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biblical-chronicles · 3 days ago

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Observe

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where you force Noel to carefully observe how beautiful he is [18+]

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It started with a magazine.

Noel hadn’t been looking for it but there it was, sitting on the studio table like it had been placed there just to fuck with him. He wasn’t even sure who it belonged to, but the second he saw your face staring back at him from the glossy cover, he reached for it without thinking.

You looked unreal. Dressed to the nines for some event, standing on a red carpet like you owned the whole fucking world. The headline was some over-the-top nonsense about your “jaw-dropping” look, but Noel barely registered it, too caught up in the image itself. The way the cameras caught the gleam in your eyes, the effortless way you carried yourself—it was enough to make something tighten in his chest.

Then, he turned the page.

And there it was.

Noel Gallagher punching above his weight?

The words hit like a slap. A passing remark buried in some fluff piece, probably not even meant to be taken seriously, but it didn’t matter. His grip on the magazine tightened as his eyes skimmed the rest.

An unlikely pairing, but somehow, it works. Noel Gallagher, the ever-broody Manc, managing to land one of the most effortlessly stylish women in the business? Fair play to him. She could have anyone, but for now, it’s the Oasis man at her side.

For now.

Noel shut the magazine with a sharp snap, jaw clenched, and tossed it back onto the table like it had burned him. Suddenly, he felt like a right idiot for even picking it up.

He’d always known it, hadn’t he? That you were too good for him. It wasn’t a new thought—not by a long shot. But reading it like that, spelled out so plainly for anyone to see… Christ.

It got in his head.

---

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

Noel had always been a bit fo a grumpy bastard, always carried himself with that sharp-edged indifference. But this was different.

He was quieter now. Less present. Kept a deliberate space between you, like an invisible line had been drawn that he refused to cross. At night, when you curled into him, instead of an arm pulling you closer, there was a mumbled excuse, a shift of weight, the warmth of his body leaving yours sooner than it should.

And worst of all?

He stopped observing you.

No more lingering glances from across the room, no more quick, shameless once-overs when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The gaze that once held amusement, desire, was now nowhere to be found.

It went on for a few days. Too many. And now, watching him nurse the same drink for the better part of an hour, avoiding your gaze like it might pin him to the spot, you decided you’d had enough.

You leaned forward on the sofa, elbows on your knees, watching him like you were trying to work him out. “Alright. Spill.”

His fingers tapped idly against the glass. He didn’t look up. “Spill what?”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be a knobhead.”

Noel’s lips twitched—half a smirk, gone before it could settle.

“You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“I’ve not been acting weird.”

“Oh, right. So you always act like you can’t stand me touching you?”

That got him.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, his grip tightening around the glass before he slowly set it down. Still, he wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring at the table like the answer to whatever existential crisis he was having might be found in the wood grain.

You sighed, shifting forward, plucking the glass from his hand and setting it aside. Before he could protest, you reached out, fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Noel.” Your voice was softer now. Steady. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

His lips parted slightly, an answer hovering there, but then he shook his head, huffed out a laugh that held no real amusement.

“S’nothing, love. Just me bein’ daft.”

“Bullshit.”

This time, the smirk almost stuck.

But then it was gone again, lost to whatever was gnawing at him. His shoulders tensed beneath his shirt, his whole body locked up like he was bracing for something.

You exhaled slowly, thumb brushing along the stubble at his jaw. “Come on. Tell me.”

A beat of silence. Then, finally—

“Just… I dunno.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it any louder would make it worse. “You could have anyone, y’know? Proper anyone. And yet, you’re here. With me.”

Your brow furrowed. “And that’s a problem because…?”

He scoffed, barely shaking his head, like he knew how ridiculous it sounded but still couldn’t help feeling it. His hand lifted, raking through his hair in frustration. “Forget it. S’stupid.”

You reached for him again, fingertips just grazing his arm before he pulled away.

“No, it’s not stupid.” Your voice was firm, no room for argument. “You’ve been distant, pushing me away, all ‘cause of what? Some daft insecurity?”

His head snapped up at that, something flickering in his eyes. “Maybe.”

You sighed. Christ. You weren’t going to get through to him like this.

Then—an idea.

“Come with me.”

Noel frowned. “What?”

You didn’t answer. Just grabbed his hand, pulled him up from the sofa, and led him through the apartment, stopping in front of the full-length mirror by the wall, quickly grabbing a chair to sit him down.

Noel just followed you with his eyes as he sat, shoulders tense, jaw set like he was bracing for something. His reflection met his gaze for half a second before he dropped his eyes, exhaling sharply.

“Dunno what we’re doin’ here, love.” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You ignored him. Instead, you moved behind him, running your hands over his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension beneath your fingers. He was always like this—locked up tight, carrying more weight than he let on.

Your fingers traced along the collar of his shirt before slipping under the fabric, pressing into his skin. “Look,” you murmured.

He shook his head, resisting.

Your grip tightened in warning. “Noel.”

Reluctantly, his gaze lifted to the mirror again.

You took your time, undoing the first button of his shirt. Then the next. Slowly, deliberately, watching his reflection as his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the rise and fall of his chest growing unsteady.

“You never look at yourself, do you?” you murmured, pressing your lips to the side of his neck. “Not really.”

He gave a weak scoff, but it died in his throat the second you slid his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your hands mapped over bare skin, tracing every dip and ridge, every scar, every inch of him that he refused to see as anything but ordinary.

To you, it was anything but.

Your fingers grazed over his ribs, his stomach, dragging slow, reverent touches across his skin. “This,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “is gorgeous, and it's mine.”

Noel’s breath stuttered.

You trailed your lips lower, along his bicep, over the veins lining his forearm. “Mine.”

His eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back, trying to escape the weight of it, but you caught his chin, forcing him forward.

“Don’t look away.”

His lashes flickered, mouth parting slightly as you guided his gaze back to the mirror. His face was flushed, lips red from biting back whatever wanted to slip out. You could see it, the fight in him—the part of him that wanted to shake this off, make a joke, deflect.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let you tip his head up, let you run your hands over his chest, his stomach, feeling him tremble under your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, lips grazing over his skin. A kiss to his collarbone. Another to the center of his chest. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

Noel’s breath was shallow, chest heaving as you kissed him again, this time with more urgency. His lips parted slightly, allowing your tongue to slide against his, tasting him, feeling the heat of his mouth. His hands clenched around you, as though he couldn’t hold onto you enough.

“Look at me, Noel,” you murmured between kisses, pulling back just enough to study his eyes. His gaze was wild, glassy with desire. His body trembled in your hands, but it was a different kind of tension now, a kind of need you’d only seen glimpses of before. He didn’t pull away. In fact, his chest pushed against you, desperate for more.

Slowly, you ran your hands over his skin, fingertips grazing his chest, tracing each muscle as if you were savoring every inch of him. You could feel his breath hitch when you lightly scraped your nails along his sides, and you smiled into his skin, kissing him softly again, this time at the corner of his mouth, lingering there.

His chest heaved with every breath, his hand twitching at his side, desperate for some kind of release. You could see the struggle, feel the shift as he began to let go of that ever-present wall he built around himself. Slowly, carefully, you reached for the button of his jeans, your fingers tracing the waistband before you slipped your hand inside, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric.

He stilled, a shudder running through him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice breathy, filled with adoration as you pressed your lips against his neck, slowly biting down gently, hearing him gasp in response. His hands were on your back now, his fingers digging into your skin as he instinctively pulled you closer.

You pulled away to look at him, gently brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, watching as he struggled to meet your gaze. But you wouldn’t let him look away—gripping his face gently, guiding him to meet your eyes again.

"Look at yourself," you whispered. “You’re perfect.”

His eyes flitted to the mirror, catching the sight of his flushed cheeks, the way his chest heaved with each breath. His expression wavered, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but then he softened, leaning into your touch.

As you kissed him again, you did so deeply, fully, showing him how much you craved him, how much you loved every part of him. The pace of your kiss grew more fervent as you worked your hands lower, skimming over his skin, watching his body arch into yours.

His head tipped back slightly, his eyes flickering between the mirror and you. You could tell he was struggling, trying not to let go. But there was no stopping the way his body responded to you.

“Watch,” you breathed against his lips, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, forcing his face gently so he couldn’t look away. His eyes were wide now, reflecting the intensity of the moment as he watched the way you touched him. Your hand steadily stroking him with the occasional press just below his head making him moan.

With every tender caress, you gave him nothing but praise. “So fucking beautiful. Everything about you is absolutely breathtaking.”

His breath hitched as the intensity of your touch and words drew him closer to the edge. He moaned softly, trying to hold back, but you weren’t letting him. You picked up your pace and pressed your lips back to his, barely able to kiss him through his string of moans.

As you pulled away a thin strain of spit connected you, both of you looking at it before it broke, soflty landing against his chin.

“Look at yourself, Noel,” you said softly, pulling his face toward yours with a steady hand, guiding his eyes back to the mirror as you continued stroking him, now picking up the pace. His chest heaved as you kissed him again, soft but insistent, whispering into the kiss.

“Can’t look away, can you?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear, the teasing note in your voice making him shiver.

He let out another low moan, the sound more strained now, a desperate acknowledgment of what was happening. His eyes stayed fixed on his reflection, unable to tear away from the sight of himself at this point.

Then you stopped for a moment, only to start again, faster now, his body bucking instinctively into your touch as he let out a breathless cry.

You knew it wouldn’t be long now, so you kissed his neck, your hands continuing their relentless movement, keeping him on the edge, making sure he stayed in the moment.

And then it happened.

A breathless gasp escaped his lips as he came undone, his body shuddering under your touch.

As he came down from the moment, you continued to kiss him, each press of your lips a promise. “I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, “You’re gorgeous… Every inch of you, never doubt that.”

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hope you lot liked this, sorry for the later than usual upload, love ya !!

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #noel gallagher smut #noel gallagher fanfiction #noel gallagher x reader smut #noel gallagher x f!reader smut #oasis fanfiction #oasis fic #britpop x you

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estrellex · 3 days ago

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racing hearts #2 - dr3

summary: swapping numbers at the gathering, you and daniel started chatting, and what began as playful banter quickly blossomed into meaningful conversations about photography, travel, and life in general. yet you couldn’t shake off the warm and fuzzy feeling that bubbled up inside you whenever daniel's name flashed on your phone—maybe they were onto something after all!

looking for part 1 ? 🌱

after the gathering..

daniel pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing at it before holding it out to you. "here, put your number in. you know, just in case i ever need a professional photographer." his grin was playful, but there was something else there—something softer.

you hesitated for only a second before taking the phone, fingers typing in your contact details. "just in case?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you handed it back to him.

he smirked. "or, you know, in case i want to talk to someone who won’t roast me as badly as lando does."

you laughed, shaking your head. "i make no promises."

daniel chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "fair enough. but i’ll take my chances."

the night continued, but the lingering thought of your conversation with daniel sat in the back of your mind. even as you made your way through the party, chatting with rebecca and teasing carlos about his questionable music choices, your thoughts kept drifting back to the easy rhythm of your conversation with him.

yourinstagram posted a story

later, when you were home, curled up in bed and scrolling through your phone, a message popped up from an unknown number.

unknown: hope you made it home safe. no sudden urges to capture the perfect shot while driving?

you smiled, shaking your head as you saved the contact.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the amused smile forming on your lips.

sunday morning..

the next day, you met up with your best friend, maya, for coffee. she leaned forward expectantly. "so? how was the party? anyone interesting?"

you shrugged, stirring your latte absentmindedly. "it was fine. same faces, mostly. carlos was being dramatic as usual. lando is still a menace."

maya squinted at you. "and?"

you took a sip of your drink, trying to seem casual. "and i talked to daniel ricciardo for a bit."

her eyes widened. "oh my god. and you just casually drop that in? i mean i did see you post him last night. what was he like? tell me everything."

