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cometkenji · 24 days

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Doctor, Doctor, please listen!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3 WC: 3,596 I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED. Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that

“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.”

Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers.

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying.

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could.

Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you.

“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question.

Damn. Tough crowd.

You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.

The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.

“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang.

The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal.

He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?

“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.

He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?

“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.

You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”

The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac.

Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home.

You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him.

You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right.

Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him.

“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action.

“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest.

“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.

Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?”

“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.

You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop.

I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor

You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing.

He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here.

“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.

Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.

It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said.

“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently.

“I got stabbed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him.

“Holy shit.”

You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.

“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped.

He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital.

“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.

“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?

“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.

“Fucking hell, Spence.”

Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it.

“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you.

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”

His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #x reader #x chubby reader #x fat reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #fanfiction #suggestive #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #comet: SR

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beanghostprincess · 3 months

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Rayleigh and Buggy reunion, but Rayleigh is being over the top judgemental about everything, like idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV show but Rayleigh shows up and acts exactly like Rebecca's mom does. Overcritical of his life choices and dismissive of what he perceives as excuses coming from Buggy, because he knows Buggy's true potential and is annoyed with Buggy not living up to it. He gives Crocodile a once over and goes "is that what you found to replace Shanks with" and moves on and Crocodile doesn't even have a moment to compute the way he was just insulted because Rayleigh has moved on to criticising Mihawk's cooking instead. Worst part is, this all comes from a genuine place of love and care, Rayleigh is legitimately worried sick about his baby clown son of 39 years, but he cannot express that worry without being extremely invasive about everything. Buggy isn't even responding, he just shoots ppl apologetic looks and rolls his eyes when Rayleigh isn't looking because of course he does this obviously Buggy is never good enough for him and Shanks had always been the favourite (you ask Shanks or any other Roger pirate and they will tell you that Buggy is Rayleigh's baby boy and absolute favourite with utmost confidence, too bad the emotional constipation runs in the crew). Dinner is awkward as fuck, because Rayleigh makes attempts at being easygoing but his motherhenning nature irt Buggy shines through, his conviction that Buggy would be happier with Shanks by his side is making him be overcritical of everyone in that dinner and he keeps discussing the good old days and subtly hinting at Buggy that there is still time for him to go back to Shanks....and Buggy looks close to frustrated tears (and everyone agrees, Crocodile has snapped 5 cigars in half with his teeth and Mihawk is 5 seconds away from banging his head on the table).

Just overbearing father Rayleigh being stifling and trying to overcompensate for his shit parenting choices during Buggy's childhood and Buggy having his daddy issues expanded upon (and Crocodile and Mihawk gaining insight to Buggy's entire deal)

"Idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV sho-" My therapist literally told me to stop watching it so much because it was affecting my mental health. So. Yes. I know the show. It's one of my favorite shows EVER. Rebecca is just like me fr my beloved. All of them my beloveds. The songs my beloveds. Don't make me go into CEG x OP because I won't finish. And as you can see, I did not listen to my therapist.

Even though I've always seen Rayleigh as the one who understands Buggy the most (Roger and him love Shanks and Buggy equally but it is quite obvious they put more pressure on Shanks to be more like Roger and that only made things worse by making Buggy's inferiority complex exist) and the one who stands up more for him and comforts him when needed, it is true that he might be more judgemental and he'd be worried for Buggy. Like. Think about it. Roger died and the kids (their kids) ended up alone and going their own separate ways. For Rayleigh, finding out Shanks and Buggy aren't together is just?? So weird?? Because they've always been together. Birds of a feather (if somebody mentions the song 'Two Birds' I am punching them because I can't handle that song today please). And it's just... Well, surprising. 'But as long as they're okay' but they're obviously not okay!!! And it's not that Rayleigh is judging Buggy. In fact, I think he would do the same with Shanks. The second Rayleigh sees Shanks he's already saying he drinks too much (even for a pirate) and that he's been acting recklessly and "What the fuck are you doing without Buggy? Is this because of Buggy?" / "I do not drink because of him. It's- It's not about him. He left-" / "HE LEFT AND YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?????" / "I hate it when you get like this" / "Like what?" / "Like you want to still do something about my life. I'm an adult, thank you very much-" / "No, you're not if you keep acting this way". And I personally think Rayleigh would just be worried for the both of them and also feel extremely guilty because he wasn't there to fix things when they fought, the way he always did. "The second I left you alone you two start a fight that lasts two decades?" and he would say this to both of them and they would hate it.

But yeah, going back to Buggy I think he'd be worried because. Well. Have you seen Crocodile and Mihawk? I mean. They're kind of on good terms with Buggy now (more or... More or less. Kind of. They're not equals but they're some sort of weird thing and they respect and care for each other. More or less. It's- It's complicated. Don't ask) but they're still them. And Rayleigh can't help but see the situation and be like "I'm proud you made a name of yourself, kid, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to" (meaning: You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted) and Buggy takes it as an "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be safer with him" instead of the real "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be happier with him and this war of pride and hearts you have going on is dumb". And he understands Buggy needs to be away from Shanks to grow, but it's just so, so sad to see them like this when they used to love each other so damn much.

Also, I think Buggy would be going through the worst moment of his life and Crocodile and Mihawk would be so done for different reasons. First, they don't give a fuck about all of this drama. And second, they are starting to see Buggy more like a person and understand why he is the way he is, and the things Rayleigh is saying are bothering them a lot. They've been trying to make the clown move on from his past so he's useful for once (because when he believes in himself he's actually not a burden and more interesting) and now this guy (that they respect because it's Silvers Fucking Rayleigh) comes and tries to change things around here? Nope. Not happening.

So basically, what you're trying to tell me is that Rayleigh regrets raising the boys that way and now he's overcompensating and it's overwhelming for everyone, right? I- I love it. Great plot. 10/10. In character. Perfect. It makes me go insane. I love their daddy issues.

(Also, can we talk about how "This Was a Shit Show" and "What'll it be" are extremely Buggy songs??? Because- Because now I want to-)

#i absolutely loved this i have no words to explain how much i love this #one piece #buggy the clown #silvers rayleigh #red haired shanks #cross guild #shuggy #< target audience #i mean it's obvious i was taking it as romantic for them

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ravengards-rogue · 14 days

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i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is.

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you.

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often.

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting.

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love.

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him.

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last.

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him.

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long.

Almost being what matters most.

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no.

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special.

And that makes it worse.

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in.

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his.

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word.

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him.

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be.

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless.

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe.

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully.

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago.

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck.

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body.

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you.

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always.

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them.

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?”

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression.

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,”

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.”

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you.

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?”

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all.

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,”

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea.

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking.

Pretending to think.

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?”

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?”

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,”

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,”

“Javier.”

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.”

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite.

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?”

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,”

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more.

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically.

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?”

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer.

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy.

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it’s like this. Did you forget?”

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal.

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral.

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard.

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,”

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all.

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again.

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,”

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,”

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you.

“Gonna cum soon, huh?”

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak.

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,”

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.”

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh.

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes.

“Are you with me still, do you think?”

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple.

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.”

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.”

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.”

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.”

“Please,”

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.”

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.”

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.”

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,”

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.”

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe.

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard.

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,”

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?”

“Should open you up a little.”

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch.

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite.

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased.

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles.

“One more, okay? Just the one.”

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,”

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,”

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard.

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined.

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs.

“Like the view?”

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.”

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,”

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself.

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,”

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much.

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out.

You feel good. God, you feel good.

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway?

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw.

“Feel good?”

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,”

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?”

“Please,”

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.”

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure.

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard.

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.”

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.”

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go.

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted.

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?”

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,”

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around.

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#javier escuella x reader #javier escuella smut #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 smut #rogues love letters

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dollysilena · 1 year

Text

TRAINING WHEELS

CHAPTER TWO | NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN

ao3 | series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

five years ago, you stupidly had a fling with inarizaki athlete, miya atsumu– now, present day– he had a son he knew nothing about. you made sure it was going to stay that way, but as fate would have it, he unexpectedly stumbled back into your lives, now as volleyball’s biggest star.

wc & notes: 2.2k words — miya atsumu wrap it before you tap it challenge (level: impossible)

Miya Atsumu is like a sledgehammer going through the glass of your well-protected life. In a blink, everything was in pieces.

You stumbled onto the nearest seat you could find, still clutching Haru protectively to your chest. Unlike you, your son seemed ecstatic over the appearance of Miya Atsumu, one of the beloved players he watched often. He was excitedly babbling into your ear about the famous athlete suddenly walking in, but you couldn’t hear his chatter when you were overwhelmed with your own frantic mind.

How on earth could he have come in here? Was it a coincidence or… You faltered when you saw Atsumu stand beside Osamu. No, it wasn’t. You remembered where you were, Onigiri Miya. You were wrong earlier, the restaurant did share its namesake with the person in question. The name Miya Osamu now rang clearly in your head. It was the name of the faceless brother you had never met in high school. Your fling with Atsumu was so short that you failed to consider running into his family of all things.

God, why didn’t you remember that Atsumu had a brother? You felt so stupid, how did you not recognize his face, his name, anything? You were so careful the last five years, and it all came crashing down in an instant. One stupid mistake and now your worst nightmare finally came true.

The air was still and you could hear a pin drop in the restaurant with the nauseating silence surrounding you. Atsumu stood silently with his brother, unsure of what to do. You saw his glance towards Haru, and the look in his eyes was enough to tell you that he knew. And with Osamu standing beside him timidly, it was clear that he somehow must have figured it out and told Atsumu to come.

“(Y/N), I’m here!” A voice suddenly screeched as the door slammed open, disrupting the silence. You looked up to see Naomi panting like a dog at the doorway of the restaurant. Wait, was she holding a taser?

“Aunt Mimi!” Haru gasped.

“You!” Naomi exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Osamu. “How dare you try to hold my friend hostage!”

Osamu’s skin turned five shades paler when he made eye contact with the taser Naomi was holding fiercely in her hand. Atsumu stood in front of his brother, sticking an arm out to protect him from your crazed friend.

“Hold on!” Osamu yelped in response. “I can explain!”

“Just because you’re hot and you know how to make some riceballs doesn’t mean!--”

“Naomi, hold on!” you interjected, barely choking out the words.

Naomi paused and turned to you in confusion as to why you weren’t running away given the opportunity. Her face softened when she noticed the grief-stricken expression on your face. “(Y/N), what’s going on?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died on your tongue. You weren’t sure how to respond, because you honestly weren’t sure at all. How the hell were you going to explain that your child’s long lost biological father happened to stumble in?

The silence returned and nobody was sure how to fill it. Osamu approached you slowly, and once he realized you weren’t going to pounce on him, he kneeled beside your seat.

“I’m sorry for how I approached this, I’m Miya Osamu, Atsumu’s brother. Ya probably don’t know me since we never met in high school, but I recognized you as Atsumu’s ex and…”

You shakily exhaled, realizing that somebody figured it out. Somebody figured out your dirty little secret, and out of everyone it could’ve been, it was Miya Osamu.

“I saw Haru and I realized.” Osamu continued, looking at the little boy looking at him curiously. “I called Atsumu after that.”

You looked back at Atsumu, a man you haven't seen in nearly five years. You saw that he was still wearing his sports uniform and had a fresh sheen of sweat, had he run here straight from practice? You may have seen him in the media, but it was all different when he was infront of you. He looked older now, more mature, he wasn’t the same teenage boy you foolishly had a fling with all those years ago. You had only the memories of a cocky high school boy, one that was impulsive and overly confident, but it was replaced by the new one standing before you. You thought if you were to ever see him again, that he would be standing tall and proud, something inline with his confident nature, but he stood timidly before you, with his head hung low, unable to make eye contact with you.

“(Y/N),” Atsumu shakily said before a long pause followed.“Could we talk?”

You hesitated for a moment, your nerves locked like steel. His brows knitted together and his face was tense, an unreadable expression washing over his face. You followed his eyes, looking down at you and the little boy you were holding. You looked at Haru in your arms, still blissfully unaware of what was happening. You set him down besides Osamu, who you were feeling much better about now that you realized he wasn’t some sort of crazed serial killer.

