#even though we have decent tracks on them too
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"Scarf/veil worn over the elbows" - like Aqua in Konosuba? Yeah, what is that? Seems tonbe associated with holy/divine characters, so maybe it's referencing some religious art?
In reference to my tags on this post.
They don't always seem to draw her with it, so for a minute I thought you were talking about those detached sleeves, LOL
But yes, exactly!
I actually had a dream, and while it was tangential, one element was an ancient aliens esque theory, that angels/gods were real beings, because of the consistency of this sash/stole/shawl/ribbon thing shown in art across the world.
Unfortunately for the theorists in my dream, we actually know pretty well how it went.
The ancient Romans just really liked showing deities framed by a billowing garment, "Velificatio ... represents 'vigorous movement,' an epiphany, or 'the vault of heaven,' often appearing with celestial, weather, or sea deities."
The etymology is roughly "setting sail", and Pliny the Elder describes a wind god as "Making a sail of her garment."
I sometimes call it a veil because well, the Japanese version is always really diaphanous, but as you can see in the wikipedia article, it's sometimes associated with initiations into mystery religions, where it's related to the veil or shroud Romans would put over their dead, so removing it symbolized rebirth, and (stretching a little here) it billowing around someone showed them as near but aside from death.
It's shown a lot of ways (there's this little known painting called Birth of Venus from the 15th century, check out Zephyrus in it), but, well, here's Neptune from the 3rd century:
Familiar, huh?
Art meets silk road, and a sash becomes really popular in depictions of celestial, flying apsaras:
I think this guy's from 500ce or so.
The cloth itself doesn't really have a name, but in Japan the tennin (lit, heavenly people, analogous to angels) wear hagoromo (feathered rainment) that they sometimes need to fly.
Here's a guy doing a selkie to one. "Marry me or you'll never return to the heavens."
As you can see, a hagoromo (center) includes this exact windy sash, but there's also more to it.
I don't really have a conclusion, but thanks for the ask, prompting me to retrace my path learning about it.
#qa#long post#words#konosuba#I feel like this one is basically sorted; as much as the immortal me would love to spend a decade getting a degree in art history#but I still enjoy finding examples#though it's less important than my vampire and head wing fixation#even though we have decent tracks on them too#vampires with direct blood draw teeth have probably been invented multiple times#and a lot of old depictions also had them with a leech or mosquito *tongue*#but the novel dracula draws a *lot* of parallels between vampires and the then-new-medical-technology of blood transfusion#stoker seems to actually be the main origin for big prominent fangs#ditto for no reflection actually though it's probably based on many legends where they have no shadow#head and hip wings seem to have been brought to the attention of japan by go nagai; but we see depictions of that as old as#well as old as velificatio actually; but only on seraphim who covered their faces hands and feet with their wings#so a bunch of artists naturally drew the face covering wings as coming from the head#I liked this enough I'm going to reblog myself tomorrow
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I wanna reach out and grab ya
(edit: now on ao3!)
In the aftermath, as the dust settles, the world shakes.
He expects it, but it still catches him off balance.
He leans against the ambulance, brushes off Nancyâs comment about him needing medical care. Jonathan gives him a look like he wants to call him out on it, but he lets it go. Heâs not sure how long heâs been awake, but he knows that if either of them really pressed him, heâd fold like a paper bag.
You know, easily but with a decent amount of noise.
Itâs all he can do to keep upright, using the cool metal door to help. The world doesnât exactly feel steady, but he took a few hits to the head and heâs sure thatâs not helping. Thereâs a ringing in his ears, his sides ache, his face burns, and heâs not altogether sure how long heâs been awake. Heâs sure itâs been somewhere along the lines of too long. Heâs not looking forward to going home, not when all heâs got waiting there is a cold, empty house. His parents wonât be back for a few more weeks.
Even if thereâs a part of him, a big part if he can admit it, that desperately wants his mom to be there, heâs not going to call and ask for her. Heâs supposed to be an adult now, heâs supposed to be growing up, he canât call for her.
Even if it stings a little, watching other people reuniting with their families.
He loses track of time a little, and is only snapped out of it when heâs dragged into a hug. Itâs tight, warm, and so gentle for how fierce it is. He reflexively hugs back before he puts it all together, before he recognizes that itâs Claudia Henderson. Sheâs saying something, but he canât really hear it because heâs too busy trying to catch up on what exactly is happening. When she pulls back, she either repeats it or itâs a different question.
Robin answers before he can.
âYeah, Steveâs gonna stay with me tonight.â
âI am?â
âYeah, dingus, remember?â
âRight, yeah, Iâm staying with her tonight.â Except. âHow are we getting to your place? I lost my keys,â he adds.
âOh, donât worry about it, Iâll take you,â Claudia says. A godsend, really, always. Heâs going to need to get new keys entirely given that his have probably been melted by the fire, but he canât tell her that.
Robin sticks to his side as they go to the car, her hand slides into his and he holds on tight. He doesnât let go until theyâre in her house, after the quiet car ride where he almost dozed off a dozen times. Her parents are at work, both on the night shift at the moment, so itâs just them. Convenient, given that theyâre probably going to wake up screaming at some point. She shoves him into the bathroom first and he uses her strawberry shampoo and doesnât bother to even attempt anything resembling his usual process for cleaning up.
While she takes her turn, he pulls on the clothes she set out. A Hawkins Band tee shirt thatâs a little tight and a pair of gym shorts that are probably bigger than his own. Heâs almost dozing when she starts messing with his hair, helping to dry it without him even noticing sheâd finished her shower. Itâs more a nervous movement than anything, but it feels nice.
âWeâre going to need to keep some of your clothes here, you know.â
âWhy?â
âSo you have something to wear, obviously.â
Obviously. Because heâs going to stay with her sometimes. He should have her clothes at his place too then, even if heâs perfectly willing to let her raid his closet. He likes the idea though, the plan to mesh themselves together already. Heâs never had anyone in his life whoâs made themselves at home in his heart this quickly.
Heâs not sure when he drifts off, when she tugs him the rest of the way onto the bed, when she pulls the blanket up, only distantly feels the way she leans into him, the way he reflexively curls into her.
She feels like sheâs always been here with him and he canât figure out how he lived without her.
----------
Robin is perfect.
Not like, literally, and itâs not the same as when heâd say it about Nancy.
Thatâs the other thing that he figures out with her. Heâs really not in love with Nancy. Heâd said it, but it really sinks in later. It sinks in the first time they talk about romance, as he tries to give her flirting advice while she laughs at him and asks if he needs a new whiteboard.
They do mingle their closets too, as planned. She still steals his clothes, and he ends up wearing her tee shirts more than his own. She takes him thrifting and shows him all her secrets and he teaches her the art of negotiation in stores.
(Sheâs in awe when he talks down a sales clerk over a stain that he then magics away in the laundry room at his house.)
He shows her how he learned to cook and she helps him to get creative with new ideas. She demands the first bite every time, and heâs happy to share it.
Her parents welcome him though. Her mom teaches him more about first aid than he learned lifeguarding, and her dad teaches him more about cars in his spare time. Heâd known some, but itâs nice, being taught instead of just figuring things out on his own through trial and error. It doesnât take long for him to get fully intermingled in the Buckley family and itâs the most love heâs ever felt.
Somewhere between the whiteboard and that first night spent sharing a bed, they become SteveAndRobin. Somewhere between her mom finishing her shift and finding them curled up on the couch watching cartoons (because after being exposed to terrifying monsters and soldiers, cartoons are necessary) and her dad coming home to find all three of them wrapped up in it, he finds out he fits perfectly in this space.
Somewhere between the first family dinner and the start of the school year, he unofficially becomes a Buckley.
Sitting there in the hospital waiting room, collapsed into a chair because heâs never felt this exhausted, with Robin at one side and Dustin at the other, with Erica and Lucas whispering with Nancy, with Eddie and Max in surgery, he feels it all building up. All the feelings heâd tried to push down, the fear and panic and pain, bubbling up to the surface. Heâs not really looking where his eyes are aimed, not even paying attention until Robin is forcing his heavy, aching limbs up and toward an empty room. She gives him a look as she leaves him on the bed and heâs not even confused about her leaving him there to go back to the waiting room because itâs better if she stays with Dustin anyway.
Except then the door is opening again, with a familiar and welcome sight stepping in.
And then itâs all too much.
Those emotions bubble over with a half-sobbed âMomâ and then arms are around him, holding him together as he splinters into a million pieces.
His mother smells like expensive perfume, floral and chemical and strong. But Betty Buckley smells like antiseptic and cinnamon and itâs the most comforting smell in the world right then.
She doesnât question the grime or blood staining his clothes, doesnât try to get him to tell her what happened, just holds him because he canât break in front of the kids, canât let them see how much heâs struggling right now. He needs this, is the thing. He hasnât really broken down yet because he has to be the strong one, he has to be tough, even if it kills him, but sheâs safe. Sheâs safe enough for him to let go.
She lets him get it all out, and still doesnât ask anything. It doesnât really matter, not at the moment, so she just brushes his hair off his forehead, uses a damp cloth to wipe away some of the dirt, helps him to pull on scrubs before halting that process to treat his back and arms and sides and neck. Heâs gone a little numb, but she moves quick anyway. And then heâs on his back, an IV hooked into his hand, and sheâs pressing a kiss to his forehead and telling him to rest.
So he does.
Itâs not a conscious decision, more like he was just waiting for someone to tell him he could.
When he wakes, Robin is in the bed next to him. Dustin is on a rolling cot against the wall. He knows without knowing that Max is down the hall, Lucas and Erica are with her, and Nancy is probably bossing around everyone in that way she does that he canât help respecting. He doesnât stay awake long.
----------
Heâs going stir crazy.
Thereâs a lot of mixed feelings. On one hand, heâs slept a lot. On the other, the town is a little broken. Robin and Dustin are volunteering, and heâll join them when he can get out there, but Richard Buckley is under strict orders to keep him from making an escape. The plant has been temporarily shut down, and heâs a glass half-full kind of guy, but itâs really inconvenient for Steveâs desire to be out of the hospital.
He still loves him though, really.
He finally gets a window when Rich steps out for real food.
(It had been hilarious when he and Robin established their dads are both âRichardâ, but while Steveâs dad thinks shortening it sounds ridiculous, Robinâs dad loves to give himself new short names at every opportunity. The week he wanted to go by Chard was a fun week.)
He goes for the door, playing nonchalant, and is dismayed to find someone sitting outside.
âHe told me youâd try and escape,â the man says, not looking up from his newspaper.
âIâm not escaping,â he lies.
âHumor me.â The man looks over at him then and Steve has to bite back his surprise. âHuh. If I didnât know any better, Iâd say your last name isnât Buckley.â
âItâs not.â
âThen why have I been hearing for months about Ritchieâs boy?â
âTechnically I am that.â
âNot the right one though.â
âNo, but thatâs sematics.â
âYouâre missing an ânâ there, son.â The correction is gentle, carrying the tone of someone whoâs used to reminding someone else of little details. For some reason, it doesnât sting like it did when other people corrected him.
âRight, yeah.â
âYou had a bit of blood loss, I hear. Maybe you should lay back down again.â
âI canât. ThereâsâŠpeople are out there and need help. Other people got hurt worse than me. I canât just lay here and do nothing.â
âYouâre not doing nothing, youâre recovering.â
âIâm fine.â
âDoesnât sound like you are,â he half mumbles, and god, itâs so familiar it aches.
âI donât know why youâre focused on keeping me in bed. You of all people should be fine with me going out there to help out.â Thereâs a beat of silence, where Steve thinks he maybe overstepped, getting just a sigh in return.
âMaybe. But I know damn well how important you are to a friend of mine and he asked for a favor. Iâm not about to let him down.â
âMr. Munson ââ
âWayne.â
ââŠWayne. You should go back to Eddie. He needs you more.â
âHeâs got a visitor already. Iâm not hovering.â
âI think youâre hovering a bit here.â
âWell opinions are like assholes, son. Everyoneâs got one.â Itâs enough to startle a laugh out of him, as Wayne stands up and ushers him back into the room. He didnât notice while he was standing there as the pain in his muscles, the itching of the scabs, the exhaustion in his bones, creeps back up on him. He protests, but doesnât really fight as heâs nudged back into the too firm mattress.
âGet some more rest, kid. Long days are coming, take advantage while you can.â
----------
âI just donât get it!â
âIs he still talking about this?â
Robinâs groan is the only answer he needs. Dustin, back on his usual arguments after saving the world again, is expanding his hobby. Now heâs not just bugging Steve and Robin about their love life (love lives?), heâs dragging others in on the argument too.
âDusty-buns, you seem to be awful involved in this,â Eddie teases. âMaybe you have a crush on Robin.â She makes a face, throws a marshmallow at him, and Steve snorts as he cackles.
âNo! I just donât know why they wonât date! Eddie, back me up on this,â Dustin says. âTheyâre perfect for each other! They laugh at the same jokes, share clothes all the time, and donât even argue, Steve, Iâve seen her wear your jeans before and youâve worn her sweaters. They share food with each other, spend all their time together, and they share chapstick!â
âHey, we donât spend all our time together! Sometimes I wait for her to bike to my house.â
âNot helping, babe.â
âSee!â Dustin is probably seconds from losing his marbles, and Steve really should put him out of his misery, but itâs too funny still.
âYouâre missing some key information, boy-genius,â Eddie says.
âLike what?â
âLike the fact that theyâre never going to date.â
âThatâs what doesnât make sense!â
âRobin, pass me our chapstick,â Steve says, just to make Dustin a little more insane.
âYou had it last. Steven, did you lose our chapstick?â
âI definitely gave it back to you.â
âHere you go,â Eddie says, tossing the little tube to Steve with a grin. Dustinâs eyes dart between the three of them like heâs just gotten new information.
âEddie. Are youâŠdating Robin?â
Itâs Steveâs turn to groan, and he doesnât need to look to see the face Robin is making.
âJesus Christ, Henderson, Eddie is dating me!â Now heâs silent. And Steve is going to panic if he stays silent.
âHuh. That makes a lot of sense. You were weirdly jealous.â
âI was what? No I wasnât!â
âYou kind of were,â Robin adds.
âAnd it makes sense why you wouldnât date Robin, who is literally perfect for you.â
âHow many times do I have to tell you weâre just friends.â
âYeah, and I could be literally perfect for him, pipsqueak,â Eddie says, grabbing one of Robinâs marshmallows to throw at him.
âYou and Robin are still weirdly codependent, it has to be said,â Dustin insists, batting away Eddieâs attempts to ruffle his hair.
âYeah, well, thatâs what happens when you get psychically linked to each other. Get used to it, Henderson.â
âYouâre what?!â Eddie and Dustinâs voices overlap, but theyâre both drowned out by his and Robinâs laughter.
Their expressions alone are worth the lecture theyâre going to get about keeping secrets.
#platonic stobin#steddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#kat writes#fic#idk i got really in my feels about Steve and family and Robin and wanted to have some fun with the angst of it all
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Gods & Monsters
Part One | Chapter Navigation
Pairing: aaron hotchner x criminal daughter!reader
Theme: smut heaven
Contents: age gap, forbidden relationship, unprotected rough sex, creampie, begging, innocence kink, rutting, somnophilia, a little cnc and panicking, dirty talk, pure filth, sir & daddy (only used thrice) kink, dom/sub undertones, innocent!reader, vague to inaccurate crime and law enforcement details
You woke up in the middle of the night. As you always have in the past few weeks. The room was covered in darkness; with only the faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. And in every gentle blow of the wind, the white fabric on the open veranda door sways in a mellow rhythm.
You pulled the covers up to your chest and rolled to your side, your heart hammering a little faster as you reached your phone on the bedside table and unlocked it.Â
No reply.
Your last message to Aaron, sent hours ago, still marked as unread.
You stared quietly at the screen, your eyes tracing over the last words you sent. It was just something simple: a question about his day, followed by a smiley face, light and casual. You were bored earlier so you decided to reach out to him. You even sent him a picture of the chocolate cookies you baked... but to no avail.
Heâs probably just busy, you caught yourself saying in your head. The thought was firm with no edge or flicker of doubt. Aaron has his own life, a tedious job, and his own things to deal with. You knew that. Maybe he got caught up with work again, or heâs out with his team, or maybe heâs just tired; too exhausted to do anything but fall into the comfort of his bed and sleep.
Or maybe he simply doesnât feel the need to reply to your unimportant message.
Your mouth felt dry with that thought. And the silence of the night pressed stealthily against your ears.
Milk. That was enough to draw you out of bed, your feet touching the cool wooden floor with a soft thud. The mansion was stillâ the kind of quiet that would usually lull you back to sleep. Usually, this meant your father and his men were out for a business matter. Sometimes, Father dear was just too hung up on alcohol and drugs that he forgot to come home at a decent time.
Quietly, you pushed open your bedroom door, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The mansion in which you recently just moved into was heavily guarded just like the past ones.
You stepped into the hallway. Even though itâs only been a couple of months, every painting and corner of the dimly lit hallway was familiar to your senses. You expect to be the only one awake in your household, aside from the night guards. The kitchen would be empty as always.
But halfway there, a sound caught your earâ a murmur, low and indistinct, drifting from your fatherâs office.
You halted in your tracks, your ears perking at the noise. The door to your fatherâs office was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light cutting through the darkness of the hallway. The murmur becomes clearer as you inched closerâ three, maybe four voices, deep and serious, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses.Â
âWe fucking need it done by tomorrow,â one voice complained, rough around all the edges. âThe delays are making them antsy.â
âDo you fucking think I donât know that? Tell those motherfuckers to wait.â
You froze.
The other voices, theyâre strangers to you. But you recognize that voice immediately. Your fatherâs unmistakable deep and commanding one. Yet you were used to this, used to crossing paths with different vile men your father worked with.
âWhat about the feds?â another voice asked. âTheyâve been sniffing around more than usual.â
There was a low and dangerous chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. âLet them. They wonât find anything.â
âThe fuck you mean let them? Are you seriously still convinced that you donât have a mole in this hellhole?â
Then there was a pause, the kind that felt like everyone was holding their breath. They know about the mole. Of course, they do. Theyâve never had delays in their operations such as this before. Only an idiot would count it as a mere coincidence.
You leaned in, your ear almost touching the door, careful not to let it move even a fraction.
âAll of your operations were interrupted by the feds.â
You heard the scrape of a chair against the floor, and then the clink of a glass being set down. âI donât think itâs my men you should be poking your nose about. What about your men?â
âAre you fucking saying that my meââ
âWhat about the witness?â the first voice intercepted, quieter now, as if the words themselves are too dangerous to speak aloud.
âTaken care of,â your father replied with a sharp sigh, his tone so cold it chills your blood. âPermanently.â
There was a murmur of approval from the others, and you can vividly picture them nodding in agreement. Maybe even smiling. You pressed closer, trying to make sense of it all, but your thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and confusion.
âHow much are we expecting on this one again?â another man asked, his voice gruff and heavy with tobacco smoke.
âEnough to keep everyone happy,â your father replied. âThis is our last big score for this month. After that, we lie low for the meantime.â
There was another pause, and you heard the rustle of papers, the sound of something being slid across the table. âItâs all here,â your father muttered. âEverything we need. We move three nights from now.â
âThree nights?â the second voice echoed, surprised. âWhy not tomorrow?â
âYes,â there was no mistaking the steel in your fatherâs voice. âBecause I said so.â
Every muscle in your body tensed as the meeting continued. They speak in half sentences, in code words, as if they know someone might be listening.
And then, as suddenly as it began, there was a sudden scraping of chairs, a loud cough, followed by the sound of feet moving. They were wrapping up, and you realized with a jolt that you need to move.
The stairs were just a few steps away. You could bolt downstairs and go straight to the kitchen as you intended. But instead, you slipped back into your room, closing the door silently behind you, and wished that the silence of the night would lull you back to another restless sleep.
When morning finally came, warm light filtered through the thin curtains and into your room. Bones popped beneath the covers as you stretched, your mind foggy with sleep. Yet you forced yourself to sit up, the blankets sliding off your shoulders.
For a moment, you contemplated reaching your phone and sending a message to Aaron. You couldnât wait to tell him about everything you heard last night. But with the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway outside your room, you thought your information could wait until after breakfast.
You pad softly to your closet, slipping into a pair of fluffy pink slippers before making your way out of the room. You were still wearing your nightdress, a soft, pale blue cotton gown that fell just below your knees. It looked delicate, with a lace trim at the neckline, something you have had for ages. The fabric clung lightly to your skin with every move, the morning air cool against your bare arms.
When you passed by your fatherâs office, your thoughts immediately drifted back to the conversation you overheard last night. It felt distant now, almost like a dream, but there was this familiar tension in your chest that you knew all those things had happened.
âMorning, sweetheart,â your father greeted you, his voice deep and steady as you stepped into the dining area. âCome, have some breakfast.â
He gestured to the empty chair beside him. Father dear and Harwin were already seated at the table. The dining room was bright with morning light, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the scent of eggs and toast. Your father sat at the head of the table as always, while Harwin sat across from him, his posture straight, his eyes immediately flicking up to you as you entered.
âGood morning,â you replied softly, forcing a smile as you approached the table.Â
You were aware of how you must lookâ the nightdress, the slightly tousled hair, the way the morning light catches on your skin. You seem almost ethereal, innocent. But there was nothing innocent about the way Harwinâs eyes followed you as you move. It was not leering, no. Not inappropriate either, but it was thereâ an intense, piercing look that made you acutely aware of every step you take.
You slipped into the chair next to your father, feeling Harwinâs gaze settled on you. His expression was carefully neutral, but you could sense the way he was assessing you, as if he was trying to see right through you.
âGood morning, Miss,â he greeted, his voice polite and almost formal. He offered you a small smile, one that didnât quite reach his eyes. âI hope you slept well.â
You nodded, and your hand trembled lightly as you reached for the glass of orange juice in front of you. âI did. Thank you, Harwin,â your voice was quiet as you replied, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile calm of the morning.Â
But even as you say it, you know it was not entirely true. The remnants of last nightâs tension clung to you, making the hair at the back of your neck rise, your breathing almost heavy.
