#the way i saw this anon and was like sure sure diamond shapes and how i get ahold of the 4k pics and- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkykeiji · 4 years ago

Text

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that?

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

✰ ✰ ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

✰ ✰ ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead.

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated. “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room.

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.

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shushiyuii · 3 years ago

Note

Here is a writing request! I hope you have fun with it! You can put noms in if you want to! :D : Giant warden hybrid Wilbur lives very deep underground and is very lonely. He meets a lost avian hybrid named Phil and decides to help him out of the cave system. When they get out Wilbur is sad that Phil has to go. Phil then decides its time to adopt another child and brings Wil with him home to a surprised Techno and Tommy.

AAAAAA I LOVE THIS SO MUCH! THANK YOU ANON! I DID HAVE A LOT OF FUN WITH IT and may also have gone a bit crazy with it? lol

(I didn't include Nom's in this story but if you ever wish for a part two with noms or anything i'd be more than happy too!)

Warnings: Injury, (Maybe some heavy subjects such as a child being lonely)

Words: 2.6K+

He doesn’t remember his younger days; he honestly couldn’t be sure who he was or how he even came into existence. One thing for sure was sounds, the tapping of a spider’s legs, creepers occasional hissing, skeleton’s bones rattling and a zombie’s growls.

It was always so dark, he’d seen the light of lava, sometimes even the light of day but the sky was always so high, so out of reach. And he couldn’t quite fit into the cave systems to find a way, so he was stuck.

He’s alone, he hates it. It’s too dark.

…

Phil flew high above the clouds in laughter, it’d been a while since he’d gone out on an adventure. Well, if you counted a much-needed mining trip of coal, iron, and such. But it was nice to be out of the house for once, especially with the kids out of the way.

Not in a bad sense though, he loved his kids but sometimes things were so busy he couldn’t keep track of things. Raising a toddler and a somewhat crazy child is well chaotic.

His two kids, Techno and Tommy. Techno had been adopted by Phil a bit early on, when Phil first met his now-wife, Kristin. He found Techno on the streets of a village, trying to fend off bandits. Phil’s fatherly instincts kicked in, a thing he’d always had and couldn’t help but take the boy in. Much to his reluctance.

Techno grew up with Phil and is now a very healthy and happy 11-year-old, and then there’s Tommy. The most recent member of the family, his little bundle of joy of about 3 years old, Techno found it odd being an older brother, he still does but he copes.

The feeling of his feathers swaying, his hair blowing, him having to attempt to keep his hat on every second, he missed this feeling. He was glad he just managed to find a babysitter since their mother was currently out on ‘business terms’.

…

The vibrant blue sky, below the loving shades of green passing with every flap of his wings. He wondered if his wife was watching over him, with her being a god and all.

He was happy how life was currently going as of late, he only hoped that fate had a good future ahead of him.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as he finally arrived at the destination. He had been well prepared for this trip; it was a mine that he’d been wanting to adventure for ever so long. He could tell there was something about it, something special.

And judging by the vibrant minerals just shining from the sunlight of the entrance, something told him there was more than just iron and coal in this cave, perhaps something more valuable, diamonds.

…

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but it had been a long time, he had quite a bit of iron, coal. But not only that gold and emeralds, a valuable currency. He wouldn’t have to worry about mining with the number of minerals he now had. Not only that but diamonds could be used to create powerful weapons.

He knew Techno would be happy, he’d always loved shiny things. Probably due to his Piglin features. And he could make Kristin some beautiful jewellery. It made him happy to say that his family was going to be good for a good while.

…

He picked up different noises, it was odd to hear such things. He could hear strange padding noises, perhaps some creature moving? Not only that but he heard the breaking of stone, which was a rare sound in his caves.

It was somewhat crazy to think something else could be coming closer to him, to hurt him. He knew he was strong not he didn’t even know If he was as strong as the outside monsters.

He wasn’t sure how he came to be in this world, he was always so alone. But sometimes the vines would speak to him, telling him of things like a place called the surface, which was colourful and bright.

…

The breaking of stone could be heard again, it only got louder and louder every minute. Whatever was making those sounds had found him and was coming for him. His antennae twitched anxiously; he was scared he didn’t want to die.

His claws bared as he readied his sharp teeth, he scanned for wherever the sound was coming from and waited to attack.

…

He panted as he broke at the stone, it’d been a while since he’d done so much mining, he was much out of shape. He had no idea where he currently was, he was long lost in this cave with no way of finding his way back. Despite the torches, he had no lead to where he came.

He was now trying to mine into the walls, hoping to find another branch of the cave that would finally lead him to a way to the surface. After the struggles of breaking through the wall for however long, he finally found another branch of the cave.

Big mistake as the first step he took into this cave, there was a loud crashing sound. Something had tried to hurt him, and he barely dodged it, the ceiling of the cave barely supported the impact, rubble falling from the ceiling.

He readied his sword for battle as he ran to behind a rock for cover. Something that caused that impact was definitely big, like strangely big. Not only that but the cave was one of the darkest caves he’d ever seen, the only light being from his torch.

He had no idea of where if he was honest, he couldn’t even tell if he was hiding properly. Anything could creep upon him at the current moment, it was oddly quiet, the only sound being his heartbeat.

…

He heard a strange growl behind him, it scared him with how deep and shallow it sounded, definitely a monster. Hesitantly he turned to the right, and right there was the monster staring right at him. But the monster flinched back when Phil turned around, the bright light in the monster’s face.

It seemed to hurt its eyes as he held his eyes and stumbled back in pain, from what he saw he saw about four eyes, antennae, and dark greenish-blue skin, with some light green bioluminescence that reacted to light. It appeared to be a Warden, a creature Phil had read about.

A creature of great mystery, one that mostly relied on sound, one that could communicate with plants. It was an odd creature, but the thing is about this Warden. It had a set of hair, not only that but it looked a lot more humanoid than what he’d seen drawn of the creatures.

It looked rather young too… No! No fatherly instincts! Monster?...

…

He winced in pain and stepped back from the strange being, he hadn’t seen light in quite some time. This thing was nothing like he’d ever before. He had never seen such a strange light. It hurt. This thing was strong if the creature had that then it could definitely kill him.

It came prepared.

“Hello?” it spoke. His eyes dilated as he scanned for the light, he saw it move around. He could see the creature’s confused features. It seemed almost scared itself, not only that but concerned. Something he wasn’t quite familiar with.

He was surprised by the fact that he could understand the creature, it was an oddly familiar language. “Hello?”, he replied with hesitance. He was scared that the monster’s features would change, and the creature would attack him.

“Oh! You talk? Good, because I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding!”. The creature made a strange sound, but seemed relieved and happy? Laughter?

“Sorry about the light, I didn’t realise it’d hurt you, my name is Phil. How about you?”

“What’s a name?”

“Oh? You don’t have one, well I guess a way to describe it would be a sort of title, something people can call you to identify you from others!”.

“… I don’t have one?”.

…

The creature- Phil had come closer, more friendly than before. No weapons, a smile. The once bright light is now dim, more adjustable.

“Well, if you don’t have a name. How about we give you one?”.

“Okay…”.

“Hmm… You look like a.. A Wilbur!”.

“Wilbur?”.

“That’s your name! Wilbur! Do you like it”.

“It sounds nice. I like it!”.

A name? It sounded nice, it made him feel unique, different from others…

…

“Well, Wilbur. Do you think you could help me?”, “How?”. “Well, you see I’m kind of stuck here. I don’t know my way out.”.

“Where do you want to go?”, “The surface.”.

…

“The surface?”, “Yeah! I need to get home!”. “Home?”, “Yeah, it’s where I live with my family!”, “Family?”, “A group of people who are very important to me, I have to get home or my sons, I don’t know what will happen.”, “Okay. I’ll help.”.

Wilbur lent his hand, confused Phil just stared at it. But Wilbur just ended up scooping up Phil and standing up, wandering through the caves.

“So, you live in these caves?”, “Mhm”, “Aren’t you lonely?”, “… Yeah…”.

“How old are you?”, “I don’t know, they say I’m a youngling…”.

…

Phil’s fatherly instincts kicked in, a kid on his own in a fucking cave system? No fucking way. He had no choice; his mind was already made up. This kid was now his, he now wanted nothing more than to smother this boy in the love he never had, care for Wilbur. Like how he met Techno.

The two ventured the caves for a while, surprisingly no mobs. The two at this point had spoken for a while and gotten to know each other a small bit, Wilbur seemed fairly interested in his family too! So, it made him happy to think that he’d achieved a new son!

But he spoke a little too soon, a loud bang frightened Wilbur. Wilbur jumped back and dropped Phil from a height. Phil landed with an oof and looked back at Wilbur who was now crouching in fear, immediately he ran over to comfort the boy despite his aching leg.

“Hey, hey. Wil, it’s alright, it was just a creeper.”. He ran his hand over the boy’s own hand, “I-I, it was loud...”, “I know, I know. But it’s okay! It’s not gonna hurt you anymore mate! I’ll protect you!”.

…

He released his hold on his eyes and looked down to Phil… Protect? As in guard him? Phil’s eyes were enough to reassure him, it brought him comfort despite the small time of knowing him, he’d never known such a kind person before.

He picked up on a sound, the tugging of string. Phil didn’t seem to hear it as he was concentrating on him. He looked back to see a skeleton aiming an arrow at Phil. Scared, he quickly brought Phil to his chest as the skeleton shot the arrow.

