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the-stove-is-on-fire · 6 months

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After School Ghost Theory 101 with Professor Fenton

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[Image ID: A four page comic that starts with Danny Fenton standing in front of a whiteboard holding up a white cat. "Question: Do ghosts purr?”

Tucker: “Danny when was the last time you slept?” Danny: “Irrelevant.”

Danny info-dumps: “The answer is yes, but also no. Technically, all beings that possess a core are constantly "purring", a.k.a. Core Vibrations. Core Vibrations are a nonverbal, emotion-based communication system between Ghosts, similar to how some living species use pheromones to communicate. The exact tone of each ghost is different the same way people's voices are different. Humans can only hear these vibrations when the frequency passes through their audible range (20Hz - 20KHz), hence the 'purring' sound. When the range dips into infrasound (16 - 20Hz) it can cause feelings of fear and unease in humans that they often associate with ghosts and the supernatural. Also known as the ‘Heebie Jeebies.’”

Danny, wiping off the whiteboard: “Any questions before we move on?"

Danny’s audience consists of Wes Weston, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Danny’s clone Ellie, and Dash Baxter in a classroom. Wes is seated at a desk at the front taking notes. Tucker is sitting on Sam’s lap playing on a Switch, Ellie is sitting on a desk behind them. Dash is asleep at the back of the room.

Ellie, now holding the cat: “Is this Vlad’s first cat!?” Wes: "Could you tone down the floating eyes before the next part? They're kinda distracting." Danny: "What eyes?" Wes: “Please stop gaslighting me.”

A transparency trick on the last page reveals dark shadows and eyes all around Danny when viewed in dark mode. /.End ID]

An Extended Image ID is available under the read more because it’s over 1k. Side by side light and dark mode versions of the transparency trick is also available under the cut.

[Extended Image ID: The post contains a four page comic. The first page shows two comic panels with white borders. The top panel features a bedraggled looking Danny Fenton from the waist up holding a disgruntled fluffy white cat. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is messy, his arms are covered in bandaids and cat scratches, and his nails are painted black. He’s wearing a white shirt with red sleeves and a red oval on the front. In a large green text bubble he says “Question: Do ghosts purr?” A small orange text bubble under it asks “Danny when was the last time you slept?” “Irrelevant” Danny replies.

In the bottom panel Danny is standing on the far left side of the panel in front of a whiteboard in a classroom with the cat under his arm. He’s wearing baggy jeans with holes in the knees and his classic white and red Converse shoes. The whiteboard behind him has partially erased doodles around the edges including some flowers, stars, and Phantom’s DP symbol. There are a few balls of paper on the floor. Partially out of frame on the wall behind Danny is a poster of Einstein and above it a clock. Pointing at the whiteboard with a marker Danny says “The answer: Yes but also no” His words are written on the whiteboard. Under the words is a drawing of a stick figure and a green bedsheet ghost with a circle between them. The circle is surrounded by green squiggly lines radiating out from it. Under the circle, an arrow is drawn pointing to it with the words ‘core vibrations’ written on the board. A green text bubble in the space under the whiteboard says “Technically, all beings that possess a core are constantly "purring", a.k.a. Core Vibrations.”

On the second page there are two blocks of text, each followed by a drawing. The page background is a pale, greenish-grey with subtle scuff marks imitating the look of a whiteboard. The first block of text at the top of the page reads “Core Vibrations are a nonverbal, emotion-based communication system between Ghosts, similar to how some living species use pheromones to communicate. The exact tone of each ghost is different the same way people's voices are different.” Under the text, imitating the look of dry erase marker, is a drawing of two simple ghosts smiling and waving to each other. They both have a small green circle drawn on their chest area with green squiggly lines radiating out from each ghost. Between the two cores, two parallel arrows are drawn, facing opposite directions. Under the arrows is the text “core to core communication.”

Under the ghosts is a second block of text reading “Humans can only hear these vibrations when the frequency passes through their audible range (20Hz - 20KHz), hence the 'purring' sound. When the range dips into infrasound (16 - 20Hz) it can cause feelings of fear and unease in humans that they often associate with ghosts and the supernatural. Also known as the ‘Heebie Jeebies.’” Under the text a red arrow points from the words ‘heebie jeebies’ to a simple drawing of Dash Baxter holding a flashlight and looking scared. There is a cobweb with a dangling spider drawn to his right and a bunch of green blob ghosts behind him to his left. In blue text the blobs say “you forgot to update your mailing address with the IRS” and “you filed your taxes incorrectly.”

The third page once again shows two comic panels. In the top panel Danny takes up the centre. He’s stretched across the whiteboard in a dynamic pose erasing the drawing of frightened Dash with a big swipe. One hand is braced on the board as he looks over his shoulder and asks “Anyone got questions before we move on?” If the image is viewed in dark mode, there are five, messily drawn eyes of varying sizes surrounding Danny. If viewed in light mode, the eyes are absent.

The bottom comic panel reveals Danny’s audience to be Wes Weston, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Danny’s clone Ellie, and Dash Baxter. In the bottom left corner, Wes sits slouched at a desk at the front of the classroom with papers and an open notebook spread out over his desk. He’s wearing a red zip up hoodie with white sleeves. His hoodie is unzipped showing a green shirt underneath that matches the colour of his eyes. At the desk beside him Tucker and Sam share a chair with their focus on Tucker’s Switch and not Danny’s presentation. Tucker is sitting in Sam’s lap with her arms around his waist and her head resting on his shoulder. Tucker is wearing a red beanie with short dreads, goldenrod yellow turtleneck sweater, green cargo pants, and white shoes. Sam is wearing a black crop top with a fishnet layer over top, purple pleated plaid skirt, artistically ripped purple leggings, and black combat boots with bright green laces. Tucker has the tips of his dread dyed green and purple. Sam has streaks of purple, green, and orange in her hair. Ellie is sitting cross legged on top of a desk two rows behind Sam and Tucker. She’s wearing a cropped hoodie with the same colours as Danny’s shirt and black track pants with white and red shoes. Her hair is tied in a high ponytail and she is holding the squirming fluffy white cat up in the air. At the very back of the classroom behind Wes’ left shoulder Dash can be seen asleep slouched over his desk. Wes has one hand resting on his desk holding a mechanical pencil the other partially raised with his hand open. In a beige text bubble with red text he replies to Danny’s question with an unimpressed look on his face “Could you tone down the floating eyes before the next part? They're kinda distracting.” Under his text bubble a small blue text bubble from Ellie asks “Is this Vlad’s first cat!?” If the image is viewed in dark mode, there are three visible floating eyes off to the side of the panel. If viewed in light mode, the eyes are absent.

The final comic page is a single, full body shot of Danny standing in front of the blank whiteboard. He’s looking over his shoulder, slightly turned with his back mostly towards the classroom and the eraser in his hand. He has an incredulous look on his face. If the page is viewed in dark mode, the background looks dark and Danny is surrounded by dozens eyes of in all different sizes. If viewed in light mode, the eyes are absent. In a green text bubble Danny asks “What eyes?” In the bottom left corner Wes replies “Please stop gaslighting me.” /.End ID]

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Wes Weston #DP #image id #Scopophobia #tw eyes #transparent #transparency trick #stove on fire #43393 #long post #extended image ID long enough to post on Ao3

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luveline · 2 months

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I love your writings about the marauders, and I recently had a thought about the boys first coming in contact with a vibrator or any sex toy really. Not even a like smut thing but just then walking into a muggle sex shop or they made a friend with a muggle girl and they stumble upon in some way lol idk, just a funny thought that’s been making me giggle a bit. If you have any thoughts I guess?? Hope you have a good day :)

this isn’t smut but it is explicit - mdni please! fem, 1k

“What is that?” Sirius asks.

You get yanked back. “God, sorry,” James says, letting go of your hand. You’d been in a weird fugue state of joy with his fingers twined in yours; it’s the first time he’s held your hand. You can’t tell if it’s platonic or romantic, you can never tell with the boys. “Wait, what is that?”

“What’s what?” you ask, trying to follow their gaze. You’re on a crowded high street divided by a two way road. It’s so loud you can’t hear yourself think, and stopping as you have has diverted foot traffic around you poorly.

“There’s a cock in the window.”

Remus yelps a laugh. You smile, befuzzled, as he takes your shoulders into his hand and turns you bodily to the right shop window. “Oh,” you say. “Oh! There really is.”

There is a vast array of the aforementioned appendage in the window, and in a variety of sizes and colours. A mannequin in dark lingerie holds a fifty percent off sign to the left, while a poster brags a multitude of ‘stimulating pleasures’ to be found inside.

“What am I looking at?” Sirius asks.

You forget sometimes how sheltered they all are. They’d gone to a rather elite boarding school, and they all lived in rural England and Wales for their summers. This is as city as they’ve ever been, and you’d thought they’d seen everything there is to see by now, but apparently not.

How are you supposed to explain a sex shop? Better, why is fate making you? They all turn to you for an explanation.

“Remus, you’re twenty three,” you say hopelessly.

“We’ve only recently relocated,” Remus argues.

“You’ve known me for six months. You’ve lived here for eight.”

“And yet we’ve never seen that,” James says, pointing at the lingerie. “You’re such perverts in the city. Why are there rainbow cocks in the window?”

“Can we stop saying that?” you ask.

“Sorry,” James says quickly. “Lovely girl, why are the dicks in the window?”

“They’re toys,” you say, feeling a little part of yourself shrivel away in shyness, their eyes like heat from your face and neck.

“For kids?” Sirius asks, disgusted.

“No! God, no, they’re for grown ups.” You shake your head uselessly. “Are you messing with me? You’ve really never seen them?”

“We’ve seen some rather tasteful underwear in our time,” Sirius says, to James’ delight and Remus’ derision.

“Stop,” Remus says.

