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norman-fucking-reedus · 2 months

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high late night thought but I have this crazy idea about the reader making Daryl a multifunctional wooden crossbow and its frying my brain

It happened as the two of you were making your way back to your campsite after a long day of splashing and hand catching fish in the lake, Daryl nudged your shoulder with his and pointed to a deer. “M’gon get it” He whispered, already aimming his crossbow.

You turned your head briefly, checking to see where Dog had wondered off too when you heard what sounded like elastic snapping, followed by Daryl’s very frantic cursing.

“What happened?!” When you whipped around, Daryl was already crouched around the bow as he made an attempt to fix it. You got next to him to try and see what was wrong. “It didn’t fire like it was supposed ta… Hold tha part” Your fingers pinched the piece he pointed at, watching as his hands slightly trembled as he tried to re string the bow to the actual trigger, you holding down the piece that clamps the trigger into place.

Snap.

Daryl held up the fully broken string, feeling his heart break along with it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Daryl” You whispered as you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, once again trying to jam the string ends back into place but to no avail, only further damaging the weapon. He exhaled in frustration. “I’ve had this damned thing since I was a teenager, it was tha’ first thing Merle ever got fer me” Daryl mumbled, rolling the thick bowstring in his hands. His chest hurt and there was a small lump building in his throat.

You stared down at the crossbow, analyzing it’s shape before carefully picking it up to take a better look at the mechanics. “C’mon. We can figure something out handsome”

It took you a few months to figure something out.

Over that time period, Daryl was absolutely crushed.

He was visibly upset, snapping and yelling at anyone who talked to him, on one occasion at Judith, but he quickly apologized.

It was obvious to everyone that Daryl’s crossbow was of extreme sentimental value, and it would take time for him to heal. Carol had offered to teach him how to use a standard bow, only to be dismissed with an agitated “I used a goddamn bow ‘nd arrow before”

Daryl was frustrated with nobody but himself, frustrated that the countless times he’s had to fix the thing, he couldn’t do it one more time.

You spent the first half of the first month studying how all the strings worked and the mechanisms of the weapon in general. It wasn’t complicated, especially when you started to pick stuff apart. You spent the other half brainstorming and designing ideas for a more sturdier and functional crossbow, trying to stay calm as you watched Daryl intimidatingly stalk around the community. You felt bad knowing you both blamed yourselves, even though it was neither one of yours fault.

You got lucky in the second month, when you and Carol had gotten lost in the woods, and your only flashlight stopped working.

You just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore, “I’m trying to make Daryl a new crossbow” You blurted out as the two of you stopped walking. Carol turned to you in the dark, striking a match as she did. “That’s nice, how’s it goin?” She smiled softly at your eye roll. “I just don’t know exactly to build it, let alone design” You scoffed, kicking a rock. You weren’t some kind of handyman, but it made busied your mind to have something to build or deconstruct. “Well, we’re in the forest. Why not get some wood?” Carol struck another match, your eyes flickering towards the sound, watching the stick ignite into flames. You nodded, smiling absently as you followed her.

When you got home, you dropped the logs and rummaged through the drawers, grabbing a box of matches and speed walking over to your drawing pad.

You pulled the crossbow out from where you kept it, placing it on the table and quickly walking back to snatch up the logs.

There was more than enough to make a decent amount of arrows, and to try creating a new piece to properly re-string the previously broken one, plopping down into a chair as you started to pick apart the weapon, creative thoughts beginning to flow.

You used your large knife to chop and carve the wood, occasionally nicking yourself or cutting just a little too much off. You took breaks inbetween to draw out ideas, standing up to get a better look before sitting back down, scribbling on the paper or dragging the sharp blade down a wooden piece.

By the third month, you were gluing and securing down new parts and pieces, following a vision in your head.

The crossbow has its original black structure, a small piece of wood right behind the formerly faulty trigger to help it fire once more. You had taken off the head in previous months, not sure what to do with it until recently, picking up the separate piece and turning it around in your hands. The idea of multi function flooded your head, staring down at the arched part and back at the structure as you already busied yourself with mending and bending metal.

You had to re-string and re-wire a few sections, standing up for a test run every so often as you worked vigorously. You were proud of yourself for being able to fix the trigger itself, however this was an even greater fix. You rose to your feet and slid the weapons end over your shoulder, aimming before firing. The string cracked forward as the arrow shot out, and you pulled it back into it’s wooden place, firing one more arrow.

You smiled softly to yourself for being able to fix it, and moved to once more pop the bows head off, only this time setting the structure down and holding it put in front of you, pulling the string back with your fingers and releasing, arrow flying to join the others. “Damn I outdo myself everyday” You pumped a fist in the air as you moved to yank the three arrows from out of the wall.

The head snapped easily back into place, along with the string. You added the dozen wooden sticks you had carved into various sized arrows into the crossbows original holder, staring down at weapon for any overlooked mistakes or potential last minute details. The matchbox briefly crossed your mind.

“Where’s Daryl?” You squinted your eyes and shielded them from the sun, glancing up at Aaron. “Said he was going out. Didn’t wanna push” The man shrugged and you nodded, thanking him for his help before going back to your house to put your gear on.

As you walked out the gates, newly modified crossbow slung around your shoulder, you couldn’t help but wink at your friends prying eyes.

Part of you wasn’t even sure where Daryl would be if not hunting out the woods, but then you realized he wouldn’t go anywhere but the woods.

Your feet led you back to your old campsite, where your heart soared as you spotted faint but very much footprints, following them with your knife drawn closely by your side. The prints were leading you to the lake, and at first you thought maybe you followed old prints, however held your breath when you finally spotted Daryl sitting on the edge of the water. You approached carefully, trying your best to keep the weapon concealed.

“Quit followin’ me” Daryl mumbled when you were standing behind him. You sat next to him, crossbow behind the two of you as you stared out into the water, then at Daryl. He simply looked at ground while digging a small hole with a rock, choosing to remain silent in your presence. It comforted him a little, and he spared a quick glance at you, head snapping upwards. “You- Did you-“ You placed the bow into his lap, fighting your smile as he carefully picked it up and analyzed it. “Why… How’d ya fix it?” He whispered, fingers caressing the wooden chunks and the bow head itself. “I’m sorry it took so long” You mumbled but Daryl shook his head. “Who cares? Ya still fixed it ‘nd then some!” His eyes sparkled as he was already positioning it onto his shoulder, aimming at a nearby tree and whooping at the sound of the string cracking and the arrow flying.

When he noticed the string out of it’s place however, he frowned. “It’s broke” You chuckled, taking the weapon from him and angling it so he could watch you. “It’s got lots of new feats. Bow and arrow good sir?” You popped off the head and handed it him, laughing at his stunned look. Daryl held the arch out in front of him and pulled the string back, sending an arrow next to the previous one. He whipped his head back around, eyes catching your fingers as they fiddled with a red stripe in the middle of the structure, right where the arrow goes. “I haven’t tested this myself” You whispered as you showed Daryl how to properly snap the head back on before rising to your feet.

“Ain’t a self-destruct is it?” Daryl stretched as he stood next to you, moving to yank the few strays out the tree. You shook your head, sliding one of your wooden arrows out the holder and bringing it to the stripe, quickly dragging it across and sliding it into position, flames licking the arrows head. Daryl whistled as it fired into a tree, fire still burning until it wasn’t. “Damn girl. I ain’t ever lettin’ ya get away” Daryl stepped into your space, one hand grabbing your waist and the other relieving you of the heavy weapon, slinging it over his shoulder. “Nice strap” He snorted, glancing down at the magneta shoulder strap replacing his black one. You softly kissed his lips, smiling as your hands rested against his chest. “How else will I identify you, huntermam?” His hands on your waist pulled you closer, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin. Daryl looked and felt much more like himself, an easy smile resting on his lips, his crossbow once again slung over his shoulder, and his woman warm under the touch of his hands.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

its 3 am and im fucking high as fuck guys live laugh love actually who’s down for a stoner reader fic thats sounds so fire

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #norman fucking reedus #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #daryl x female reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd

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punk4ndisorderly · 9 months

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dreamboat

jack hughes x fictional character

intro | part 1 | part 3

part 2 - lovestruck

Her eyes kept finding his across the dock. He was looking at her with curiosity, almost like she was the first of her species, whatever it was. She was appreciative of the soft smile on his lips as he did.

And then there was Jack, watching the silent exchange like a Wimbledon match, pursed lips and arms crossed over his chest. Out of all the men in the world, Ava had to be eye-fucking a guy staying at their house. Right in front of him. In that goddamn white bikini.

It had been two days and Ava and Ethan were giving everyone the impression that the tension between them was about to come to a breaking point. Jack had made sure they were never left alone, but you can't keep the waves from crashing into the shore. Whatever was going on, the girl he had been crushing on since they were little kids and his brother's friend were the ones making the calls.

Maybe waiting for Ava to realize he worshipped the ground she walked on hadn't been the right strategy. Maybe the amused expression on Quinn's face when his eyes drifted to him was the I told you so he had been holding in for so long.

Jack stood up from the deck chair, excusing himself to go back in the house and refill the warm drink he had been nursing for over an hour.

"Hey."

The New Jersey Devil turned around at the sound of her voice, a soft smile painted on his lips.

"Hey."

"You good?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" he countered, turning his attention back to the inside of the kitchen device.

Ava's eyebrows rose, skepticism lacing her words.

"Nothing, I was just checking on you."

Slowly, she closed the distance between them, placing herself in front of the open fridge and looking up at him through her lashes. He could never look away when she did it.

"Why are you not being your usual annoying self? You've barely talked to me since the others got here."

Jack cleared his throat, his heart beating erratically in his chest.

"You always tell me not to hover."

"And you always ignore that. Did I do anything wrong?" she asked, always assuming the worst.

He would never blame her for anything. In his eyes, she could do no wrong. Except maybe flirting with his brother's friend. Even then, he couldn't fault her. She wasn't his to lose.

"Of course not, Coop." he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

Technically, he wasn't lying. Chaos ruled in his brain. He had a lot to think about. The subject was the only thing that didn't change. Ava. His beautiful, witty, amazing friend.

He was well aware of Ethan's track record with girls. Damn, he'd congratulated him on it. He'd been just like him. He has been just like him. Not around Ava, though. Never around Ava. When she was around, there was no one else.

"Earth to Rowdy." she chuckled, waving her hand in front of his face. "What is going on with you?"

"Contract renegotiation soon."

That should hold it.

"Sorry. I'll try to annoy you more often." he smirked, shoving her shoulder lightly.

The sliding door opened, catching their attention.

Oh, GREAT.

"There you are. I was starting to think you had stood me up." Ethan pouted, a shit-eating grin taking over his face once Ava rolled her eyes.

"I would never."

Jack's heart sank to his stomach, feeling queasy. He was waiting for her? To do what exactly?

"He wants me to show him our diving spot." she explained, seemingly reading his mind. "We'll be back in no time."

"Nobody else is going?"

"Nope, everyone's nearly knocked out at the dock." his brother's friend answered, draping his arm around Ava's shoulders as he winked at him in complicity.

She isn't yours. You can't react. Do not punch him.

"Careful, Coop." he warned, his eyes not leaving Ethan's. "Don't want you to hurt yourself."

"No need to worry, Hughesy. I'll be there."

#hockey #hockey boys #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x chubby!reader #jack hughes x fictional character #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #team usa #quinn hughes #luke hughes #michigan hockey #ethan edwards #jack hughes x ava cooper

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isthatafuckinggayangel · 10 months

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I wanted to continue this thing that I wrote for @cod-dump (hope you don’t mind me tagging you lmao), just kinda expanding upon the concept of Nik being Soap’s father and getting into more of the meat in the idea, so here

~~~

Explaining to Ghost and Gaz everything that had gone on between Nik and Soap, their relationship and all, was exhausting. The number of questions they had took forever to get through and made Soap think a little too hard about what why his mother had caused this.

At the same time though, it made him realize he needed to call her to get all the information straightened out here. He needed to know why she did it. Why she separated him from his father.

So, a few days after he had gotten everything sorted with Nik and the team was on the same page with everything, he made the call. He had both Ghost and Nik sit in on the call with him, he couldn’t get himself to do it without some support and he needed to have Nik there to make sure any lies didn’t slip passed him. The trio were sat around the dining table in the common room, Nik and Ghost on either side of Soap. He pressed the call button and made sure it was on speaker, holding it in his left hand still.

“Tha e math cluinntinn bhuat a-rithist, John. It’s been too long since ye called!” She answered the phone with.

“Sorry ‘bout that. It’s been quite busy out here, so I haven’t had the chance.” Soap rested his forehead in his palm and Ghost ran his hand along his upper back in a soothing motion.

“Is there somethin’ goin’ on, a chuilein? Ye sound a bit upset.”

“Yeah, um, I’ve been thinking a lot and had a few questions fer you, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, it is! Ask away.”

He took a deep breath then went for it. “Why did you tell me my da abandoned me?”

There was silence on the other end. The seconds stretched for what felt like forever.

“Well, that’s because he did. He made it very clear to me that he didn’t want to speak to any of us, and as much as it pained me, I knew we had to respect his wishes.”

Soap saw Nik’s fist clench out of the corner of his eye and looked up, seeing an expression of barely concealed rage. Soap set his phone on the table, reaching over and grabbing his father’s hand to try to help calm him.

“Ma, do you remember what he does for work?”

“…What do you mean, John?”

“I need you to be honest with me. Why did you lie?”

He was met with more silence.

“I dinnae lie, John.”

“Ma. I’m givin’ ya one more chance to be honest. I need you to take it.”

“I don’t understand, I’ve been honest-“

He let out a sigh before laying it all out. “I met him again, Ma. Ye seem tae have forgotten what he does fer work. We work together now. I read his journal, ma. I know what you told ‘im. I know you lied to both of us. So why? I just wanna know why you did it.”

“It’s a very complicated situation-“

“Bullshit. I know a complicated situation when I see one, and this is not one.”

“John-“

“Не лги нашему сыну, Elspet.” Nik growled. He’d clearly had enough of her avoiding the question she’d been asked.

“Nikolai, I-“

“You will answer the question the boy asked. You will not disrespect him or diminish his intelligence by acting as though you do not understand what he is talking about.”

They were once again met with silence. Ghost moved closer to Johnny, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and holding him against his side.

“I was tired. Your father’s job took a toll on me, on our family, and I couldn’t handle it anymore. The entire time you were away from me, every summer, I was so scared his job would follow him home and I wouldn’t know because you were so far away. I needed to have you close to make sure you were okay. That you were safe. I couldn’t think of anything else to be able to do it.” She paused. “Look at where that’s gotten us now. You enlisted for the same damn job and now ye work together. Guess it couldn’t truly be avoided.”

Soap was seething. While he understood being afraid for your child’s safety, he couldn’t get passed the manipulation. The lies. The fact that she didn’t just explain that that was the problem. He could have kept up with phone calls, letters, something so he wouldn’t lose his father. And yet, this was the decision she had made.

Nik squeezed his hand and Ghost hugged him a bit tighter.

“John?”

A deep breath. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m gonna need some time to process all that. I’ll call you again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you, John.”

“Love ye too, ma.” He hung up the phone and rested his head against the table. “Christ, that sucked.”

“Are you alright, love?” Ghost asked.

“I’ll be alright eventually. Just gonna need some time.” He picked his head back up and looked over at Nik. “You alright? Cannae exactly be easy for you to hear either.”

He gave a light nod. “I’ll be okay eventually, малыш. It will take time, as you said, but it will be fine.” He squeezed Soap’s hand again and Soap did the same back. “У нас все будет хорошо.”