Phil screamed but immediately calmed as he heard the arrow hit the ground, realizing that Wilbur had only been protecting him. He smiled and looked back furiously at the skeleton.

He reached for his sword and despite his aching leg, wiggled out of Wilbur’s hold and sliced the skeleton in half, its remains turning to dust and bones. He looked back to Wilbur, “You okay, mate?”.

“I’m fine! How about you? You’re walking differently.”. “Ah, I’m fine mate. My leg just hurts a bit!”. “Hurts? As in pain?”, “Yeah? Wh-“.

Phil was cut off when Wilbur brought him back to his chest, standing up and continuing their adventure to the surface. Being sure Phil was secure in his hold, not wanting to bring any more pain to this man.

…

A bright light could be seen in the distance, “Hey Wil! I think that’s the surface!”. Wilbur looked over in the direction of the light, he winced slightly but his eyes adjusted as he made way to the light.

Once they were outside, Phil took a good breath of fresh air. Wilbur copied, confused as to why and surprised with how fresh the air felt in his lungs. It was refreshing.

“Wil! We’re outside! Thank you so much!”

“It’s nothing but…”

“Hmm, what’s wrong?”.

“Where do I go now?...”

“We can go to my place if you want, you can meet Tommy and stuff.”.

“Really?”.

“Of course, Wilbur!”.

Phil then flew upwards and directed Wilbur to follow him, along the way Wilbur would get distracted by the views and greenery. Phil was more than happy to wait for the boy.

Now that he thought about it, he had a clearer view of Wilbur, who was definitely a lot more humanoid than he first thought, perhaps he was a hybrid of sorts? Only time could tell.

But at the break of dawn, Phil arrived home as was greeted by a worried Technoblade running towards him, a Tommy trying to follow behind him, wanting his father’s hold.

“Techno! Tommy! Are you guys okay?”. “Dad! Where have you been?”.

The worried words of his son and the rambling of his toddler were enough to make him scoop them up in his arms and cover them in kisses. Which seemed to cheer the two up.

But all hell broke loose when Techno stared up at Wilbur, he stood in front of Phil to protect him. “Who are you?!”, “Techno! Calm down! This is Wilbur! Your brother!”, “Brother?! Really Dad?!”, “Yes really”.

…

Despite the reluctance, Techno grew used to his new sibling, so did Tommy who seemed to really like Wilbur. Not only that but Kristin was more than happy to have Wilbur adopted into the family, and that’s how Wilbur joined the family.

… Bonus …

“Bitch!”

“Oi, don’t use those words, Tommy!”.

Tommy was now about 5 years old, a very clingy 5-year-old. One who never left Wilbur alone, not that Wilbur hated it, he loved his younger brother a lot. It was just sometimes he could be quite annoying.

“Wilby! I want cuddles!”. His antennae twitched as he closed his four eyes, pinching his nose to be as dramatic as possible and let out a long sigh, “Finee!” he dragged out. Tommy’s excitement as he ran to grab blankets was more than enough to make him smile.

Wilbur sat down against the wall as Tommy dragged pillows and blankets against the floor, the things being double his height and dragging behind him. Then made his way to throw the pillows at him and attempting to climb onto his lap.

He failed multiple times, “Wil! Help me!”. Finally with the help of Wilbur’s claw he adjusted and cuddled within Wilbur’s hold.

“Tell me that story again!”, “The one about the civilization and the brothers?”, “Yeah!”.

Wilbur laughed, “Okay!”.

Within 5 minutes of the story, Tommy had fallen asleep, so Wilbur changed to a simple lullaby whilst playing with his baby brothers’ hair. Something precious, something he’d always protect.

“Got room for one more?”, Techno stood there in his crowned PJs, who seemed barely functioning, his blanket and pillow dragging behind him. Usually, he’d never do such a day but today seemed to be an exception. “Of course Tech!”.

The three then fell asleep together.

…

“Awwhh! Look at them Phil!”, Kristin whispered as she peered into the room of her son’s bedroom. Phil giggled, “I know! I’m glad I have such a good family”.

Within the palm of her hand, he laid. Thankfully for them, Kristin was a giant, so the house was already pretty adaptable for Wilbur. She placed a kiss on his forehead. “Love you, hun!”, “Love you too!”.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #giant!wilbur #tiny!phil #tiny!techno #tiny!tommy #giant!kristin #shushi's writings

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lilbabycee · 4 years ago

Text

shame on you (blame on me) // ransom drysdale

↳ summary: you find out some shocking information about your fiancé that makes you question who’s to blame.

↳ request: for the prompt: i really need some angst in my life so maybe a super angsty cheating fic with ransom? - anon

↳ relationship: ransom drysdale x reader

↳ word count: 4.7k (oops)

↳ warnings: angst angst angst!, explicit smut, cheating

↳ author’s note: i love ransom and this actually made me sad - please enjoy! x

You’ve always considered yourself a fair person.

Throughout your life, you’ve been taught that you should take a step back, assess the situation you’re in, and look at it from a different angle. But as you’ve had to learn over the years, looking at too many angles can make you dizzy and as hard as you try, those scales of justice have a mind of their own and can easily tip one way or another when your back is turned to face another perspective. It’s a tedious game to play and you can’t win all the time, but for you, it’s always been enough to just try.

And try as you might, there will always be people interfering with the balance: people with ulterior motives and nefarious agendas, people who will do anything to see themselves in first place, people who want so desperately to be able to do it all. Life is an exchange, a give-and-take that you must navigate with the precision and confidence of a synchronized swimmer trying to keep up with the shadow of themselves in an ocean of doubt and self-loathing, and you find that those who only want to take and take without giving are those who, more often than not, end up alone when it’s all said and done.

But you’ve always gone out of your way to make an attempt to steer people away from going down that path, encouraging them to give more of themselves to people who deserve it and open up their hearts up to people who may change their lives. All of your friends like to joke that you have a god complex and you can’t help but agree that maybe you do.

It’s inexplicable why you feel so responsible for the lives of others; strangers, friends, family alike, you bear the weight of their choices on your back. You chalk it up to extreme empathy and your parents insist that it’s because you’re just inherently good. Maybe it’s because you feel as if since the minute you were born, the scales have been tipped in your favor. Perhaps you’re compensating for all of the privileges that you were handed because of who your parents are and what your socio-economic class is, the silver spoon that you’ve been trying to spit out of your mouth for your whole life. All you know is that you so deeply crave justice that it makes your head ache some days.

So yes, you would - modestly - consider yourself fair.

That’s why it shocked so many when you fell in love with Ransom Drysdale.

You met him at a charity fundraiser that you were hosting to build schools in less economically developed countries all over the world, an initiative that you’d been working on for years and held so dear to your heart. Your mother has been close to Joni for her entire life and knew the Thrombeys and Drysdales because of business, so when she told you that they’d be attending, you didn’t think much of it.

“Darling,” your mother calls and beckons you over, pulling you into her side with a bright smile on her face as she stands next to a group of well-dressed patrons.

When you’re standing next to her, you must be mindful of the way that the emerald green satin of your gown sweeps the floor. With a slim diamond choker wrapped around your neck and rings that cost five-figures adorning your fingers, you usually prefer to indulge in simpler pleasures but for events like these, you give into hedonism and allow your mother and stylist to spoil you. You press a barely-there kiss to your mother’s cheek as she gently holds onto you, running her nails up and down your arm comfortingly.

“Honey, these are the Drysdales. This is Linda, her husband Richard, and their son Hugh.”

You smile politely at both Linda and Richard and are about to give their son the same treatment when you feel the heat of blue flames licking up the exposed skin of your leg that peeks through the thigh-high slit in your dress. But the fire doesn’t stop there; it spreads up your stomach and lands in the valley of your breasts. A part of you wants to be angry that this man is ogling you as if you’re a piece of meat, the prey that his predator has been waiting to pounce on, but a part of you revels in it. You know that you look good - it’s no secret to anybody at this event - but to have someone unabashedly appreciate that makes your heartbeat speed up.

Since he can’t tear his eyes off of your cleavage, you take the opportunity to give Hugh a once-over of your own.

His black loafers are designer - you can tell by the way all of the little golden g’s on the velvet of his shoes are linked together - and so are his black socks, something which makes you have to physically prevent yourself from rolling your eyes. The black, grey, and white checkered pants he’s wearing hug his thighs just enough to see the shape of the muscles in his legs and the outline of his sizable length - you don’t let yourself look at that for too long. The letters on his belt match his shoes and you’re momentarily astounded at how narrow his waist is. Under a waistcoat and suit jacket that are both printed with the same pattern as his pants, he’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck that clings to his torso like a second skin. From what you’ve seen, you can assume that he’s heavily muscled underneath his clothes, and when you see his broad shoulders and big arms, you’re proven right.

Luxury virtually seeps out of his pores and it nauseates you.

But you’re intrigued nonetheless. His eyes lock on yours and you find yourself drowning, trying to swim through a choppy sea of grey and blue. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and a shy smile lifts your lips when he extends a hand out towards you.

“Nice to meet you,” his voice is deep and his jaw is squared as if he’s biting back his words. You delicately place your hand in his and marvel at the way his palm swallows yours. His skin is warm and soft and you’re close enough that you can smell notes of bergamot and cedarwood that make your usually poised stance melt.

“Likewise, Hugh,” you manage to say, overwhelmed by the charm and class of the man before you.

