking stranger, and you're disappointed she isn't someone else.

mrs. kim doesn't answer. she just opens her mouth and closes it, once, twice, before she clamps her mouth shut and remains still as stone.

you laugh, and it sounds maniacal even to your ears. your chest rises and falls too fast, your breath growing more ragged. too fast. you sit up once more, ignoring the way your head spins and your vision blurs. your fingers curl around the cool metal of the rifle, and you lift it. you point it to her, and the barrel sits inches from her chest. she is so close.

she merely stares at you.

"is this what you want?" your fingers shake, and breathing hurts, and you are so so angry, "for me to make you stop feeling sorry? to shoot the fucking guilt - because that's what this is - out of you?"

mrs. kim's eyes fill with tears. you would know wouldn't you? what she’s really feeling? guilt recognizes guilt, and the guilt in you rises like bile. mrs. kim nods, and nods, and nods, and she says, "my home is gone, y/n. i've lived too long, while - " she closes her eyes, and her breath comes out in a small shudder, one that has you clutching the gun tighter, gritting your teeth. mrs. kim shakes her head, her eyes hard, "i have nothing left to my name but this guilt. what else am i supposed to do?"

for a moment, her words hit the deepest parts of your chest. for a moment, you resonate with mrs. kim. you never thought you would. you've never wanted to. what else are either of you supposed to do?

you have nothing left but guilt either. for a moment, the bunker settles in your mind. the living room, with its books and raggedy couches and warmth. but that is no place for you. that was never a home for you, and it never will be.

now here you are. you've taken mrs. kim's home from her, however horrid of a home it was, however horrid she had been to you, but she saved your life. now, as you look at her, with the gun in your hand and the determination in her eyes, you realize that even that act of hers was transactional, as all things are in this new world. you destroyed her world, she saved you, and now you owe her a favor. now she wants you to put her out of her misery. the thought has you shaking your head vehemently.

you're sick of the transactions and the calculations. you're sick of it all. you bite out, "you're supposed to live with it."

and you don't know if you're talking to mrs. kim, for all the times she turned her cheek on you, for all the times she let people die for seonghwa, and for how she is practically begging for an easy way out, or if you're talking to yourself, for killing innocent people in order to save someone who you're unsure would even be happy to see you if you showed up at his doorstep. maybe he would be happy to know you aren't dead, but you don't even know if you'd be safe with his friends and him knowing you are still alive. even if he somehow convinced his friends to let you stay in the bunker, to no longer be on your own, you wouldn't be able to spend a single minute in that bunker without looking over your shoulder for a scheme against you. in fact, you could lie here, in the grass, and wither away. but you're supposed to live with it.

"i'm not going to do the dirty work for you. if you want to die, then do it yourself. i don't fucking care how." you say, dropping the rifle into the grass between you both. your tone is harsh, even to your own years, but you do not care. you will not be made to follow other's whims any longer. you look mrs. kim in the eye as you say, "just leave me the fuck alone."

you snatch the flask and take a drink, your throat dry.

the sting of the alcohol is sharp, burning as it curls down your throat. you cough at the burn, the sound of your cough echoing throughout the clearing.

mrs. kim speaks, her tone bland, a small, wispy thing, "that's vodka."

you glare at her late warning, slamming the flask on the ground as you flop back in the grass and close your eyes.

you lay there under the warmth of the sun and try not to listen to mrs. kim's soft, retreating footsteps, or the sounds of the porch wood creaking under her weight as she trudges up to the cabin, or the way her soft sobs harmonize with the sounds of the chirping birds.

~.~.~.~.~

mrs. kim does not leave you alone. the rifle remains propped beside the cabin door. it's a glaring, tempting thing, but it sits untouched for days upon days. when the morning sun rose to its highest point, the heat became too unbearable to lay in the grass, so you'd made your way into the cabin. the wood groaned under your footsteps and you winced at the sound of the front door swinging open as you stepped into the cabin. even then, mrs. kim did not look up at you. she just continued beating at the dust-covered blankets she'd pulled from the broken closets.

it becomes a morning routine of yours after that, to lay in the grass every morning for hours before heading back into the cabin, all while mrs. kim busies herself with some kind of task she'd silently deemed helpful and you silently thought was pointless.

the cabin is dusty and rundown and smells of rotting wood, but there are two beds and a torn, surprisingly comfortable sofa, and dusty moth-eaten linens, and wood to cover up the windows, barricade the doors at night, and light the fire pit outside. neither of you speak to each other, aside from asking about food or to pass a candle, and maybe you've been alone for too long, even in the sanctuary, because you find solace in her quiet company even if you mentally prepared yourself not to.

a week passes. and then another. and then another and another and another.

time runs together, until months pass. at least you think it's been months. the two of you spent a long, long time gathering berries and living off the food mrs. kim swiped from the sanctuary when she ran. the rifle left its designated, mocking spot beside the door only when the two of you attempted to hunt for squirrels and rabbits and failed miserably. neither of you discussed the possibility of going into town. or even going five kilometers back to the burnt down sanctuary and swiping food from there. you'd thought about it, but it felt too much like robbing a grave. you hadn't been above it before, but you think mrs. kim is, unexpectedly enough.

you spent too long lying in the grass every morning and enjoying the warmth of the sun, until the leaves started to change and the weather got cooler. for the first time in a long time, you'd started getting a full night's sleep. without hongjoong banging on your doors, and with the doors and windows barricaded so securely and the way you two were in a cabin alone in the woods, you could sleep.

mrs. kim took swigs from her flask of vodka too often. you slept on your side the nights you couldn't sleep, facing the door, listening to the clicking sounds filling the forest, while the rifle remained propped in its spot beside the door. you'd suggested once that mrs. kim hold onto it at night, but she'd refused. if either of you noticed that neither of you took weapons to bed, that neither of you stayed very alert despite the clicking beyond the door, that both of you knew damn well that neither of you would care if something burst through that door and killed you, despite the fact that every night you both barricaded the doors and windows like clockwork, you didn't talk about it. after all, you were prepared to die, right?

sometime between the grass and foliage in the clearing no longer being green and the need to find sweaters to stay warm, you start going into town for food and supply runs. the towns are as empty as they used to be, when you used to be alone, but you have someone to help you carry things back. you have footsteps joining yours.

you're not the same as you used to be, and sometimes you wonder if that's a good thing. it hit you, you think, the day mrs. kim pocketed a pack of cigarettes as you both passed by an otherwise ransacked convenience store. mrs. kim grinned as she waved the only pack left in triumph. you'd opened your mouth to tell her off for falling into the habit of smoking in the first place - so many things here could kill you both, and to die from something as small as a cigarette would be a waste - when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the otherwise empty town. it sounded desperate, the scream curling into a sob. it was a distant thing. but not distant enough. both of you started moving then, remaining near the walls of the convenience store, covered from view, as you both made your way to the exit.

"what -"

the cry of help stopped mrs. kim dead in her tracks. it was a wail, really, one that reminded you so very distinctly of your time at the sanctuary. maybe that's why you kept walking, and why mrs. kim hesitated. maybe that's why you grabbed her arm, tugging her along behind you.

"we need to keep moving," you said, without looking back.

mrs. kim's disapproving frown was an annoying thing. and when you'd both made it back into the forest, leaving the cries for help far behind you, when you both made it back to the little cabin and you sat on your bed while mrs. kim cleaned the rifle on her bed, it'd hit you how much you'd changed. if this was you from months upon months ago, you'd have stopped to at least see what had happened. you'd done as much for yeosang and mingi.

you'd changed so much, but maybe that was for the better.

at the very least, it's not so lonely anymore. besides, helping people only brought trouble in this world.