~~~

Translations

Tha e math cluinntinn bhuat a-rithist, Johnny. -> It’s lovely to hear from you again, Johnny.

A chuilein -> my lad

Не лги нашему сыну -> Don’t lie to our son

Малыш -> little one

У нас все будет хорошо -> We will be okay

Apologies for any incorrect translations, the Gaelic is done with google translate and the Russian is a different translation app, so chances are there’s something wrong with it. Let me know if you have any corrections on it!

#the initial direction I was going with the argument and reasoning for the lie felt a bit too much like I was villainizing her #and I very much didn’t want that #I think I landed at a decent point with this take #idk I didn’t want anyone to feel like an actual villain or be too bad because I don’t think it would feel quite as real #but also none of this is realistic at all lmao #idk if I’ll continue this further but I’m enjoying what I’m quickly throwing out there #anyway #cod mwii #cod mwii fanfic #soap mactavish #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #but like as a background thing #Nik is Soap’s dad #once again wrote this in like an hour lmao #also sorry to every Scottish person ever for that accent writing LMAO #I’m sure it’s actually terrible

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aprilthearcher · 11 months

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burning red [roman roy x reader]

word count: 1.8k

[somewhat angst]

warnings: curse words, ooc roman ?, english is not my first language, not edited, rushed ending.

a/n: somewhat inspired by “red” and “false god” by taylor, idk i was just listening to these two songs on loop. i’m also supposed to be studying, but instead i wrote this, so enjoy! love me some greg sprinkles, couldn’t not include him. alsooo, this could read as being part of the same story as my previous roman blurb, but you won't have any problems if you haven't read it.

Loving Roman was complicated yet insanely easy, too tiresome at times and then incredibly invigorating. He had that effect on people, or maybe just her. Everyone else was probably too complicated for her to like. Not funny enough, not witty or smart enough, not loud enough. No one was Roman enough, not even across the whole damn world.

Getting him off her mind had been more difficult than she’d expected, probably because (Y/N) only realised her feelings for him after she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had taken over her whole body without knowing. It was Roman’s lips she imagined when kissing blonde, ginger, brunette guys at pubs; it were Roman’s eyes she thought of when her friends would ask her about her favourite colour; it was Roman’s face she conjured up in her head when they’d ask about her type of man.

At first, she believed it to be some sort of sick joke the Universe was trying to play on her: discovering she had feelings for her long-time friend — one she’d known since they were in diapers, who would grab her by her ponytail whenever she was paying attention to his siblings instead of him (just him) —, barely two or three weeks in her first year of university, a university that was on a whole other continent, separated by an entire ocean. Still, (Y/N) knew she could fly back home in a couple of hours — “I’ll arrange a jet for you if you wanna come down”, her dad would always say over the phone —, but the idea of seeing him again with this new information in her head and heart (that couldn’t help but jump at the mention of him) terrified her.

Her mind would make her remember him and his antics in the worst possible times: while dancing with some random guy at a club, his hands on her hips, the cheap cologne contrasting the rich scented one Roman couldn’t get enough of. On a first date, set up by her friends who believed she had to let go of this “prude” behaviour and just let someone take her to their bed. When joking with the guys that approached her and her friends at the bar, knowing exactly what Roman would think of them, the cruel comments he’d throw, the silly faces. The soft eyes when they were both too drunk to even speak a coherent sentence, although most times nothing was coherent with Roman. She had tried looking for those same bright eyes; once more, she ended up disappointed. None of them were Roman. None of them ever will be, no matter how much (Y/N) tried to shape them into a replica of him. All of Roman was unique.

Hence, the dreadful turmoil inside her stomach once Shiv, with some tint of malice in her eyes directed at Roman, introduced her to Tabitha. “Roman’s companion”, she’d said. The blonde, curly haired woman greeted (Y/N) with an eager smile on her face. She said her name at the same time both of them shook hands. A voice inside her head told her this was all wrong. How long? Where did it happen? Why? Why? Why now that she was back?

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me your name,” Tabitha mentioned playfully, a short roll of her eyes a second later. “You’re all Roman’s been talking about lately”.

“Only lately?” Shiv laughed, taking a sip from her glass she focused her eyes on Roman , then (Y/N). “Roman’s always talking about (Y/N). I mean, he was practically her lap dog when they were children.”

“Oh, fuck off Siobhan,” Roman bark back.

“Well, he only mentioned you as of now.” The knot in her stomach tightened. The worst part was she could see Tabitha hadn’t said it out of spite, nor jealousy, but as a fleeting comment to add something more to the conversation.

He hadn’t mentioned her to Tabitha? Not even once? She had tried everything to block him out of her head, to keep him out of her dreams and fantasies; to catch herself every time she was going to bring up him in a conversation again, and he didn’t say her name until he found out (Y/N) was coming back to New York? What kind of sick fuck was he? What kind of sick fuck was she, devoting probably her whole life to Roman fucking Roy?

“Oh,” (Y/N) managed to croak out before her father appeared beside her and whispered in her ear that she should spend some time chatting with the other guests.

* * *

Cousin Greg was great company, quite weird before you took in the awkwardness that seemed to surround him and make him stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of all these old, rich people, but great nonetheless. He had asked her about her years in London, what she studied and what she did for fun, her friends and hobbies. (Y/N) found herself enjoying the night, sitting on a couch by his side, meanwhile both of their cheeks were getting rosier and rosier with every new cup of alcohol brought to them. Greg was in the middle of telling her about how he had screwed up the first day at his job on one of the parks owned by Waystar, cracking up from time to time from how she tried to hide her laugh in order to keep the attention away from them, when two hands settled on his shoulders, hard and making a noise that was apparent that the gesture was meant to at least hurt him a little. Roman was behind him with a clench jaw and big, maniac eyes.

“Greeeg, I think Tom was looking for you, man”.

“Oh, really?” Greg turned his upper body in Roman’s direction, which from the side looked somewhat weird because of his tall, lanky form. “Because, because I just saw him and he didn’t say anything”.

“Yes, oh really, man. And he said if you didn’t go talk to him right now, he would fire your sorry ass”.

Greg was on his feet quicker than she'd expected after seeing him drown glass after glass with her. He towered over her for a moment, saying a quick “see you later” before going in search of Tom.

“You’re mean, Roman”.

“Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t fucking know”.

They fell silent for a second. Around them, people were still in mindless conversation, setting down empty cups on the waiter’s tray while picking up new ones from another one. Alcohol seemed to be the only way to survive a family gathering at the Roy’s, even a harmless one.

“You wanna get out of here?” Roman asked. She turned her head to the right to face him, he was already looking at her. His eyes no longer had the maniac fog blurring them, there was now a tranquil pool of honey.

***

“My dad is probably gonna be mad if he finds out I ditched the party”.

“Please, (Y/N), since when did you become such a goody two shoes?” Roman leaned against the railing of the terrace, following her with his eyes while she approached him and finally set her elbows on top of the banister. From this position, he looked taller. “Don’t tell me you were like this in London. I mean, with no one to hover over you, you sure had a looot to do, didn’t you?”

“I went to London to study, remember? Not to go out and get drunk every night.”

“Well, I’m sure if you had been with me, you could’ve done both.”

“Yeah, probably, but you weren’t with me.”

“Whose fault is that, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyebrows raised.

“Are you saying it was my fault? We haven’t seen each other for how long and it was all my fault?”

“Why are you acting like it isn’t? It literally is, (Y/N), you left m.. you left and, and you never came back.” He had walked a few steps away from her.

“It’s not like you couldn’t have visited, Roman. Just ask daddy for one of his jets, it’s literally that easy.”

“Yes, but - but you left, (Y/N). You left, and it’s not like you chose some university a state away, you chose one a whole continent away! That’s got to mean something!”

“As if Roman fucking Roy couldn’t get one goddamn plane and fly over to London!” She had abandoned her previous position, now fully facing Roman, who was still a couple of feet away, getting closer to the door. He was trying to run, just like it he always did whenever they fought.

“I didn’t - I didn’t want you to get annoyed by me! To realise what a true moron I was. Then you barely talked to me after you arrived at your fancy university and - and started your very difficult subjects.”

(Y/N) closed her eyes in confusion for a moment. Though it was easier to throw everything at him, (Y/N) knew that she was also responsible for their lack of communication over these last years.

Only the bustling, almost never-ending nightlife of New York could be heard. Her chest hurted, her eyes would fill with tears at any point now. She was tired and drunk, and just fucking missed Roman too much for them to be fighting the first night she was back in the city.

“Now you are not saying anything?” Roman broke the silence. He was closer to the door, she noticed. “You know what? Fuck you, (Y/N). Fuck you for making feel all this – all this fucking, fucking shit!”

“What fucking shit?” She asked quietly, desperate for an answer, the answer.

“I - I don’t know what fucking shit, just shit, okay?”

“Say it.”

Roman didn’t respond, instead he turned her back on her, walking towards the door. Before he could reach the handle, she screamed at him.

“Fucking say it, Roman.”

“I’ve just told you, I don’t know. It’s just shit, okay? All of it,” he screamed back, opening up his arms, exaggerating his point. “I - I run out of breath and then my chest is all funny, and and I hate seeing you laughing with fucking Greg of all people. It’s shit, fucking shit!”

Drawing closer to him, she tested his limits. He was breathing hard from all the screaming and moving around the terrace to put distance between them, but he didn’t stop when (Y/N) got so close their bodies were almost touching. It was her with whom physical closeness wasn’t a problem, he always told himself it was because of how close they were pretty much their whole lives.

They only looked at each other for a few moments, the waves of conflict had calmed down fast and efficiently enough that for anyone else it would seem like nothing had happened between them.

Roman wished — deep, deep down — that they could stay like this forever, without having to go back and confront his family, especially his father; that they could make this terrace, above Logan’s place ironically enough, a little haven, only for them; that they would never be found.

#roman roy x reader #succession #succession x reader #roman roy

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jazeswhbhaven · 4 months

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Response Email from PrettyBusy! (courtesy of WHB Updates)

Alright! So the admin has updated us with the responses from PB from a long email about our concerns. I read through them all and understand where they're coming from and at this point, I'm just going to keep proceeding as before with how I'm playing and approaching the game. Here's where you can read the responses -> Part 1, Part 2

In general, I saw a repeat from PB stating that other emails were sent in from others stating that they

A. Were fine with the prices B. Didn't want repeat characters C. Mostly concerned about the battles being boring I'll touch on this with my take real quick. Personally...who is out here saying they don't want repeat/re-releases of characters???? Because while I get that some folks don't like certain characters...some of us may want a chance to nab them in case something came up and we didn't get a chance to the first time. NuCarnival does this and no one really complains (as far as I know I'm not active in that fandom, so correct me if I'm wrong). And for pricing, I talked to my friend who also plays other gachas often and he expressed PB's prices are actually low compared to the thousands of dollars other games tend to require for players to not even get the card they want. And for the battles being boring, that's not my problem personally. I just don't want 5-6 battles in between story points...I like how the event battles are usually around 3 between story points. I get they may do this to space it out so we can gain resources and it's not just a click-and-read game, but ugh 6 battles are just too damn much, I'm sorry. I hope they don't take it as "Oh let's make the battles more complicated and harder and throw in more of these screeching bitch ass angels with the wings on their heads" because I will scream lol So the tidbit about them not excluding F2P players and stating that they offer a lot of incentives such as free main story, free Minhyeok story, H-scenes that are free; I get that.* But honestly, the Solomon Seal thing that happened really alienated me because it was like telling me "broke folks can't have the nice stuff, sorry" and let's be honest....some ppl out there REALLY think like that especially over here in the states.. Now I'm glad they ARE addressing obtaining Solomon Seals easily, and implementing a way to gift it to us a free 10 pull per month which is a $34 value (rounded up). Hey, I'll take it. Because I'm gonna save 'em up anyways.

Now....there was something that concerns me and I think players should keep it in mind. Mammon's dildo is officially retired and not coming back for any of the platforms. PB has been threatened most likely by Gplay and AppStore to get rid of stuff like that or they'd pull the app from their platforms. EROLABS sadly, is affected because they don't have a way to specifically do the censoring for some things per platform. That was one of them. So in the future we may see MORE censoring just in case and EROLABS may be affected too. Not necessarily their exclusive content of course, but maybe just small things like the card art censoring, or stuff like that. Sucks really.

Someone brought up Event Stories being available in the future for reading again and this was a great idea to bring up to them. Some folks don't play the events so having the story available at a later time would be cool. Also, I read a couple things about PB talking about their customer service trying to catch up with social media interactions and other things and I was like well damn... Because at the end of the day someone who's working a 9-5 maybe even overtime is sitting up here reading all those tweets cussing them out and it gets really mentally tiring. Criticism is okay, but yeah going left field on someone who's just doing their job is a reminder of why I hate working in customer service myself. Some of the population forgets you are a person and sometimes your hands are tied so why are you yelling? Chill for a moment. It's just a game.

With that being said they did say that they would do better on being transparent on letting us know if the cards are gonna be in the banner or not. (I'll believe it when I see it, not trying to be mean) Overall I was nodding and taking in their responses. The fact that they bothered to even answer with sincerety has already put a good impression for me so I'll stick with that. I personally keep a boundary between me and companies for my own personal reasons. I understand that there are others who are ride or die for this company, and that's cool. Just don't expect others to have that same energy. If you've been through what I have...you'll understand why I don't do this for most companies anymore unless it's for a personal friend who has their own business/commissions/etc. What do you all think about the responses? Satisfied or just waiting it out? *edit: and to add...honestly the L-card stories are better than the H-scenes lmao at least to me. Because there's our bois literally cussing, the writers use actual words like penis and masterbating, like I'm still not recovering over Beel saying "fuck this is good" and satan calling us a dirty bitch. i a m s o r r y and t h r i s t y. Because imagine Belial being like "oh so you like my thick cock up your ass?" or Dre fingering you and being like "Fuck you're so soft here..." I neeeeed it.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb game #email updates #future outlook of whb #there was a lot here

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tojiscumdumpster · 4 months

Text

CHAPTER TWO - READER

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

Last night felt… good. Well, with the exceptions of that loser creep that keeps bothering me, it was good. Refreshing, to be exact. Thanks to a certain someone, I won’t have to worry about that perv anymore. And now, my mind will be onto other things when I go to the bar.

Toji Fushiguro.

I almost didn’t go out since it was Sunday. Usually, I keep that day reserved to relax and prepare lessons for my students. However, I decided to take a break. I’m thirty years old, and although I love my career, I dedicate a little bit too much time to it. For once, I wanted to live a little.

