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carriagelamp · 1 year

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A combined May and June book list because work was too busy for me to have any extra time or energy for reading. Now that things have slackened a bit though I've been able to start picking up more things! It feels so good to sit down with a book again and just read for the pure joy of it. Still, despite a lack of time I did read a few really cute books over the past couple months.

Doctor Who: 13 Doctors 13 Stories

A collection of Doctor Who short stories that was honestly just a lot of fun. Each story features a different Doctor, so by the end you’ve had one story for each of the Doctors that there’s been so far. Since I’m primarily familiar with NuWho and only have only seen/read a handful of Classic Who stories, this was a fun way to get to know them and their companions a bit better. I don’t think there was a single story I disliked! Though the one that amused me the most (even if it wasn’t necessarily the “best” in the collection) was probably “The Nameless City” because the idea of a Doctor Who / Cthuhlu crossover is way too funny. The Doctor throwing the Necronomicon across the Tardis? Outstanding, no notes.

Charlotte’s Web

A classic that I feel the need to reread every few years. It really is the perfect spring novel, and it made a very comforting read this May. Now that I’ve read E B White’s other children’s novels, I can now say without a doubt that Charlotte’s Web is the best of the lot. It feels like a more tightly written, cohesive and compelling story than either Stuart Little or The Trumpet of the Swan. White's writing just draws your right in, his descriptions, the way he'll wind you through these leisurely lists of details, the way every thing feels new and special and comfortable... it's impossible not to feel content while reading.

For those who have never read Charlotte’s Web, it’s a story about a pig called Wilbur, who is saved from being killed as the runt of the litter by Fern. Her parents allow Fern to raise the pig, and eventually Wilbur goes to live in her uncle’s barn. After he learns that he will most certainly be killed for meat in the autumn, his animal friends — particularly the clever and beautiful spider called Charlotte — start hatching a plan to save Wilbur’s life.

Enemies

I’ve read the other Berrybrook Middle School books written by Svetlana Chmakova and by and large I've enjoyed them, but I have to admit they’re wearing a bit thin for me (Brave was definitely the peak of the series for me). Which isn’t the fault of Chmakova! She draws nice stories that have good themes and morals for that age group, they tackle very relevant social problems kid that age might go through. But as an adult, this one in particular felt profoundly middle school.

In this book, Felicity is struggling with the fact that she never seems to “finish” anything while her sister seems to be good at everything and impresses everyone. Felicity is struggling to learn how to balance the importance of going at your own pace versus sticking with something to meet obligations versus asking for help when you need it. During all this Felicity struggles with friendships that have faded and may even be getting worse — how easy is it to make enemies and how does one fix that?

The Innocence of Father Brown

I’ve been wanting a good cosy murder mystery and I’ve always heard good things about Father Brown so I decided to give the first collection a try. It was pretty darn good! Father Brown is an unassuming little Catholic priest who appears to bumble his way good-naturedly through life. However between his keen ability to observe and appreciate every day life mixed with the fact that a man who hears Confessions gets exposed to the way of the criminal mind, me makes an astounding detective. No one expects anything of him until he absolutely dazzles with his observations and connections. His nemesis-cum-bestie Flambeau is stupendous and I love him.

The religious fervor / aggression / intolerance of any slight deviations is a bit trying though and definitely dates the stories… I would be interested in trying another book to see if that’s toned down. Or maybe even watching one of the modern adaptations since I suspect they would chill out that a little on the blatant xenophobia. Makes me long for good old Father Mulcahy.

The Hardy Boys: The House on the Cliff

I never read The Hardy Boys as a kid but I feel in my heart that I would have loved them. This book was a fun detective story about the Hardy brothers initially attempting to stake out a group of smugglers, only to stumble across a seemingly haunted house and the sudden kidnapping of their father. The peril mounts and they need to rely on their friends to foil the plot. My only complaint is that it lays the whole "wholesome 1950s" schtick on pretty thick. I would really like to try reading the original 1930s version before it was toned down… except it’s damnably hard to find. I think if I had gotten this as a kid it would have scratched a similar itch to Tintin.

Hazel’s Shadow

A thrilling YA survival horror! It combines some neat, unexpected elements to make a really intriguing, fast-paced horror story that is part haunted house and part zombie plague survival.

Hazel has always been able to see ghosts, every since she was a child, and they don’t particularly worry her... they don't except for one creature — a horrible, black shadow — that lurks in her grandmother’s house and seems to haunt her every step, leering and waiting as her grandmother gradually grows sicker and sicker. Hazel would have thought that this would be her biggest concern until what starts as a localized fear suddenly seems to spread, turning the recently deceased into mindless, unfeeling monsters, hellbent on destroying any living person they can get, to kill them and turn them into one of them. Hazel and a small group of fellow classmates are at school when this happens, and find themselves — and a pair of ghosts — needed to band together to survive and possibly to face the horror that’s been haunting Hazel.

American Girls: Kit Saves The Day

I’ve often heard that these American Girl books are actually really good so I grabbed one from the library. And dang, people weren’t kidding, I was really impressed at how much nuance they fit into such a short book written for such a young audience. Kit Saves The Day is about a girl whose family is living through the Great Depression. It shows the life she has to live in order to help make ends meet and how its different from the life she once knew. Her understanding is expanded when she meets a young “hobo” who rides the rails and is invited to help with the family's gardening in exchange for food.

My Dress-Up Darling v2

A ridiculous series that’s just a little addictive. It's about a student, Wakana, who is trying to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps of becoming a doll maker, and is passionate and skilled at creating the costumes and accessories that goes with them. When popular, trendy Marin catches him at it, he’s sure he’s going to be humiliated… until he finds out that she’s passionate about cosplay and really wants to try cosplaying her favourite character but doesn’t have the skill to make the costume. The two end up teaming up to bring that dream to life. It’s charming and pretty and just the right amount of fanservice-y mixed with more technical aspects that keep it interesting.

Torchwood Tales

Short stories have been great for me lately — I’ve been so busy at work that they let me sample a bunch of different adventures without demanding too much time or attention — and this audio collection was a godsend. Like the Doctor Who collection, this one features a variety of exciting stories set in the Torchwood universe. I really enjoyed the first half of the stories, but honestly the second half didn’t quite do it for me. My favourite thing about Torchwood is the team dynamics, and the last four stories were set late enough in the series that they were mostly down to only Gwen or Jack… who I love in tandem with the other characters but am less interested in as solo agents. “Everyone Says Hello”, “Department X” and “Ghost Train” were probably my favourites because it really let a group of character bounce of each other in funny ways as they try to solve whatever absolute weirdness is going down. Rhys getting to the be the "most important man on Earth" for a story was such a pure delight!

Up To No Gouda // Cheddar Late Than Dead

Wow. This series. Was a disappointment. As I said with Father Brown, I was in the mood for some “cosy murder mysteries” and stumbled across this completely by accident. The concept of grilled-cheese-themed murder mysteries paired with the hilarious awful puns made me certain that this was going to be a fun series. It must, I naively told myself, be at least somewhat self-aware and probably have a humour/parody bend to it. I could not have been more wrong. This may have a negative amount of humour. I think every time it tried to be funny is actively sucked mirth and enjoyment out of the air.

This series is about the whitest woman in existence, who is so blandly pleasant that it made the 1950s Hardy Boys edgy in comparison, who goes through life running her grilled cheese restaurant, banally making uninteresting conversation with everyone (who apparently feels compelled to answer her incredibly dumb, probing questions), and brownnosing the cops so hard I might almost call it indecent if it were for the fact that this book even censored the term “that sucks” in reference to something being disappointing.

Nothing happens. Midsomer Murders is the perfect example of how I want this sort of small town murder mystery to go: it should have an at least somewhat interesting detective character, completely fucking mental background characters who make things more difficult than they should be, and an absolute pile of dead bodies by the end. I want the first corpse in the first five minutes and a steady bodycount from then out. It took an hour before the book’s one single death and I had to listen to this woman talk about cheese until then. The deaths weren’t even gruesome.

Why did I read two of these dumb books? Because I started with the third in the series (Cheddar Late Than Dead) and it was juuuuust interesting enough that I thought that maybe the author had run out of steam by this point and that the debut might be better. It was somehow the inverse and the first was EVEN MORE BORING.

I can’t emphasize enough how much she doesn’t do anything. It does not feel like anyone is investigating anything. Most of the story is absolutely unrelated small town nonsense that doesn’t even manage to be properly charming. Most boring murder imaginable. This is a Hallmark murder mystery. Do not read these. They're not even bad enough to be funny.

Wind Rider: Rescue on Turtle Beach

A charming little introductory book to a new series. Wind Rider is about a pair of kids who find a small, abandoned ship wrecked on the shore… but which suddenly transports them across the world and becomes not only whole and seaworthy, but also capable of sailing itself. The kids go on an adventure to Hawaii where they help save some endangered sea turtles. Reading it as an adult it was fairly dull, but I can see how it would appeal to the intended age group. It had nice art and decent facts about endangered animals. It feels like it’s trying to be a new, nature-conservation-themed Magic Tree House. ...Which might be one of the reasons I wasn't that into it, I felt like I could have gone to read Magic Tree House and had a better time of it.

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taeyohonic · 3 years

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stolen dances | chap. 11

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: swear words, therapy talk

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 2300

links: prev. | next [masterlist]

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: seokjin mid sneeze would ruin half of your wedding pictures.

“let’s do this picnic then,” jungkook breathes against your skin and you feel a headache coming – again. you don’t know what you expected, but for him to not even comment on the fact that yoongi is your therapist, is well… kind of insulting.

“yeah, let’s do that,” you agree and let go of his ear. you go girl! tell him exactly how you feel.

“is there a reason i’m not allowed to carry anything?” he’s struggling with the basket as well your backpack and the two iced coffees you hadn’t noticed before. still, jungkook is not letting you help him in any way, his sunglasses are as high up his nose as his ego.

“nah,” he scoffs with humor, “you’ll just drop the coffee – can’t risk it.”

“that was one time,” you argue and push a single finger straight up his nostril. jungkook scrunches his nose adorably before he pushes you away.

“gross, ____”

the weather is nice and you can’t help the spring in your steps as the two of you join the many visitors. for a moment you’re afraid of them recognizing your former idol friend. but jungkook doesn’t seem to care – he is more focused on the melting ice in your drinks. and he knows his bodyguard is close by. but you haven’t noticed the bulky man following behind you.

“can we move closer to the tree line?” you ask him, not wanting to join the couples sunbathing. nah, your hangover is not smiling kindly upon your headache. shade and some non-alcoholic liquid should do the trick.

“of course” your best friend changes directions and guides you to the more secluded area. the air smells fresh and you take a moment to breath it in – not even thinking about helping jungkook set up the picnic. the green is vibrant around you and for a second you imagine how beautiful his wedding would have been if it was right here. right now. but no, they had to do an autumn event. you want to get married in spring, you think and feel a smile touching your lips.

“why are you looking like that?” your friend asks, already seated on the soft blanket, sipping on his iced coffee.

“i’d like a spring wedding,” you answer, not even filtering your thoughts – you shouldn’t have to in front of your friend. jungkook’s reaction is close to comedic gold: his eyes widen while he sucks a breath of caffeine in his lungs; coughing harshly.

you move on instinct, closing the distance and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“wh- what the-e fu -…fuck?” he coughs and pushes against your touch to lean further on you.

“spring… it’d be so pretty, don’t you think?” you start after checking that he’s breathing normally again. “and just imagine the sea of flowers during this time. i really like the idea.”

you are met with silence. a long one. without looking at him, you grab your drink and take a sip.

then, jungkook answers. “your skin would look lovely against cherry blossoms.”

now you’re the one speechless – who even says stuff like that?

“don’t be condescending, kook,” you respond, willing your cheeks to discolor asap. your best friend just chuckles.

“i’m telling the truth, ____,” jungkook protests as he grabs your hand and holds it up against the treetops. “look, your skin glows.” his fingers push against your palm and you’re just… not stable enough for this. with a silent shudder you escape his touch.

“don’t say stuff like that to me, jungkook,” you voice rather harsh and you avoid his questioning gaze. you miss his touch as much as you hated it in the first place. jungkook doesn’t answer for a moment, but when he does, there is a forced joke on his lips.

“jin-hyung would be sneezing 24/7 with his allergies.” true, the oldest always looks in so much pain when you all move around during pollen season. you chuckle and try to get your thoughts away from a very unattractive mid-sneeze seokjin and more focused on the cupcakes peeking out of jungkook’s basket.

“can’t have my man of honor sabotaging all the wedding pictures,” you snort and grab one of the baked goods – it’s an apple crumble muffin, making your mouth water instantly.

“hah” your best friend laughs at you while some crumbles fall into your lap. “if taehyung isn’t your man of honor, he’ll prank bomb the hell out of your wedding.”

“what about you?” you ask and face him fully, the half-eaten muffin in your palm an unspoken invitation as jungkook snatches it from you. he takes a bite and you think he regrets taking off his sunglasses. his eyes look at you hesitantly.

“i’m not sure you’d like to have me as your man of honor,” he confesses and you watch him with surprise. is he the same person who wanted you to become his best man a few days ago?

“why would you think that?”

“you know,” jungkook starts and moves an inch away from you – his palms are pressed into the blanket. “the last few weeks i felt like… maybe there are some… moments where this” – jungkook’s head moves between the two of you – “wasn’t as honest as it’s used to be.”

you are kind of disappointed in yourself. there you are – going to therapy twice a week, working on a healthy, objective relationship with your crush. and now it’s him, not you, who is the brave one.

“but it’s not bad, right?” you voice, insecurity making your tone more timid than you’d like. even if jungkook doesn’t love you, he still cherishes you, right? your best friend looks at you like there is a whole ass shinigami on your shoulder.

“____, our friendship could never be bad. never.” then there is a silence. “but, like… do you feel secure with me? with this?”

his eyes shine with questions you are not ready to answer. but jungkook’s stare is there and it’s now and maybe it’s right on time.

“my mental health hasn’t been so good lately,” you start hesitantly. “i’m trying to reevaluate my relationships… see… where to make… improvements or… or where to set boundaries.”

honesty without being explicit. yoongi would roll his eyes.

the man in front of you nods, no judgement in his face. then he speaks:

“i’ve been in therapy since bangtan retired,” jungkook offers, which makes you suck in a harsh breath – for years he’s been seeing someone without you – his best friend – knowing?

“i had this whole identity – people idolizing me – milking me for… money, fame… opportunity. and then i just – just stopped being a singer. stopped my vlives. stopped my posts. many left – was i nothing without my band?” he asks softly tracing the lines on the blanket underneath you. there are tears in your eyes at his pain.

“talking about it, reshaping myself, rediscovering me – was … so tiering.” he chuckles without humor and you can’t help but agree: every therapy session is like a sixty-minute cardio routine.

“it was actually my therapist who recommended me doing these dance workshops in schools. i wouldn’t have met you if i didn’t listen to her,” jungkook reveals and you smile softly at the memory of a flustered jungkook surrounded by all your students, excited to meet a former idol.

“so, i hope you know that i’m very proud of you for seeing yoongi.” his voice sound strained, not entirely honest. “and i hope you realize that this“ his hand moves between the two of you “is a good thing.”

your heart beats faster while your skin shudders from a phantom cold. it’s confusing and exciting at the same time. jungkook looks as vulnerable as a porcelain doll in front of you. you feel close to tears watching your best friend.

“i hope so too, kook,” you admit and smile. he doesn’t mirror you because there is a part of him disappointed you are hoping instead of knowing. it’s a big part.

“you are a good thing to me, ____,” jungkook offers instead. “and that’s verified by my therapist.”

now a chuckle escapes him and you can’t help your own laughter joining in.

“but you have so many good things – i’m still searching for mine.” there is a wistful undertone in your voice and you are not ashamed of it.

“apart from you and the boys and my company… there is little that brings me joy,” jungkook confesses, making you freeze with his exclusion.

“what about your fiancée?” you ask and can’t look into his deep eyes.

“you know how it is with her,” he answers in a monotone voice. you want to scream at him, that you in fact do not know how it is, that you have only seen her a handful of times. heck, you’ve even met seokjin’s housekeeper more often than jungkook’s fiancée. your best friend has done the most to separate you two. you can count every mention of her on your fingers and you’d still have some left. it’s unfair he looks at you like you’re it when he’s got a woman at home wearing his engagement ring with pride.

there is so much frustration mounting in your stomach, it makes you mad.

“maybe i don’t know enough,” you say, the heat missing in your words. you sound more resigned and seeing how distant jungkook looks at you, there is little hope he’ll explain more… or anything.

“sir” jungkook’s bodyguard scares you, not having heard the mountain of muscles coming up to the two of you. “excuse the interruption” he is not interrupting anything. “a few girls have spotted you. your location is compromised.”

jungkook looks relieved and nods at his security. there is a silly part of you who’s glad as well, but another one would have loved to press your best friend for… anything.