“Call me Ransom, sweetness; only the help calls me Hugh.”

And just like that, your rose-tinted glasses shatter and you blink hard, rescinding your hand from Ransom’s and nodding at him briefly. You can’t help but wonder how much more pretentious this son of a bitch can get, but your mother hasn’t failed to notice the way that the two of you sized each other up. So when you’re eventually walking away from the family of three, she gives you a knowing look that you’re all too familiar with, a look that makes you scoff and avoid her eyes.

“So,” she draws out the word and nudges your shoulder with hers, “he’s cute, no?”

“Mom,” you groan quietly.

“Come on now, darling, he was a very handsome boy. And I saw the way he was looking at you-”

“Sure, Mom, but did you hear him? ‘Only the help calls me Hugh’ - he’s so far up his own ass...and what kind of name is Ransom anyway?”

Your mom shrugs, the corners of her lips twitching up into a cheeky grin.

“Doesn’t matter, love - I think he’s cute and you should go speak to him. And if you don’t, who knows? He might snatch you up in that auction later tonight.”

And he did. Every year at the benefit, you auction yourself off for a night out which you only continue to do because it proves to be an extremely valuable source of income for your charity. You’re standing up in the center of that stage, the host for the night yelling out the bids for the auction, and through the blinding lights, you’re able to see white signs flying up with ridiculously high amounts of money printed on them. You’re sure that this is almost over when you see fifty-thousand dollars stuck up in the air, but then the host says:

“One-hundred-thousand dollars to the gentleman in the checkered suit right over there!”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing and a part of you hopes that it’s not Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you haven’t seen anybody else wearing such a distinctive suit; your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. Even in the relative darkness, you meet the blazing blue of his eyes with an inaudible gasp and the sly smirk on his lips makes you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop a smile of your own from spreading on your face.

So when he wins a night of your time for one-hundred-thousand dollars and he leads you off the stage with a large hand on the small of your back, you can’t even bring yourself to be a little irritated at the way he leans into your body to whisper “gotcha” teasingly in your ear because he does have you.

Fair and square.

---

But you don’t know how you’ve ended up here. Over three years and one marriage proposal later, you’re sitting here pitifully with your head in your hands because you can’t believe that this is what it’s come to. You’ve tried many times over the past few hours to cease the incessant shaking of your hands but it’s relentless, your anxiety and distress running through your veins and seeping through your bones.

The last four hours of your life have uprooted everything that you’ve ever believed in, everything you thought you knew about fate and order and love because it’s all a fucking mess. When Harlan handed you the flash drive, he warned you that you should only look at it if you think that you’re ready to accept that your reality will be flipped on its head and the expectations that you’ve allowed yourself to build up so carefully like tiny little brick towers will not only be knocked over, but destroyed beyond repair.

You brushed him off jovially, thinking he was just being overly dramatic like he usually is, because you and Ransom had just gotten back from tasting wedding cakes and you were in your own little bubble of serenity. With a brief kiss on his cheek, you floated out of the room on cloud nine as he watched you leave with deep despair in his eyes that you were too distracted to notice.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have just thrown caution to the wind and plugged the memory stick into your laptop without really thinking about it first; you don’t think you’ll ever forget the way that your heart plummeted into your stomach at the images of your fiancé with his arms wrapped around a slew of different women.

Something inside of you immediately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they caught him from a bad angle, maybe the other women were the ones who initiated it. But you backtracked because who are you to blame anybody else except for Ransom? That wouldn’t be fair and a part of your brain knows that you have to come to terms with the fact that he’s more like his father than he would like to admit.

You still don’t know why you kept looking, continued to scroll through the pictures even though looking at your soon-to-be-husband’s lips on other women made you feel as if you were going to throw up your breakfast all over your laptop. The more that you stared at the candid photos, the more you realized that the actual infidelity in itself hurt, but what’s even more painful is the cold look in his eyes when he’s with them.

They didn’t mean anything to him yet he still did it, and that’s what gets you.

Maybe you deserve this: maybe it was always meant to end up like this. It’s hard not to think that this could be the way that this relationship was always meant to pan out, that maybe this is fate balancing out those scales. You knew from the moment you met him that you’d have your work cut out for you with Ransom, but you were never one to back away from a challenge. And it wasn’t as if you were actively trying to change him but sooner or later, Linda came to you with praises spilling from her lips because she couldn’t believe who her son had become within the first year of meeting you. He’d transformed right in front of your eyes, and it filled you with a glowing sense of pride to see how much more caring and open and honest he was.

Early in the relationship, you’d wanted to establish that you wouldn’t treat him like a charity case. Everyone is flawed to some extent, sure, but there are behaviors that you will always find inexcusable, and the two of you had sat down and laid them out. You had a feeling that you would need to set some ground rules with Ransom and he was surprisingly lenient, establishing his own terms and conditions in return.

The two of you had laughed hard about it later on because it all sounded like some kind of business deal or contract.

You could laugh about it now too, especially since the number one most important item on both of your lists was to remain faithful. As a couple, you think that you have a very direct form of communication. Ransom is not one to hold back his discontent and frankly, neither are you. Neither of you is afraid to argue and you do it often, but it’s never grown into anything more intense than a few hours of painful silence and is always resolved before you fall asleep.

You’d always thought that if you ever found yourself in a situation like this one, you wouldn’t be able to forgive your significant other. But never in your life have you felt such an intense connection to another human; your souls have intertwined so intricately that you don’t know whether or not you’re willing to jeopardize that.

“Princess?”

His voice echoes through your shared house and you can hear him hang up his coat, cursing as he kicks his shoes off and pads up the stairs. He stops outside the open door to your bedroom, spying the back of your open laptop and your still body lying on your stomach with your face turned away from him.

“Babe, you’re gonna flip your shit when I show you what I found today,” he drops the bags in his hand and walks around the king-size to press a kiss to the top of your head. You can pinpoint the exact moment when he realizes that something’s wrong. He freezes in place, feet seemingly rooted to the ground when he gets a good look at your face. The puffiness of your eyes, your wet lashes, and the tear streaks down your cheeks all alert him that something’s not quite right.

That’s when he sees it.

The last picture that you looked at was by far the worst. It shows him balls deep in a woman who you actually know fairly well because she’s worked closely with both you and Ransom for years on a number of your projects. She was initially hired as his assistant but soon evolved into something more like a friend to your family and his alike. You decide that it’s definitely worse when it’s someone you know.

The room goes entirely silent because the universe has pressed pause on this moment, all so he can fully realize the gravity of the situation.

“Baby, let me explain-”

“I actually don’t think I want you to, Ransom,” you respond tiredly, your voice raspy from lack of use and your head heavy as you sit up in your bed. You pull your knees into your chest as you run a hand over your face to wipe away any leftover tears.

Ransom flinches and you know it’s because you’ve called him by his name. With you, it’s usually baby or sweetheart or honey but not this time. He wants so badly to be your love again but the light in your eyes has gone out and he doesn’t know whether or not that’s even possible anymore.

You’re exhausted more than anything else. You’ve cried all your tears and are ready to never think about this ever again, but he’s sitting in front of you looking like a kicked puppy and you know that you need to be fair and give him a chance to explain himself. That’s what you’d want.

“Please, sweetheart, let me,” he begs, eyes searching yours and hand cautiously hovering right over your jaw, not quite touching but the heat emanating from his palm is enough to make you tear up again. It’s a small comfort that you know you’re going to miss.

Nodding, you hastily place your hand over his, pressing it to your face while a sob escapes your lips. He wraps both his arms around your waist as you curl in on yourself and sink into his body, taking deep breaths even though your nose is being assaulted with the familiar scent of oak and vanilla that makes you long for a simpler time.

There’s a drawn-out pause before he starts speaking, his chin resting on the top of your head as he mulls over his words.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s all he says for about a minute, letting the words hang in the air while the only sound in the room is that of your loud sniffles.

“I’m so, so sorry, sweetness.”

He’s always called you that: sweetness. He once told you that you’re like honey, soft and sweeter than anything he’s ever had the pleasure of loving, and then laughed when you returned from work that night with a bag of those pastries you like from the bakery up the street. He could never stomach them no matter how hard he tried, but you always thought that was hilarious because he inhales those biscoff cookies like air.

But you don’t feel very sweet right now as he spews apologies and excuses, spinning you sugar-coated lies and candied falsehoods with the confidence of a practiced storyteller. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue that you want so badly to spit out, tell him what you really think of him in this moment and how he’s not the man that you came to know. It was foolish of you to think he’d changed.

And when once again, quiet falls over your room in the light of the mid-afternoon, you only nod again, choosing to reserve your words for when you have something to say. Because as of right now, that sour taste still lingers on your tongue but you have no desire to rid yourself of it any longer. You’ll let it stay, allow it to fester as a reminder that you’ve been blind and naive but never again.

It ends here.

Ransom starts to stir noticeably when you don’t say anything, playing with the cotton of your shirt and your limp fingers. When you hear him speak next, something’s changed in his tone and you can feel the bass in his voice through his chest.

“Y/N, baby, please say something- anything. Scream, yell at me, just fucking do something, babe: you’re killing me here.”

You scoff at the notion of you killing him because the irony of it is too funny to resist. But you decide to put him out of his misery, finally blinking up at him and meeting his eyes. They’re filled to the brim with cold rain that sends a chill down your back, dark and stormy and wet like the English countryside and you can almost smell the petrichor.

“Can we just go back to before?”

