#I HAVE RISEN FROM SLEEP WITH FANFIC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urfavleo777 · 6 months ago

Note

What about Joost catches the reader reading a smut fanfiction about him! Needy fem reader please, and dirty talk and praise kink if you can please <3

warnings: unprotected sex, bad language, smut

joost klein smut

you wake up early in the morning. although to say it's early morning isn't entirely correct. the sun has not yet risen above the horizon, the sky is just starting to take on morning colors. a pleasant warmth envelopes your entire body, making you feel like you are in your own cocoon of comfort and security. you blink a few times to clear the haze of sleep from your eyes. your head rests on joost's hard chest. his chest moving steadily, his warm breath spreads down your neck, soft snores escaping from his nostrils and his strong arm wraps around your waist. his cheeks, covered with stubble, are slightly pink, and his full lips are parted. his blonde hair is messy and you find it extremely sexy.

a smile appears on your face at this lovely sight.

you untangle your hand from under his head, quite carefully so that he doesn't wake up, and stroke his cheek with the palm of your hand. you don't want to make any noise so as not to accidentally wake him up, but you can't just force yourself to fall back asleep. making sure his eyes are still closed, you grab your phone from the nightstand and begin your guilty pleasure in peace. let's skip the fact that you almost get blinded when you unlock it.

reading fanfiction about your boyfriend makes you feel like you're committing some sort of crime. there are many book titles scrolling on the phone screen that aren't really about a cliché bad boy and good girl, where the biggest 'wow effect' is their kiss. sometimes authors are so carried away by fantasy that you choke on your own saliva while reading their works.

it never even crossed your mind to tell joost what you do in your free time. and that's how it should stay. he certainly wouldn't be mad at you if he saw a fanfic on your phone in which his character was fucking another girl and readers were thirsting over it, but you yourself would feel extremely embarrassed. besides, why should he find out what thoughts are running through his girlfriend's imagination? well, it's called imagination for a reason.

finally, you find a book that interests you so much that you devote half an hour of your time to it. you giggle a few times while reading, but quickly cover your mouth so as not to wake joost. all in vain. you don't even realize when he's staring at your screen, a wide, lazy smile spreading across his face.

“you wrote it about me?” his morning voice brings you back to reality. an unexpected scream escapes your lips. you place your hand on joost's chest to stop him from grabbing your phone, but it's way too late. he is much faster and stronger. no matter how loudly you beg him to stop, he reads the words on the screen with a smirk on his face. “he sucked and licked every sensitive part of my neck until his lips reach my chest. i bit my lip. i know i was already wet. with joost’s body stapled on me, i just can't help but feel aroused.” he reads aloud, from time to time looking at your embarrassed face, which now you hide in your hands. “baby, why do you read such things when you have me here all for yourself?”

“i—i don't know. fuck, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

joost chuckles quietly while putting your phone back on the nightstand. then puts his head on the pillow and streches his arms out towards you. “c'mere.” coaxing you towards him as he gently pulls you by your hands onto his warm body again. he places your head on his chest and makes you listen to the steady beat of his heart. joost strokes your back with his hand, sending a pleasant shiver through your body. “how often do you read fanfiction about me?”

“not that ofte— everyday.” you answer honestly, closing your eyes from embarrassment. “whenever you're not looking.”

“and you just read? or..?” he murmurs, tracing his hands over your ass.

“both. uhm, i’m doing both.” a short, throaty laugh escapes his lips as amusement appears on his face at the same time.

“desperate for my dick even at six am.”

“i— please, kiss me, joost.” not a millisecond passes and he already obliges. shoving your tongue into one another's mouths before slowly exchanging slow, messy pecks. the sounds get louder and louder as you hum into each other's lips. as you do this, the thin area of your panties rubs against his legs. grinding the bare flesh of his thighs. whatever you need at the moment, he will make it happen. slowly but surely, you work yourself into a frenzy, whimpering into his ear.. that's when he notices these gentle cries as well.

“isn't this better? now you can finally feel my touch, not only imagine it. my naughty girl.”

he starts rubbing furious circles, and you suddenly feel a hard slap against your right bum cheek. you whine as pleasure and pain intermingle, making you squirm around. his breath tickles your ear. “you love it when i'm rough like this, don't you?”

you nod, desperately humping faster to find your release.

“joost, can i ride you, please?” he just chuckles at how desperate and gone you are for him.

all but pleading to climb atop his dick. “of course, beautiful. here.” so without a moment more of hesitation, you take off your pants. easing down gently, you acclimate to his shape almost immediately and the both of you release loud gasps.

“joost...i—oh fuck..”

“just keep going, baby. you're so pretty like this.”

“joost,” you whine and reach between your bodies to rub your fingers against your sensitive bud. you title your head back, losing yourself in the sensation, and he begins to trail kisses up your chest and to your neck. mouth searching for yours as your hips match his pace.

“so fucking perfect. that feel good, yeah? that what you like?” he questions, perhaps with double meaning.

as you try to speak, you have trouble choosing words. thus, all you can do is nod emphatically. you feel him chuckle against your throat at your nonverbal response. clearly, he's enjoying himself as much as you are.

“this messy little cunt's fuckin' gushin' all over me. think you're ruinin' the sheets, pet,” he teases.

“joost, ‘m so close,” you moan and he begins to encourage you between kisses.

it is an ecstasy you've never experienced before. your head is buzzing and it's as if the whole world disappears around you as the orgasm takes over, coursing through you in violent waves as joost continues to worship you. you repeat his name like an old prayer you once knew; over and over with conviction.

“sweetheart, where do you want it?”

“fill me,” you plead, his seed coating your walls as he groanes your name.

the two of you still, his labored breaths warm along your chest and you look at him with a wide smile. his cheeks blossom a bright pink. eyes hooded and body spent.

so beautifully human.

he helps you off his lap but keeps you close, holding you next to him as you lay on the bed. your legs slotted between his, long nails grazing along his chest as he presses kisses to your forehead. “next time you're feeling horny, just come to me, schatje.”

#joost smut #joost klein fluff #joost klein x you #joost klein fanfic #joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost fanart #justice for joost #joostice #joost klein #joost klein angst #free joost #stand with joost #joost x fem

744 notes · View notes

natlovesls2 · 1 month ago

Text

Romeo and Juliet II

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: set in the 19th century, no use of y/n, death, angst, short, inaccuracies, kissing a dead body, suicide, not proofread, possible grammatical errors

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 1.6k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: second part to: You and Oscar love each other despite not being allowed to even interact with one another. Or just a forbidden romance trope fanfic.

Part one

•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*

You spent the rest of the night pacing around in the confines of your bedroom, your nerves denying you even an ounce of sleep. Around this time tomorrow night you would finally be truly happy. Sure, it meant disobeying your father and everything he had ever taught you, but Oscar was worth it– your happiness was worth it. The letters Oscar had written you laid strewn on your bed and you reread them. The confessions of infatuation served as a reminder of what awaited you.

A soft knock came from your bedroom door, your lady's maid, Mary, slipped in, frowning at you once she realized you were awake. “The sun has just risen, have you been up all night?” she asked.

“I couldn’t sleep, I’m far too nervous,” you stood by your wardrobe, shivering as she removed your nightgown.

“Tonights a big night,” she sighed, slipping your chemise over your head, “Will you wear the blush dress today?” Mary asked, tightening the short stays as she awaited your answer.

“Yes,” you respond, smiling at her through the mirror, watching as she prepared the dress. It was a beautiful pinkish dress, nothing like you had worn to the ball in which you had first met Oscar at– no, that one had been intricate with stunning lace detail, but this dress was beautiful nonetheless.

“You look beautiful,” Mary smiled at you, admiring the dress she had just dressed you in. And though she was looking at you, her eyes seemed to be worlds away. You supposed it was your curious nature, but you couldn’t help but wonder what it was she always thought of. “You have such an eventful day to look forward to, I hear your father has arranged a promenade with that lovely lord you met at last week's ball.”

“He’s done what?”

“You can’t be mad at him, you must marry eventually,” she replies nonchalantly, avoiding your angered face.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, Tonight I will leave with my love and father cannot stop me or force me to marry some ancient lord,” your tone defiant as you glared at noone in particular, your gaze flicked back to Mary and you could have sworn her eyes had filled with remorse for just a split second. Almost as if she knew something you did not, as if she regretted something but dared not to tell you.

“You’re still adamant on running away?” She softly asked, her expression still remorseful with a hint of worry, “Aren’t you being rather haste? What if you regret this or he turns out to be the opposite of what you thought him to be?”

“I won’t regret this, Mary— I know I won’t.” Truthfully you weren’t sure about anything other than the fact that you loved Oscar. The flame of your love had only grown stronger in the past few days, kindled by his passionate words. Even if you weren’t one hundred percent certain you truly wanted to run away, you know you’d live to regret letting such a true and one of a kind love go.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

Lord Howard was a boring man, nothing about him in particular stood out. Sure, he was quite the gentleman but boring nonetheless. He droned on about his estate and how he could provide for you, how he would give you anything you wanted. You wanted to call him a liar, he couldn’t give you what your heart most desired– freedom with the one you loved most.

“Are you alright?” lord Howard asked, stopping for a moment to look at you. You were certain your expression was distant but it was difficult to center yourself in the moment. He followed your gaze across the park, “I see…” he whispered, you turned to look at him– attempting to read his expression. He didn’t seem upset, only caught up in his own mind.

“I apologize… but, my heart belongs to another, Lord Howard,” he nodded, straightening out his coat, giving you a faint smile.

“I understand, I am sure he is a lovely man,” his smile widened as he noticed the love sick look in your eyes as you watched Oscar speak to a few of his friends, possibly letting them know about your plans for tonight.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The faint thunk sound of small rocks hitting a window rang throughout your bedroom, alerting you of Oscars presence below. It was something he often did when he hid something for you to find in the morning or wished to see your face for just a moment, but tonight you knew it meant it was time. Your hands trembled as they slowly turned the doorknob, letting out a shaky breath as the door creaked open allowing you to escape into the darkened hallway.

The dark had always terrified you as a child but even more so now, as you walked into the uncertain. It was hard to envision what your future would be like from now on. You had always been certain, before meeting Oscar, that you would marry and remain in society. But it had become increasingly clear, as your father constantly voiced his disdain for Oscar, that remaining anywhere your father had influence would be near impossible. The clamminess of your hands increased tenfold as you walked down the stairs towards, holding your breath as if even the slightest breathing would alert your father. You relaxed as you approached Oscar, like he had some magical powers that made you feel soothed.

“I’ve been inpatient this whole day, love. I’ve hardly been able to control myself,” Oscar whispered into your hands he had cupped into his own.

You leaned in closer to him, resting your forehead against his own, “I couldn’t sleep last night,” you murmured as he pressed soft kisses onto your face, drawing out a few giggles from you. If this is what life would be with him then you couldn’t wait to spend all of eternity with him. You quickly moved your face to the side as his lips went to press another kiss on your cheek, allowing him to finally press his lips against your own.

“Unhand my daughter.” You pulled away from Oscar at the sound of your fathers voice. “How dare you dishonor my daughter!”

“I love your daughter, and we will get married– this is beyond you now.”

“I will not allow this… I challenge you to a duel,” as the words escape your father the world seemed to freeze, the sounds around you becoming a buzz of nothingness.

“I won’t duel you.”

“Then leave my daughter alone and act as if none of this has happened,” your father said, glaring at Oscar.

“No.”

“Then you have no choice but to meet me tomorrow at dawn,” your father announced, gripping your wrist with strength you had not known to have, dragging you back into the home and to your bedroom, locking the door from the outside. The night seemed to drag on, driving you insane as you awaited for the first sliver of sun. A million thoughts ran through your mind, surely your father wouldn’t go through with such a deranged idea. But as the sun dusted itself upon the horizon and the sounds of your father shuffling around his study rang out through the house, you knew that he would not back down from this idea. You weren’t sure what would happen in the hours to come. But one thing was certain you would be at that duel no matter what, even if it meant sneaking out, which you were sure would be necessary.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The air was tense as you watched the love of your life and your father prepare for the inevitable duel. Time slowed as they took steps away from one another and you watched as they turned. Oscar aimed towards the sky while your father aimed directly at Oscar, firing and injuring him.

It felt as though you had no control over your body as you let out a deafening cry, rushing to Oscar's side. “No, I won’t allow you to die… I refuse.”

He smiled weakly at you, reaching out to gently cup you cheek “Don’t cry, I hate seeing you sad.”

“How can I not be sad?”

“We’ll be alright,” he choked out, pulling you closer and placing an almost lifeless kiss, “promise, you’ll be happy.”

“No, I can’t do that,” you placed another kiss to his lips. You wished you were in some sort of fairytale in which true love's kiss fixed everything, but this wasn’t a fairytale, it was reality. And in the real world a silly kiss would not save Oscars life, nothing would, it was hopeless. His hold on your face loosened and you watched as he took his last breaths. It had always sounded silly to you when people said life felt meaningless after their loved one had died, but in that moment you finally understood what they meant.

You still weren’t sure how it was that your father found out about your running away with Oscar, but as you knelt on the floor besides Oscar, holding his dead body, you couldn't help but hate your father. “It had to be done,” your father whispered, refusing to look at you, his expression sour as you sobbed into Oscar's chest. Perhaps you had been doomed since the very beginning, never would you be able to freely love one another in life. In life… it dawned on you that loving one another freely in death was still an option. It happened so fast that neither you or your father had time to react. One moment you were staring at your blood soaked dress and the next you were lunging for Oscars discarded dueling pistol. “I love you,” you placed a quick kiss to his lips, raising the pistol to your temple, shakily pulling the trigger. The force of the blow shoved your body back and all your father could do was watch in horror as his only daughter's blood spilled onto the ground.

•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ note: I feel evil for not letting them get a happy ending, but it had to be done. I like to think they reincarnated and found each other. they not live happily together, free to express their love or something

Taglist:

@sweetwh0re, @linnygirl09, @im-an-op81-fan, @daddyslittlevillain, @stvrrlightt,

116 notes · View notes

kakashi-miso · 6 months ago

Text

Ash Camellia (ANGST Fanfiction)

Preface

When talking about the Naruto anime, many argue that it is a “fighting anime”, and most of these people are right, because this is part of the genre in which this work consists. However, many began to forget what the series and pages of the manga about the Jinchuriki boy taught us all this time: connections with loved ones are the most important thing we have, and we must value them, protecting them from a possible break. People close to us give us smiles, help us in difficult times, and in general - their presence nurtures the soul. Whenever we worry about someone, we don’t do it with the goal of burdening ourselves or simply suffering. We fear that our valuable connection with this loved one will be severed. When a person quarrels with someone, he is certainly in pain and sad, but at least his now “stranger” is alive, and the fact that he is angry with you may turn out to be temporary. When someone close to us dies, we are lost, because, in our opinion, it was too quickly and unfair, because your strong connection was destroyed against each other's wishes.

In times like these, people around you help you cope with the devastation of a loss. Although you know for sure that the grief of your loss will never let you go, you still smile at those who worry about you, because at such a time you understand: “They care about me.” Both that thing and that one are painful. An example is the case between Naruto and Sasuke: Uzumaki chased the Uchiha for several years in a row, in the hope of maintaining the connection that they had built between themselves. After taking the situation from Sasuke:He was left alone against the will of himself and his parents, and considers it unfair, but finding that there is a chance to release his pain and suffering on the culprit, he decides to take revenge on Itachi for his act. In both cases, the boys' connections were negatively impacted. They both suffered from being afraid or had already lost touch with someone who meant a lot to them.

This fanfic is the fruit of my ideas and ideas. I, like many of you, really enjoy dramatic moments, especially in anime. Finding more and more new ideas and ideas, I presented them, sometimes illustrated them, and in the end, after a certain number of “roll plays”, I realized that all these stories share the same theme: Connection, and supporting each other. "The hole in your heart is something that other people can fill…" - Kakashi Hatake

Prologue

Almost a day. The sun had risen for quite some time: the birds were singing; The foliage of trees and bushes developed in a light breeze. And in the country of hot springs it was quite quiet. So much so that the rustling of trees and the fluttering of birds’ wings could be heard even from the living room, which had 3 futons (a futon is a traditional Japanese bedding in the form of a thick cotton mattress spread out at night for sleeping), two of them were made, and the third was still was still busy.