“let’s pack up, ____” jungkook is on his feet in seconds and even though he mentioned the both of you, there is an unspoken order as his bodyguard starts to collect the food while the ceo takes your empty coffee cups. you shouldn’t lift a finger – still, it’s you who gets up and folds the now unoccupied blanket. the silence is not uncomfortable, but there is an underlying tension making you vibrate not only from the caffeine.

you’re out of the park in under ten minutes. during the ride back you steal one of the untouched muffins. jungkook acts like he doesn’t notice. the next morning a few pictures of your outing make it onto page six of the local newspaper. taehyung is astonished because he wasn’t invited. seokjin makes an unflattering meme out of one snap where you are drinking coffee. and jimin is silent, as are you and jungkook.

most of the times when you are waiting for yoongi to open his door and invite you into the now familiar office, you feel anxious. it’s normal, you know that. most people don’t like working through their problems. like jungkook said, it’s tiering. still, you are always 12 % excited to see your therapist because he is cool. talking to him means something to you. today however you feel impatient.

your picnic with jungkook is fresh in your mind. you’ve even taken the time to write some of your dialog down, so you’d be more objective during the retelling. yoongi will know how to work through this; you’ve got confidence in him.

“_____?” your therapist looks at you from the threshold of his door. he looks professional in his teal button down, wearing his glasses. but at the same time his face is paler than usual, fatigue clouding his eyes. you try to grin at him while closing the distance.

“hey, yoongi! how have you been?” you ask, making your voice extra soft not to irritate him. there is a forced smile on his lips – the one he always has when you start to rant about your oats. it makes you halt in front of him.

“everything okay?”

yoongi just nods before stepping back into his office and motioning you to follow him. still unsure about his mood, you just want to feel the familiar leather of his couch underneath you. he’d explain soon, you think. yeah, and then you could talk about jungkook. again.

but the couch is not empty. hell, your seat – the one you’ve had for months – is occupied. a man is grinning at you so brightly you want to close your eyes. and move him from your seat. in that order.

“huh?” you go, _____. very eloquent.

“hoseok, this is ______. ______, this is hoseok,” yoongi introduces you formally and you can’t help it but to bow curtly at the male in your seat. the man – hoseok – gets up from his – your – spot and moves closer to yoongi and you.

“______, i’m so, so happy to finally meet you!” this person is too happy. it’s like he tries to be the extrovert energy in the room that’s missing between you and yoongi. hoseok looks like the sun and you don’t like it. what is he doing here? and what does he mean by finally? confused, you stare at yoongi. why does he look so ashamed while tilting his glasses further up his nose?

“what is he doing here?” you ask a bit too blunt, but you know yoongi doesn’t care.

“he’s a colleague of mine. one of the best”, your shrink says slowly. so what, they had a meeting? lunch date? and he’s leaving now? just an overlap of meetings?

hoseok seems to take pity on his old friend when he addresses you next.

“i’ll be taking over your case from now, ______.”

_____

sorry that i’ve been away for so long. life has been bad. too much stress to handle. then i read a lot of fanfic to destress and it made me just more insecure about my own writing. still, i tried my best with this chapter and i hope you enjoyed it! please let me know what you think! i’d love to hear from you! fair warning: next chapter is gonna be the downhill to the angst-y part of this fic. just to clarify: i don’t like what yoongi and jungkook are doing here. just to be clear. but i do think they are both trying. somewhat. love, dana p.s. someone recommended this fic @ ficswithlove and it was very touching and i loved that a lot... thanks again to this kind soul!

taglist: @livewittykid @thequeen-kat @kagami-s-void @goldenclosethobi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @jinsalpaca @bishuthot @laabellaavitaa21 @baekstans @jalexad @jinsearthh @kseokwu @betysotelo18 @daydreambrliever

#btswriterscollective #bangtanuniversity #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ceo!jungkook #idol!jungkook #bts x you #bts x reader #bts angst

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aziraphales-library · 3 years

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hi! thank you so much for all that you do <3 wondering if you had any recs for coffee shop aus or something along those lines? thank you! :)

Hello! Definitely have quite some Coffee Shop AUs to suggest!

Coffee with Extras by Mraowface (NR) (WIP)

Aziraphale owns a lovely tearoom in the heart of Soho. Life would be absolutely delightful if it wasn't for that one horrible customer in sunglasses...

The Perfect Blend by LeilaKalomi (T)

Aziraphale Fell runs a tea house in Tadfield, where his brother, Gabriel, runs a coffee shop.

Everything is lovely until a major coffee chain builds a franchise in Tadfield, and sends in Anthony Crowley to run it. Much to Gabriel's disapproval, Crowley and Aziraphale form a tentative but deep friendship that challenges Aziraphale in new ways. But Crowley is running from some demons of his own.

How My Light is Spent by TiaLewise (E)

Navigating the dating world when you can't see it can be tricky. For Crowley, that was never a problem; he's usually too busy to contemplate a relationship. The same goes for Aziraphale, though he doesn't have Crowley's excuse - he just isn't really all that much into people as a whole.

One chance meeting on Crowley's usual route home changes all that.

The Clue's In The Name by AppleSeeds (T)

After having the pleasure of serving the lovely Aziraphale in the coffee shop where he works, Crowley jumps to his defence when he overhears Aziraphale's boss giving him a hard time and tries to makes Aziraphale's day a little better.

Spilling the Beans by Nen (Nenchen) (E)

He was funny, he was fussy, he was kind, he was derisive, he was generous, he was hoggish and Crowley was completely and utterly fucked. Sadly only metaphorically.

This is the story of Crowley, a coffee shop employee and Aziraphale, a delivery driver, of them falling in love and being in a relationship. This is all soft fluff with a hearty helping of loving smut, so if thats your cup of hot drink, come on in!

Coffee Shop Shenanigans by Estrella3791 (G)

Crowley is just trying to make a living working as a barista, and then an unfairly gorgeous person comes in feeling insecure about liking hot chocolate.

A Simple Plan and a Cappuccino by mozbee (T)

“The thing is, I don’t really wanna be with a fat old guy.”

Crowley wishes he was the type of person who still read newspapers, so he could be hiding behind one right now. His sunglasses do a piss-poor job of hiding his expression at the best of times, and this is most decidedly not a best of times. - - - When Crowley (and the rest of the cafe) overhears Aziraphale being dumped brutally, he takes it upon himself to track the other man down. Just in the name of solidarity, see. It's not because Crowley's been in love with Aziraphale since the first time he saw him.

That would be ridiculous.

Comfort and Joy by musegnome (M)

“Extra-large peppermint mocha, triple espresso, double whip!” called the barista. Crowley stepped forward and claimed his giant sugar-drenched monstrosity. The whipped cream ballooned over the rim of the paper cup, and the whole thing shed crumbles of crushed peppermint candy.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the sight of it. In awe? Horror? Crowley couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to leave, not yet, but as he looked around he didn’t see an open table. Not even so much as a bar stool. “Er – were you planning on staying?” Aziraphale asked, a little shyly. “I’ve got an extra seat.”

gathering swallows, or: little to do about a pumpkin coffee by Waywarder (T)

In which a pumpkin spice latte is never just a pumpkin spice latte.

Title from John Keat's "To Autumn."

Horns n Halos by Blackrayvn (E)

Aziraphale is a writer working for E.D.E.N Publishing House, Gabriel is the publisher and likes to ridicule Aziraphale as often as he can, Madame Tracey tells him about a new bistro that has opened down the street, he needs to check it out, the food is sinful, and the service is better.

Horns n Halos is run and owned by a rather cool and aloof man, Crowley. With the help of Anathema, the bistro is booming.

Set in the now, the bistro esthetic is the 1920s, and Electro Swing plays throughout!

-Mod E

#good omens au #good omens fics #coffee shop au

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itsallyscorner · 4 years

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Hello, a chris e x reader where reader owns a cafe in Boston and he loves to cone there mainly to see her but is hesitant to tell her that he likes her because there’s a some age gap between the r and Chris 😅🥰😘

Ooooo I love this request!!! I hope you like it! 🖤☕️

💌.

Coffee Talks

The chilly autumn winds of Boston breezed against your cheeks. Unlocking the doors to your cafe, you took a deep breath in, inhaling the familiar rich aroma of coffee. You’ll never get tired of it honesty. Locking the doors behind you, you made your way towards the back of the cafe to put your personal belongings away. After clocking in for the day, you went out to the front to brew some coffee for the early wave of customers. You laid out some pre-made pastries onto a baking sheet and put them into the oven. You turned the radio on making the whole cafe feel more alive. As Harry Style’s voice echoed throughout the cafe, Henry, the delivery guy knocked on the door.

“Mornin’ (y/n)!” He greeted you after you unlocked the door. He pushed the cart of boxes filled with cakes and other treats into the cafe.

“Right back at ya, Henry. Early morning today, huh?” You asked as you helped him unload the boxes from the cart. Usually Henry would make his delivery around 7 am, it was currently 6:30 am.

“Yeah, I’ve got a half day today. Have some wedding planning with the missus before she goes all bridezilla.” He joked as he dusted his hands off.

“That’s great! I’ll get you a coffee to take with you for the day.” Before Henry could even protest you were already behind the counter pouring some coffee into a large cup. When you were done you handed it to him with a smile. Henry pulled out his wallet but was stopped by you.

“Henry, it’s on the house.” You tell him.

“You know, you never let me pay for coffee, and that’s not good for your business.” He tuts playfully. Even though he would insist on paying for his coffee every morning, you never let him. The man got up at the ass crack of dawn to deliver cakes and such for cafes, it was the least you can do to make his day better.

“I don’t mind. You need the coffee to keep you going, Henry. Now get outta ‘ere, you’ve got some delivering to do.” You say. Henry playfully rolls his eyes and takes a $10 bill out his wallet, shoving it into the tip jar.

“He—“

“Take it, you’ve been giving me too many free coffees.” He reassures you before leaving the cafe. You yell a “have a nice day” to him before the door closes.

You loved your job. In fact you were your own boss and had your own cafe in Boston. Not too far from the main streets but in a quieter area where people still passed by. You’re currently in college studying Business and Management to help you with the cafe. Some wondered how you were still in college while managing a whole business.

The building is owned by your Uncle, he’s a realtor who also had some properties on the side. He was about to sell the store building but decided against it after he overheard you talking about starting your own business. A few years later and here you were. Your cafe was flourishing and had many loyal customers, every other day there would be some new customers who would stop by because the outside looked cute or claimed that someone suggested it to them (which always made your heart swell in joy). Though there were many loyal customers, one in particular seemed to always catch your eye.

🕓 Time Skip

The morning rush had passed and it was now lunch time. Unlike most of the customers that bought their coffee to go in the mornings, lunch time customers hung around the cafe for an hour or so. Which you enjoyed because there were always customers who would greet you as you passed by.

The sound of the bell on the door rang over the music and chatter of the cafe. You were working the cash register today while the others were taking orders, restocking pastries, or cleaning tables. You looked up from the register after finishing the previous customer’s order. You were greeted by the familiar ocean eyes you anticipated to see everyday.

“Hey stranger.” You teasingly greeted him.

“Hey, how’s your day going?” A smile formed on his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“My day’s going great now that my favorite customer’s here.” You winked.

“Oh please. You’re too kind.”

“So your usual, Chris?” You asked after realizing a line was starting to form behind the tall man. Chris came by the cafe almost everyday. You see, he was an actor and would go away for a few months to film movies. But whenever he was in town he would always stop by.

Chris’ “usual” consisted of a regular coffee with a dash of caramel syrup and a croissant.

“Yup. Can you add in a cake pop?” He answered as he looked at the glass cases that displayed the treats.

“Of course. $8.50.” He handed over his card and you swiped it.

“Thanks, (y/n).” He said after you hand over his card and receipt. Before he can walk away from the register he asks, “Can you stop by my table when you’re not busy?”

“Uh, yeah sure.” You answer and he walks away with a smile. You found it strange that he would ask you to come over because you always stopped by his table. You two always talked whenever he was there. Whether it be about a new project of his, one of your classes, or about your days.

🕓 Time Skip

A few minutes had gone by before Jade insisted on taking over the register. You make your way towards the back of the cafe to see Chris nervously fiddling with a wrapper. He always sat near the back, it was more secluded and he had a lower chance of getting noticed.

“Hey.” You greeted him softly as you sat down in the seat across from him. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice.

“Hey, doll. Here.” He smiled and pushed the wrapper that contained the cake pop.

“You don’t want it?” You asked before you can take the cake pop out.

“No, I got it for you. You’re always snacking on something whenever we talk so I thought I should get you a treat this time.” He shrugged and sat up in his seat. You thanked him and took the cake pop out.

“So what’s up?”

“Uh. I just wanted to say I appreciate our talks here at the cafe and I enjoy talking to you a lot.” He began to say. You nodded along for him to continue, though he hesitated. You’ve known Chris for almost a year now. You considered him a friend since you guys always shared things about your lives during your coffee talks. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him attractive. Because you sure as hell did and he had an amazing personality to go along with his charming looks.

“I appreciate our talks too, Chris. It’s one of the things I look forward to whenever you’re around.” You hum in response. Chris slightly freezes and just stares at you. A light blush forming on his pale cheeks.

“I’m not saying I don’t like talking to you in the cafe because I like it here. It’s very cozy and the atmosphere is very relaxing. You also make really great coffee and your taste in music is really great. You’re great.” He began to ramble causing your eyebrows to scrunch in confusion.

“I appreciate the compliments, Chris. But I don’t think I get where you’re trying to go with this conversation.” You interject making him stop. He sighs and leans forward keeping eye contact with you.

“I’m saying that I would like to talk to you outside of the cafe. Maybe on a date or something.” He confessed. You eyes widened for a bit. You never expected Chris to ask you out. Because of the age gap between you two you thought he would be more into women his age. Not that it bothered you.

When you remained silent, Chris groaned and sat back in his chair.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to say yes, I probably just made you uncomfortable too. Shit.” He groaned cringing at himself.

“No, wait!” You finally snapped out of your thoughts. “I’m just shocked you would ask me out, I didn’t expect you to find me interesting.” You explained.

“What do you mean? You’re one of the most inspiring women I’ve met. You’re balancing your classes at college and running your own business! Not everyone can do that!” His hands waving in the air as he talked.

“I mean I thought you were into women your age, if you haven’t noticed I’m a few years younger than you.” You mentioned.

“Well, does it make you uncomfortable to be with someone like me? If so, you could say no, I respect your decision.” He acknowledged. You smiled at him and shook your head.

“No, I’m comfortable with the age gap. It doesn’t bother me at all.” You confirm. Chris visibly takes a deep breath in and relaxes himself.

With a playful grin on his lips he leans forward again and asks, “So, does that mean you’ll go on a date with me?”

“Yes, Chris I’ll go on a date with you.” You playfully roll your eyes, though a smile were on your face.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #chris evans #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #cevans #chris evans imagines #christopher robert evans #steve rogers x reader #chris evans one shot #chris evans headcanon #ally’s requests

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blueberrysets · 4 years

Photo

WITH OR WITHOUT DEATH

pairing: grim reaper!sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

genre: fluff and angst, probs more angst

warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual activites, mentions of death, angst at the end

word count: 2,482

summary: sakusa was used to a lonely life when he became the notorious grim reaper. he got the cards with the time, place, date, and person of who’s soul he needed to collect, then he would go do his job then leave. that was until he met the bubbly waitress at the 50′s diner with terrible puns but amazing apple pie. if only the council could allow him to keep one, pure soul with him.

reccomended song to listen to: sparks by coldplay

an: okay hI! I’m actually really proud of this little thing I just wrote. This scenario actually takes place in a supernatural realm that I have been developing for ageesss. I’m actually really contemplating on writing a second part to this, so let me know if you’d like that! AND/OR making a writing collection with more haikyuu boys in this universe!! I think it would be really cool to write a supernatural au for the haikyuu boys. lol n e ways, let me know what you think and enjoy!!

sakusa’s breath gets caught in his throat at the mere sight of her. he stands across the street, adorned in his usual black attire and black panama-style hat. a mask covering his identity to the world as he peered into the small diners’ window. she stood behind the counter, chatting with the regulars as she fills up their coffee mugs. a bright smile etched across her face, filling the room with so much joy that his undead heart probably couldn’t withstand it. however for her, it was worth it.

the tacky baby blue waitress outfit matched the 50’s style diner, the color contrasting nicely against her skin. her hair cascades nicely down her back, curled for the dress code she has to withstand.

“it’s cheesy,” he remembers her telling him one night during her late shift, “but I kind of like it, in a charming way.”

it was always the same routine with them; he shows up at the diner at random times, she doesn’t ask questions as she fetches him his usual order, then she sends him that pretty smile of hers as she leans closer to him to talk about his secret. she was the only living soul to know of it, and the only living soul to have an unknown power over him. he wouldn’t trust it with others, but her? he would lay down his own life to hear her whisper his name just one more time.

the rain falling soaks into his black, wool coat. protecting his skin from the harsh air of late autumn. he finally decides to make his way inside the overly hot diner, before he has another soul to guide. he only sees her when death is present, he wouldn’t be in the human realm for any other reason. that was part of his deal to the council. how amusing is it to be a highly respected, yet exiled demon. the human realm was dirty anyways, in more ways than one. covered in diseases, pervs, assholes, and incubuses that feed daily. they annoyed him the most. loosely throwing around their name like it isn’t the thing that controls them, they just like how their name sounds when a human moans it. disgusting.

his long, bony fingers reach out to pull open the door. the heat hitting him in the face like a sharp slap, knocking the breath out of you if you aren’t prepared for it. the familiar ding from the bells attached to the handle fills the slightly empty diner. only a man sitting at the bar with a burger and a man sitting in a booth with a newspaper fill the occupants. yet his gaze is set on the girl in front of him that turns to meet his eyes. another bubbly smile stretches across her face as she places her hands on her hips.