~.~.~.~.~

"why did you help me?"

you probably should have asked mrs. kim this a long time ago. rain trickles over the cabin porch's overhang, and the world is a dreary, tired place, more so than it ever has been before.

mrs. kim hums. you watch her take a drag of her cigarette. the end glows a bright red-orange. it reminds you of the setting sun - a signal of impending doom, of aliens lurking the thick fog at night. white smoke trickles from her mouth. you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you watch her. you'd never admit that the smell is comforting. it reminds you of clubs and bars and walking the streets full of people, of honking cars. it reminds you of Before.

she says, "i owed san."

you'd grimaced at his name. you can't ever really hide your reaction to his name, but mrs. kim never comments on your reactions anyway. "he said you owed him a favor before too. what the hell could he have possibly done for you?" you glare when mrs. kim blows more smoke into the air, "and when are you going to stop smoking?"

"do you care about my health that much?" mrs. kim lets out a small, tinkling laugh.

"no," you gag, "never."

"right." she smiles, but she puts out the cigarette anyway. she clears her throat, though the sound is more of a hacking cough, and she stares out into the gloomy forest, the pitter-patter of rain filling the silence for a moment before she says, "san knew my granddaughter. they were in a group together a few years back. i wasn't able to see her very much before all this, but my son sent me letters about her after she was born. he’d stopped eventually though, when my husband caught on.”

you frown, "how do you know he wasn't lying?"

you want to sound vindictive, skeptical. but you just sound tired.

"he told me stories about her. the night shifts got long, and the chore shifts got boring. i don't think he was lying. the details of those stories were -"

mrs. kim drags a hand through her hair. thunder resounds overhead, the sound making you jump.

“he wasn’t lying.” mrs. kim says, "he told me he wasn't able to save her, and he regretted it. i could see on his face just how much he regretted it, so i couldn't get angry with him."

you want to ask questions, you want to know details, but you also don't think you can handle listening to the horrors of mrs. kim's granddaughter's death. not with the way her eyes look so far away, so glassy, and the way her fingers twist in her lap.

so you keep quiet, watching as mrs. kim sighs, and says, "i got to know her through san's stories, and i'll always owe him for that."

there's a long drawn out silent. he'd mentioned that he let people die before. is this what he - no you don't care. you don't care about him or his motives or his past. you frown at mrs. kim, "what does owing him have to do with helping me?"

mrs. kim just laughs.

you glare, "i'm being serious."

mrs. kim just cackles as she gets up and strides into the cabin. you glare after her.

~.~.~.~.~

you are seated on your bed with a tattered book you found in one of the drawers open in your lap when mrs. kim hands you a flickering candle and says, "i want to go to the sea, i think. i've never been."

"really? never?"

mrs. kim places a hand at her waist, and waves her other hand, "a poor old woman like me was never rich enough to travel."

you laugh. mrs. kim smiles, but it does not quite reach her eyes, and your stomach churns at the way silence falls between you both.

the sun has set long ago, and you can almost pretend the clicking outside is merely the sounds of the crickets chirping. in the many months that you'd lived in quiet peace with mrs. kim, you didn't think you'd grow this attached. the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach is something you didn't think you'd feel in a long long time, especially not for someone like mrs. kim.

you should have known she'd find a way to make you care about her. she was nosy, and annoying, and had a tendency to make morbid jokes while cleaning that damned rifle, and liked to rub the fact that she saved your life in your face when she was annoyed with you, and the night after you woke up and told her to leave you alone, she tossed a blanket at your face without a word. two days later, you watched her massage her feet, wincing as she did so, and you'd tossed the very same blanket she threw at you at her face. mrs. kim only snorted in response, and you'd smiled. you should have fucking known.

"would you like to join me?" mrs. kim's eyes are hopeful. her wrinkled expression softens as she looks at you.

a part of you wants to go. this cabin is no real home, and it does not feel like a home, because you're an idiot who makes homes of people not places. people are not built to be homes. they are unstable and flighty and they do not stay, and you've made your home, your bed, with someone else a long time ago and it's not mrs. kim and you hate yourself for it. for the first time since the world went to shit, you think you've felt truly content here. happy, even, you could say.

"the sea sounds nice," you said, but you didn't move.

sure, this place was not your home, but it's a home, and you are so, so tired of wandering. you're tired of the uncertainty. you're tired.

"but you don't want to go." mrs. kim states, rather than questions. she knows you too well. that is most annoying of all.

you say, "i'm tired of traveling all the time."

mrs. kim sighs, "you're going to be alone again. are you sure you want that?"

you'd also told her too much about yourself, those days you spent lying in the grass or when neither of you could sleep so you lay awake and told each other stories about yourselves.

"are you sure you do?"

mrs. kim coughs, and the sound is too full, to rough. she says, "i want to see the sea."

"then i want to stay," you tell her, with a roll of your eyes.

"alright." mrs. kim smiles at you, and it's the kindest smile you've seen in a long, long time. "this is a nice place. make it pretty then."

it's strange, you think, that of all the people who you've encountered since you're returned to the world from your wanderings, mrs. kim is the one who seems to understand you best. not past you, or a version of you they're so hellbent on perceiving. mrs. kim just sees you for who you are here and now. despite hearing your stories from the past. despite the way you've spoken to her. it's strange to think you'll miss her.

"you can visit whenever you'd like," you say, knowing damn well she's never going to come back. not with that cough. not with the way her eyes grow far away at your words.

she raises a brow, "i thought you wanted me to leave you alone."

you roll your eyes, "or you can do that, too."

mrs. kim laughs, and you help her pack her things.

the next morning she pats your head so gently, tears spring to your eyes. at least until she tells you you need to brush your hair.

you lean against the cabin door, watching as she shoulders her backpack and hobbles out of the cabin. the keys to the vehicle she hid a kilometer out - the same one she used to get both of you out of the sanctuary when it burned - jingles in her fingers.

she sighs one last time as she looks at you, and she asks, "you'll be fine?"

"of course i will. you should worry about yourself.”

she nods as she turns away, and you stay at the door until you can't hear her footsteps or see her any longer, until she disappears into the foliage of the trees, and you can pretend that she wasn't even there to begin with. the sun is unusually warm on your skin, but the breeze makes goosebumps run down your spine, so you shut the door behind you and sit on your bed.

despite your insistence, mrs. kim left the rifle behind, lying precariously beside the cabin door.

i don't have much of a need for it, she'd said with a shrug.

of course you'd be fine, you knew. you'd done this before. but you sat in the empty cabin for far too long, staring at the rifle all the while.

