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ceilidho · 5 months

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prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 3. (part 1 here) (part 2 here)

The man at your till is making you feel increasingly uncomfortable.

He’s a stocky man, not quite as imposing as John, but still big. He’s particularly unnerving because the man has been standing by your till for the past few minutes without having anything in his hands. No basket in sight. Not a rutabaga or a bushel of carrots or even a single jar of olives.

It’s as if he just blew in off the street; dark hair mussed from the wind, shabbily dressed for the winter as if the cold weren’t even an issue for him. The intensity of his stare makes your skin crawl though, and it’s even worse when he decides to strike up a conversation with you.

It’s like he only came into the shop to stare at you and make creepy, suggestive comments. Laswell comes out from the back when his presence starts to make even the other customers uncomfortable, but all that does is relegate him to the parking lot, where he’s free to loiter and stare at you through the window all he wants.

You delay the inevitable for almost half an hour because you keep talking yourself out of calling John. It’s not like you’re not familiar with each other by now—he’s taken you to diners and cafés, and you’ve brought him tupperware filled with stew and casserole on the days when you’ve watched him slump up the steps of his front porch, looking haggard and about to fall on his face—but it feels intrusive. A favour you wouldn’t normally ask of him. It almost feels like you’re using him, actually.

Still though, after some time you almost feel like you don’t have a choice. You either call John or the police, and the latter option is vastly more unappealing. Then you’d really be causing a ruckus for nothing.

Since your phone is stored under the desk by the till, you take a second in between customers to dial John’s number, listening to it ring with your back to the window. That makes your shoulders tense up even more, acutely aware of two eyes burrowing into the back of your neck. The anxiety puts a cramp in your belly until you hear John pick up.

“John,” you whisper into the phone, hand cupped around the receiver. There’s static on the other end before you hear him grumble your name. “Are you—is this a bad time?”

“No, s’good a time as any,” he says, voice thick and heady. “What’s the matter, honey?”

The sound of his voice makes you shiver like it always does, but the effect is muted under the droning of your anxiety. Like a pale imitation of its usual force.

“I just was wondering if—would you mind coming down to the shop for a bit?”

“What for? Need help stocking the shelves?” he asks, still lighthearted. Maybe you’re keeping your cool just a bit too well because he hasn’t yet detected the undercurrent of fear making your voice almost tremble. You glance over your shoulder again and shudder when you see the same man still loitering in the parking lot, eyes locked on you. When he smiles, it’s mean.

“Actually I—I hope this isn’t rude but there’s…this guy’s been hanging around outside for a bit and…” you start, then stop to chew on your lip. “Well, he’s really starting to freak me out.”

You can almost hear him straighten up on the other end. “What’s that?”

Now his tone makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You’ve never heard him sound like this before—alert all of a sudden, a hard edge to his voice that you might have associated with his work persona if you’d ever seen it before. It fills you with comfort and worry all at once.

“He came in earlier and he was…well, he kind of came in looking confused and then—I think he noticed me looking at him strangely or something, which I—well, I don’t think I was making like, a weird face or anything, but—”

“Did he say anything to you?” John asks, cutting you off.

You cup your hand even more around the phone so it muffles your words. “He said I smell…fecund? I don’t even know what that means, but…”

He goes silent for a moment before he speaks again. At first, you think he sounds almost calm, but you clock the way his breathing pattern abruptly changes. “I’ll be there in a few. Don’t move, honey.”

He hangs up before you’re able to say another word. You hold the phone to your ear for another couple of seconds before your eyes inevitably dart back to the window, where the other man is still staring at you, his upper lip curled.

You try your best to focus on your job, checking each new customer out while steadfastly avoiding looking out the main window. It wouldn’t do you any good anyway. In your peripheral vision, you see the dark shadowy form of the man still leaning against his car, eyes still trained on you. It won’t be dark for another hour or so, but the fact that your shift only ends when it’s well past the daylight hours makes your hands tremble when you scan a container of hummus. You mess up the code for artichoke three separate times.

You don’t see the moment John pulls into the parking lot, but you hear the commotion and your head whips around just in time to see him dragging the other man into the woods behind the grocers, one big arm wrapped around his neck. He’s somehow bigger than the man you’d thought towered over you, making his struggle seem pointless as he's dragged off by John.

It’s over so quickly that when the two of them disappear past the treeline, you almost think you imagined it for a second. Then another second goes by and you find John’s car haphazardly parked in the lot, the door still open. At least he managed to turn it off.

“Kate, did you—” you say, turning towards when you remember last seeing her restock the boxed panettone display only to find your manager standing in front of your till, staring out the same window as you.

“Shit,” she says, blinking. A bit awed. “Never seen John that mad before.”

“He’s, uh—I called him because that guy wouldn’t leave. I thought maybe he’d…I don’t know what I thought he’d do, honestly.”

“You know, we could’ve called the sheriff.”

You don’t want to admit that your first thought was always John. Not the police. “Oh. I guess.”

The two of you keep staring out the window. Neither man emerges from the treeline.

“Should I—”

“Don’t even think about suggesting that you go check on him. He’s a grown man and you’re still on the clock.”

“Got it,” you mumble, a bit peeved.

Kate looks at you from the corner of her eye. “Besides, John’ll have my head if he finds out I let his favourite cashier chase after him into the woods where he just dragged off a man harassing her.”

“He wouldn’t do that—”

You’re cut off when a customer waiting at your till clears their throat, forcing you to leave your station at the window. Kate’s smug smile haunts you while you ring the impatient customer up. She heads back to her office before you’re able to say your piece, leaving you to stew in silence.

There aren’t usually many customers in the middle of a random weekday, so you have nothing to do except stare out the window and fret. Your heart skips a beat any time the trees sway with the breeze. Another customer gives you a bit of a hassle over a two-for-one deal that your scanner didn��t pick up and you almost snap at them.

You finally make the decision to leave your till when the trees rustle and your heart stops for a second before John steps back out into the parking lot, looking dishevelled but no worse for wear. His hat is gone. There’s a nasty cut on his lip and it seems like his shirt has been fully ripped open, exposing a wide, hairy chest and two thick pectorals. You do not stare at the way the hair on his chest whorls around his brown nipples.

His eyes are locked on you through the window and his brows furrow when he watches you jog to the doors. When they slide open, you hear him shout from across the lot, “Back inside.”

“I can—”

“Get back inside.”

You pout, but listen, taking a step back in and letting the doors shut with a whoosh. You wait anxiously on the balls of your feet until they slide open again when John finally crosses the parking lot in only a few short seconds. He zips up his coat before coming inside, depriving you of the view. You have to school your face so that your pout doesn’t deepen.

“Are you okay—” you ask when he steps into the grocery store, but no one in this town seems to be able to let you finish a sentence because he cuts you off almost immediately.

“Where’s Laswell?” he asks, almost rhetorically because he sidesteps you after a brief touch to your chin to tilt your head up, eyes tracking across your face as if looking for something to rile him up even more. “Kate.”

You shush him when you trail after him towards the back where Kate’s office door is wide open. His voice carries on a good day; after his tussle out in the forest, it seems to boom across the store, drawing curious eyes. You smile weakly.

“Busy today?” It’s the first thing out of his mouth when he reaches the door of Kate’s office. Her chair is already turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest and blonde hair pulled up into a tight bun.

“It’s normal,” Kate says, almost like a challenge. “Business as usual.”

“Good. I’m taking your cashier home then. That gonna be an issue?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “I’m trembling. You didn’t get all of this out with the other guy? Still need a good fight?”

“Please, John, I can stay—I’m really sorry about all of this,” you say, turning from John back to Kate, a bit frazzled now that it’s sunk in. A faint tremor works its way through you. You don’t even realize the way you unconsciously grip John’s jacket, anchoring yourself in place.

“Honey, we’re going home,” John stresses, fitting a hand against your low back, drawing you a bit closer. You move into him without a thought, like a natural pull.

Kate’s eyes soften when she meets yours. “It’s fine, I can cover the till for the rest of the afternoon. John’s right—just go home. I still know how to work a register, you know.”

He doesn’t let you stay a moment longer to argue or insist that you stay and cover your shift. He sweeps you out the door with a warm hand still low on your back, letting you briefly grab your coat and bag before hustling you to his car. It’s freezing inside from the wide open door, so he blasts the hot air until you slump into the passenger seat, the heat lulling you into a stupor.

The drive back home—whatever home at this point means—is long. Part of you wonders whether he’ll drive you to work tomorrow to pick up your car or if you’ll be forced to take a bus, but it isn’t the time or place to be thinking about those things.

“What’d you do with him?” you mumble, turning your head to stare at the side of his face. The cut of his jaw is hard, obscured somewhat by the beard growing in heavy with the winter, but deeply masculine like something out of an old western. You think you’d happily count every bristle without complaint if he let you.

“Taught him to mind his manners,” John says. The answer is short, to the point. It makes you tremble.

“Like, to respect women?”

He turns his head to look over at you. It’s just for a moment, brief in the grand scheme of things, but it feels significant. Pointed. Sustained. “To not touch what isn’t his.”

The truck never so much as wavers on the road.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain price #captain john price #cod price #price x reader #price x you #price/reader

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carolmunson · 10 months

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orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)

older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.

the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes.

you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.

can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.

you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement.

you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.

he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices.

you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles.

pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.

there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.

you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.

he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.

“hi.”

you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”

“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in.

the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”

you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’

you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’.

the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #old!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #stranger things #stranger things fan fiction

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prince-dork-the-companion · 2 months

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Batfamily Presentation Night - Pizza - Jason

Masterlist

Jason: Alright fuckers, my turn.

Tim: Uh oh.

Steph: This is going to go one of two ways.

Steph: Okay, I now know which way this is going.

Jason: For the record, I made this presentation last night after accidentally making eye contact with Bruce, so if I seem very angry, that's why - and it's mostly justified. Damian, I don't hate your pizza that much, but it's still bad.

Damian: You're just jealous.

Duke: I respect using your status as a criminal like it's a title.

Jason: It's my full legal name, actually.

Dick: EXCUSE ME?

Babs: Jay, are you really going to turn against me like this?

Jason: I stand by this entirely. Cheese pizza is boring and no one likes Dick Grayson.

Duke: I think he's pretty cool.

Jason: You haven't known him long enough.

Dick: :(

Cass: I like Dick.

Tim: [snorts]

Babs: I - You do know -

Jason: Again, I stand by everything stated on this slide.

Duke: This is oddly philosophical.

Steph: Jason you're no longer my favourite Robin.

Jason: You act like I care at all.

Duke: Man I'm just sitting here and I'm just being ATTACKED on ALL FRONTS.

Steph: PINEAPPLE DOESN'T BELONG ON FUCKING PIZZA YOU HETHAN.

Bruce: Stephanie, get off the table.

Steph: Stfu Bruce you're old.

Bruce: ...

Tim: [sips coffee loudly] I dunno what all the fuss is about, it's just Pizza.

Steph: Shut up Tim you're a war criminal.

Damian: I don't mind the taste of pineapple on pizza. It's not bad, but I don't understand why you're so angry about it, Brown.

Steph: I hate this FUCKING FAMILY.

Cass: You love us. :)

Damian: TODD -

Bruce: Damian, off the table. Don't try to stab your brother.

Jason: He can try.

Damian: This is why Mother didn't want you around me.

Steph: WOAH -

[Long, collective silence]

Steph: Bruce what?

Bruce: I don't like getting grease on my fingers.

Steph: BRUCE WHAT?

Tim: The disrespect on this slide.

Steph: WE CANNOT GLOSS OVER BRUCE EATING WITH A FORK AND KNIFE.

Duke: Rich people...

Jason: You're one of us now, Shrimp.

Duke: Aw, shit.

Duke: The animosity...

Dick: I'm on the edge of my seat.

Tim: Not the STOCK image.

[uproar]

Steph: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, JASON?

Dick: HUH?

Damian: You put... fish on your pizza? Todd, what has gotten into you?

Duke: I'm gonna hyperventilate.

Tim: Lord, give me strength...

Duke: All of you were hating on MY TASTE, meanwhile Jason was RIGHT HERE the WHOLE TIME.

Steph: You're going to hell. Straight, DIRECTLY to hell.

Babs: Because nothing else Jason has ever done will land him in hell.

Steph: EVERYTHING ELSE HE DID WAS JUSTIFIED.

Bruce: Stephanie...

Steph: YOU CAN'T DEFEND THIS BRUCE HE PUT FUCKING FISH ON PIZZA.

Steph: NO, NOTHING you say is going to fix this Jason. I'm disowning you.

Tim: Half the time you aren't even one of us because -

Steph: SHUT UP DRAKE!! I'M GOING THROUGH A BREAKDOWN RIGHT NOW LEAVE ME ALONE. This is it this is my Jason Arc.

Duke: [loud breathing]

Damian: This whole event is unnecessary. I've got better things to do -

Jason: If I can't escape family bonding time, you can't escape family bonding time.

Damian: Tt.

Tim: Steph, are you good now?

Steph: No. I'm never going to recover from this.

Duke: I am no longer hyperventilating.

Dick: Let's just - move on -

Tim: I'll go next.

Steph: Uh oh.

TO BE CONTINUED

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threadsun · 8 months

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Z Anon Asks: "Hoi, I was wondering, (Skip this if you've already done this) , how would the SDJ boys + Barry and Bo react if they swap body with MC for a day or so? Like I imagine Jean, Bo, and maybe Barry and Ian being pervs lol. This been in my for quite some time now.

<3 ~ Z"

Content: body swapping, masturbation, blackmail

Jack:

The first thing he does is explore your body. Not for any weird reason, he swears! He just... wants to learn how to best please his Sunshine. What better way to know which spots to touch and tease than to try it out when he can feel exactly how your body reacts to it?

Other than that, it's mostly frustrating for him. He forgets that he's not as tall or as strong as he usually is, and he keeps having to use more force than usual to do things.

Ian:

He's spending the whole day in front of the mirror. Mostly touching your body, feeling every inch of it. Half in a horny way and half in a deeply smitten way. He's also admiring the way you/he looks! He's not really sure why it's so appealing, but he likes this new him!

He doesn't want to fuck anything up for you, so he's too scared to do anything else. And he's terrified you'll find out what he did with your body, so he tries to make sure there's no signs when you swap back.

Shaun:

Look, Shaun's not gonna be normal about this. None of them are. But, getting weird with it isn't his first impulse. No, first he's frantically looking for a paper and pen to write this down because holy fuck would this make for a cool horror movie concept!

Then he's seeking you out, presumably in his body, to ask if you wanna fuck like this. Because, come on, how many chances do you two have to see what sex is like from the other's perspective?

Nick:

He'd be crazy to pass up the opportunity to learn more about your body! He wants to know everything. Sexually, of course. But also what things look like through your eyes, how things taste on your tongue, what things sound like to your ears. Just everything!

He's another one who looks for you. He wants to see what he looks like and sounds like to you. He wants to know how it feels for you to hug him and be held and kissed by him. It feels so... intimate.

Joseph:

He's terrified. Not because he's not in his own body, but because he's so worried you'll get upset if he does anything at all. So for a while he just stares at himself in the mirror, stock still, waiting to turn back into himself. It takes a while to resign himself to being you for a bit.

Once he's less nervous, he'll try to find you as soon as he can. He wants you to guide him, tell him how to be you, what you want him to do. And... maybe... get permission to touch himself in your body...?

Jean:

The absolute first thing he's doing is figuring out what makes your body feel good. And what makes it feel bad. He wants to know the exact things that'll make you melt for him, and the best punishments for when you're out of line. He considers it research.

Then he wants to find you and keep an eye on you. He can't just let you run around in his body, can he? No, that wouldn't do. He'll find ways to distract you, keep you inside and doing what he wants!

Rory:

He's gonna spend a nice, lazy morning in bed just touching himself. Honestly, he didn't even notice the swap at first, this is just what he does every morning. But once he realises it's your body and your hands... well, that's not gonna stop him! It feels good, regardless.

After a good number of orgasms, he'll wander off to look for you. He likes the look of you in his body, and honestly if you're up for it, he's down to have some weird kinky sex in each others' bodies!

Barry:

Weirdly enough, sex isn't the first thing he goes to. No, he puts on his best impression of you and goes around trying to find out information he can use to blackmail you later. He's not sure what he's going to find, but he's ready to get as much dirt on you as possible.

