#“why do i even have calluses? what's the point? they don't do anything for me”

[jodjuya]

Me, last week: weeee! Exfoliating is so fun! Look how much dead skin I'm removing from the bottom of my feet!

Me, today, after walking a mere 5kms: it feels like my feet have been dipped in acid and then set on fire. 😭

[juletheghoul]

Grown

AN: I am sort of going through a writing bender? A manic episode? I don't know, I just know that if I don't get it down I will lose my mind. I have been wanting to write an age-gap fic for Joel (aside from LMF) for a while but I couldn't really find the format or the idea that I could sink my teeth into. There are SO MANY good ones out there, I even had a whole other thing started but it got too intense, and making it sexual wouldn't have been true to that version of Joel, so here is what I came up with. (I kept Tess out of this story) Big thank you to @foli-vora for letting me exorcise this demon, and to @frannyzooey for putting up with my endless messages and voice notes through discord, love y'all! (this is unbeta'd and barely proofread, any and all mistakes are mine)

Joel Miller x F!reader (sex worker) (Joel calls you ‘Pretty’)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), fingering, cream pie, one lonely little lick of his cock👅, come play sort of? dirty talk, age gap (legal), feelings of guilt, talk of sex work, some of it traumatic (no details, no violence)

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist 

He was a risk, calculated but definitely worth it up close. He fidgeted, flexing and unflexing his hands as you moved around the tiny studio apartment. Your home, and ‘office’. You’d searched long and hard, and paid a hefty price for the soft lamps, the newish linens for your bed, the homey touches.

He shifted his weight as you put the quilt down, separating the outside world from the privacy of your sheets. Easier to clean up after too. 

“Boots off, please.” You gesture to the place by the door, and he nodded with a frown. 

“Sorry.” He groaned as he brought his foot up and for a moment you saw his age, through the pleasant features. 

“No problem, how do you want me?” You stand at the foot of the bed, naked under the well-worn, but cherished robe and for a moment he gawps. You don’t laugh, men don’t like it when you laugh. “On my back?” 

“Wait- how old are you again?” He pads over, tall and broad, obscuring the light source when he walks past it. 

“Old enough.” You smile, “come, why don’t you sit here with me?” You hold out your hand to him, and after a tense glance, he takes it and sits where you gesture. His grip is firm, but soft, years of hard work rooted in the calluses that meet your significantly softer palm. It isn’t a turn off though, he’s a man, men work hard. The real ones do, or did anyway.

“How long do I have? S’there anyone else…?” He trails off, his voice cutting off and you smile, placating. 

“You have as long as you need, tonight's all yours.” You sit beside him, and put your hand tentatively on his arm, channeling every single ounce of calm you have and pouring it into him. He’s warm and alive beside you, heat radiating off him under the soft pass of your thumb against the skin peeking out under the denim sleeve, you let the soft light, the light patter of rain outside your window work on him. He surveys the area, learning the layout of your space and you don’t interfere, you follow his gaze and try to see it all from his point of view. 

It's small, but comfortable. It’s exceedingly clean, you’d spent hours and hours making sure, back breaking hours on your hands and knees scrubbing and washing and it had paid off, no matter how sore you’d been after. There’s a little table, with two chairs, a big lumpy chair near the window, where you spent most of your time not working curled up with one of your precious books. He noticed the tiny chest of drawers, the top of it clear except for a half-full glass of water. He saw the baseball bat leaning against the wall tucked just behind it. 

“Can I get a little closer?” You scoot a little, pressing your thigh to his, turning to hold his restless arm between your breasts, your fingers intertwining with his while he got accustomed to your own warmth. Those big, callused, hard-working hands wrapped up in yours. Invitingly warm.

Some people needed a little push, sometimes they were nervous on how to start and they needed someone to get them out of their heads. Some wanted to talk, to sprawl out naked with you and get all of their thoughts out. 

Loneliness is the main malady you alleviate. 

Some didn’t want to talk at all, some just wanted you to open your legs and take, and that was okay too. Everyone had their thing. 

“This okay?” You put your linked palms on the little bit of skin poking out through the gap in your robe, your skin surrounding both sides of his hand. 

“Yeah, s’okay.” He watches the robe slip open, and his other hand joins the fray, pulling it apart to see more of your thigh. He licks his lip as more of you is revealed and you artfully let the shoulder slip, drawing his eye up to your cleavage. He pats his leg, and you get a genuine thrill, sliding over and up onto his lap. He needed no further guidance after that, now that he had permission, his body was taking over. 

His eyes were dark, focused, tracking the line of your throat when you swallowed thickly. He watched the way your breath hitched when he slid his hand up your inner thigh and found you bare underneath, his fingers slipping through the silky hair at your mound, his fingers parting your lips softly to find your slick folds. He lets out a shuddering breath at the same time you do, when his finger slips over your clit. 

“I’m too old for you, pretty.” He watches his hand between your legs, using it to spread your thighs enough to see your pussy dripping for him. 

“You don’t feel too old.” You hold onto his neck, giving him more access and your stomach drops to feel him hardening under the swell of your ass. You pull his hand from between your legs, and dip his fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around them before pressing them back against your achy clit. He pulls a genuine moan of pleasure at the extra slip when he swirls around your clit nice and slow. Tortuous, and talented.

“So fuckin’ soft,” He glides his fingers down, circling your entrance but his eyes are focused on your mouth now, “bet you’re tight as a fist, aren’t you baby?” He slides two thick fingers inside and you clutch at him, more turned on by him than you’ve ever been doing this line of work.

It’s a stretch, but he works them in, pressing against your upper wall, looking for something and when he finds it you whimper in his arms. 

“Do you kiss?” You barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears, his fingers curling inside you, and he puts more pressure on the button he’s found and you moan, lost and mindlessly enjoying the fullness. 

He presses devastatingly soft, tender kisses to your throat, completely at odds with the wet sounds of his exploration between your legs. 

“Baby, can we kiss?” He repeats it, this time with his fingers still, but stuffed deep. You press your mouth to his, humid and hot and he tastes like the good alcohol you have stashed in your cupboard. He groans and his fingers scissor inside you, squelching between your legs with every lazy pump. He traps your bottom lip between his, alternating a teasing bite to the plump of it, with deep licks into your mouth. You’ve never been kissed like this. 

“You just gonna use your fingers?” He pulls away to skim his nose down your neck, bunching the top of the robe in the splayed hand at your back to pull it down from where it hangs on your shoulder. His mouth engulfs your nipple when it falls and any thoughts that he may be too old for you seem to slip his mind because he doubles down, moaning obscenely into your skin as you leak onto his lap. 

“No, just wanna open you up, I wanna make sure this little pussy can take me.” Arousal and excitement pools in your belly. 

“What a gentleman.” You laugh, half crazed with lust for this man who just might be old enough to be your father. He smiles, drunk on the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his spit still shining on your breast. He has a dimple, so boyish in contrast to the grey in his beard and in his hair you can’t help but love it, it suits him.

“Spread your legs a little more for me darlin’,” one hand is heavy on your hip, holding you so you can drop one leg and open up a little more, “I wanna see you come,” he speeds up, his thumb now doing tight little circles against your clit and you moan, unabashedly, “look how wet she is,” he stares between your legs “I just wanna see her come.” He hooks his fingers again and the pressure is almost too much. It only takes a few moments, his fingers pet, pet, pet and then you clench, the pleasure going off in your belly like a bomb, radiating out through your breasts, into your hips, all the way down to your fingers and toes. 

A universe contained within your body, borne of his hand.

“Fuck.” Your legs close over his hand, and he slows down but doesn’t stop, a softer, slower stroke while you catch your breath. “Let's get you outta these clothes.” you start undoing the buttons to his shirt, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the smattering of freckles littered along his skin. He pulls his fingers out from between your legs, shiny and dripping in you and sticks them into his mouth, moaning at the tang of you. 

Undressing him is like opening a gift. His arms are strong, his biceps flexing when he all but lifts you up to stand, pulling your robe off and away from you like it’s on fire. His midsection is soft, but you can feel the strength underneath when you undo his jeans, tensing in excitement the closer you get to the considerable bulge in them. You curl your fingers around both his jeans, and his boxers, impatient to get him naked. You crouch as you pull them down, mouth watering at the size of him, hard and bobbing in front of you. The muscles in his thighs are firm, his skin so warm and you can’t help but lick a stripe up the underside of his cock on the way back up. 

He lets out a sound like he's been punched in the gut and you take it in like sustenance. 

“Don’t–I’ll come too fast if you put it in your mouth.”

You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, just as he reaches down to grab and spread the cheeks of your ass, stomach full of butterflies at the feeling of him hard and leaking against your belly. 

“But I wanna swallow it, I wanna feel it in my throat.” You pout and he lets out a shuddering breath, “Don’t you wanna fuck my mouth?” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat, your fingers slipping through the unruly, grey strands at the back of his neck. 

“Not now baby, I’m barely goin' to last as it is.” He turns you, pressing you to lay in the middle of your quilt and he’s quick to follow, fitting himself between your legs, leaning on one arm beside your skull and when he grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes, you almost can’t watch him. It’s too erotic, it looks so big in his hand, too big to fit but you know it will, he’ll make it fit. 

“Jesus Christ,” He whispers as he feeds himself inside you slowly, an inch, before pulling it out, then a little more, until he’s fucking you a little deeper each time. 

There wasn’t enough air in the room to fill your lungs, he took up every fucking drop. You’d been with other men, you’d been with women, all of them taking their pleasure from your body and most of them giving pleasure in return, this was something else. This was almost scary, the way the vision of him above you made your brain buzz and your nipples hard, made your cunt leak all over him. 

He moves up onto his knees, those big hands pull your legs up and apart, pressing the backs of your thighs into your chest, practically folding you in half to slide his cock deeper still.

He snapped his hips hard, pulling a sound you’d never made out of your mouth, again, and again, until it was a continuous babble. He watches the way his cock disappears inside the tight clutch of your cunt with every dirty roll of his hips. He sinks a little further down, and adjusts his stroke, until just the tip of it stays inside of every heavy push forward. 

This isn’t some desperate, lonely old guy looking to get his dick wet, this is a grown man, fucking you like a grown man does and you feel like a grown woman taking it. 

“Joel, baby that’s so fucking good-“ you press your hands to his chest where he leans against you. He’s focused, eyes glazed over, sweat dripping down his nose in his efforts. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, his pace stuttering slightly and you know he’s not gonna last.

“I wanna see her come with me inside,” he whines, and you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing so you reach down and swirl your fingers around your clit while he watches, “that’s it baby, that’s it, fuck, I’m close-“ he somehow spreads you wider, the wet suck of your pussy is louder, more obscene, more erotic. 

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-“ the orgasm strangles the words in your throat, pulsing him out but he pushes back in and you feel it all the way in your toes. 

“Fuuuuuckkk—“ he pulls out and pumps himself furiously against your mound, covering the soft patch of hair in spurt after milky spurt. It’s a lot, some has splashed onto your hip, your belly, you feel it slipping down to where you clench, empty and gaping without him filling you. 

It’s quiet for a moment after, while your blood cools, and he milks himself dry, pumping a few more times despite the over-sensitivity. 

“You got anything for me to clean you up with?” He rubs at the indents he left on the back of your thighs before unfolding you. 

“There’s a little pile of rags in that first drawer behind you.” You point to the tiny chest of drawers, and he groans when he moves up and off of you. Now that he’s emptied his balls, the signs of his age rear their heads. He groans, wincing as he bends forward to carefully wipe everything away with gentle hands. 

It’s nice to see him walk around naked, welcome, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often, if he came back that was. 

“That was-“ he scratches at the back of his neck, passing the cloth over your belly, “that was really good.”

“I’ll say, it was better than good.” You stretch out and luxuriate like a cat in warm patch of sun, seriously debating offering him time to recover so he could fuck you again. He quirks his lip, the ghost of a smile, the confidence dulled to shy, awkward fumbling. He tosses the rag into the little basket you point to, and he begins the process of getting dressed. You get up when he’s almost done, your thighs, and what’s between already sore and pick up your robe. He’s putting his neat little stack of ration cards on the table when you finish tying it up. 

“Thanks.” He pulls his boots on, opening your door before turning back to find you right on his heels. 

“Anytime.” You smile at him, hoping it won’t be a one-time thing. He moves to step outside but you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking something for your own. He kisses you back when you press your mouth to his, it's softer, his tongue sweet when it tangles with yours and you smile into the kiss when he reaches down, and grabs your ass. 

“Bye, Pretty.”

“Bye Joel.”

-

You hadn't fallen into the work, so much as slowly slid into it. The first time had been almost a dare, a challenge to yourself, a proposition made by someone and maybe your own foolish, naive need to prove that you weren’t some stupid baby. A man, an older man that had shared cleaning duty with you had come right out with it, saw you bending over to pick something off the floor and told you that he’d pay every ration card he had for a taste of that ass, as he so eloquently put it. 

At first you’d been shocked, he seemed like a perfectly bland, run of the mill survivor making his way in the QZ, but he’d been serious. You’d asked him to clarify, to repeat his words, and he had. He’d shaken his hands of the dirt and dust of the job, produced a tiny stack of much needed ration cards from a hidden pocket and held them out for you like a cold glass of water in the desert. Something inside you had recoiled, he wasn’t repulsive, but he wasn’t exactly the object of your late night fantasies. Another part though, a hidden little sliver of something jumped at the chance to have some power, some semblance of control and so without much thought to consequence, you’d taken him up on it. 

An uncomfortable fifteen minutes later, he was grunting behind you, stroking himself furiously to paint the cheeks of your ass in his come. 

Once it was done, the little part of you that had welcomed the challenge was curiously absent, and the part that had recoiled was bigger, swelling like some awful, infected limb. But you had rations enough to stop working for a few days, and that took some of the repulsion away. 

It was a while before you did it again. It was a while before you saw the man again, maybe part of you, that ever-present bit of self-preservation urged you to avoid him but he eventually found you again. This time you turned him down, and he hadn’t pressed, but he’d told others. Other men who seemed to sniff you out, some of them older, and less diplomatic and those you told to fuck off. Some of the younger ones though, closer to your age looking for the experience, some of them you took in, with the strict promise to never tell anyone unless they wanted to never see you again. Those experiences were better, less traumatic. 

After that it seemed like things came together, you had a steady string of people who took you seriously and paid up front. 

The first woman had been a girl of around your age, she’d heard from a friend of a friend, carefully and strategically keeping the source to herself. You’d never really given it much thought but once you did it seemed only natural, women got lonely too, and there was nothing about her that you didn’t understand. So you accepted her, took her rations and gave her as much of yourself as you gave the men. 

It’d taken time to establish yourself, to find the regular people you let into the circle, it was all much easier now. With the exception of Joel, you hadn’t taken on someone new in a while, but he made you glad you did.

-

His hands always shake before it starts. 

It’s a light tremble, a couple of fingers in his left hand and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s an injury, or a sign of nerves. He’s hard of hearing in one ear too, his right. You hadn't picked up on it at first but once you do, it makes sense. He tilts his head to the right a tiny bit, turning his good ear towards your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. 

He was older than the rest, that did bother him, but never enough to stop visiting. He dragged it out sometimes, made himself wait, avoided you, but whether it took him a week or a month, he came back. 

“Hi Joel.” You smiled to see him standing at the threshold, fingers twitching by his side, his hair a mess, a small bundle in his grip.

“Hi.” He doesn’t smile back, he’d waited too long, the frown practically tattooed on. He puts the bundle down on the dresser after kicking off his boots, and doesn’t mention it. 

It’s dark outside, later than you usually let anyone come see you but for him you make exceptions. His hands keep rubbing at his thighs, his eyes darting around, you let him settle for a moment, get his bearings before jumping into anything, it’s a dance and you both have your steps. 

“How do you want me?” You finally break the silence once he sits on the quilt. He looks up at you, but doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fall to your cleavage, then down to your waist where the robe is cinched, then further still to your hips. You move closer, until you stand between his spread thighs. 

“Hm? Wanna fuck me on my back? Or should I get on my hands and knees?” You thread your fingers through his hair, slicking it back as best you can, he shudders at your words and at the feeling of your hands on him, putting up his usual show of shame at being here with you, at being older. “Should I get on my knees right here and suck your cock?” His hands land on your hips, his face pressing against your sternum, robe parting enough for him to press his lips to the valley between your breasts.

“You’re too fuckin’ soft, way too fuckin’ pretty to be lettin’ me touch you.” He always does this, has to make it known that you shouldn’t let him do this, that he shouldn’t want you like this. It never stops him, he opens the robe and pushes it off to fall on the floor regardless of his words and moans into the skin of your breast where he nuzzles like a cat.