And I haven’t felt that rush through my veins in a while until those two hours I spent with Toji.

There’s something about his demeanor that immediately made me attracted to him. His presence screams confidence in a humble yet arrogant way. How he talks with charm unintentionally is calming.

I just admire how our conversation flowed well. Never a moment of silence. I listened to him, and he listened to me. The touch of vulnerability he showed me was unexpected, but it showed his comfort.

It didn’t feel like that was our first conversation either. It sounds silly, and I can’t put my finger on it, however, Toji feels… familiar.

The chemistry. The flow of us talking… Why didn’t he feel like a stranger?

And when he kissed me? I never thought I had that much strength.

I wanted Toji to fuck me so badly, and I know he would take care of me good. Those calloused hands that gripped my ass while kissing me, made me wet beyond measure.

Fuck it being a school night, or even if we didn’t leave so late, I would’ve been jumping on his cock last night. Maybe I should’ve allowed him to have his way with me in the bathroom at the bar.

It didn’t take long to realize we were sexually attracted to each other. It’s just the kiss solidified it.

Toji gives me rough yet passionate lover vibes. He would pull me by my coils, fuck me from behind and call me his good girl…

Y/N, why are you so damn responsible?

I honestly don’t know. The unhinged thing to do would be to let Toji come over to have sex. But I’m still trying to open up my shell a bit, especially after my recent engagement.

Well, ex-engagement.

Part of me feeling alive again was to do something that would help get my mind off my ex-fiancé that’s currently in front of me presenting a budget plan to me and the rest of the teachers.

“So, for this academic year, we’re looking to…” I fade out the voice of Nanami Kento.

Actually, Principal Nanami.

My relationship with my ex-fiancé, who’s also my boss, is… complicated, to say the least. We didn’t end on bad terms, but we didn’t end on good terms either.

We were together for five years, engaged for a year until I broke things off four months ago. Our arguing increased, which is normal in a relationship. However, it’s what we were going back and forth about that I was getting tired of.

Nanami (because I refuse to call him something as familiar as Ken) makes me look like an idler compared to his workaholic personality. And it wasn’t always like that.

Our relationship was perfect in the beginning. Fairy tale like. We would go on vacation, dates, road trips, and so much more. But as years passed, I truly believe he got comfortable.

It’s like he was burnt out from all the fun we had, and I blame that because of work.

I’m a teacher. He’s a principal. I have my fair share of demands being a teacher, but I know Nanami being a principal is far worse. Having to look over students, teachers, other staff members, constantly attend conventions on the behalf of the school—it took up a lot of his time.

A lot of his personal time.

It meddled into our relationship. I was tired of doing things alone. Tired of not feeling loved and appreciated. Tired of fucking not getting any sexual pleasure from him.

And don’t get me wrong, sex with Nanami was amazing. It’s just we only had it once every blue moon. There’s certain things a vibrator can’t do that he’s an expert at.

So a few days before our fourth anniversary (I know that’s shitty), I decided to break up with him. Let’s just say Nanami wasn’t having it.

Again, we argued. Some tears were shed, but the night ended with a proposal and a promise to change.

Too bad that promise was made with emptiness. We lasted about two months before he went right back to his workaholic ways. I was over it at that point.

Now here we are, months later where I try to avoid him as much as possible like he’s a plague.

It’s kind of hard to do that when these meetings are held at the beginning and end of every month.

“Any questions before we conclude the meeting?” he asks.

Nanami looks around for a response, eyes stopping at me. He tries to give me a small smile, but I look away.

He continues, “Okay. That’ll be all. Don’t hesitate to follow up with me if you all have any questions, concerns, or suggestions. I’ll be sure to take them down to pass along to the superintendents.”

After Nanami dismisses us, I quickly gather my belongings to head to my classroom, but he stops me the minute I’m at the tip of the door.

“Miss L /N. May I have a few minutes of your time?”

“I have to prepare for homeroom, Principal Nanami. Can this wait until later?” Later, meaning never.

“It won't be long… I promise,” he says, earnestly.

Like I don’t know the result of his promises.

I deeply sigh to myself and return to the meeting room. Nanami passes me to close the door and the smell of his cologne invades my senses.

Clean, minty with a touch of lemon and vanilla.

That’s the cologne you brought him .

Great.

“Everything’s okay, Principal Nanami?”

“Y/N…” Every time he says my name it’s filled with such tenderness. Like that’s the only thing he knows how to say.

“You said you wanted some of my time. Is everything okay, Principal Nanami?” I repeat.

Nanami leans against the desk, hands in his pockets while looking at me. I take notice of the three piece suit he’s wearing and think how handsome he looks. It fills out his body perfectly.

“You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“Because you call me outside of work hours,” I argue.

He hums. “So if I call during work hours, you’d answer?”

“Ken, what do you want?”

“Can I take you out for dinner this weekend?”

I knit my brows. “Why?”

“To talk, Y/N… To see how you’re doing.”

Why are my cheeks suddenly getting warm?

I would be lying if I said I didn’t still have feelings for Nanami. They aren’t as strong as before, but something is still there. At one point in my life, I was madly in love with him. Despite us not working out, I genuinely wish him nothing but the best.

And maybe we can get to being friends again.

I just don’t know if now’s the time.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Can you at least think about it?” His voice is still soft. “Please?”

Before I can answer, the late bell rings.

“I have to go.” I’m already halfway through the door.

“Would you let me know?”

I look at him over my shoulder. “I… I’ll let you know.”

Class on Mondays is always the hardest for me. The day feels sluggish, and it moves like a snail. Again, yes, I love teaching, but I seriously cannot hang. Midnight was far too long for me to be out.

Actually, I have no reason to come since I had the company of a handsome fella.

How am I able to teach class while thinking about Toji? I don’t know, but I manage. My mind is split between today's lesson and the distinctive features of him.

Those rich emerald eyes. His dark locks. Pale yet a pretty shade of rose for his lips that’s accompanied by a scar that left me with questions.

Toji wore a baggy black outfit that had me guessing how his physique looked, however, from the looks of his hands and how they felt on my ass—I know it’s probably mouthwatering.

I’m honestly disappointed that I didn’t give him my number. I’m not a hundred percent ready for a new relationship, but also not opposed to one because I was checked out of my last for a while. But I do want to see Toji.

What’s the likelihood of me running into him at the bar again? Slim to none.

I guess we’ll see.

Anyways.

One of my students was reading a page of this week's book, a young adult psychological thriller, when the classroom door opened.

A boy stands there. Spiky hair, about five-foot-nine and green eyes. He looks at me, then around at the classroom before walking toward my desk.

“Hello,” I say with a smile. “Did you need help?”

He nods. “I’m a new student. Sorry for being late.”

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t realize I would be getting a new student today” I told him. “It must’ve slipped my mind.”

He stays silent.

“What’s your name? Do you feel comfortable introducing yourself to the class? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Megumi.”

No… this could be mere coincidence. I’m sure Megumi is a popular Japanese name.

“Nice to meet you, Megumi. I’m Miss L /N. Glad to have you here.” I’m left with no reaction. No expression. Just a blank face. “So, we’re reading right now. I only had a set amount of books. For now, you can share with one of the students, then I’ll be sure to get you a copy. Sounds good?”

“Okay.”

“Why don’t you go sit next to Yuji? He’s sitting in the back with pink hair and a red hoodie,” I said. “Yuji, raise your hand for me.”

“Megumi, here-” I called him to retrieve his schedule that he left on my desk. But before I give it to him, his full name catches my attention.

�� Fushiguro, Megumi.

This is no longer a mere coincidence, and now that I’m looking at Megumi, he resembles Toji— a lot. The features are uncanny. I can almost guarantee that’s how Toji looked when he was Megumi’s age.

Who knew the new student in my class would be the son of the man I’ve been thinking all morning?

Will I use this to my advantage? Most definitely.

It’s that time of year for me to schedule parent-teacher conferences, anyways.

“Miss L /N. Did you call me?”

“Ah, yes. Here. You left your schedule.”

Megumi takes the paper from me and returns to the direction where I told him to sit. Yuji tries to whisper, but his whispering is on the verge of an outside voice. I can hear the excitement in his voice when he finally has a student that’s open to sitting next to him.

Yuji is a sweet kid, but I know he had a rough time growing up based on the little information he shared with me. It’s just him and his older brother.

Teenagers are definitely more judgmental than elementary schoolers, so I notice students avoid him as much as possible yet he still gives them the kindest smile. Megumi seems quiet so I think him sitting next to Yuji will help out a bit.

“Yuji, you want to read the next page?”

He stands up eagerly. “Yes, Miss L /N!” Giggles and whispers around the classroom, causing me to shoot a glare.

“Okay, sweetheart. And remember if you come across a word you don’t know, take your time or ask for my help.” He nods and begins reading.

I pay attention for the most part, but I can’t help but think about another chance at seeing Toji Fushiguro.

It thrills me, even.

I hope he feels the same. I would like to think he does.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

#anime x black!reader #anime x reader #toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji x black reader #toji fushiguro x black reader #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #toji angst #jjk angst

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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My friend, I heard it's the cool thing to leave things in your inbox and I want to be like the cool kids so here I am. How about a scenario with Kurosaki Ichigo trying to convince S/O to ask HIM out instead of him just doing the asking out himself? It can be whatever you want it to be: comedy, romance, fluff, smut. The choice is yours *finger guns*

sora... love of my life, light in my eyes, wind beneath my wings, etc. etc. etc. u have been so patient, and i'd apologize but u already know what kind of drama this fic put me thru!!! anyway!!! this was a labor of love (as always) yk i only ever want the best for u bbgorl 🥰️🥰️🥰️

5.9k words (DONT LOOK AT ME OMG), fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; there's fluff i promise (who am i), angst bc why not, mutual pining, and smut; ichigo... is a dumbass, and i like seeing him suffer; i also like seeing reader suffer; a wild orihime appears! and some other miscreants. feat. cute things like: hair pulling, slight exhibitionism (shhh), oral (m receiving), dry humping, kIsSiNg, idk alcohol but a tiny bit; ichigo is down bad ok, idk what to tell u; reader is also down bad but she thinks she's being stealthy abt it. (if u see any typos/grammatical errors shhh no u didn't)

“imprison me in your name, let love kill me.” — mahmoud darwish

i love you, with a touch of tragedy and quite madly.” — simone de beauvoir

SUNDAY — 12:01 a.m.

in such a vast, mostly unexplored universe — where curses and wishes exist ubiquitously, teetering on opposite ends of a complicated spectrum of morality — there is one universal truth: love is a fucking battlefield. such is the woe of one kurosaki ichigo as he navigates through the various intricacies involved with such a strong emotion. if it was up to him, he wouldn’t suffer through it — but it’s not. his heart is incredibly foolish, his mind even more so; and despite what others might think, he’s not exactly as confident in his capabilities in romance. which is why he’s resorted to mapping out different ways to get you to do the work for him.

mostly because he can’t bear the agonizing feelings that come with vulnerability. so, rather than him ask you out, he’s attempting to get you to do it instead. inspiration strikes when he’s sitting at his desk after midnight, textbooks and notebooks strewn about, his studying long forgotten. ichigo spends an hour or so mulling over the hows and whys of everything, when a brilliant idea — or, series of brilliant ideas, rather — suddenly pops into his head. tearing out a piece of paper from his notebook, he scribbles down his thoughts, as if he’s afraid they’ll leave him forever if he doesn’t find a way to hold onto them. by the time he finishes, his hand is covered in splotches of ink, but he’s satisfied with his work.

he’s not completely sure if it’ll all pan out the way he wants, but he’s willing to give it a shot.

MONDAY — 10:56 a.m

it’s out of pure coincidence that he runs into you at the convenience store. you’re in an aisle with items that are on sale — a mega sale, at that — perusing through the little tubes of lotion and hand sanitizer, admiring the cute designs on each bottle, contemplating how many to buy. he’s tall enough that he spots you before you see him — which takes a long damn time, if he’s honest — but as you busy yourself looking at different items on the shelves, he takes to watching you from afar.

there’s something frighteningly beautiful about the way you make simple things look graceful and magical. from the way you carefully drag your fingertip along the labels, admiring the designs, giggling at some cute artwork; to the way you tilt your head, confusion clouding your vision as you debate internally over which product to buy; to the way you decide to shove as many items into your basket as possible, face flushed at the impropriety of purchasing so many — but they’re on sale, so you justify your shopping before you head to the cashier.

the entire time you move around, you feel his eyes on you; while he might think he’s being stealthy, you’re very aware of his presence. and how could you not be? ichigo isn’t someone you can ignore — nor would you ever try to, he’s such a dynamic person, kind without realizing, stubborn and silly, and, more importantly, incredibly handsome. you think it’s cute how he slinks through each aisle to follow you carefully — dressed as inconspicuously as possible — ducking whenever you turn your face to try and catch him, except he’s so damn tall that he can’t really hide too well.

still, you let him continue playing his little game, and head to the register to check out. maybe he’ll eventually let you in on whatever it is he’s planning if you play along. but he never approaches you, doesn’t call after you when you leave the store, which only leaves disappointment and confusion to fester around your stomach. he curses under his breath as he watches you walk further and further away from him; he’d meant to say something, to call out to you earlier, but nerves got the best of him, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

TUESDAY — 3:39 p.m.

the library is packed, students crammed into each seat and table along the first few floors. after the fiasco from yesterday, ichigo is that much more determined to make sure that things go according to plan today. again, it’s out of pure coincidence, that he’s also at the library around the same time you are. it’s almost instinctual, the way he spots you right away; he admires the shape of your calves, the way your skirt sits snugly around your wide hips, barely reaching the middle of your thick thighs.

it’s impossible for him not to watch you, not when you pause to look around the floor for an empty seat — teeth sinking into your bottom lip, lashes fluttering every time you blink. he knows how much you hate being in crowds of people, how your focus wanes if there’s too much noise around, and how you like to be away from any sort of distraction — you’re quite the dedicated student, he supposes.

so, it’s no surprise that you bypass the floor he’s on and scurry up the stairs, hand gliding up the wooden railing; an innocuous move that has him clench the pencil in his hand tight enough to crack it. he’s suddenly hit with the desire to be a damn railing — an odd, maddening feeling as absurd as it is debilitating. he almost doesn’t hear his name being called, but he does eventually look away and he’s intercepted by orihime and tatsuki. they implore him to sit with their group to study, much to his annoyance because you’ve left his sight and now he wants to go find you.

but he’ll deal need to deal with them, first.

ichigo reluctantly agrees — only after orihime gives him a sweet, yet pleading look, and tatsuki smirks and mouthing what now, almost as if she’s challenging him to defy their request — and plops down on an empty chair. his long legs knock into the neighboring chair and his complaints are ignored by his friends.

you struggle as you lug your heavy bag upstairs to the fourth floor; it’s eerie there, much too quiet, and for some reason people stay away from it. superstitions run rampant around campus about how everyone who studies on the fourth floor happens to fail every exam and assignment. you’re not one to believe in stupid shit like that, but you do say a quick prayer before settling down on one of the lone tables in the middle of the floor. despite being relatively empty, it’s well-kept and very tidy.

sunlight filters through the thick glass of the windows, illuminating the dated furniture and archaic books that litter the bookshelves nearby. it takes a few minutes, but you set up your textbooks and notes so you can review for your upcoming exam. ten minutes pass before you groan for the fifth time and place your face in your hands. you thought that studying by yourself would give you some distance from ichigo, but unfortunately, he’s been on your mind since yesterday. you chew on your thumbnail and consider your options; for whatever reason, he’s too dense to realize that you like him, but maybe you’ll need to be more forthcoming and upfront — maybe even dangle some bait to encourage him.