“well, hey there stranger,” she states, a slight twang in her voice. he walks closer to the bar, sitting on the awkwardly high bar stool as she places his fresh black coffee in front of him, “long time no see, grim.”

she gently takes off his hat, tousling the curls that are hidden underneath it. he likes to think that she’s fixing his hat hair, but in reality she messes it up more. she finds it endearing how the usual put together grim reaper and can have the cutest curls to frame his face. she places his hat on the counter beside him before hooking a finger into his black mask to pull it down his face. if it were anyone else, he would’ve bitten off their finger and disinfected his whole body from the human diseases. dead or not, it still makes his skin crawl. her, however, she’s so pure and untainted.

her soul gives off a vibrant, white light. it glows nicely in the middle of her chest, as if waiting for any sort of sin to darken its glow. he also finds it adorable when her eyes brighten a smidge more to see his full face. even with the gray undertone in his skin color, the soulless eyes, and the eye bags; she stares at him like he’s the most beautiful thing to walk this earth. the mask now rests underneath his chin and her eyes are in delight with what she sees. before he could fully examine her face in the close proximity, she leans away to turn her attention to the man two seats down from him.

“want a refill, mr. k?” she questions as she reaches over to grab the pitcher full of water.

a single letter, that’s what high ranked demons go by in the human realm. you see, if you know the real name of a demon you have full power over them. it’s crucial for demons in power to keep it hidden, that’s why they usually have humans call them by their first initial. sakusa peers his eyes over to be met with the familiar gray locks of one of his colleagues. koushi sugawara, a hellhound. his usual kind stare meets sakusa’s dead stare, sending a small smile his way. sugawara then turns back to wipe the corners of his mouth one more time with his napkin, placing it on top of his now empty plate.

“no thank you, sugar,” he states softly as he placed money onto the counter, sliding it her way, “keep the change, honey.”

“you got it, mr. k,” she gleams at him, her eyes squinting slightly from her big smile, “you have a nice night now.”

sugawara stands from the stool, grabbing his jacket that rests on the chair next to him. shrugging it onto his shoulders as he turns his attention to sakusa sitting next to him.

“it’s nice to see you again grim,” he nods towards him, “still looking as dead as ever.”

“you as well,” he mumbles towards sugawara, a hand being placed on his shoulder to give a light squeeze before he walks out of the diner. he respects sugawara, as he was one of the few that fought for him during his hearing with the council.

his eyes lazily make their way back towards her, to be taken back by how close she was to him. her elbow rests next to his, her head tilting slightly to rest on her hand. her eyes wide and curious as she pushes the slice of apple pie closer to him. steam coming from the fresh pie and tickling his nose slightly, but the aroma fills his nostrils as his stomach rumbles slightly in hunger. why she was so close to him with that look? he wasn’t sure, causing his eyebrows to knit together in confusion as he picks up his utensils to eat her signature apple pie.

“well,” she asks, her eyes still wide.

“well what?” he asks back, finally taking a bite. his tastebuds doing a victory dance with the deliciousness that covered them, physically having to hold back a groan after the sweetness hits him.

“what kind of death was it today?” she asks, her head lifting from her hand as she places it on the counter. leaning slightly closer to him, if he leans in a little more as well their noses would be touching.

he knows that she does this to keep it quiet between them, but it’s a well known fact that he is the grim reaper. people always ask questions about the unusual deaths he sees on a regular basis. however, he appreciates that she respects his privacy. even though she is a curious little thing. he swallows his food before he answers, the fork still being gripped in his hand.

“hit and run,” he says with a smirk.

“tch,” she sneers as she leans back from him, grabbing the rag damp with disinfectant as she begins viciously wiping down the counter, “so much for humanity.”

“what do you mean by that?” he asks with curiosity as he takes another bite.

“well, i mean,” she starts, slightly stuttering over her words. she stops wiping as she stares off behind him, trying to come up with an explanation for how she’s feeling. “I’m beginning to lose my faith in humanity. I mean for crying out loud! we now walk freely with vampires, werewolves, witches, demons! you would think more deaths would be caused by that, but no. it’s still humans killing humans, and i’m glad you help them pass over. you’re more human than any human i have ever met.”

her words drift off at the end as a bashful state takes over her demeanor. the tips of her ears redden as she focuses her gaze on the counter instead of him. it was at this moment, that sakusa knew he would do something he would regret that night. he clenched his jaw as he contemplated his next words.

“when does your shift end?” he asks in his usual monotones voice.

her eyes shift to his, expecting him to lecture her about how he was a demon and she shouldn’t say things like that so carelessly. she was used to his scolding, he did it to her quite often. she swallows and licks her lips before replying.

“9 pm.”

“great, ten minutes for me to finish my pie,” he smiles, “let’s go for a walk after.”

_____________

it’s been fifteen minutes since they first started their walk. his wool coat covers her exposed legs from the cold as her eyes remain upwards towards the night sky. stars twinkle down on them as their comfortable silence is wrapped around them. her mind is gushing over the beauty of the stars, but also over the beauty of him and the two little moles stacked on his forehead. his mind is running a full marathon on how to word his thoughts correctly to her. he’s too analytical, never the one to easily express his emotions. but tonight, for her, he would give it a try.

his mask remains tucked underneath his chin as his eyes remain on the ground. his bottom lip being gnawed at nervously before he takes a deep breath in. as he releases it sharply, he stops his strides next to her. causing her to halt as well, her head looks back at him as she stopped a bit in front of him.

“everything alright?” she asks in a soothing voice.

“in all of my years, alive and undead, i have never encountered something like you,” he whispers, his gaze still on the ground.

“what?” she whispers back, taking a few steps closer to him. the fog of their breaths mixing together at their proximity, she hugs his coat closer to her body as she searches for his gaze to meet his.

“in all of my years, i have never encountered something like you,” he states confidently, his dead eyes now peering into her much livelier ones. “I have met countless of people, and it’s always the same feeling with them. the greed, the lust, the wrath; it’s always one of those deadly sins that have overtaken their souls. it became redundant, annoying even, to see all of the unruly human souls running around doing whatever they want. then I met you, in a little rundown 24 hour diner with the brightest, purest glow emitting from you. you live for selfless deeds, you put yourself before others, you’re hardworking, honest, beautiful, kind, and everything that it takes to awaken my undead soul. it would stupid for me to say that I am not completely in love with you.”

“grim,” she breathes out, her eyes filling with tears over the beautiful words that he has spoken about her. but more importantly, what it would mean for him, for them.

“you know everything about me, even my weak points. you know about my exile, you know about the little human memories i have left, you know how to summon me, you know my name,” he speaks with raw emotion as his skinny hands reach for her face, the plumpness of her cheeks resting nicely in the palm of his hands, “and i’m terrified of how weak I am for you. yet, i can’t hold it in anymore. you speak so highly of me that i feel alive, but i’m not. god, you make me feel so holy. like i could walk into heaven right now. yet, i would kill a man if you just gave me a name.”

one of her hands rests on top of his, her eyes never leaving his. a single tear runs down her face, the first drop for a hurricane. his thumb wipes it away, along with the many more that come after it.

“I’m about to do something, and you and I both know what will happen after this happens,” he explains quietly as he takes one of his hands from her face and wraps it around her waist to pull her closer to him, “but please indulge me, in my own personal sin.”

after the last syllable of the word leaves his lips, he dips his head down to capture her lips with his own. the kiss is deep and full of raw, pure emotion. his grip on her is tight, because he knows that once they separate she’ll have to say it. but all she could focus on was his lips against hers. the saltiness of her tears could be tasted on lips. his skin, which is usually ice cold, is the complete opposite to his warm lips. they fit nicely against hers and move with experience as he continues to deepen the kiss. it seems as if hours had pass in the small minutes of them kissing. she didn’t want it to end, she didn’t want him to pull away. but he did. as soon as their lips part, a sob escapes her body as he rests his forehead against hers.

“send me away, y/n,” he says in a stern, yet soft tone, his hold still tight on her.

“I can’t,” she croaks out, her voice filled with sorrow as her body continues to shake with sobs, “please don’t make me.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispers as pulls her closer to him, “i’m so sorry. but you and i both know, you have to.”

another cry is released as she pushes her face into his chest. her hands gripping the black turtleneck sweater, her tears wetting the shirt as well. he can only hold her, rubbing soothing circles into her back as a single tear runs down his cheek as well.

“please go away,” she sobs, “kiyoomi.”

once his name leaves her lips, her wish is his command. he vanishes in thin air, a black smoke replacing where he once was. as she sinks down to hug her knees into her chest, she promised to herself that she would see him again.

with or without death.

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slightlycrunchy · 3 years

Text

the color you bleed is me

A fic written for the Dead Dove exchange over at @thewitcherbog. My recipient is @jaskiersvalley who wanted a little mind control, so where else would I go but to Vampires? (Let’s see if this gets flagged heh)

Read on ao3 (which I recommend cuz the formatting is better)

WC: 5.8k // Rated E // Warnings: blood and gore, sexual violence, explicit sexual content, dub-con, mind control, blood as lube // Tags: vampire!Jaskier, top Jaskier, happy ending, geraskier, hurt/comfort, geralt is self-sacrificing

It all begins one night across from his witcher, soft amber eyes aglow with burning flame. Jaskier stands, stretching his travel-weary muscles as he endures the cracks that run up and down his spine. They have just eaten dinner, dried meat turned into a stew flavored with a handful of herbs Jaskier had happened upon. Usually it’s a good night when sweet little surprises like this happen. Jaskier loves these evenings spent around the fire, soft companionship shared with his best friend.

Friends.

Yes, that’s what they are.

“To bed, bard?”

Geralt’s rough tone catches him unawares and he jumps. He doesn’t dare hope that Geralt didn’t see it with the small smirk that plays at his shadowed face.

“Afraid so, dear, long day and all. You’ve worn me out something dreadful. It’s a shame I won’t have the energy for anything else”, Jaskier teases, the back of his hand held to his forehead in an affected swoon. Geralt simply rolls his eyes, far too used to Jaskier’s antics to be provoked any longer.

“Yes, what a shame. A good wank would have put you out hard enough I would be spared your snoring.”

Jaskier chokes on a laugh. He’s still not quite used to Geralt’s good-natured teasing. “Yes, well, perhaps there’s energy for that. Maybe you could do the same and spare me yours?”

“I sleep like the dead.”

“Un-dead more like it.”

Geralt’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter and with a wave of his hand, he dismisses Jaskier. Turning away, Jaskier finally settles into his own bedroll. It’s a cold night, autumn’s grasp only becoming stronger each day, and yet Jaskier feels unbearably warm, his cheeks and chest alight with an inner fire.

Friends. Yes.

The teasing, the ribbing, the fights that melt into small squabbles that are gotten over quickly. Gone are the days of getting on each others’ last nerve and Jaskier fighting for scraps of Geralt’s attention.

Friends.

As the night closes in and Jaskier’s thoughts go in familiar circles, he feels sleep coming for him strong and fast. Gods, is he exhausted. It really is a shame that he doesn’t have the energy to take himself in hand.

This is the last thought he is allowed before sleep takes him.

-------------------

“Jaskier!”

He’s jolted into waking, his heart racing so hard it hurts his chest.

“G-Geralt—?”

“Melitele’s tits, Jaskier hurry the fuck up,” Geralt growls from somewhere above. Jaskier’s eyes have not yet adjusted to the bright light around him, sunlight pouring down on him sharply—

Oh no. Not again.

He’s up as quickly as he can manage, bedroll hastily packed and boots put on the wrong feet. He needs to take a piss but will hold it for now, not wanting to worsen the look he can imagine lies starkly across the witcher’s face as he waits for him, ready to go with all of their things packed.

He’s done it again. For the third day in a row, Jaskier has slept through their usual dawn waking. Two decades of travelling off and on with Geralt should guarantee Jaskier’s body knows what to do and when. The sun warming his skin has always been his signal to wake, just like it is Geralt’s. Even when the witcher would leave him for the long winters, it took weeks for Jaskier’s body to recognize that it did not actually have to wake with the sun in his rooms in Oxenfurt.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“I’m sorry, Geralt, I don’t know what’s come over me,” Jaskier says, breathless as he comes to the witcher’s side, arms full of the bag he clumsily tries to throw over his shoulder. His limbs shake a bit with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so awake.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier looks up, his first time really seeing Geralt this morning, shocked that the look he had imagined—pure, unadulterated irritation—is not there at all. There’s a furrow to Geralt’s brow as his eyes shamelessly roam Jaskier’s body. It makes Jaskier’s cheeks hot.

“Sorry. Again.”

As Geralt turns and they begin their way out of the woods, Jaskier rubs at his jaw absently where it aches. Why did Geralt look at him like that? And why isn’t he angry?

Jaskier doesn’t stop wondering for the rest of the day.

----------------------

Something is wrong with Jaskier.

Amber eyes roam over the sleeping body that lies close to the fire, small shivers still running up and down the blanketed lump. Jaskier has slept through dinner, and this isn’t the first time.

Geralt tears his eyes away from the man before him, looking up to the stars that shine bright and clear above them. The weather is pleasant, though cold. A human would perhaps be feeling its bite by now, but not to the degree that Jaskier seems to. Geralt has taken to holding the bard close the past few days just so his teeth will stop chattering; the man sleeps so deeply that Geralt is sure he doesn’t even notice.

The hare Geralt caught sits heavy in his stomach, Jaskier’s portion eaten as well, as Geralt knows by now he won’t be able to wake the other man. His sleep patterns have become worrisome if he’s being honest. Jaskier is nearly impossible to wake of a morning, and more often than not he doesn’t eat before he goes to bed in the evenings. Tonight, the sun hadn’t even fallen beneath the treeline before Jaskier had rolled out his bed and folded onto it like a man who hadn’t rested in days.

And yet they don’t talk about it.

Jaskier’s appetite has waned, even midday breaks taken only for sips of water and a rest for his feet. Geralt has had to shake him awake twice, head rolling onto his chest against a tree. Jaskier seems to be able to fall into sleep anywhere, at any time. This level of exhaustion can’t be healthy.

Jaskier says nothing.

Geralt has watched his skin turn sallow and hands begin to shake, and even as Geralt shoots him knowing looks, begging the bard to say something, Jaskier looks away with a look like shame blanketing his face. Why would he be ashamed? If he’s growing sick, there’s nothing for Jaskier to feel shame over; he can’t help it.

With a sigh, Geralt thinks of Jaskier’s age. His fortieth birthday is coming up, literally within the week. Two decades Geralt has spent with this man, at first an annoyance but now someone Geralt would call his closest friend.

Friends.

Geralt wonders at that word. So innocent and small, and yet it holds the meaning of joy in his life. Jaskier brings so much joy into his life.

Geralt startles, half rising from the log he sits on when a shuddering sigh escapes the lump across the flames from him. Geralt waits a moment, but then Jaskier settles and the tension bleeds from his limbs. Forty years old is middle-aged for a human, a time when their bodies begin to struggle and slow. For the gods’ sakes, many don’t even make it this far. Sickness ravages too many too young, and Jaskier has always been bafflingly healthy.

But not anymore, it seems.

With a heaviness set upon his shoulders, Geralt rises and makes his way to Jaskier’s side, placing his own bedroll close. Something pricks at his mind that he doesn’t want to name as he bundles Jaskier into his arms. Geralt hears his labored breathing slow, Jaskier’s muscles relaxing into Geralt’s chest as he holds him closer and Geralt ignores the twist in his gut.

Not for the first time, Geralt wishes he had the means to know what the future holds, where they will end. He doesn’t know what he will do if he loses his closest friend.

----------------------------------

Jaskier can’t eat. His stomach twists and curls uncomfortably nearly every waking moment, and even the thought of food has him nearly retching. His jaw aches, a sensation that has crept up on him with every waking morning and no matter how much he massages the skin there, nothing assuages his discomfort. He knows Geralt is aware something is wrong, but the witcher never brings it up, and for that Jaskier is thankful.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge whatever this is. But he’s finding it harder to ignore.

The tipping point comes the day before he is due to turn forty, some vague and distant part of Jaskier’s mind regaling him of birthdays spent in Oxenfurt, memories drenched in too much wine and debauchery. There have been other, softer years spent with Geralt on such a day; times when Geralt has gifted him something thoughtful and sweet—useful, more often than not. If he’s honest, those are his favorite years. As he gets older, nights full of revelry are wanted far less, time with those he loves needed far more.

And Jaskier loves Geralt, by Melitele’s mercy he does.

The sky sprinkles a light drizzle all around them, grey and pressing down with a haze in the air that tugs at Jaskier’s lungs with an insistent pull. A town rises up before them out of the mist, inconsequential, looking no different than the last four they've passed through in the past two weeks. However, Jaskier thinks every town would look the same to him at this point.

His breathing is labored as he follows Roach blindly, her body taking up a dark corner of his vision even as he stares down at his own feet. It’s all he can do to keep walking; place one foot in front of the other, the pressure at his soles grounding and slightly hypnotic as he does so. He’s so unaware that he walks into her backside as she’s stopped at some point, his shoulder bouncing off with an embarrassing squeak as he’s shocked out of his daze.

“Jaskier, we’re here.”

Geralt’s voice sounds distant even as Jaskier attempts to look up at him. The back of his neck aches something awful and he can’t quite force himself to make eye contact, his gaze shifting off somewhere over Geralt’s left shoulder. Even so, Jaskier gives a wan smile. “Where exactly is ‘here’, witcher?”