“Prettiest thing I ever saw.” His mouth laves at one pert nipple, then the other, leaving them hard and shiny when he trails his kisses down to your belly. 

All day you’ve thought about him here, getting to have him to yourself, opening you up and molding you to fit him like a glove, making you see stars like he always does. And all day you’ve felt that slow simmer of arousal, that steady ache to bloom and gape for him, both soft and obscene. The constant excitement of anticipation. His mouth on your nipples only served to turn it up to an inferno, turning you to liquid for him. 

“But I like when you touch me.” You scratch at his scalp, pressing his face into your skin, “I like it when you fuck me, you make it so good, much better than anyone else.” You flatter him, but you don’t lie to him. You’ve learned to be impartial to your experiences, sex is work. As fun as it can be with some of them, it’s all a means to an end, you need to eat and so you do what you have to do. You are also realistic about him, he is not your boyfriend, he’s not your partner, he barely gives you a second glance on the street but in here, he’s your favourite. He fits you better than anyone and anything, and as much as you hate to admit it, you need him as much as he needs you.

He takes in the words, believes them and relishes them. 

“How do you want me, Joel?” You pull his face up, bending down to kiss him before he can answer and his desperation comes through. His tongue is insistent, his kiss almost violent. 

“I want you here-“ he pats the bed, before getting up to take his clothes off. You help him, both of you working efficiently until he’s as naked as you are. His cock is already hard, the tip of him pearly with his own want despite any and all notions of impropriety. 

His body always betrays him. 

He gets you on your back, but he doesn’t lay on top of you, rather beside you. He doesn’t let you turn to face him, he wants it like this, his body curling around yours to be able to see it spread out for him without himself in the way. 

“Open up for me, s’good, just like that.” He takes the thigh closest to him and drapes it over his hip, positioning himself to enter you from underneath. He lifts his head, showcasing his core strength to watch as he brings his cock to the open mouth of your cunt, sliding in without so much as a warning. You feel exposed, spread open and bare under his eye and it only heightens the experience, cracking something open inside of you. 

His hips push and pull slowly, lazily at first despite how fucking hard he is but doesn’t last. The sight in front of you there, breasts bouncing with every snap, is too much for him. With one hand free, he strums and plucks at your nipples, opening up the dam between your thighs to ruin the quilt underneath. 

His other hand isn’t idle though, it slips down, grabbing onto the plush of your ass, holding you in place hard enough to bruise. 

“That feel good?” He watches you leak all over him, and knows it does but he wants to hear it anyway. 

“Yes- Yes Joel–” You moan, turning to watch his face. 

“This little cunt goin' to come for me? I wanna see her come, I wanna feel her choke my dick.” He surges forward, swallowing the moan from the source before speeding up. His cock strokes, strokes, strokes and you feel the warmth blooming in your core, spreading like a wildfire through your hips, the release so close you can almost taste it, you whine and he shushes you, his voice soft despite how depraved you feel with his cock kissing something sacred inside of you. 

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and sweat builds in your hairline and at the back of your neck, collects and slips where your skin and his meet.

“I know baby, I know, I can feel her, she wants to come doesn’t she?” His lips press against your cheek, his words warm against your skin. His lips are so soft, so plush as he pants into your face, goosebumps cover your body. You nod against him, mouth open in a silent scream when he adjusts his angle slightly. 

He’s no longer able to form complete sentences, his words are reduced to a repeated chant of yeah baby, yeah baby, right there, right there huh? Barely formed questions for the answer you know he already knows and then his fingers are in your mouth, stretching out your lips, holding your mouth open in a filthy, yet pale imitation of what his cock is doing.

You drool, and you don’t care but it’s what he wants, he takes it from your mouth and slides it over your clit and it’s like he’s pressed the nuclear codes in your body. 

You want to curl into yourself, but you can’t, his grip tightens, painfully, holding you to take and take and take his cock until he bursts inside you like a ripe berry. His groan is almost more obscene than the act, his groin pressed up against you tight, pressing himself deeper than ever to paint your cervix in his come. 

“Fuck–” He presses the word to your cheek, sliding his sweat soaked face down your neck, to your shoulder. He pulls out after a moment, and you feel him leak out of you. He moves to hover over you, pulling one nipple into his mouth to taste before the blood has cooled, and then the other. He isn;t done yet though, he kneels between your spread legs, inspecting the mess he’s made of your pussy, a self satisfied look on his face. 

“Gonna dream about this, while I’m gone.” He lifts your legs, pressing them up and open and slips two fingers deep inside to push his come back in and as you moan at the act, you cannot help but wonder where that worried, too-old Joel is right now. 

“Prettiest little cunt.” He says it to himself, rubbing his mess into the sensitive walls of your sex like a balm. 

He licks his fingers after, tasting the combined flavours of both of you. Your heart almost can’t take it. 

Once he’s dressed, and you have gained enough strength to get up and put your robe on he’s almost back to his shy self. 

“I have the rations here, but I brought somethin’ else.” He gestures to the little bundle he’d left on your dresser, “I found it, thought you might like it.” He opens it, and it’s a can of peaches. 

“Oh!” You’re genuinely taken aback. 

“You ain’t allergic right?” He frowns, and you smile, something soft spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the sex you just had.

“No, I’m not allergic. Thank you Joel, I am really excited for this.” You ignore the soreness between your legs and close the gap between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips in thanks. 

“Well alright then.” He frowns again, and it’s not shyness you see on his face now, it’s awkwardness, it’s a man who doesn’t know how to be soft, but is trying his hardest. 

“Bye Pretty.” He lingers at the door, devouring you with his eyes and even though he was still dripping out of you, you felt naked and exposed, open and spread out for his gaze. 

“Bye Joel, don’t wait too long to come see me again okay?” You press yourself against him, the soft lines of you tucked tight against the hard angles of him. He gifts you with a rare smile but doesn’t respond, save for a toe curling kiss at your threshold before he’s gone. 

Hours later, when your body is truly sore and spent, you lay in bed with a book, eating the peaches he brought, and wonder idly what he’ll bring next time. 

-

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[504py]

Do you have any thoughts on yandere SDV Harvey?🤔

i sure do!!!! i think i got a little carried away 😭😭😭 i hope i delivered!

Yandere Harvey Relationship Headcanons

Gender neutral, no use of Y/N, munchausen syndrome by proxy, implied murder, implied NSFW, Harvey's a little weird about bodily fluids and food, long post ahead!

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

How the relationship started...

Let's say, he knows you outside of his work, and somehow, you're the one person in Stardew Valley who has never entered his clinic before. Honestly, you'd have drawn his attention right then and there because of your strange imperviousness to harm or disease.

Like... You? That farmer who goes down into the mines every other day to fight monsters has never been injured? You, who works day and night to the point of exhaustion has never gotten sick and required medical assistance?

The fact that you weren't one of his patients would worry him to his bones.

Even if you weren't one of his patients, he'd have befriended you outside of work. Perhaps at the saloon, after hours, and one of the very rare times he's seen you relax.

He notices the slight limp as you enter, different from your usual gait. When he asks, you chalk it up to a rock in your boot. Harvey sends you a disapproving stare and a furrowed mustache, and you loosen up.

You tell him you tripped while running away from a slime in the mines. And that you maybe pulled something while running. And maybe you lifted something wrong yesterday and hurt your back. And-

Harvey takes off his glasses to rub at the space between his eyebrows, stressed.

"And not once did you think to come visit me?"

"Thought it would go away if I just slept and drank enough water."

His gaze softens.

"..I really do advise it. Please."

Your fingers play with your glass. He can see a bruise forming on the side of your wrist, and the cuts and calluses on your skin.

"...I'll do it tomorrow."

He sighs slightly.

"Well, since I can't do anything for you right now, I'll at least buy you a drink."

"You can do that?"

"Hey, it numbs the pain. Painkiller." He jokes, and you laugh and shake your head. He realizes he likes the sound of your laugh.

"But- wait, don't take that as real medical advice. Really. Please."

That pulls another laugh out of you, louder, and pink warms his cheeks as he laughs heartily alongside you.

The next evening, Harvey waited all day for you to come in. It was nearing closing hours, and he was worried you had disregarded his advice, but right as he got up to start closing the clinic, the door opens, and there you are, leaves in your hair and your muddy shoes leaving a track on his tiles.

He's elated, he knows he shouldn't be, considering why you're even here, but he's so glad you listened to him, so glad you're here. He looks noticeably flustered, his hair is slightly out of place, his glasses are sliding down his nose, and his tie is loose.

"O-Oh, hey there. You finally came in."

"Were you waiting for me? I apologize. It looked like you were about to close up."

He waves your worries away with a dismissive hand, "Ah, what's one more patient? Come on, you look like you really need my help, anyways."

You follow him into a room, cringing at the muddy mess you leave on the floor.

"Sorry for that- I can clean up after we're done."

Harvey insistently shakes his head, sighing your name, "No, no, can't have you doing that, not in the condition you're in." He motions over to the bed, you sit on the edge of it.

"Besides, I haven't even started my assessment of you yet, but I already know you're gonna need a few days of rest at least. Doctor's orders."

He smiles softly at your annoyed expression, donning his stethoscope as you straighten your posture slightly, readying for him to place the other end of the apparatus on you.

"...See, you've got an abnormal heart rate for someone who is at rest."

He notes the warmth of your skin under his palm, resting against your back.

"Have you been feeling ill recently? Runny nose, coughing, headaches, anything of the sort?"

"U-Uh, no." You shake your head, playing with the fabric of your trousers. Nervous.

"...You seem rather flustered. Any reason?"

Your eyes glance up at his, he cocks his head, and you immediately look back down to your feet.

"...Nah."

Harvey smiles, knowingly, and the rest of the appointment continues as normal.

Expectations...

Following this, he'd be more obvious in his attempts to court you. His courting attempts would feel rather old-fashioned, but I think there's a lot of heart in them. I feel like Harvey would be a little bit of a sucker for romantic things, so you'd definitely be receiving letters, all from a secret admirer, of course.

He is confident that he likes you, but he'd carry a lot of anxiety about being so upfront about it, and that perhaps you wouldn't feel the same way.

The letters he sends you would be brief yet sweet. Short messages to pick you up for the day, just wanting to be a part of your life.

"If you ever feel like all the work you do isn't appreciated, know that I am always here, and I always do. You are doing great."

You'd tell him about the letters you've been receiving, during one of your evenings together at the bar. It'd make him blush. Oh, his letters were so important to you that you had to gush about them to a friend?

"And... What do you think of them? The letters?" His eyes are slightly wider than they should be, but the reflections on his glasses hide his faintly, much-too focused expression.

You shy from his eye contact, "...I think they're really sweet. But honestly, I wish they'd just... say it to me directly instead of hiding like this. I want to communicate, talk to them, y'know? Have a conversation, and stuff.."

Harvey blinks, wets his lips.

"What do you think you'd do if he-" He clears his throat, "-they did?"

You frown a little, mulling over the thought for a bit.

"...I'd go on a few dates with them, see if things work out."

His exhale is shaky, he takes a sip of his whiskey.

"Who do you think it is?"

You meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, his cheeks are red too, but that might be the alcohol... Though you realize he's not the type to get flushed when drunk.

"...Is it you?"

His fingers around his glass tremble, and his bottom lip quivers.

"I.. w-well..." He pushes his glasses up, nervously running a hand through his hair. You giggle, and he relaxes.

"Yeah." He smiles warmly.

"Yeah?" You chirp out a laugh again, "I figured."

Although Harvey was usually one who didn't have any problem holding eye-contact at all, now he found himself unable to look at you for too long without getting giddy like a schoolgirl and having to look away to save his racing heart.

That night, you two would be declared a couple. He teased you, wondering where that "first few dates then we'll see how it works out" phase went. You said it was different if it was him, and he had to hide his face in his hands to conceal his boyish, cheesy grin.

His first show of affection would be the next morning, when he brought you a bouquet of flowers to your doorstep, but upon arrival, seeing your expansive field of vegetation, he realized it was perhaps a bit stupid to gift flowers to someone who grows them.

Nonetheless, you accepted them from an embarrassed Harvey gratefully, saying you've wanted to try growing these for a while. Lo and behold, the next time he shows up, with a more thought-out gift this time, he sees a few new flower pots on your front porch.

Harvey as your boyfriend is strangely rather maternal. He tends to be quite the worrywart, always fussing over any cuts or bruises you may get while going about your day, making sure you eat and get enough rest, and always making sure you're dressed properly.

Oh, the different kind of monster Harvey turns into during the winter LOL. He will stay posted by your door, making sure you don't step a foot outside without a thick coat or gloves.

He does enjoy more than he likes to admit, though, when you still feel cold and he has to give you his coat or his scarf. It makes him all smiley and he thinks you look adorable in his clothing.

I think, his deepest desire, is for you to always stay safe, and that he is the one to provide that safety. I mean, with him being a doctor, he is the only person qualified to look after you anyways, but he still does get jealous.

He gets really upset when he's out of the clinic for a bit, and finds out that Maru was the one who tended to your wounds instead of him.

He gets more jealous when you tell him about the work you did that day, and another person was with you.

What do you mean you spent the evening fishing while conversing with Elliott? That could've been him...

What do you mean you spent the afternoon in the library with Penny? Wha- Gunther winked at you!?

Harvey really does want to spend more time with you, but he has a duty to attend to.

Unless...

Punishments...

Maybe, one day, Harvey will stop worrying so much over your health. He'll let you do your thing as you please, though it would hurt him to see you going about your day so haphazardly. But he'll hold back on his usual worried malewife nagging, and just let you do you.

One day, your dangerous lifestyle will catch up on you, and maybe you'll catch a cold, or you'll break a bone. Harvey will be there immediately, much too prepared.

Even though this is what he wanted from this plan, he still cries. He hates seeing you so beat-up, but he couldn't think of any other way to always be by your side. At least the tears blow away any suspicion of his part in this.

It could be a tiny fracture, but he'll still insist you'd need a cast, and that you'd need a wheelchair for the first few weeks. And, of course, Harvey's there to coddle you and help you around.

Maru says she can look after you while Harvey runs the clinic, but he gets uncharacteristically hostile at the mere suggestion of this. If Maru were to keep prying, if she were to find out that your injuries aren't as bad as he says they are, then Harvey might have to resort to more drastic measures.

Murder would be a very difficult thing for Harvey to do, but when he thinks about the life you two have right now- having you rely on him for everything, taking care of you everyday, spending every single moment with each other- his heart feels like it could fall out of his chest at the thought of anyone taking that away from you two.

His access to such a wide array of chemicals and medicines would be terrifying. If anyone threatens this peaceful, perfect life between you two, he could simply inject them with a certain concoction during their routine check-ups, say they needed it, that it was medicine, and it wouldn't even show in an autopsy.

Unfortunately, his tampering with human life extends to you.

Harvey, I think, would get much too enamored by this life you two have made since you've gotten injured.

Being able to dote on you with no restraint, being by your side for every single moment, it was all he could ever dream of.

But all good things come to an end, and your fractured bone would start to heal.

He never thought he'd be capable of lying, not sure if he'd ever done it before, but it's a newfound talent to him. Worries him how good he is at it.

He tells you you need to keep that cast on. That even if you're allowed to use crutches now instead of a wheelchair, that you still need his assistance. He insists that you need him.

Any sort of push-back from you would have his heart pounding. No, no, you can't get up and go back to work. You can't be doing chores on your own, he'll do that- You cannot leave.

Munchausen syndrome by proxy from an actual doctor would be a horrifying thing to go through. Not just any other doctor either, but Harvey, a man who seems so gentle and kind-hearted, a man who is supposed to be your partner.

Sad to say, but I don't think you'd have any way out of this. Your best course of action would be to just let him take care of you as much as he pleases. In due time, he would want to see you get better, so you'll be back to having your freedom in a few months, maybe...

Rewards...

It is pretty comedic saying this after that punishments portion, but Harvey, on more normal days, really is a passive man. He doesn't really have any strange obsessive habits, though he's probably a little weird about fluids...

By that, I mean he'd probably slip a little bit of his saliva or semen into his cooking. He gets a really euphoric rush when he sees you eating that tainted food he made for you. He enjoys that idea that a part of him is mingled in your body now. The other way around goes, too.

When you're sleeping, sometimes you drool, did you know that? You probably don't, because Harvey always wipes it off and licks it. It gives him shivers whenever he does, makes him way more excited than it should.

His libido is not the highest, but that's because I think he makes an active effort to suppress himself. Wants to be good for you. Harvey does have these dirty thoughts pretty often, but he usually just excuses himself to the bathroom for a second to relieve himself when it gets too unbearable. Even then, he dislikes this, since he feels like it'd be a waste of his release, since it's not inside you.