WEDNESDAY — 8:12 p.m.

after your first round of exams, you invite ichigo over to your apartment for a movie — a small, celebratory break in between midterms. your argument is sound — although, he would’ve agreed regardless — and he volunteers to come with plenty of snacks. all you can do is nod, you’re much too captivated by the shape of his jaw and with how his lips stretch into a smile. absolutely infuriating. all it does is make him radiate like some damn sun god, and you’re offended by it.

and for some reason, a small flutter in your chest causes you to inhale a sharply — thankfully you’re already on your way out of the lecture hall, walking swiftly in the hopes of permanently ridding yourself of whatever this is. you spend the next few hours obsessively scrubbing and organizing your apartment; by the time ichigo arrives, you’re physically exhausted. you miscalculated quite a bit, naively thinking that a bit of manual labor would cure you of your burdensome desire. but it doesn’t. if anything, you think about him even more. how will you survive with him alone with you during the night?

he's in a similar predicament, having spent the duration of his afternoon obsessively thinking about how best to deal with you — the situation was rather stressful, and while he could just sit down and talk with you honestly, it seemed more appropriate to approach things this way instead. he’s been to your place a handful of times, and he commits just a bit more to memory whenever he can. you’re a colorful person with plants hanging and stacked around cutely; you have an affinity for cooking and have artsy pieces scattered throughout your apartment. it fits you perfectly, and he likes how much more relaxed you are whenever you’re away from campus.

“you weren’t kidding when you said bring a lot of snacks,” you say, disrupting his thoughts, voice light and melodic. you eye the bags in his hands and offer to grab a few; ichigo frowns and lifts the bags away and over your head.

“they’re not heavy,” he says gruffly. he rolls his eyes while walking around you, legs carrying him quickly to the living room. if he didn’t give himself some space, your perfume would hold him hostage again; the last time he was this close, the scent of warm apples and sweet strawberries clung to his lungs with every inhale for at least a week. if he’s not careful, he’ll willingly fall into your trap all over again.

he places the bags on the coffee table before sitting on the couch, legs spread wide as he leans back. he appreciates how comfortable it is — with cushions soft enough to easily lull him to sleep. he fights it, of course, especially when you sit down next to him, thigh casually pressed against his. you don’t seem as bothered about this as he is, and when you cross one shapely leg over the other, he covertly adjusts himself while you’re preoccupied with the tv, leisurely scrolling through the options with the remote.

if he has to pinpoint what to blame, specifically, he’ll say it’s your exposed shoulders and flimsy shorts, your round breasts that stretch out your shirt, and your continued insistence on not wearing a bra whenever you’re alone with him.

he swallows hard and reaches down for one of the water bottles he brought along with the snacks; in the middle of him chugging half of the bottle, you place a hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze. he chokes and coughs a bit, hand clutching the bottle harder than he means to, making the remaining liquid shoot out and splash onto your arm and shirt. a deep flush crawls onto his face and ears as he mumbles an apology; you press your lips together, but barely contain your laughter.

“ichigo, what the hell was that?” you’re grinning so hard that your cheeks hurt. he turns his face and wipes some water from his chin with the back of his hand. “it’s not a big deal, really.” and it isn’t. honestly. you finally pick a movie — something gory and full of suspense — and settle back next to him, body pressed closely to his. the water didn’t help, and your hand is back on his thigh, stroking up and down. you’re not sure what possesses you to do it, but the compulsion hit you hard the moment you saw him sitting on your couch. it’s a pet peeve of yours whenever people take up that much space — the habit is obnoxious and selfish — but since he looks so damn good doing it, you give him an eternal pass.

even through the denim of his jeans, he can feel the heat radiating off of your hand, especially when you brush against his bulge, making his erection that much more painful. his cock is thick and heavy, precum drips through his underwear as he clenches his jaw and inhales through his nostrils. you watch him through your lashes and rub your hand up and down his stiff length. his eyes track your movements, the way your tongue darts out and briefly runs along your lips; he’s sure he could cum just by watching you do that over and over again.

maybe he needs help, or maybe he needs to investigate your lips and tongue properly.

as if commanded by an invisible puppeteer, you lean closer and place a hand on his chest; if there was ever a moment for ichigo to act impulsively, it’s now. he tangles his fingers in your dark curls, firmly gripping, tugging you towards him. he slants his lips against yours, tongue licking inside your mouth, caressing your tongue, bringing a heat through your body, an inferno that won’t ever be satisfied. you climb onto his lap, chest heaving, mumbling nonsense like “what took you so long,” and “stop teasing me, please”, kisses growing sloppy and urgent.

whatever sliver of restraint he has vanishes completely once you grind your hips against his, that familiar ache swirling around your abdomen casts a haze over your mind, making your logic nonexistent. his hands settle on your hips, gripping them hard enough to make you gasp and whine, arousal slipping between your folds and dampening your panties. you roll your hips, slowly at first but picking up the pace when ichigo brings a hand to your ass and slaps it. the sting has you jutting your hips forward, pussy bucking against his clothed cock, moaning pathetically against his lips.

if this is a dream, please don’t wake him; there’s a low pounding in his ears, and he takes a moment to admire the curve of your round ass, cupping it playfully. your nails sink into his shoulders, and he hisses while littering kisses along your jaw and down your throat. you bite down on your lip, stifling another moan. the movie long forgotten, you let out a small squeal when he sucks on your skin — teeth and tongue marking you, goosebumps pricking your arms and legs. you know there’ll be a bruise tomorrow, but you don’t care; he can leave as many marks as he likes.

you almost tell him as much, mouth opening, words stumbling over one another. “ichigo, i—”

several loud knocks on your door — accompanied by the terribly obnoxious ringing from your doorbell — has you scrambling off of his lap, face flushed and warm. you practically sprint towards the door, although you pause to catch your breath and fix your clothes a bit. ichigo lets out a frustrated groan, arousal pummeling into him, making it hard to think straight. he hadn’t planned on moving from his spot on the couch, but when he hears multiple voices coming from the front door, cowardice wins out and he hides in your bathroom. it takes five minutes for his cock to settle down, but when he goes to join you in the living room again, several of your friends are eating and lounging around on the floor and couch.

ever the gracious host, you’re pouring drinks for everyone, only pausing when you catch ichigo watching you. already your voice is an octave too high, your panties are clinging to your pussy, damp from your slick arousal. you do your best to not make large movements, preferring to keep your thighs as close together as possible.

annoyance pricks along the back of his neck as keigo clinks shot glasses with mizuiro; he didn’t think that telling them about his plans with you would lead to everyone else showing up too. now there are plans of ordering pizza and wings, of playing drinking games. and naturally tatsuki volunteers ichigo to go pick the food up. he shoots you an apologetic look, one that you wave away noncommittally. you know it’s not really his fault, his friends are just like that. still, you make sure to keep your hair down to obscure the various marks on your skin. you frown a bit when ichigo leaves but fix your features when orihime bounces over to you.

with a tilt of her head, eyes wide and bright, clear and strangely critical, she asks, “what’s wrong?” you know she means well, but you’d rather not discuss the fact that you were seconds away from pulling ichigo’s cock out and riding him until your pussy gave out when they all decided to come over.

“hm?” you try to clear your mind and adopt a friendly smile, “nothing’s wrong, just a little tired.” it’s true, though; you really are tired. all that studying, all that obsessing, it’s bound to make a girl exhausted. you can tell that she wants to press the issue, but in typical orihime fashion, she smiles and leaves it at that. the noisiness only serves to sober you up, but you doubt you’ll be able to sate the desire that steadily keeps building inside of you.

THURSDAY — 1:43 p.m.

tatsuki drags you and orihime to the gym, claiming that running is good for the soul — or something to that effect. you vaguely remember promising her last night, after downing one too many shots of whiskey, that you’d gladly accompany her to work out. your head throbs, your hangover a reoccurring nightmare, one that seems to follow you around all day. you try weaseling out, try to flake, but tatsuki is determined and stubborn as hell. you both admire and despise her for it right now.

you take it easy and stretch with the girls, before heading towards the treadmills. what some might consider benevolence on the universe’s part, ichigo considers cruelty; case in point, the fact that you’re here in the gym, when he knows for a fact that you’re not the exercising type — you’ve blurted this out more times than he can count, which is why he remembers. he drops from the pull up bar and grabs his towel to wipe his face, chest constricting, breathing ragged at the sight of you.

in the back of his mind, he understands that your attire is practical, he’s also quickly aroused by it; your leggings cling to your legs, highlighting your curves, stretching tight around your ass. your tank top flowing, your breasts almost spilling out of your sports bra, it was too much for him to handle at once. incidentally, you feel that ichigo working out shirtless should be illegal; your throat dries as your eyes travel along his broad chest, a ravenous hunger taking hold of your senses, that bothersome ache returning as you press your thighs together. you didn’t realize you’d stopped walking to watch him, muscles firm and thick, sweat clinging to his skin.

tatsuki calls your name repeatedly, and you have to remind yourself that you’re here to exercise and not gawk. it’s then that it dawns on you, your brain will never function properly around him — now that you’ve felt him, you lack focus. his sweatpants sit low on his hips, causing you to actually lose your damn balance; it’s partially comical, but mostly pathetic when you trip over your feet and helplessly fall onto the floor. your hands ball into fists, fingers curled inward, nails leaving tiny indents into your palms. you barely feel it, though, you’re too busy trying to regulate your breathing.

“y/n are you okay?” orihime rushes to help you stand back up; your face burns and you know that if you don’t put some distance between you and ichigo quickly, you’ll end up embarrassing yourself even more.

“yep, just peachy!” the lie is flimsy and you know that she doesn’t buy it, but you’re sticking with it. the truth is just too pitiful. ichigo frowns, fingers twitching as he grips the bar harder. you’re normally not that clumsy, and he’s half tempted to go and see if you’re okay. but the girls crowd you and he knows he’ll only make things worse if he interferes. you finally find a treadmill and even though you should probably stay off of it, you decide to use it anyway. you set a decent speed and fix the incline, opting to jog until your legs give out. if you suffer one more transgression, you’ll never be able to face ichigo again. already you feel that familiar burning sensation in your thighs, but you don’t stop; you’re not sure how long you keep at it, but ichigo is long gone when your body has finally had enough.

you drink some water and try to catch your breath. your mind is buzzing; you wish it was ichigo who helped you up instead. it’s a strange thing to be disappointed about, but you can’t stop imagining his strong arms wrapped around your soft waist. a lightheaded feeling takes over, you’re not sure how much more you can take; you’re barely surviving as is with minimal interactions with him.

he heads straight for the locker room as soon as he’s done with his last rep; no amount of cold water from the shower can snap him out of the daze you put him in. everything about you is dizzying, and just remembering how your lips and hands were on him, how soft your ass was, how he was so close to sinking his cock into your pussy the night before, makes his cock hard all over again. he has enough sense to ignore it, but he saw you jogging and nearly fell off the pull up bar. you’re dangerous, that much is certain; he’s never been this captivated by a person, so it’s almost as if he’s navigating through new territory.

“fucking ridiculous,” he says bitterly and turns off the shower so he can get dressed. he knows what he needs to do, he just needs everyone in his life to stop interfering so he can properly talk with you alone.

FRIDAY — 6:15 p.m.

for whatever reason, his friends conspire together and decide to do dinner at orihime’s house. rukia and tatsuki both shoo orihime out of the kitchen, not wanting to deal with whatever strange concoction her impulses come up with. it’s meant to be a casual affair, which he reminds you again when he stops by your apartment to pick you up. ichigo raids your fridge for something to munch on while he waits, and after fifteen minutes, he makes his way down the narrow hallway to your room. the door is open, so he assumes you must be all done, walking in without announcing himself properly.

there are several outfits strewn about on your bed; after the fourth one, you huff and stomp around your room, the carpet soft underneath your feet as you try to reason with yourself. it’s really because you’re nervous that ichigo asked you to go with him — as his date. or, at least, you’re sure that’s what he meant by inviting you to the dinner. you told ichigo you wouldn’t take long, but that was clearly a lie — not an intentional one, but a lie nonetheless.

“are you still not done?” he pauses, eyes landing on your half naked body; he gets hard instantly at the sight of your soft stomach and thick thighs. you’re too focused on your current crisis that you barely register that he’s in your room as you head back into the closet to look for another dress. if he had better morals and sense, he’d leave you to get dressed at your own pace; but, unfortunately for him, his body is the worst kind of traitor. this has been the longest week of his entire life, but he’s thankful that he has you to himself again.

you put on a new dress and flip your hair over your shoulder. “help me, please.” because your arms are still sore from working out and you figure there’s no harm in asking for his assistance. his heart lodges itself in the base of his throat, hands shaking a bit — nerves or excitement, he’s not sure — but he manages to tug the small zipper up without much issue. his hands linger on your hips, cock stiff as it angrily presses against the front of his pants.

suddenly, you’re very, very aware of how close he’s standing.

he knows that if he doesn’t let go of you, he’ll feel inclined to skip the dinner altogether. but he doesn’t want to deal with the repercussions of flaking, so he decides against it. he does, however, brush his lips along the side of your neck, leaving behind a trail of slow kisses. you’re teetering over the edge, falling further under his spell as his hands roam along your body, roughly kneading your breasts over the fabric of your dress.

you test the proverbial waters and rub your ass against his bulge, which prompts him to bite your neck in warning. you let out a small yelp and softly moan his name; you end up losing more of your composure when he turns you around and kisses you. his appetite is insatiable, his kisses feverish and demanding, a frenzied whirlwind that has you unbuckling his pants and tugging his zipper down to pull out his cock.

his imagination will never compare — your hands are still soft as ever, even as they grip him eagerly, twisting while pumping up and down his length. he hisses when you rub your thumb against the tip and kisses you ardently, tongue brazen as it swirls around yours before sucking on it. you rub your thighs together, breathing unevenly, his kisses scalding and potent. you pry yourself away from him and sink to your knees, tongue running flat against his length, circling around his thick head of his cock and licking the precum that seeps out of his slit.

ichigo’s moans echo in your room, bouncing off the walls, prompting you to open your mouth so you can take in as much of him as you can. he presses a fist to his mouth when you start bobbing your head, cheeks hollowed, mouth hot and tight; you caress his balls with your free hand, enjoying the way his cheeks are flushed and the way he licks his lips while looking down at you. he doesn’t think when he grabs your head and starts fucking your mouth and doesn’t think when you hold onto his thighs and relax your jaw to accommodate for his girth.

you can’t lie, you’ve been dreaming about this for longer than you care to admit — it’s almost embarrassing how badly you’ve wanted to have his cock in your mouth, but you never imagined that ichigo would be like this; rough, clumsy, but every bit as tantalizing as ever. you let him have his way, using your mouth and throat as he thrusts his cock deeper. you gag but maintain eye contact, tears streaming down your cheeks at the ferocity of his thrusts.

you know something must be wrong with you because your panties are soaked, the ache building from deep inside, bubbling and pushing you closer to the edge. you like this side of him, the one that’s a little unhinged and feral, a man possessed with a certain goal on his mind. he knows he should be a bit gentler, but the way you’re looking at him, like you’re more than pleased with how he’s handling you, convinces him otherwise.