Your voice is cracking and your request is simple, but it’s enough for the few tears brimming in Ransom’s eyes to spill over onto his cheeks. You’ve only seen him cry twice before and it tugs at your heartstrings to see him like this, so open and more vulnerable than he’s allowed himself to be with anyone else. He’s already nodding rapidly but you’re not done.

“Can we go back, just for a little while? I just-”

You have to pause because the claws of despair are raking your skin as it crawls up your throat.

“I just want it to be like before. I love you so much that it hurts and I just want it to be like before.”

He’s nodding eagerly now and his lips are already on yours, anchoring you to him because your love’s not enough to do so anymore. You push yourself up onto your knees so that you can grab his face between your hands, the face that you love so hard that it’s suffocating you. He steals your breath when he slips his tongue into your mouth and you feel lightheaded when his big hands slide underneath your shirt. Guilt plagues your thoughts but you push that aside for now: perhaps because it’s time for you to be selfish and you’ll allow yourself this, perhaps because you’d rather focus on the way that he tastes like cinnamon and the salt of your combined tears and he feels like home.

The moment he wraps his arms around you to push you onto your back, you lean further into him because you want him as close to you as possible, trying desperately to become a part of him once more. The kisses he plants on you are like sugar and you want to inject them so that maybe you can be his sweetness again. The way your lips move in tandem makes your heart soar because it’s always been so easy - except when it’s not.

Your shirt is thrown across the room, leaving you in only your panties and almost completely bare underneath his gaze. He stares at you reverently, silently worshipping you like a Madonna as rivers of tears pour from your eyes. His lips wrap around one of your peaked buds earnestly, his fingers rolling the other gently between them. The shock of pleasure that shoots through you almost makes you cry harder but you just bury your fingers in his hair, his tears hot on your soft skin. After he goes to give your other nipple the same attention, you pull him back to your lips. Without hesitation, he strips himself of his cable knit and shirt together, tossing them off the bed while you help him undo his belt. No words are exchanged when he kicks his pants off and your hand slips into his boxer briefs to stroke his hard length heavy in your hand because there’s nothing to say.

He pulls his underwear off too and after he does, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of yours and strips you entirely. You take a beat just to admire each other, chests heaving and eyes glassy. Ransom’s face is flushed and you’re sure that your eyes are red but you’re still as beautiful to each other as you’ve always been.

He buries his face in your neck and you shiver at the feeling of his warm breath. Your nipples are pressed against his muscled chest as you just lay there, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. When he slips himself into your wet heat, the stretch of his thick cock lights your body on fire and you cry out. He rocks back and forth until he’s fully sheathed, and his entire body shakes with a sob when the two of you are completely joined together.

Your souls have fallen out of step but in this moment, they’re dancing again.

The rolling of his hips against yours is slow as he takes his time tearing you apart, molding you to his body because he doesn’t want to let you go either. He drinks in the sound of your whimpers like ice water while his body overheats with passion and when your hand tightly grips the hair at the nape of his neck, he picks up the pace, rutting into you with unbridled ardor and whispering your name like a prayer. With his lips buried in your skin, you can’t quite make out the muffled sounds of his cries until he moves them right next to your ear.

“I love you, I’m sorry, I love you.”

And he says it over and over again and each time he does, it becomes more broken and you can feel the agony weighing down his voice. You’re so close to the edge and you can feel he is too, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he reaches down to rub at your clit so that you can finish at the same time.

Broken pleas fall from your lips, a litany of “please, please, please” as he gives you exactly what he knows you need. Your nails rake up and down his back as he moves and his breath hitches. What you don’t expect is for him to pull away from your shoulder and prop himself up on his forearms to stare you dead in the eyes. You can’t handle the intensity so you try to avert your gaze, but he whines deep in his throat.

“Please, baby, please look at me - I love you, please,” he urges you tearfully, trying to catch your darting eyes.

Once your stare reluctantly locks back onto his, he laughs wetly, his quivering lips curving into a weak smile as he kisses your cheek sweetly. The sentimentality of it all is what pushes you over the edge, your entire body shaking with the aftershocks of your release and the sobs that continue to wrack your chest. A second later, Ransom stills his movements, moaning quietly as he spills into you.

The two of you stay like that for a while, crying and breathing each other’s air as the dance of your souls starts to come to an end. You wonder what it’d be like if this was different, if you were weeping with happiness instead of sorrow.

To halt that train of thought in its tracks, you extricate yourself from your fiancé and lock yourself in the ensuite.

When you come back out, Ransom is underneath the covers, eyes trained on you. You don’t say anything but you do crawl back into bed next to him, allowing him to smother you with kisses that usually make you giggle and pull you deep into his chest.

Ransom takes a breath before he speaks. “Stay. Please, sweetness. Don’t go - I want you to be here when I wake up.”

You just nod, combing your fingers through his hair as you can see his eyes start to get heavy.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here.”

---

It’s 1:22 a.m and you know you can’t stay.

Ransom’s always been a deep sleeper and you’re lucky to have woken up in a moment when he’s not holding you in a vice-like grip. You flip back the covers and head to your closet, grabbing the nearest articles of clothing that you realize too late belong to the snoring man in your bed.

It doesn’t even matter anymore. After putting them on, you grab a duffle bag from the bottom of your closet and start pulling clothes from your side of the wardrobe off of hangers, stuffing as much as you can into the bag before sliding the zipper across.

You’re on your way out but you can’t resist peeking over your shoulder to ensure that Ransom’s still asleep, and you can’t help the small smile on your lips when you see that he’s still knocked out, mouth wide open with an arm hanging off the bed. Your head pounds from all the crying you’ve been doing but a burst of glee numbs the pain at the sight of the man-child in front of you. You’re a breath away from dropping your bag and slipping back into bed with him, your baby, your honey, your sweetheart.

But you don’t because he doesn’t deserve that and you deserve some time for you. And as the door clicks behind you, you can’t help but think that this is only fair.

tagged: @literaturefeen @stargazingfangirl18 @evnscvll @donutloverxo @ambthegamer @oliviamaries @maynay43 @i-lie-here-charmed @thinkaboutmara @x-abi-sharp-x @lady-pswrld @bval-1 @coffeebooksandfandom @call-me-baby-gir1 @la-cey

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plaidbooks · 4 years ago

Text

Secret Santa

A/N: Anon asked for a Secret Santa with Sonny! Short and sweet, just a little cute thing. Hope you like it, anon!

Tags: none

Words: 1k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm, @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

You were excited, practically bouncing as Amanda came to your desk, hat in her hand, pieces of paper folded inside.

“Your turn,” she smiled, holding the hat above your head. You grinned back, reaching up. Of course, Amanda was the one to suggest a Secret Santa. It just amazed you that she got all the other detectives, Fin especially, and even Barba involved. It was going to be Barba, Fin, Mike Dodds, Olivia, Sonny, Amanda, and yourself. You felt around the hat, fingers closing on a scrap of paper.

“Open it and make sure it’s not yourself,” Amanda instructed. You brought the paper to your chest, cupping your hand around it so she wouldn’t see, then unfolded it. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Sonny’s messy handwriting, scrawling his name across the paper. You nodded, unable to make your voice work, and Amanda raised an eyebrow at you before moving on to Fin’s desk.

You subtly looked over at your partner, who was lounging in his chair, watching Amanda making her way around, waiting for his turn. He glanced at you, made eye contact, and shot you a grin. You smiled back, feeling your face heat, before you turned back to your laptop, trying to busy yourself with work.

*********************************

“So, who’d you get?” Amanda asked for about the twentieth time. You had both went out for drinks after work; just a nightcap to end a stressful week.

You rolled your eyes at her. “I’m not gonna tell you, ‘Manda, just drop it,” you laughed.

“Come onnnn! I told you who I got!” It’s true—she told you as soon as you ordered drinks that she had picked Mike’s name from the hat. “Thank god I didn’t get Barba,” she had said.

“That’s your own fault!” you sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to stop asking. Plus, you weren’t absolutely sure what to get Sonny. The rules were simple; $20 limit, and you had two weeks to get it. No gift cards or joke gifts allowed. You knew Sonny decently well; you’d been working together for almost a year now. He liked cooking, trashy TV, hockey. He collected weird shot glasses and ties, though he had nothing on Barba. He was a law student, though that wasn’t much help in ways of gift-giving.

“Ugh, fine,” You finally said under her puppy-dog eyes. You finished your drink. “I got Sonny.”

Amanda’s face lit up; she knew you liked him—well, more than a partner. It took you forever to tell her that, afraid that they had a thing going on. But she assured you that they had talked it out and found that they had a sibling relationship. “What are you gonna get him?”

You played with the glass in your hands. “I’m…not sure yet. I feel like ties would be kind of…impersonal, even if he does collect them. Maybe some sort of cooking utensil? I need to hit up the mall this weekend.” You shuddered, imagining the crowd this close to the holidays.

“Want some company?” Amanda offered.

You shook your head. “No, no, you got your hands full with Jesse. Thanks, though,” you smiled.

She nodded. “Okay. But I’ll have my phone on me, if you need help deciding.”

************************************

The mall turned out to not be totally insane. And you found the perfect gift; a set of stainless-steel knives, complete with a diamond sharpening stone. The downside, the price was way above the agreed upon $20. The upside was that you had store credit from a return you did months ago, and you never shopped there anyways, so you didn’t mind using it. You ended up spending around $30; still above the price, but not astronomically so. You decided that you’d “forget” the gift at home, and give it to Sonny outside the precinct, away from the others. You just hoped he liked it.