Every day would feel very domestic, he'd tease that you two already act like an old married couple, but he'd secretly hope you'd catch on to the idea he's putting down.

Harvey really does want to get married to you. He honestly, strangely, would act a lot more normally if you two were to be wed. It's like, there is something that exists that ties you two together, so even if you two aren't always by each other's side, he at least finds some comfort in knowing you two are bound forever.

Let's just, uh, hope you don't divorce him... Honestly, at this point, he may have already taken care of Mayor Lewis, so that option won't even be open to you anymore.

Harvey would probably try to pop the question during a little picnic he prepared for the two of you. The box for your engagement ring hidden in the picnic basket, amongst carefully wrapped sandwiches and lunchboxes.

You would pick it up while looking through the basket, wondering what it was. You open it, and Harvey feels like he could faint from how fast his heart is beating.

He stutters a lot, being unable to look you in the eye, then you rest a hand on his shoulder, and he feels alright again.

"I... I'd really like to get married with you, my love. Whaddya say?"

You smile at him, you say yes, and Harvey literally shouts in joy, before roughly taking you in his arms.

He quickly apologizes for being so erratic, but he swears he's never been happier. He just loves you so much.

Even though you two were only fiancés at this point, he'd call you his husband/wife/spouse from time to time, just a slip of the tongue, but he does get shy about it.

Your life together would be relatively the same now, just with some more added affection.

He'd get more comfortable around you, kissing you more often, getting more touchy, wearing less clothing around the house.

Of course, his main core value is still there; to care for you.

When thinking of Harvey's love language, you would, rationally, expect it to be acts of service. However, I posit this; his love language would be allowing himself to be taken care of.

He does get tired, and you do notice. You try to do his chores, try to take care of yourself so he'd have some time to relax, but he always gets fussy about it.

He insists that he can still do it, that he can still do things for you. Perhaps, he's scared that if he's unable to please you, that you'll go elsewhere, fall out of love with him.

You can sense that fear, and you tell him you'll still be here. You tell him to go lie down and rest, and you'll join him when you've finished cleaning up.

The wrinkles on his forehead soften up, so does his gaze, and he nods.

"I... Alright, sweetheart. I'll be waiting. Don't take too long, okay?"

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 2

Part 1 here part 3 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I lied. Or rather, I had some ideas while I was writing, so instead of three parts, there will probably be four. Nothing is certain, but... you have been warned.

Leave a comment and share if you are enjoying the story.

I can't say exactly when things started to change. Maybe they were never normal from the beginning, but I was too distracted to see it, blinded by this lie that I childishly told myself.

The more comfortable I felt with Qimir, the worse his relationship with Vernestra became, to the point where in the naivety of my young age, I thought it was my fault, but in truth, I couldn't even see the problem.

I had learned to recognize my master's moods very early on. I understood before even talking to her if she was nervous because of some diplomatic mission or worse. Sometimes I was left to myself for entire days, i knew her missions were very important and that I would only slow her down, but all I could do was read and train with other padawans and read again and... do nothing.

So, while I daydreamed about the magnificent future missions with my master... I spent time with Qimir.

Of course, he was busy too, but I eagerly awaited his return each time. He would tell me what he did, who he met on his travels, the fights to the last breath, and, he was good at narrating them. He often came to see me in the library, where he would put on a silent show due to the librarian's constant admonishments, using books as pieces of the story and his lightsaber to represent himself. I laughed so much that my cheeks hurt, I used my hands to muffle the louder sounds, and Qimir seemed to love every moment of it. Sometimes, I wondered if he didn't deliberately behave insanely on missions just to tell me about it when we would meet.

The months passed quickly. After about a year as a padawan, I began to distinguish between what I was good at and what I was terrible at. For example, I was great at controlling the Force, but terrible at using the sword. Not because I wasn't good from a technical standpoint, but more for a mental reason, the idea of hurting someone paralyzed me. I wanted to be a Jedi who protected the weak, but I had missed the part where, if you're protecting them, it's because someone is hurting them, someone who probably should be stopped even with the use of force.

Worse still, I was terrified of my master's weapon, the whip seemed so unpredictable to control, yet she used it with deadly precision and wanted me to try it too. She believed my fear was natural for a young mind, that I just needed to unlock myself, but for me, it wasn't like that.

And it got worse when I sought comfort in Qimir.

Maybe, in hindsight, I should have realized something, but it's easy to talk when the worst has already happened. I remember very well what happened that evening, I was exhausted after all the sword training. Vernestra didn't seem particularly happy with my outburst a few hours earlier when I tried to say that maybe I wasn't suited to be a knight, that I could have pushed myself into the medical field or even just be an assistant, maybe a volunteer in war zones. She thought I was speaking without knowing anything, pushing me all afternoon to train in various forms. My hands hurt from calluses, but instead of running to the infirmary, I decided to knock on Qimir's room.

"I don't understand why she doesn't want to accept it. I... don't want to hurt anyone." I broke the tense silence that had formed while Qimir wrapped my fingers with the bandages he had in the bathroom.

"No one said you have to. You're a Jedi, our job is to fight for those in need." He was focused on looking at my fingers, so he didn't notice the grimace I gave him, "And I understand that. But I don't feel suited for that role. Many Jedi perform different duties, fighting isn't essential for everyone." He sighed a laugh.

"I think Vernestra is worried about your safety, it's okay to seek your vocation elsewhere, but our faith leads us to interact with dangerous environments, even the most peaceful mission could hide a terrible evil." He finished the bandaging, then gently took my hands in his, the warmth of his palms a pleasant consolation to the painful throbbing of the blisters that filled my fingers.

He looked at me again with a sad smile on his lips, "I understand that you feel sure of what you want. But, flower, you're still a child. And you have many years ahead of you before you face the final exam, you don't know what will happen or if you will change your mind, don't take what you feel for granted." I blushed foolishly at the nickname he had started calling me some time ago, something about how "I seemed delicate like a flower".

"I know, but... don't you think lightsabers are terrifying?" I stuttered uncertainly, looking into his eyes.

And that moment. That single instant when he gave me that sweet smile, I shivered.

"That's what makes them so beautiful, right?"

I didn't have an answer, maybe yes, but I wouldn't have had the courage to tell him at the moment. I only know that I swallowed a bitter bite and freed myself from his grip, a heavy breath escaping my mouth, "I have to go, thanks for the bandages," I got up quickly and fled from that room as if I had someone on my heels.

That shiver down my spine, that rancid smell at my nose, I couldn't imagine it at the time, but that was the first time I felt fear.

Of course, I blamed myself entirely, I was exaggerating, everyone said so, I was terrified of violence in a way not suitable for the role I was supposed to fill in the future, I should have recovered quickly and restarted my training. I tried to forget that evening, as I had gradually forgotten that conversation on Hoth, but that was just the beginning.

The missions with Qimir keeping us company decreased over time, sometimes he just stopped by for a greeting or joined us more to keep me company if he had a free moment. I really appreciated the time together, I liked that we could remain silent without making it seem strange, once on Naboo he showed me almost the whole city since he had already visited it before. We got ice cream overlooking a lake in complete silence, the sunset was spectacular, and with the light sounds of the forest accompanying us, I fell asleep with my face pressed against his side.

The next morning, I found myself in my room with his cloak as a blanket since I was still dressed. When I tried to return it, he teased me, saying I had slipped on the ground when I pressed against him. I yelled at him that he was rude to tell me that, but only because I didn't have the courage to admit that I found it hilarious. If I had given him rope, he would have teased me about it for months.

When I was finally old enough to accompany the master on some of her more dangerous missions, my opinion on weapons had not changed, but I had made peace with myself and decided to find my combat style.

I was proud of how I built my lightsaber, but I had to modify it when I implemented the double-sided exit to have a double-bladed saber. It made me feel safer using it, more protected, and it was a more versatile weapon, especially for more enemies. So, once I got used to using it combined with a defensive fighting style, I finally felt complete.

On the field, I rarely used the lightsaber, trusting more in my control of the Force to block my opponents and stun them. I knew Vernestra was not entirely happy with how I restrained myself, but I tried to excel in everything else, hoping it was enough.

On a return trip to Coruscant, both wounded and tired, we talked once again about the problem that had arisen when it was needed.

What was supposed to be a quiet afternoon defending senators had turned into a nightmare when a bomb exploded at the meeting place, civilians fleeing in terror, and only a Jedi and a padawan handling the dozen terrorists shooting at the crowd.

The situation obviously got out of hand, and we survived by a miracle. Before calling the council to let them know what had happened, seeing me still so shaken, Vernestra hugged me.

I clung to her robe, barely holding back tears, the memory of all the wounded passing under my eyes still fresh, but she grabbed my shoulders, and looking at me with a determined face, she said, "You did well. I am proud of you."

A few minutes later, when we could finally sit down, I had the courage to speak.

"I killed them. It was so..." I was looking at the blue of hyperspace around us, lost in my thoughts, I don't know if I was talking more to myself or to her.

"You did what was necessary. On other occasions, we could have captured them, but we were at a disadvantage. Sometimes, to save lives, you have to make drastic choices," her tone always confident, as if it were all normal, and technically it was, for her.

I no longer knew what I was doing at that point.

"I know, but... my hands..." were shaking. They shaking even then, in the peace of our shuttle. I held onto the armrests tightly as if I were afraid of falling.

"Maybe Qimir is right."

I turned suddenly, confused, hearing his name mentioned out of nowhere. She sighed before looking at me again, "He thinks it would do you good to train with him a bit. He has been suggesting it to me for a while..." she cleared her throat before looking away.

"Maybe dealing with a more aggressive combat style like his would help you unlock. I know you two have become friends, and... he is much better than me at making you feel comfortable. He might be more helpful than I am."

I was taken aback, more by the fact that Qimir had suggested something like that without letting me know anything. It gave me a strange, somewhat unpleasant feeling that I couldn't quite identify.

But still, my problems at the moment were different, so I nodded. I already felt guilty enough for hesitating in the face of danger. Despite the comforting words, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had failed.

“Just… be careful, okay?”

The look he gave me is one I would never forget. That… knowing glint deep in his eyes, like a warning bell. But I ignored it.

I nodded, but I ignored it.

When we got home, she headed towards the council room to submit her report. She advised me to go rest since it was already evening, but after saying goodbye to her, I quickly walked down the Jedi corridor. I had been injured and was limping slightly, the next day, I could get myself healed quickly by a healer using the Force, but at that moment, it was a different kind of pain tormenting me.

I knocked hard on Qimir's door without even thinking about it, two, three times before I heard some commotion on the other side, bare footsteps approaching the door before it opened.

“I hope you have a good reason for knocking on my door at this hour—” he mumbled sleepily, his hair messy and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, confused, when I jumped into his arms.

My face pressed against his warm chest, and the tears I had been holding back until then started to fall relentlessly, accompanied by a few sobs.

He woke up suddenly, understanding what was happening. He effortlessly picked me up before entering the room and shutting the door behind him. “Hey, hey, my sweet flower, what's wrong?” he whispered in my ear, now fully awake.

I hid my face in his neck while he hugged me tightly, my legs hanging down the sides of his hips, my tears wetting the skin of his chest as I tried to stammer out coherent words.

I had never felt so small until that night, hidden in his arms. Although his cheerful personality made him seem childish at times, I tended to forget that we were a little over ten years apart, we didn’t really share anything except our loyalty to the Order and the same master, but we weren’t the same age, and we didn’t even have similar hobbies. We… he treated me like a little sister with absent parents.

I had run off to seek the safest comfort I knew, and he had given it to me without a second's protest.

He listened to my tear-flavored words without saying anything, his fingers brushing through my hair, partly caressing my scalp. He held me against his chest tighter when my sobs were too much to utter even a single syllable. He didn’t say anything when I was done, had me take off my shoes and most of my dirty tunic, and then lay down in bed with me.

I was pressed between the wall and his warm body, one arm on my side, and the covers wrapped around me like a cocoon.

The next day, still comfortably pressed against his chest, I took a moment to sort out my thoughts. I was ashamed of having lost my composure like that, i shouldn’t have fallen victim to fear, so I slipped away at dawn to avoid facing him. We never talked about what happened, I didn’t have much to say anyway and went back to focusing on my studies.

A few days later, Vernestra came to tell me she would be away to resolve the conflict that had arisen after that attack and that I was entrusted to Qimir as she had mentioned. I had already forgotten about that story, but it all came flooding back when we said goodbye on the platform. Her hesitant look as she stopped halfway up the ramp. I saw her sigh, maintaining a stoic expression before coming back to me one last time. “Trust your instincts, Padawan. If something makes you uncomfortable or… you just leave, got it? You’re still too young for certain matters.”

I didn’t have time to ask her what she was referring to, she boarded the ship right after and left, leaving me there with questions on the tip of my tongue.

Qimir sought me out soon after. I was hiding in the library every afternoon, hoping not to run into him and avoid training, but of course, it didn’t last long. With his usual light smile and calm demeanor, he approached me one morning, “Are you perhaps skipping your training, Padawan?” he asked, mimicking an authoritative tone.

I couldn’t even laugh. In the end, I gave in. I had promised my master, and the fear I felt that afternoon still gave me nightmares, so I followed him into the training room.

Fighting Qimir was like facing a hurricane, seemingly chaotic but, in reality, a perfectly concentrated deadly force of nature. I was used to exhausting rhythms, so I didn’t find it difficult, but what destabilized me was his gaze. It seemed like he really wanted to kill me.

Fast and lethal with his double violet lightsabers, he often aimed at my legs to make me fall and gain an advantage over me. I squirmed uneasily under that assault, of course, that was the goal of that training, but… there was a cold wind behind him. A suffocating sensation, a chill on my skin that made me doubt who or what I was facing.

Vernestra was away for just under a month, during which I trained with Qimir when I wasn’t studying. One of the last training sessions was grueling. I began to doubt he wanted to take it easy on me from the beginning, we clashed forcefully -with our lightsabers- because “it’s needed to keep you sharp ” as if the strikes he aimed at me weren’t enough to keep me alert.

A particularly painful strike to the thigh made me fall heavily to the ground, the fabric of my robe smoking from the slash. When I looked up at him, now disarmed, I almost vomited. Those eyes… now I could recognize them. The eyes of a killer. The same as those men that afternoon weeks before who had charged into the crowd.

I fled the room, took a shower, and went to bed without dinner. I was sure I was going insane. I was tired and nervous and seeing things that weren’t there. I tried to shake off that voice in my head that screamed at me to be careful with Qimir, the guilt clashing with the fear. I tried to bury it all once again, deeper and further away.

And so my routine returned to normal once everything was back to how it was before, and the master had returned, although… I had started to avoid Qimir. It wasn’t that I was running away from him, it was more like a need for personal space, let’s say. Luckily, he was sent on a mission, but he wrote to me almost every evening with messages about his goals, to which I replied with monosyllables. He realized something was wrong, but when he asked me how I was or if something had happened, I dodged the question.

During a mission in the Outer Rim, I was able to indirectly spy on a call between Vernestra and Qimir. She was scolding him for some unspecified decision, but it was the final warning that made me waver. “You’re losing your composure lately. Leave the mission and return to Coruscant to meditate on your choices.” My breath stopped when I heard him shouting through the holopad. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but he was complaining about the poor results of the missions or something like that. I swallowed down that memory too. It had been an outburst due to a tense situation, it could happen. I had to stop thinking about it.

Shared missions completely disappeared. Qimir and I only saw each other to spend time together. One evening, he took me to dinner in a somewhat shabby place with the promise that I could bring my fellow Padawans there when we were older. The light conversation at the table was pleasant before silence surrounded us.

“I’m sorry we see each other less lately,” he finally sighed after dessert.

I shrugged, relaxed. “Well, we have our duties. And I need to keep studying.” I thought I had given a satisfactory answer, but he looked more frowned than before. “It’s unfair. I want a Padawan too.”

I chuckled at the thought. “I think you need a few more years for that.” But he didn’t laugh, instead, he… stared at me in a way I couldn’t decipher. “Why do you say that? You’re growing well.”

I frowned at the answer. “Qimir, I’m Vernestra’s Padawan. No offense, but it’s she who’s raising me,” I maintained a smile that he didn’t share. “You spend more time with me than with her.”

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. I wanted to tell him that it was normal since we were friends, but that had little to do with the conversation we had started. To tell him that, as good as he was, he still struggled to act like a real authoritative figure suitable for a young boy who needs to learn the Jedi way, but… of course, I said nothing.

I didn’t feel like it. That conversation died just as it had begun.