“Can you take him away?” You whispered to him. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Osamu nodded, taking the boy by the hand. “Haru, you’re gonna come with me for a little bit, alright?

Haru tilted his head. “Why can’t I stay with mama?”

He was obviously confused by the situation, and it made your heart drop even lower into the pits of your shame. He had no idea. You swore that one day you were going to tell him, but you wanted to wait until he was older, and more understanding of why things had to be the way they were. But it was too late for that now. The little world you had built for you both came crashing down in an instant.

“It’s okay, baby,” you said shakily, brushing his cheek. “It’s only gonna be for a few minutes while mama deals with some grown-up things, alright?”

“Naomi, can you go with them?” You asked, looking up at your friend. “Osamu can explain.”

She looked worriedly at you, before nodding hesitantly. Osamu led Haru by the hand to the other side of the restaurant, out of earshot, with Naomi following closely behind.

When you were finally alone, Atsumu took a shaky seat across from you at the restaurant table. You didn’t have the nerve to look up at him, and neither did he. You fought back the burn in your eyes, you never thought you would have to be here, facing him. When you ran away all those years ago, you were also running away from this very moment, the moment where you had to face him. Both of you sat in silence before he finally decided to break it.

“He’s mine, isn’t he?”

You swallowed stiffly, the repulsive taste of shame on your tongue. “He is.”

Atsumu looked up at you with pained eyes. You didn’t realize how different he looked now. Even when you saw him on TV, it didn’t give you as detailed of an image as when he sat in front of you. His features were the same, but he seemed to have grown into them. He held himself more seriously, more like an adult unlike the boy you knew in the past. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Atsumu--” you barely stammered. “We were two highschoolers who barely knew each other, we weren’t even dating--” God, how long had you even known Atsumu at that point? A few weeks? A month, at most.

“I would have still wanted to know still,” he replied, the hurt evident in his voice. It made your hands clench, and the guilt burned in your chest like your heart was trying to collapse in on itself.

A beat of silence passed. You stared down at your hands in your lap.

“I was scared.”

You could still feel the weight of the dingy plastic pregnancy test in your hands. Two lines. Positive. He didn’t reply.

“Everyone knew you had such a bright future ahead of you,” you continued in a murmur. “You were gonna go pro and be the great athlete everyone knew you’d be. You didn’t need a kid holding you back. It was easier for you not to know, and for me to leave.”

You had carried the shame for years. It piled on your heart every day Haru grew and the more he started to look like his father. Of course you wanted to tell him, you wanted your son to have a father, but it just wasn’t that simple. Some days, you were tired of keeping the secret and you just wanted to burst back into Atsumu’s life to tell him he had a baby boy.

There were several times where you almost broke. The day you went into labor, the nurse had asked if you planned to invite anyone into the delivery room. You almost said yes. When Haru took his first steps, you almost called Atsumu, whose number you still had saved on your phone. Even something as mundane as a school report card you considered sending to him. But you always stopped yourself. How were you supposed to tell Japan’s rising superstar athlete that he had a family?

You felt the tears pricking your eyes. You felt as if you were back in that dingy convenience store bathroom, still clad in your school uniform, as you realized that you were going to be responsible for a child. You shakily inhaled to stop yourself knowing you had to keep yourself together, for Haru’s sake. You’re not that scared teenage girl anymore.

“He looks alot like you,” Atsumu commented, making you stop swimming laps in your thoughts. You looked back up to see him looking at Haru from afar, who was being distracted by Osamu and Naomi with a game of rock paper scissors. Haru grinned a toothy smile, familiar to the man across the table. He had a glisten in his eyes, the same eyes Haru shared.

“I always thought he looked more like you,” you chuckled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. Atsumu smiled softly. You saw the dimple indent he had on his left cheek, that didn’t match on the right. You forgot he had that. You felt a twinge of a smile.

You stopped yourself. You had forgotten Miya Atsumu, and it should stay that way. You dropped your smile and looked back at Atsumu.

“I won’t say a word about me or Haru, not to the press, anyone at all,” you stated as firmly as you could, but it didn’t stop the inevitable tremble in your voice. “I can even sign an NDA if you want me to, you can go back to living your life and I can disappear again, it’ll be easier that way.”

Atsumu looked back at you, and it was clear he was shocked by what you had said. You were taken aback as to why he seemed surprised, surely that’s what he wanted, right?

“What are ya talking about?” He stammered hurriedly, as if you were about to run again. “Disappear? I can’t just let ya leave--”

“Atsumu,” you replied, the name feeling foreign on your lips. “You don’t have to deal with this, you were never meant to find out.”

“But I did. And I’m glad I did.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked. Atsumu took your hands into his from across the table, and you could feel the warmth reverberating off his calloused fingers. Another thing you forgot was how it felt when he touched you. “Listen, I know ya didn’t want me to know, and this certainly isn’t the way I imagined finding out I was a father,” he started nervously. “But I can’t just go back to living my life knowing ya and my son are out there. I wasn’t there when it mattered and I don’t wanna be some deadbeat and pretend ya don’t exist.”

There’s a certain bitterness in the last sentence you barely catch. Atsumu looked back at you and you couldn’t ignore the way his eyes burned into yours. You almost forgot how intense they could look.

“Is it too late for me to be a part of his life?”

You sat back, stunned as the words echoed in your ears. You almost thought you didn’t hear him correctly, that you were reliving the daydreams your teenage self dreamt up. But when Atsumu continued to look at you for an answer, you realized what you were hearing was real.

“A-Atsumu, you realize what you’re asking right?” You stuttered. “You’re agreeing to be a father, which you just found out right now of all things. It’s a commitment, no take backsies.”

“No take backsies?” He snorted. Your cheeks flushed when you realized he’s chuckling at you.

“I hang out with kids a lot, if you couldn’t tell.” You smiled meekly as his hands tightened around yours.

Atsumu looked back at Haru, celebrating that he won another round of rock paper scissors against Osamu while Naomi cheered him on. Osamu pretended to act defeated which only inflated Haru’s little ego, it reminded you of when Atsumu won a point at volleyball games in high school.

He smiled again, “yeah, I’m sure.”

reblogs, comments, & asks are appreciated!

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#miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu fluff #miya atsumu series #atsumu x you #haikyuu x you #miya atsumu #hq x you #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #work: training wheels #my writing

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latibvles · 3 months

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“a real tough cookie with the whiskey breath.”

oh blind dates oc fest my beloved how i missed you. to the surprise of no one, because i cannot be quiet about anything ever : a MOTA OC this time around. i'm sure this bar probably has a name to be found somewhere on the internet, but until I come across it [ big cartoony shrug ]. anyways, here's Genevieve Laurent, or Gen, if you're friendly. @blind-dates-fest ♡

Tom’s is only a fifteen minute bike ride away. The pay is good, she gets to keep all her tips, and her boss, for lack of a better term — downright adores her.

That’s never been the reason why she’s stuck with it all this time, though. There were better paying jobs in equal distance, and if she really, really wanted to, she thinks she’d do a pretty okay job packing parachutes or something of a similar vein. Respectable work, her mother would call it, which was secret code for: work that will keep you out of trouble, and possibly off the street before midnight. But that was really what it came down to: whether Genevieve wanted to do it. And for all the respect she had for those women, she knew that wasn’t the thing that called to her — not like it did to Claire, who was now off in London with the best and brightest, working in the Foreign Office.

Whatever that meant.

Much more glamorous than Genevieve’s own station, and she’s fairly certain none of their mother’s letters are imploring Claire to quit anytime soon. She was almost apologetic, in a way, that she couldn’t entice her family with letters filled with omissions, with work so secret she could hardly speak of it — but the beer wouldn’t pour itself and somebody had to do it after all those hours in flight.

“Thought you were leaving me out to dry tonight, sweetheart,” There’s a solid hand gripping her shoulder and squeezing, and Tom gives her a smile that’s all crows feet and genuine appreciation. Of course, the place wasn’t actually called Tom’s — but the sign was so faded that she and the other girls just tended to refer to it by the name of their esteemed publican. Genevieve returns the smile.

“And miss out on all this? Wouldn’t dream of it.” As if to accent her point, there’s a wave of hoots and hollering from the floor beyond the bar — no doubt from a bet won or a game of darts coming to its speedy conclusion. The song of the end of the work day. He gives her shoulder a shake, then lets go.

“Do me a favor and take those whiskeys to the table in the back? I think Elsie’s got caught up out there,” she follows his gaze to one of the other girls on shift —Elsie’s smile is easy and the tray on the table is empty, but she’s chatting up a storm at a table of men in brown uniforms. And Genevieve can’t exactly blame her, because while they knew practically every member of the RAF who came in and out on their days off, Americans were a sight to behold. Which is probably why Tom is sending her to the table in the back, with the hopes that she’ll be speedy.

“Yessir,” Genevieve hums, taking the tray of glasses with little fuss, making her way across the bustling floor with practiced hustle.

It’s not the pay that keeps her here, or the warmth of her boss. Not even the fact that she could do every job in this place, if she had to.

Genevieve had a penchant for poking her nose into places for the thrill of it — and there really was no thrill quite like conversation with people who had time to kill and liquor in their systems.

She recognizes the RAF officer at the table: David Griffiths, who Claire knew better than Genevieve did. She’d laughed when Claire told her he joined the RAF, and as an officer, no less. He’d been meek before the war, to put it lightly — maybe that slate-colored uniform and dark blue tie gave him the confidence he once lacked, she didn’t know. And then a couple regulars from around town. So the one in a brown uniform as opposed to their English blue sticks out like a sore thumb, and her curiosity is piqued in spite of David’s attempt to draw her attention with his smile alone.

“Thought old Tom was keeping you in the back tonight.”

“You know, it’s much easier to simply say you missed me, Griffiths,” she hums, leaning over to set down the tray. “Whiskeys for the table, yeah?” David clears his throat and makes a show of adjusting his cuffs, flaunting the new insignia adorning his sleeve as he had for every promotion prior. Genevieve straightens out, wraps her arm around his shoulder to pick off a stray thread.

“Captain Griffiths, congratulations,” Genevieve acknowledges just for the sake of him, then diverts her attention to look over the table, eyes settling on the new face staring right back at her. His dark hair curls over his forehead, with a straight nose and a pretty pair of lips — the wings on his jacket are catching lamplight. The smile on his face is what’s got her the most curious. “And who’ve you brought to cause trouble in Tom’s respectable place of business?”

The smile grows, the stranger leans back in his seat.

“No trouble over here ma’am, not unless you hate singin’.” His voice is deep and gravelly and, well, very American. His tone goes up at the end of the sentence, like it’s a question she’s meant to answer, and Genevieve wonders if it still counts as a bait when she can recognize it for what it is. She raises her brows, David’s hand curls around her wrist loosely as if to remind her that he’s there.

“Only if it’s bad.”

“Best keep your mouth shut then, Major, wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” around them, the other men chuckle at David’s quip — Genevieve pulls her wrist from his barely-there grasp as the Major raises his glass to his lips, before waving a hand dismissively on the swallow.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m like a canary over here.” He draws out each syllable, his smile only growing. She doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Well, Major, make sure not to shatter any glasses with your tunes and you’ll have soothed all my worries,” He chuckles at that, sitting back in the chair and Genevieve looks him up and down rather shamelessly before patting Griffiths’ shoulder. “Enjoy your evening, boys.”

Genevieve knows the feeling well — that sensation of eyes tracking her every movement as she walks away. She’d call it a sixth sense, the way she can make the distinction between the slighted nature of Griffiths’ staring as opposed to the more welcome lingering look of the Major, who’s name she’d surely get by the end of the night. If Claire were here, she’d probably laugh, then apologize to Griffiths for her little sister’s fleeting attention span, accompanied with some remark about how Genevieve had a penchant for things shiny and new. Genevieve would beg to differ and say it was more like she had a penchant for the things she didn’t understand.

And so what if she liked the staring, and leaving the air more charged than she’d found it?

Regardless of the interaction, the night wears on, and so long as the taps are flowing Genevieve is busy enough to keep from staring at the back table for too long. At some point, they stand up and make their way toward the dartboard (and Elsie with them, who shoots her a wink from across the room that has her laughing and Tom groaning from their spots behind the bar). Luckily, she’s only gone for maybe fifteen minutes — and she comes back with orders for Tom, before scurrying over and leaning forward on the bar.