"relax, and yeah… i asked him of course if i could you know, crazy fans out there" you laughed. "he was just… easy to talk to. funny, obviously. but also just— i don’t know. it didn’t feel like small talk. it felt like—"

"flirting?" maya supplied.

you rolled your eyes. "i was going to say, a real conversation. but sure, let’s go with your theory."

maya smirked. "and? are you texting?"

you hesitated for half a second before nodding. "yeah, we’ve exchanged a few messages from last night. nothing major."

maya leaned in, intrigued. "nothing major? you’re smiling while saying that. what’s he like over text?"

you glanced down at your phone, the last message still lingering on the screen. "he’s… witty. kind of effortlessly funny. and he actually asks questions instead of just talking about himself."

maya wiggled her eyebrows. "sounds promising. and what do we think?"

you sighed, leaning back. "i don’t know. it’s fun. i don’t want to overthink it."

maya gave you a knowing look. "famous last words."

just then, your phone vibrated again.

maya leaned over, reading the messages over your shoulder. "oh yeah. he’s so into you."

“maya. don’t make me feel delusion after a small interaction with him,” you say playfully.

she puts her hands up in defense, “what? these messages totally show that he’s into you.”

you shook your head, but the warmth in your chest lingered. Maybe, just maybe, maya had been onto something after all. and maybe carlos was up to his matchmaking skills once again.

yourinstagram posted a story

a few days later..

over the next few days, you and daniel exchanged texts that started light and teasing but quickly grew into something more. conversations about photography turned into discussions about travel, music, and childhood memories. he sent you ridiculous selfies with captions like "artistic masterpiece?" and you retaliated with photos of your morning coffee labeled "true art."

one evening, as you were editing photos, another message popped up.

carlos, ever observant, caught on quickly. during a facetime call, he smirked at you. "you’ve been smiling at your phone a lot lately. something you want to share?"

you rolled your eyes. "it’s called having friends, carlos."

"mhm. friends. sure," he drawled, clearly unconvinced. "you forget i know you, hermana. you don’t text just anyone this much."

you scoffed. "it’s just daniel. we’re just talking."

carlos raised an eyebrow. "just talking? when was the last time you ‘just talked’ to someone this much and actually smiled about it?"

you hesitated. he had a point, and he knew it. carlos grinned, triumphant. "i’m just saying, i wouldn’t be mad if you two hit it off. i mean, imagine how fun double dates with me and rebecca would be."

you groaned. "we are not doing this."

carlos chuckled. "alright, alright. i’ll let you figure it out. just… don’t overthink it for once, yeah?"

em speaks: sooo sorry that i've been mia on this story and just in general :(( school has been on my butt, and it doesn't help that im on quarter system. i've been starting on the next part of this and hope to get it out as soon as i can 🙏 but hoped you enjoyed this second part!!

#f1 fanfic #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #f1 fluff #fluff #f1 smau #f1 #masterlist #formula 1 #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader

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00valentina-writes00 · 2 days ago

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being Grayson’s wife?

♡♥︎ Being Grayson's Wife ♥︎♡

♥︎ Being Sheriff Grayson’s wife means living under the watchful, protective gaze of a woman who commands authority even in the quietest moments. She always has an eye on you, whether you’re in the same room or across the city.

♥︎ You get to witness the duality of her nature firsthand—the stern, composed officer that the world sees and the softer, more affectionate partner that only you are privileged to know.

♥︎ Grayson is a firm believer in structure and routine, which means she brings a steady, grounding presence into your life. She’s dependable to the core, always keeping her promises.

♥︎ She’s incredibly protective of you, though she never smothers. Instead, it’s a quiet sort of protection—walking on the side of the street closest to traffic, scanning a room the second you enter, standing just a little in front of you when tensions rise.

♥︎ She has a habit of resting a reassuring hand on your lower back in public, a subtle reminder that she’s there, that you’re safe.

♥︎ Her voice is low and smooth, and when she calls you “darling” in that measured, authoritative tone, it sends a shiver down your spine.

♥︎ She’s a soft dom through and through—she doesn’t need to bark orders or use force to get what she wants. A look, a slight shift in tone, and you’re already falling in line.

♥︎ She comes home late more often than not, exhausted from long shifts, but she always makes time to sit with you, unwind, and listen to you talk about your day.

♥︎ Grayson isn’t the most physically affectionate person in public, but in private? She’s all about slow, deliberate touches—fingertips tracing your knuckles, arms wrapping around your waist when she thinks you aren’t paying attention.

♥︎ She has a deep chuckle that she reserves for when you make a particularly clever remark or tease her just right.

♥︎ You are the only one who gets to see her let her guard down completely—hair down, uniform discarded, shoulders relaxed as she leans into you.

♥︎ When she’s in uniform, she looks downright untouchable, but when she strips down to just a button-down and suspenders, lounging at home with you? That’s when she’s at her most enticing.

♥︎ She smells like leather, polished metal, and something subtly smoky—something uniquely Grayson that lingers on your skin whenever she holds you.

♥︎ If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, she doesn’t need to say a word—her mere presence is enough to make them rethink their choices.

♥︎ She’s slow to anger, but the one thing that will set her off without fail is someone disrespecting you.

♥︎ When she scolds you, it’s not loud or harsh—it’s low, deliberate, and makes your stomach flip in ways you’ll never admit out loud.

♥︎ She has a way of gripping your chin with just enough force to make you look at her when you’re being stubborn.

♥︎ She takes pride in providing for you, ensuring you’re always well taken care of. If that means using her authority to pull a few strings for your benefit, so be it.

♥︎ Grayson is a natural caretaker—she wakes up first, starts the coffee, and ensures everything is in order before you even step out of bed.

♥︎ She leaves little notes for you before heading to work—sometimes reminders, sometimes just a simple, “Be good for me.”

♥︎ If she’s particularly exhausted, she’ll just pull you onto her lap at the end of the day and hold you, forehead pressed to yours, taking in the comfort of your presence.

♥︎ She absolutely melts if you run your fingers through her hair, especially when she’s had a rough day.

♥︎ If you ever get injured or put yourself in danger, expect a lecture, a long, lingering kiss, and then another lecture.

♥︎ She has a tendency to grip your hip when standing beside you, a subtle display of possession and protection.

♥︎ You tease her about her hooked nose, knowing full well how much you love it (especially for reasons best kept between the two of you).

♥︎ When she takes off her gloves and traces your skin with her bare fingers, you feel how gentle she truly is.

♥︎ She teaches you self-defense—not because she doubts her ability to protect you, but because she wants you to feel safe even when she isn’t around.

♥︎ She’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but when she does something sweet, it’s always deeply thoughtful and entirely for you.

♥︎ If you try to push her buttons just to see her reaction, she’ll simply raise a brow, smirk, and wait for you to realize you’ve only played yourself.

♥︎ She’s an expert at making you squirm with nothing but a slow, deliberate look.

♥︎ She absolutely adores watching you get flustered—whether it’s from a well-placed compliment or the way she murmurs in your ear when no one else is listening.

♥︎ Grayson is rarely rattled, but the first time she saw you in something particularly stunning, she actually forgot how to speak for a second.

♥︎ You get the rare privilege of seeing her sleep in—face soft, breathing even, utterly at peace in a way few ever get to witness.

♥︎ If you ever fall asleep before she gets home, she always makes sure to tuck you in properly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling beside you.

♥︎ She has a way of making you feel utterly secure—whether it’s in her arms, in her home, or just in her presence.

♥︎ You are the only person in the world who can make her truly, genuinely laugh—the deep, warm kind that makes her eyes crinkle.

♥︎ If you ever call her “Sheriff” in the right tone, she will give you that look, the one that makes you weak in the knees.

♥︎ No matter how chaotic or dangerous her job is, at the end of the day, she always comes home to you—her anchor, her love, her reason to keep fighting.

Ahem...nsfw:

♥︎ Grayson is a master of control, and that extends to the bedroom—she knows exactly how to handle you, how to push you to the edge, and how to keep you there until she decides you’ve earned your release.

♥︎ She has a slow, deliberate way of touching you, as if she’s savoring every reaction, mapping out what makes you gasp, shiver, and beg for more.

♥︎ Her voice is already deep and commanding, but when she leans in close, murmuring filth in your ear in that smooth, authoritative tone? It ruins you.

♥︎ She loves restraint—not necessarily tying you up (though she’s more than capable), but keeping you still with just the weight of her body, pinning your wrists down with a firm grip while she takes her time with you.

♥︎ She’s an expert at teasing. She’ll ghost her fingers over your skin, drag her lips across your neck, and let her breath fan over your core without giving you exactly what you need—until you’re desperate enough to beg.

♥︎ If you try to rush her, she’ll just raise a brow and smirk, taking her time even more because you’re squirming.

♥︎ She’s patient, but she expects obedience. If she tells you to keep your hands to yourself, and you can’t help but reach for her? Expect a punishment—a delicious, drawn-out one.

♥︎ Speaking of punishments, she prefers the kind that leave you aching for her rather than anything harsh—denial, overstimulation, making you hold still when you want to move.

♥︎ Her hooked nose? Perfect for grinding Your clit against you when she’s between your legs, pinning you down while she takes her time devouring you.

♥︎ She’s a giver—your pleasure is always her priority, and she won’t stop until you’re completely spent, trembling beneath her.

♥︎ But when she does let you take control, watching you ride her thigh or grind against her abs, she’s all smirks and firm hands guiding your movements.

♥︎ She has a habit of gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at her when she’s wrecking you.

♥︎ She’s big on eye contact—if you look away when she’s fucking you, she’ll gently but firmly correct you: “Look at me, love.”

♥︎ Loves hearing you whimper her name, but if you get too loud? A firm hand over your mouth, a low chuckle in your ear.

♥︎ She has a thing for leaving marks, but only where she decides—somewhere you can cover up, or somewhere you can’t hide, depending on her mood.

♥︎ After a particularly rough session, she makes a point of pressing soft kisses to the bruises she’s left behind.

♥︎ She adores teasing you in public—resting her hand on your thigh, whispering something filthy in your ear, watching the way you shift in your seat.

♥︎ If you act up in public, expect a knowing smirk and a promise: “Just wait until we get home, darling.”