The calm face of the lying man was illuminated by the rays of the sun setting from the exit into the small garden. A long and heavy sigh sounded in the room, which permeated a whole palette of shades of fatigue and drowsiness. The eyelids of the lying person remained heavy, and it seemed that the body did not want to get up at all, not to mention the fact that the arms and legs ached as if a whole crowd of elephants had trampled on them, no less. The noise of the hinged door on the right. The pair of coal pupils that were directed towards the garden slowly floated to the right, staring at the source of the sound, and did not show the slightest sense of surprise. The silhouette in a robe approached, modest and seemingly fragile, and squatted down next to the futon. From above came the voice of a girl who had already been awake for a long time, because she got up at 8 in the morning, like another guest. Now it was almost 12:00 on the clock.

-How long will you stay here for a long time? Kakashi-sama, are you feeling unwell? – asked a girl with unruly and slightly curly black hair like a raven’s feathers. -Not at all. It's like I've been lying here for a long time. – Kakashi sat down, finally brushing off the blanket, and gave himself a couple more minutes to come to, stroking his face with his hands, and fighting the dizziness that was visible only from the paleness of his skin. A quiet cough broke through the silence, as if he was choking or his throat was dry.

-You’ve been lying here for almost 4 hours, by the way, and it’s already lunch time, but you still haven’t had breakfast. Guy-san is already bored, although he is trying to tell some stories for me. “The woman sitting next to me objected and crossed her arms over her chest, as if condemning the ash-haired man for his inattention and procrastination. -4 hours? Is it true? I didn't even notice, haha! How absent-minded I am,” Hatake laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head, making an embarrassed expression on his face. Afterwards, he quickly changed his emotion to a relaxed and friendly one - Thank you for reminding me, Mirai, I’m on my way. Wait for me in the room with Guy.

-Great. By the way, what will you eat? Otherwise, you will lose even more weight than you are now.” A light smile came across the face of Sarutobi, who now stood up and put her hands on her hips, preparing to carry out the order of the Sixth Hokage, even if he was retired. It was a great honor for her. Moreover, this was an S-rank mission, to which she was assigned by Mr. Seventh Hokage himself. Closing her eyes, languishing in her anticipation, she listened to the incoming answer.

-A? No thanks, Mirai. I am not hungry. But I would be extremely grateful if you ordered me chamomile tea without sugar. And what about being thin – it’s just a matter of age, don’t worry, I’m fine. Now go, I will come to you soon. The girl’s face began to look puzzled, which was revealed by her eyebrows, and an awkward “What?” came out of her mouth. Her ruby eyes stared at the man sitting, but she did not wait long for the request to be repeated, and instead decided to think it over carefully on the way over tea.

Mirai's footsteps were already in the corridor. The gears were humming in her head, and it was all too strange: Loss of weight, pallor, loss of appetite, and what’s more, now he didn’t even really get out of bed. Was he really that lazy? Then where does the loss of appetite come from? With creaking boards under her feet, she approached the modest common dining room, where she was going to ask for chamomile tea. It was already a little noisy there, because the people sitting at the table were talking, which made it difficult for the walking girl to think. Fortunately, Kakashi made sure that the three of them ate separately from everyone else, which was his privilege as a special guest, so that their meals took place only in their special social circle. Chamomile tea, by the way, had many properties, and almost no one knew about some of them. But Mirai knew, who was told about it by her mother. Chamomile tea has sedative and hypnotic properties, and sometimes relieves pain from tension, but in addition, chamomile tea could alleviate the feeling of nausea. Naturally, Hatake might just want to drink this tea, because… He likes him, but given the suspicious details that the girl noticed earlier, this did not at all fit with the “usual desire to drink tea.”

Kakashi was known to everyone for his calmness, so he definitely wouldn’t drink tea to calm down. Then other functions of this tea come to mind, such as reducing the feeling of nausea, and they were already annoying the lady, at the moment, approaching the cook and asking for a cup of chamomile tea without sugar. By the way, the lack of sugar in tea could also indicate a possible stomach upset. Is he lying to her? The blatant lie “Everything is fine” angered the young kunoichi a little. She was determined to find out the truth, because she was assigned to this important mission of “Escort and protect the Sixth Hokage and his friend,” and in Sarutobi’s opinion, she was simply obliged to intervene in order to report on the condition of those being escorted.

Thanking her for the tea with a short bow, her confident step clattered on the boards, surely and quickly, closing the distance between her and the room in which Guy was waiting for her at a tea table and a couple of servings of onigiri. Behind the hinged door one could already hear the ringing voice of a disabled man who was amusing himself with some joke on the part of the ash-haired man who had arrived. Mirai pulled back the hinged door and walked towards the table, meeting the gaze of Kakashi, who gave her a warm smile. Guy exhaled, suppressing his laughter. The girl put the tea on the table, closer to Kakashi, who was sitting opposite the kunoichi.

He nodded gratefully to her for this, and began to drink a hot drink through his mask, which sometimes looked strange from the outside, but it seems that these two were already accustomed to this. His satisfied voice muttered in an even tone:

-Mmm… Thank you very much, this is the best thing this morning -Did you mean to say "this afternoon"? – Mirai corrected him, causing an energetic reaction from Guy

-Ha ha ha! Yes, Kakashi is a real lazy person. Sometimes it’s impossible to get him out of bed, and lately there’s no need to even try - Thick-browed stretched out a wide smile, revealing all 36 of his teeth, which shone no worse than a diamond. “You need to be able to be lazy so that you don’t get bored,” Kakashi muttered in response to Might, drinking tea again. Once again Six made his friend burst into laughter.

The chunin's eyebrows furrowed, full of suspicion. Lazyness? Of course, she has heard a lot about his absent-mindedness, but in the words of Shikamaru: “How tired I am of him… His sudden escapes into the thicket of the forest for walks irritate me a little. But he says that he can no longer sit still… What a hassle! This phrase accurately emphasized that Kakashi was far from being one of those who liked to remain in one position for a long time. She answers the question: -Are you feeling unwell?

-What? Where did you get the idea? – Kakashi raised a puzzled glance at the two rubies in the girl’s eyes and began to wait for an explanation for such a harsh statement. Guy also didn’t understand what happened, but he wasn’t going to interfere.

-Well… Your pale face, too much rest in bed, a slight cough and in the end - Sarutobi's finger went to the chamomile tea - Nausea.

-What? Nausea? I have always been pale, and it is absolutely true that I am lazy. Cough? I don’t know, but I think I just caught a cold, my health is no longer the same. - The ash-haired man’s face took on a more carefree expression, and his eyebrows shot up, as if this was something completely normal for him. -You have already given up your second meal. You have no appetite. Are you sure it's a cold? -Hmmm… I'm telling you: I probably just had a cold. Mirai, I'll handle it, don't worry. – In response, Kakashi received a suspicious look from the kunoichi. There was definitely something wrong with her opinion. This is all very strange. -What about nausea? – The attendant’s eyebrow arched in puzzlement.

-What makes you think I'm sick? I have no appetite due to a cold. -Chamomile tea not only soothes, but also eliminates the feeling of nausea and heaviness in the stomach, and considering that you have already refused two meals, this becomes suspicious.

The glances crossed each other. Mask visibly tensed. His gaze stared at the woman sitting opposite him, and he thought about how to explain all this to him. The silence was diluted by a quiet and modest cough into a fist held to the side. Having regained his calm and stoic face, he turned to his interlocutor: -The other day I wanted to eat fish, but it was not the freshest. Without calculating the capabilities of my body, I did not pay attention to it. Apparently, in my old age, my stomach has become a little more susceptible to spoiled foods.

-I will never in my life believe that you, known as a witty ninja, will not be able to adequately calculate your capabilities. “The girl’s gaze became even rougher, she dug her fingers into the table, and her lips compressed into a crooked thread. In response to such an argument, Kakashi fell silent again, and then again began to stand his ground. -It is impossible to be witty everywhere and always. I'm fine, what are you doing? Yes, sometimes I’m absent-minded, you know… If something happens, I’ll tell you about it. “He tiredly rocked back and pointed his nose toward the ceiling, thinking about something.

-Don’t try to lie to me, I’m responsible for your health! And when will you tell me about this? When will you die?! – Mirai stated, already starting to rest her hands on the table, her hair moving. The bad feeling in the girl’s heart was like a storm, and it became stronger every second. Having passed through his thoughts the scolding for Assuma's insight, which he had bestowed on his daughter, Kakashi drank his tea again, closing his eyes. Curly continued - Your weight has dropped at an unhealthy rate recently, and this cannot be explained by age! Too little time has passed to lose weight like this, and considering that you only had a “little cold”, you shouldn’t have lost so much weight. Are you lying so that I don’t worry about you?! Because of your distrust, I am now three times more worried!

Enough. – The Sixth Hokage answered and put a cup of tea on the table with a serious look that rose to Sarutobi. The girl shuddered at such a serious tone. The ever-carefree and pretty Kakashi, as she had seen him in recent days, showed his strict nature, which she really did not expect. The voice of the retired Hokage continued his monotone speech: – Mirai, listen, since the beginning of our mission you have been experiencing too much stress about any situation. Don't exaggerate. I just had a cold, and I’ve always been thin. Guy won't let me lie about this. Let me remind you that you mistook two old men for murderers when we went to the land of steam, so calm down and just enjoy your vacation. – Hatake turned to his faithful rival, waiting for his confirmation of what was happening.

-Mirai, it's true. For as long as I've known Kakashi, he almost always refused treats or a full meal, and he always had this type of physique. – Said the disabled person, slightly puzzled by what was happening. Despite all his noisiness and brightness, he had no desire to prevent them from resolving the conflict. A wave of guilt, burning every atom of the body, penetrated the girl’s body. She was a little taken aback, because the words about her paranoia were true: she really was constantly on guard, and apparently her constant suspicions went beyond understanding. Her cheeks turned red with shame. The girl sat down and pursed her lips: “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I yelled.” I was too rude, sorry. – The gaze of two scarlet eyes was directed under the table. She sat down and sighed, relieving the tension throughout her body and the boil that arose from the feeling of a blatant lie on the part of the elderly shinobi.

-Everything is fine. Just try not to fill your head with such things. Relax. If anything happens so serious, I will definitely tell you about it. But as you can see, everything is under control. - Said a calm tone of voice, and now Guy relaxed along with his friend, seeing that his argument had been resolved, and he was not angry at all. Might sighed, a little sad that Mirai was living under constant stress due to the extreme importance of this mission.

Of course, Kakashi had to operate with her character traits. In his opinion it was better this way. In any case, perhaps this really was a good decision, and besides, they left the ash-haired man behind with questions about his health. As soon as the conflict was settled, Guy, with particular appetite, began to eat his portion, which was standing there even before the tea was brought. As did Mirai's portion, which she began to reluctantly eat, suppressing feelings of shame and guilt for yelling at the former Hokage.

Author's comment: Phew… Finally. It took me a long time to translate because… You won't get much at once. It was difficult. I'm really looking forward to hearing from you about this! I'm interested in your impressions

36 notes · View notes

forsssnaken · 11 months ago

Text

Aziraphale's Literary Discovery

Important note: I am no longer writing stuff like this. It was a nice way for me to be happy while in a rather precarious mental state, but I no longer enjoy it all the same way I once did. I'm keeping it up as it was a gift, and there are still people who may enjoy it, but I am unhappy with my writing how it was in this fic, and I don't enjoy writing this stuff anymore. I still write good omens fanfics now, if you want to give me a chance there.

THIS. IS. A. TICKLING. FIC. COMPLETELY. SFW.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @practickles!!! I am your squealing santa this year :)) I hope this is everything you hoped for and more!! (and now i can follow you without being worried that i'll blow my cover lol)

@squealing-santa

screw canon(/j), they are happy together and have tickles.

switch!aziraphale, switch!crowley.

cw: light mentions of alcohol/sobering up magically, cursing (because it's Crowley), using a miracle to pin someone that could be read as invisible bondage.

Aziraphale turned a page in his book, but wasn't really reading anymore. This had been happening more and more often: he would stop reading just to think about the demon who was currently asleep on his couch.

Aziraphale and Crowley had finished off some good wine last night, and instead of sobering up, Crowley had decided to sleep it off on the bookshop's couch. The angel had sobered up, reading all through the night with the occasional glance to the demon's sleeping form.

Honestly, Aziraphale prefers Crowley awake. He loves the demon's antics and being able to spend time together (although the serenity and calmness radiating off the demon's lanky form was delightful). He didn't technically need to breathe, but he did -- soft deep breaths that were almost soft snores.

Aziraphale quickly snapped himself out of the trance he had been in, staring at his friend(?), and glancing back at the book. It was a sweet romcom, one that left Aziraphale feeling giddy and with butterflies in his stomach. The couple in his book were playful, and in the current scene, were poking each other and giggling. This was a fascinating idea that humans called "tickling", which led to supposedly uncontrollable laughter and seemed like a sweet bonding exercise.

Something clicked in his mind and he looked back at Crowley asleep on the couch, limbs splayed out haphazardly. His tight-fitting shirt had risen a little, leaving a sliver of the pale skin of his lower stomach on display. Aziraphale gasped excitedly, looking back at his book where the tickle fight was happening. Supposedly, even small touches could lead to ticklish sensations!

He stood up, beginning to creep over to the sleeping figure, before realizing that Crowley could sleep through almost anything and walking over normally. The angel stared at him with wide eyes, glancing back and forth between his calm face and the sliver of exposed stomach. He tentatively reached out a finger, poking Crowley's abdomen.

There was a faint reaction, a small breath hitching in between small snores and Crowley squirmed a bit. Was Crowley ticklish?! How silly! How human! What a delightful discovery! He giddily clapped, then began tracing the sliver of exposed skin. Crowley huffed, squirmed, and scrunched up his nose a bit, before rolling over and crossing his arms over his stomach.

Aziraphale was ecstatic at his findings, and couldn't wait to enact something rather devious (by his standards)!

A few days later, he woke a grumpy Crowley up from his nap (and if Crowley became less grumpy when he noticed that he was covered in a cozy blanket, the angel didn't need to know). Aziraphale had a mission: go on a date -- a Friend Date (he told himself, at least) -- and bring up tickling to him! The angel had an innate need to tickle Crowley now, see his presumably adorable reactions, and have the physical contact that the angel began to crave.

"Come on, Crowley!" Aziraphale grinned, pulling the demon into a seated position by his hand.

Crowley grumbled, "For what?"

Crowley seemed entirely uninterested, but in truth, he loved spending time with Aziraphale and would do anything if Aziraphale truly wanted to spend time with him.

"A picnic!" Aziraphale gestured to a wicker basket stocked full of goodies.

Crowley rolled his eyes (but was truly content with this plan), put his shoes on, and drove them to a gorgeous woodsy park. When they had found their own spot, Aziraphale spread out a blanket on the grass, sat down, and began unpacking some small sandwiches and poured them both a glass of wine.

"Not so much now, my dear boy," He handed Crowley the wine, "I'd like you awake for a little while. It's dreadfully boring being all alone and reading by myself!"

He got nothing but a grunt in return, but everything was perfect, so Aziraphale continued on with his ramblings.

In between bites of his sandwiches, he told Crowley all about the books he had been reading, but especially about the lovely rom-com he had just read.

"They had such a lovely relationship! Human love just excites me so much! They do so many sweet things together, not unlike us!"

"Ngk-" Crowley choked slightly on his wine and turned a bit pink, but Aziraphale didn't seem to notice.

"They certainly touched a lot more than we do, though, Crowley!" The angel pouted.

Crowley shrugged, "We're not having sex."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's mouth gaped as he gasped, smacking the demon softly on his leg, "Don't say that! They touched plenty without sexual implications!"

Crowley sipped his wine, not needing to respond.

"They cuddled, and kissed, and even- well," Aziraphale cut himself off, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

This now intrigued Crowley, who sat up a bit, and looked at Aziraphale, scooting closer so they were side by side.

He teased Aziraphale, "Oh? Was it sexual then? You realized I was right and you were wrong?"

Aziraphale huffed indignantly, "No! I'm just not sure if you even know what it is!"

Oh, Crowley was so up for a challenge. "I'm sure I would! I know much more about humans than you do."