“Better straighten up over there, Genny,” Elsie leans forward further to tuck one of Genevieve’s stray hairs behind her ear.

“Back from your mission so soon?”

“Well I had to make sure the prize was in place.” Genevieve raises an inquisitive brow.

“And that means..?”

“It means—” Elsie is effectively cut off by another round of hollering, and Genevieve knows the grin on the other girl’s face all too well. Elsie turns around and she follows the girl’s eyes to several things. One, Griffiths walking out of the pub, two, Major Canary laughing as he makes his way over and three, a conglomerate of Irishmen clapping his shoulders and shaking them in congratulations. “Well now we know who the winner is. Good luck!”

Before Genevieve can get a word in, Elsie’s scurrying back over to Tom on the other end of the bar to grab the drinks he’s lined up. She turns her back to the floor, but still hears a heavy exhale as someone takes a seat behind her. Then she tilts her head to look, and makes little attempt to withhold her smile as the dots connect fairly quickly in her head.

“Major Canary,” Genevieve hums in greeting. “Am I getting you anything?”

“Whiskey’s fine,” He looks around, like he’s taking a survey of the room, then turns to rest both elbows on the polished wood as she grabs one of the glasses that’s already dried. “Think you got me in trouble with your boyfriend back there,” he laments with a grin, running his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Who, me?” Genevieve slides the glass along the countertop. “You might have the wrong girl, sir.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” He takes that tone again — so clearly baiting her and Genevieve is, admittedly, a little too eager to take what he’s giving this time.

“Well for one, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she hums, holding up the pointer finger, and then her middle one, “And two, I’m willing to wager it was the dart game that got you in trouble, Major.” She slides the glass over the countertop, and he takes it. He’s closer now than he was at the table — she can finally make out that his eyes are blue, like the RAF uniforms.

“Yeah? How much are you willing to bet?”

“Well, how much did you earn in your game? Must’ve been a hefty sum for the Captain to walk out like that.” Genevieve leans forward on the bar now, tilting her head as she looks at him, already knowing the answer. His eyes flit over her face and down the length of her neck, following the curve of her shape before the bar cuts off his vantage point, then he goes back to returning her stare. He brings the glass to his lips, then licks off the excess before he opens his mouth again.

“A shot with the pretty girl serving drinks tonight? Pretty priceless if you ask me.”

“Well that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” Genevieve remarks with an airy laugh.

“But it made you laugh. Must be doing something right.” He counters, and she laughs again with a roll of her eyes. “See? Just did it again.” Genevieve shakes her head slightly.

“Well if my company’s so priceless why haven’t you asked my name yet? Bragging rights and all that.” It’s hardly the bait of their earlier conversation — but it’s something, and she wonders if he recognizes it for what it is, like she had at the table. He finishes off the glass, pushing it back to her with his fingertips and holding her gaze all-the-while.

“Well my bragging was gonna be making you laugh ‘till your boss throws me out, but I should probably get the name so I know who to ask for next time, right?” She takes his glass, and moves to fill it again — feeling both like the belle of a ball and like one of those wood logs in a fireplace crumbling into charcoals, giving off sparks. Somewhere in the back of her head, Claire is screaming at her to stop dancing so close to cliffsides before she takes a tumble she’ll regret, but right now she doesn’t feel any ground giving way beneath her feet.

“Genevieve. Gen, if you’re friendly.” She hums out, taking her time on his refill with the express purpose of keeping him there a little longer. The laugh he lets out is breathy, almost disbelieving, and she looks back up at him through her lashes. “Your turn, or should I just keep calling you Major Canary?”

“My turn, she says,” he mutters, probably more to himself than her even if she can hear it. She passes the glass back over. “Well if we’re being friendly it’s Bucky. Egan.” He exaggerates it — the word friendly, but Genevieve’s really hanging on the ‘if’. She feels almost like a kid picking apart words to prove her point. She should’ve been a lawyer. ‘If’ meant she had options, and maybe she feels a little prideful; to know she has control of where this thing goes. It’s a rush. The kind she wouldn’t get packing parachutes or up in an office. The kind only another person could give her.

The ground gives a little beneath her feet, but Genevieve is undeterred.

“But I take it you’re aiming for a little more than that, is that right, Bucky?”

The smug grin on his face is as much of an answer as any.

And it excites her down to her bones.

#masters of the air #john egan x ofc #masters of the air oc #mota fic #mota fanfic #mota fanfiction #blind dates oc fest 2024 #. genevieve laurent #...yes there's France lore #I’ve got lady pilots existing in my docs Now but By God Tom’s Girls stole my keys. I just think they’re neat #took a little inspo from a historical fiction book I read for Claire admittedly #shoutout bletchley park codebreakers #this one for all my little sisters with academically gifted big sisters [ raises hand ]

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penofpenguin · 10 months

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Here's a kinda dark and confusing request:

How would Adeuce, Leona, and Jamil react to their fem s/o revealing that she was an orphan who was used as a test subject for experiments before escaping to become an undercover assassin?

Absolutely!! I didn't know if you wanted Adeuce together or not so I wrote them separately. You can read it as a throuple tho, just seperated by banners :)

Content Warnings: Themes of death, Mentions of human testing, Ace being inconsiderate at first.

Their s/o is an orphan who was used as a test subject, then escaped to become an undercover assassin.

Ace x F!Reader, Deuce x F!Reader, Leona x F!Reader, Jamil x F! Reader

"Ok...so Ace...I need to tell you something."

"Huh?"

And so, you told him your crippling dark past. HE'D. ASK. SO. MANY. QUESTIONS.

"Wait wait...how did you end up in the lab?"

"What chemicals did they put in you?"

"Is this why you're so crazy in love with me?"

"How did you escape again. No, you know what, start again I lost track."

He really doesn't mean to hurt you but Ace is inconsiderate and can't read the mood.

But in the end, he'd actually understand it all. He may be a bit scared that you were an assassin but you are his s/o, and he still loves you.

Once you're done, he holds your hand and just looks away. Like hell he'll completely show you his soft side.

"You sure went through alot. Come here and maybe you'll feel better," (its his way of asking for a hug)

Once you hug him...trust me you'll feel so much better. He gives you a comforting hug and simply coddles you in his arms, letting you know you're safe.

Will he show you his almost teary and sad face in front of you? No. He won't let go of you until his tears are gone and you're feeling better.

Ace isn't the best at comfort, but he'll do his best. He'll buy you something from the canteen or do something else to make you a bit more happier.

But if it isn't comfort that you were looking for, and just wanted to let him know since you trust him enough, he'll let go of you in an instant and ask you if you're for real rn.

Here comes a bunch of butterfly kisses because he's genuinely happy you trusted him enough. (also because he thinks you're so cool) :)

he may still be a tad bit intimidated by the fact that you killed people but it's nothing compared to floyd am i right

"Hey...you're ok right? Is something on your mind?"

Blue egg boy should be focusing on his homework but he couldn't help but look at you in worry. YOU'RE HIS S/O.

So you tell him. Good decision! He listens carefully and is actually sympathetic at sight, unlike Ace.

During the test subject part, he starts crying. HE STARTS CRYING. ITS NOT EVEN HIS PAST.

But seeing his beloved s/o go through that much hurt him. He cries. YOU need to comfort him, not the opposite way 😭

But once you tell him you're an assassin, he freezes.

More than Ace, Deuce is more intimidated. He needs to let it sink in. Ofc he doesn't hate you, but he's genuinely scared. Those lovely hands helping him with homework killed people???

However, after putting himself in your shoes, he finally continues feeling deeply sorry for you. You had to survive and it's not your fault.

He kisses you and tells you he loves you no matter what. Holds you close to let you know you're protected and nobody could ever hurt you like that.......his magic history homework on the table....forgotten

Deuce starts growing this huge rage for those people who used you as a test subject. He draws them (based off of your description) with a crayon on a piece of paper and rips it apart.

until somebody comes into that room and is confused asf.

"Leona...I think I should tell you this."

snore

Oh you thought he'd be listening? Shake him and tell him it's serious. It works 👍

"You're lucky you're my queen."

We all know Leona respects women. He's listening.

Once you tell him everything, Leona just quietly nods throughout your tragic backstory. However, his tail does loosely wrap itself around you, as a sign of comfort.

Leona's mature unlike the previous two walnuts. He knows it's hard for you to tell him this. It would be hard for anyone.

He doesn't bat an eye, all the way until you're done.

Once you do finish, he pulls you into his embrace and you two lay down on the matress you were sitting on.

"I'm here. I won't let anybody harm you."

Leona is surprisingly not bad at comfort. He's one to rather give advice, but what advice can he give here apart from telling you to move on and look towards the future? (with him *wink wink*)

Leona's very intrigued by the fact that you're an undercover assassin. He sees you as a confident girlboss and he really likes that. In fact, it may as well made him like you even more.

Additionally, he actually predicted a tragic backstory, simply by your actions. It's a very 'Leona' thing to do, considering the fact that he's observant.

He reassures you multiple times that you're safer and you're in better hands now (literally).

Leona may not understand your pain, but he's very willing to help you get over it, even if he may not express it.

"Are you alright?"

Another very observant man. He noticed your expression as soon as he entered the room and it worried him.

When it comes to you, Jamil cares alot. So, once you told him to take a seat and that you trust him enough to say this, he makes sure to put every distraction away.

If Kalim getting in the middle is a concern, don't worry, he already locked Kalim in Kalim's room with a bunch of food and music.

While you're undergoing the process of telling him everything, he holds you tightly, holding you tighter at any major critical points of your past.

He listens carefully and clearly. No he doesn't care that people died because of you. You didn't choose this and you had no choice.

Once you're done, he asks you if you want to eat anything or if there's anything he can do to calm you down and cool your thoughts.

He's good at comfort, since he's done it for Kalim.

Cooks something for you, even if you insist on not troubling him. The arab urge to make sure your loved ones are fed properly 😭

Man praises you on how brave you were to deal with all that.

Jamil may seem very calm on the outside, but on the inside, he's mixed with emotions. Sadness on how you were treated, and anger in those scientists who used you as a lab rat.

Once you're out of sight, he stabs a random vegetable or the chopping board in anger.

To lighten the mood, he jokes around lightly, saying that Kalim would cry and yell "jamilll" in your situation.

Don't be so mean to Kalim, Jamil >:(

Jamil would notice some changes in your behavior towards him, seeing you two are more closer perhaps. It genuinely makes him happy that you don't see him as a shadow to Kalim.

He's glad that you told him, 1. you're his s/o and 2. he's considered more special than kalim since he knows a trusted secret kalim doesn't.