And then once he's gotten it, he'll sit back and enjoy knowing he has you in the palm of his hand. That's when he finally lets himself indulge in your body. He makes sure you ache when you swap back.

Bo:

Listen, he needs a moment. Not having ears and a tail is a pretty big adjustment. Not to mention how bad your sense of smell is. And your eyesight? Everything is so crisp and sharp. It's weird and uncomfortable, getting used to these new senses and everything...

But once he's sort of settled into it a little, he's just excited to have full control over your body! He's touching himself, getting to know every inch of you, trying to figure out all the things your body can do~

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finalfrontierpublishing · 10 months

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So it's been a while since i posted any books - mostly because i've been hiding my progress like a little sneak.

I just finished this bind last night of The Desert Storm by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, or really it's volume 1 out of like ??? 15, maybe. Please take whatever i say with a pinch of salt (I have had 0 sleep for more than 24 hours, and that tends to make me a little very sleep-deprivation drunk a.k.a. unhinged). Okay, on to thoughts! The Desert Storm was foisted onto me by @celestial-sphere-press who told me under no uncertain terms that I WOULD FUCKING LOVE THIS SHIT. Well, I did. This more than 1 million word epic about Ben Fuckin' Kenobi is pretty much god-tier fanfiction. It reads like a goddamn novel. I can never think of canon again without thinking that this good shit should be canon. I read it and then consumed half of it within a week, and I have zero regrets. @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, i absolutely love you and love your writing. It is the best thing since sliced bread. It is better than sliced bread.

I also had the benefit of @celestial-sphere-press saying, hey would you want to use the typeset? MY GOD, i am grateful. I love this fic, i would have typeset it if it hadn't been typeset but Des did such a beautiful job that i am absolutely in awe and thankful that she and the author allowed others to use it. Look at it - it's so beautiful. I only had to think hey, i just gotta design the cover and et cetera and so the book happened.

Please also check out @celestial-sphere-press 's amazing post here and here, who is the only person i know who's started and is almost complete in fanbinding this epic, and is also making an author a copy of the entire series.

Some stats, if you will.

96215 words || 380 pages

Title font: Ghaomiec

I took some inspiration from starblight bindery's lovely desert scape as well as this amazing cover of Dune which i own. I love that the landscape emanates Dune vibes while being oh so Tattooine - just sand and heat, relentless loneliness and melancholy. This fic centres around Obi-Wan Infinite Sadness Kenobi so it needed SAD VIBES TM, which i tried to deliver in desolate landscape form.

Also thank the heavens for Renegade members, who in a masterful stroke of Group Buy Saves Money, managed to source extra-out-of-production colours of Colibri and help a fair number of us get really cool limited edition versions of bookcloth. I am now a proud owner of a lorge stash of Duo and Colibri of which i am now sitting on like a shifty dragon with a hoarding problem. Good luck getting your bookcloth now, Folio Society, ha ha (gloating)! This particular bookcloth is Colibri Copper which has been wholly stashed for The Desert Storm series. I am leaning on transitioning to Malachite for Rise and Fall when I get to it.

The front cover design was done with a stock image and converted to a PNG, which i then fiddled with and did some HTV magic with. It was remarkably easier to weed than expected. I tried something new and ironed the design on the naked bookcloth first before gluing it to the boards, which was a new challenge in making sure everything was aligned.

Endpapers are marbled endpapers (Renato Crepaldi) which I got from Hollanders, which perfectly fit the colour scheme of the bind. The only hiccup was as I was cutting, I realized the sheet was running in the opposite direction of his usual papers and half the size, and only yielded 3 A5 size endpapers and so my heart went noooooooooo. oh well. i guess i will use it for quartos.

Endbands are my favourite - silk in 3 colours in the french doublecore style (as i was binding this i did not have the mental capacity to handle the difficulty of 4 strands). the truth is i usually only can do 4 when I have higher brain function and am willing to spend 80% of my time unraveling it from getting tangled.

I also forgot to mention I had mild fuck-ups, I got glue on the front endpaper which I had to hastily remove with wet cloth, and the back square is preposterously bad but I'm ignoring it for now.

Anyway, i've actually managed to complete a few other binds which have not been mentioned here as they've all been gifts/ surprises or event books in some form. I am SO EXCITED, also because I am travelling in the latter half of July to San Diego and L.A. and I get to meet some bookbinding friends in the flesh. Renegade is fucking amazing y'all. I am ready to embrace these crazy lads who have enabled me for the last 1 year, even when i'm the solitary (1) weirdo from my country of origin in the server. Also... potentially bookbinding trip early next year??? I am enthused.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #renegade bindery #my books #star wars #clone wars #obi-wan kenobi #ben kenobi #ben naasade #infinite sadness #the desert storm #the ben naasade epic

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

coming home

summary: home. that’s what he feels like home. in truth, he has done for a stupidly long time. Longer than you care ever to admit.

javier peña x f!reader word count: 2k (this was supposed to be 500 words) content warnings: happy!javi, people saying i love you, tiny mention of spice, but more fluff. this is fluff. this is happiness, this is joy

Laredo nights are warm, and the days are hotter.

The heat all dry, hanging—practically draping itself over all it can touch. And it reminds you of Bogotá.

Splashing water on your face, you let the cool droplets hang from your still-smiling cheeks and cling to your lashes. Pausing before haphazardly drying your face and meeting yourself in the mirror.

The one in the bathroom of a friend of a friend of his. Someone he’s always known from here, in the city that is home for him—the same city which is slowly becoming the same for you.

You adjust the collar on your dress, staring at the person smiling back at you, the one in this mirror and the one in his room. A person you are slowly getting to know, not used to seeing you smile with so much ease—or your cheeks warming by a stare from him here.

Taking one last look, you step out. Your soles click against the tiled floor before you’re welcomed back by the setting sun and the lively yard.

Before here, you’d never really been an outdoor person. Had always preferred being inside, tucked away, nestled under a shitty desk or bedside light with papers or a book. But, here in Laredo, living on a ranch with him—with Javi—it’s different.

Here, you find more comfort on a chair on the deck than you do inside. You enjoy taking stock of the place—spotting him walking up to greet you—and even the feeling of the sun on your skin. More so when his brow furrows, glasses falling down the slope of his nose as his lips slide up into one cheek; outside again, cariño?

It’s another surprising development of being with him. A thing he has also noted—another thing which has changed since the two of you moved into his childhood home.

Once in the yard, you're again greeted by the air, all thick, peppered with BBQ smoke and stuffed with loud music, with background instruments of laughing children and people catching up.

Even if the sun is setting and the party should be simmering down, there are still plenty of people here. All smiling, all too happy to be here under poorly hung fairy lights and drinking once-cold beer.

No one is ready to call it a night.

It’s nice. Normal. Or it should be—and should feel so.

No danger is imminent, no threat, no reason for anxiety to be thrumming through your veins. No reason for you to be on edge, even just a little bit. There’s just him, you and the boats.

The ones you watch when you pretend you’re not, the ones he notices before explaining that he’s happy with his choice. Both see through the other but never bringing it up—never wanting to pick the scab, which is becoming smaller by the day.

You know so because he always follows it with a kiss. A seal, a stamp of believe me. Your finger always slides along his bottom lip, thumb and middle on either side of his chin. They bother me too.

You know neither of you has any more to give, not much left in either of you to be whisked away to another country to fight another battle. Not yet, maybe never. Both have found small ways to slide shards of the other back into place with some comfort that, eventually, the two of you may even heal.

Glancing over at him, you find his eyes already on you. Your hand grabs another beer without even looking, holding his gaze—even through the shades on his face and the ones on yours.

You don’t mind that he’s had them on you since you excused yourself since you vanished in the house and until you stepped back into view. You do the same—watch, admire. Take every available second to stare and drink him in, still only half-believing this is reality and not some fantastic dream.

A pinch-your-forearm moment: because you’re safe; because he’s safe. Because he wanted you here with him.

Sometimes, you hold him too tight. Curl into him so your ear is pressed over his heart, listening to the steady thump which carries you to sleep. If he minds, he never speaks it—sometimes, he holds you back like you’re a raft that’ll stop him from drowning.

Holding the bottle up, you see him shake his head. Short, curt—very distinctively Javi in a sea of people who keep shaking his hand. His stare on you, likely desperately, as you walk back, remaining on you as you slide around tables and smile at people who nod in your direction.

Don’t leave me alone for too long, cariño.

Their unrestrained joy at his arrival, your eyes watching it double as you stepped out from behind his shadow, hand firmly in his. You don’t know them, the gaggle of people waiting at the yard gate, but you know their voices rise octaves at the sight.

And who is this? They’d asked when the two of you rocked up, Chucho’s apparent heads up to them all not enough of an introduction. Esta es mi novia—

Novia.

Sometimes, you feel your ears burn when it registers what he’s called you: girlfriend, his. At times, you almost pinch yourself in disbelief at how lucky you are. That you get him morning, noon and night—that you get a future, one which (at times) had felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

Tipping his shades down his nose, they balance near the tip, letting molten brown smother you as you allow the hem of your dress to swing around your knees. It’s intentional how long you take to get back to him. Let him watch you walk towards him—choosing him—without fear or hesitation that you’ve decided to be here with him.

It happens slowly, but it almost stops your heart—his smile. It broadens on your approach, spreading through his cheeks and eyes, and you could swear everything gets a bit brighter. More saturated. More vibrant and full of life.

Then, it shifts, spotting the mischievous glint spreading like wildfire as he runs his thumb against his bottom lip. Words—ones all sugary and sweet, tainted with filth, that he whispers into your ear as he tells you to be quiet—are heard in your mind. The ones in that voice he whispers late at night when his fingers tease your bundle of nerves, and his hips meet yours.

That’s what makes you smile—right from your lips to your eyes—the fact you can hear him without him speaking a word.

You don’t lower the yellow-toned aviators on your nose, the ones you’d ‘borrowed’. You know he can see the same glint mirrored in yours.

“Hey, handsome.”

He snorts, letting his fingers—all long and calloused—wrap around your wrist delicately before pulling you closer. Doing so until you fold into him, his hands moving you until you’re in his lap.

Then, a different heat slides over you, the scent of him filling your nose and soothing your tense muscles. An effect once only felt with good coffee and a perfect day—now all your days were perfect, or as close to as you could get.

“Fuck, cariño. You in these dresses...”

Taking a sip, the beer drenches your tongue. A taste you’d acquired, grown used to since arriving hours before.

You hum, light and airy. Letting it vibrate through you to him as you lie back into his chest, feeling the firmness of it and his cheek sliding against your neck.

Home.

That’s what he feels like home.

In truth, he has done for a stupidly long time. Longer than you ever care to admit. Because it means admitting you'd been running from this, from him: from happiness.

Instead, you let it coat you, hang itself around your shoulders as if his broad shoulders and long arms are forever there. A comfort, a joy you can barely describe.

You feel him let out a breath, one he allows to dance along the fabric—and across your collarbone, before you turn your head to meet his eyes. Almost seeing your reflection in them, fingers lightly brushing back a strand which has fallen across his forehead.

“You like them?”

His fingers pinch the skirt in his fingers, tugging it, letting it rise up to your knees. “Like them… fuck, cariño. I love them.”

It’s easier to take a sip and return to staring out—to keep indecent thoughts at bay. But he has other ideas. Calloused fingers gliding up the back of your knee, under the hem of your dress. Along the side of your outer thigh, your teeth nip the inside of your cheek, shifting your spine against his chest.

Whispering, you dip your chin—hiding your lips behind your hand, “Javi. If you keep doing that, I’ll begin making my own music.”

He groans, all breathy and low. The most perfect sound—one which dances to your ears, making your hips shift. It’s hard not to feel how hard he is—rocking against him ever so slightly, purposefully, as the arm around your waist tightens.

Stop.

It’s a silent protest. A pleading one. One that says you win, even if you never really wanted to. Because you have never really listened to reason—something you’re sure he appreciates. Something he's grateful for, even if currently he wishes it wasn’t in a yard full of family friends.

Your head turns, sinking into his eyes again—all beautiful brown and soft flecks of gold. “If you want me to stop, you have to stop; otherwise, we’ll have to excuse ourselves.”

“I know.”

Your eyes scan the party. The one littered with faces you don’t know, and faces he knows all too well. They’re all invested in one another, laughing, joking. His Pop’s across the way, talking to another older man. You’re about to tear your eyes back to him, when Chucho glances over, tilting his hat—that signature half-smile on his face. The same one you were given through the blinds—one you were sent in the rearview mirror when you first landed and found out Chucho had cancelled your motel reservation.

I’m staying at the— No, you’re not. Javi… Pop’s orders. And I'm not arguing with him.

Rolling your lips, you smile softer—settling back against Javi, feeling him relax as a song begins playing. One softer than the others, more guitar strings than thumping beats. Your back finds that comfortable space against his chest. The one you so often find when it’s just the two of you, and he refuses to let you sit in a chair beside him.

“I like you being here,” he whispers. “In Texas… with me.”

The tip of your tongue pokes out, swiping across your bottom lip. “Even when I sing awfully into wooden spoons in the kitchen?”

“More so.”

“Shit,” you smirk, sliding sideways on his lap, still curled into him, “You really like me...”

He tightens his arms around your waist, fingers digging in, holding you in place. “I really do, cariño.”

You pick at the label on the bottle, trying to hide your warming skin and a huge grin, resting your head on the space between his shoulder and neck.

“You happy here… with me?”

Swallowing, you purposefully meet his eyes, the ones already studying you, trying to unpick whatever your expression is saying.

“Never been happier, Javi.”

“Okay, cariño,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “Good.”

You wait for a beat, staring out at the party. At the group of women dancing around their bags, the young couple dancing so woven together it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Slowly, you graze your fingers over his jaw, nails drawing a circle. “I love you too,” you whisper, not turning your head.

For a brief moment, he stills. And just as quickly, he shifts, taking your chin with his fingers as he lifts your eyes to his.

They’ve been swimming there for a while—in both of your eyes. Years of fear of getting close to someone muting them, halting them from escaping. There’s nothing to run from now—

“I love you, cariño.”

You consider a thousand other words, an assortment of paragraphs you think of constantly that he deserves to know.

But, instead, you kiss him. Coat his lips in your adoration, appreciation and love. Pressing those three words over and over as he kisses them back.

Surrounded by heat, sitting under fairy lights as the sun sets, you can't help but think, it's been another perfect day.

an: i needed this as much as everyone else.

javier peña masterlist

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña narcos #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi pena #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javi peña #javier peña fanfiction

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holyghostbelle · 2 months

Text

STEVE HARRINGTON MUST DIE:TWO

Its been a year since someone spread a rumour to you school that you've sucked off half the football team in one night. one year of catcalls, one year of graffitied lockers and bullying, so when you find out his majesty king Steve is behind the rumour its time to take drastic action against him. King!Steve x reader

A/N; reread my own fan fiction, thought it was okay ig then released I had to release the second chapter because I wanted to know what was going on, im gonna add warnings later but im pretty sure there is going to be some sweet sweet smut in this so if your under 18 pls leave or ill sleep with your dad, maybe I already have who knows? master list chapter one

ill edit this later btw

Chapter two

The soft chime of the bell rings throughout the store, you gaze up upon the entree, Harrington's body moves through the store before stopping at the counter.

“I called you last night, you didn't pick up, wanted to see if you got home safe” Steve leans over the counter of Beans&Books the local coffee shop bookstore you practically live in when you're not working.

“How do you know where I work ?” you interrogate, staring at his brown eyes.

“I read a lot, pride and persuas-”,

”prejudice”

”yeah that, you know the classics” he scratches at his nose, other hand running over the smooth wooden counter, then he fiddles with the pens in the white mug and the plastic clashes together. His lips pouts, big brown eyes staring down at you.

“Oh i wasn't aware that you could” you shake your head at him, you return the stare.

“Could what?’he smiles.

“Read” you say bluntly.

There's a pause, Steve swallows and then glances at the floor, his gaze returns and his face brightens “You're so funny” his eyes lingering down upon your lips as he folds his arms into himself as he chuckles “that was good”

You glance away from him awkwardly “Can I help you with anything?” you ask, leaning back into the wall, running your hands over your jeans. You take the pile of new stock into your hands. Coming out from behind the till and meandering over to the shelves slowly, careful to not drop anything.