It seemed that as time went by, that cheerful air around him faded. Maybe it was the maturity I was gaining that woke me up from that waking dream I was living. I recognized certain expressions or glances better, those smiles that once warmed my heart now had a bitter aftertaste. I began to wonder if something had been wrong from the start. Sometimes those strange warnings from Vernestra or those fragments of memories where I had seen him in a different light, more sinister, would come back to me.

So, I made a decision.

It was better to put some distance between the two of us, maybe growing up, I would be able to face him better, understand what was going through his head, and once matured, I would be able to help him as he helped me.

I don’t know if that decision was the straw that broke the camel’s back, if it was something inevitable that had already begun, or if there was no escape. Looking back at everything that happened, the mistakes had started much earlier, but how much blame did I truly deserve?

I was young, naive, it wasn’t my job to see beyond the veil of lies, beyond the Jedi, beyond the Force.

I wouldn’t have been able to recognize the dark side under those circumstances.

And in fact, I didn’t recognize it until it was too late.

And there it was, right in front of me, taking my breath away.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Beyond Appearances

Haganezuka x f!reader| fluff

A/n: A scenario where our most handsome swordsmith shows his insecurities when he feels in love with a very kind hashira who managed to soften his heart❤️

Sorry for the delay, I thought I had already written the ending but it turns out I didn't have one yet🥲

□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆

In all his years as a short-tempered swordsmith, Haganezuka had never found himself in such trouble after he met a young woman hashira who had been visiting the swordsmith village recently. He thought that loving someone was harder than forging a sword.

Kanamori had already teased him about the subject, but he just deny it, saying it was a lie and that he just was confusing things, but the friend knew he was lying. And Hotaru also knew he was deceiving himself.

"Come on, admit it, you like her!" Kanamori said, and his friend hit the blade of the hot sword harder, almost breaking it

"Can you shut up for a moment? I'm sick of this talk! Damn!" He replied, already upset

"You know I'm right, don't you? She's pretty, isn't she?" The friend teased him further to see if he would reveal anything, and he just showed more and more signs

"Listen up, you asshole! Don't you dare make any comments about her, do you hear me?" Haganezuka threatened, with one of his knives pointed at his friend

"If you don't like her, why do you act like that ? Come on, tell me."

"Like what?" Haganezuka put the blade he had on the table and looked at his friend

"I just said she was beautiful and you already look like you're about to grab a knife to kill me. What do you want me to think?"

Haganezuka gave a long snort and put his hands to his covered face for a moment. He was fed up with that conversation even though he knew his friend was telling the truth. He might seem all explosive and hot-headed but when he remembered how kind you were and the sparkle in your eyes, he calmed down. It was like the calming sound of bells moving when the wind blew them.

"Kanamori, I have work to do. Don't bother me with this anymore, or I'll test the blade on you to see if it's sharp enough." Haganezuka said, before returning to work and his friend just shook his head with a giggle

"You really are shy to admit how things are, aren't you?" His friend teased him for the last time, and it was then that Haganezuka prepared to throw one of his knives at him, but stopped when the forje door opened

Your presence made him hide the knife behind his back. He didn't want to scare you in any way.

"Good morning!" You greeted them. "Is my sword ready yet?" You asked, pointing to the blade that was on the workbench

"No, not yet. Maybe tomorrow." Haganezuka said, lowering his gaze and gently placing the knife on the table behind him so that you wouldn't suspect anything

"Well, then, I'll come by tomorrow morning. I'm going on a mission in two days and I'll need it." You warned

"I know, I'm already taking care of it."

"I see. Have a good day then!" You smiled and left

When you closed the door, Kanamori looked at his friend and saw him narrowing his eyes at him.

"Don't you dare to open that mouth, got it?" Haganezuka warned even before his friend say something

"Fine, I won't, but I'll tell you that you should face the truth. I see how you look at her, how you've been following her for months to find out how she is and what she's doing. Why don't you just say it?"

"Say what? What would a woman like her see in a man like me? A dirty, rough man, full of calluses on his hands and wounds. Don't you think she deserves better?" The blacksmith looked at his friend and Kanamori couldn't help but laugh at his words

"Oh, so that was your problem, wasn't it? Insecurities about yourself. You know, I honestly don't think Y/n is a person who judges by appearances. If she were, she probably would have made countless comments about you since she met you and besides, she never treated you badly or offended you." The friend pointed out

"I don't care, I won't talk about it. I'm done with that conversation, I'm going back to work now." Haganezuka turned his back on his friend and focused on what he was doing before

"It's up to you, but look, if you don't say it, someone else 'better' will. Think about it." Kanamori said before leaving

The first rays of sunlight slowly entered through the window and illuminated Haganezuka's sleeping figure who was sitting on the floor leaning against the counter where he forged swords.

He was exhausted after spending the whole night preparing your sword, knowing that you would come to get it that morning.

He was breathing slowly and inaudibly, not even sounding like the heavy breathing and long, tired sighs from the busy night he had spent.

"I need to finish it, Y/n needs it. I need to hurry." He said as he sharpened the blade

Many could say he was short-tempered, but he was without a doubt one of the most dedicated blacksmiths to his role. Many blacksmiths took at least one to two weeks to finish a sword, he did it in a matter of days.

You approached the forge door and knocked. Normally, what you expected was to hear Hotaru's screams from the other side asking you to leave, but today you didn't hear it and found it strange.

"Isn't he here? Did he go somewhere?" You thought, with a doubtful expression

"Haganezuka-san?!" You called. "Are you there?"

No answer came from the other side, he was sound asleep.

"I'm coming in, okay?" You warned, opening the door slowly and peeking inside

Your eyes immediately fell on Haganezuka sitting on the floor, sleeping. You smiled a little when you saw him and then you went in, closing the door behind you.

You walked slowly towards him, kneeling beside his figure. He wasn't wearing his mask and you thought he was very handsome even with some dirt stains on his skin and sweat. He looked so young even though he was almost forty.

You held one of his hands and saw the hardness of the calluses and some still open cuts.

"He's an incredibly dedicated swordsmith." You thought, seeing his condition

You had him in high regard even when he yelled at you when you broke his sword. You knew he was hot-blooded, but you also knew he wasn't all he seemed.

You looked at his other hand and there was a sword, you immediately assumed it was yours and that he had been working on it all night.

"No wonder he's so sweaty and dirty...working after hours." You looked at his sleeping face and gave a little smile

You moved your hand from his face to the hand where the sword was and grabbed the hilt slowly and pulled it out slowly but his grip tightened as if he was trying to stop you from taking it from him.

"Don't touch it." He whispered with his eyes still closed

You pulled away and looked at him seeing his eyelids flutter a little, he had already realized that someone was there but he didn't know it was you.

"Haganezuka? Are you awake?" You ask and he shifts a little."It's me, Y/n. I came in because you didn't answer me before and--"

"Your sword is ready." He muttered and you looked at him, seeing his eyes slowly open, revealing a bright orange color

"Yeah, I see it..." You said as he stretched and straightened his posture. "I can also see that you took the night off to make it for me. I'm sorry for giving you so work." You looked down and he looked at you, blinking slowly before looking away

"I love forging swords, I put all my dedication into them."

"I know, I see that your hands are full of calluses and your sweat is wetting your clothes." You said, holding his hand and he quickly removed it from yours, turning his face away from yours, feeling a certain blush grow on his cheeks."Come on, let's get up, okay?" You said, holding him and trying to lift him up

He didn't push you away or say anything, he just gave in to your arms around him as he stood up.

He staggered back a little but you held him steady again. He was tired all over and needed some proper rest, something he hadn't had.

"You should get some sleep, you're getting dark circles under your eyes. And it looks like they've been going on for a few days. Do you have that much work?"

"I stayed awake for three days to make it for you. Here it is." He said, holding out the sword to you and you took it carefully as if it were glass. "You need to go on that mission, right? Your sword is ready, now go." He said and you looked from the sword to him, seeing him a little downcast and sleepy

You put the sword back in its sheath and brought a hand to his face and looked at him. That was the first time you saw his face, he had gone to take a nap that ended up lasting until morning.

"You're going to get your hands dirty." He said, watching you touch his face to clean the dirt

"They're already dirty from all the missions I've been on, so I don't think it matters to me anymore." You smiled and he blushed even more

He looked into your eyes for a moment without saying anything. All those insecurities of his seemed to be leaving his mind and that made him more confident.

"You've been forging the swords for all the missions I go on, so I can't leave here today without thanking you."

"Thank me for making something for you to break it later, is that it?" He bite back and you smiled

"That's more or less it."

You looked at each other for a moment while you were still cleaning his skin. His eyes couldn't leave yours and the fact that your face was so close that it almost touched his was only making him even more nervous.

You, on the other hand, were also feeling a little embarrassed even though you tried to look normal. You had a bit of a crush on him since the first day, always wondering what his face would be like under the mask and wondering if he had a soft side and not just a rough side. At that moment, you discovered both things.

You stared at him for a moment, holding his face with both hands. You thought about pulling back but you couldn't, you had to show your feelings for him and without hesitating any longer, you kissed him, taking the man completely by surprise.

It was at that moment that he could have sworn he was going to faint, because not even the heat from the forge's fire made him sweat as much as that sudden act.

He didn't know what was going on and you just wanted it to be reciprocated. You felt good with him and even with that rough and tough way, you could find a soft and shy side of him. A side where he wasn't stubborn or shouty. One where he just let himself be carried away by you and the love you had to give him.

He put an arm around your waist, hugging your body and pulling you closer while you held on to his strong arms to keep yourself standing since your knees were weak.

After a moment like that, he pulled away and you noticed that his cheeks were so red it looked like they were burning.

"You're blushing, you look so cute!" You joked and he immediately turned his face to hide it from you

"Shut up, I'm not blushing!"He said, moving away from you and putting the mask back on to hide his blushing face

"Oh come on, it's normal. You probably never fall in love before."You giggled

"I'm sorry if this was a little sudden, but I really like you, you know? You're not all that people say you are, and I think you're a very talented swordsmith. Your work is incredible and you always do your best. Thank you, Haganezuka-san." You smiled at him and he looked at you, removing his mask to kiss you again, taking you by surprise this time

He was also never seen as a good person in the swordsmith village, but deep down he was misunderstood, and seeing someone with a good heart like you, praising him and the work he loved so much only made his heart melt.

"I really like you too, but I won't mix things up. If you break it, I'll break you later." He warned and you giggled, hugging him

"No, you love me. You wouldn't do that, would you?" You whispered next to his ear, making Haganezuka narrowing his eyes and taking a long sigh. You were really getting on his nerves.

[mah-t-wordblog]

Tease

Tickletober day 20

Lee: Edgar Allan Poe

Ler: Rampo Edogawa

🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡

Ships: Rampo x Poe

Warnings: This is a tickle fic, if you don’t like it, just scroll down

This fanfic is originally in Portuguese, my English is translated using an automatic translator, if there are any big errors you can tell me so I can fix them

🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡

Edgar Allan Poe and Rampo Edogawa were eating in a busy coffee shop in downtown Yokohama, sitting across from each other

“Argh, they don't have any sweet options!” the 27-year-old-kid complained

“That’s good, so you won’t eat so many sweets today”

“Hmph”

Rampo sighed and put down the menu

“Edgar~”

“Yes my love?”

“I’m bored, do something!”

“What?- how do I-“

Without Poe being able to react, Rampo took his hand and began to analyze it

“It’s full of calluses” he said, running his fingers over the calluses on Poe’s hand “do writers always have hands like that?”

“I-I think so” he answered covering his mouth with his other hand

Rampo looked at him and raised an eyebrow

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not n-nervous!”

Rampo ran his fingers through Poe's palm once more, the writer let out an exclamation

"Please Rahampo... we're in public" the boy said embarrassed

"But I'm not doing anything" Rampo smiled

"You know very well what you're doing!"

Rampo laughed "it's not my fault if you're so ticklish~" he ran all his fingers through the palm of the other's hand, making Poe start to laugh

"Oh~ what's wrong Edgar?"

“Stohohohop” in a normal quote Poe would already be laughing out loud, his hands were his weak points, but he was holding back as much as he could

“Do all the writers in the world feel ticklish here?~”

“Ihihi dohohon’t knohow”

“Ah but you don’t need to be jealous, I won’t tickle anyone else but you~”

Poe felt a shiver run through his entire body

“Stohohop teheheasihihing mehehe”

“Why?~ are you embarrassed?”

“Ehehevryohonehe is stahaharing”

Really, people looked and looked away

“It’s okay, they must think you’re as cute as I do right now”

Rampo lifted his boyfriend’s hand and kissed it, making Poe blush

The super detective got up and placed his chair next to his boyfriend’s, kissing his cheek

“You’re beautiful”

Poe was blushing so much “th-thank you” he said covering his face

Rampo brushed his hair away from his eyes and smiled, at that moment I believe the writer was even shaking

Teasing Poe was Rampo’s favorite game, it was always very funny to see him like that, smiling and blushing, and the detective loved it

🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡💜🖤🧡

Ohhhhh I just love this twooo 💛💛

[twoturtlesinabathtub]

Progress on Ch. 2 of Interlude, snippet below of Leon and Chris being dorks

Wesker was relatively slow to answer the door, and the waves of tension radiating from Chris were almost palpable as the other two men waited. Leon looked back at his friend. "Excited?"

Chris shrugged. "Just not sure what to expect," he said.

Leon grinned. "You're overthinking it."

The expression seemed to suck a bit of the stiffness from Chris's frame. "A little," he admitted. "Sorry."

On an impulse, Leon turned and leaned up to give Chris a quick peck on the cheek. "It's fine," he placated. "I'll bet I can help turn your brain off for a while."

"There's that confidence." Chris returned the kiss, though his lingered more. "It's kinda sexy."

"You think so?" Leon hooked a finger in the neckline of Chris's shirt, pulling him closer. "Keep talking like that and I'll have to throw you over my shoulder."

Chris actually laughed. "Good luck with that, Kennedy."

Glad that he'd been able to lift Chris's mood somewhat, Leon turned back around at the click of the door. Wesker stood framed in the entrance, expression neutral for a moment before his mouth curled into an almost mocking smile as he looked at his point man.

"Someone was speeding on the drive," he accused. Leon could tell Wesker wasn't annoyed, but the teasing seemed to have gone over Chris's head.

"You said not to make you wait," said the point man shortly.

Wesker hummed. "Yes, I'm sure that's why you were in such a rush to get here." Leon's face reddened as pale eyes raked over his frame significantly. "Please, come in." He opened the door wider and stepped farther inside.

Leon knew the drill, so he immediately toed off his shoes as soon as he'd entered the home, then shed his coat and went to hang it in the entryway closet; Chris followed suit without a word, watching Wesker ascend the staircase across from the front door.

When the two men were finished, Chris seemed at a loss, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is awkward," he whispered. "I feel awkward."

Leon bit back a snicker. "He's a little odd, but he's still just a guy. What do you think Wesker's gonna do, eat you?"

"Shoot me, maybe," said Chris absentmindedly. "You're positive he's okay with me being here? I don't want him getting all territorial on me."

Leon frowned. "Wesker doesn't own me. And this was his idea, remember? You don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

"I know, I know. Hold on." Chris's eyes widened, like something had only just occurred to him. "You don't think he's expecting me to—to—" He made an obscene gesture with his hands and Leon couldn't help the loud snort that escaped him. "Like, I'm not trying to be rude, but I'm just not interested in doing that with him."

"I didn't get the feeling that that's what he wanted," Leon replied. "And if you can't say 'fuck him' out loud, then I don't know if you should even be having sex in the first place."

"He's my boss! It feels weird."

Wow, thought Leon, Chris must really want to get into his pants if the point man were willing to put up with how uncomfortable he felt at the thought of being in an intimate situation involving Wesker. More than a little flattering, that. "He's not your boss here. Just focus on me and don't let him get to you. Focus on me."

Vain as those words had sounded in Leon's own ears, they seemed to relieve Chris by some measure: he let out a long breath and his eyes stopped darting around the house, finally settling on Leon's own. "Okay," he relented. "I can do that."

"Good," Leon said, taking Chris's hand and brushing his lips across callused knuckles before beginning to pull the larger man forward. "His room's upstairs."

[blacklegsanjiii]

Golden Ch. 4

Sanji doesn't complain as Mihawk sets the bones.

When Sanji told Mihawk he knew how to sword fight, had training in it, Mihawk had been excited about it. Sanji did well with katas and took Mihawk’s training to heart. He did well with a sword. Sanji didn’t like the blisters or the calluses growing on his hands but as long as he can cook Sanji is happy. Which makes it upsetting because Sanji knows how to use a sword, he does, but he's currently cradling his hand to his chest and his fingers are purple. Mihawk may have shattered several bones in the boy's hand and he quickly drops his sword and checks Sanji's hand over. Mihawk is not a soft man and yet-

-Yet Sanji has turned his world around as he curses and ushers the boy inside and to the kitchen. He gets the boy situated at the sink to run his hand under cold water to try to bring down the swelling as Mihawk grabs the bandages. Sanji doesn't complain as Mihawk sets the bones, he winces, but he doesn't cry and Mihawk knows that's not from training with him.