I hope this was ok!! I'm brushing up on my writing skills since it's been a while so sorry if this is weird :')

Hope you enjoyed!! Have a nice day 💖

- Madeline 🐧

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader

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thelioncourts · 2 months

Text

I've been real absent online the last couple of months, but I can't miss out on @iwtvfanevents 'a meal to remember' because we are so incredibly blessed with beautifully creative and talented people in this fandom who constantly inspire and allow me to forever-wander in the world of Louis de Pointe du Lac, my most darling and favorite character ❤️ this won't be nearly as organized as I'd like it to be, won't say all I want to say, and I will inevitably miss somebody and/or some fic, but just know that there is so much wonderful content out there, especially by so many of the people on this list that anyone can check out at any point:

twelve days/nine months by @devotiondroid & @weather-mood daniel/louis/armand modern human au quite literally the fic that saved the holiday season for me. when new chapters of 'twelve days' would post, I would drop everything to go read it and would count down the days until the next update was set to happen. 'nine months' is a wip in the same verse and just as stunning. it's no surprise it's amazing; it's toni and it's bri, two people shining with so much talent it's blinding. and their powers combined?? oh my god. (there's also a one-shot in this verse called 'saint valentine' and my brain broke reading it, idk) now, just a list of @devotiondroid fics that changed me as a person: daniel/louis (and a little louis/armand as of now) human au quicksilver/mercury a danlou noir au that I reread a couple of weeks ago just to feel something again and then toni up and posted its prequel 'mercury' and I simply couldn't cope. the noir vibes paired with the gorgeously yearning story is just !!! everything.

daniel/louis modern human au

baby, I'm your man

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WOULD READ 1000000k of this world. the idea of it, the complete ache of this story, has stuck with me, buried somewhere between my ribs, and I'll forget about it for a second then remember and it'll hit me like truck how wonderful it is. toni................m o r e lestat/louis human au my neck, her rope solar plexus hit of a fic. oh, oh the loustat dynamics....it's gorgeous and the concept is !!!!!!!!!! everything to me and now, my list of @weather-mood fics that, when posted, I quite literally become/became a dragon needing to hoard the newfound treasure immediately: armand/louis (armand/louis/REAL RASHID) canon-verse instruction real rashid, my beloved ;;;; no but, honestly, bri has made real rashid so important to me and to loumand, she's why he exists in my first (unfinished) loumand fic 'facio ut facias' because he's just that important. but bri also just always puts into her fics the gorgeous way that loumand are so perfect together, the way they are consumed with one another's existence. armand/louis canon-verse-esque rumpelstiltskin

FAIRY TALE AU. bri is also the inspiration behind my unposted and ongoing fairy tale au because no one does it like her and this one is......oh god, the way armand is the only character that could have ever been in this, the way he fits into louis' life to be this exact character.......don't talk to me lestat/louis; armand/louis; armand/louis/daniel siren au THE ENTIRE PART OF YOUR WORLD (ONCE UPON A WINE DARK SEA) VERSE y'all don't need me to tell you how perfect it all is. I think about it constantly, I've told real life friends about it, it's everything, every single fic of it is everything. lily/lestat pirouette by @weather-mood and @nlbv/@ouizaya

it's so interesting thinking about lestat in those weeks and months of hunting louis, of how he found out things about him from others, how he got lily so involved, how she died because of it all, and the way bri and zaya took all of that and then showed the mental state of lily throughout it all, how much lestat's vampiric control ruined her....................amazing. it's everything.

lestat/louis canon-verse tides by @nlbv/@ouizaya

zaya, my love, she takes some of the sexiest loustat scenes and makes them even sexier before gut-punching you with something insane and devastating and it reminds me so much of the show's writing, the way you'll be like 'look at my family <3' and then suddenly their conversation has gotten dark, the room looks cold, and you wonder how they'll ever truly come back from it......... god shallows by @nlbv/@ouizaya

REPEAT ALL THAT I SAID ABOVE AND THEN SOME. like???? the episode 6 elaboration???????????? oh my god. it's real. it's what happened. we all know it.

roadkill by @nlbv/@ouizaya and baberainbow I think about this fic so often. the car wreck, lestat and claudia being so in-tune with one another hunting because they're the same, the way they're both aware of louis, the way the family works and fits in, the gore and beauty of it. obsessed. TIME TO TALK ABOUT BABE. lestat/louis canon-verse glass the capturing of louis during those earliest vampiric days, paired with lestat's doting as he tried to solidify his wooing, and then just -- everything else, it's all so good.

disruptions that scene in ep 7 where the entire family teams up on that poor man at their door is crazy and this fic takes that concept and just runs with it in the best way

lestat/louis non-traditional a/b/o verse lioness listen.............i'm such a sucker for a good a/b/o fic and we have a severe lack of them in iwtv, thank you, babe, for writing a beautiful one armand/louis canon-verse luna the way that loumand have been together through some of the most insane historical events will haunt me and also I'm in love with the idea of it, thank you, babe, I want every single year and something they experienced together

armand/louis; lestat/louis; louis/others canon-verse catacomb a required read leading into season 2. that's all you need to know.

armand/louis/lestat cannibalistic modern au cleave/tie by @kittyldpdl

a couple of years ago, I went through this obsessive body horror phase where all I watched and read was something that had some kind of body horror and it would make me nauseous but also I was so intrigued, so fascinated, I couldn't stop. this is that. oh my god.

armand/louis; lestat/louis modern au capillary by @kittyldpdl and @salmoncakepls

WIP. I think about it once a week. falling in love with louis while dressing him??????????? oh my god, the concept, the idea, I want to drown in it armand/louis; lestat/louis robot&android au design; intricate by @salmoncakepls

every time I see concepts for this fic my brain short circuits and every time I read it I just !!!!!!!!!!!!! the brain behind this !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the most brilliant

goat goat goat time <3 <3 <3 armand/louis prey drive by @iwtvdramacd18

HI I THINK ABOUT PREY DRIVE EVERY TWO DAYS AND FEEL FAINT. like idk what else to say, it just sticks with you and you're like 'wow they're just like that and it's insane and beautiful and raw' and goat just writes it perfectly, always lestat/louis exposure by @iwtvdramacd18

I've never actually heard of this fic, but if I had, I would assume it was the most batshit crazy thing I'd ever read......full compliments lestat/louis WIP lunacy by @iwtvdramacd18

I seriously always admire people who can write the 'monster' so well. I struggle so much with actual horror/monsters/suspense and so to read it so well done always makes me a little crazy armand/louis/daniel canon-verse after s1 gathering dust by @knifeeater

non-linear narrative !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

armand/louis canon-verse esque alluvium by @knifeeater

I see the tag service dom armand and my brain blacks out, comes back, and is forever changed. that's all. armand/louis/lestat perpetuum mobile by @knifeeater

sometimes you read a fic and the opening is the most insane thing you've ever read that you're like 'how can they keep this up?' and then they do and you're like 'oh so you're that kind of talented....okay' that's this fic.

armand/louis canon-verse

dirges by @dictee

'He had told Louis once, a lifetime ago, as a kind of bedtime story, about his work with cadavers in the nineteenth century, in the catacombs under the Parisian graveyards. Louis, half asleep, made some comment about Mary Shelley, but in his mind it was his skin under Armand’s scalpel, as loving a part of Armand as any. Shuddering and offering up the red jewels of his insides. ' please read it. oh my god.

MORE DANLOU NOIR THAT IS JUST i'll let you win by @diasdelfuego

danlou prophet. daniel just being so overcome by louis...........daniel just being so enraptured, so in love. the noIR. ily. need to reread asap actually oh my god.

daniel/louis post s1 nothing left to give you now by @diasdelfuego

'When he turns back around, Louis is still facing away from him, eyeing the coffee table as he shrugs off his coat. It slides gracefully off Louis' elegant frame to reveal a deep burgundy button-down underneath. In Daniel's mind, he thinks as he takes in the sight, Louis is always wearing black —mourning black, the writer in his brain supplies. Daniel takes stock of him while Louis stands at the edge of the carpet and looks over Daniel's apartment. The vampire is just as preternaturally young as he was half a century ago, just as beautiful, looking entirely out of place in Daniel's mundane, chaotic environment.' like imagine the whole fic being this beautifully written................................w h a t

lestat/louis; armand/louis murdery mystery au WIP overlords by @diasdelfuego and @shewhomustbecalledking I'm behind on this (work is the worst, let's all quit our jobs) but what I've read is just !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO INSANE. cannot wait to catch up, I have spring break in three weeks and honestly just want to read the entire time, catching up on this and drowning in its beauty

lestat/louis a/b/o verse WIP house of gold by @shewhomustbecalledking I think this was the first a/b/o fic I read for this fandom and it's the blueprint, it's the reason, it's everything. the way lestat is so perfectly lestat in this is everything to me. I love an in-character lestat so much.

armand/louis; lestat/louis AU gothic horror WIP rhodedendron by @blueiight

'Let the Devil tempt me not, Louis thought, as he crawled to the mirror. Hollowed out eyes stared back at him, light-brown mawkish physique barely visible, swallowed up by loose pajamas, twists slightly askew but still meticulously sectioned off.

You look a fucking mess, bruh. Hardly fit to carry on the Du Lac name, what lady would want troubles such as yours? His Mother’s voice blended in with his own. But alas he could not be, could not sit in his sorrow and forever laud the man he was not.' true southern gothic horror. the last two chapters changed everything for me.

lestat/louis modern human au dreaming put to shame by @downstairsbar

I read this every single weekend. the beginning??? louis classing lestat?????????????? louis knowing lestat's eyes are on him but not understanding it???????????? the way I'd give anything for a million more words about how they got to the last part, about what all follows.

lestat/louis canon-verse modern era WIP

murmur by proval the way these are still our louis and our lestat, reunited after everything, still so the same, still so not..............this author seems to have such a good hold of these characters, I can't wait to see where this fic goes

armand/louis; lestat/antoinette; lestat/louis modern succession inspired au WIP dirty, sexy money by thevintage I've never seen succession but I love a business au and these first three chapters are so good. lestat and louis are divorced, they have claudia to tie them together, lestat is marrying his mistress, and louis has just met armand who is business rival of lestat's and the sparks are already flying and ohmygodohmygodohmygod

#fic rec #fic recs #iwtvfanevents #a meal to remember #this took so long and it's not even well done oh my god

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leggerefiore · 1 year

Text

Personal Stylist

cw: slight Jealousy, confession fic, fluff

pairing: Raihan/Reader

------

You hated how embarrassing it was coming to the gym leader for help, but it felt like he was the only one you could trust for this. He stood outside the boutique casually, surfing through his phone without much thought. His signature hoodie rested on him as his hair caught a slight draft of wind. You swallowed as you approached him. Raihan's turquoise eyes shifted from his phone to you. His cat-like grin played across his lips. “There you are,” he gave a light chuckle, “I was beginning to think you had a Leon.”

“No, I didn't get lost,” you sighed and straightened your own coat nervously, “My train was late.” Another laugh came from him as his arm was thrown around your shoulders. You both headed into the store together. His eyes gazed around the area before he finally backed away from you.

“That so? Sounds about right,” he finally replied to your explanation, “Now, what did you need this outfit for again?” You felt flustered as you remembered the reason you had even contacted him for something like this to begin with. Nessa had offered to set you up with a model friend of hers for a date, and you had absolutely no idea what to wear. Admittedly, you were not that interested, but since Nessa had gone out of her way to this for you, the obligation hung strong. You cleared your throat.

“A date to a fancy restaurant,” was your answer. His eyes went wide at your words. For a second, you would even say he looked a bit disappointed. What? Was he hoping you just wanted a new outfit for social media pictures? You felt a laugh nearly escape you. With your response, though, he took you off to a dressier department and quickly went through a few items before holding a few tops out. His eyes observed you for a moment before he shrugged. A few were put back, while two remained out.

“Who did you score a date with, then?” he asked as he held the tops for you to take from him. You cocked a brow at him. Well, you supposed it was not an odd question. Raihan and you had quite a few acquaintances and friends that were shared.

“Nessa set me up with somebody she knows through her agency,” you told him as he went through a few bottoms carefully. Slacks were given careful judgment, while the jeans were avoided completely. His fashion knowledge was as trustworthy as Nessa's could be. How you came to know such well-dressed people remained a mystery. Especially with how popular and beloved they were among competitive battle fans. You leaned against a wall as Raihan took his time going through each of his choices carefully. His favourites were once again handed off to you.

“That so?” Raihan gazed around the section, “Well, hope he isn't anyone too weird. You have any accessories you would like?” You thought on it for a moment before shaking your head. Besides, it would be best to see how the outfit suited you first, then look for things like that. You walked off to the changing area to try them on, with Raihan following behind you. Trying on the pieces you liked most from your options, you observed yourself in the mirror with a smile. His taste really was good.

The door opened to reveal you to the man, who went back on to his phone while he waited. His brows perked up at your attire before he gave a whistle. You felt a bit flustered by his reaction. A thumbs up came from him. “Well, don't you look like you have a great stylist,” he snickered, “Good choices. I thought that colour would best suit you.” The compliments from him made you feel a bit overcome with an odd feeling. Your stomach churned with a fluttering feeling. You just nodded and grinned at him before heading back into change into your clothes.

As you headed off to the queue to buy your items, you caught Raihan glaring at his phone. The expression on his face certainly was not one he often wore, much less in public. What would his fans think if they caught him looking at the poor device like it owed him something? You quickly bought your stuff before returning to him. His eyes glanced at you as he approached. “Everything okay there, big guy?” you tried a joke name for him to lighten his mood.