~.~.~.~.~

it takes a week for you to go into town on your own for supplies. usually, you and mrs. kim head east, far, far away from the sanctuary. this time, you head west, a knife tucked in your boot and rifle strapped to your back. the walk is a bit longer, but you quickly come upon a small gas station and a few dilapidated stone homes that look promising.

the first house's floor is covered in glass from the windows. each step is accompanied with the crunching of glass under your foot. the family pictures are all on the floor, shattered or torn or both. you take great care not to look at the pictures too closely.

you find the kitchen quickly, shuffling through the pantry and cabinets. you don't find much, aside from a few cans of food that you pocket. you move quick, and you find you miss the small conversations you and mrs. kim would have during these runs.

the second house has a purple piece of cloth tied around the doorknob. you'd never seen it before. it reminds you of the orange sanctuary flags from long ago. something about that makes alarms go off in your head, but the sanctuary is gone. it's burnt. these aren't orange.

still, your skin crawls too much, and your heart rate is too high, so you skip that house, heading to one other tiny house with withering flowers surrounding the entrance. you go through the pantry quickly, grabbing anything that looks relatively edible. it's not a bad haul, but you've had better.

the hairs at the back of your neck still stand on end, so you decide that's enough for the day.

as you're headed back towards the winding path that leads up into the forest trail you'd taken here, you note another purple flag hanging from one of the broken windows of the abandoned gas station.

as you're staring at it, you hear a snap. a footstep. you spin, ducking under an abandoned car.

you hear voices. you crouch behind the abandoned car, and spot two small figures speaking in hushed tones near the first house you visited. you can't make out their conversation, but you notice the bulging backpack on one of their backs. the other one is limping, clearly injured as they cling to their friend. the one with the bulging backpack is using most of their strength to hold the other up.

a part of you says to run. another, bigger, louder part thinks, easy targets.

you don't think about it. you don't think about what that says about you, either. you only staying crouched and hopping from abandoned car to abandoned car as you quietly sneak up on them.

you don't think about it when you yank the one with the bulging backpack back so hard, they topple over, and the limping one cries out in pain as they collapse, and you immediately draw the knife from your boot, pressing it to the backpack person's throat, putting all your weight on their back so they're pinned to the ground.

you tell the injured one, "move and i slice your friend's throat."

the injured one's head snaps up, a quick movement that startles you, and - and -

"y/n."

you nearly drop the knife at the familiar voice. nearly. your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand, digging a bit further, and the person in your grip gasps in pain.

you glance down at him, and you groan, "fuck."

your gaze flickers from the person in your grip to the injured person staring at you as if you've risen from the dead. you couldn't blame him, really. you pretty much have. how long has it been since that day?

still, your gaze continues flickering back and forth from yunho to wooyoung.

wooyoung snorts when your grip on him tightens, a trickle of blood running down his chin where you hold the knife, amusement dripping off his voice, "we really can't keep meeting like this, y/n."

yunho drags a hand through his hair and sighs.

#ateez angst #ateez scenarios #san angst #san #ateez #itpfl

[lilypadding]

— stay 'til the morning

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: nanami chiaki x komaeda nagito

summary: after they spend the afternoon together, komaeda helps a very sleepy nanami back to her cottage.

# tags: set in sdr2, tooth rotting fluff, self-indulgent entirely, just need them to be friends (cries and sobs)

(~1.5k words) | this can technically act as a prequel moment to the fifth trial | divider

Nanami’s eyes are heavy when she opens them. All she can register is a numbing pain in her back, and something tightly pressed against her cheek. The sound of quaint shifts in water and a soft breeze rustling the nearby palm trees almost makes her drift off again.

“Oh, have you woken up?” 

Komaeda’s voice. Nanami fights to blink a few times. 

He laughs in his lower register. Nanami’s mouth draws open, yawning and squeezing her eyes shut. She stretches her arms and realizes she’s not laying down. It feels like she’s sitting at a table. Her knee jerks up, almost involuntarily, and a prickling static surges to her thighs. Falling asleep at a public bench attached to a patio table does no wonders for your limbs. When Nanami raises her head and ignores the pain in her shoulders, her eyes land on the pool they’re beside. The table’s built-in umbrella flaps with a new gust of wind. 

Something is draped over her shoulders, but she can’t find the energy to question the light pressure. 

“C’mon,” Komaeda puts his hand on her shoulder. It’s extremely warm— the sensation nearly burns through her sweater. “We’ve gotta get you to your cottage.”

“Where…” Nanami’s voice dies before she can finish her line. 

“You’re outside the diner,” Komaeda supplies, still tugging at her shoulder, “We spent some time here this afternoon, and you drifted to sleep. It’s nearly nighttime.”

Nanami folds her arms over the table. She closes her eyes, unconvinced at the notion of moving anywhere. Exhaustion is etching into her, threatening to knock her out again despite the cold that’s biting her legs and feet. 

“It was a pleasure that you’d want to play your game while I read. Even sitting in silence, you’re willing to accompany me.”

Her perception starts to grow darker. And fuzzier.

“Nanami-san,” Komaeda teases her name in a sing-song voice, “We wouldn’t want you getting in trouble. Let’s go.”

“Nooo,” She draws out, a wave of drowsiness smacking down at her. 

“I’ll steal your games if you don’t.”

Nanami’s eyes shoot open. She groans, making a show of how much she dreads the idea of standing up. Komaeda laughs as she slowly gets herself to sit up. When he stands from the table, she grabs his arm, and there is something strange in feeling his bare skin. But her tired mind can’t decipher what’s wrong with it. 

“There you go,” Komaeda mumbles once Nanami is properly standing upright. She pushes off the dizzy feeling that’s edging her to tumble as she begins taking the first few steps. Komaeda stays just behind her, guiding her with a hand on her elbow, placed so lightly she almost doesn’t feel it. 

She squints at the view of all the cottages as the moon casts an uneasy light over the docks. The water beneath the docks recedes and laps quietly. There is nothing to listen to save for the low clicking of his footsteps against the hardwood. Nanami wallows in the comforting sound of waves, crickets calling, and rustling bushes. Cold shivers run up her body as she walks, and she tugs what’s been draped over her shoulders tighter around herself, retaining the ounce of heat. 

“We’re almost there,” Komaeda reassures from behind her. Nanami wants to nod, but the motion fails after she nearly trips over herself. Komaeda grips her arm properly in a rush. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanami mumbles, squinting into the light of the other cottages. 

“What?” Komaeda laughs lightly, “You’re not at fault for that.”

Nanami sways, and Komaeda stops her from taking another step. 

“Okay, we’re here,” Komaeda says cheerily, “Do you keep it locked?”

“No,” Nanami replies, following it up with a yawn. Komaeda presses her arm, signaling for her to continue. She obliges. 

The door clicks open, and a creak sounds out when it swings inside. 

Both of them enter, and Nanami beelines for the bed, her feet shuffling against the wooden floors. She flops into the mattress, tugging what’s draped over her tighter against herself as if it were her blanket. From her place in bed, she casts her feet over the mattress and kicks her shoes off. 

She groans as she curls further into herself, drawing the makeshift blanket even closer to her. 

“Aha, wait,” Komaeda inches closer to her but stays out of reach, “Don’t you want to switch into nighttime clothes before drifting to bed again?”

Nanami shakes her head against her pillow, then verbalizes a short “No” which sounds more like a weak groan if anything. 

“Are you sure? That can’t be comfortable.”

“Komaeda… kun…” Nanami’s eyes are closed. Her hand peeks out from beneath what’s covering her, exposing cold air to prick her skin. “Stay…”

Silence falls over the room.

“Huh…?”

Nanami is too tired to process her own thoughts. Her mind is running on wants.

“Stay here,” Nanami says, sleep already weighing her words into something close to incoherency, “Until… fall asleep…”

“N-Nanami-san?”

“Come here,” Nanami pats her bed. She scoots back slowly, her eyes still closed, still wrapped up in the mystery blanket. 

Komaeda doesn’t move for a while. 

“Ugh…” Nanami whines, “Please? Just… need your company… ‘till sleep.”

There’s no shift heard from the floor. For another long moment, he doesn’t move.

Until the floorboards begin creaking again, making way for his footsteps who are slowly approaching the bed. 

“I don’t want to impose…” He starts off with, standing before it. “I think I should get going, Nanami—”

Nanami’s eyes part open, enough for her to latch an aim at his wrist and lock onto it with her hand. 

“Sit,” Nanami drawls, her mouth being half muffled by her pillow. 