Mihawk holds back, of course he does, Sanji is a child and Mihawk is an adult and they're training. He's not going to kill him because maybe Zeff had a point and he and Sanji get along better than Mihawk thought. He's wrapping his hand and of course it's the kid's dominant hand. The one that excels with a knife in the kitchen and can write barely legible chicken scratch.

"Can I still cook?" Sanji's voice is whisper quiet and the man furrows his brow because it's just so him.

"You won't be able to hold a knife, or much of anything until the swelling goes down more." Mihawk admits. 

"Okay." Sanji sounds broken at that and Mihawk finishes quickly after that. 

"We'll talk to Redleg about his fighting style, he didn't use his hands very much so he could cook." Mihawk placates. "It'll have to wait until you're healed but we can work on your palate in the meantime." 

"Okay." Sanji nods but his voice is still weak.

"You know," Mihawk starts making Sanji look at him with blue eyes that are watering, "most children, even those raised in dojos, would be crying at an injury like this. Your pain threshold is remarkably high which stands better for a more physical combat style like Redleg or Jinbei." 

"I- yeah. I don't want to use swords. A cook needs his hands." Sanji agrees and Mihawk nods.

"I want you to still be able to protect yourself with one, but we'll change your training. I say we are finished training for today and should focus on your academics for now." Mihawk says. Sanji is still completely aware of his surroundings and not dissociating or anything like he had expected. "Sanji, why didn't you cry when I broke your hand?"

Blue eyes meet yellow and suddenly Sanji is curling in on himself. He's still small and Mihawk knows it's from years of malnourishment. He knows Sanji was not properly cared for for several years if not most of his life. He struggles to put on weight and the clothes that should fit him hang off him to the point he's wearing clothes in layers even during the summer to stay warm. "Sanji, I want to understand."

"My family did it, I  haven't seen them since I was eight." Sanji admits quietly and Mihawk can feel the anger and loathing pooling in his gut.

"What did they do?" Mihawk knows the answer.

"Almost everything they could. My dad couldn't kill me so he locked me up after giving up on finishing the job." Sanji whispers.

"If I find them Yoru will surely enjoy herself." Mihawk promises and Sanji winces. "Come along, let's start with reading."

Sanji follows and they sit at the desk in the library reading books. Sanji reads slowly and stumbles on his pronunciation. Mihawk corrects him if he can't sound it out correctly. Mihawk cards his hand gently through the blond hair of the boy as he finishes the book. They move onto arithmetic and Sanji can't write with his left and can't grip with his right so Mihawk keeps the pencil in hand as they work through the problems in a maths book Mihawk had found.

A couple weeks later, which is too fast for a hand to heal, Sanji's hand is declared healed by a doctor much to Mihawk's puzzlement. They're in the town that is unofficially under Mihawk's control on a supply run and everyone knows better than to talk about Mihawk after several people died for making comments about the boy that were crude and unfit to be spoken about a child. 

"It could be haki if he doesn't have a devil fruit. I'm not entirely sure. Hawkeye, he's still under most metrics for his age. He looks like a nine year old if I'm being generous." The doctor sighs. "Sanji, you've been eating all your meals right?"

"Yessir." Sanji answers robotically.

"Snacks?" The doctor asks.

"Sometimes." Robotic.

"Okay, you did good kid." The doctor hands Sanji a red lollipop which Mihawk nods at the boy to eat. "My recommendation would be more snacks and rest days to get his weight up. He's been with you for a year and half now, it might just be genetics, he might just be growing. There are the rarities of this world who are gifted without a devil fruit."

"Really?" Sanji asks and the doctor nods.

"Vice Admiral Garp doesn't have a devil fruit and he pisses your dad off constantly." The doctor explains and Sanji giggles. They thank the doctor and leave for the inn they always stay at. Mihawk looks at the boy who still hides behind his coat with a sucker in his mouth. It's not the first time someone has called him Sanji's dad and it makes something tick inside him and not in a bad way. 

"I want you to pick something out while we're here." Mihawk says abruptly and that makes Sanji look at him in confusion.

"I don't need anything and you let me pick several ingredients out." Sanji doesn't quite argue.

"For yourself." Mihawk clarifies.

"Like what?" Sanji asks.

"Something a child would like. A toy or such." Sanji looks at him, confusion growing.

"I don't know what kids do." Sanji says, and yeah. He has a point, Mihawk can't argue with it. If someone could see the way Mihawk and this child are staring at each other, both with confusion on their faces about children's activities of all things they would be dead. "What do dads do with their kids normally?" Sanji asks.

"I'm an orphan and have been since I was two." Mihawk answers. They're both clearly out of their depth before Mihawk blinks. "Did you just say I was your father as well?"

"Everyone else says it." Sanji shrugs. "I get it if you don't want to be, Zeff said he'll take me back-"

"Zeff's an idiot who thinks every woman is a goddess, your birth family is going to die by Yoru if I ever find them." Mihawk cuts him off. "Do you want me to be your father?" Sanji nods in response. "Then that's that."

"Okay, but we still don't know what kids do or what people do with their kids." Sanji points out.

"Shame." Mihawk hums. Sanji nods but the quiet that surrounds them is comforting. Sanji is still unbearably shy about his past. However, being given the title of father is nice. It feels right. "Your hair is getting long." 

"Can you cut it when we get home?" Sanji asks and Mihawk nods. They still have a long way to go and if Mihawk picks up a few parenting books before they leave Sanji doesn't mention if he saw them.

Mihawk calls Newgate and asks for him to send Marco for a second opinion and some advice on what to do with Sanji.

“If he's happy,” White Beard laughs, “then you're doing great, Son.”

Marco's arrival on Kuraigana is met with Sanji in Hawk-eyes’ hat bolting away from the man with a considerable lead. Hawk-eyes, who may be the greatest swordsman in the world, is nowhere near as fast, nimble, or flexible as Sanji. He flies over head gaining speed and manages to catch the kid in his flaming talons. He feels excitement from the kid who squeals in delight as he's hoisted off the ground for a few hundred feet of flight.

Marco manages to set Sanji down and then land next to him as Mihawk curses them from a great length away.

“Practicing hiding your soul voice?” Marco asks. Sanji nods as his hands clasp the brim of the hat. “Great job letting me fly you like that. I'm sure it was kind of scary to be picked up randomly again.”

“It was fun.” Sanji smiles at him. 

“Why the hell would you fly him further away?” Mihawk growls as he catches up, winded and flushed.

“If he can steal from you he deserves a treat, don't worry he's fine.” Marco assures him as Mihawk still checks the boy over before taking his hat back. “His stamina is fantastic, why am I here?” 

“I broke his hand about three weeks ago,” Mihawk admits, “last week the doctor in town said it was completely healed.” 

Marco tilts his head and rubs his chin, his glasses reflecting the sun slightly. “That wouldn't be out of the question, if his body is healing wounds instead of nourishing itself.”

“Has that happened before?” Mihawk asks.

“Rarely, but yes. The will of D is often used as an example for this.” Marco replies. “Garp and Dragon, Roger, Portgas. Perhaps Vegapunk could modify someone?” Marco suggests.

“Let's head inside to continue this conversation.” Mihawk sighs and Sanji bolts off ahead. Marco laughs as he adjusts his bag and follows the warlord to the castle. “I should warn you, Sanji dreads doctors. I haven't asked why but he doesn't mention his birth family that much. He’ll be better than when you and Newgate visited but not by much.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Marco asks, he has experience with kids who hate doctors, hate needles and prodding and reflex checks. “Or get a brief rundown?” 

“You've seen him, he's eleven and looks like a nine year old, he's littered in scars from his family.” Mihawk says and Marco pauses causing Mihawk to stop a few paces ahead and turn.

“How badly?” Marco asks carefully.

“There's not much on the boy that isn't scar tissue, I'm afraid.” Mihawk answers. “He told me he wanted the clear-clear fruit to hide.”  Marco nods at the information, they continue onto the castle and the dread is present and Sanji tries to smile at them as they enter but it doesn't reach his eyes. Marco pats the kid's head.

“Your dad tells me you don't like doctors, but I'm going to try to make this fun, okay? I'll tell you everything I'm going to do and if you feel uncomfortable at any time we'll stop.” Marco meets Sanji's eyes and the kid's emotions vanish instead of an agreement. 

Mihawk takes them to the dining room where Marco sets Sanji on the table. He walks Sanji through every step, heart rate, breathing, reflexes. He lets Sanji use the stethoscope on him and the boy is wide eyed with amazement.

“I'm going to roll your sleeve up and check from tips of your fingers to about halfway to your elbow alright?” Marco asks and Sanji nods. Mihawk warned him and still his breath hitches as the sleeve rolls up and suddenly there's pale skin with even paler lines, circles, he's pretty sure there's at least two burns on Sanji's arm.

“It was a long time ago.” Sanji says immediately.

“How long ago for these ones?” Marco asks, out lining the burns. 

“I was six.” Sanji says with a flinch as Mihawk pulls his emotions out of the room.

“Do you remember if you saw a doctor about them?” Marco asks, rubbing the boy's arm in a comforting way.

“I saw a doctor every day for a long time.” That wasn't the answer the men were thinking Sanji would give.

“Were you sick?” Mihawk asks. Sanji shrugs in reply and Marco takes a deep breath. 

“Sanji, you can tell us anything. We won't tell anyone and whoever did this to you was wrong, okay?” Marco pleads for the kid to understand. Sanji nods and Marco takes another deep breath. “Can I check your arm?” Another nod.

Marco checks the bones, they're all in position and there's no swelling bruising and he doesn't even feel remnants of scar tissue that should be there. His confusion is clear as Sanji curls in on himself and Mihawk looks between them.

“There’s not even a hint of scar tissue, Hawkeye.” Marco says in awe. “Holy shit, that's amazing.” 

“What happens now?” Sanji asks, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

“Well, we're done here so you should eat something and then in a little bit I can fly you around some more, alright?” Marco suggests and Sanji nods, rushing to the kitchen.

“Are we thinking Vegapunk?” Mihawk asks once Sanji is busy in the kitchen. “It's not like them to send an experiment out like this and Sanji had a family.” 

“No, it's definitely not.” Marco sighs. “I think it's something else, what it could be I don't know.”

“I'm so fucked.” Mihawk sighs and Marco laughs.

“That's not the warlord I know. Then again, the warlord I know wouldn't have a kid running around his castle or let me or Pops anywhere near the place.” Marco agrees. Mihawk doesn't answer, simply goes to the kitchen and Marco follows. Sanji is shaping onigiri and there was a bento box out for what Marco presumed were the leftovers.

Marco convinces Sanji to eat four. Mihawk watches with the barest hint of a smile. Marco, as promised, flies Sanji around Kuraigana. They're both laughing and having a great time as they soar and rile up the humandrills. The blonds in the air seemingly uncaring for the world around them. 

Later, when Marco's tired and Sanji's hair is wind whipped and tangled they land. Mihawk is waiting at the castle door for them to come back, leaning against it with one leg crossed in front of the other. Mihawk and Sanji don't play, not really, the theft of Mihawk's hat is as close as they get. Sanji is smiling brightly though as he runs to his dad and Marco follows at a more leisurely rate.

“Have fun?” Mihawk asks, looking down at the boy.

“I want to fly too!” Sanji exclaims.

Mihawk puts a hand on Sanji's shoulder. “Well, we'd have a problem then because I can't.”

“You know, it'd be worth it to see what else he can do if he can heal like that. Who knows, maybe he can.” Marco says and Mihawk, already so pale, goes paler at Marco's words making the two laugh.

Marco watches them train later and swears he thinks there's smoke mixed with the dust from Sanji's kicks. When he arrives on the Moby Dick after parting Kuraigana, he heads to his desk in the infirmary and begins researching. 

[animefreak2112]

Starfire - Chapter 4 (Bakugou x Reader x Deku)

A/N - AHH, here's where we ACTUALLY get somewhere. Comment if you enjoyed it! Also there are more chapters under my AO3, which has my same username if you're interested:) <3

“Fucking Deku tried to save me.”

You double back, eyes wider than saucers as Katsuki walks in front of you, “What?! Why didn’t you tell me before! Is he okay?” Katuki scowls at your reaction. 

“Tch. The nerd is fine. Already told him that I didn’t need his help — I don’t owe him anything.” Despite his attempt to reassure you, a heavy feeling sinks deep into your chest. Fingers tightening around the straps of your backpack, you purse your lips before addressing the angry blonde beside you, “Katsuki...why do you treat Izu the way you do?”

A sour taste fills his mouth when the endearment leaves your lips — Izu, he thinks  bitterly.

When Katsuki stays silent, you glance at him: hands in his pockets, a scowl on his face. “I wish...I wish you would…” A sigh leaves your mouth, “It really doesn’t matter what I wish Katsuki. You need to figure things out for yourself — not just because I want you to.” You can almost hear the ‘tch’ going through his stubborn mind. Then, you reach the corner of your street — turning left not right. 

“Hey idiot.” The tone in Katsukis’ voice isn’t biting, only tired and surprisingly calm, “Did you hit your head or somethin’? Your house is this way.” His hand jerks, pointing distinctly right. The gesture makes you smile. 

“So you do remember where my house is.” You don’t bother hiding the smug tone in your voice — you couldn’t help but tease him a little. 

“ “Course I fucking do, ya idiot,” Katsuki mutters. You’re about to tease him about his foul mouth when his hand reaches for you, pinky latching onto yours and tugging. “K-Katsuki, what are you doing?”

A wicked, feral grin adornes his face when your hand reaches up, aiming to cover your blushing cheeks. Instead, Katsuki catches your hand, lacing your fingers together with his, “Keeping my promise.”

***

With only a small ‘tch’ falling from his lips, he grabs your pinky with his, curling his finger around your smaller one and saying in a gruff voice, “Promise.”

The memory comes back to you in a vivid flash. Your interlocked pinkies, the blush on Katsukis’ face, the way you leaned up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. It was so long ago and yet he remembers. 

His hand feels different than it did back then. Bigger. Palms that used to be soft were now covered with calluses, made rough from endless hours of training  — you even had some of your own. You smooth your fingers mindlessly over the calluses on Katsukis’ hand, tracing patterns into his skin — unbeknownst to the blondes’ furiously beating heart. 

***

Why did your hands have to be so damn perfect? 

They weren’t that perfect, far from it actually. Katsuki could feel the flaws on your skin. There was one in particular that he recognized; a long scar on the palm of your hand. He remembers the day that you got it, and how you made him kiss it better afterwards — he’s trying not to think about your lips when he feels it. Almost jumping out of his skin when your fingers smooth over his calluses, he attempts to repress a shiver at your touch. 

Katsuki knew that he had rough hands — especially with his training. But, with his sweat glands being the heart of his quirk, his hands were hypersensitive to touch. And seeing as it was your touch wasn’t helping the situation. 

He lets out a satisfied huff when your house comes into view, hoping to escape from your stroking fingers that feel really fucking nice against his skin. But even when he tugs at your interlocked hands, you don't let go. In fact, you're dragging him past the gate and to your front porch, making him growl at you, "What the fuck Y/N — you know that the old hag will have my head if I'm not home soon." 

He hears you mumble something about his swearing problem before sassing right back at him, "I'm not letting you go home all beat up Katsuki. So just shut up and do what you're told. Give me your phone." 

"Fuck no." His voice comes out as a teasing growl, because he knows what's coming.

You rip your hands from his before slamming them on your hips, nose scrunching up just the way he likes it and Katsuki positively grins — until you start rummaging through his pockets.

"What the — get the hell off me woman!" God, he had forgotten how much of a sass you were. Before he can react, you quickly pull the cell phone from his front pocket, dialing his mother immediately. 

"KATSUKI! I just saw the news. Where the hell are you?!" Katsuki snorts at your calm expression, clearly unfazed by his mother's yelling. At this point, he was just glad that the old hag wasn't yelling at him.

"Mitsuki? This is Y/N L/N. You remember me right?" Katsuki growls when his mother responds in a delighted voice. Now she’s being nice? 

"Of course, I haven't seen you in years sweetheart. You need to come and visit me! D'you have any idea where my idiot son is?"

"You hag!" You dodge Katsuki as he grabs for the phone, skipping around the gate while he backs away with a huff. "Yep, Katsuki is with me. He's pretty beat up though. Would it be alright if I fixed him up and sent him home a little later?"