“A place I know...with people I know,” Geralt answers, his voice soft and...concerned. Jaskier’s expression shutters; he doesn’t want Geralt’s pity, he’s fine, this is all fine. He ignores how his knees shake beneath him—

“You’re not fine, bard,” a feminine voice cuts through the fog.

Immediately Jaskier is at attention, more aware than he’s felt in days. He looks to Geralt’s face, a feeling of betrayal and something else that’s hot and nearly overwhelming bubbling up in his chest. He hasn’t seen her in months, and Jaskier has been grateful for it, especially since his feelings for Geralt have changed as of late, tumbling firmly into non-platonic territories. She is a threat, an enemy come to take what is his—

He startles. Where has that thought come from?

“Yennefer? Why is she here Geralt, what are you doing?” His heart rate is rising and with it comes a new wave of dizziness. He sways, Geralt bracing him firmly beneath his elbow. Geralt’s face is pinched in discomfort.

“You’re...you’re not well, Jask. It wasn’t originally my plan to seek her out, but I heard rumors of a sorceress this way and…” he trails off.

“And you look like shit, bard. Stop being so stubborn as to not accept help from someone who can do something about it.”

It’s as if it comes from nowhere really, like he’s turned a corner and it’s just there, crouched and ready to pounce on him when he’s least expecting it. Fury; hot, possessive, overwhelming fury. He is equal parts surprised and satisfied when he hisses, the sound feeling wrong coming from his mouth. Gods, his mouth aches; he wants to tear her to shreds.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier won’t look at him, eyes boring holes into the mage before him who takes a moment to look surprised before her eyes harden into steel. His head pounds.

She nearly sneers when she says, “I know what the fuck you are.”

Jaskier hardly has a moment to register her words before his legs give out and everything goes deeply, horribly, black.

---------------------------------

Jaskier is sleeping deeply, looking worse than ever, upon a bed inside the humble cottage Yennefer has set herself up in. The lack of wealth that usually surrounds the mage in her favored homesteads is shocking, though Geralt has more pressing matters to mind.

“What’s wrong with him, Yen?” He tries to keep the desperation out of his voice.

She doesn’t look at him, busy bustling around in the small kitchen, gathering up herbs and water into a bowl that she heats with her magic. She places sprigs of rosemary and sage within it and immediately Geralt’s senses are overwhelmed with the earthy softness as she wrings out a cloth and fits it neatly upon Jaskier’s forehead, all with clinical ease. Jaskier has begun to sweat, his skin clammy with it. He pants harshly, and Geralt feels an urgency more than ever.

“Tell me, Yen.”

She looks at him askance, placing the bowl upon a table that rests at the bedside. “You’re not going to like it, witcher. Things are going to change.”

“When one lives as long as I have, change is inevitable.”

Yennefer looks at the bard, and Geralt isn’t sure if he imagines her gaze to be full of pity. “Not like this, Geralt.”

Geralt feels his patience snap, “Damn it all, Yen! Tell me!”

“Don’t you yell at me, witcher,” she says dangerously, even as she finally stops before him, arms folded over her chest in defiance. “Now shut up.”

She’s silent for a moment and the anxiety that Geralt has easily pushed down with action and outward movement now comes toppling over him. Is Jaskier dying? The air in the room is foreboding, so much so that he can hardly breathe with it. He watches as she hardens her expression, her eyes darkening. He clenches his fists.

“He’s turning, Geralt.”

Of all the things she could have said, this was not what he expected. “Turning? Turning to what, Yen?”

“Turning into what, you mean. He’s a vampire, Geralt. How have you not noticed? I assume he hasn’t been eating, been sleeping more—he’s probably in quite a bit of pain as his body goes through the changes. I can see his teeth from here, how have you missed it?”

The teeth? Immediately Geralt is at Jaskier’s side, raising one pale lip to look at the canines there. His throat tightens at the sight; they match his own, now. He knows they will only grow sharper. Suddenly the thought overtakes him, stealing his breath, “His fortieth is tomorrow Yen...tomorrow.”

“Is it? What a shame.”

“Have some compassion, for Melitele’s sake,” he says without heat, but his mind is roaming elsewhere.

He thinks back to the bestiary, of all that he knows of higher vampires. How does Jaskier not know what he is? For surely he doesn’t know, he would have told Geralt...wouldn’t he? There isn’t much known about the species, many witchers having been destroyed too swiftly to report any characteristics in the flesh. Though, they know a little: vampires come of age much later than humans, at forty to be exact. They hold the ability to thrall and speak to the beasts of the field, lack reflection or shadow and can blend in with humans almost seamlessly. They don’t require human blood, but many give into their desires and take it anyway—except on one day of their life.

The day they turn.

“He’s starving, Geralt—he’ll need his fill of blood tomorrow to survive the change, so what will you do? You hunt monsters like him. You can’t possibly condone even your precious bard taking a human life to save his own? What will the world come to—”

“Quit mocking him, Yen,” Geralt spits, his mind in a whirlwind.

Jaskier’s body has been slowly transitioning over the past two weeks and Geralt hates himself for not noticing, though there’s no way he could have. Without realizing it, Geralt has begun petting Jaskier’s chestnut hair, his sweat slicking it back bit by bit. With gentle hands, Geralt lowers them to the hem of Jaskier’s tunic, slowly lifting it up just to Jaskier’s chest.

Geralt sighs heavily. He’s lost weight—more than Geralt would have thought. His stomach lies sunken in slightly and the edges of his soft chest have turned sharp, ribs protruding by a small measure. His body has been wasting away and something in Geralt howls at this. It’s his job to protect Jaskier, to make sure he’s safe—how can he protect him from this?

“So what are you going to do witcher? You could wait until tomorrow to slay him or…” Geralt looks up at her, his eyes wide in surprise, “you could do it now, while he sleeps. Put him out of his misery before he even knows of the monster he has become.”

“Jaskier is no monster,” he growls, something in him jumping forth with teeth bared. He turns away from her, to look at the man below him who didn’t choose this for himself but is forced into it regardless—

Not unlike Geralt himself had once been.

Witchers are hated all over the continent, though they do thankless, dirty work that keeps the people safe in their beds, and yet he didn’t have a choice in the matter. In those early days, Geralt had wished he didn’t survive the trials, hadn’t lived to become this. ‘Monster’ they call him. He used to believe it...until Jaskier came along.

Jaskier was never daunted by his looks or gruff demeanor. Jaskier always saw deeper down, into who Geralt actually is...and now, Geralt will do the same.

“I will help him.”

He sees the way Yennefer flinches even from the corner of his eye, unwilling to look away from Jaskier’s face. The bard’s brows have knit together in discomfort now, and Geralt gently smoothes the ache away with his thumb.

“Are you insane, Geralt? He’ll kill you!”

“That may be true, but…” He doesn’t know what it is, or why, but something in Geralt’s mind says that Jaskier won’t. He doesn’t dare trust it, but it’s there all the same. “That would be alright.”

“It will hurt Geralt, he’ll want the thrill of the hunt, he’ll tear you to shreds.” He hears the concern in her voice. It’s not as surprising as he would expect. “I— Please don’t, Geralt.”

Geralt rises from the edge of the bed, and makes his way over to where Yennefer stands, her fingers fidgeting with each other in her discomfort. Geralt feels his expression soften.

“Is there any other way, Yen?”

She is silent. Her gaze skitters to the floor. “No. Either he dies without feeding, or I suppose you end him—which it seems you won’t do,” she says accusingly.

“I won’t.”

“Then do what you will, witcher.” She sounds resigned even as she turns away with a dismissive wave, sauntering off into some other portion of the house down a long hallway to his right.

Geralt’s stomach twists at the thought that this may be the last time he sees her, speaks with her, and they’ve ended on such a sour note. “Thank you, Yennefer...for everything.” He says this softly, but somehow he knows she has heard him.

With a final look down the now empty hall, Geralt turns, his eyes settling across the exhausted body before him. In three strides he’s beside Jaskier now, and takes his hand within his own. Jaskier’s skin is cold.

“Let’s go, Jask.”

And as he slips into the night, a vague direction planned within his mind, strangely Geralt finds he feels nothing but peace.

--------------------------

He’s so unbearably hot.

It’s as if his skin has molted, revealing something fresh and new and entirely too weak like a newborn's flesh and he aches with it.

It’s difficult to open his eyes, the slit between his lashes hard won and he closes them immediately in the end, the air around him bright with flickering warmth.

“Jaskier? Jask.”

He knows that voice though it feels far away, muted beneath his pain and the tightness of his own body. He clenches his jaw, teeth and gums radiating with discomfort as he realizes he’s lying down, his back on something firm yet soft. He feels fingers run through his hair.

“Sleep. You’ll wake when it’s time.”

He doesn’t understand what that means and yet...he knows it to be true.

And so Jaskier sleeps.

---------------------------------

The next time he wakes, Jaskier knows he is not the same.

His body thrums, residual pain receding into something else, something that sings in his veins and calls to him from beyond. It’s instinctual, and his eyes shoot open with the hunger that would be foolish to call bodily alone.

He can smell him now. A man. Smoky and sweet—salt and musk. His mouth waters uncontrollably.

Elongated nails, sharp at their points, dig into fabric that lies soaked with sweat beneath him. His chest is bare, but the breeches around his legs remain and immediately he knows this will not do. With a strength that feels nothing but right, Jaskier is quick to rip them away along with his braies, leaving his skin unencumbered in the night air. His cock hangs heavy between his legs and his back arches with the feel of the fire-warmed air caressing his balls that already tighten with need.

It’s nearly overwhelming, the amount of sensation he feels. He feels empty, his jaw aching and fingers itching to slash and claw, to draw blood that he can lick away, filling his body with nourishment and energy—

He needs to feed. He needs it desperately.

He looks around, taking in the room. It appears to be a cave, carved into the side of a mountain, the drop off at the mouth of the entrance steep and dark, but he can easily see out into the night with his enhanced vision. Somehow, this doesn’t phase him at all, and as his eyes scan the walls, the ceiling, across the fire to his right and through the flames, he sees him.

Geralt.

If pressed, Jaskier would be unable to explain the exhilaration that runs through him at the sight. It feels wrong when he smiles, his teeth taking up too much of his mouth but he does it all the same; he can’t help it. Seeing Geralt makes him so happy.

“Jask...how are you feeling?”

The words sound off to his ears, but even so he understands them. Answering the question however, is not his priority at the moment.

With limbs that feel shaky for only a moment before they strengthen, Jaskier rises, his member bobbing and full with every step he takes towards the man on the other side of the fire. Geralt’s eyes glow, and Jaskier can see the cords of muscle in his neck tighten with anticipation. The witcher is nervous...interesting.

Once Jaskier sees it, he can’t seem to look anywhere else. Geralt’s pulse pounds beneath the thin, white skin above his collarbone, and Jaskier feels himself swoon at the sight. Two quick strides have him close enough to touch and he doesn’t hesitate to bury his nose within the crook of Geralt’s neck, taking in the scent of the man, his nose picking up things he knows he never has before. Jaskier’s skin tingles with the proximity and suddenly his urges snap into place; this is his friend, this is his love, this man is his.

“Jask, do you know who you are? Who I am? Do you...do you know what’s happening?”

Geralt’s voice cracks as Jaskier licks the column of his throat, from the dip in his clavicle to the point of his chin. Geralt tastes like sweat and anxiety, and Jaskier can’t get enough.

Strong hands hold Geralt at the nape and lower him down to the rough ground, the points of Jaskier’s nails digging into Geralt’s scalp just enough to draw blood. As he straddles Geralt’s hips, Jaskier’s eyes find Geralt’s own wide with trepidation and slowly Jaskier takes the hand away, bringing it to his mouth and placing the bloodied fingers onto his tongue.

His vision goes white with the pleasure that runs through him.

At once, it’s like he’s woken for the first time. He needs this, he has to take, has to feed—

His fangs sink home into the vein at Geralt’s neck, and warmth blooms upon his tongue, heavy and aromatic as the thick glide of the witcher’s life essence slides down his throat.

Geralt’s body tenses and he swallows a cry as Jaskier suckles his skin, his teeth penetrating deeper as he begins to rock his body against the man held captive beneath him. The sensation is new and yet so familiar, right in a way that nothing has ever been as he uses Geralt’s body to satisfy his own. There’s a voice in his head, telling him to hunt, claim, mate, breed, as he takes and takes what he wants from Geralt.

“J-Jask—” Geralt stutters, but Jaskier cuts him off with a low growl. Geralt’s body is as taut as a bowstring beneath him and something in that sings wrong in Jaskier’s head, like a chord struck wrong in the song at his fingertips.

He will do something about it.

He doesn’t know how he becomes aware of the ability, but he does all the same, activating something within himself like a switch he can turn on at will to draw himself even closer to his victim, to his meal, to his lover—

He invades Geralt’s mind.

Words do not exist here, but instead, it is feeling. Jaskier wills the body beneath him to soften and sate, relax into the curves and points of Jaskier’s body and Geralt complies without fight. Where his hands had been clenched into fists and his breathing labored, now there is nothing but tranquility, a body giving itself over to be used as it will.

Jaskier can hardly stand it.

His teeth rip from Geralt’s body, but the connection remains as Jaskier decides there is certainly too much clothing between them. With a few swift movements, Geralt is bare beneath him, and Jaskier can’t feast his eyes on enough skin. With a hunger he can’t name he decides he must see it all, as if he has been waiting for years, though time does not exist here. Right now there is nothing more than this cave and this desire and this hot, burning need. He flips Geralt over.

Scars, endless upon creamy canvas—and Jaskier knows he must add his own. It’s almost as if he is watching from above as he sees his own claws rake over Geralt’s back, drawing lines of crimson in long patterns. His tongue is quick to follow, sucking the flowing rivers out of deep trenches. Each drink goes straight to his cock and soon enough, Jaskier can’t take it anymore, his teeth sinking back into the vein that bleeds sluggishly from Geralt’s neck.

Time passes and the man below him grows colder, in increments. Still Jaskier is not satisfied. Something claws at him from within, older than the new song that plays in his head on loop, something from before, something important. After ignoring it for as long as he can, it breaks through, however.

Don’t kill him!

The thought feels wrong to his animalistic desire but it stops him all the same. He rises, his fangs leaving skin only for his tongue to lap at the wounds, sealing them as quickly as he can. Geralt’s skin has taken on a grey tint, and this does something strange to his gut.

Fear. He feels fear.

He is ours, but you cannot end him, not like this!

And yet he knows he cannot stop, his body is not ready, has not been fed, has not been filled.

Suddenly another idea overtakes him.

Geralt lies still, his breathing slow and steady even as his heart beats thready and weak. Pity lies somewhere beneath Jaskier’s skin but he ignores it, dragging his fingers through the beads of sweat and blood that leak steadily from Geralt’s wounds, two fingers drenched with it as he looks down to where he is straddled, over the rounded peaks of Geralt’s arse. His hands find themselves beneath the witcher’s hips, guiding them up until Jaskier can easily see the sweet, pink, puckered hole of Geralt before him, and without preamble, he slides two crimson fingers within.

Geralt is still warm here, and as Jaskier works him open, fast from the start with rough strokes, his teeth sink into the curve of his cheeks, small bites drawing more blood from pale skin.

Two fingers is all Jaskier has patience for.

His cock throbs, nearly purple in its fullness as he lines up with the now red rim of Geralt, and without so much as another breath, sinks home to the hilt.

Jaskier can feel within himself the way Geralt shudders though his body is kept still from the thrall that wraps itself entirely around his mind. Geralt’s body only gives—lets itself be taken by Jaskier and all at once he knows this is what he needed. His stomach, his veins full from Geralt’s nourishment, and his cock wrapped up in the witcher’s warmth as his insides batter against the length of him. The slide is sweet and Jaskier pants with pleasure, running through him like sparks set to ignite into a blazing, uncontrollable fire. His claws find purchase in Geralt’s hips, digging deep into muscle and grinding into bone. Jaskier nearly cries out with the deliciousness of it all.

This is what he has craved, every corner of his being suspended in want for years on end, coming to a glorious conclusion, a poetic end as Jaskier gives in to his every want. He plows forward, in and out of Geralt’s hole as he begins to weaken the hold on the witcher’s mind; he wants Geralt to feel this, wants Geralt to know that he is owned, held up only by the strength of Jaskier’s hands—

“Ah!”

The sound is one of pain, and yet it only drives Jaskier on further.

“Jaskier, stop— Stop...”

Geralt fights weakly, still drained of energy from the blood loss, and this of all things is what pulls Jaskier over the edge.

He spills his seed into Geralt, warmth spreading around him as he keens into the night air, a chill settling beneath his skin with a dizzying immediacy. Slowly, it’s as if his body returns to him, the harried internal screams of more, more quieting to a dull hum. He is sated...full. He can’t remember feeling like this in a very long time. He shudders through the residual tremors of his orgasm, dripping the last of his spend into Geralt’s body with a sense of relish. This is wonderful. This is heaven.

“...Jas?”

With the lightness blooming in his chest, Jaskier had nearly forgotten his witcher. With an exhausted smile on his face Jaskier finally looks down, taking in the sight before him.

Geralt is covered in blood.

And with such a sight, something within him stops.

“...Geralt?”

Somehow he had known what he had been doing and yet...the consequences of such had been shelved, buried six-feet deep, flung over his shoulder to be thought of later. His skin is pink and flushed and Geralt’s is crimson and grey-toned. The air rushes out of his lungs in one unhappy push.