“fuck,” he pants, breath coming out in shallow puffs. his phone rings, startling both of you; he wants to ignore it but has a feeling that it’s one of his friends asking for his whereabouts. he pulls out of your mouth, drool spilling down your chin. he has so many things that he wants to say to you, but none of them come to mind. you’re not ready for any of this to end, so you motion for him to pick up the phone and stroke his cock again.

he hesitates only for a moment, but you have a mischievous look on your face, and he knows better than to test your patience right now. “w-what is it?” he asks when he answers the phone, voice low and husky, a shiver sliding down your spine when you suck on the head of his cock. he clamps his mouth shut in the hopes of keeping as quiet as possible, but mizuiro sounds so concerned and keeps asking why he’s giving him one- or two-word responses. however, ichigo’s desire to fuck you is greater than his guilt; besides, he realizes, belatedly, that you want someone to catch him like this.

it's hot, he won’t lie. and he’d indulge you more, but with the way you’re stroking and sucking his cock, he doubts he’ll be able to tolerate a full conversation with mizuiro — especially as he drones on about how imperative it is for ichigo to keep his promises.

blah, blah, blah.

he cuts the conversation short, tossing the phone onto the floor behind him. he grabs onto your arm, hauls you to your feet, and his mouth is on yours again. orihime’s dinner party is the last thing on both of your minds, not when he leaves you breathless, kissing you until your lips are swollen, lipstick smeared. his hands are on the move again as he tugs your dress off of you, mouth placing messy kisses down your chest, teeth tugging on your hardened nipples before sucking on them. it’s impossible to keep steady when each ichigo’s mouth is ruining your life in the best way possible.

your arousal clings to the inner parts of your thighs, you’re practically begging him to fuck you, words barely coherent as you fuss at him, but he understands you just fine. after pulling the rest of his clothes off, he picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he holds you against the wall. if he were a better man, he’d have the courtesy to fuck you on your bed; but he isn’t thinking properly, and he’s tired of playing around. he snakes a hand lower, fingers rubbing your pussy, dragging needy whimpers out of you.

“ichigo, damn it,” your frustration is cute and he can’t help but continue to tease you. he slides his fingers into your tight, needy hole, fingers sinking deeply without much resistance.

“you’re so wet, i don’t think i need to prep you at all.” he’s impressed, actually and likes how your pussy keeps sucking his fingers back in every time he pulls them back. you buck your hips against his hand, and if it wasn’t for his arm holding you securely, you’d fall over with ease.

you can barely look at him, cheeks permanently flushed as you moan loudly for him. “that’s it,” he coaches, thumb circling around your clit, fingers scissoring roughly, “you want me to fuck you that badly?”

your eyes grow wide but you nod and breathe out a, “yes. i’ve been waiting for so damn long.” the confession surprises him, as he was under the impression that he was the only one who suffered the entire time. and, because his cock is running the show, he plucks his fingers out of you, lines his tip with your entrance and slams his cock inside. you claw at the back of his neck and all along his chest, legs trembling as his hips knock against yours roughly. nothing could prepare him for the way your plush, gummy walls suffocate him — wet and warm, a snug fit that he’ll never tire of.

you move your hips in tandem with his, matching the timing of his thrusts, as you press sloppy kisses along his jaw, nails raking down his broad back. ichigo’s hips rock forward, cock burrowing deeper with each stroke. both of you are at your limits, he knows he won’t last much longer, but he’ll try his best anyway. his pace quickens, your pussy making lewd, squelching noises, your wetness coating his cock prettily. your breasts bounce as he fucks you harder, your voice growing hoarse from how loud you are, enticing him to pound into you wildly.

he licks the base of your throat, groaning against your skin when you roll your hips, cunt full as his cock is buried to the hilt; his tip hits a spot that makes you hold onto him tighter, breathing shallow as you call out his name. he commits the moment to memory — something to look back on late at night — thoroughly enjoying how you’re writhing underneath him. he angles his hips, keeps them closer to yours, bucking against you recklessly — his cock bringing about an incurable madness that takes over your entire being.

maybe it’s because you’ve been denying yourself for so long — or maybe it’s because you’ve been teasing one another all week — but you feel as if a bit of weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. his balls are heavy, each slap against your ass makes you clench around him more. he rubs your clit, firm small circles that send tiny jolts throughout your body. your back arches as your walls spasm, fluttering around his cock, hips stuttering under his powerful thrusts. the orgasm leaves you dazed, eyes rolling back, your cunt puffy but greedy as it milks him shamelessly.

he never pegged you for a squirter, yet you keep defying his expectations. you want to bury your head underground for eternity, hating the way your orgasm has you incapacitated, slumping over him while your wetness spills onto your carpet.

ichigo keeps fucking you until his hips jerk, rhythm disrupted, cum thick and hot as it spills inside of you. he humps you lazily and you pepper his face with wet kisses, his heart leaping out of his chest as your fingers sift through his hair. both of you are sweaty and out of breath, but when you look up at him, something close to adoration flits across his face. you’re not sure if that’s a post-orgasm sort of thing, but you’ll take it for what it is.

you brush your lips against his, gently kissing him, and ask if he still wants to go to dinner. ichigo shoots you an incredulous look and you laugh in response. “okay, okay,” you pat his chest gently, “boyfriends shouldn’t look at their girlfriends like that.” you say it casually enough that it feels like a joke, but you’re too damn nervous to look at him to see his reaction.

his ears grow hot and he presses his lips together for a moment before mumbling a, “sorry, won’t happen again.” you pinch his cheek and playfully lick at his lips. a warmth travels to your chest, nestles into the crevices that line the inside of your heart, and makes you want to kiss him all over again. he takes that as a sign of forgiveness — although he isn’t actually sure if you meant it or not — and carries you over to your bed. while he initially set out to get you to confess first, somewhere along the way, his mission fell apart. still, he can’t say he’s unhappy about the outcome. and, sure, his friends might give him an earful for missing out on dinner, but he’s much more content and comfortable being with you right now to care.

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slusheeduck · 6 months

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Fictober 2023 Day 12 - Prompt: "You're the smartest person I know." Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

“Astarion, I am taking you up on your request to learn magic.”

Astarion blinked, and he slowly looked up from his book. His mouth twitched after a moment. “Gale, darling, I appreciate your ardor, but you do know I was just trying to get a rise out of you?” he asked, shutting his book. “We’re at the point where I can admit that now, aren’t we?”

“Ah, but…” Oh, oh dear, the finger was up; Gale was serious. “I know that every barb tends to stem from a place of truth. Besides, it never hurts to have another tool in your arsenal.”

Astarion sighed. “Is there really time for this?”

“Always. Now, no more trying to get out of it.” Gale motioned for Astarion to follow him and, though he gave an almighty eyeroll as he did, the vampire did indeed follow him. “I’ve just one spell in mind. It’s second level, which may be a bit tricky if you’re not practiced, so it may take a few days of work. But between your natural knack for magic and your keen mind, I think you’ll catch on quicker than you expect.”

Astarion’s mouth quirked. “You think I have a keen mind?”

“Well, you were a magister, weren’t you?” Gale said, sending a wry little smile over his shoulder. “And you come up with lies quicker than anyone I’ve ever seen—it’s impressive.”

“That actually means something, coming from you.” Astarion sighed as they reached Gale’s tent, crossing his arms. “All right, you’ve won me over with flattery. What spell are you going to teach me?”

Gale grinned, and with a quick movement of his hands and a flash of purple light, there were suddenly two Gales in front of him. They moved in sync, one a perfect copy of the other—Astarion wasn’t sure which one was the right one.

“Mirror Image,” he said, voice echoing between the two. The two Gales glanced at each other at the echo, then lifted their hands with another quick movement. One Gale dissipated like mist, and the real one was left behind. “I’ve seen the way you look in mirrors and windows, and truth be told, I was trying to find a way to cast it on you, but it only works with the caster’s image. And I thought, ah! What a perfect way to give you the magic lesson you asked for and a good look at your face.”

Oh. That was…nice. Of course, Astarion knew Gale was nice—the looks he sent at some of Astarion’s preferred methods of conflict resolution said enough—but this was…actually nice. Kind, even. He crossed his arms tighter, unsure of how exactly to respond.

“But I don’t know what I look like,” he said after a beat. “I wouldn’t know the image to put out.”

Oh, the finger was up again. “Yes, but that’s the thing! Mirror image doesn’t rely on your mental image of yourself. It relies on magic creating a kind of…mold of yourself, however you look in the moment, then putting it there in front of you. I actually have a hilarious story about how I found out I was sporting an embarrassingly long streak of sauce on my face at a party when I cast it to show off.” When Astarion’s doubt didn’t subside, Gale reached forward to grasp his arm, giving a little smile. “Look. With this, the Weave does the work. I’ve seen you in action, I know you still have access to it. This will work. I promise.”

A few complicated emotions flickered across Astarion’s face. Doubt, hope, curiosity, disappointment. His eyes finally met Gale’s, and he gave a long sigh.

“Gods damn it, you give Scratch a run for his money with those eyes,” he grumbled, then held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll try. But if you’re wrong—and that’s likely—I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Gale hadn’t been lying—this was work. The better part of their time in camp for the next week had been spent reaching into the Weave—working with it, playing with it even, and learning how to harness it to do what the caster wanted.

It was by no means easy; the first couple times, Astarion had thrown up his hands and stormed off in frustration as he couldn’t make it work. But Gale was nothing if not patient. He didn’t needle Astarion into staying outside of a gentle, “Let’s try just one more time. Then you can go and eat a boar.” When Astarion refused, he let him go without a fight. When Astarion came back a few hours later (and significantly bloodier than when he’d left) and asked if they could try again, he always obliged.

And finally, after several days, the work paid off. Just as he’d done before, Astarion did everything Gale instructed to cast the spell, but this time a shimmery shape—roughly the size and shape of Astarion—stood before them. It only lasted a moment, but a giddy laugh escaped Astarion all the same.

“That was…did you see that?” he asked, looking to Gale with a broad smile.

“I did, very well done! But I knew it wouldn’t take you long.” He gave Astarion’s back a congratulatory pat. “Let’s celebrate.”

“But I think I can get it stronger if I try again.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. But take it from me, rewarding yourself for a job well done is excellent incentive to keep going.” Gale ducked into his tent, rustling around, then returned with a bottle and two mismatched cups. “Not as excellent as the Elverquisst was, I’m afraid, but still,” he said as he poured, then handed one cup to Astarion before clinking his against it. “To your success.”

Astarion smiled, tipping the glass toward Gale before he took a drink. He leaned back against a nearby stone, looking the wizard over. “You’re actually a good teacher, you know.”

“Well, it’s a little self-serving. Magic, the Weave, is my foremost passion; getting to talk about it to a willing audience is just as much a boon for me as it is for you.” Gale gave a smile around his cup. “So thank you for indulging me.”

Astarion waved his hand with a scoff, then went quiet for a very long moment as he drank. “Mystra has no right to be so cruel to you,” he finally said, voice soft.

Gale choked. “What did you say?” he wheezed, patting his chest.

“Mystra has no right to be so cruel to you,” Astarion repeated, voice stronger. He waved his cup irritably. “So you got in over your head—who wouldn’t if a god made them their lover? And clearly you’ve already had to deal with the consequences even before she told you to…to commit ritual suicide as your only way to forgiveness. You don’t need her forgiveness. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“She does.” Gale’s voice was very soft, and he was steadfastly avoiding Astarion’s gaze.

“Why, because Elminster said so?” Astarion set his cup aside, then strode right up to Gale, grabbing his arms and forcing him to make eye contact with him. “Listen to me, because I’m only saying this once. You’re the smartest person I know. The only reason I’m not saying you’re also the kindest is because Wyll is twenty feet away. You, Gale of Waterdeep, are literally fighting against Illithids and the Three Dead Gods with just us, a tadpole, and your wits.” He leaned in, voice lowering to something almost dangerous. “You don’t need Mystra’s forgiveness. She should be begging for yours.”

Gale had never been very good at holding a poker face, but now, it was nearly impossible for Astarion to get a read on him. There was something brewing in his eyes, something straining against his lips, but neither quite made it to the surface. He shut his eyes and swallowed it down, then let out a long sigh as he looked up at Astarion again.

“Let’s give it another try,” he said quietly. “See how long you can hold the image.”

Mystra did not come up again in their lessons—contrary to popular belief, Astarion did know when to back off. Besides, Gale was so enthusiastic when Astarion showed a bit more progress that it felt…mean to bring up something clearly so painful. And not at all mean in a fun way.

And, really, who cared about gods and bombs when he was this close to mastering Mirror Image? He was getting closer—the shimmery figure was a little more solid, matching Astarion’s movements like a shadow (been a while since he’d had one of those, too) and sometimes there would be a bit more detail: a flash of pale curls, a clear image of his shirt.

And then, out of nowhere, everything seemed to click. He focused on feeling the Weave, moved his hands just the way he ought to, said the right words with just the right inflection, and…

There he was.

He knew Gale was praising him, vaguely heard the impressed noises from the few members of camp that had gathered around to watch him as he’d gotten closer and closer to mastering the spell, but none of it was registering. Instead, he was transfixed at the vampire standing in front of him—a little shimmery at the edges, and wearing an expression that clearly wasn’t Astarion’s, because certainly he couldn’t look so softly surprised and, of all things, misty-eyed like this fellow did. But it was him.

The image mimicked his movements as he went to touch his hair, his lips, his nose, watching to see if they matched what he felt. He tugged the skin of his cheeks back; gods, he really did have laugh-lines, didn’t he? Had they always been so prominent?

He swallowed down the tightness in his throat, then gave a weak little laugh as he looked over his shoulder. “Fal, my love, you are shit at descriptions,” he called back, then looked back at the image for one more moment before it dissipated.

“There you are, your reflection as needed,” Gale said with a smile. “No mirror necessary.”

Astarion swallowed again, looking up at Gale. “Thank you,” he said, voice very, very quiet but emphatic. “You can’t possibly know what you’ve given me.”

Gale held up his hands. “Ah, ah, this was all your work,” he said, then gave a warm smile. “All I’ve given you were instructions and a little encouragement, same as any friend would do.”

Astarion gave a wobbly little smile in return, then took a deep breath before rubbing his face. “Gods, I am exhausted,” he suddenly said after a subtle clearing of his throat. “Does magic always take it out of you? No wonder you get winded after sneaking for thirty seconds.”