“We have to go in. I must understand these toys,” Sirius says, ignoring him with ease. There’s something to his usually nice smile you don’t know, some burning excitement that will likely end in innuendos and teasings galore for you.

You make your way into the sex shop, shoes dragging, cheeks hot. James and Sirius seem as though they could burst into laughter at any second, but Remus is more understanding. He offers you his hand when he realises you’re behind them. You don’t have the strength to refuse him.

They’re the weirdest friends you’ve ever had, but also the best ones. They love holding hands and crossing legs and laying half on top of each other when they come around to watch a film. You’re pretty sure you saw James and Remus kissing a few weeks ago, but they’ve yet to say anything about it to you, so what do you know? You’d been jealous, but each boy has continued to love on you just a little too much considering the parameters of your ‘friendship’.

This lies firmly outside of your parameters, you decide.

Sure, you’ve thought about them sometimes as more than friends, but they don’t know that. Can you be blamed? They’re all so handsome in awful ways —Remus classic, Sirius Grecian, and James devilish. James. You shake your head in an attempt to dispel thoughts of their good looks while in close proximity to lacy knickers, turning your attention to the ridiculous gasps of awe the two idiots are letting out.

“What is that?” Sirius asks delightedly, knuckling at a row of plastic sex toys, all with different functions.

“That’s a…” You blow a breath up your face in an attempt to cool down. “Read the label, Siri.”

“Most of this stuff is for girls?” James asks you.

“I guess so.” You poke at the pink packaging of a glass massage wand. “I mean, not always. I think anybody can use all this stuff too. Or most of it.”

“What about that?”

James points at a vibrator in clear blister packaging. “A vibrator? What’s that do?” He turns to you with a surprisingly innocent curiosity.

“It vibrates.” You don’t want to say anything else, but they’re your friends. They’re nice to you, and they respect you, so it’s not like you think telling them these things will put you in an uncomfortable position. “You know how girls have a harder time finishing sometimes?”

If they’re surprised to hear you say it aloud, they don’t show it. “Not in my experience,” Sirius jokes.

“So the vibration helps?”

“It’s very intense. It makes the… climax come much quicker,” you say.

Remus seems very grateful for the energy your explanation takes, giving you a caring smile. He’s about to say something when Sirius interrupts, and asks, “Do you have one?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Remus says, hitting Sirius in the arm. “She doesn’t have to answer that, don’t ask her stuff like that, it’s private.”

Sirius’ eyes go wide. “I’m sorry,” he says to you, all joking gone from his face. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just forget sometimes that you have boundaries we don’t have.”

You’re not expecting such a genuine and sudden apology, because maybe Sirius shouldn’t ask, but you totally understand what he means. You feel like you’ve known them all your life. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I know what you’re like.”

“So it’s a good time, hypothetically,” James says.

“What do you reckon that feels like?” Sirius asks, already moving on.

“Sirius,” Remus pleads.

“Sweetheart, can I ask you, hypothetically,” —Sirius taps his converse to yours, grinning— “what do you mean, it’s quicker? How does that even work?”

You frown, “You don’t know how it works?”

Remus and James laugh like bellows beside you. They laugh so much the woman behind the counter glares at you all, undoubtedly tired of people coming in here for a laugh.

“Awful girl,” Sirius says, frowning.

You smile back. “It just stimulates the nerves, Sirius. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess it’s kinda like magic or something.”

“Magic can’t do that,” James says. Remus elbows him hard, and you’ve no idea why.

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wintfleur · 2 months

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Hiii can I pls request 🌱 childhood home/room with Charles Leclerc or lewis and female reader? Loads of fluff and maybe nsfw?

For Charles like praising but if you write Lewis maybe an age gap, praising, pocessive? Soft but dominant for both and talking the reader through it with an extensive aftercare? Like all giggling and cuddling etc would loveee that

౨ৎ it’s called charm baby !

°. — pairings ( Lewis Hamilton x female! Reader )

°. — summary ( your boyfriend knows how to make you feel better, after dinner with him meeting your family doesn’t go well )

°. — details ( g; fluff & smut. w; smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!!!), cursing, hair pulling, I think that’s all?. wc; 2.7k )

﹕─┈ prompt ~ childhood room

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I COULD NOT STOP GIGGLING AS I READ THIS NONNIE YOU ARE A GENIUS !!!! This was my first Lewis fic, and I just loved writing for him so thank you for sending in the request, I really hope you enjoy this !!! I’m still kinda new to writing smut so I hope you guys like it <333 )

1k celly masterlist main masterlist f1 masterlist

“Well that went better than i expected” Lewis mused after he heard the sound of you closing the door behind you. His eyes were immediately drawn to your walls, taking in every detail with a fond smile. He always wondered what your childhood room looked like; he'd seen a few pictures of you in the room, but it was different from actually being there. He didn't get a chance of getting a good look earlier when the two of you had brought your shared luggage up, your youngest brother who was only a few years younger than you, whisking him away before he could really take everything in.

You could hear the slight of sarcasm in his tone making you feel even worse on how your parents ⸺ no how your father treated him at dinner. The two of you decided to finally come visit your parents now that Lewis is on break. You were a little hesitant on coming, knowing how your father could be, but Lewis was convincing. Your mother was as sweet as always, asking questions about his career and giving his family good wishes, your two brothers were eager to talk about his career as well, your niece was absolutely smitten with him, and your father . . . completely uninterested. You knew he wasn't happy with you and Lewis's age-gap with how much he voiced his opinion about it, but still you thought he'd at least try . . . for you.

“I’m really sorry lew, we shouldn't have come” you frowned as your eyes followed your boyfriend of a year around your room. He was taking in every detail, everything in your room made sense to him, everything was so you. Lewis looked away from your collection of posters over your desk and moved to sit on the edge of your bed facing you, a smile on his lips. “Don't say that baby, i know you really wanted to see your family, and I've had a great time.”

“Give me a few more days and I'll get your dad to like me” Lewis promised as he leaned back on his hands, a small giggle leaving his lips as he saw the clearly old stuffed bear perfectly sitting on your bed. You feel your heart warm at his words, he was always so selfless, willing to go through anything just so he could see a smile on your pretty face. You swiftly lock your door and walk over to your boyfriend, the corner of your lips twitching up into a smirk when you watch how his eyes immediately drop to your swaying hips.

“You are quite charming” You whispered as you placed your hands on your boyfriend's shoulders, feeling the smooth silk of his shirt as you climbed up onto his lap, the two of you keeping eye contact as he looked up at you. Lewis smirked as he heard your coquettish tone that he loved so much. The dress he bought you in Brazil riding up your thighs at the new position and he was eager to move his hands to caress your bare thighs, chills decorating your skin at his touch.

“Oh, am i?” he teasingly asks you even though he was well aware how charming he is with how much you reminded him, a cocky smile on his lips. Lewis watched as you playfully rolled your eyes as you moved your hands to his nape, your breath hitching when you felt him slide his hands under your dress and up your thighs. You playfully chided him with a click of your tongue and a small shake of your head “Cockiness doesn't look good on you Lewis.”

That's a lie. It looked really good on him . . .

“Fuck but you do” lewis quickly breathed out as he looked up at you, swiftly moving one of his hands out from under your dress and tangling it in your hair at your nape and pulling you down into a wet kiss he’s wanted to do all day. A small sound of surprise leaves your lip that he's quick to swallow, his lips eagerly moving against yours. You move one of your hands to cup his cheek, the soft caress of your thumb on his jaw was completely different from the passionate kiss the two you were sharing.

You absentmindedly grinded against your boyfriend's lap, a mix of a moan and a whine leaving your lips at the feeling of the friction against his bulging length and the feeling of his grip tightening on your hair. The two of you were both so desperate for each other's touch, having to be good and keep your hands to yourself all day in front of your family. God it was torture, especially seeing how good he looked. The lingering touches he left on your waist as he walked past you, or the soft touches on your thighs under the table. He knew what he was doing . . .

You reluctantly pull away from your boyfriend's addictive lips, panting against his lips as you're slow to open your eyes. You lock eyes with lewis darkened ones, your thighs clenching around him when he untangles his fingers out of your hair and uses his thumb to wipe the spit off your tingling lips. “Please” your tone is desperate and whiny. You didn't have to say anything else; he knew what you wanted, and your eyes were begging him to fuck you.

You knew you were playing with fire, but your room was far enough from your parents, and you were too needy to really care. Lewis groaned as he felt you grind your hips impatiently against him, a smirk forming on his lips. He could feel you throbbing even with three layers of clothing between the two of you. Lewis chuckled and rested his hand on your collarbone, his thumb teasingly tracing the column of your throat, knowing that you were just itching to have him wrap his hand around it. His hand under your dress gripped your thigh “You think you can be quite hmm? Be my good girl?”

“I promise lewis, i'll be your good girl” you promised as you nodded quickly, starting to get impatient as you felt his hand slowly move up and down your thigh, the cold chill of his rings against your warm skin sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn't wait anymore, and he could see that. The look in your eyes, the impatient rolling of your hips,

“I know baby, you're always my good girl aren't you” Lewis whispered as slowly trailed his hand up the inside of your thigh. You let out a small huff of frustration, just wanting to feel his fingers calm that ache between your thighs. But you were quick to close your mouth and bite your lip at the stern look lewis gave you, he had no problem with you being needy, but he crossed the line at you being bratty. But he’ll take pity on his pretty girl, he moves his hand right to where you were needing him the most. A gasp leaving your lips at his touch while a small chuckle leaves him at how damp your panties were, his pointer finger teasingly rubbing your clit through your panties.

“Mhm yes lew” you whimpered and leaned down to lay your head on his shoulder, softly biting his silk shirt to keep your moans at bay as he dips his fingers into your panties, covering his fingers in your slick and smoothly slipping two fingers inside your throbbing hole. You wrap your arms around Lewis muscular shoulders, a whine leaving your lips at the sudden stretch.