The day to exchange gifts came, and shockingly, it was slow enough that everyone was there. Your face was burning as you explained how you forgot it on your kitchen counter. Sonny was already giving you a ride home that night, so you said, “just hang back after you drop me off, and I’ll run in and grab it.”

He nodded, not at all upset that you forgot. “It’s been a hell of a week,” he replied, lopsided smile pulling across his face.

“That’s an understatement,” Fin muttered under his breath, but loud enough that everyone heard and agreed.

As it turned out, Mike had gotten you in the Secret Santa. Your eyes lit up as you opened the bag he had given you; it was full of sweets and a new stress ball. You giggled, remembering how you had squeezed your last one so hard, it refused to go back to its original shape. And it was no secret that you had the biggest sweet tooth in the office, second only to Sonny and his love of cannolis.

“Thank you, Mike,” you said, hugging him.

After all the gifts had been passed out and opened, Sonny came over to your desk. “Ready to go home?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yep, lemme just grab my stuff.” You snatched your jacket and purse off your desk, following Sonny to his car

****************************

“So, what’d you get me?” he asked, giving you a sideways glance. He had made it halfway to your place before he asked.

“God, you and Amanda are the same, I swear!” you rolled your eyes, making him chuckle.

He pulled up to your apartment, and you told him to wait as you rushed in, grabbed the gift, and came back. You climbed back into the passenger seat, handing him the gift over the center console. He had his trademark grin on his face as he took it from you, his long fingers starting to rip into the paper. Once open, he froze, looking at the picture of the knives on the box, eyes wide. He sat in silence for so long, you were suddenly hit with a wave of nerves. Was the gift too much? Was it too intimate, too expensive?

Finally, he brought his bright blues to you. “[Y/N], this is…amazing. And wayyy over the $20…” he muttered. His eyes went back to the box. Then, he added, “I’ve been saving up for these for a month….”

You felt heat flood your face as you tried to explain, “ah, it’s fine, really. I had store credit, and I don’t shop there anyway, so it’s not a big deal. Plus, I thought you’d like them, and—”

He cut you off, leaning over the console to kiss you. You froze for a moment before melting into the kiss, not believing it was happening, but not questioning it.

Sonny slowly pulled away, back to the driver’s seat. “S-sorry. I just…I pulled Liv’s name, so I didn’t have anything else to give you for this.”

You grinned at him. “I’m not complaining.” He smiled back, and this time, you leaned across, grabbing his shirt in your fist and bringing him in for a passionate kiss.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #my writing #fanfic

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pagingevilspawn · 4 years ago

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Hi could u please write a fic where alex is diagnosed with a serious illness and jo is there with him for support ?

doctors make the worst family members

anon, i’m gonna start by saying that this is most certainly NOT what you asked for, but it's what you're getting. One; I can't write angst for shit so it would just be a major disappointment, and two; I truly just don’t have the heart to write my favorite character with a serious illness, lol.

Also, welcome to the series I'm starting. It's called, “payton uses evan peters characters from ahs for jolex baby names because she loves him and every character he plays”. (“payton loves evan peters too much” for short) it’ll be a ride 😎

anyways... hope you enjoy, nevertheless!

____

Jo Karev stood in her husband’s room, pacing around one the hospital’s floors so much she would make a hole in them if she continued any longer. She anxiously bit her nails with one hand, the other rubbing circles on her seventeen week baby bump.

She stops her movements suddenly, making her way to the uncomfortable hospital chair that sat in the corner of the room, flopping down into it, more than happy to be off her feet. They were beginning to feel like she had just through the grand canyon, not to mention, were the size of cantaloupes.

“You good now?” Alex asks her from his bed, a teasing smirk on his lips. His arms were crossed in front of his hospital gown, an item he (very) reluctantly put on. Jo had given him a glare and he knew he couldn’t refuse. Never get in a fight with Josephine Karev, he learned that one a while ago, but it was especially important that he never got into a fight with a pregnant Josephine Karev. She went full on criminal defense attorney, and he wasn’t going to lie, it was pretty scary.

Jo throws him a sharp glare. Due to her pregnancy, her mood swings had been hitting harder than ever. One second she wanted to pummel her husband, and the next she wanted him to hold her in his arms forever. Although, she supposed that wasn’t too out of the normal though, since Alex was always finding some way to piss her off and then say something sickenly sweet to make it up to her. A more accurate description would be how she went from joyful in the morning to blubbering tears and incoherent words when she figured out her favorite pair of jeans didn’t fit. (It was a scary sight, Alex had to console her for a good twenty minutes before she was able to fully calm down. Pregnancy hormones were wack.)

“Shut up.” she glowers, sinking lower in her seat, tracing circles on her belly in an effort to calm the kicking in her stomach. Baby decided now would be a good time to jab a kick straight to her rib, so she hunches over in her chair, letting out a small hiss of pain before adjusting herself, not missing the way Alex’s eyes look at her warily.

“You okay?” he questions, making Jo bob her head up and down.

“Fine. Your daughter just likes you more than me, which you know, I'm totally okay with. I mean, it’s not like I'm growing her inside me for nine months or anything.” she stares at him pointedly, causing the worry etched on his face to fade away and form a crooked smirk.

Alex chuckles, leaning back into the multiple hospital authorized pillows behind him as he runs a hand through his hair. He had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue, but decided to hold it in. Jo was stressed, and the last thing he needed was to cause her any more.

It didn’t take long for Jo to begin her pacing again. She traveled the length of the room. The door, to the blue chair. Door to the blue chair. Back and forth, back and forth. Alex was starting to get dizzy just by looking at her. Her brown locks flew behind her as she moved, at times picking up her pace, making it across the room even quicker. It was at then that she would fiddle with the rings on her left hand, twisting them and untwisting them, tracing her fingers over the large diamond from her engagement ring and the smaller ones from her wedding ring. When she was little she always thought it was the other way around. She thought the big, fancy diamond was for the wedding, while the more modest piece of jewelry was the one that was ever so delicately placed in the velvet box.

She stares at the ring fondly, a small smile subconsciously gracing her lips. God, it was so beautiful. A 2.5 carat princess cut with a platinum band. Jo knew the name of the shape of the diamond wasn’t by accident, it had most definitely been the main reason why he had chosen that exact one. (She found out it was a princess cut when Kepner had taken her finger and examined the ring, sprouting out facts about the new piece of jewelry she was wearing. Also known as the only reason she knew any details about the rock that only left her finger when she had to be surgery, a rare now since she had transferred to OB)

When he pulled out that ring the first time, she was shocked to say the least, one; because, well he was proposing to her, and two; it was so freaking gorgeous.

Jo was never the type of woman to gush over rings and weddings and frilly dresses with frumpy looking bridesmaids gowns and too many different forks to choose from at dinner. But when she saw that ring? It didn’t matter that they were arguing, it didn’t matter that she felt like he wasn’t in her corner, she just wanted that ring. She never felt like that with Paul (for obvious reasons), the want to stick that ring on her finger and never take it off. Besides that fact that it was beautiful, she knew the real reason she wanted it so badly was because it came from him, from Alex, the man she loved more than life itself. She hated when she had to tell him to put the beautiful ring away, because she wanted nothing more than to wear it herself.

“Jo, I’m gonna be fine.” the man says, watching as his wife stops her movements, turning around to glare at him so sharply he wanted to pull the words back into his mouth and zip them up.

“You don’t know that!” she explodes at him, moving her arms around aimlessly, angry tears beginning to glaze over her eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones.

She lets out a huff, her breath coming out shakily as she tries to fan out the water in eyes.

Alex flashes her a small smile, “Jo, it's an appy. A freakin’ appy. Bailey’s doing it! Nothing’s gonna go wrong if Bailey is doing my appy.” he remarked.

“So many things could go wrong!” she exclaims, pacing around the room once more as words come flying out of her mouth with absolutely no filter at all. “There’s bleeding, infection, inflammation, your appendix could burst-”

She’s cut off by Alex, who’s shaking his head. “Jo.” he looks up at her, her brown eyes boring into his, “I’ll be fine.” he reassures her, watching as she tries to swallow the lump growing in her throat. He pats the bed beside her, signaling for her to come sit next to him.

Jo waddles to him, curling up to his side and placing her head on his chest as he runs fingers through her hair. “You can’t die on me, alright?” she mumbles into him, letting a single tear come down her cheek and land on his hospital gown.

“I won't. Promise.” he places a peck on top of her head.

Jo lets out a little chuckle, “I was never this emotional with Walker.” she teases.

Alex laughs, pulling her closer into him. “Trust me, I know.” he says, earning him a slap on the chest. “Speak of the devil…” he trails off, seeing Meredith walk into the room with a little boy glued to her hip.

“Momma! Daddy!” the three year old exclaims once he sees his parents, a wide smile painting his face as he tries to wiggle out of his auntie’s arms and onto the ground. It felt like he hadn’t seen them in forever, even if it was just six hours before he was being dropped off at daycare.

“Hi bubs!” Jo exclaims, taking Walker from Meredith’s extended hold and setting him down on her lap, his big, hazel eyes staring up at his parents in adoration while the blonde goes to sit in the chair Jo previously occupied.

Walker adjusts his position, making sure not to sit on his mommy’s bump. “Hi baby sissy.” he says to her stomach. Jo takes his hand and puts it on her abdomen, watching his face light up as he feels a sharp kick come straight to his tiny palm.