Komaeda lets out a nervous laugh. Nanami’s eyes drift to close all over again. She tugs at his arm, and she can feel him leaning forward slightly at the gesture. She bites back a smile before she tugs as hard as she can.

Komaeda yelps, and the mattress beneath her takes a dip. His hands have landed on either side of Nanami’s head, and his arms are locked so as to prop himself up before having to otherwise crash into her.  

Nanami snorts, and she can’t fight off her amused smile as she begins to laugh. 

“Hey!” Komaeda says through a weakened grin, and Nanami opens her eyes wider. His startled expression hovering over her makes her giggle harder.

Komaeda’s grin grows as he watches her drift into hysterics. He begins laughing, finding her amusement to be contagious. 

“You-” Nanami tries to fight off her own laughter to get the words out, “You yelped like a dog—!”

The phrase makes her giggle that much harder. Komaeda huffs with an embarrassed smile. Watching her laugh is enough for him to join her. 

“You caught me off guard,” He says. His hair is falling over his face more than ever. 

“That was the point,” Nanami grins at him. He returns the smile, his face flushed red at the previous embarrassment. Nanami continues to laugh at the thought of the sound he’d made while he pivots himself out of hovering over her and instead settles into sitting at the edge of the bed, still facing her. 

“Ah, I woke you up, didn’t I?” Komaeda’s voice gives off a hint of disappointment. 

“Hm, it’s okay,” Nanami shifts so she’s lying on her side again, “It's more time we get to spend together before I fall asleep again.”

Komaeda’s eyes widen. Nanami’s smile grows. She hasn’t seen him smile like this in a while. Komaeda has a tendency to smile constantly, but his expression is never as genuine as it is right now. 

“R-Right,” He looks away from her, picking at the hem of his shirt, “I guess you’re right.”

His eyes skim over Nanami’s figure, brows turning in slightly. 

“You should get under the covers, Nanami-san. I doubt my jacket is enough to keep you warm.” 

Nanami grips the edges of it. Her eyes trail down, and the material practically wrapped around her. Ah. So this was her makeshift blanket. Komaeda must have put it over her after she fell asleep at their table. 

If she even casually shrugs it off, he’d mentally turn this into an excuse of being ‘proof’ that he’s beneath his classmates. She can already picture him saying, ‘Of course you wouldn’t want my unfortunate possessions on your skin.’ 

“No,” Nanami says. “It's warm. I like it.”

Komaeda looks like he's been struck by something. Again. 

“Ah. Your day clothes and my jacket as pajamas. You're a curious sleeper.”

“You're judging me before bed?”

“I'm deplorable, truly. That's all the more reason to kick me out, isn't it?”

Nanami pouts and reaches out, gripping his wrist with a tight hold, set on not letting go. 

“You're going to stay here. And you will not leave. Tell me a bedtime story.”

“A bedtime—?”

“Just talk.”

#nagito komaeda #chiaki nanami #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa fanfiction #komanami #komanami fanfiction #fluff

[random-vore-blog]

Little bird

Midoriya had no idea where he was, nor did he remember what happened after the attack.

The poor 1-A student groaned, pain shooting through his limbs in waves. It felt like he was run over by a truck– or he used too much of his quirk. It wasn't impossible for his quirk to make him endure THAT much pain. Just like now.

He tried to stand up, only to cause pain to errupt from his core and spread to his limbs. He fell back down onto his behind, hissing as the pain grew with each passing second.

" Ngh! Hu- where is everyone?"

He questioned, looking around his large environment- wait a minute! He shook his head, looked again. He rubbed his eyes, despite the unbearable pain he thought wasn't possible, before looking again.

" WHY IS EVERYTHING SO- SO MASSIVE?!"

He felt fear, the undeniable prey-like-fear he always felt when he returned home. He shuddered at the thought of being hit by a beer bottle. The green, hard and shining object he has come to fear ever since he was 7. He shook away the thoughts and drowned out the fear as much as he could.

" I HAVE to find everyo-"

The ground shook, as if an earthquake woke up from its slumber to take out its anger on others. He couldn't help but to instinctively stand up, despite the unbearable pain, and moved to something that could shelter him from‐ whatever was happening.

He was terrified at what it was. A villian? Most likely? A Pro Hero? Maybe? One of his classmates? Unlikely. They all- except Kachaan- ran away in fear at the sight of villian Wisteria, someone that could grow Wisteria even more potent to human than their less potent cousins.

" I don't see the kid anywhere."

He knew who it was in a second. The one and only winged hero in his home. The Pro Hero right below Endevour: Hawks.

" I'll stay a bit longer, see if I can find him."

He mustered all his strength to get out of his hiding spot when he heard the footsteps fade away.

" HAWKS!"

His words were heard, he knew by the way hawks stopped. He saw the winged hero turn around, looking left and right before facing him, golden eyes widened in shock.

" I found the kid. Tell the others that I'll take him back to his house."

The mention of his home made him flinch, but not visibly. If his heart beating fast didn't get the Pro Hero's attention before, it sure did right now.

" Kid? Why are you shaking?"

The Pro crouched down, and gently scooped the green haired teen. Deku knew that Hawks was up onto him. But he said nothing, only shaking when a breeze blew by him.

-----

Hawks saw the teen shiver from the breeze that blew by them, not affecting him, of course, but it certainly affected the palm-sized teenager.

Maybe....

He brought the teenager close to his face, warm breath blowing around the teen. Oh boy... he was gonna scare the poor child.

With quick and gentle movements, he stuffed the kid into his mouth, using his tongue to coat the boy. Readying him for his descent.

He was right about scaring the kid. The screaming and pleads to be spared broke his heart. But, unfortunately, his bird quirk just HAD to tell him to store something in his crop. A crop only some of the winged bird people gained.

Slowly, he swallowed the green haired boy, muscles pulling the student further into his esophagus. Until he felt the boy reach his crop, slowly entering the small-ish organ. Said organ cradled the boy.

He heard the pleads, felt the teenager bruise his crop- which almost caused him to hack the boy out- but tried his best to keep him in the pouch-like organ.

Spreading his wings, he took off from the ground into the sky with careful movements. He didn't want to jostle his passenger.

How will he explain it to the boy and Pro Heros?

I hope you enjoyed! Next will be my au Sans x Frisk vore, and how they met. Pred hawks belongs to @astrotum and @askminiaturedeku! I hope that they see this, because they are my favourite Pred! Hawks creator!

#hawks my hero academia #safe vore #izuku midoriya #bnha

[shrikeseams]

#TOLKIEN #san shoots the breeze #san sews #very tempted to use this on the back of my jacket

[joselialopes]

“And when I first showed him my scar, he said it was interesting. He used the word ‘textured’. He said ‘smooth’ is boring but ‘textured’ was interesting, and the scar meant that I was stronger than whatever it was that had tried to hurt me.”

BIOGRAPHY | CONNECTIONS | MUSINGS | PINTEREST | SPOTIFY

STATS

Name: Joselia “Jo” Lopes Silva Faceclaim: Bruna Marquezine Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman & she/her Sexuality: Pansexual Age: 30 Birthday: June 3, 1993 Zodiac: Gemini sun, Leo moon, Virgo rising Education: BSW, UC-Riverside Occupation: Addiction Counselor (Social Worker) Neighborhood: Bighorn Hills + open-minded, adaptable, passionate - hot-headed, flaky, impulsive

BIOGRAPHY

tw: drug mention, alcoholism, abortion

also tw I say “daddy” one billion times and I’m so sorry that’s just what Joselia would say

Daddy was always a free spirit. He and Mama married young– him 17 and her 16– and he promised her the world. He painted a beautiful picture of a long, successful career as a football player, a big move to America, and a life where she seldom had to lift a finger. But Gisele Lopes Silva was always more grounded than her husband. She didn’t want all of that, really, just a man who loved her and happy kids. Still, Daddy was determined to shoot for the stars and, in the end, he landed pretty close. Roberto Silva qualified for the Campeonato Brasileiro Series at 19 and he swore up and down it was a straight shot to US Nationals from there. Mama got pregnant with Roberto Jr. that winter, 1984, and five years later in 1989 they had Miguel. With two babies, Mama’s asking Daddy to retire and get a real job graduated from passing remarks to deadpan questions to begging. 