Lewis smiles cheekily and looks down at you, your lips parted as sweet and quiet moans left your lips as he continued his slow movement, massaging your tight walls. Leaning down to whisper in your ear, his beard tickling your face, but you were too lost in pleasure to say anything about it “Awe darling, you're just sucking my fingers up, so tight.”

“Feels so good” You moaned out, tilting your head to start kissing and sucking your boyfriend's godly neck, desperately needing to occupy your mouth so you wouldn't be moaning out praises and curses at the pleasure your boyfriend was giving you. Lewis let out a quiet grunt at the feeling of your lips on his burning skin, sucking and nibbling. And the way you gently rutted against his fingers and the choked-out moan you let out when he curled his fingers up, made him want to lay you across the bed and fuck you until you couldn't take it anymore.

“Lew i need more ⸺ please fuckkk i need more” you begged, letting out a sharp gasp when he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb, his hand covered in your slick. Lewis smirks and locks eyes with you, your eyes glazed over. His poor baby was already fucked out and he hasn't even taken his cock out. Lewis kisses your forehead and slowly pulls his fingers out of your sopping hole and softly patting your clit as he whispers.

“Only because you asked so prettily.”

“Fuck darling, you take me so fucking well” Lewis got out between his grunts, his thumbs dipped into the dimples of your back as he holds tightly onto your waist as he thrusts into you from behind. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips parted as his gaze was fixed on where your bodies connected ⸺ loving how good your pussy swallows him in. He slides his hands down to hold your ass, his fingers sinking into your skin and spreading it open slightly to watch as his dick covered in your slick disappears in your needy cunt.

A soft chuckle leaves his lips when he notices your trembling thighs “Feels good, huh?”

“Feels so good” you mewled in pleasure, your arms were stretched under the coolness of your pillows, and the soft fabric of your duvet against your cheek and naked body felt so good against your burning skin. Your face was smushed against your soft pillow, hoping that it would help muffle your uncontrollable moans that only got more frequent the harder his thrusts got.

Lewis pulls up your hips and adjusts the pillow under your hips, the new angle causing him to pound into you deeper. A loud moan leaving your lips at how deep he was stretching you ⸺ you felt so full. The sound of your skin meeting creates a lewd noise that makes you feel like you were in a trance, being lulled by the rhythmic sound. You pull your pillow closer to you, whines and moans leaving your parted lips as your body jerks forward from the hard thrusts “It's too much!”

Lewis leans down as he continues fucking into your aching cunt, one of his hands softly rubbing up your back before tangling his hands into your hair and making a makeshift ponytail and pulling you up against his chest. Your back arched and one of your trembling hands moved behind you and dug your fingers into the skin of Lewis thigh so you wouldn't fall, a delicious hiss leaving his lips at the sting he welcomed. “You can take it baby ⸺ we both know you can” he whispered huskily in your ear, trailing off into a taunting coo, both of you thinking back on the countless times of you fucking yourself on his cock.

“You gonna cum for me love?” Lewis moaned, feeling the way you clenched around him, the feeling bringing him closer to his own peak. “Yes lew!” you whined as you tilted your head back against him. Lewis kept his eyes on you taking in the beauty of your side profile as he continued to fuck you. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and your eyes were glazed over with pleasure, your mouth parted as quiet moans slipped past your lips.

“I’m gonna cum ⸺ fuckk” you cried out, but it came out muffled from lewis hand quickly covering your mouth, your head tipping forward as you felt that rope inside you snap, letting you fall into your own desire. Everything went silent for a second and you swore you lost vision as you came undone. And like a chain reaction, Lewis spilled himself deep inside of you, not being able to hold back once he felt you cum around him. Quiet grunts leaving his lips as he tilted his head back in pleasure.

Your trembling body fell forward on your bed, a whimper leaving your lips at the feeling of him slipping out of you while a hiss left his. You snuggled your face into your unruly sheets as you tried to catch your breath and calm down from the intense orgasm your boyfriend led you to. Lewis’s sweaty chest heaved as he panted and also tried to catch his breath, his eyes closing for a few seconds.

He looks down at your tired body and places his hands on the bed at the sides of your body, softly kissing your back a few times a smile on his lips at the sight of your sweaty body. You let out a quiet groan as you rolled over in bed, your glazed over eyes looking up at your smiling boyfriend. Lewis leaned down, placing his hands by your head so he wouldn't crush you with his body weight.

“You did so good f’me” lewis praised you as he placed gentle and soft kisses all over your face. You smiled and shut your eyes at the soft feeling of his lips, one of his hands moving to gently caress your side. His head falling into the crook of your neck to softly kiss. You hum in satisfaction at his soft and sweet touches and whisper “up for a bath?”

Lewis placed a few more kisses on your shoulder and collarbone before sitting up on his knees between your spread legs. You smile and sit up as well, placing your hand on his abdomen before placing a soft and meaningful kiss over his heart. Lewis looked down at you with such love, taking your hand on his chest into his and placing a kiss on it before whispering “Always with you darling.”

Lewis helps you out of your bed and into your bathroom that was connected to your room, his hands flipping the switch while you were already moving to the shelf in your bathroom, grabbing a few candles and setting them on the edge around your big white bathtub. You would be lying if you said you didn't miss your bathtub the most about your childhood room.

Lewis rests his hands on your waist as you lean down to turn on the water, hot water soon pouring out and filling the bath. You giggle when you come up, your back coming flush against his chest. Lewis was quick to place a few kisses on your shoulder and whisper in your ear how beautiful you looked. You turn around and playfully scold him with a grin on your face “You're such a flirt.”

“I prefer to say I'm just charming” Lewis smirked, using your words against you. You bit your lip and nod your head, touché. You let Lewis get into the bath first, and then you. Your body nestling between his legs and his arms wrapped around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. The two of you enjoyed a few minutes of peaceful silence as you relaxed in the warm bath, your muscles relaxing from the cardio.

“I love you” you broke the silence as you tilted your head to look back at him. He could see the reflection of the candle burning in your eyes, and your lips were so red from all the bruising kisses the two of you shared. He brought his water-soaked hand and cups your cheek, bringing you closer and resting his forehead on the side of your head. Yes, the dinner didn't go the way the both of you wanted, but he wouldn't have changed anything because it brought the two of you here . . . in that soft moment filled with nothing but love and vanilla candles.

“And i love you “

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( ahhh im nervous about this 🤭 please tell me what you guys think 💋 )

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fukkiemon · 1 year

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Playlist Set

Hope you guys like this set. Heavily inspired by pinterest posts, credit to the creatives I used as reference, also credit to creators used in the poster.

Thank you guys for 1k followers, and thank you to everyone who has supported me on patreon. If you run into any issues don't hesitate to let me know, I linked my socials below so you can reach me on any of those.

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#the sims cc #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 cc #sims 4 clothes #ts4cc #ts4 #ts4 download #sims 4 cc finds #sims4cc #ts4 cc female #sims 4 tops #sims 4 y2k #ts4 shoes #ts4 top #fukkieset #fukkiecc

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byproducts-of-my-imagination · 4 months

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Everyone Hates Todo Except You

The best part about Todo is that you don’t have to put yandere in front of him because his normal behavior already screams delusional and obsessive. You cannot convince me that he doesn’t sniff all your things as soon as you’re not looking. He’s just so intense. I love this man, need to catch up on jjk.

~1k words. Thank you to whoever requested this and I hope you enjoy!

At the Kyoto branch, nobody really bothers sticking their nose in Todo’s business. But when there’s an enormous mound of trash bags outside his room that just keeps getting bigger, concerning glances and eyebrow raises no longer cut it. Normally his antics earn a side eye or two, but lately it’s been a little much, even for him. At the breakfast table the next day, the girls decide to draw straws to see who has to tell him to move his shit.

“It’s not fair! Why do I have to do it?” Miwa groans, cursing her bad luck for the thousandth time.

“It is fair, you just happened to draw the short straw now go deal with it! We'll back you up.” Mai grins, knowing full well she rigged it.

Kasumi Miwa would rather be doing literally anything else at this moment. She timidly knocks on the door, and says, “Todo? Could you move all this stuff please? You’re starting to block the hallway.”

“Yeah I’ll get to it whenever I get the rest of this junk cleaned up. Don’t worry there’s no food waste so there shouldn’t be any smell.”

“B-but Todo…. It's been almost a week now…” The only response was the muted sound of shuffling.

Miwa looks back in defeat at her so-called “back up” as they peek from behind the corner. Their best bet now is to get one of the boys to convince him. And if they fail it’s straight to Utahime-sensei.

Todo looks at his room, emptier than it’s ever been. He knew this was the likeliest outcome. Takada-chan was a beloved idol, and even if she liked him back (which he thought she might have at some point) there was no way she could be with him. He knew, but it doesn't mean it hurt any less. There were years of carefully collected merch, thousands of dollars being stuffed into trash bags to be thrown away. But instead of the despair he carefully denied for years, he didn’t feel any loss throwing away all the autographed posters and pictures. No, he had something much better now, someone who could actually be with him in this wretched, boring world. He had his wonderful, gorgeous, beautiful, perfect in every way girlfriend. And while you weren’t aware that you were destined to be with him yet, he would make sure you’d know soon. As soon as he finished purging his space of Takada-chan (it wouldn’t do to have pictures of an old flame) he’d confess.

A few days later he was tying up the last trash bag, ready to enact his plan. He asked you to meet him under the largest tree in the forest on the edge of the training field. Several hypothetical scenarios floated through his mind, and he focused on the one where you’d enthusiastically said you loved him back and then he married you and had many children. As he neared the confession site, Todo felt yet another arrow go through his heart as you came into view. I’ll never get tired of seeing her.

“Todo, is everything okay? What’s up?” A shiver ran down Todo’s spine, goosebumps rising. God, even your voice was perfect.