Aziraphale leaned closer, grinning and placing a hand on the blanket behind Crowley, so they were almost touching. "Oh really?"

Crowley smirked and nodded, taking his sunglasses off and stowing them safely in the picnic basket, so he could look at Aziraphale in the eyes to show him how serious he was.

"Yes, they were tickling each other!" Aziraphale grinned, hoping that Crowley wouldn't know about tickling, so he could teach him.

"Oh, that? How would I not know about that?" Crowley didn't let anything slip, so Aziraphale thought it might be possible that he just didn't know.

"Yes, I think that's quite intimate," Aziraphale reached out and placed a hand on Crowley's knee, "it seems sweet to me!"

Crowley grumbled, avoiding eye contact awkwardly. "What, is this your way of asking me to tickle you?"

Aziraphale stammered, protesting quickly, "Why would I want that?!"

Now it was Crowley's turn to look offended, "There's nothing wrong with wanting that!"

Aziraphale was now slightly grumpy; this wasn't how it was supposed to go!

Crowley had that devilish (albeit attractive) grin across his face, placing a hand on Aziraphale's side.

"This wasn't how this was supposed to goHO-" Aziraphale smacked a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

Crowley, that evil, evil demon, had squeezed Aziraphale's side! What a terrible thing for his corperal form to feel! Aziraphale, in all his planning, could not have anticipated this!

A small smirk crept across Crowley's face as he put the other hand on Aziraphale's clothed side and squeezed a few times in a row.

Aziraphale's hands flew down from his mouth to his sides, weakly pushing at Crowley's hands as he laughed heartily. His smile was beautiful. It was, well, angelic.

Crowley was right. Aziraphale thought this was quite nice. He hadn't laughed this hard in a while, and seeing Crowley's enjoyment of his reactions was amazing!

Crowley smiled widely, skittering his nimble fingers along Aziraphale's gorgeous plush stomach, before refocusing his attention on Aziraphale's thighs. Aziraphale's magnificently scrumptious thighs, currently busy with Aziraphale's frantically kicking feet. Crowley stopped, giving Aziraphale a small break, before placing his hands on those delightful thighs.

Aziraphale was not worried in the slightest; he had never heard of someone's thighs being ticklish, just the usual suspects like the upper body, feet, neck, and hips. But thighs? That seemed silly... until Crowley started squeezing them.

Aziraphale barked out a laugh, falling gently on his back as he was unable to hold himself sitting up. He made noises that were so embarrassing: he even squealed! Crowley was unwavering in his ticklish squeezing, grinning broadly. Aziraphale was laughing harder than he ever had, his head shaking back and forth as he laughed frantically, beginning to push at Crowley's hands again. This was Crowley's cue to slow down, and he moved his hands back up to the angel's stomach to gently trace shapes as Aziraphale recovered.

"Y- you're evil!" Aziraphale gasped, still giggling.

"I'm a demon, that's kind of the whole point," Crowley deadpanned, although unable to wipe the smile off his face.

Aziraphale caught his breath, then grabbed Crowley's hands. Crowley's eyes widened slightly, but he tried to play it off, scoffing.

Aziraphale sat up quickly, pushing Crowley onto his back and pinning him there with shocking strength. Crowley looked at him confused and began squirming awkwardly. Aziraphale had fully sat on his hips, pinning his arms above his head as he leaned over the demon, their faces quite close together.

"What? How did you-" Crowley stammered, baffled by Aziraphale's strength, "What are you doing?"

Aziraphale grinned, excited to give Crowley all the exposition of his plan. "When I was reading that book, I tried tickling you, when you were asleep. I poked you, and you reacted! I have to try it again!"

Crowley blushed a bit, before retorting, "Angel, anyone would react to being poked. I'm not ticklish, I'm a demon. Being ticklish is all- cute and innocent. I'm neither of those things."

"I beg to differ," Aziraphale grinned, slipping his warm hand under Crowley's tight shirt, beginning to trace circles on Crowley's stomach.

Crowley's brain short circuted. Not only was the angel on top of him, but he was touching Crowley more intimately than they'd ever touched. And Crowley did feel something -- was that being ticklish?

Crowley squirmed, averting his eyes from Aziraphale's as he clamped his mouth shut.

Aziraphale, ever so oblivious, was slightly upset that it didn't really effect Crowley like it did when he was asleep. Maybe he was controlling his reactions? Maybe he truly was right and wasn't ticklish!

Aziraphale huffed, "You really reacted the other day, I promise!"

Crowley was trying his best to not react, his serpentine eyes flicking towards Aziraphale's well-manicured hand, still tracing under his shirt.

"Ngk- just give it a rest, angel!" Crowley sputtered, feeling giggles (Yes, giggles! Demons aren't supposed to giggle!) bubbling up in his chest.

Aziraphale was starting to feel a bit hopeless; he thought it would have been incredibly endearing if Crowley was ticklish. The demon barely smiled (not counting his mischievous smirks), and Aziraphale would love to hear him laugh, truly laugh, for the first time in years. Aziraphale pouted and decided to give it one last go.

He poked Crowley in the side.

Crowley gasped, jumped, and made awkward eye contact with the angel on top of him.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was ecstatic! A giddy smile broke across his face.

"No, angel, no. I was just startled-" Crowley said quickly, squirming.

"Oh my dear Crowley, my dear silly demon..." Aziraphale grinned.

"No angel I-" Crowley couldn't focus on being called Aziraphale's, due to the imminent danger of him being tickled.

Much to his dismay, Aziraphale began ruthlessly skittering his fingers over Crowley's stomach and sides. Damn his fashionable outfits! The shirt he was wearing was incredibly thin and did nothing to protect him from the angel's attack.

Crowley tried to keep his mouth shut and hide his reactions, but his attempts were futile. He burst out into loud laughter and squirmed as much as he could (which wasn't much). It made sense why tickling was used as a torture method in the past; he would have given up any secret that Aziraphale could ask for in this moment! Although, there was something nice about it: the intimacy, the giddy feeling, and Aziraphale's touch gave him a rush of happiness.

"Why are you laughing, my dear boy? Thought of something devious? Scheming?" Aziraphale laughed along with Crowley -- for such a supposedly evil being, he sure had a contagious laugh -- and scribbled his fingers even faster. "Or are you just... ticklish?"

And if Crowley's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink, he hoped Aziraphale didn't notice.

"You're- teasing- me!" He sputtered indignantly, through bright, happy laughter.

Aziraphale paused, pretending to look offended, "No I'm not! I'm simply asking questions to figure out why you're laughing so much!"

In the midst of talking, he wasn't paying attention to what his hands were doing. His hands moved down to the hem of Crowley's shirt, causing the demon to jump, eyes wide.

Aziraphale's eyebrow raised quickly, "Oh?"

Crowley shook his head, stammering "No," and tugging on his hands.

As both of them knew, although the angel's corporeal form was strong, Crowley could easily have gotten his arms free by non-human means. Maybe he just didn't want to.

The most devilish grin to ever cross an angels face suddenly appeared on Aziraphale's. He let go of Crowley's arms, but not before preforming a miracle that kept his arms trapped in place, taut above his head.

Crowley's snake-like eyes grew wider as he tugged frantically on his arms, beginning to giggle nervously. His whole 'bad boy' persona was completely gone now, and he was quite enjoying this (though he'd never admit such a silly thing).

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale teased, wiggling his fingers at the squirming demon, "are you prepared for your demise?"

That shut Crowley up.

Until Aziraphale did something truly evil. Something so evil that even the higher-ups in Hell couldn't dream of. He repeatedly squeezed Crowley's hips.

Crowley made the most embarrassing noise possible -- he squealed.

"AAAAZiraphale!!!" He laughed, wiggling as much as possible, "YOU BASSSSTARD!!"

Curse that stupid hissing. Usually he was able to disguise it, whenever Aziraphale caught him off guard with accidental(?) flirting or made a silly joke that a big bad demon like himself shouldn't laugh at. Speaking of laughing, Crowley was laughing more than he ever had in his life.

And it felt amazing. Having his angel so close to him in such an intimate way, literally on top of him. He was able to let his guard down.

The angel gasped, "What did you just call me, my dear boy?!"

Aziraphale skittered his fingers around Crowley's stomach and sides, relishing in the rare and genuine laughter.

Luckily, although neither of them could be sure if it was intentional or not, Aziraphale's miracle that pinned Crowley's hand was slowly faltering. Crowley didn't realize (he was laughing too hard to think about much) until his arms subconsciously snapped down to grab at Aziraphale's hands.

Aziraphale paused his attack, concerned about his friend(?). Crowley looked at him, as his leftover giggles became slightly more devious.

Crowley latched his clawed hands onto Aziraphale's clothed sides and rapidly squeezed, disrupting the power that Aziraphale had held over him, and toppling them both over onto their sides, facing each other.

Aziraphale tickled Crowley back, angelic giggles pouring out of his mouth.

"You- you're such a demon!" He exclaimed through loud laughter.

Crowley nodded, squirming closer to Aziraphale as they tickled each other.

They were practically cuddling as their fingers slowed to tracing each other's abdomens, softly giggling.

Aziraphale stared into Crowley's gorgeous auburn eyes and was struck with a sense of overwhelming love.

Crowley's smile was wider than it should have been from leftover giggles as he watched the angel and his smile and gorgeous face. As if God Herself had heard his thoughts, sunlight struck the angel's face in a certain way where he looked like he was glowing (although he may have been radiating an otherworldly glow from overwhelming happiness).

They stayed there for a while, in each others arms, staring lovingly into each other's eyes.

If you made it this far, thank you. Reblogs help writers and artists on tumblr a lot, so consider reblogging if you enjoyed <3. If you'd like, send me an ask if you want to talk about anything (related or unrelated to this fic), as it motivates me to write more.

#god is an ineffable husbands shipper fr #ss2k23 #squealing santa #squealing santa 2k23 #ticklish!aziraphale #switch!aziraphale #lee!aziraphale #ler!aziraphale #ticklish!crowley #switch!crowley #lee!crowley #ler!crowley #good omens tickling #good omens tickle fic

76 notes · View notes

marcelllyn · 6 months ago

Text

Mother's Day surprise

It's Mother's Day! I wanted to write something cute about it, and since the Supernatural writers weren't kind to Dean, I decided to let him be happy in the stories in my head. And happy Mother's Day!

Synopsis:It's Mother's Day and Dean surprised you. Warnings: Sexual mentions, pregnancy, I don't think anything else.English is not my first language. Can I ask for forgiveness in advance? This was much better in my head, lately nothing I write has been good, I should have posted about five fanfics, but I don't know what's been happening with my creativity in writing.

See the end for more notes. (An important note!)

The sun hadn't even risen yet and I was woken up by my husband's tender kisses. Caressing my face and massaging my legs.

—Dean? — He said in a voice groggy with sleep. — This isn't time… — I yawned.

— It's four fifty-seven, you know that when the children wake up I won't be able to give you your present. — He whispered.

— My gift can be given at another time of the day. — I kissed your face. — And I'm completely exhausted, I just woke up.

—You're beautiful. — He kissed the tip of my nose. — Beautifully scary.

I laughed and looked at him. I was lucky to have such a handsome husband, my children would be beautiful, that's what I thought when I was pregnant with our first child.

Unfortunately, none of them took after the father's green eyes, but I was hopeful that the baby in my belly would come with his father's eyes. Even though I loved my honey-colored eyes, I thought it was unfair that he only had green eyes, maybe he would feel left out.

— What do you look at so much? — he blinked repeatedly.

— You are very horrible, you know that?

— I know, every time I walk in front of a mirror it breaks.

Dean ran his hand over my growing belly.

— I can't wait to meet my little girl, little boy.

—No preferences. — I scoffed. — Are you okay, my love?

I ran my fingers through his hair, thanks to the lack of time, it had grown a little.

— Why wouldn't I be?

— You know, Mother's Day and well, your mother she…

The smile, in its decline, has always been a difficult topic for him, as well as talking about his father. Since our first child, Dean has been worried about whether he's being like his father.

— I'm fine, I promise. — He walked away. — I think we better go back to sleep, I don't want you to be exhausted on your special day.

I snuggled close to him, taking in his soft scent, his fingers gently untangling my hair. I fell asleep shortly after.

.....

I turned around in bed and felt for Dean's side of the bed, he was no longer lying down, the sun was shining brightly.

I got up from the bed straight to the bathroom, let my nightgown fall to the floor and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My belly starting to grow, everything starting to swell, more dark circles, more marks. As a child, I thought the fate of mothers was terrible, even though I loved mine very much, and for some reason I thought that feeling could pass, but I still think it's terrible, but it has always been my dream to have a beautiful family.

I step into the shower and let the water wash away my melancholy thoughts about my own body.

I finish showering and do basic makeup. — Something I rarely manage to do, I comb my hair, apply the least strong perfume I have and put on clothes that allow me to chase any child. A loose blue dress with little margaritas embroidered on it.

I hear light laughter as I walk down the hallway lined with family photos. Ross's first steps, my travels with Dean, everything I loved most was there in the photos I took.

Dean was terrible at making assumptions, thinking I wouldn't be suspicious of the silence in the morning. I approached the kitchen and a bunch of sprinkles were thrown into the air.

—Happy Mothers Day! — Ross shouted.

A genuine smile appeared when I saw the table full of delicious things and some heart-shaped balloons stuck on the chairs, our little Arabella struggling in her baby chair trying to catch the confetti with her little hands.

—How sweet!

— Happy Mother's Day, my love! — Dean kissed me lightly. — Ross, go get mom’s gift.

My son ran around the house.

—This is so cute. And to top it off we have red fruit pie. — I laughed, looking at the table with tears in my eyes. — I'm starving.

—Here! — Ross handed me a medium-sized box with heart-shaped wrapping paper. — It's my gift, to the best mother in the world!

I kissed her forehead and carelessly opened the package. I opened the box and looked at Dean and Ross with raised eyebrows and a big smile on my face and said:

—A camera! — I jumped for joy twice. - Thank you my loves. — I started crying uncontrollably.

My son looked at me like I had done something wrong, so I hugged him tight. I loved photographing everything, I had several photos of Dean and Sam when they were younger, of my college and the places I visited, I lost the habit after being so busy with two children.

— Mom loved your gift very much. — I wiped away the tears.

I sat in the chair as I fiddled with the camera, took a picture of Dean off guard in his hideous robe.

— Well, now let's eat. — Dean said anxiously.

— I'm going to have to outdo myself on Father's Day. — I joked. — Should I buy a giant pie or a day at a SPA?

— Pie isn't a bad idea. — He served me a piece of berry pie. — And Sam is picking up the kids today.

— Where will he take my children?

— A place that entertains children. — He mocked. — And you'll be able to have a day all your own.

Arabela started to grumble to eat right away, I picked her up from the car seat and sat on my lap, giving her some strawberries so she could bite. Belle, as I nicknamed her, was more like Dean, both in her temperament and appearance. Her eyes, even though they weren't green, were similar to his, her dark blonde hair and her smile with her small but sharp canines. I noticed Ross's chewing noise.

— Hey, hey, Ross, the food won't come off the plate.

—Sorry dad. — He smiled with his mouth full. — I want to go to Uncle Sam's house soon.

— I wonder if my nephew is that eager to come here. — Dean joked.

— Considering that you are his uncle, I don't think so, now if you were his father and Sam was his uncle…

—Did you just say that I'm a boring father and uncle?

— I didn't use the word, boring, at any time. — I stuck my tongue out at him. — Ross, do you think your father is boring?

I looked at the boy with his hair properly cut, wearing pajamas from his favorite band, AC/DC. Dean made us all love rock, even though Ross was in my belly, he would play all the songs from these bands for him to listen to.

— Not every day.

Dean raised his eyebrows and said:

— What do you mean not “every day”? — He said in disbelief. — I let you eat candy before dinner, ride in my car and you still call me boring.

—Not every day. — I pointed out. — What do you mean sweets before dinner?

Arabela started making cute baby noises, wanting to get off my lap, I put her on the floor and glared at them both.

— If today wasn't my day, we'd both be grounded.

— But you keep saying that Mother's Day, Children's Day and Father's Day are dates… How do you say it? Ross asked.

— Capitalists. - Smile. — Children really retain information.

The bell rang. I didn't think Sam would come so soon, but he was always very punctual.

— What are you giving in exchange for him to be with two children all day?