Your father cut into his toast in rough movements. âHarwin will be spending more time around the house,â he said casually, his tone leaving little room for you to react. âI have some business thatâll keep me away, and I want to make sure youâre looked after.â
Business.
Your stomach tightened at his words. You glanced at Harwin, who was still watching you with keen eyes. You know this wasnât just about keeping an eye on the houseâ this is about you.Â
And the realization sent a shiver down your spine.
Harwin nodded in agreement with your fatherâs words, his gaze still fixed on you. âJust a precaution,â his tone was even, as if this was all perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable. âIâm here to make sure youâre safe.â
Safe. The word echoed in your mind. You know what it really meansâ under surveillance, monitored, controlled. Itâs not protection. This is not about your safety; your father wants to keep you on a leash, and you can already feel it tightening around you.
The corner of your lips twitched as you gave him a smile. âThanks, Harwin. I appreciate it,â you said instead, dropping your gaze to the plate in front of you.
Your father continued eating, his attention seemingly on his breakfast, but you knew better. Heâs always watching, always aware, and now, with Harwin here, you know you are under a different kind of watch.
But, at least, Harwin was polite enough to keep his distance. Though you could always feel his gaze following you, measuring every step you take, every breath. For the entire day, your fatherâs orders became clearâ Harwin was here more than to protect you. He was here to ensure you donât stray, that someone will watch every move you make.
âHarwin,â you called out softly before glancing over your shoulder. âDo you think we can go to the mall later?â
He seemed unfazed by the request, silently watching you lay on a lounger by the poolside with an open book perched on your lap. âNo, Miss. If you need anything, I can have some of your housemaids to shop for you.â
âBut I want fresh air?â
âWeâre outside at the moment, Miss.â
âYes, in our garden.â
He frowned a little. âThe air is fresh as far as I can tell, Miss.â
And with that, you heaved a deep sigh.Â
As the sun began to set, you found yourself in your room, your phone clutched in your hand. The events of the past hours have left you feeling trapped and cornered like a mouse. The walls of the house seemed to crumble in on youâ it was suffocating.
You opened your messaging app, your fingers hovering over Aaronâs name. Itâs been a day since he last responded, the silence from his end gnawing at you, but you couldnât wait any longer. You need to see him. Besides, you have the information he surely needs. He would have no choice but to respond to your text this time.
Can we meet? you typed slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. You add the details quicklyâ I have the information. The usual spot?
You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the send button. But then you pressed it, the message shooting off into the void, your hope clinging to it like a lifeline.
The minutes ticked by in silence. Then your phone buzzed in your hand, with Aaronâs name lighting up the screen.
On my way, was all he said. And for some reason, it was enough. It has always been. So you sighed in relief and smiled to yourself.
Right then and there, you knew what you had to do next. Escaping Harwinâs notice wonât be easy, not with him and the other guards roaming the mansion, but you were determined. You have done it before, though never with this much at stake.Â
Taking a deep breath, you slipped on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, something that will help you blend in. You grabbed a small bag, stuffed it with a few essentials, then waited for the right moment to finally move.
The silence of your house made every step and the creaking of hinges amplified. From the window, you see one of the guards patrolling the perimeter, his flashlight cutting through the growing dusk. You know there was another by the front gate, and probably more stationed at various points around the property. Getting past them will be tricky, but you have mapped out a plan in your mind.
Harwin was downstairs. The front gate was obviously not an option, not with him and the guards so close. Instead, you decide on your usual routeâ through the back, where the bushes and trees provide more cover and the lamp posts are seldomly lit.
You waited until a house helper passed by outside your room, her back turned. You moved quickly and quietly down the hallway as you slipped out, sticking close to the walls to avoid any creaking floorboards. The house, large as it is, felt stifling.
With quick strides, you reached the back staircase, your heart pounding in your ears as you descended. The kitchen was just down the hall, and beyond that, the back door that leads to the garden. But you were not alone.
From where you were standing, you heard footstepsâ another house helper, moving through the kitchen. You held your breath, peering around the corner just enough to see her pass by, her attention focused on checking the locks. She didnât see you, didnât know you were there, but you almost choked on your saliva as you bit your tongue.
As quickly as she moved on, you seized your chance. You slipped into the kitchen, the cool tile under your feet grounding you as you cross to the back door. Your hands shook in fear and panic as you unlocked it, praying it didnât make too much noise.
And it didnât.
The garden is shrouded in twilight as you step outside, the cool evening air hitting your face. And for a moment, you felt a rush of freedom. You canât remember how many times youâve done this before. But it never, ever felt easy. You doubt it will ever be.
You slipped through the gate, closed it carefully behind you, and took off running down the back alley. You didnât stop running until you were several blocks away; your lungs burning, your legs aching. Only then do you allow yourself to slow down, and breathe.Â
It was almost a two-hour commute to the motel where you usually meet up with Aaron. The neon sign flickered in the dusk with a dull glow over the empty parking lot. You made your way to the room you know so well, pulling out the spare key Aaron gave you exactly a year ago.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, the thick curtains drawn shut. It was a modest place; a little different from the lavishness of your spacious room but youâve loved this as much. With a soft thud, you dropped your bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, your breath still coming in quick, shallow bursts. The silence here is different from the silence at homeâ this one feels familiar, and light.
You checked your phone quickly, hoping to see another message from Aaron, but there was nothing. A small pang of worry settled in your chest, but you pushed it aside. Aaron never broke his promise. He said he was coming, and you trust him. All you have to do is wait.
Your eyes started to droop as you lay down on the soft mattress, the adrenaline of your escape wearing off. You felt drained. Your legs aching. You curled up on your side, your phone clutched in your hand, waiting for the sound of his knock on the door.
But the minutes dragged by and your eyes fluttered shut, and before you knew it, after a long while, you fell into a deep slumber.
âAngel⊠fuckâŠâ someoneâs hot breath fanning over your ear roused you from the depth of your sleep. âYou feel so goodâŠâ
You stirred and attempted to stretch your arms, even move your legs when all of a sudden, you felt it. The cold air licked the bare surface of your naked body. A low whine rumbled through your chest as you slowly, groggily so, blinked your eyes in confusion. Your vision was unfocused for a moment, sending you into a flight of panic as you grew aware of what was happening.
âWho-â the question was left hanging in the air as soon as Aaronâs thumb found your aching clit.
His hard cock was pressed against your desperate cunt, sliding through your wet folds at a rousing pace. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as he continued rutting his girthy cock against your swollen clit. You have no idea how he managed to undress you without waking you up. Although it didnât surprise you, youâre still curiousâ about how expert and knowledgeable Aaron was with every sexual act. And right now, a thin sheet of sweat was slowly covering your body.
âAaronâ sirââ you whimpered once more, unknowingly bucking your hips to meet his desperate thrusts. âWhat⊠what are you doing?â
He let out a deep groan. âYou look so sweet sleeping, angel⊠couldnât⊠help myselfâŠâ
âFeels so goodâŠâ you mewled in return, feeling your dripping cunt clenching in pure desperation for something to fill it up.
The sensation was new and overwhelming. One of Aaronâs big and calloused hands was kneading your breast, pinching your sensitive and taut nipple every now and then. While his mouth was just as busyâ his tongue more so; sucking and nibbling, and biting your nipple as his cock slid through the folds of your dripping pussy.
A growl rumbled through his chest.
âCan... can I slide in the tipâŠâ he whispered in a gruff and breathy voice. It sounded vulnerable and demanding, and desperate at the same time. âJust the tip, angel. Hm? Just the tip, I promise...â
You nodded frantically, your hands gripping both of his strong arms propped at either side of your smaller frame. âJust the tipâŠâ
âFucking hellâŠâ you heard him murmur as he lined the head of his big cock against the entrance of your fluttering cunt. âThis is so wrong, angel, but fuck⊠I never wanted to ruin anyone so badly until you.â
âS-sirâŠâ
His teeth sank lightly at the curve of your collarbone. âIâm going to fucking ruin you, you hear me? I want my cum dripping out of your tight cunt.â
You shivered at the vulgarity of his words. Maybe it was forbidden. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe this will not end up well. But maybe this is the reason why you canât seem to get enough of it, of his warmth, and his cock ramming in and out of you.
âAa- Sir!â you screamed loudly, dragging your nails along his arms, your toes curling in pure, white-hot pleasure.
Aaron peppered your cheeks, your lips, and your forehead with light kisses, murmuring his quiet apologies as he forced his big cock inside of you. âIâm sorry⊠Iâm sorry, angel⊠Iâm sorryâŠâ
His promise now long forgotten as you felt the intoxicating burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt. You shouldâve known better than to believe his promise.Â
âYou look so good like this, gorgeousâŠâ he whispered in your ear, his big hands roaming your body as if memorizing every corner of it. âIs this what you wanted, huh? Is this why you kept texting me? Canât get enough of my big cock, little girl?â
You nodded abstractedly. âM-missed you⊠I missed thisâŠâ
Aaronâs lips tugged to a menacing smirk.
âIs my innocent angel turning into a dirty whore?â he taunted, halting his movement. You could feel his hard cock throbbing inside you, rubbing your walls just right. And when you didnât answer his question, you felt a sharp slap at the side of your thigh. âAnswer me, baby. Are you my whore now?â
âYes, sir⊠yes⊠only for youâŠâ unshed tears stung the corner of your eyes.
âTell me how bad you want it, angel...â he sounded mocking, his voice light with arousal. âBeg for my cockâ no, no, no. Donât you fucking dare look away.â
You shook your head weakly. âD-daddyâŠâ
A high-pitched whine escaped your lips as you felt him slowly dragging his cock out of you. Tears rolled down your cheeks in humiliation. Your legs clung to the back of his thighs in a desperate attempt, locking him in place. Aaron even had the nerve to chuckle as he saw your tears streaming down your pretty face.
âP-please⊠please⊠sirâŠâ you said breathlessly. âI want your big cock, sir. Please⊠please fill me up with your cumâŠâ
Aaronâs cock pulsated against your walls as he heard your words, your voice as sweet and gentle as he first heard it. He clenched his jaw and whispered tauntingly. âYeah? Is that all you can say, angel?â
âI need it, please⊠Aaron⊠Sir⊠please⊠Iâm a good girlâŠâ
âAre you?â he perked one of his thick eyebrows before ramming his cock inside you once again, hitting a spot so deep you rolled your eyes.
âI- I amâŠâ you nodded frantically, taking a fistful of the sheet in your hands. âI waited for you, sir. Only you. Your big cock⊠only you, AaronâŠâ
âDid you touch yourself while Iâm away?â
You tried closing your thighs a little as you felt his thumb pressing light circles on your swollen clit. âI- I did, sir. Yes- I thought about your cock⊠I want your cock so badâŠâ
âAnd what did you think about, little girl?â he grunted, pounding his cock slowly and shallowly, his thumb still rubbing your sensitive nub.
Your legs shook as you felt your incoming orgasm. âHow good you fuck me. Your cum inside m-me⊠I always dream of it, sir⊠before I go to bed⊠I always want to hear your voice.â
Aaronâs thick eyebrows tugged together as his focus narrowed down on giving you pleasure. His cock continued assaulting your warm cunt, hissing and grunting every time you clench deliciously around his cock. The sound of your loud moan and his heavy breaths intertwined together, your eyes rolling back with the intense pleasure of your upcoming orgasm.
âPlease, please⊠sir, please⊠make me cumâŠâ you whispered hoarsely, your voice full of desperation. âSo close. âM so close.â
âYeah, little girl? Cum for me, thenâŠâ his thrust became even more vigorous, firmer. âShow me how good girl you are, baby. Go on, angel.â
âAaron!â his name came out a scream. âIâm coming! Iâm comââ
Your vision blurred out as intensely your orgasm ripped through every fiber of your being. Your legs trembled and clamped shut, making Aaron growl in the tightness of your cunt. It took him all the self-control not to cum then and there; seeing the pleasure on your face, the tears on your cheeks, your beautiful lips hanging in a silent scream.
Fuck.Â
Heâd go to hell for corrupting the innocent girl you once were.
âSirâŠâ you whispered weakly, your voice spent and quiet.
But Aaron paid you no mind. He hasnât come yet. And he had no plan on letting you go after just one orgasm. He wants to ruin you. To take over your being. He wants you to realize that he has all the control. He owns you, from the very first day he laid eyes on you, to the very first night you spent together. When you desperately opened your legs for him, you were his. He owned you since then and he can do everything he pleases.
Effortlessly, he pulled you up and switched your positions. He was now lying on his back, his piercing eyes focused on you as you scrambled to find your position on his lap, your legs still shaking from the remnants of your orgasm.
âI havenât cum yet, little girl.â
You nodded quickly, understanding just well what he meant by that, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. âYes, sirâŠâ
âMake me proud, angel. Show me how good of a whore you are.â
Aaron let out a loud hiss as you lined the head of his leaking cock on your wet entrance, fluttering in anticipation as it welcome the familiar stretch. You let out a satisfied sigh, feeling your inner thigh wet with arousal and your release, and all Aaron could do was shiver as he felt the wetness the moment you fully sank down his cock.
With your palms resting on the soft surface of his stomach, you forced your legs to bounce up and down his hairy cock. Every once and a while, youâd clench around his girth unconsciously, which only made Aaron shut his eyes and pound into you harshly.
You moaned loudly, meeting the way his hips desperately chases yours. âAh! Ah, s-sir!â
âYou feel so good⊠so w-warm..â he mumbled dazedly, wetting his lips with his eyes closed. âThis cuntâs heaven, baby. Fuck. Youâll send me to hellâ fucking hell! Yes, clench that pussy tighter, angel! Fuck, Iâm coming!â
You bounced even more desperately, fueled by his moaning, and his heavy breathing. The hoarness of his voice, the way the veins in his strong arms popped out, and how his big hands gripped your hips so tightly it left red, angry marks.
He fucked into you like youâre nothing but a fucktoy. Like youâre something he can discardâ like youâre something he will discard the moment he reaches his high. And youâd be lying to say you donât find that idea hot.
You clenched your cunt tighter, holding his hands that were wrapped around your hips.
âA-Aaron! S-sir! Ah!â his cock found the spot only he can reach. âIâm coming again, sir! D-daddy! Ah! Aaron, please, more! Fuck me harder, daddy!â
Aaron didnât say anything but a loud growl rumbled through his chest. His chest heaving in sharp, restrained breaths.
âGod, angelâŠâ he rasped quietly.
A strangled sound of what seemed like your name escaped his lips. You let him take over, let him ruin you the way he wanted, his hand firm on your hips as he fucked into you. And the moment you felt his hips stutter, warm ropes finally spilled inside you; his big cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep into your willing cunt.
You heaved a sigh of satisfaction, tossing your head back with your eyes closed, feeling perfectly sated and elated at the moment.
If this is heaven, you will never, ever come down.
Even if it means you would beg God to forgive you.
As always, replies, likes, reblogs- everything is highly appreciated! I'm only planning on writing 5 chapters for this series. And please be aware that I'm not promising any happy ending. This will end up in angst unless something changes my mind. Also, listen to Lana's Gods & Monsters and feel the vibe of this series! Have a good day and drink your water! <3
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#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner smut#criminal minds smut#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x female!reader#aaron hotchner fic#ssa aaron hotchner
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The Hashira And how I think they will act as parents (PT 1?)
Rengoku/ Giyuu/ Sanemi/ x GN Reader (modern au)
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Synopsis: Basically what the title says, this is just a little brain rot, may or may not be trash. Just me talking about how I think they would be as parents, how many kids they would want, etc
Authors note: This was kinda hard because I've never written nor read any works of Giyuu so he might not be written too well :')
Note: NOT PROOF READ
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Rengokuđ„ (â ïŸâ ââ ăźâ ââ )â ïŸâ *â .â â§
𧥠I see him wanting many children, not too many of course but quite a few! Maybe two like him and his brother, Senjuro. Or maybe even three or four, five if you will let him!
𧥠He wants to be a better father to his children than what his dad turned out to be after his mom passed away. Has nearly sworn off drinking when his first child was born because he didn't want to risk anything , poor thing :(
𧥠However you guys plan on having children doesn't really matter,he doesn't care of they aren't biologically his or not, he will love them!!
𧥠I see him having more sons than daughters, he wants to raise them up right to become good, decent men! And if he has a daughter he will teach his son's to protect her, even though he knows she will be more than capable to take care of herself. If they want to be demon slayers that's even better!
𧥠He tries his absolute best not to be too loud when he is holding his first baby, you have never seen him whisper the way he did when he held his first born.
𧥠Loves hearing his children play! And if he isn't busy he will join in and play along! Usually their games consist of Rengoku chasing them. Maybe he is a demon and they are demon slayers trying to fight him off, it's an adorable sight!
𧥠If he sees you playing with his children he will just sit back and watch for a little. Seeing his love playing with his children brings him so much warmth in his heart
𧥠You could say it sets his heart ablaze (insert laugh track)
𧥠He has a little bit of trouble saying no to his little kiddos. But he knows where to draw the line (some what atleast)
đ§ĄWill randomly send you pictures of him and the kids (he does it shirtless when they're babies. Says they need skin to skin contact). Usually consists of both of them smiling, or watching TV or reading a book or Rengoku nibbling their cheeks.
đ§Ą" Sweetheart! Look at our little sun flower! He's so focussed on the story book you got! And look! Whenever we get to the page talking about parents, he starts to laugh! *Chuckle* it seems he loves his parent as much as I do. Like father like sonâ huh?"
𧥠It's canon that Rengoku is half deaf and that is why he speaks so loudly, so I imagine his kids definitely gained a habit of yelling naturally when talking like their dad.
đ§ĄPrefers to be called 'Papa' by his kids. I'm not sure why I just see it.
đ§ĄHis genes are strong. STRONG. All your kids (if biological) look exactly like him. Hair, eyes, smile and all. He finds it hilarious and will always mock you about it.
đ§ĄIs there to EVERY game or concert, and if the school needs a chaperone he's your guy! Mom's love him, teachers love him, kids love him, even dad's love him. Who wouldn't?
𧥠As much as I praise him, like everyone he isn't perfect. Like I said, he has trouble saying no. But I also imagine that as much as he tries not to be like his dad, is how much he wants you to be like his mom, because he remembers her as such an amazing mother. So there is a bit of comparing but don't worry, he loves you for you!
𧥠Another thing about him being half deaf: hes off like a light when he's asleep. Baby is crying? Sucks to suck because 60 percent of the time he will sleep through it. But when he hears he will be the first one to check on your little one.
đ§ĄRengoku definitely will feel very hurt the first time his kid gets embarrassed of him. Like when they go through that "YOURE EMBARRASSING ME DAD!!" phase. Like, he will get so insecure and will feel like they don't love him anymore
𧥠"Sweetheart, do I talk too loud when I'm around their friends? Or do I make weird jokes? I thought saying "rizz" was cool??" Is what he will ask In the dead of night, and you will have to comfort him
đ§ĄI imagine that Rengoku would love taking you and his kids camping and will make it a yearly tradition, even though it ends up a catastrophe every year.
đ§ĄOver all a 9/10, amazing dad, had his flaws but honestly who doesn't?
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Giyuu đ (â ă»â ââ ă»â ;â )â ă
đ« He is okay with any amount of children you're comfortable with. He'd preferably want not too many, but also more than one, so two is a good number
đ« Poor thing, the first time you told him you were pregnant he was completely emotionless for like two minutes, just staring at the ground. You were so scared but before you could speak he took your hand tightly and started sobbing. He was so happy he was gonna be the father of your baby :(
đ« And if you told him you wanted to adopt he'd agree, showing support when you made the decision. But the moment he sees the child you're gonna adopt he feels tears stream down his face.
đ« When he holds your baby for the first time, no matter how many babies you have he will never be use to holding them for the first time. He will be so gentle, whispering to them. He looks a little awkward but it's okay he's trying.
đ« Faints the first time he sees a diaper. Why does it look like that? Why does it smell like that?! How do you put it on?! He was the youngest so he had no clue how to do this, but he'd learn for you and your baby.
đ« "Darling! Darling! Please take the baby now!! Heâ he needs to be changed please!"
đ«"Giyuu I am at work what do you want me to do?!" -you guys when being new parents probably
đ«He's a very quick learner though so you won't have to worry. Soon he's working with the baby without breaking a sweat! You could even say he's a natural
đ« He still can't handle things like puke and poops though. That's for sure, unfortunately.
đ« When your kid is older he will definitely be at all the games, shows, recitals, whatever. But he isn't gonna be cheering loudly, he honestly justs blends into the crowd. But the moment your bundle of joy gets of stage he is congratulating them profusely.
đ« Takes so many pictures of you and your baby. Has so many pictures, and sends it to all of his friend's (so like 3 people)
đ« Doesn't embarrass your kids often, hes too rserved. But if a child even talks wrong to his baby, he will not hesitate to go up to them and give them a stern talking to, which may be a little embarrassing.
đ«If your kid likes to singâ He WILL sing along and take videos. But God forbid you take a video of him singing, he will chase you for your phone. He's a terrible singer, but he will do anything for your baby.
đ« Will respect his kids boundaries. If they don't wanna hug in public, sure..he was the same at some point. He will feel a little hurt and go to you for reassuring, but he knows it's just a teenage thing.
đ« Once tried to sound cool Infront of his kids friends but ended up looking kinda lame. TERRIBLE DAD JOKES AHEAD!!
đ«Tried making a dad joke with his kids friends, all of them stayed silent, so did he. The table was silent until one of them decided to change the subject. Giyuu has never known peace since.
đ« Is a very light sleeper, some say he doesn't sleep so if his baby cries, he is the first to go and check on them.
đ« He makes sure not to sound to negative about himself around his kids. He doesn't want them to end up with a mindset like his.
đ« Do kids love him? Do parents love him? Do teachers love him? Nyeeehhhh. Quite frankly they forget he exists. He doesn't stand out, but atleast that means he doesn't do anything wrong.
đ«he has some flaws in his parenting unfortunately. You'd expect him to be stern, responsible parent but honestly he will let his kids get away with anything to 'help his chances of them liking him'.
đ« Also something that isn't entirely his fault is that he is unintentionally emotionally distant as his kids get older. Like, he won't know how to comfort that well. But he will try his best. Nothing but the best for his kids.
