#idk ill see about putting it up tomorrow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr was attacked by a cross-site scripting worm deployed by the Internet troll group GNAA on Dec 3, 2012.

#idk ill see about putting it up tomorrow

simplyundeniable98 · 6 months

Text

look at me t.s.

Pairing | Thomas Shelby x Female reader

Summary | When Mrs. Shelby requests Tommy in the room with her for the birth of their first daughter everyone is shocked. Men aren't supposed to be in the room with their wives as they give birth, it's just not how it is supposed to be... well all men aren't Thomas Shelby.

Warnings | Mentions of childbirth, pain obviously she's literally giving birth, maybe ooc Tommy? idk. Reader is a little mean to her doctors but she's in pain cut her some slack. MDNI because I said so. Foul language.

Word Count | .06k

~This is loosely based off of the scene in Queen Charlotte when they won't let George into the room to see Charlotte. If you know what I'm talking about I love you~

All dialogue in italics is spoken in Romani.

"Mrs Shelby forgive me but husbands aren't usually in the room during the birth" The doctor spoke hesitantly as his eyes flicked nervously around the room.

Everyone seemed to speak hesitantly around her. I guess that was what you get when you become a Shelby. Everyone around you is constantly terrified to tell you no or disagree. It was like being royalty in a sort of fucked up way.

Polly Gray cut the doctor a look as she walked over to you and put a reassuring hand on your forehead.

"Polly please" you cried in pain "I need him here." Nothing from the old wive tales could compare to the pain you were feeling. You had been pushing for hours now with Polly at your side but nothing was working. Your daughter simply just would not budge. Polly had made the comment early on about her already showing traits from her father.

"I don't care what usually happens. If Tommy Shelby is not in this room in the next five minutes, I will personally end you." You spoke with a hiss pointing at the doctor.

You weren't usually this aggressive, but given the fact you were in pain and used to getting what you wanted all the time, the circumstances were different.

Polly sighed as she looked down at you and began to head out of the room.

"What's wrong, is she okay?" Tommy spoke immediately as Polly exited the doors of your room.

"She's requesting you Thomas" Polly spoke in Romani so as to not alert the other doctors of your request.

"She wants me in the room with her?" He spoke hesitantly as he looked towards the door.

Polly nodded and Tommy immediately started towards the door.

"I'm sorry Mr. Shelby but I cannot allow you to be in the room." The doctor outside of your door spoke as his eyes flicked down to the floor to avoid Tommy's sharp gaze.

"Tell me, doctor, do you like your job?" Tommy spoke with a raised brow as he waited for his response.

When he didn't reply Tommy bent down to reach his gaze "Hmm? I asked you a question doctor, do you like your job?"

"Yes. Yes I like my job" He murmured still avoiding the sharp blue eyes that were currently staring daggers at the man.

"Well if you intend on staying alive long enough to keep it, I suggest you move out of my way." Tommy stood up straight and tilted his head towards the door.

The doctor nodded and stepped aside, letting Tommy enter the room. "If I hear one more word from anyone about my presence in this room, I will have a peaky blinder on each and every one of your doorsteps first thing tomorrow morning" Tommy spoke before anyone could protest.

"Tommy" you gasped as you finally laid eyes on your husband. "I've been asking for you"

"I know, I know. But I'm here now eh? I'm here now." Tommy bent down to give your forehead a kiss as you winced.

"I cant do this Tommy" you cried "I want it to be over"

Tommy's heart broke at the sight of you. His wife. He wished he could just take all of your pain away and keep it for himself.

Tommy bent down to kneel at the side of your bed as he cradled your face in his hands.

"Look at me. Hey, Look at me, love." He spoke softly as you turned your head to gaze at him with teary eyes.

"You can do this. I know you can. You are the most headstrong women I know, and ill be damned if you give up now." You giggled at his lighthearted teasing and nodded.

"And you don't really have a choice love. This baby has got to come out in one way or another." He smirked at you as you rolled your eyes at your husband.

"Okay Mrs. Shelby its time to push" Your doctor spoke as Tommy placed a kiss on the hand he had ahold of and nodded at you.

"Let's meet our daughter Mrs. Shelby."

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #cillian murphy x reader smut #cillian murphy #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinder imagine

3K notes · View notes

inherdaze · 2 months

Text

jungle — kiyoomi sakusa

kiyoomi x f reader

18+ content, pining, slow burn, sakusa wears dog tags mmm, smut, acquaintances to lovers. kind of a historical au? (think 1930s) idk bro it's like all made up. mentions of pregnancy

summary: kiyoomi seeks serenity after coming home from war.

There’s lots of commotion outside. Hollering, cheering, squeals and shouts paired with the sight of lovers reuniting, families coming together, men picking up their children and spinning them around in the air. You watch from the kitchen window as you wipe down the dishes, see some people carelessly pick the flowers from your yard to bunch up and give to wives, children, husbands, the like. Normally, you’d scold them for being so careless and probably offer a pair of garden trimmers so that they wouldn't crush the surrounding flowers, but you let it pass. Everyone is happy. The war is over.

Your mother watches as she stands next to you, handing you over the dishes to dry once she’s finished washing them clean. She looks at you from the corner of her eye, gouging out your reaction before clearing her throat.

“Do you remember Kiyoomi?”

You freeze for a second, plate and rag in hand as you try to think. “Mm. No?”

“The Sakusa family?”

“Oh,” And then you start again, rubbing the plate dry. You don’t really remember the boy, only that your mother was friends with his mother and that apparently the two of you played around as young children. You don't remember the last time you saw him. Probably couldn’t even point him out in a crowd.

“He’s coming home.”

“From the war?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like me to gather some flowers for him? There’s plenty in the backyard, too. None of the crushed ones.”

She sighs before placing the plate she held back into the sink, turning to face you entirely.

She says your name softly. “He’s coming home. Here.”

“Why? For dinner?”

“No– well, yes– but he’ll be staying here. With us.”

You slowly put out the plate face down on the long countertop cloth to let it air dry. “Since when?”

“We’ve been exchanging letters.”

Ah. You had been wondering what that was about. Each time the mail came in, your mother would scurry to get it before you could, holding it to her chest protectively before gently slicing it open in the study, purposely keeping it from you. You thought she had been exchanging letters with some sort of admirer, so to speak. You thought she’d be afraid to tell you she’s moving on after years of your father’s death.

She continues, “His parents passed a while back– they both fell ill while he was away. He just needs somewhere to stay in the meantime so he can get back up on his feet. I'm sure there are plenty of other families that would be more than happy to host a soldier, but I suppose he would feel more comfortable here. I mentioned the garden and the chickens and he said he’d help you out with those. Don’t let him, though.”

“Huh? Why not?”

Your mother lightly swats your arm and gives a quiet scold of your name, “He isn't here to work. He’s here to rest. He’s been through a lot, you know. Just let him be while he’s here.”

You roll your eyes. Your mother can tell that you're not really annoyed.

“He seems very reserved in the letters we exchanged. If he’s formal with you, insist that he don’t be. We are friends of his. Make him feel comfortable, okay?”

You hum and nod. “Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“When will he be here?”

Your mother nearly answers before you've even finished asking.

“Tomorrow.”

You’re an early bird. Even when you don’t want to be, you must. You have to tend to the chickens in the morning, tidy up and make breakfast for your mother before she goes out to the market to sell the eggs.

The morning dew that sits atop the grass kisses at your shins as you trudge towards the coop, face lit by the oncoming sunrise. The sky shifts from deep blue to a lighter blue to purples and pinks until the sun finally reaches the top of the sky.

As you get closer to the coop, you hear the familiar and pesky repetitive clucks, appreciative that the coop is farther out into the yard and not by your window.

You slide the coop door open, stepping to the side as they rush out with curiosity.

“Mornin’ kids,” You start before emptying out their dirty water, tossing it into the grass before turning on the hose to fill up the bin.

You replace the water, give them more food, collect the eggs that are deemed ready, and hang out with them for a good thirty minutes to make sure they’re healthy and roaming around like normal. You sit on the grass, knees to your chest as you absentmindedly say hi to them when they pass by or stare at you.

Once the sun has almost fully risen, you grab the basket of eggs and make your way back into the house, slipping out of your boots before stepping inside.

The morning goes as always; Your mother wakes up, thanks you for handling the chickens, thanks you as you place her breakfast on the table, gathers all the eggs she needs to sell, and kisses your cheek before she heads out to the market.

“Kiyoomi should be here later, once I’m already home. Please make sure the spare bedroom is clean, with fresh sheets. If he happens to arrive early, be nice.”

“God, don’t act like I’m insufferable! I won’t drive him out.”

She smiles knowingly. “I know, my dear.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but swiftly turns on her heel and takes her leave.

The rest of the day is spent cleaning up the spare bedroom to make sure it’s nice and welcoming for when your new guest arrives. You smooth out all the bed linen and wipe down the dressers, making all photo frames and little trinkets look presentable. It doesn't take long for you to set it all up– the bedroom has always been very empty. You wonder how it'll look like when it’s more lived-in, with boots and coats and whatever else he may carry laying around.

You slip into the kitchen and wash your hands, preparing to make lunch. With the curtains on the kitchen window drawn shut, you fail to see the man that climbs up your porch steps, eyes downcast as he raps his knuckles on the door a few times.

You freeze in your spot almost violently. It’s much too early for him to be here, and when you glance at the clock on the wall, you’re convinced that it has to be someone else– perhaps the neighbor?

Drying your hands on the apron tied to your dress, you draw back the kitchen curtain to get a little peep.

You almost squeal as you back away from the window, covering your face with your hands like you’ve just seen something you weren't supposed to– but you had just seen him. He was… big. That’s all you could think.

When you open the front door, the two of you stare at each other, silent.

Yes, he’s big. Broad shoulders, gifted with height, and his chest seems…. inviting in the military uniform he wears. You finally make eye contact with him, scanning over his handsome features, the two little beauty marks that rest atop his eyebrow, the pretty curve of his lips—

“Hello,” He says with an air of formality, and you clutch at the skirt of your dress.

“Hi… hi.”

He stares at you blankly.

“I, ah— come in, Kiyoomi,” You start, standing to the side as he takes off his boots and leaves them by the door, following diligently as you lead him to his room. He doesn’t even spare a glance to look around the house, eyes trained on your back.

“Here,” You say, opening the door to his room. “The bathroom is down the hall, my room is right there– right across, and my mother’s room is the farthest one down the hallway. There’s a, um, study if you'd ever like to read or spend some time in there. Do as you like,” You explain gently, a warm smile on your features. “I was just making lunch. Are you hungry? Would you like some?”

“No thank you,” He says immediately, looking down at you. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Of course! My mother should be here in a few hours. For now, the house is all yours– er, ours, but– well, yeah, yours…” You trail off with embarrassment, looking into his eyes for help, hoping he’ll finish your sentence or laugh it off with you.

He doesn't.

As soon as you back away and start walking back to the kitchen, he shuts the door softly and coupes himself up in there.

You frown to yourself, remembering your mother’s words. He seems very reserved, let him be, he’s been through a lot.

You do just that, careful to not make any noise as you prepare lunch, then sit by yourself at the table to eat. There’s a light clink and clatter of the dishes as you wash them, but you can only hope he doesn’t mind.

Noon turns into night and you’re still alone. You haven’t heard Kiyoomi leave the room or rummage around at all. It’s like he never even arrived.

You’re not surprised when your mother comes home and deems the house empty (besides you being there) and exclaims that the both of you must rush and start working on dinner because Kiyoomi deserves nothing but the best. You feel your skin prickle hot for some reason. She wasn’t wrong, but if Kiyoomi had heard her say it, it sounded like she was one of those old ladies who desperately fawn over younger men. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

You laughed nervously and bumped her hip with yours, quietly telling her that he had already arrived.

She gasps dramatically, hand flying to her heart as she scolds you.

“Why didn’t you invite him out here to sit with you? Has he eaten lunch? Did you offer him lunch? Goodness, my dear, this is no way to host someone. Ask him to step out! Did you show him around the house, at least? Oh, heavens– did you change the sheets?”

Your ears feel terrifyingly warm, knowing very well that your mother was loud enough for Kiyoomi to hear her through closed doors. Just thinking of him overhearing you get scolded made you want to scuffle away and complain in embarrassment to the chickens.

“My apologies, miss.”

The both of you whirl around to see Kiyoomi, who looks absolutely delightful, you think.

His curls are mussed as if he had been sleeping, uniform ditched for a skimpy white undershirt tucked into some slacks, the planes of his chest peeking out and greeting you handsomely. The dog tags that are strung along the chain around his neck glint in the kitchen light, almost like they’re saying Hi. “It’s not her fault, I assure you– I had turned down her offer for lunch, and I just wanted some time to myself after arriving. No hard feelings at all.”

He speaks in such a collected and calm manner, and his face and eyes look empty. He’s good at containing all his emotions.

“Oh,” Your mother breathes out, a wistful smile creeping onto her face. “Oh, my lovely Kiyoomi!” She rushes towards him and cups his face, smushing his cheeks in her hands, beaming up at him. The action makes his eyes widen, hands immediately flying up to push hers away, but he stops himself just in time and lets them fall back to his sides.

“How you’ve grown! My goodness, it’s been ages, my love, please– please sit down, we’ll make some soup, okay? Just rest. Tell us, how have you been? Any good stories?”

She greets him like a mother would, and for a second, you think you see his features relax. Not wanting to get caught ogling at him, you turn and face the cutting board, lining up all the vegetables needed for the soup.

The two talk the entire time, your mother silently leaving the task of cooking up to you. You don’t mind at all, keeping your back to the both of them to hide the look of shyness on your face. Every time Kiyoomi speaks, you feel your hands stutter.