“... You sure that you want to go on that date?” he asked you suddenly. An urge to give him a dirty look like he had not just watched you purchase items specifically for it washed over you. Instead, you pressed a hand on your hip and nodded. It only led to you swallowing dryly as he leaned over you. “You could go out with me instead,” Raihan offered. Your heart raced in your chest as you felt the scent of his cologne invade your senses. It was extremely tempting to say yes. There may have been slight feelings you held toward the gym leader, but he just simply felt out of your league. Why would someone like him be interested in someone like you?

“... Wouldn't it be rude to cancel so suddenly,” you argued, but he gave a light laugh and shook his head. His hand suddenly came to cup your cheek as he gazed in your eyes.

“If he complains, that is his problem,” Raihan's thoughts were not necessarily wrong, “Nessa already agreed to if you said yes to me anyway.” You gasped at him. Seriously?

“That's why you looked so upset!” you said aloud, “Were you jealous?” Raihan took a step back at your exclamation with wide eyes. It only lasted for a moment before his smug expression returned. Then, simply, he looked you directly in the eyes.

“I suppose I was,” he laughed, “Well, is that a yes or a no?” It was just in his nature to shrug things like that off easily, you guessed. No matter how many times he lost to Leon, he always found himself back training and debating strategies on how to beat him. It must have required nerves of steel to be active on social media like he was, too.

“Sure, why not,” you agreed, “Where to, though?” He hummed as you both walked out of the store and onto the streets of Wyndon. His eyes looked around the area curiously.

“I'll get reservations to a better restaurant,” Raihan shrugged and turned to you, “Be sure to wear your outfit. I would love to get a nice picture with you in it.” You sighed. There it was. Shaking your head pitifully, you grabbed his hand. Your lips met his cheek as he stiffened at the sudden affection. He relaxed quickly, however, and his arm wrapped around your waist to press you closer to him. “You missed,” he told you bluntly. His lips pressed against yours for a quick kiss. You relaxed into his embrace with ease.

#raihan x reader #raihan/reader #pokemon x reader #pokemon raihan x reader

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chilei-the-hotsauce · 3 months

Note

I'm going around booping everyone but you don't seem to like boops very much? So have a headpat instead

ASSAOULT /j

#ooumgh headpat......#yeay #ask chilei #my beloved mutual #somebody (once told me) my beloved #chilei's on skooma again #there is a doodle (its mid)

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darklydeliciousdesires · 6 months

Text

Immortal Beloved - Chapter One.

Oh guys, when I tell you I was touched beyond words at how this was received by you all. I have been sitting here squeaking with joy at your lovely reviews! If I have missed anybody out in my thank you notes, please take my humble apology and know that I appreciate you so much for taking the time to both read and offer feedback.

Okay, so on with the first chapter, then. You'll notice here that my imagination weaves with canon to make some slight changes, such as giving the boy's (and Ada's) mother a name, also I wrote John only to have one child with his late wife. It made sense to me, not having to pull focus from the plot too much by having to characterise four little ones on top of everything else.

So yes, here we are, then. I think I'm going to choose Thursday as our update day and keep it to once a week posting. Those who know me of old know that I often like to throw in a little surprise update sometimes, though! Once again, thank you so much for the feedback, and I truly hope you continue to enjoy it :)

Previous chapters - Prologue

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,057

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“John?”

He was still in a daze as he entered the back room, seeing Polly lift her gaze from the paper she read in front of the crackling hearth, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re bloody white as a sheet. If you’re about to be sick, go back outside. I’ve neither the desire nor patience for mopping up the contents of your stomach.”

“Nah, I’m... I’m alright, Pol,” he began, his voice just as vacant as the expression upon his face, the toothpick between his lips practically dangling.

She wasn’t convinced by his statement, placing the paper upon the arm of the chair and rising to her feet. “John, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, and you...” She sniffed his breath, her mouth down turning as she scoffed, “and you stink like a brewery floor. What did Tommy say, eh, about getting in this state. Look at you!”

Her admonishment barely even landed; John still in a state of shock at what he’d witnessed, his eyes flitting to the table. Whiskey. Yes.

Polly’s gaze followed. “No. There’ll be no more of that. You’ve had enough.”

Finally, he moved, side stepping his aunt as he reached for the bottle, uncorking it rapidly and drinking from it directly. “Believe me, Pol. After what I just saw, all the fucking whiskey in Ireland ain’t enough.”

She folded her arms, watching as he crashed down in the chair opposite the one she’d been comfortably sitting in. “Well, you don’t look hurt. Whatever it was, it can’t have been that bad.”

“Not for me, but...” he began, taking another swig of the golden liquid within his grasp, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve as his eyes found hers, “for the fella outside missing his head, I can’t say the same.”

“You bloody what, John Shelby?” Her voice rose like a siren, Polly’s authoritative boom filling the space. “A Rasmussen, I take it? And since when have you been in the habit of lopping off heads and leaving the evidence all over the bloody street? Holy shit, you boys will be the death of me!”

She then studied him a little closer. No blood. He'd have been covered in more than just a fine misting of crimson, should he have removed somebody of their head. It also wasn’t John’s style, as far as despatching of an enemy went. He was a gangster, not a barbarian. She wouldn’t have even pegged his elder brothers for such acts, and their bloodlust far exceeded John’s. Her statement was about to be recanted when her nephew offered his reply.

“No, not me. I didn’t do fuck all!” he corrected, gulping back more whiskey, the shock starting to soften as his muscles began to unclench, one by one. “It weren’t me, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I’ve just seen out there.”

“Is that so?” she charged, moving swiftly to stand beside his chair. “Try me.”

He pointed his index finger towards the door, his eyes rounding once more as he relived it in his mind. “A woman, a fucking woman in a white dress, covered in blood, moving faster than I could see. She fucking... grabbed this fella, right, like he was a kiddie’s doll, bit into his neck, and then ripped his fucking head off. I ain’t lying to ya. I swear on my soul, that’s what I saw. She had these teeth, teeth like a fucking wolf.”

Polly lifted her chin, a wave of cold dread sloshing through her insides. She knew exactly what John had seen, but could scarcely believe it. They were back. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”

His eyes narrowed, leaning forward in his seat. Her answer, it had been a little too swiftly delivered. “You believe me, don’t you? You know what she was.”

“I said go to bed.”

“I ain’t going nowhere until you tell me what the fuck that thing outside was.” Yes, Polly could be firm, but so could her nephew. It was a trait that ran strongly through the Shelby blood. She sighed, her shoulders dropping, striding to the cabinet and fetching two glasses.

“Pour.” John met her instruction wordlessly, tipping the whiskey into the glasses she held, taking the other from her. Polly sank into her seat, sipping her whiskey and pulling a cigarette from the case beside her, lighting up. “Your great-grandmother used to call them the shadow walkers, but it’s only since that Bram Stoker fellow wrote his novel that there’s been a commonly known name for them. That woman you saw, John, she wasn’t human. She was a vampire.”

John was baffled, and his face showed it. “But they ain’t real. I’ve heard of that book you’re on about, Dracula, isn’t it? They... they’re fiction.”

A light snort sounded from Polly’s nose, her cigarette glowing as she took a fierce drag upon it. “Most people think that they are. They think of them as nothing more than monsters of make-believe, dreamed into existence by the imagination of a brilliant novelist.” Pausing, she smirked darkly, sighing through her nose. “I wish to god above I was one of those people. They keep themselves very well hidden, the vampires. And who would believe it, that these blood sucking creatures of the night truly exist, eh? Seeing is believing, though, and by god, John. I wish you hadn’t seen her. Those things, they’re evil incarnate.”

“She saved me life,” he admitted, eyebrows rising a fraction. “That man, and apparently three mates of his, they were all waiting for me. The one missing his head was Samuel Rasmussen. She knew him by name.”

Polly cocked her head slightly. “What did she say to you?”

“Not much,” he sniffed, sipping his drink. “Said what I’ve just told you, then said my blood smelled like earth and fire, other things an’ all but I forget what. Oh, and that I was the most beautiful creature she’d seen in a long time.”

She smiled, nodding slightly. “Well, she got that part right. You take after your mother in that respect.” It never ceased to amaze her, just how much John resembled Thora, her late sister-in-law. His blue eyes, lily skin and auburn hair came straight from her. “I’m warning you now, though. What she did for you won’t have been out of sheer magnanimity, oh no. There’ll be a reason behind it, and whatever that reason is, I am telling you, John, you’ll want for no part in it.”

He smirked, feeling a little more himself. “What if the reason is that she just wants to fuck me?”

Immediately, he found his ear clipped. “Fucking hell, Pol!”

“Take something seriously for once in your fucking life!”

He rubbed the side of his head, chewing aggressively on his toothpick. “I bloody am.”

Her snort dripped in sarcasm “Like fuck, you are. You’d want throwing right into the loony bin if you even contemplated that, you bloody daft boy!” She remained forward in her seat, her dark eyes fixing him in an unbreakable stare. “Don’t trust her, not even for a second, or it’ll be your head ripped off your shoulders and left out for the coppers to find next. You hear me?”

“You make it sound like I’m going to see her again,” he mused, swirling the whiskey around within the glass tumbler before sinking it.

“You will,” she assured, her tone bitter. “You will see her again, because like I said, they don’t do anything without good reason to, those creatures. But you’ll be prepared. Carry a silver knife and get up to the church sharpish, fill a little bottle with holy water from the font. When weaponised, silver will kill her and the water will burn. And whatever you do, John, never, ever invite her into this house. She can’t get in unless she’s invited.”

He had to wonder how, exactly, Polly had such a wealth of knowledge over them. “Have you ever met one before? You talk like you know them of old.”

“No, thank god, but your great-grandmother Boswell, she had. Those campfire stories she told us as babes, we knew they weren’t fibs. We heeded her warnings. They’re drawn to gypsy blood, you see, something about it being palatable.”

“She didn’t bite me, though,” John reasoned, Polly scoffing lightly.

“If she’d just taken out four other fellas, she probably wasn’t hungry. That’s what they need to survive, the blood of the living. Trust me, she’ll be back, but you’ll be prepared. Stab her in her cold, dead heart and forget you ever met her. Don’t even think twice about it. We’ve got enough to be reckoning with, what with these fucking Rasmussen’s and the pile of shit they’re throwing our way. I don’t need the worry that you’re being stalked by the bloody undead on top of that.”

“Why didn’t you mention any of this to us before?”

Sinking her drink, she cleared her throat, reaching for the bottle. “And have you think I’d gone loopy?” Her snorted words brought a smile to John, Polly continuing. “We just don’t speak of them any longer. They’re rare, not an everyday threat. I’ve never heard hide nor hair of them since hearing nana’s stories, since I was just a young girl.”

As the lie fell from her lips, Polly felt conflicted. She had to protect him, though. Keep the details scant. Besides, he was too drunk to take on anything else. Indeed, there was more she could have explained. She decided against it, clamping her lips between her teeth for a moment.

“Hang on,” he spoke, frowning a little. “What did you mean, when you said undead?”

“They aren’t alive anymore, John.” She paused, picking a little fleck of tobacco from her lip. “They walk and talk, but they’re not really living. Something about how they’re made, I don’t know the details, but yes. Undead. An enchanted corpse, basically.”

“I dunno about enchanted, but she was enchanting,” he began, the corner of his mouth upturning. “She was bloody beautiful.” His face further softened as he remembered that feeling of magic lingering in the air between he and her, the pull to her, her essence shining like the brightest star within a pitch-black sky.

“John, no. Absolutely fucking not.” Her pointed finger only momentarily wiped the growing smirk from his handsome features. “I mean it, do not even consider a fucking dalliance with a bloody vampire!”

He shrugged slightly. “I’ve took worse to bed.”

“John!” Her acerbic bite of his name had him in soft fits, the whiskey seeming to do the trick in placating the fear he’d felt at the time, now he was no longer in peril. “Your fucking face when you walked in here not ten minutes ago, looking like you’d seen a ghost. I was surprised your trousers were still dry, you looked that afraid!”

“Bloody hell, Pol. I was only pulling your leg,” he laughed, rising from his seat. “Don’t worry, I ain’t stupid. I’m going to bed. Maybe all of this is just a drunken dream, I dunno.” Suddenly, her foot shot out, kicking him in the shin. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Did that feel like a dream to you?”