đ« Overall 8.5/10. Great dad, not extraordinary but still pretty amazing
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Sanemi đ(â ăâ àČ â çâ àČ â )â ă
đ± The moment you announce that you're pregnant he is crying and becoming a little frantic. The most stressed out of the three despite his usual nonchalant demeanour.
đ± He is making sure that you are taken care of, making sure everything is ready for the pregnancy months before
đ±If you guys are adopting he is alot less frantic but still very on edge. Making sure the bedroom is ready. Making sure everything is baby proofed.
đ± But the moment the baby enters your lives it's like all that stress melts away in the blink of an eye. When he takes the baby into his arms and holds it against his open chest he is whispering sweet nothings into the kids ear.
đ± Like Giyuu, he can't handle poop or vomit. Especially vomit. The first time your baby threw up on him was on his chest, and unfortunately since he keeps his chest own it slid down to his stomach
đ± He shrieked. Genuinely shrieked.
đ± "HOLY SHIâ SHHHH....." he is trying his best not to swear Infront of your kid. He doesn't want to be remembered by your baby as an angry man.he can't. He refuses to let that happen.
đ± You know he is stressed. Very very stressed. He doesn't want to be like his dad, his abusive father that he could only remember beating him and his siblings. He wants to be better, he needs to be better. But this worry leads to him having many sleepless nights where you would comfort him, telling him that he will never be his father.
đ± When your kid gets older he will definitely take part in any little games they want to play. And he gets a kick out of it when he's the villain, because trust me when I say he is a phenomenal villain for his kids
đ± Speaking of "kids", he wants more than one, definitely. Atleast three, but if that's too much for you he won't mind at all! He is a Girl Dadâą , nothing will convince me otherwise.
đ± If he has a kid that looks exactly like him then he will be very careful. His baby is the most pretty, handsome thing in the whole universe, so how can he nitpick his appearance when he knows he has the eyes, nose and hair of his baby?
đ± Lets his kid trace his scars, wether it be with their fingers or with markers. It gives him a sense of purpose.
đ± Will he be a chaperone? Hell no. He hates any kid that isn't his. Will he host birthday parties? Hell yes, if it's his kids. But don't expect him to make small talk with parents.
đ± If his kid shows romantic interest in Giyuus child he will actually combust. He doesn't want to be overbearing but if Giyuus 'spawn' goes near his angel he wil be throwing hands (with Giyuu).
đ± Speaking of which, when your kid has a crush he will try not to be mad and sad at the same time
đ± "Oh? Someone has caught the eye of daddy's angel? Well that's... Nice. Who is this kid? Is he nice? What's his name? What does he say? Do you know his parents? You know daddy will always love you the most"
đ± Gets (very) defensive of his kids. If he's at a parent teacher meeting and the teacher dares to say something like "your child is too (this)" or your child is too (that)" he will get very upset. But he knows when he's child is truly the problem and will sternly check them.
đ± Takes pictures of your kid doing the dumbest things in the dumbest angles. Have you seen that one pic of a guy standing on a babies shoulders captioned "on baby"? That is what hed send.
đ± "Hey, babe. Look at our little mochi. Our baby is just the cutest thing aliveđâ€ïž" and it's a picture of your baby from that one angle from the top of its head making it look dumb.
đ± I imagine Sanemi has a sweet tooth, meaning he has a stash of sweets somewhere and of course he will share with his babies! But only one or two, anymore and he'll start to get a bit cranky.
đ± He gives his kids punishments like the naughty corner đ and will make them stay there for 10 minutes before taking them to their room and calmly telling them where they went wrong.
đ±goes it his kids games/events and cheers LOUDLY. Almost rivals Rengoku. He is yelling, cheering, even swearing but each time it gets to that level he is kicked out.
đ± Sanemi has quite a few flaws to his parenting. He has a bit of a temper, and although he keeps it in check it's hard to do so when he just came back from work. He will apologize many many times if he gets too upset
đ± overall 8.5/ 10. He's a good parent, and he tries his best
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Thanks for reading. Reblogs are appreciated. MIGHT make a part two with Tengen, Iguro and Gyomei
#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer rengoku#rengoku x reader#rengoku kyojuro#kny rengoku#kny giyuu#demon slayer giyuu#giyuu tomioka#kimetsu giyuu#giyuu x reader#kimetsu sanemi#kimetsu no yaiba sanemi#sanemi shinaguzawa#sanemi shinazugawa#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#sanemi headcanons
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Ranking mxtx couples by whether or not I think they'd be good parents
(I'm 90% sure I'm forgetting someone)
Yep, next question (S)-
Wangxian: tried and tested good dads. I wish them luck with the whole âtrying to get wwx pregnantâ thingÂ
They have some shit to work through, but after that I think they'd be fine (A)-
Ling Wen/ Bai Jin: if we're just going off the original publication, I would put them in a much lower tier, but since the revised edition added that thing about them raising orphans together and said orphans turning out alright before unfortunate circumstances, I'm putting them up here. I think they'll be alright once they work through the miscommunication
Xiao Xingchen/ Song Lan: They obviously have a lot of trauma they're working through, but I'd like to think they and A-Qing will be a loving family in the long runÂ
One of them would be a good parent, the other wouldn't be a bad parent (B)-
Jiang Yanli/ Jin Zixuan: there's no canon reason for me putting them this low. Jin Zixuan just gives off a mediocre parent vibe to me (and we all know Jiang Yanli is the best)
Yushipei: Yushi Huang has good mom energy, and Pei Ming has been shown to be a not terrible mentor. I'd want the misogyny fully beaten out of him with a mace before I'd think he should have kids of his own thoughÂ
Lang Qianqiu/ Little Guy: at the very least, they're making sure Guzi is fed, clothed, washed, vaccinated, and has access to education. Neither of them know what they're doing, but I think Little Guy is good at faking it. I wish them luck in their upcoming custody battle Â
You know what, surprise me/ I'll hear you out (C)-
Bingqiu: My first instinct is âno, do not bring kids into this,â but then I remembered tharnShen Qingqiu has a surprisingly decent track record? Like, Ning Yingying and Ming Fan both turned out a lot more health than they did in the original novel, and though I wouldn't call him in a good place, Binghe is doing a lot better than Bingge. The wild card for me here is Luo Binghe because I have no idea how he'd be with kids
Quanyin: Yin Yu had a decent track record until he was pushed into snapping. I think rn, he needs a couple centuries of being a babygirl before he's ready to parent again. No idea how Quan Yizhen would do thoughÂ
Born to âdual income, no kids, rich uncles/auntsâ (D)-
Fengqing: Feng Xin is canonically a bad dad. I know he's working on it, but it is what it is. Mu Qing has been shown to be decent with kids, but I think heâd have a melt down if he had to deal with the mess constantly.Â
Hualian: I mean, Xie Lian has raised three kids at this point and one of them became a god, another became state preceptor and then sorta complicit in a genocide, and one became god AND committed genocide + he babysat a ghost king for months and didn't even realize that's what he was because it was a miracle if he remembered to feed him⊠so, a mixed bag. Hua Cheng may be schrodingerâs child hater, but I'm intrigued by the idea of him raising kids just because I want to know how his own childhood would influence his parenting abilities. They should probably just stick to babysitting for now thoughÂ
Mingling: Liu Mingyan is too busy writing gay porn to be dealing with kids, and I just can't imagine Sha Hualing as a mom
Please don't bring a kid into this mess (F)-
Beefleaf: Do I need to explain this one?
Mobeishang: Shang Qinghua should not be put in any position where he has to teach someone about consent (Bingheâs early attempts at flirting being a prime example of why that's a bad idea). I also think Mobei Jun is still working on the whole âwhy hitting people is not coolâ thing.Â
QiJiu: I think the original timeline is a prime example of how they're just not in a place to be raising kidsÂ
Jun Wu/ Mei Nianqing: Xie Lian would like a refund on his adopted father figures. They had one kid and he only made it to age 20 because he was cursed to not die
#heaven official's blessing#tgcf#mdzs#grand master of demonic cultivation#svsss#scum villian self saving system#I'm not tagging every couple because idk all their ship names#hualian#bingqiu#wangxian#beefleaf#qijiu#fengqing#quanyin#yushipei#for anyone wondering about the âschrodingerâs child haterâ comment:#HC is shown to be on good terms/likes Banyue and Guzi but in the revised edition theres a scene where HC says he doesn't like kids#but also in that scene he's brainwashed and thinks he's a rich 16 y/o#mentally preparing myself for the Feng Xin stans to explain why mr âbehave xyz way or I wont acknowledge you as a personâ is a good dad#Feng Xin is less of a himbo and more of a tall/buff Chilchuck and I'd like if the fandom at large acknowledged that#idk what ship I forgot to include but I know its not a Jaing Cheng ship#edit: the Binghe defenders are raising valid points but he's still a wildcard to me because of his trust and abandonment issues#I could see bingqiu being good parents like... 5-10 years after the series end point
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Imagine going through relationship issues with Spencer and a scare at works sets you both back on the right path
This had been the eighth night in a row you'd slept alone. Opting to sleep in the spare bedroom of the place you and Spencer had bought together. Waking up hurt and sad with your partner was an exhausting way to live, and it was getting to you. The team had been back at the main office for the same amount of time. Having a big bust up on the aftermath of a case meant the journey back on the jet was awkward for everyone involved.
When he hadn't agreed with the way you dealt with the unsub, on top of you both disagreeing on when to start trying for a family. Had left you feeling put down and attacked both in work and in your personal life. Feeling like you couldn't do anything right, and that you were holding him back.
It was made worse by his lack of enthusiasm when you attempted to make amends. Wanting to talk about the issue, but finding it difficult when your boyfriend was a stubborn lump. Shrugging his shoulders and seeming totally disinterested.
After the fourth day of you trying to get through to him. You gave in. Telling yourself that if he wanted to make amends he would. Or he'd realise once it was too late.
Today though, you had a meeting with Garcia, she was going to show you an easier way of accessing some files. The way she does it. Getting yourself up and ready. The house sounded eerily quiet. Spencer did have a habit of impersonating the invisible man when he was home. But still, it was cold and felt empty.
Making your way downstairs, you called out for him, but got no answer.
Realising he wasn't even home. You felt another pang in your chest. Maybe he was done? The thought made your eyes sting. But on checking the time, you would be late to meet Garcia. You grabbed your breakfast out the fridge and grabbed your bag and keys.
Once in the office, you passed the bullring to see Spencer at his desk. Nose deep in some files.
"Hey, what time did you come in? We could have come together." You asked, approaching his desk.
"Early. Didn't want to wake you."
Nodding, you still wanted to push for you both to make up, "did you want to grab lunch somewhere? Would be nice to spend some time with you."
"I'm busy."
"Well I didn't mean right now. Later. When you're free? I'm in Garcias office if you-"
"Y/N, you're here!" Garcia squeaked, "for a moment I thought you were standing me up."
Realising he still wasn't ready to have a decent conversation with you. You gave up, again.
"Never." You smiled at her, before giving Spencer a sad look as he continued to read his papers.
You sat down in Garcias office and fully immersed yourself in the training. Pushing Spencer to the back of your mind.
Around lunchtime you saw Spencer walk past the room and you felt another wave of sadness wash over you.
"So, what's up with you and Sir Smarts-a-lot?" Garcia asked you while you were taking a break.
"There's not really much to tell. We fell out over some serious and not so serious things. I've tried to patch things up. He doesn't want to know. Been trying for like 4 days now."
"I'm sorry. He does seem particularly cranky since you came back from that last case."
"Yeah. Happened while we were out there. I don't even-"
You were interrupted by the sound of shouting from out in the main office. Both you and Garcia looked at each other and wondered who the hell fell out with each other so bad they had to have a screaming match.
Both getting up and wandering down the hall. You just about turned the corner first. But froze in your tracks seeing two people, one with a gun, the other with a briefcase. The woman, with the gun, had the few people that were in the bullring huddled together.
"Shit Garcia go back to your office and lock the door. Call Spence and tell him to stay away. Now!" You whisper shout at her.
"Hey! Put your hands on your head. Get in here Miss now." one of them shouted at you. Not having noticed Garcia as she backed away to her office.
When you didn't move. The seemingly unarmed intruder marched towards you and attempted to grab onto you. As you went to defend yourself. He pulled out a knife and threatened you with it.
"Think very carefully about what you do next." He said lowly.
"What do you guys want. I can help you."
"No you won't. You'll just try and talk me down and I won't let them down again. Get in here or I'm going to make you. And it will hurt."
"What's your name? I'm Y/N. Why are you here? There's no weapons or money stored here. Are you looking for someone?"
"Shut up!" He yelled, you let out a gasp at the sharp pain in your side.
Looking down the blade he was holding embedded in your side. Crumpling down to the floor, you watched as the deep red soaked into your blouse. Spreading across your side.
"What the fuck Darren. You weren't supposed to hurt anyone." A woman came up to the guy and yanked him by his shoulder. "We need to set these charges now and go. Now!"
Charges, that meant explosives.
The pair rushed off and left you bleeding on the floor. Giving you the opportunity to make an escape.
Making it back to Garcias office. You burst through the door, scaring the life out of her.
"Y/N! Oh my god why is there blood. There's a knife hanging out of you."
"Did you speak to Spence?" You asked locking the door behind you.
"Yeah he's in the armory now. They-"
"Call him back! Tell them to abort. Do not come up here!"
"OK, what-why?" She spluttered while calling him back.
"Garcia? Is everything okay. We're just planning how we're going to do this." He answered. You could hear the sound of kevlar being secured. You managed to stumble your way across the room to Garcias desk before your legs gave out.
"Spence, where are you? Do not come up here. And keep people out of the lifts. Do not use them." You panted.
"Y/N are you okay? We haven't left yet. What's going on?"
"I'm fine. I just met the intruders. They're setting charges. Evacuate the rest of the building."
"What? They're going to blow up the building?" Garcia asked, her face paling.
"How big are the explosives?"
"I didn't see. I just managed to get away from them. I did see it was only a small briefcase though."
"That could still be enough to wipe out the whole floor. You need to leave now. Use the far stairwell."
"Garcia, you should go."
"What? I'm not leaving you."
"Both of you go. Now!" Spencer raised his voice.
You shared a look with Garcia, knowing you weren't moving anywhere fast enough.
"We should be okay here," Garcia nodded, "I'll stay with her."
"You're hurt aren't you." Spencer spoke quietly.
"A little bit yeah. Spence, I love you."
"Don't do that. I'm coming to get you."
"No do-" and then the call rang off.
Garcia came and sat next to you. You rested your head on her shoulder.
"I don't get what they were talking about. They said about setting charges. But when the woman saw I'd been stabbed she said they weren't supposed to hurt anyone. How does that make sense." You mutter, starting to feel woozy from the blood loss.
"Unless what they're trying to destroy is paperwork not people," Garcia mused.
"Hotchs office, he keeps loads of important documents in there." You guessed.
"That makes sense. He always takes Sunday's off. So he wouldn't be in there to get hurt."
"Garcia you really should go. Maybe you can get some help." You said quietly. Feeling very lightheaded.
Garcias phone started ringing, answering it she put it on loudspeaker.
"Go ahead. We're just sitting here awaiting our handsome prince's to rescue us."
"Garcia." Spencer answered, "how badly is she hurt? They won't let us get in yet. Not if there's a bomb threat. The whole buildings on lock down. They aren't holding hostages. The other guys from the office have run out already. Are they still there?"
"Woah, woah, woah. One question at a time. Y/N isn't doing great. I don't know what to do Reid. I'm not a doctor. But she's still bleeding."
"What? What happened."
"She got stabbed by one of them. It's still in there but it's-"
"We have to get in there Y/Ns been stabbed. Please. I volunteer to go in. Come on Hotch." He sounded desperate, it made you smile slightly. The irony that it took a near death situation to get him to act like he cared again.
A deafening boom shook the office, jolting you awake.
"Shit was that the-?" You asked.
"I think so." Garcia nodded. "We're okay. Spencer can you hear me?"
You slumped down against Garcias shoulder a bit more. Fighting the urge to fall asleep.
"We saw it. Blown the windows out of Hotch's office as well."
"Tell him..." You trailed off falling into unconsciousness.
Garcia looked at you, panic washing over her. "Y/N? Spencer she's passed out. I don't know what to do- I know I shouldn't take the knife out."
"Is she sat up or laying down?"
"She's sat up, do I lie her down?"
"Yes, don't knock the knife though- I need EMTs with me right now- Garcia, I need you to check if she's breathing." Spencer sounded out of breath, "I'm coming to you as fast as I can."
"Okay, she's laying down. And yes she's breathing."
"You're doing well Garcia. We're seconds away now."
Garcia still let out a scream when the paramedics burst through the door. Stumbling away from your figure, she bumped shoulders with Spencer as the experts dealt with you.
"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Garcia asked him.
"I don't know. But I feel like a prized jackass now. What if she's not? She will have died thinking I was mad at her."
"I don't know what to say Reid. She was trying. She thought you'd stopped trying."
"The argument was stupid. I was more annoyed us arguing had ruined some plans I had."
"Plans? What do you-ohhh." Garcia cut herself off as she clocked onto what Spencer meant.
He quickly pocketed the small jewellery box as the EMT turned to the pair of them.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds#criminal minds spencer reid
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Finally Getting Help (pt 14)
 Masterpost
âDo you want to go back to the manor, or do you want to go somewhere else?â Jason asked Danny after a few quiet minutes driving.Â
âCan we go out of Gotham? Somewhere quiet,â Jason hummed and nodded before switching the com on. âHey Bruce, will you kill me if I take Danny camping for tonight?â He asked, he knew Danny loved the stars, being away from Gothamâs pollution for a night and getting to properly see the stars would probably help.Â
There was a pause and then Bruceâs soft response. âNo, I know youâll take care of him, Jaylad. Will you stop by the manor so Alfred can make sure you have everything you need?â
âYa Iâll do that, will you call him to make sure he has stuff ready for us? Probably a car too since I donât think I can fit a tent and provisions on the back of my bike,â Jason chuckled.Â
âDonât you worry Master Jason, we have a motorcycle trailer I shall pack for you,â Alfred said over the coms.
Jason had forgotten that Alfred was on the coms as Agent A. âThanks A,â Jason said and then turned off the radio again. âDoes that sound good Danny? Weâll probably have to wait a bit for Alfred to pack up some food for us and stuff but getting out of Gotham overnight, being able to see the skyâŠ?â
âYa, ya Jason that sounds perfect. Thank you,â Danny said, squeezing Jason gently and snuggled against his back.
They pulled up outside the manor and Jason kicked down his bike stand so they could both get off. âDo you want to go in and pack some clothes or stay out here?â Jason asked as he got off and leaned against his bike still.
âI donât want to go in,â Danny said quickly. Jason knew the feeling, where being surrounded by walls felt like a trap.Â
âAlright, do you mind Alfie grabbing some clothes for you then?â He asked.
âNo, I donât mind,â Danny assured. âIâm looking forward to getting away from people. Iâm glad not to have to be a hero anymore honestly, but I havenât used my ghost form in a couple weeks and I want to Fly,â He said. âNothing clears my head like flying as fast as I can.â
âYa I can imagine. Bruce should introduce you to some of the supers, it would be good for you to spar with someone you can go all out with,â Jason said crossing his arms, not missing the way Dannyâs eyes lingered on his biceps, smirking a little at Dannyâs moment of distraction.
âYa, it would probably be good for me to get some training with my powers too. Mom taught both me and Jazz martial arts when we were kids, before things got bad, but that was a while ago and before I got my powers.â Danny said a little vaguely.Â
Jason nodded and was about to respond when he heard a soft motor, looking up to see Alfred driving a cart over to them, towing a small trailer towards them that no doubt had everything they needed for their camping trip. Maybe even enough from a weekend away in case Danny needed more time.Â
âIâm sure you have a relatively secure location in mind, Master Jason?â Alfred asked once he came to a halt.
âYa I do, Gonna get as far away from civilization as I can within a dayâs drive,â He told Alfred who gave a thin smile and nodded.
âVery good, be safe you too,â Alfred said, stepping back again.
âWe will, thank you Alfred,â Danny said with a little smile, going to stand by the bike, letting Jason get on first again before sitting down behind him again and hugged him.
âYa, donât worry about us,â Jason assured as he put his helmet back on and kicked off, speeding back out of the manor drive before anyone else got home. They were probably dawdling to give Jason and Danny time to get out again, he appreciated it, he didnât think Dick in particular would be able to stop himself from questioning Danny. Even though he would only have the best intentions and all that but now wasnât the time.
It was a decently long drive to the nearest national park, where Jason went off-roading and in the back. He would make a donation later, he just didnât want anyone to be able to track that this was where they were. Taking Danny this far away from Gotham and the other Bats was already a bit of a risk with Vlad still at large but Jason had the specter-deflector and blaster Danny gave him with them and he hadnât told anyone where they were going, theyâd be fine. He was good at off-roading and judging from the giggling from Danny he was enjoying the off-road motorbike ride.Â
When they were far enough away from the road no one was likely to see them there was a bright flash behind Jason and the weight of his bike shifted. He almost panicked Danny had fallen off before he caught movement to his side and glanced over to see Danny, now with white hair and green eyes, grinning at him impishly and racing along at his side flying fast.
âRace you!â Danny said, his voice had an odd echoing chime to it in this form but it was still recognizably his. There was plausible deniability about his identity though, sure as hell more than there was for superman but maybe they should still find him a mask.
âYouâre on! But no just going through the trees! If I have to dodge, so do you!â Jason laughed.
âYou got it!â Danny cheered.
Jason knew he was going to lose, but it was good to see Danny smiling, pinging between trees like a fucking ping-pong ball with pent up energy from not having used his powers at all for more then a week. Working out all the nerves and jitters as Jason raced along behind him trying to keep up.