“Some of us have knees that actually match our age, thank you,” Gale said, catching on. “But I think we’ve more than earned a nice rest by the fire with…well, not excellent wine, but whatever we have available. Come on. Let’s reward a job well done.”

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

#fictober23 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #Yes it's long but I had emotions #Also welcome to ASTARION WEEK at slush's #I didn't mean for so many Astarion-centered drabbles in a row this just happened #anyway if you want to read it as bloodweave I won't stop you #I'm just very passionate about their interactions #ALSO I RESEARCHED TO SEE IF MIRROR IMAGE WOULD WORK FOR VAMPIRES AND IT /DOES/

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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year

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Heyy first of i want to say that i really enjoy your writting! I think its incredible! I wanted to ask if you can write a minho x reader with she/her pronouns where the reader and minho meet outside of the glade? like in the scorch trials and when they arrive in save haven they slowly fall for each other? I hope this isnt too complicated 😅

(sorry english Isnt my first language 😬)

I'm loving all the post-tmr requests atm, it lets me add some variation to my writing :))

Though I'm slowing down on the longer pieces because they take so damn long, so this might not be as descriptive- sorry if it's not quite what you wanted.

This took longer than I thought it would to get out because I couldn't settle on a plot, but I think I got there eventually.

IT TAKES TIME

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Right Arm Member!Fem!Reader x Minho. Movie based fic for simplicity.

You've been a member of the Right Arm for a while, and things are finally starting to wind down in preparation for moving to the Safe Haven. Which is where you meet Minho. After things go wrong, you focus on helping those remaining, only to be surprisingly reunited with the boy you only met once- but haven't stopped thinking about.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, some violence.

Somehow, you've survived this long.

Despite the odds, you're still here. You never thought it would happen, but now you're surrounded by like-minded people, and the end is in sight.

You're sat with Vince and Dr Mary Cooper, along with some random teenagers you rescued from WCKD's Mazes. You know, the usual. The three of you come from very different walks of life.

Mary is an ex-WCKD scientist who used to actually experiment on the kids you've spent the last few months trying to save. You were a Scorch-bound thief who tried to swipe Right Arm gear and got swept into the mayhem. Vince is kind of a mystery- he doesn't really like talking about his life.

When he caught you, you managed to prove yourself useful, and you quickly joined the ranks of the higher end of the Right Arm- despite being considerably younger.

You shuffle on the box you've decided to turn into a seat, looking over Vince's messy plans. It's basically a foreign language to you, but as long as it makes sense when he tells you what to do, you're not really bothered.

He's more stressed than usual, and Mary is running around like a maniac trying to sort out medical supplies before the move.

It's definitely not an easy situation.

But it's nearly over.

"(Y/N)! Vince!" You look over your shoulder, hearing Harriet's familiar voice as she approaches you in the distance- a group of unfamiliar faces behind her.

"Who the fuck are they?" You grumble to your boss. Due to being born and raised in the Scorch, you tend to be more forward and slightly less lenient. Especially towards new people.

"Not a clue."

The group approaches you, and Vince stands first.

Harriet seems pleased, and Sonya is talking to one of the boys, and it doesn't take a genius to be able to tell that they know each other.

Harriet has proved herself beyond useful and you put a lot of faith in her. She's a dedicated leader with sharp wits and a sharper tongue; not to mention she's incredibly intelligent- so why she's brought a group of strangers here without permission is beyond you.

"I thought the Right Arm was supposed to be an army," an Asian boy states, not yet caught on to Vince's presence as he walks towards them, with you reluctantly following.

"Yeah, we were," the group freezes as Vince speaks up. "This is all that's left of us."

You stand behind him, examining each of the group as they blankly stare at Vince. That's until you look at the boy that had previously spoken- who, for some reason, is looking at you.

He's handsome, about the same age as you and is well built. His hair looks suspiciously good for someone who has been through the Scorch. Then again, somehow, the majority of the group seem relatively unscathed.

"Lotta good people died getting us this far," Vince continues as you hold the boys gaze, only breaking eye contact when he looks away, finally cracking under the pressure.

"Who are they?" Vince finally asks.

"They're Immunes," Harriet responds,almost sounding bored. "Caught 'em coming up the mountain."

"You check 'em?" Your ends land on a girl. Her hair is short and she's pretty short- but she's sickly pale and almost a shade of purple. Something is definitely not right.

"I know this guy, Aris," Harriet points to one of the boys, "I trust him."

"Well, I don't. Check 'em-"

"Vince-" he grab his arm, stepping forward and gaining his attention, he looks at you as you point at the girl "-I don't know about you, but she ain't look like a Munie to me."

As if on cue, the girl gasps, her eyes rolling into the back of her head before she collapes. Falling forward, she crashes into the ground, surely conscious.

"Brenda! Brenda!" The elder of the group dives to her side and Vince looks at you.

"What's goin' on?" You shrug, but pull a pistol from its sheath attached to your leg.

The man pulls Brenda up, letting her head fall backwards as he cradles her.

"I'm sorry," she gasps, "I'm sorry."

"What's going on with her?" Vince asks- but you know. You were raised around Cranks. Hell, you were raised by Cranks. The Flare affects people differently; some people could go for months before even showing signs, and others were a couple of hours.

The scavengers and people you surrounded yourself with were picked off by the virus, one by one.

You know what it looks like better than anyone.

"I don't know," the man says. "Brenda, are you alright?"

Vince spots a bandage on Brenda's leg, peeling it away and revealing a bite mark. "Oh shut!" He dives back and your suspicions are confirmed.

You immediately point the gun at her. You're not risking everything for this random girl. Vince does the same. "Crank! We got a Crank!"

"No! No!" The group immediately splits, with one of the teenagers diving in and blocking Vince whilst the man is grabbed by two of your own men, yanking him away.

"Stay back!" Vince yells but the boy doesn't move.

"This just happened, okay? She's not dangerous yet." The boy tries to bargain but you just scoff.

"You shouldn't have brought her here!"

"I know."

"We let Cranks in here now, the Safe Haven doesn't last a week!"

"I understand," the boy continues to argue, but you're more than ready to end this, "Alright, just listen. Please. Please, okay? I told her that you could help."

Brenda is panting on the floor. Her body is limp and gasping. You feel bad for her.

"There's gotta be something you can do."

"Yeah, there is," you step forward, "we can put her out of her misery."

You cock your gun and the still restrained man keeps screaming "no". You suck in a deep breath, preparing yourself to pull the trigger when a familiar voice stops you.

"(Y/N)! That's enough!" Maty shouts from behind you. "Vince; let him go!" She marches over, repeating herself. "Let him go!"

The men do as she says and you lower your gun, even if Vince doesn't do the same. "She's infected, Doc. There's nothing we can do for her."

"No, but he can," Mary looks at the boy that was trying to bargain, making you and Vince exchange puzzled looks. "Hello, Thomas."

Like something out of a comedy skit, the other four teenage boys look at each other. And then, for some reason, look at you for an answer- which you don't have. So, you just shrug, looking at Vince.

Who also just shrugs.

"You know me?" Thomas asks as Vince lowers his gun.

"Interesting. It makes sense they'd put you in the Maze." Mary walks over to the sick girl. "Though, I must admit, I was worried they'd kill you after what you did."

"What I did?" Thomas manages to stammer out.

"The first time we spoke, you said you couldn't take it anymore, watching your friends die, one by one. The last time we spoke, you gave me the coordinates of every WCKD compound, trial and lab."

"He was our source," Vince looks at Thomas in some kind of awe.

"We couldn't have pulled all this off without him. Take her to the tent," Mary instructs the nearest guys, "and get these guys some warm clothes."

She instructs Thomas to follow her, leaving you and Vince with the confused group of teenagers.

He blinks blankly as they wait for a response. He looks at Harriet and Sonya before he looks at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Deal with this."

"Wait, what?" Vince immediately turns around, walking away even though you're speaking to him. "Why do I have to deal with this?"

"Because I said so!" He shouts over his shoulder. "Just do it!"

You turn back to the boys, and the remaining girl, swallowing and composing yourself for a second- you're not a people person. You don't deal with people; Vince does.

But since Vince has decided to pussy out, apparently it's now your job.

"Are, uh... are you guys hungry?"

One of them shrugs, he has dark skin and a contagious smile. "Sure, I could eat."

"Alright, follow me, I guess." You turn around, the boys behind you exchanging another round of nervous glances before doing as you say.

You can hear the mumbling behind you, even if Sonya and Harriet have decided to tag along; mainly so they can bond with Aris and catch up. You can hear them explaining some basic things- stuff about Dr Cooper, how things work around here, the departure at first light, etc. Nothing you need to pay attention to, at least.

The boldest of the group becomes apparent pretty fast. "So, you help Vince run this joint?" The Asian boy from before sparks up a conversation, and you squint at him.

"That's right."

"How'd that happen?" You shoot a glare his way. "I mean, you look pretty young- compared to Vince and... uh..."

"Mary?"

"Yep," he clicks his tongue as you remind him of the name. "That's the one. You don't quite fit in with them; a leader, a doctor, and a teenage girl- how'd that happen?"

"What's your name?" You ask, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. He's curious, that's for sure. You might as well learn the name of your interrogator.

"Minho," he states, "and you're (Y/N), right?"

"Hm, well observed," you hum, "can't remember the name of the woman who's saving your friend's life, but you can remember mine?"

This seems to catch him off-guard, and his bold demeanour slips for just a second. "Well, what can I say? It's memorable."

You reach a small table, signalling for them to sit down before you call someone over, instructing them to bring food.

"So, you gonna answer my question or what?"

"Trust Minho to start flirting with the first girl he sees," a boy you're pretty sure you heard someone call Frypan says, earing a sharp kick to the shin from Minho.

You scoff, deciding to ignore the comment as you take your own seat. "I'm a lowlife thief, to answer your question." Minho raises his eyebrow at you, silently pushing you to continue.

"Lived my whole life in the Scorch; everyone- family, friends, you name it -caught the Flare and died. I'm the last man standing. Used to fuck about stealing shit from WCKD, then ended up tryna swipe guns off of these assholes. Obviously, I didn't know it was the Right Arm, but Vince liked my uh... what did he call it? Spark? Whatever, doesn't matter- but that's how I ended up here."

Minho hums. "That's quite the story."

You shrug. "Not really. Ask anyone here; we've all got the same sob-story. Well, not you guys, I guess. Can't imagine what you've all been through."

Somehow, this leads into a brief conversation about the Maze and what the boys have been through, including actual introductions. The only girl, Teresa, has been so quiet you've barely even acknowledged her presence, until she stands up and walks away without saying a word.

The group eats, and eventually, you leave, choosing to let Sonya and Harriet catch up with Aris, and the boys settle down before moving again.

You find Vince, continuing your discussion of plans when he makes a surprising comment.

"You've definitely got his attention."

"What?" You perk your head up, blinking from your seat in the shade. Vince nods his head towards the Gladers, who have decided to take their seats on top of a slight hill. Minho, once again, holds your gaze.

He's not shy. That's for sure.

"See," he scoffs.

"I think you're looking too much into this." You look away, back to your plans. "I've done literally nothing to gain any attention."

"Yeah, well, by the sounds of things, these boys haven't really seen any girls, remember?"

"They literally arrived with two." He glares at you, obviously jokingly, which makes you chuckle. "What does it matter? Have you reached the low point of indulging yourself in teenagers' non-existent love lives?

"Ha-ha," he says dryly, making you genuinely grin at him.

You might not have known Vince long, but him and Mary are the closet you have to family.

Which is probably why what happens next hurts so much.

Teresa's betrayal happened so fast you could barely even process it and the entire thing is kind of a blur in your mind.

WCKD blasted through the remaining Right Arm like it was nothing. They killed Mary and kidnapped Minho, along with several other Immunes.

It was a hard blow.

Vince made the executive decision to leave you in charge of the Safe Haven. After the events of the betrayal, the remainder of the people either decided to help Thomas or retreat to safety. With Mary gone and Vince still leading the rebellion, you're now in charge of the peaceful Safe Haven.

Even if anxiety eats at you every day.

You're left entirely in the dark, waiting every day for Vince and the others to show up.

And every day ends the same; you're still in charge and you're still stressed.

It's shit, to be honest.

Just over six months pass, and you change a lot. You've gone from the slightly sarcastic nihilistic thief that Vince recruited to a well-respected leader who cares for her people.

"Ma'am!" One of your men bursts into the medical tent where you're cheering up a pregnant lady that you've befriended. Her partner got killed at the battle and you've become close, often helping her in the medical tent.

You look over at him, shock plastered on his face. "They're here."

You don't say anything as you rush out of the tent, the blaring mechanical beating sounds of the Berg come to a halt as you start to sprint across the sand. The doors of the Berg open, and for a second, you're thrilled.

Until you see a bleeding and unconscious Thomas. "What happened?" You ask as you arrive at the Berg.

Definitely not the reunion you wanted.

"He got shot," Vince struggles along with the help of Jorge and some random dude you've never met.

You rush them to the medical tent, enlisting the help of one of your trained doctors, who immediately assembles a small group to prep for surgery.

"You've grown up," you meet Vince at a secluded part of the Safe Haven, his back towards you as he soaks in the ocean in the distance. He doesn't even need to look to know it's you.

"I'm not sure I agree with that," you scoff.

"You have, kid. People have been gushing about you since I got back- you've achieved a lot."

"Still got a lot to learn, though."

"Don't we all?" A silence settles in, the shadows on his face are dark and his hair is much longer.

"What happened, Vince?" He looks at you, almost like he's in physical pain.

He explains everything. The struggles they've all faced that you weren't present to bear witness to and the losses. He explains that Gally is a boy that the Gladers used to know and he helped them into the Last City. Which is where they'd lost Newt and Teresa helped them escape, only to fall victim to the crumbling WCKD tower.

They're safe now, but healing isn't going to be easy.

You spend the next couple of hours letting Vince take over your duties, and showing him around. It's nice to feel the weight be lifted off of your shoulders, but some of the folk you've been tending to seem reluctant for you to pass the torch back.

Once night falls, and Thomas is up walking again, you catch a glimpse of the boys you'd met once. And for some reason, the urge to talk to them comes over to you.

"Well," you say as you approach from behind, "I honestly thought I'd never see you assholes again." You step over a box, using it as a seat.

"Same to you, shuck-face," Minho grins at you and you scoff.

"Yeah, I still don't understand your shitty Maze insults," you drop your head, smiling to yourself before pulling it back up again. "Seriously, it's good to see you guys."

"(Y/N), I'm assuming?" An unfamiliar boy asks and you nod as he holds his hand out for you to shake. "Gally."

"Ah, yes- Vince mentioned you." You take his hand in a firm grip, stiffly shaking.

"All good things, I hope."

"Please, he barely has anything to say at all."

Minho clears his throat, bringing your attention back to him. "Heard you've been running the joint, that true?"

"Aye, well, someone had to," you stretch slightly. "Can't complain, though- this place is full of people willing to do what I say."

"You letting the power get to your head, yet?" You jut your lip out at him and he grins.