“I love you. Promise me, y/n. That we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.” He got down on one knee like a proposal, looking up at you like a devout follower.

“Todo… I don’t know about the rest of our lives but why don’t we start with a date? I like you too.” While you were a bit taken aback by his forwardness, you brush it off as Todo being Todo. You never disliked his honesty and unabashedness.

“My girlfriend!! I knew you felt the same!” A single tear ran down Todo’s face.

Back to the dorms, it wasn’t long before everyone found out and congregated at your room to badger you with questions.

“Ugh that gorilla? You guys are dating now?” Nishimiya asked, firmly believing Todo to be an improper and inadequate boyfriend.

“I thought he only had eyes for that idol Takado or whatever,” Miwa chimes.

“It’s Takada,” Mai corrects, not able to make eye contact with Nishimiya’s suspicious glance in her direction.

“We’re dating now! He just asked me out, and he’s really good to me.” you reply, thinking of how Todo insisted on carrying you back to the dorms, gently setting you down before running off saying he needed to ‘prepare’.

“You can do way better than Todo, trust us.” The girls all nod in agreement. However, Todo is outside your room balancing a tray of perfectly cooked lunch and a cold pitcher of water.

“What are you guys talking about?” he knows already, but wants to hear them say it to his face.

“How y/n is too good for the likes of you.” Mai minces no words for Todo. With the uncomfortable tension rising, the Kyoto girls hastily make an exit.

“My love, I made lunch for us. I know I am not handsome, or come from wealth and a good sorcerer family like some of our classmates. But I will be devoted. I will never stray from you, I’d die if you asked me to.” he says, as he sets the meal on your small desk, pulling out utensils and napkins. His normal confidence seems to waver a bit, and it seems that not even Todo is immune to worrying about what other people think of him.

“Todo, don’t worry about what they say and please don’t say you’ll die for me. I like you a lot, I wouldn’t have accepted your confession if I didn’t. I also think you’re quite handsome.”

“You love me back?” he whispers, kneeling at the edge of your bed, looking up at you. While it’s a bit too early to tell, Todo’s hopeful, reverent look has you obliging him.

“I do love you back.” He embraces you, and you can hear his heartbeat in his bare chest. It feels good to be loved so wholeheartedly, and you’ll give him all the love you have to repay him.

#x reader #yandere #jujutsu kaisen #aoi todo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere x reader #todo x reader #yandere todo #aoi toudou #yandere jjk #jjk #aoi todo x reader #requested #hurt/comfort #jjk x reader #todo fluff #but also yandere bc that's just how he is in my mind

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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

Note

OMG i just saw your !MafiaGhost on how they met but can you do how !MafiaJohnPrice met with the reader? (if you haven't already and have the time of course. 😊💕.)

mafia!John Price x fem!Reader

John Price has always walked a different path in life than people like you. And yet, despite your status, he learns that the two of you are more alike than he thought. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

mafia!141 masterlist

warnings: vague mentions of death and violence, infidelity, crude language, hurt/comfort, unhealthy relationship dynamics

wc: 4.3k

an: sorry this took me a bit to answer! as you can see i got carried away. also, as we're headed into the new year, i'd just like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who's been supporting my works! i recently hit 1k followers, and i cannot thank you guys enough for your lovely comments <3 i hope you all enjoy :)

“You see that girl right there? You stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.”

Those were the first words John’s father ever said about you. He used one long, crooked finger to point you out in the crowd of other students who mingled about the room with their parents. Everyone had gathered in the school gymnasium for the science fair where all Year 8 students had projects and posters set up on rickety fold tables. Voices echoed endlessly off of the hard floor and walls that it was almost overwhelming.

Really, he didn’t agree with his father about you being trouble. You were plenty kind, and well liked by students and teachers alike due to your kindness and intellect. A proper student, one that everyone else in the school strived to be. There were times where your words bit harder than most would have liked, but John just saw that as you telling things the way they were. He liked that about you. Admired you, even. But then he saw the real reason why his father said those words.

The man who accompanied you oozed authority and power, both in his stance and the way he walked. People regarded him like he was the King of England himself both in how they spoke to him and stepped around him like he could part a crowd with just a single glance. Most importantly, this man was your father, and he donned a uniform fit for only the chief of police himself. His father never liked police officers very much. They always made things difficult when it came to running the family business.

It wasn’t until Year 11 that he actually talked to you. Or, more like you talked to him. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat the two of you together in the small, double seated desks that laid in perfect lines around the entirety of the room. He learned that you liked to doodle in the corner of your paper during lectures, and had a tendency to tap your pencil against the desk while taking exams. He liked the way your eyebrows knitted together in concentration, and how soft your voice was when whispering answers to the table next to you.

He didn’t have time to think about you often, not that he should have. John Price was unfortunate enough to come from a family that had a long line of brutal patriarchs that often conditioned equally as cruel heirs. Once he turned sixteen he was forced to go along with his father during his work escapades where he very quickly learned how to clean up bodies without dirtying himself. He often showed up at school with various cuts and bruises, and with heavy bags under his eyes. Balancing the life of a killer and a student was tiring work.

“Red color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.”

It took John a moment to realize you were talking to him, and even then he still didn’t fully believe it until he looked over and saw you staring at him. You were leaned forward over your desk with your hand lazily propping up your head while you waited for him to answer. His pencil halted in its dance across his work as he brought his full attention your way.

“Color corrector?” he repeated.

“Yeah, you know. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for… very dark circles,” you said, tilting your head at him. “I’ve got some in my bag, if you’d like. Though, you’d have to find your own shade of foundation.”

Your bluntness and slight humor towards the shiner on his eye had him chuckling, which only made the smile on your face grow into a smirk.

“You sound like an expert,” he noticed.

“I am,” you quipped before grinning. Carefully, you reached a hand up to the collar of your uniform and pulled down, exposing the side of your neck and some of your collar bone. There were several, small and faint hickies that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you pointing them out. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.”

John liked your humor. And maybe there was something a little comforting knowing that someone like you was getting into trouble, too. Albeit, significantly less violent trouble than him, but that was for the best anyway. Maybe it gave him hope that someone like you and someone like him could actually have something in common. That he could resemble something that was normal.

A few years passed, and John began to drift from you bit by bit. You ended up graduating at the top of the class which earned you several offers from the most prestigious schools across the country, and it was all anyone talked about. Great things awaited you with opportunities to see distant lands, meet new people, and live a good and honest life.

As for John, his father died when he was twenty-three. Murdered, to be exact, and in a manner eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, and ruthless, his fathers existence had been snuffed out by a single bullet where his blood stained the pillow that covered his face.

The torch had been passed down, and its handle was still bloody.

Over the years he grew rigid and battle hardened in the business of violence. He earned plenty of scars, and built upon his fathers empire until it was twice as big and infinitely more dangerous. It was the only thing his father had ever managed to teach him; how to be dangerous. Everyone who once thought the Price’s were people to fuck with learned very quickly that the new Don had nothing to lose but his own life; one that he didn’t care all too much about.

The only thing he held close to him was the ghosts of his past, which was why he found himself standing in line at the florist’s shop. Even while running a quick errand, his phone vibrated in his pocket non-stop from merciless amounts of emails flooding his inbox. Mostly updates about certain events within the family that he attempted to lazily check as the woman in front of him spoke sweetly to the shopkeeper. Her voice was so soft, so comforting, so… familiar?

He didn’t realize it was you in front of him until you turned to leave with a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. Even after all those years he could recognize the features of your face like it was second nature. The shopkeeper spoke to him and asked him what she could do to help him, but her words didn’t even register in his mind. His feet moved on their own accord, and your name slipped out of his lips before he could do anything to stop it.

Once you turned around to face him he found that the air had been knocked completely out of his lungs. It had been years since he had seen you, and you had changed so much; grown into your features, and turned into a beautiful woman that left him speechless. However, you didn’t regard him with the same dreamy gaze; instead, you stood there and stared at him as you awkwardly adjusted the flowers in your arms.

“Yes?” you asked tensely.

You didn’t recognize him. Of course, it made sense. He had grown significantly taller, his facial hair was full and thick, and for once he wasn’t sporting a shiner. His clothes were also significantly nicer, as he seemed to have grown fond of business casual as of late. If anything, your confusion was more humorous than anything else because he should have seen it coming.

“John, John Price,” he said as if he was introducing himself for the first time.

There was something about the way your eyes lit up at his name that had him feeling warmer than he had in a long while. A precious grin broke out on your lips as you took a step closer to him and laughed in the way someone does when they’ve figured out the answer to a riddle, and it was too contagious for John to not chuckle with you.

“I didn’t recognize you!” you exclaimed, still giggling. “God, it’s been years! Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“Getting in just enough to keep things interesting,” he countered.

It was like no time had passed at all. You were still that star pupil that you were all those years ago, and he could still hear your pencil tapping on your desk clear as day. It felt unreal.

“What’s the occasion?” he then asked, gesturing to the flowers you held.

“Oh,” you said, as if surprised. “Well, it’s, uhm, the anniversary of my dad’s passing.”

The chief of police? Your father? That man who always held himself so powerfully had been shoved into the cold, unforgiving earth? When he was a kid that man had always seemed indestructible. Then again, so did every other adult when you’re at that age.

“I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t heard,” he quickly apologized.

Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, you still smiled. “It’s alright. Was a while ago now, anyway. But, uh, what about you?” you asked, gesturing towards him and his empty arms.

“Mum’s birthday,” he answered simply.

His response made you smile something small and bittersweet. “How sweet of you. I bet she’ll love them.”

“Yes, they’ll make for good decoration.”

Something settled between the two of you; something that had never been there before. Not while you were children; not when you grew up together. Whatever it was, it was unfamiliar, and much too suffocating, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to welcome it or not.