Jason thought it was probably an hour of flying/driving before they came to a bank of a lake, he had to turn his bike sideways and skid to not slip into the water as Danny laughed at him.Â
âThis seems like a good place to set up camp huh?â Danny said, his feet finally touching the ground again. Another bright flash made Jason blink and Danny was his black haired, blue eyes self again. âDo you think Alfred packed us swim suits?âÂ
-------
They unpacked everything Alfred had sent them, set up the tent far enough back from the lake they couldnât be seen across it, and laughed about the amount of food heâd sent them. It was enough to feed an entire team for a week! Still it was good food, and Danny was particularly excited about a chicken soup heâd sent in a metal container that could be heated up over a fire.Â
Once they were unpacked Jason went to grab firewood, leaving Danny alone in the camp to take his binder off and change his shirt since that one still had jelly on it from the ultrasound. By the time he came back Danny had changed into a hoodie so his chest was barely visible, only when Danny absently rubbed it. When Danny caught Jason staring he gave the other man a shy smile and darted over to steal a kiss, taking half the wood to help Jason carry it to the fire-pit.Â
Jason set about making a fire while Danny went back to the lake, wading in the shallows since they didnât have their swimsuits. It was too cool out for an ordinary human to swim anyway, though Danny would probably be fine.
Jason glanced over now and then, watching Dannyâs figure as he strolled along the shore, pants rolled up and ankles swishing through the green water without a sound. He piled kindling and lit it easily, stoking the fire and adding bigger logs, sitting back and waiting for some coals to develop while he set up their little camping grill. Once he could pull out some coals he did, put the grill over them and set the food on that to heat.Â
When the food started to smell good Danny came wandering back over and sat down cross legged next to Jason, leaning against his shoulder. âAlfredâs the best cook in the family,â Jason said as he stirred the food, the soup which was just for Danny, and a chili and rice. âBut Iâm a pretty damn good cook too, if I do say so myself, you should come over to my place for dinner some time. Iâd like to cook for you,â He admitted, it was always a way he showed affection.
âIâd like that,â Danny said, his eyes fixed on the fire and a small smile on his lips. His presence at Jasonâs side was comforting and cool. He still seemed like he was a little bit out of it, bouncing back and forth between energy and lethargy, denial and grief probably. Jason had resolved not to say anything until after food, things tended to seem less dire with a stomach full of good food.
Once the food was steaming he used his gloves to pull the grill off the fire, nudging Danny to shuffle away so he could put it down between them. With the spoons heâd used to stir still in them.Â
âDo you want to share?â Danny asked, trying to hide his reluctance, which was sweet.
âIf you want to, but if not the soup is all yours,â Jason assured.
âThanks. I guess I am eating for three now,â Danny chuckled a little bitterly before he grabbed the spoon and started to eat, blowing carefully on each bite so it wouldnât be too hot.Â
They ate in silence, Danny quickly finished off all the soup, which would have been enough for two people but Danny ate a lot. Heâd need to eat more before bed no doubt. Alfred had still packed them why too much food but maybe there was a method to his madness anyway. Jason finished most of the Chili and then pushed the rest towards Danny who gave him a sheepish smile but finished that off too.Â
Jason moved the grill out from between them and Danny scooted closer to Jason again. When he lifted his arm Danny ducked under it so Jason could drape his arm over Dannyâs shoulders, keeping the shorter man tucked against his side. âSo, do you feel up to talking now?â Jason asked softly and Danny sighed, turning his head to hide his face against Jasonâs shoulder for a moment.Â
âYa,â He muttered resignedly when he came out of hiding. âItâs not really the babies this time. I mean ya I was still sort of in denial about actually being pregnant and seeing it made it real so that was a lot, but I had already mostly processed it. I want the babies, weâll set up a nursery at the manor, Iâll have support, hell Bruce would probably even hire a nanny if we need. Iâll be able to finish school, itâs justâŠâ He trailed off for a moment.
âYou know, when I was born my dad was a little disappointed, they loved me but theyâd wanted a daughter and a son. When I was assigned female at birth and they didnât want any more kids, he was a little disappointed. When I came out as trans they were So Excited. My dad kept talking about how he knew Iâd taken after him! I was going to be a âbig manâ after all. He couldnât seem to understand that even though I was a man it hadnât changed my biology. They were so supportive, my mom Screamed at a teacher who made me cry misgendering me, got them fired.Â
âThey werenât always bad parents, there were always good days. Ya theyâd retreat into their lab for days at a time and weâd have to fend for ourselves, they left guns and chemicals all over the place. I Know they werenât good parents, but they still loved us, and I loved them. And despite everything half of me really wants them to know their grandkids, wanted my mom to be there holding his hands and have my dad come bursting through the wall because heâs so excited to be a grandpa,â Danny sniffled a little.Â
âIâll be a better parent then they were by miles, but itâs sort of scary to know that love isnât always enough. People who love you⊠still hurt you. Itâs not fair that the good parts are all tangled up in the bad parts, and the bad parts are to bad to let anywhere near me or the babies, especially with the whole, half ghost thing.âÂ
âYa, itâs not,â Jason sighed, biting his lip for a moment before clearing his throat. âBefore Bruce took me in, before I was an orphan, my mom was an addict. Dad was in prison, it was just the two of us. On her good days she taught me to cook, she sang me lullabies, taught me Spanish.â He trailed off and sighed. âOn her bad days she was too high to move, or unconscious. Sheâs be that way for days until the drugs ran out, Iâd make sure she ate, try and keep the place clean, hell I had to help her go to the washroom. And I did it, because I was holding on to that last good day, and hoping for the next one. Even when the good days came less and less often near the end.
âKids love their parents, even when they donât deserve it. When the parent loves them too a kid can forgive just about any failing and dismiss all the hurt the parents cause because âpeople who love you wouldnât hurt youâ. Truth is the people who love you can often hurt you the worst, because you let them into your head, and rationalize everything they do. So if they hurt you, that must be what love feels like.â
âWhat do you think love feels like?â Danny asked, voice soft and vulnerable.Â
âWell, for me I guess I learned what love really felt like when I moved in with Bruce,â though he was loathed to admit it. âWhen heâd carry me up to bed even though he knew I was only pretending to be asleep, heâd go slow so he could hold me a bit longer because he knew thatâs what I really wanted. When he stayed home from patrol with me because I was sick and I wanted comfort, or remembered where my favourite gargoyle was so he could come find me when I was upset. And Alfred, teaching me to cook his family recipes and making me tea when I woke up in the middle of the night with nightmares, never seeming put out he was losing sleep.
âLove is⊠warm, and forgiving, willing to give you what you need without resenting it. Of course Bruce wasnât perfect, stubborn, moralistic, self important bastard.â Danny let out an amused snort as Jason continued. âBut⊠I know he did his best, and he never abandoned me. Even when I was dying I knew he was on his way, it sucked that he didnât get there in time, but I never believed he abandoned me because I knew he never would.â
âI guess thatâs Jazz for me. Sheâs only two years older than me, but she was always there, she showed me how to do just about everything. I thought it was annoying that she was always after me about doing my homework and stuff, but it means she really cared. Not just when she remembered to, or didnât have anything better to do.Â
âI guess Iâm a little scared of that too. Now that I have a safe home, and sheâs 18, sheâs going to go to university and make new friends. She knows Iâm safe now, so what if she doesnât⊠care as much anymore?â Danny asked.
âThatâs not going to happen,â Jason said immediately. âShe might be around a bit less, but she wonât care any less. Thatâs what siblings are like. I should know, I have enough of them,â he joked and Danny gave a wet laugh.Â
âYa, she deserves to have her own life anyway,â Danny said, but he seemed calmer. They sat in a comfortable silence, watching the sunset across the lake, it was beautiful.
âSooo, how do you think you want to decorate the nursery?â Jason asked and saw Danny smile.
âIâll tell you in a minute, now that itâs dark thereâs one more thing I have to do to feel better,â He said sardonically, ducking out from under Jasonâs arm and standing. âCover your ears,â he directed as he walked over to the lake.
Jason was confused, but he did as Danny asked as the other transformed into his ghost form. At the edge of the lake he took a deep breath and Wailed, the water exploded up around him forced back by the sound. Jason clamped his hands over his ears more firmly as the sound ricocheted around his skull, it was such a pure rage, fear, and sorrow he could Feel it bubbling in him as well, like it was more feeling than sound. Jason didnât know how long it was before Danny stopped, collapsing to his knees and changing back into human form, breathing hard.Â
Hesitantly Jason uncovered his ears and after a moment Danny took a deep breath and came back over to him, collapsing next to him by the fire. âOkay for the nursery I was thinking of a celestial theme.âÂ
They talked for a long time about what Danny wanted for the nursery at the manor. When Jason worked up the courage to suggest if they were still going strong in a few months they should set up a second nursery in his apartment. So Danny could come visit with the babies more easily once they were born, they moved on to plans for that hypothetical. They decided on a forest theme for that one, Jason was looking forward to it. He loved kids, and ya he and Danny were new but he had a really good feeling about this.
Next
#dc x dp#danny phantom#jason todd#batman#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#trans!Danny#danny is pregnant#tw dysphoria#discussion of parental neglect#tw neglect#character study#dead on main#fanfiction
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Spiked
Friday,
I feel strong, but these protein shakes haven't been helping my bulk as much as I want. I'm still too skinny. Maybe I should give them more time though, I've only been taking them for a couple weeks after all. I'll try bumping it up to two a day, and I'll eat more, that should help.
I pick up my phone as I leave the gym and stare at the Grindr app. Should I? Is it fair to Dean that I keep bringing back guys to our place. This would be the fourth time this week, I think I can hold off for his sake. Anyway, I put away my phone and head back to my apartment.
"How was the workout?" Dean asked when I got home. I'm shocked, he's never really been interested in my workouts before. We used to go together before we were roommates but now that we live together, the gym is a rare activity we do apart. Besides, he hasn't really been going that much recently.
"Oh, it was good... I'm just not bulking as much as I want to." I reply.
"That must be why you got those protein shakes, huh?"
Why is he taking so much notice of this stuff now? We can share the shakes if he really wants to, he might just be trying to motivate himself to get back in the gym. But he could just ask if that's what he wants. "Ya, I'm gonna try to drink more, maybe that'll help." I say as I go to the fridge and grab one.
"That's good." Dean says in a flat tone, he usually does this when he's lost interest in a conversation.
I get distracted from the conversation anyway as I drink the shake. Something seems different about it, it's got a bit of a bitter aftertaste now. I figure it's probably just me getting tired of the taste and shrug it off.
Saturday,
I wake up in a cold sweat. This was unusual given that I get up every day at this time to go to the gym. I look to the clock and it's... 10 o'clock. Holy shit, I slept in. I'm usually at the gym by 8. I calm down a bit when I remember it's Saturday, so I have nothing to do anyway.
I roll out of bed and hobble my way to the bathroom. My head is spinning and my stomach is growling, I felt hungover. I didn't drink last night did I? I don't really remember. However, all of that leaves my mind in an instant when I look in the mirror. I rub my eyes and look again. Where do I even begin. An itchy beard now covers my face, despite the fact that I shaved yesterday morning. My sweat glistened on my distended stomach, my six pack buried under a soft bloat. My pecs are swollen and slightly rounded.
What the fuck. My mind is trying to process what's happening, but it can't. I turn to the side and see the subtle S shape in my stomach and my ass. Was it the shake? It couldn't have been, it hasn't done shit for me in weeks and now it does this! You know what, this is fine. I pinch my stomach. It's mostly bloated, just a small layer of fat, nothing I can't work off in a couple weeks. If anything this will give me a head start on my bulk.
I throw on some of my loose gym clothes that do a decent job at hiding my physique, but I still look different. I grab my gym back and try to sneak out, I don't want Dean seeing me like this. I quickly try to rush out the door, but I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Dean.
"I didn't know you were still home, you usually leave before I get up." He says nonchalantly.
"Oh ya... I just decided to sleep in today." I pull my bag to cover my stomach.
"Okay, have fun at the gym. Nice beard by the way, when did you decide to grow it out."
"I've just been a bit lazy with shaving it, that's all." I'm sweating buckets.
"Well it looks good, you should keep it." He smiles at me.
I can feel myself blush, so I smile and get out as quickly as possible. I chug a protein shake on the way to the gym, noting that bitter aftertaste again. It's probably nothing, I have bigger issues to deal with.
Once I start my workout, I feel pretty self conscious about my body. I know no one else could know that something is off, but I still feel off. But as the workout goes on, I start feeling more and more comfortable. I start hitting more reps than I ever have before, though cardio is a bit of a slog. It doesn't matter, I feel surprisingly great. I finish off the workout great, and flex in the mirror for a bit of a confidence boost.
I drink another shake on the way home. As I get home, Dean seems to be waiting for me. He asks how my workout was again. He's acting so weird again. I decide to spend the rest of the day out, drinking the night away. I am bulking after all.
Sunday,
I wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck, with no memory of how much I drank last night. I've never felt like this after a night out though. The more I think about it, the more my mind points me to the shakes. They have to have something to do with this. I don't have time for this right now though, I have to get to the gym.
I brush my teeth and shave, I'm shocked at the beard I grew in just two days. I try throwing on some clothes, but I feel some resistance. My largest gym shirt no longer fits, there's always a sliver of skin showing and it goes past my belly button when I reach up. My shorts fit a bit better, but they hug my ass very tight. I think I'll have to buy some new clothes on the way home.
The workout goes similarly to yesterday. I start self conscious of the fact that my belly is showing and my shorts look like they're about to rip. But the worry escapes my mind when I destroy my routine. I feel so strong.
I feel great by the time my workout ends. I head to the locker room and take off my shirt. Yeesh, I have a full on beer belly now. This is no longer just a bloat, my stomach is covered in a thick layer of fat. I didn't even know you could gain this much fat in only a couple of days, and I'm not even eating that much. And what's with the beard, I shaved this morning and it's already coming back in. Although my arms are looking massive, I could even feel my sleeves stretch from my biceps when I was working out. I stare at my belly a bit as I think about what to do.
I throw on my shirt again and head out. I pull up to a clothing store and pick out a few loose gym clothes that should fit me if I bulk even more.
"Hi, where are the change rooms." I ask an employee.
"Oh.." he pauses for a moment, looking at my belly. I notice that my shirt is riding up more than it was this morning. I instinctively cover my exposed belly with my arms and shrivel up in embarrassment.
"Just over there sir." He awkwardly points to the back of the store.
I grab a few larger clothes on the way out and leave the store as fast as humanly possible. I instinctively down another shake on the way home. Dean didn't say anything to me when I got home, but he glanced at me and then looked away. He is acting so strange.
I woke up in the middle of the night, there was a rattling coming from the kitchen. I walk out to investigate and see Dean doing something with the protein shakes. Is he secretly drinking them at night? He could just ask and I would give some to him. But I see him pour something into the shake and then close it back up again before putting them back in the fridge. What the hell? I try to think of what he could be doing. He stashes something away in the bottom of the cupboard and starts walking back to his bedroom. I quickly hide in my room until I hear his door close, and then I go back to the kitchen to investigate. I look at the protein shakes in the fridge and notice their seals have been broken, I can't believe I never noticed that. I move over to the cupboard and find a small bag with white powder in it. It looks like coke, but why the fuck would Dean put coke in my shakes. And besides, I don't think fat, muscle, and hair growth are symptoms of coke. Maybe I'll give him a taste of his own medicine. I go back to the fridge and pull out the jug of orange juice that Dean drinks every morning. I have no idea how much he put in my shakes, so I just pour a bunch in. I kind of feel like a secret agent, sneaking in a mysterious powder into his drink. I would feel worse, but he already did this to me so I'm fine ignoring my morals this time.
I head to bed, lying awake in my bed for a while. Thinking about what I just did, thinking about the results. It's making it hard to fall asleep, but I eventually do.
Monday,
I wake up feeling better than I had the past few days. I go through my normal routine, throw on my gym clothes, and grab a bite to eat. When I open the fridge, i see the orange juice and protein shakes and I'm reminded of my situation. Every morning I get a few moments of blissful ignorance before it's ripped away. I think for a bit, then grab a couple shakes and put in my bag. I'm kinda liking this new me, the strong me, and the belly is definitely growing on me. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I head out, I'm really committing to this aren't I? I ask myself as I look at the bushy beard that has engulfed my face and the belly and moobs that are unmistakable under my shirt. I smile and then head to the gym.
Every day that I spend at the gym, I get less self conscious. I almost forget about the fact that my hairy gut I exposed to the world whenever I reach up. I only care about the fact that I have been increasing the weight on my workouts every day and it feels amazing.
I take a shower and get dressed for work... Oh shit. I never bought work clothes that fit me, I'm reminded when I try in vain to button up my dress shirt. I stop by the store again and grab a couple shirts and pairs of pants. The thought of the protein shake in my car makes me think of the future, so I buy a few clothes in larger sizes too.
I barely make it to work on time. The day went by fast, but all I could remember were the stares and the comments from coworkers. "You forget to shave this morning Santa?" "Might want to lay off the doughnuts in the break room buddy." "We're concerned about your health." "Did you forget to stop bulking?" That was all I heard today. It was embarrassing at first, but it soon turned to encouraging. Each sly comment just makes me want to grow more. It honestly makes me realize how much I'm enjoying growing, and makes me even more excited to see what happens to Dean. It was hard to keep my dick in my pants today, I think the only reason no one noticed was because they were too busy staring at my gut.
I make it back home after work and dress down to my underwear first thing. Damn I am getting hairy, I run my hands through the forest of hair that has grown all over my body. As I'm doing so, an amazing idea runs through my mind. I'm gonna surprise Dean. There's no way I can hide the changes in my body regardless of how baggy my clothes are, so I'm just gonna show it off. I lay down on the couch by the front door, still only in my underwear, and I wait for him to show up.
"I'm hom- Oh hey..." Dean stutters as he sees me.
"Hey bud, what's up." I say nonchalantly.
"Just tired from work, where are your clothes?"
"I had a crazy workout today, just figured I'd air out a bit. Ever since I started this bulk, things have really taken off for me at the gym." I say while I rub my gut. In trying my best to make him uncomfortable and it seems to be working.
"Okay, well if you need me I'll be in my room." He quickly scurries into his room.
I just chuckle to myself and continue rubbing my belly. I wonder if there's any leftovers in the fridge?
Tuesday,
Same old same old. Get out of bed, get dressed, shave, grab a shake and head to the gym.
I feel so imposing at the gym now. I think I've gotten taller, because I look down on almost every now. I have a beard and a deeper voice than I used to, and not to mention the big gut and strong biceps. I'm like the biggest guy here, and people treat me like it. Women and men stare, and people tend to let me use the machines I want. I also notice myself grunting when I work out, I wonder if the entire gym can hear it. Anyway, the point is I feel amazing. This is the first day I dropped cardio because who fucking needs it, I sure don't. Now I focus purely on mass gain. I'm tired of holding back and I don't care what other people think, I want more.
I arrived at work, rocking far more confidence than I did yesterday, and people noticed. I don't care if they stare or comment, and I don't care that my dress shirt is already too small for me. People even asked me how I gained as much muscle as it did that fast. I just tell them to eat a shit ton and drink protein shakes, but maybe once the jig is up with Dean I'll ask him how to get the powder. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing some of the men at work blow up like I did. This is not the time to think about it though, it's getting hard to hide my boner at work. The only thing hiding it when I sit down is my gut.
I get home and notice Dean is home too. He must have stayed home, I wonder if it's because of the powder. He won't seem to leave his room though, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the results.
I just decide to change into some comfortable clothes and eat my heart out. Though I'm shocked at how small my once 'baggy' clothes are. They barely fit past my stomach, and they ride up past my belly button when I lift my arms.
Fuck I'm getting fat. There is nothing hotter to me right now than the thought of my body growing. I make my way to the kitchen and grab a few more shakes and start chugging, feeling my dick harden with each gulp. I feel like a fucking pig, what has come over me. The shake is dribbling down my beard and onto my shirt, but I can't stop. Once I've had enough protein shakes for a lifetime, I stumble to my room and promptly fall asleep.
Wednesday,
I wake up in a pool of sweat, similar to a couple days ago. My mouth tastes awful and my body feels heavy. I question what happened last night as I roll myself out of bed. I drag myself to the bathroom and freeze in shock at my image in the mirror. Holy shit. I pull up my shirt to see a massive ball belly, covered in a thick layer of hair. I pull my shirt up further and see a pair of soft man tits that now lay on my gut. Every part of my body looks swollen, my arms, my hands, even my face looks puffy.
I let out a loud burp that reeks of protein shake, and suddenly I remember last. I walk to the kitchen and see six empty protein shakes on the table. I chuckle in a surprisingly deep voice before opening the fridge and grabbing a shake. I down it before getting ready to head to the gym. I put on my largest gym shirt and it only reaches halfway around my gut, I try to put on my shorts but I can't get them to cover the top of my ass crack. That's alright, I don't particularly care if anyone sees, it's their fault for looking.
I spend the day at the gym enjoying all the attention from shocked gym goers. They watch in amazement or contempt as this fatass walks around like he owns the gym.
I go to work with a similar energy, though I do have a dress shirt that still barely fits me so at least I'm not half naked going to work. My clothes still leave little to my coworkers imaginations, as I confidently strut my fatass around the office.
I get home and stand in shock as I walk through the door. Is that Dean!? Across the living room stands a morbidly obese man wearing nothing but boots, a baseball cap, and a ripped towel around his waist.
"You did this to me!" The man yells in a gruff southern accent.
"Dean, is that you?" I respond.
"Yea, you dumbass! You gave me some of that powder didn't ya." He turns to face me and reveals the damage the powder did to his body.
"Hey you did it to me first! I was only returning the favour."
"I only put I bit into your shakes, how much did'ya give me!? Look what it's done to me!" He grabs a handful of the fat on his belly, and it jiggles like jello.
"Well I didn't know how much to give you."
"And you're only s'posed to take it when you're workin out, otherwise it only grows fat and not muscle. Beside, why d'ya keep drinking it after you knew?" He asks
"Because I like me this way, it just felt good to get revenge. Why did you even do it in the first place?" I ask in return.
"Because I thought if you got fat you'd stop hooking up with so many guys, and you'd notice me. It was only s'posed to be a bit, but then you started drinkin the shakes like crazy and now look at ya." He responds in a genuine voice. I don't know what to say, so I stand silent. He grabs his phone and approaches me. "This is what I looked like 2 days ago!" He shows me a picture of himself. "I was so happy that I could finally grow a beard. Little did I know why."
"This is what I looked like yesterday." He shows me another photo. "My hair was falling out and my hairline was receding. I woke up looking like I was pregnant, and my pants couldn't fit anymore."