♥︎ She’s strong enough to lift you effortlessly—pushing you against the wall, carrying you to bed, throwing you onto the mattress with ease.

♥︎ When she’s particularly frustrated from work, she’ll take it out on you—not in an unkind way, but in the way she grips you a little tighter, fucks you a little rougher, chases her own pleasure just as much as yours.

♥︎ But other nights? She’s slow and methodical, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of your skin, making sure you feel how much she loves you.

♥︎ She gets off on control, but she also loves watching you fall apart for her—if she’s in the mood, she’ll make you Cum over and over until you’re too spent to move.

♥︎ Her hands are rough from years of work, and you love the way they feel against your soft skin, the way she grips your thighs, holds you steady, leaves bruises in her wake.

♥︎ She loves when you leave scratches down her back—it’s one of the few signs that she let herself go completely with you.

♥︎ She’s a bit of a perfectionist, which means she will make sure you cum at least twice before she even considers stopping.

♥︎ If you ever try to take control, she’ll let you—just to see what you do—before flipping the dynamic effortlessly, pinning you down with that smirk.

♥︎ She enjoys teasing you with her voice alone—calling you good girl in that low, amused tone that makes your knees weak.

♥︎ She adores watching you struggle to keep quiet when she’s got her fingers inside you, especially if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be doing this.

♥︎ Her uniform? Oh, she knows the effect it has on you. If you beg her to leave it on, she might indulge you—just to see you fall apart for her even faster.

♥︎ She’s a menace with aftercare—completely doting, running a warm bath, massaging your sore muscles, feeding you small bites of fruit with that amused little smirk.

♥︎ If you’re too tired to clean up, she’ll handle it—she’ll always take care of you afterward, no matter how rough she was.

♥︎ She has a habit of tracing her fingertips over your body in the afterglow, absentmindedly mapping out your curves as she murmurs praises against your skin.

♥︎ When she’s feeling particularly possessive, she’ll fuck you slow, deep, keeping you on the edge until you can barely think—“You’re mine, aren’t you, love?”

♥︎ She loves when you beg. Not because she enjoys making you desperate (well, maybe a little), but because she loves knowing that you want her that badly.

♥︎ If she catches you touching yourself without permission, expect her to make you finish what you started—while she watches, arms crossed, amused but in control.

♥︎ She’s always composed, even when she’s wrecking you—but the few times she lets go, voice breaking as she moans your name? You live for those moments.

♥︎ She lives for watching you come apart under her, the way your back arches, the way you gasp her name—she never gets tired of it.

♥︎ No matter how many times she’s had you, she still looks at you like you’re the most intoxicating thing she’s ever seen—like she could ruin you all over again and still want more.

#greyson headcanons #greyson arcane #greyson x reader #greyson x female reader #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane #arcane fic #arcane headcanon #arcane imagine #arcane drabbles #piltover's finest #arcane piltover

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worstgenerationloser · 2 days ago

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,, Original sin. ''

Summary... Once a human woman turned into a vampire by Dracule Mihawk, your anger towards him turned you into a raging tyrant. With your reign abruptly ended by a stab in the back, you barely manage to crawl to the catacombs and into your coffin. You wake up remembering all, and you seek out sustenance... which, is blood.

Impending bite... Nico Robin.

Word count... 5.6k

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A/N: comments and reblogs are appreciated the very most! tell me which part was the best, or what you're looking forward to in the story! YOU MIGHT BE DISSAPOINTED ROBIN IS FIRST UP but me personally? im from scissor city.

One step after another, your feet guided you slowly throughout the halls in a calculated waltz. Living in a recently established castle surrounded by nothing but lake and the sea of bones of past victims, you came to realize the fog outdoors was normal, as were the bumbling acolytes dancing throughout the halls in a rush to wherever it is they go, stopping to bow politely for you.

Everything under the blood-soaked moon was yours. Eternal life, devout followers, an endless supply of blood in the nearby empire, and most important of all is the fact you wiped out that pesky family of vampire hunters. Once a newly deceased woman, you sobbed and wallowed in misery at the realization that even though you lived on, it was as one of the undead; Then the sorrow was replaced by the thrill of power. You must’ve gained a god complex, though at the time that wasn’t exactly terrible, all constantly failed to surprise you, and it kept your mind at ease knowing you were in no danger whatsoever.

Mistress of the dark, that you were, a cruel one you may have been, but you were unmatched by all. Once again, you were entirely superior. It was out of the goodness in your heart that you shared a glimpse of a long and luxurious life with those who were known as your acolytes and for that, they sent you offerings, they hunted your prey themselves because the poor things absolutely couldn’t handle a sad, short, pathetic human life. Ah, you seem to have reminisced quite a bit about yourself. No need for embarrassment, the peak of what was once a human is you after all, that does give you the right to brag. But you suppose you aren’t a human at this point in time, you are beyond what one’s fragile mind can understand about the unknown and the supernatural.

“My beloved mistress, am I worthy of a speck of your time today?” A formal and feminine voice spoke, you registered Ophelia as the woman choosing to converse with you. Time was of the essence in your day, for the night is never eternal, and you were making sure to reiterate those words to her as well.

“It is of the essence, so foolishly standing around awaiting one’s answer will be for naught. Speak, girl.” You spoke with a tone as commanding and biting as ever, the same used towards even the most noble of people, you condescend her entire being with a few words and only the choice to simply endure it was presented to her. It wasn't your fault she was so insignificant, despite being blessed enough to join your council of advisors.

Safe to say, it’s evident you had a very backwards way of thinking. It was as if you were the only true one in the world at the time, and that thought alone allowed you to think it right to do whatever to whomever. Maybe it was something hiding within you that prompted you to think in such a way… It had been so long, however, that you had nearly forgotten the fangs which had sunken into your neck, the cold hands that gripped your body, the burning sensation which coursed through your veins and stopped your beating human heart, the humanity slipping away while something more sinister took place. There was new blood in your veins— and it was his.

Those yellow eyes that never seemed to miss a single thing, like a hawk. The man who made you turn.

Dracule Mihawk.

Though your dead body is already cold as ice, you can’t help but feel a chill run throughout your body as you remember that man. Here you lie, tucked away in your coffin deep underground your castle, residual anger taking place in your mind and forcing you to awaken. All that is visible is the underside of the cushioned lid placed atop you, and though you feel weaker now than you were as a human all those years ago, you push it off, flinching at the noise of it clanging against the floor after many years of complete silence.

Slowly rising, it was as if you were learning how to walk again, your thighs shook while your knees wished to give out on you, and your arms were shaky while you tried your best to sit upwards. A primal hunger was present in your entire being, and the bats flying about certainly wouldn’t do, as you know, blood tastes best the larger and more sentient ones victim is.

“Ah, these statues must be a thousand years old at the very least! What a wonderful find.”

A voice echoes through the dusty walls and hallways which confined you, the clacking of shoes against the stone floors coming closer. You are weak, you need to eat something, and it looks like whoever this young woman is will have to do. Silencing your soft grunts, you dragged your bare feet against the floor, dust and dirt being kicked up and flung about into the air. Would you be able to pull off spontaneous feeding in a weakened state like so? Again, it’s not like you have a choice. She’s closer, you can hear her exasperated breathing.

“Everything’s in such perfect condition… What a find.” You hear the woman chuckle. Maybe you should make the first move.

“Hello? W–Who’s there?” Barely managing a stutter, your voice sounds a bit worried and panicked, just enough to convince anyone clueless and naive enough that it's genuine. Considering the way she was appraising your decorations, you’ve concluded quite a bit of time has passed, and she must have a knack for identifying things of old and exploring– either both or one or the other. The sounds of walking stills, before continuing, a bit more hesitant. A hum reverberates throughout the room, light approaching at the same pace and there she is. A raven-haired beauty, one with eyes of ocean blue and a long slender nose, paired with a silver dagger. Fuck. If you were to try and pounce on her, she has the upper hand, you really can’t do anything in such a state, so you only have one more card to play, innocent and lost.

“May I ask who you are, miss? It’s odd to encounter someone in century-old ruins.” Her eyes are narrowed, and she’s clearly suspicious of you. Her grip on the dagger is evidently growing tighter.

“I apologize, I’m from a rural area… Eh, I seem to have gotten lost exploring and… Well, it’s really embarrassing for me to admit, and I’ve been underground here for a bit.” Without rambling on and omitting too much, you seem to have put the woman’s mind at ease if just a bit. You take in the little information you gained– century old ruins are what she called your hidden chambers, normally you would have taken offense but you are a changed woman now. Does this count as a second re-awakening?

“You will be reawakened wholly…” The memory of that man’s words echo through your head, making you swallow harshly. It’s frightening all over again. Nope, absolutely no second re-awakening.

“I see… Do you also have an interest in archaeology and history? I came to consider the legend of the last vampire, oddly enough all history of such a person seems to have decayed, besides this castle… Someone covered it up, for sure, but I can’t seem to figure out why… Perhaps another vampire? An accomplice, but a vampire specifically working with another seems most likely. There were a few scriptures scattered and—” The woman keeps talking for a while, and it makes you even less interested in yourself, at one point you seem to tune it out. But, you watch as she hides her dagger away in its sheath, her hand still holding onto the handle.

She clears her throat, snapping you out of your trance.

“I’m Nico Robin, an archaeologist. You are?” Robin finally formally introduces herself, seeming a bit more friendly and under the impression that you actually listened to her theories and minute long rant. Actually, you managed to listen to about half of it, so all's well that ends well– this has yet to end though. One last look at the scattered bones across the dusted cobblestone floor and you speak up again, finally introducing yourself.

“Ah, that's quite a unique name. So, would you like some shoes?” For a moment you choke and sputter, looking down at your bare feet. You haven’t been embarrassed in centuries, and the feeling is entirely unwelcome. She’s probably super suspicious of you now, and if not then she’s really pitying you.

“Yes, please. My feet are sore from walking aimlessly.” You joke softly, laughing humorlessly while her face stays blank. After setting down her oil lamp, Robin takes off the backpack slung around one of her shoulders, rummaging around and pulling out a pair of black leather boots, placing them into your hands. You drop them to the floor, trying your best to clear your cold feet from dirt and grime, before haphazardly slipping them on. There's strings attached to them, and they are loose around your ankles, it seems like a stupid design and it makes you wonder what other useless inventions were made.

“Do you not know how to tie your laces, miss?” Laces? What on earth was she talking about? The boots were made of leather, and there wasn't even a single clipping of lace adorning them. Is this some modern day slang the young women use?

“Uh… I guess not. I am barefoot more often than not.” Your voice is a murmur, it isn't entirely a lie, but you are much more used to shoes without these… stringy contraptions strewn across their surface. Maybe you made yourself look suspicious by not knowing how to “tie your laces” but if this is fashion these days, maybe it's not so bad if you’re eternally slain by her.

“Allow me, then. You seem sickly, I think maybe I should show you the way out.”