“Well, I ought to get going,” you excused politely. “Got a few more errands to run. But it was really good seeing you again, John.”

This was the part where he should have said goodbye. Wished you farewell just for you to vanish and most likely never see him again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, and instead he found his hand diving into his pocket before he could stop it. He grabbed a pen and stole one of the shop's business cards off of the counter where he quickly scribbled down something in the negative space before holding it out for you to take.

“Here. I’m certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there,” he assured you.

To his surprise, you took the card without hesitation where your eyes quickly scanned his rushed handwriting while you thanked him. As you held the card in front of you, something caught John’s attention. There was a metallic glint on your finger, one so bright that it nearly blinded him, and he realized you wore a large, gaudy ring. It was something given to you in poor taste, surely. Something that attempted to steal the spotlight of your beauty rather than compliment it.

“Did you get married?” he asked in what he told himself was curiosity.

You paused for a moment as you glanced at the ring on your finger. With such a large and obnoxious gem on a thin band, he was surprised it hadn’t snapped off.

“Oh, not yet. Just engaged,” you said in an odd tone. As if you couldn’t stand to look at the ring any longer, you shoved the card into your pocket before smiling at him. “Thank you, again.”

He tried to forget about you after that. Tried to forget about that ring on your finger and the way your voice changed when you mentioned your engagement. But it was so easy to worry about you; to care about you. Even after all those years you were still just as sweet and well spoken, but he was still John Price. Now the Don of the most lethal mafia in the country, he shouldn’t have been around anyone like you. You were the chief of police’s daughter, the girl who graduated top of his class in school and went to university; trouble. Nothing but trouble.

So he kept to his own work. Ran his club on the south end of the city, washed the blood out of his shirt, and spent his nights sipping brandy that was too expensive and well crafted for a man like him. But then he thought about the dress that you’d wear, how you would do your hair, what song you’d want to have your first dance to… it was moments like that when he was glad that he had given you his number rather than the other way around. He was even more glad that you hadn’t made an effort to reach out to him. It was better that way.

“You alright, boss?”

Those three words tore John right out of his thoughts and slammed him right back down to earth. Back to the thundering bass that shook the walls around him in the nightclub, back to real life and the man who sat at the desk in front of him, typing away on the computer.

“Tired,” John replied simply.

“You’re always tired,” the man countered. He paused his typing at the computer and ran a hand over his hair, which he had styled into a slightly grown out mohawk. “Even then you never space out this bad.”

Whatever Soap, his electronics specialist, was trying to get at, John certainly wasn’t in the mood for it. Sighing, he leaned back further in his seat while he stared at the man with a tense expression. “Do you have the intel or not?”

A small chuckle came from the corner of the office where another man sat, seemingly bored as he typed away on his phone. “Way to piss the man off.”

“Aye, I’ll turn that phone of yours into a fancy brick if you don’t watch your tone, Garrick.”

The two men chuckled at each other’s teasing just in time for John’s own phone to go off. Not expecting a call, John ripped the device out of his pocket and stared at the unrecognized caller ID with his thumb hovering over the decline button. But he hesitated. It had been months since he had given you his number, and yet a small part of him worried you might have been on the other line.

When he stood from his chair, it caught the other two men in the room off guard, but they stayed silent as they watched John accept the call and raise the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he answered.

All he got in response was a sob.

By the time John had found you, all of your tears had run dry and a brutal fury filled the empty space. It wasn’t terribly late at night, but it was plenty dark enough that the park you had run off to looked eerie and uninviting in the dim halogen lights. Knees bouncing with anxiety, you sat on a park bench and bit into your bottom lip as you watched John approach from the street.

For as much effort as he put into looking calm on the outside, it did absolutely nothing to settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing you cry, hearing you beg for him to come get you scared him more than he cared to admit. Really, he was rather proud of himself for keeping as level headed as he did, even after he saw the tear stains on your cheeks.

It didn’t take long to coax what happened out of you, in fact, it nearly erupted out of you. That fiance of yours had proved to be less honest than he liked to paint himself as, and as the two of you sat on that park bench in the middle of the night you gave him every excruciating detail. How he had been acting strange for a few months, how he used to show you off and then suddenly wanted to keep you locked away. A part of you knew what was really happening, and yet you told yourself you were crazy until you had walked in on your fiance fucking his mistress in your shared bed.

“Four fucking years, John,” you said, trying not to grit your teeth too hard that they cracked. “Four years of being with this man just for him to do that? He moved me into his flat, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me. I have nothing. I don’t have my own place, I hardly have my own money, I was an idiot and gave up everything because he asked me to and I was stupid enough to believe him.”

By that point in your rant your knees were bouncing so fast your entire body vibrated. Terrified you’d disintegrate in front of him, John reached a careful hand out and brushed it against your shoulder. Though you didn’t say anything about it, or even look at him differently, your muscles seemed to relax some.

“I could’ve been great,” you continued as your voice began to break. “I was able to go to any school in this country, I got my degree, I could’ve kept at work and been… something. And I didn’t need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I could’ve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them. I would’ve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But I wasn’t. I’m not, and that fucking hurts because I know I’m worth so much more than this.”

More tears fell from your eyes after that, and it didn’t take much prompting from John before you crumbled against his side. When was the last time someone had held you like that? Wrapped their arms around you and held you close? When was the last time someone comforted you and actually meant it and not just in some sort of twisted expectation of devotion? Something in you told you that you should have felt shame for blatantly sobbing on a man in such a public space at an hour like that. Another part of you didn’t really care.

It took a lot of convincing to get you to stay at his place. Eyes refusing to look at him when you gave him excuse after excuse, it was obvious that you didn’t want to burden him anymore than you already had. So you told him you could stay with your mom, or even get a hotel if that wouldn’t work, but John simply wouldn’t hear it.

Eventually you were in the living room of his house. An actual house. Not an apartment or flat in the city, but something kind and quaint in the higher end of town. He had a real lawn and backyard that was perfectly manicured, and everything on the inside of the house was much too perfect and clean. It was something straight out of the catalogs you’d see in magazines or on HGTV.

First order of business was a shower, and though it felt strange changing into John’s clothes, you would have done anything to wipe the stench of your cheating fiance off of you. And maybe it was because of the spite that boiled inside of you, but you found that you liked the way John’s clothes smelled significantly more than you ever liked your ex’s. Second was getting you food, and though you had told John you weren’t hungry, the scent of his buffalo chicken was too good to pass up.

It was near midnight by the time you went to bed, and John had made sure everything was set up for you in the guest room before he meandered back down to the kitchen to clean up. There was still plenty of work that needed to be finished that night back with the boys. He took comfort in knowing that you’d be safe in his house, at least, and well out of reach of that terrible excuse of a man.

When John finished cleaning things up in the kitchen, it took him a moment to notice the incessant buzzing sound that plagued the room. Like rattling glass, it made his ears quiver just listening to it, and he quickly scavenged the countertops until he found your phone resting on the island in the center of the room. Flashing lights illuminated the screen as your ex’s caller ID and photo popped up. He caught the tail end of the call, and the screen faded back to your lock screen where it claimed to have received 27 missed calls, as well as 84 unread text messages.

Where the fuck are you?

Answer your fucking phone.

Baby please.

Answer me.

Stop being a fucking bitch.

Goddamn skank.

Come on, honey it means nothing.

Are you seriously making this a big deal?

Come home before I drag you home.

I’m not fucking around.

You’re pissing me off.

Before leaving the house to head back to the nightclub, John swiped up your phone and hid it in his pocket, along with that god awful ring you didn’t care to wear anymore.

In the morning you woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours with clothes that didn’t fit you, yet you had never felt so comfortable in your entire life. It had been a long while since you last felt like you belonged; since you felt comfortable in your own skin. Still, you couldn’t stay there forever and you forced yourself up off of the mattress as you snuck your way to the living room. You were greeted by several large boxes that sat stacked neatly in the furthest corner of the room, and once again John was in the kitchen making food. He still wore the same clothes he had the night before, and they looked terribly disheveled, yet he still continued on anyway.

“Mornin’,” he greeted as he looked up from his pan where several eggs sizzled away. “Sleep alright?”

Still groggy, you approached the island where you lazily leaned against it. “Yeah. Looks like you didn’t get any, though.”

John chuckled, something tired yet still hearty at the same time. “Perceptive.”

“Always have been.”

John quickly finished up the eggs and began to dish out the food onto plates. While you waited, your fingers lazily ran over the counter top where they collided with your phone, and it took everything in you to hold back a sigh. Looking down at it, you pressed the home button where the screen lit up, expecting to see several messages from your ex, and yet there was nothing. You stood there perplexed and wondered if the man had really let you just run away from him, until you noticed something else missing.

“Have you seen my ring?” you questioned as John slid a plate of food your way.

“Your ex took it back,” John answered simply. He stood on the other side of the island for a moment before he turned around and started cleaning up the mess of ingredients and dishes that littered the counter. “I also managed to retrieve all your personal items. They’re stacked in the living room when you’re ready to look through them.”

Mouth open in surprise, you glanced back into the living room and eyed the stack of boxes before looking back at John with a raised eyebrow. “How… how’d you manage all that?”

Perhaps he should have hesitated before answering. Thought of something to say other than the truth. Instead, John didn’t miss a beat in answering you as he continued cleaning.

“He sent you a few messages last night and I saw his name pop up on your phone. Didn’t realize you were engaged to the mayor’s son,” he explained. “I have some contacts who were able to get me an audience with him. I figured it would be easier for me to grab your items than you doing it yourself. Save you the trouble, at least. He shouldn’t be bugging you again.”

For the longest time, you didn’t know what to say. There were a few glaringly obvious holes in his explanation, namely why there weren’t any notifications on your phone. If he had only glanced at it, they would have still been there, and yet they had been cleared. Then there was the fact your ex was too self centered to ever have an audience with anyone he didn’t actively seek out. Perhaps even stranger, you weren’t at all surprised. Maybe you were a little taken aback at everything he had done for you, but not at the methods he used to get it done. Because you had known John’s secret from the very beginning. After all, you had been the chief’s daughter.