The conversation is cut short as you listen to Vince's speech, watching as the boys get up one by one to carve names into the stone.

The boys seem to settle surprisingly fast, and with your status, your moments with them are cut to few and far between.

"Hey," you look up, the voice pulling you out of your daydreams. You normally spend the early mornings in Safe Haven sitting on the sand, letting the water splash at your feet hours before anyone else has woken up. Except this morning, you're apparently not the only early bird.

"Hey," you respond as Minho sits next to you.

"Do you even sleep?" He scoffs. You're normally the last person to go to bed and the first person to rise.

"Eh, depends on the day," you joke, sending a friendly smirk his way.

You sit in a comfortable silence for a while, until you clear your throat.

"I'm sorry about your friend," you say, and he smiles sadly. "I'm sorry about everything you went through. Vince has told me what he knows- Thomas has mentioned pieces, and it sounds horrible but that doesn't compare to the actual thing."

"Yeah, it's kinda weird, yanno? Feels like I've been on survival mode for so long, I don't know what to do with myself now."

"Yeah," you nod along, "I get that."

"What was it like? Living in the Scorch?"

"I'm sure Brenda and Jorge have told you all about it," you stare off into the sea, watching the waves roll over themselves.

"They've told me about their side of things- but Jorge has a whole group of psychos doin' his bidding until klunk hit the fan when we showed up. Haven't really told us anything about the Scorch."

"It was... Hard. Years of contact survival, moving one place to the next when someone got infected. It was just years of damage control that never really worked."

This became a routine. You and Minho would get up early, meet on the beach, and spend your time until the others woke up talking.

It's actually kind of nice.

Turns out, Minho isn't always sarcastic and full of wit; he's actually surprisingly emotionally intelligent and you confide a lot in each other.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't started to develop feelings for the boy. How could you not?

You'd never had a crush on someone before. You didn't have time in the Scorch and no one stuck around long enough to develop much relationship. But this is different.

You're safe here.

And unbeknownst to you, Minho feels the exact same way.

"What the hell are you doing?"

It'd been weeks now. Minho gushed about you to the Gladers, who made nudging gestures and knowing glances to each other. They'd been pushing him to make an actual move for what felt like forever.

Though, they didn't mean to stand shirtless in the salt water at the crack of dawn.

"Goin' for a swim? What's it look like?"

"Dude, it's like five in the morning- I'm not fucking up my hair this early," you stand with your arms crossed, head tilted.

"Aw, c'mon, you gotta slim it, Captain- you're runnin' round here every day. Just tryna help ya relax."

"I'm plenty relaxes- No! Hey! Don't come near me!" Minho plows through the water, grasping towards you. "No! Minho! I swear to-"

You manages to grab your wrist, yanking you towards him and you shreik as he pulls you in with him. The water consumes you and the taste of salt is overwhelming.

"You prick!" You voice breaks as Minho laughs. He laughs with his whole chest, something you've never heard from him before. Scrambling to your feet, you catch him off-guard as you dive at him.

You both crash back into the water, he's submerged for a second but the water is shallow. He lifts his head, resting on his elbows to push himself up as he smiles at you.

You can't help but laugh as you hover above him, your legs tangled together.

Whilst you're having your fit of laughter, Minho just stares at you. You're the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen- like a Goddess in the flesh.

You look at him properly just as he leans forward. Pressing his lips to yours, you freeze for a second before melting into it, shifting slightly to sit on his lap instead. Your hands coming to his face.

"You know," he mumbles as he pulls away from your face, "I always wanted this. Safety- a place to actually call home. But I never thought I'd have this."

"This?"

He scoffs. "I like you, (Y/N). I don't know what's gonna happen- I just know I wouldn't mind having you with me."

Instead of responding, you kiss him again, deeper this time.

And for this first time ever, you think; maybe things aren't that bad.

This took me embarrassingly long to do so I do apologise I am running out of new ways to do this. Definitely not my best work but I decided to not make things too complicated since things move fast in the films.

I hope you enjoyed regardless :))

#🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri tmr minho #🍃 petri tmr #🌿 petri writes #tmr fanfiction #tmr minho #minho tmr #minho the maze runner #minho tmr x reader #tmr imagines #minho maze runner

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swiftsdelucaa · 1 year

Text

❛ 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Amelia Shepherd x f!reader ♡

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: You're a nurse in the Grey-Sloan and you really admire dr. Shepherd. A problem one day will change things for you...

Requested? Yes, by @mcseattles

𝘼/𝙣: Hi bestie! I really hope you'll like this💕

It's always been as if nurses didn't exist for surgeons. Or at least since they believed themselves more superior they showed it.

Patients have always been your biggest priorities, it wasn't just a job that could stress you, on the contrary, you loved it, you loved helping people.

When it came to Dr. Shepherd's patients, you always hoped to have some contact with her, and not just for the cases. But the only sentence you could hear from her was just "Thanks Y/n" accompanied by one of her smiles that managed to stay in your mind for a long time. That's how you always remembered her, smiling.

Today you were going to be treating one of her patients, who was due for surgery for a brain tumour. Her name was Lilian, and she had been hospitalized for a few months now. You had gotten to know her during her kemio cycles, she was a very sweet and nice girl. This was also one of your favorite aspects of your job, getting to know the patients and making them feel at ease.

"Today is the big day!" you said with a smile as soon as you entered the room to change the drip.

"Thank God, even though I've gotten used to all this" she said ironically.

"Well, how are we doing?" Amelia entered the room followed by Stephanie. Your gaze immediately fell on her.

"We're finally going to kick this worthless pile of shit out of the ass!" she exclaimed. You all laughed.

"Edwards" Amelia got Stephanie to make the case.

"Lilian Evans, 27 years old, third stage lymphoma, she'll be operated on today after being subjected to four months of kemio" Lilian turned towards you, you were her point of reference.

"The surgery is set for this afternoon" Amelia concluded.

"I'll count down!" Lilian said. Amelia smiled at her before leaving, while you stayed with her to keep her company.

"When are you going to tell her your feelings?" Lilian asked looking at you with a smile.

"What...?" you asked pretending not to know what she was referring to.

"Dr. Shepherd! Come on, your eyes sparkle when you look at her" damn was that obvious? Sure, you liked her a lot, but maybe you should try to limit your feelings a little.

"Okay- We won't talk about that-"

"Please the only thing that every person talks about with me in this hospital is my tumor, I won't miss the opportunity to face one of my favorite situations" she retorted interrupting you.

You looked at her for a while. She's right, when are you going to talk to her and get noticed? You can't go on like this.

"You should rest now, I'll come back later" Lilian rolled her eyes at your decision, and you walked out of the room.

"Y/n" Amelia called you.

"Yes?"

"Keep monitoring her and let me know if there are any complications, okay?"

"Sure" you smiled at her politely before she pulled away and you could look at her. «Stop being an idiot» you said to yourself.

While you were on your lunch break Staphanie immediately ran over to you, she looked anxious.

"Edwards, what-"

"It's Lilian, she's having convulsions, Shepherd is intervening, she told me to come and find you" she caught her breath between one word and another, she must have run half the hospital looking for you. You immediately got up and followed her.

When you arrived Lilian was unconscious, the convulsions had stopped and Shepherd had immediately ordered to prepare her to take her to the operating room.

"Where were you?" Amelia referred to you looking at you with a rather angry expression.

"I was- I was on break, I-"

"And her exams?" she raised her tone a bit.

"They were okay... I don't know what's happened..." she asked you all possible questions and you answered sincerely everything you had done. Why did this happen?

Amelia and Stephanie rushed Lilian into the room, other nurses were preparing her. All you could do was wait and hope that the surgery worked out, and that Lilian was okay.

When Amelia came out she took off her scrub cap and threw it on the floor in frustration. You were a little afraid to approach her to ask how it went. When she met your eyes it was as if you understood everything. Lilian is dead, things didn't go as planned. Her family was yet to arrive, and no one would want to break news like that to anyone else.

You didn't even dare to witness that scene. You locked yourself in one of the first closets you saw, you didn't know what was happening to you. You loved Lilian so much. And now she was dead. God, she was just a patient… But she also managed to become the only person she could understand you. Let's say that it seemed more difficult to socialize with others.

A tear came out of your eyes and you can't do anything to stop it.

At that point someone opened the door, the last person you would have expected to see.

"Hey" Amelia walked over to you. "I saw you come in here..." she sat next to you. You wiped away your tears.

"It's nobody's fault, it happens every day-"

"But Lilian didn't- she didn't deserve this" you said trying not to burst out in front of her.

"I know, it's terrible, but it's like this, and there's nothing we can do about it..." she said looking into your eyes.

As her eyes rested on yours you could almost calm yourself.

"The only thing I want to do is just kiss you right now" you said keeping your gaze on hers.

“Well, do it…” she answered the same way.

You placed a hand on her cheek stroking it as you brought your face to hers and she closed her eyes. You placed your lips against hers in a short kiss full of sweetness, she reciprocated making it a little more intense, you could have never stopped.

#amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepherd imagine #greys anatomy #grey's anatomy #greys abc #greys anatomy imagine #greys anatomy x reader #y/n #fanfics #my writing #requests

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fights4users · 5 months

Text

Forever fighting- Rinzler, Alan and Tron’s return

There’s a lot of interesting takes on Rinzler out there, here’s mine.

I can’t fully accept the idea of Tron being Rinzler forever. Both because my heart couldn’t take it and that’s just not who Tron is. People forget how he’s such a force of pure good and virtually unable to give up.

As wonderfully tragic as Rinzler is as a concept you can’t tell me he wasn’t fighting every solitary second of the reprogramming, of the virus, the brainwashing, all of it. You can do all of this to him and you can make him forget who he is on the surface but you cannot stop his desire to do good- you can’t keep him from fighting - especially after making him a weapon. (Something done by both Sark and Clu)

The idea hadn’t originated by me but his should is not only by the damage but from this subconscious battle. Clawing his way back to the surface. That’s why he’s in the games or on a task or guarding because any god damn second you leave him on his own Tron is going to try to break free. Distract, fight, kill, no rest.

I sort of love the scene in the sea because of this, Flynn fundamentally breaking something in his new coding enough for him to fight clu and his color returning to neutral in the sea. JUMPED at the opportunity to break out the minute he gets it. I don’t think he had fully, I see it more as punching his hand through the shell. There’s a crack in the armor but he’s not wholly free.

While I don’t believe Rinzler is a separate person from Tron- as it’s still him at the end of the day just… hurt. (there was a post awhile back comparing him to a werewolf I agree with) I also don’t think he’d just magically be himself again with no problems.

He’s going to be fighting Rinzler (himself) for the rest of his existence. It is going to haunt him for a long long time. These things he did. Horrible things he can’t fully remember, programs missing he’s sure he had a part in. It’s complicated. I really think it was a flash bang of regaining consciousness .

Legacy doesn’t really do the mirroring that 82’ does however I’d argue that Rinzler can also mirror Alan in this case!! Alan had been on the board for a long time, he’s never officially out of the company he’s just been silenced. He quips here and there but he has to control himself or otherwise he is out like that. It seems like he’s caught in just as much a leash as Rinzler, and he’s fighting it too. His funding of Flynn lives, his activity in forums, his constant attempts to reel sam in — this man is out of his mind trying to restore some kind of morality to the company. Justice -> really is a driving force and connected thing between him and Tron.

By the end of the film he’s freed in a similar way, he’s the head now and can speak a bit more freely. He’s learning to grief and repairing his relationship with Sam and Roy just as Rinz is supposedly free.

I just- again “pure hero” isn’t just a title projected onto Tron it’s textually true especially in the world of the first film.

This became more about Tron than Rinzler as his own entity but the point still stands. I talk about the dynamic more in a older post where Rinzler really gives me attack dog vibes and I didn’t want to rehash that, instead giving a new perspective. And talking about a connection I don’t think anyone’s talked about (or I’m stretching)

#feel free to add onto this it’s late I could do better #I’m late to the party but everyone was doing their take on Rinzler a little bit ago #adding to this — always goes with my dog coded post #tron #tronblr #tron legacy #rinzler #Rinzler Tron #alan bradley #meta #Tron meta #character study #essay #might be my last Tron post for awhile

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bettathanyou · 4 months

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Cedric with an S/O whose love-language is food/cooking for him???

Anon YOU READ MY MIND. I LOVE COOKING SO THIS FEELS SO INDULGENT TO WRITEEEEEE TYSM FOR THE ASK!!!!

Enjoy ❣️🐟

Cedric The Sorcerer And S/O With Cooking Love Language!

Cedric and food have a... Complicated Relationship

I have a damn good hunch that man is autistic, so texture/sensory issues, lack of hunger cues, and just Not Wanting To Eat because he's doing something he thinks is too important is a prevalent issue

Of course, you couldn't just NOT do something about it. You loved to cook! You love most of all to cook FOR people

So you ask him about food during your long talks together. Cedric mentions a few basic things he likes, like turkey, stew, potatoes etc but he keeps it irritatingly vague

You try to ask Sofia and even the royal cooks about cedrics favorite meals

All you gleaned from Sofia was his love of sweets and the royal cooks were clueless

Great.

Back to square one!

So with your limited knowledge, you decide to start off by surprising him with breakfast. Using Sofias information, you make him really fluffy pancakes with a dusting of powdered sugar! (Think Japanese style)

To keep things suited to his liking, you put all extras on the side; maple syrup, cut up strawberries (you made them heart shaped) blueberries, melted chocolate, and whipped cream. With some orange juice to wash it all down!

Can't forget some edible flower garnish!

You walked to his door, knocking with your foot (your hands were too full lol)

Cedric thought it was someone else, and he was cranky at first about being disturbed so early in the morning. He opens his door with a scowl, brows knitted in the way you know meant annoyance

But when his eyes rest on you, carrying a huge platter of fresh food and drink, he had to do a double take

Just. Cedric with wide eyes, his jaw about to hit the floor, tripping over his words like. "Wh- what's all th-this for, then...?"