They were doing okay, what with Grandma helping with the boys while Mama worked, but Gisele was wise. She knew it wouldn’t last long. Besides, she’d rather have Daddy around the kids than him be some big, international soccer star. It was a fight she didn’t have the energy for but every now and then, and Daddy became an expert at weasling out of it– bringing home expensive gifts, magazines about life in America, VHS tapes of sitcoms. Money was tight, though, and it was Daddy’s magic-making that made the room dividers in the living room that hid Jr.’s cot feel enchanted, like a portal to another world instead of a family bursting at the seams. In retrospect, Jr. says Mama resented him even then. She was caught in the trap of working all day in the factory and coming home to cook and clean, all the while the boys tugged on Daddy’s pant legs and clamored on top of him and asked to hear the story of his trip to San Fransisco for the hundredth time. 

Mama says that having Joselia in 1993 changed everything. She was finally getting somewhere with Daddy– touting the baby, the only girl, as the reason why he should quit chasing this crazy dream and get a real job. Settle down and give them all the life they deserved. Of course, the very next year was the beginning of the San Jose soccer club. The Earthquakes wanted Daddy on their inaugural team, and Daddy leaped at the chance to move to California– the land of opportunity. According to Daddy, getting recruited to the U.S. was the best thing that ever happened to him. Mama was just grateful that he finally got a kick in the ass to make something of himself. In 1994, the family migrated to San Jose to start their new life. 

Daddy always talked about those first few years like they were something out of a fairytale– all blue skies and palm trees and balmy breezes. Long days of doing what he loved, coming home to a slice of Brazil in Mama’s cooking and Jr.’s singing and the artifacts they’d managed to bring with them. Mama isn’t so romantic about it all. Sure, it was nice to not be so strapped for cash. But it was lonely, she says– hardly anybody else spoke Portuguese, and Daddy was alright with his English but Mama struggled. She could hardly make it through trips to the grocery without aid, and she missed her mother. But, Daddy was happy, which had been the point all along, right?

Daddy’s first season with the Earthquakes was a building year– at least, that’s what all the players would say when they would crowd around the kitchen table, drinking and talking and making messes that Mama stayed up well into the night cleaning up. But the kids loved it, crowding around the table with wide eyes and hanging on every word they said. It was this way that Joselia learned English; When her kindergarten teacher wrote home and asked where she’d learned to say “damn it all to hell!”, Daddy just laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Season two was better. By the end of it, everybody was talking about the Earthquakes, and Daddy was even named in a couple articles as a player to watch. That was 1996, a year he still calls the best of his life. Joselia remembers the whole family travelling to LA and Washington, DC and Dallas to see Daddy play. It was exactly what Daddy always promised– traveling the world, staying in fancy hotels, a balanced diet of stadium hot dogs and room service. Even Mama loosened up on their trips, had a glass or two of champagne and got giggly. It was like they were really in love, then. Life should’ve been like that forever– and it would’ve been, if Daddy hadn’t gotten injured.

Three games before the end of the 1997 season, an ill-timed slide tackle caused Daddy’s leg to break in two places. Mama, Jr., Miguel, and Joselia were watching from home, and everything instantly devolved into chaos. Mama screamed and immediately called the neighbor to come watch the kids while she rushed to the hospital. The three kids planted themselves in front of the TV, watching any and all coverage they could find on the local channels, and praying to every saint they knew. 

Daddy put on a brave face, at first. He had high hopes, unreasonable expectations that he’d be as good as new after surgery. But then came the minimum two years of physical therapy, and by the time he was in any condition to run again, they were so far behind with medical bills that Mama put her foot down. He had to get a job– they had to get back on their feet before he started his crazy training regimen. His old teammates still came around back then, and one of them even pulled some strings and got Daddy a job as a daytime bartender at a pub near the training facility. 

But there’s always a point in time where the sympathy runs out. People can’t hold pity forever. The guys stopped coming around, Coach stopped inviting him to closed practices. Mama was never gentle with him– she said that was that, it was time to move on. Find a new dream. Joselia wouldn’t know until much later, but underneath all of his bravado, Daddy was incredibly sensitive. He didn’t take to normal life well, and started mixing his pain meds with a few too many drinks. At first, it was an inconvenience. He would get too drunk and forget to pick up Jr. from school, he would leave Miguel an hour or two longer after school than he meant to. Most nights would end in whispered arguments behind Mama and Daddy’s door– Jr. learned to press a glass to the wood young, but he’d never tell Miguel and Joselia what was said unless it was really bad.

It got really bad when Joselia was in middle school. Jr. was twenty-one and still home, fulfilling the role of oldest child and peacekeeper while he saved up for college. Plus, the income he brought in from his grocery store job helped keep them afloat when Daddy overslept and missed his shifts, which was becoming more and more frequent. Jr. kept them together, with Miguel’s help– they would divide and conquer, Jr. going to Daddy and Miguel going to Mama. But when Daddy started gambling and they lost the apartment, Mama was done. 

Joselia was thirteen when Mama moved them into a new apartment and refused to give Daddy the key. Jr. had to drag her, kicking and screaming, refusing to leave Daddy behind. She’d let him in at night, and Mama would wake her up yelling every morning that she woke up to discover him on the couch. He can’t be trusted! she would say, pleading with Joselia to keep him out. Everybody else had enough of his broken promises, except Jo. She loved him so much that she moved with him to Philly at fifteen, pledged the next decade of her life to following Daddy around, dreaming big dreams with him and picking him up when he fell.

It was difficult leaving Mama and her brothers behind, but Joselia was so hurt that they could be so cruel to Daddy that she buried the grief under anger. Life with him was the same as always– high highs and low lows. On good days, they’d catch a game in the city and share a hotdog and Daddy would tell Jo-Jo all about how he was gonna become a soccer coach. If you can’t do, you teach, he said, and she believed him. She always believed him, and that belief carried her through the bad days, when he would stumble home angry at four a.m., cursing her Mama and her Grandma and the world, vomit dribbling down his chin and too-heavy footsteps.

It took an extra year, but Joselia graduated high school. Her part-time waitressing job became full-time, and her steady paycheck made up for the weeks and months that Daddy was out of work. Mama sent money every couple months with express instructions not to let Daddy touch it– but she always did, and he always blew it on a scratch-off or a round for all his friends. He was chaos personified, but Joselia wasn’t afraid of his self-destruction. Mostly, she was afraid of who she’d be without his fantastical tales and his believing the best in her and his promises that he’d take care of her, one day. 

Joselia met Matthew Foster in Philly, at a show for some grungy band she was just drunk enough to enjoy. Their whirlwind romance felt like home– the ups and downs, the unbridled passion and the teeming rage felt like what Joselia reckoned love was supposed to be. Daddy wasn’t consistent or stable, and he loved her more than anybody in the world– So must Foster. Midnight screaming matches faded into afternoon picnics and so on. He never said so, but Joselia knew he loved her– he showed it dozens of ways, whether by making the best food she’d ever eaten in her life (aside from stadium hotdogs, of course) or by buffing out the same dent in her car over and over from the damn apartment gate. 