— It wasn't my idea, it was my sister-in-law's. Dean got up to answer the door.

Ross ran to get his backpack, leaving half the cereal in the bowl, and Belle walked with her arms raised and her steps slow and uncoordinated.

—Good morning! — Sam's deep voice was always differentiable from the others.

—Sam! — I jumped out of my chair to give my best friend a bear hug.

—Happy Mothers Day! — He squeezed me lightly, being careful with the baby in my belly. — She's radiant.

— You're married, man. — Dean slapped his brother on the shoulder. — How is my sister-in-law?

— Very good, she loves having more children at home. — Sam picked up Bela, she looked like a doll next to him. — She's so much cuter, how can babies get cuter every day?

— They're babies. — I kissed my daughter's cheek. — I hope they don't give you too much of a headache.

— I do not accept returns before 8 pm. — Dean took Bela's two bags. — I owe you this favor.

— And there's my favorite nephew! — Sam shouted, covering the ears of the baby in his lap. — Ross, since you're big, I hope you're as tall as your uncle.

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted.

— Well, time to go, your cousin and aunt are looking forward to seeing you. — Sam kissed my cheek. - See you later.

— Take good care of my children and happy Mother's Day to Eileen.

— See you later, mom. — Ross hugged me gently.

— Bye, son, behave yourself, or you won't see Uncle Sam until you're seventeen. — Dean hugged his son tightly. — And, my flower, I will miss your annoying crying. — He kissed the top of Bela's head.

Dean helped Sam put the bags and Arabella in the chair, while I cleaned the table. I tortured myself for a while, thinking that I didn't offer Sam anything to eat.

— Look, the house arrives, it has an echo. — Dean hugged me from behind. — So, what do you want to do first?

— How about cleaning the kitchen and then watching Twilight?

— I don't like movies with vampires, but can we see The Godfather?

— I thought it was my choice, after all, it's Mother's Day.

— Everything but twilight. I refuse to watch this movie!

— One day I'll make you Team Edward.

.......

Finally, we were sitting on the couch as Twilight played. At the beginning of the film, I was centered, it was good to have some time away from children's cartoons. But Dean's kisses started to become more insatiable, I ended up on his lap, kissing him more and more sloppily.

Dean's hands were desperate. He grabbed my thighs and lifted me into the air.

— Dean! — He smiled between his lips. — Try not to knock me down.

We walked slowly to the room without any difficulty. He gently placed me on the bed. Dean threw away his shirt and belt. I thought it would be something serious before he played Welcome To The Jungle by Guns N' Roses.

I started laughing desperately as he danced and sang as strangely as he could. I laughed until I lost my breath. Dean climbed on top of me, tickling me.

— Dean! — I shouted between laughs. — Dean!

He was also out of breath and panting as he looked at me with those bright, beautiful eyes. I pulled the back of his head for a kiss, even though I was almost out of breath, I managed to kiss him a little.

— Do you want me to turn off the music?

—It is not necessary. — I took off my dress. - I like this song.

— Of course you like it, otherwise I wouldn't be married to you.

.......

Dear few people who read, I love writing about supernatural, especially about Dean, but I wanted to try writing fanfics about maybe Billy Russo, Count Vronsky, anyway some book characters maybe. I still don't know! If you can say the name of a character you like,It's even better if you can say how you would like me to write it. (You know the fanfic “Just one bed.”, I’ll keep writing it, and it will probably be the only one about supernatural for now.)

#dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #sam winchester x reader #mothers day #pregnancy #family #cute

52 notes · View notes

scarabsinthestardust · 2 months ago

Text

Better in the Morning // Ch. 10

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Language (honestly, at this point we should just assume I can't form a sentence without using the word 'fuck' 😅), alcohol, anxiety, mentions of depression, injury/blood/stitches, hospitals (probably the most unrealistic part of this very fictional fanfic is how quick we see a doctor at the hospital), and some vague talk of organized crime, drugs, and a strained parental relationship

I’m not sure what woke me up. The room was still dark, indicating the sun hadn’t risen yet. I checked my phone, squinting at the too-bright light. 2:04 AM. I groaned and rolled over, fully intending on going back to sleep, when I realized it was unusually quiet. I didn’t hear Jake’s steady, sleeping breaths. I reached over to find he wasn’t there, but the sheets were still warm. I sat up and looked around, rubbing my eyes. The bathroom door was open, the lights off and empty.

I hated jumping to the conclusion that something was wrong, but it was a habit that had been so ingrained in me that it was difficult to break. Maybe he just couldn’t sleep or needed some water, or maybe he thought of a riff or lyric he needed to get out. But once my mind started wandering down that path, it was impossible to pull it back. I’m sure he��s fine. I’ll just go check on him, then I’ll go back to bed. I tried to reassure myself as I padded down the stairs.

I heard the tap running in the kitchen and quietly peeked my head around the corner. Jake stood at the kitchen sink, one hand gripped on the edge of the counter, the other holding a bottle of liquor he was pouring down the drain. If he was having an episode, this was new. I waited silently in the dark, just observing as he put the empty bottle on the counter and grabbed another. He still hadn’t noticed me. The sound of the faucet drowned out any small noise he made, but he looked tense in the way he held himself, jaw clenched and white knuckling the edge of the counter. I think it was safe to assume he was, at the very least, starting to spiral.

I didn’t want to scare him, and I was curious to see how far he would take this, if he would get rid of it all. I wished I could hear what was going on in his head and understand the thought process behind this. Regardless of what he was thinking, whatever reasoning he had in his clouded brain, I was proud of him. It must have taken a lot of strength to dump it instead of drink it.

At some point, maybe his hand got wet, and maybe his mental state affected his motor skills to some extent. I jumped at the sound of one of the glass bottles slipping out of his grip and breaking as it hit the ceramic sink. He made a move to catch it, probably hoping to avoid any excessive noise. He’d always been so cautious about not waking me up. When he cursed and hissed in pain, almost doubling over the counter, I gasped and started toward him, alerting him to my presence. He looked at me with wide eyes then back to his hand, holding it over the sink. Blood was freely pouring from a deep wound on his right palm.

I flipped the light on so I could better assess the damage and grabbed a dish towel. “Jake, let me see.”

He reminded me of a cornered, injured animal in that moment. “Kya, I didn’t… I didn’t do it on purpose. I-“

“I know, baby. It was an accident. Please, just let me look at it.” I can’t say for sure if I would have known that if I hadn’t witnessed it. It pained me to think I might not have believed him otherwise.

As soon as he let me, I pushed the dish towel onto it in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, causing him to wince. The cut was deep, and bleeding way more than I was comfortable with. “I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just wrap it up and-“

“Babe, listen. You need stitches. Now, unless you have a sewing kit lying around somewhere, the hospital is our only option and probably the only guarantee your hand won’t be permanently fucked up.”

This made him stop and think for a moment, before letting out a sigh and reluctantly agreeing with me.

By the time we got dressed and made it to the hospital (a couple of bloodied wash rags later), the bleeding had slowed significantly. Jake was tired, and I thought he looked a little pale, but he stayed conscious and alert, letting me constantly check on him without getting annoyed at my persistence.

Once we were put back into a room to wait for the doctor, Jake perched on the edge of the exam table, he let out a deep sigh. “Thank you for coming with me. I’m sorry this is such a mess.”

My hands on his cheeks, I planted a kiss on his forehead and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m really proud of you, ya know.”

He shot me a confused look.

“I know what you were doing. Can I ask you why, though?”

His eyes averted to the ground. “I’m trying to be better for you. For our future.”

I just hugged him then, not really knowing the words to say to encompass how much I loved him.

I didn’t have much of a chance to figure it out before the doctor came in with a nurse. They worked quickly, and once Jake was all stitched up, they sent us on our way with prescriptions for antibiotics and painkillers. I knew he would have to postpone any serious guitar playing for a bit, but his prognosis was good, so we weren’t too terribly worried.

Back home and settled into bed, Jake suddenly looked at me quizzically. “Would you really have been able to stitch me up with a sewing kit?”

I snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I could have.”

“Why do you know how to do that?”

“Uh, my dad taught us.”

Jake looked like he was deep in thought for a moment. “We’ve been together for two years and I don’t know anything about him.”

There it was. There was the moment I dreaded for the entirety of our relationship, the one I knew would come someday, when Jake started asking questions that would have been better left unanswered. I sighed and sat up, turning to face him. “If I tell you, it’s because I trust you, so please don’t make me regret it. Anything I tell you stays in this room. Can you promise me that?”

He gently rubbed my arm. “You know you can trust me.”

I carefully decided exactly how much I was going to tell him, and where I wanted to start. It would be better to leave out certain details, safer. Jake didn’t need to know everything, anyways. “There’s a reason why my dad wasn’t always around when we were kids, and why we got dumped with all these different people. What he does for a living, it’s… less than legal. And dangerous.” Jake was listening intently, waiting for me to finish. “He was always getting hurt, so Luca and I had to learn how to take care of stuff like that. Hospitals aren’t really an option when you’ve got federal warrants.” I let out a nervous laugh.

If he was bothered by the information he didn’t show it, but he was curious. “Is it like, drugs or something?”

“Yeah, I think so. He always tried to keep us away from it all, so I don’t know much of the details.” That was a lie. I knew plenty, all the dirty details, all the things that would make most people squirm, the things that most people are afraid of. There was a part of me that hated lying to Jake, but the need to keep secrets that were so ingrained into my bones, and the need to keep him safe, outweighed the desire to tell him the truth. The less he knew, the farther I could keep him from it all, and the safer he would be.

My dad and I have always butted heads, even on good days. We weren’t close and there was hardly ever any kind of an open line of communication. He has always been the biggest pain in my ass, but I never doubted that he loved me, in his own way, even if he had a funny way of showing it. I would never do anything to intentionally risk his life or his freedom, and I certainly wasn’t raised to be a snitch. Maybe some part of me felt obligated to protect him where I could, in some unhealthy, almost codependent way, but that was a problem reserved for the therapist I didn’t have.

When Jake didn’t say anything, I silently pleaded that I hadn’t made a huge mistake in telling him. But ever my constant, the one thing I could fully rely on, he shared a comforting smile and nudged me to lie back down. “Your secret’s safe. I promise.”

TAGLIST

If you want to be added, let me know!

@hollyco @fleetingjake @musicislove3389

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #gvf fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

anime-grimmy · 2 years ago

Text

Guess who got their ass up and actually wrote a fanfic. No, Im not a writer, this is a stream of conciousness which I cannot promise doesn't have obvious flaws, but I wanted to write one of my prompts from here. (it's the "Vash has soft hair" one)

Based in the '98 anime, Vashmeryl-centric.

______

As triste and unforgiving the land of planet Gunsmoke was, the festive atmosphere in the many saloons showed the bright sides of the hard lives of its populace. Meryl and Milly found themselves in one of the most joyful saloons they have been in a while.

The town they were in was barely on the map, just a small cluster of buildings that held maybe a few dozen residents. But as Meryl had gathered from fleeting conversations, despite all odds the small settlement was experiencing a small economic boom. She could have guessed as much, considering all the construction sites they’ve passed just at the outskirts of the town, or the fact the number of thomas in the stables and the cars blocking half the streets seemed out of the ordinary for such a small residency.

So it was no surprise how lively the people were. The saloon was basically glowing, the small lamplights reflecting off the many risen pints of beer. The atmosphere was so joyful with all the shouting, laughing and singing.

Meryl could not care for any of it.

Milly and her were cramped at a small table in the corner of the room, Meryl slumped back in her chair, hands idly turning her whiskey glass in circles without taking a sip. She was just so, so tired, the exhaustion weighing heavy in her bones.

Their few days long travel through the desert felt like it had taken weeks. From encountering sandstorms and bandits, to one of their thomas running off, everything that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong. When Milly and her had arrived at the inn and finally taken a much deserved shower, Meryl had been ready to flop into bed and not open her eyes for at least 11 hours.

To her dismay, the warm water had seemingly energized Milly to the point where she acted like they hadn’t just spent days full of sandy torture. Meryl really had wanted to decline, maybe even let Milly go by herself, but she just knew that the nagging feeling she’d get wouldn’t let her get a wink of sleep.

So, 30 minutes later found them in the brightest saloon for iles, Milly already downing her third drink while Meryl just stared off into space.

It really wasn’t too bad, actually. Milly was having a blast and Meryl was too tired to care for even the rowdier patrons. She just kept on watching the people with mild interest.

Maybe then it was her exhaustion that didn’t make her instantly panic when a very familiar broomhead made his way towards their table. Milly immediately waved Vash over when she spotted him, patting the stool next to her in invitation. Vash was all grins and drunken blush, probably having a big deal to do with the busty brunette slung under one of his arms.

Usually by now, Meryl would be filled with dread, disgust and a lot of other harmful words, but she found her mind was a bit too zoned to get riled up. Instead, she was honestly surprised Vash had managed to land such a woman, knowing how terrible he was at flirting.

It didn’t take too long for her to figure out how though.

The way the brunette was totally playing into his schtick, clanking drinks with him and even complimenting him, yet also keeping him at a physical distance, screamed gold digger to Meryl. She opted not to comment, it was weirdly enjoyable watching Vash dig his own grave.

A little flirty whispering here, some more coins clanking on the table there and a well-manicured hand brushing through the straw hair of his with barely disguised disdain over the woman’s face, Meryl was quite enjoying the show.

Ah, but then Vash got greedy, or too drunk to understand his companion’s signals.

His hand kept sliding too close to areas the brunette didn’t see fit, and after his third attempt, there was palm on his face and a second later, the seat next to him was vacant.

Meryl pulled her glass to her mouth, if only the hide the smile on her lips. The absolutely shocked and longing look he threw after the brunette was so sad that it was hilarious.

Milly, in comparison, didn’t have Meryl’s filter, especially not four pints in. Milly’s laughter was both sweet and boisterous which made Vash turn his hurt gaze onto her. With a loud whine he slid onto the tabletop, crying dramatic tears as usual. Milly slapped his back in comfort (a bit too hard if Vash’ wince was anything to go by) and shouted for another round of drinks.

Half a glass in and the whole escapade seemed to have been forgotten.

With her immediate show now over, Meryl let her eyes slide back over the crowd. Milly, despite being way too deep into her glass, seemingly had Vash under control. As long as the two of them just kept drinking together they’d stay out of trouble, probably, hopefully.

Meryl sighed. She was honestly too exhausted to care much.

The moments ticked by without anything really catching Meryl’s attention. She tuned into some conversations she could overhear or watched people lose at poker, but most patrons seemed to just drink and enjoy each other’s company. With nothing interesting to focus on, Meryl felt her eyelids grow heavy. She really didn’t want to fall asleep in the saloon, not when Milly was too drunk to find her way back to the inn, but the shouts and laughs soon turned into a low buzz in Meryl’s mind.

She was sure she was about to lose her fight against sleep when something blonde popped into her vision.

Meryl jerked back slightly, quickly blinking the drowsiness from her eyes, and turned to look at Vash.

He was leaning forward in his chair, closer to her, staring at her with squinted eyes. Meryl rose her brow at his…accusing? No, maybe puzzled look? She couldn’t quite describe his expression, but he sure was concentrating hard on her.

They spent a few moments like this, Vash just staring intently and Meryl waiting for him to speak what was on his mind. His head cocked to the side and Meryl swore she could see his eyes adjusting. A second later, they flew wide open.

“Holy crap, insurance girl, were you here the whole time?!”

Meryl pinched the bridge of her nose. He couldn’t be serious.

Vash laughed loudly, his chair scraping on the floor as he scooted closer to her. Meryl couldn’t help but lean back a bit when his beer breath hit her nose.

“Wow, you were so quiet, I didn’t even notice you! Wait, is that a new technique so you can watch me from the shadows?!”

Oh boy, he was being so serious about this. This time Meryl was sure his squinted eyes were supposed to be accusatory. She shook her head with a sigh.

“No, Vash, I just really don’t have the nerves today to pity you for being a terrible flirt.”

Vash gasped in offense, his hand flying to cover his heart. Meryl only rolled her eyes.

“Excuse you, that girl was all over me.”

Meryl gave him a deadpan look.

“More like all over your wallet.”

Vash’ hand slid from his chest to his pocket, protectively cradling the bag inside as if Meryl was the one trying to steal it. He held her gaze for a moment, before he cleared his throat and rebutted with way less confidence.