“Yeah i wanna find a new book”

“Okay” you look at him, he's wearing a green collared henley shirt and dark blue harrington jacket, “What-uh books are you into?” you look back at the shelf in front of you, running your finger over the author's name until you find the correct place.

The coffee shop bustles with life, the milk frother screeching, beans grinding as customers talk, it's hard to hear him over all the noise so you stare back at him.

‘I liked Romeo and Juliet, ' he nods. "Yeah, I liked Romeo and Juliet,” he says almost as if he was confirming it himself.

‘So Shakespeare?um Macbeth? Midsummer's night dream, Taming of the shrew?”

“What's taming the shrew?” he asks.

“oh , like the movie, Kiss me, Kate?”

“I don't know it”

“Okay , so like Bianca can't marry until her sister does, and this guy really likes her so they get this guy to pretend to be a tutor and make him court her so he can marry Bianca, its like fake dating but the other one doesn't know it ”

Your turn to put another book on the shelf wondering if you've been a bit on the nose, Steve is none the wiser.

“Yeah, I'll take that.” His arms stretch out behind him, shirt following exposing his midriff and you can help but fixate on him for a second too long, you almost forget how he towers over you as you look up at his now smirking face, eyes half closed as he looks down upon your face.

Cheeks heated at his gaze “Okay cool” You head to the sections of plays, eyes catching onto the novel you were looking for before ringing him up at the front desk.

“That's five dollars, would you like a receipt?”

‘No. But hey, do u wanna go for a coffee sometime and like talk about shakespeare” he points at you

“I um, you know what, yeah sure” you shrug your shoulders.

“Really?”

“Yeah” you respond nodding.

“Cool, cool! I'll call you yeah?” he slaps the counter with his palm tucking the book into his coat before walking out the door, he flashes you a smile and leaves. You hear his car leave and smile to yourself for a minute.

You look over at the coffee counter Aaron (your coworker) smiles at you, he's just rinsed out the portafilter. You hear the beans grinding, and he's smoothing his hands over his apron before approaching you.

“Was that his majesty?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah”

“Is he okay? I didn't know he could read” he reclines, his bleached afro a contrast against the brown painted wall behind him.

“That's what i said, he just laughed, like he was on the david letterman show” you look at Aaron, his face is shrivelled up in confusion and you grin.

‘He bought Shakespeare, and then asked to hangout, and you weren't at the party last night right? But he stole my-” you speak in a hushed whisper in front of the customers, “ he stole my joint like out my hand after staring at me”

“Huh, i think he wants to, you know” he cocks his head, eyes widening and you laugh.

“Yeahhh”

“No really” he looks over to the counter, “shit i gotta get back to work” he jogs back to his counter smiling brightly at the old lady who is holding a dog and a sandwich the size of it. you look at the pile of boxes you should probably sort out, you sigh and stare at the door.

The telephone rings and you pick up the bubblegum pink receiver, plastic cold in your hand.“Hello?” your finger hooks around the coiled wire and pulls it away from you, twirling it around.you rests against the wall bathed in a cotton candy blue hue.

“Hey, it's Steve"

You hear his soft breath against the telephone“Oh hi, how's the book going?”

“Yeah great, wanna come to a party on friday?” he asks quickly.

‘Yeah sure, want me to tell Eddie to bring gear?”

“No i just wanna see you” you can almost hear him smile. You plop yourself down on your bed, hair falling against the plush floral comforter.

“Oh really?you know i dont deal right?” you query, eyes wandering your room to fixate on something other than the ceiling, eyes catching onto the billy idol poster on your wardrobe door, a mean stare and his bleach blonde hair looks back at you.

“Yeah of course , can't stop thinking about how pretty you are,” he whispers into the phone.

You sit up quickly smiling, there's a pause and you hear soft “shit” before he coughs.

“What was that?” you interrogate.

“How funny you are, anyway I'll pick you up at 7 friday! bring a swimsuit, sounds good? great see ya”

The phone line drops dead before you can reply and suddenly you panicking about what to wear, how to do your hair and who the fucks gonna be there, you dont even like the guy.

You're in and out of classes, studying in the library suddenly Steve is everywhere, Tommy H and Carol snickering behind your back after he waves or smiles at you. You smile at his insolence playing into his idea of you, a mean stare one day and the next a shy look away.

Suddenly It's Friday and you're in the back of chem class staring straight into the back of Steve's head when Eddie throws a piece of paper straight at your eye, you glare at him and his face falls, he leans across his desk to whisper to you.

“Heard your going to the famous Hagen party”

“Huh?” your pencil taps against the table.

“Yeah, Tommy's party, it like a massive bender, everyone hooks up with everyone, i heard Billy is taking Nicole”

“ Billy's going?”you panic.” i don't want to see that douche”

“Dude, your going with the king”

You wince against his words. “Shit yeah, two douches”

“Im gonna die, they're gonna try to have sex with me and then im gonna die”

“Whou would you bang then, out of all three like realistically?" Eddie grins, you glance back at him and then around the room. Steve leans back in his chair playing with his pencil on the table, Tommy's asking his friend the next desk over if the glue stick hes got in his hand can get him high, then you shuffle and look behind you, billy smiles and winks at you, nice enough until he stares directly at carols tits.

You give Eddie a knowing stare and he answers for you “ it's me isn't it ? we should just go home and fuck.”

You laugh at him “i know im whore eddie but christ, your my loser best friend and your in love with Kirsty from the bar”

“Steve then?”

“I hope he dies, but i've heard his dick game is good” you shrug.

continue on

taglist (please turn on tags if your listed but wasn't tagged )

@paleidiot @justrandomcanadiantransdude @joonies-word @officerrrfriendly @ravenhellfire86 @littlebookworm86 @tr4sh-mouth @genesis-p4l-love @brother-lauren @keerysfolklore @person-005 @soapiaa @roundoudou @billieeilishshousewife @cherrymedicine13 @m3tallica69 @poppet05 @supraveng

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #st5 #steve harrington #stranger things #king steve x reader #stranger things but not strange

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mulberrysilk · 1 year

Text

Lavender Haze

Urahara Kisuke x f!succubusreader

Summary: The vacant house next to Urahara's shop no longer remained empty as a pretty girl moves in. Was he obsessed with the girl next door? Maybe. But how could anyone blame him when you looked so delectable? Plus, he made sure to keep an eye on you, something about your reiatsu was different too...He's just being a good neighbor, that's it! He didn't expect to find out that you were more than just his beautiful neigbour...

cw: eventual smut, inspired by that line in the Chainsaw Man scene, low-key Urahara is stalkery, reader is a succubus, unprotected seggs, reader has succubus form which is small horns, wings and tail, oral(male receiving), creampie, Urahara is in love with his succubus lover, talks of reiatsu you know bleach stuff

wc: 8.2k ( she’s a long one y’all)

a/n: thought this was gonna be normal nasty smut with the normal girl next door. Turns out I made she's a succubus. ADHD brain go bRRRr.

Easily he recalled the Summer when he first met you. He had woken up past the eleventh morning hour, just in time for Tessai to return with items to stock in the store. It was the 4th Sunday of the month. The date where they routinely stocked the store with not only shinigami goods but snacks, drinks, and other convenience store items. He had wondered why there was a moving truck parked in front of the small humble house that neighbored his shop. For years it has been empty. The last owner was this little old lady who sadly passed some time ago. He was used to it being empty so it was only normal that he got curious about who would be living right beside him and his dear employees.

Opening his fan, he cooled himself from the coming afternoon heat and casually stood by the fence, the branches of the trees and their leaves, concealed his wandering eyes. Fanning himself and keeping his eyes hidden by his bucket hat, he searched for the person who was going to be his neighbor.

Out from the back of the truck in a baby pink tank top, denim shorts, and white sneakers, you appeared like those girls in the movies. The girl next door. He really thought those things were just a thing in the fictional world of movies, he didn't expect it to be happening right in front of his eyes. Was he in a movie right now? He pushed the ridiculous thought away and focused on you. He watched as you unloaded the truck with cardboard boxes that contained your belongings and shamelessly ogled the skin revealed to him due to the summer heat.

From your side profile, he could tell just how pretty you were. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat and your skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, making your tank top cling to your body even more, hugging your curves and reminding him of those models in summer magazines. Was he dreaming?

He didn't even know how long he had been staring but he remembered you went in and out of the front door twice, and the heap of cardboard boxes by the pavement doesn't seem to have lessened.

“You know, if you want to make advances toward her, my tip is for you to offer to help her move the boxes.” Tessai’s deep voice sounded behind him, startling the former shinigami.

“Tessai! When did you—advances? I’m merely…looking.” He brought his fan to cover the lower half of his face, a little flustered to be caught. He was so distracted he didn’t notice his friend’s presence.

“You look like a stalker.” A haughty younger voice commented.

Urahara flicked Jinta on the forehead, who was actually looking at you too.

Meanwhile, little Ururu approached you and politely asked if you needed help. The three males hid behind the safety of the concrete fence watching as she talked to you. You smiled at the young girl and their hearts fluttered. Ururu then pointed in their direction and your eyes followed where she was pointing. Squinting your eyes, you could make out two tall figures and a smaller one.

The three of them froze, caught like a deer in headlights.

You waved prettily in their direction as a short greeting before Ururu and you moved your stuff inside.

“You like her.” Jinta teased Urahara.

“Nonsense. I know nothing about her.” He played it off coolly, fanning himself.

“You know that she’s your neighbor now and that she’s attractive.” Tessai backed up the kid, Urahara mocked an expression of betrayal as his friend took Jinta’s side.

“We shall be good neighbors to her and nothing more.” Urahara snapped his fan shut before returning to the air-conditioned confines of his shop. Although he said what he did, he was sure he was going to see a lot of you, and should the opportunity arise that he could flirt.

Just harmless flirting. He told himself.

If only he could take back his words.

As the summer progressed, you settled into your little home and he caught you most of the time when you were coming home from wherever you’ve been but on the weekends, he would have a full view of you in your backyard, tending to the herbs and vegetables you grew at home. With the heat, you’d be in shorts most of the time and it was paired with either a tank top or a sports bra. The two of you only ever acknowledged one another silently, not having the chance to speak to each other formally but he wasn’t going to rush things. Sometimes he thinks it’s better off this way. To just look and don’t touch. It was painful in certain ways for him because, like other men, he too had his own needs and desires.

One afternoon changed everything.

It had been so hot, the air conditioning in his shop wasn’t enough to fight the heat. He had brought out extra fans to make it better and the more he stared at the frozen items box, the more he wanted to just stick his face inside to feel relief.

The door to his shop slid open and in you came. Your back was against the light that shined as you entered and it made you glow. He felt a hint of warmth collect in his abdomen when you smiled softly at him. Your shoulders and collarbones were exposed as you wore a sundress with thin straps. It was shorter than most sundresses, it came up to your mid-thigh, not that he was complaining. It cinched perfectly at your waist and the fabric of the skirt flowed and swished with every movement. God, you were absolutely delectable today.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my new neighbor. How may I help you?” He plastered on his shopkeeper facade.

“I was hoping to find ice cream.” You clasped your hands behind you and raised your shoulders in a cute way. “It’s too hot these days and I’m working from home, so I thought, ice cream would be nice.”

“Good for you, I do have ice cream and an assortment of sweets if that’s to your fancy.” He gestured to the freezer.

“Thank you.” You grinned before going to make your ice cream selection. “So…um…I know I just moved in. I’ve met Ururu who told me she works here and I feel a little rude that I haven’t introduced myself to you yet.” You made small talk, eying the variety of ice cream flavours.

“Oh?”

You introduced yourself properly, telling him your name, and extended your thanks to him for how Ururu helped you move in.

“She’s really strong for her age.” You said, finally choosing an ice cream flavour. Strawberry.

“That she is. Would you be so kind as to also get me a piece?” He asked before you made your way to the counter.

“Oh, sure. What flavour?”

“Same as yours.”

At the counter, you reached inside your little purse to pay but he spoke. “It’s on the house this time, cutie.”

Your heart jumped at the nickname. Heat collected in your cheeks and you murmured your thanks. Somehow instead of leaving, you found yourself sitting next to him in the air-conditioned living room of his house, eating ice cream and having a pleasant conversation. His company was nice and you had to admit you were proud to have made a friend out of your neighbour….attractive neighbour.

Kisuke felt the same too but he had felt the need to keep you around because he was surprised by the spiritual pressure a human like yourself had. He was curious to know if you were some special being or merely a human who will bait hollows and other entities your way. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were some special being with how endearing and magnetic you were. But if you were merely a human with such energy…well, he felt the need to protect you. It didn’t help that he was so willing because he had developed a crush, obsession? Whatever people these days called it. He just knew he wanted you in every way possible but of course, he had to be a gentleman.

“What brought you to Karakura?”

“Was looking at listings and this place was up for rent at a really good price, plus it’s an easy commute to the city and it’s quiet.” You replied, suckling at the strawberry popsicle.

“Quiet? You running away from a boyfriend or something?” He playfully suggested, sneakily asking if you were taken or not. Not that it would be a problem.

“Something like that.” You murmured and his eyes widened a little but then you broke into a smile. “I’m just kidding!”You laughed. “Have you always been a shop owner?”

“Nope.” He answered you truthfully and you tilted your head.

“Oh?”

“It’s complicated but basically, I was expelled from my past occupation.”

“Expelled? Did you do something bad?” Your gaze never left him.

“To them, yes but in my eyes, I failed at what I had to do. So I came here and decided to be a shopkeeper.” He grinned at you, making light of the topic and you gave him a small smile.

“Quite the interesting man you are.” You giggled before having another taste of your ice cream, unaware of the eyes that clouded like a storm at the way your lips wrapped at the tip of the pink iced treat. Taking a bite of his treat, he couldn’t help but wonder how soft your lips might be against his skin, his lips, or his—

“Oi! Urahara!” The shoji door slid open, the cool air from the air conditioning escaping the confines of the living room. Urahara internally sighed at his disrupted thoughts.

Your head casually turned to the unfamiliar voice and stood by the door was someone you’ve never met before. He stared at you and you stared at him, your brows furrowed as he continued to stare for quite some time. His teddy bear brown eyes looked you up and down, taking in the view of an attractive stranger with an ice lolly between her lips and the pretty summer dress she wore. Pink dusted his cheeks before he turned his attention to the man seated not too far from you.

“I-I need to talk to you!” Orange haired boy demanded, masking his fluster.

“Kurosaki-kun, as you can see I have a visitor,” Kisuke responded and you waved your hand.

“It’s okay. I can go.” You told the two men, the urgency in Kurosaki’s eyes told you that it was important and something not to be shared with others. It’s not your problem nor did you care to know what it was.

“Thanks for the ice cream, Kisuke.” You chimed happily, sending a wink his way, and it felt like an arrow went straight into his heart. “I’ll see you around.”

So cute. He thought to himself, a little disappointed you had to go but he must admit watching you walk past Ichigo on your way out, was a pretty view that made up for your leaving. He thanked whatever designer made your dress at such a perfect length. One that wasn’t too short to explicitly tempt and not too long to bore. It was just the right length that created tension, that made Urahara wonder how pretty it would be to bunch the fabric up to reveal more of your thighs.

Once the front door shut telling them of your departure, Ichigo turned to the man still sitting and halfway done with his ice cream.

“Who was that?”

“My neighbor.” Urahara sighed with a smile that Ichigo couldn’t read but made him narrow his eyes at the playfully crafty man. “So, what is it that you need to tell me so badly that you disturbed my precious time with my pretty neighbor?”

Urahara wouldn't say he was a stalker. Maybe if anyone did see him, they'd think that's what he was doing. But he was merely watching you from the comfort of his home. It wasn't his fault his bedroom upstairs looked directly into your bedroom. He'd like to think fate was tempting him, giving him signs that your paths were meant to constantly cross.

It was definitely a game of fate because there were times the curtains were closed and days when they were left drawn apart. It’s not like he waits for you to show up or anything, there were just some instances where he’d see you going to bed in those cute pyjamas of yours. He liked in particular the pink ones or the white and pink shorts ensemble.

Tonight though, he could see you again. Lying on your stomach with a bunny plushie cradling your chin while you read a book, your legs swung in the air, the air conditioner in full blast with how hot the weather had been. This lovely night's choice of sleepwear was a white cotton tank top paired with white frilly shorts. His eyes ran along the length of your legs, wondering how smooth your thighs might be.