They were young and dumb and it felt like everything. Daddy hated him and loved him, depending on the day– and when things were going right for everybody and the three of them drank and watched Daddy’s old matches, well, that was the best feeling in the world. It was after one of those days and a couple of Foster’s custom-made cocktails that they decided to get married at the courthouse. They didn’t have a ring or a dress or a care in the world, and somewhere in a box covered in a thin layer of dust, Joselia has a picture from that day: her in one of Foster’s button downs and a Dodgers hat, him in his usual tshirt and jeans combo, all bright smiles hanging off one another.

Being married didn’t stave off the fighting at all. If anything, it made it worse– gave them each more ammunition to launch at each other, and made it a hell of a lot harder to untangle from the mess. They fell into a familiar pattern– a couple of good days, maybe a week, a fight where they swore they were broken up for good this time, and a couple days later they’d make up. Anything was fair game on these breaks– and it’s not like Joselia had a ring or anything to stop her from seeing other people, so she did. Nothing that stuck, but a couple one or two night flings before she surrendered to Foster’s gravitational pull again.

When Joselia found out she was pregnant after a week “off”, she panicked. She wasn’t going to tell Foster, she was just going to take care of it on her own– but they had such a good day, and she was half convinced they could make it work. They were perfect, they only fought so hard because they loved each other so much. He bolted after that, and in retrospect, she couldn’t blame him. Joselia still harbors that hurt on especially lonely nights, revisits the feeling of waking up and seeing his shit gone, the days-late realization that she’d never see him again.

But it was okay, because there was always Daddy to take care of, and with no Foster and no baby to distract her, Joselia poured all of her energy into him. She was twenty-five and working the same waitressing job she’d had since graduation, spending her weekends taking care of her drunk father– and with nothing else in Philly, reality stung. She started to resent Daddy the same way Mama always had– she resented being the stable one, she resented not being able to fall apart because it’d hurt them both when that’s all she really wanted to do.

A decade late, Joselia’s breaking point finally came when Daddy wrapped her truck around a streetlight. He survived, thank God, but he had a broken arm and a couple of years in jail and mandated therapy. With no other choice, Joselia made her way back to California and turned up on Mama’s doorstep, tail between her legs. The rush of apologies for years of hating her, of thinking Mama was selfish and wrong for abandoning Daddy, was crushed in her mother’s arms. She was home, for real this time, and reconnecting with Mama and Jr. and Miguel helped Joselia figure some things out.

It wasn’t perfect, and she still felt an unreasonable degree of protectiveness over Daddy– they kept in touch, between letters and phone calls– but Jo decided to enroll in college. Better late than never. She started at UC-Riverside and declared Social Work as her major, staying home with Mama until she graduated at 29. It was a big deal, because Jr. had enlisted at 22 and Miguel had gone to trade school. Joselia was the first in their family to graduate college, a fact that Daddy cried about on the phone the morning of her graduation– a fact she still holds with pride.

Her fresh start extended to Colorado Springs, where Joselia took her very first “real” job a year ago as an Addiction Counselor for a nonprofit serving unhoused and at-risk individuals. It was Jr.’s idea, originally, and Joselia ended up loving it– finally her life experience was helpful with something, and the tough love she always should’ve given to Daddy was a requirement. It’s such the perfect fit, in fact, that she was promoted after only a year and transferred to the Providence Peak location. Joselia was hesitant at first to leave Colorado Springs and the comfort of Jr. right down the street, but it was high time for her to forge her own path. She made it up to Philly one more time, to visit Daddy and to clear out the rest of her shit from a storage unit, and is now settling into her new routine.

#providence.intro #biography

[comatosebunny09]

Meteor Shower

Music Inspo: Always with Me - Youmi Kimura

Tagging: @auraee, @kyojurosrealwife

Ubuyashiki-san over at Resident Services announced something special for the evening. 

You were also visited by the younger, less eccentric Rengoku brother whilst knee-deep in weed pulling. He had explained with such vigor the importance of wishing on a shooting star, uncharacteristically passionate. Your island was abuzz with talk of “fireworks” in the sky, which could only mean one thing: a meteor shower was on the horizon.

You always have a use for star fragments. It wouldn’t hurt to add another magic wand to your collection. It’s a bonus that the view of the stratosphere during these celestial events is breathtaking. And it’s always so quiet—a momentary reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the town. No villagers chasing you down for favors. No trees to shake. No wasps to outrun.

Around 8 PM, you find yourself seated on the pier, legs swinging off the edge, leaning back on your hands. There’s a dreamy look in your eyes while you gaze skyward. The tiniest smile on your lips as cerulean waves crash into the columns below, sea sprays nipping your legs, summery breeze ruffling your hair. You’re on the hunt for a shooting star, eager to make a wish.

The violet, star-speckled heavens have you so consumed. You hardly register footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Good evening!” greets a vibrant voice, startling you.

You peer over your shoulder, the museum’s curator standing a few feet away with a close-eyed grin, his peculiar, crimson-tinged hair fluffing excitedly.

You blink, mouth gaping like a fish. “Good evening, Rengoku-san,” you quietly return once air’s found its way back into your lungs.

“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you,” Kyojuro utters, sheepishly rubbing his nape. You waggle off his concern and grace him with a gentle smile. He clears his throat, looking off to the side. His voice is suddenly so small as he asks, “may I join you?”

You’re not entirely sure if you’ve heard him correctly, but, “u-um, sure.”

You scoot over, patting the space next to you on the floorboards. Kyojuro covers the distance with swift strides. Sits beside you, mirroring your position as he gazes overhead. You try to ignore how your heart thunders in your chest at his proximity. How butterflies stir in your tummy, and you swallow profusely.

Sure, you have a bit of a crush on the curator. It’s difficult not to feel something for him. He’s been so kind and patient with you since you mysteriously washed up on the shoreline. Put in a good word with the mayor to get you a cozy home and a decent job to get you started. You often go out of your way to find things to donate to the museum, if only to see the blonde’s shining face every day.

The atmosphere is initially rigid, saturated with awkward silence, and you both pointedly avoid each other’s gazes. Kyojuro breaks the silence by asking if you would “like to know a bit about the constellations?” You happily acquiesce, observing him with girlish infatuation.

He rambles about celestial spheres and what-have-you’s, directing you across the vast sky like a roadmap with his enchanting voice. Sprinkles in a question or two to ensure you’re keeping up, though you’re finding it quite challenging to focus. You could listen to him talk forever, though. You unconsciously lean closer as he speaks; like he has a gravitational pull. 

Kyojuro is so elated when he gets to flaunt his extensive knowledge of any and everything. Not very many people stick around for his stories, thinking he's pompous. He teems with a boyish charm when he’s off like this, and you think the twinkle in his eye is more beautiful than any meteor shower you’ve ever witnessed.

Suddenly, a lull in the conversation makes way for the whisper of the sea and wind. Somehow, your hands are mere centimeters apart on the pier, pinkies accidentally brushing several times.

You don’t know what possesses you, but you seek out Kyojuro’s hand, initially cautious with gentle taps, fearful that he’ll snatch it away. Though Kyojuro tenses at first, he makes no move to leave. So, with warmth inhabiting your cheeks, you cover his fingers with yours. A ghost of a smile twitches your lips as you watch his ear tips turn beet red from your peripheral. Somehow, touching him like this feels exhilarating, comfortable, natural, safe.

A telltale whistle suddenly resounds in your ears, causing you to sit up as a sparkling streak paints the sky. You quickly clasp your hands together, screwing your eyes shut, browsing through the catalog of your mind for a wish. Once you’ve made it, you open your eyes to watch the shooting star fleet toward the horizon, a tranquil look on your face.