"I was so scared that I ate some of that powder, but I didn't know what to do, so I stayed in my room all day and drank nothing but orange juice. Then I woke up this morning as a bald 350 pound man. That's when I knew you put that powder in my orange juice." He seems frantic.
I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed him and kissed him. "I never realized how hot your accent is until now." I say as I pull away from the kiss, he smiles in return. In the moment, another terribly amazing idea comes to my head. I grab the bag of powder he had left on the table and pour some of the powder into his mouth before snorting some myself. He looks at me in shock for a moment before swallowing it. I smile before dragging his fatass to my tiny king sized bed.
Then next Monday,
I just hit 300 today. I still go to the gym everyday, so that keeps my gut from growing out of control. Though I have had some interesting conversations with my family since. But the shocked faces of my family when they see me and their concerned comments if my weight gain only fuels the fire. Though my dad seems to be the only one who says he likes the new me, says I look manlier. It's funny coming from the next fattest man in the family, only behind me of course.
The scale stopped working on Dean after last Thursday, but he has to be pushing 500. I really gave him an insane dose of that powder, and the more fat he got the less capable he was to workout and thus reduce the fat gained. He just sits around and pigs out all day now, and I wouldn't want him any other way. I usually bring home a few meals from a couple fast food restaurants for his first dinner, and when I feel up to it, I'll add a little bit of powder to his meal.
I'm also enjoying work far more. I told all the men at my work about the powder, and within a few days I was seeing results. Some became as fat as Dean by the end of the week, clearly they neglected the part where it said to workout while consuming the powder. Some look like me, with big arms and an even bigger belly. And some have just become muscle beasts, almost like they spent hours a day at the gym. I also feel more imposing at work, people respect me more, even if half of them are bigger than me now. It even helped me get a raise, which funds all of the fast food trips for Dean and I. One day I hope to be the big boss with a silver bushy beard and hulking gut that spills out of my suit.
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Wait whatâs the tea on Valentinoâs sleep patterns đđ (fellow insomniac / recent motogp fan always looking for more representation)
oh yeah, if you're looking for representation for poor sleeping habits you've very much come to the right place. his sleep patterns are pretty remarkable you have to say. way too nocturnal for a professional athlete, reliant on naps to get through the race weekend, all power to him for somehow making that work and winning all those titles. pretty sure I've read somewhere that he's still known for doing sim races at ungodly hours these days, just how he lives his life
tbh I can't remember off the top of my head where I'd actually read about his sleeping patterns, but I've cobbled together a decent selection of quotes from the usual sources. the most interesting stuff he's said on the topic is in his autobiography - where he goes into rather a lot of detail about his preference for the night. given that it's quite a lengthy passage, I've chucked it under the cut. he frames his nocturnal inclination as not only suiting his natural body clock better, but also as a way of escaping the rest of the world - of being able to move around in peace and silence and anonymity. plus, he liked to spend his nights in the garage to... *pinches bridge of nose* have some special personal time with his bike, when it was just the two of them. take that as you will
before that, let's just start with a few more general descriptions of his sleeping patterns. from early in his career, jerez 1998 (from oxley's vr files):
The camper only holds two people, but that's okay. I don't like my dad to sleep with me, because when it gets to ten o'clock he starts saying: "Vale, Vale, got to bed!", but I can't go to sleep before one or two. We did share a motorhome in '96 and it made life very, very difficult for me.
and about brno 1999 (from oxley's vr files):
On weekends when I'm not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it's a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me! Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I'd be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good for 24-hour racing!
and then a few years into his premier class career, valentino says the following (x):
'I have a lot of energy after 2am,' Rossi agreed. 'I like to sleep in the morning. I have some problems at the start of the day.'
we've also got a description of crew chief jb's influence in terms of making sure valentino wasn't slacking off by sleeping in (from oxley's vr files):
Burgess' talents aren't restricted to getting the best out of a 500. The Aussie has been in GPs for decades and knows how to extract the best from riders as well. He expects 100 per cent commitment both on the track and in the pits, and when he doesn't get that, he gives 'em hell. Some other crew chiefs won't do that - they're too overawed by their riders' superstardom. JB laid down the law last summer when late-sleeper Rossi turned up late for practice. Rossi suggested that in future one of the crew should be despatched to his motorhome each morning to make sure he was out of bed. No way, said Burgess, I'll be there to give you your wake-up call. Rossi's not overslept since.
and from 2001, in valentino's own words:
Q: Tell us about your sleeping habits, JB has had to wake you a few times for practice... VR: I never go to bed before 1 o'clock, and there's no limit on when I go to bed, but even when I go to sleep very late I always wake up at 8.30, though when I do wake up I always have a big confusion for the first five minutes, then after that I remember: "Oh fuck, I'm at world grand prix!" So I have a shower and then I'm okay. I never get up too close to riding time because the 500 is a dangerous bike so it's necessary to be awake when you climb aboard. Back in the afternoon after practice at four or five o'clock I'll sleep for another hour.
only semi-related but valentino's also talked about... you know, this generational shift - where the sport has become more professionalised, which is reflected in certain lifestyle changes (from barker's rossi biography):
"The next generation is always stronger. They are more professional, they put more effort in, they make a perfect life, they eat in a good way, they don't drink, they go to sleep early, they train every day from the morning to the night... I come from an era where the riders drank beer and smoked cigarettes!"
also plenty of talk of jet lag obviously... doesn't struggle with it too much headed westwards because he says he basically lives on american time anyway. the other direction is tougher, but in his youth he decided that he might as well try to continue living on italian time. so he essentially went racing at 5 in the morning (about phillip island 1998, from oxley's vr files):
I don't have a problem with jet lag, I always sleep. Last year in Indonesia I stayed on Italian time for the whole grand prix - so I was racing at five in the morning! But the difference is too great to do that in Australia.
how on earth are you racing motorcycles like that. mind you, he won that 1997 indonesia race
so yeah. king of disordered sleeping. given the nature of motogp schedules and how they do kind of require you to actually get up in the mornings, congrats to him for being remotely functional during race weekends. crazy how he even won the odd race
and here's the autobiography passage:
My day, usually, begins in the afternoon. Itâs as if I exist inside my own personal time zone. I live at night, because I love the night. Now, this might make you think I do goodness-knows-what in the wee hours, or that I donât live the life of a professional athlete. Itâs true, I donât live the life of an athlete in the traditional sense â early to bed, early to rise and all that â but this does not mean that Iâm not careful about what I eat and drink or that I donât train. In fact, I train a lot, both in the gym and on the bike. Itâs just that I go to the gym in the afternoon, rather than the morning. Equally, when Iïżœïżœm training on the bike, down at the quarry, I always go in the afternoon, never at nine o'clock in the morning. My body has a certain type of metabolism. It is used to living according to a different body clock. Thatâs why, even if Iâm travelling all over the world, I donât experience jet lag and I rarely go to bed before 3 a.m. Itâs much more likely that Iâm just tucking into bed as people are leaving for work. As I say, I have a special relationship with the night. I like moving in it, living in it, thinking in it, relaxing in it. The night fascinates me, because itâs the period of least confusion. The world calms down, it goes quiet. And, besides, Iâm Valentino Rossi. Iâm wanted... I'm a fugitive. Yes, Iâm always running away from my _ beloved countrymen. The Italians. Iâm proud to be Italian, I'm proud of our merits and I regret our shortcomings. Italians are exceptional people. In every way. Even when they start loving you. Because thatâs actually when problems can arise â if itâs you that the Italian falls in love with. Italian people are warm, empathetic, spontaneous. But they can also be excessive, oppressive and disrespectful. I donât know who said that Italians will forgive everything except for success. Whoever it was, they were right. Because itâs absolutely true. After the 1997 season, I could tell I was becoming popular. Year after year, that popularity turned into fully fledged love. Theyâre in love with me now and, as a result, since the 2004 season, Iâve been a man on the run. And thereâs no escape, no end in sight, because wherever I go they find me. There are simple things, the little pleasures in life, which I simply canât engage in when Iâm back in Italy. I canât go to the bar and have a cappuccino, because I would not be able to drink it. To be fair, I can do it in Tavullia, but that's the only place. If I go more than a few kilometres in any direction from the centre of town, that's it, everything changes and I become, once again, a hunted man. I canât walk into a store, look at something and decide what I want to buy. In fact, I canât stop anywhere, not even at a petrol station. If I stop, Iâm screwed. Somebody will recognise me (Italians are exceptionally good at recognising people), make a lot of noise, call other people and then, before I know it, Iâve been swallowed up by the crowd. If I schedule a meeting with someone, we have to meet in a secret, out-of-the-way location and, even then, we can't linger. I can't go to a restaurant if there are too many people inside. And if I do go, I can't go at a normal time, say eight o'clock. I have to go later, much later, when people are leaving. And I can't sit where I like, I have to hide away in a corner, in the shadows. As for places like cinemas or the beach, forget about it. They are just always off-limits.
Having said that, I do mix with people. I do it because I like doing it. Itâs just that I wish I could do it as a normal person, because, deep down, I am a normal human being. This is part of the reason why I have to live at night. It would be that much tougher during the day, with all those people about. Plus, I donât like the traffic, the chaos, the noise, all those people running all over the place, stressed out and out of breath. The night is different. Everything is softer, there are fewer people around and you are much more free. Itâs like a parallel dimension. The world is different at night. Everything is different. Thatâs why Iâve assimilated the lyrics of a song by the Italian artist Jovanotti, âGente. della notteâ (âPeople of the nightâ). It has become my personal anthem. Jovanotti is one of my favourite singers and I find myself agreeing with him on most things. I love his work. What else can I say? The night is my reality. And I donât change just because Grands Prix are scheduled during the day. My way of being and living is reflected in what I do during races. I donât really change. Obviously, I donât go to bed at dawn, but letâs just say that when I do, finally, go to bed, there arenât many people around. Everything is better at night in the paddock. There is silence, the people _ have disappeared and, with them, the chaos. I can wander around freely, most of all I can enjoy the empty pit area and my bike. Yes, my bike. Because at night I often slip into the team garage. At some races I do it every single night, because I love being with my bike. My night-time activities can be traced back to the years racing in 125cc, and are directly tied to my passion for aesthetics and the stickers, which would later become my obsession. I donât leave anything to chance'when it comes to choosing the colour or the stickers for my bike. Thatâs why Iâve always been central to any and all discussions when we were deciding the aesthetics of my racing bikes. Iâve done it always, with every bike, at every level, with every team. And, naturally, I still do it today. Nobody has ever been allowed to attach a single sticker to my bike, unless it was the logo of a technical sponsor. Until a few years ago I was totally inflexible about this. Now, Roby takes care of the number: he attaches it because then he needs to cover it in transparent paint. But apart - from -this, which is primarily a technical procedure anyway, I take care of everything else to do with the stickers. And this takes time and planning, which is why I started going to the garage at night. During the day it is packed with people. There are mechanics, technicians and others around. I would just get in the way, if I wanted to get near the bike just to check the stickers. As I got older and progressed from 125 to 250 and then to 500 and on to MotoGP, I maintained that passion for aesthetics and stickers, as well as the habit of dropping in on the team garage at night. I enjoy the bike during the day _ obviously, but my relationship with the bike is so special that I can spend hours with it, just looking and admiring it, making sure that everything is in order. Those are very personal moments which I find difficult to describe. The Japanese guys, both the executives but also the engineers never knew this, not the guys at Honda, not the ones at Yamaha. I donât think they would really understand. They would probably view it as a waste of time, since I donât actually do anything concrete. I never touch anything to do with the bike itself, beyond, obviously, the stickers. And yet I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when Iâm not doing anything. Itâs a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy.
During the day everything happens so quickly, frenetically, neurotically. However, there is a sacrosanct moment when I need to step away and isolate myself. Once my commitment to the team is over, usually around 5.30 p.m., I retire to my motorhome, relax and take a nap. It usually lasts a couple hours and then I go out. Thereâs always something to do after dinner. Of course, the range of options depends on how many friends are around. I really start enjoying the paddock around ten o'clock at night. Before going to sleep I check on the bike again and then I go into the team motorhome, which serves as an office. Now that Iâm at Yamaha, I have an office all to myself. Thatâs where I keep all my race gear. I do this for two reasons. My own personal motorhome is an absolute mess, nothing more fits in there and I probably couldnât find anything amid all the junk. Plus, the office is where I change into my racing suit before going out on to the track. Thus, at night, after going to the pits to see the bike, I go to make sure that all my stuff is where it should be: gloves, suit, socks, boots . . . everything needs to be perfect, because I just donât have time in the morning to hunt around for stuff. Thus, each morning I have to follow a very precise routine. Iâm like a robot, everything is the same each day. Because the truth is that I need to be like clockwork. I just donât have the time to think. Somebody generally comes to wake me up â usually itâs Jeremy, because he doesnât trust my ability to wake up on my own! I then get up, wash my face (my eyes are still shut at this point) and try to stay awake as I ride the scooter from the motorhome to the pits. I then go up to the office and get dressed. There too everything is done mechanically. It takes the slightest hiccup to throw everything off, forcing me to be late to the testing.
"I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when Iâm not doing anything. itâs a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy" well -
#some of you lot really should be making more use of -#- the line 'because that's actually when problems can arise - if it's you that the italian falls in love with'#//#brr brr#clown tag#batsplat responds#i can also remember a post-retirement interview where he was up early to watch the motogp race and was suffering? can't find it though#im on the other side of the generational shift on this... the idea of approaching professional sport like that makes me twitchy#like so much of it these days is controlling every controllable variable perfect optimisation and all that. this feels so casual!!#and is honestly one of the things that makes his longevity the most impressive. one hell of a change to have to make mid career
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"It's a wonder Steve's survived this long, Jesus H. Christ," Eddie hissed.
Eddie hasn't stopped pacing the hospital waiting room ever since Steve was taken back for 'testing'. The doctors had listed out various scans but there were too many acronyms to keep track of. All Eddie knew was that Steve had been hiding his pain for at least a day, maybe longer, until he collapsed at work with Robin.
That was the second worst call Eddie had ever gotten in his life.
"Harrington?" the doctor called out then, holding onto a metal clipboard tightly and looking around the busy emergency room. In an instant Eddie was on his feet, practically sprinting to where the doctor was standing.
"How is he, doc? Get to keep all his fingers?" He wanted to joke, but the words fell flat in the sterility of the room. The last time he'd been here had been after...No. The Upside Down had long since been closed off from their world and Vecna was disintegrated into that weird otherworldly ash. It was over.
"Are you family?"
Nancy and Robin had prepped him for this one, too. In everything but the law, Eddie and Steve were husbands. They'd had a wedding with Robin and Dustin as their Best (Wo)Men and Wayne as their officiant, in the middle of the night where no one would notice but them. They'd celebrated their fifth anniversary two weeks ago, they were the loves of each others' lives. But to the government, to this doctor, they weren't anything but friends who shared a bed. Fuck the nineties.
"Yeah, he's my brother-in-law," Eddie answered, knowing when Nancy showed up they could pass this lie off decently. "How's Steve doing?"
The doctor gave him a long look, but otherwise nodded and rechecked his clipboard. "Mr. Harrington is getting prepped for emergency surgery, currently, as he's sâ"
"Emergency surgery? What do you mean surgery?" Already Eddie could feel the tell-tale warning signs of panic as his heart began to race and his palms got sweaty. Surgery wasn't good. They weren't supposed to do this. No more hospitals, no more surgeries, no more 'wait and see's. They'd promised after last time, Steve promised.
"Sir," the doctor pushed, looking more irritated than concerned. "This is a routine procedure, we see it all the time. Mr. Harrington has a case of appendicitis, pretty bad by the looks of it. Has he been feeling any pain lately?"
"Yeah, yeah the bastard has," Eddie hissed, not sure if he was about to laugh or cry. Appendicitis. Fucking appendicitis. He'd had that as a kid, he still remembered all the popsicles and ice creams Uncle Wayne let him have in the days after, cooped up in the trailer watching boring TV shows while all his friends were at school. "Is he already in surgery? Can I see him?"
"He's being prepped, but you can see him. We gave him some medication to calm him down and ease his pain, so Mr. Harrington may be...out of it," the doctor warned as he led Eddie through the maze of hallways behind the front desk. "Next time, let your brother-in-law know he shouldn't ignore this kind of pain."
"Oh don't you worry, doc, I'll make sure to pass on the message," Eddie answered, practically glaring at the closed hospital room door. Fucking appendicitis and Steve had ignored it, passed it off as a pulled muscle after a run.
Seeing Steve in a hospital bed didn't get any easier, though it was hard to be angry or scared when the man's head lolled across the pillow to reveal a brilliant, out-of-it smile Eddie had never seen before. "Eddie!" Steve cooed, reaching his arms out for the other man.
Eddie couldn't help but laugh, crossing the distance quickly so he could press Steve's arms back to the bed. "Hey, c'mon now, Harrington, don't wanna pull that IV line out."
"Did they tell you they're stealing my organ? They're stealing it, Eds!"
"It's a pretty useless one anyway, you won't even miss it."
Steve's face scrunched up at that, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "How dare you! Of course I'll notice one of my little guys got separated! What if he gets lonely?"
"You're..." Eddie tried not to laugh, if only because he's sure that'll make Steve fly off the handle even further. He scrubbed a hand across his tired face, sure his expression was full of nothing but fondness now for the man laying in the hospital bed. "You're afraid your appendix will get lonely?"
"I just...they're all meant to be together, you know? You can't separate one and expect it won't get lonely. Don't let them steal my organ, Eds."
"I," Eddie began, unable to help the smile that pulled on his lips. "Stevie, baby, it's not stealing if a doctor does it. They're taking it out because it's being a troublemaker. It doesn't belong there anymore, you can't keep trying to make it fit somewhere it doesn't."
"Never stopped me before," Steve answered with a little slur. "Maybe I like troublemakers." Then, leaning over with his hand by his mouth in a conspiratorial whisper, he said at full volume, "I mean you, Eddie."
There was no laugh like the one Steve was able to pull from him, of that Eddie had learned years before. He laughed until his chest hurt and tears gathered in his eyes, until even the nurse peeked their head in to check on the two of them.
"C'mon, Stevie. You go be a rockstar in there and I'll be right beside you when you wake up. We'll go get so much ice cream you forget about your stolen appendix," Eddie offered, pressing a kiss to Steve's non-IV lined hand.
"I'll be such a good rockstar you gotta put me in the band," Steve answered, blowing a kiss to Eddie as the surgical team came in to wheel him off. "Love you, Eds."
Warmth spread through his chest, warming him from the insides out until Eddie worried he might burn up from the intensity of Steve's love. "Love you too, Steve."
Eddie stands and watches as they wheel Steve out of the room, laughing as Steve yelled after him.
"I can't believe you're letting them steal my poor appendix, Munson! I won't forget this!"
#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#steddie ficlet#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie headcanon#hospitals#surgery#jay writes in theory
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dedication | young!miguel o'hara x reader
â pairing | young geneticist!miguel o'hara x scientist!reader
â type | oneshot, explicit.
â summary | alchemax is a dangerous place to work. miguel's new assistant may be over her head. maybe he can help her, though.
â tags | virgin reader, f!reader, shitty science, plot heavy, loose canon references, literary liberties, loss of virginity, overprotective Miguel o'hara, jealous miguel o'hara, some objectification, workplace politics, aftercare (as requested), corruption (is it tho?), bc what bc, Spanish is not translated, young!miguel, heel-foot fetish, somewhat romantic.
â fulfilled request | can we please have a miguel x virgin reader and he didnât even know until he was already putting it in?? And then voila his corruption kink unexpectedly growS? @a--dedicated--fangirl
â syâs notes | miguel sort of works on that whole corruption aspect throughout this fic, but i wanted to meld these two ideas together to create a reader who is entirely dedicated to Miguel. This piece was a bit long for me.
âMiguel, your new assistant is here.âÂ
On paper, youâre an excellent candidate for the genetics program.Â
An excellent GPA, renowned company internships, decent publications, and a diverse upbringing. It was all good. Great, even. But as the head of the genetics program at Alchemax, he has a little thing called priorities. Interviewing everyone himself was low on the rung of shit he felt like he should be doing. There was, however, one little, itty bitty, tiny problem with bringing you on board.
âDr. OâHara? ÂżEstas bien?â
That shirt-- is not meant to hold those-- His brain was left field, glimpsing at them. A slightly sheer button-up revealed the outline of your bustier and its inability to conceal your body. They should have been illegal. He was pretty sure they were illicit in the handbook on his table. He should really read that again. Maybe then he wouldnât be salivating over something as simple as a co-worker-- He needed to get out of the lab. The bleached walls tightened around him, the space smaller than he remembered. He was going to get caught.
Realistically, the lab was full of witty people. Many of them were witty men with subpar looks and stupider dicks. He couldnât bring himself to say anything about it. Not only because your lips were plump, painted petal-pink, and kissable or because the depth of your sultry eyes went straight in the dick. No, but because that would be improper of a man of his stature to tell one of the only women in his care that she was too gorgeous for the job you were clearly qualified for.Â
âSĂ, coño,â He fixed his glasses, crooked on his broad nose. He stood up from his desk and grabbed his lab coat, swirling it around his broad shoulders. If he wasnât mistaken, you tracked the movement with your eyes. âDo you want a cafecito? MissâŠâ
You told him your name. He mulled it over on his tongue, lathing it in a gentle acknowledgment. Cemented it in a place he wouldn't forget. You tinked your head to the side, your lashes fluttering when he cleared his throat. Great, just shocking--Â
âAfter you,â he headed for the door. He held it open for you, plastering his back to the wood. It didn't matter. You slid by closer than heâd prefer, your hand catching on his belt buckle with muttered apologies. This wasnât going to end well.Â
Cafecito is an excellent excuse to pull his dumbass together.Â
It also calms his nerves, centers his mind, and allows him to compartmentalize. Whether or not you could hold your own wasnât his issue, his issue was the necessity of someone he could trust. Ugly, beautiful-- so long as they were efficient, Miguel would make due. The cafeteria was a large and clean space. The many tables were crowded with wrap-around stations for poorly crafted, misery-inducing meals. Miguel paid and took a seat at a creaky table. One where he could see the door open, shut, and keep an eye on the comings and goings of meager scientists and annoying managers.Â
âYouâll be working with me.âÂ
You pursed your lips around the warm cup of coffee, taking a ginger sip. He noted your lipstick stain that remained as you pushed the cup toward the middle of the table you shared with him. This damn suit vest was stifling. He gave you a long, slow look, tilting his head to the fact that youâd not drunk anything. Itâd be rude to acknowledge.