Your presence in his life was constant and honestly was a breath of fresh air from all the hollow and shinigami issues that come and go. He would even say you two had become close friends. Small exchanges became him coming over to fix stuff when you need it or you going over to the shop with sweets or pastries from the city. If you had a watermelon to beat the heat, you’d share it with him.

Despite this blooming friendship, Urahara was plagued with thoughts that made his stomach warm and crave you like a wolf hungry for prey. It didn’t help that you had also become the subject of his wet dreams that had always made him wake up in a mess, sweating and he even felt like he didn’t get enough sleep….was he being a bad neighbour?

And could you blame him for the shock and dumbfounded look on his face when you, one searing hot afternoon, asked him? “So do you wanna do it?”

Your voice was soft as your head lay against the pillow of your bed, the two of you had escaped to your room after he had helped you hook the sound system to the tv. The air conditioner was on full blast and the cold air being pushed out was the only sound in the silence between you two.

Urahara sucked in a breath, and doing so made the overwhelmingly sweet scent of your sheets, of you, too much. Pheromones was it? “Do what?” He calmly grinned, not letting his composure falter.

You shifted in your position, stretching a little then leaned your head on your extended arm, locks of your hair cascading over your face and that delicate curve of your neck. Your eyes appeared sleepy as if you had some sake to drink and had gotten tipsy, it was alluring, it was…seducing. Was he dreaming again?

The summer sun glared at him and his eyes adjusted and searched for your face, finding first your glossed pink lips. “Fuck.”

Now he really was at a loss for words. He felt like who he used to be over a hundred years ago when he had become Captain. Easily flustered, nervous, and unsure of himself. “W-what?”

The sun got into his eyes again.

When they adjusted this time, your hands rested on either side of his head and you were looking down at him, meeting his gaze as your hair fell around you. The warm orange hue of the sun kissed your skin and made you and your hair glow. He could even feel the warmth of your skin as you leaned over him, so close.

“I think you heard what I said.” You purred, throwing a leg over his hip. Urahara swallowed the lump in his throat again. Was he dreaming? Oh, god, was he dreaming?! His dreams even felt as real as this. It was hard to tell.

He didn’t dare move a finger scared that if he touched you, you’d disappear. Even when you straddled him with your cool palms against his chest. He laid still.

Your eyes never left him and he wondered if he had imagined the pink glow that flashed in your irises when you batted your lashes and pushed apart the lapels of his samue.

A finger traced along his center, from the crevice between his two collarbones down his chest and to his abdomen. “What’s wrong?”You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you cooed sickeningly sweet. “Why are you so still?” You toyed with the strings of his pants. He swore to himself. Blood was rushing down to his groin and it didn’t help that your ass was pressed against it. There was no way you couldn’t feel him harden against you.

You raised your head a little, pushing his bucket hat up in the process to remove the shadow he hid behind. His eyes couldn’t stay in one place. It jumped from your eyes, the gentle tempting smile of your lips and the sight of your cleavage as your shirt dipped low, soft breasts in their lacy bra cups,

“Y/N-chan….” He sounded as if he was warning you.

“I’m not playing any games with you, Kisuke.” You said, sliding your hands from his shoulders and then to his hands, guiding them to your waist. “Am I?”

“I think you are playing a dangerous game,” he spoke, feeling your waist, internally groaning at the fact he was touching you, really touching you.

“Awe,” you cooed, pouting your lips mockingly. “Are you nervous?” You were teasing him now, cradling his wrists and sliding them higher til they cupped your breasts.

“Aren’t you?” He managed to say, fighting the urge to squeeze your breasts through your shirt, he could already feel just how soft they were.

You shook your head, your resting smile unfaltering as you continued to splay your fingers on his exposed chest, running them up and down sensually slow you could feel the goosebumps on his skin form.

You cupped his face, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb. Each contact made a shivering delightful feeling bloom on his skin and the intensity of your gaze melted him further and further as if it was pulling him under a spell.

The feeling intensified when you leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his cheek, then his jaw, and god, his neck. Urahara moaned softly, the heat of your lips and the slight nibble of your teeth on his sensitive skin was like another sip of exquisite saké.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He lowered his hands to your hips, grabbing the flesh as he rolled his hips upwards for so much needed friction. The feeling made you giggle. That sound was like a siren song.

“Maybe.” You said with a smile he could feel against his skin before you continued to kiss along his neck. A sensual roll of your hips and his eyes shut momentarily at the feeling. “I can tell you’re enjoying this.”

He was. He was thoroughly enjoying this, the heavy petting, the kissing, and the closeness of your bodies. This experience was different. He felt all too consumed in your aura, your presence, and your touch. It was intoxicating. He wondered if this was normal. If the dreams, the way you took up all his thoughts and now your very touch, were all still of the human world.

Before he could even question and remind himself of your spiritual energy, your lips stopped their delicious kisses and you straightened your back. You reached for the hem of your shirt and peeled it over your head, your hair tousled by the removal. Staring at you felt surreal. It was almost psychedelic. Your body was the only figure that was clear while everything else other than you was fuzzy and blurred.

“I’m gonna ask you again, Kisuke.” Your voice traveled smoothly in both his ears, echoing in his head. He swore there were pink symbols in your irises right now. His eyes were locked on yours, there was no denying it. “Do you…” you pressed your naked breasts against his chest, their softness against his muscles making him painfully hard. “…want…”. You kissed his cheek. “…to…” then the corner of his lips, so dangerously close. He gripped your hips, hard enough to leave marks. You were driving him crazy. You hovered your lips over his, barely touching. “…fuck?”

You didn’t have to ask him again.

A rough hand grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down to finally, finally, kiss you.

Oh, he tasted sweet. So sweet. You could feel his beautiful spiritual energy seep under your skin. You were right to have chosen him. Even though you moved here to start anew, you didn’t expect to meet someone like him. You didn’t know what he was exactly but his spiritual energy had you weak in your knees. It flowed bountifully like a waterfall. It was strong too which meant you wouldn’t need much to keep your capabilities base level.

You were giddy and thrilled to have found him.

This was not normal. Urahara thought as he kissed you with such hunger. His lips moved in tandem with yours, fighting for dominance and easily winning it. He thought your touch was intoxicating? Your lips were far more dangerous. They were downright hallucinogenic. It was as if they were laced with a poison that seeped immediately into his system that made the depraved lust he had for you, increase a thousandfold.

This was definitely not normal.

Your spiritual energy was increasing too, it felt like a weighted velvet blanket on his body, getting heavier and heavier. Not heavy, almost, joining with his? How was this possible?

Thinking wasn’t easy, not when he had the beautiful neighbour he’s been dreaming and fantasising of on top of him. His hands moved on their own, feeling and tracing your curves, cupping your soft breasts, and feeling their weight against his palms. This was better than he imagined you felt. It couldn’t compare.

Urahara pulled away to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell quickly while you kissed the spot on his neck that you had marked before and lowered yourself, leaving kisses along his chest and his abdomen. His breath hitched when he felt your chin brush the hem of his pants. His eyes snapped open to look down and were met with dark clouded eyes staring prettily up at him, lashes fluttering with each blink.

“Watching me from your bedroom isn’t enough is it?”

You knew? Fuck. For how long?

“You caught me,” he chuckled, petting your head adoringly. “No point in lying to you, is there?”

You shook your head with a sly, cheeky smile. “You don’t have to lie to me, Kisuke.” You untie the strings to his pants, the hem loosening easily. “Have you thought about this?”

His breath got caught in his throat. Your hand pressed against his erection through the fabric. “Y-yes. C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t tease me. I thought you weren’t playing any games with me?”

“I’m not.” You shimmied his pants down along with his boxers, cock springing freely from the constraints of the fabric.

Urahara hissed when the cool air kissed the leaking head of his cock. Was he always this sensitive? Before he could say anything, your tongue licked a stripe along his length, dreamy eyes staring up at him with lust. You enjoyed his reactions. He looked so pretty like this, cheeks flushed, eyes droopy with desire, and hair all tousled. You continued your ministrations, running your tongue once more at his perfectly sized length before kissing the cute pink head of his cock, the precum already making your senses vibrate crazily.

Like you had suckled on the strawberry popsicle the first time he had you over, your lips wrapped prettily around him, your tongue hot against his cock as you swirled it over his sensitive head.

“Keep going, sweetheart. F-fuck,” he softly moaned out. His words encouraged you and the gentle brush of his thumb along your brow made you happily take him deeper. His fingers tighten in your hair as he groaned in bliss. He was hot and heavy against your tongue, and the natural condition of your entity enjoyed the musky taste of him.

Urahara’s fantasies were incomparable to this. He was already losing his mind at the hot warmth of your mouth and the rhythmic bobbing of your head along his cock. A sharp delightful shiver ran up and down his spine when he felt his tip touch the back of your throat, you gagged cutely and he looked down at you to make sure you were okay. He was brought immediately closer to the edge when he drank in the sight of your glossy eyes staring up at him with an adorable furrow of your brows. This was far better than he imagined.

His moans left him freely, and his hand on your head continued to pet you as he felt the tension in his spine tighten. You could feel yourself get wetter just at the sight of him. Touching him and finally pleasuring him, was heightening your sensitivity. The ache in your core was painfully sweet and you couldn’t help but moan around his length, completely aware of how the vibrations affected him.

Urahara swore under his breath, unable to hold back the following thrusts of his hips as his orgasm bursts through his body. He felt as if broke through the cottony haze he had been under, only to sink right back in and further down once more. He could feel the way your tongue moved as he remained still inside, and the movement of your throat as you swallowed his cum with your eyes shut in bliss. What an obscene picture.

He felt your spiritual energy increase again. The little clarity he was able to gather after climaxing helped give his brain enough time to form full thoughts and assess the situation.

Watching you pull back, you detached yourself, cock slipping from your lips with a soft pop. You licked along your lips with a satisfied smile, like a cat who just got the cream. Which you kinda …did. The way you glowed intensified, and your aura had completely changed.

“You’re not human aren’t you?” He caught his breath, analysing his senses. It wasn’t a question that he needed an answer to.

“You’re not human too.” You simply answered back, climbing on top of him. His cock, half hard, slotting between your warm slit.

“You’re feeding off my reiatsu.”

“Something like that,” you smiled, intertwining your fingers with his. “I can’t exactly feed off just any kind of reiatsu.” You slowly rocked back and forth, Urahara feeling the wetness of your pussy coating him. His hands gripped yours, his eyes rolling back at the heat of your folds. God, he wanted to be inside you.

“Sexual reiatsu then?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, gasping when the tip of his cock caught at your entrance. You lifted your hips a little higher. “S-something like tha—.” You cut off with a moan as you sunk down a little, taking in the head of his length. He felt better than you could ever imagine.

Urahara felt that at this moment, he had more control than you did. Your fingers were squeezing him, your thighs were quivering with need and your face, your pretty face, was trying so hard to focus. You looked as if you were losing all resolve, completely crumbling apart with lust. He watched you intently, refusing to miss a single thing as you sank down on him, taking him into your tight, velvety heat that‘s got him aching hard again.

Bottomed out, your head fell forward. You took a couple of breaths as you allowed yourself time to adjust. It has been a while since you’ve laid with anyone, you almost hated yourself for tearing away the euphoric feeling of connecting your body to someone. Even so, with him, it was different. You didn’t just want to have him once and leave it at that. You wanted to have him. Completely. God, his reiatsu feeding yours was overwhelming. You could cry at how good he feels.

His voice pierced through the rapturous screaming of your body. He said your name so sweetly. That gentle and teasing coo of your name that had you weak in the knees.

“Look at me.”

Without a second thought, you did as he said. His larger hands squeezed yours in a reassuring manner and you felt as if your heart was going to burst at that action. You met his gaze, the once dwindling remnants of your energy almost fully replenished after months. Urahara was met with the pink pattern in your irises in full glow. Everything but you was a blur of colours. The effect your being had on him was akin to a drug that heightened every pleasurable sensation and kept you and him in a haze of warm lavender.

If his assumptions were correct, then he was one lucky and unfortunate bastard.

“Show me who you really are.” He untangled one hand to caress your cheek, the soft touch making you lean into his palm.

How could you not give him everything he wanted? His reiatsu was sweet, warm, and enveloping. It was delicious. You felt intoxicated by it and ever since your skin touched his, you knew you drew him into your web.

Urahara moaned when you rolled your hips, his cock hugged by your velvety walls, and he cussed when you took his thumb into your pretty little mouth. He blinked a couple of times, fighting the urge to rock into you as he wanted to see your true form. Your kind was rare, very rare. In fact, many shinigami believed your kind to be just a myth and a fantasy of depraved men.

The sun had begun to set and the golden hour illuminated your skin. Its rays glared at his eyes once more and when his eyes adjusted again, he caught the shape of two horns curling by the side of your head like a crown and stretched wide behind you were the most majestic set of wings, a shade of deep purple. Your eyes were shut as his thumb swiped your lower lip. Were you embarrassed?

“Didn’t I tell you to look at me?” He chuckled and you adorably blinked your eyes open, lashes fluttering. God, you were so cute. He can’t hold himself back anymore.

Gently with his strength, he switched your positions. Your back landed on the soft mattress of your bed, taking you by surprise that your wings had contracted into themselves. His hands held your hips as he hoisted them onto his thighs, lifting them up. You stared at him, eyes wide. His thumb spread apart your puffy lips, humming satisfactorily at how it glistened with slick. When he returned his gaze to your face only to find it hidden behind your hands, he found it endearing that you were being shy especially since it was in your nature…

“What’s wrong?” He asked, rubbing his length between your folds, collecting your slick before guiding his head to your entrance, merely kissing with the tip. You whined into your hands at the feeling, hips wriggling for more. “Talk to me, Y/N-channn.”

“I-I have never shown anyone…” you peaked through your fingers, his ash blonde hair prettily a mess over his eyes as he looked at you with such a gentle look, a contrast to your former lover from a hundred years ago whose face had contorted in horror in a rare blood moon. “…shown anyone at will…”

“You hide this cute form of yours?” He pushed the head of his cock in, turned on by the way your back arched at just him entering you.

He sighed out in bliss, sinking slowly, inch by inch feeling the warmth of your walls hug him. It was heavenly. God, he was never going to get enough of you. There’s so much he wanted to do to you. This was just the tip of the iceberg.

“K-kisuke,” you whimpered, not satisfied with him just remaining still inside you. You needed more.

"What's gotten you so submissive, hm?" He teased, taking his thumb and massaging your clit. The pressure made you moan. "You were the one who started all this." He drew his hip back a little to shallowly rock in and out of you. His own moan accompanied yours, your walls contracting needily around him.

He was right. You were the one who started this but now you were melting in his touch, helplessly needing his touch. You believed it was the strength of his reiatsu. It was stronger than any human you've played with to just get enough energy to keep your powers available to you. His sexual reiatsu, unlike humans, felt as if you had no way of depleting it, it was making your senses and your lustful need increase a thousandfold.

"P-please, I need you." You whimpered, your hands no longer hiding your face. They fell to your side as you gripped your sheets, the slow rocking of his hips, the slow sensation of his cock scraping your walls, was driving you insane. You wanted it in full force, not like this, this was torture. If it had been just another human, you would've maintained full control. He was different.

"You beg just as cute as I thought." He smiled at you, hands gripping your hips tight. "I still have questions." Though he was stalling from giving you what you want, enjoying the obscene sight of your body shivering and aching for pleasure, and your cute lewd face, he was using everything in him to not just fuck you senseless in your bed.

"I'll answer anything you ask after!" You cried out, the burning ache in your core too much. You needed the sweet burst of relief to wrack your body, you needed the vulgar rapture of fucking to ruin you. "Just, please, please, use me as you wish." You never begged any of your victims like this.

The sweet sound of your voice pleading him like that deepened his desire for you. He'll show you just how much he's been wanting you all this time.

He drew his hips back, almost leaving the velvet heat of your walls. You were about to whine, thinking he was going to tease you to no end but no. Like a man starved, like a dog in heat, he drove back into you, fully sheathing himself again, and regulated a rough and fast pace.

Your lips parted in a silent scream, that tingling and electrifying feeling you’ve deprived yourself of in the full flux of your energy for years, sent strong, crashing waves of pleasure throughout your body. It was euphoric. Each deep stroke had your toes curling and your eyes shutting in pure bliss. Every nerve receptor was on overdrive and made the right coiling feeling in your tummy contract further.