“I might have tried to appeal to her with some of my funds, but I know that my good looks sparked her interest.”

Meryl scoffed. The way the brunette had tried to cuddle up to him with as little touching as possible spoke more of aversion than attraction, which, if Meryl was being honest, was kind of surprising. She may call Vash a lecherous creep sometimes, but he was relatively harmless and not to mention far more handsome than most drunken patrons. Not that she’d tell him that.

“Really now, Vash? You really think that girl was into you? She bolted the moment you tried to make a move on her.”

Meryl was pretty proud of herself how little contempt and judgement clouded her voice as she said this. Still, Vash dramatically recoiled.

“She was just intimidated by my handsome-ness!”

Meryl sighed.

“Yeah, sure.”

Vash gave her the stink eye before leaning in close. Meryl wasn’t entirely sure what he was going for, but any seriousness was off the table with the way his lips pulled into a childish pout.

“She said my eyes were pretty.”

“Aha.”

“She also said my smile was nice.”

“Oh, how original.”

“She ALSO said my hair was great.”

At that, Meryl laughed.

“Vash, that girl barely dared to touch your hair! Not to blame her, I wouldn’t want to stick my hand in a haystack either.”

Vash’ jaw actually dropped at that. Meryl was taken aback how the look on his face wasn’t his usual theatrical performance but looked actually offended. A disapproving noise came from Vash’ throat as he jabbed a finger at her.

“How dare you! My hair is perfectly fluffy and stylish to boot! I will not allow you to insult my soft locks!”

Wait, fluffy?

“Fluffy? You can’t be serious.”

Vash slid the palms of his hands along his hair and then went to frame his face with a hand under his chin. He gave her a dazzling smile.

“Why yes, my dear insurance girl, my wonderful hair is the smoothest silk known to man.”

Meryl’s brow twitched. There was no way. No way in heaven and hell was that broomhead of his anything but dried grass. She’s seen it in action, it never lost form, and even when drenched to the bone his hair managed to look somehow spikey.

“There’s no way.”

“Yes way.”

“I don’t believe you.”

With a huff, Meryl fell back against her chair, crossing her arms in the process. She glared up at Vash, who was only staring back with just as much stubbornness.

Ugh, why was she arguing with him. Her body was almost melting into the chair from how drained her muscles felt, and here she was spending energy bickering with this idiot. And by the way his eyes shone with a challenging glint, she knew their argument was going to go on for hours at this rate.

Even while mulling over how to easily diffuse the situation, Meryl herself didn’t drop her gaze, therefore keeping the tension between the two alight. Vash’ own eyes flitted about, seemingly also analysing the situation, when he suddenly bent forward.

Meryl jerked back at the sudden movement and watched him angle beneath her eyelevel and then turn his face downward.

“Try it.”

Meryl stared at him for a moment.

“Excuse me?”

“Touch my hair.”

Again, Meryl recoiled, thrown off kilter by the sudden demand.

“What, no!”

Vash turned his head to pout up at her.

“Hey, you said you don’t believe it! This is the easiest way to prove it!”

Meryl held his gaze, seeing the dangerous mix out stubbornness and determination written all over his face. She really did not want to touch him, but at the same time, she was just so over this argument.

So, with a defeated sigh, she gave him a small nod.

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it.”

A big grin broke out on Vash’ face before he bend downwards again, presenting her the crown of his head.

Meryl was still hesitant. Somehow, this felt way out of bounds of their relationship, not that she was even sure where the two of them stood on an intimacy basis. But getting a bit flustered being so close to him beat bickering with him for another hour or so.

Swallowing another sigh, Meryl slowly raised her hand to the top of Vash’s spikes and gently took a strand between her fingertips. She rubbed them together slowly to properly feel the texture of his hair, and felt her eyes widen.

There was no way.

Meryl brushed a few more strands between her fingers, still doubting what she was feeling.

The hair felt soft.

Too stunned to accept this fact just yet, Meryl turned her palm towards Vash, gingerly pressing the hair down atop his head. It gave way immediately, bending down with the pressure she put on it and bouncing back up straight once she removed her hand.

Meryl could not believe what she was seeing, could not believe what she was feeling. Of all the impossible things she’s seen Vash do, this somehow felt like the most implausible. It just seemed so out of the laws of physics. After all, she had seen how his hair behaves. Once it was spiked up, his hair never seemed to stray out of its shape. While moving or being caught in the wind, his strands always seemed to move as one form.

But this, this looked and felt like something that should not be happening. Meryl bunched a bit of his hair in a fist, again evaluating how it felt. It wasn’t exactly silk like, how Vash had claimed, it reminded her more of finer, more strand-like thomas down.

Meryl released his hair and pulled her hand back slightly. Eyes still glued to the blonde mess in front of her, Meryl could hear a small voice in the back of her head screaming at her not to do what she had in mind, but her curiosity was too strong to not overrule her logic.

So, tentatively, she let her fingers comb through his hair. She let them slide from atop his forehead into his hairline until all her fingers were submerged in a sea of blonde. Meryl cringed slightly as she could feel some sand and grit in between his strands, but she kept kneading through his locks, untangling some knots she came across.

Meryl hated to admit how fascinating this was. She had always assumed such a dry and rough texture from Vash’ gravity defying hair, and yet, her fingers glided through even smoother than through Milly’s hair after a fresh wash. This blew all of her expectations out of the water, so she couldn’t help but marvel at the experience.

Meryl was only dragged out of her little trance when Milly’s giggling caught her attention. She turned her head towards her colleague, raising a brow in question.

Milly was trying to hide her highly audible laughs with a hand to her mouth, but Meryl couldn’t judge her as the poor girl was swaying in her seat from her buzz. The tall girl was also struggling to get a sentence out between her uncontrollable giggles.

“Aww, Mr. Vash looks like a kitten getting pats!”

Milly burst out into more laughter at her own quip, but Meryl immediately froze as reality caught up to her. With a hammering heart, she looked down towards the man whose hair she’s been toying with for the last few minutes.

Vash, for his part, looked to be in absolute bliss. There was a big, content smile on his face, body laying on the table with his arms serving as a pillow for his head. He had his eyes closed and was humming a sigh every few moments, bright cheeks getting even rosier as his smile grew.

Meryl only noticed now her hand was still scratching at the back of his head.

Flustered, Meryl jerked back her hand, instead opting to press it against her pounding heart. Vash wailed in protest, looking as if he had been ripped out of a cozy dream. Milly only laughed harder.

Oh god, what had she been doing? Was she really that zoned out that she was giving Vash, the absolutely insufferable Stampede, head scratches? This exhaustion must be making her delirious. Yes, that’s what it must have been, the exhaustion.

With a resolute slap on the tabletop, she rose from her seat.

“Ok, that’s it, party over. C’mon Milly, we’re going.”

Twin whines met her ears, but Meryl only glared at the other two.

“No, enough is enough. It’s late, we’re exhausted, and the table is filled with almost a dozen pints. It’s time to turn in.”

Now having her resolve back, Meryl whirled on Vash and flicked him against the nose.

“This also counts for you, Mr. Fluffybuns.”

Resolute on finally getting her well-deserved sleep, Meryl slapped some double dollars onto the table, grabbed Milly by the arm and Vash by the ear, and headed out the saloon.

Sweet bed, here she comes.

______

That was easier said than done, however.

As fate and circumstances would have it, the small size of the town only provided one inn for the whole town, so Meryl found herself dragging two drunken giants along with her.

The inn was a mere five minute walk from the saloon, but the sheer difference in size, mass and drunkenness made it an ordeal for Meryl to keep her two friends on track. She felt like she was running after children that tried their hardest to run off. Only the kids were over a head taller than her and probably could throw her around as easily as a sack of potatoes.

So, it took them a good twenty minutes to finally arrive at their five-minute-away inn, and Meryl all but slumped against the counter. She was just about to ask for their keys when two heavy weights barrelled against hair, squashing her against the table and knocking the air out of her lungs. With a loud groan, she pushed them off of her, shoving them in the direction of the stairs.

“Off with you two! Let me get our keys in peace, geeze.”

Meryl turned with a huff, trying not to look too disgruntled at the man at the counter. Thankfully, if anything it was amusement crossing his features. He offered her a laugh.

“Rough night out?”

“You don’t even know. The keys to room 104 and…”

Meryl noticed she had never asked Vash for his room number. As she turned to yell after the two drunks, a small jingle caught her attention.

“And 107.”

Two pairs of keys were dangling before her eyes. She met eyes with innkeeper who only smiled at her.

“Your buddy came in just a few hours ago, and I wouldn’t forget such a gaudy get up for a while.”

A nervous laugh made its way out of Meryl’s throat. So far no one in town seemed to even have an inkling that Vash was, well, THE Vash the Stampede. Still, comments like these unnerved her just a bit.

“Oh, yeah, he just really tries to stand out, you know. Thinks it’s going to land him some points with the ladies.”

Meryl bit the inside of her cheek. Even to her that explanation sounded kind of fake, but to her relief, the innkeeper’s chuckle seemed sincere.

“Well, just make sure that he doesn’t do anything stupid. The women here are vicious. If he makes the wrong move, they gonna put a bounty on him and come for his head!”

The man cracked up at his own joke, Meryl laughing only to hide how much this unsettled her. She knew it was meant as a joke, but from experience, things always liked to end badly.

So, as not to spill something she didn’t mean to, Meryl yanked the keys from the man’s hand with as much restraint as possible and hurried after her friends.

Milly and Vash were struggling up the stairs as she approached. For a moment, her heart almost jumped out of her throat when the two of them bent backwards at an alarming angle, but they managed to readjust themselves with a loud thud on the stairs, breaking out in drunken giggles. Meryl moved to shove them up the stairs, trying not to hurry them too much as to prevent them from falling over.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Meryl, they arrived at their room door. Meryl had to grab onto Milly and Vash so they wouldn’t mindlessly keep wandering down the hallway. She spun them to face her and thankfully caught their attention. Dangling the key in front of Vash’ face, she placed it in his palm, turned him around and pointed down the corridor.

“Just three doors down from here, alright?”

Vash blinked slowly, moving his eyes from the empty hallway to the key in his hand, down to Meryl and back again. Meryl waited with waning patience as his fuzzy mind processed her order, but not too long and he gave her a lazy smile and an even lazier salute and went to trudge down the corridor.

Sighing in relief, Meryl turned to her own door and unlocked it with a swift movement. The door was barely open a fraction when Milly squeezed through, making a straight beeline for her bed. Meryl could only smile, Milly really had the right idea. Collapsing in bed seemed like the best course of action right now.

However, just as Meryl moved to close the door, a nagging little voice in her mind made her hesitate. With apprehension, Meryl leaned back to see beyond the door and down the hallway.

Vash had, thankfully, found the correct room and was currently trying to push his key in the lock. Emphasis on trying.

With Vash’ glasses on, she couldn’t really read his expression but by the way his brows furrowed and he kept missing the keylock entirely, she was pretty sure his eyes refused to focus. Meryl watched him miss the hole sometimes by an inch, other times barely even striking the metal of the doorhandle. When one miss sent the key clattering to the floor but Vash kept repeating the hand motion still, Meryl groaned in resignation.

She threw a quick glance into her and Milly’s room, only to find her colleague passed out on the bed. Meryl closed the door and locked it, just to play things safe, then quickly crossed the small distance between her and Vash’ room.

Vash, for his part, had finally caught up with the fact that the key was not in his hand anymore. The way he flexed his fingers and frowned down at them were enough to clue Meryl in. When she came up to his side, she gently pushed him back a little.

“Move a bit, will you?”

Meryl noticed him startle, but as soon as recognition settled in he smiled and took a step aside. Meryl bent down to retrieve the fallen key and smoothly unlocked the door. Just like with Milly, the moment the door was open just a slit, Vash pushed his way inside. Meryl threw a glare after him but ultimately let her shoulders slump with a sigh. At least he was safely in his room.

Sticking the key on the inside of the door, Meryl turned to Vash to remind him to lock it after she left, when he suddenly stunned her into a pause.

Instead of flopping into bed, Vash had his duffle bag over his shoulder and was currently pushing open the window. Meryl only managed to startle herself out of her stupor when Vash swung a leg outside the window. With a few quick steps, Meryl bound across the room, grabbed him by the bag and dragged him back into the room. Vash fell flat on his ass, the momentum bringing his feet up in the air, and Meryl used the short moment to slam the window shut.

She whirled on him with an incredulous look on her face.

“What the hell are you doing, Vash?!”

Vash sat up with lighting speed, eyes so big they peaked out from behind his glasses.

“What does it look like, I’m bailing! They’re already after me!”

Meryl felt her heart drop down to her knees. Vash was being pursued? Why hadn’t he said anything until now? Wait, if he was being followed why had he even stopped here? And how could he let himself get this plastered knowing there was danger?

Shaking her head wildly, Meryl quickly dispelled the mounting questions from her mind. Now was not the time to fall into panic.

“Vash, what are you talking about? Who is after you and since when?”

Vash was back on his feet again, trying to edge closer to the window, but Meryl planted herself as a barricade, not allowing him to leave before she got the answers. With an indigent whine, he met her eyes.

“Didn’t you hear the innkeeper? They’re already out for my head! There’s no telling how long it will take ‘til they get me!”

Air tight in her lungs, Meryl’s eyes widened as realisation hit her.

Then she smacked Vash upside the head.

Meryl rubbed her face tiredly as irritation burnt through even her strongest haze.

“Vash, you idiot, the guy was JOKING. Now stop acting stupid and get your drunk ass in bed.”

When Vash still looked resistant, Meryl’s patience was worn too thin to talk him into doing anything. Instead, she just yanked the bag from his shoulders, grabbed him be the suspenders at his back and dragged him over to the bed. With a strong shove, she pushed him onto the bed. Vash landed with a pained grunt, but the moment he realised the softness he found himself in, his body went lax with a content sigh.

Feeling a headache come on, Meryl rubbed her temples as she thought about what to do next. With a longing look at the door, she debated whether to just leave and finally get the sleep she so desired, but Vash was hanging halfway off the bed, still fully clothed and with a gun strapped to his leg. Against her better judgement, Meryl went to close the still wide-open door and go help Vash properly get into bed.

She returned to him no 10 seconds later, and his hip was already sliding off the mattress. With a result huff, Meryl grabbed him by the belt of his coat and dragged his body fully onto the bed. She made quick work of the clasps of his boots, sliding them off and arranging them next to the bed. Next followed the knee protectors and his gun, which she decided to keep on the nightstand to still be in quick reach for him. Once again, Meryl pulled him up by the suspenders that connected to the back part of his coat, and settled him against the wall to more easily open the buttons of his coat.

She took a moment to read his expression, mostly to see if he was still awake. The reflection of his glasses didn’t give her any insight on what he might be thinking, but when his lips slowly stretched into a smug grin, she was at least sure he wasn’t asleep.

“Oh my, insurance girl, didn’t peg you for the handsy type.”

Meryl just rolled her eyes at the overly suave tone and slapped him against the chest.

“Oh, shut up, you. Don’t spout such nonsense, rather help me get this off.”

At her comment, Vash’ grin only grew but he did as he was told. With practice ease the last few buckles and buttons popped open and he slid out the form fitting coat like it was no problem. With a little shift of his hip, he tugged it out from under him and let it crumple to the floor. Apparently satisfied to be freed from excess weight, Vash let himself fall back onto the bed with his hands behind his head.

Meryl just shook her head at his antics and retrieved the coat from the floor. She was honestly surprised his coat was in such good condition with how little care he seemed to handle it. She hung the coat up on a chair and took the time to right the discarded duffle bag as well. Stepping back to Vash’ bedside, Meryl reached down to eventually pluck the glasses from his nose.

To her surprise, an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her down. With a startled gasp, Meryl tried to retrieve her balance but ultimately found herself sat down the edge of Vash’ bed. He was grinning up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but Meryl only graced him with a huffed sigh. She placed his glasses by his gun before trying to peel off his hold on her.

“Come on, Vash, let go, I wanna get to bed as well.”

Meryl bit her lip, believing she might have given him just another sentence to easily turn into a tease, but Vash only laughed softly and secured his grip on her waist.