âDelgado told me,â you smiled warmly. âHe said youâre a genius. I donât know that I believe in geniuses.âÂ
Hmph. Delgado, things fell into place. That sycophant knew what he liked. He also knew that Miguel was better than him, always was, and always would be. Miguel offered you a slick smile, convinced he could assure you otherwise if he needed to. âDelgado says a lot of things. Iâm surprised he gave you to me.â
âWhy is that, OâHara?â the way his name slipped off your tongue was a hot sin. If only he believed in a god. His eyelids shifted over his eyes, heavy-lidded and dark.
âYouâre beautiful. He likes to collect beautiful things,â Miguel tried, curious. Your nails clicked in succession over the table. A repetitive click, click, click. He would be annoyed too if he were no more than a ploy. A distraction. Miguel wasnât sure that it wasnât working. His eyes flickered down, catching one of your palms curling into a tight fist, tension rolling through your fingers and up your arms. âHe knows I do too.âÂ
You leaned in, close enough that he could spot the unique freckles spread out in a crescent moon beneath a layer of makeup on your face. Beautiful. âIâm not here to belong to you, OâHara. I hope you know that.âÂ
He was off to a great, fantastic start.
 âUnderstood.â Miguel leaned back in his chair, a smirk creeping up his lips. Or, believe that you believed that. You spared him any more mincing comments. Appeased by his suggestion, you brought your drink back to your lips.
âGood. What are we sequencing?âÂ
âMe.âÂ
You swallowed. âYou? You canât be--âÂ
Mhm, he stared, lips pressed tightly together. âYouâll code my DNA. Then weâll splice it.âÂ
"With what?"
"You'll see."
âIs this your little,â you swirled your finger in a circle. âPet project?âÂ
Unfortunately not, he would have liked to say. That information was confidential, and though you worked on the project, there were levels to his willingness to involve you in the delicate flow of workplace politics. Still, you might make a healthy distraction from his work. Miguel took a swig of his cafecito, boring into the black substance.
âSomething like that.âÂ
Having a pretty assistant means things donât always get done according to schedule. Not quickly enough, not by far. There is a time limit to everything at Alchemax. The quicker, the better. Thus this project demanded more hours of his time. The project was spliced between the work required of him by superiors and you, your quirks, and your preferences.Â
Miguel has learned a great many things about you in a short amount of time. You donât appreciate misplaced pet names. You actually canât handle coffee because of the caffeine or the sugar. He also learns things about himself. How little he likes when Delgado comes to check on progress because he isnât actually checking on shit. He's checking you out.Â
He likes to weasel his nasty fingers around the door, peering in to try and find out what specimen heâs actually working on. Miguel was much too smart for that. His beady eyes caught Miguel over your shoulder, mumbling up to him about a new finding in tests you ran earlier that day. Your face mask twirled around your index finger, finally free and at a documentation workspace.  Funny, because he clearly redacts information from your well-recorded notes on the daily. You refuse to include less.
âHey Mike,â he said. âHow are things⊠Oh hey, you. You settling in, honey? Mike treating you ok? I can discipline him for you.â
âAs if you could,â Miguel huffed.Â
But Delgado spying on you, the way you record progress by pouting out your lips, shifting between paper and your lab reports, was intolerable. Because... well, he has sensitive information on there. Your nose scrunches in distaste, but you bow your head just slightly as a hello. He might be his supervisor, but Miguel doesnât need one to know why this asshole is in his lab turning his smarmy brown eyes over the way you sit: one leg over the other. You seem to realize it too, trailing your eyes over his gaudy suit to Miguelâs sinewy hand on your shoulder.Â
âStop being a creep,â Miguel complained, âShe has actual work to do.â
âActual work? As opposed to--â
âYes, what you do.â Miguel spat out. You eschewed a giggle, turning your face over a pristine white lab jacket that thankfully, you had no qualms in wearing. Otherwise, he might not finish any work in the lab at all.Â
âI supervise--
âYouâre still talking but weâre not listening,â Miguel waved him off, plucking up papers by your side. Your eyes snap up to Miguelâs deep chocolate eyes hidden behind the thin frame of his metal glasses, waiting for a proper response. âGoodbye, Aaron.â
Miguel walks to the door, locks it with a click, and returns to your side. You glance at his white lab coat, fluttering around his tapered waist. He loves the way your eyes look at him with a soft, inviting expression, beseeching him to come to sit by your side as he always did. âNot a fan of Delgado, I take it.âÂ
âAre you?â Miguel sits with his legs spread, his fingers threading through his thick brown hair. You set your papers down, swiveled toward him. The wheels of your rolling chair squeak on either side of his thick, black boots. His eye catches your thick thighs, squashed between your midi skirt, its atrocious slip causing him discomfort. His hand leaves his thick hair, dropping in unison side by side.Â
âI canât stand being called honey, Mike.âÂ
âShut up.â
The days proceed similarly. Days filled with brushing past him as he slides in samples and reagents. He might lose a sample, clattering on the floor, and you always rush to help him clean up. Lunch together, because no matter how late he eats, youâre there beside him. Then as night falls, you stay until he has finished whatever he needs to do.
âTime to eat something,â you slipped into his office. The clock ticked past midnight. Miguel flicked through handwritten pages of information that did not need to be recorded in computer files. You watched his eyes scan over the ink on the page, acknowledging you with a grumpy grunt. Not now, not when he was so close to finishing the last section of the project.
âEmpanada,â you turned his palm over, placing the flaky pastry in his hand. Caramelized apple. He loved a good apple empanada. He watched as you walked over to the coffee maker, drawing him a warm cafecito just how he liked it. Miguel dropped his pen, stretching out his aching spine.Â
âGracias. From where?âÂ
âI made them,â you set down the cup a little harder than intended. The surface rippled, throwing hot coffee drips onto his pages. His eyes flickered up from the pages to your eyes. Without thinking, he blathers:
âThat so?â A pause. âDonât you have a man?âÂ
âMiguel. With this sequencing project, youâre the only man in my life. Shut up and eat the empanada.âÂ
âHuh. Good. I like that.â He swallowed the empanada with a bob of his head, his tongue lathing over his teeth for any more of the sweet sugar. He stood up, finding your expression soft, drawn out by a sense of longing that he couldnât imagine he saw. Â
âYou like my sad love life?âÂ
Yes.
âNo, we have a company event. A ball,â Miguel chided, his tone gentling as he slipped away from his desk, abandoning his steamy coffee on his desk. He backed out of the doorway, âItâs all Stoneâs politics. You know how these things are. I have to go. Come with me.âÂ
âIs that a request or an order?âÂ
âA date.âÂ
Iâd love to. Your words were the only thing that made tonight bearable. Slinking his tanned skin into a dark blue suit that cinched everything too tight was⊠unbearable. It clung to his skin like a second skin and choked off his air. But it might be worth it to see your face-- just maybe. He tracked the fluttering tails of fish behind bulletproof glass, following them as they fluttered away into their rock. He wished he could too.Â
âMiguel?âÂ
âYouâre here,â he turned around, dropping the champagne he idly held in his hand. It went forgotten by his boot as you called his name again. His gaze fixed on yours, the slinky navy blue dress caused his heart to thrum through his chest, chasing the sight of your body at his feet, picking shards of glass up with the aid of a worker, apologizing profusely for the mess. A soft puff of breath slipped from his lips as you stood back up, gripping your purse a little harder in your hands. He ran his hand over his jaw, drawing himself back to his senses.
âMiggy,â he husked out. âCall me Miggy.âÂ
âYou look handsome, Miggy,â his name felt unreal on your lips until he felt the pressure on his elbow. Your soft hands slunk around his, cradling him for some security in the face of the large doors. He shook himself back to his senses. Right, there was a reason he was here. âBut shouldnât we go?âÂ
He should have-- but did he want to? No, not really. He didnât want to see Stoneâs greasy face, let Aaron take a peek at how you looked dolled up, or any of the rest of these fuckers. What he wanted was something else entirely.Â
âListen.â Miguel stopped, his other hand coming to the jeweled bracelet on your wrist. The doors to the ballroom lapsed, groups of older men filtering in and out with their pieces of the night: doting wives, longing husbands, and partners that their wives or husbands probably didnât know about. âDonât wander off from me. Theyâre all snakes. All of them.âÂ
âEven you?âÂ
âHermosa,â you didnât leer at him. âIâm the least of your worries.âÂ
He wasnât wrong. The ballroom was dolled up in lush fabrics, fine china, and a copious amount of food as it was every year. Miguel found the attempt to distract from what really went on behind closed doors at Alchemax a bit cloying. This year the music was at least tolerable. It filtered out into the ballroom in a syrupy melodies driven on by the soft, promises of rich men for the exchange of sex. For much of the night, he could stomach the various men poking and prodding at him about his impending research. So long as you were here.
âMiggy,â you breathed, a hot puff of air against his ear. He leaned down, his hand atop of yours. âWill you dance with me?âÂ
Dance? Miguel had two left feet-- itâs why he was a geneticist. For all the work you did on his behalf in the lab, including this very night, he owed you the benefit of whatever you wanted. He searched out a quiet area, one where the only disruption could be the stream of moonlight in through a window. You preferred it over the wall of vivacious men and over-powdered women. He preferred it over the atrocity of his footwork.
âItâs not much of a date,â Miguelâs hand slid around yours. He encompassed your small palm with his large hand, the other gliding across the soft, exposed skin of your back. You swayed with him, side to side. He was an awful dancer, but there was something endearing about that. He saw it in your eyes, the glimmer of curiosity, gliding your dark heels against the inside of his foot. Damn, he still sucked.
âNo,â you agreed, shifting to take the lead. He followed your steps. Right, back, left, up. Maybe he stepped on your long dress once or twice, too. Shock, he cursed again, stepping over your foot.
âYouâre remarkably bad at this.â You settled your head on his chest, letting your box steps fade into little more than the shifting of your hips.Â
âI know. Letâs just-- sway?âÂ
âSwaying is good.â Â
âOâHara,â boomed Stone. But of courseâ peace couldnât last forever. Like a bullet through the chest, a voice caused him to turn in startle. His tan cheeks flushed with warmth, feeling cut off from the cover of others. He was dressed in the most gaudy of clothes that almost seemed to match the crooked expression on his pale face. No matter how many times he tried to fix it, it always looked⊠wrong.Â
Stoneâs hands came together, clapping multiple times to force the crowd of politicians, scientists, and bought-in participants to fade away. His voice caused Miguel to growl, a low rumbly noise that you soothed with your breasts pushing gingerly against his arm. He could do it. He could handle this pompous little shit-- âAnd who is this beauty? A new girlfriend, perhaps? Fiance? OâHara could do with a wife. Settle him down, yâknow.â
Miguel huffed out of his nostrils. âThis is my lab partner,â he cleared his throat, leaning forward. âFor⊠the project.â
âHer? A lab partner? Ha!âÂ
Shock. He didnât have to look at you to know you were insulted. Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing out the tension as you smiled through the interaction, taking over for Miguel. âWe have measurable results.âÂ
âThatâs what I like to hear, sweet thing. Now, Miguel, Aaron has found a test subjectâŠâ
âIâll interview them.âÂ
âNo need! I--âÂ
âExcuse me, Mr. Stone. Iâll let you two talk,â you slipped away, your heels clicking off into the busy crowd. Stone was talking. Miguel knew he should listen closely. His half-formed plan to see what the future held for his research was wafting into the air, wisps of it in his ear. Tomorrow-- test-- can you? Panic blinded his senses. He could find you nowhere in the room, and even if he did, would he be too late?Â
âYeah, yeah, thatâs fine, itâs⊠excuse me.âÂ
The issue with falling for someone was the scythe of his fear. His position was inherently risky. No matter how many groups of people he cut through trying to find you, you werenât there. No tiny little appetizers of shrimp on half a skewer. No booze, because your head would swim. Not near the bathrooms, either. He rushed down the steps when he found you, just before the large iron gates, staring up at the stars peppering the sky.Â
At your feet, Aaron. His drunken fingers trying and failing to guide the strap off of your ankle. You, of course, sat there staring dumbly down at his failed attempts to do something as simple as fix your damn heel.
âIâll take it from here.â Miguel booted Aaron out of the way. Who, with his sloppy sloshed curses, tried to win a fight with him. He eventually won out. Aaron slunk away, somewhere up the steps. Miguel wasnât counting. âYou didnât listen.âÂ
âHm?âÂ
Miguel loosened both straps, sliding his open palm under your foot for one then the other. You gazed at him, sliding the black heels off your feet, tutting his tongue at the blistered back of your feet.Â
âI told you not to wander off.âÂ
âI just wanted to see the stars. Besides, it was just Aaron.âÂ
âItâs never just Aaron. Itâs Aaron and Stone.â Miguelâs eyebrows pushed against one another, recording your failure to listen. You crossed one leg over the other, sliding your toes over his silk tie, kept beneath a vest. He knelt before you, searching your eyes for the right answer. âYou donât know⊠what youâre getting into. Iâm trying to keep you safe.âÂ
 âI donât need you to. I can take care of myself, Miguel. Please donât--â you sighed. âDonât be like them.âÂ
He knew what you meant. Like Aaron, peeling off your shoes at the sign of discomfort because you were a pretty woman. Or Stone, who couldnât comprehend your value as a scientist. Those who doubted you because of your color, gender, or a mixture of the two. His mouth twisted in frustration. He was in deep. Whatever you desired, he wanted to give. It came at a price.
âAre you mine,â the words came out stiff, âor theirs?âÂ
âMiggy,â you turned the word over on your tongue, willing him to stand down. His dark eyes settled on yours, unmoving. âWhy do I have to pick?âÂ
âYou canât have both. Youâll have to choose. One day.âÂ
Your mind worked. He knew from the way you pursed your lip out, then in, puncturing its pillowy surface with your teeth. You shifted your gaze to the water, the stream coursing down the unfeeling stone. Miguel's fingers ran across your inner thigh, causing you to gaze down at him. The steps of others on the other side of the fountain, fading into the depths of the night caused you to break his gaze. Miguel offered you his hand, fitting the shoes under his other arm as he walked toward the valet. You took his hand and interlaced your fingers.
âDo you trust me?âÂ
âOf course,â you said, though the words felt thready and thin, nary a whisper. Something in the undercurrent of your voice concerned him. A thread that needed to be snipped, convinced of the vileness of the city-- of who you worked for.Â
He doesnât make mistakes.Â
But he left the project code on his desk. It should have been there, yet, the corpse of a decrepit, awful creature withered on the lab floor proved otherwise. Someone had taken it because he was distracted. As a result, someone lost their life... even if it was Stone's doing.
Now, scouring through his papers, his hands tremored like a common drug addict. He supposed he was one, a druggie, tremoring like a shot hungry, Rapture crazed--Â
âMiggy?âÂ
He snapped around. His gaze melded your figure into one beautiful blurb, even with the glasses on his broad nose. It was your voice, coded in something close to concern. Miguel ran his hands through his hair, long strands falling messily over his eyes and cheekbones. He flattened his hands out atop his head.
âWhat are you looking for?âÂ
âThe notes,â he weathered a breath. He doddered about the room, throwing a stack of paper onto the floor. They crumpled over the floor, mixed projects, notes on the specimen, but none were his. âWhere are my notes?âÂ
âYouâre sick,â your voice broke gently, as if speaking them alone helped. A horrid crack of laughter slipped from his throat, drawing into a long lament as he repeated the words after you. Sick, you said, he was sick. If being sick was the least of his issues, he would have been a happy man. Your steps rang into his ear, heavier than before, painful and loud. He crumpled onto the couch in his office, his hands cupping them. Your soft hands coursed over his chest, unbuttoning his starched button-up and sliding it down his muscular upper arms. âThis might hurt.âÂ
No kidding, needles always hurt. But the instantaneous relief that flooded his system overrode the momentary pain. As your fuzzy figure came into focus, he recognized the drug that you set aside.Â
âYou didnât--âÂ
âYou were right, Miggy, about the-- Mr. Sims.â Miguel gazed at you, leafing through novels of notes with trembling hands. He cursed himself for subjecting you to seeing that. Not quite human, not quite... The twisted look on the poor manâs face. What months of research with one another had offered. He would fix it. He knew the research was on point. It was the application that was lacking.
âI have a copy of your notes,â you murmured as if someone could hear. They likely could. âÂżAy, puñeta, dĂłnde estĂĄ? Ah! Here, here it is. Your⊠profile.âÂ
âYou kept it,â he glanced down at the hastily scribbled note attached to the clip. âMiguelâs profileâ alongside a soft pink heart. He stopped your hands from thumbing through another leaflet. His eyes traced the dry ink of the heart. His thumb moved to stroke it, catching the sight of bubbling tears welling over in your eyes out of the corner of his eye. The tears slid down your full cheeks, triggering his discomfort to well up in his stomach. Miguel shifted closer, flicking fat droplets off your slight jaw.
âHermosa,â Miguel shifted his head, cocking his eyebrow. âÂżQue te pasa?â
âI should have listened to you Miggy,â you began, inhaling air forcefully through your nostrils. Breathe, you murmured. Miguel's soft hand cupped the back of your neck like a collar. You were happy to be collared by his hand, it felt safe.Â
His eyes narrowed, thumb caressing the loose strands of hair at your nape. âYou should have. You know I'll take care of you."
You nodded.
"You have to be fully dedicated to me.âÂ
âI am.âÂ
âShow me.â You fluttered your eyes, the gears of your mind working to understand what he meant. His hand fell away to trace the bow of your black blouse. He tugged on the knot, slipping the bow loose and running his fingers over your exposed cleavage below. âTake off the blouse.âÂ
Was it necessary? Some might have said no-- but sex, in its connective nature-- was the ultimate dedication. At the end of it all, that's what he craved: your eyes, your actions, all born with him in mind. With trembling fingers, you untucked your shirt from your black slacks. Miguel sat back, tracking the soft lace of your balconette bra teasing his eye. You loitered for a minute too long, enough for him to lift his thick eyebrow.
âDonât stop now,â he said. Your knees knocked together, slipping the shirt over and off your torso before draping it on the arm of his couch. Your bra followed quickly after, slipping out of the twisted straps. You skimmed your hands over your breasts, holding them for comfort.
"No." Miguel flicked his fingers, motioning for your hands to move from your thick nipples. You pushed your breasts together, allowing him to marvel at them a second longer. âQue maravilla... You have no idea how long Iâve waited. Go on, take off the rest now.âÂ
You suckled in breath, sliding the button of your pants loose. Then the zipper, its cloth scratching your thighs on its way to pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them, joining them too with your shirt. Miguel sat up, running his calloused fingers over the side of your hip and waist. His thumbs hooked in your panties, drawing them down over your pussy, a moist spot on your panties connecting a small string of wetness to your pussy. His palm slid between your thighs, pinned by your thighs pressed together, whether out of an innate need for more pressure or shyness to show him how wet you were. Hm. Miguel melded your ass, striking your skin with his large palm, it jiggled.
âMiggy,â you breathed, shy and intimidated. âI have to tell you somethingâŠâÂ
âLay down,â he told you.Â
âBut Miggy, what if someoneâŠâ Your eyes darted away from his, chewing on his cheek as you slid back down beside him. You settled on the couch, your legs thrown over his thighs. The couch was stiff, hard against your neck. You stole a haughty glimpse at his face, focused entirely on coursing his palms over your calves and thighs, then back down to your slight toes. He ground your feet over his stiff cock, obscured by the fabric of his slacks. He felt big-- bigger than you could have imagined from the look on your face.Â
âÂĄBasta!â Miguel growled, âNo one is going to come in. Let me see you.âÂ
You flushed.Â
âYou want me toâŠâ you glanced down, your curls were soft to the touch.Â
âTouch yourself for me.âÂ
With your heart strumming in your chest, you shifted your hand down, spreading your lips, soft and wet. You were so wonderfully shy to follow his orders, the pads of your fingers rubbing along your outer lips, massaging them warm and swollen. You buried your eyes into your other arm, dragging up and down, over and over. A delightful sigh greeted his ear, ensuring that though you were too embarrassed to look at him, you loved it. He allowed it for now-- because he was a gracious, forgiving man.Â
âShock,â Miguel shuffled at the button and zipper of his pants, freeing himself from his slacks. He spat into his palm, stroking over his fleshy length, squishing his cock against your foot. Your toes curled over his cockhead, engrossed in Miguelâs rumbling pants, the soft pleasure that bloomed from his chest. Your eyes trained on his lips, the slight breath suckled between his teeth. Your fingers glazed over your stiff clit, pausing as though you needed his permission, just how he wanted it. Your sweet submission.Â
His eyebrow perked. âYou can touch it.âÂ
âOh,â you glanced down, tracing the way Miguel fisted himself, swirling up to his cockhead, along fat veins and the bubble of salty fluid on his tip. His permission seemed to spur something else in you, flicking your swollen clit to the sound of his pleasured growling, your own pleasure growing in tandem with his.Â
âÂĄYa!â he annunciated, watching as you failed to stop. All at once he stopped his ministrations. A sigh escaped his chest as he pushed himself up, smacking your hand away from your puffy cunt. His cock bobbed between your bodies. You wanted to touch it, but couldnât.
"Wait," you cried out. His cock twitched as he lowered his hips down, drawing sweet lubricant on his cock, stroking your pussy. He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a warm kiss. He dipped his hand down, his cockhead prodding and poking, dipping lower with the aid of his hand.Â
âMiggyIâmavirgin,â you said all at once, his cockhead nudged against your entrance. Miguelâs head about snapped as he looked up, eyes popped wide open in disbelief. Before he could quite form a coherent thought, your hands shot out to grip his suit vest, stopping him where he was.
âÂżQuĂ© dejiste? Say that again?âÂ
âI havenât⊠I haven't had sex,â you murmured. He hadnât put it together. Your shyness, the awkward way you shuffled around, loosening your bra and hiding your perfect breasts from his eyes. The words were finally out in the open but didn't register.