You didn’t care about the lewd moans that left your lips or the obscene sound of skin slapping on skin and the wet squelching of your pussy as Urahara pounded into you. That burning ache within you was being scratched and god, why did his cock feel so good.

Urahara was relentless. He drew his hips back and drove them back in in a crazed frenzy, chasing his own high and addicted to the warm plush walls of your pussy squeezing him. His own groans and pleasurable moans melded with yours, the two of you a hot sticky mess of sex.

Even in the daze of carnal lust, he made sure to enjoy the pornographic sight of you on his bed, puffy pussy lips split apart by his cock and tits bouncing with each collision of his hips against yours. You were so out of it too. Your cute little tongue poked out just a bit between your lips and your eyes couldn’t even stay open, you were just spiraling in pure pleasure.

He brought one of your legs over his shoulder, angling himself in a way he could rut in you deeper. “K-Kisuke!” You screamed his name out so sweetly, his cock head kissing your g-spot repeatedly. You were just a mess of arousal. He could feel how wet you were by the way you coat his cock and even drip over his thighs and the bed. It was downright dirty. And it was all for him.

“F-fuck,” he swore to himself, thrusting endlessly, feeling a tightness in the base of his spine. He was dangerously close and it didn’t help that you were too. Your walls were hugging him tighter and you messily continued to get wetter, his cock scraping your walls over and over emitting sloppy wet sounds.

You could feel him get harder inside you and you bit your lip at how delicious that felt. He looked so pretty when he fucked you. His cheeks were pink and his skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. Your release was growing nearer and nearer. Sweet refrains of his name continued to leave your lips, begging and pleading for more, and telling him how good he felt which encouraged him to fuck you harder.

His hand caressed your lower tummy, pressing his palm against where his cock was inside of you. The pressure made you keen, your fingers gripping the sheets now.

Urahara was completely focused on the beautiful creature you were, wanting nothing more than to make you his and be the only one to hear your sweet moans. To be the one who would make those cute lewd expressions form on your pretty face. The only one to see just how beautiful you are.

His thumb finds your throbbing pearl and massaged it in circular motions. You cried out in pleasure, the added stimulation making you tip over the edge. Your walls gripped his cock tight making it almost impossible to pull out as your body convulsed. Your lips were parted and your eyes were shut as pleasure shot through you like electricity. Your hips were shaking as you came all over him, your sweet honey spilling forth as he shallowly thrusts, his balls tightening.

“F-fuck, tell me where to cum, sweetheart.” He tried to control the quick rhythm of his hips that was moving desperately to empty himself into you.

Urahara searched for your face through the curtain of his blond hair over his eyes. Your hair was strewn over your face as you panted, hips shaking and soft breasts bouncing with his movement. He needed your answer and he hoped it was the one he wanted.

“I-inside.” You sighed dreamily, watching him through heavy lidded eyes. You moved your leg over his shoulder to join the other in wrapping around his waist, trapping him in place to uphold your answer.

The symbol in your irises was glowing pink. You held out your arms, inviting him into them and he leaned forward, crashing his lips into yours as he did. He kissed you deeply, driving his cock hard and fast, focused on the hot grip of your pussy around his throbbing and aching cock. Your arms were wrapped around him as you kissed him back, moving your lips in perfect tandem with his.

Your body was still electrified from your orgasm and the continuous sensation of his cock rocking in and out of you was sending you into overdrive. You wouldn’t be truly satisfied til you had his seed anywhere on you and even better inside of you.

With a couple more thrusts and giving it all in his final one, the tightness in the base of his spine, exploded. You moaned into his mouth as you felt heat shoot inside of your womb, it made your eyes roll back in ecstasy. Urahara kept himself hoisted up as he emptied his balls, groaning as he felt your walls milk his cock. How salacious your pussy was, he had thought. You were going to drive him crazy. He remained still inside of you, relishing in the sweet victorious sensation of fulfilling one of his dirty fantasies.

He peppered kisses along your neck as your bodies remained pressed against one another. This wasn’t anything he’d experienced before. It was definitely out of this world.

“You feel so good, Kisuke.” You hummed sweetly, petting his head as the two of you laid side by side now on your bed.

He rested his head on the pillow of your breasts, his arms draped over your abdomen as yours and his legs remained tangled with one another. The climax of both your highs lingered longer than expected and you two cuddled as you both recovered from the raw mindless fucking you two indulged in.

“The things you do to me, woman.” He let out a sigh, though a little tired, his cock twitched to life wanting to bury itself inside you once more.

You giggled. “You can ask me anything you like. I did. promise you.” You lovingly pet him, your heart tied to this man.

“You’re no normal cutie neighbor that’s for sure,” he concluded, light-heartedly. He caressed your side. “How long have you starved yourself?”

You didn’t expect that…he almost sounded pained to have asked that.

“A while…”

“Myths say your kind needs semen to survive.” He couldn’t help but think of how he came inside of you as he said that.

“That myth is partially wrong.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “We don’t need it to survive. We feed off sexual reiatsu that is emitted when we engage in any kind of sexual activity with a man. The semen is the most potent form of a man’s sexual reiatsu.”

“Which means?” He was honestly curious. He adjusted his position so he could comfortably look at you as you spoke while still holding you close.

“To put it simply, to us, it’s like an energy shot. A very addicting, delicious, energy shot that our bodies happily respond to.” You explained, your cheeks warm. You couldn’t help but be flushed by him. He was gazing up at you as you spoke to him about the ways of your kind. It was unnatural and you expected a far more negative reaction, not this sweet adoration in his eyes.

“How come I’m not depleted of my reiatsu ?”

“B-because…I don’t want to.” Your voice trailed off, getting softer.

“How long have you abstained?”

“For quite sometime now. I didn’t want to continue feeding off humans…they will...have deteriorated if they kept relations with me.”

Urahara could hear the pain in your voice. You found your very being to be a curse. He assumed you had stopped because of your soft heart but that was dangerous of you to do to yourself.

Silence fell before the two of you, there was a far-off look in your eyes and he wondered about how lonely you must’ve been. You’ve probably never had the chance to really have a relationship with a human man. To be in love.

Oh, the thought made his heart ache. Luck for you, he wasn’t a human. He could fulfill all your needs if you asked him to.

“What happens if you keep continuing to…um…see… the same man? Besides deterioration.” He asked, breaking you away from your trance.

You knew what he insinuated.

“O-oh…well…I would form a bond with him but in the past, I'd always chose not to feed off the same man twice. So I never bonded with any of them. ”

“And how will you know if this bond has formed?”

He was asking very specific questions but you didn’t think much of it. Though you haven’t even formed a bond yet, you felt your heart was chained to him. You wanted him all to yourself.

“A very special mark would show up right here,” you took his hand and placed it a couple of centimetres below your navel, low and close to the apex of your mound.

Urahara followed your hand and stared at the smooth, unmarked skin.

“Kisuke…”

He’ll never get tired of you saying his name.

“Yes?” He looked at you once more. His pretty little goddess.

“What are you really? Your reiatsu is different from a human. It’s stronger and there’s so much of it.” You cupped his cheek. “You’re no ordinary shopkeeper.”

He didn’t feel the need to hide the truth from you. You had shown him your true form, which he didn’t understand why you were ashamed of. To him, it was cute and sexy. Every man’s sick fantasy.

The playful and aloof facade he always wore, faded. His eyes were serious now but still gazed at you gently. The tone of his voice was no longer in the usual happy melodious tune he took. “I was once a soul reaper, my dear.”

You blinked, surprised at the revelation that explained his reitasu being different from anyone you’ve ever met. You knew of shinigami , you see them in Karakura town both in their true form where other humans can’t see them, and in their gigai . You didn’t expect your handsome, cute but pervy, neighbour to be one.

“I see.” Was all you said, still holding the man in your arms who comfortably remained in your warm embrace, his own limbs draped over your own.

Your brows furrowed when you felt him slip away, sitting up beside you, his broad muscular back flexing as he did.

“Kisuke?” You sat up too, on your knees.

He glanced at the call of your name and shuddered at the cute sight before him. Naked skin glimmering, cute eyes staring at him, little cute horns curled on each side of your head and your wings relaxed behind you, had him enchanted by you once again. He was down bad. Very, very bad.

He sighed, turned to face you, and inched close. His surroundings were clear of that haze your energy created. The entirety of your room was clear and no longer blurry, yet this invisible glowing halo on you still remained.

“The sun has set.”

Was he leaving? Your heart cracked at the thought. You didn’t want to use your powers to keep him, you wanted him but you wanted him to want you for you of his own volition. “Y-yes it has.”

“We shouldn’t…” He looked down, his hair falling over his eyes.

You understood. A little ashamed, dejected even, you slowly brought the sheets up to your chest, covering yourself as you bit your trembling lip, waiting for words that would feel like a knife pierced your chest.

“We shouldn’t waste any time then.” Urahara nodded, as he came to a decision about whatever he thought.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

In a flash, you found yourself, torso down on the bed with a pillow underneath you to keep you comfy while his hands firmly gripped your hips, hoisting it up. You yelped at the sudden position, feeling the remnants of Urahara’s seed unloaded into you that didn’t fit in your womb anymore, leaked out of your messy slicked hole.

“Oh wow, how messy.” He teased and then blinked. “You didn’t tell me you had this cute tail!” From the base of your spine and extended was a slender black serpentine tail.

His reiatsu was insane. One encounter with him replenished your powers and awakened your true form. No one ever had this effect on you. And he thought this form, horns, wings, and tail were cute?!

"Ah!" A ticklish shudder ran up and down your spine. The sound that left you was a mix between a moan and a yelp. "D-don't do that." You whimpered, legs shaking.

"Do what?" He played innocently, fingers trailing over where your tail connected to your spine. He was enjoying having you under his control. Then repeated what he did again, watching the way your thighs shook and your cute pink pussy pulse.

"Don't pull at it!" You whined, feeling embarrassed. You've never, ever, dared to be seen in your true form. You buried your face into the pillow and Urahara was screaming internally at how adorable you were.

"Awe, I'm sorry." He pouted, caressing gently the base of your spine. "Why are you hiding?"

"I-I'm just not used to being seen like this."

"But you're sooo cute, like this." He replied, pressing himself against you, slowly rubbing his hardening length between your folds making you mewl.

"Y-you want to..." you panted, losing yourself at the friction of his cock rubbing your clit. You wanted him again and more if he was able. You didn't want to tire him out. "...again?"

"I told you didn't I?" He popped the head of his cock into your pussy once more, slowly filling you up inch by inch. "We shouldn't waste any time." Urahara groaned, balls deep inside you once more with the gorgeous view of your back curved with your plush ass against him.

You squealed into the pillow, unashamedly pushing your hips further back to feel him deeper.

"By the end of the night, Y/N-chan," he huskily spoke, gently tugging at your tail. The action made you squeeze around him deliciously, arousal tickling your whole body. "We're gonna make sure I leave that mark."

if you enjoyed my works and you’re feeling generous, you can tip me on ko-fi!

#urahara kisuke smut #urahara kisuke x reader #urahara smut #bleach smut #bleach fanfiction #bleach one shot #urahara kisuke one shot #bleach anime smut #kisuke urahara smut #kisuke urahara x reader #bleach.smut

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priceof-freedom · 2 years

Text

Fanfic: Of gym buddies and overlapping schedules (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x F!Reader (Top Gun: Maverick)

Summary: You considered your alone time in the gym sacred, and made sure that you don’t run into any of the cocky aviators. When your schedule inadvertently overlapped with theirs one day and you encountered a sweet bespectacled WSO, you found yourself unconsciously changing your gym schedule to match his. (... but was it really unconscious though?)

A/N: This is my first attempt at a Top Gun fanfic! Hoping you’d all be kind. 💖 Our boy Bob needs more love!

Please excuse any incorrect use of navy ranks, terms, etc. I looked up how hospital corpsmen in the Navy are addressed, and my cursory research tells me the colloquial term is “Doc”. You are free to let me know how to properly use them and I will gladly make corrections!

Not beta-read, so errors are entirely my own.

Warnings: Pure fluff and Soft!Bob. With allusions to smut.

Word Count: 3.3k

TOP GUN: MAVERICK MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

One of the many perks of working at the naval base is the fully stocked gym. All those soldiers don’t get to maintain that kind of physique without the proper tools. Ironically, that in itself is the biggest pitfall of the supposed perk. Most hours of the day found the base gym crowded, and it was difficult to find space in that packed room. You considered your time in the gym sacred and as much as possible, you’d like to go about your business alone. After much trial and error, you finally found the optimal time to exercise with only a handful of people there.

You unfortunately found out the hard way that if you truly wanted to steer clear of the arrogance that followed pilots wherever they went, there was only a narrow window of time to do so. One day, you had miscalculated your schedule by just a half an hour, and the latter half of your gym time was unfortunately overrun by said pilots.

As you were finishing up a set with the free weights, you could sense a presence behind you. You glanced at the mirror and caught a glimpse of someone tall and blonde with a smirk on his face observing you. You sighed quietly to yourself and hoped that he would just let you exercise in peace.

“Hey,” called out the blonde, just as you returned the weights on the rack. Maybe you could use your earphones as an excuse not to have heard him, you thought. Tough luck for you, though: the moment you turned around, he had already invaded your personal space.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” he said in what was presumably a flirtatious manner. “You new?”

You definitely weren’t; you’ve been working in the medical bay for quite some time. In fact, you were around longer than the aviators who came and went with the training program. You were pretty sure that some of the aviators knew you, especially those you treated personally. But there was just a special breed of them who seemed to be unaware of anyone else around them. Honestly, you might have actually found him attractive (you had eyes), but his aura was just off-putting.

“Back off, Hangman,” came another voice, and it was one that you recognized. It was from Lt. Bradshaw, one of the aviators you were friendly with.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” replied the blonde, apparently called Hangman. “I was just welcoming the newbie here.”

“She isn’t new here, you ass,” retorted Lt. Bradshaw. He shoved Hangman a little out of your way, acknowledged you with a nod and said, “Doc.”

“Doc?” questioned Hangman in confusion.

Peering at his shirt to get the pilot’s name, you said, “Hospital corpsman, Lt. Seresin.” You didn’t even bother to see what his reaction was and started collecting your belongings. No way were you doing your cooling down and stretching in the gym anymore, not with this Hangman hanging around. It had to be done elsewhere, probably in the office. With a nod of acknowledgment of your own towards Lt. Bradshaw, you made a beeline to the exit.

“I’m not even getting a name, sweetheart?” called Hangman from behind you.

“You don’t deserve it, Seresin!” you called back. “And don’t you dare give it to him, Bradshaw!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Doc!” answered Lt. Bradshaw with a laugh. The sound of their bickering voices started to fade away as you exited the gym.

As much as it was unfair to box people into stereotypes, it just seemed that way with all the men you encountered in your job. It was simply par for the course, being one of the very few women in the male dominated field, especially one where many of them are the supposed top 1%. There were definitely those who did not fall into that box, like Lt. Bradshaw, but they seem to be few and far between. If there were more of them out there in the base, you have yet to run into them.

In your haste to leave the gym, you hadn’t been paying enough attention to where you were headed so you roughly collided with someone as you turned the corner. You were at the disadvantage in terms of height, which sent you tumbling to the floor.

“Oh jeez, I’m so sorry!” came a frantic, yet soft voice. Looking up, you were greeted with a wide-eyed bespectacled face that was laced with concern.

“I, uh—” you started, but suddenly found yourself at a loss for words. You couldn’t help but be distracted by the man before you.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” he apologized again. Some of your stuff had fallen to the floor, and he was scrambling to pick them up. “I di-didn’t see you coming— that’s my bad though… sh-should’ve watched where I was going.”

He was definitely someone you haven’t seen around. He didn’t strike you as the type of person who made himself known, unlike others you’ve encountered. If his rambling was any indication of how he was like, it seemed like you just found someone else who didn’t fit into that box.

You had thankfully found your ability to speak again and said, “No no, it’s my fault! I was rushing out—”

He had already gotten up and extended a hand, which you gladly took. He smiled sheepishly and you got a good look at his kind face. And oooh boy what a face it was. He was striking in his own boyish way, with the perfectly styled hair and the arrestingly blue eyes.