“Aww, come on, insurance girl, just until I’m asleep? Don’t wanna get nightmares. It will be real quick, I promise.”

Now, that was an unusually honest sounding request. Meryl peered down at him. Vash’ looked and sounded rather sincere, which perplexed Meryl a great deal. Even if drunk, since when did he act like this in front of her?

Still somewhat taken aback, Meryl gave a slow nod and let herself relax against the bedside. Vash looked content, small smile turning gracious, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

As he promised, he slipped off into sleep only a few moments after. Meryl couldn’t help but watch him. His little smile soon turned lax, his jaw even hanging open slightly. The arm around her loosened its grip until Vash’ hand lay slack on her lap. She could easily unwind herself from him now, leave and finally get to her own bed, but something in the carefree, calm and dare she say, vulnerable expression on Vash’ face made her so mesmerized she couldn’t get herself to move.

Then, a little twitch of the hand in her lap. Muscles tensing in his arms up to his shoulders. His jaw clamped shut and his brows furrowed. His dreams seemed to turn sour.

Meryl watched him still, apprehensive on what to do. Had he actually known he’d experience a nightmare? Was it something that had happened, or was it the alcohol that made his mind turn dark?

Either way, he seemed to have anticipated it even in his drunken stupor, and he had asked Meryl to stay.

Slowly, with her own hand trembling, she laid her thumb on the crease of his brow. With gentle strokes, she tried to ease the tension, staying attentive on how his body reacted to her touch. His muscles relaxed just a bit, the arm around her not clutching at the fabric of her shirt anymore. But the furrow in his brow and the downturn of his lips wouldn’t leave his face.

The image of a goofy smile and feeling of feather-light texture beneath her fingertips rushed through her mind.

Ever so slowly, her fingertips glid across his forehead until they met the base of his hairline again. With one smooth motion, Meryl buried her fingers in his hair. She let her nails lightly scrub against his scalp and once again carefully loosened any tangles she could find.

The effect was instant. She had not brushed her fingers through his hair three times when a heavy sigh left him, and so did the tension. The knit of his brow immediately evened out and his mouth popped back open in tiny breaths. His body basically melted into the bed after only few moments of her combing through his hair.

Vash was doing fine, he was fine. She could leave.

Meryl really didn’t want to leave.

A humourless laugh left her. She felt so selfish, enjoying an intimate moment like this even though Vash was so vulnerable underneath her hands. Meryl couldn’t deny the happy buzz beneath her skin to see him so content, so at ease. She also couldn’t deny the thrill it sent through her as smooth locks glid in between her fingers.

She wanted this, she wanted this so badly, but she also knew she couldn’t for so many reasons.

She knew Vash. No matter how big a flirt he was, intimacy was just something he seemed to deny himself at any cost, be that physical or emotional. Not that she was any better. Meryl had to bitterly admit that she was not ready to act truthful to her emotions either, she was too prideful and scared to do that.

So, sharing such a calm moment together, while one half was in drunken, sleepy daze, felt both exhilarating and awful at the same time.

But still, Vash had let her close, had requested her presence, even if he was drunk. So even if it was egocentric of her, if only for a few moments more, she wanted to be self-indulgent and enjoy the quietness and intimacy she could only dream of.

Vash was drunk out of his mind, he wouldn’t remember this.

He would never have to know.

______

Except when opening her eyes the next morning, an aquamarine gaze was staring right back at her. There was surprise, confusion, realisation and some kind of excitement sparkling back at her, and Meryl couldn’t stop the thrum that went through her body.

Oh, she was not ready to face these feelings just yet.

So a scream, a slap and a flustered march back to her own room would have to do for now.

#trigun #trigun anime #trigun 98 #meryl stryfe #vash the stampede #vashmeryl #fanfiction #yes i actually wrote sth #procrastination for the win #i really just wanted to give vash head scratches ngl

100 notes · View notes

shimmershy · 2 years ago

Text

The Perfect Morning (Undertale Fanfic)

Frisk Month Day 1: Good Morning!

This is from a while ago, but it kinda fits with the first prompt so I thought I'd post it after all. I had it labelled in my documents as “Thunderstorms knockoff”…. Lol. It's kinda short and more "feeling" than "fic", but! Here you go anyway.

Summary:

You and Frisk watch the sunrise together. (Written from Chara's POV, second person. Again.)

Characters: Chara and Frisk

Word count: 580 words

(Ao3 link in reblog!)

You sit outside on the porch. Frisk sits beside you. It’s dark, and it's cold, but you have a warm hot chocolate in your hands, and Frisk brought a blanket out with them for the both of you to share. You can brave the cold for this.

Neither of you are supposed to be out here, of course. It’s late. Or... technically it’s early. Early in the morning, before the sun’s risen. You’d woken up with a start a while ago and knew you wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, so you sat on your bed and watched the trees blow in the wind through your window. You tried not to make any noise, but Frisk must have heard your sniffles cause eventually they woke up, too, and now here you were. They were a light sleeper, they said. It’s okay. They don’t want you sitting in the dark alone. You wanted some fresh air. So they grabbed their blanket and you heated up a hot chocolate in the microwave, and you both snuck outside, thankful for the silent backdoor.

The silence is comforting and somehow it’s unlike anything you’ve ever known. Because there is the quiet, but there is also the wind through the branches and the occasional sound of a car in the distance, and you pull your side of the blanket tighter around yourself because it gives you chills. And Frisk is beside you, complaining that you’re hogging the blanket with laughter in their voice.

“Everything seems so eerie at night. But comforting at the same time.” You enjoy the quiet, but you enjoy the sound of Frisk’s voice, too.

“It feels like a secret side of the world that only we get to see.” You’re both kind of whispering, in a half-hearted attempt at preserving the night’s stillness.

“Yeah...” Frisk yawns and leans their head on your shoulder a bit. “Everything’s really quiet but loud at the same time. ‘Sweird.”

“It’s because the quiet makes the small sounds more noticeable. Or...maybe the world just can’t decide what it wants to be at night.”

They shrug. You sip your hot chocolate.

You don’t know what time it is, but you think the two of you will be able to catch the sunrise. It feels like you’ve been out here for hours, but maybe it’s more like ten minutes. Either way, it looks like the edges of the sky are brightening. You feel Frisk shuffle beside you to point it out, but you don’t really want the moment to end.

The world is still quiet. The trees are still swaying. But the spell is fading. The sun breathes light and life into the sky, slowly. It’s a beautiful sight, but it leaves you feeling bittersweet. You don’t really want the moment to end. But you know it will, inevitably.

“Remember when everyone saw the sun for the first time?” Frisk asks, and you smile.

With the rising of the sun comes the sound of birdsong. The shuffling of animals in the bushes. The blackness of the sky melts into orange, pink and the beginnings of blue. The moment as you knew fades, the quiet drowned out. You really don’t want it to end. But Frisk is still beside you. The sun is in the sky and everyone is here, everyone is happy. The ending of one moment makes room for the beauty of another.

That's life. That's living. And for once, you don't want it to end.

#i know how to write One Thing. And One Thing only. lol #Frisk Month 23 #safeutdr #undertale #chara dreemurr #frisk #frisk undertale #frisk dreemurr #undertale fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #undertale chara #undertale frisk #chara undertale #chara #also the title is a loose reference to a line from The Bug Collector by Haley Heynderickx #I was listening to it while writing this and I was trying to create a similar feeling here :)#I might have art or something later but we'll see

82 notes · View notes

highlordofkrypton · 9 months ago

Text

the lighthouse, an au fanfic where orm is raised alongside arthur on the surface

Chapter 3

“Lana.”

Tom’s voice drifts from far away, like a piece of wood cradled by the waves.

“Lana?”

Tom’s voice is distant, muffled by a whole world above the waterline.

Atlanna blinks slowly, listening to the relentless storm. It has worsened since her arrival and gives no sign of stopping. She hadn’t felt it brewing, either. There was no soothing moisture in the air, a cool reprieve to the dryness of the air. She sees past the blurry glass, hearing the march of soldiers in the rhythm of the rain. This is no feat of nature—it is Orvax’s wrath risen to the surface.

His touch startles her. The surface slows her down, but she still has enough strength to pull him over the shoulder and stop the momentum, half-catching his body before it slams against the window. It’s an awkward maneuver that leaves Tom half-laying in her lap and mostly staring up at her in shock. For a moment, he forgot that she is a warrior, first.

“Tom, I apologize.”

“Nope, no need.” He raises a hand and waves away her worries. “Help me up?”

“Of course.”

She still wears her armour, minus the sling and her child. As soon as the boys were put to bed, she planted herself at the living room window, the same one that Arthur had been playing at, and watched the rain.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Tom confesses. He’s just a lighthouse keeper. His life has been pretty simple. The most exciting thing to ever happen to him is sitting in front of him, and the other two are sleeping soundly upstairs. “But you can rest.” He doesn’t dare to presume, so he offers her a small smile. “At least for a little while. I’ll keep watch.”

Atlanna stares at him, cocking a slender blonde brow. “You’ll… keep watch?” Her words are slow, either reasoning with his offer, or trying to make sure he understands what he’s offering.

“Yes, I can do things, princess.”

Her eyes darken, despite the hum of his laughter. He means well, but the endearment reminds her of all that she has lost. She is nothing here. She is undeserving of that title.

“Lana, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know,” she says, clipped.

Tom had always found that strange, how beings of the sea could sound so dry. Their time together had brought colour to her features and her voice. He swears that he taught her to laugh—at least, the kind of laughter that made her belly hurt and tears crest at the corner of her beautiful blue eyes. The Lana she grew to be at his side is gone now, but he has hope. She’ll find freedom again, one step at a time.

“Tom,” she starts, and stops. The journey across the states has given her time to think about what she would say once she found him again, and yet, she doesn’t know what she wants to ask. “I had nowhere else to go. We will leave as soon as we can, I just—”

“Whoa, whoa, what are you talking about?” He reaches out to rub her shoulders, to soothe in that way he always does when she gets caught in the tides of her own mind.

Atlanna shrugs him off. She does not deserve the comfort; she is unused to such a soft touch. Beneath her armour, there are bruises that have yet to heal. Some wounds have not healed correctly from time wasted, barred from getting help by her own husband. She takes responsibility for each of these scars because they are her fault. It was her complacency that caused this. It was her doubt that allowed Orvax to have so many chances . She left a good man thinking that love would be enough to foster kindness.

She left a man she loves for a man she loved .

There is no world where this makes sense, and so, this is her fault. Why should Tom fix a heart he did not break and why should he help a woman who did not choose him?

His hands hover in the air, and his fingers curl in hesitation, before he drops them at his side.

“You have a place here with me and Arthur. Always. You’re his mother.” Even if she doesn’t want Tom, Arthur loves her.

“I’m not—”

And that strikes a chord before she can even finish her sentence. Tom’s face shifts into mild horror. Atlanna is Arthur’s mother. She carried him and birthed him. The nursery still has her attempts at painting happy fish over his cradle. (‘Attempts’ being the imperative word, her artistry gives the mural a lot of… uniqueness, Tom had said.) They spoke about family and giving Arthur a brother. The stars have aligned and they have that family. Except, only a simple man with a simple life could think such things.

“I left him to have another child, one who stands to inherit everything that belongs to him.” Not once did it occur to her when conceiving Orm that she was giving Arthur a brother. “I have birthed enemies.”

“That’s… horrible.”

“As soon as I can, I will take my horrors with me.”

Tom scrubs a hand across his face. Raising a child alone has aged him as much as it has blessed him. He has always kept to himself, and his time alone at the lighthouse has taught him patience. Patience and forgiveness which he teaches Arthur to have. It’s only right he leads by example and offers Atlanna all the kindness that she missed these past few years.

“That’s not what I meant . Stay. I’m not suggesting it. I’m telling you. Stay, Lana. Let me help you.” He steps out of her way and lets her stare out the window. “I don’t have to stand guard if you don’t think I’m good enough, but Arthur didn’t turn out half-bad. It’s an expression,” he clarifies, before she thinks he is making a comment on his mixed heritage. “I can help with the kids. It’s not easy alone.”

Tom kneels by her and looks up towards her as he speaks. The position is so disarming, it creates a jarring contrast to the past couple of years under Orvax’s rule. It makes her want to get out and run. The house is suddenly too small and his open affection is too much .

The chair clatters behind her as she stands suddenly, if only to create space between herself and him. The sound cuts through the rain and the silence of children sleeping. After a beat, Orm’s gargled wail echoes through the home and then—

And then it goes quiet just as quickly.

Orvax.

Her son has been silenced; her son is being attacked. She needs to be beside him. Atlanna pushes past Tom, dashing up the stairs with her sword in hand. Her heart hammers louder than each step she takes. (Slow, so slow. The surface is a weight upon her shoulders. Beneath the sea, she could soar .) She crashes through the door, and the baby starts crying again.

Little Arthur’s eyes fill with tears, suddenly startled by her entrance. He had climbed into bed with his little brother. He had soothed this child that was meant to replace him. Orm remains clutched in his arms, against his chest. Between hiccups, Arthur hushes the baby and hums the same songs his father did when he was even little-r.

She hadn’t meant to scare him. She thought—

Atlanna watches them in confusion. Her heart grows weak and her mind wars against it, trying to understand what this means. For too long, she could only count on herself. When Orm was born, she was the only one who could protect him, soothe him and teach him kindness. Happiness hinged entirely on her , and she had forgotten what it felt like.

Her knees buckle as she slides to the ground. A clawed, choked sound escapes her.

“Mama!” Arthur shouts, openly crying now.

Tom’s steps quickly follow; where she goes, as long as it is on the surface, he is never far behind. He holds his hand out and mumbles words of comfort in his native tongue to his son. Calm, stay, I am here . He remains by her side, coaxing her to lean on him.

“Mama needs to rest, Art. You did a good job.”

“Help,” Arthur adds.

“Yup, you helped a lot.”

“Mama sad?”

“Mhm.”

“Is Arthur fault?”

“No, son. You did nothing wrong.”

#my fics #dccomics #aquaman #arthur curry #orm marius #ocean master #tom curry #atlanna #ao3 #dc fanfic #fanfiction #ao3feed #the lighthouse

8 notes · View notes

theherooftime76 · 2 months ago

Text

The Last Story of The Hero of Time Fanfiction

Chapter 3 Part 1

or in my highlights

Link was up early that day, the sun hadn't even really risen yet. He crept down the old stairs, which wasn't particularly easy since they creaked quite a bit. He's a big fan of goodbyes. And he hoped that Maya and Damian wouldn't wake up from the noise, although Damian is a whole different story, he can sleep like the dead. Suddenly Link hears a voice say. "Damian, are you? It's weird that you're already awake." Link squints one eye he feels caught. "No, it's me." He replies. Maya looks out of the kitchen, she actually wanted to start making breakfast. "Link, are you leaving already?" she asks. Link looks at her and just says "Yes." Maya then looks sadly at the floor and holds on to her arm. "When are you coming back?" she asked hesitantly, Link looked at her and smiled "Don't worry, I'll try to visit you two again soon. After all, I want to know what you're doing with the tavern." And so Link set off towards the castle. Damian stood at the top of the stairs and asked, completely sleepy. "What's going on?" Maya went back into the kitchen in silence.Link was already at the castle when Impa suddenly appeared. It looked as if she had been waiting for Link. "There you are at last, we have important things to discuss." She greeted him. Link looked at Impa and answered. "I am just a simple knight, I have no other rank." Impa looked at him seriously and simply said. "From today on you are commander, that is a decision from the princess.

#zelda #thelaststoryoftheherooftime #thelegendofzelda #fanfiction #fanstory🍍 #fanfiic #mystory #mystyle #myocs #myart #occharacter #digitaldrawing #digitalart #digitalillustration #digitaloc #digitalartist #zelda #thelegendofzelda #thelaststoryofherooftime #fanfic #fanfiction #mystory #mystyle #myocs #majorasmask #myart #artist #artwork #occharacter #digitaldrawing #digitalartist #digitalpainting #digitalillustration #digitalart #twilightprincesszelda #twilightprincess #ocdrawing #oc #fanficoc #digitalartwork

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by The Last Story of The Hero of Time (@the_hero_of_time_76)

instagram

#legend of zelda #oot #ocarina of time #myart #digital painting #digital drawing #zelda #digital illustration #instagram #thelaststoryoftheherooftime #fafiction #fanfic #the legend of zelda #thelengendofzelda

5 notes · View notes

yup123abc · 6 months ago

Text

Yup! it's Fanfic

Disclaimer: I have not done this before LOL. Anyway, depending on how wild and wacky I am this may (probably) be long-ish (that is to say multiple chapters). I hilariously had the “hmmm, today I shall write fanfiction for the first time in my life” thought right before the latest S2 trailer dropped so please excuse me trying to work around that. I will also say I’m “playing with” canon here (isn’t that what fanfiction is? IDK I’m uneducated). That said, interpretations of characters, timeline, and events are all from my own perspective and likely tweaked a bit for what I consider uhhhh more interesting? for this story.