"A..." Miguel fisted his cock, once, then twice, shifting back to kneel before you. Your eyes fell on his muscular thighs, the way his hand fisted his dick. âYouâre a virgin?â
âIâm too old for this,â you mumbled, hiding your eyes with your palms. Miguel shifted to cast aside your hands from your eyes, his muscular body caging you underneath, looking for an explanation. âI just. Between school, work, I never had time.âÂ
Not that he was complaining.
"No boyfriend?"
You shook your head. He couldn't believe his luck. Not only were you gorgeous, but you were untouched. His, completely and fully. He liked it better that way-- to be the first memory smeared in your head. So that when you looked back on this moment, right now, it would forever be marked by his face.
"It's mine," he blurted out all at once. "I want your first to be mine."
His hand dropped down to your cunt. The pad of his middle finger worked at your entrance as though he were exploring the truth of your statement, stretching you with the aid of his fingers. You were tight, it had to be true.
You nodded, face buried deep in your arm. It didnât take but moments for him to draw his hand back, suckling the lubricant from his fingertips. You distantly registered his words, âDamn it, you... you don't know what you do to me.âÂ
Before you could say a word more, Miguel positioned the head of his dick against your slippery virgin hole. You clenched, glancing down between your bodies again, as you had a dozen times, anxiously waiting. Miguel hushed you, the repetitive shushing of his lips soothing you into complacency, forcing your muscles to relax. âIt might hurt. But the pain wonât last,â he assured you.
He rolled his hips forward. His sharp exhale shook with every centimeter that gave way. Your walls were forced apart, suffocating you on the shock of adjusting to having someone, no not someone, Miguel-- your Miguel, sinking into your tense body. He throbbed, twitching in your body. His hands fisted in the aged couch, catching the breath in his chest.Â
âAy, Miggy,â your nails dug into his shirt, loose around his firm muscles. âMiggy, no puedo,âÂ
âYou can, youâre so good, eres tan buena,â Miguel swept your lips between his, taking the moment of your surprise to bury himself further, swallowed by your cunt that resisted his intrusion. Your lips fluttered in the kiss, keened out a cry. The pain of his dick, forcing its way through your passage is quelled by the knowledge that heâs here, with you, his girth forcing you apart, stretching you apart, seating himself flush against your womb. His voice was caramelized, sugared over, and so good. âLook at how well youâre taking me already.âÂ
âCoño, thatâs a tight pussy,â He slid his hips back, the warm sensation of his withdrawal pulling free before shoving back in, a cry shoving forth from your lips, filling his office and the connected lab with your cries. He might have heard someone draw the door open, his hips driving back in, centered on the magnificent groans that stuttered free from your chest with Miguelâs careful thrusts. You keened his name, a repetitious Miggy, Miggy, Miggy-- it was Aaron, probably. He recognized the way his feet drug on the floor.Â
He hoped he didnât just hear it. He hoped he saw it too, the way his balls slapped against your ass, the mess of blood soaking the already unhygienic couch, the way his cock pulsed. You were blissed out, so full and well of him like no one else ever had-- because you were his, and his alone. It wasnât just sex. It was more than that. From Aaron, whose shuffled steps fell out of his office, to any other little bitch in the office who had their own gain.Â
âDamn,â Miguel shifted back, hooking his hand around your thigh to drag you back onto his dick. He swirled his thumb against your stiff clit, whirling it around in one circle, then another, and by the third your knees knocked together, bearing down on his cock to hold him still. âI canât--â you stuttered out, I canât--âÂ
âYouâre going to,â he hissed. âYouâre going to cum right here, right now, split open on my dick.âÂ
With another circle, you croaked an ugly cry, a terrible, ugly cry that Miguel couldnât find any more beautiful as your body buzzed around him, tightening and squeezing your already tight cunt around him. Blissful pleasure radiated there, riding his dick for the friction against your virgin walls, your thoughts fading into a realm of insistent pleasure, where thoughts were space mush.
Miguel withstood the pressure on his cock, clamping his hand down on your hip. His thrusts stuttered, filling your belly with whip after whip with his full hot cum. Your body twitched in the throes of his orgasm. He tracked his eyes down to your body, withdrawing with a bubbly pop of his dick from your abused hole, the intermingling of cum and virginal blood dribbling down your cheeks.Â
Your gaze tracked Miguel, pressing his lips toward yours one more time. You shifted on the couch, legs pathetically tremoring. Miguel chuckled and walked toward his electric kettle, papers crunching underneath his feet, âDonât bother moving. Not that you could, anyway.â
He warmed a warm cloth with hot water, testing its temperature on his palm before sitting beside your crumpled legs, spreading your legs to clean his mess and sooth the abrasive way he took you. He spread your lips, ensuring you were clean before he would flip the cloth, dropping it on top of your vulva.Â
âYou know youâre mine,â he asked, though it came out as a statement. With another cloth, Miguel cleaned his soft cock of the mess, exhaustion of the sex and what was to come returning to his gentle, deep voice.Â
âSĂ,â you answered.Â
âAnd youâd do anything for me. Only me.âÂ
The words were laced with something more than a suggestion, but an affirmation of your loyalty. Your love. You pushed yourself up, hanging off his arm after he tucked himself into his pants. âPara siempre.âÂ
He leaned down, plucking the bundle with his sequenced DNA information. Your eyes coursed the information on the page, darting up to his tired eyes. You wanted to ask why or what he knew. Miguel knew it didn't matter. You were his now, from the top of your head to the bottom of your gorgeous toes. You trusted him fully. As you should. With the empty vial of Rapture sitting beside him, forgotten, he spared you a mincing smile that didnât quite meet his eyes.Â
âGood. Let's fix our project.âÂ
#miguel ohara oneshot#miguel o'hara oneshot#miguel o'hara x you#miguel x reader#miguel ohara x reader#spider 2099 imagine#across the spiderverse imagine#atsv imagines#atsv imagine#spider 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara/reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara smut
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lando request where their super flirty around each other but always say theyâreâjust friendsâ even tho they hook up on the dl and everyone always speculates if thereâs something going w
just friends
LN4 x reader | blurb
tysm for the request!! <3 enjoyed writing this one hehe
warnings: minors dni! suggestive content, language, fluff, lando being a little shit, alex and george appearance
âyou need to fix your hair.â you teased, smoothing out your skirt, reaching around for your shirt.
âyou need to fix your hair.â lando replied, sticking his tongue out at you. you just rolled your eyes in response.
âcanât believe you left a mark.â you whined, scanning yourself in the mirror and frowning at the purple splodge on your neck.
âwhoops.â was all lando said in response.
âiâm serious! that is our only rule. iâve got nothing to cover this now.â you huffed, trying to readjust your hair and your top to cover the mark.
he came up behind you, not missing the way your eyes fluttered shut in the mirror, just for a second, when he grabbed at your hips and dipped his head to rest in the crook of your neck.
âcouldnât help it, donât like the way some of the other drivers look at you.â he murmured into your ear, nice and low, sealing his words with a light kiss against the bruise heâd left not ten minutes earlier.
you didnât let him get too comfortable, elbowing him in the ribs and squirming out of his hold to finish making yourself decent.
âyouâre being so mean to me today,â lando pouted. âi thought we were friends.â he teased, hand over his heart as though youâd wounded him.
âdoes this look friendly to you?â you deadpanned, scowling at him as you pointed at the glaring mark on your neck.
all lando did was blow you a kiss in response, and you couldnât help but smile.
-
you managed to escape the motorhome unscathed, nonchalantly moving through the paddock side by side. he was making his way to the garage to hop in the car, qualifying about half an hour away, and you were on your way to cheer him on, tucked away in the garage like the good, supportive best friend that you were.
youâd gotten quite good at sneaking around the paddock, disappearing off together under the guise of close friendship, and returning a bit more disheveled and a lot more smiley. it was going swimmingly, and no one seemed to know a thing about how lando always found an opportunity to bend you over the nearest surface.
but thatâs when it all went sideways.
you heard a voice call out landoâs name, followed by yours and you both stopped, waiting for the owner of the voice to catch you up.
âwhere did i see you two sneak off to earlier?â george stood before you, alex in tow.
âwe were in the motorhome, mate.â lando replied, face neutral for a change.
âdoing what?â alex teased, eyebrows jumping suggestively.
you opened your mouth to answer, but were stopped in your tracks by georgeâs elbow meeting alexâs ribs, as the mercedes driverâs jaw dropped. he knew. heâd seen it.
alex quickly clocked on and the tall men were laughing like school boys, tripping over eachother as they did.
âwe fucking knew it.â alex tipped his thick neck back. âcharles and pierre owe us two fifty each.â
you just avoided eye contact with both of them, while lando looked to the heavens and scratched his head awkwardly.
lando turned towards you slowly, coming face to face with your show stopping glare.
âthis doesnât mean we have to stop, right?â
you walked around him, rolling your eyes, the blush on your cheeks ferrari read as you stomped all the way to the garage.
âright?â lando called from behind you, jogging to catch you up.
âdonât push your luck, norris.â
lando wasnât even remotely worried, knowing that whatever this was, this thing between you both was far from over. his confidence was reaffirmed when he looked up from the cockpit and just about managed to catch the kiss you blew him.
#lando norris#lando norris fic#lando norris blurb#lando norris drabble#lando norris smut#lando norris fluff#f1 fic#f1 smut#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 drabble#ask#anon#request#writing things#drabble#blurb
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You and EJ have a daughter...
Trigger warnings: pregnancy, c-section, mentions of sex
Sorry this is reeeeaaaally long
AFAB Reader
Hes honestly probably the best dad out of them all
The entire pregnancy he was worried, hes a demon, or at least partially, honestly he had to consult Slender to make sure youd even survive
The faceless man reassured him that you should be fine
To be honest Jack knew you were pregnant before you knew, he could smell something off about you
He just didnt know what it was till you announced your pregnancy to him
You did it in such a cute way too đ„ș you bought a little black hoodie and a card that said "what is a dad" on the front. On the inside it said "you. You is a dad"
He threw his mask so fast and picked you up, spinning you in a hug. He was crying
He never thought he would see this day
The amount of research he does is absolutely insane
Jack has a primal instinct over you, protective, and dare i say sexual
We all know he has a breeding kink
He gets so horny even thinking about you being pregnant
Your pregnancy goes decently smooth, mild morning sickness, not really any mood swings
Until the 3rd trimester, that was hell, on both you and Jack
You were in a lot of pain. It was normal pain, hips, muscles, back, breasts, all achy.
Jack only got more nervous as the pregnancy progressed, not so much about your health anymore but more so for after the birth
Now unfortunately he isnt home when you go into labor
He was out getting food for himself, knowing he wouldnt want to leave you and the baby for a while, he even got a deep freezer for it
Thankfully Jack has a cell phone in case of emergencies, Jeff called him frantically
He rushed to the mansion so fast he almost forgot his duffle bag, by the time he got there you were in a hospital gown in the infirmary with Dr. Smiley
A device that tracks your contractions was on your belly, Dr. Smiley informed Jack you were 6 centimeters, not ready to push
Almost immediately after that your water broke, labor got more painful almost instantly, and Dr. Smiley put in an epidural and catheter, Jack holding you still while it happened
You and Jack waited patiently for it to be time. But it never came
It had been hours, you only made it to 7 centimeters, Dr. Smiley informed you both that you had gained an infection from your amniotic fluid, it had spread to the baby and that he needed to do an emergency c-section right that second
Jack feared the worst, that it was his fault, because the baby was half demon
Once you said yes, within minutes you were on an operating table, Jack was scrubbed up, along with Dr. Smiley and Nurse Ann
You were numb from the waist down, all you felt was tugging and pulling while Jack held your hand, his mask was off
Within minutes your daughter was born, she looked beautiful
Dr. Smiley handed her to Jack after the cord was cut and she was cleaned, who was crying again, he looked at her with the most love you've ever seen
You started to cry seeing her, her skin was (s/c) with a hint of her father's grey tone, she had a full head of Jack's hair, though unlike her father she did have eyes, and they were (e/c)
After you were sewn up, you were transferred back into a hospital bed, still a little numb
Jack had helped you scoot so he can sit next to you, holding your newborn baby girl
Let me know if you want a part 2! Also give this little girl a name in the comments <3
#creepypasta#creepypasta proxy#eyeless jack#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta x reader#eyeless jack x reader#jeff the killer#eyeless jack x pregnant reader#ej x reader
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|| welcome fellow Ghoul fuckers ily
|| notes: sequel to [this], got nothin' to really say beyond reader and Cooper make the most fucked up implied pseudo parents for Lucy lmao, Canon somewhat compliant, post s1, gonna have to wait for the prequel meeting dic to know why reader knows Coop's whole name
|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, Canon typical gore/violence, something something save a horse ride a cowboy, NSFW ă
Ą fingering, edging (i had to take a lap around my house), irradiated cream pie, unprotected sex (supposedly those swimmers are FRIED but I can dream),
The low croak of a crow echoes over the barren stretch of sunbaked, irradiated earth ă
Ą and the creature itself lands on the bent, rusted post of a long gone sign. Tilts its head this way and that, blinks liquid black eyes ă
Ą three of them. Then squawks indignantly when a bullet narrowly misses it, jet black wings flaring as it takes to the sky to complain in that low, creaking voice.
"Get lost," you tell the bird, glancing at the way Dogmeat tracks the creature. Then she whines, licks at her muzzle like she wants to go catch and eat the damn thing.
"Don't even think about it, pup." You inform her, soothing the disappointment with rough scratches to her head that have her nudging for more before you walk away, sharp whistle summoning her to your side. You don't know why, but she's taken a shine to you over your companions, and you're not about to push her away.
The set up for tonight isn't far off, but it's the skitter of some other creature off in the distance paired with the ominous rumble from above that gets your attention ă
Ą and you click your tongue at the foreboding, electric green that rolls in the clouds, cracking with lightning. It isn't nightfall yet, but it's growing closer with that mess on the horizon.
There's a pitiful attempt at a fire being made by Lucy when you return, and she offers a smile that you echo briefly before moving to Cooper's side, nudging him with your boot. "Storm's rollin' in."
He grunts, tugs his hat from where he'd been shading his face ă
Ą pretending to sleep to ignore Lucy's still-attempting-to-be-friendly rambles, you suppose. "How far out?"
You shrug, slinging your pack back onto your shoulders. "About an hour, give or take."
Lucy flicks a confused look to both of you as Cooper gets to his feet as well, and her head tilts. "Why're we moving?"
You raise an eyebrow. "You want radiation sickness, vaultie?" It's worth it for the way she bristles, and you snicker. "Come on. There's something of a building not far from here."
You're kind enough to wait for her unlike Cooper, who heads off with Dogmeat while you trail with Lucy.
The building was probably an apartment complex at one point for the squared off, honeycomb like interior, the sections that remain halfway decent.
The presence of scattered, long empty supply packaging ranging from stimpacks to tins of cram says that you aren't the first to be here though, and you split off with Cooper to scout out the place, leaving Lucy with Dogmeat.
You're just as quick with tongue and trigger as Cooper ă
Ą Lucy has learned that the hard way over the last week or so. But there's still a softness to you that Lucy likes, gravitates towards ă
Ą and figure that Cooper likes it too, for the way she spots him watching you sometimes, pretends not to notice when he looks up and glares at her.
"Clear," you report, pulling her from her thoughts as you toss her a bedroll and a spare blanket. Where you got them, she doesn't know. And the dark stains of what absolutely is most likely blood tells her she doesn't want to know.
What she does know is that she's allowed what constitutes as a room to herself ă
Ą three walls and a roof that won't cave in are enough for her to take it without complaint. Dogmeat goes with her, and when she looks up, she knows why with the unspoken way you and Cooper split off for the same little room a couple broken spaces down from hers.
"Get some rest, Lucy," you tell her, offer a small smile that makes her beam as she settles down for the night, deciding that she is far, far better off not thinking about just how close you and Cooper actually are.
"Cute kid," you remark as you finally trail into the room after Cooper, earning an amused scoff.
"Fuckin' annoying is what she is," he grouses, and it's your turn to laugh as you shrug off your pack and kneel, digging for your own bedroll.
"Considering that's what you called me when we first metă
Ą"
"No, I called you an annoying bitch."
"Potayto, potahto." You tug the bedroll free and roll it out, blinking as Cooper settles himself over it with a groan and then a sigh. "Excuse me."
He peers up at you. "What now?"
"This is my bed." You snip, jerking a thumb over your shoulder. "Up, Cooper."
"Nah." He folds his arms behind his head. "You like the vaultie so much, go cuddle up with her."
You stare. "Cooper Howard," you say, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous of the kid." He's silent, and you raise an eyebrow. "Are you?"
"No." The words is sharp, and he lifts his head to eye you. "Don't need to be jealous when I know what's mine," he rasps, "now quit bitchin' and c'mere."
You don't know what it says that you do so without fuss, settling yourself to straddle his hips as he sits up, draping your arms over his shoulders.
"There," you snip, adjusting to flick at the rim of his hat. "Better?"
He watches you with eyes as dark as an oil spill, and you don't miss the flick to your mouth and back up. "Gettin' there."
You snort. "You know," you murmur, tone dropping lower, "if you wanted to kiss me, all you gotta do is ask."
He smirks, the flash of his teeth. "Where's the fun in that, sugar? I like the chase. Besides," he lowers his tone, leans in further, "you're the one bitchin' when we can share this sad excuse for a bed. And the way I see it, you're gettin' the better deal anyways."
You roll your eyes, act like you're annoyed ă
Ą but the way you don't tell him to shove it or get off of him speaks volumes enough.
Poetically, it starts raining just as you kiss him. The fingertip drum of it on the roof, sour-sweet smell of it that still reaches you because this isn't a real bedroom, just some shitty excuse for it. Doesn't matter, because this is far better than the kisses you've stolen over the last few days when you're absolutely certain Lucy isn't watching either of you.
Cooper seems to think so too for the way he deepens the kiss, cups your face as he nips at your lower lip and licks into your mouth when they part.
He squeezes at your hips, snakes his fingers back under your shirt, pinches and tugs and maps until you're squirming in his lap as he shoves your shirt off completely. He pulls, coaxes you into an arch that lets him mouth at your ribs, nip and sow sparks of pleasure in your veins as he leaves little patches of bruised pink skin in his wake.
He likes marking you, he realizes, the subtle claim without him having to say it. Mine.
He welcomes the grind of your hips against his, your body soft in all the ways that his isn't, filling in the cracks and rounding out all his sharp edges until he can't think of anything but getting his hands on you properly.
The pop of the button on your jeans is easy, the slip of his hand deliberate ă
Ą you're louder this time, covered by the storm above as you whine and moan and buck into his hand and the sinful, clever work of his fingers.
And then just as you're about to crest that wave of pleasure, he stops. Smirks at the way you glare, taps your nose with his other hand. "You know you don't get nothin' for free around here, sugar."
He's teasing though, pushes you back to work his belt open, pants down ă
Ą then dragging you back over him. Groans, tips his head back at the teasing glide of you before he's adjusting to line himself up and guiding you down.
The gasp he gets is music to his ears, nearly lost to the gutteral, hissed noise he makes himself at the tight, warm squeeze of you around his length. His eyes roll, and he bucks his hips up.
"C'mon sweet thing," he rasps, "don't make me do all the work. Ride for me."
The rhythm is stilted for the way he grips your hips anyways, reluctant to let you pull off of him too much ă
Ą but it still feels good. Your breath matches the staccato movement, hands splayed on his chest for balance and head thrown back, looking for all the world like some sort of dedication to a long gone diety that he'd gladly worship to the end.
And he does still, reverence to the way he touches, kisses, bites ă
Ą throbbing vitality in your veins calling to him, sweet siren song wrapped in those plush lips of yours. Soft skin squeezed under his fingers, forgiving for all the ways he can't be gentle, desperate as he is.
It's the throttled clamp of your warmth that says you're coming undone, gooey and wet and warm in all the right ways that has him clutching at you, cursing as his hips jerk and he fills you, mouthing at your pulse point as he does.
Heavy breathing sets the undertone of the roll of thunder outside crumbling walls, rapid beat of two hearts, and there's something dangerously soft, romantic in the way he lets you melt into him.
You drape over him, whisper soft kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his mouth until he kisses you back, slowly, selfishly, dangerously sweet.
"You," he tells you, "are absolutely no good for me." He slings an arm over your waist, softens the bite until it's nonexistent.
After all, what's one more vice?
ă
Ą
In the morning, the four of you leave ă
Ą there's a lot of ground to cover, after all. Lucy walks beside you, Dogmeat and Cooper just a few feet ahead.
"So," she begins conversationally, "what're those marks on your neck from?"
To your credit, you neither flinch nor blush, busy yourself with fussing with something at your hip. "Mosquitos."
Lucy hums. "That's funny, didn't realize mosquitos got so big. Best be careful then, huh?"
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after hours
after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction
for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
chapter one chapter two chapter three
chapter four | suede. stalking. silly.
his pov;
"Your wanted poster."
Those three words settled in my mind as I stared at the distraught girl in front of me, watching as she fumbled with her hands, a nervous exterior brushing over her. She seemed to be so horrified with the fact that I was once a pirate sought after by thousands- wanted dead or alive, though much preferred dead. Many still wanted me dead but due to my brilliant idea of hiding out here, the chance of anyone getting my bounty was thin. I, however, didn't see it being as much of a big deal as she deemed it so. The real issue I found was tucked away in one of the books within the nightstand which I was so fucking thankful she didn't find. I'd rather her not have been looking around but if she were to find one of the two? I was glad she found the poster.
I tossed another slice of apple into my mouth then set the knife down on the cutting board. I approached Y/N but instantly halted when I noticed how nervous and uneasy she was. "What's wrong?"
"H-How many people did you kill?" She asked, her voice shaking.
"Does that really matter?" I asked, waving my hands up in the air to hopefully exaggerate my point. "It was almost a year ago."
"That doesn't change the fact that it happened!"