“What did you wish for?” Kyojuro asks, parting your reverie.

You meet his stare, a chuckle at the cusp of your lips. “If I tell you, Rengoku-san, it might not come true.”

Kyojuro laughs handsomely in response, looking down at his lap. “Fair enough.”

A few more moments tick by. You’re itching to grab Kyojuro’s hand again, to hold it in yours. Weigh it, study its features, and memorize its warmth. But you’re suddenly self-aware, too afraid to push him beyond his comfort zone.

“W-what about that one? That’s the big dipper, isn’t it?”

You point to a particular arrangement of stars to distract yourself. Kyojuro follows your finger, lighting up with even more enthusiasm if at all possible. He begins to go off on a tangent whilst sitting up, thoroughly engrossed in the topic.

You know that there will never be a more opportune time than now. The moment is too surreal to pass up. So, you twist your head slightly this way and just...

Kyojuro is pleasantly surprised when he turns to you with a question and is greeted by your tender, timid mouth on his, effectively cutting him off amid a sentence. His soft groan vibrates against your lips, your heart aflutter, veins pulsing with liquid fire. You draw back carefully, bleary eyes cracking open.

Kyojuro’s own eyes remain closed as if opening them will disrupt the spell you’ve cast over him. With swollen, cherry lips, he rasps, “not that I am opposed to such affections, but what, may I ask, was that for?”

You beam at him, a small space dangling between your mouths. He’s made no motion to move away, fully intending to kiss you again. With a newfound boldness, you gather his cheeks in your hands, the warmth of his body bleeding into your fingers.

“Making my wish come true,” you whisper wistfully, your curtained lashes fluttering as you inch in for another taste of his lips, the sky aglow with a flurry of stars above.

<< Previous | Masterlist | Next >>

#rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku fluff #rengoku fluff #kyojuro fluff #demon slayer x animal crossing #self indulgent #fuel for my delulu hours #soft girl hours

[gumnut-logic]

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Virgil ducked a fist aimed at his head, grabbed the guy around the belly and flipped him face-first into a wall.

“I dunno! Maybe I wasn’t?” Gordon darted out of the way of his own opponent’s fist.

Virgil grabbed a woman’s dropped scarf from a nearby table, his fingers brushing against broken glass. He shook the material and more glass tinkled to the equally strewn floor. The man in his other hand writhed and attempted to kick him in the shins with the heel of his boot. Virgil just shoved him harder into the wall.

Twisted scarf made excellent restraints, particularly when looped into a chair which was conveniently bolted to the floor.

It was a bar. It was supposed to be a quiet night with Gordon. A couple of brothers shooting the breeze after a hard day at work. It wasn’t often they got to sit down for a moment, have a meal and just talk.

There had been a false alarm. A reported mine collapse that hadn’t been as serious as suspected and after three earlier rescues in that day, Virgil had called a halt and invited Gordon out for dinner.

His fish brother had looked at him somewhat strangely for all of two seconds and then enthusiastically accepted.

Stashing Two at the nearest GDF base, donning casual clothes, they’d borrowed a car, driven into town, and after a couple of personal errands, found a decent looking bar and ordered steak and a couple of beers.

It had been really good. It wasn’t often that they got time to just relax and enjoy each other’s company.

The alcohol had been minimal as technically they were still on call. Gordon had a quite long and persuasive discussion with John as to whether he should drop down and join them.

John politely declined.

Gordon threatened his tribble collection.

John threatened a fish tank or two.

Gordon threatened a telescope.

John threatened to tell Penelope about Gordon’s fangirly underwear collection.

Virgil stepped in before Gordon exploded.

As it was, the couple one table over were staring over their shoulders at the two guys apparently arguing with their collars.

John was wrestled into a promise of some downtime day after next and asked to tally it up with the rest of the brothers as a family get together.

All was good and well and enjoyable.

Until they walked into the bar.

It wasn’t a rough bar. In fact, it showed signs of families visiting during the day and had a few older folks out the back playing the slot machines.

But every community had this type and every community had to handle their bullshit.

Five of them in total. Two of them decided to harass a woman sitting by herself at the bar. Gordon happened to be ordering some mineral water to follow up on their beers at the time and, of course, he stepped in.

And this was the result.

Of course, the entire situation split the bar into three camps – the Tracy side, the annoyance side, and the innocent bystanders who just wanted a quiet meal at the pub.

Virgil had a foot each in the first and last camps.

But he was a Tracy and a guy built even bigger than Virgil loomed over Gordon with all the signs of intending to smush his brother.

While Gordon was quite capable of wiping the floor clean with the guy’s head, Virgil hadn’t been comfortable with the four others paying far too much attention to the matter.

So, he had swallowed the last of his beer and, putting the glass down, wandered over to stand beside his shorter brother.

Now, Virgil wasn’t particularly tall, but where Gordon’s swimmer’s strength was mostly hidden by his shirt, Virgil’s heavy lifting strength most certainly wasn’t.

The loomer eyed Virgil with a little more respect, but unfortunately the man’s height must have outpaced his IQ, because he didn’t back down.

He had far too much confidence in his buddies.

Loomer threw a punch and Gordon educated him in WASP fighting techniques.

It was a very short lesson.

Virgil took on the four who didn’t like that.

God bless his wonderful sister for all that training, sans coffee at five in the morning or not.

Gordon finished off Loomer and took on two of the guys Virgil had been dancing  with.

From then on it had been dodge and attempt to restrain. Virgil had no interest in causing injury, he just wanted to contain the idiots.

They didn’t seem to want to comply.

So, there were bruises and broken furniture.

Virgil felt sorry for the bar owner. No doubt Tracy money would be fixing a few things. Scott was not going to be impressed.

Virgil walked up behind a guy who had thought it would be fun to team up with Gordon’s opponent in a semi-coordinated attack. He didn’t bother hitting the man, he just grabbed an arm and yanked. Spinning him around he used another convenient wall to bring his attack to a very abrupt halt.

The man’s language was explicit and quite offensive.

“Okay, now break it up.” Several police officers walked into the bar.

Gordon’s opponent was already on the floor. The aquanaut held both of his hands up and backed up to show he was no threat.

Virgil had to keep a hold of his still profane antagonist, so he was only able to hold up one hand.

A gun clicked. “Let the man go.”

A frown and Virgil did as he was asked, holding up his remaining hand.

Foul Mouth spun around and before the police officer could react, planted his fist in Virgil’s cheek bone.

“Hey!” And there were suddenly police everywhere. Hands grabbed Virgil as he attempted to shake the stars from his eyesight.

Goddamn, that hurt.

“We’re the victims here. He’s my brother, let him go!”

Blinking, he tried to straighten, but his arms were wrenched behind his back and handcuffed.

His head spun.

“Do you have any idea of who we are?!”

Gordon, shut up or we’ll be on the networks within minutes.

Then Scott would be really pissed.

Virgil wilted in the grip of the men holding him.

His brother was going to be apoplectic.

-o-o-o-

Reactions

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #nuttyfic reblog #was thinking of writing a scene and then realised i already had #I'm going to reread this one in bed

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Reiji Ecstasy [04]

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

ー The scene starts in the hallway of the Mukami manor

Yui: ( I understand that it wouldn’t be safe to walk outside when we’re staying here to hide from the Church but... )

( After being inside the whole time, I can kind of feel the walls closing in on me... )

( ...Right! )

ー The scene shifts to the balcony

Yui: ...Haah.

( I can’t believe I feel so much better just from feeling the breeze... )

ー Reiji walks up to her

Reiji: What are you doing here?