The conversation is mostly your mother gushing over him and how much he’s grown, telling him he’s such a handsome young man, asking him how his trip over here went, and then she asks him if there is a woman in his life. You know that it would be normal for him to feel a little flabbergasted from such a question, but you don’t know why you feel so embarrassed as well.

You figure it’s because if he says he does have a special someone in his life, your mother would turn around and berate you (in front of him) for not being ‘out there’ enough and for not seeing someone already.

To your surprise, he weakly mentions that no, he doesn’t have anyone like that in his life. He quickly excuses it by saying that he had been too busy during the war to worry about such things.

Your mother laughs good-naturedly, flailing her hand around, “Oh, of course. Silly me!”

By the time your mother opens her mouth to tell him that there are plenty of riveting people around town that he may like, you announce with your back still facing them, “Soup’s ready.”

You serve your mother and Kiyoomi, keeping your head down as you approach him and place his bowl on the table. He thanks you in a quiet, rumbly voice that makes you go completely still for a split second.

Conversation dies down as the three of you eat. Your mother has pulled out as much as she can from Kiyoomi. He avoided a lot of questions about the war, about his experiences, about what he saw. You can’t help but wonder.

Your mother interrupts the silence as she subtly turns to face you.

“How are the vegetables doing?”

“Growing,” Is all you respond as you stuff another spoonful of soup into your mouth. She’s grasping at straws to not let the atmosphere turn awkward.

You figure that if Kiyoomi is going to be staying here, may as well be casual, treat him like anyone else (despite the fact that he looks like he came down straight from Heaven).

You shift in your chair, the wood creaking. “Tomorrow, could you buy some more flower seeds from the market? You can pick which. I need to fill in the spaces that were crushed yesterday from all the people.”

Her eyes light up, “Of course, dearie. Thank you for reminding me.”

The two of you talk about mundane things for the rest of dinner, topics you usually discuss. Kiyoomi finds it comforting. Makes him feel more at home.

The next morning, you rise before the sun kisses the sky, as always.

You pull on the short linen clothing you use for working, old stains of mud and grass forever tainting the articles. As quietly as you can, you pad around the house before reaching the back porch, tugging on your work boots before stepping into the fresh morning grass.

Unbeknownst to you, Kiyoomi is also an early riser, a habit that he has cultivated over years of training. He watches you from the backyard’s dutch door, the top half open. He rests his elbows on the bottom half and leans forward, watching and listening as you greet and coo at the chickens like they’re your children. His eyebrows twitch up when he hears you reprimand one– Stop putting grass in the water, Harold!

After you dump out the water, you pick up the water bucket and take it over to the pump, working the water into it. With your back turned to Kiyoomi, you don’t hear as he steps through the grass towards you.

“Good morning,” He greets politely, and you yelp.

Whirling around with the half-full bucket in hand, the water flies out and crashes right into him, soaking his torso and the entirety of his pants.

You drop the bucket.

“Oh my gosh– oh, Kiyoomi— I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry, oh my goodness– I didn’t– I’m so sorry—”

You're petting his torso worriedly, as if your hands will soak up all the water that has been spilled. He knows you have good intentions and are just trying to help somehow get the water to dry, but your touch makes him stiffen.

You’re repeating that you're sorry, and the more that you ramble on, the more he can hear the tremor in your voice as you squeak and swallow and try to push this upcoming embarrassment down. Kiyoomi lifts his hands and places them right on your arms, completely stilling you. “It's fine.”

It comes out clipped, like it's not really fine, but you can’t tell if he's annoyed. His face remains stoic.

“I’m so sorry,” You whisper.

“It's okay. You weren't aware that I was here. I understand.”

You look over him again, the bottom half of his cotton shirt soaked and his pants clinging onto his legs like paint. You’re so embarrassed and ashamed that you can't even find it in yourself to admire him.

“You’ll– you’ll get sick. Let’s go inside,” You plead, stepping away from his touch and gathering your skirt in your hands to run back into the house, hastily kicking off your boots before prying the bottom half of the door open.

He watches you scurry around the house to make him some tea, pouring water into the kettle and sorrowfully letting him know it’s gonna take a few minutes. You advise that he changes but don’t push it on him too much, not wanting to be over controlling.

He disappears into the room and shuts the door, and you plop onto the dining table chair. Resting your head in your hands, you mentally chastise yourself for messing up like this, and on the first day that he's been here, too.

The kettle whistles. You pick yourself up to see Kiyoomi already looking at you, in a pair of clean clothes. Embarrassment crawls up your spine.

“I’m sorry.” You say again, turning to silence the kettle and pour the water into a mug before adding a few loose tea leaves.

“I’ve already forgiven you.”

“I know, I know but– I’m really sorry.”

He only sighs. You take that as a sign he’s frustrated.

“I’m stepping back outside,” You say, “Still have to get stuff done.”

He nods stiffly. You walk with your tail between your legs to the backyard porch, putting on your boots and this time shutting both halves of the dutch door.

You confide and whine to the chickens as you clean up and spread out their food.

Despite the incident, Kiyoomi insists that he help you out in the mornings. He follows you out to the back porch and manages to slip past the threshold before you can shut the bottom half of the dutch door to trap him inside (he can always just open the door and walk by, but you tell him it’s the prospect of trapping him inside that matters the most. His eyebrow twitches at that).

He lingers as you talk to the chickens, which you do quietly now that you know that he’s there. He pretends to look away when you tell Harold good morning.

When you finish saying your greetings to the birds, you tell him to go back inside. This is your job only and he should take this time to rest or get some extra hours of sleep– but he insists. He tells you he can’t sleep for any longer, he’s spent years rising early and getting straight to work and if he were to lay in bed he’d just lay restless.

You know your mother will scold you later, but you offer him some work to do anyway. You tell him to replace the water while you give them fresh food. And he does so gladly, falling into a rhythm with you that, if a stranger looked at the scene, would convince them that he belongs here and always has.

There’s this sort of look of serenity on his face, like he’s content to be doing something rather than staying in the house (which is what your mother has been pressuring him to do).

The rising sun kisses his face, reminding you of his beauty. His skin practically glows and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on the moles on his forehead.

In this kind of lighting, you see faded scars on his hands and arms, earned from hardwork and fighting and war and other things you cannot even imagine. They make him seem gruff (more than he already is) and in a way, scary. But the way he handles the chickens and the land and the water with such a tender touch tells you otherwise. For a brief second, you wonder if he would hold you with such care as well. You shoo the thought away.

Kiyoomi stays with you while you watch over the chickens. He stands while you sit on the grass.

“Talk to them,” You encourage.

He lifts an eyebrow. “And what should I say?”

“Ask them how they are.”

Kiyoomi clears his throat and looks at one of the chickens, “My… My dear Harold,” He starts, “I hope you are in good health.”

You laugh, “So formal, Sakusa.”

He finds himself humming. Humming. Humming in amusement.

When you're done with the chickens, you tell him he can go back inside and relax while you check up on all the vegetables, but he tells you he wants to help with that too.

You untie your apron and start checking on and picking the ripe vegetables, bundling them in the cloth. Kiyoomi, truthfully, seems a little lost as he handles pulling out the vegetables and leafy greens with a sort of hesitance as if he’s afraid to hurt them. You scoot over closer to him and offer some help.

“They won’t cry in agony, Kiyoomi.”

“I–” He starts, embarrassed. “You mistake me.”

“How so?”

He doesn’t answer, runs out of excuses. Suddenly Kiyoomi thinks the sun feels warmer when your hands brush over his own to guide him, encouraging him to pluck at the vegetables. He gets the hang of it, bundling up all the produce in your apron before the two of you make your way back inside.

When your mother sees the both of you step in, kicking off your boots and hands stained with dirt, she tsks at you.

“I specifically told you not to ask for any help.”

Embarrassment blooms in the depths of your chest. Getting scolded in front of Kiyoomi will be the death of you. You want to defend yourself but you don’t want to throw him under the bus, either. You hold the bundle of vegetables and greens closer to your chest, almost protectively.

“She did no such thing,” Kiyoomi interjects before your mother can continue. He stands tall, seems bigger, voice collected but strong enough to cause the both of you to jump. It’s been ages since you and your mother have been in the presence of someone as powerful as Kiyoomi.

He visibly slackens, clears his throat. “She didn’t ask for my help– told me to go inside, actually. I took it upon myself to help her.”

“Oh,” Your mother breathes out, tone suddenly sweet and forgiving. “I see.”

The silence that rests between the three of you could pierce your ears. You skitter into the kitchen to wash all that you’ve collected and leave your mom and Kiyoomi alone. In a matter of seconds, she’s already cooing at him and telling him that there’s no need for him to be working, it’s fine if he wants to rest inside, there’s plenty of time for him to spend his days off. He’s silent in response.

After you make breakfast and your mother leaves for the market, you gather all the dishes and make a beeline for the sink, pouring hot water over the dishes to scrub them clean.

Kiyoomi follows up behind you, rolling up the sleeves of his cotton shirt, bunching it up right above his elbows. You watch as he leans forward to grab a washcloth, swallowing when you see his dog tags swing low as he dips down. They clink back onto his chest when he stands upright.

“Thank you,” He says suddenly, eyes focused on the plate in his hands as he wipes it in a circular motion.

“What for? I should be the one thanking you, Kiyoomi. You defended me in front of my mother.”

He takes a second to formulate what he wants to say. “I must thank you for letting me work with you. I know your mother has good intentions, and I appreciate that she insists I rest.”

You tilt your head up at him, silently asking if he will continue.

Kiyoomi, unbeknownst to you, is facing an internal battle with himself. Years of being in war and surrounded by men who believe vulnerability is weakness often leaves him staying quiet in moments where he wishes to speak. He mulls over what he wants to say again, wondering if you’d laugh him off and tell him to not be silly. But he knows that you sense something is up, your eyes taking on a glimmer of understanding and kindness before you look down at your plate. “I won’t force it out of you, Kiyoomi.”

He looks at you affectionately, but you miss it as you stack the plate on the counter.

“Well, since you’re practically pleading me to share my thoughts, I’ll tell you.”

That makes you laugh. You laugh a gentle little laugh, and Kiyoomi has to turn back and face the dishes so that he doesn’t lose his thoughts.

“Your mother, I… I know she means no harm. I know that she may believe that I need rest and time and some sort of recuperation period. I don’t mean to be rude, but she… it feels as if she is doing worse than good, for me.”

You nearly freeze on the spot, worried about what he’ll say next. You’re scared that you and your mother have ruined his whole stay.

Kiyoomi breathes out your name, “I assure you that I am not a wounded dog that must be left alone to rest and sleep the pain away. I want to live a normal life, now. I’ve faced enough estrangement in the war. Please, allow me to work and live with you just as anyone else would.”

It’s a simple, simple request. A simple request that would have anyone cheering and clapping and showing him to the damaged flowers in the front yard and putting him right to work. It’s a simple request that makes your heart clench and twist in the caverns of your chest, knowing that he wants to live a life of normality and serenity. Knowing that he has opened up to you about being shunned away. It makes you feel trusted, and in a way, sought out.

You’re silent for a beat too long and Kiyoomi looks like he wants to scrub away all the words he just said with the way he resumes at washing his plate. As you set another one to dry, you tell him calmly, to prevent the feeling of pity arising in the air, “Of course, Kiyoomi.”

The corners of his lips twitch up when you tell him the bushes out front need to be trimmed.

You tell your mother of Kiyoomi’s request that same night, and she scoffs and frowns and throws a little fit before she caves. She initially insists that you only give him light work, but eats up her words at the glower you throw her way.

He helps you trim the bushes, the weeds, helps you with the vegetables and the chickens and watches eagerly as you prepare food so that he can take on that task later on.

You stir the soup around in the pot, sprinkling in some herbs and seasonings to add some more flavor. He asks you how much you use, you tell him you just know in your heart when to stop. When the kitchen falls quiet, you pick on him and teasingly ask, And how should you cook? And he answers, suppressing a laugh and an eye roll, With love.

You peer down into the pot.

“Okay. Kiyoomi, I am trusting you to deem it ready. Have a taste. The fate of this dinner falls on you.”

He bites his cheek at your dramatics.

You bring the ladle up to his lips and Kiyoomi has to lean forward a little to meet you halfway. You press the spoon to his lips and he lets the liquid in, his eyes locked on yours as he takes a sip. You feel small in some invigorating, exciting way.

He pulls away to think about the taste. “A little more rosemary.”

You eye him carefully but take his word, dipping the ladle back into the pot and sprinkling in a few more leaves. After a few stirs, you scoop the liquid back into the spoon and hold it up to him again.

He leans forward without being told, almost eager to have you press it to his mouth. Again, he keeps his eyes trained on your face as he has a taste.

When you pull the ladle away, he remains close to you, face inches away from your own.

Your fingers twitch.

“Yes,” He breathes out, your lashes flutter. “It’s ready. Made with love.”

You can’t tell if your mind is playing tricks on you, but he seems to be inching closer and closer, your grip tightening on the end of the ladle as you start freezing up, debating whether or not to shut your eyes.

You watch as his pretty eyes close, and with your heart leaping and palms sweating around the ladle from nervousness and the heat that remains in the small space between you two, you let your eyes slip shut.

You know it– you know it, it’s coming, his lips right against yours, you think you can already taste him—

“I’ve arrived early!”

The both of you jump backwards and the ladle collides with the floor.

“S-Sorry,” You whisper to Kiyoomi, picking up the ladle and tossing it in the sink before grabbing a different one off the kitchen rack. His shoulders sag and you think you hear him sigh, but he composes himself quickly as your mother makes her way into the kitchen.

She sees the two of you in front of the soup pot and beams, missing how stiff the both of you look and how you’re wiping your sweaty hands on your apron.

“Teaching Kiyoomi how to cook? Good! Good good, more men should partake in household chores. I cannot wait to taste how Kiyoomi’s soup comes out, should he cook for us soon.”