She drops to her knees before you, it reminds you of when you received voluntary blood offerings… Blood. You will only get weaker from here on out if you don't feed soon, and this Robin woman seems to be a good candidate, all you need to do is win her over and earn her trust, disarm her and feed off of her… but she has shown you a bit of kindness, so it wouldn't do too much harm to loosen up a bit. But you can't allow yourself to rely on someone so much again, remembering Ophelia's actions was disheartening— you can't allow yourself to be fooled once more by somebody else, much less a pathetic excuse of a human as she was. And you can't let what happened with that man repeat.

Maybe you should forget about Mihawk for a second considering that just mentioning his name to yourself alone makes you feel as if he's already watching you. A cold hand comes to accidentally touch near the bottom of your calf, and time seems to still for a second. Are you…? No, this just cannot be. It’s pathetic, but you seem to feel a bit tingly against the touch of another. Exactly how far has oneself fallen? From making people crumble from the scrape of your fangs against their veins, to crumbling against a cold and accidental touch. Embarrassment takes over once again, and your lungs start to withhold air from you in an attempt to take your mind off of it. Robin is still tying your “laces” , which you can easily assume are the strings attached to the pair of leather boots she has given you. The foolish observation from earlier is still fresh in your mind. How utterly embarrassing for someone of your caliber.

“I’ve finished tying them. Now, would you like some help getting out? You mentioned that you have been down under for quite some time. I know the way out, but we will have to go through the castle to get aboveground. I assume you’ve entered from the underground tunnels in the forest, but the moon has risen… best to steer clear of there. I’m sure you know why.”

It’s definitely not thrilling hearing someone explain to you how to get out of the catacombs you asked to be implemented under your own castle, but you know you should try not to arouse suspicions too early into your first meeting with a scholar— specifically this one. She came armed to a vampire's castle with a dagger of silver, a known weakness of your kind.

“The wolves.” You nod, trying to hide the scowl peeking onto your face. Werewolves, the scum of the earth. Though, you would argue that you hate Emperor Romanov from your time the most. It's hypocrisy at its finest coming from you, but you hate people who try to stand above all else and crumble whomever beneath their soles. Maybe Ophelia knocked some sense into you when she drove that fine elven blade of silver into your heart, or maybe you have always known you were a bit of a tyrant.

“Let's go, then.” Robin spoke, prompting you to join her, you can't help but notice the appeal in her smile, the way she struts about with utmost confidence, the dip in her back, the curve of her hips, the smirk on her lips— though, you, of course, would never ogle a woman in such a manner. It's just that it's been a while since you've been awake, and she's easy on the eyes, why on earth would you think like a man? She bends down to pick up the oil lamp she brought with her, and your eyes are still drawn to her.

It's simply your appetite talking, of course. You two head down throughout the dusty and spider infested halls, the clacking of both of your shoes is a tad bothersome.

“Miss Y/N. How did you come to know of this place?” Robin begins to question, her tone non-accusatory. She looks back at you with a curious look, in fact.

“I’ve always been fascinated by the supernatural… And I get a thrill out of exploring. I scout out places occasionally, and I sometimes find small artifacts.”

Ah yes, building onto your small storyline once more, would this classify as roleplay? Softening your voice, you reach into your pocket— if you can begin to have her let her guard down by showing a bit of “proof” you are in fact an explorer, then it would likely make it easier to feed off of her. It wasn't like you could avoid her anyways, if she knew you were a vampire, she could do a lot worse than be horrified. You pull out an old stopwatch of yours, a century or two old, that makes it around two to three centuries old in total. Surely if this woman truly has an eye for antiques, she would appreciate such an item.

“I found this on my way in. It's certainly splendid.” You put on a smile, walking a bit faster to catch up, holding out the stopwatch in the palm of your hand. Robin pauses and gasps as her eyes widen, her hand comes to brush against yours, her manicured fingers are cold as she takes the watch from your hands.

Suspended in the air by its chain, the dim source of light gleams off of the metallic surface, and it makes you just a little uneasy looking at the watch. It’s like there is something buried deep inside your psyche that just refuses to come back despite the fact that you have impeccable memory, almost as if your body knows you aren’t ready. The watch was yours, but you can’t seem to recall who gave it to you…

“Does the air here seem a tad thick to you, as well? We should hurry. There’s no full moon, but dangers persist no matter what. The walls could cave in on us, and we would end up being nothing more than splatters of red.”

Robin comments, placing the stopwatch back into your hand. She’s more odd than you initially thought, but individuality is part of being human. A chill same as before wraps itself over your spine and almost causes you to gasp aloud. You feel anxious, and for a second you swear you feel the same eyes boring into the back of your head.

“Of course.”

Exhaling , you glance behind you, gripping the watch as if it were your lifeline. You're frightened, so you walk side by side with Robin again.

“These boots are rather comfy, Miss Robin.” You clear your throat, making small talk. It does calm you a bit, maybe it's the paranoia from being alone all those years in a coffin. Why did you ever sleep in one anyways?

“Aren't they? A friend lent them to me, she's quite the fashionista.” She chuckles, reaching the now well-worn staircase that leads to the hidden door which you entered many years ago. It’s bittersweet, seeing the stains of old blood and splints of bone while simultaneously taking in the castle which gave you comfort. Things are sure to have changed quite a bit, and in order to get your steady food source replenished, you would have to be in a position of power yet again. Such a thing wouldn't be too easily achievable, considering you underwent some sort of spiritual awakening while slumbering.

The you which the world knew saw you as a bloodthirsty deity who would give humans a few extra years of health and life for a bath of blood. That does sum you up, actually, but now you feel your existence is more than to just feed and slaughter. New feelings, sensations, and coherent thoughts are filling your stained soul with curiosity, the question is not what is the cause but why is the cause.

You confuse yourself a bit. You spent the entire journey back up spacing out, unsure if you even made conversation; you can't really be bothered by anything more than your own internal conflicts and hunger. Immediately you begin to notice the crickets make a cacophony of noise, the crashing of waves and distant howling is all too familiar. One more glance at the familiar surroundings before you leave for an uncertain amount of time, maybe returning eventually, and maybe not. An eardrum piercing howl cuts through the air, and Robin unsheathes her dagger cautiously, stalling for a moment as she hooks her lantern on the loop of her belt before grabbing your hand, gently tugging you along with her.

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? I’m planning to check into a nearby inn, but I’m concerned about you most of all. It’s no good escorting you if I am to hear that you are deceased by the next day. It could just be the goodwill of the senior adventurers spreading through me… It’s out of character for me, but nobody quite takes an interest in history much anymore, so I suppose I just want you to live long enough for us to be acquainted.” Robin’s eyes watch the woods for a minute, before they momentarily glance over to you, awaiting an answer.

You don’t have any choice but to stay with her– how could you survive without her, either way? The thing you need most is her blood, but her comment about the “senior adventurers” piques your curiosity, and you certainly are tempted to ask a question or two.

“I don’t have somewhere to stay– not anywhere nearby, at least. And, er… I’m certainly… Thrilled, that you would like to get to know me. Many don’t have such an appreciation of the past, normally. It’s a relief meeting a woman like yourself.” Clearing your throat, you walk up beside her, and she gives you a soft smile and a nod, signaling she’s ready to go. She’s doing her best to stay vigilant despite showing clear signs of exhaustion, and you can’t help but admire her, in ways more than one.

“Apologies if I may come off as presumptuous, but would it be okay with you if the both of us were to check in at the inn together? I can escort you wherever it is you live tomorrow, but we need to make it through this night safely first and foremost. Nami would certainly be upset if her boots were to be torn to shreds.”

A rustling is heard nearby, and you feel a bit upset at the fact you no longer have people willingly disregarding their lives to check for danger. You suppose this woman armed with a dagger of silver would do just fine, as well— Wait, no. You scowl when you find yourself thinking the exact same way you have in the past, it’s what got you killed and you surely aren’t looking forward to yet another “reawakening” anytime soon.

“I have no qualms about that, Miss Robin. You’re a sweet woman.”

You sigh, watching Robin’s tense posture loosen up when a rabbit comes running out of the bushes into the open— it stops in front of you for a second, looking up at you with round eyes you can see just fine in the dark, but Robin douses the scene in light, attempting to help you see better. You can smell the fear resonating in the small creature's body as soon as it sprouts up, some say animals can see far deeper than just the surface level of oneself, even into a soul. You think it's nonsense. It scrambles away, and the sound of the small pounding heart becomes nothing more than a whisper into the night.

“Let’s make haste, then. I’m beginning to get a bit jumpy.” Robin speaks as if the trees are actively listening, shuddering just as audibly as it is visible. The air is cooler with each step the two of you take, and you just can’t break out of the silence, because it feels wrong.

You feel those eyes boring into the back of your head every step of the way. Each time you turn around to only be greeted by an owl with eyes just the same as his, and you fear this time you may lose your mind. There’s a lot you are curious about— but you are more so confused on why he is stalking you all of a sudden after forgetting about you for centuries, leaving you high and dry with nothing else to do other than wait around and take your anger out on people by stealing their lives away, you can’t recall the entirety of your humanity but you’re sure that he took it from you for a selfish reason.

Why else would he do such a thing? Damning you for eternity by sharing his blood with you, transforming you into this… parasite who needs others to live. You find your thoughts heading into a circle, so you try to stop thinking too much about Mihawk.

After maybe twenty-five minutes of walking, a city makes its way into your line of sight, though it is deep into the night, occupied minds cannot find the time in their schedules for sleep, and they wander the streets. Some laugh merrily, others wallow in their own negativity, and you and Robin are just looking for somewhere to settle. It would be easier to go after a drunken man and drink him dry, but you aren’t the type of vampire to chase after men simply because they’re easily accessible, you have your eyes set on a beautiful archaeologist this time. Following in her footsteps, you reach a cozy looking Inn. There are orchids displayed in intricately patterned vases nearby the open door. The building itself is made of a sturdy looking wooden structure with a wide arch that has a homemade sign on display.

“Come in, come in! Are ya ladies looking for lodging? Beauties such as yourself should never be caught out at such a late hour. You too, young man with the dashing golden locks! I have plenty of room for all.”

An older woman comes into view, popping out of the doorway and dancing towards you two, including the blonde man. She’s short and stout with graying hair tied back with a piece of cloth, an apron tied around her waist with a welcoming smile. There’s a keyring hanging from a chain clasped around her neck, which must be keys to the rooms.

“How much would you charge for a single room with two beds? I’m afraid I’ve nearly used all my travel funds. It's just for tonight, ma’am.” Robin unclasps a leather pouch from around her belt, her lantern is now extinguished. She loosens the drawstrings around it, digging around for a second as she awaits an answer, her cold blue eyes drawn to the contents of her coin pouch. The woman looks back between you and Robin with an accusatory glance, her lips pursed, and eyes narrowed all while she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why, sure, I can do that for you two… Maybe they’re together…?” The older woman not so quietly mutters the last part under her breath.

“And you, young man?” She speaks to the hooded blonde man now, who jolts the very second she tries to draw his attention. You watch him remove his hood after stepping a bit more into the shadow casted nearby, then you notice his odd eyebrows. They’re swirled, but he seems to cover the right side of his face with his bangs quickly when he catches onto your curious look, a shy blush and beating heart greet your ears and eyes, which you consider a rather friendly introduction. There is still a part of you that enjoys this manner of attention, but you want to keep it buried for now.