“No, it feels like it’s gonna be a whacking great bruise on me leg!”

She smirked, entertained at herself. “Good, might have knocked a bit of sense into you. Goodnight, love.”

“Yeah, night, Pol.”

He departed for the stairs, ambling up quietly so as not to wake Finn, entering his room and shivering upon the removal of his coat. His stripping of clothes into long johns and a vest was done at speed, diving under the bed covers and burrowing beneath the many woollen blankets. He hated that his room was the farthest from the chimney breast, meaning the heat didn’t ever reach the room where he could see his breath clouding through the darkness, it was so bitterly chilly.

The knocking through of the three houses that allowed for their once illegal bookmaking endeavours to be run from the Watery Lane properties meant one large communal home, Tommy and Arthur’s abodes flanking the three, John remaining within the house he’d been born in twenty-eight years previously. It was the home he and his late wife had lived in, before he’d sadly lost her four years previously.

Closing his eyes, he felt the pull of sleep tug at him, drifting off into dreamless slumber, awoken the following morning by the sound of the milkman’s cart doing the morning deliveries. Oh, his head. He needed tea and jam slathered toast, and quickly. Heading downstairs, he warmed enough water to have a wash and shave, combing his hair and returning to pull on a suit, opening the front door to take the milk in off the front step.

“Morning, Mr Shelby.”

“Morning, Jack,” he called back to the milkman, his cart paused, John turning to see a throng of people gathered a little further down the lane. “What’s all that about?”

“Some kids found a headless body down by number six, so I’ve been told. The bobbies are on their way. Shocking business for a Wednesday morning, I can tell you!”

John’s heart skipped on a beat as the night before rushed back over his neurons. He truly hadn’t been dreaming. “Blimey,” he began, feigning something as close to shock as he could, craning his neck a little further, able to make out the figures of his elder brother’s there surveying the scene, the local constabulary appearing right at the bottom of the lane. “Wonder how he ended up headless?”

Jack lit a cigarette, his chest tightening as he coughed. “Might be best not to know, eh?” He paused, John seeing it, the unspoken statement there upon the milkman’s face. Grim discoveries close to a Shelby dwelling. Of course, he suspected it had something to do with him or his brothers, but Jack was much too cautious to speak it. Their reputation preceded them, after all.

“I’ll be moving along now, Mr Shelby.” He flicked the reins, clicking his tongue. “C’mon, Beamish. Walk on.” The giant, bay shire horse snorted before continuing to the next house, Jack’s lad jumping off the back of the cart to lay the required bottles next to each door, both getting a good look at the grizzly scene as they passed it by, Tommy and Arthur having a brief chat with Sergeant Moss before walking back to meet John on the doorstep.

The former cocked his head back in the direction of the small crowd. “Know anything about that, John? How one of our adversaries came to be missing his head almost right outside our front doors?” He’d recognised Samuel’s face as it lay wide-eyed upon the cobbles ten feet from his body, remembering him from the race meet.

Tommy watched as his younger brother stepped back into the house, his mouth thinning. “I think we need a family meeting.” With the elders of the Shelby family assembled, cups of tea poured and cigarettes lit, John recounted the events of the night before to his brother’s, Polly interjecting with details that backed up his story. Tommy listened passively, but Arthur, well...

His gruff laughter sounded through the air, sweeping a hand through his hair. His laughter was not mocking, though. It carried with it all the hollowness of fear. “A bloody what?”

“Arthur, you know he’s telling the truth,” Polly stated defiantly, her eldest nephew still laughing, laughing to stop himself beginning to shake with fright.

“What a pile of old shit! A bloody vampire, eh? Fucking hell, you two have lost your faculties if you’re expecting us to believe that!” Turning to his brother, Arthur was surprised to see Tommy completely unmoved by the story, his face unflinching, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Come on, Arthur,” he spoke evenly, sipping his tea. “Nobody is having you on, and you know it.” Turning to John, he placed his tea down. “This woman, John. Long, dark hair with a tattooed throat and chest?”

He nodded a little dumbly. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Tommy sat back again, flicking ash into the nearby ashtray with a sniff. “She’s been watching the house for a couple of weeks now.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to mention that to anyone?” Polly charged him with, a deep frown settling between her eyebrows.

“Speak not of the shadow walkers, lest ye bring them into the light. That’s what our dad used to say,” he revealed, Arthur scoffing immediately as he threw himself to his feet.

“I ain’t listening to this load of old cobblers! Fucking mad, the lot of ya!”

“Arthur, you know it’s true. You saw what I did on that night,” he reasoned softly, Arthur’s agitation winding tighter by the second as he paced the flagstones. “It’s time to face up to what happened.”

“What night?” John demanded lightly, looking between them. Silence followed. “One of you better give me a fucking answer.”

Tommy paused, bringing his cigarette to his lips once more. “I’ve thought about that night here and there over the years, but never mentioned it. Dad told us not to breathe a word to anyone,” he began, Arthur making a start for the door, almost throwing it off its hinges and slamming it behind him.

Jerking his head in his wake he raised his eyebrows a fraction. “Terrified the life out of Arthur, so much so that he pissed himself. He’s never come to terms with that he witnessed, refuses to acknowledge it ever happened at all. He can’t comprehend what he saw, what we saw on that night, when dad took us up to the Black Patch when we were nippers to visit family. Now, I don’t know how much Polly revealed to you, but they aren’t spoken about, the shadow walkers as our gypsy kin always referred to them as, but for centuries, they had a pact.

“Gypsy blood to a vampire is what a fine wine or whiskey is to us, so for hundreds of years, vampires would guard the camps in exchange for feeding upon that blood. That was, at least, until the pact was broken. I don’t know why, and neither did our dad, but one night they returned, to hand out the punishment they felt befitting of that broken pact.

“Our dad did perhaps the only honourable thing he ever has as a father, and got on a horse, riding us out of there to the nearest church where he hid us away until the dawn. Vampires cannot walk upon hallowed ground, nor can they stand in the daylight, lest they burn to ashes. The rest of the camp weren’t so lucky. People were attacked, only very few surviving, but in a state of dread that one day, they’d be back. I suppose that day was last night, for I highly doubt she’s acting alone.”

John immediately stared at Polly. “Did you know all of this?”

She nodded in confirmation. “I did.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you tell me last night?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“Because you were drunk as a lord, John. What I said was enough explanation without going into the finer details, of which I wasn’t sure you’d be able to absorb. I’m fucking surprised you comprehended even half of what I told you, to be frank.”

John’s puzzlement was clear as it ghosted across his face, sighing as he rubbed his brow. “But it don’t make no sense. If she was here because she wanted us dead, some kind of further punishment for our kin breaking the pact, then why am I still alive? She could have had me head off, just the same as she did to Samuel fucking Rasmussen, but she didn’t.” He felt his heart flutter as he remembered how fondly she’d gazed upon him. God, she was such a beauty.

Tommy shrugged lightly. “At a guess, I’d say she wants to rekindle the blood pact. Why she’d choose us and not one of the other families out there, well, I can’t answer that.”

“Which means she probably wants something else from us, something greater,” a frowning Polly mused, the dread in her voice quite clear. It was a distinct change to her usual confident, self-assured tone.

“And we’re not about to give her the chance to even broach it.” Tommy then turned to John, his eyes wide. “You’ll carry a silver knife upon your person from now on, as we all will. Her kind are not to be trusted. Killing that man, I suspect was to lure you into a false sense of security. Vampires are immortal; they have all the fucking time in the world to exact a plan. She’s biding her time.”

“She didn’t only kill him,” John snorted, jerking his head to the right. “Coppers will find another three bodies somewhere out there soon enough.”

Tommy rose to his feet, keen to move to his office and begin the day. “All the more reason not to trust her when she returns. Mark my words, John boy. She’ll be back. She’ll be back, I tell you, and it won’t lead to anything good.”

All talk of vampires, blood pacts and a family history unknown to John meant that he could forget his pounding head for a short time. After his refuelling with toast and tea, he walked through to the offices, grasping the ledger and beginning to write, the space soon filling, the usual loud chaos abounding.

Hangovers and mysterious, vampiric women aside, John’s day ended certainly more favourably than the previous. The favourite at Epson, Shamrock Pride pulled up lame in the fifth race, just as he was intended to. This netted a very tidy profit for them, John finishing his day with a spring in his step because of it.

The Garrison for a whiskey or three? Whyever not.

“Daddy?”

The soft grasp of a tiny hand curled his little finger, John pausing from pulling on his overcoat to look down into the big, green eyes of his daughter, Katie carrying a book within her grasp.

“You should be in bed, pige.” Pige. Short for pigeon, the fond pet name for his only child from his short marriage to Martha, his wife taken from him by the cruel clutches of consumption when Katie was mere baby in arms.

Poking out her bottom lip, she proffered the book forth. The Velveteen Rabbit. It had to have been their fourth read through at that point, the book only published six months before. “Please?”

He sighed softly through his nose. “Go on,” he spoke to his brother, “I’ll catch up with you.”

Arthur nodded, leaving John to place his coat over the back of the fireside armchair there in the front room, adjusting his trousers as he sat, Katie scrambling onto his lap. “Right, where were we?”

Opening the book, the cloth binding soft and velvety against his fingers, John laid the well-worn leather bookmark across Katie’s legs, stroking her strawberry blonde curls as he began to read. Ten minutes, give or take, and she would nod off with her little rosy cheeked face nestled against his chest.

Eleven and a half minutes later, and the soft little piglet snorts of a babe in slumber filled the space, John smiling down at her. “Let’s get you up them stairs, eh, pige?” Once he’d placed her into her bed and covered her in blankets, he laid a kiss to her forehead, whispering his love before creeping out, overcoat thrown on and a cigarette lit before stepping out into the frigid night.

Snowflakes fluttered down over the streets of Small Heath, John feeling winter tingle as his cheeks, the flames of the blast furnaces offering a roar of warmth as he passed them by, the lights of The Garrison twinkling through the inky gloom.

“John.”

The whisper of his name echoed through his ears, John turning, his eyes scanning for the source. Nobody. On he walked.

“John.”

It was louder than before this time as once again he halted, turning, looking for the female to whom the voice belonged. He almost dived out of his skin when upon his turn back, there she was.

The vampire looked even more breathtaking to him than she had the night before.

#john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #john shelby x ofc #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic

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hoodie-buck · 4 days

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

thanks for the tags beloveds @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @bi-buckrights @hippolotamus 🩵

How many works do you have on ao3?

—246

What's your total ao3 word count?

—1,469,436

What fandoms do you write for?

— 911, teen wolf, animal kingdom (not actively but still counting it)

Top five fics by kudos:

if i lay here, would you lie with me (forget the world)

nobody can do everything

i want to love you (but i don't know how)

five + 1 (idk who allowed me to name a fic this 💀)

someone to stay

Do you respond to comments?

—always! even if it takes me a few weeks, i always respond to them. i'm so so appreciative of anyone who takes the time to leave them 🥹

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

—come back home (version 2) i just had to get it out of my system, sorry 🥲

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

mmm, idk besides the one listed above and one other, they're all really sappy and fluffy endings 😅 it'll probably end up being whatever sappy ass ending i write for the chris doesn't come back au after everything i've put them through 😂

Do you get hate on fics?

—not really, more like just annoying people nitpicking stupid things

Do you write smut?

—i do indeed 😏 can't say if it's good, but i've got lots of it posted 😂

Craziest crossover:

—umm i write tons of au's but idk if this refers to that or doing an actual crossover with another fandom?? i wish not to talk about the one that still haunts me, but i did use characters from the step up movie for my au: let me lose myself

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

—not that i know of...

Have you ever had a fic translated?

—somebody asked once but idk what ever happened with that

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

i have! 3 different times with my wife @loserdiaz 🫶🏻

—no body, no crime

—this is my idea of fun (playing video games)

—i don't want to keep secrets just to keep you

All time favourite ship?

—buddie! the brainrot for them has been unmatched jsiodj

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

—uhhh probably my divergent au...i've had the placeholder for insurgent with like 3 sentences sitting in my wip folder for forever 😬

What are your writing strengths?