He nods curtly, watching as you dip the new ladle into the liquid. You look shaken up, movements jagged and nervous, and he fears he’s done something terribly wrong.

“Did you teach him the most fundamental lesson in cooking, dearie?”

At that, a smile slips onto your face.

“Yes. Cook with love.”

When the three of you eat dinner together, Kiyoomi mulls over the fact that it was made with love. Your love. He wants to eat so much that he feels full of your affections. He wants so much of it that he cannot help but decline anyone else who offers food, because he’ll be full of your love.

You two never bring up the almost-kiss. Kiyoomi is scared that he’s pushed a boundary and you’re scared that you misread the situation– so the two of you remain silent and try to fall back into the familiar pattern of days, the rhythm you two share.

The tension is nearly unbearable when the two of you are less than two feet apart. It almost hurts. It hurts Kiyoomi to look at you so longingly and you never notice. It hurts you when you try to scoot a little closer and all he does is move away. You think it's because he's disgusted with you. He just wants you to feel comfortable.

Days pass and the both of you pack the incident up and back away into the furthest crevice in your minds. Everything seems alright again– you both talk to the chickens, trim the flowers and cook dinner by each other's side.

You’re preparing to cook and pull your apron off the hook rack that’s nailed right by the kitchen entrance. Kiyoomi watches as you slip it on and watches when you huff in frustration as you try to reach behind yourself and tie it off. Your arms start getting sore from the awkward position they've been in, the apron straps unraveling again and again in protest. You’re about to let the damn thing flail loose until you hear Kiyoomi clear his throat behind you.

“Let me help.”

Your cheeks burn.

He delicately takes the straps into his hands, making the base knot against your back and pulling it. “Is that good?”

It’s a little loose.

“Tighter, please.”

He pulls. It’s almost like you’re drawn backward, nearly knocking into his chest. He starts tying up a little bow and you feel the brush of his fingers against the small of your back, shivers running up your spine and shoulders. You have to hold yourself back from twitching.

“There,” He says, taking a step back and admiring his handiwork. He keeps his eyes trained on the bow, tries to hold himself back from drinking in your entire figure.

It’s oddly domestic, intimate. It has you drifting off in thought, has you confirming all your wonders about his touch that had crowded your mind ever since that day when you saw him pull out the vegetables. He is gentle. You can only hope that the softness of his touch is a testament to his feelings (more specifically, his feelings about you).

You cough. You make it awkward. You thank him in a quiet, choked up voice before gathering all the pots needed for dinner before scrambling away to start on the food. Kiyoomi thinks he made you uneasy and this time, stands farther away from you when you show him how to prepare the food. Your heart aches at the same time as his. Both of you are back to square one.

The following days are painfully repetitive. It’s a cycle of the two of you falling back into place, and then your hands brush his, or you catch him staring, or you lean in too close to him, and then the both of you are creating more distance and relapsing into silence and copious amounts of space.

On this particular night, the two of you are sitting far apart, him on the rocking chair with an open book, and you on the other side of the living room, pressed into the far corner of the couch, embroidery hoop in hand.

You could trick yourself into thinking that there’s a sense of peace that blankets the two of you, a scene of quiet comfort and domesticity before there’s a dull knock on the door.

You both freeze. You’re the first one to get up to go check, and Kiyoomi is a little too late in his reaction as he tries to tell you that he’ll get it, a weird sense of protectiveness overcoming him.

The door is already open and the air is knocked out of your lungs.

Before you stands a tall, handsome man, brown hair slightly disheveled, a smile growing as he looks down at you. He is very attractive. But not as charming as Kiyoomi, a voice in your head whispers.

“Well, well, well,” He starts, leaning onto the door frame. “Didn’t know Omi was staying with a pretty little lady.”

“Miya,” You hear from behind you, nearly jumping as your skin burns hot knowing there are two striking men trapping you.

“Ah! My old friend!” The man cheers, his eyes searching yours for approval to step inside. Without any hesitation, you grant him access, slowly backpedaling into Kiyoomi’s chest with a squeak before he moves out of the way, the two of you letting the man inside (much to Kiyoomi’s dismay).

“Miya,” Kiyoomi starts again, gaze hardened. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t be like that, my good friend,” The man, Miya, repeats. “Hurts when you address me by last name.”

Kiyomi doesn’t retort. He won’t play into the man’s tricks of beating around the bush.

Finally, he fesses up.

“Bo and Shoyo and I are going to meet up at the pub in a bit, thought you’d like to come along.”

You see Kiyoomi make a face.

“I have suffered enough from your presence over the last few years. Please do not try to rope me back into your antics.”

“Omi!” The grown man whines, face falling before he remembers that you’re standing there. Slowly, his face shifts into a wicked smile, and Kiyoomi’s frown deepens.

“Ah ah ah,” He starts, dipping down and leaning in closer as if he’s examining you. “I know why you’re so adamant about staying. Find yourself a pretty little wife?”

The both of you choke.

You’re about to protest, but Kiyoomi is pushing Miya out the door, effectively letting you hide behind the broad expanse of his back, but you peek out from behind him to see what’s happening.

“If I– If I go with you this time, will you swear to not come back?”

“Don’t be like that, Omi.”

“Miya.”

“Just say Atsumu! And fine! I won’t visit after this. Won’t steal your pretty lady away.”

“You are unbearable.”

Your cheeks feel hot as Kiyoomi turns around to face you, face irritated.

“I’ll be on my way. I should be back before it gets too dark out. Please stay safe.”

You give him a meek goodbye as you watch him pull his coat from the rack next to the door and slide it on, watch closely as he threads his arms through the sleeves, watch as the article fits snugly against his form, watch as he again proves that he is a sight for sore eyes.

After you shut and lock the door, you rush to the kitchen window to get a peek at the both of them descending the porch stairs, watch as Atsumu laughs and hangs close to Kiyoomi as the latter tries again and again to maintain the space between them and throws unimpressed looks his way.

When your mother comes home, you tell her Kiyoomi went out with his friends. She smiles and thanks the heavens, happy that he’s finally getting out there. She tells you she hopes he finds someone he may like while he’s out.

You only hum in response.

Hours pass and Kiyoomi is still out. You and your mother have already eaten dinner and she’s already fast asleep. You’re already in your nightgown and tired of waiting around.

You step outside and stand by the chicken coop. You watch them sleep and some of them scatter around and you talk to them as if you’re sending wishes to the universe. Tell them you hope Kiyoomi is okay. Tell them you hope he gets home safe.

As soon as you’re stepping back inside the house, there are drunken laughs and weak knocks at the front door. Not wanting to seem too excited, you take a few deep breaths to pass time before you hear that Miya boy holler out a muffled Pretty lady, come and get him! Which is nearly cut off by a familiar groan. Kiyoomi throws some swear words around.

You open the door and find that the two of them were using it as support as they nearly fall into you. Atsumu catches you before you can trip on your own feet and fall backward.

“Hi,” He breathes out into your face, and you have to hold back from scrunching your nose. He smells of liquor but his steady arms keep you rooted in place, his physique nearly swallowing you whole.

“Hello,” You start, hyper aware of how you look and if you have any blemishes on your face and how close the two of you are, but before you can think of anything else to find a flaw in, Atsumu is pulled back by Kiyoomi.

“Stop terrorizing my host,” Kiyoomi hiccups out, trying his hardest to remain stern and imposing, but his friend only laughs brightly.

Atsumu slurs out your name, “You must know,” He starts, leaning his arm on the door frame, trying to pose coolly. “Omi mentioned you an awful lot tonight. Think he might have taken a—”

“Miya.”

“Yes, my most beloved Omi,” Atsumu professes, cheeks pink and dewy from all the alcohol. “I’ll leave you two be.”

He clumsily spins on his heel, trips on his way down the steps, and crushes another flower bush.

Your eyes flash with pain and Kiyoomi shuts the door before you can see Atsumu trip into anything else. He’s rather good at composing himself, straightening his face and posture as he looks at you.

“Would you like some dinner?”

“Yes, please.”

You find out soon that Kiyoomi is mouthy when he’s drunk. After you reheat what was left over from dinner and slide the plate towards him, he asks that you sit down with him. His face flashes with disappointment when you sit across from him instead of right by his side.

In his drunken state, he spills all that he’s kept inside without you even needing to probe. Tells you he plans to get going soon, has his eye on a place, tells you he's ready to move on and start life from scratch. He tells you he's tired of you avoiding him like the plague, but there's no malice behind his voice– only pure disappointment, like he’s sulking. At that, you perk up and lean forward, guiltily trying to fish some more out of him.

“Hate that you stay so far away,” He grumbles before stuffing his fork in his mouth. “Always jumping and skittering around me like I’m, I’m– frightening. Hate that you think I’m scary.”

He hates that you keep your distance, hates that you've deemed him untouchable, hates that you see him as some warlord man who will crush you beneath the soles of his shoes if you utter something incorrectly.

“Miya,” He suddenly blurts, and for a second you think he thinks you’re the man that just left.

“Miya told me to confess to you.”

Your blood runs cold. Confess…?

Kiyoomi is quiet after that, finishing up his food with sad eyes. He wants more and more and more, any drop of your love that he can get, he will take it.

You don't ask if he means confessing by telling you all that he hates or if he means confessing something else. Something else that has your stomach stirring, heart doing odd twists as your fist the skirt of your dress. It's hard to think about it when he's right in front of you and slurring his words and clumsily pushing his plate away. It's something you must think about later, in the solace of your own room.

When he’s done, you help him shrug off his coat, watch as the expanse of his back reveals himself to you. You guide him to his room, expecting him to close the door as soon as he steps in again, but this time, he turns to face you and leans on the frame. He swallows as he looks over you, eyes droopy and tired, and he looks so vulnerable in this light. He’s loosened up, mouth parted only slightly as he lets his eyes wander where he usually doesn't when sober, lets his mind think what he usually holds back on any other day.

He breathes out your name. You look up at him curiously.

“I wish you could come with me.”

You stiffen. You gently place your hands on his chest and push him back into his room slowly– your touch makes him smile.

“Goodnight, Kiyoomi,” is all you say.

“Goodnight, angel.”

Just like the almost-kiss, neither of you bring up what Kiyoomi said that night. It's an elephant in the room– at least, to you. You’re not sure if Kiyoomi even remembers what he said. (He does).

The two of you delve into another game of dancing around each other in circles, putting on a show that makes it seem like everything's alright and that your hearts don’t ache. Neither of you are aware that when night falls and you're in your respective rooms, the both of you dwell and worry about what you've said and done.

As of late, Kiyoomi hasn't been around. He still helps you with his morning tasks, but after breakfast, he slips out of the house and tells you he will be searching around town for work with his friend Miya. You know that he doesn't owe you any explanations, but some part of you appreciates it.

(Kiyoomi knows this, too. He wants you to know he isn't seeking anyone else out there).

Day in and day out, he's around less and less. You start to think that Kiyoomi is now trying to get rid of his feelings ever since you didn't exactly reciprocate what he said that night, when he was drunk.

One heartbreaking evening, Kiyoomi announces that he’ll be leaving soon over dinner. Your mother has a big smile on her face as she congratulates him and cups his face and cries on and on about how proud she is and that he deserves all the best. You nod along to everything that she says, but your vision blurs and all the twines of your fork blend together and it’s hard to see what you’re eating. It's even harder to hold back your sniffles as she starts asking him where he’ll move and where he’ll be working and if he's met anyone. She's always on his back about that last one. It makes your heart feel bitter and heavy.

The next morning, your mother insists that she go out to the market and get Kiyoomi some farewell gifts. He reassures her that she doesn't really have to, tries to convince her to stay as she's already putting on her coat, and then she's walking out the door.

Kiyoomi asks if you could help him tidy up before he leaves. It’s more of a statement than a question, so you oblige.

You help him take off his sheets and load them into a basket to wash later. You wipe down the dresser and the desk, help sweep the floors, help him fold his clothing neatly so that his suitcase shuts securely.

When everything's done, you wipe your hands nervously on your apron and give him a curt nod, turning to leave the room.

“Stay,” He suddenly blurts, fists clenching at his sides. “I have to tell you something before I go.”

And so you turn and face him, letting your hands fall to your sides. He steps closer to you.

“Before I go,” He starts, eyes scanning your face for any emotion, but he gets nothing. You look numb.

“I don’t expect anything from you in return, but I must tell you, or else I don’t think I can live with myself. You,” He hesitates, feeling like he instead wants to turn away and save it for another day.

The curious glimmer in your eye pulls him back in.

“You have captured my heart,” Kiyoomi says breathlessly, “The entirety of my soul. I have no regrets in opening myself up to you, in letting you in, and I can say that you have made me a better man. I want to be vulnerable with you as I am now, time and time again. I want us to be one, but to be our own all at once.”

His eyes search yours frantically, “I love you.”

Your mouth drops open.

Hands shaky, you try smoothing out your dress and formulating a response, the right response, one that tells him you feel the same.

Kiyoomi begins to lean away, taking a step back, face calm. “As I’ve said, I don’t expect anything from you in return. You can leave, if you wish.”

You stay rooted still.

“Kiyoomi,” You finally squeak, voice cracking like you're on the verge of tears. The tone of it makes him stand up a little straighter, like he's worried about what he's done, but then you're beckoning him forward with your hand.

He comes in closer, approaching you like you’re injured- gentle and calm like he mustn't startle you any further. You try to lean into him, try to pull him closer, hands wrapping around his shirt and bringing him towards yourself, voice shaky as you manage to get out, “And I you.”

It’s all he needs. It’s all he needs before he’s dipping down, lips slotting against your own as you sigh out wantonly. Days and weeks and months of pent up feelings and unspoken words all pour out in one kiss, a kiss that has you stumbling backward and grasping at his shirt, his hands roaming down your back and pulling you into him, closer and closer and closer, like he is going to fuse the two of you together.