“One room, one night. Please and thank you, Mademoiselle.” His voice is smooth, but it has an undeniable presence, reminiscent of a certain emperor which ruled about a century ago, one who coincidentally also had swirled eyebrows and blonde hair. What a great shame such a handsome young man even somewhat resembles that stupidity encrusted oaf.

“For the ladies, thirty in total, for the young man, it's just fifteen.”

She leads the three of you inside slowly, shutting the front door of the Inn after all has entered. The reception area gives off a comforting vibe, and there's the faint smell of dinner dug into the beige colored walls, the wood planked floors are a bit squeaky and worn, but still not the slightest bit dirtied. Robin hands over thirty berry, and your brows quirk up when you see the exact same face on the coins. That asshole made his way onto the modern-day currency. The blonde man hands over his payment as well, your eyes glance over the rings of silver adorning his fingers, paired with many jewels. Not exactly the best choice if you’ll be out in a slightly more rural area, but maybe he’s just a clueless rich kid who got lost.

“I’ll be right back young man, wait here for a moment while I show these pretty ladies to their room.”

Nodding towards your direction, she guides you down a dimly lit hallway, passing what must have been a dozen doors before she finally reached one that seemed deliberately excluded from the others. Does she actually think you're a couple still? You have no interest in romance, merely feeding off of people, male or female. A pretty face does help, that you will admit. The innkeeper removes a heavy metal key off of the large keyring hanging around her neck, and places it into Robin’s open hands.

“You two ladies stay safe, I wouldn’t go out this hour at night, what with all the rowdy men. Your door locks, too.” She smiles at you two, before walking back to the reception area.

Robin sighs, unlocking and pushing the door to your room open. The room is a bit smaller than someone of your caliber is used to, but it is clean and pristine, but the windows only have a sheer curtain to cover them. There’s two beds in each corner, their footboards facing each other, one on the left side, the other on the right. Robin removes her boots, loosening the clasps on them and placing them neatly by the door, the lantern she had with her is rubbing against her hip with every step she takes… You don’t know why, but you can’t seem to stop watching it. You’re telling yourself it’s just because you’re hungry, but if you keep this up you’ll reveal the secret you’re trying to keep even from yourself.

When you snap back to yourself, Robin has already tucked herself into the bed in the left corner. Her clothes are scattered near the foot of her bed, and you avert your eyes like a sinner scared to face the divine.

“I’m going to bed, I don’t want to have any delays for when we set out in the morning.” Robin yawns, shuffling around under the thick blankets in bed. One can only imagine what lies underneath. Sighing, you place yourself on top of the right bed, subtly glancing over to watch Robin, simply because you need to make sure she’s asleep so you can try to feed off of her, no other reason. Eventually, the rise and fall of her chest becomes rhythmic, and she’s asleep. Is now a good time? You feel nervous, for some reason… It feels like you’re being watched again.

Your back is turned to the window, so there’s no mistaking it, his eyes are back onto you. As you whip back around, you see a glimpse of him, before he’s gone within a blink of the eye.

Mihawk. You scowl, snatching the key off of Robin’s nightstand and begin scrambling to unlock the door. Angry footsteps are as silent as can be, but you are running as fast as you can to get outside before you can process your thoughts about why he’s following you around again. Swinging the door open with an unimaginable force, you disregard the curious and frightened crows staring at you, walking in the direction of the woods. Is this another one of his sick jokes? What’s he going to do, bite your neck again? Worst case scenario is that he kills you. Again.

“Is something the matter, Y/N?” Same as before, he appears behind you, his cold breath tickling the back of your neck in the exact same manner. He smells very strongly of blood still, and you can feel the weight of all the lives he has taken after you, maybe you can even taste their blood smeared on his lips. Fear stops you from turning to face him.

“You pompous fool. There certainly is, and it’s the fact that you’ve been constantly following me ever since I awoke. You already turned me into a parasite, what more do you want? How greedy of a man are you?” You’re seething with unbridled rage, and a feeling of helplessness. His cold hand rests against yours, his fingers allowing themselves to intertwine with yours with his palm pressed against the back of your hand. All these years, and you still fail to understand him. He purposely made you turn, but why? It could be something that you did as a human woman, but your memory betrays you. He’s clearly mocking you by holding your hand, inadvertently stating that he sees you as no threat.

“Now, now… There isn’t any need for you to be so full of hate. Eternal life is a blessing, not the curse you may think.” He has a smile on his face, surely. But why? Why is it you who has received it, then? Mihawk is an odd man who simple minds can’t even begin to understand, and even you barely grasp exactly what kind of man he is, because vampires prefer to live in solitary. He confuses you with his words, and you stay silent, too weak to fight.

“You already had your fun about a century ago, so I was worried when I heard the news… I wanted to be sure you had a steady food source. After all, you are a part of me, and I am not as cruel and evil as you may be driven to believe. I have no time for your tantrum, so it would be greatly appreciated if you ran along.”

Everything’s even more confusing now. Worried? A part of him? Is he being metaphorical, or is he speaking in the literal sense, that you do not know. His hand slips away from yours, and you feel his presence dissipate. You can’t trust him, but you find yourself growing curious about him and where he even originated from. That woman, Robin, is interested in the history of you, who is also a vampire, and it’s possible that maybe she is aware of Mihawk’s existence, or she has already studied him. Lucky you, you have an archaeologist to help you get two things you need.

You walk your way back inside of the Inn, defeated, but determined. Maybe joining the same guild as Robin would allow you a few resources to learn more about Mihawk, vampires, and what else to do with your life.

But, you are still hungry. It’s urgent, you need to feed by tomorrow night at the very least.

#mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #nico robin x reader #black leg sanji x reader #sanji x reader

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salternateunreality2 · 2 days ago

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I think I'm going through a Cloud phase (again) + because my birthday's coming up I'm requesting ambrosia straight from the source (saltcanons): How did Cloud usually celebrate his birthday as a kid in Nibelheim vs. as an adult. Any tl you want; canon, AC, agszc, the choice is yours <3

❤️🍊❤️ henlooo pumpkin! Thanks for the ask! ❤️ and Happy (soon) Birthday!

0 years old:

Against tradition, both his parents were there to welcome him. They were both young, both scared, both excited, and when he came out breech, they held each other's hands and their breath until he drew his first and SCREAMED.

He came out the same way he would go through life: feet first and impossible to kill, stubborn as a mule. They were so proud and laughed and cried and couldn't get over how perfect he was.

1 year old:

Papa (Cloud could say his name and Mama's) made a little carrot cake from carrots they grew in their garden, honey from their bees, and a lot of love since they didn't have much else. Claudia decorated it with dandelions to match his shockingly thick and spiky hair (just like hers).

He LOVED it, shoveling handfuls in his mouth with a frown of determination while Mama and Papa giggled and kissed.

2 years old:

Cloud said "NO!" and Mama cried. She tried to make the cake again but couldn't focus because he kept asking "WHERE PAPA?!" and when she told him "I don't know", he started saying "NO!" and didn't stop until he screamed himself to sleep.

3 years old:

They moved to the mountains, Mama said they would look for Papa, and Cloud tried every day, even on his birthday, but couldn't find him. He wanted chocolate milk, so Mama got it for him, but stopped wearing her pretty sparkly earrings after.

5 years old:

Cloud was excited to have friends show up. He helped Mama every day, and this year she said they could make a real cake big enough to share! Only one friend from school came, TIFA! And her mom. And they ate cake and had some left over and it was SO FUN!!!

9 years old:

Cloud asked Ma to please stop trying to invite people; they wouldn't come, not even Tifa since she got hurt and her dad said to stay away from him. So they celebrated together, with a small cake and milk (he was too mature for chocolate milk, but regular had lots of protein, which he needed to grow strong).

14 years old:

After Ma went to bed, he slipped out the back door with a small bag of food and a lot of determination. He left her a note. He didn't realize she was watching from the window and crying, knowing she couldn't stop him.

15 years old:

He spent far too much gil to call his Ma, since she had insisted, and ate the cookies she sent with a carton of milk from the mess hall, all while hiding in a broom closet.

16 years old:

Red-faced, he blew out a candle on the ridiculous cupcake Zack got him, all covered in sprinkles and frosting. Zack hollered and cheered and Kunsel blew a party horn. Absurd.

He loved it.

17 years old:

He stared at the glowing eyes above him, wondering if they would ever make it out alive. A skinny arm braced him, and he could barely hear a warbly, whispered rendition of a birthday song as...Zack? Zack. Sang to him. He closed his eyes, not hearing Zack begging for him to stay awake.

20 years old:

He blinked. One moment he was in the desert with a sword. He couldn't leave the sword, it was important. He didn't know why, but he couldn't drop it, no matter what. He blinked again and he was in a city. He blinked again and he was on a train. He blinked again and there was that girl, who wasn't dead? Was she supposed to be dead? Tifa? Tifa. He knew that, he was a First Class SOLDIER.

21 years old:

He was working on some construction for Tifa when she brought him a big glass of milk and a little cake.

"Happy birthday," she said, smiling softly.

He thanked her and she went inside. It was salty. Oh, no, that was from him, as he remembered Zack, Aerith, Ma...

23 years old:

He thanked Marlene and Denzel for the pictures they drew, and let them help him blow out his candles. He also allowed himself a small smile, until Yuffie strapped a stupid birthday hat to his head and he had to chase her down and mess up her hair. Tifa laughed and gave him a big hug and a little kiss on the cheek, which he thought about for several weeks after. Months. Years.

25 years old:

Tifa took him out under the stars.

"Hey Cloud?" she said, taking his hand. His heart raced. She was always a touchy friend with him and he didn't think she knew how much it made him feel like blushing and melting and wanting to put his mouth on hers.

"Yeah?" he said.

"I've been dropping hints, but I don't think you've been picking them up," she said. He tilted his head.

"Is this about the eggs? You SAID cook less than three, I SAW your text: less than sign, then three. Two eggs is less than three. How was i supposed to know you wanted more?"

Tifa giggled.

"No no no," she said. "Well yes, that was one of the hints. The less than three was supposed to look like a heart. Because I like you."

"Oh. I like you too," he said. More than she knew.

"Cloud, I love you as more than a friend. I like you romantically and want to kiss you and go on dates. It's ok if you don't feel the same! But I wanted to be sure to say it clearly, just in case."

Cloud blinked rapidly.

"You...love me?"

"Yes."

"Romantically?"

"Yes."

"You want to kiss me?"

"Yes. Is...that ok? We don't have to change any-"

"YES!" he squeaked, then controlled his voice and pitched it lower. "Yes, that is ok. Um...can I?" He waved awkwardly at her lips.

"Yes," she said, smiling

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

Alternate 25th birthday, because Genesis:

This red-coated, poetry-nerd asshole was on his LAST nerve. Cloud stomped into the bar and slammed the stupid roses and the stupid luxury chocolates onto the counter.