"I'm not a fucking kid for you to send home Y/N—" 

"Of course! Just don't let that demon give you too much trouble — you're far too sweet to take Katsukis' shit." You laugh at Mitsuki's bluntness, taking in Bakugou as he slips off his uniform jacket, "Will do Mitsuki, I’ll come visit soon.”

As soon as you hang up the phone, you glance back at Katsuki to see him rolling up the sleeves of his uniform, revealing the chorded muscles of his forearms. The sight makes you swallow hard. Since when did he have those?

Your eyes flit over his frame, scanning the strong line of his jaw, ghosting down his tall body — had he always been this tall? Even after your growth throughout middle school, the boy still had at least seven inches on you. 

His shoulders were broad now, and they looked even more so after his blazer was off. How had you not noticed them? Or the bulging muscles that now lined his biceps? He was sixteen — the same age as you, but you were damn sure that sixteen year olds weren’t supposed to look like this. Who gave him the right to be this attractive? 

Noticing your eyes on his arms, Katsuki steps forward with a glint in his red gaze, licking his lip with a feral grin, “Whatcha lookin’ at Y/N?” Your eyes snap to his and then down, following the flick of his wicked tongue.

You swallow again. Hard.

But then, you see the knowing smirk on his face. Puffing out your cheeks with stubborn intent, you grab his hand again, this time to drag him into the house.

“Shut it Katsuki."

His smirk only grows wider. 

***

By some miracle, you had managed to make the explosive blond settle into a chair that you had pulled in from the kitchen. You were wedged in between his legs, back facing the bathroom counter as you fussed over his injuries. You can feel his chest expand sharply against your stomach as you dab over a particularly deep cut, and it makes you whisper a quiet ‘sorry’ under your breath. 

Katsuki only grunts in acknowledgement before moving his hands, allowing them to grip the backs of your thighs — close. He’s really close. 

You have to force yourself to breathe because his fingers are smoldering against the bare skin of your thighs and his large body is consuming yours. Even sitting down, his presence is dominating. Powerful. 

Like a cat waiting to pounce. 

You’re cleaning a shallow cut near his cheekbone when you notice a scar. It’s short but thick, resting just above his eyebrow. Your thumb brushes over it subconsciously and your brows furrow — you don’t remember this one. 

“Where did you get this one ‘Suki?”

Katsuki feels your touch like a brand against his skin and he wishes you would stop. He wishes that you would stop touching him this way, that you would stop making him feel the weird something that appears in his gut when you’re around. 

But he can’t pull away. Not when you’re looking at him like that. Or when your curvy body is right up against him — between his legs. And when he hears you say his nickname, the words fall from his mouth without hesitation, “Couple of years ago,” his voice seems hoarse and rough, even to his own ears. “Rock Climbing.”

His heart begins to beat wildly against the walls of his ribcage when your body shifts between his legs — you were leaning down. Katsukis’ crimson eyes widen as your lips press against his brow, right over his scar.

It seemed silly really. His body was covered in fresh cuts and bruises, yet you chose to kiss him there �� a wound that had happened years ago. But then, you start whispering against the skin of his brow, and it makes sense. 

“I wasn’t there to kiss it better — like you were for mine.”

He knows that you’re referring to the scar on your palm. The one that he had pressed his lips against to stop your tears — you’d been seven and a half back then. Katsuki snorts at the thought, slapping playfully at the side of your thigh, “At least I wasn’t a wuss like you. I didn’t even cry when I got this. Guess you’re just not top hero material like me.” 

You blush when his large hand slaps your thigh, “Oh shuddup. I was seven! You know that I could kick your ass now.” You weren’t sure if you could. Your quirk was definitely strong but Katsukis’ combat experience greatly outweighed yours and he knew it. 

Katsuki grins at your words, fingers tightening threateningly around your thighs when he rasps, “Anytime baby girl, I’ll fuckin’ wreck you.”

Oh my god. 

Almost immediately, your hands are covering your blushing face — did he mean to say it like that? You peek through your fingers, only to see him staring straight at you with a devilish smirk on his face. Of course he meant to say it that way. 

You slam your fingers shut, blocking your face from view while letting out an embarrassed groan against your hands. Katsuki only cackles evilly at your embarrassment and attempts to pry your fingers away from your eyes, “C’mon Y/N. Don’t make me do it.” 

Make him do what?

You realize just what he means when his fingers hover over your waist. Oh no. He remembers. Just then, Katsuki attacks your waist mercilessly with his fingers, causing you to grab at his hands, “Katsuki please no—” 

Katsuki only grins as you double over in painful laughter, almost enjoying your suffering. “You think I’d forget how damn ticklish you are? Not a fucking chance.” Tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes as you twist and turn away from him, but Katsuki has you locked tight. One of his muscled arms is wrapped tightly around your waist, while the other tickles you without mercy.

“Say I’m the best.” His grin is absolutely feral. Your stomach twists painfully at yet another bout of giggles and you can’t help but wheeze, “Yes, you’re the best Katsuki—”

His fingers continue, “And the strongest?”

“Oh my god Katsuki, yes you are the fucking strongest — please stop.” You collapse almost immediately against his large frame when the fingers stop, leaving a few stray giggles to escape from your heaving chest. When you look at Katsuki, your breath catches — because there’s no smirk there. Or even the feral, triumphant grin that he usually adorns after winning a challenge. 

On his face is a genuine smile and it takes the wisps of breath right from your chest. At this moment, you consider it a good thing that Bakuou Katsuki frowns all the time. Because even more irresistible than his panty-dropping smirk, was the smile he was giving you now. 

And even more so, because you realize that the smile is just for you. 

***

He hasn’t heard you laugh like that in a long time. 

His heart is beating out of his chest again. And he’s sure that he is going to die — because your laugh is the most beautiful sound that he’s ever heard. 

[definitelynotshouting]

WAHOO im back part 3 :))) i reread the chapter

-☀️

"“Not like that, that’s for sure,” Grian says, and it bites, singing through the air with cruel finality. He can’t stop the way each syllable sharpens as he speaks. “So when I tell you I’m dying, maybe you should believe me.”"

- he's happy that when they are hurt by what he does/says at least he has control over this time. He's still keeping secrets. It's not until later that grian loses the upper hand he has keeping the way Watchers work a secret. Right now the others don't know what options they have, meaning that Grian can let himself die and there's nothing they can do about it. It's self destructive but he's smug about that, in a 'hahah im going to do this thing and theres nothing you can do about it' kind of way except the 'thing' is dying. He needs sooo much therapy

-☀️

"Despite everything, the day Grian was kicked from Hermitcraft, Scar had still watched him like someone he knew. Now, he stares at Grian as if he’s never seen him before."

- Before, Scar knew they didnt have all the pieces to the puzzle. He knew Grian creating the game wasnt as simple as it seemed, he knew there was something greater at play. Later, he says "that's just not your style...I never believed you would. Not even for a second". Now that all the cards are on the table, Scar can't comprehend how there was so much he missed. He knew that just before mcc and before the games Grian gets tired. He didnt know why. Theres so much Grian kept from everyone, and Scar slowly piecing it together only to realise just how much pressure has been on Grian's shoulders, how much emotional weight he must be carrying. I can only imagine how much of this Scar reads on Grian's face in this moment

-☀️

"Scar’s voice takes on an awed note— as if the simple act of slipping past Grian's defenses for the missing puzzle pieces changes anything between them. Soft as drifting snow, he whispers, “And that's why you won't let us help.”"

- blows you up with mind

- It does change something!! Scar now understands- to some extent at least- WHY grian is acting the way he is. GRIAN doesnt think this changes anything. The fact that people know his motives doesnt mean they know how to stop his code from unraveling, after all. Ohoho. Grian you underestimate the hermits. Do you really not understand how insane they are!! Scar and the others are ready to do whatever they need to to stabilise grian's code and make it so Grian is able to properly live alongside all of them, SAFELY. Without fear. But Grian is so convinced he's unloveable that he cant see this

-☀️

"At any other point, his palms would be a warm, grounding weight, laced with familiar lines and calluses; now, all Grian can focus on is the inexorable tilt of his entire world's axis as it falls apart."

- this line genuinely had me throwing my phone onto my bed and putting my head in my hands.

- There is no more running. No more hiding. Grian has spent his entire time as a Watcher-disguised-as-a-player pretending and hiding the truth of his existence. But now everything is out. Everything that grian has spent years hiding because of self-hatred and disgust, thinking he is a monster beyond help or love; there is not much left for him to hide. His world is falling apart, theres no way to recover his life before, the one he oh so carefully cultivated on Hermitcraft. That life is gone.

-☀️

Aldjnskajan. I hope this makes some sense 😭 i still have another section of quotes that i copied, but ill do those tomorrow (my time) because i am sleepy :)

AAAAA I WASNT ABLE TO GET TO THIS YESTERDAY ANON BUT WAAUGHHHHHH /POS THIS IS SOOOOOO

IM SENDING YOU BEAMS THIS IS SO SWEET AND VALIDATING TYSM YOU ARE AMAZING AND I HOPE YOU ARE HAVING AN EXCELLENT DAY

[ariel-seagull-wings]

THE THREE POMEGRANATES

@themousefromfantasyland @tamisdava2 @princesssarisa @faintingheroine @inevitablemoment @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @softlytowardthesun

(Armenian folktale)

She was a princess who knew very well what she wanted. She spent the afternoons at the window of her room, which was in a palace with silver walls, which was in the valley, where there was a lake, which reflected the sunlight. Like all real princesses, she was beautiful. In her face she gathered the beauty of all the women in the world, and in her song there was a melody not even dreamed of by the most passionate hearts. She knew how to wait. Valiant princes from all parts of the world traveled many leagues to ask for her hand in marriage, knelt before her, promised the riches of heaven and sea. She barely heard his exalted words. Expecting another voice, coming from another place, she waved them away, distracted.

One day, worried about so many refusals, the king - her father - called her and ordered her to choose a husband soon, according to custom.

"What must be, my father," replied the princess, "does not always happen. I have already chosen the man I can marry, according to my will. I'm just not sure if it agrees with yours."

Saying this, the princess led the king to the window of her room, where she used to see the market below every day, with its craftsmen and wares of all colors.

"Do you see that man sitting weaving a basket among the straw under that green tent?" she asked, pointing toward a corner of the square.

The king searched with his eyes and ended up finding a tall man, with sunburned skin, large and callused hands of a worker, worn clothes and rough appearance. He could not believe that her daughter would prefer a simple basketmaker to the many nobles who had courted her.

"My lord father, know that this is the man I want to marry and no other."

The king tried to dissuade her, but it was in vain. Seeing that the princess was firm in her decision, he finally said:

“As it is, I won't stop this foolish marriage. But you will never be able to return to that palace again, for whatever reason."

The princess looked at the king for the last time, went down the immense palace stairs, crossed the gardens and left through the fortified gate, leaving forever the place where she had spent all her life. When she got down to the market, she walked to the basketmaker's stall, which was called Gambar.

The conversation that passed between them was very short, amazingly simple.

The basketmaker was amazed to see the princess before him, smiling at him.

"I see you every day at the window," he said, "but I never imagined you weree so beautiful. Please, say what you want to buy and then leave, because the memory of the brief moment of her presence will guide my days from now on."

"Gambar," replied the princess, "I don't want to buy anything, I came here to ask you to marry me."

"But I don't have anything to house you in but my little mud house," Gambar said with joy in his voice.

“You know I just want shelter in your heart, Gambar. The rest, we'll sort it out somehow, don't you think?"

Neither of them said anything else. What is certain is that from that day forward the princess began a new life in the small mud house, next to the third Gambar. And they lived very happily, until one day, while they were talking before going to sleep, the princess said:

"Gambar, you work too hard and you don't get paid what you deserve for your efforts. See your hands full of calluses, the fatigue that takes over your body every day. And what do you get out of it? Too little, not worth so much sacrifice. Why not look for another less tiring and more profitable job?"

The next day, while thinking about the princess's words, Gambar met a merchant in the square. The man traveled the world with his animals laden with precious goods and was looking for a companion to help him with his everyday duties. Gambar struck him as the ideal person, with his quiet, dependable manner, his open smile and willingness to work. The two understood each other perfectly and agreed to continue their journey the next morning.

When he got home, Gambar embraced the princess and told her the news.

“On your advice,” he said, “I found a better job. I'm going to earn a lot more money, but for that I'll have to be away for a long time, even if it's hard for me to part with you."

“Even though I'm going to miss you every minute,” she replied, “you don't have to worry. I will know how to wait for you thinking about the day of your return."

They went to bed and spent their last night together before Gambar left. They loved each other without haste, exchanging secrets. They said goodbye at daybreak, and Gambar set out on the road to the world, in the merchant's great caravan.

For a long time they traveled through unknown cities, forests, rivers and mountains, until one day they reached a burning desert. After much searching, they found a well and stopped to rest.

Meanwhile, there in the village of Gambar, the princess had given birth to a child. Cradling her son in her arms, she sang the sweet songs of her ancestors and tried to imagine where Gambar would be at that moment, not knowing about the son who had just been born.

There in the desert, Gambar entered the well with a rope tied around his waist, to water the animals in the caravan. He would dip the bucket in water and hand it to the merchant, over and over, until everyone had drunk. As he was coming out of the well, a very strange thing happened. Suddenly wakes let go of his waist, as if invisible hands had untied them, and he fell at the bottom of the well. He was falling dizzily, down a dark corridor, further and further down, until he reached a place that seemed completely dry, where nothing could be seen. He groped along the floor, found a wall and then a doorknob. As soon as he opened it, he found himself in a dazzling room. The floor was of gold, the walls of lapis lazuli, the ceiling inlaid with diamonds and precious stones. Directly in front of him were three young men sitting on a bench. Embroidering a rug with silk threads of all colors. In one corner of the room there was a table, on which a frog sat on a silver tray. The frog did not move and kept looking at a young man who looked like a prince, sitting on a chair facing her, staring at her.

"Young foreigner," said one of the girls, interrupting Gambar's astonishment at that unusual scene, "we have some questions to ask you. Who among us is the most desirable creature in this place? Why doesn't this prince take his eyes off this frog? Is she better and more beautiful than we are?"

"There's no one better for a man than the woman he loves," said Gambar.

At that very moment the frog fell to the ground, as if struck by lightning. Her skin split open and from within emerged a young woman so dazzling that the other three looked like faint shadows before her. The young woman ran to the prince and they embraced in silence for a while. Then the prince addressed Gambar:

"Your words disenchanted my beloved, who had been turned into a frog by a sorcerer who desired her. You deserve a reward, frank-souled stranger."

He ordered one of the young women to go into the adjoining room, and she returned shortly afterwards with three pomegranates, which she handed to Gambar. Receiving the gift with joy, even though it was so simple, Gambar said goodbye to those people and left the way he had entered. He tied the rope around his waist and the merchant pulled him back to the surface. he told the merchant what had happened in the depths of the well, and the caravan resumed its journey. On the way, they came across another merchant, who was returning to the city of Gambar.

"Please, friend," Gambar told him, "take these fruits to my wife, the princess. Tell her that I think about her all the time and that I'll be home soon."

As soon as he arrived in the city, the merchant looked for the princess and gave her the three pomegranates. Knowing that it was a gift from Gambar, she was very happy and placed the fruits on the table. She took a knife and opened one of them. Her astonishment was enormous: a glow of thin rays of light emerged from inside the pomegranate and spread across the room, illuminating it all. Instead of the small, succulent red slices, there were very pure pearls inside, one next to the other. She broke the second fruit, and there were rubies and emeralds. She broke the third one and inside she found valuable diamonds.

Far away where she was, Gambar couldn't stand the longing for his princess. He took leave of the merchant, received what was owed him for his work, and started back home. This time it seemed like a longer journey, such was his desire to see the princess again. Finally he came into view of the wheat field on the outskirts of his town and passed a large herd of sheep. Gambar asked the shepherd whose sheep these were.

"Sir," he replied respectfully, "these sheep belong to Gambar, the princess's husband."

Gambar did not understand the answer and thought that the man must be making some confusion. Without giving much importance to the matter, since all he wanted was to find the princess, he continued along the path, crossed the river that bordered the city and was happily approaching its entrance. He found many cows grazing near the city walls and asked a man passing by whose cows they were.

"Gambar, the princess's husband, owns them all," replied the man.

This time Gambar became uneasy. What was going on with those people?

“The same meaningless answer twice in a row”, he thought.

What explanation could there be for such madness?

He entered the city and, as he turned a corner from where he used to see his small mud house, he stopped, appalled. The house was no longer there. In its place was an immense palace of marble and windows of gold, an emerald dome with arabesques of silver, far more sumptuous than the royal palace.