Yui: I wanted to get some fresh air so...

Reiji: I see. 

Yui: Exactly. I feel totally reborn just from standing here like this.

Reiji: ...You would be missing out on a lot by doing that though. 

Yui: Eh?

Reiji: Look up at the sky.

ー Yui looks up at the sky

Yui: Ah...!

( The stars are so pretty...I didn’t notice them at all. )

Reiji: I suppose they are clearly visible because the air is rather cold tonight. 

Yui: Right...Ah!

ー Yui runs towards the edge of the balcony

Yui: ( I saw a star twinkle and fall down just now! )

Reiji-san, it’s a shooting star...! Over there! Did you see it? 

Reiji: No. There was something else other than the starry sky which caught my attention...

ー He embraces her 

Yui: Hyah? 

( He suddenly wrapped his arms around me. )

Reiji: I was too focused on watching you suddenly sprint forward. 

Yui: ...Sorry. 

Reiji: I was worried that perhaps you’d fall down in your excitement. 

Yui: ( Even so, he doesn’t have to hold me this tightly... )

Oh no...I would never fall.

Reiji: Have you perhaps considered that I am holding you tight like this because I am not confident in that statement? 

Yui: Well...

( I am aware that I can be somewhat clumsy at times, but it’s kind of embarrassing knowing he thinks of me as such a klutz... )

Don’t worry. I assure you that I won’t fall down.

Reiji: ...Is that so?

ー Reiji lets her go

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: Ah...

Reiji: I suppose I do not need to hold you close then. 

Yui: R...Right.

( Still, I’m honestly a little sad...that he suddenly moved away. )

( But it’d be embarrassing to say that now...Haah. )

Reiji: ...Is something the matter? 

Selection

→ Pretend to be tough (S)

Yui: No...It’s nothing. 

Reiji: I see. ...Honestly, I do not dislike it when you put up a brave front.

Yui: I’m not putting up a brave front...

Reiji: Are you now? I suppose I was simply imagining things...When I thought you looked somewhat lonely. 

Yui: Exactly. It’s all in your head. 

Reiji: Heh...Well then, let us say it was a misunderstanding on my part...and move on to round two. 

Yui: Eh...?

→ Be honest (M)

Yui: I felt a little sad...when you moved away. 

Reiji: Then, what do you want me to do? 

Yui: ( It’s embarrassing, but I suppose I’ll say it... )

...I want you to embrace me once more. 

Reiji: You are rather honest today. You truly are endearing like that.

Yui: Eh?

Reiji: ...I tried to follow your example and be honest about my feelings as well. Did you not like what you just heard? 

Yui: N-No! If anything, I’m super happy...!

Reiji: I am glad. Well then...This way, please. 

ー He pulls her close again

*Rustle*

Reiji: How is that? You were yearning for my embrace, were you not?

Yui: ...Yes. 

( He sees right through me... )

Reiji: Do you feel satisfied now that I’m holding you in my arms...?

Yui: Well...

Reiji: Oh dear? Is a light embrace not enough to satisfy you, perhaps?

Yui: Eh?

Reiji: For such a greedy person such as yourself...I suppose I will have to provide something a little more stimulating. 

Right...Would you please look up at the moon? 

Yui: The moon...?

Reiji: Yes. That’ll make the moonlight shine down upon the side of your neck, making it much easier to bite you.

Yui: ( Eh...? )

ー Reiji bites her

Reiji: Nnh...Nn...

Yui: Ah...

Reiji: Nn...Haah...Nnh...

Until you tell me that you have been thoroughly satisfied...I will continue to sink my fangs into your skin...

Yui: No way...

Reiji: Nn...Nn...

Yui: Aah...

( What should I do...? My head’s spinning, I’m feeling faint. )

ー She closes her eyes

Yui: ( I wonder if that way...This moment will last forever. )

( ...That honestly doesn’t sound too bad. )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #reiji sakamaki #lost eden #diabolik lovers translation #lereijiecstasy4

[e-rinnie]

"Kyomu-sama is mine." Luca hisses at the tall red avian, paws crossed against her chest. "I'll make sure of it!"

"How could you do this to me, Luca?" G-Penguin shoves a finger to the shorter girl's chest. "You knew that I had feelings for Kyomu-san...Yet you decided to do this to me!? How could you!?"

"Kyomu-sama already rejected you a hundred times! Yet you remain so persistent...you lost your chance long ago, G-Pen."

"Guys, please." Kotatsu pleads from a few feet "This isn't right! This is not how we should settle things, please."

"There's no convincing them, Kotatsu. They're stubborn."

"Jyako-sama!"

"You two stay out of this!" The penguin curses. The tanuki steps back, retreating to the bird leaning against the wall.

G-Pen turns back to the cat, glaring into her purple eyes.

"This is between you and me."

(🔪)

"Chungami flew by with some news today, have you heard of it?"

They breathe out, a heavy yet audible sigh heard even through the solid mask hiding their empty expression. The sound of footsteps pass through their ears, graceful and clean as ever. Kyomu was all too familiar with the sound of paws hitting the ground.

From the corner of their vision they can see her approach, long gray hair flowing in the wind. The gentle breeze touching the tip of her short fluffy ears.

"Suzume,"

The ferret calls from below, her gaze sharp on their avoidant eyes. The mask they wore protecting their...acquaintance, from suffering the effects of what lay beneath.

"What's this about the newbies fighting for your hand?"

Raising sharp talons, the sparrow continues staring blankly into the open sky. Their hands move, signing;

'I do not concern myself with the delusions of others. It is none of my business.'

Kyomu pauses for a second, before signing again.

'I would like to keep it that way, Hiyamaru.'

"Don't shoot the messenger." The ferret chuckles, voice light and playful. Kyomu's gaze falls onto the tall girl, her long tail swinging behind her as she approaches. "Is this why you've been hiding in the trees more often?"

She sits herself down, underneath where they sat. Below the branch and against the bark of some tree Kyomu had decided to perch upon. The sparrow sighs once more, fluttering down and taking the empty space next to the ferret.

'They are bothersome' The sparrow signs, 'I was living peacefully.'

"All started cause of that penguin." Hiyamaru says, a cheery undertone to her words, "Haven't you already rejected him several times? Can't a guy take a hint."

'I've made it clear to him; My loyalty is with my creator only. Even if it wasn't...I do not have the capacity to return such feelings to him. And neither to his feline friend.'

"They sure have a type."

Kyomu's head whips to face the ferret, who raises her arms up defensively. A soft laugh slipping through her lips.

"Don't be mad! I'm just curious is all..."

'Of what? What more is there than some bothersome creatures who are to deep in their delusions to function civilly.'

"I know that, Kyomu-chan." Hiyamaru's expression softens, a curious glint in her eyes, "It's just...Me and Nekoyama have been talking and..."

'Hiyamaru, I swear.'

"Do you really harbor no feelings for any of them? We're not trying to accuse you of anything, Kyomu-chan. But you aren't exactly making things subtle..."

'Excuse me?'

"Now don't go preening your feathers at me! It's just...well." The ferret nervously pulls at her collar, "Is there a chance that you may be...enjoying the atten- Hey!"

The sparrow stands up suddenly, dropping their hands and hiding them with long sleeves. Without a sound or a sign, the bird begins to walk away. Hiyamaru pulls herself up, both confused but amused by the sparrow's reaction.

"Kyomu! Hey!"

She kicks herself into a run one she sees the sparrow's wings begin to flap.

"Kyomu-chan!"

#IM SO SORRY FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW WHATS GOING ON JUST CHECK TWITTER