(He wants to).

It isn’t long until you find yourself pressed into his bed, both of your clothes thrown into some corner of the room, underwear torn off as he hovers above you, licking into your mouth and grinding against your cunt.

“Kiyoomi,” You whimper once he pulls away. “Please.”

He dips down again to kiss and nip at your chest, the metal of his tags stinging your skin and giving you shivers. Kiyoomi hums into your shoulder, licks a stripe up your neck before lifting himself off the bed, planting his hands on your hips. He drags you closer to him, lifting you up as he drags his cock over your warmth.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he groans as he slips in, eyes falling shut when you immediately flutter around him. Kiyoomi almost falters, almost curls in on himself and leans atop of you again before he collects himself and starts dragging his cock in and out, hissing at the way you clamp down on him.

It’s a build up, Kiyoomi starting gentle and slow until you’re bucking up your hips and whining at him to go faster, till the only thing you can get out is a weak string of please please please.

Kiyoomi cages you beneath him again as he starts drilling into you, broken cries slipping past your lips as your hands race up and down his back, leaving light scratches that make him moan so prettily right by your ear.

He brings his hands to your thighs, pushing them up and trapping them against your chest and your eyes roll back, body falling pliant to him. He’s so close, all up in your face and humming about how wet you are for him, how fucking good you feel, how you’re made for me, doll, all for me.

His breath fans your face as he thrusts into you desperately, making the bed shake. The tags on his chain bump into your chin, clinking softly like little chimes and bringing you back time and time again as your mind spirals under the feeling of him pounding into you. Kiyoomi grunts and lifts himself up for the fastest second, taking the tags in hand and ripping the chain off his neck, metal grazing the wood floor as it slides away. His irritation with it makes you want to laugh, but the sound gets caught in your throat as his cock hits the sweetest spot in you, making your toes curl as you cry out his name.

He watches you as your hands sneak down, nimble fingers spreading apart your folds to try and get a good look at his length sliding in and out of you. Kiyoomi looks down, watches the spot where the two of you meet, watches as his dick comes out covered in slick before pushing himself back in.

“Fuck, fuck, angel, you’re so– so good, such a good girl for me.”

Your head bobbles up and down in a nod, weakly whimpering out his name, “I want to cum, please let me– let me cum all over you, Kiyoomi!”

He shudders, hand coming up to grab at your jaw. “Look at me. Look at me when you cum.”

You sob out pathetically, legs shaking and twitching as you tighten around him, gushing for what seems like hours until you fall limp, tears invading your vision. Kiyoomi murmurs praises into your cheek before planting both hands on your hips again, using you to reach his high, and you let him, let yourself be his little doll.

You feel his warm seed trickle into you, stomach fluttering at the sensation before he collapses on top of you.

Kiyoomi nestles his face into your chest for a few minutes before rolling onto his side, cupping your cheek with his big hand. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, trying to scoot in closer to him, albeit weakly.

“I love you, Kiyoomi.”

He smiles. He’s beautiful, you think. He opens his mouth to return the affection, your hand coming up to brush his curls away, but there’s a telltale sound at the door that alarms the both of you.

In an instant, you two are up, laughing and tripping over your own feet, Kiyoomi hustling into his slacks as you awkwardly slide your dress back on, thumping into the footboard of the bed as your mother chirps out like a bird, “I’m home!”

“Your mother,” Kiyoomi says in a hushed tone, leaning close to you as he buttons up his shirt, “Always has to go and interrupt us.”

You smile up at him cheekily, and he catches the mischievousness in your eyes.

“Just means that you must take me with you, I presume?”

You step out into the grass of the backyard, the sun already hanging in the sky since you’re a little bit late to your task. Nonetheless, you head straight towards the chicken coop and unfasten the doors, the chickens pouring out and clucking around obnoxiously, as they always have. The rest is muscle memory– throw out the old water, replace it, add in fresh food, sit with the chickens. The familiarity of it all soothes you– not that you need soothing. You simply feel in touch with your roots again.

“Good morning, Harold.” You jeer at one particular chicken, who eyes you warily. You laugh. “Now don’t be jealous, I’ll always come back to check on you.”

He gives an approving cluck.

You gather yourself and get back up, slipping off your boots on the back porch. As you approach the dutch door, you see someone already leaning onto the bottom half of it, a little bouquet in hand.

“He told me to give this to you,” Your mother swoons, holding out the bundle of flowers to you. A laugh bubbles at your lips as you observe the flowers, holding the stems together, “Aren’t these from the front yard? Such a romantic,” You joke, rolling your eyes as you make your way inside. You tuck the flowers into one of your mother’s vases to keep them safe.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” You call out, despite it already being later in the day and, technically, lunch time would be rolling around.

“Oh no no,” You mother gasps, a sound that you had become all too familiar with when Kiyoomi was around, when she’d clutch her chest in shock.

“You rest, my dear, I’ll start working on the food.”

“Mother,” You press, “You need to go rest. That’s the exact reason why we came over here!”

“Nonsense!” She chimes, pushing you down to sit at the dining table as she pads over to the kitchen. You remain still for a few moments to appease her, but then the front door creaks open and you’re on your feet immediately.

“Hi lover,” You say almost bashfully as Kiyoomi approaches you, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he sinks down to kiss your forehead, your chin, your lips.

“Hi, my little doll,” he mutters against you before pulling away. “Did you like the flowers I got you?”

You laugh, observing the green and brown stains on his white undershirt, evidence of his hard work in the front yard. “I shouldn’t be praising a thief, seeing as you took my mother’s flowers right from her yard.”

“Oh?” He suddenly challenges, “I think this thief deserves a little praise, seeing as I successfully made your heart mine.”

You can’t help but scoff, tongue poking at your cheek with how embarrassing he is, how corny he’s become now that he’s in love.

Your mother scurries back in with two plates in hand, telling you both to Sit, sit! like dogs, and Kiyoomi looks at you with a knowing smile on his face. Always interrupting things.

As the three of you start eating, your mother points her fork accusingly at you.

“And you, my sweet girl, better eat up. You need more nutrients for when a baby is on the way.”

You choke. Kiyoomi smiles into his cup as he takes a sip.

“We’re not expecting,” You scold, stabbing your fork into your food. “You can’t just say things like that, mother—”

“How come? You never know! With the two of you in that new big home, you’ll surely want to fill in some space. You’re young! There’s no shame!”

“You’re the one who may as well fill up the space, visiting nearly every day!”

“Oh honey, I’m just excited for you—”

The bickering is all in good fun, Kiyoomi knows. He takes your hand into his underneath the table, finger brushing against the golden band that encompasses your own.

Yes, he thinks to himself, heart swelling. Perhaps it’s time to start filling up the space.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #sakusa kiyoomi smut #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #sakusa fluff

534 notes · View notes

s1urnioloslvr · 6 months

Text

Movie Night (C.S) 18+

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Warnings: Smut, kinda public sex, idk

You were spending the night at the triplets' house, as you often did. It was a tradition for all of you to have a big sleepover in the living room, watching a random movie that Nic had been ranting about all day. Matt and Nic had gone to the store, leaving you and Chris to set up the blankets and make everything cozy.

As you started to arrange the blankets on the couches, you realized that you had forgotten your favorite panda blanket in Nic's room. "Hey! I’m gonna go get my blanket from Nic's room!" you exclaimed to Chris, "Well, I'm going too!" Chris replied, making his way into Nic's room.

You shrugged and thought this was just him being a silly little goofball (LMFAOO OKAY ILL STOP)and grabbed another blanket before heading into Nic's room as well. When you both walked back out, he was holding some sort of teddy bear or something... (ugh hes so cute), and you sat down on the couch, throwing the blanket over the both of you. The movie started playing, though you couldn't even remember what it was. But it didn't really matter; you were just happy to spend time with your friends.

However, as the movie progressed, you turned your head and caught a glimpse of Chris. He was wearing the grey sweatpants and a simple white t-shirt. You couldn't help but stare, and it seemed like he was doing the same to you. The tension in the air began to grow, thickening like fog.

Eventually, Nic grew tired and Matt got bored of the movie. Nic got up and announced that he was going to bed. "Goodnight y/n, night Chris," he said while rubbing his eyes. "Night Nic, see you tomorrow!" you replied. Chris simply said, "Goodnight."

The movie seemed to drag on forever, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, it ended. "That was kinda boring," you remarked. "I agree, maybe we should try something else," Chris suggested with a mischievous smile. You laughed and shook your head, heading into the kitchen to grab an orange Fanta, while Chris reached for a Pepsi.

Suddenly, the tension in the air became palpable. You turned around quickly and just stared at Chris. He turned red and cleared his throat nervously, grabbing the kitchen counter for support. "Uh... what's wrong?" you asked, completely unsure of what he was thinking.

"Uh... nothing, sorry, I'm fine," he replied, stuttering and nervously laughing. God, you loved his laugh.

Deciding it was now or never, you summoned up all your courage fueled by the night. "No, it's okay, you're freaking me out. Why is there so much tension?" you asked teasingly, putting your hand on his chest and looking up at him.

His blue eyes locked onto yours, and in one swift motion, he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you towards him and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. It was your first kiss with him, and it felt like your whole body was set ablaze. You could feel the intensity of his desire as his tongue explored your mouth.

His hands moved through your hair, tangling themselves in its softness. His lips glided against yours, taking their time, savoring every moment of this electrifying connection (CORNYY). His hands traveled down your sides, slipping beneath your shirt and touching your bare skin. His fingers caressed your sides, sending shivers down your spine.

As the kiss continued, you pulled his hair gently, deepening the kiss further. His lips traced a path down your neck, stopping right below your ear. You felt his warm breath on your neck, and you couldn't help but lean your head back slightly, giving him greater access.

His hands continued to explore, traveling up your sides to your stomach. You felt his touch, gentle yet firm, igniting a fire within you that couldn't be extinguished. The sound of your heavy breathing filled the kitchen as the intensity between you grew.

He pressed your back firmly against the countertop, demonstrating his desire and control. His touch shifted, lifting your shirt and his fingers delicately brushed against your skin, stopping just above your pants. In a bold move, his hand moved up your side, cupping your breast, and softly squeezing. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt a surge of arousal coursing through your body.

He then moved his other hand down, reaching under your pants and feeling your bare ass. You responded eagerly, pressing your hips against his hand, urging him on. Your back now firmly against the counter, you were completely aware of his growing hardness pressing against your legs.

His hand roamed further, sliding under your panties to explore the wetness between your legs. His fingers skillfully caressed and teased, sending waves of pleasure through every inch of your being. Amidst the haze of desire and longing, he paused to speak, his voice breathy and filled with anticipation. "Mmm... are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, his lips finding yours again in a passionate kiss.

With a deep breath, you nodded eagerly, your body aching for his touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ YOUR POV:

You felt his fingers, caressing your folds and rubbing against your clit. Your body aches for him to enter you, to feel his length pressing against your pussy, teasing you, begging to be entered. A moan escaped your lips, begging to be heard. "Please, Chris, don't stop!" you exclaimed.

He slowly removed your underwear, revealing your wetness to him. Slowly, he removed his fingers and pulled your panties down your legs, tossing them on the floor. He immediately put his hands on your hips and positioned himself behind you, kissing your neck and nibbling on your earlobe. His hands slowly traveled up your chest, cupping your breasts and rubbing his thumbs against your nipples. The warmth of his hands against your skin sent a wave of pleasure through your body.

He positioned himself behind you, kissing your neck and nibbling on your earlobe. His hands slowly traveled up your sides. He slides his pants and boxers down in one swift move, positioning his erection against your entrance. You felt his cock pressing against your slick entrance, begging for entrance.

"Put me inside you." he whispered, his voice filled with longing and desire.

"Okay..." you breathed, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. You grab the base of his cock and roll your hips back against him. Once he gets inside you, He instantly starts pounding into you, not giving you time to adjust.

"FUCK" you moan loudly

"you like that?" he asked, a sly smile on his lips.

"Mmm... y-yeah..." you replied hesitantly, trying to gain your composure. "Good..." he said.

With each thrust, your hips hit the counter harshly, surly leaving bruises. “You don’t understand what you do to me y/n” Chris whispers in your ear, his hot breath hitting your neck.

You respond in a shaky voice, “I-I’m not doing anything.” “Please, don’t play innocent. You know you want this.” he said, a smirk on his face, “Yeah.. I want it..” you reply softly.

He positions himself behind you again, kissing your neck and nibbling on your earlobe. His hands reach your hips. As he begins to slam into you again, he positions his thumb against your clit. You moan loudly as he begins to rub your clit with his thumb, kneading it in small circles. You can feel yourself tighten and your body beginning to shake.

"Chris I'm gonna... Oh my god Chris I'm gonna.. aghh" you moan loudly, your body trembling and your pussy beginning to convulse around his cock.

"Cum for me baby " he whispers in your ear.

Your cunt tightens even more around his cock, squeezing him, your body shuddering as you ride out your orgasm. Your legs begin to buckle and Chris catches you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He gently lays you on the counter and places himself between your legs. He pulls you towards him, turning you around quickly and wrapping one arm around your hip. He immediately sticks his cock into your pussy and begins pounding into you at an inhuman pace, overstimulating you

"Your pussy feels so fucking good. I can't stop fucking you y/n." he whispers in your ear.

You moan loudly, your body on fire from pleasure, your orgasm approaching. "fuck, gonna cum" he says as his cock throbs inside of you. You whimper as he pulls out but quickly gasp he shoots his cum all over your stomach and breasts while you cum as well. He bites his lip at the sight of your cum covered stomach.