“What did they do to my princess?”, he thought in anguish.

"Where did she go?"

He decided to go into the palace to ask if anyone knew anything about his wife, and he crossed the deserted courtyard with a sinking heart. He spotted a closed door, made of finely carved wood, and stopped in front of it. Before knocking, he heard on the other side a sweet woman's voice saying softly:

"My son, how similar you are to your father."

"When is he coming back?" asked a small boy's voice.

"I really want to meet my father."

"Something tells me he's been through our wheat field before," said the woman.

"Who has already seen our sheep, crossed the river, found all our cows, arrived at our palace and is behind the door, do you want to see him?"

The princess opened the door and her eyes shone like the morning sun.

Guided by the invisible thread of love of a princess who always knew what she wanted, the basket maker Gambar returned home, safe and sound, transformed into another man, the father of a beautiful boy, after a long journey.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

"She's out like a light."

"And she'll be that way for a while." Mathye harrumped. "The potion I had her take had a mild sedative. From the little I could sense from her while she was awake, she hadn't had a good night's rest for a few days. Combined with all the food she ate at supper, she'd probably sleep through even Vishap's roaring."

"How much did she eat?" Estinien asked.

"Enough to tell me that like the sleep, she needed every mouthful. She's probably going to eat us out of house and home over the next several days."

"If we can get her to stay for that long." Augustine added.

"She's staying." Mathye decreed. Seeing the grin his younger brother was sending him, he scowled.

"What?"

"Have you been able to learn anything else about her?" Estinien interjected, wanting to head off a sibling argument.

"Her armor and weapons have had some hard use." Augustine answered. "She's traveling light--nothing but what's on her back and in her bag. Her rings look like they're from a skilled jeweler. Same for her armor and weaponry, I took them to the Congregation's armorers and they said that all of it looked like the work of a skilled craftsman."

"Stolen?"

"No. Custom fit for her. The quality alone would make me think she's maybe some nobleman's daughter, but her speech, not to mention her hands and feet say otherwise." Augustine gestured with one of his palms. "Calluses on them both."

"And if your next question is about her Eikon, we have no fucking clue." Mathye continued. "I can't get a read on it's magic, and neither could Augustine." '

"I couldn't either." Estinien admitted. "I was hoping you'd be able to." Mathye shrugged.

"My experience with any other magics is extremely limited. And hers is slippery. One moment I thought I was picking up on fire, the other moment levin, the next moment wind. It's as if somebody decided to throw all the elements together and combine them into one large Halone-only-knows mess." He paused as a thought occurred to him.

"Although..."

"What?"

"...There are some dragons that can combine elements into one single...attack, so to speak." Mathye slowly began. "Something entirely new." A frown crossed his features, and he gazed over at the bed where Riven was sleeping. Estinien's gaze followed the healer's own.

"If she had draconian magics I would have sensed them at our first meeting." He said. "She wouldn't have been able to get into the city--let alone walk away from that confrontation with Chaibert!" Augustine had been silent for the past several moments, racking his memory. There had been something...

"I remember hearing a rumor...or maybe it was a story." He slowly began. "Some years back. That a Sharlayan scholar was claiming that there'd been Eikons that had been created by the Allagans. Or experimented on." Estinien and Mathye both blinked at the paladin, with his brother being the first one to speak.

"Wait. Do you think that..." He asked, pointing at Riven's bed. Augustine gave Mathye a helpless shrug.

"I don't know? I could be wrong, maybe her Eikon's from one of the other city-states. We know Ala Mhigo and the Far East have Dominants too."

"But we know the Dominants of the other city-states are already spoken for." Mathye countered. "Save for Ala Mhigo...and I don't think she's from there. The imperials wouldn't have let an Ala Mhigan Dominant escape. If they haven't already killed their Eikons." Estinien grimaced. It was hard--but it was possible--to completely kill an Eikon. Something that the Garlean Empire apparently specialized in.

"Aymeric wants her kept out of the city." He said. "If you can keep her here--then do so. Did she say anything about why she was traveling, what brought her to Coerthas?"

"Only that she was looking for someone." Augustine answered. "No specifics."

[chuuyrr]

AHHAHA idk if when ka mag oopen ng reqs pero mag ddrop na ako in advance kasi na eexcited na me, imagine scarlet witch! teen fushiguro! reader playing guitar, drums and teen fushiguro practicing in her room while jjk students, sukuna, papa satoru and papa toji caught her playing and singing at the same time tapos yung mga reaction nila like "wow i didn't [name] can sing and play like this" "wow i didn't knoa Kikufuku can sing like this" yun lang tapos na. chu sana mapansin i love ur oneshot series a lot im gonna expose myself i always reread ur shots everyday bcs ang wholesome mwah take care always <33 - nini

jjk characters when scarlet witch! fushiguro! reader has other talents

jujutsu kaisen x reader

masterlist of the series

╰➤ CW(s): possible spoilers for jujutsu kaisen, major themes of fluff, mentions of calloused fingers due to musical instruments

╰➤ PAIRING(s): dad! gojo satoru x teen! reader, dad! fushiguro toji x teen! reader, platonic! sukuna x teen! reader, platonic! jujutsu kaisen x teen! reader

hello nini my beloved! sorry for the long wait :) thank you for requesting and for being patient, enjoy reading ♡

you never told anyone about your other talents, since you've kept it as a secret, and well, that's because you didn't want to tell them yet. more importantly, you wanted to show them yourself, but you still haven't mastered the piece you've been secretly working on.

the easy part was hiding it, because you have chaos magic, which can warp reality and grant you the ability to transmute or morph things at the molecular level into whatever you want. despite how dangerous that sounded, you mostly used your magic in your room. as soon as you walk into the bedroom, you customize it to your liking. the small room with only a bed, desk, wardrobe, and a few shelves is transformed into an incredibly spacious room with your own little studio and musical instruments such as a drum set, guitars, and even a piano.

gojo, toji, sukuna, and even the first- and second-year students, including your older brother, didn't notice it at first, but they gradually realized how distant you became with them. you would excuse yourself whenever you had the opportunity, claiming that you had homework or studying to do, but they soon realized that you continued to use that excuse even during a school break.

at first, they were like, "wow, [name]-chan sure is studious. it's already summer break and she's still studying???" (;° ロ°)

because you live with your adoptive father, gojo, rather than your biological father, toji, he was the first to notice things. gojo and you were eating dinner together as usual when he noticed calluses on your fingers and became concerned.

"kikufuku! your hands! what happened?" gojo immediately dropped his eating utensils to hold your hands after noticing how rough they had become.

you would simply shrug it off with a laugh, saying something like, "oh, this? it's nothing. i've been writing so much for school lately."

gojo was beginning to doubt you at this point. "these calluses on your fingers didn't look like it was from writing though, and it's also school break; why are you studying so much?"

"oh, you know, so i don't forget concepts and stuff, and well, to mentally prepare myself for the next semester... i just like remembering stuff." you were sweating bullets at this point too, but fortunately, gojo bought it, for now.

gojo isn't going to say anything, but he's been watching over you more than usual since then, worried that your chaos magic was wearing down your fingers or something. he doesn't understand why you've been so distant with him and everyone else lately. you were so busy that your poor father began to miss you and became increasingly concerned with each passing day.

eventually, the day had finally come wherein gojo and everyone else had found out exactly what you were up to, and they were stunned. everyone was over at your house because you were supposed to have a little get-together, but you forgot about that because you were busy inside your bedroom.

"hey, where's [name]?" toji quipped, noticing the lack of your presence, having grown used to seeing you around especially when he or other guests like megumi was over.

"don't tell me she's studying again." megumi drew out a long breath of sigh, folding his arms across his chest.

"tch, i say we should see for ourselves what that brat is exactly up to. she stopped visiting me too." sukuna appeared on yuuji's cheekbone as an eye and mouth.

"wow, even sukuna misses [name]-chan." nobara snickered, causing the curse king to scowl at her.

"i do not miss that brat! it's been really peaceful since she stopped bothering me." sukuna retorted defensively.

with curiosity getting the best of them, they agreed to sukuna's suggestion and headed upstairs to your room, and immediately caught wind of a music playing, particularly a rock band of sorts, from your room. as soon as gojo got a hold of your door's knob, he realized how loud the music was because it was vibrating.

without wasting anymore time, he twisted your door open and pushed it open, and found him and everyone else in for a surprise. just as they were expecting you to blast loud music, you were the one playing.

everyone stared at the bedroom in awe. they were used to being small, becoming as big as a music studio. you were standing in front of a microphone, strumming a scarlet electric guitar, simultaneously singing lyrics that they hadn't heard before, but what surprised them even more was how you were astral projecting your soul, who looked like a phantom version of you, into skillfully playing drums to accompany your guitar and singing.

"yami wo haratte, yami wo haratte, yoru no tobari ga oritara aizu da, aitai shite mawaru kanjousen, zaregoto nado wa hakisute ike to, mada tomenaide mada tomenaide, dare yori mo satoku aru machi ni umareshi kono shoutai wo, ima wa tada noroi norowareta boku no mirai wo souzou shite."

as gojo stood there in awe together with toji, megumi, and the rest of his students, he realized where the calluses on your hands had come from and as to why you have been so busy, and he couldn't believe it.

"i didn't know kikufuku can sing like this." the limitless sorcerer blinked profusely behind his blindfold.

"me neither. [name] never told me that she can play the guitar or drums." toji exclaimed.

the way you sang and hit each note and beat so elegantly whilst also adding spice to your playing by having your astral projected phantom skilfully flip the drumsticks in mid-air and promptly catch them before striking and doing a little twirl as you strummed your electric guitar while singing with your eyes closed had their mouths hanging agape. even sukuna, the king of curses, was in awe. everyone felt as if they were watching a famous singer or band live. 

by the time you stopped playing and singing, only then you had realized that gojo, toji, megumi and the jujutsu tech students had been standing in your room the entire time when they rounded you an applause, causing you to stumble backwards and dissipate the soul you had been astral projecting.

"d-dad? everyone?!" you tripped over a wire and fell on your bum, making gojo and toji run to your aid.

"are you okay, angel?" toji chuckled softly, gently grabbing your arm to sit you up together with gojo as the students loomed over in concern.

"what are you guys doing here?" you squeaked, feeling your face burn into a beet red color. "ah! this is bad, you weren't supposed to see everything. i haven't mastered the tabs yet, all of that was just a practice!"

"you were just practicing? you were so cool, [name]-chan!" nobara exclaimed with a wonderstruck gaze.

"so, this is why you've been busy, huh?" megumi shook his head, smiling ever so softly at you.

"how long have you been playing, huh? why didn't you tell us?!" gojo whined, a childish pout crossing his features as he pinched your cheeks.

"sorry for not saying anything! i really am!" you gently swat away gojo's hands from your cheeks, stifling a fit of laughter before sighing. "i wanted to surprise you all. i've been meaning to tell you guys, but i figured it would be better if i showed you."

"so, that's why!" yuuji dropped his clenched fist onto his open palm. "geez, you had us worried you know!"

"that song you were playing earlier, brat. did you compose that?" sukuna spoke up, inquiring.

"yeah, i wrote it." you answered rather meekly, averting your eyes away from everyone as a chuckle erupted from your throat.

"you write songs too?!" the students shouted in disbelief. "that's amazing!"

"it's just one song though! i entitled the song as kaikai kitan. i've been working on another song i named lost in paradise, but i still haven't been able to come up with a good melody for it." you explained, smiling.

you were instantly engulfed into gojo's embrace. gojo practically peppered your face in kisses as he gazed at you, "my talented kikufuku! i'm so so proud of you. even though you were just practicing earlier, you sounded great!"

"keep it up, angel. i'm proud of you too." toji extended a hand out towards you and ruffled your hair affectionately.

ever since then, you openly play songs and pieces around them. you even got them to play with you; gojo and megumi with the piano, yuuji with the electric guitar, nobara and toji with the drums. they wholeheartedly supported this talent of yours and gladly offered constructive criticism whenever you asked for it while you were working on a new song or trying out something new to cover. 

expect them to be your biggest fans as soon as you started playing instruments and singing during school events. everyone's hyping you up so much, and your school would be so confused as to why you have so many visitors outside the school. 

apart from jujutsu-related things, music had become a new thing for you and your family to bond over, and it made your heart incredibly happy.

[supercherrydraws]

Confession

Tord sat at the kitchen counter, groping the marble countertop with his fingertips impatiently. He hadn't been able to sleep for a few nights, he had a very turbulent and light sleep, anything, however slight and despicable, would wake him up instantly. He wasn't sleepy per se, but his body showed clear signs of tiredness. He got a glass of water to drink, maybe he would make some chamomile tea to see if it would calm his brain for a moment and maybe then he would fall asleep for a few more hours. He heard footsteps on the stairs, but didn't make a point of checking who it was.

- Tord? What are you doing awake? Were you working until now?-

asked a familiar voice, thick, tired and always disinterested. But smooth and monotonously pleasant. It was Thomas.

- I'm agitated because of the new projects and I can't sleep. You?-

he asked back along with the answer. Tom went to the cupboard, grabbed a kettle and filled it with water, then turned the heat on to boil.

- I don't know, I'm not sleepy and I heard noises in the kitchen. Then I decided to go down, I thought it was Edd... do you want tea?-

Tord accepts, nodding his head positively, supporting it in his right hand and while looking at the window on the right side of the house, watching the outside totally dark by the absence of the sun, being lit only by the weak light of the moon.

- Are you okay? You looks quite tired and lost in your thoughts. You've been like this for a while, actually. It's getting weird -

He asked slightly worried, leaning on the inside of the kitchen counter, facing the taller one. Tord had huge bags under his eyes and looked exhausted.

- Wow, are you worried about me? I'm sure a meteor will hit the earth in a few minutes-

He mocked the other who didn't seem happy with the joke. It was clear that he was really worried about him.

- For you to see how your situation is. You're so worn out that even I'm worried about you. Get the fuck out right away. What's wrong with you?-

He appealed to the usual rudeness. Tord rolled his eyes, not knowing how to respond, as he didn't even know what his problem was. He just took a deep breath and laid his head on the counter, crossing his arms for support.

Tom looked at him confused and worried, trying to search his eyes and still waiting for an answer to his question.

- I just can't sleep, I have a lot on my mind, thinking too much... I don't know why. I don't like to sit still and if it takes me a long time to sleep, I give up and go do something to see if I get tired-

He counted, not expecting a solution to his problem. Tom just sighed thoughtfully, looking for a viable solution. But he failed miserably as he didn't have enough experience to deal with that problem. The only thing he could do was be silent company while he waited for the water to come to a boil in the pot.

Tord saw the Brit's hand rest beside his and studied it. It was large in width, but not very long fingers, a medium and normal size. The fingers were thick, very masculine. His nails were short and painted an already flawed black, and he had some hairs on the back of his hand. His skin was a little dark, a faded brown more drawn to a yellowish orange base than a red or yellow one, it was a cool skin that lightened on the palm, which resembled more of a dark, cold beige tone. They looked smooth, without any calluses or scars. In Tord's view, they were totally caressing.

He had great charm in every little detail of Thomas. He was a very handsome man who caught the attention of many. His face was round, with a slight checkered accent on his sideburns, a strong neck, thick eyebrows, a short, neat beard. His body was full, with a few not-so-notable folds and a slightly more accentuated little belly, as well as slightly thick thighs for being a little overweight. But Tord didn't see this as a defect, it just made him look softer and he was certainly very good to cuddle. What he wouldn't do to be able to tighten his folds a little.

He got lost in his thoughts and without realizing it, he had a discreet smile on his face, a silly look typical of a lover. The boy's hand wasn't even in front of him anymore, but his mind was in the clouds, imagining a thousand and one situations where he filled that strong little hand with kisses.

- Commie? You slept?-

Tom asked, snapping Tord from his thoughts.

- What? No no, I didn't sleep. I just got lost in my...thoughts-

He explained himself, straightening his posture, clearing his throat slightly. Tom chuckled small, setting the mug of tea beside the Norwegian's hand.

- What were you thinking of that is so interesting to travel like this?-

He couldn't tell the truth of course. What kind of reaction would he have if he said something like "Oh, no big deal. Just imagining a thousand scenarios where I shower you with kisses and hug you until you suffocate"? It certainly wouldn't be a nice reaction, besides the phrase have sounded too disturbing or too corny and romantic for his taste. Two by one, the Brit either ran away or vomited from so much love he would have in the sentence. That wasn't his style, not at all.