“John,” you said, voice soft and even.

Drying his hands off on a small towel, he turned around to finally face you where he was surprised to find you smiling. And god, you were stunning, so much so that all he could do was stand there and wait for you to continue.

“I’m glad I ran into you at the flower shop,” you finished. “Thank you. For everything.”

It wasn’t what he expected you to say, and still he mimicked your smile, although it was much more tired than yours had been. Life was strange. Nothing had ever gone as planned in John’s life, and yet there was you. Through all the years and the shit and the struggles, you had found your way back into his life, and for some strange reason, he found himself hoping you’d stick around this time, no matter how much trouble you caused.

“Any time, darling.”

don't let me in with no intention to keep me jesus christ, don't be kind to me honey, don't feed me, i will come back

#mafia!price #mafia!john price #mafia!141 #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader

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billysgun · 4 months

Text

bite

vampire!billy the kid x fem!reader |requested!|billy has been watching you for a while now. and one night at the saloon, you decide to meet your shadow|

he was always there. when you were in trouble, when you flirted, when you shopped, he was always somewhere lingering.

he was impossible to miss. bright blue eyes that almost glowed and shaggy brown hair that curled under the hat that would always dip whenever you were near.

goosebumps covered you as his eyes were glued to you, never anyone else's. not the guys bumping shoulders with him, the girls that fluttered their lashes, not even the bartender handing the drink..

he was intoxicating and it made you feel dizzy whenever around him.

you've only heard his voice once when he was beating the living shit out of a man that was bugging you all night. he was in a frenzy and the man only touched your waist.

other than that, you don't know Billy. just the wanted posters for superstitions...and the eyeing. but tonight, you will.

you came to the saloon earlier, hair up and the best blood-red dress tight on your body, you wanted to make yourself irresistible to him, force him to take action.

but he didn't. it was more sipping whiskey while his eyes traveled your body. you wanted to storm over and ask him what his problem was but his gaze made your legs shake

so you left.

the moonlight lit your path out of the saloon and to your home a few blocks away, but the shadows and footsteps of another rippled behind you..but when you looked it was nothing.

but it couldn't be nothing. you know it's him. he follows you home walks you home from the saloon nightly. it had to be him, how else did he protect you from that man?

usually, you'd pace home quickly and say "bye" out to the cold night, hoping he'd still be close enough to hear your goodbyes. but tonight you weren't having it. you turned sharply into an alleyway and you heard the quick footsteps stutter from your usual path

you leaned against a building with your arms crossed tightly, scowl all over your face as you waited for him to appear.

"mr. bonney?" you whispered, and suddenly the man that's been eyeing you for weeks stepped out, and your breathing stopped as he approached you

"you shouldn't be out this late." he says sternly, voice deep as you slyly squeeze your thighs together

"no, I shouldn't" you merely mumble as he takes a few more steps toward you

his eyes trailed over your exposed neck and chest, lip bitten as he leaned closer to you

he kissed you hard, and you yelped as he wrapped himself around you like a cloak and his lips began to cover your neck

he groaned as he inhaled your scent, mouth slowly falling agape as he bit down into your flesh

your heart pumped in your ear as your entire body felt hot, thick liquid ran down your collarbones as he groaned and lapped at your neck.

you felt dizzy as your eyes began to blur, he sucked and licked the pain away and peppers soft kisses at the mark. he wipes your blood off his lips as his sharp canines get licked clean

he picked you up and in a flash, you were back to your house, in your bedroom where billy would make you his.

an: AHHHH THANK YOU ALL FOR 1,000 FOLLOWERS! THIS IS INSANE! i hope you guys enjoy the 1k fic 😌 thank you for requesting! watched twilight to prepare 🫡 mwah! <3

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roseluxxx · 11 months

Text

Come on in.

- Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) X Reader

Warnings: 17+ content, sexual mentions, sexual actions, not explicit like full on but high key rubbing, language, british people

Word Count: 1k

Before Reading: Hypatia was a beautiful philosopher who was killed by men after she gained influence over a Roman ruler, You are dating alr in this and you come over to his place for the first time.

____________________________________________

“Aight, come on in; it’s messy but it’s sum’.”

The room was littered with colorful, sporadically placed punk rock posters with great philosophers and artists, including Van Gough and Hypatia, scattered throughout them. You followed Hobie in as he went straight for his bluetooth system, changing the music to one of his favorite songs.

*Wow. Never thought you'd know Hypatia, much less like her." Hobie nodded mindlessly as he scrolled through song after song, switching between an infinite amount of genres that had no correlation.

"Yeah, men are dicks. She was a brilliant mind; would've loved me you know.”

You laughed in agreement, plopping on his bed as you took in every painting on the ceiling and pattern filling the room.

“Damn, this place is amazing." Your comment was met by a laugh, almost a scoff as he tossed you his spotify playlist and told you to pick something, he didn't care.

"Amazing is an understatement. This place is art." He shoved his hands in his vest pocket and stalked to the bed, having half the mind to kick his shoes off before he made himself comfortable.

You observed the clashing colors and wonky furniture pieces that seemed not to go together until you looked at it from exactly that angle. They weren't meant to go perfectly hand in hand. Except that some of them did. Didn't look like a set but the textures and patterns matched beautifully.

Whipped out of your trance in an instant, you looked up to see Hobie snapped his fingers in-front of you, a bored look on his face.

"Hello? Anyone home? If ur tired just take a nap I don't mind, truly.”

You shook your head, grabbing his hand out of instinct and pulling him closer to you.

"I'm not tired but if you wanna lay down for a bit.. whatever."

He smirked, “Yeah it's never whatever with you but.. whatever."

He slid in next to you, laying on his back as you cuddled up on his chest, his hand finding your hair and playing with it loosely.

The windows placed on cornering walls had their blinds open just enough for the last rays of the golden sun to shine on the bed. Thankfully not in your face.

You finally spotted Hobie's guitar when you felt his hand slip under the hem of your shirt.

You looked up to a face still staring at the ceiling with an almost bored expression (but you caught the glimpses of a knowing smile peeking through).

Oh.

You guided your hand on top of his, pushing it that much further down your torso as you tried your best to steady your breathing.

Feeling his other hand pull a pillow to cover his lap from behind him, you urged his hand lower.

Faster.

A mumbled curse fell from his lips and he flipped himself over on top of you, facing you head on and removing his hands in favor of placing them right beside your head.

"Let's not play games now, yeah? I know what chu’ want," he looked at your lips distracted before he refocused himself, "and frankly I want the same. So let's not have a jest and be honest about it."

He sat up, grabbing your hand to let you follow suit as he let a few feet of distance separate you two.

"Just be honest with me darlin’.”

You took a deep breath. He was right. Just be honest.

" want you to fuc-"

Ok not that honest.

"I want you, Hobie."

He smiled, your face growing hotter by the second.

"Now that’s what I like to hear, yeah?"

He was on you in a moment. The soft fluttering kisses he laid across your face, starting at your forehead, made your heart pound. You extended your neck, closing your eyes as you let soft breaths fall when he crossed a particularly sensitive area.

He kissed down your collarbone, his hands falling to the hem of your shirt as he stopped instantly to look at you for any signs of hesitation. You nodded softly, a small smile leaving its mark as your shirt came swiftly off.

A moment passed as he just sat and admired you, his eyes roaming your body in an almost shy way. Like he's received a gift he's not used to getting but has never been so thankful to get it.

"Thank you," he whispered it like a prayer. Like a secret he's telling to just you.

"Hmm?"

He looked up, making eye contact at last as he repeated the phrase. You nodded telling him if he doesn't get on with it you'd never stop teasing him.

He does. Slowly. Sensually. Taking his time to explore every part before he reaches for your sweatpants and is met with a frantic halt and you sitting up on your elbow, an alarmed look blasted across your face.

"What? M’ going too fast? If you want you can take off my-"

"No, no- I mean yeah i'd love to- i mean, you know, if you'd want that but-“

Hobie takes your hand in his, a gentle expression staying on his face. “Nah, come on, get out of it. What’s up?”

You sighed avoiding eye contact as you allowed yourself to get to the point for once. Mumbling, you told him the issue, "it's just that i haven't shaved and i know we haven't talked about it but-“

Hobie stopped dead in his tracks, his face slowly lighting up with realization and.. laughter?

He evaporated in a contained outburst of chuckles as he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Baby, be honest with me, yeah? I swing around saving the world, almost dying a dozen times a day, and you think i'm gonna get scared off by a little hair on my girl?"

You let your shoulders relax, resuming breathing though you never noticed you had stopped.

You laugh softly, pushing your hair out of your face as your body physically relaxed.

“Yeah, I didn't think about that."

He tugged on your waistband and you helped him take your pants off, letting him kiss down your stomach and skip over to your inner thighs, moving down to your knee as his fingers traced patterns over your skin.

“Fuck you’re beautiful, you know that?”

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Feel free to leave a comment or check out my latest Hobie fic here!

A/N: y’all’s comments are wild 😭

#hobie my beloved #hobie x reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spider man #hobie brown smut #spider man smut #spider punk #spider punk smut #across the spiderverse smut #roseluxworks #roselux spider verse

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the-kr8tor · 2 months

Text

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

Navigation

Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

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bxnnie-bxwl · 6 months

Note

Somewhat of a request ish! (Congrats on 1k followers again btw 🎉🫶)

But honestly I've been thinking about your Evil!Bonnie AU and I've gotta know...(I'm assuming he kinda acts like two separate beings at times?)