He leans down and licks up some of your cum off your stomach before moving to the rest of your cum covered body up and down licking it off. He’s about to lick your pussy when you tell him “don’t get any inside me, I’m not on birth control��. He’s taken aback for a moment before he nods and grins. “I’ve been craving that taste since I first saw you” he says.

He eagerly licks up the outside of you, cleaning off your pussy juices from your lips and thighs. And the rest of your cum that’s there. “You know, if you want, you can come over again tomorrow. And the day after that… Or whenever you’re free” he says, smirking. "wow it's like i already dont do that" you say sarcastically.

The aftercare is lowkey the best part, especially with Chris. He’s caring and gentle with you, making sure you’re alright after the great sex you just had. And you couldn’t be happier either, especially right now. You can feel him inside you, his warmth, his scent, his touch. He grabs your hands, pulling you off the counter and into a standing position.

He helps you clean up, putting your clothes back on and gathering his clothes. He picks you up and brings you to his room.

yup WAYY better than the movie

#chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #smut #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you

261 notes · View notes

antariies · 2 months

Text

how to build a chair........... director's cut ∠( ᐛ 」∠)__ this is about to be a very long very self-indulgent post where i just talk about my own writing. i also doodled on all the pages i think it makes the whole thing more fun to go thru. welcome to my ted talk

SIKE before i begin. credit where credit is due, this post was the start of it all. it changed my brain chemistry my jaw was dropped i was in awe i was obsessed and before i even finished it i knew that i would eventually have to make something similar for the commander or else i would be cursed to think about it for the rest of my life. and i Was cursed for like two years every day i would just be like........ is today the day i sit down and draft the commander chair fic of my dreams....... maybe tomorrow......

and then i got accepted as a writer for the gw2 zine ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ the chair idea was actually my backup option in case my first idea didn't pan out, and thank god it didn't, bc this one worked so much better. (still working on my initial idea, just turning it into a full fic! it was wayyy too long to be a zine submission.)

this is the chair i used. i downloaded the assembly instructions and tried out a bunch of different free pdf editors until i found one i liked, which ended up being sedja. if anyone's interested in doing something like this, i recommend printing out the pdf and writing directly on it! it was a lot easier for me to just figure out everything on paper first and then digitalize it after :P here's a picture of my physical copy

okay actually getting into it for real this time !!!!!

1. yeah i could've just erased the ikea logo and left a blank space but then i realized i could turn it into an in-universe joke. and then i ran with it.

2. i ripped this straight from the product description on the website. thanks ikea

3. i'm not sure if anyone went and looked it up, but it's a real item code!

hehe :3c

4. if your commander willingly goes to therapy i'm happy for them but TO ME? you'd have to drag the commander kicking and screaming. it's not that they don't know that something is wrong with them, they know, and they know YOU know. you're just never supposed to talk about it. they don't look at their own psych eval results bc that's none of their business.

5. i normally avoid specifying the commander's race when i write them bc i enjoy the challenge, but for the zine i was assigned to write about a norn commander! as a human main i was uhhhh very ill-equipped. but that just meant i had to study up on my norn lore (•̀ᴗ•́)و i spent hours on the wiki, then went around interviewing norn mains for their opinions, which was great fun :D it all helped me narrow the focus of my piece: joining the war on commander objectification on the side of commander objectification (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ and no one self-aggrandizes quite like the norn commander!

and to balance that i knew my narrator had to be patronizing as shitttt. they've clearly been following the commander since the beginning and seem to know a lot of intimate details about their life, despite not thinking very highly of them. wonder who that could be :3c

6. i can't stop making references. so the original part number is actually #122620 in the manual but i've changed it here (and on the previous page!) to #082812, as in 08/28/12, the date gw2 was released! no real reason for it, @dalennaugw suggested it for funsies and i liked it. if you're my pal and i show you a wip and you have a cool idea for it, chances are i Will put that shit in. hi dale if you're reading this

7. another thing about me. i loveeee repetition. here the word "over" is repeated four times to match the picture. honestly a lot of the creative process for this piece was just staring at the pages and figuring out how to tie the pictures to the commander in ways that weren't extremely corny or trite. idk why i enjoy writing like this when i could be frolicking in the beautiful prosaic meadows of a word doc instead but. it's like i see a tiny little restrictive box and i'm like OH BOY can't wait to think inside of that thing!!! i like when the format matters just as much as the content and in some cases informs the content. am i making any sense here. well all you need to know is that i'm a virgo and my favorite book is house of leaves

7. aw fuck just realized i wrote 7 twice. whatever i'm not changing it this is 7 part two now. the theme of my piece is glory, what it means to the norn commander, and how far they're willing to go for it.

8. does norn culture place emphasis on seeking individual glory Yes are norn also very community-oriented Also Yes. i think it's common to see norn kids napping together in a big pile, usually after they've worn themselves out playing games outside. it makes sense practically (apes together warm) and socially (pack bonding good) but that's just my hc. growing up i used to share a bed with my cousins all the time so it's normal to me.

a young, naive not-yet-commander, with no real combat experience, has no point of reference to compare a "blaze of glory" to. but the way everyone talks about it, it must be a good thing. a wonderful thing. a reward fit for a life well-fought and a legend hard-earned. so they imagine it must feel like falling asleep surrounded by the people they love, who love them in turn.

9. .........i was playing a lot of ace attorney when i wrote this page. i wish i was joking 👍🏼

10. ohhh shit the truth come OUT this whole chair thing was all a ploy just so i could write about the departing. again.

will i ever stop thinking about her. reply hazy, try again later.

11. out of all the pages, this one has the most emphasis on text placement, like comparing the enlarged picture of the screw to a sword, the numbers counting the screws, and "up up up" being arranged to mimic a wisp of smoke.

i also wanted to lean into the viking/norse mythology influences with my word choice.

12. more nods to norn culture. i didn't know they referred to the six human gods as "spirits of action" until i was doing the research for this piece :O

and the domain of the lost is called a hall of ghosts....... cause valhalla.....

13.

i'm sorry this so funnyyy. SAYS the guy who literally clawed their way back to life for a rematch.

me when i'm in a sore loser competition and my opponent is the COMMANDER!!!

14. arms as in "limbs" and also arms as in "armaments" :•]

15. haha get it because the picture makes it look like there are two mirrored speech bubbles while the text paints two opposing interpretations of the norn commander. one that's selfless and humble versus one that's selfish and vainglorious.

16. and the best part is IT DOESN'T MATTER which one is true bc at the end of the day no matter what their motivation, balthazar is dead by their hand. ofc i'm of the opinion that the most compelling interpretation of the commander is both, simultaneously. contradictions are good for the soul.

17. i could've name-dropped kas, the only person present that would do something like that, but i felt it was better to leave it ambiguous.

18. low-hanging fruit. the metaphor was so obvious here but i had to do it. for the culture

19. the alternate title for this piece was "THIS COULD BE GLORY". "how to build a chair" was only supposed to be a placeholder title til i figured out a better one, but the innocuousness of it grew on me. also i came up with the other one too late and had already advertised under the chair title lol

20. my first instinct was to end it with something more reassuring, like "what you have built so far is enough" but that would've been an ooc switch-up for a narrator who has been nothing but snide and detached this whole time. gotta stick to my guns

21.

obligatory chair joke as the last line. for realsies though it’s meant to be an earnest appeal to the commander to take a break, to have a seat, but it’s also a challenge. are they willing to lean on their friends? are the bonds they’ve forged strong enough to hold their weight? are they willing to put their faith in someone else’s hands? are they brave enough to try? well. only one way to find out.

also guess what that wasn’t even the real last page of the manual. it's THIS

but no way i was letting this be the image we ended on. IT LOOKS LIKE A DICK AND BALLS!!!

and on that note, THANK YOU if you made it this far!! a very special shout-out to @hawkepockets, my lovely boyfriend and beta reader, without whom this piece would not be nearly as polished. i would bring him pages to look over and he would say Scrap half of those lines you can do better than that. kill your darlings. i would complain and argue for a few minutes then we would revise. rinse and repeat until we had honed this thing to perfection. i can't stress enough the importance of having a second pair of eyes on your work throughout your creative process, even better if it's someone who challenges you. i don't even pay him 🫶🏼

and if there was anything i didn't cover that you still have questions about, please feel free to shoot me an ask! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ thanks for reading! see u later dudes ;P

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #my writing #for once i have nothing to say in the tags bc i already talked so much in the body of the post.#ummmmmmmm meows cutely !

135 notes · View notes

jisvno · 1 year

Text

tokyo revengers characters when they see you cry and they comfort you

ft; mikey, kazutora, rindou

genre; partly angst?? with very comfort fluff

tw; mention of abusive parents (kazu), period one (is tw needed? idk but in rindou part)

♡ manjiro 'mikey' sano

it was another hard day. school, people, emotions, everything was overwhelming you today. you thought that at least you would meet your boyfriend in the afternoon, but he already had plans with ken, so you were left alone. comfort series and sweets did nothing good, but they caused you to get a mental breakdown. you started to cry, overloaded with the day and the lack of any happiness today. manjiro finished meeting with the draken, and he promised you that you would meet today, so he came to your place. he knocked on your door a few times but you wouldnt open it for him, being too tearful, so manjiros got a bit confused and he used the spare key you once gave him and went inside. he immediately heard the sound of crying coming from your room, and after a while he appeared there, seeing you all tearful, tears streaming down your face, red cheeks and shaking body. He immediately came over, sitting next to you and lightly stroking your back with his hand. 'what happened, honey?' he whispered, wrapping his arm lightly around your waist and hugging you. 'tell me, ill listen and try to help you..' he said softly, all the while stroking your back and shoulders. you finally calmed down enough to tell him about what a hard and overwhelming day you've had. manjiro listened to you the whole time, wondering how he could help you. when you finished speaking, he cupped your cheeks and wiped away the tears with his thumbs, looking into your eyes. 'i love you so much, you know? You are really strong and i believe that youll be able to overcome this and tomorrow will be better. remember, im here for you' he said, leaning back slightly and laying on the bed on his back, pulling you in and hugging you tightly. you felt his body heat, the smell of his perfume and just closeness and comfort, so after a while you stopped crying completely. manjiro said sweet things to you all the time, complimented you and talked about how much he loves you and how important you are to him. he decided to stay here for the night so you can rest in his arms. he lightly stroked your hair, which made you feel safe and after a tiring day you fall asleep in the arms of your most wonderful boyfriend

♡ kazutora hanemiya

you were just at school, coming out of your math class. you couldnt believe that despite studying for so long, you got another F. you were disappointed in yourself, fact, but the most stressed thing was what your parents would do after discovering your another bad grade. they were strict and always yelled at you for bad grades, they also hit you sometimes, you were afraid of them and thats why you spent so much time studying, which didnt always work. you were stressed that once again they could raise a hand on you for another F, so tears came to your eyes. you saw kazutora, who was walking towards you with a smile, wanting to show you something after the end of the lesson. but you were in bad shape now, so you ran away from him, ran upstairs to an empty auditorium, where you sat in the corner of the room and cried. you curled up, burying your head in your knees and crying silently, stressed out by the grades. kazutora ran after you, and when he saw you, his heart broke. he sat next to you, he didnt touch you, just looked at you. 'hey, what.. what happened?' he said quietly so as not to scare you. all you could whisper was that you got another F. kazutora knew what your parents were like, you told him that, and he saw how stressed and scared you were. he didnt quite know what to do, but he got up, taking your hand and gently pulling it to get you up. he walked out of school with you and put you on his bike, he sat in front of you and off you went. after a while you and him came to an empty place by the river, full of grass and flowers, you could see most of the city from here, it was really quiet and peaceful here. kazutora got off the bike, giving you his hand, and you sat down on the grass together. still not saying anything, he started picking the flowers, making a wreath out of them, and put it on your head, smiling slightly at the sight. 'you look beautiful, darling' he said, placing his hand on your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. 'i cant help people, but remember that im always here, ill always find time for you to sit with you and take your mind off the bad' he said softly, looking into your eyes. you were thankful to him for not continuing the topic. you two sat on the grass for a while, and then he took you on a bike ride around the city, and finally he took you to his house, where he made you stay the night, where you watched cartoons and laughed all night. you were very happy that you have such a great boyfriend who will always help you take your mind off the bad things

♡ rindou haitani

you were just at your boyfriends house when you felt you had to go to the bathroom. you just got your period, so you use your pad and went back to his room. rindou was sitting at his desk, looking on the computer for something he wanted to show you, and you sat on the bed. suddenly you felt very painful cramps, that you lay down, slightly cringing from the pain. it was so strong that after a while tears flowed from your eyes and you cried silently, unable to bear the pain. when rindou heard your cry, he immediately turned to look at you. 'baby, why are you crying?' he asked softly, and when you told him that you had just gotten your period and were having terrible cramps, he got up, took some painkillers from the cupboard and gave you along with water, then lay down next to you, hugging you tight from behind and stroking your belly with his warm hands. it helped you so much, just his warmness and closeness. he started telling you a story about another 'dumb' thing that ran did, and how stupid he is, because we all know that rins favourite thing to do is teasing ran. after a while the medicine kicked in and you felt a little better and rindou kissed your hair. 'i dont like it when you cry, it makes you look ugly. you look prettier when you smile or laugh,' he said, and immediately had an idea of how to make you feel better. yes, you spent the rest of the evening teasing and arguing with poor ran, who tried to defend himself, but it was 2vs1 battle so he was loosing, which of course kept a smile on your face, you were really grateful to your boyfriend for being there for you and rindou was pleased with himself that his favorite activity gives you a lot of pleasure too

~ vani's note

first writing here! im not very proud of it, but i guess its not that bad, hope that youll like it! you can request your things, and please tell me if something was bad or just tell me your thought about it!

see you next time!