—i'll just list the things people have told me because i have no idea sjwioe. i always get compliments on my characterization, descriptions, and metaphors <3

What are your writing weaknesses?

—shutting the fuck up and writing anything short 🫠

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

—i've done it in the past but not really anymore

First fandom you wrote in?

—teen wolf

Favorite fic you've written?

—that's like asking me to pick between my nonexistent children 😭

i'm picking 3 idc

coastlines

if i lay here, would you lie with me (forget the world)

the ducking of evan buckley

tagging: @redlightsandicedtea @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @onward--upward @daffi-990 @wildlife4life @underwaterninja13 @bigfootsmom @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @zainclaw @watchyourbuck @ronordmann @queerbuckleys @spaceprincessem @jacksadventuresinwriting

#writer things #fic writer questions #tag games #my writing #buddie

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beanghostprincess · 3 months

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I've been thinking for a while about why I like Sabosan so much as a ship (even though I don't talk much about them. My mistake, honestly. I should do it more). Because we all know that out of the ASL brothers, Ace and Luffy are the ones who seem to make more sense when it comes to shipping them with Sanji. But there's just something about Sabosan that makes me go insane...

(Long post)

Lusan is quite obvious: Captain x His cook. Cook who starves as a metaphor for selflessness and who's always giving instead of taking x Captain who devours the whole world because he appreciates selfishness and freedom but is willing to starve to save his cook. Careless x Anxious. Sun x Ocean. Both are always sacrificing themselves but Luffy is at least aware of the value of his own life while Sanji sees himself as dispensable. They both work so well together because Luffy sees Sanji as kindness itself and what a cook truly needs to be (keep in mind that food is crucial for OP's story and it represents happiness most of the time) and he makes him want to seek freedom and his own desires. Sanji is a dreamer and he's hopeful yet extremely pessimistic when it comes to his persona, and Luffy is equally as hopeful but he despises his nakama seeing himself as unworthy of being in his crew. They both get each other's weaknesses and strengths and, okay, Luffy might not truly get Sanji completely but he doesn't need to as long as he sees the kindness in him and realizes everything he does, he does it for others. While Sanji sees Luffy as an escape from the prison he's always been locked in. My beloveds. Perfect dynamic (not going to make a whole analysis because I already talk about them enough here).

The thing is, Ace is also a perfect match for Sanji for a lot of reasons: You see, I think we can see a lot of similarities between them, especially the ones Luffy can't understand by himself but can link to both. Ace's way of dealing with depression and self-deprecation is to lean on his brothers and find a reason to live on them. If they love him, then at least it will have been worth it being alive. The same thing goes for Sanji, I think. It's not that he's actively suicidal. I don't think either of them seeks death, but they do think about it a lot and what the world would be like without them. Sanji sees himself as dispensable while Luffy can't believe a word he's saying, but Ace? Ace understands. He's been years thinking he shouldn't be alive. That he was a mistake. And the same thing goes for Sanji, growing up in a family that constantly told him he shouldn't exist and even faked his death. Once again, same thing with Ace and hiding his identity from the world. Ace knows he's loved, even if he has a hard time admitting why people like Sabo and Luffy would love him. But they do. It's a fact, even if it's hard to believe. And he keeps going thanks to their love and to protect them. Ace, although his personality might seem cocky and selfish and careless at first (which it is, but you know), he's extremely selfless when it comes to the people he loves. He literally lives thanks to them. Sanji basically does the same thing. Both of them cope with sabotaging themselves and they don't really value their lives unless it's someone else (cof cof Luffy cof cof) the one giving them a reason to keep going. I think Acesan works great as a ship because, from a more psychological point of view, like- Ace was born to be a brother. His whole character is created and introduced as Luffy's brother. Of course, he's more than that, but his chill and laid-back personality with sprinkles of emotional maturity only comes from growing up too fast because he desperately needed to take care of his little brother. Sanji desperately needs that type of connection with somebody and instantly feels attracted to protective people because he has never been protected before. Sanji has only been hurt by his brothers, so of course it's natural that he's astonished when he sees Ace for the first time being oh so kind and loving to Luffy. That's what he wanted. And it makes his heart melt instantly. Besides, going for a more personality thing here, Sanji is pretty repressed (when it comes to his memories. His gender. His sexuality. His feelings) while Ace (although he hides a lot of issues) is wayyy more proactive when it comes to what he wants. Sanji is scared to walk on earth, and Ace takes the world as his personal playground because he wants to be something that people remember that won't include mentioning his father. He wants to do something for himself. And talking about fathers, even if their daddy issues aren't the same, they both have grudges. And you know what else they have in common? Their gorgeous, blonde, dead mothers who died for them. Instant bond. They fit perfectly.

Now, about Sabosan:

If we're starting with the things they have in common, this is gonna be a wild ride. Both are nobles born in a family that absolutely did not love them but wanted them anyway for different (failed) purposes. They both escaped from those families but people thought they were dead for a long time, and their parents easily just found a substitute for them without caring much about what happened. Saying they have trauma is an understatement. They both escape from those lives completely, form new bonds with new people, and start a family somewhere else. And then they have to deal with that again and, not only that but suffer from the beautiful survivor's guilt that comes from not being able to save their siblings. I know Sabo's survivor's guilt is even worse because his bond with Ace was way stronger, but I think there's a part of Sanji who feels awful for Reiju and what she chooses to be a part of when she's actively different from their brothers too. Once again mentioning the self-sabotaging behavior and self-sacrificing acts because they're extremely selfless and have strong morals that lead them to these things. It's fundamentally different because I think Sanji is way more of a feeler than Sabo, but-- But the core of their personalities really is being extremely protective of the things they love and their ideals. It's not only the fact that they could bond over their pasts (and could easily be the only people understanding each other completely) but also the fact that their personalities fit perfectly. They balance each other. They're not the most mentally stable people in the world, but I think Sanji's issues are more similar to Ace's, and Sabo would know how to handle them. While Sanji is a natural caretaker and would not hesitate to take care of Sabo's breakdowns and episodes (because, sue me for being realistic, I think this guy has a personality disorder and depressive episodes and a bunch of other stuff. Just like Sanji, really. I mean- To me they're a very people pleaser BPD haver who has probably an eating disorder and anxiety x very overprotective Bipolar insomniac with memory issues. Maybe that's just me and my headcanons).

I am not going to be a nerd about them. But I am going to be a nerd about them. *pulls out MBTI profiles*

Sanji prioritizes connecting with other people. He's extremely empathetic and his core needs are to be liked and to help others. His ideals are focused on the suffering of others and how to help them. He's very structured when it comes to what he wants to achieve, but he often puts others before his own needs instead of actually taking what he wants, and that affects him negatively. Not to mention his sense of depersonalization and hatred towards himself and where he comes from. And how that makes him sabotage himself and think he's not worthy of the love people offer him. This is kind of exactly what Ace goes through too and that's why I think Sabo would be able to help him. He's loyal and trustworthy and he would do anything for his loved ones and morals. Something that, again, matches Sabo completely. His sense of ethics is very intense and focuses mainly on empathy. He seeks love, attention, and praise from others. And he's also extremely hopeful for his dreams. He never stops believing in the All Blue or Luffy, just in himself. Which shows his sense of trust and loyalty but also his low appreciation towards himself.

Sabo, on the other hand, is a more meticulous person. I know he seems like he loses control often, but he doesn't follow his feelings as much as it looks. He's more logical and he doesn't follow what he wants but what he thinks it's right for others and society. That being said, he also will do whatever the fuck he wants if he feels like it because he's chaotic like that. He has very strong morals and focuses on finding solutions to the world's problems. Instead of focusing on one thing, he sees the whole picture and specializes in many things at once and chooses what to fight for instead of following his feelings. He often has to make difficult choices regarding his loved ones, and even if he would do anything if Luffy was in trouble when it comes to the greater good, he doesn't hesitate to do what's more reasonable regarding his ethics. However, he has a strong sense of protection and his anxiety also is a huge part of his personality, so that's pretty much when he loses control. He feels mostly responsible for what happens around him and always wants to be the one in control and fears losing the ones he loves.

The main difference between them, I'd say, is that Sabo is pretty much revengeful and his personality has a strong part of hatred towards humanity and the ones who have hurt him and society. His whole thing is fighting against them, too. Unlike Sanji, who even if he is able to hate people, he doesn't seem to be able to actually hurt them in a meaningful way because his kind personality makes him unable to do so (unless the people he's fighting go against his morals. Like having hurt a woman or wasting food or whatever). Not that Sabo isn't kind, but he knows how to stand up for himself and his morality and he can tell perfectly between right and wrong in a very black-and-white sense, while Sanji (even if he goes to extremes quite a lot) lets himself be used and he doesn't harm others the way they harm him (not to confuse with "played with" because Sanji is not that easily manipulated. He knows what's going on all the time. He just lets himself be used if it will protect the ones he loves or if it goes against his kindness and morality).

So I think (and this is the part where I explain how this relationship would work) that Sabo would be able to protect Sanji. It's not that Sanji needs protecting because at the end of the day, he can fight back and he can stand up for himself, but that's only when it comes to fights that don't have to do with him personally and only with his morals. Sabo has a very calm facade. A very gentleman-like personality, even if he's still as chaotic as his brothers. But he's more gentle. He's softer, too, in a way, because he analyzes what people need. He approaches things in a very protective but soothing way. Like, he could burn disgusting men alive for Sanji, turn around at him and say everything's fine and Sanji would straight-up believe him and then blush uncontrollably and then hit him for being reckless. In that order. I don't think Sanji likes feeling weak, because he has this thing in common with Sabo in which he doesn't like not being in control. But I think he needs this. He needs to be held and taken care of sometimes. He needs to let himself be weak around others. And Sabo wants somebody to protect because he couldn't do it with his siblings. I think Sabo would be gentle and patient with Sanji while also bringing silliness and the typical brightness the ASL brothers have in common. He'd be chaotic with him and Sanji would definitely get mad at him for stealing food or wanting to do the deed (keeping it safe for work my pals, but yeah, Sabo would be horny 24/7 and would not let Sanji cook. He wants to fuc-) while he's busy. But! But also Sabo would take care of him and would analyze the patterns. He would notice when he eats. What he eats. If he eats at all. He would worry about his sleep schedule and whether he's overworking himself or not (because surprise! He does the same thing). And Sabo would also love every part of him and have such deep hatred for the ones who have hurt him. I think Sabo would want to take revenge but Sanji would strongly refuse and Sabo would absolutely love that about him. "You're better than me, I would've set your family on fire. But this is what makes you so kind" type of thing. Basically, Sabo is fucking batshit crazy but he's silly and kind and talks like a revolutionary French man in the 18th century and Sanji loves him. Also, Sanji has a history with craycray people because Pudding is not okay mentally either and look at him, being down bad. Sabo loves Sanji for the same reasons Luffy does, he's just kindness itself and Sabo is so full of hatred that he truly, really needs somebody like him.

And Sanji? Sanji just absolutely loves how protective Sabo is. When it comes to his family and his friends and his morals and beliefs. After being surrounded by people who did not care about anything during his childhood and also being extremely scared of ending up being like them, Sanji appreciates that strong sense of protectiveness and the humanity that comes with loving something/somebody so much. That's what Sanji needs, basically. Sanji likes that Sabo is caring and gentle and always keeps an eye on literally everyone and everything. He likes the brightness and joy that comes with Sabo too, because he might be calculative but he's also impulsive when it comes to his needs and likes. Luffy might be the representation of liberation in a godly way, but Sabo is the realistic personification of freedom. And as much as I love Lusan and making religious imagery metaphors, I think those fit Zolu way more because Sanji needs to be realistic with this and Sabo is the one who can make him see life this way. He would also care a bit too much about Sabo's health because everyone knows it's fucked up and he's willing to die if it's for the revolution. It's not like he doesn't appreciate his life, in fact, he does. He knows he is crucial to society and can't die. But if it's for the greater good he would leave Sanji and Koala and Luffy behind and die. He doesn't want to do that to them and he'd desperately try not to because he values his worth, but... Y'know. It's not that he doesn't care about living, but he cares too much that he ends up hurting himself and overworking. And Sanji does that too, but seeing it from the outside with an empathetic personality like his is just... Painful.