You wanted to ask so many things: what his name was, what he did around the base, if he was going to work out in the gym… but again, words seemed to have failed you. You must have been staring at him for quite a while, looking quite foolish, as he was shifting his feet uncomfortably.

“Right, w-well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Sorry again, and I’ll just ah— h-head inside.” With an awkward wave and pointing in the direction of the gym, he left.

Good job, scolding yourself. You didn’t even get his name and you had no idea what he was. Sighing in disappointment, you had no other choice but to leave and head back to the office.

“Ugh shit.”

Hours later, as the workday was ending, you discovered that your earphones were missing. It was most likely back in the gym, and you just hoped that it was still there. Otherwise, you were out another pair of earphones twice in just the last six months. You were looking forward to leaving the base as soon as possible and resting in your own place, but now a detour appears to be necessary. It was better to look for it now, you reasoned to yourself, instead of tomorrow, as it would be more likely to be gone by then.

Grabbing your bag, you opened the door to the medical bay, only to collide yet again with someone.

And as it turned out, it was the same someone as earlier this morning.

You found yourself again face to face with the bespectacled man from earlier this morning, the same sheepish smile on his face. This time, he was dressed in his uniform: ah, another aviator, you thought.

“Can I help you?” you said with a smile. “I’m headed out, but if you need a quick lookover for something, I can stay for a bit…?” Truth be told, you didn’t want to stay longer than needed… but maybe for this instance, it wouldn’t be such a bother.

“Uh— i-it’s not anything medical,” he said. “I’m not injured, or anything.”

“Oh?” you perked up.

“Yeah, um… I accidentally took this earlier,” he said, holding up your earphones, the very same ones you were searching for.

Your face lit up instantly. “Oh! I was just looking for this!” you exclaimed gratefully. “Thank you so much, Lt.—”

“Floyd,” he answered. “Or you can just call me Bob.”

“Bob,” you repeated with a smile. Finally, a name to the handsome face. “What about your callsign, pilot?”

“Still just Bob,” he said, seemingly embarrassed. “And I’m uh— a WSO, not strictly a pilot. So yeah…”

“Well, Just Bob, thank you again,” you told him. “I was just looking for these.”

Bob’s features brightened with a sincere smile. “You’re welcome.”

He looked like he was about to awkwardly shuffle away again, but something gave you pause. “Wait,” you blurted to stop him. “You knew who I was? I mean— you knew to come here to return this to me?”

Bob smiled sheepishly again, like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uh— y-yes, ma’am.”

You’d be lying if that did not make butterflies appear in your stomach, and you felt your own cheeks heat up.

“I guess that covers our introductions then,” you said, extending your hand to him. “Nice to meet you, Lt. Floyd.”

“Likewise, ma’am,” said Bob, clasping your hand, his bright smile and blue eyes an image you’ll likely never forget any time soon.

It started unconsciously. That’s what you told yourself for the most part.

Following that first interaction, you stuck to your original schedule for the gym. The preference was still to exercise in relative peace. For some reason, though, you lost track of time and ended up closing the last set much later than usual. You luckily did not encounter any of the specific people you’d rather avoid; instead, you once again ran into Bob, but not quite literally this time.

You were leaving and he was just entering, and he greeted you with a small smile and nod. “Ma’am.”

“Lt. Floyd,” you greeted back, smiling too.

“Call me Bob, please,” he insisted. You agreed, but only if he used your first name as well. Neither of you stayed beyond the pleasantries, but the interaction kept a smile on your face for most of the day.

On the second day, you still started at the same time you normally did. What changed was that you suddenly did not feel the need to keep to the strict time frame originally set. While stretching, you once again sensed another familiar presence nearby. Bob just entered and greeted you, this time not so formally, and you did the same. Like the day prior, it did not extend beyond that and you both went about your own ways.

On the third day, you claimed it was an experiment. You entered the gym later than usual this time. Halfway through your exercise, you were surprised to see that Bob was already there. If you weren’t mistaken, you never encountered him here this early. Your heart skipped a beat at the implication of that, but immediately squashed the thought. It didn’t do you any good to entertain anything of the sort. Instead, you greeted him like you normally did, and so did he. As with the previous days, nothing more happened after that.

For the week that followed, you and Bob had an unspoken agreement about the shared time at the gym. You honestly couldn’t recall who initiated it, but once the wall of simply staying within pleasantries was broken, there was no going back. It was a wonder how the two of you were ever awkward around each other to begin with. You and Bob could talk about anything and everything. You’d trade exercise regimen tips with each other (it didn’t escape your notice that Bob was just as built as the rest of them, but he hid it well). Bob would tell stories of their flight training, the non-confidential details of course. In turn, you’d also share the goings-on in the medical bay, while not as interesting as flying in fighter jets, Bob seemed to be genuinely enthralled. You both discussed your families, motivations for joining the navy, and so many other things.

It was quickly becoming your favorite time of the day. You used to think that your alone time in the gym was sacred, but you found that your time with Bob was even better.

Until one day, he failed to show up.

The clock ticked away, and you had to force yourself not to watch it.

Perhaps he was just running late, you initially thought to yourself. Yet as the minutes flew by, it was becoming clear that he might not be showing up. You had to school your expression into nonchalance, if only outwardly. The rational side insisted that there was no cause to be disappointed, as there was no formal agreement between the two of you. The pilot was not beholden to whatever this was, and neither were you.

Still, that disheartened feeling couldn’t be helped.

You eventually decided to call it in early, as you weren’t even getting a good workout anyway.

You were about to resign yourself to a mundane day, when you heard your name being called in the distance. Down at the end of the hall was the man you’ve been spending most mornings with, running towards you. He stopped just a few steps away from you, but he looked absolutely spent. His face was red and sweaty and he was completely out of breath. Gasping your name again, he had to prop himself against the wall.

“Bob!” you exclaimed in surprise. Without really thinking about it, you held his face in your hands, checking for any obvious signs that something was terribly wrong. “What’s going on?”

“I—” gasped Bob again, but he was still severely panting.

“Alright, come on, let’s get you checked out,” you said, bringing him inside the medical bay. You guided him to a seat first, and then started grabbing the essential tools. As you moved around to get what you needed, Bob was still attempting to gasp out an explanation. None of it was remotely coherent, but you made out some words like ‘Maverick’, ‘training’, ‘200 push-ups’. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and it made sense that Capt. Mitchell would put the aviators through some grueling training. Still though, it wasn’t clear why Bob was compelled to tell you any of this right at this moment.

“Let’s slow down, okay, Bob?” you said calmly and took both his hands in yours. “Breathe with me.” Later on in the day, you’d revisit this moment and think endlessly about the gentleness of his touch, despite his rough hands. Right now, however, that was not at the forefront of your mind. Eventually, Bob had relaxed enough and looked less flushed.

“So what were you trying to tell me?” you asked softly. It was only then that you noticed how close you really were. His hands were still grasping yours tightly and he was staring down at them.

“M-Maverick, he—uh… he had us do 200 push-ups for failing the exercise,” said Bob. “I had to do mine this morning and I tried to do it as quickly as possible. But uh— it still made me late for our gym time.”

You stopped breathing momentarily at the use of “our”, and things were starting to click into place.

“I ran first to the gym,” he continued. “But you weren’t there anymore… so I ran here.”

All of the earlier disappointment melted away and your insides were squirming with what was probably delight. Yet, you couldn’t look him in the eyes. You could feel his gaze boring into the top of your head.

“So yeah, I—I’m sorry,” he said with an almost audible gulp. That made you look up and meet his steely blue eyes.

“Oh Bob,” you said, chuckling softly. “It’s nothing. We still have other days.”

He gripped your hand a little tighter, shaking his head slightly. “How can I make it up to you?” he insisted.

“Well,” you began, pondering your next move. You weren’t entirely sure what had gotten into you: it was probably the relief you felt, or the warmth of his proximity to you, or the softness of his hands in yours, or the intensity of his gaze on you, or the combination of all of it. Whatever it was, it made you brave enough to intertwine your fingers with his. “How about we leave the gym for that?”

Bob’s response made your heart rate quicken: he tightened his fingers around yours and said, “It’s a date.”

Bonus (This was a scene I couldn’t shake from my head, and I figured I should add it anyway!)

You had woken up late today, thus deciding against going to the gym. However, it was clear that soldiers were quite strict with their schedule and not as keen to skip their regimen for whatever reason. So you knew where to find the one person you were looking for.

Entering the gym, it was packed as usual with members of the squadron in varying states of activity. You walked straight through the middle of the throng of people and machines, and your entrance gained the desired effect.

“It’s you again,” said Hangman, trademark smirk on his features.

“Lieutenant,” you greeted with a smile of your own.

“Miss me already?”

“You wish, Seresin,” you scoffed. “I’m actually looking for someone.”

Hangman was relentless, and had it not been part of the plan to get to this point, you might have punched his perfect teeth. “No need to look further, baby,” he announced, with his arms wide open.

“Please ignore him,” said a pilot from behind him, another one you recognized. Lt. Trace unceremoniously slapped Hangman’s arms down and regarded you with a smile. “How can we help?”

“I’m looking for Lt. Floyd,” you said kindly.

“Bob?” said the two lieutenants simultaneously: Hangman incredulously and Phoenix (if you remembered her callsign correctly) mildly surprised.

This caught the attention of the aviator in question, who was in another corner of the gym, minding his own business. He met your eyes, slightly startled, “Y/N?”

“You know her?” said Hangman, still in that incredulous tone, as Bob made his way closer.

You ignored Hangman and focused instead on your kind-faced lieutenant. You handed him his khaki uniform button-up, neatly folded, making sure everyone else knew exactly what it was. “You left in quite a rush this morning, and you forgot this.”

Bob’s cheeks instantly turned pink, and you were certain he was recalling the exact reason why he hadn’t taken his uniform with him in the morning. You had woken up in the middle of the night and, not wanting to go nude into the bathroom, you grabbed the first article of clothing within reach. It just so happened to be his uniform. He must have woken up as well while you were in the bathroom: when he caught sight of you in nothing but his uniform button-up, an intense, almost hungry, look graced his features. Suffice it to say, the two of you lost about another hour or so of rest, and you had fallen asleep after that in blissful exhaustion while still wearing it.

Everyone in the vicinity were shell-shocked, even the others like Lts. Fitch, Garcia, and Machado who joined in on the commotion. Except perhaps for Rooster, as he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying what he was witnessing. Bob himself was quite stunned to silence, and you marveled in how flustered he is now when he was anything but that last night.

“I—y-yeah,” stammered Bob. “T-thanks, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” you said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You didn’t wait for him to answer and simply walked out, your goal having been accomplished already. You heard some laughter from the group and hushed whispers, like a bunch of gossiping teenagers.

“Always good to see ya, Doc!” called Rooster to your retreating back, the mirth apparent in his voice. While exiting, you saw in the mirrors that he had happily clapped Bob on the shoulder in support, and the latter was sporting a small confident smile. You also caught sight of a still gaping Hangman.

You smiled in satisfaction. You couldn’t wait until you saw Bob again tonight.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I currently don’t run any taglists, but I may reconsider if enough people are interested. Please do leave a comment and reblog. 💖

Check out the other stories in this universe:

A follow-up outtake of this one-shot called “In khaki and nothing more”.

A fluffy drabble on Bob and Reader’s date

A smutty drabble on Bob being called “lieutenant”

A one-shot featuring Rooster and Penny’s niece

A drabble set right before Rooster and Niece!Reader have their date

#robert floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd fanfic #bob floyd fanfic #robert floyd imagine #bob floyd imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #fanfic #fem reader

3K notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 6 months

Text

NaNoWriMo day three; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Still, Kon's been taking care of himself this long, Tim guesses, so maybe . . .

No. No, this is definitely fucked-up and a terrible idea.

But he has no idea what he should do about it. What he even could do about it.

Kon finishes a whole order of cinnamon bread and is eyeing the next one before they even get back to base. Tim doesn't say anything about it because he's apparently been living on laboratory cafeteria food all this time, but does make him carry the highly precarious stack of food in. In his defense, "precarious stacks" are basically what TTK is made for, and also it'll hopefully distract Kon from potentially feeling weird about getting paid for or eating "too much" or just whatever.

Tim is going to burn Cadmus to the ground and stock up on kryptonite and a whole lot of explosives, but he's going to do it in the least Kon-upsetting way possible. Plus his supervillain timeline is a long-term plan too, and Kon should be eating things that aren't cafeteria food right now. And also not working for and living in a shady lab. And also–

"Shit, do we have any cups left?" Kon asks, looking around with a frown.

"Top of the fridge," Tim says, both because it's his job to know as much information as possible and because he's trying to avoid stressing himself out any worse. Stress is not productive. It's not going to fix the problem. Kon doesn't even want him to fix this problem.

"Cool," Kon says, then thumps the stack of pizza boxes down on the table and goes right for the cinnamon bread again, flipping the box open as he heads off to, presumably, retrieve the cups. Tim is entirely unsurprised and has no illusions that he'll be getting any of it himself.

He arranges the pizza boxes and everything else they ordered a little more accessibly on the table, trying not to obsess over the problem of Kon's current lifestyle. He's living in a lab getting by on cafeteria food and not getting properly compensated for doing a dangerous job and doesn't know Superman has a secret identity and is never, ever anything but "Superboy" himself. He doesn't have another identity to hide inside or fall back on or just take a break in. Didn't even have a real name until just recently, and that real name isn't anything he can use outside of still being Superboy.

Tim can't imagine never being able to take off Robin, but Kon probably can't imagine ever having to take off Superboy.

Tim doesn't even know what that would feel like.

Kon comes back with the cups, tosses them on the table, and stuffs another chunk of the already half-gone cinnamon bread into his mouth. Tim is starting to doubt the quality of that cafeteria even more than he reflexively did.

He opens the Zesti and pours them both a cup, and Kon looks oddly–not surprised, exactly? But a little puzzled, almost, watching Tim fill a cup for him.

"I can pour my own drink, Rob, geez," he snorts.

"I had it open already," Tim replies with a carefully dismissive shrug, screwing the lid back on the two-liter. Kon huffs, but picks up a cup and takes a drink.

"Sure, whatever," he says. "This is so much pizza, man. Think we can get through it all or should we call in Imp for backup?"

"If we do that, we're not getting any of it," Tim points out dryly.

"Okay, good point," Kon says. "Guess that's why you're the one in charge here, Wonder Boy."

"I had to get my qualifications from somewhere," Tim says, sparing him a wry smile. Kon sniggers, then rips off another chunk of the cinnamon bread and holds the mostly-empty rest of the box out to him. Tim blinks, a little surprised, but takes the last piece. "Thanks."

Note to self: Kon really likes cinnamon. Or icing, maybe. Or both.

Actually, that thought makes Tim feel a little flustered over Kon giving him the last piece of the cinnamon bread, given how thoroughly he destroyed the rest of it. Which is stupid, since he also hogged the rest of it and could've shared way more than just the last piece, the asshole.

Tim is absolutely still flustered anyway, though.

Yeah, he has it embarrassingly bad.

Ugh.

"Sure, man," Kon says, flashing him a grin. Tim swears to himself that this bastard can never, ever know how cute that grin makes him. If Kon knew he had a crush on him, he would be absolutely insufferable about it. Insufferable and smug.

Or, possibly, uncomfortable and freaked out. Or worse, angry and hateful. But Tim would rather not assume the absolute worst of an ally who almost counts as a friend, to whatever extent he can count anyone who hasn't seen his actual face before as a friend.

Both more and less than the guys at school, probably.

Tim's not sure what that actually says about his life these days.

But Kon . . . Tim doesn't really think Kon would be an asshole about it, if he knew Tim wasn't entirely straight. He's never really said anything to give him that impression.

He'd definitely be unbearable, though, so Tim will be taking the secret of this particular inadvisable crush to his grave, please and thank you.

They both sit down at the table–well, Tim sits, Kon more sprawls, and looks unfortunately attractive doing it–and grab a couple slices apiece and then crack open the wings. Kon eats much faster than Tim, who deliberately takes his time about it. Technically, avoiding getting pizza grease and barbecue sauce on his gloves is reason enough to do that, which is what he's going to point out if Kon comments on it, but obviously he's doing it to make sure Kon gets to eat as much as he wants.

Seriously. Cafeteria food for every meal. And not from a private school or fancy company's cafeteria; from an underground cloning lab with, again, incredibly dubious ethics.