"I know, I know." Despite her discomfort, I took a seat next to her anyway. She tightened her arms around herself, almost to make sure there was as much distance between us without her actually moving. Clenching my jaw, I patted my hands upon my thighs. "I know it's a terrible thing, and there's nothing I can do to change that. It's in the past and if I could go back and alter things, I would. Being a pirate was all I knew. My old friend was one, too. Then we separated onto different things and-"
"Did he kill people?"
"Lots of pirates kill people. It's part of the hype, ya know? It's very unlikely to raid another ship without there being any casualties. But I stopped because I got tired of it. I wanted something more."
"It's a pretty big bounty. I mean- come on, fifteen million berries?"
"Don't think about turning me in now," I chuckled, wanting to add a bit of lightheartedness to this unfortunate predicament.
"I'm not like that. I know I'm in need of money but-"
"I didn't mean it like that, Y/N, come on. Give me some slack."
"Well, why exactly did you stop? Did you lose the thrill of stealing from others? O-Or did you get bored of killing innocent people?"
I rolled my eyes, scoffing. "We've all done some shit we're ashamed of. We're humans. I did a lot of fucked up shit," I said as I pointed at myself. "But I changed that. I moved and let all that go. I left my crew, made someone else the captain, and abandoned ship. I left all of that shit behind and came here."
"But why?"
"If I say this, I'll probably make things worse but I don't want to lie anymore," I said as I laid back, folding my hands over my chest. I stared up at the ceiling. "You've obviously heard of the One Piece, right?"
"Of course."
"Well, I was one of those pirates absolutely obsessed with finding it. Fuck, I even dreamt about it. It was the only thing I truly desired in life. It was the only thing I thought about. Not riches, women, alcohol- just the One Piece. I was making somewhat decent progress but then I heard that a group of Straw Hats-" I grimaced at the thought. "-made off with the map which they stole from one of the Marine bases. I happened to track them down and I managed to steal the map from some kid named Monkey D. Luffy. But all good things must come to an end and I lost it. I was back to square one. And then I discovered his bounty was thirty million berries." I frowned then sat up, turning to face Y/N. "Can you believe that? Some newby pirate-wannabe received a bounty double my own! Seeing that brought me back to reality. So I dropped everything then came here."
"All because of him?"
I nodded my head. Just the thought of that kid irked me. There was no one, other than Shanks, who I despised more than my own self.
"So, yeah, I know what I did was fucked up. But there's a reason I'm here now. There's a reason I've given you so much. It's because I want to be a better person, maybe redeem myself for what I've done. And I can do that by helping you, by making your life a little less miserable."
"Do you pity me?" The girl asked, finally meeting my gaze.
"What?" I laughed, almost obnoxiously. "Of course not. If anything, I envy you."
"Me?" Y/N pointed at herself. "You envy me?"
"You have no bad conscience. You've done nothing wrong, you have nothing to make up for. You have a clean slate."
She shrugged, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "Thank you."
"So, uh, do you hate me now?" I asked, forcing a frown to mimic a pouting child. She giggled at this and shook her head. I sighed in relief, wiping 'sweat' from my forehead. "Thank god. I don't know what I'd do with myself if you hated me."
"I knew you were a pirate but it's still shocking to learn about your past. It'll take me a bit to get used to it but I don't hate you."
"So, we're good?" I extended my hand.
"We're good." She shook it.
I felt as if a huge relief was lifted off my shoulders. And as long as she stayed out of the nightstand, there would be no more issues. But if I hid the book, then I would be even more safe. I pondered the possibilities before I watched as she rose from the confines of the bed and approached the counter. My eyes trailed down. The backs of her thighs were exposed and the shorts clung to her ass so divinely. I bit my lip and crossed my leg over my lap.
"I appreciate everything you've done for me," She mumbled as she started to chew on an apple, then began to cut into an orange. "I do have a question for you, though."
"Go ahead, shoot." As soon as she turned around, my eyes met hers and I smiled.
"Are devil fruits real? Or is that just an old tale? I've never seen one up close and I heard they cost a fortune, even for just one alone."
"They're real," I said with a small laugh. "I would know, I've eaten one."
Y/N nearly jumped before she darted over toward me, her hands grabbing at my shoulders. She still had a slice of half-chewed apple in her mouth which made her struggle to properly speak. "WHAT? You- NO! You didn't?!" She let go of my arms and instead planted her hands on my chest, shoving me back. I collapsed back against the bed, laughing. "You ate one?!"
"Years ago, when I was fifteen."
"You're lying!"
"I'm not. It was a mistake actually."
"What happened?"
I chuckled and pushed myself back up. "Give me an orange and I'll tell you."
If my reflexes weren't so quick, the fruit would've hit me in the face with how quick she threw it. But I caught it and began to pick apart the peel. "Easy, next time," I smirked and took a bite from it. "Well, when I was younger and was a pirate-in-training, the crew I was in raided this ginormous ship and hit the motherload. Not only gold and jewels and anything you could think of, but there was also a devil fruit. I found out how much they were worth and tried to steal it but I was caught in a predicament and I tried to hide it in my mouth."
"And?"
"I swallowed it whole."
She gasped, "And you're alive?"
"It doesn't kill you. It just takes your ability to swim when you're in the ocean, in salt water. It's like the sea turned its back on you."
"Did you get a power from it?"
I shrugged and winked at her, taking another bite. I licked the juices from my hand. "Guess."
"You can fly?"
"Ha! Nope."
"Read minds?"
"It's body-altering."
"Wait," The lovely maiden smirked, taking a seat on the bed. "Did it give you that red nose?" She snickered.
"Guess again," I said flatly, my expression turning cold as I stared at her. She gulped, clenching her jaw. I laughed and looked down at my lap, now using one hand to hold the orange. I continued to chew on it. But while she was distracted with her numerous attempts to guess what kind of body-altering power I had, I detached my left hand at the wrist. It floated behind the both of us and tapped on her right shoulder. Y/N jumped up, her head shooting to look at her side. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows furrowed together before she spotted my floating hand waving at her. She gasped and slapped it away. I broke out into a fit of laughter, my hand reconnecting to my wrist. "Impressive, huh?"
"You- what?" She was still flabbergasted.
"I ate the chop-chop fruit. It allows me to pretty much chop any part of my body. Like I can-" To avoid grossing her out, I chopped my left leg from my thigh instead of my head from my neck. She watched in amazement. I smiled at this. "I can disconnect anything from my body from my toes to my ears to my-"
"Even... ya know?"
I winked. "Oh, yeah. That, too."
"That's so cool. How come you haven't done it before around me?"
"I don't know. I just never found a reason to." Shrugging my shoulders, I allowed my leg to snap back. I continued to chew on the orange before finishing it and tossing the peel into a small bin to the left of the bedside table. Y/N finished hers as well. She wiped her hands down on her shirt.
"So, uh," I chewed on my bottom lip. "Do you think you and your mother will be okay?"
"Yeah. We fight all the time. Her drinking doesn't help."
I cringed. "Really?"
"Yeah, she's one of the reasons I hate it so much."
I pursed my lips and nodded my head. I knew I needed to cut back on it but it was something I've done for well over more than half my life. Though, I was destined to do it. Not only for myself, but for her, too. I'd do anything for Y/N. "So," I began, "what do you want to do today?"
"I need to go make up with my mother. That's a big to-do. I can't stand her ever being upset with me." The girl said as she stood up, slipping her shoes back onto her feet. "We can have dinner tonight if you want. Maybe you could meet her."
"Meet your mom?"
"Yeah, why not? She was wondering where all that money came from. She thought I stole it."
"Hell, I don't know. I'm not good with meeting new people."
"Will you, at least, consider it?"
"Sure," I smirked.
"Thank you." Y/N reached for the doorknob, giving it a strong and firm tug before it yanked open. A gush of cold wind washed over her, almost knocking her back. I tossed her my coat to which she whispered another 'thank you' then slipped it on. "I'll see you, Buggy."
"Bye," I murmured with a smile.
As soon as the door shut, I jumped down from the bed and pulled the drawer out from the nightstand, dropping it on the stone floor. I sorted through the numerous books and grabbed the novel I was so fucking thankful she didn't look through. As I opened the cover, the hollowed book had contents that almost spilled out. Papers among papers, among sketches fell out, wafting along the floor. Several notes about Y/N puddled on the floor. One, which was my favorite, was a letter I wrote to her- well, I refused to send it. If I sent it, any last fiber of my confidence would be crushed like a scrambled egg. My fingers lined the rigid edges as I unfolded it.
Messy paragraphs lined both the front and back of the page.
I smiled. How long ago did I write this? I haven't looked at it in so long. I usually added a sentence to it each time I saw Y/N, which is why it was so long. But I stopped pouring my thoughts and desires into it when I actually had the pleasure of speaking to her.
If she saw this, I would kill myself.
I'd purposely jump into the ocean with two anchors attached to my feet.
I looked over the first paragraph,
'I've never wanted something so badly in my life. To say I yearned for her would be a complete understatement. I longed for her, I yearned, I desired- In simple terms, I wanted her. I mean, how could I not? She was an angel. She was a siren. I would purposely listen to her enchanting song, allowing my boat to crash, just if it meant I could be graced by her presence, by her beauty. I was obsessed with her. If she found out my thoughts, my desires, she would never let herself be seen with me. I wouldn't blame her, though. I was obsessive. It was unhealthy, I knew that. But I didn't care. I wouldn't say I loved her because I didn't know what that felt like. I've never experienced it. But perhaps I did love her. I didn't know, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that she was the only treasure I wanted. Not the One Piece, no. Not even that could match up to her alluring person. If I had to travel every sea in order to find her, battle every sea snake in order to touch her, I would. I would in a heartbeat.'
I grimaced, cringing at what I was reading. Thank god, she didn't see this. I didn't even want to see this.
I tucked the papers back into the hollowed-out book, closing it. I slipped the other novels into the drawer then slid it into the nightstand. With the book of secrets, I needed to hide it somewhere she could never find it- where even I struggled to find it. I didn't want to throw it out for I would be completely discarding all of those moments we had together, although she couldn't reconcile them with me because at that time, I was nonexistent to her.
Maybe I could follow my own idea and form my own message in a bottle. I never mentioned her name, nor my own. To an outsider's perspective, it was anonymous.
I shook my head and slipped the book back into the bedside table. She wouldn't be back anytime soon so I had enough time to properly execute a fool-proof plan.
But right now?
I needed to go get another coat.
-=-
her pov;
My mother and I resolved things, just like always. And when she caught wind of a pirate suddenly becoming very fond of me, she begged me to invite him over for dinner. I didnât think that was the best of ideas. Going out to dinner? Sure! But to have him over? At our house? I cringed at the idea.
She fell ill months ago. Nothing too major, but ever since sheâs gotten better, she despises leaving the house and even made me bring her bed downstairs so she could sleep next to the kitchen just in case she had a hankering for something to eat. It was ridiculous, I knew that. But I couldnât just tell her no. She was my own mother. While I was old enough, I definitely wasn't going to willingly disobey her.
She persisted that I go and grab Buggy so we could have him over for dinner, while I insisted we all go out to eat. She hated the idea and told me that it was her house, her rules.
I grimaced at the thought.
Now, I was just outside Buggy's home, knocking on the stone door. I hoped he was home, though there was no possibility of me being able to ask him prior to my arrival. I knew he was busy. He was a very busy man. I was surprised he made time for me.
With another knock, another silence fell. I groaned and backed up.
My eyes trailing down, I stared at the doorknob and chewed on my bottom lip. He wouldn't care if I waited inside, right? We trusted each other. He knew where I lived and I knew where he lived. As far as I knew, he never crossed any of my boundaries and I definitely didn't cross any of his- well, except for maybe 'snooping' through his nightstand.
Without thinking too much more about it, I grabbed the rusted doorknob, gave it a firm twist, then shoved it open. I almost fell through the doorway.
I caught my balance and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Without the lantern being lit, it was rather dark, but the bright blue sky helped to illuminate the small room. He must've not been home since I left.
I looked around, admiring everything.
As I took a seat on the edge of the bed, I noticed a piece of paper laying on the floor. It wasn't there before.
I raised an eyebrow and reached to grab it but before I could, the door flung open, a certain blue-haired pirate standing in the entrance. When he noticed me, he smirked. I gulped.
"So, we're breaking and entering, are we?" The man grinned as he took a few paces forward.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, scratching the back of my neck. "I came over to ask you about dinner but you weren't here so I figured I would wait."
"No worries, I'm only teasing."
"So?" I folded my arms, leaning forwards.
"So what?" Buggy questioned as he slipped his coat off. Since when did he get a new coat? And why? I was only borrowing the one he lent me. I didn't plan on keeping it. But I guess now it was okay if I did.
"Dinner? Are you available?"
"Hmm, it depends. What time?"
"I don't know, sometime tonight? Only for two hours or so. My mother wanted to meet you. I told her about you."
"What did you tell her?"
"That you've been a friend of mine for a few weeks now and you've been fortunate enough to treat me and help me out," I said with a smile. "She thought you were my boyfriend." I chuckled.
"Heh, that's rich," Buggy said as he turned around to close the door.
"So? Can you?"
"I guess so. Just don't leave me alone with her. I really don't want to be bombarded with questions." The man said as he folded the jacket over his arm then slung it on the countertop. "Did you tell her about my nose?"
I laughed, confused. "No? Why would I?"
"It's my defining feature. It's hard not to notice it when you see me."
"I didn't tell her. I didn't think it was important. I even forget it's there."
The clown burst out in laughter, his eyes closing as he clutched his stomach and nearly fell back with his fit of giggles. I pursed my lips. "What's so funny?" I asked as I crossed my arms.
"It's cute how you're trying to be nice to me. With a nose like mine, how can you forget it's there?" He replied while wiping a tear from his eye.
I felt flustered with the first part of his monologue but I ignored it and shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, I just do. It's not all I see whenever I look at you, ya know. It's not my main focus point when we speak. I look at your eyes, not your nose."
"And yet again, you prove to me that you're different than others."
I smiled. "Hope that's a good thing."
Buggy smirked, winking his left eye. "Of course it is."
The pirated approached me before he knelt down and picked up the piece of paper. He examined it for a moment then laughed to himself. "Grocery list," He explained as he shoved the paper into his pocket.
I paid no attention to the paper. It wasn't any of my business. "Speaking of groceries, want to go help me get food for dinner?"
"What's on the menu?"
"No idea, but let's just grab something so she won't be bitching later."
"Guess I'll be needing this again," The blue-haired man said as he reached to grab his jacket. He slipped his arms through and adjusted the collar. "We match now."
"Mine's more vintage than yours." I winked.
"Oh, so it's yours now?"
"No?" I gulped.
Buggy giggled. "It is. I got my own now so no worries about giving it back. Unless you'd like to trade from time to time."
"No, I like this one."
The man looked at me, an eyebrow cocked upward.
I paid his look no attention and instead looked down at the tattered suede coat I wore. I inhaled softly. It smelled like him.
A soft odor mixed with whiskey, coconut, and cinnamon. And while I hated the stench of alcohol, it worked for him.
I couldn't imagine him without it.
#buggy the clown#buggy the genius jester#buggy x reader#captain buggy#one piece live action#buggy smut#buggy one piece#op buggy#buggy#x reader#buggy x you#buggy x y/n#one piece buggy#buggy opla
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Etched in Red: Ruby (Part One)
Event Masterlist
Hinata Shoyo x female reader
Part Two
w.c 1.3k
tw: stalking, yandere themes, implied dub/non-con.
âI⊠have to go,â Kenma sighs. âBye, Shoyo.â The last partâs tacked on like an afterthought, his attention already drawn over his shoulder, fixed on something Hinata canât see. The source, no doubt, of those two loud thumps.Â
Hinata doesnât bother hiding his smile, signing off with a wave. Itâs not the first time their video chats have ended this way, heâd wager it wonât be the last. Come to think of it, he had mentioned something about a stray a few weeks back. MaybeâŠ
He shakes himself free of the thought, glancing down at the time on his open laptop andâ shit. Heâs gonna be late.Â
It takes all of fifteen minutes for him to throw on some half decent clothes and bike across town. These days, with the sponsorships and all, he doesnât have to work so hard, riding over town delivering food all night.Â
He doesnât have to, but he chooses to.Â
On Friday nights, at least. Usually around six-thirty. He waits on the sidewalk, flicking through the app, declining, declining, declining, until he spots an all too familiar order. His face lights up.Â
Accept.Â
Being that heâs already parked out front of the restaurant, it means heâs got a little time to kill, but thatâs cool, too. The staff know him by name, share knowing, vaguely amused looks when he pokes a head in to see where everythingâs at.Â
âWonât be long, Shoyo,â one of them tells him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he walks on by. They never actually ask which order heâs there to pick up.
And itâs habit, more than anything else, that has him checking said order when itâs called. Normally, a quick glance is all it needs, but⊠his smile fades, head tilting a little. Thereâs too much food. Almost twice the usual.Â
The girl at the counter shrugs before he can even ask. âThatâs the order we got. Girlâs probably got a friend coming for dinner.â Her eyebrows waggle, telling Hinata exactly what kind of friend sheâs thinking of. âEither that or sheâs real hungry.â
A wave of unpleasantness creeps under his skin, his insides twisting. He thanks her all the same, quick to bundle the food in the carry case and settle on his bike. By now, he knows the route like the back of his hand, heâs ridden it so often. He could do it blindfolded, in the darkâ
⊠Were you having friends over?Â
You donât usually, not on Fridays. Sometimes you come back to the apartment tipsy and late, but you havenât ever brought anyone back with you â aside from that one time, with the tall, loud girl who wouldnât stop trying to drag you into impromptu karaoke. Heâs never seen anyone else though. Youâre like him, arenât you? A creature of habit, routine. Six-thirty every Friday, the same order.Â
Is it the tall girl again? Another of your girlfriends?Â
Someone⊠else?
That uncomfortable feeling returns. Would it make a difference if it really was just a friend?
Before he knows it, Hinataâs out the front of your apartment, heart thudding away like his chestâs full of lead. Normally, youâre already there on the steps, waiting for him, because he knows you watch the tracking app like a hawk, because thatâs what you do. Thatâs the routine â your routine; six-thirty, Friday night, you and him, on these steps. Itâs his.
Hinata doesnât realise his hands are shaking until he goes to grab your food.
âShoyo?â
He whirls, expression bright. There you are. Lovely and beautiful in the golden light of dusk, smiling back at him like nothingâs wrong. The sight alone should ease the static beneath his skin, loosen the knots in his stomach, but it doesnât. His smile feels too tight, his cheeks aching with it.Â
Who are you having dinner with?
He doesnât realise heâs actually spoken the words aloud until you blink at him, offering a somewhat sheepish reply. âOh, you noticed that, did you?â How could he not? âA friend from back home. Sheâs staying with me for a few days, and since I apparently never shut up about this place, and it is a Friday night traditionâŠâ you trail off, shrugging easily. âHere we are.â
Right. A friend from back home. Robotically his arm jerks forward, holding out the food for you to take.Â
âThanks for this,â you continue, blissfully unaware of the absolute, chaotic mess currently wreaking havoc inside of him. âItâs kinda weird, right, how youâre always the one picking up the order? They should really just cut out the middleman and hire you on retainer.â Youâre joking, of course, the giggle tells him that much, and Hinata forces himself to chuckle along with you.Â
âSame time next week, then?â
Do you hear the same faint tinge of desperation he does? He really, really hopes not.Â
âYou betcha,â you shoot back with a wink that seizes his heart with an invisible fist, already turning to make your way back inside to the warmth of your apartment. To the friend from back home whoâs no doubt waiting for you.
From up above, a shadow moves across the window he knows is yours.
Not a date, Hinata reminds himself, just some nameless, faceless girl she used to know. One whoâll be gone soon enough. Back home, away from you.Â
Honestly, it should be a relief.Â
So why does it feel like his bloodâs about to boil? Like the floor just opened up beneath him and everythingâs falling apart? Standing on the sidewalk, hands flexed at his sides, his breath comes out in short, choppy pants.Â
On wooden legs, he stumbles back to his bike. Kicks a leg over the frame and settles himself down, hands wrapped around the handlebars in a white knuckled grip. And still, he doesnât move.
He canât even think over the deafening roar in his head.Â
This â Fridays â theyâre his. Yours, yes, but his, too. And this girl, sheâs⊠sheâs intruding. She doesnât belong. She shouldnât be there.
And if sheâs up there, whatâs to stop others from stealing as well?Â
Across the street, thereâs a sudden banging noise, and Hinata turns just in time to see a scrawny looking tabby dart through the mouth of an alleyway. A stray.
For a while, longer than heâd probably like to admit, Hinata stares after it, his brain ticking over.
With one last, lingering glance up at your window, he huffs out a sigh and pushes off.
â
One thing Hinata learned during his stint as a delivery driver is that if you buzz the wrong apartment and someoneâs home, more often than not theyâll let you in anyway.Â
Itâs only Wednesday. Heâd been good, waited the four agonising nights while your friend took up space in your apartment. But she left today, and Hinata knows you, knows that youâre probably exhausted from having to put up with her, that you donât have any plans tonight other than curling up on your couch and watching TV.Â
You wonât mind him showing up instead, even if he maybe â probably â shouldâve waited âtil Friday.Â
The food heâs got isnât from your favourite restaurant, either, itâs from his, and heâs pretty confident youâre gonna love it. He brought flowers, too. Just in case.Â
Excitement thrums through his veins, jittery and bright, and, unable to help himself, he bounces on his toes.
You answer the door wearing pyjama shorts and an worn, faded tee and Hinata beams because youâve never looked prettier, even when that cute little crinkle scrunches between your eyebrows, âShoyo, whatââ
Right now, heâs supposed to say something charming, or funny, maybe. Something to smooth out the confused expression he doesnât wanna call a frown. He should be a gentleman â he got the flowers and the food, he even went out and bought the fancy, expensive cologne Heitor recommended because Nice goes nuts for it.Â
There was a plan. Or, sort of a plan.
It didnât involve him dropping the flowers and the food on the floor, lurching forward like a man possessed to haul you into a scorching, life-altering kiss, pushing you back into your apartment and kicking the door shut behind him, but holy shitâ
It absolutely shouldâve.
#yandere haikyuu#yandere hinata shoyo#yandere hinata shoyo x reader#etched in red#yandere hinata#yandere hinata x reader#tw: dubcon
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