“Sissy says hi back.” Alex grins, ruffling the little boys spiky hair, which had somehow stayed intact throughout his adventurous day at the hospital’s daycare. He had his wife to thank for that. Jo had somehow managed to find a way to keep their son’s hair in place after long hours, thanks to copious amounts of gel she had mastered the use of. He used to say that a shaggy haircut was fine and perfectly normal, but she said that she ‘didn’t want her son looking like Will Byers’. All haircut debates officially ended after that.

The parents listen as their little boy rattles on about his day, from seeing his best friend Peter to knocking down the block towers he built over and over again. Their three year old was a little bundle of joy, their complete surprise baby. Jo always joked that he was created the night of her faux pregnancy announcement, since the dates lined up. Walker was something else. He inherited Jo’s hazel eyes nose, but everything else about the little boy screamed Karev, from the big head he had when he was born to the crooked smirk that permanently stayed plastered on his lips, always ready to get into some trouble.

Some days he acted like an angel, but majority of the time he was the literal spawn of Evil Spawn. Cristina’s custom made onesies and t-shirts were frequently worn by little Walker, which proudly stated, “My Daddy is an Evil Spawn!”, “Spawn of Evil Spawn”, “Product of an Evil Spawn and Hairball” just to name a few.

Walker and Meredith found them hilarious, Jo and Alex… not so much.

A few minutes later a nurse walks in, asking Alex if he needed anything while simultaneously checking his vitals when the little boy speaks up.

“Hi!” he chirps excitedly, a crooked grin on his face. He loved meeting new people, one of the few differences he shared from his parents, but they knew that was a good thing. Walker had always been sociable and practically made friends everywhere he went. The cashier at the grocery store, the workers at the receptionist’s desk, random people he passed on the street… little Karev was quite a people person.

“Hi there sweetie,” the woman in her mid-twenties coos, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear as she bends down slightly to meet the little boy’s height. “I’m Andrea, what’s your name?” she asks.

“Walker!” the tiny brunette exclaims.

Andrea laughs, shaking her head a little bit at the adorable little boy, looking up to meet Alex’s eyes. “Your vitals are good Doctor Karev. Dr Bailey should be in soon to go have you sign your consent forms, but otherwise just sit here until then.”

Alex says his thanks as the nurse walks out the door, his son watching as the young girl leaves. Walker leans up unexpectedly, whispering loudly enough for the three adults in the room to hear.

“She had big boobies.” he giggles, clutching a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his large grin.

Jo’s face could only be described as scandalized, while Alex and Meredith burst into loud laughter, their sound filling up the room with the little boy’s giggles.

“Walker Alexander Karev!” oh you are so your father’s son.

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ramblingguy54 · 5 years ago

Text

SUF’s Double Hitters & Importance

Damn. Just fucking damn. As a dude in my late twenties, who’s seriously passionate about romance, but still has yet to actually get into having any genuine experience with it, this episode seriously hurt to watch. Christ, look at how utterly crushed Steven is here. The animators did a fantastic job in displaying how defeated this kid feels. These two new episodes were so wonderful in exploring Steven’s trauma and how much that has ended up defining his whole existence from the very start. This moment of Steven breaking into tears may honestly be on my top list of heartbreaking scenes from his character arc. He’s looked toward fusion with Connie as his last hope for genuine escape from those years of internal pain, which naturally she turned him down for now because it’s all kinds of unhealthy. Besides the obvious fact that they’re both still too young for such a heavy commitment like marriage, Steven’s not in a right state of mind whatsoever and is impulsively looking for any “be all end all” resolution that will solve all his problems with a 180 heel turn.

Together Forever was intended to be Steven’s breaking point for his emotional issues and by God did it execute that idea to the fullest 100%. All that existential dread is written over Steven’s face when Connie tries to put off studying to help someone who needs a shoulder to cry on and so much more. Rather than make it about himself once more Steven defaults to thinking of her needs instead of confronting the bigger issue in front of himself, which is topped of by this soul crushing look of a fake smile. Seriously, that look is enough to make me cry because I know that expression all too well. That’s the kind of smile signaling someone at their wit’s end, who doesn’t know what else to do anymore, but resort to what he’s been doing since the earlier seasons, being gritting his teeth and staying quiet about it all. He’s a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

“I think all these experiences have been subjecting your body to a harmful amount of stress and that’s affecting your ability to respond new forms of stress in a healthy way. You’ve been dealing with genuine threats from such a young age, your body is now responding to smaller threats, as if your life were in danger.”

We all knew Steven’s therapy session was coming and it put the spotlight on, you all guessed it, surrounding his heavy childhood trauma ranging from the Gem War, insecurities about his mother Pink Diamond and how that reflects onto his own self-esteem, and many other iconic unfortunate scenarios earlier in the show, like when he saw Amethyst shape-shifting into Rose to spite Greg for “taking” her away from them all. What a shocker amirite? Seriously though, these new episodes wonderfully delivered on getting to see Steven suffer from not dealing with his emotional baggage properly, due to the environment he grew up in and how that affected him in turn to not further speak up about it, considering Steven was always viewed to be so much more than just another kid. We’re now finally seeing all those consequences boil over from all that crap and I love so much that Future is making a big point to illustrate all this. I can’t begin to describe how happy I am they referenced Storm In The Room here because that episode is another seriously important one in Steven’s PTSD journey of facing himself. I answered an anon ask awhile back mentioning how terrific this episode was for Steven’s characterization, so it’s very nice to see them give a big nod to that moment with him venting in Pink Diamond’s room.

Future is a beyond noteworthy addition to Steven Universe’s original story because it doesn’t just sweep all the previous shit that Steven has endured underneath the rug without looking back on it. SUF’s big vocal point is all about the kid facing his inner demons, which is something I deeply appreciate with how down to Earth the writers are making this additional series in general. Honestly, looking at SUF as simply an additional series is such an understatement in hindsight, given all the important stuff they’re tackling here. When I heard about Future’s announcement before it first started airing, I wasn’t sure how necessary it was going to be overall and could simply be ignored, but nope.

Future’s extremely important for those who want to see Steven face his past and not have it be overlooked, by simply saving the universe from enslavement and especially destruction. Color me impressed by tonight’s new episodes.

#steven universe future #together forever #growing pains #suf #suf spoilers #connie #steven universe #tonight's episodes were just...damn great

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duckprintspress · 4 years ago

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I'm confused about the scoring system. It was said on the website that people were scored (numerically) and yet someone with much higher scores than I got didn't get accepted nor was offered the mentoring/beta/get to know discord.

I can't help but feel there is an error here. Is there a way to explain this?

Hi anon!

So there are a few things going on here, and I’ll try to explain them all.

Thing the First:

The scores on the rubrics are raw scores. Once we really got down-and-dirty with rating things, and I did some data analysis, I discovered that some of our raters were being a bit more generous than others. By the time we were done with all the scoring, there was nearly a 2 point split between the most generous and least generous scorer, on average. This was clearly a fairness issue - if one writer got our three most generous raters, and a second writer got our three least generous raters, even if they submitted identical stories, the second writer would get a lower rating. Rather than leave things like that, I did some research on statistical models that would standardize our ratings.

Basically, with the help of an excel algorithm (the “STANDARDIZE” function), we calculated the average that each rater gave, and that rater’s deviation from the mean (standard deviation), and plugged that in to convert their ratings from the 0 to 20 scale to a different, standard scale - which ran roughly from -2.5 to positive 2.5. What the standardization really did was - for each rater, whatever score they personally gave on average was 0 (so, if rater one’s average score was a 15...that was standardized to zero. And if rater two’s average score was 10...that was also standardized to zero. So now instead of comparing apples to oranges, we were comparing apples to apples). Then, if they rated a fic 1 standard deviation above or below their average, that became a 1 or a -1. If they rated it 2 standard deviations above or below their average, that became a 2 or a -2. And so on. This ensured that all of the stories were rated on the same scale and everyone was treated equally - standardization of test scores erased the differences caused by some people rating more strictly.

So, if you and your friends are comparing rubrics (which you’re welcome to do!) and you noticed that some of you did better, numerically, but had different outcomes, that’s likely a factor - one of you may have had more generous or more strict readers.

(Here’s some more information on how Standardization, here’s the very basics...there are other forms of standardizing, such as fitting folks to a bell curve, or curving the entire score, but those were not suited to our needs)

Thing the Second:

The top 20 authors, statistically adjusted for fairness, were invited to contribute to Add Magic to Taste. As it turned out, these top 20 DID roughly correlate to our top 20 by raw scores; comparing the two rankings, there are only two people out of the top 20 who wouldn’t have made it based on raw scores but did when their scores were adjusted to be standardized against the same scale.

The next 20 authors (ranked 21 to 40, when statistically adjusted for fairness) were also invited to Discord, and we’ve also invited them to potentially be involved in a second anthology. Depending on how many of them say yes, we may be able to open that opportunity up a bit more, but we’re not sure yet. Two of these people, by raw score, would have made the top 20, and three of these people, by raw score, would not have made the top 40. However, again, when we standardized the data to reflect the differences in rater strictness, these were the results.