~vani ♡

436 notes · View notes

mxqdii · 8 months

Text

cardigan - m.s

pairings: matt sturniolo x reader

summary: cardigan by taylor swift lyrics as matt and readers relationship (idk how to explain just read it)

warning(s): angst, fluff, some sad stuff.

not proofread

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan, under someones bed. you put me on and said i was your favorite.

i sit in my room muffling my sobs as i hear footsteps coming towards the door.

i hear three light knocks along with matts soft voice

"y/n? are you okay?" he asks and i quickly wipe my tears and clear my throat.

"yeah, yeah i'm fine." i croak out and the door slightly opens, the sight of matt filling my eyes with more tears

he sits down on the bed next to me wiping my tears as they fall

"what happened? talk to me." he says tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"i'm no ones favorite person, i know that sounds stupid i just-" you ramble on before getting interrupted.

"you're my favorite person"

a friend to all, is a friend to none, chase two girls, loose the one.

im sitting at home when i get a text from nick saying to come to a movie with him.

i groan, feeling all comfortable in my spot on the couch when i feel my phone vibrate again.

"come on, ill pay if you drive" the text says.

i agree and get ready, pulling up to the triplets house and opening the unlocked door.

nick comes downstairs and i pause

"oh! i almost forgot, i have to get my sweater back from matt, i left it here last time" i say, walking upstairs to matts room.

i forget to knock and just open the door, seeing what was about to be a kiss between matt and some other girl.

matt jumps at the sight of me and tears fill my eyes

"what the fuck matt??" i yell

"its not what it looks like!" he says and i laugh as the tears roll down my cheek

"ohh okay, enlighten me then." i snap back and he looks down to the floor

"i just- i wanted to be sure.." he mumbles

"what?" i say, fidgeting with my rings.

"i'm just- i'm being a friend okay y/n!? i comfort you when you're upset don't i?" he explains

"okay then, tell me you feel absolutely nothing for her then, tell me i'm the only girl you like" i protest, waiting for his response

he stays silent, looking down, which is all of an answer that i need from him.

"you've just lost me matt, goodbye."

but i knew you, playing hide and seek and giving me your weekends.

i sit at the table amongst my friends, them all engaging in the conversation.

meanwhile, i'm looking at old pictures and videos of me and matt, remembering what we had.

the adrenaline, the laughter, the love.

tears brim my eyes but i push them back, not wanting to burst out crying in the middle of lunch.

i come across a video of me and matt trying not to laugh while hiding from chris and nick.

i smile as a tear falls, remembering our movie nights every weekend, our date to the aquarium, everything.

i don't wanna miss him, but how could i not?

you drew stars around my scars, but now im bleeding.

when things got rough, matt was always there. he was the one telling me it was alright, the one who got me through it all, even if it was silly little things.

"no way! i am not going" i protest and matt laughs

"y/n, you have to." he says, grabbing my hand

ive hated going to the doctor since i was little,

(which matt is very aware of.)

sadly he still wants me to go even though im begging him not to make me

(we both know he'll make me go)

"listen, i know you dont like going, but i'll be there the whole time okay? plus it's this appointment and then one more next month, and thats it."

i sigh in defeat, knowing i can't be upset when he makes it all better.

"fine but you're coming to the next one too." i say and he laughs

"its already in my calender" he says with a smile

i stare at the reminder on my phone about tomorrow's doctors appointment, remembering how matt promised he'd go to it with me.

but that was last month, and things were different then.

i feel tears fall down my face, remembering how much better things were with matt.

i go on messages and click on matts contact, debating on calling him.

i groan, putting my phone back in my pocket, driving to the appointment.

but i knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, i knew you'd haunt all of my what if's

its been 2 months since everything, and me and matt have been texting a little bit since, thing's aren't the same, they never will be.

it'll never be like how it used to.

"matt! stop!" i say laughing

"get off!" i yell with laughter

if someone were to walk in right now, they'd see two lovestruck teenagers in matts bed.

he's currently tickling me to death and attacking me with kisses.

and even though i'm telling him to stop, in this moment, i feel like i've never been happier.

he stops his actions and his face hovers above mine, his eyes flickering to my lips

i smile, and he kisses me softy.

a kiss filled with love and passion, a kiss i'll never forget.

i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

me and nick have been on call for a while and somehow the topic stumbled on to matt and the girl i walked in on him with

"yeah i think matt's tired of her or something, me and chris don't really like her either" he says and my eyes widen

"what do you mean he's tired of her?" i ask

"well, he used to be more excited around her but now the most i see him smiling is when he's texting you"

nick says and my heart flutters

i can't go back to matt, not after what he did.

but i do really miss him, and i know he misses me too.

"you should start talking to him more, i know he really hurt you after what he did but i think he's truly changed, he seems just- i dont know- different." nick rambles on

"i dont know nick... after what he did, if he's really changed, he's gonna have to prove it to me." i say.

i knew you'd come back to me.

"happy birthday to y/n, happy birthday to you!" the party sings and i blow out my candles

i am happy, but i can't help but feel like somethings missing.

all my friends and family are here, everyone i know and love, everyone except matt.

i feel sadness fill my thoughts for a moment but brush it off, i can't be sad right now, not here, not today.

i watch as everyone encourages me to open gifts, agreeing while sitting down around the pile of presants.

i open them, listening to the chatter around me and the rain pouring from outside, opening all but 1.

"who's this one from?" i ask, laughing at the handwriting, but nobody answers.

i look around at everyone as they stay silent, making me look down at the writing again, instantly remembering that only matt writes his T's like that.

i smile, unwrapping the gift.

my eyes widen at the sight, its a necklace i said i wanted last year.

he remembered.

a smile, observing it, when suddenly there’s a knock at the door.

i look around, confused because everyone was already here, but still getting up to open the door.

i widen my eyes at the sight of matt, soaking wet, drenched by the rain.

"listen, i'm sorry, truly y/n. i was so fucked up for leading you on like that and then just throwing it all away, it's you y/n it's always been you. you're the one for me, and i know i messed up but i can't sit at home re-reading our texts and watching our old videos, i want you back- please i- i need you back." he says, voice hoarse from crying, tears streaming down his face.

"i-" i try to find the words to respond, but can't

i step out onto the porch where he was standing, letting the rain drench me as well.

pulling matt in, kissing him.

a kiss that will forevermore top any other kiss.

a kiss filled with need and desire, a desire to just be close to eachother again.

we pull away after what feels like forever, and he places his forhead against mine.

"you're always gonna be my favorite"

160 notes · View notes

mimiccry · 6 months

Text

Heatstroke

a/n: I wrote this a couple years ago when I was on vacation in a tropical place. I felt ill after sleeping in the sun which sparked inspiration for this piece! It’s old tho… ;-;

Themes: fluff, sickfic? Venti/reader, [Name] instead of Y/N, could be interpreted as platonic or romantic, this is old and does not reflect my current writing skill, uhhhhh idk what else to add

———————————————————————————

You slowly flop down onto your bed and curl up in a ball towards the window. You feel dead. Stomach feeling ill, your skin feels hot, your head feels stuffed and you’re feeling exhausted. You wave your hand at the boy sitting in his bed behind you.

“Hey, Venti?” You ask tiredly. He looks up from the book he’s reading at you.

“Yes, [Name]?” You roll over to face him.

“I don’t feel well…” You blink slowly and open them to see Venti studying you carefully. He then closes his book and gets up to sit over by your legs on your bed.

“What’s the matter?” He asks softly. You recall the day that had just passed: Walking around the gardens, finding cool - looking lizards on the plants nearby, collecting shells and rocks and running around in the water under the cloudless sky. You recall how you took a nap under the blazing hot sun while Venti admired the horizon for an hour. You remember how you swam around colourful fish, rays and the like in the crystal green waters. You think about how stood up from your sandy bed, feeling slightly dizzy and nauseous. It hits you.

“I may have gotten heatstroke.” You said, pointing to your head tiredly. He looked at you in pity. He leans over and strokes your head gently.

“Aww…Do you need anything? I can get you whatever you need.” He shifts slightly closer to you. You ponder on his question for a moment.

“Water? I think…I’m not hungry I just…” you sighed.

“Need to rest comfortably for a bit. Maybe sleep. I’m not entirely sure how a heatstroke works, Venti.” You sit up, or at least, try to. Venti pushes you back down slowly. He smiles.

“Your wish is in my command, [Name]! You shall receive your water.” He declares in a announcing voice. You laugh and shove him playfully.

“All right, all right. I’ll be back then.” Venti giggles. He stands to leave the room before you grab his sleeve.

“Wait-“ you begin. He pauses.

“Could you sit beside me when you come back?” You ask quietly. He stares at you for a few moments before nodding happily. He walks out of the room and leaves the door half open. You can hear him take a cup from the cupboard and start running the sink in the distance. After a few seconds, he returns and places the cup on your nightstand with a dramatic flourish. He was trying to cheer you up, and it’s working. You sit up and take the cup of water and hold it near your lap as Venti sits to your left right beside you. You quietly sip from the water and lean slightly on him. He tenses up for a moment before relaxing.

You think about tomorrow, sitting quietly next to each other whilst you drink water to help your heatstroke. Once you finish your water, you lean off of Venti and towards the side of the bed to place the cup back on the nightstand. He hugs your arm in protest.

“Come back…” he says softly, so you snuggle up closer to him. He puts his arm around you in a half - hug and rests his head against yours. You kiss the side of his head and put your head back on his shoulder. You both doze off sitting that way, and woke up an hour later just to sleep again, this time in each other’s arms.

———————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed reading :)

#venti x reader #genshin venti #venti x you #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #anemo

43 notes · View notes

4thenookie · 8 months

Note

Hi hi i heard you wanted some headcanons!! As always this is /lh, not meant to be taken that seriously, agree to disagree, yada yada all that good jazz lmao. Most of them are pretty crack-y in nature as well, they're just meant for fun lol. And with that, I'll compile my miles long headcanon list into (mostly) sorted by character for everyone's convenience lmao

- starting off strong with trans EJ! Idk why but do headcanons really need a reason? (I do know why) (i like to make my blorbos suffer 💖) (and also [diverges your neuros] [transes your genders] [homos your sexuals]). Also biromantic asexual king

- more EJ because he's THE blorbo. Boy is british asf and he knows BSL and is learning ASL. Touch averse as well. I feel like EJ would actually be a decent if not great cook.

- EJ purring like a cat when he's content/happy? I think yes! Also has a tail with one of those tail tuft thingies? Kinda like lions if you know what i mean. And the pointy ears (peak character design yaknow)

- moving on. I feel like Jeff knows how to play an instrument. Probably electric guitar. He also has like a bajillion band t-shirts. Jeff also likes to take long, hot showers but hates to comb his hair lol

- while Brian cooks food so bad/raw it could as well just still be alive, Toby is either a great cook or a disaster in the kitchen with seemingly no indicator for which one it's going to be on any given day. I'm talking managing to burn a pot of water one day and cooking a michelen star worthy meal the next.

- Kagekao is actually fluent in English and speaks and understands it perfectly, he just refuses to speak it. He takes great amusement in watching other people lose their minds over this

- speaking of languages, i feel like Toby would be bilingual if not multilingual. He speaks English and German, maybe even Spanish if we're going the multilingual route

- also. Oh my god. The generational difference between BEN "memelord who quotes vines like there's no tomorrow" Drowned and Slenderman is just. I cant stop laughing thinking about it. Any given conversation between these two is just a gamble on who is going to lose it first

- BRVR is kinds Lost Silver's pet but also not really? Like he just kinda goes wherever but Lost Silver mainly takes care of him

- LJ he/it truther

- Me and a friend came up with this which probably explains why it is cracky as fuck but hear me out. Jeff as a makeup artist. He made Slender look like Beyonce once. No one knows how he did it and how he's not dead (the answer, as my friend said, is "no one can hate Beyonce")

- i feel like Toby, BEN, and Jeff would be like. The chaos trio. God knows what will happen when you put the three of then alone in a room together

- i also feel like Brian sunburns really easily.

- Tim is one of those dads that wants to leave in the middle of the night for road trips / holidays to avoid the traffic jams

Hope this makes even a bit of sense and i hope you enjoyed whatever my brain spewed at me lol if u ever wanna share more headcanons or talk about blorbos or share character slander (looking at Brian and LJ (affectionate)) feel free to dm me!! (I dont mind i promise lol /lh)

hi!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg these are so so so real thank you for sharing them with me!!!! ill go into some more detail under the cut :)

to be honest, i can kinda see trans ej being real now that you mention it, ill definitely think about that a lot!! and i also hc him as asexual!!!! :)

im british and i claim ej as one of us lmaooo

i absolutely agree w the purring thing!!! i think ej does a lot of cat things idk :)))) i love all of your ej headcanons!!!

tbh i can see jeff either playing electric guitar like you said or maybe drums?? just any instrument he can go ham on when hes mad lmao

in my hc he has the worst case of chronic greasy hair and he doesnt want to do anything about it

cooking hcs are so real brian can NOT cook!!!!!!! toby will either serve you some 5 star gourmet shit or some rotten takeout he found during a dumpster dive

omg omg omg I hardly see anybody talk about kagekao!!!!!! i totally agree he would do that lmaooo

idk if its canon or not but i read somewhere that tobys German so i totally agree that hed be bilingual!!!

oh my god BEN whos native language is memes meets grandpa slendy that would be so funny

in 4 words youve converted me into a fellow he/it LJ truther!!!! could we consider he/it ej too? maybe??

ik you said it was a cracky hc but i can actually kinda see jeff being good at makeup??? like one of those things where he tries it once and it's the most drop dead gorgeous makeup look you've EVER seen and everyones like how did you do that

toby BEN and jeff are an absolute riot when rheyre together lmao

omg i never thought about it but brian sunburning super easy is so real!! and in summer he always wears sunglasses so he has like an unburnt patch on his face where his sunglasses were yk??