"Oof, someone's in trouble," said Tifa. Cloud snorted.

"He keeps dilly-dallying. It's been a year. If he wants to have sex, he should just say so. He's hot, I'd just do it if he wanted. But he won't just SAY SO, and I know if *I* try to say it, it'll come out wrong and he'll leave because I'm just...not...words...good."

"I highly doubt he'll give up on you over you being bad at saying you want to sleep with him," said Tifa.

"Not sleep, have sex," said Cloud. "And how do YOU know?! Don't you know he's like, super book smart? I ain't had that education!"

"I know because he turned the color of his coat and dribbled the pie out of his mouth onto my nice booth table the minute you said you wanted to bed him," said Tifa pointing to a dark corner behind him.

Cloud whirled around. She was not joking. There was Genesis, in all his glory, fork hovering midair, jaw dangling, red faced, half-chewed pie in front of him, staring at Cloud.

Genesis quickly shut his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Ahem, Strife, I, well, I did not realize, I would be honored, I thought perhaps you would not stoop so low, after, you know," he waved his hand vaguely.

"After you didn't help Zack, basically made me help kill Angeal, and moped in a cave while Sephiroth was trying to eat the damn planet? Well yeah, that sucked, but you were sick and unaware for most of that, and it doesn't change the fact you're h-hot," said Cloud, only stumbling over his words at the end.

"Oh," said Genesis, gazing into Cloud's eyes.

"Yeah," said Cloud, gazing into Genesis' eyes.

"Get a room," said Tifa. "You're grossing out my customers."

Yuffie waved from a couple tables over, making gagging faces as Vincent sat with her looking pained and Cid rolled his eyes.

Cloud had a very exciting birthday after that.

#ff7 #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #claudia strife #cloud's dad #genesis rhapsodos #cloti #strifesodos

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maitanii · 2 days ago

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unfortunate encounter. inui seishu. 2k

It wasn’t his day. It wasn’t his week either—or his month (or even his year). Not that Inui was particularly prone to complaining, but he was pretty sure someone had cursed him.

First of all, there was missing money—a lot of money—from the store’s register. And, of course, the discrepancy had happened during his shift. Which meant that the irresponsible idiot who worked the early morning shift had done whatever they wanted with the payments and, worse still, Inui hadn’t even noticed.

Reason number two: the stupid shirt. Chifuyu had convinced everyone to wear matching shirts for Takemichi’s bachelor party. Seishu’s first reaction was to throw the shirt on the ground and stomp on it, but Draken gave him two choices: either wear the shirt, or Draken would put it on him himself.

And now here he was, with relentless raindrops falling on his head, the pink shirt with Takemichi’s face on it completely soaked, his bike parked on the side of the road, a scratched car in front of him, and a girl crying over the steering wheel.

Shit, shit, shit.

He’d love to pin the blame on the girl, but she had done everything right. It was him who, in his hurry, had forgotten to check his brakes and ended up crashing into her car. Once he recovered from the initial impact, he’d tried to apologize, but the girl had already started crying and was unable to form a coherent sentence. Which meant he’d have to be the one to explain everything to the officers.

Taking the cigarette from his lips, he pressed his phone harder against his ear, hoping the police would pick up faster. He was supposed to be at the restaurant in an hour, and he still had ten minutes of highway left to go. Not a chance he’d make it. Stupid day and his stupid luck. He was never going to ignore Naoto’s advice about warding off bad luck ever again.

“Hello. Yes.” He kept providing the officer on the line with the location details. “Twenty minutes? Shit. Yes, officer. Understood.”

Shoving the phone into his pocket, he barely resisted the urge to smash it against the asphalt. His white Converse crushed the remains of his cigarette under the sole. Inui ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back. He hated the rainy season.

As if the sky could sense his rising heart rate, the rain decided to come down harder. Two minutes into wondering whether his life was even worth it, he figured that if he killed himself on the spot, Draken would bring him back to life just to beat him up. So, reluctantly, he made his way over to the car, where the girl he’d crashed into still had her head resting against the steering wheel.

He knocked on the car door twice. On the second knock, the girl lifted her head sluggishly and turned to look at him. If it hadn’t been for the terrible situation they were in, he might’ve laughed at the red mark on her forehead from leaning on the same spot for too long. But he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, nor did he want to deal with her tears. When she rolled the window down slightly, Inui took it as his cue to speak.

“I know you probably don’t feel like talking. And as hard as it is to believe, neither do I. But I can’t fill out the damn accident report if I die of hypothermia out here. Would you be so kind as to let me into the car?”

The girl stared at him for a few seconds, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Hugging her bag tightly to her chest, she unlocked the door and gestured toward the passenger seat. Inui didn’t hesitate to climb in.

The inside of the Volkswagen smelled faintly of a strawberry air freshener on its last legs.

After two minutes of silence, the girl straightened up and opened her mouth to speak at the same time Inui did.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was going too fast, and since this road is usually so empty, I got overconfident. I’m really sorry.”

“You’re bleeding.”

They both turned their heads to look at each other. The girl swallowed hard when she caught her reflection in Inui’s green eyes.

“Oh, blood.” Seishu reached for his left leg and confirmed that there was, indeed, a nasty-looking wound. “Great. Just great.”

“Let me see it.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” When the girl nodded, Inui felt somewhat relieved. Not to be heartless, but as long as she wasn’t physically hurt, it was one less thing to deal with. Turning his head, he glanced at his bike through the window. He’d left his helmet on the ground, and now it was acting as a makeshift bucket, collecting rainwater.

“Let me see your leg,” the girl repeated, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts. “Please.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I’ve had friends hit me harder than this. Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m a nurse.”

“Thanks for sharing. I’m a mechanic.”

For the first time since the accident happened, the tension in the air eased, and a soft laugh escaped the girl’s lips. Inui breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, mechanic, at the very least, can you do me a favor and roll up your pant leg?”

Inui raised an eyebrow keeping the poker face. “Roll up my pant leg? Wow, I admit I have nice legs, but we’re moving pretty fast there. Should I light a candle first?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “What? No! That’s not what I meant!” She frantically waved her hands, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. “There’s mud on the path where we crashed! I don’t want dirt getting into the wound—just roll it up a bit so I can clean it!”

“Ah, got it.” Inui nodded with an exaggeratedly serious expression, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. “No candles, then. Noted.”

Seishu took his time rolling up the fabric, his movements slow and deliberate. He’d understood her perfectly from the start, but he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. Force of habit.

The young woman glanced at the wound out of the corner of her eye. It didn’t look too bad, but it would still need to be cleaned and disinfected. She sighed, feeling her eyes begin to well up with tears again. What a perfect day for her period to show up. Just as she was about to bury her arms on the steering wheel, she heard the guy next to her clear his throat.

“If you’re going to cry again, at least give me a heads-up. I think it’d be more awkward if I watch.”

“You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he replied.

She scoffed but couldn’t stop a faint smile from slipping through. Shaking her head, she looked down at her lap, her hands clasped tightly together. “This is a disaster. I’m supposed to be at work in 10 minutes.”

“One of my best friends is getting married in two days. Today’s his bachelor party,” he said, leaning back against the headrest. “Trust me, I’m very aware of the disaster. But hey, at least I’m not dead, and neither are you. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

The young woman shot him a look, squinting slightly. “Is that your way of comforting people?”

“I thought I mentioned I’m a mechanic, not a therapist,” Inui retorted with a sarcastic smile. “Besides, the last time I tried to comfort someone, I ended up getting punched in the face. Not really my thing.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. “Well, mechanic, maybe you should stick to what you know.”

“Thanks for the advice, nurse,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. Then, leaning forward, he gestured exaggeratedly toward his leg. “So, are you going to take care of this wound, or would you rather keep crying while we debate who’s having the worse day?”

The woman sighed and turned to face him, finally making up her mind. “Fine, but first, I’ll need something to clean it with. And don’t even think about handing me a used tissue or something worse, because I swear I’ll leave you bleeding.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied with a half-smile. “I’ve got an emergency kit on the bike. At least I did something right today.”

“A miracle” She muttered under her breath, watching as Inui reached out for the door handle. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the first-aid kit,” he said, already pushing the door open.

“Wait! You’re just going to—” Her protest was drowned out by the sound of the rain hitting harder as he stepped out into the downpour.

He didn’t bother hurrying; he was already soaked from earlier. His shirt clung awkwardly to his frame as he crouched by the bike, opening one of the side compartments. After rummaging for a moment, he pulled out a small, well-used first-aid kit. He didn’t even bother trying to keep it dry as he trudged back toward the car.

Sliding back into the passenger seat with a squelch, he tossed the kit onto the center console and brushed his damp hair out of his face.

“Here,” he said simply, flicking open the latch and pulling out some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

She frowned at the mess he was making. “Great, now my car smells like wet dog. You couldn’t just let me grab it?”

“It’s my bike,” he replied, handing her the supplies. “I’d rather not add ‘letting a stranger mess with my stuff’ to today’s list of mistakes.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, snatching the wipes from his hand. “Fine. But stay still unless you want this to hurt more than it already does.”

He leaned back against the seat, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll try my best, Nurse.”

She worked quickly, cleaning the wound with firm but precise movements. He hissed when the antiseptic hit, but to his credit, he didn’t pull away. When she finished wrapping the gauze, she leaned back with a satisfied nod.

“There,” she said, tossing the used wipes into the small trash bag hanging from the dashboard. “Try not to mess it up before the police get here.”

“No promises,” he said with a lopsided grin, flexing his leg experimentally.

“Good,” she muttered, leaning back in her seat. “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, glancing out at the rain as it hammered down on the windshield, “we wait.”

The tension in the car had eased slightly, leaving only the rhythmic sound of the rain filling the silence.

“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” she asked.

“Not at all” Inui started to get comfortable in the seat and let his forehead fall against the glass of the window.

The radio crackled to life, filling the car with a soft, cheesy love song. Inui snorted. “Great. Mood music.”

The girl rolled her eyes, adjusting the volume. “Would you rather sit in awkward silence?”

He shrugged. “I was kind of enjoying the dramatic tension, to be honest.”

She let out a small laugh, finally seeming to relax. “You’re impossible.”

Another stretch of silence passed, the rain drumming steadily against the windshield. Then, she shifted slightly in her seat.

“I never got your name,” she said.

He considered ignoring the question—keeping things strictly in the “unfortunate strangers” category. But at this point, what was the harm? He’d already bled in her car. That felt like a first-name basis situation.

“Inui Seishu” he finally said.

She gave a slow nod, lips twitching. “Well, Inui Seishu, I hope you know you owe me a car wash after all this.”

He turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And I hope you know you owe me therapy bills for emotional distress.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Add it to your bad luck tab.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “That tab’s already maxed out, sweetheart.”

She grinned, leaning back into her seat as the song on the radio switched to something equally sappy.