You just give him a big cheeky grin and reply, "For my favorite person <3"

Cedric ushered you into his tower, asking you what the occasion was for, and you could tell he was anxious and worried- so you give him a kiss on the cheek, and tell Cedric that you just wanted to do something nice, and make sure he was fed! You know how busy he can get, so you wanted the sorcerer to start his day with the most important meal of the day

Cedric doesn't know whether to thank you, kiss you, or cry

He kinda does all three 😭

After thanking you profusely, he insisted you share the food with him. He said that you made enough for TWO small armies and he won't be able to eat everything

You try to insist that it was made for *him*, but in the middle of your argument your stomach started growling

Cedric gives you a shit eating grin that screams "I win" and you just sit down with a huff and a (fake) pout

You both enjoy breakfast together, and Cedric literally doesn't shut up about how good everything is

He noticed the heart strawberries and you swear it was the softest smile you've ever seen

He finished his plate and it made your entire day

From that day on, you asked Cedric if you can make him a meal once or twice a week- just to get him accustomed to it

You grow to learn more about food he enjoys, from breakfast to lunch to dinner

Cedric really enjoys sweets for breakfast

A light lunch, because the last time you made something heavy the man slipped into a food coma for three hours

And dinner is your favorite time to cook for him, because you can show off your cooking skills and eat it with Cedric together and make it SUPER romantic

Most of all though, you just love making sure Cedric is fed and taking care of himself. The man is a workaholic to a fault, and you both know it! Which is why he always says thank you and make sure you know how much this means to him

Speaking of, Cedric would try to return the favor in little ways- giving you magic flowers that never wilt, a magic show after a meal, small little animal wind up toys he cobbles together in his spare time (can u guess what his love language is? Lol)

Since he is a picky eater, it's been trial and error to figure out what he likes and doesn't- lots of veggies are a no no, and you respect it and don't push the issue. But the veggies he does like, you use as much as you can! After a while, I could see Cedric trying to branch out a little bit and getting slightly more comfortable with food he previously disliked because you make it taste good (you want to believe he can taste the love)

You try to stick within his comfort zone for food, but sometimes you'll bring something for him to try to gauge where you can cook him new food

Regardless, Cedric adores the effort and care you put into making him food! He offers to even cook for you sometimes! (He conjures it lmao)

Which leads to him talking about food magic! It's quite interesting stuff

But no matter what, Cedric always feels smitten every time he has the pleasure of eating whatever you make for him

Seeing an empty plate from Cedric will always be the highest compliment to you :)

Alright, that's about all I got! I honestly want to expand on this more, maybe make some Cedric inspired recipes???? Would y'all be into that????

#cedric the sensational #cedricthesorceror #bettathanyou answers #cedric x reader #maybe... cedric recipes????#like. merlins mushroom soup???#merlins bread #but like an actual bread #cedric the sorcerer mixed drink 👀‼️#he seems like a whiskey guy if we're talking liquor #or rum #hes a brown liquor guy im calling it #however he usually would stick to wine #anyways lmk about the recipe thing cuz i love cooking and WOULD MAKE RECIPES FOR YALL DEADASS

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knifedancer · 8 months

Text

Love At First Sight - Bonus (Sorta)

While writing LAFS I had one question that kept popping up in my mind: “Is Felix going to be Argos in this? Does he have the Peacock miraculous?” Ultimately, I decided it would make the story too long and complicated to add that tidbit in. This bonus is what I think would happen if Argos was involved in this plotline. It can be read by itself or in tandem, it's sorta related and unrelated at the same time. Enjoy!

You can find the original on AO3 at the following link: here!

Main Story

Silly Thoughts

*******

It had been about an hour since the akuma attack was resolved and Felix had confessed. He had not expected a reply nor a change in their dynamic to come from this…it just felt like the right time to finally tell her. It felt good to clearly state his feelings. Marinette, in her typical fashion, had stuttered and made excuses before hurriedly leaving. He had wanted to walk her home – since school was canceled for the rest of the day – but he held back the offer. Having known her for a while, he knew and could sense that her reaction was not borne from a dislike of him but rather of her own anxieties. If the emotions he sensed while she blushed and babbled were any indication, he dared hope that his feelings might actually have a chance to be returned… She just needed time to process, he would gladly give it to her. However, he still felt a need to check on her to be sure that she was safe. Today had been a traumatic experience after all, and he would be damned if Gabriel would take advantage of her lingering emotional state to akumatize her!

“Are we going to go check on your hen, Felix?” The peacock kwami giggled, flying about in a figure eight with excitement.

“We shall, just to be sure she’s alright. Duusu, spread my feathers!”

With a flash of blue, he stood transformed before his bedroom mirror. An unusual wave of nervousness came over him as he regarded his reflection. She had seen him dressed like this before, but he now felt worried what she would think of his miraculous suit. ‘She’s a designer…’ he thought to himself as he tugged at his hood and gloves as if trying to make himself more presentable. He felt like a bird attempting to preen their feathers in a way to attract a mate. He definitely blamed Duusu for this. He felt ridiculous. Taking one last look in the mirror as he attempted to smooth down the front, he steeled himself. ‘I’m just going to check on her. This isn’t a social call.’

He exited his bedroom window and ran along the rooftops. He paused when he came to the road in which she had been knocked over. Remembering the powerful desire to protect as her emotions went haywire – panic, fear, and concern – for him. It rolled off her like gentle waves in a low tide lagoon, gently plucking every heartstring in his chest. And the emotions of her new ‘admirer’ – unadulterated lust – had driven away his usual restraint against gross physical harm. The relief and amazement he felt from her after had been reward enough. But then he had had to carry her…his palms on her bare skin…he had felt his own emotions as high as hers in that moment!

Argos dragged a gloved hand down his reddened face at the memory before taking off again. Trying to clear his mind, he worked through the rest of the morning. After being shook free from the emotional overload in the classroom by her cry of pain, he immediately ran interference to delay the other idiots attempting to grab Marinette again. It was not much but Felix was sure it gave the two girls enough time to find a suitable place to hide. Then he sensed it… The terrifying fear and panic as she had huddled under that desk – so palpable that he could identify it even from down the hallway, like a thick miasma that threatened to choke him. Felix had known immediately who it was from. Marinette’s emotions, regardless of what she felt, were always tinged with a sweet aura all their own; almost like a pheromone that could only be felt rather than experienced by the traditional five senses. A sweetness that had drawn him in since that night at the Diamond Dance and led to his flimsy excuses to be included in their class, regardless of the danger he was putting himself in. Being exposed to it every day, his own affections had naturally grown for the girl…

However, in that moment, all he had wanted was to comfort her. He had lied about seeing Césaire leave the classroom, knowing the thought of Monarch being able to sense her emotions would have put her into a more destructive spiral. When Marinette had explained about the akuma and how she thought his own reaction was caused by it, his heart had thudded painfully in his chest. He had mentally cursed Gabriel; knowing his feelings were genuine but she would never believe his sincerity while this akuma was in play. At least he had an excuse to treat her as he truly wanted. Illogical as it was, this akuma attacking his crush suddenly felt personal and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Perhaps it was time to trade sides? Could he even be a hero? Ladybug seemed the understanding sort, but he had betrayed her before…would she trust him enough to let him work beside her again?

He would have to find a way, for Marinette.

“No wonder Duusu laughs at me… She’s not even mine and I’m already henpecked,” Argos mused quietly.

He landed on top of the scaffolding that wrapped around the scorched roof of Norte Dame and gazed down Rue Gotlib toward the bakery she called home. His heart flipped in his chest as he realized he could make out the barest hint of the fairy lights she had strung up on her balcony. He took a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was only there to pass by without being seen and prepared to leap to the next rooftop. Just then, a flash of familiar red appeared in his peripherals. He turned toward the north, seeing the hazy shape of Ladybug swinging in his direction.

Argos paused and decided this was likely the best time to make contact, to make his new objectives known to the hero – no akumas and without her timer running down. Perhaps without that mangey cat that always ruffled his feathers! Even when he held the Dog miraculous briefly, something about Chat Noir just did not sit right with Felix. Perhaps it was the blond hair? Was a side effect of the black cat miraculous the human equivalent of dander? He shook his head free of such thoughts. The purple suited villain shifted and leaped, taking a route further away from his original goal. Argos knew when he was spotted – the red figure stopped and took up a defensive stance – and slowed his approach to seem less threatening. He needed this to go well.

However, as he landed at the opposite end of the large rooftop, Argos paused and narrowed his eyes. This was not Ladybug!

“Who the hell are you? Where is Ladybug?” He pulled out his fan, holding it like a weapon at rest to not agitate the person in front of him but allowing him the easy access to fight should he need it. The red-spotted stand-in’s eyes flashed and narrowed – he wished the miraculous cloaking allowed him to clearly read her emotions. Instead, he could only glean what he could from her body language and the muted, muddled sensations that danced just out of reach.

“The name’s Scarabella. Let’s just say that the Lady was preoccupied,” she replied coolly.

“So it was your incompetence I should blame for all the time it took to defeat the akuma today,” he scoffed. Marinette had to suffer for hours while this… this…knock-off hero took the reins? What had Ladybug been thinking?!

Scarabella’s spine straightened with a snap, he didn’t need to see her eyes to know that the hazy emotion he was sensing was scorching anger. “Excuse me? This coming from a villain that betrayed us and all of Paris – scratch that, betrayed the world – and for what? So you could dress up like some reject popinjay to dance around on rooftops and make people disappear?”

Argos winced; this was not how he wanted this to go. He sighed and tucked his fan into his hood. “Look, when I saw someone else wearing the mantle…I reacted wrong. I assume you have some way to contact her? Or her kwami could? I need to speak with her.”

Suspicious eyes narrowed upon him, “What is the message?”

“I won’t say, I have no idea who you are or how close to all this you are. Just let her know that I mean no harm. She can even bring that damn cat, if she so pleases.” Argos’ lips pulled back into a snarl, not disguising his distaste for the other half of the Parisian hero team. “I just need to speak with her on a miraculous matter.”

Scarabella regarded him with narrowed eyes for a silent moment before her body shifted into a more relaxed posture, her arms crossing her chest as she leaned back on her heels. “Fine. I’ll let LB know. I can’t promise that she’ll meet you. She’s been far more cautious since your...incident.”

“Understood, I expected nothing less.” He placed a foot on the edge of the roof, turning his body back from whence he came while keeping his eyes on the temporary bug. A wicked grin split his face. “Oh, and don’t bother following me unless you want to chase after one of my creations tonight.”

He heard a scandalized noise as he launched himself from the roof. He had a fair maiden to check on.

~~~

It didn’t take Argos long to make it back to Rue Gotlib and settle in on a rooftop adjacent to the bakery, hiding himself in the long shadows cast by the dying light. Being especially cautious, he pulled his hood forward to hide his magenta eyes as he gazed into her bedroom window hoping for a glimpse of the young designer. She wandered into his field of view, he felt his heart dance around in his chest – Marinette’s hair was down, her face washed clean of the little makeup she normally wore, and she took up lounging on her chaise as she sketched in her pajamas. She was stunning! He reached out with his senses and immediately met her emotions – the sweet aura wrapping around his consciousness like a blanket and the peacock holder involuntarily smiled. “I’m really a goner, aren’t I, Duusu?” He whispered to himself, knowing the kwami would find this hilarious later.

He watched as she flexed her toes, bobbing her head to a tune he couldn’t hear from his vantage point, her lips mouthing words he wished he could hear. Argos probed a bit further with his powers to gauge her emotional state: peace, joy, calm, with a hint of nervousness. His smile turned fond. ‘That’s my girl, never letting a thing weigh her down for long…’

Argos heard the familiar sound of a yo-yo and he pressed himself further into his shadow as he looked around for the source. Suddenly Scarabella appeared flipping over the back of the roof and landed onto Marinette’s balcony. He felt the bluenette’s curiosity followed by her happiness as she bounced up and shut her curtains. He narrowed his eyes, watching the spotted stand-in duck through a trapdoor and into the confines of Marinette’s bedroom, then observed a pink flash filter through the opaque material of the curtains.

‘Do Scarabella and Marinette know each other?’ he wondered, filtering through the emotions flowing from the building for any threat. He watched with confusion as the side door of the bakery apartment opened silently and Césaire exited, looking both ways before running down a neighboring alleyway. ‘Was she…Scarabella? What does Marinette have to do with this?’ A sinking sensation formed in his stomach.

He ran down a few rooftops before crossing the street and circling back to the balcony from behind, keeping himself hidden. Argos listened and watched as the bluenette came up to the balcony to watch the waning sunset turn to dusk, murmuring quietly to herself or perhaps on the phone? The blond felt as if there was a riddle here that he needed an answer to… Bracing himself, he leaped one last time and landed on the balcony behind Marinette – who jumped and spun around to face him. “Argos?!” He felt a wave of worry and nervousness overcome the girl; her body shook from the sheer force of the panic that was rising.

Mentally cursing himself for ruining the calm she had finally achieved and unsure of how to proceed, he made a flamboyant bow. “Evening, Marinette! I thought I heard a bug buzzing about and found you instead… mind if I rest my feathers upon your lovely roost?”

Confusion.

Worry.

Nervousness.

Paranoia.

…and, beneath all that, a hint of something warmer.

Argos straightened with a smile he hoped was disarming – Adrien was always much better at putting people at ease than Felix – and observed her. ‘No phone. Then who was she talking to?’ His magenta eyes flickered over the rooftop with interest, pretending to assess the decorations in the space while he looked for any pets or god-like beings…he found none. “Beautiful space you have here. Very cozy.” Keeping his posture relaxed, he stepped closer to the bluenette by the balcony rail.

“Oh, heh, thank you. I like to come up here to design and relax, you know?” He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, exposing her earlobes. Earlobes that sported familiar dark colored earrings.

His mind flashed back to this morning with a more discerning eye. He remembered pulling the silky threads of her hair back into a braid, exposing the nape of her neck and ears…. which were conspicuously free of earrings, and he froze for a moment as his eyes widened slightly. Puzzle pieces started to click into place in his mind. ‘No…it couldn’t be…’

Clearing his throat, he smiled and motioned towards her ears. “Pretty earrings, are they a family heirloom?” A fresh spike of panic lanced into him so quickly that he physically winced. That was confirmation enough. His heart sank as he recalled what he had done to the heroine…who he now knew was his beloved. He, Felix Fathom, was the cause of her grief and suffering. He had betrayed the one person he treasured most. ‘Duusu, what have I done?’ The guilt, which rose like bile in his throat, solidified his decision.

“Ye-yes, how’d you know?” Marinette’s voice was jittery and nervous. He’d play along for now as he processed this information.

“Just a guess. You never take them off.” He replied, leaving the except for earlier today to himself. Argos felt her panic ebb with a thin thread of relief. “Honestly, I came here to check on you after the akuma today…” he spoke softly as he looked towards the horizon. Curiosity. Relief. The hint of warmth was back too.

“O-oh… Fel—ah, Argos, you didn’t need to do that. I appreciate your concern though…” He didn’t need to read her emotions to know that she was embarrassed and blushing. His cheeks felt a bit warm too.

“As you know, you mean a lot to me.” Argos turned towards her again, their eyes meeting silently. His voice dropped to a whisper and he reached up to cup her cheek, basking in the warmth of her skin through the magical material. “I wanted – no, needed – to talk to you. After what happened today, I realized I could no longer stand on the sidelines… My priorities and goals have changed. I can no longer play the villain while those I care the most about are caught in the crossfire...”

“What…what are you saying?” Surprise, shock, and hope edged out the lingering nervousness.

Argos’ magenta eyes glowed as he smirked, “I’m saying that I’m on your side, my Lady.”

Marinette’s eyes grew wide, her conflicting emotions ran the gambit so quickly that he struggled to pick up even one in the tidal wave of input as it crashed over him. However, what he did pick up gave him hope: relief and, trailing behind the wave, a hint of pure joy. From the edges of his vision a little red kwami peeked out of a nearby flower planter, impossibly big eyes filled with hope. Felix dropped his transformation and leaned in close, never letting his eyes leave her bluebells as the smirk grew into a teasing smile.

“Does this mean I can have that kiss now?”

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