OMG YES LMAOOOOO "guys get up our flights in 10 hours WE'RE GONNA BE LATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he would 100% have a checklist or 3

thank you so much for sharing these with me!! i hope you dont mind me adding my own thoughts lol but theyre so much fun to think about!!!! if you ever wanna slander lj and brian with someone feel free to dm me lmao!!!!!! take care <33333

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #ask #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #I forgot who else we talked about lmaoooooo #ticci toby #ben drowned #laughing jack

61 notes · View notes

barkspawn · 11 months

Note

Most to least likely to want children?

Hey, still alive. Sorry it took so long! More incoming!

Most to least likely to want kids:

1. Sam - He hangs out and plays with Vincent so often that it's something he's comfortable with and I can't imagine him not being excited to have some of his own.

2. Alex - He feels like a nuclear family kind of dude. He gives the excited-but-a-little-sad-it's-not-a-boy dad vibes. He'll want to play catch and such. But I also see him having a tea party with his little girl who he is way too protective of. Girls name would be his mom's.

3. Shane - Never thought he wanted kids, but he started pulling himself together and worked on his relationship with Jas. Maybe, just maybe, he can see himself on the farm with his s/o watching their little monsters run around or try to help our dear farmer.

4. Sebastian - Almost like Shane in the sense he didn't think he wanted kids considering his only exposure to younglings was Vincent. But suddenly his life plans have changed anyway - he's staying in the Valley with his farmer and is able to take more time off work. Idk, I can see him start thinking about it and/or not hating it when the farmer brings it up.

5. Elliott - He is a focused man who puts writing first. I can see him wanting kids, but I can't see him giving up writing or doing so less. A child takes so much time and is a more-than-full-time job that wouldn't be fair to dump on the farmer. He'll write about kids though.

6. Harvey - Kids are germ-infested little hosts who will get sick and bring any possible illness home. Also, what if they get sick or injured and he can't help them? What if they die and it's because he couldn't save them? No thank you.

I'd say 5 and 6 are interchangeable and tbh the whole list could be different in my brain tomorrow when I think of a different fact or idea.

I appreciate your patience in all of this.

I'm working on so much more!

108 notes · View notes

flaneurpastel · 1 year

Text

wanna write something about our favorite man but don't know what ? don't have any prompts ?

do not worry, im here.

im just a fellow reader, who enjoys a little too much angst and fluff with sad boys (simon im talking about you baby), so yeah i wanna read more, and the refresh button is now broken bcuz there isn't enough fics !!!! and pls free to tag me in your works, ill be glad to read it and everything <3 enough talking ;

AND it's not necessarily quality it's even cliché or seen and seen again, it's just what i would like to read cuz im a hopeless lover.

__________

PILLOWTALK !!! there is not enough of pillowalk scenarios here, not something long but like short and efficient pls pls pls pls

bonus if simon is slightly drunk, so he talks a little more, going so far as to voluntarily say stupid things to hear you laugh, or get a little kiss to make him shut up the nonsense cuz now he's being adorably silly, but hey, he loves it, so he'll do even more and maybe a make out session or idk maybe ... but drunk!simon needs to be studied fr

__________

MORE DOMESTIC THINGS TO DO TOGETHER! (and yes im screaming rn)

im thinking of when he calls reader from the bathroom to get help with his haircut. you know he can do it himself, he was doing fine before he met you. but something about having you so close to him, feeling your fairy fingers caressing his scalp, your bewitching smell. all these things make him absolutely need you. no need to explain more.

people, write domestic things, simon needs a little love and calm of a simple life. 😔

___________

something i saw with another character in another fandom a long time ago but it was so cute that i want, no

I NEED the same thing with simon.

when you need to go to the bathroom, or you're so sick that you have to spend hours and hours in it, simon always goes with you when you first move into your apartment together, to stay with you by the door. you always make small talk, and you're not even embarrassed anymore because it's become a normal thing in your relationship. but simon follows you everywhere, literally, because hey, you're the love of his life so why spend a minute away from you ?

___________

you and ghost had a fight when you came back from a mission that was dangerous for you. the team decides to go to a bar next to the base, to celebrate this mission that was still successful. and this, despite the obvious tensions between you two. the shots keep coming, the alcohol gets to your head, and the euphoria of the evening only enhances your beauty, which obviously attracts suitors to take you for the night. simon's reaction is up to you, jealous, angry, indifferent (but not too much)

so yeah, I need to see jealousy possessiveness hardness unconditional love (but not in a yandere way lol)

___________

your evening always ends in front of the TV together. to make an assessment of your day, to tell the last gossips, to take stock of the shopping at the supermarket to be done tomorrow whatever!

tonight it was the sound of the TV that won, you were both silent because very tired! but the caresses, your fingers intertwining, the glances in corner, and the shadow of a smile on the discovered face of simon were there more important than the broadcast program. it's innocent, loving, light, sweet, like a little game. it's like teenagers afraid to be discovered by adults. do you get the vibe ?

something cute, not necessarily nsfw, but AHHH im so in love with him why

____________

reader is annoyed with simon for x reasons (it's up to you), she starts to hit him on the chest, to insult him, the sobs mix with her anger and it becomes difficult to understand clearly what she reproaches to simon. this one, takes everything, says nothing, and makes everything to appear indifferent and impassive to his crisis of nerves, but in the bottom he is afraid and feels terribly guilty to have put his beloved in this state. accentuate on the difference of size and strength between the two, the blows inflicted to Simon are only vulgar small fags on the arm or the chest. how is he going to make it up to them ? is he going to try to calm reader down, or let them continue until they are exhausted?

______________

if reader's native language is not basic english, then I absolutely must see simon being in awe every time reader speaks their language. the admiration and love is in his eyes, whether he wears the balaclava or not, whether his eyes are painted black or not, everyone can see that he only has unconditional love which multiplies by ten (when it is already infinite) when he hears your beautiful voice saying words he doesn't understand.

bonus point if simon makes every effort to learn your language and communicate with you. if you listen carefully you will see simon whispering some words after you, while you are engaged in a conversation with someone.

_____________

you know what ? i would love to see a monologue from simon where he talks about reader (because someone asked if he had a partner) little anecdotes, his description of u (personality not physical so we want something inclusive!!!), but most of all HIS LOVE for us. cuz he's so in love, like the only time he talks surprisingly much is when he has to do a briefing of the missions, or when he talks about you, because you're such an amazing person and simon is so in love, and our baby has never received as much love and peace and serenity as he does with you, and does he really deserve it? to be with someone like you? to feel so good in your arms, to kiss you every time he meets your gaze, to lure him to show his colleagues, his friends, shit to the whole world love,

NO, AH, I don't have the words but the word love is now too weak to describe it all. in short you understand me.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost headcanons #cod x reader

158 notes · View notes

missuswalker · 9 months

Note

DUDE I requested the volleyball reader one and oh my god I’m so fed it’s so good got me kicking my feet giggling cackling sweating bro (thank u cat emoji anon for requesting a part 2 ily) idk how u have such good brain thoughts to write allat

Would u be opposed to a fic of mysterion x f!reader who’s kinda like spiderman 🤔🤔🤔 omg what if it was similar to miraculous ladybug where they’re friends irl and Kenny’s all flirty then but when they’re in their superhero roles it flips n the reader is the flirty one instead?? And maybe they fight against Leslie or something sending a robot army man idk u can literally write whatever and I’ll eat it up fr fr THANK UUUUU

MEOWWW MEOW MEOW NEVER OPPOSED TO MYSTERION (and ikr, cat emoji anon is so scrumptious 😻) (i love frequent anons, they're like my best pookies) (also i love all of your ideas 🤭🤭)

don't know her // mysterion x fem reader

✮ summary: being the walmart spidergirl of south park has it's perks, especially when you get to hang around mysterion all night (pt two here) ✮ warnings: mentions of blood, kind of short (read a/n)

"Hey, I'll call you back later, sweetheart, I've got some shit to do," Kenny interrupts, giving me a 'bye'. I knew exactly what that shit was too. I've known Kenny for years and I had kind of caught on to the fact that he was Mysterion.

I take this as my opportunity to slip into my suit, pulling my mask over my head as I slide my window open, climbing onto my roof. This was just about my nightly routine at this point. Talking with Kenny on the phone until midnight, then meeting up with him as Seven.

The backstory of the name name originally came from Kenny himself. Well, came from Mysterion. Kenny had no idea that I was Seven. Basically, Mysterion asked for my superhero name, though I didn't exactly have one. After telling him that, he named me after the building we were behind which happened to be a 7-Eleven, and it kind of just stuck.

Walking down the alley Mysterion and I usually met in, I see that he's already there. "Seven, you've gotta stop coming out here, I've told you too many times that it's way too dangerous for a rookie to be out at night."

I put my hands on my hips, looking around. "You say that and then still wait for me at the same spot every night. You'd miss me too much if I stopped showing up," I tease. "Don't flatter yourself. I come here because I know you'll show up and get yourself into trouble. Don't start thinking I have a crush on you or something."

"Then who do you have a crush on? Must be a real treat, huh?" I snort, taking a seat on an empty crate. "I don't see how that's any of your business. It's just a girl from my school anyways, you don't know her," he sighs, kicking at the dirt. "I'm just curious," I defend, throwing my hands up in mock surrender.

I felt a little upset, though, that the girl has a good chance of not being me. "If I tell you about her, will you stop coming out here at night so I don't have to babysit you anymore?" I think for a moment, trying to figure out if I even really wanted to know.

"Sure," I answer, deciding I might as well. He sighs, obviously not thinking I was actually going to agree to it. "Okay, well, uhh... her name is Y/n. I've been friends with her for a really long time, and she's hot. That good enough for you?"

Well, damn.

"Nah, I'm still gonna come out here." Mysterion groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, nothing is happening tonight, just go home." I shrug, beginning to walk away. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"No you won't. You're gonna stay home."

"Keep telling yourself that."

a/n: GUYS IT'S SHORT BECAUSE THERE'S GOING TO BE A PART 2 🤯🤯

you have to remind me, though, bc i'll forget 😻

next one will have the fight scene and seven's mask gets pulled off + romance idk

not proofread (ill do it later i swear)

#kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader #mysterion #mysterion x reader #south park #x reader #south park fanfiction #south park imagines #south park x reader #remind me im so serious

72 notes · View notes

papparinoo · 7 months

Text

ONE OF THE THINGS thats got me going CRAZY about simon is that man… idk IDK!! He must feel that not only did the crown take away “ice king” but it took him along with it. Hes not ice king anymore, but who is he now? His passions are gone, he feels as though theres no point in tomorrow.. he didnt even.. care whatsoever that he had to start running away from the scarab, that hes not in his own dimension, hes throwing away the simon he is now, the life he has now, to once again return to the crown. He only started caring about his situation when he realized other people’s lives were on the line, thus the mission to put on the crown yet.. still sacrificing his wellbeing. He probably would have been fine with the scarab taking him away in prismos time room.

I just. Relate so much to simon. Sometimes i see the crown as depression or mental illness. U end up missing it or wanting to destroy yourself bcuz who the fuck were u before it? Where did that person go? And who would care if i let it succumb me?

#simon petrikov #fionna and cake #mental illness

25 notes · View notes

mvshortcut · 7 months

Note

If this is a weird question, feel free to delete, but in the midst of trying to follow all the Maren/Milk Divorce/Marriage drama lore, I have to ask: why is your nemesis a turkey and how is he (or she or it, does the turkey even have a name? idk...) involved in this? Do you and this particular turkey have a deep complicated backstory of betrayal and hate that has been building to this fight or did you and the turkey just see each other one day and declare yourselves enemies?

I attempted to tell the abridged version of this tale. I really did.

The long and short of it is, despite going to college in a relatively urban environment, I have been haunted and stalked and vexed day and night by a gang of turkeys. Yes, a gang of wild turkeys that live in the city. No, I don't understand it either. They're like oversized pigeons at this point.

The turkeys have been a background presence in my college experience for some time. But, towards the end of last semester, I became aware that the turkeys appeared to be honing in on me specifically.

It started with one turkey, whom I have dubbed Victorian Maiden Turkey because the turkey looks very ill for some reason? very grey and scrawny and rumpled feathers and constantly seems confused about where she is and what is going on. She looks like a fainting waif of a Victorian maiden that needs to be sent to the seaside for her health, where she will magically be cured by the sun and fresh air. (No relation to the fact that she's been moved out of her city home, which is at least composed of 35% asbestos.)

ANYWAYS. so. Victorian Maiden Turkey seemed to like. follow me when I went to class? or at least wait for me? I had a long walk to class, and it was kind of through a residential area, and she'd just be like. hiding out in someone's driveway, staring at me as I walked past? On the way home from class I walked an entirely different route through a different part of town, and she was there too? (I know it's the same turkey because, again, none of the others resemble sickly waifs.) She was literally hiding in the bushes waiting for me to go past. I only noticed her, in fact, because I nearly tripped over her.

This continued for the next couple weeks. I kept running into this turkey, along with a few others, in different parts of town, going to class or the store or on my walks. I spoke to friends and my roommate and none of them reported being tailed by turkeys all over town. Only me. My roommate and my mom both agreed with me that there was only one possible explanation: someone had put out a hit from the turkey mafia on me, and this turkey was sent to scope out the scene and learn my routines, waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

Now, I’m getting nervous because the end of the semester is fast approaching. If these turkeys are gonna make a move, they’re gonna have to do it soon, right? Mentally I’m counting down the days until I can get the hell outta dodge. My days are numbered. And, on top of fearing for my life, I still have to study for finals, since I don’t believe any of my professors will accept “I’m being stalked by the turkey mafia” as an excuse.

Sunday. Last day before finals week begins. Trying to entice myself to push through the home stretch, I grab my picnic blanket, pick up some Chipotle, and bring my work to the park. First big mistake on my part - big open area. No shelter. No witnesses.