What was his reaction to seeing Bonnie's room somewhat full of Freddy only merch? 💀

thank you so much friend!!!! <33 it really means so much.. and oh boy thank you for your request! <3

yes! evil!bonnie is like two separate versions of him.. normal bonnie is dormant within his code and evil!bonnie who was created from corruption by glitchtrap/malhare.. they share memories and quite a few of the same emotions. evil!bonnie have been through some abandonment and remembers the memory of bonnie before... and he feels lonely because of it.. and his feelings for Freddy being very much present but he was confused at first. once finding his old room and seeing all the freddy things he had, especially the poster, made memories awaken.. and feels those memories belong to him too and he wishes he could go back to them but knowing the bad things he has done and how he is now hes not sure if he can have what he had with freddy back... realising that maybe they wont have their forever and ever.... ):

#im sorry for the whole essay...im very passionate about sad and corrupted bunny-#evil!bonnie and normal bonnie are one in the same just ended up being two separated programings because of evil rabbit corruption #makes me sad drawing him sad.... ))):#hope it gave some answers!#this became sad real quick #he sad and gay...true combo #fnaf #fnaf security breach #glamrock bonnie #evil!bonnie #fnaf au #ask

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outtoshatter · 3 months

Text

today we are spotlighting the wonderful @elisela! She has so many lovely fics to choose from!

Bite Sized:

workday mornings | G | 631 tags: domestic fluff, alternate universe Summary: “Then we have the thing at six,” Stiles calls out, setting his coffee cup on the island before hastily removing it and wiping the ring of coffee it had left behind before it sinks into the marble and causes a permanent stain. He glares down at his damp hand, sets the cup on a dish towel he probably should have hung up the night before, and crosses to the sink.

half of my soul (as the poets say) | G | 920 tags: alternate universe, long distance, fluff Summary: He yanks the pillow next to his over his face and gropes for his phone on the nightstand. “Siri, call Derek,” he directs, voice scratchy. Calling is such a familiar motion that he could probably navigate the screen without looking at it, but the last thing he wants is to mess up and be forced to talk to someone else at 4:36 in the morning.

thirty-six | G | 541 tags: alternate universe, established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort Summary: "Do you know how it feels to have someone change their whole life just to make you happy?” Derek asks. Stiles takes a cautious step into the room, plate of sandwiches in hand, but his husband doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are fixed on the opposite wall, staring at the mural so new that Stiles swears he can still smell the paint.

follow through | M | 606 tags: college, professor Derek, coach Stiles, established relationship Summary: The force with which Stiles slams the paper down on the desk causes a coffee cup to rattle on its coaster, and he takes a moment to despair that he’s in love with an idiot who insists on using coasters despite the desk being treated like garbage by every professor who had used it for the past thirty years.

Not right now, though. Right now, he’s decidedly not in love, and most definitely pissed.

hold you through | G | 956 tags: emotional hurt/comfort Summary: Derek’s fallen asleep again.

Over 1k:

Almost nothing | E | 2k tags: porn without plot, smut Summary: Sometimes it takes almost nothing—

—Derek’s hand will close around his hip, Stiles will kiss him and fist a hand in the back of his hair, tugging until Derek’s head is tilted up and he can bite down in the junction of his shoulder.

—Stiles will crowd up against Derek while he’s doing dishes, or folding clothes, slinging an arm around his waist and playing with the button on his jeans, and Derek will reach behind him and pull him closer.

wild about you | G | 1k tags: human AU, meet cute, sports Summary: Derek scowls at her even as he accepts the corner of the poster, gingerly, even though he knows he’ll be covered in pink glitter within two minutes. The edges are tattered from being crushed in too many hands, crepe paper flowers smashed against the glass in front of him often enough that they’re pressed flat. Everything about it screams it was made by Allison’s kindergarten class, except for the careful bubble letters perfectly centered: Marry me, Stiles Stilinski.

West coast swing | G | 1k tags: alternate universe-sports, developing relationship, fluff Summary: Somewhere in the air over Colorado, Derek gets cold feet.

here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed | T | 7k tags: canon compliant, post-movie, fix-it Summary: Stiles doesn’t go home right away.

The urge is there—when he answers the phone to Lydia’s shaking voice, when he gets the text from his dad, when he stares out at the sun glowing soft peach and golden over the buildings in D.C. and he thinks about Derek never seeing another sunrise. It’s there weeks later when he gets a check from the Estate of Derek Hale, when he crumples it up and throws it in the trash, when he fishes it out an hour later and tries to salvage it by weighing it down with a book from the Hale vault.

It’s there, it’s there, it’s there.

Stiles doesn’t listen to it.

Because Stiles isn’t going back to Beacon Hills to say goodbye.

mountain man | G | 1k tags: bookstore, getting together, fluff Summary: “Mountain man is here,” Scott whispers in his ear, hands gripping Stiles’ shoulders as he carefully moves behind him in the narrow space. “Biographies.”

Bonus- Over 10k!:

you can wear my sweater (if I can have your heart) | T | 12k tags: sports, hockey player Derek, soccer player Stiles, alive Hales, fluff Summary: “It’s fine,” Stiles says, but he stops at the bottom of the porch when Derek closes a hand around his elbow. His scent is evening out, mellowing from humiliation to embarrassment, and his heart skips a few beats when Derek touches him. “Really, I misread everything. Jordan said—” he stops, again, and Derek has to stop himself from asking because what Jordan said isn’t the most pressing issue.

“I thought you were joking,” he says, keeping Stiles’ arm still even as he starts to pull away. “Whatever Jordan said, he didn’t tell me. You’ve been teasing me for weeks, I didn’t think this was any different.”

Stiles turns to face him, and this time when he pulls his arm back, Derek lets go. “I’ve been asking you out for weeks,” he says, a thin trace of amusement through the resignation in his voice. “It’s fine, dude, just a misunderstanding. I’ll stop.”

Go check out elisela's AO3 page, where she has even more terrific fics to choose from! Remember to mind the tags, leave a kudos, and maybe drop a comment!

#sterek #sterek fandom #teen wolf #author spotlight #elisela #derek hale #stiles stilinski #spotlight saturday #i am so sorry i didn't post this yesterday #i forgot what day it was

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utahimeow · 1 year

Text

head over heels — shoyo hinata

summary — at an msby match, shoyo hinata catches your eye. apparently, you catch his too.

pairing — shoyo hinata x gn!reader

warnings — none

word count — 1k

author’s note — this was meant to be a drabble??

Shoyo Hinata literally falls for you.

The Black Jackals are dominating the match–unsurprising for a team known for their aggression, of course. But from your courtside seat, everything is so much more real. You’re almost among the players–Atsumu Miya performs his signature serve just a few feet away and you can see every wrinkle on his shirt.

Every detail on the players’ faces becomes crystal clear. Every point lost is so much more devastating. Every dive to save the ball is that much more dramatic.

There’s Shoyo Hinata. Number twenty-one. Down here, his charm radiates outwards like rays from the sun. He beams triumphantly after a successful spike and your heart skips a beat. Pretty bronze eyes sparkle, wrinkling at the edges because that’s just how hard he’s smiling. You’ve had a soft spot for the opposite hitter ever since you started following the Jackals two years ago.

From up higher in the stands or on a screen, he leaps high, but down on the ground he soars, far higher than you can even comprehend. The hard muscles of his thighs and calves ripple as the notorious Little Giant touches three metres with ease and slams the ball down. The whistle blows before you’ve even realised he’s scored.

It’s Koutarou Bokuto’s turn to serve. Somehow he’s even bigger and broader than you thought. To your surprise, he doesn’t service ace. The other team barely manages to get the ball up.

Their setter sets up for a quick, but dumps it, but Miya saves it in a dive. It’s up again. Bokuto attempts a straight. Their libero receives it. The setter has it. The hitter slams it to the back of the Jackals’ court. Bokuto receives it but it flies back–it’s coming to you.

You blink, and just like that, Shoyo Hinata is sprinting full speed towards the ball–towards you–diving just a foot away from you and he succeeds. The ball bounces off his thumb and it’s back up.

He pulls himself to his feet but he freezes for a moment. His eyes meet yours and they’re filled with such a ferocity, such a fierce determination unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It sends chills down your spine, leaving your breath catching in your throat. For a split second you swear a grin flickers on his lips, then concentration falls over his pretty features again and he’s dashing back to the court.

Your eyes don’t leave him for the entire rest of the game. And maybe it’s all in your head, but you’d bet your life on the fact that he keeps stealing glances at you. It’s not like he’s looking at his teammates–you’re sat directly behind him. There’s nothing for him to look at. Well, except you.

In the final set, the Jackals are at match point, yet their opponents refuse to let up. Each team fights to keep the ball in the air. In the end, the Jackals are victorious with one of Bokuto’s spikes.

The crowd cries and hollers as the winning team huddles up. You’re on your feet, cheering them on with pride buzzing through your veins. Then it happens again–through the growing crowd of players celebrating on the court, Hinata’s gaze locks on you. All red and gleaming with sweat, he smiles bright as always, then he’s being pulled to the bench to recover.

A lady informs you that some of the players will be over soon to greet fans and you freeze. Somehow you’d forgotten about the poster you’d brought in hopes that you’d get it signed. Your excited buzz quickly gets replaced with a pit in your stomach. You’re going to see Hinata up close.

He starts a couple of people down your row, but that only means you have more time to get nervous. With each person that he chats to, your hands get shakier and shakier. You’re playing out the possible scenarios in your head, considering the things you can say, and ask, and how you should act, and–

“Hi.” It’s Hinata. Your favourite MSBY Black Jackals player. Somehow it’s your turn already.

“Hi!” you say, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“I’m Shoyo… um, Shoyo Hinata,” he says. He’s still smiling. god, His eyes are so warm. His hair is so pretty, even when it’s all messed up after playing. He’s shorter, yes, but he’s so… buff. Extremely buff. His biceps bulge as he runs a hand through the front of his hair.