That leaves another 62 people, who had various ratings all below those top 40. Some of them had a raw score fairly similar to their standardized score...and some of them didn’t. For example - my wife was an applicant to this, and she gave me permission to use her numbers for this example. By raw average? My wife came in 49th. However, one of her raters was someone who USUALLY rated very high, and gave hers a (relatively, compared to that person’s usual hig haverage) low score - when that was adjusted statistically, it caused my wife’s fic to plummet to 64th, because even though the raw number itself wasn’t bad, it was statistically well outside the norm for that rater. So, believe me when I say - these standardizations can make a big difference. If you, or anyone reading this, would like, I’m willing to send you what your standardized scores were (while still maintaining reviewer anonymity). I was originally thinking of adding them to the rubrics but doing so would have been a lot of work, and so I passed - next time we do this, they’ll probably be on there.

Thing the Third:

Often, what separated a fic that succeeded from a fic that didn’t was the range of raters scores. For example, the fic that ended up with the highest rating (by both calculations) wasn’t anyone’s favorite fic - but all three readers thought it was solid, and that was enough. My personal favorite fic? Didn’t even hit the Top 20. What often happened was -

Top fics: either all three people liked it pretty well, or one to two people adored it and the other person or people liked it well enough.

Second tier fics: either all three people thought it was okay, or one person loved it and two people were fairly meh about it.

Middle-range fics: either all three people thought it was average, or one person loved it and two people didn’t like it, or two people thought it was pretty good but one person hated it.

Lower quartile fics: either all three people didn’t think the fic was “up to snuff,” or one or two readers really hated it while a third thought it was average.

This isn’t universal, of course - but a fic that had one really high rating could easily do worse than a fic that had three so-so ratings, because...that’s how averages work. And that’s also why we had three readers for each - to try to even out some of the differences that would arise if someone had an extreme reaction to a fic that others didn’t. Obviously, it’s not a flawless system - no system was flawless - but with the resources and manpower we had, we thought this was a fair way to handle things, and we truly did our best. As soon as we broke 20 applications, we were never going to be able to accept everyone, and so we strived to create a transparent system that treated all of our applicants equally.

Thing the Fourth:

Now, in addition to the “why might scores be higher/lower” aspect of your question, there’s the aspect of “getting the Discord invite.” Now, the top 40 folks got Discord invites automatically, and those offers were based solely on the rating they received.

The other Discord invites that we sent out were not based on ratings alone! Just like we had a “reader subjective feelings” category on the rubric, when we’d finished rating all the stories, we were left with a conundrum - all of us had fics we liked that didn’t make the top 40. Maybe it was that “one person love it and two people didn’t like it” permutations. Maybe it was that all of us thought it was “good” but not “great.” Maybe some aspect of the story caught our eye. Based on our reactions, and the fics we saw that we wished had made it, we selected people to get invites. Those Discord invites were sent out based solely on subjective criteria.

Yes, we worried about doing this. Yes, we went back and forth about doing it at all. But in the end, what we decided was - we didn’t want to give Discord invites to everyone, because there were plenty of people we didn’t think their writing was quite ready yet - mentoring is an intensive prospect, and one for which we won’t get paid up front and might possibly never get paid, and while this all looks wonderful from the outside please do remember that we’re running a business - one that I’ve been working my ass off on for more than four months and have yet to earn enough to draw a single paycheck. So inviting everyone was never in the cards. And on the other hand, if we chose to give invites to no one, that would mean potentially having some people that caught our eye “slip through the cracks.” What if they got too discouraged to reapply? What if we missed the chance to work with them, after they’d impressed us?

To use an analogy - we saw something in everyone who applied, but in some it was “this is an uncut diamond, and we aren’t in the position to take it from raw to finished,” and in others it was, “this is a diamond with a crack, or a flaw, or a rough spot...and we think if we put in the work, we can get it to perfection.” And our verdict on the uncut diamonds isn’t, “this is uncut and it will never be cut,” it’s, “all of these diamonds have spent years honing themselves and working hard to strive for flawlessness, and but some are clearly farther along that journey than others. Once these uncut diamonds have shaped more of their rough edges themselves, we hope they’ll come back when they are ALSO only one flaw from perfection, and work with us then!”

There was no way for us to win, and there was also no fair way to distribute invites based solely on the raw scores, or even based solely on standardized scores, because some of the scores were sometimes not reflective our actual opinions of the writing. For example - if someone wrote a grammatically perfect story, with a compelling use of language, but the plot and characters were inaccessible to us because it required fandom knowledge we didn’t have, that might have scored very poorly, but we have every reason to think that if they’d chosen a different work that was more accessible they’d have done much better. Or, as another example - if someone’s writing was really sloppy, because of a lack of editing or possibly because English isn’t their native language - but they have a skill for creating characters, or setting a scene, or had excellent pacing - then again, they could have ended up with a score that didn’t reflect the actual potential that we saw in their work - using our judgement and expertise.

So, flat out - yes, there are inequalities in how the Discord invites were distributed to the 62 people who didn’t make the cut for either anthology. And yes, we agonized over whether to give them out at all. And no, I won’t swear that we always made the right choices - we were going by the one story submitted to us, and we had to use our best judgement based on what we were presented - what each applicant chose to submit. In the end, we invited the people who - regardless of their score - we personally thought were the closest to being sellable - in the sense of, “probably only missing one piece that would help with to get them from ‘didn’t make it’ to ‘now we’re talking.” And I truly, truly wish that we could have everyone. But if we spend all our time mentoring people, then we won’t have time for doing any of the other aspects of this business. We are not a writing school. We are a book publisher. This ISN’T just fandom, and I DO have to think about what is sellable and what isn’t, because in the end...I’m trying to make money, and pay my staff, and give our authors the highest royalties possible, and, and, and.

As a further note on this topic? We are still issuing new Discord invites, based on e-mail conversations we’re having with people. Several people who didn’t initially get those invites? Have now gotten them. It just depends on how people are responding to us, and the conversations we’re having, and lots of other factors.

And, as I tried to say in the post I put up earlier today about notifications: even the people who didn’t get invites have potential. Every single writer who applied has potential. All of you, even if you struggled with multiple areas, had some aspect in which you shined. In a perfect world, we would help you all. But this isn’t a perfect world, and I don’t have the hours in the day to bring up the people who aren’t already close, and I’m sorry about that. So, please, please - if you didn’t make it, don’t be discouraged, and don’t give up. You’re the only one who can tell your stories - if you don’t do it, no one else will. Find fandom friends who will give you honest critique. Learn to read your own writing with a critical eye. Track down stories that really speak to you, and read them like a writer - to see how the original writer put them together, and deliberately emulate what you thought worked. There are many, many ways to improve writing craft, and if ya’ll want to be published, either with us or with anyone, we strongly encourage you to examine whichever ones appeal to you and work for you.

There’s isn’t a single person who applied who couldn’t, one day, be published by Duck Prints Press.

We were never going to make everyone happy, however much we hate making people sad.

We did our best to make as many people as possible happy, while also doing what we feel to be best for Duck Prints Press.

If we hurt you - we’re sorry. We said in the application process that we’d be giving honest feedback, and we’ve never made a secret of the fact that this is a business and our goal is to publish books that sell - nor did we pretend that we’d be able to take more than 20, but we were so impressed by the quality of what we received that we did everything we could think of to open the doors to more folks, while still maintaining the core integrity of our business model. That means we have to narrow the pool; we can’t just take everyone, especially now, when we’re so small and new. Our desire to take as many people as possible is why anyone who wasn’t in the top 20 got an invite, and why we planned an entire second anthology on the fly, instead of no one below the top 20 getting anything except a rejection letter.

Now, as a final thing - it IS possible we made a mistake. We’ve spotted one big one already, and we’re working with that author to rectify the situation. If you truly believe we made a mistake, please e-mail us, and we can look into it. Our email is info @ duckprintspress dot com.

Sorry this got long - but I figured, if one person wondered this, others too, and as we have since day one - our goal is to be transparent, and so I thought it better to answer more thoroughly rather than less.

#duck prints press #add magic to taste #unforth replies #god i hope this didn't end up coming across as defensive #i've been working ten hours straight on anthology stuff and i'm exhausted #Anonymous

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yodawgiherd · 4 years ago

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Red flag pt.4

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Entering the BDSM club, Mikasa finally gets to see what Eren does for a living.

Intimacy and anonymity, those were the two feelings that the interior invoked the most. The light was muted, the colors dark, and her worry about the dress code completely unnecessary. Sure, a woman was wearing a beautiful evening gown, complete with elbow-length gloves, but she was talking to a guy in ripped jeans and a skull-decorated t-shirt. As Mikasa made her way through the club, she noticed that about a half of the attendants were masked, just as she was, the other half were probably regulars and didn’t feel the need to cover their identity. To get a better look at the overall layout, she parked herself at the bar, leaning on the wood and almost immediately being approached by a bartender.

“What can I get you miss?”

Unsure of what people even drank here and knowing that she would have to drive home anyway, Mikasa decided for a safe route.

“A soda please.”

Soon the glass was at her elbow and the man left to serve other guests, leaving her alone. Taking a sip of the beverage, Mikasa looked around, taking the whole thing in. The club wasn’t big, but not small either, with several tables as well as booths for more privacy. The centerpiece that everything was aimed towards wasn’t the bar she was standing at, but a raised stage at the wall, obvious place where the performances took place. In fact, one was taking place right now.