Second big mistake: I wear sneakers with laces. I remove my shoes and socks and spread out on my blanket under a tree to better enjoy the warm day. Chekhov is cocking his gun as we speak.

So. As an unsuspecting naive college student, I get straight to work enjoying my Chipotle and ignoring my studying. Then, just as the “ah shit, finals start tomorrow” reality begins to settle in and I finally buckle down on my work, I hear a rustling from over yonder.

Emerging from someone’s driveway and entering the park is—a turkey. Not Victorian Maiden Turkey—he looks entirely too well-fed. In fact he’s a rather hefty-looking fellow. The turkey slowly wends his way over to me; and, as I’ve seen turkeys several times around the city before, I assume we’re cool and proceed to ignore him.

Except—the turkey keeps approaching. We’re gonna call him Turkey Number One. (In the moment, I did not call him “Turkey Number One” for the same reasons that people in the early 1900’s didn’t call The Great War “World War I,” but we’ll get to that later.)

Turkey Number One continues to approach. As he approaches, he gradually becomes larger by puffing himself up. At some moments he simply seems interested in investigating me and my Chipotle and my water bottle. But at other times he begins to make a variety of unhappy turkey noises, but refrains from outright gobbling at me thus far. At this point he’s within 6-10 feet of me. Mildly annoyed—why is this turkey going to act all huffy at me if he’s the one choosing to invade my space? When he has a whole park’s worth of space in which to ignore me?—I stand up, grab my laptop, and make to step away from my blanket for a moment to let the turkey cool off for a moment.

Now, here's where Chekhov begins to chuckle ominously at me from the audience. Remember how I took my shoes off earlier? Well, as I now discover, the tree above me produces some rather sharp variety of seeds, which will easily stab the bottom of my feet if I attempt to step on them without shoes. The whole ground is covered in these seeds.

Not a problem, right?

Think again, Milk. The turkey is impatient and unhappy with me bending down to tie my shoes. As soon as I stoop down, he begins to approach my blanket, gobbling furiously at full volume and fluffing up his feathers. He backs off when I stand up, but every time I attempt to bend to put my shoes on, he resumes his approach.

Okay. This is fine. It’s gonna be just fine. I mean, I’m actively texting good-byes to my friends and mother and roommate, but it’s gonna work out just fine.

And to be honest? It does. Turkey #1 and I go back and forth for a few minutes. He begins to calm down, seems unsure of whether to perform a mating dance at my water bottle or not. Eventually he decides against it and takes his leave and I, with a sigh of relief, resume studying, thinking that the ordeal is over.

The ordeal is not over.

About an hour later, Turkey Number 1 returns from a different angle of the park. And—he’s brought his girlfriend this time, Turkey Number 2! (She is also well-fed and bears no relation to Victorian Maiden Turkey.) I’m still unclear as to whether Turkey Number 1 wanted me to meet his girlfriend, or if he thought I was encroaching on his territory/relationship and was like, “See? I have a girlfriend, man! Back off!” yada yada.

All in all, the second wave goes rather smoothly. Turkey Number 1 is all puff and no bite. Turkey Number 2 is visibly embarrassed by the antics of her boyfriend’s posturing (I’m not a bird behavioral expert but I recognize The Expression. It is universal). She occupies herself with eating seeds for a few minutes, I have some more Chipotle, Turkey Number 1 gradually cools off—it’s nice. After a moment Turkeys Number 1 and 2 exit the park and I, once again, return to my studying.

Lulled into a false sense of security by the last turkey visit, I don’t bat an eye when Turkeys Number 1 and 2 return to the park an hour later. They were fine last time, right? No big deal.

Then, over the horizon, a challenger approaches.

At long last, my friends, allow me to introduce you to my nemesis. Turkey Number 3 is the largest turkey I’ve seen in my life, though I believe he’s at least 80% ruffled feathers and air. And he is mad.

To be perfectly honest I’m still not sure what he was mad at. I believe it was a combination of 1.) mad at Turkey 1 for having a girlfriend he wanted, 2.) mad at me for invading what I now realize is clearly His Park, or 3.) mad at me for being a potential challenger for Turkey 2, which. Isn’t actually his girlfriend. She’s Turkey 1’s girlfriend. But it’s whatever, yknow?

(My mom has offered a potential fourth explanation, which is that Turkey 3 viewed ME as a potential turkey girlfriend, despite the fact that I am neither a girl nor a girlfriend nor a turkey nor a turkey girlfriend, or any combination of these. My mother believes he was attempting to woo me through impressive displays of force. I have henceforth refused to entertain my mother’s suggestion for my own sanity.)

So. Despite attempting to rationally and calmly explain to Turkey 3, my soon-to-be nemesis, that I am not interested in stealing anyone’s turkey girlfriend, he refuses to be placated. He puffs up larger than I thought possible for a turkey and charges directly at my blanket. Not only does he make deafening enraged gobbling noises that can certainly be heard halfway across the city, he also emits a variety of enraged puffing and huffing and squawking noises. Did you guys know that turkeys can extend all of their feathers at once, creating a “blast-off” sound effect that simultaneously propels them forwards? Neat, right? I didn’t know that either!

Now I do.

Having failed on Potential Reason Turkey Is Mad Number 3, I move to Potential Reason Turkey is Mad Number Two. I attempt to explain, again calmly and rationally, that if the turkey will just allow me a moment to put on my shoes so I don’t stab my feet on the seeds and roll up my blanket, I will gladly vacate his park.

Despite clearly wanting me to leave, Turkey 3 resists my each and every attempt to do so. He maintains a respectful 6-foot social distancing if I remain standing. The second I bend down and reach for my shoes, however, he puffs and gobbles and charges at me. And so I straighten up, my nemesis backs off, and the cycle repeats.

Friends. My absolute bastard of a newfound nemesis holds me hostage there for thirty minutes like this. And he’s good at it, too. Sometimes he’ll give me false hope too, wander off to fight Turkey Number 1 for his girlfriend’s hand/wing (said girlfriend is still munching seeds off the ground, clearly disgusted with them both.) I’ll take advantage of his distraction, bend down and reach for my shoes—and my nemesis will come charging out from behind a tree or materialize out of thin air, squawking and gobbling and puffing with the force of a thousand suns. (I still have no idea how he knew when I was reaching for my shoes. He must’ve had some ingrained sort of nemesis-sense.)

Now, you might be asking, Milk, how on earth did you escape? Did you pull off some clever and daring maneuver? No. It was because someone else happened to be stupider than I was.

We’ll call him Baseball Cap Guy. Baseball Cap Guy enters the park, sees the turkeys, and decides it’s a really smart idea to attempt to PET Turkey Number Two on the head.

That went about as well as you would expect.

Turkey Numbers 1 and 3 immediately put aside their differences to tag team Baseball Cap Guy. Inspirational, really. Turkey Number 2 resumes eating berries and seeds, supremely unbothered and supremely disgusted.

And I, Milk, take advantage of the commotion to jam my shoes onto my feet, snatch up my blanket, and hightail it out of the park. I use the remaining 5% of my battery to inform my mother and friends and roommate that I have not, in fact, been murdered by the turkey mafia. Then I made straight for home, hoping against hope that Victorian Maiden Turkey wasn’t tailing me or hiding behind a bush waiting to trip me and suchlike.

Now, it would be easy to think that the Baseball Cap Guy was an absolute idiot for trying to pet a wild turkey. I’m not saying that’s an incorrect conclusion. However, there was a point during the first wave where Turkey Number One was approached by an older lady on her afternoon power walk. I was hoping against hope I wasn’t about to watch a sweet old lady get mauled by a turkey. She, delighted, whips open her phone and begins to coo—actually coo— at the bird like she’s his auntie, like ohh, what a handsome little man you are! Your feathers are so soft—and how puffy you are, mister! and all that.

And—Turkey Number 1 absolutely eats that up. He struts back and forth, posing for her and clucking at her and letting her take her fill of photos for a solid 5 minutes.

So. My current hypothesis is that there is a Continuum of Turkey Vibes, ranging from Old Lady (preen for photoshoot) to Milk (???) to Baseball Cap Guy (attack on sight).

And uh. That’s the story, folks. I survived finals, returned home unscathed, and have spent the summer anticipating a rematch. I’ve also spent some time reflecting—it’s strange, having a nemesis. I’ve always wanted a nemesis. I didn’t quite picture them as a turkey, per say, but for some reason it just feels right, yknow? I think we’re compatible. I both dread and oddly look forward to our next meeting.

You’ll be pleased to know that the first thing I did upon returning to school this fall was go back to the park, ya know, like a fool. The first trip was pretty quiet. I introduced Turkey Number Two and some of her besties to my mom. I went back once to study at the park. That time, I met no less than 12 turkeys, many of which were little turklings. I think I introduced them to my mom, so I get to meet the family now? Unsure. Anyways.

I also witnessed a man, with a golden retriever and a turkey sitting side-by-side in front of him. The man tossed dog treats one after another to the golden retriever and to the turkey. (Spoiler alert: this one ended with a pack of five turkeys chasing the man and his dog down the street once he ran out of treats.)

Fun fact! Did you know turkeys can fly? No, really—not just “hold themselves aloft for short distances” but like “fly up into extremely tall trees, making a colossal ruckus as they beat their wings rapidly and gobble and yell?”

Anyways, once it was growing quite dark and impossible to make out anything other than the silhouettes of no less than five gigantic birds looming high in the branches above me, ready to launch themselves directly on top of my head at a moment’s notice, I decided it was time to exit the park for the evening.

I still haven’t run into my nemesis yet. That’s okay—I think I’m beginning to infiltrate the turkey ranks a bit. And I know he hasn’t forgotten about me. He’s just out there, biding his time.

Please admire these photographs of my nemesis as well as his magnificent ass. Thank you for your time.

#I. have no explanation I blacked out for an hour and this happened. I'm sorry #milk/maren divorce/marriage drama #not mbs #legal disclaimer Turkey Number Two bears no relation to Number Two Mysterious Benedict Society

25 notes · View notes

tenpintsof-sundrop · 17 days

Note

“yes, other writers who have smaller blogs would love to have more comments on their fics, but they too would feel annoyed if all the comments they were getting were 'Part 2???'”

OMG YES! i love it when people comment on my fics like so so much but a lot of the times there’s at least a few ‘part 2??’ type of comments. (also a lot of the time the asking for a part 2 is the only engagement they give) while im not opposed to the idea of writing a part two, i usually don’t have any ideas for a part two because most of the things i write are meant to be 1 parters and so if i can’t think of anything sometimes ill ask them what they’d like to see in a part 2 or if they want to send in a request for it but they never respond? i hope it doesn’t seem like i want them to basically come up with the idea for me but im just kinda confused on why people ask for a part 2 on something i wrote when it doesn’t seem like they’re really that serious about wanting to see more because it’s happened at least 3 times now.

anyways, i hope your day is going good (and if it isn’t i hope that changes soon :/ <3) and that those delusional obsessive weirdos learn to fuck off and stop making shit up

okay, idk if people have noticed this, but I have started putting disclaimers on my fics. I have literally had to put disclaimers at the end of my fics saying 'this is meant to be a oneshot, so please to not comment asking for a part 2' - and comments on my oneshots have gone down so much since I started doing this. I have gotten way less comments on my oneshots because of this. (because people don't want to talk about the actual fic, they just want to ask for more.)

because I couldn't handle the mental strain of getting a notification of a comment, getting excited about it, and then opening that comment to see 'part 2?' or 'omg you need to continue this' - when the ending was very purposeful and it was a oneshot for a reason. especially smut. like just because I don't include both partners having an orgasm and pillow talk, people demand that it's incomplete. people saying 'when are you gonna finish this fic' kills me. it is finished. (kill me, please. you need to kill me.)

and like sometimes I never think that I would ever write a second part to a fic, but positive comments encourage it. my Gleggie fic Hold Me Tight Or Don't - a fic where the main character fucking dies - is a very open and shut case for a fic without a sequel. because the main character IS DEAD. but someone in the comments made a joke about being in their 'Ellie Williams era' because they wanted to mentally deny the sad ending, and it sparked a whole idea for me where the reader character is immune and lives instead. and that fic is currently in my drafts and I am excited about finishing it in the future.

that is the power that engaging comments can have - it can spawn a whole new fic from a place where there was a dead end plot with absolutely 0 potential

but yeah, thank you for this message. I hope you're having a good day - my day is mid level, and I hope to have a better day tomorrow.

and for reference, to all fic readers/commenters out there - if you really like a fic and you are really excited about the idea of a possible sequel to it, here is how you go about asking for it:

go to the writer's ask box or their DMs - open up a line of communication that is separate from the comment section of that fic

tell them that you really loved that fic, and tell them a reason why - the writer will want to know that you are supporting their work, and that you're not just asking for more fanfiction because you're bored

politely ask if they would consider writing a sequel or a continuation to that work

and maybe, in the same message, pose some possible ideas or concepts for that follow up

so, something like "hey, I really loved Hold Me Tight Or Don't. I love the way you contrast the themes of sex and death. but I couldn't help but to wonder what would happen if the reader was immune and survived. would you ever consider writing a follow up or a sequel to it? if not, that's okay."

(fyi, even on works where I have said I do not want to make a sequel, I am open to these ^^ kind of messages if you are particularly interested in one of my works having a possible sequel. the circumstances for each of my works having a sequel is different in every case)

#anonymous #sundrop answers #fanfiction #discussion #about me

9 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

dcs-fkin-mystics

DC's Freakin' Mystics Blog

gaylalaland

Ill See You In Gaylalaland

yibo-wang

wang yibo

fireemblems24

💫FE3H 4 Route Blind Playthrough 💫

boxador-1982

Unbetitelt