“Geralt…”

He tries to be gentle as he removes himself, his limp cock bouncing against his own inner thigh as he flips Geralt over gently and with newly shaking hands, “Oh gods, Geralt—Geralt I’m so sorry, what have I done—”

“Jask…” Geralt’s voice is thin and weak, his eyes barely open even as a small smile appears on his face, and immediately Jaskier wants to slap him for it. “It’s alright...it’s alright. I’m alive, you didn’t,” —he takes a breath— “I’m alright.”

Jaskier looks around frantically, taking in the pools of blood on them both and pales, “You could still die!”

“No. I won’t. Come here.” He gestures to himself, uncaring of his nudity nor Jaskier’s even as Jaskier blushes deeply, regardless of what they have just done.

Jaskier recoils in disgust, “No, no don’t let me touch you, I’m a monster, a freak—” he cuts off abruptly, his eyes going wide, glossy as his gaze is lost in the distance. “You have to kill me.”

Grunts of pain are heard as Geralt tries to sit upright, only to realize it’s a losing battle; he doesn’t have the strength. Still his voice is fierce when he says, “No.”

“Yes, witcher...yes…”

And suddenly Jaskier can hardly breathe for the sorrow that swallows his entire heart whole.

Geralt finally knows how Jaskier feels and yet it comes at the highest cost. Not only did he hurt his friend, the man he loves—but this will be the end. Jaskier lists to the side, catching himself on cold stone with a clammy palm. He shivers in the night air, the sweat on his skin cooling rapidly. He doesn’t much care.

“No, Jaskier, I will not.”

“And why not?” Jaskier cries, tears slipping from his eyes as he whips his head towards Geralt and stares him down, defiant. “That’s what you’re made for—to kill things like me!” Finally, he breaks down into tears, burying his head into hands still smeared with Geralt’s blood. He’s disgusted with himself. If only Geralt would just do it already, he would welcome it—

Arms come around him, warm, even if they lack the temperature Jaskier knows they normally house. His breath stutters in his chest.

“Don’t you see, Jask? Can you really not?”

Slowly, blue eyes search for golden, blazing in the molten light. They are always so beautiful, Jaskier thinks. It will be a pity to know them no more. But Geralt just looks back, his expression soft...fond.

“Can’t you see I’d do anything for you?”

As Jaskier’s face crumples, and Geralt holds him through his echoing sobs, a low timbre tells of how Geralt knew—with Yennefer’s help of course—what would happen...and came anyway.

Jaskier shakes his head in exasperation as Geralt finishes, his voice shaky as he says, “You stupid, stupid witcher. You couldn’t have known it would be alright.”

“I don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“You did tonight.”

But Geralt did it all for him, and he won’t soon forget it.

“Besides, bard, this is the only night you will even show vampiric traits, if you so wish. So stop being so dramatic. You can live your life as you always have.”

Jaskier looks up, eyes tear bright and hopeful. “As I...always have?”

Geralt hums, nodding.

“With me.”

#the witcher #my writing #fic #hurt/comfort #cw blood #vampire!Jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier

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honey-andtea1889 · 4 years

Text

The Cold Autumn Evenings (H.S.) Part Two

AN: Hello again lovies! So this part is kind of a filler but it’s not awful! I had to go and reread some bits to fix them up a bit but I think it’s decent! I’m sorry it took so long for this to go up as well. I was down in Arizona for a week and let me tell you I miss it a lot. Anywho, enjoy part two! Requests are open!

Summary: Y/N got caught up in reading Harry’s story, unfortunately this is the reason for her being late

Warnings: none

Song: A Slow Death In Pacific Standard Time by HUNNY

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The next morning seemed like a blur. Y/N woke up super early and continued where she left off in Harry’s story. In the chapter she was on, the man was about to profess his love for the girl, but she had been seen with someone else, leaving the man heartbroken and confused. Y/N could feel the tears slowly falling down her face as she continued the sad chapter. Her phone began ringing as she set the packet down to get breakfast.

“Hello?” Y/N answered, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Y/N! How’s my favorite- are you okay?” Harry questioned over the phone.

“Oh I’m fine! I was just reading something that got me a bit emotional is all. Is everything okay?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, everything is fine. I usually hear from you by now about meetings or issues with clients but my phone was silent the entire morning and I just got worried. Are you at the office yet?” Harry said as he walked out of the fancy building in the middle of London.

Y/N checked the time and nearly tripped on her way from the coffee machine.

She was almost 45 minutes late.

“Oh my god, I didn’t realize what time it was! I’m so sorry Mr. Styles, I’m leaving for the office right now!” Y/N squealed as she bolted to her bedroom to get dressed.

“Y/N! Y/N, relax! It’s fine. I’m actually on my way to the office right now, I can pick you up if you’d like?” Harry suggested.

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked.

“Definitely! Send me the address and I’ll be there in 20.” He said as he hung up the phone.

Y/N smiled as she texted him her address and entered her bathroom to brush her teeth. When her teeth were all brushed, Y/N did her hair and makeup. She wasn’t sure why, but she was nervous for Harry to see her flat. He was her boss and probably lived a lot better than she did, it made her a bit self conscious about it.

The flat wasn’t awful. It was small, definitely built for one person or a couple who had just moved in together. The walls were a deep forest green with a brick accent wall that held a fireplace, a lighter shade of pine wood covering the floor. It had an open concept that led from the living room into the kitchen/dining area. Off of the living room to the left, there was a hallway that held the bathroom on the left side and Y/N’s room on the right.

Her furniture was all given to her from her mother. A simple beige couch that was comfier than most couches sweetly decorated with green throw pillows and a dark brown recliner chair surrounded a small coffee table in the middle of the living room facing the fireplace. She had a small white blanket folded on the lower shelf of the table just in case it ever became too cold. She had shelves that were covered with books on both sides of the fireplace and pictures of family members and adorable plaques which gave an aesthetically pleasing look to her small flat.

It was her cute little home that she loved dearly, but Harry doesn’t really come around so you could understand the nerves that ran through her as she scampered to get ready. As she fixed up her throw pillows and straightened up some books on her shelves, a loud knock echoed through her flat. Sam barked and ran over to the big mahogany door.

“Sam, sh! Go into your bed please!” Y/N begged.

The little frenchie snorted and ran over to his dog bed set along one of the walls. Y/N opened the door to see Harry dressed in black slacks, a white button up shirt, and a peacoat that ended right above his hips. His hair was slightly tousled due to the cold Autumn wind but he didn’t look anything less than perfect. Y/N swallowed hard at how ravishing this man looked. She had to make sure she wasn’t drooling in front of him.

“Hello, Y/N! Are you ready?” Harry asked, cocking his head slightly to the side.

Y/N shook herself out of her trance and blushed, hoping he didn’t notice her staring.

“Almost, I just need to grab a few things. Please come in! Make yourself at home whilst I finish up.” Y/N smiled as she stepped to the side.

Harry entered into her home and took in his surroundings as Y/N went back into her room to grab her bag and her phone. He thought her flat was adorable and it suited her perfectly. As he admired her cozy little home, Harry soon felt small paws scratching at his legs. He looked down to see Sam shaking his little stubby tail with excitement.

“Okay, I think I’m all- oh my god I’m so sorry! Sam, don’t jump!” Y/N rushed over to pick up her sweet pup.

“It’s alright, love! I didn’t know you had a dog. You said his name was Sam?” Harry questioned.

“Yeah. He doesn’t usually jump on people like that. Guess you’re an exception!” Y/N giggled.

Harry chuckled and rubbed behind Sam’s ear. The happy, little pooch licked his fingers and snorted with joy. Harry and Y/N laughed as she set Sam down. Harry looked at the small coffee table and saw his novel laying with the cover in clear sight. Smirking, he looked over at Y/N.

“Is that why you’re late? Too busy reading m’novel, eh?” Harry smirked.

Y/N could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.

“Y-yes. I-I just couldn’t put it down. It’s really good, actually. I’m not done with it yet but I’m getting close.” Y/N mumbled as she grabbed the packet.

Harry chuckled and opened the door. Y/N kept her eyes on the ground as she exited her flat and made her way to the elevator.

Harry thought it was cute whenever she was embarrassed about stuff. He specifically recalled the day he first started calling her “Love”. She turned three shades of pink and toyed with the strings on her blouse that hung around her breasts. He wasn’t sure as to why he enjoyed making her blush, maybe it was just the thought of being able to make her flustered is what made his ego skyrocket. Harry has always thought Y/N was attractive. She was his type for sure, with her Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes, not to mention the curves she had, Harry was absolutely smitten to have a girl like her work for him.

As Harry entered the elevator, Y/N was digging in her purse.

“Leave something in you flat, love?” Harry asked.

“I can’t seem to find my glasses. I don’t understand, I had them this morning.” Y/N sighed, still digging into the small brown bag.

Harry had seen a slight glare on the top of Y/N’s head. He slowly reached and pulled the glasses she was looking for. Y/N shot her head up as soon as she felt his hands in her hair.

“Don’t move.” Harry said.

Y/N’s knees nearly buckled as she kept still until the glasses were off of her head.

“Are these the ones you seek?” Harry chuckled.

The eye contact between the two was intense. They were looking at each other as though the other person was the only thing in the world. It was almost like a movie scene when the love interests had realized their feelings for one another. Harry and Y/N could feel the tension between them as she grabbed the spectacles from his large hands. As Y/N took ahold of part of the frames, her fingers brushed against Harry’s. It felt like sparks when the skin of their fingers grazed one another. The sudden jolt took both of them by surprise.

Y/N blushed again and thanked him. Harry smirked and slipped his hands in his pockets. The two travelled down the building in silence until Harry spoke up as they entered the lobby.

“You really think m’novel is good?” He smiled, holding the door opened for her.

“Mr. Styles please excuse the next statement but are you serious? It’s amazing so far! I mean there were a few spelling mistakes and you accidentally used the wrong ‘there’ for ownership once but other than that, it’s stunning so far!” Y/N gushed.

It was Harry’s turn to blush now. He had been working on that stupid thing for months now. He couldn’t count how many days he suffered writer’s block for the novel, so to hear Y/N praise it as much as she was just filled his heart like no other.

“Thank you, love. It really means a lot to me that you’re reading over it. It’s been a challenge writing it.” Harry said as they made their way to his car.

Harry was driving a newly redone 1970 black Ford Capri. Y/N’s jaw dropped as she slowly walked to the passenger side. Harry chuckled, opening the door for her again. She carefully slipped into the vehicle and looked around the interior. The seats were made of leather and the steering wheel was black with silver lining around the logo. Y/N felt like if she were to move something would happen to the car, she couldn’t start to think how much Harry paid for this.

“Do you want to stop and grab some coffee before we head in? There’s a shop close to the office.” Harry asked.

“Won’t we be late?” Y/N asked, looking at Harry as he buckled up.

“Love, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re already an hour and fifteen minutes late.” Harry chuckled, starting the car.

Y/N giggled as she fixed her hair. Harry smiled and drove to the small coffee shop close to the office. The two bought small coffees (her’s with extra sugar and pumpkin spice creamer, his just black) and made the last few miles to the office.

The pair had entered the office and parted ways when they reached Y/N’s desk. Claire had bolted over to Y/N once Harry had closed the door.

“So..a meeting, huh?” Claire smirked as she sat on her friend’s desk.

“Oh please Claire. He was at the meeting, I was simply running late this morning. I was reading something and just lost track of time I guess.” Y/N sighed, trying to get her things organized.

Claire chuckled and leaned back slightly, trying to get a glance of Y/N’s neck.

“What’re you doing?” Y/N asked.

“Just checking for hickeys.” Claire said, still trying to peak.

Y/N laughed and nudged her friend softly.

“I’m serious, nothing happened! I mean..there was the elevator when he picked me up from my flat.” She sighed.

Claire’s eyes almost bulged out of her head. She nearly jumped over the desk asking for details.

“Okay! Okay! I couldn’t find my glasses this morning when we left my flat, but of course they were on my head. Mr. Styles had seen them and grabbed them for me, however when I took them from him, I had accidentally touched his hand and Claire, I’m telling you I felt sparks. I’m sure he felt them too! It just seemed like something out of a romance novel or something.”

Like Harry’s Novel Y/N thought. The slight pink color in her cheeks obviously gave away how she felt for Harry. Claire smiled as she watched Y/N beam. She’s not seen her this happy about someone in a while and that absolutely filled Claire’s heart. The last guy Y/N had dated was a total tool. He was gross and never treated her the way she deserved to be treated. Claire knew Harry respected women more than anything. That’s what made him the most attractive! She wouldn’t have to worry about beating his ass.

“Maybe see if he wants to hang out after work! I don’t see why he wouldn’t say yes to you.” Claire said as she made her way to her desk.

Y/N chuckled as she grabbed the packet she had gotten lost in this morning. She turned to the page in which she had left off and began reading again, annotating little notes for ideas and questions she had. She had glanced over to the door that led into Harry’s office and smiled.

Maybe she should see if he would like to hang out later.

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takoyakitenchou · 4 years

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You and I, a takumegu story

joy is meant to be fleeting. and yet.

Morning

“Takumi-kun,” Megumi yawned as she approached him bearing onigiri and a stainless steel HydroFlask filled to the brim with piping hot jujube tea.

The Italian greeted her with a steaming mug of coffee from his espresso machine in his kitchenette. “I wish I could say good morning, but I’m rather averse to the notion at this point.”

Megumi laughed. It was nearing 5 AM in Tokyo, and they’d been in Takumi’s office at Legislation with a veritable cityscape of the first and second seats’ paperwork organized by importance for the last ten hours. It was tragic that they had agreed to finish all their work a night early so they could enjoy each other’s presence, but this quality time had been relegated to the stupid office.

“Shall we continue?” Megumi asked, her words lacking any and all traces of conviction.

Takumi heaved a sigh. “I’ve signed so many documents today I can’t tell if I’m writing in Japanese or Italian.”

“To be honest, I’ve probably not even been signing my own name,” she mused. Then she blanched. “O-oh no! W-what if I sent t-the—”

“Relax, Tadokoro-san,” Takumi said, sensing an impending panic attack. “I’m sure Arato-san reviewed the documents before we sent them to New York.”

“I was the one reviewing them!”

Takumi put his hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes widened slightly as he realized what he was doing, but he brushed the feeling aside. “It’ll be alright, Tadokoro-san. It won’t matter too much.”

It looked for a second as if she were about to implode, but then she sighed, “I don’t have enough energy to hyperventilate.”

“I understood that on so many different levels.” Takumi took one of the onigiri and felt rejuvenated with the first bite, reveling in the warmth of the honey dressed pork. “This is a masterpiece,” he told her. “I feel better than I’ve been the rest of the month collectively.”

She smiled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I’m glad you think so.”

Takumi’s eyebrows drew together. “Tadokoro-san, now that we’re both functional, do you want to visit the noodle festival in Dotonbori?”

She dropped her onigiri. “T-that’s in Osaka, Takumi-kun.”

“Well, Nakiri Alice told me we’re free to take the jet whenever we want as long as it’s not in use.” Takumi lifted his hand. Dangling from his fingers was a lanyard with a small gold key. “Shall we?”

“It’s five in the morning…” But they both knew she was already more than convinced.

When they landed in Osaka, the festival was already underway.

The sun was slipping past the horizon by the time they realized they’d been gone the entire day and probably caused pandemonium at Legislation — tragic, how they were the sole pillar keeping the Elite Ten from falling to pieces — but neither seemed to mind.

They were sitting on a bench, watching the passersby, content with all the noodles they’d consumed.

Takumi furrowed his brows. “Tadokoro-san?”

“Yes, Takumi-kun.”

“How would you feel if we called this a date?”

Megumi’s eyes widened. “E-ehh?”

Takumi’s face turned red as he attempted to contrive a respectable excuse, but his panic was cut short when Megumi took hold of his hand with an uncharacteristically calm air.

“I would love that, Takumi-kun,” she smiled, and with one look, Takumi figured that not even the urban atmosphere around them could compare to the cosmopolitan vibrancy in her gold eyes.

Sunset

There has always been some vague concept of balance. Everything comes with a counterpart; there is no exception to this, and there never will be. It is a universal truth, as constant as the laws of motion, as flexible as time. Balance is often unseen, and yet it is there. Joy is countered with anguish, laughter with tears; neither can exist without the other.

And yet, every time Takumi Aldini’s electric blue eyes fell upon that sweet cinnamon roll of a girl — one hell of a chef when she was provoked, though — he realized that no law was absolute, because he had never experienced anything but exhilaration when he was with her.

Love was fleeting; that was another supposed aphorism he’d learned from the wise.

But loving Tadokoro Megumi was something he could do once, twice, twice eternity.

“It says in Nakiri-san’s memo that we’re supposed to be providing a lunch service for the jury of the Bocuse d’Or,” Megumi frowned, reading the post-it note stuck on the inside cover of the manila folder Alice had provided for this particular task.

Takumi finished off his espresso. They were watching the sunset in Vienna, drinking Melange and sharing a slice of Sachertorte with the sun descending beyond the Wiener Musikverein in the gentle Saturday backdrop. “For a second there I was going to ask you which Nakiri you’re talking about. Isn’t the Bocuse d’Or in France?”