#draft is out #and so am i #i love inui #inui seishu #in my mind he's this stupidly sincere #inui x reader #inui seishu x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

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livingformintyoongi · 2 days ago

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Safe Haven | Kim Seokjin

Summary: Based on this post by @foryoufics (She also did her version with Jimin, you can read it in this link <3). Warnings: I guess we can say it's a bit angsty, but it also has fluff! Jin is a sweetheart and tries to comfort his wife because he can't stand to see the love of his life sad. Pairing: Fem!reader x Kim Seokjin Word count: 2.3k Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthoughts Dividers by @kodaswrld

This day had been more exhausting than any other. You were used to carrying the weight of everything, filling your mind with questions generated by your anxiety that made you overthink everything over and over again: Am I enough? Am I trying too hard? What have I done wrong? Those, and hundreds of other questions, made your insecurity take over every corner of your mind.

And honestly, you were so tired of it all.

“Y/N…” your father murmured behind you, watching you as your attention remained focused on the oven in front of you. You had spent the last few weeks going back and forth from your house to your father’s café, trying to do everything you could to help him, to be useful, all in hopes that someone, anyone, would notice your efforts.

Customers love this kind of stuff, right? Cakes make people happy, you wanted to make people happy with your work, was that too much to ask?

“I just put the muffins in the oven, so we can’t take them out yet. Should I start making the cookie dough? Mom said they’ve been selling the most these past few days.”

“Y/N, stop.” You felt your father’s hands land firmly on your shoulders, forcing you to shift your focus towards him. You could see it in his face, that look everyone had been giving you these past few days: pity, sadness. You really hated it. “I really appreciate that you want to help, and I’ve enjoyed having you back after all this time apart, but I think it’s time for you to… go home.”

“What do you mean?” you whispered, feeling your heart shrink in your chest at his request. Were you bothering your father now? Were you not being helpful to him either? Had you become a second choice for him as well?

“You’ve been coming here for weeks, working nonstop, we barely have time for ourselves…” He paused before continuing, his eyes, although hesitant, stayed locked on yours. “You barely have time for yourself. You’re still so young, you have a life out there, a husband, friends… You shouldn’t be wasting your time with your parents. We’ve lived a whole life with you, it’s time for you to start living yours, sweetheart.”

Ah.

You wanted to cry again.

How could you explain to your father that he was wrong about most things?

You had no friends, at least not any who cared in the same way you cared for them. You felt like your life was crumbling little by little, like you had built a house of bricks that you kept demolishing because one of them didn’t fit with the others. And your husband… Ah, Jin, your dear husband.

Thinking about him brought you a little peace. For a second, you felt the pressure in your chest become a little more bearable; Jin loved you, he always had, he was one of the few people who always put you first. You were always his first choice, even when dozens of women were in love with him. He was always there for you when your mind played tricks on you, and he was always patient with you, even when you couldn’t be with yourself.

You loved Jin, and he loved you, and that gave you a deep peace amidst the storm that was your mind.

“I’ve called him to come pick you up, he should be here soon,” your father’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly refocused on him as he came closer to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “Go home and rest for a bit, okay?”

You let out a soft sigh, one that sounded just like how you felt: exhausted. “Alright… thank you.”

Your eyes began to sting the moment his arms enveloped you in a warm hug. This was exactly why you came here. The warmth of home, the security your parents gave you, the fact that no matter what happened, you would always be their daughter, someone irreplaceable, someone they would always love.

You squeezed your father’s sturdy body against yours, using all your strength, holding onto his shirt as if you were that little girl again who would come crying to her parents’ room after a nightmare, needing the comfort of the only people who could protect her from the horrors of the outside world.

The soft ringing of a bell followed by the sound of the door closing caught your attention. You barely peeked your face from your father’s neck, just enough to see who it was. You almost let out a sob when you saw Jin standing in the doorway, looking like he had just run a marathon.

Had he really come here running just to pick you up?

“Sorry for the delay, traffic was crazy,” he let out a laugh, not the usual one that made everyone around him laugh, but one more nervous, as if he wanted to lighten the mood with a poor attempt at humor. “Uh… are you ready to go or…?”

“No, no, I’m… I’m ready,” you murmured, letting go of your father’s shirt and saying goodbye with a barely perceptible smile. “Goodbye, Dad, see you later,” you gently patted his shoulders, a small part of you still refusing to let him go completely, maybe that inner child that still lived within you, needing the shelter of your parents. On the other hand, the more mature side of you, the one that governed most of you, knew you couldn’t stay here baking cakes and cookies forever.

So, you let him go.

“Let’s go,” you said quietly to Jin, walking straight to the door to leave the place. The suffocating feeling was hard to shake off, even when you were outdoors, and the slight pressure in your chest was becoming more unbearable. You had barely stepped outside, and already felt like you were about to crumble.

“Sweetheart,” Jin’s voice sounded far away to you, was it your imagination? Had you walked too far? Had your thoughts become so loud that even the voices of real people now seemed muffled and lifeless? “Why don’t we sit down for a second?”

You didn’t respond before his hands took yours and guided you to a small bench in the park just a few meters from your parents’ café. When had you walked so far?

His soft hands gently held yours as he helped you sit down on the bench. Your tumultuous and overwhelming thoughts, although still present, seemed to shrink into a small corner of your mind, allowing you to return to the real world. Allowing you to see Jin.

His dark brown eyes watched your face with attention, and one of his hands had risen to your cheek without you noticing. His touch made you melt into him the moment your brain fully processed what he was doing. It felt good to have him close.

“I’m not going to pressure you or anything, because I don’t want your little head playing against you more than it already has, so I’ll ask you this question, and if you don’t want to answer it, then we’ll just go on as if nothing happened until the moment you’re ready, okay?” A small smile appeared on his plump lips when he saw you nodding quietly. Well, at least you were listening, that was progress. “Can you tell me why you’re like this?”

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered with a broken voice. You hated that question, hated the answer, and hated how the urge to cry began to flood you again to the point where even breathing became hard, like the pain in your chest grew stronger, and how you couldn’t see clearly due to the salty water beginning to form in your eyes.

You hated feeling like this.

“Are you sure?” Jin asked, tilting his head slightly so he wouldn’t lose eye contact with you. It was only then, when you saw the worry in his face, that you broke down.

Finally, you let everything you had inside pour out in the form of a messy cry, cheeks filled with tears and soft gasps hidden between sobs that made it hard to speak normally. The only comfort you had were Jin’s strong and warm arms wrapped around your body protectively, trying to calm your sadness with sweet words, soft kisses on your shoulder, and caresses on your back.

You were a walking mess right now, yes, but, for some reason, it felt comforting. Crying on the shoulder of one of the most important people to you, letting out the pain that had been in your chest… it felt liberating.

“It’s okay… everything will be okay,” he whispered beside your ear, using one of his hands to stroke your hair. You could feel his head resting against yours and his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he knew you felt like you were going to collapse at any moment.

“I feel so… so alone,” you groaned between sobs, hiding your face in that area where his neck met his shoulder. The hiccups became more constant, making it really hard for you to speak, but that didn’t stop you, not now that you could finally get it out of your mind. “I’ve tried everything, Jin, but no matter how hard I try, no matter how many times I try… it’s never enough.” You clenched your jaw, trying to stop a sob from escaping too loudly; you were still aware enough to remember you were in a public place. “I’m never enough for anyone.”

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away slightly from you, creating enough distance to take your cheeks in his hands so he could look you in the eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me.” His warm, soft thumbs wiped away the stream of tears falling from your eyes, and although he couldn’t stop the sobs from escaping, the way he caressed your face managed to calm your crying a bit. “What are you talking about? What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just that… I’ve tried everything to be what everyone always expects. I always gave my best to fit in with other people and no matter how much I try, it never seems to work," you said, your voice shaky, your eyes avoiding Jin's every few seconds because you were completely incapable of looking him in the eye. "I'm always the second choice, Jin. No one has ever truly considered me; Seojoon always invites Seulgi to his outings and only turns to me when she cancels, the same happens with Jumin and Seyeon and with absolutely all of my friends." You covered your eyes with your hands, just like a five-year-old child trying to wipe away tears or hide their gaze. "Am I that unpleasant? Is it really that hard to think of me as someone other than the replacement for someone else?"

"Of course not," he quickly shook his head, frowning when he heard your concern. Jin had known you’d been having some issues with your friends lately; he figured it out when you started going to your parents' café, but he never thought it was because of the insecurity their actions were causing you. "It's not hard to love you, of course it’s not! Loving you is as easy as breathing, it’s... it’s something you do unconsciously, that's it!" He moved his face closer to yours, gently pressing your foreheads together. "I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding, but even if it's not, what does it matter what they think? Other people's decisions don't define your worth."

"But—"

"No, Y/N, no buts," he said with the softest voice he could, lifting your face so he could kiss your forehead. "You are the sweetest, most thoughtful, and loving woman I’ve ever met in my life; you are my best friend, my wife, the love of my life, and I won’t let you speak ill of someone so important to me because of idiots who don’t know how to value the wonderful friend they have." He couldn't help but smile when he heard you let out a soft laugh at his comment. Good, he had managed to calm your tears a little. "Friends come and go, if they really loved you, they’d stay by your side through the good and the bad... maybe you haven't found the right people yet, but you’re still young, you still have time to find a circle where you’re accepted for who you are, not for who you pretend to be to please them." He gently stroked your cheeks, watching as your red nose scrunched up slightly and your brow furrowed. "And until then, I’ll be by your side, I’ll take care of you at all times because you are my best friend, and I’ll be with you no matter what, understood?"

You took a deep breath. Slowly, you counted to 10, regulating your breathing as best as you could. Then, you nodded. "Understood."

"Good, then," he stood up from the floor, taking your hands to help you up from the bench, never stopping the gentle caress of your knuckles. "What do you think about going home, I’ll make your favorite food, and we can watch a couple of movies until we fall asleep?"

You smiled faintly, watching as your husband smiled back at you cheerfully, as if you didn’t look like a complete mess at the moment.

"That sounds perfect," you murmured, giving his hands a soft squeeze before starting to walk back to where his car was parked.

Jin glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noticing how your gaze stayed low and melancholic, but less depressed than before. He knew it would take time to lift that weight from your heart completely, but he was willing to wait and help in any way he could to make that fear disappear.

Masterlist.

#bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts x y/n #bts x fem!reader #fanfic #fiction #jin x y/n #jin x reader #jin x you #seokjin x you #seokjin x y/n #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin x reader

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lostintransist · 2 days ago

Text

Hell's Spawn | Back Again?

Part 1 | AO3

Stretching side to side all your focus is on the pull on your neck muscles. When the bell dings, signaling entry you ignore the trained urge to open your eyes. Blended scents of cigarettes and deadly choices told you who had come back for a visit. If anyone had the ability to exist in a changeless state it would be these men. They looked nearly the same as when you had seen them last, imposing and wearing nearly the same damn outfits.

You didn’t glare when you opened your eyes, but it was a near thing. Layers kept you safe from the demons your mother seeded your mind with from crawling from your pool of self-hate. Easier to ignore the glances at your chest when you wore a band tee that begged to be looked at. The one who hadn’t spoken to you last time stepped forward. The sense you got is that you had been a topic of discussion, and this would be another test.