High level summary: post-accident Fizz deals with his relationship to what happened to him and what it means for his career. Along the way he is introduced to Asmodeus and the two get to know each other through the trials of recovery. Mostly serious business fic but some fluff is inevitable. Rating: PG-13? However, F-bomb will probably happen due to source material.

Thanks for lookin’!

Ch 1

Fire. Noise. Heat. Pain. Blistering, agonizing pain. Green tongues blinded and blurred as the fire stripped skin from flesh, flesh from bone, unsalvageable bone disintegrating into ash and dust. The limbs that had moments ago been embracing family and friends reached out now for help only to plummet to the ground, no longer a part of him. Never again to be a part of him…

Fizzarolli’s eyes gleamed as they shot open, his heart racing. A quick scan of his surroundings showed not the reds and greens of the circus flames, but instead hung shrouds of ghastly white. It had been a nightmare, another from that night, only a few days ago. The pain was dull now, kept in check by a cocktail of drugs that forced Fizzarolli to fight for consciousness. He wouldn’t mind the balm of sleep if not for the recurring playback of that wretched scene.

A hiss at his side, a bit of movement, the voice came in on muffled tones, “Shit...this’s worse than I thought.”

Lolling his head to the side, Fizzarolli regarded the silhouette standing in his hospital room door. A flash of the nightmare came to him briefly as he saw Blitzo standing there, watching him burn, running...running to find help?

“B-” Fizzarolli’s voice cracked as it came out of parched windpipes, surprising him with its roughness.

“What the hell am I going to do now? You were our ticket to high cotton! Leave it to that stupid son of mine to fuck this up for us too.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes adjusted to the light as the circus manager and his adoptive father, Cash Buckzo, stepped in. Fizz cast his eyes down in disappointment, but still held onto hope that the rest of the family would soon be there. Cash ran his hands over the end rail of Fizzarolli’s bed and squinted as he looked the injured imp over.

“Ya lose all the limbs?” Cash asked bluntly.

“I...y-yes,” Fizzarolli grappled with the affirmative, the phantom feeling of searing pain radiating from his torso yet with him despite nothing to inhabit.

“Shit…” Cash lifted the blanket, studying Fizzarolli with critical eyes. Mortified at the state of his body, Fizz instinctively flinched but no arms or legs drew up to surround him. Instead bandages were all that enveloped him, scarred skin evident in the gaps they left.

Cash at last let the blanket fall back down in disgust, “Just a tail to work with…”

Walking away, Cash stroked his goatee and sighed, looking to the ground. Fizzarolli watched anxiously. That night had been a celebration. Finally, after years attempting to catch Mammon’s eye at the annual Clown Pageant, Fizzarolli had risen from a nobody to a champion performer, bringing fame and fortune to the little family circus he had grown up in. He could hardly believe it. Cash had been overjoyed (well, as much as he let show) with the offer from Mammon to take Fizzarolli under his wing and make him a star. Their little circus would be on the map, royalties would flow back to the family, it was their big break!

And now, not even days after the contract had been signed, there lay Fizzarolli, hardly in any state to perform let alone be the new face of Mammon’s entertainment enterprise.

Fizzarolli’s stomach twisted and turned; he had worked so had for this all his life, only for it to be snatched away at the last moment so quickly. He had let Cash down, let the family down. And what would Mammon think? Fizzarolli could almost cry thinking of how the Sin would take one look at him and then move on to the runner-up as his protege. Not like he could blame him.

“Can you move that tail?”

Cash’s murmuring voice broke Fizzarolli’s reverie. Move his tail…? Concentrating, Fizzarolli tried to get the appendage to swish as it used to. Pins pricked along the base of his spine and he sweat, begging at least that one limb to still be with him. It twitched, then shifted. Each movement came with an electric shock up the spine as the stiff tail curled and lifted. Such a simple movement, but Fizzarolli was breathless with the effort. He looked to Cash who nodded and hummed.

“Maybe we can work with this.”

Fizzarolli stared at Cash, uncertain what he was thinking. A nurse entered, bringing a fresh bag of narcotics. Grabbing her attention, Cash slipped her some money and instructed her to have Fizzarolli put into physical therapy as soon as possible, with however many painkillers it took to get through. And to focus on building up his tail strength. The nurse gave him a quizzical look, but shrugged and pocketed the money before hooking up the drugs and allowing double the dose to flow into Fizzarolli’s veins.

Mildly panicked and confused, Fizzarolli’s vision blurred as he choked out to the receding figure of his old manager, “Wh-what about Blitzo? Did he come?”

Cash turned and sneered, “Are you kidding? He did this to you.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes widened as Cash turned and let the door close behind him, a disquieting coolness spreading through his body as his head collapsed on the pillow and darkness took him once again to that night, Blitzo standing over him, running, running...away.

#I WANT TO POST IT NOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW DADDY (veruka voice)#doing this for ch 1 until AO3 stops cucking me and lets me make an account #thing: hb #i know probably 9000 ppl have tread this fic territory but i Do Not Care I wanna make something about this #projection 5000 i spy game #also im convinced this is the biggest long con troll ever of naming characters shit like CASH BUCKZO bc how am i supoosed to write srs thin #in these conditions

3 notes · View notes

ascendanceseriesveteran · 1 year ago

Text

A future with you (part 1) 🌹

Ascendance Series Fanfic

Next chapter

Potential multi-part fic. Depending on how it is recieved.

First "chapter" here may be a bit of a bore. I have some ideas for next chapters but unsure if I will be able to commit.

Excuse spelling and grammar errors.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

"WHAT THE DEVILS IS HAPPENING?" Roden screech. I completely understood why as I pushed myself up onto my elbows, surprised at how weak I felt. Nothing made sense.

I crawled to Imogen as she stirred, pulling her into my arms, "Are you hurt?"

"Of course she gets your concern. What if I'm hurt?"

"Shut up, Roden," I raised my brows at Imogen as she came around.

"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy." She cupped my cheek and tilted my head to the side, "You have a small cut there."

"That's not new."

Her frown didn't last, only until she took in our surroundings. "Jaron, what's happening?"

"I wish I knew."

Tobias coughed as he woke. It didn't take long until he was on his feet with his eyes wider than dinner plates. "What the... Jaron, are you seeing this?"

"No, Tobias, I'm blind."

"What?"

"Sarcasm." Everyone was on edge, only for once I wished it were in the literal sense. We were still on the same field, though this time it was missing shrubbery and trees. Just empty and endless, rolling, green hills. The sun had risen up above the plains and was currently adding excess sweat to my growing list of problems. A few hundred meters away, down an exposed slope, was a town like none I had never seen. To add insult, the town itself had suddenly appeared in the time we were kocked unconcious. Which shouldn't have been possible. I wasn't sure what had caused us to sleep. But I sure as hell knew we weren't out for long enough for an entire village to be built, rivalling the size of Drylliad and certainly redefining housing.

It was at that very moment the ground started to tremor. Lightly at first, I almost didn't notice it. But when the shaking was accompanied by a loud thumping, we realised it wasn't just an earthquake. I pulled Imogen to her feet. Just a few metres away from us lay two metal beams that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon in either direction. Like parallel swords, wider than my thigh and connected with wooden planks. I hadn't paid much attention to them until they started shaking as well.

"Everyone move away from that. Now!"

Tobias and Roden scurried with us to a higher vantage point. I dared not let go of Imogen. To our right, planted on those beams, a building was getting closer, moving quickly. Getting louder, bigger. Scarier than anything I had ever seen. And... shiny?

The sun glinted off its surface as it barrelled towards us. We had made it barely ten metres away when it let out a sound that made my hands dart to my ears. The force of the wind that followed nearly knocked us to the ground as the massive structure shot past us faster than I could make out what it was. Wheels in their hundreds were attached to its base, using the poles to guide them forth. Within seconds, it was gone, and I could breathe again.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" I don't think I had ever heard Tobias swear before. Imogen had well and truly cut off the circulation to my hand from how tight she squeezed, but at least it reminded me I wasn't in some twisted dream.

"Jaron, what was that?" Roden asked, voice betraying his fear.

"How would I know?"

"You know things! Is this another one of your stupid jokes?"

I glared at him, "You think I'd endanger any of you for a joke?"

"Enough," Imogen commanded, gathered herself, "Arguing will get us nowhere. We need a plan."

Everyone turned to me expectantly. I supposed I should have been used to it. But something had fundamentally changed and I wasn't sure what. And for once I was at a lost for what to do. So I offered up the obvious, "We'll go into the town and ask around."

Tobias blanched, "Are you sure that's a good idea? What if they are invaders."

"They're our best shot."

"Well we have to cross that first," Roden gestured towards the metal planks, "And I don't have a death wish."

I huffed and sauntered back down the plain, intent on getting a closer look. Imogen followed behind with a tight hold of my arm. When we reached the beams, I took in the pile of rocks it was mounted on and the rusting bolts that were probably as big as my fist. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I went to step over it only to be aggressively pulled back.

"Are you out of your mind?" Imogen snapped.

I completely understood her worry. My own hands were still trembling after that building came powering by us. So I placed my hand over hers and kissed her cheek, "We don't have a choice. If I make it to the other side and everything is fine, then you will cross."

"There will be no if's. I forbid it."

"Imogen-"

"No."

"We have nowhere else to go!"

"We will find somewhere!"

"Where?" I yelled, gesturing at the barren landscape that spread in every direction. The only hint of civilisation shimmered like a mirrage ahead of us.

"I don't know, Jaron. But you're not touching that."

"Someone has to."

"Jaron," Roden said, but I ignored him.

"I will un-marry you."

"You can't do that."

"Watch me."

"Jaron," This time he sounded more urgent, so I let my gaze find Roden's voice, standing with a newfound confidence on the other side of the structure.

Imogen's jaw dropped, anger slowly fading into relief. I would be hearing more from her later though, I was sure of it.

"What happened to not having a death wish?"

He shrugged, "Imogen was starting to look scarier than this and I wasn't exactly going to allow my King to risk his life for us again."

"So you didn't feel it move or anything?" Tobias had been quiet for a while.

"I didn't touch the metal bits, but no, it was absolutely fine."

We had come to know each other well over the years. Well enough that everyone seemed in-tune with each other's emotions, at least to a degree. We gave Tobias time to come to terms with his trepidation. I squeezed Imogen's hand to reassure her as well, but she held her head high, hair in loose waves down her back.

We had been journeying to Nyrinrad on my yearly tour of every Carthyan village and town to be more in touch with our people. They were all eager to meet the new Queen of Carthya. And we needed to make sure that the Prozarians hadn't wreaked any unknown havoc during their invasion. Now, those plans were put on hold for the forseeable future.

Thankfully, no moving building came crashing into us as we stepped over the metal. I almost wished it had, of only to wake me up from this dream.

Y'all guessed it... 🚂🚂🚂

Time travel fanfic

Next chapter

#the ascendance series #the ascendance trilogy #king jaron #the captive kingdom #the false prince #the runaway king #the shadow throne #jarogen #jaron #jaron eckbert #the shattered castle #ascendance series #ascendance trilogy #ascendance series fanart

6 notes · View notes

writeouswriter · 2 years ago

Note

Say, for instance, you accidentally closed all 300 tabs on your device. If you could only save three (3) of those tabs, what would they be?

A wikipedia article on termites? A sonic x Gordon Ramsey fanfic? A wikihow to make others think you are a vampire? Choose wisely.

Yes, for instance, hypothetically if I were to do that *sobs.*

What a cool question. Also those are the most fascinating example options you could have given and very specific to the point I feel like you have these tabs open 😆. I love those examples, how can I ever beat those.

Side tangent fun fact about me: in elementary school, I was the dork who’d wear fake fangs at recess and did convince several classmates I was a vampire. My friends now also think I’m a vampire because of my horrid sleeping patterns, pale skin and aversion to many foods. So I’ve got that down pat, no tab left open needed.

The thing with my many many lost tabs is most of them were fanfics I’d been planning on getting to, some of which were on old sites or some of which I went to ridiculous search lengths to find, and others were important tabs or reminders or writing research or occasional guitar TABs I kept open because if I didn’t, their very existence would slip from my memory forever... and uh well they kind of did immediately slip from my memory...

Not one of my 3 choices, but one particular (totally super duper important) bookmark I remember I had, though, was just a link to this song remix of the prime minister saying the words speaking moistly in 2020, lmao: X

Also pretty sure Shrek remade was there. But again I mostly lament the fanfics and research notes I won’t remember 😭

As for my choice of 3 tabs I’d save, they’re not the most exciting from the top of my head in comparison. I know the one I immediately reopened before anything else was this Pacific Rim fanfiction: From Out the Ocean Risen by Bluestar , but it thankfully was in my ao3 bookmarks, unlike others, so not lost forever to the void. (God, it’s gorgeously written.)

Oh, oh my god, I wouldn’t have even remembered it if not for this ask but my second choice would be this one page I found that told me how to copy/package a lot into the bin in Sims 2 even if there are already sims living in it. Oh my god, I need to go find this again immediately. I forgot it completely 😭 you’ve saved this information from oblivion for me.

Man, this is difficult because I don’t even know the half of the information and bookmarks I lost. That’s why they were open or bookmarked 😭

3rd one maybe my favourite 1990 something X-Files fic? But since it was a favourite, I do remember its name so it wasn’t really an unrecoverable loss like some tabs 🤔

I definitely wish I could save some of the fics I lost for a specific somewhat embarrassing fandom I shall not name, though. Mind blanking on any of them.

I’m curious, what would you save?? (Unless your amazing examples were your choices XD)

#ask #not writing #long post #whoops on the repetition I just really miss those fics

18 notes · View notes

sugarmapl · 2 years ago

Text

strings - chapter 3: fraying

a kazuscara enemies to lovers fanfic pt3

When the sun had risen and a soft knock sounded on the wooden door to his tiny room, Scara merely turned from where he was still sitting on the old bed. He didn’t sleep at all, instead spent the night staring through the tiny porthole window and gazing at the moon. It made him think of the fairytale version of his own life that Nahida had told him some time ago.

“Gnashing his teeth at the moon,” she had said. Scara thought that was a pretty polite way of saying that he resented the gods. But at the same time, it was not untrue. Everytime he looked upon the moon, whether it was real or not, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the gods. Being left in Shakkei Pavilion with nothing but the sky to keep him company, feasting at the Fatui banquet under the moonlit night and the Tsaritsa’s watchful gaze, and awakening from a coma to Nahida looking down at him in concern, moonlight creating a halo around her white hair.

But especially back when he roamed the Inazuma countryside, alone, gazing upon the moon in sorrow and remembrance at what was taken from him. At the time, he blamed the gods, but mostly one in particular, for making him feel such disgusting human emotions. He thought that joy was not worth the pain that often accompanied it. It would be better to feel nothing at all…

The wooden door creaked open and Kazuha poked his head in, looking around suspiciously. When he saw that Scara had not moved an inch, he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Did you really not sleep last night?” he asked.

“Don’t need to,” Scara explained, finally standing up.

Kazuha didn’t say anything to that. He just watched the other approach with an inquisitive gaze, as if analyzing the puppet for the truth. Finding no fault in his statement, he opened the door wider and gestured for Scara to follow him.

“Though you may not need to eat either, I still do, so you will accompany me to the mess hall,” he instructed.

“I do eat,” Scara mumbled under his breath. It was something Nahida had taught him, she said it was a good thing, and she always looked so proud when he accomplished it. So he began to associate his ability to eat with his own pride as well.

“Is that so?” Kazuha answered softly. “Well, then still accompany me anyway.”