“Lyon,” Megumi confirmed. “I’m betting Nakiri-san sent us here on purpose. Bocuse d’Or won’t even happen this year. Ah, look. She left us a note on the back of the post-it.” Megumi cleared her throat before reading, “Happy one year, lovebirds. You have twelve hours before Erina goes berserk and calls NATO to send troops to find you guys, so enjoy them. Call me when you want the jet to come pick you up from VIE.”

“Well, Tadokoro-san, I guess we can relax for the rest of the task period. Happy one year, by the way.”

Megumi gave him a bright smile and replied, “Happy one year, Takumi-kun.”

The sky was soft, an endless canvas streaked with muted shades of orange and pink, everything blending into a gorgeous view highlighted by the spectacular architecture — and yet Takumi couldn’t seem to register anything other than the remarkable girl blushing nervously across from him.

To think it had been a whole year. It was too good to be true. This was the type of love most men searched for their entire lives without once catching a glimpse of; this was the type of love in fantasy, romance novels — everything an illusion. And yet this was real, as real as the warmth of her heart beating against his when she pressed her nose to his neck.

Takumi knew even he, with all his virtues, didn’t deserve her. But maybe she’d be willing to take him along for the ride; wherever Tadokoro Megumi went, he would follow.

It was just then that Takumi’s phone rang, snapping both out of their shared reverie.

The Italian sighed as he read the caller ID: Nakiri Erina.

“Do I pick this up?” he mused aloud, but he already had his answer.

“Y-you have to, Takumi-kun! She’s the first seat!”

“What do you say we don’t go back to school?” Takumi said, turning his phone on silent and flipping it face down.

Megumi gave him a horrified look. “You just ghosted Nakiri Erina!”

“I mean, she’s probably too busy dealing with Yukihira’s chaos to care, right?”

“Chaos is a severe understatement,” Megumi admitted. “B-but what if she kicks us off the council?”

Takumi grinned. “It’ll be alright, Tadokoro-san. We have a whole week to ourselves.”

With a sigh, Megumi relented. “So… we’re in Vienna.”

“Right.”

“There’s this restaurant I really want to try… but there’s another place down the street that Ryo-kun said had really good rainbow trout. And while we’re in Europe… have you been to Budapest?”

Takumi clapped his hands together. “Say less. We’re taking a sabbatical for the rest of the month.”

Megumi gave a nervous chuckle. “For research purposes, right? Otherwise Nakiri-san is going to kick us over the Pacific Ocean when we get back.”

At this, Takumi burst out laughing. He managed to choke out, “You are truly one in a million, Tadokoro-san.”

And he meant it.

Dawn

To say Takumi Aldini was known for his elegant calisthenics would be a stretch, but when that chaotically graceful blessing was around him, swinging up onto the rooftop of the trattoria with a picnic basket perched precariously on his fingertips was most definitely not a problem.

Megumi was waiting for him with a fleece blanket around her shoulders and a gentle smile that warmed her gold eyes brighter than the Italian sunrise. “Hi, honey,” she said sweetly, as if she hadn’t prodded him awake ten minutes ago and told him to bring breakfast up to the roof in five. He’d never be able to catch up to her hopping hare speed, but he figured he’d gotten the basics of Tadokoro Time down. To be early was to be on time and to be on time was to be late. Considering he was five minutes past the downbeat, his girlfriend had probably been waiting for him since before the dinosaurs.

“Good morning, amore,” he replied as he sat beside her and opened the basket. Takumi produced a loaf of brioche and began cutting with expert precision, trying to keep his pulse steady as he felt her eyes on him. The small velvet box in his pocket was doing nothing to help this endeavor.

Megumi regarded the two identical 1.8-centimeter slices in awe before thanking him and lifting the first bite to her lips.

“This is delicious,” she said once the tranquil hum of the autumn pond had faded to the back of her mind. “The rosemary completes the ensemble really well.” He was truly amazing; they’d been cooking love confessions for each other for the last seven years and he could still make her heart skip beats. His love was unconditional, more pastel than anything.

“Grazie, amore,” he said. “It means the world coming from you.”

“I’m only telling you the truth,” she blushed. “If I have to, I’ll say it every day to make sure you know that.”

It was now or never.

“Listen, Megumi. There’s something you need to know.”

She gazed up at him curiously over her brioche.

Takumi took a deep breath. To hell with the speech he’d parsed out in his head last night — that kind of thing never worked anyhow.

Loving Tadokoro Megumi was about elements and worlds that weren’t in their dimension or maybe even in their universe; it was something beyond time and space that his mind couldn’t process, much less put into words, but maybe this dawn would help transmit this, somehow.

But it was highly probable that Takumi had been ready for this simple statement since the moment he first laid eyes on her. A night’s worth of drafting could not possibly hope to serve justice to everything he needed to say. It was the pinnacle of all his emotions that would do more than enough, right here, right now.

“If I said I knew exactly when I fell in love with you, I’d be lying, but if anyone asks I’ll tell them I love you now, and that is all that matters. Tadokoro Megumi, you are the most insanely talented, beautiful girl I have ever known, and I am the luckiest man in the world to stand by your side, so thank you for that. I know I’m far from perfect; I have my flaws, and you have yours, but you need to know that every little part of you is absolutely everything to me, and nothing in this universe could ever change that. With your hand in mine we will turn this wasteland into paradise. You and I, no… us. I promise that I will always be with you. Forever is finite. But my love for you is beyond that.”

At this point, Megumi closely resembled something similar to a red train — Takumi swore he could see the smoke venting from her ears — but he’d waded too far in to step back out.

“I have one question for you.” Takumi got down on one knee, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Verragio box. The ring was elegant to the point where it possessed an ethereal quality. Diamonds seamlessly fused with rose gold on a platinum band; it was definitely flashier than anything either had ever dreamt of before, much less purchased, and yet it was heartfelt and deliberate. And, perhaps most importantly, it spoke volumes — more words and confessions captured within the metal than Takumi could ever express.

It was a promise of the unbridled love he had for her, the promise of a sterling future he wanted to build with her.

“It is a privilege and an honor to love you. Will you make me not only the luckiest, but also the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

She nodded, doing her utmost to fight back the tears. And as dawn broke in the sky above them, the girl that brought onigiri to his office at five in the morning, the girl that laughed at him over hiyamugi and squeaked whenever he wrapped his arms around her, the beautiful girl that always made him wonder what he had done to deserve her, said two words, and that was enough.

“I will.”

soooo um hi @taku-megu i was your secret santa this year! writing a takumegu fic is something i haven’t done before, so i’m really glad i was given the opportunity to write for you. i hope you have a safe and wonderful holiday with your loved ones!

and of course, thanks to @shokugeki-secretsanta for organizing this event :)

- reina

#shokugeki no soma #shokugeki no soma secret santa #takumi aldini #tadokoro megumi #takumegu #merry frickin chriSTmaS

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luninosity · 4 years

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2020 fanfic round-up post!

My general sense, before I start actually finding fics etc, is that I wrote about the same or more words overall in 2020, versus 2019...possibly more fanfic, but more original, too...possibly less Stucky (again) and more Evanstan? It’s also been a wonderfully collaborative year, both pro and fanfic! I love collaboration, and this year I got to play with brilliant friends both old and new!

And, surprisingly, probably I wrote slightly more Cherik - and I finished off TWO series I've had unfinished for *years*, one Cherik (the ‘compromise’ stories) and one Evanstan (Like Sugar, finally, completely, at last) - so I feel accomplished! (Not 'rain on tin,' though. Dammit.)

And I wrote for one fandom (Leverage) I'd never written for before! And of course there's the whole glorious massive epic that's Character Bleed, published in 2020, though I've been working on that for a while!

I’ll make a separate post for original fic, though. So...on to...

The Fanfic! Stucky Whumptober 2020 - Stucky Edition, M overall (individual chapters vary), 11,473 words. The collection of individual (some linked) shorts from the Whumptober challenge! This was fun, if tiring - I wrote more fanfic in one month than I had in ages! Lots of hurt/comfort, near-death experiences, etc.... Evanstan Evanstan Round Robin 2020, E,12,497 words overall, but my chapter's 1,313 words. The annual holiday collaborative masterpiece! So full of wonderful emotion and pining this year - such a delight sharing this love and creation and fandom with everyone! would anybody recognize, M (mostly for implied dynamics/Sebastian's fantasies), 3,329 words. The meet-cute at an obscure art-house movie AU! my best, to keep you satisfied, E, 8,058 words. Co-authored with the marvelous @thebestpersonherelovesbucky! Delightful collaborative established-relationship porn-with-emotions fun, in which Sebastian's earned Chris's undivided attention. Sea(son) the Moment, E, 4,606 words. Co-authored with the splendid @musette22 & @paper-storm ! Quarantine coping mechanisms, otherwise known as: that fic in which Sebastian watches Chris's internet cooking videos, and falls in love. Color In The Picture, E, 6,033 words. Unrepentant fluffy loving kink, with soft helpless Seb role-play kink. Lift You Up Over Everything, E, 11,410 words. The semi-sequel to the above - can stand alone, but it's what happens next - and my 300th work (currently) on AO3! Also probably among the kinkiest fics I've written, what with the sounding and watersports and all. Extra Sugar - My Evanstan epic fic-baby! I added chapter 32 - the final chapter! in 2020, which brings the total to 112,579 words - which means, doing some math, that's + 5,046 words! One of my 2020 goals was to finish off this series, completely, entirely - and I have, and we're done. I'm still so amazed by this whole universe that I somehow made, and by the fandom response to it. *hugs you all* A Place Not Far Away, E, 38,160 words. My Evanstan autumn fluff (and porn!) fic! I'm so thrilled people love this one; it was one of those stories that just wanted to be written, and kept flowing, scene after scene. Whumptober 2020 - Evanstan Edition, E overall (individual chapters vary), 16,050 words. The collection of individual (some linked) shorts from the Whumptober challenge! More hurt/comfort, near-death experiences, etc.... Cherik Whumptober 2020 - Cherik Edition, M, 1,415 words. Just a little sick!Charles hurt/comfort fic - ah, the memories, so much like one of my very first-ever fanfics! And Heaven Only Knows, E, 6.653 words. Finishing off the compromise series, which has been in progress since 2013! I'm so proud of just...well...finishing it. And I like it - it's an XMFC fix-it, of course, because the series is, with Dom/sub dynamics and fun with powers, and maybe my writing style's shifted a little over the years, but that's okay - it's a good ending, full of hope. Leverage Whumptober 2020 - Leverage Edition, T, 2,163 words. I'd never written Leverage fic before, but I do love the show and this trio, and a friend asked, so I tried! I really like how it came out - I love the dynamic here.

I think that’s a pretty good year in fanfic - didn’t get to ‘rain on tin’ (grrrr...priority in 2021! I swear! but you can’t force it...) but I did finish 2 out of 3 big things, some of which have been in progress much longer! And I tried writing some new characters, and writing with some new friends - and some old ones, of course! <3

I’ll make an original fic post later, too, but mostly I wanted to say thank you to all of you - you’re why I love fandom, the sense of community and shared love and creativity and passion and generosity and mutual joy. Thanks for sharing it all. <3333

#fanfic #fandom #my fic #love you #cherik #evanstan #stucky #leverage #2020 round-up #like sugar

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derireo · 4 years

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A3! And What Sports They’d Play ↦ All Troupes

So.. I was talking to a friend about the sports we used to play in the past. I loved sports as a kid and thinking of Haikyu also pushed me to do this. All troupes are included, and individual characters gets their own sport and my take on how well I think they’d do in it!

Kind of went off on Autumn and Winter Troupe;; sorry.

Uh, E-Sports, of course. He gets absolutely winded from walking, so sitting down and competitively playing a game he loves is his dream. On particularly intense matches, he breaks a heavy sweat and needs a lot of water and snacks to keep himself focused and in the game.

He's a popular player and a great one as well! Sometimes he gets asked to host little bits of the tournaments he attends because he has such a big fanbase and he's awesome at entertainment despite his normally deadpan tone with jokes.

He has a lot of energy, so I think running in track or doing marathons would be good for him. Afterall, he's one of the first to run after Tsuzuru in the prologue of the game. He isn't the best nor is he the fastest runner, but his stamina is impressive and lets him outlast many of his competitors.

I also see him doing kayaking? Not competitively, but he definitely loves the thrill of crashing down small waterfalls and regaining his balance right after. The flow of the currents is exhilarating and he has a good sense of balance, so he'd rarely overturn in a kayak (which is absolutely dangerous by the way).

He wouldn't do any competitive sports, but skate/longboarding is something I can definitely see him doing. If he needs time to himself or just simply wants to chill, he'll go out and enjoy the breeze as he boards down the bike lane in the park or on the road, hands in pockets.

He becomes a bit of an attraction at skate parks though. He's always seen there on his board, headphones donned and hands in pockets like I said; effortlessly performing tricks that a lot of other skaters would struggle doing. People are very attracted to the sight, and he lures them in whenever someone finds out he's at the park that day.

He's already suffering so much and is always tired— I wouldn't put it past him to play shuffleboard. It's not a laborious sport, and he can play with anyone like his siblings or any elders who need the company. It's a slow paced sport and is great for sleepy Tsuzuru who needs a break from scrip writing. I don't know if there were any canon stories of him actually being involved in a sport at some point, but I think he'd be pretty okay at tennis or table tennis.

Tennis is a very intense sport so he didn't play it for long because practice cut into his studying, his part-time jobs, and his babysitting. Table tennis is similar to tennis with it's concept, except you can just kind of stand in one spot and don't have to run around as much. It's a fun game to play with his siblings since they enjoy it so much, and they always run after the ball so he doesn't have to do much other than play along with them and clean up when they're done.

I honestly have no idea with Citron. I don't remember any canon details of Zahra (I think that's where he's from?) so I don't want to assume what kind of environment he was in that would influence his choice of athletics, but I think he would enjoy swimming! In the beach event, he ran into the water happily with Kazunari if I can remember, and I'd like to think he had a good body type for water.

There's also another part of me that thinks he'd love skydiving! The thrill of jumping out of the helicopter and letting the winds beat against him as he soared down towards the ground below would be awesome. He's practically shouting for joy as he glides down and loves the look of the city from above. Impressively enough, he can do flips in the air and loves twirling around, much to the dismay of other skydivers as they fear for him.

He's not one for actively moving, but ballet seemed interesting to him and he wanted to try it out. He had no idea how intense ballet was, from strict teachers, to getting blisters on his ankles and feet, Yuki actually almost quit. What prevented him from doing so was probably watching a performance where his seniors were giving the juniors an extravagant scene to watch and they inspired Yuki to keep going.

I would have said acrobatics/gymnastics as well, but Yuki's arms aren't very strong and he doesn't like doing flashy things like that anyways (no offense...? I don't know, I haven't watched videos of this sport in years). If he did pursue acrobatics/gymnastics, I'm not sure if he'd be amazing at it, but he would definitely be decent! He's got the flare;;

Running! Since he was in track for a while and was rumoured to be great at it, he would definitely be doing marathons and track alongside Sakuya. He had great speed and a stamina to match so he's a terribly good opponent to go against if you like to get pushed past your limits. If he kept pursuing track he would train during late nights and early morning with Tasuku, who has his routine jogs at those times.

Absolutely adores the sport too! His team of runners were basically second family to him, so if he chose to return, he would have the time of his life growing as a sportsman with them. He would grow into a fine and very popular runner! Hitting his growth spurt would only make him an even more fearsome competitor as his legs would get longer and his intense training with Omi and Tasuku would get his stamina maxed out.

He has no time to do sports since he's always acting, so I honestly can't say what he'd do. He isn't the best runner either and extreme sports is out of the question since he's a bit of a scaredy cat. I guess he would enjoy a casual game of table tennis though? But despite liking the sport, I'm going to say that he kind of sucks at it. He understands the rules and everything, but his rhythm is off and he never manages to hit the ball back.

He's good at receiving a strike back though! He's always lucky at standing in the right spot with his paddle in the correct position to receive a smash hit, and that's basically the only time he wins a point because he catches his opponent off guard. It doesn't happen often though, so he still gets absolutely destroyed during a game of table tennis.

I believe Misumi would be amazing at track & field. He runs extremely fast for one, and he does parkour like no other; he would definitely place first in sports like long jump, high jump, pole vault, and sprints. He doesn't have a particular favourite event to do though, but always does his best when someone gives him an incentive to do his best.

Izumi and Omi offer him triangle onigiri? He's going to run as fast as he can! Jump as high as he can and as far as he can! No one will be able to stop Misumi. But then again, competitive parkour is a thing, I'm pretty sure, so he can just do that sport for fun and still place in the top 3 at least. He would be terrible awesome at Ultimate Frisbee, but the disc isn't a triangle, so. :p

Him? Sports? No.

I'm kidding. Do not know at all what sport he would enjoy playing, but billiards is something that suits him in my opinion. It doesn't have to be competitive, but he's greatly skilled at handling a cue stick, and his aim is impeccable. He's real lucky with trick-shots too, so don't go and start betting money with him; you'll definitely splurge all of your cash on him within seconds.

Sigh. It's super annoying that he's good at everything, and sports are no exception. He plays futsal with Omi and Tasuku the most, and is very light on his feet. He's so good that during competitive games he'll do a trickshot and score, or will play around with his check and do something like dribble the ball between their legs when they're at their most vulnerable.

I'm sure he would fall in love with ice hockey, though. Ice hockey is fast paced and is a contact sport so Banri would feel free on the ice rink. Good thing is that he's pretty good looking, so he's a fan favourite player. The cold air biting into his skin as he pushes himself across the rink to get to the puck is exciting and he loves body checking opponents into the walls (this also makes him a controversial player since he plays rough and dirty).