“I know,” is what you reply, laughing to hide the fact that you want to curl into a ball.

He laughs too and oh, your entire face grows hot and your heart is beating in your ears and he’s staring at you gently but somehow it’s so intense.

“Do you think you could sign this for me?” you ask once you eventually pull yourself from your daze by reminding yourself that you can’t possibly embarrass yourself in front of Shoyo Hinata. You’re pulling the poster and a sharpie from your bag as you ask him.

“Yes! I can do that, definitely,” he replies. “What’s your name?”

You could melt.

You squeak out the syllables of your name and he scribbles down a message, then his signature, then he pauses.

“…I was gonna sign my number, but then I didn’t wanna be creepy,” he chuckles. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you the whole game though. So I’ll be polite and ask if I could have your number? Only if you don’t have a boyfriend! Sorry for assuming, uh...”

You wave him off, your cheeks burning and the world around you spinning a little.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, don’t worry. You played pretty well, so I guess you can have my number,” you tease, giggling a little as you hand him your phone.

Once he’s put his number in, he hands the phone back and you shoot him a text to say it’s you. When you look up, he’s grinning the exact way he did when he won his game.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

#hinata x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo imagine #hinata imagine #hinata fanfic #hinata shoyo fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfic #hq x reader #hq imagine #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — hinata

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taizi · 4 months

Text

in the mouth of the world

one piece word count: 1k written for @op-secret-santa 2023 and my giftee was @viktorclawthorne ! viktor, two of your favorite characters are zoro and sanji, and one of your favorite pairings is platonic zolu, so this is what i came up with. i really, really hope you like it !

read on ao3

Sanji is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair tied back with one of Usopp’s scrunchies, trying to remember if the raspberry or the pistachio macarons went over better last time. His friends inhaled them all in a matter of minutes, but Sanji can’t recall which ones went first.

In the end, he goes with mango. The fruits are ripe, cheerful orange, and their color pings as appropriate in his mind.

These pastries are finicky at best, and a punishment from god at worst, so leveling the battlefield by removing extra heat and moisture from his workstation is always step one. As a result, the room is very cool, the door propped open to let in the crisp winter air, a fan borrowed from Franky’s workshop whirring away in the corner.

Zoro and Luffy are in the galley, sitting around the scarred kitchen table—ostensibly to keep Sanji company while he works, but more likely just waiting around to see if they get tossed any scraps.

As Sanji whips meringue, he finds his attention wandering back to the two of them in time to pick up part of their conversation.

“—be anything,” Luffy is saying, spreading his arms out wide as if to encompass the full scope of just how big the concept is he’s talking about. “There are no rules and it can be as weird or funny as you want! What would you pick?”

Zoro hums, giving it some thought. A stranger might be surprised to learn it, Sanji thinks, given how severe and forbidding their first mate appears at a glance, but he is generally the first to fold when it comes to catering to their captain’s whims. This terror of a swordsman, this nightmare of a pirate, simply follows Luffy’s every step without even looking to see where it might lead, like a no-nonsense Belgian Shepherd plodding along behind a bouncy border collie.

That’s true for battle and danger as much as it’s true for shenanigans. Zoro is worth millions, is as much a killer and a criminal as any of those other Wanted men his posters are displayed beside, but he isn’t afraid to look silly. Not if it’s Luffy reaching back for him, sunny grin amped up to eleven, calling Zoro, you too! Come with me!

Zoro says, “Time, then.”

Luffy rocks up in his seat, eyes round and impressed, and says, “Time travel? Like the Fruit that Momonosuke’s mom ate, that sends you forward?”

“Mm. But mine would go backwards,” Zoro explains, leaning into the game of make-believe. “It would only work one time and it would start me back at the very beginning.”

Zoro’s birthday was a month ago, and Sanji made a dark chocolate truffle cake infused with enough liqueur that he guiltily baked a lighter version for the younger half of the crew. But Zoro had taken one bite of the boozy dessert and his eyebrows flew up to his hairline. He doesn’t usually go in for sweets, but the bitterness of the chocolate paired with the velvet smoothness of the liqueur seemed to win him over instantly.

It isn’t in their nature to thank each other openly. From as far back as Thriller Bark, the best things they know about each other are secrets kept from everyone else. But Zoro took a second piece when Robin’s extra hands offered him one, which said much more than any effusive praise would have anyway.

Just last week, it was Chopper’s birthday, and Sanji whipped up about a hundred triple-strawberry cupcakes, filled with ganache, topped with cloud-like icing and sugared fruit and sprinkles, and it was worth it for the way his little brother’s face went slack with awe when he took in the spread.

Until Robin and Vivi’s birthdays in February, there are no specialized desserts Sanji needs to prepare. His nakama will sometimes have a craving, and he tends to keep sweet things on deck for those nights when sleep is not forthcoming, for those cloudy days when it’s hard to see the sun waiting for them beyond the storm, but he rarely makes macarons just for fun.

The timing, the temperature, the moisture, all of it has to be exact, or the shells will crack, or the feet will spread, or they’ll come out hollow. It’s not a hard recipe, it’s just annoying. It’s the last thing he learned from Zeff, because he perfected every other dish on the menu well before he made a halfway decent batch of macarons.

No one asked for these. Sanji is well-aware that he doesn’t have to be standing here, sacrificing the bulk of his day to this thankless task, but he’s already in it now. The buttercream and mango curd are ready, and the shells are about to go in the oven.

“A one-time Fruit!” Luffy exclaims. Zoro could have said he would pick a Fruit that would turn his hair a different color every day and Luffy would have sounded equally as fascinated. “You would go all the way back? Do you want to change that much?”

“My Fruit wouldn’t work that way,” Zoro explains simply. “I wouldn’t be able to change anything or the future I was from where I used the Fruit wouldn’t exist, would it? It would have to stay exactly the same for me to get back there.”

Zoro doesn’t want a Fruit—neither does Sanji. They spend half their lives dragging their nakama who are already anchors out of the sea.

Besides that, Sanji wants to meet All Blue properly the day he finds her. He’s going to swim for hours and hours and barely remember to come up for air. A Fruit would only take from him more than it could ever give.

And Zoro has never cut corners when it comes to his own strength. But there’s something in his tone that makes Sanji wonder if he’s thought about this before.

“What if you wanted to, though?” Luffy asks. “Or what if you had the chance to stop something bad before it happened?”

��No changes,” Zoro says adamantly. “No diversions. I would have to live it all over again.”

Sanji remembers all the stories Luffy tells his crew about the trouble he and his brothers got into when they were children. He said there was a pâtisserie in High Town where chefs and bakers created decadent desserts catered only to the nobles. When they snuck around that part of the kingdom, a brightly-colored dessert in the display window there would always catch Ace’s eye.

Once, Sabo and Luffy broke into that pastry shop in the dead of night at the end of December, and made off with as many of those colorful macarons as they could carry.

“Ace was angry,” Luffy laughed through his retelling. “He told Sabo we were lucky we didn’t get caught and have our hands chopped off. But he hugged me for a long time after he yelled at me. The cookies were for him, you know? For his birthday! You have to have your favorite on your birthday.” Luffy had smiled as if it didn’t hurt at all when he added, “Even back then, Ace was bad at being loved. Sabo said he just needed more practice. He said that’s what Ace had us for.”

“And then at the end,” Zoro says, “when I catch up to the future, and I’m back where I started, I would have more time.”

“How much more time?” Luffy asks.

“Not much,” Zoro admits. “Maybe a few minutes. The time I took to use the Fruit before would be free for me to use differently.”

“You’d relive your whole adventure for a few extra minutes at the end?” their captain says, brow furrowing while he makes sense of it. “Would it be worth it?”

Zoro sits back in his chair, his dark eye fixed on his captain the same way sailors follow Polaris relentlessly across the fathomless sea, and says, “Yes.”

The final baking tray goes into the oven. The macarons will be ready for tomorrow night, for the party they’re going to throw at the close of the year. At midnight, Sanji will cart them out—bright orange, each of them painted with whimsical little whorls of red—and they’ll wish Ace a happy birthday, wherever he is. They’ll wish he was still here to scold his baby brother and eat stolen pastries at midnight with the people who loved him best. They’ll resolve to protect Luffy and enjoy sweets in his name.

It’ll be a good night. Luffy will be surrounded by his nakama and the open arms of the sea. If the macarons make him remember something sad, he won’t be alone. Luffy—unlike his brothers—is very good at being loved.

Sanji washes his hands, sets the timer, and then calls over, “Hey, idiots, what do you want for dinner?”

Luffy appears beside him as if summoned by a magic spell, hopping up to sit on the counter before Sanji has a chance to wipe it down, sending up a little cloud of almond flour.

“Beef!” he declares predictably.

“That stew you made with red wine that one time,” comes Zoro’s contribution from where he’s still lounging at the table.

Beef burgundy it is, Sanji thinks, hauling out his biggest soup pot. He nudges Luffy’s knee out of the way so he can close the cabinet door but otherwise leaves the young captain where he is.

“Sanji,” Luffy asks brightly, “if you could have any Devil’s Fruit in the whole world, what would you choose?”

“One that would make me a better swimmer,” Sanji replies without missing a beat, and turns his head to hide his smile when Luffy bursts into loud, ringing peals of laughter.

But that strange, tricky, highly specific Fruit that Zoro dreamed up—one that would make him relive his life and everything he’s ever done, everything he’s endured, all the pain and fear and joy and breathless wonder, all for the sake of an extra minute at the end—a minute he could use to look up at Polaris one last time and say thanks for taking me with you. You didn’t have to do that. I hope I was everything to you that you were to me—

That wouldn’t be so bad, either.

#op-secret-santa-2023 #op #opfic #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #my writing #viktorclawthorne #title borrowed from 'cold solace' by anna belle kaufman #just in case u needed a good cry lol

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