They made their way to the mess hall without another word exchanged. The moment they entered, all the chatter from within seemed to freeze up. Scara noticed the crew’s fearful gazes and forced smiles directed his way. It appeared they really were wary of him. They all seemed so friendly yesterday. Humans are indeed disingenuous creatures.

Kazuha instructed Scara to sit at an empty table while he went to fetch them some breakfast. The puppet sat stock still as requested, ignoring the gossiping whispers surrounding him. Of course, with his advanced hearing, he could clearly make out every word. But he wouldn’t give the humans the satisfaction of reacting.

Soon, Kazuha returned with two trays of food in hand. He placed one gently in front of Scara, who looked at it inquisitively. Admittedly, while the puppet did eat more often these days, he still had only ever tried Inazuman and Sumeran dishes. He never ate in Snezhnaya, and he certainly didn’t eat in the Abyss. The food that was in front of him now was from neither of the regions he was familiar with.

“Are you not happy with it?” Kazuha suddenly asked. Scara realized his thoughts must have been obvious even though his expression remained the same. “You cannot afford to be picky at sea. And no food should go to waste,” the samurai told him.

“It’s not that… I just… never tried this,” Scara explained, poking the dish with his chopsticks.

It was an extremely vibrant shade of red. The aggressive color of the food hinted that it was probably spicy. While some foods in Sumeru certainly had their kick, Scara preferred more mild or bitter foods. He didn’t care for very spicy food. Looking at the plate in front of him made him nervous.

“I understand. This dish is from Liyue,” Kazuha explained. “It might be a lot for someone with an Inazuman palette, but you’ll get used to it after a while.”

That’s right, the samurai was also from Inazuma, Lumine had said. Scara watched as Kazuha scarfed down the dish without a problem. Every once in a while his face would scrunch up, but he would merely take a sip of water before continuing. Hesitantly, Scara lifted up a small bite with his chopsticks before plopping it into his mouth.

…

……

………

SPICY!!

Scara had to stop himself from spitting it out immediately. It was only a tiny bite, why did it burn so much!? He swallowed it painfully before grabbing a glass of water and chugging it down. His nose scrunched up unpleasantly, and he stuck out his tongue as if it were on fire.

“Cute,” Kazuha commented with a light laugh.

Scara frowned at him.

“I am not cute,” he demanded before pausing. “How do you eat this? It’s too hot.”

“Like I said, I just got used to it.”

Kazuha had finished up his own plate, so he reached over to grab Scara’s full one and swapped them.

“I’ll finish it for you. By the way, that was my water,” he said.

Scara blinked, looking down at the table in realization. He was in such a rush to flush out the spicy taste that he had blindly grabbed whatever cup was closest. It turned out that it was Kazuha’s. Embarrassed, Scara shoved his own water closer to the samurai in offering.

They finished up the rest of the meal quickly, Kazuha gladly cleaning up Scara’s leftovers and polishing off both plates. Scara didn’t know how someone so small could eat so much at once (even though they were roughly the same size).

Next, they made their way out onto the deck, where Kazuha showed Scara how to do basic sailing tasks as well as some chores he could do to help out. Scara took a rag and wiped down all the railings around the ship while Kazuha helped mop the main deck. It was grunt work, but surprisingly, Scara didn’t mind it.

It was the first bit of time he got to himself (apart from being confined to that tiny room) since boarding the Alcor. He found a quiet corner of the ship and sat down for a moment, rag slung over his shoulder and looking out at the waves. He had only been on a boat a few times in his life. The most prominent time being when he went to seek aid from the Raiden Shogun during the Tatarasuna incident.

Back then, the sea had been black as night, the sky covered by storm clouds. Lightning struck the water all around him repeatedly, very nearly tearing the boat to shreds. The waves were rough, battering the ship relentlessly. This was nothing like that.

The waves were small and gentle, rocking the ship in a soothing motion. The sky and the water were a beautiful shade of blue as far as the eye could see. It was peaceful. Was this the ocean sung about by bards and written about by poets? Scara had never known such calm.

“What are you doing?” Kazuha asked, startling Scara out of his reverie.

The puppet jumped just the tiniest bit, not even realizing he had let his guard down so much. Kazuha was silent, like a cat, and had snuck up on him undetected. Scara stood up with a huff, his relaxing solitude coming to an end.

“Nothing,” he said to the samurai, moving to walk past him.

Kazuha stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. Scara narrowed his eyes at the action.

“You can’t wander off without telling me where you’re going.”

“I was just taking a quick break, don’t worry. How could I possibly be up to no good on such a tiny ship?” Scara retorted, brushing Kazuha’s hand off and continuing on his way.

Kazuha stopped him again, this time with the hilt of his sword, pulling it out just the smallest bit in order to obstruct Scara’s path.

“You need to report to me, don’t forget. Or else you’ll spend the rest of your time here locked up in that tiny room,” he warned.

“I can’t even take a break from menial labor without you threatening me, huh?” Scara scoffed. “Admit it, you’re just waiting for an excuse to lock me up because of your own personal vendetta against me.”

“That’s not true,” Kazuha argued. “Just follow the rules and there won’t be an issue.”

“Whatever,” Scara shot back.

He pushed past the samurai, purposely bumping shoulders harshly. This time, Kazuha let him go. The day continued on like that, with Scara wandering around doing this small task and that odd job, Kazuha never far behind. He didn’t get in Scara’s way again, or even say anything to him, but Scara could feel his eyes on him the entire time; watching, waiting.

They ate dinner in silence as well, the tension from earlier still hanging heavily between them. This time the dish was from Inazuma, so Scara ate it without a problem. The two finished up their meals while everyone else in the mess hall kept casting worried glances their way, as if afraid one of them would explode at any moment.

“Time for curfew,” Kazuha said after dinner.

He led Scara back to his room, pausing in the doorway for just a moment. The samurai opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, before seemingly changing his mind. He merely closed his mouth and shook his head before closing the door behind him, leaving Scara alone inside.

That night, Scara felt extremely restless. He didn’t know where all this sudden eagerness came from, but he couldn’t sit still. Even gazing out the porthole wasn’t enough to satiate his boredom. Finally making up his mind, he opened his door with a creak and peered into the hallway.

It was deep into the night now, and everyone else seemed to be asleep. The ship was cloaked in darkness, the perfect cover. Scara quietly made his way out from below deck, careful to tread lightly so as not to make a sound. He made his way up top, deck bathed in pale moonlight. Scara sighed in content, sitting on the railing at the bow of the ship and looking up at the stars.

He felt less lonely in the company of the stars and the moon. Even though the sky in Teyvat was a false one, it was quite beautiful. They were the one thing that remained constant in Scara’s long life. No matter where he was, no matter who he was, the stars and the moon were there. They brought him painful human emotion, but over time it had become a kind of grounding pain accompanied by a strange sense of comfort.

He wasn’t human. He never would be human. He was a puppet. But he was alive. Despite everything, he was alive. Scara felt conflicted about this fact. Even the tapestry above was woven from lies, but he could not deny the fact of his own existence, no matter how much he wanted to. It couldn’t be erased.

“You’re out past curfew,” a voice suddenly spoke from directly behind him.

Scara jumped at the sound, and cursed. That was the second time that day the samurai had snuck up on him… He hoped this would not become a pattern.

He turned around to see Kazuha’s angry face looking down at him. Suddenly, all the tension in Scara’s body returned full force, feeling ready to burst out at any moment. If Kazuha wanted a reason to lock him up so badly, maybe he would give him one.

—

Read the first two chapters here

#genshin fanfic #genshin impact #kazuscara #genshin kazuha #genshin scaramouche #scarakazu #fanfic #enemies to lovers

7 notes · View notes

dominustempori · 2 years ago

Text

Alright people, it's happening again!

The fanfic muse has been haunting my dreams, and distracting me at my job more than sporadically, these last few months. And I have FINALLY put pen to paper...or fingers to keyboard I should say.

Not a Ghostbusters story this time, but my own little story to add to the legacy that is the Monkey Island saga.

I (partially) blame some new mutuals I've 'met' since the latest game, "Return to Monkey Island," was released last fall. Mind you, the BAREST hint of an idea for an MI fic started swirling around my fangirl brain years ago when the LAST game, "Tales of Monkey Island," came out back in 2009. "Return" helped to solidify that idea, along with some brilliant artwork that was inspired by this amazing adventure game.

More chapters (parts? I don't know what I should call them exactly, but I've got plenty of head canons I might turn into proper fics or drabbles.) may most likely appear in future posts, and maybe my FFN account. Maybe. At the very least I had to get a start to clear my head a little more. A long-awaited (by me, hee.) story featuring one of my OTPs: Elaine Marley and Guybrush Threepwood.

So...here we go. Hope you all enjoy.

“Their Grandest Adventure Ever”

Part 1:

The warm Caribbean sun shone its morning light through the Captain's cabin’s beveled windows. Its rays alighted on a head of long, slightly unkempt golden hair, which stirred slightly as its owner approached a semi-state of wakefulness. Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate, groaned softly as the sunrise broke over the horizon. He had hoped for a few more minutes of sleep, but today, time waited for no captain.

“’Morning, Plunderbunny,” he muttered groggily as his hand reached out across the bed. “Are you awake yet?”

The silence he received spurred Guybrush into opening his eyes and waking up just that bit more. His wife must’ve gotten up earlier, but where was she, he wondered.

He called out a little louder, “Elaine? Sweetie?”

Guybrush sat up in a rush, fully conscious now. If Elaine had been in their washroom, surely she would have called back to him. Maybe she was already dressed and on deck? Or down in the galley helping with breakfast? Although, he thought to himself, she rarely, if ever, was awake and about her shipboard duties by sunup. Both of them tended to linger in bed a bit after slowly waking up, AFTER the sun had risen, often still in each other’s embrace.

“Better go and find her,” the pirate captain muttered to himself, and then added as an afterthought, “I hope she’s all right.”

Guybrush hurriedly pulled off his night clothes and rummaged in his wardrobe for his usual ‘at-sea’ outfit: white linen shirt, black trousers, stockings and boots, belt and baldric. He decided to forgo his blue captain’s coat, and opted for one of his waistcoats – midnight blue silk with a swirl pattern embroidered into it, with gold buttons: his latest anniversary gift from Elaine. He smiled to himself as he put the vest on, swiftly tied his hair into his traditional ponytail, and then turned around to head out the door.

He stopped for a second: why was the door open? Not completely, but not closed all the way as he had done last night? If Elaine had gone out to start working, surely she would have closed it behind her so as to let her husband sleep undisturbed?

Guybrush was worried now.

He rushed out of the cabin and looked around the ship, from portside to starboard…unless she was down below or up on the quarterdeck…wait.

There she was! She was leaning on the starboard railing, just a few steps away from the cabin and looking at… what exactly? Her hands seemed to have been grasping the balustrade more…tightly than she normally would, he observed. She was sort of more…hunched over. And she was looking downward…something in the water maybe-hopefully not another giant manatee.

And had she…had she been crying? Her face had that distinct blush to it, but, tinged with…an almost greenish hue? Then he heard the slightest, shuddering sob come from his wife’s lips, followed by a long sigh.

He couldn’t stand there any longer. Guybrush hurriedly walked over to his poor Plunderbunny’s side, reaching out and calling her name. “Elaine! Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

Elaine started at the sound of her husband’s worried shout, and then turned around to face him as he got near her, though she was still feeling a little shaky. He had both his arms extended out, as if he wanted nothing more than to pull her into a hug and hold her close. But his face told a different story: eyes wide, mouth set in a nervous frown…he knew something had happened to her.

She stood up a little straighter, reached one hand out towards one of his, and gently laid his palm on her warm cheek, to help ground and steady her a bit more. She laid her other hand on his own face, to reassure him.

“I’m…I’m all right, love. I’m feeling better now.” Guybrush couldn’t help but wince a bit at the sound of her voice; it was a bit hoarse and low-pitched…far too much for just having woken up.

“Sweetie,” he said as he moved his hand from her face to gently grasp her shoulder,”…you’ve been seasick. You NEVER get seasick! Not in all the years we’ve been together. Something’s wrong…are you SURE you’re all right?” He was making a mighty effort to not let the wave of panic he started to feel creep into his voice, but from looking at Elaine’s wide, emerald eyes, he wasn’t sure if he was succeeding.

Elaine started to respond, but then, taking her husband by utter surprise, fell into his arms and started to weep. She laid her head on his chest, with both hands grabbing his shoulders tightly; her warm tears slowly rolled down her tired face and onto Guybrush’s shirt. Taken aback for a moment, Guybrush came to his senses and embraced his sobbing spouse. One trembling hand moved to the back of her head to stroke her long, dark red hair, the other hand curving around to gently rub her back.

They stood that way for a few minutes, Guybrush giving his wife time to calm down a little, and then he placed a reassuring kiss to her temple. “Let’s get you back to the cabin, back to bed so you can rest up. Get a drink of water or something…come on, Laineykins. I’ve got you.”

Elaine began to shake her head no, but she felt so tired after her cry, she couldn’t help but lean into her concerned husband’s side as he led her back to their bedroom. As they stepped inside, Guybrush closed the door behind them, indicating to the crew that the Captain wished to not be disrupted. He then guided Elaine toward the bed and waited until she sat down on the edge of the mattress. “I don’t feel like lying down just yet, Guybrush, I…could you join me?” she asked her husband softly.

“Of course, honey. Can I get you anything first? Do you think you could keep down some water? “

“A small glass would be lovely, dear. Thank you.”

Guybrush went around to his nightstand where a pitcher of fresh water stood, along with two pewter mugs. He poured Elaine and himself some water, and handed a mug to Elaine. She smiled slightly up at him as he sat down carefully beside her. “Slowly now, a little sip at a time,” he reminded her. He wouldn’t admit this to anyone BUT Elaine, but he’d had a bout or two of seasickness when he was a younger, more inexperienced pirate.

He decided to let Elaine start the conversation; she obviously wanted, no, NEEDED to tell him something, but there was no point in making her more anxious or upset. After a couple small sips, she wet her lips and took a deep breath.

“Guybrush, dearest, I’ve…this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten sick the last few days.” That brought a gasp from her husband, who proceeded to take her free hand and hold it in his own. He started to say something but Elaine beat him to it. “Please, love, let me finish.” Guybrush gulped down his words, but his widened blue eyes spoke volumes. Elaine took another calming breath and went on. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you when I got up to, well…I wanted to let you sleep in. I didn’t want you to worry unnecessarily, at least, not until now. I, um…”

Guybrush couldn’t resist taking advantage of her pause. “Elaine, please tell me. Is there something wrong? I mean, you’ve been feeling sick for the last few days? That must mean something?” Oh when Guybrush used his pleading voice…how could she resist it?

“Sweetie, I, it’s not THROUGHOUT the day that I’ve been feeling unwell, just…when I…when I wake up.”

“Alright, so you’ve been getting sick in the mornings, and…”

Guybrush could DEFINITELY not help but gasp as he took in what he just said. Sick…in the MORNINGS. He didn’t think his eyes could get any wider, or that he would ever find himself at a complete loss for words. Elaine stared back, with a hopeful smile and a tiny glistening of tears in the corners of her eyes.

Her stunned husband shook his head for second, before carefully taking Elaine’s mug of water and placing it on the floor along with his own. With a slight smile of his own, he then placed one hand gently along his wife’s reddened cheek, and the other…ever so carefully… over her belly.

“Sweetie…do you think you might be…?”

“I…I think I might be, love.”

Guybrush let out a small but joyful laugh. He looked down at where his hand lay on Elaine’s stomach, and saw her own hand move to cover it. Then he laid his gaze back on his beautiful wife’s…glowing…face. Was it a trick of the morning light, he thought? “No, she IS glowing. How didn’t I notice before? Well for THAT matter…oh never mind that! Say something to her!” he reprimanded himself.

“Oh Elaine, I…you’re…we’re…”

Elaine gave a small laugh of her own as she realized her husband was feeling a little overwhelmed, much like the first time they met. That thought made her smile all the wider.

“Yes, my love. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father. We’re having a baby.”

#rtmi spoilers #fanfiction #elaine marley #guybrush threepwood #otp: plunderbunnies #the ship that literally sails itself #oh man this has been a long time coming for me #amateur time lord fancies herself an amateur writer #comments/reblogs/likes ARE LOVE #no beta we die like men

2 notes · View notes