He'd be a monster at competitive martial arts. Taekwondo especially, considering his kicks come in hot and fast. His spinning kicks are ones to avoid if you go against him, but he's so quick on his feet and can kick higher than his head so you might get a quick KO if you can't read his body language fast enough. Judo is also high on the list despite it being more of a grappling and throwing sport, but Juza's quick reflexes make him a difficult opponent to beat. Normally wins a match using jiu-jitsu grappling techniques on the floor.

He would also be great at ice hockey. His large figure and quick feet would make him a great player, and his posture is always low to the ground so it wouldn't be easy to knock him over on the rink. Not exactly the best at dribbling the puck though, but give him a one-timer when he's open and he'll send that thing flying through the net. No one tries to pick fights with him on the rink though lol, he's notorious for one hit ko's.

Taichi gives off the chaotic vibes of Nishinoya from Haikyu, but he would suck at volleyball so I'm giving him badminton cause height doesn't matter too much I think as long as he's quick on his feet and is able to read the body language of his opponents well. His form would be perfect though and he's super agile so getting to that shuttlecock is no problem for him. He's got a bit of muscle too so he can send those babies flying!

Doesn't really use strategy most of the time, so he'll just keep hitting and receiving the shuttlecock however he wants until his opponent tires or until someone messed up a smash. No one else in Mankai plays badminton so finding him a coach is a bit difficult. He eventually learns other ways to hit the shuttlecock, so when he learns how to slice or do drop shots, he's a little monster on the court!

Oh, the sports he would play.. Obviously, he plays futsal with Tasuku unless you haven't seen his card where he's playing as goalkeeper! With that information, he would absolutely destroy volleyball teams as a middle. Now I don't know if calling middles 'middle blocker' and outside hitters 'wing spikers' is like.. a cultural thing, and I know that's what they call the players in Haikyu, but it definitely catches me off guard and really confused lol. So, yeah! Omi would be amazing as a middle in the front since he's so tall and can shuffle fast on his feet to block a front row opponent. He's like Tendou in a way where he's great at reading people, the only thing is that he's better than Tendou (no offense, I'm serious) because he doesn't need to guess. He already knows. UGH, I want to go off on volleyball (both indoor & outdoor), but this part is getting long. Lmk if you want to hear me talk more about A3! & volleyball.

American football/rugby. Don't tell me I'm wrong please, I'll cry. Both of these are a full contact sport, and looking at Omi's past and his physical structure, you can't tell me he would not obliterate everyone on the field. He is either the offensive guard or the tackle. He will not start offensive plays, but he will end defensive plays. He stops any player from tackling their centre and tackles those who try to hit a blindside. I don't know much about rugby other than it is just as rough as American Football, just with less protective gear. I'm stopping here because I'm thirsting too much for Omi rn.

HOO, baby! When I looked at Sakyo, I just knew he would be able to do something with swords, so I chose kendo/fencing. Keno is a traditional martial art stemming from Japan and is practised with wooden swords. I won't say I know much about the sport, but it is definitely tense and is very noisy. Noisy because kendokas/kenshis shout whenever they strike, this is to show their spirit. Sakyo kind of hates shouting during the sport, but it definitely lets off some steam and gives him more momentum when he strikes.

I also think fencing because there are swords involved here too, it's just that it seems to be more of a European sport and has some sort of specific footwork involved. The piste may seem a bit narrow as well compared to kendo where they have a whole floor to themselves, so Sakyo doesn't practice fencing as often. (The clothing he's required to wear for this sport is also quite stifling as well.)

I'm ngl, but I didn't know what sport to give Tsumugi, omg, so I ended up giving him cup stacking. You know, you remember; I feel like you should do some research if you don't though because cup stacking was a huge thing in the early 2000's (?) and kids were setting world records here and there non-stop. Tsumugi uses his hands a lot for things like gardening, tutoring, bouquet arranging, etc, so he's deft and talented with them.

As long as he puts his mind to it, cup stacking is a piece of cake for him. He doesn't play anymore, but every now and then he'll look at his old kit in the corner of his room and will set it up with Tasuku in the lounge room for everyone to have a go at it. He loves the thrill and the way his adrenaline runs through his veins as he focuses on trying not to mess up the stack down.

HOOOO! Okay, so we already know Tasuku plays futsal so I'm not going to bother, but man.. He would be the same as Omi in volleyball; an absolute monster of a middle player. He's well rounded in the sport, so his coaches/team actually refuse to switch him out with a libero/defence specialist. His digs are almost on point with the setter, and he's always at the right spot when receiving, making sure no one gets an empty spot on the court.

When he's in the front blocking or hitting, he's almost always successful, and since he trains a lot with different drills and regimes, he perfects a lot of things like tipping, tooling, slicing, and even setting. His height added along with his vertical makes it almost impossible for opponents to block him, and when he's feeling good in a game, he'll start doing things like float serves and jump serves. If he's feeling any better, he'll play around and start doing slide hits at the front or will hit from position A on the back court (left corner facing the net). He'd also do swimming!!!!!!!!! BUT THIS IS GETTING TOO LONG

Definitely would do archery/darts. He's got impeccable aim if you take evidence from his outside work chats with Banri and has no problem pulling the string on a bow. Archery is difficult and I am not lying. Pulling the string until it's taut takes a large amount of strength and it digs deep into your fingertips, leaving calluses after one or two pulls.

Figuring out the trajectory and weighing in the factors of weather (if you're outside) takes a lot of skill and practice, and Hisoka always manages to hit the centre of the target with no hesitancy with his release of the string. His hands are all rough from the string digging into his fingers all the time, showing you how long he's been practising the sport.

I don't think Homare was very athletic growing up. I'm saying this only because his body type is quite lean and he's a poet after all who seems to stay inside more often than not if he isn't meeting with an editor/publisher. I think figure skating would suit him very well as it is an elegant and cold weathered sport. I also think he would fall in love with the suits if Yuki made them as they'd sparkle brilliantly and show off his flare as a skater.

He figure skates as a casual hobby rather than competitive, but he definitely makes a lot of famous friends in the community due to his whimsical personality and beautiful posture.

Kyudo (Japanese archery) was a sport that popped into my mind for Azuma, despite the strain it puts on the skin of his fingertips. His skin is very delicate with how much he takes care of it, so he wears a glove on his dominant hand to protect him. Kyudo seems to be more of a peaceful archery, and with the sight of Azuma in the kyudo uniform, the scene in front of you would be quite serene and calming.

I also think he would be great at figure skating since his body is lithe and he has lovely facial features that would complement the body suits that Yuki would create for him. His long hair flowing in the breeze he creates as he glides throughout the rink would be gorgeous along with the way his body looks as he does an axle in the air. His performances on the rink are always mesmerising, and he'll receive a few claps from fellow rink goers when he's in the centre just casually practising.

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ohwaitimthewriter · 5 years

Text

Ner naak (My peace)

Pairing : Din Djarin x Earthling!reader

Warning : none, not yet.

Summarize : Din Djarin meets you, an earthling, with no idea of the existence of an outer space.

Words : 1 472

A/n : Well, here it is! The first part of, I believe, a series! I really hope you’ll enjoy the beginning of this story and if you like it, I’ll definitely keep on writing more about it, because I have a lot more to tell for this one! Enjoy your reading!

Tags list : @thanoshadtosnaptwiceforyou @thefandomzoneisdangerous @fortunatelywaywardsandwich @painkiller80 @fabiola-betancourt @creedtheconquer @junkersandroadies-son @iamnothome @mjlock @letsgetwhitegirlwasteeed @imagineherbrightskies @rosierades @loztp3 @whovianayesha @deputy-videogamer @quirky-ravenclaw-yeet @s-v-e-l-t-e-e @deficilimbecile @misteranybody @sugarminsss

Masterlist. // Ner naak Masterlist.

Life could manifest itself in a strange way sometimes. It often had a funny way of interacting with people. It was surprising, disturbing and mysterious. And if you had lived in peace with it for a long time, it had found a scatterbrained way to impose its will on you.

There was one thing you couldn't lie about. Something was wrong with you. You couldn't say what, you didn't have a better way to describe it either. You just knew it was there. That something was there, peacefully settled in a corner of your heart. It was resting and seemed to be waiting for something to wake it up.

This thing that had been with you since your early childhood had made you a kind-hearted person, but despite your tendency to love people, it had also made you a lonely person. Not because you were not surrounded by family or friends, no, life had been rather generous on that point, it had made you a lonely person because you may have loved and been loved, it felt as if it was never enough. Like there's a missing piece in the puzzle. It was as if your soul didn't vibrate on the same wavelength as everyone else's. As if you didn't really belong there.

You could only find inner peace when you walked in the woods with your dog, a 3-year-old Eurasian. Which is what you were doing, by the way.

Your dog was happily running through the trees. You were watching him do it with a small smile stuck on your lips. Even though he was 3 years old, he still behaved like a puppy, amazed by the slightest little twirling leaf. You loved him a lot. He made you feel a little less alone.

Autumn was in full swing. The leaves of the trees played with the wind and gave the forest a golden colour. You were watching their dance when you heard your dog give out a curious chirp.

You looked for him and saw his curled tail waving frantically in a ditch. He started to yelp, jumping back on the path. You thought he had probably found a friend to play with, but when no dog followed him, you felt intrigued.

"What did you find? " You said as you walked up to your dog.

He stared at the ditch and his tail waved wildly. He clearly invited no matter what it was to play and out of curiosity you leaned over the ditch.

Two big brown eyes were observing you curiously.

A lot went through your mind at that very moment, but no matter how much you wanted to express your surprise, you were dumbfounded.

The little Being you had in front of you looked like nothing you had already seen before. His large ears that he turned to you as he heeded you, his green skin and his little coat left you speechless.

The little creature was knee-high to a grasshopper and started stammering sounds like a newborn and you blinked several times before you realized that he had just reached out his little hand to you.

You looked at his big eyes without noticing that you had crouched down to offer him your hand. His three tiny fingers had wrapped around one of yours and a slight smile stretched on your lips.

“But who are you, you little sweetheart?”

The little Being cooed joyfully and you decided to carry him out of that damp ditch.

"Look at you, your coat is all dirty, what are your parents going to say, huh? "You said as you gently rubbed the rough fabric.

Your dog sat gently beside you, raising his head towards the creature in your arms. He waited patiently to make his acquaintance, his tail wagging against the ground.

You quickly realized it wasn't an animal. The sounds he made, his hands, the expressions on his face. He wasn't an animal, but you didn't know any better.

"What are you? "You thought aloud.

You took him at arm's length to observe him as a whole and you saw two small feet wriggling in the air under his coat.

"a gremlin? That's really all I can think about.”

You took the child back against you and you felt your dog getting restless at your feet.

"Yes, alright, it's coming, sweetie. "You said. "You take it easy, okay?”

You look at your dog to make sure he would be gentle and then crouch down and let your dog sniff the child.

"Get that away from him! "Someone shouted at the other end of the road.

The command had caught you so unprepared that you almost fell under surprise. Your heart had gone wild and even your dog got startled as he was so busy discovering his new friend.

You turned around and saw a man several meters away. Or rather, what seemed to be a man. Actually, you thought that a legged armor was heading towards you. You didn't need words. Your mind was already looking for a logical answer to seeing someone walking in the forest, dressed in armor and a helmet coming straight out of the Daft Punk, and for the time being, its attempts have been unsuccessful.

You stood up, putting one hand on your dog's head as he took a dim view of that man coming up.

"He's not going to hurt him. "You said, gently scratching your dog's head.

" It doesn't look friendly."

"This is probably because of the whole... um, well, all this. "You replied, pointing to his outfit. "What is it anyway, a cosplay? You know, you shouldn't take it literally when people say you should go out in armor on hunting days."

The man made no reply. He had stopped right in front of you and you couldn't help but inspect the armor with your eyes. The sunrays shone on the metal, which reflected the light like a prism. And then your eyes landed on his helmet. The visor was shaped like a T. You were trying to see his eyes but the black tint was so thick that you wondered if he didn't look on the dark side of life.

"Give it back to me. "He finally said.

You looked down at the child who suddenly seemed to have eyes only for this man in armor. Somehow, you felt reassured. You didn't want to leave a child, or whatever that adorable little creature was, in the hands of a dangerous being. Knowing that he knew him and seemed happy to see him removed all of your doubts.

You handed him the child and the man immediately took him in his arms. You noticed right away that the man had just relaxed. His shoulders had lowered with relief and you watched him looking at the child for a long time. He seemed to check that he wasn't hurt.

There was something endearing about this sight and you couldn't help but smile at the tenderness that was emerging from this masked man for his little creature.

"Is it yours? "You asked. "I mean, is that your child?”

The man turned his head towards you and simply nodded.

"Forgive me the question, but, what... what is he?" You stammered.

Din was watching you through his helmet. He had never met an earthling before. There were many stories going around about the people of the Earth, many agreed that they behaved like children because the earthlings had too little knowledge about the world around them. Din had heard that they lacked intelligence, that what was unfamiliar frightened them and that their minds were so narrow that they even despised each other. Din had also heard that the earthlings were the shame of the galaxy for their stupidity and clumsiness.

But after observing you, Din thought the rumors were unjustified.

"I don't know. "He said.

"Oh."

That was all you could find to answer. You looked at the child again, he was desperately reaching out his small hand to you and when you offered yours to him, he grabbed it again, cooing with joy.

"What a strange little thing you are. " You said softly before looking at your dog who didn't stop staring at the armored man. "Come on, let's go home Y/Dog's/N.”

You were about to leave when the man called out to you.

"I would like to ask you a favor."

"If you tell me you're stuck under that Daft Punk helmet and you want me to pull it off, I'm going to laugh." You teased.

"Beskar helmet." He said.

"Oh, I don't know that band." You said naively.

"No, It's not... whatever." He sighed deeply. "Do you agree to help me? I can pay you."

"Well, being helpful is free of charge. What do you need?"

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #mando #mando x reader #star wars #imagine #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine

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project-ohagi · 4 years

Text

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Trigger Warnings: Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Depression, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt.

-----

If I was just prettier...

If I looked how I should...

...Would I even be up here right now? Or would I be down there, walking with someone...being happy? Like that girl...she's so much more pleasing to the eyes. She's thinner, her smile is like the sun...compared to that, I'm nothing. The wind whistled around your (h/c) locks, taunting you with all your insecurities. I shouldn't hesitate. I shouldn't doubt this choice. I have to do it. I have to die.

"Goodbye." Standing on the ledge, you readied yourself to fall.

If only I wasn't so fat, so...unsightly....Maybe then I'd actually want to live? Oh well, this is the end for me. I can't do anything now. I just need to let this happen. I just need to fall.

Someone clapped their hands. "You're leaving already? I only just got here, dove."

Terror illuminated your veins, as your faded, (e/c) eyes flickered open. This was a restricted area - not a soul should have caught you. It was supposed to be a peaceful end, or the path to a fresh beginning. Your heart craved even the smallest drop of happiness...Weren't you allowed that? It was truly ridiculous, the amount of pain coursing through your mind. You couldn't live in such a deplorable condition forever. You were only eighteen, soon to graduate from UA, but the depression, the torturous thoughts and feelings...they shadowed you always. They glared in the mirror, barked spite-laced insults in your ears...they held complete dominion over your body. Upon instruction, you would glide the glinting knife towards your exposed flesh, cutting deeper and deeper, until the stinging snapped you back into reality. They refused to stop at mere lacerations, however; fire was also employed, forming brand-like marks all down your legs.

These physical manifestations of your cries for help weren't well hidden.

This man, no...this hero...his piercing golden orbs were ghosting your skin, drinking in everything - all the scars, all the burns and bruises. You cursed, silently. Why hadn't you bothered to wear something with longer sleeves? And shorts, really? The autumn breeze was nipping at you, and you had already whiled away hours atop this roof. If you didn't fall, then you would certainly succumb to hypothermia.

And soon.

Why am I not falling? I should be dead.

Your ignorance of his words wasn't intentional, but when he realised that he wouldn't procure a response, he simply shook his head. "C'mon, you could at least fill me in on what's going on. That's just bad hospitality."

For some reason, your lips moved of their own accord. "I don't live here, though...?"

He just laughed. "Then what are you doing on the roof?"

What was I doing...? Oh yeah...I came up here to die. Why am I still alive?

"I..." The truth was lodged in your throat, and you might have choked on it, had a delicate, crimson feather not started to tickle your face.

You tried desperately not to giggle. Now wasn't the time, nor the place.

The eternal wrath of Fūjin coiled around your skin, blowing on the naked cuts that littered it. Your eyes squeezed shut, tear-ducts becoming overwhelmed by the throbbing pain. You refused to let the dam break, so you just stood there, knuckles whitening as you gripped your arm. Why hadn't you crashed to the ground yet? A few of Hawks' feathers pushed on your back gently, ushering you towards him. He moved a little closer. You pulled on your short sleeves, but they wouldn't ever be enough to conceal the years of anguish. True joy had never been a constant in your life, but perhaps you could find it in death.

I don't want to move away from the ledge. Let me go back. I need this. I need this! We all need this!

"Are you ready to tell me what happened yet, pretty bird?" He cooed, a gloved hand caressing your cheek.

Is this what...affection feels like?

With those words, a waterfall of beauty and sorrow spilled from your eyes. "Y-You think I-I'm p-p-pretty...?"