So while Sabo shows Sanji how to be free and feels hatred for the both of them, Sanji is the kindness in the world Sabo is looking for and gives him something to put his mind at ease when it's filled with demons. And also, they get each other's pasts and trauma on a fundamental level that not a lot of people do.

I don't know how their relationship could start, really, but it could happen in a simple way such as: Sabo pays a visit to the crew (fuck the timeline btw, choose whichever arc you like or just ignore canon) and meets Sanji. Offers to help him cook (fails because he fucking sucks at cooking and he just wanted to help and actually he just ends up flirting with him and eating the ingredients) and stays with him to clean the dishes (something he can't do either because he won't stop talking and being overly distracted). And Sanji just- He's just so similar to both Ace and Luffy but in a more mature and gentle way, somehow? He brings peace to him but there's just something wrong with him deep inside Sanji can't quite catch, but feels connected to. Like they both just get each other, pretending they're fine but knowing they're not and also just enjoying each other's presence. Sabo feels captivated by the cook because he feels like there's just so much more he's hiding from him, and Sabo has always liked analyzing every little thing (<- writer behavior. We as a society need to talk more about how Sabo wants to be a writer canonically). Maybe Sabo starts visiting more often or stays for a while, but the thing is they grow closer because they keep wanting to know each other more. Perhaps a fight against some marines happens and Sabo goes full protective of him or Luffy and Sanji is extremely turned on by that (who wouldn't after seeing Sabo break skulls like eggs). And maybe they end up fucking, and it's not rough, but it's not extremely soft either? It's the perfect mix of possessiveness and care and somehow Sanji still feels in control all the way through. And I don't want to mention the cigarette of doom but Sabo lighting up Sanji's cigarette for him would be extremely intimate but also would make Sanji worry because every time this happens, he ends up creating a strong bond with that someone and something goes wrong. So they like each other a lot but there's always this layer of anxiety? Like they care too much for the other to say what they are but they refuse to lose each other. And Luffy either keeps telling Sabo to not still his cook or teasing Sabo for liking his cook, no in between. But yeah, let's make them go into a relationship:

Clingiest mfs on planet earth. Can't stand them. Sanji is down bad and is turned on by every little thing Sabo does but also can't stand him when he gets annoying and ends up yelling at him like an angry housewife. Sabo often takes that as flirting and starts teasing him more, being really into PDA and also being extremely soft. Sabo says the most romantic things in the world and expects Sanji not to fall for him??? Okay. But it's not only Sanji who blushes because then he keeps feeding Sabo his favorite food and smiling at him and Sabo suddenly feels dumb and weak in the knees and has the need to laugh like a high school girl in a rom-com. Sabo is extremely possessive and I think as a fandom we all agree on that, but it's not even in a toxic way. Sanji likes it. Let them be like that. And as I said, they'd take care of each other when one is overworking himself or having nightmares or not being able to sleep or function properly. They'd be each other's anchors and they would completely understand the other.

I don't know, I just think they fit perfectly <3 Killer Queen and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy? Yes. Anti-Hero and Mastermind? Yes. Sky x Ocean? Of course, fuck other dynamics, this one hits different. They mean the world to me 🩵💙🩵💙🩵

To end this, I gotta say that they also look extremely hot together. I think the post would've been shorter if I just said I want both of them to kiss because it would look good, but I love analyzing the shit out of my favorite characters.

Tagging my awesome mootie @tinukis because he gave me the idea for a Sabosan analysis!!!! Thought you might be interested <3 Also, here's the post that made me think about it !!!!

#i could've made a better analysis but this is what happens when you wake up at 6 am to go to work #anyway they're my beloveds #also sabo being taller than sanji grrrrr bark bark woof #i've been avoiding focusing on the sex part here but DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT THEY'D BE TOGETHER???#sabo king of flirting i just know sanji's dying #i can't believe i write an analysis like this and then i start talking about sex shame on me #i'm going crazy about this two and they haven't even talked #they make me go insane #one piece #black leg sanji #revolutionary sabo #sabosan

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dotthings · 9 months

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So Sterlin Harjo actually did make the call himself to end Reservation Dogs with S3, but he did in a way that was very evidently him taking control of a story that means a lot to him and seize control back in a system that all too often grabs control from creatives.

I told them that the show’s too important to have somebody else tell me that it’s ending. I wanted to end it on our terms. I don’t want FX or Hollywood or the audience telling us it’s time to pack up because it’s dragging on. I want to go out the way we came in. I’m just really proud of the show. I didn’t ever want someone to tell me it’s time to pack it up. I think it’s better to drop the mic than to get the mic cord cut. You know?... They were shocked. People have asked me if it was their idea. No. I want to respect the nature of the storytelling. This story is coming to an end. I did tell FX, though, there are all of these ideas that I have for spinoffs and stuff happening in the same world. So all that’s up on the table and there’s some ideas that they really like. If someone else told me it was time to end, it would be so offensive to me, because I care about these actors, these writers, these directors, these characters. And I care about the whole crew. If someone told me it was time to pack it in, I would want to battle with them.

There's a lot of other great material in the interview about Indigenous rep and history, it's a very good read. I'm sad about this show ending--these characters and the storytelling style got into my heart and I know how rare a show with this kind of Indigenous rep is. Reservation Dogs is produced, written, directed, and acted by Indigenous artists. But the good news is it sounds like Sterlin Harjo for sure plans to revisit that world, and FX was very surprised about him ending it so soon (they got a taste of how it feels) and interested in having more from him.

Shows like this shouldn't have to be "unique." I know representation is getting better, but it's also slow to improve.

He also talks about the strikes and industry issues:

I still don’t know anything about this industry, but I definitely think people be compensated. We’re in a strange time where the viewership and streaming is not reported and we don’t know. We should be participating in the viewership and whatever revenue that creates. We created the show, so we should be participating in that. I don’t pretend to have any of the answers or know how to achieve that. I was just surprised to be making a show. Once I did that, I realized all these other things I had to try and navigate because I want to keep making work... It’s not a show that has some famous lead. It’s a bunch of people that have never been on screen before, and I want them to have careers. Before that, I want them to be able to survive and pay rent. That’s the only way they’re going to keep working. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to keep working with them. If the industry doesn’t change, if it turns its back on people like that, and then it’s harder for me to make shows with actors that I find interesting and people that I want to work with. People that haven’t been given opportunities before.

#Reservation Dogs #Sterlin Harjo

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grumelot123 · 4 months

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Crowley x Aziraphale Season 3 "Rejoice" (but it's really sad and angst, will be making a happy ending at some point though)

PART 1

"No but Crowley please I do love you"

(This whole thing is set like I don't know...a couple months after season 2 ending?? They haven't spoken, and Crowley is feeling pissy and petty, Aziraphale is feeling sad and sorry. And whatever her name is, the girl who is supposed to be guarding the bookshop just isn't there at that time i guess.) Sorry not sorry for spelling mistakes (AND I SWITCH THROUGH MULTIPLE POINT OF VIEWS THROUGH THE STORY??), and I'm going to repeat again this is ANGST and ,FOR. NOW. does not have a happy ending, I will make one if asked.

AZIRAPHALE'S POV!!

It was a late afternoon, let's say on a Sunday? I sit in my office doing absolutely nothing, for once. The rest of my day is cleared, although there may be problems in the upcoming hours, none now. What shall I do? Check on my dear Crowley of course. I've been "checking in" (not stalking or anything) on Crowley since day 1. As the days continued I've gathered a few bits of information. 1. Crowley hates me (Was spoken in a drunken spiel weeks ago) 2. Crowley has oddly drove past the bookshop everyday. 3. As soon as Crowley got home after the whole "i forgive you" deal, he burned all of the books inside of his household.

Now I get why he's done all this, I mean I would to I he were him. I mean. I hurt him. The one person who've I've never even been very cross with in my whole life I've hurt. Has I really lost mu best friend? I mean for somebody's sake, the man I LOVE? I think, with my free time today, maybe I should pay my dear Crowley a visit....

At first, I decided to go back to my beloved bookshop, it was almost the time that Crowley drove by everyday so maybe I'd catch him there? Get him to come in for a cup of tea? A cup of tea? I'll be lucky if he listens to me for 5 seconds. Or even at all. Well not to worry about that now, I have about 30 minutes till he..arrives? Drives past? Well.

CROWLEY'S POV NOW BITCHES

Its er been a month since my confession to Aziraphale. For the first time I have no idea what to do with my day. It was easy at first, distracting myself. I went to the movies, tried to do a few things humans enjoy, drove past the godforsaken bookshop everyday. I don't even know why I do that last one. I mean really what are the odds Aziraphale shows up out of the blue and invites me in for a cup of tea? Well they aren't very good....but I still have hope, hope that one day this angel will come to his senses. Come to me. I may be pissed but I don't hate him, and I've missed him a lot. But I'm not ready to forgive him yet. So I don't even know what I want from him.

Well would you look at the time. Even though I don't have anything to do, guess I'll do my daily "maintenance" drive past Azi's shop. Nothin else to do anyways.

AZIRAPHALE POV NOWWWW! (dw they will have their exchange soon)

What will I even do if Crowley does come in? Apologize? Confess? Confess what? That I liked him when he first told me his thoughts, that I was just a coward? I mean I chose Heaven over him. I tried to get him to come with me but I understand why not. Why he couldn't. It'd have physically and mentally pained him to come with me. He thought I wanted to change him but I didn't. right? No I didn't, I love Crowley the way he is.

Even if this plan fully backfires. At least I'll get to tell him how I feel. How I've felt.

UHHH CROWLEY POV MFS

Left, Right, Straight. Only 2 more turns till I drive past the bookshop. What am I even hoping for?

AZI POV

I'm just going to sit out front. It's a nice day anyways. Even if he doesn't come by this time, at least I have enjoyed being here.

CROWLEY POV

Turning the corner. And for sata- hea- somebody's sake is that? No. It can't be.

I slow down and roll down the window. "Azir- aziraphale?"

"Hello Crowley, I think..no. I know, you don't want to talk to me but, can you just come inside? For a cup of tea? Like old times? We need to talk "

Old times? I don't understand this angel, how much has really changed? How much have, I changed? But, I'm intrigued to see what this is about. "I'm not sure how much time I have, I have an uh very VERY busy? Yes. Busy schedule today..but I'm sure I can come inside for a few let me just park the car"

Busy schedule? He has the same schedule everyda- Well at least he's coming in and didn't just ignore me.

INSIDE THE BOOKSHOP (WARNING ANGST UP-AHEAD)

"Hello, Crowley, err, tea?" aziraphale asks hands shaking slightly. "Uh yea sure, but uh why did you want to talk?"

Want to talk? I sound like a school boy who's just gotten in trouble at the headmasters office. PULL YOUR SHIT TOGETHER CROWLEY

"Well..I mean, we..ended on a rather depressing note the last time we spoke and I just wanted to t-" Aziraphale was cut off by a rather loud snort from Crowley. "Wanted to what? Try to convince me to come to Heaven with you again? Wanted me to forgive you and everything be just fine between us?" Crowley remarked rather annoyed like. "No, no? No! None of that where would you even get the idea that I would? No. That's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to explain how I felt." Aziraphale said, rather breathlessly like he'd just ran a marathon. "How you felt? Well there isn't much more to it is there? I mean you obviously don't like me. Love me back?" Crowley said letting more hurt in than meant. "No. No Crowley you've got it all wrong I do. I do Love you. I love you. I loved you when you asked me to stay with you I just did'n-" Azi was cut off by a rather loud. Growl? from Crowley. "You just loved Heaven more. If you loved me so much you would've stayed with me. You would've chose ME."

"No, but Crowley please, I do love you. Just let me explain."

As Aziraphale waited for a reply, for a nod, a yes, to keep going. Time went silent. It was like these next words could make or break them. After what felt like hours, years, decades. All that Crowley said was.

"I forgive you."

Then he left. Turned around and walked away. Then he slammed the door shut.

(PART 2/2 IS OUT ON MY TUMBLR PAGE!!!! HAPPY READING EVERYONE)

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens angst #crowly x aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #sobbing #screaming #sorry not sorry #angst #screaming crying throwing up #no happy ending #part 1

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