Tim really can't imagine Cadmus is all that committed to food safety and quality, given all the human rights violations they've committed in just their day-to-day operations–to say nothing of any special projects like Kon.

Maybe Tim should release all their classified files onto the internet and just let whatever happens to them as a result happen.

. . . no, no, nobody needs any random weirdos on the dark web reverse-engineering any Kryptonian DNA or anything. Which they definitely would. Hell, just the front page of Reddit and a few YouTube comments would probably be enough to do it, and then somebody'd try to actually go and produce it "just to see".

Though it's still tempting, honestly.

Extremely tempting.

"Are you going to be here next weekend?" Tim says once Kon's mauled his way through a good dozen wings and four slices of pizza with very little sign of slowing down, and Kon stuffs most of another slice into his mouth with an easy shrug. He still looks cute even with terrible table manners, Tim notes resignedly. How is that possible? Why is that even a thing?

Kon is so goddamn annoying that way.

"Probably, yeah," Kon says around a mouthful of pizza before shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth. Tim watches in vague revulsion, wondering how he still finds him cute.

Gross, definitely, but still cute all the same.

"I mean, unless Cadmus needs me for something, anyway," Kon amends as he gets himself another slice. "Sometimes there's emergencies and shit, you know how it is."

"Definitely," Tim agrees, though "and shit" doesn't really cover Gotham-level disasters, as a descriptor. Still gets the point across, so whatever. "I'll be here, barring Gotham."

"You mean barring Batman," Kon snorts, rolling his eyes, and Tim feels a very weird way about the fact that Kon doesn't have a Batman in his life. Well–doesn't have a Bruce in his life, more like.

Or a Jack Drake.

It's kind of a sad thought, to be honest, though it probably makes the vigilante work a lot easier.

"Barring Batman," Tim agrees again, smiling wryly. "You realize you have a boss too now, right?"

"I could still be Superboy if I quit Cadmus, though," Kon says, which is a valid point, if not quite the one Tim was trying to make. "No way Batman wouldn't flip shit if you kept being Robin out from under his big black cape."

"Well, historically that hasn't always gone so well," Tim says, taking a sip of his Zesti. Kon tilts his head, looking curious.

"Wait, you've actually done that before?" he asks. "Seriously?"

"There's been other Robins, you know," Tim reminds him, wry again. Kon blinks.

"More than one?" he asks. "I thought it was just you and that Nightwing dude. Who else?"

It occurs to Tim, very suddenly, that Kon not only wasn't a superhero when Jason was Robin, he didn't even exist when Jason was Robin. He wouldn't have heard anything when it happened, even in rumors, and it's not like many people talk about Jason now, even in the community. At least not anywhere that Tim's ever heard, anyway.

Admittedly, that might be survivorship bias, all things considered.

"My immediate predecessor," Tim says carefully, taking another sip. "After Nightwing and before me. He's–not active anymore."

"Dead or just maimed?" Kon assumes. Tim doesn't bother wondering why "retired" doesn't occur to him as an option.

It's Kon. Of course "retired" wouldn't occur to him.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young justice #young just us #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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enkas-illusion · 4 months

Text

Under The Mistletoe

Fandom / Pairing: Attack On Titan / Eren x f!reader

Rating: SFW / Fluff

Genre/Theme: Friends to lovers; non-titan au

Content warning: fluff, teasing, language.

Summary: A series of unfortunate events that lead up to a memorable Christmas Eve at the Jaegers’ house with your close friends.

Author's Note: Hello, here’s a short fluffy friend to lovers one-shot with my fav 2D man. Merry Christmas! Thank you for reading <3

~ Eren’s Birdie

Song Dedication: Mistletoe by Justin Bieber

“Yo, you home?” you speak into your phone’s speaker without waiting for a greeting from his end.

“Yes…?” Eren answers.

“Busy?”

“Nope.”

“K. Come to my place.”

“Cool,” he cuts the call. You place your phone on the sofa before moving the mess, that would soon transform into your Christmas decorations, out of the way. As you clear the floor of all the stray pieces and tiny ornaments, you place the tiny chair near the tall tree in your living room while waiting for your best friend’s arrival.

You hear the doorbell ring about 15 minutes later and rush to open it. You greet Eren with a wide grin as you move to the side to let him in. He takes off his shoes near the door as he enters the living room.

“So, what do you need me for, madam?” He asks as he takes off his mufflers and scarf, tossing them on the sofa.

“Ouch… do you think so little of me to assume I only call you over when I need something from you?” you fake gasp.

“If you have to ask, you already know the answer dummy,” he pinches your nose before walking to the undecorated tree, deciphering the reason you’d called him over. “For this? You’re far better than I am at this arts and crafts shit.”

“Well, I cannot reach the top even with the tallest chair I own… call it the perks of being the taller friend, I’ll always think of you for such things,” you smile at him before blowing him a dramatic kiss.

“Sure,” he rolls his eyes as you lean down to the tree to start with the bottom half of the decorations. Eren sits next to you, playing with one of the tiny red stockings he picks up, “A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

“A best friend who makes cinnamon rolls cause she knows how much you love them is a friend indeed,” you try to imitate his voice, resulting in a terrible imitation.

His ears perk up at your comment nonetheless, completely ignoring the teasing tone and only focusing on what really matters.

“Did you really?!” he asks, excited like a puppy when he hears someone say ‘treat’.

“Yes… There's still about 10 minutes left though. It’s in the oven,” you say as you point to the tree, “So you should probably hurry up.”

“What a meanie!” he huffs as he fiddles with the ornaments, decorating them on the tree. You laugh as you begin working on the other side at a quicker pace than he does.

A few moments pass by before you hear his voice again, “This tree is so unnecessarily tall… You know, mum said you could just come to our house to celebrate the holidays when I told her you couldn’t go home because of work.”

“That’s so sweet of her… but I still wanted my apartment to look like it’s the holiday season. If I can’t go home this year, the least I can do is recreate some of the warmth and Christmas feels here.”

“Awww, is that why you called me? Cause I’m the star that lights up your whole world?” he says as he holds the golden ornament over his head.

“Not sure about my world but definitely my Christmas tree,” you tease as you check the time. You get up to walk to the kitchen as Eren fixes the chair closer to the tree.

“Only tolerating your bullshit for the rolls by the way…” you hear him complain behind you. You put the oven mitt on as you pull out the batch of fresh cinnamon rolls. You carefully place the pan on the counter, evenly pouring the sugar syrup over the buns.

Your body jerks involuntarily when you hear a loud shriek from the living room. Your heartbeat picks up pace erratically as you run out the kitchen to see what had happened. You find Eren lying on the floor, his right hand holding his left forearm tightly. He writhes in pain when he tries to move his left wrist.

“Ren, what happened?” you panic as you run to his side as you help him stand up. He doesn’t need to explain however – you see the chair with a broken leg lying next to the tree.

“Ugh– Careful,” he hisses as you try to help him straighten his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea the chair would break… does it hurt a lot, I’m so so sorry Eren, if I knew I wouldn’t have asked–” your shaky voice breaks, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I’d rather have me fall from a broken chair than you,” he gives you half a smile but it’s so sincere that it makes you want to cry even more.

“Let me get the first-aid kit,” you sniffle but before you can rush to get the kit, Eren rests his right hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Get the car keys instead, I think I’m gonna need a little bit stronger than pain relief spray,” he says calmly. On the inside, he’s freaking out, but he doesn’t let it show since he did not want you to panic even further.

Your expressions distort to the point where it looks like you’re in more agony than the man who just fell from a chair. You nod frantically as you go to grab your keys before hurrying out the door to get him to a hospital.

~~~

“Sign it,” he says as he sees you walking into the hospital room where the nurse is fixing a cast around his forearm and wrist, “after all, the artist needs to sign their artwork.”

Eren shows little to no signs of discomfort and you wonder if he’s a psychopath or it’s simply the painkillers working. You open the water bottle before handing it to him as you give another apologetic look – the hundredth one in the last hour since the accident.

“I’m kidding! I’m all good!” He reassures you as he raises the arm up once the nurse is done fixing the cast.

“It’s better to rest for at least 6 weeks if you want to heal properly,” the nurse interjects plainly.

“That long? It’s just a hairline fracture right?” he asks her, confused.

“You still need proper rest Eren!” you scold him as you take his phone, the bag of medicines and water bottle in your hands, not wanting him to carry anything at all.

“I’m fine! This is nothing!” he chuckles, cupping your cheek with his free hand to reassure you. You bring your hand up to his, pulling it away before intertwining your fingers with his.

“Is that all?” you ask the nurse with concern and she nods. “Thank you,” you sigh as you lead Eren out the room.

“The bill?” he asks as you walk out the hallway.

“Paid it already,” you reply.

“I’ll pay you back later, yeah?” he says as you get to the car.

“No, don’t. It’s my fault...” you murmur timidly as you drop his hand to open the door for him.

“Hey… it’s not. I love how much you care about me but please don’t worry so much,” he speaks, holding your hand once again, squeezing it gently.

“But I feel so bad,” you pout as you move your fingers lightly over his cast with your other hand before looking up at him with sadness in your eyes.

He headbutts you playfully, causing you to finally laugh as he says softly, “Give me all the cinnamon rolls and we’ll call it even.”

~~~

Eren wasn’t kidding about the cinnamon rolls – especially now that he had the golden ticket to get you to make as many as he wanted. Usually, you’d only make it occasionally or if he was upset with you after some silly argument and you wanted to suggest a truce temporarily.

So when you arrive at his place in the afternoon, with a container that doesn’t have any cinnamon rolls, 3 days later on Christmas eve, he acts like a bratty child who had been denied his favourite treat.

“Eren! This soup’s better for you. I’m not gonna let you binge on another whole batch of cinnamon rolls!” you speak sternly.

“I don’t recall asking for healthy shit. My mood’s craving cinnamon rolls!” Eren slaps his right hand on the table exaggeratedly.

“I cannot believe how childish you’re being. Where’s your mum? She’ll support me…” you shake your head.

“Carla’s out shopping for presents. I’m afraid you’re going to have to deal with him on your own,” you hear a voice and turn your head to look at Eren’s father entering the house.

The crease on your forehead that had formed while talking to Eren melts away when you greet his father, “Mr. Jaeger, good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon. Is my son bothering you too much?” he asks and you see Eren turn red out of embarrassment.

“Not at all,” you chuckle, “There’s no tantrum of his that I can’t handle.”

“Good. I assume you’re staying for dinner, yes?” Grisha asks politely.

“Yes. So are Mikasa and Armin, they might arrive anytime soon,” you reply, the polite smile fixed on your face.

“Great!” He nods before turning to scold his son, “Eren, don’t trouble the poor girl.”

Eren shakes his head before his father excuses himself to get to his room, leaving the two of you alone again.

“Poor girl? You’re so creepily formal with my parents. They think you’re the model child and I'm the one who corrupts you… even after all these years!” he snorts.

“Well… I am innocent,” you bat your eyelashes at him, “You’re the devil here.”

He rolls his eyes at you before leaning forward and opening his mouth, motioning you to feed him the soup.

“Your right hand’s fine! Drink it yourself.”

“This is the least you can do,” he says with puppy eyes, waving his cast up in front of your face.

“Ugh… fineee,” you take the spoon, blowing on the hot soup gently before feeding it to him.

When Armin and Mikasa arrive about an hour later, Eren goes into heavy, exaggerated details while telling the two about how he got the injury.

“... And then this one cried like a baby… more than I did,” he jokes, pointing your way.

“I was actually crying that my favourite chair of all time broke,” you shoot back dryly.

“Lies, you guys know she’s in denial about how much she loves me, right…? Anyway, the doc said it’ll be another 3 months at least before I’m healed completely.”

“What a drama queen, you’ll be fine in a month’s time!” you narrow your eyes at him.

“You guys bicker like an old married couple,” Armin notes and Mikasa nods in agreement. You’re pretty sure he’s teasing you too but he doesn’t follow it up with a laugh as if it's a serious statement, making you blush awkwardly as you try to avoid Eren’s gaze actively.

Despite Eren constantly teasing you throughout the night, it’s a peaceful celebration nonetheless. When Grisha and Carla retire to their bedroom after wishing your group ‘a jolly Christmas’ shortly after midnight strikes, the four of you gather around in the living room to exchange your secret santa gifts.

When you get a new set of oven mitts, a mini speaker and a perfume you’d been waiting to be restocked since forever with a note that read ‘Couldn’t decide which one was the best option so consider yourself lucky to get a genie like myself’, you jump up to give Eren a big hug while being careful not to bump into his wrist.

“Was it that obvious?’ he laughs.

“We never could’ve figured out the perfume one,” Mikasa giggles. Your eyes meet Eren’s and you feel your heart skip a beat as you eyes stray to his plump lips for a split second – brushing away the very inappropriate thought you just had about your best friend.

You quickly move away as you change the topic and get Mikasa and Armin to open their gifts. It’s obvious they got each other based on the gifts they'd received.

Eren is the last to open his mystery present. You feel nervous, suddenly second-guessing your entire decision. However, it dissolves just as soon as it arrives when you see Eren’s jaw drop at your gift.

“Holy shit! This might as well be the best gift I’ve received in a while,” his eyes gleam at the signed manga copy by his favourite mangaka Hajime Isayama.

“It better be! Took a lot of eff–” you smack your hand over your mouth mid-sentence at spoiling your own identity as his secret santa.

He smiles softly, hugging you as he teases, “Thanks Sherlock, it would’ve been so hard to figure out who it was!”

“Oh wait a min–,” you look around the sofa to find the other package you’d gotten him. You leave his side to get the tiny gift, handing it to him with a playful grin. He raises an eyebrow at you as he unwraps it. He lets out a chuckle when he pulls out the tiny cinnamon roll crochet plushie and bursts out laughing when he reads your note with it – ‘This should last you a long time, stop asking me for another batch already!’

“Never,” he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in tighter as you stumble in place, feeling the vibrations of his torso caused by his laughter. He gives you a quick peck on the top of your ear before letting go, your skin tingling with warmth at the gesture.

“Oh! Before I forget… mum knitted sweaters for all of you guys,” Eren grins proudly. All three of you basically pounce on Eren excitedly when he returns with the sweaters in one hand.

He hands you yours the last and it's your favourite colour. “Told mum to use that specifically,” he confesses, half-whispering so that only you can hear him.

You bite your lip and lower your head to keep yourself from smiling too hard. It's moments like these that have you feeling as if the platonic line in your friendship gets tangled with the romantic one.

Eren Jaeger could bully you to death, within his rights as your best friend, but then he'll randomly do something so sweet that it makes you awfully aware of the growing crush you have on him.

“Thank you,” you smile when you look up and your eyes meet. Eren believes that this smile could be the only thing to melt him if he were a block of ice.

At that moment, he wants nothing more than to squeeze your stupid face and kiss you to his heart's content. He feels a pang in his chest – the intense desire of his crush on you fighting against the rational part of his brain not wanting to spoil your friendship.

When you suggest watching a random Christmas movie, everyone cuddles together on the sofa like birds do on a cold morning. You don't remember most of it since you fall asleep halfway through the first movie itself. Since you fell asleep with your head on Eren's lap, he didn't dare move till the morning – he gladly accepted his fate as your pillow.