He doesn't. He's just messing with me.

"I know that I saw a cute girl up here, and I listened to her songs, but I saw her trying to end it all, and I didn't want the world to lose someone so precious."

Your crying never ceased. "You h-heard m-my singing?"

A genuine smile played at his lips. When did he become so sentimental?

"Yep, and I loved every second."

Was he falling in love?

...With a fractured soul?

[Word Count: 755]

#bnha #bnha x reader #my hero academia oneshot #my hero academia imagines #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #self-harm #suicide attempt #depressed reader #BDD #body dysmorphic disorder

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red-doll-face · 4 years

Text

keeper. [michael myers x gn reader]

Part 2 is finally here! A few people were asking if I would do a sequel and obviously the answer is yes, but this is the last part. I hope u enjoy reading it ! 😳💖

here is the link to the first part: locked in.

Summary: ‘Missing Persons Case? Infamous Murderer Prime Suspect.’ ‘On October 31st, at 12:02 a.m., a phone call was made to the Haddonfield police department. When reporting to the scene several officers and the deputy reported signs of a struggle. Stray pieces of glass and an open back door lead to a possible B&E as well as a suspected kidnapping. Though usually that would be an apt assumption, because of Michael Myers’ suspected involvement, some speculate it may not even be a missing persons case. According to the leading officer on the case, the case may be an outlier but “Myers is definitely a suspect. If not him, at least a copycat”. The search for the Haddonfield resident continues but the chances of this particular victim being found alive have never been so low.’

WC: 3,835

Warnings: kidnapping, nsfw content (smut scene) , implied minor character death (he tries some funny business so he deserved it). A spider, Stockholm syndrome, Michael being a bastard. I will say that the smut is somewhere between dub con and consensual. This is Mikey so be careful.

You don’t know how long you’ve been inside of this dark room. The smell of dust and mildew makes you not want to breathe but you’re used to not having choices anymore. Everything you’ve tried to get out always ends in failure or worse: Letting your kidnapper know that you tried to get out. He’s caught you in the act and ripped you away from the windows many times. Crying and wailing don’t seem to appeal to his conscience at all so you’ve stopped wasting the water. You sit in the room and can only be glad that he hasn’t restrained you or tried to tie you up. But you understand it’s because he knows that he can always stop you from leaving. Can always drag you back.

The door opens and you snap your head up to see your masked kidnapper enter the room you’re holed up in. He’s holding a bag of what you know is whatever he stole. The paper bag he carried was crisp and new but you could see just a faintest spray of blood. The assortment of common grocery items he placed at your feet painted a mental image of a suburban mom just coming home from the market. Stopped by some impossible force. Just to feed you. You wished you could spring forth tears but you had already shed so many. They’ve done nothing for you. You almost didn’t want to eat but you couldn’t deny the loaf of bread. Counting on his will to feed you was dangerous. If he lost track or forgot, you could potentially starve or die of dehydration. You took what you could where you could get it. Where he would let you.

He watched you, lingering in the dark corner. You thought that maybe he felt more comfortable there. You sat among a pile of various fabrics tossed upon a mattress. You hated to think that he prepared to take you away. But it was so hastily thrown together, it was obvious that while you were passed out, he had collected what he could. You doubted that he would have really cared about the ache in your sitting bones, but the fabrics underneath you were better than nothing. He could be crueler. Being grateful put a bad taste in your mouth but you sensed that he favored killing his victims rather than stashing them away. You listened for hours, quieting your breath when you were sure he was gone to see if you could hear anything else. There was no one else here.

Dirty fingers slipped along the plastic wrapped around the bread. You hadn’t been given a bath since you got here and you had been doing your best to keep track of the days since you arrived. 2 days passed from what you could tell, not accounting the amount of space that he took bringing you here. You couldn’t be sure what he planned for you or how long you would end up staying here but you tried to keep your mind sharp.

A bucket of cold water and a rag would have to do for bathing. It was better than nothing but again, being grateful to your kidnapper made you feel like you were betraying yourself. The rag swept across your skin and he had left the room to you, giving you privacy. At least you hoped that he wasn’t watching. He liked to watch. You had a feeling he had been watching you for hours before you had even taken notice that something was wrong. Acutely aware of your presence in the house.

You sighed and replaced your clothes, moving the tin bucket to the corner. You wondered what your parents thought. Now that you were missing, was anyone looking? Did people at school do a vigil for you? Did people put up posters? The thoughts made you uncomfortable but you couldn’t resist. The world moved on with or without you. You regretted not listening to your friends. They had warned you and you had dismissed it as some legend. He should have killed you. Your boredom and thoughts would probably end up killing you first. You noticed that the man in the mask stayed here more often. You thought it might have been to avoid the search parties. But you knew he wouldn’t let them close enough to find you.

He stared at you from his familiar dark corner. And you stared back at him. You tried to show as little fear as possible and in a way you weren’t afraid. He hadn’t done anything that the kidnappers did in the movies. Didn’t cut your finger off to send to your parents for a ransom, did not tie you up and starve you, hadn’t used you for baser desires. You couldn’t understand why he kept you. All of his victims in the past either died, or escaped and moved away. His footsteps, although near silent, tracked away and out the door, wedging the heavy wooden slab against the door frame.

A few weeks later, or as far as you could tell a few weeks later and you had tried just about everything. He had no veritable patterns, so you could never tell when exactly he would be back or not. The sun filtered through the window that was nailed shut and you had tried to throw things at it. It left hairline fractures in the glass instead of crashing through. The screen on the other side would probably keep you in anyway.

Recently, you tried to talk to him. It hasn’t worked. He wouldn’t or couldn’t talk which made you feel awkward but you weren’t able to stand the silence anymore. You had to hear something; even if it was yourself. You talked about your life, as boring as that seemed. You had realized that explaining it made it seem more boring than ever. In your mind, you joked that the future you worried so much about was out of the picture. A sick part of you was relieved that you didn’t have to think about that age old question. It brought a wry smile to your face as you brought your knees up to your chin and watched the moon float in the sky, as if tethered to the Earth by a string.

Michael had just learned your name. It rolled around in his head and if he wanted to say it he would, but he wouldn’t. He had kept you here in an abandoned house left to the elements. He observed you closely and picked up on your tells, the way you twitched and shivered in the cold, the blank expression on your face that was close to his own; he lacked the thoughts that flitted behind your eyes. He had caught you trying to leave but he took a rare joy in stopping you. Dragging you back into his hold, kicking and yelling obscenities. You started talking to him but he didn’t respond. He didn’t keep you here to talk.

Michael was more motivated by the thought of owning you. Of you belonging to him. You would see no one else, you would talk to no one else, you would receive food from no one else. You needed him. And he liked that he did not necessarily need you. Upon meeting you, something had drawn him to you. You were difficult to keep track of and you knew what tricks he would try to get you. He had watched you, heard you, touched you, smelled you, and even tasted you. The thought of you had imprinted on him. In a strange way, he hated that he was so taken with you. Perhaps he should have just killed you. You were of no use.

Then who would he toy with? Trap and torment without that much of a penalty? You were no fun if you were dead.

One night, the autumn cold and rain scented winds drove a stranger to your little hiding space. You were fast asleep but the creaks you had attuned yourself to listening out for sounded off. In fact, he seemed to be making more noise than usual. You thought that he might have been injured or something, loud footsteps echoing up the stairs. Only when you heard a voice did you suspect that it might not even be the man in the mask. The words were unintelligible but they made you shake all the same. Someone was here! Maybe they could help you out.

The wooden door swung open slowly and a bedraggled man stepped inside, not noticing you until you stood from your pile of musty fabrics. You presumed he was some sort of squatter, simply seeking respite from a harsh world.

“Hey, what are you playing at?! Who’s there?” He pointed a small switchblade in your direction and you raised your hands.

“Please! You have to help me! He’ll- He’ll be here any minute!” You scrambled away from the blade, your explanation dropping his guard.

“What the hell are you talking about? Who? Just what are you doing here anyway?” He dropped the pack he was wearing on his back to the floor and you gulped. “Are you some sort of runaway? Little moneybags left their family for a bad-boy-boyfriend? Think he’ll share with me? I’ve got some-”

“What? NO! I’ve been kidnapped by some murderer and-” The man chuckled and inhaled deeply.

“I can smell a lie a mile away, sweetheart.” He began closing in on you and you couldn’t believe your bad luck. In the darkness behind the man, the pale face came closer and closer and you tried to look away to hold his element of surprise. You had never been so glad to see that unfeeling mask in the doorway. The man startled at the hand pulling him back. His element of surprise worked as the man shouted and swiped at the man with his switchblade. Your keepers knife however was much larger. He slashed at the hand holding the little knife and he dropped it. He dragged the man out of your room, clawing at the walls.

“Get him off’a me! Tell him to sto-” As if you told your own kidnapper what he could and could not do. The man kicked the door closed, muffling the pleas. Your chest moved with your panting and you tried to calm your racing heart. Your fingers shook with the settling thought of how wrong that could have gone. It was as though the floor moved beneath you and you registered your body colliding with the for once comforting pile of cloth. The little knife caught the light from the window glinting at you temptingly. You didn’t dare touch it.

After that, you had approached the man with less fear in your heart; not that there was much to begin with. Yes, you were aware of what he did to people on his nights out. You supposed he stalked them a lot like he did you and eventually, when he tired of staying hidden in the shadows, he would wait for just the right moment to strike. Like he did with the squatter. You never did find out exactly what he had done to the man but when he returned he was covered in blood, wet and shining on his jumpsuit. You didn’t really care because he was gone and he had taken him away for you. He checked your body over your clothes for injuries, satisfied with verifying when he found none on your skin. You allowed him to turn your limbs this way and that, his hands big enough to cuff your wrist entirely and overlap.

“He didn’t touch me.” His breath was heavier sounding behind his mask, his head tipping up to acknowledge your comment but equally as unresponsive as usual. His hand swiped down and picked up the knife that the homeless man dropped on the floor, boots tracking over the blood he caused to spill. He left you to your devices after he took the switchblade away but something white fell on the floor, just before he closed the door behind him. It was a thin plastic strip and as you turned it over you could make out words. A hospital identification wristband. Strange marks tattered the material and you could imagine where he tried to tear the thing off with his teeth. On it was his name and birthday as well as some meaningless numbers and letters. The words ‘Smiths Grove Sanitorium’ were starting to wear off but you lamented all the same. Your friends were right. His name was Michael Audrey Myers. You smiled at the middle name. You’re sure if he caught you saying it he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. The thought made you laugh.

Michael let you wander the house now. From room to room you drifted and explored the dusty house, searching drawers for interesting objects and when you asked nicely he lowered the attic stairs and let you look through the boxes of books and baby toys, long forgotten by the previous owners. Opening the kitchen cabinet revealed a brown recluse crawling among the contents and you screamed, shutting the cabinet way more quickly than you had opened it. When you turned the imposing figure of your captor stood behind you. You pointed at the wooden door of the storage cabinet. He yanked it open, the spider going still again at the presence of another disruption.

“You know that those are poisonous, right?” He looked from you to the spider, unphased by the possibility of it killing him. He picked the arachnid up and your eyes widened at the action. He didn’t think this little brown insect stood a chance of killing him. In a moment, the spider was crushed in his bare hand, curled up and stiffening. Did he just… squish a brown recluse with his own hand? It was dead now, what did you have to worry about? You shrugged and went back to exploring, thanking him passively. You could sense he was still behind you, silent as always. You perused the random kitchen tools and items, rusting keys and finished rolls of tape in designated junk drawers, empty containers and bottles strewn about the counters. Broken light bulbs and useless wires. You grew tired and sat on the plastic covered furniture, your captor content on listening to you read aloud.

“Do you know how to read?” You asked and he looked at you but only tilted his head. You scooted closer to him with a book in your hand. “When I was a kid, they taught me to read. I think it’s fun if you pick what you want to read about.” You pointed at words and he regarded your finger gliding over the page, your enthusiasm lost on him but the smile he could see was more genuine than the others he had seen. “One day, I’ll help you write something.” He had no use for writing but he stayed quiet, granting you this moment of peace.

His hand weaved in your hair, feeling the softness. You had raided the cabinets and found some strange liquid to slather in your hair, untangling as best as you could with fingers. You leaned into the contact, realizing your mistake too late. You had indulged him and he wouldn’t let you go back. His hand followed you, pulling you back by the silky strands. A soft yelp left your lips but he didn’t mind it. You had not been touched in so long that it almost felt good to have his thick fingers running through your hair. Shivers racked your spine at the feeling of his fingers at your scalp. He pulled at your coverings, hands petting at your bare skin, entranced by the softness. At the blood rushing just under the surface. You thought about stopping him but you had seen what happens to people who cross him. Even by accident. He seemed fascinated by the texture of your skin, you hated to think of the grimy fingers on your face but your fleshy cheeks attracted his attention. He had less than stellar hygiene but they seemed cleaner this time, acquiescing to his hand on your chin. You looked up at the bleached mask; it was unfair that you didn’t get to see his face or his emotions.

He always seemed to have some sort of advantage. Some sort of upper hand. Taller. Stronger. Bigger than you.

Soon, he bored of the skin along your arms and petted at your torso, squeezing you when he suspected you to be squirming. You were just ticklish, not like he understood that. He groped and clutched at your flesh, getting used to the sensation. You noticed that although you expected his hands to be rough and calloused, they were actually soft and warm, sweeping over your sensitive underbelly. His long digits inched closer and closer to your groin and your nervousness won over the simple truth you knew. Stopping him was impossible but maybe he would take your discomfort into consideration. Michael, however, was a creature who thrived off of spite. If he was told not to do something, he would do it.

In punishment, your wrist was gripped in a vice-like hold, held away from his prying actions. Your arm went limp in his grasp, listening to the steady low breathes escaping the small orifices in his mask. Placed in his lap like a toy, he continued, ripping the button from your pants, tearing the zipper down. Michael tugged your pants down, eagerly inspecting your legs and thighs. A brief intake of your breath directed him to your inner thighs, staying as quiet as possible to keep him from suspecting anything else. Eliciting that response might have been his goal because as soon as he heard it, he tried to get you to make that noise.

Whimpering gasps left your lips, very aware of the bulge grinding underneath you. His bruising strength did not falter even when you tried to twist out of it. Slow movements ran over your crotch, you could only watch as Michael pushed your underwear out of the way. He was keenly attentive to every little noise slipping past your parted lips, repeating whatever made you make it. He let your hips buck against his leg, your despricity an amusing display. Your muscles are weak, your breath just as feeble. Your skin is warm and your heart beats fast in your ribcage, you can hear it in your ear. He pushed you forward enough for his hand to unzip his coveralls, the layer removed helps you feel the scorching heat of his body behind yours, unnaturally warm against your spine. Michaels hands loosened from around you long enough to pull himself free of the deep blue fabric of his coveralls. Something hot and damp nudged at your inner thigh and you pushed up and away from it.

“I- I’m not-” You choked out, as a last ditch effort to see if he would stop but he didn’t, spreading your legs and reveling in the whine you let out. You weren’t even sure if you wanted him to stop. You figured he would punish you for objecting as a strong palm found your throat, threatening to crush the delicate bones underneath. He shoved himself inside of you anyway, a groan of something between pleasure and pain caught in your mouth. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, listening to the tiny noises he made at the reprieve your body offered him. He had never spoken but the overwhelming sensation it seemed could force him to make a peep. They were not loud but the small grunts and slight moan made you tremble. If your head wasn’t resting on his shoulder, you doubt you would have heard them at all.

Thighs spread over his thighs, hands laid over his hands, gripping at your hips to help the slow motions of his own. Blood under his pale skin ran hot and you perceived that same heat all around you, his frame large enough to make you feel so small. Not just physically. The warm organ penetrating you was bigger than anything like it that you had seen before. Pressure welled up inside of you at the force he built up to take you so roughly. His pace changed just slightly and you lost connection to the outside world for a minute. The hold on your hips tightened, his concentration changed to the space between your legs, stimulating the sensitive skin. The smell of iron, latex, motor oil, and Michael enveloped you as you turned your head, nuzzling into the neck of his mask and the collar of his jumpsuit. The head of his cock nudged just the right spot inside of you and your mouth fell open in a loud moan. Around your head, a haze formed, the pleasure taking your ability to breathe. You craned your head back to see his eyes through his mask, electricity running through your limbs and into your core. The color of his iris wasn’t clear through the shadows of his mask but one was a milky white, blinking lethargically in tune with his other eye. Cold latex, the nose of his mask just touching your heated cheeks made you sigh, the pressure in your lower belly finally snapping like a twig underfoot. You went slack in his embrace, warmth settling deep inside of you. He wouldn’t let go of you.

‘Search for Haddonfield Resident Finally Called Off.’

This weekend, a press conference was held in front of the Haddonfield police station where Sheriff Brackett announced that search efforts for the missing person who disappeared from Garrison Ave. last Halloween would be revoked. After months of no clues or progress and no signs of them or their suspected kidnapper, search parties have stopped gathering to comb the woods and corn fields surrounding the town. The family of the missing person stated that they would not be ceasing the search. Their parents agreed that “the police have been helpful but they’ve given up.” Nonetheless, “[They]’ll never stop searching for [their] baby. Never”.

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #halloween #slashers #slasher x reader #dbd x reader #dbd the shape #dbd michael myers #dbd #red writes #✋😳#🤭

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