‘Welcome in, what can I get you?”

The one who stepped forward, fuck you really needed to figure out what to call each of them to keep them clear in your head. Maybe you would text your boss. She had met them before or at least one of her boyfriends would be able to help you match masks to names.

“Four large hot coffees, please.” He tacked on the last word as if only remembering polite interactions required it.

“Milk and sugar for the table again?” You ask as you tap away at the screen.

He had an accent from east of here. A long way east. How far can one go east before you start calling it west? You snort lightly as you think of the answer, it only becomes west if you run into a colonizer.

“Also reserved the conference room again?” you finish up the transaction on your end and flip the screen to them to confirm if they want to pay a tip.

The tallest one, with blue eyes and a loud voice, tapped his card without discussion. Once the payment cleared you pulled the key from a small drawer below the counter.

“You remember where it is?”

“Ja, we know where it is.” Cocky. That is what you refer to this one as. The tallest one that acted like his stature could win him the world.

The shortest one, whose startling blue eyes haunted your nightmares some nights, took the key from you. He took care not to let even the stitching of his glove touch your hand. Turning from the counter you ignore their gazes scorching across your shoulders. When you had the four cups filled and the bowl and carafe ready you set them all in a line on the counter. Large hands with oval, well-trimmed nails grab the coffees two per hand and then he catches your gaze.

“Sorry about them. They are all uncouth and require a sharp bite to make them back off. Though,” he looked down at you, his brown eyes so dark you nearly couldn’t tell them from his pupils with his irises, “They might need more of a muzzle pointed their direction to truly get the message.”

You weren’t what anyone would call pretty. With your gaze too sharp and your disdain for stupidity leaking from every pore, you were eye-catching.

It was the fucking tits. It had to be. Between the fat sacks that caused a constant ache in your back and your bitch face, because let’s be real it didn’t only come out when you were resting, men were always in your space. Your friends often said you needed to fix your face; sometimes it came in handy in running off fuckers that didn’t get a hint the first time.

Your hair could be the only thing called beautiful about you without the addition of fancy clothes or a hefty slathering of makeup.

“Good for everyone I have a partner then huh?” You arched a brow in his direction. Sugar and milk in hand you step from behind the counter.

“It wouldn’t stop them from trying. I’m Horangi.”

“Tell me their names? Let’s start tallest to shortest.”

“Tallest? König. Then me, followed by Nikto and finally Kreuger.”

You start up the stairs to the conference room.

“Got it, König is the cocky one, Nikto is the creepy one, Krueger can’t keep his hands to himself. What about you?” You glance at him over your shoulder as you top the stairs to the conference room.

“Me? My kink is I like women to be nice to me.” The seriousness on his face has you falling into laughter.

When the door to the conference room pops open, Krueger again with not a lick of skin visible, holds it open for you. Setting down the extras for the coffee you fight back the laughter, wiping away the tears collecting in the corner of your eyes. König sat next to Nikto, the large space between their chairs eaten up with their impressive, combined manspreading.

You pat Horangi on the shoulder, still chuckling.

“Good luck with that one man. Could never be me.”

Tension flooded the room, a crowd watching a wick burn down on dynamite while they stood inside the blast zone.

“Well, Horangi,” you pat his shoulder again before returning your hand to your side. “And everyone else I suppose,” you let disdain drip from your teeth as you speak, “reminder we are closing at one tonight instead of two. I’ll come and kick you out if you aren’t gone already at 12:45. If you need something, please hesitate.”

Leaving the room, you click the door shut behind you. Three sharp voices explode beyond the door. You can’t help but grin as you bounce down the stairs.

They kept coming back; three of them were met with glares that must fuel fantasies and Horangi with a smirk—no real schedule and never in the daylight. You start referring to them to your friends as “the vampires”. König and Krueger always tried to talk to you, getting rebuffed with stares or a sharp smile and a customer service stare. Nikto watches. Horangi makes you laugh and then gets yelled at when you leave them to their business. The interactions work until they change it up on you.

Hell Masterlist | Masterlist

@demothers-empty-blog

#poly!kortac #poly kortac #cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #cod krueger #krueger x reader #nikto x reader #nikto call of duty #konig call of duty #konig x reader #horangi is here but he wants a woman to be nice to him

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weatherman667 · 17 hours ago

Text

Part XII - Food

Something near and dear to myself as a fat guy.

And something pretty much every historian gets wrong.

Well, how do I know history better than historians?

Historians only care about what was written down.

Archeology is a better source of food. Especially since archeologists will drink the bog mead and eat the tomb cheese.

People ate - everything - they could get their hands on. This limits the food to:

What is produced locally in the area.

What is either in season, preserved, or shelf stable.

What is not too expensive.

The too expensive is pretty easy, it's whatever was written down.

Here's a great example, 1950's.

People will often talk how terrible the food was. What was their source? Cook books. But, the reason it was in a cook book was that it wasn't a common recipe. People were more likely to eat meat + veggies + starch. How do you cook the meat? 350˚ oven, 1/2hr per pound.

What happened in the 1950's was a sudden influx of new ingredients, the creation of new technology, and things that were formerly only available to the rich suddenly became cheap enough to try. This is why they had all of the outlandish recipes, as the middle classes could now try these weird, rich things.

My mother, when she was growing up, learned to cook on a wood-fired oven.

The most common form for cooking in history as the hearth. The hearth consists of a flat rock that you build a fire on. You would normally surround it by stone or masonry to keep the fire contained. You either have a smoke hole in the roof, or just let it filter through the thatch. If the hearthstone is big enough, you build the house - around - it.

The reason why a pot for cooking shares the same root as pottery is that pots were originally ceramic. Ceramic is both a good insulator, and has a high heat capacity to hold in the heat. This makes it almost perfect for cooking on an open fire, keeping the temperature even. Metal pots and dutch ovens were a sign of wealth.

So, the choices for most people were in a pot over an open fire, or on a stick over and open fire, or suspended high above the open fire so it's mostly smoke and not heat.

Proper ovens were expensive, and so only found in cities, or among wealthy individuals, like bakers.

Corn when properly processed last forever, (as long as they are kept dry). Corn is the edible seeds from grasses, like wheat, barley, and oats in England. Rice and Maize also qualify.

Roots and tubers can last a year if kept it a cold, dry, dark place.

Vegetables are a different story, and often only last a single season, (or even much shorter time), if not pickled.

Meat has an extremely short shelf-life, unless cured, (salt) and smoked, in which case it lasts for almost ever.

And worst, fire. Without modern mechanisms, creating fire was extremely difficult. It was time consuming and taxing, and even if you do have modern lighters, it can still be time consuming and taxing. So, a lot of ancient civilizations would have someone who's job is firekeeper, (Dark Souls is about the primeval fear that the fire - might - go out). So, the fire was just kept going, forever. The Vestal Virgins of Rome were literally tasked with maintained the symbolic hearth of Rome.

All of those movies where they walk in and there's a fire in the background cooking a pot is... very accurate. Pots were often left on the stove for days, if not forever. And by forever, I mean

A batch of pot-au-feu was claimed by one writer to be maintained as a perpetual stew in Perpignan from the 15th century until World War II, when it ran out of ingredients to keep the stew going due to the German occupation.

--Wikipedia

And by foodsafe, as long as it is kept at 60˚F, which is barely simmering, it's perfectly safe to do this, forever.

As for bread, wheat was the goal of all civilization, and even then, the gluten in bread was dramatically increased in the US. So, while bread was common, but nowhere near as fluffy without the gluten. If they didn't have wheat, they would make something similar to pancake, which it seems like almost every single society has something similar.

Every family would have a grain ark. You would often have a larder, where meat was covered in fat for protection, (it effectively creates an air-proof barrier). Every family had a pig, as you could feed it food scraps, which it turns into pork. Some towns would have a municipal swineherd, who's job was to gather up the pigs and take them to the woods for foraging. The Roman standard, meaning the European standard when considering woodlands for tax purposes was how many pigs they could forage. Having a milk animals was the goal of most families. A calf can be bought for a few hundred, and it takes $20-ish dollars per day to feed. And they produced like 18L of milk per day. Chickens were typically not eaten, but kept for eggs. Or you can get a rope and a bucket and climb up/down a cliff to steal them from the birds that fish there. Wild game was freely available, until lords restricted it's use. You just had to hunt it and kill it, or pay a hunter to do it for you. Everyone with a square food of land had an herb/vegetable garden.

Most rent was paid in either work or grain, and the work was often to harvest the lord's own grain. If we take Grain as a general category, then it is the most common currency in Human history. Which is why it makes so much sense for Cybertronians to use Energon.

You Want to Make a Fantasy World: Part I - Magick

The first thing you need to decide when making a fantasy world is how magick works.

That might seem heady, but let's go over what you have to decide:

Who can use magick.

How do they use magick.

And how powerful can magick get.

Do you want 9th level magick, that can rip a giant hole in the world and summon unkillable monsters?

Because, honestly, you don't need it.

Can 9th level magick only be used by decrepid old wizards with one foot in their grave? Only it be used by chosen heroes? Only be by inhuman things, like Dragons and Daemons and Liches?

Low level but common magick can have a huge effect on the setting. Being able to light a fire can allow you to save the time and effort it takes to start a fire. Heating a rock can be used to heat a home, or even a bath, giving the equivalent of modern sanitation. Hand washing, bathing, and toilets have done the most for Human longevity. Can you go to a priest, give him a penny, and have him cure your cancer?

Sure, curing cancer isn't as cool as curing sword wounds, but the medical effects it can have on longevity are staggering.

Maybe magic is something that can only be done by a minority of the population, that dedicate themselves to the study.

None of them are wrong answers, so long as they are CONSISTENT.

If magickal ability depends on your bloodline, then someone, somewhere is going to think it's a good idea to selectively breed mages to keep the magics strong. The mages might become the noble classes, they might form their own class, which they breed endogenously, like Hindus.

If only inhuman things can cast upper level magick, and you see a seemingly ordinary Human cast that kind of magick, then guess what? He's not actually an ordinary Human.

Does magick need a physical catalyst? Does it consume reagents? How rare are these reagents? Do they come in one of a few types, or is every twig of berries a reagent for a different spell? Maybe upper level spells require expensive reagents, and that's the limiting factor? Maybe these spells use too much mana, and therefore can only be done by places of power?

Does teleportation require Line of Sight? Can you open long-range portals only if you have local knowledge? Can you target places of power from a distance?

We start with the simple, coarse questions, and get to the finer ones later on. When? When you come up with a good idea for how it works? Or, honestly, when you need to use it. It's perfectly fine to wait until the characters need/want to teleport to decide how it functions.

Another way to limit spells if by giving the heroes a rare magickal item. Why can they use portals?, because they have the Staff of the Herald. Why do they have the staff of the herald?

Given by someone important.

Monster loot.

They found it in an old, abandoned building.

They earned it by accomplishing some feat, or level of training.

Again, all you have to decide is how rare the item is, and maybe if you need some sort of innate/trained ability to use it.

#how I write #fantasy #food

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