He tried to dodge the answer, sipping his tea to buy time, and ended up opting for the most generic and bland answer possible. The famous: no big deal. Obviously it was a crude answer and clearly an excuse for not having to reveal his true thoughts. He respected that silent request and accepted the answer, showing himself to be displeased and uninterested in the course of the conversation, which was not even heading straight.

They were in a somewhat strange atmosphere, surrounded by an unwanted and awkward silence. Of those who force themselves to make noise when drinking tea to have some background noise, only to cut the sound of the kitchen clock that made it even more uncomfortable. Silence wasn't good for someone with a lot on their minds. Without a focus, all thoughts came to the surface and when he least expected it, Tord was discreetly staring into Thomas's black eyes. Heavens! He swore he could see the stars or the entire universe in those eyes. He began to stare shamelessly as he sipped his tea and had his eyes drooping, like a love drunk. He hated that feeling, no doubt wanted it gone.

Love was never his thing, he was kind of disgusted and didn't have many nice experiences with the feeling. He didn't know how to deal with the symptoms, he never tried to learn in any way and in order not to have to face them, he just broke them, offending and arranging fights with the loved one to try somehow to convince his brain to detach himself from this futile and unnecessary feeling. But with Thomas he wasn't doing too well. It seemed that each fight only increased his desire to touch him with patience and passion.

- Okay Commie, now you're scaring me. What the hell are you thinking so much to stare at me with that rascal smile and those dead fish eyes?-

Thomas was looking at him with a confused expression, making him even more attractive to Tord. It was hard to be around the man without fighting or something. He thought about just blaming it on sleep and going upstairs, but he was already tired of running away. Maybe if he got a no right in the face, along with a slap on one side of the face, he'd stop liking the other so much and get rid of that feeling he so loathed.

- No big deal, sorry. I just got lost in your eyes. The lights in the room reflect on it and look like stars-

He tried to flirt. Not knowing if the attempt had failed or not. Thomas stared at him for a few seconds before trying to hide a small, roguish smile. He seemed happy with the comment. He couldn't help but smile, too, as he enjoyed the beauty of that slightest bit of happiness that the lowest allowed himself to sketch.

- Don't even start to flirt with me now. Is it because you lost our last fight?-

Teased Thomas, approaching the other in a provocative way. Tord grinned in amusement, looking relaxed and indifferent to the comment, even as thousands of butterflies pirouetted in his stomach.

- No no, it's just because you're cute-

It was clear that Tom was starting to lose his arguments and was smiling more and more, showing himself nervous and unable to contain his feelings. Tord wasn't much different, but he wanted to see how far Tom could take it without running away or forcing him to open up.

- It's pretty funny, isn't it? But this joke is pointless, you can stop-

He couldn't tell if the other was sad or if he was just tired of it and wanted the other to stop because he doesn't have the capacity to refuse him in a rude way. He decided to try one more time, just to make sure it wasn't a request to stop for not responding.

- I'm not kidding. I don't play with serious things, Tommy-

Tom looked him straight in the eyes, he seemed somehow hopeful, but struggling not to believe what the other was saying. He opened his mouth in an attempt to make a reply, but he couldn't make a sound. He was embarrassed, but not in a bad way.

- Alright Tord, where are you going with this?-

He asked seriously, staring at the Norwegian with a look that begged for complete seriousness. Tord's nervousness was clear now, as he avoided the look of the lowest at all costs. He cleared his throat before speaking, trying not to stutter and sound natural.

- Oh, it was so nice to play with you. But it looks like someone doesn't have the patience for games right? Well, okay, I didn't want to get straight to the point just yet, but since you insist...you see, I know I'm always pissing you off and picking fights with you and all, but...that doesn't mean that I hate you. You see?-

He tried to explain himself, tapping his fingers on the counter nervously, trying to keep a calm countenance. Tom was looking at him as if asking him to continue, playing dumb and slow, which irritated Tord.

- What I mean is that sometimes, when I punch your face, I actually want to kiss your mouth...ah Thomas I don't know! You're beautiful, you're smart and as much as you're a pain in the ass I like the rare moments when we interact peacefully and I even like our fights sometimes... look, I don't know how to deal very well with my feelings and I don't even like what I feel when I'm with you, so I create fights and problems to try to forget about it, but it's not working. So just reject me right away so I can be sad for a few weeks and live my life normally without this butterflies in my stomach and fucking nervousness!-

He looked at his hands at the end of the sentence, nervous and expecting a laugh from the other, along with a big and painful "I hate you". But what he got were sweet laughs, laughs they had never heard from the Brit. It was a subtle, amused laugh, nothing like the mocking laugh he'd been expecting. Thomas looked at him with his eyes half closed by the smile and held his hands that were together unconsciously pinching each other.

- Be more clear please. I can't understand if you like me or if you hate me for liking me or if you just hate me. I didn't understand anything hahah-

Tord took a deep breath, clearly annoyed but understanding the other's confusion. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the touch of the other's strong, cold hands.

- I'm not good with words, okay?! It's not my fault...but ok, I'll be clearer...I do like you, but I don't like the sensations you bring me for that. So, to make it easier for me, I ask that you just say no without offending me and just leave me alone for a few weeks, or forever too...whatever is best for you...-

Thomas just smiled, feeling sorry for the sad tone Tord's speech took on towards the end. He was expecting a harsh rejection and seemed to be preparing for it. Tom just stroked Tord's hands, silently asking him to stop picking at his nails.

- What if I don't want to reject you? Does it also help you if it's reciprocal?-

They were silent for a few moments, before Tord shifted his gaze from the bench to Tom, extremely surprised and astonished. He had no words, he wasn't able to assimilate all the information correctly. Thomas just sipped his tea, hiding his nervousness and anxiety for an answer.

- Well, I don't know. It's worse now...but it doesn't seem so bad anymore...I think it helps…yeah-

He smiled at the man in front of him who smiled back at him. A few seconds passed and they started laughing immediately, holding back so as not to wake the others. They looked at each other with a happy face, holding hands.

- So, what are we now?-

Tord asked, knowing that Tom wasn't much of a relationship person, any more than he was. Thomas seemed to think a little with a sly smile.

- Why don't we go on some dates? No commitments and nothing yet, just to slow down and get to know each other better. What do you think?-

Tord smiled at the answer, liking the suggestion and then accepting it. They would go calmly, without compromise and respecting each other's wishes.

[x-reader-theater]

can you do rossi x male reader who is some sort of royalty and in love with rossi and is willing to leave his royal duties to marry David but since David is low key famous and v. respected readers family thinks its ok for them to marry (i just want to see rossi as a prince) (more than ok with it not being modern time but don't have to write it in medival)

I'm making this a young Rossi, one that has retired from the BAU but hasn't gone back yet, to make it more plausible that he'd be in another country. Also, this country is one that I made up and I will not be saying the name of because I don't have one lolll

This got long so if anyone wants a part two I'll continue this. Edited by @mystic-writes

Gif by @reidgifs

"Why, my good cousin Gerard, you have waited almost as long as my son to get married! And that's saying something!" your father, the king, says at the dinner table.

"Father, please don't bring this up now…" you mumble into your wine glass.

Your father looks up at you and glares. "Why shouldn't I bring this up now? You should have been married years ago to some lovely woman of high status!"

"But, what if I don't want to marry a woman? Ever think about that!" you exclaim, leaning over the table towards your father. "What if I want to marry a man!"

There's gasps at the table.

"But, don't you want to have children? What if you become king, and you have no heirs?" you mother asks from her position to the right of your father, where she's been delivered to for her entire life.

You shake your head. "I don't want children. And besides, I'm never *going* to become king. You made sure of that," you mutter. "Newsflash! Medicine has actually improved tremendously, and I have four older siblings who are never going to die before me. I'm never going to be able to BECOME king! AND!" you shout, standing up at the table. "Being royalty is nothing more than being a painting for people to ogle at! We have all this money and status and we don't need it! What about the people who we supposedly rule over? What are we doing to give them houses, or food, or jobs? We sit in our ridiculously large castle, which we don't even use half the rooms in, by the way, and there are people that don't even have a house! So, I don't even want to become King. The first thing I would do, as king, would be dismantling and abolishing the royal family, once and for all!"

There's more gasps and you slam down your napkin, which doesn't make a sound but does make a point, and you run out of the dining hall that you only use if your father has guests over. Most of the time the family eats in the kitchens.

You run up to your room and shed your fancy clothing, before putting on a t-shirt, jeans, and a black hoodie with nothing on it. You slip some trainers on and run to the front door, using all the hidden hallways you discovered as a child to make your way to the front of the castle.

You quickly slip your way through the front doors and up to the gate. You give a wave to the guards there and stop, waiting for the gait to open.

"Your highness!" one of the guards exclaims and you roll your eyes.

"Please, don't," you say, putting a hand up. "I just want to get out. Can you open the gate for me, please!"

"But- but we're supposed to go with you! What if you get hurt!" the other guard shouts.

You reach into one of the back pockets of your jeans and you take out a knife, flicking it open, and hold it out to the guards. "I can take care of myself."

They look at each other, back at you, before they nod and press the buttons to open the gate. You smile and thank them, putting your knife away, you make your way into the city.

The walk is long but it clears your head, and you find a bar open late. You walk in and the musty smell hits you immediately, and you smile. Walking in, there's only a couple people in here, and three are sitting at tables drunk off their asses. One, a very handsome, older man, is sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender.

You walk in and sit away from him, six stools away, and when the bartender comes over, and you try to order, a drink is placed in front of you, and you frown.

"Courtesy of Dave," he says, tilting his head to the handsome man, and you look over, and the man smiles and lifts his drink to you before taking a sip.

You look down at your own drink and frown, before picking it up and taking a sip of your own. It's bourbon. Good old American bourbon. And it's exactly what you wanted, and needed. You look up to thank the man when you startle. He's sitting right next to you.

He goes to speak but you cut him off, asking, "How did you know?"

"I'm sorry?" he asks, his breathtaking smile faltering for a moment.

You point to your drink. "How did you know this is what I wanted?"

He smiles again and takes another sip of his own drink. "You came in looking lost, and anyone who's lost needs a good finger of bourbon."

You smile and take another sip. "Your accent. It's American."

"And yours is not," he says, and you smile back at him.

"I'm [Y/N]," you say, holding out your hand for the man to shake. He does, and you feel the calluses on his fingers. "Were you in the military?"

He nods, and his smile widens to a grin. "I was. As well as law enforcement." You nod, and pull your hand away, though you really don't want to. "What about you?"

"Oh, uh," you say, not really knowing what to say to that. "I-I don't really do anything important." Dave nods, seemingly content with that answer and you let out a breath of relief. "Anyways, what do you do now? I do not think you are in law enforcement here."

He shakes his head. "No. I'm just writing now. Traveling the world now that I don't have to stay in one place anymore."

You nod. "I wish I could travel. I want to see Spain, and England, and Japan, and America. And other countries too, but those are at the top of my list," you say.

"Well, as an American, I would love to show you around one day," he says with a grin.

You grin back.

That grin drops however when you hear someone behind you. "My liege? There you are!"

You flinch and turn around slowly to see the captain of the guard, Heinrich, standing there in his full plate armour that really has no use anymore.

"My prince, we must get you home. Your mother is worried sick!" he exclaims, and you look up at him sheepishly.

"'Prince'?" Dave asks behind you.

You turn around and grab his hands. "I swear, I will explain it all one day, but I really have to get back. It was lovely having a drink with you. I would love to do it again some time!"

Heinrich grabs your arm like he used to do when you were a child and drags you out of the little bar, outside where a car is waiting, leaving a stunned Dave behind.

[one-sad-human]

•You’re Crazy• Duff Mckagan

Pairing: Duff McKagan x Reader

Requested? Yes! By a lovely anon

Theme: Fluff

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: —

     You sit down at the bar, waving at the bar tender to order. He walks over, quickly taking your order and giving you your drink with a small smile. Maybe he noticed the tears and stress written all over your face.

     You had just moved to LA a week ago, and it had been going ok until today. Your roommate kicked you out, suddenly and for no real reason. She threw you out along with two suitcases which you barely even unpacked yet.

     You don't know where you're going to sleep tonight, you don't know the area well yet and you definitely don't have friends to stay with. In other words, you're fucked, utterly fucked.

     Out of the corner of your eye, you see a man sit on the bar stool next to yours. Even out of your peripheral vision, you can tell he's tall.

     "What's a pretty lady like you doing at the bar all alone?" He asks. You sigh and shut your eyes tightly in annoyance.

     "Look, I had a bad day and I really don't want to be bothered right now." You take a long drink of your alcoholic beverage, thankful for the buzz it gives you.

     "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I saw you from over there and you looked upset, I just wanted to see what was wrong," the man says. You can admit that seemed pretty sincere.

     You turn your eyes away from staring at your glass to the man sitting next to you. You'd be lying if you said he wasn't extremely attractive.

     He had a jean jacket full of pins and patches, tight leather pants and a Ramones tee. His hair was mostly blonde but the tips were a washed out blue, like his blue hair had grown out tremendously.

     "That's nice of you, but I don't really want to get into it," you say and give him a polite smile.

     "How am I supposed to help you if you don't 'get into it?'" He asks. You almost laugh at loud at his willingness to help a stranger.

     "You don't even know me." He shrugs.

     "I'd like to, I'm Duff." He puts his hand out. You take his hand, shaking it with a smile. His hand is callused slightly, making you wonder if he has a hands on job.

     "I'm Y/N," you reply.

     "Now we know each other, so why do you look like you've been crying?" Duff asks, cutting to the chase so fast it almost gave you whiplash. You take a deep breath and begin pouring your heart out.

     "I just moved here last week, and today my roommate kicked me out," you say. "I don't have anywhere to sleep and I don't have any friends or family to stay with. It's just a huge mess."

     You place your head in your hands and try to calm yourself. Duff rubs your shoulder comfortingly. You slowly lift up your head.

     "But I'm sure I'll figure it out. I'll stay in my car for a while until I can find an apartment."

     "No way, you can stay with me." Shock graces your face, your eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Duff is a little surprised, too, he's not sure why he wants to help you so bad. Maybe because he knows the feeling of moving somewhere foreign and scary, he had just done it, too.

     Besides, ever since he saw you walk into the bar, a sad look on your pretty face, he knew he wanted to help you. He's never felt so entranced before.

     "You're crazy," you say with a disbelieving shake of your head. "You're fucking crazy."

     "I'm aware." Duff smiles at you. "You going to take me up on my offer or not?" You think for a moment before shrugging.

     "What do I have to lose?"

"Absolutely nothing."

     Nearly three years later and you and Duff are still together. But now in a much better apartment, as Duff's debut album with his band did amazingly.

     You've decided a long time ago that you had feelings for the blonde. But after so long, it seemed useless to tell him. You're convinced he doesn't feel the same way, even though his band mates have told you otherwise.

     "He fucking loves you! Tell him!" Is what Axl would tell you, almost every day nowadays. It's to the point that you want to tell Duff just to you don't have to hear Axl's whining anymore.

     But, nonetheless, you're still too nervous to tell Duff anything. Especially since Duff has a new girlfriend, he has for about a month and a half. Her name's Mandy, and she seems pretty ok, which is why you feel bad for resenting her.

     After all, you had no reason to hate her. You aren't with Duff, and with the pace you're going, you never will be.

    You've met her a few times already, she's a little touchy feely, but you would be too if you were dating Duff.

     The worst of all, it's going well. Duff always comes home from a date and it's always 'Mandy this, Mandy that.'

     Well, it used to be. All honesty, you haven't heard him talk much about her in the past two weeks. They still go on dates, Duff just seems to be in a funk.

     However, that didn't stop him from going on another date with her tonight, which is why you're alone at home. He's been gone for about an hour, which isn't long at all for their dates.

     Which is why it's strange when he walks through the door, a downcast expression on his pretty face. You pause your movie, looking at him grab a beer from the refrigerator.

     "You're home early," you say. Duff looks a little spooked, and he clutches his chest.

     "Jesus, I thought you'd be sleeping already. You're going to give me a heart attack." You giggle a little.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Duff sits next to you on the couch, his back and shoulders tense. “What’s wrong?”

“I broke up with Mandy,” he says nervously.

“I thought it was going good, what happened?” You ask, your brows furrowing. Sure, you loved him, but you thought he was truly happy with her, and you didn’t want them to break up.

“I guess I just realized with the help of Axl that I have feeling for someone else.” You nod slowly. “And he said she felt the same, so I thought I’d just jump the gun.”

“Who?” You say breathlessly. Duff doesn’t answer you with words, instead leaping over to you and smashing his lips to yours.

It’s passionate and leaves you wanting more when he pulls away. You stare at him for a minute to catch your breath.

“You, it’s always been you. I’ve wanted to do that since we met at that bar.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that since we met at that bar.”