Maybe it was something in the air urging him to do something but when he saw the way you peacefully rested on him, he felt an intense need of wanting to protect and cherish you forever. Right there, he made his decision – he was going to confess his feelings to you. His love deserved a fair shot. Besides, he figured he'd simply call it a joke and move on if things didn't go his way.

~~~

Your slumber breaks when you hear soft whispers calling out your name. You feel the shuffling movement of your head being lifted up before being placed back down on a soft surface.

“Hmm?” You speak groggily as you sit up, rubbing your eyes as you sense Eren walking away. You check your phone and it’s just quarter to 5 in the morning. You're about to go back to sleep when you hear his voice again, along with footsteps pacing around from one end of the hallway to the other.

“Come here,” you hear Eren’s voice beckoning you from the passage leading up to his room. You want to go back to sleep but get up despite it when you remember he has a broken wrist and might need your help with something. You quietly tip-top to follow his voice, not wanting to wake up your other two friends who are splayed over the sofa, still deep asleep.

“Hey, what's up?” You speak softly when you look around in the dim light of his room to find him. You turn around when you hear the door close behind you.

“Merry Christmas,” Eren grins, standing just a foot away from you, holding a badly plucked green branch tied with a red ribbon over your heads with his free hand.

“Merry Christmas– what's that?” you mumble as your eyes fix on his hand to observe it closely. It's a Mistletoe – your eyebrows furrow as you look down to his face, expecting an explanation to be written over it.

You feel your heartbeat picking up its pace against your chest. You know what this means yet you can’t believe it entirely. You don't want to make a fool out of yourself by assuming something only for it to be one of his stupid pranks.

You think he's about to headbutt you like he usually does, but he catches you by surprise when he simply rests his forehead against yours.

“You know what this means?” he breathes as he brings his hand down to hold the mistletoe in the space between your bodies.

This is it! He's asking you to kiss him!!!

Still wanting to play it safe, despite his blatant hints, you nod your head as you speak, “This means I give you a bone-crushing hug.”

His eyes narrow at you as he pulls back, “No… what a chicken. Kiss me.”

Your heart flutters, yet you try to play it cool and tease him further, “What a baby.”

You wrap your hand around his neck to pull his face down to your level. He obliges and you place two fingers to his chin to turn his face to the side. You lean in to kiss him on his left cheek.

He lets out a soft chuckle as he imitates you, kissing you on your left cheek in return. You giggle as you give him another peck on his right cheek next, resulting in him repeating you once again.

Then comes the forehead and you have to stand on your toes to do it. He leans down to kiss your forehead, you're pretty sure he was about to joke about it but he doesn’t break the intensity of the moment.

Your heart feels like it's almost about to burst out of your chest when you kiss the tip of his nose, followed by his chin, giggling nervously.

You close your eyes in anticipation, expecting the touch of his lips on the same spots on your face but it never arrives. Instead, your breathing halts abruptly when you feel his lips land on your lips.

You pull back quickly and open your eyes to scan his face for any signs of mischief. Instead you’re met with the softest expression, displaying nothing but a kind adoration for you. He brings your hand up to place it on his cheek, smiling at you, encouraging you to dare.

Without wasting another second, you cup his face with both your hands as you pull him down for a kiss. He smiles into the kiss and you close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips moving against yours.

Your legs feel giddy and your thoughts feel intoxicated by Eren’s sweet caresses. His free hand is wrapped around your waist firmly and even as you kiss him, you’re cautious about his cast, trying not to accidentally touch his left arm.

You pull away from his touch hastily when you hear the doorknob twist. You both stand next to each other, staring at Armin with a half-perplexed and half-embarrassed look on your face.

“I can’t seem to fi– oh,” he stops when he looks at both of your faces, his half-lidded sleepy eyes suddenly alert. Armin has always been a smart guy – which right about now is making you and Eren look like two deers caught in headlights.

Armin raises his eyebrows, the grin on his face growing wider. “Don’t forget to lock the door,” he mumbles as he simply turns back around before closing the door behind him, leaving you and Eren alone once again.

Eren’s quick to lock the door before turning around to lean against it, signalling you to come closer with the motion of his fingers. You roll your eyes but follow him regardless, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face on his chest.

Your hand moves to his pec, feeling around for his heartbeat before resting it there completely. You close your eyes and you soak into the warmth of his body as your best friend/lover places soft kisses on the top of your head.

Your heart flutters again, filled with happiness to the brim, making you wish you could trap time in a bottle to seal this moment with you forever.

~fin~

#erensbirdie #aot x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot x you #aot smut #aot #eren yeager #eren jaeger

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solar-sunnyside-up · 6 months

Note

hey! sorry to bother you, but is there anything a teen without transportation in a rural area can do on their own? im pretty isolated, and theres barely anything around me.

Hey ya sprout 🌱

**A disclaimer Punk comes with some risk socially. Particularly if your in a rural area this risk goes up bc people Know You and also typically these spaces have a different vibe to alt ppl in general. Some activities are more or less risky and I'll try and do my best to give you a range of stuff from the whole spectrum! Of course this is a generalization of rural areas. Some palaces will be more cool then others depending in so many factors I couldn't go into here**

Rural solarpunk

Your gunna been to pick a topic, sorry babe. In order to not burn yourself out and in order to feel like you have an impact your gunna have to pick a cause to chip away at but I'll give you ideas! And remember just bc your focusing on one thing doesn't mean your ignoring or not helping others. Everything is interconnected and any help, helps all!

So let's give you some ideas to focus on:

Libraries- as a teen in particular you'll have access to a library at school, but depending on how big your town is you might have a public one as well. Become their biggest supporter! They are a great safe space, even conservative ones are still a good place to go for archiving/loitering purposes. They give you spaces to print stuff, to build clubs and community.

Archiving- if you cannot leave your house due to access you can always do stuff online and hear me out, i know when we do stuff online it feels like half points. Like we arent doing anything. I feel that with this blog, it feels so passive no matter how hard you work youll feel lesser. But Archiving is vital to humans! Think of the anthropologists wholl thank you down the road! Plus it does actually give you a way to have a physical representative of work your doing. Dvds, pirating media and archiving them to drives, collecting vinyls/tapes/cds!

DIY- To fight against fast fashion (although that barely exists in the towns I've been in tbh) and to stick out** you could make your own patches, battlejackets, gloves, etc.. They are statement pieces you can wear whenever your in town/at school/social spaces that ppl know what you stand for and who you are. Depending on who/where you are this might be risky so take what you can bare ok? You don't have to wear these items too you can just make them for later on!

Little libraries/little pantries- in a rural space you have more Gruella tactics you can take if you do them in random abandoned spaces. You could build a waterproof little pantry and stock it and leave info somewhere about it for ppl to drop off/pick up items. Stock it with mittens! With canned goods! With books! You might be able to do a space like this at school/library depending in how cool your town is too!

Zines- You could look into making a zine and even if it's digital you could have the QR code for download in places (stickers on lamp posts, flyers in school bathrooms, hidden in a churches pamphlet stacks >.>) making a zine is a cool task that is time consuming and informative and fun!

Vandalism- like I said you can often print off stuff at Libraries, or usually you can find a place to print stuff off near or at post offices depending on how modern your rural space is. if you have your own printer this will reduce your risk by quite a bit though! Create/find stickers or posters you want to toss across town or even school. I'd recommend starting off with some stickers and see how their handled, dipping your toes is important with these kinda things. If your really feeling it, and you know some abandoned places Moss Graffiti is also a good option! I've know ppl who have converted old abandoned stored to skate parks (I honestly have no idea how they built the ramps out of concrete but damn!! Good job guys!)

Also I'll leave you with 2 book recommendations as well-

Moxie - a RIOT GRRRL story about a girl who gets so fed up with her conservative town she makes a feminist zine and distributes it via girl bathrooms (even having a basically me too stickers and encouraging ppl to put it on boys lockers who have assaulted them). I know there's a movie, didn't seem to capture the same vibe tho so book!

Braiding Sweetgrass - this focuses a lot on reconnecting and adding story to nature around us and having science along side spirituality

#sporut guide #reaping week #solarpunk #hopepunk #anticapitalism #punk #rural #cottagecore #community #ecopunk #direct action

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dresshistorynerd · 2 months

Text

Ranking Men's Costumes in Period Dramas - Part II: The Good

Part I: The Bad

This is the second part to my ranking of men's costumes in Renaissance period dramas. I selected 10 shows and films which I think have great costuming for the female characters and ranked them according to their costumes for male characters. I have noticed that even when women's costuming is great, men's costuming might be absolutely dog shit. And that's very much what we saw in the first part, where I ranked the five worst entries. For some reason shows and movies are afraid to put men, especially the characters who are supposed to be cool, manly and hot, into historical costumes. And I'm not even asking for historical accuracy, I just don't want my male characters living in the actual 1500s in basically modern leather jackets and pants. Like I don't watch period dramas for vaguely historically inspired modern fashion, I watch it for the historical setting, which costumes help create. This time we will be looking some rare gems that actually imo have really good costuming even for the male characters. For the five best entries, we'll go from worst to best.

5. Eizabeth R (1971)

Elizabeth R is incredibly committed to historical accuracy in it's outfits, especially for queen Elizabeth herself, many of her costumes being directly recreated from her portraits. It covers the whole reign of Elizabeth, so this commitment is especially admirable as the timeline is more than 40 years, including a stark shift in fashion from less structured and more toned down Tudor fashion to the extremes of the highly structured Elizabethan fashion. It's not perfect, The hair is not always great and like many others they fail at French hoods, though they are not upward pointing or pseudo crowns detached from the hood, so could be much worse.

The men's costumes are also very good. They are faithful to history, they wear stockings, very short trunk hose, ruffs and even have some structuring in their doublets and jerkins. However, the reason this is not higher is that the men's costumes especially, but also many other costumes beside Elizabeth's are looking a little sloppy. There's some structure yes, but the men's silhouettes are just not bold enough and they end up looking a little costumy. Even the codpieces are shrunk so small I'm not even sure if they are the half the time. Cowardice. Here's two Robert Dudley's costumes and an actual portrait of him. I think the second costume is probably an attempt at recreation of that portrait, but it's just kinda halfway there.

4. Taming of the Shrew (1967)

This film is set in Renaissance Italy, the women's costumes fit well to 1520s-30s. They are honestly really great and cohesive. My only gripe is that their bodices have a very 1960s shape and the make-up is a little distractingly modern. But the costuming is not attempting to recreate historical accuracy, rather they took the historical silhouette and basic elements and crafted a very over the top but cohesive look. I honestly love these very much.

An interesting choice is made with the men's costuming, especially the main male lead, whose costume is based much more on the Renaissance German men's fashion of that period. His costumes resemble the over the top fashion of the German Landsknecht (first image below). In Italy (second image below) the doublets were also very voluminous and quite colourful but not to that extent as by the Landsknecht and literally no one, not even the other Germans, rocked that slashed style as hard.

This is not really criticism though. In fact I respect that choice a lot. His costumes are certainly not historically accurate, but they do fit the bombastic aesthetics of the overall costuming, they are loud, large and not afraid to fuck around. This man oozes sex-appeal much more than any character with some modern plain black pants and leather jacket. This is how you costume a Renaissance man who fucks.

3. Tulip Fever (2017)

I am stretching the definition or Renaissance here a bit, I admit. This movie is set during the 1630s tulip mania, by which point the remnants of Renaissance fashion had already been left to the previous decade. However, I do think most of the movies and tv set in Baroque era also struggle with the men's costumes. Though not as much, because black was fashionable for everyone, the cod piece was gone, trunk hose were replaced by more palatable Venetian hose, fashion was much more stripped down from embellishments, leather was not uncommon in jerkins and appeared even in doublets and hose and the Hollywoods beloved boots became as actual fashion items. The men's silhouette in this period is very silly in my opinion and people seem to agree because it's usually skipped in costuming, but overall the period seems to fit modern masculinity standards much more easily than Renaissance era.

But I just really wanted to include this because the costuming is absolutely stunning. I have not watched the movie and probably never will because the post production was an absolute mess and it apparently came out as just a bad movie, which is a shame, but the costumes are so good. The ruffs are perfectly crispy. The buttons are dense and look just right. The shoes, both boots and otherwise are exactly right. The fabrics are honestly perfect. The silhouettes are just as goofy as they are supposed to be. And the women too have perfect silhouettes. All the details are just simply perfect. You rarely find costuming this meticulously created with historical details and great construction.

Honestly these top three could all be the best one. This final order was decided purely on which costumes i like more. And while I love the women's fashion of this period, I think the men's fashion is kinda stupid and boring, so I don't like these costumes on aesthetic level as much as the top two.

2. Romeo and Juliet (1968)

This movie is a perfect counterpart to the movie with the worst men's costuming which I talked about in the first post, Rosaline. They are both set in Italy around very end of 15th century and retell Romeo and Juliet. Both have very good costuming for female characters but obviously I think differ greatly in the male character costuming department. Romeo and Juliet costuming takes some artistic liberties to create a heightened reality quite similar to Taming of the Shrew costuming, but follows history much more closely. The colors are bright, the hose are tight, the giorneas are voluminous, the sleeves are long and massive and the cod pieces are prominent. Even the hair is perfect, even for women, they even use hairnets. I imagine the hair was quite easy to get right as hairstyles in 60s and 70s were basically lifted directly from 1400s Italian hairstyles. The men are even wearing appropriate hats??? Amazing.

The costuming perfectly captures the era, but they still clearly had fun with the costumes too. Honestly even though I appreciate the meticulously recreated historically accurate costuming, like in Tulip Fever, I tend to like more costuming that does take some artistic liberties to create a distinct look and atmosphere for the movie or tv show. There's some small things they don't get quite right, like having standard lacing instead of ladder lacing, metal eyelets (which would become a thing as late as in 1830s) and most egregiously Juliet in one scene has this very dumb supportive undergarment without even shift under it (first picture below)?? The outer garments were supportive during this era, there was no such thing as supportive undergarment. Shift was the only undergarment. But I will forgive these errors because the costuming is overall so fun and gorgeous. And they did get some details so so right, like look at Romeo's arming doublet (second picture below)! It has Lombardian sleeves!! This was a very specific style of arming doublet for this era and place. However those errors does prevent it from taking the first place. Which leads us to...

1. Orlando (1992)

This movie has Tilda Swinton in flamboyant Elizabethan men's clothing. That's all.

Okay, I that is all that needs to be said, but I will say more. This movie spans centuries and shows excellent costumes from several different periods, but I will focus on the Elizabethan costumes only for the sake of this post. The costuming is not super historically accurate in all the detailing, and clearly not trying to be, but it is always impeccable. Even while it takes artistic liberties and the story has an immortality fantastical element it still captures the men's fashion's silhouette much better than any other movie or tv show I know of set in this period. It does that better than the "we recreated these portraits" Elizabeth R. But what really makes this the best in my humble opinion, is that the movie is not afraid of the effeminate and emasculated modern perception of Renaissance men's fashion, no, it leans into it. The thole story is very much about gender and gender fuckery. Tilda Swinton plays the titular Orlando who is a cis man in Elizabethan era, becomes inexplicably immortal and later inexplicably turns into a woman for the rest of their several centuries. He is the embodiment of "I'm not sure if they are a butch or a twink" and as a bisexual I can only be grateful. But in all seriousness I think the costuming and the casting (queen Elizabeth is also played by a male actor) are so perfectly utilized to highlight the arbitrary construction of gender without needing to say it explicitly.

Conclusion

I have some closing thoughts. I took on this task as a way to show a point, which is that for some reason in Renaissance shows and film especially men's costuming is piss-poor, even when women's costuming is great. Male characters tend to have very bad costuming in Medieval media too, though this is also an issue for female characters. I don't think I have ever seen a Medieval show or movie with truly excellent costuming for anyone. In Renaissance media the issue is clearly not lack of skill or knowledge, they choose to do so. My thesis was that the producers think that the Renaissance men's fashion is too effeminate and too unsexy for the hot male very heterosexual lead, who the mostly female audience are supposed fawn over like the female characters. I still think it's very true.

Though there's an interesting trend I only noticed while doing this ranking; every entry (except the least bad) in the worst five list are from 21th century, and every entry (except Tulip Fever which is a little bit cheating anyway) in this best five list are from 20th century. I have some theories on why it turned out this way. First is that the studios have become increasingly more concerned with growing profits so they don't take risks and they put pressure on movies and tv shows to be as broadly appealing as possible. This means they can't just make period dramas for the core audience of period dramas, aka mostly women who are history nerds, so they pander to the modern sensibilities in costuming and not to the people who love to see actual historical costuming. Secondly, I think this might also tie to the broader conservative backlash against loosening of gender roles and broader queer acceptance. Among the core audiences of period dramas there are two distinct groups, queer nerds and conservative/centrist women, who don't want politics in their media, which is why they love historical stories because obviously queerness wasn't invented yet and people of colour didn't exist yet (they were and did). (They are not always this extreme, but you get the point.) As men wearing dresses has become a culture war issue, I think the studio executives are afraid that anything not masculine enough in modern standards might cause the more conservative audiences to turn on them. Even if they knew about the queer nerds, they wouldn't care about them.

This bears repeating: cowards.

As a thank you for reading all the way to the end I will leave you with the image of Tilda Swinton in mid 1600s men's clothing. You are welcome.

Part I: The Bad

#fashion history #history #historical costuming #costuming #renaissance fashion #renaissance costuming #film costuming #historical men's fashion

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