A woman was there, dressed in a way Mikasa saw during her online research into Eren’s way of life. Thigh-high boots on killer heels, latex bodysuit, there wasn’t any skin shown yet it was sexy as hell. The whiteness of her outfit sat well with the blonde color of her hair. The woman’s attention was focused solely on the man kneeling in front of her, facing away, as she twirled a whip between her gloved fingers. He was much more naked than the woman, dressed only in shorts and some sort of leather harness around the neck and shoulders. Despite the situation they were in, the blonde’s expression was that of a statue, completely calm. As Mikasa watched on, captured by the scene, she raised the whip and with a loud smack brought it against the man’s back. His whole body tensed at the impact, on the verge of collapse as the hit was strong if Mikasa was any judge. They must have been at this for some time now because the abused skin was positively red, welted from the abuse.

“She’s really letting him have it tonight.”, said someone to Mikasa’s right, making her turn.

A tall, freckled girl was standing there, leaning on the bar exactly as Mikasa was, her eyes watching the performance. Dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, she was relaxed, unlike Mikasa, this was definitely not her first rodeo. There was a twinkle in her gaze when she turned towards the newbie and continued.

“I know that it looks scary, but I assure you that he’s enjoying it. Plus, most dommes aren’t this harsh, Annie is one of a kind.”

So that was the Mistress A, Eren’s mentor and friend. But despite valuing the confirmation, Mikasa wasn’t sure why the woman was talking to her in the first place. If she was looking for a playmate, she would have to look elsewhere, as Mikasa was not here for that.

“Why are you telling me this?”, she asked.

“You are new, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Freckles grinned.

“You are rigid, your whole body is tense.”, she reached over, poking Mikasa in the shoulder, “Relax.”

The raven’s eyes floated back towards the stage, where Annie was. Their performance finished, she and the man got a round of applause before disappearing backstage, but the mental image of the welts on the guy’s back was burned into Mikasa’s mind.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Nah, you are just spooked by Annie beating the living shit out of people. The next act should be much softer, I promise.”

“How do you know?”

The girl’s smile widened.

“I just do. Oh, and I’m Ymir, by the way.”

“Mi-“, was all Mikasa got out before she realized that she was wearing a goddamn mask to keep anonymous. Ymir noticed her blunder, chuckling.

“If you want to stay anon, that’s fine by me. I’ll just call you Mi then.”

To cover for her stumble, and because she was also genuinely curious, Mikasa pushed the issue and went on the offensive, as the best defense is often an attack.

“You can’t just say that you know and not elaborate. You said that I should relax, so stop being such a tight ass with information.”

“Feisty are we? But you have a point. The thing is, I’m not into this whole thing,”, Ymir gestured vaguely around the club, “but my girlfriend is, so that’s why I’m here. That’s also why I know that the next performance will be much softer because she is not into these hardcore beatings Annie can do.”

“Your girlfriend? She’s going to be here?”

“That’s right.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Why should I?”, Ymir raised an eyebrow, “She’s been into this for a long time, and it would be damn selfish if I demanded that she stop because of me, no? Plus, when she’s on the stage, you can see that she’s genuinely having fun, and I would never take that away from her.”

Just then, the excited murmur that ran through the club announced that the stage was no longer vacant.

“Speak of the devil.”, Ymir said, looking away from Mikasa and back towards the raised floor, “There she is.”

The girl on the stage was also blonde as Annie was, but shorter and somehow much less imposing. Might have been the clothes, as instead of a catsuit and high heels she was wearing a piece that looked like what gymnast wear. It was made from latex, Mikasa guessed, and left her legs bare while covering her upper body and arms. Her face was also much different, excited and slightly flushed. The other person who entered behind her, now that was someone Mikasa knew, and her own cheeks got redder just by watching him move.

Eren wasn’t dressed in anything scandalous. A suit, dark as a sin, the perfect fit betraying that it was tailored specifically for him. Eren’s hands were covered too, in black leather gloves, the only skin visible from his whole body was the dark smile. His hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and he even had a mask on, but it was more of a decoration than an attempt to hide who he was. Mikasa would guess that everyone in the club knew that, and the little lacy piece sitting around his eyes did nothing to confuse them. Eren had a small smile on his lips when he dipped his head to whisper something in the girl’s ear, making her giggle. At the same time, a ring slowly descended from above, stopping to hover over the pair.

“Ooh, a suspension, those are fun.”, Ymir noted, “Krista will love it.”

So that was Krista. First Annie, now Krista, Mikasa felt like she was meeting every important woman in Eren’s life tonight. Focusing back on the scene, she saw a table in the back of the stage, one that wasn’t there before, laden with various tools and things that she had trouble identifying, even with her research beforehand. Maybe Eren was feeling basic tonight, or maybe he wanted to show off, but the thing he picked up wasn’t any of the spreader bars and bondage tools, but a simple rope. He showed it to the crowd first, like a magician, creating a ripple of laughter.

“Comedian.”, Ymir commented next to her.

Comedian or not, when Eren got to work the whole club fell silent. Mikasa didn’t fully understand what was happening in front of her, but her breathing got agitated anyway. One thing she could say for sure, and that was that Eren was very good at this. He knelt, working on his partner’s legs first, nudging them apart with a firm hand. He sneaked the ropes around Krista’s thighs, creating diamond-shaped patters against her.

Rope here and there, between her legs, pulled tight and pressing hard into the skin. For some reason, It felt like there were ropes between Mikasa’s thighs too and she pressed them together just to be sure, letting out a sigh. Far from done, Eren quickly grabbed another rope when he was finished, working on Krista’s upper body after. Hands behind her back, straight, he bound them together in various loops that went all the way from the wrist to her elbows. Another one, and now he was wrapping her chest, intricate circles around her breasts and suggestive shapes below, all the way down to join the ropes between her thighs. In preparation for the suspension, Eren guided the ropes up and through the ring, giving her body a safety net.

He was not the only one who knew what he was doing, Krista was no beginner either, letting her weight rest against the ropes instead of keeping rigid, allowing him to work without worrying. She was incredibly flexible, as Eren claimed before, Mikasa couldn’t help but wince when he pulled her leg up high, much higher than the raven could do. She had no idea how long Eren worked, time didn’t matter here, his hands moving fast, delicate long fingers dancing over Krista’s body.

Then he was done, casting inspecting eye over the ropework and whispering something to Krista. When he got a resolute nod in return, he stepped back, giving a thumbs up to someone in the backstage. With a muted sound, the ring went up, pulling the bound body into the air.

It wasn’t high, just a few centimeters above ground, but that was more than enough to take Mikasa’s breath away. Krista hung in the ropes, no resistance from her side, wrapped up so beautifully that she looked like an ornament. Bend at angles that Mikasa didn’t think were possible, her small body was a work of art too, and together with Eren’s efforts, they created a thing of beauty together. Somehow, Mikasa felt as if she was the one hanging up there, fully on display, tied up yet free at the same time. It wasn’t some sort of dark and painful dominance, this side was exactly as soft as Ymir said. It didn’t matter that Eren tied Krista up, they were partners in this, not a master and a slave. The ropes restrained, sure, but they were a decoration too, beautiful knots pressed into white skin.

The club erupted into applause. Eren took a step back, gesturing towards Krista as if most of the work has been done by her. He still bowed, and when he straightened, Mikasa could swear that the green eyes from behind the mask met hers. They stared at each other while the ruckus continued around them, while Krista still hung from the metal ring, obvious to anything. Mikasa’s mental image of being on the stage was complete – she was the one tied up, suspended, on display for the whole club. She was the one Eren restrained, tightly yet lovingly at the same, she remembered how the leather of his gloves felt when he spread her thighs far apart. She could see him, kneeling between her legs, his eyes staring into hers as he wrapped the rope around one toned thigh, decorating the porcelain skin with the rope.

Mikasa's cheeks were positively aflame now, breathing labored, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from the stage. The thing that happened, it wasn’t even that sexual in nature, both the performers were fully clothed, but it was the hottest thing she was in her entire life. Her thighs have been rubbing against one another for some time, and to say that Mikasa was turned on would be an understatement. Heart beating heavily in her chest, she didn’t even realize how close she was until Ymir spoke, breaking the spell.

“Damn.”, the tall girl whispered, “He’s good.”

Embarrassed all of a sudden, humiliated that she was made this desperate by a sight alone, Mikasa turned away, hiding her face behind a curtain of midnight hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Eren invited her to make her feel more comfortable with what he does, not to turn her into…. Into what? Confused, still flushed, Mikasa shifted on her chair while the applause finally died down.

The performance was done.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #aot

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cheemerthelizard · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request Josuke and his s/o swapping bodies because they were attacked by an enemy stand

Body swap! Body swap!

Thanks for the request, anon!

You and Josuke, sometimes known as the inseparable couple, other times, the invincible couple. It all depended on who you were. To this Stand user, you two were invincible, especially considering Jotaro and Okuyasu were at the scene, too.

“Okuyasu,” Jotaro said, “you and I will distract this guy, while (Y/N) and Josuke attack from behind. Got it?”

Okuyasu nodded. “You got it, Mr. Jotaro!”

While those two were busy attacking the enemy, Josuke nudged you, beckoning you to sneak up behind the man with him.

“You fools!” the enemy laughed. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you!” In an instant, he summoned his Stand, who punched both Okuyasu and Jotaro at the same time, sending them flying back, rolling on the ground.

It was now or never, and Josuke knew that, too. Both of you ran towards him while his back was turned.

“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you two!” he cackled. Before either of you had time to react, his Stand gave the two of you the same treatment as Jotaro and Okuyasu, landing a devastating blow that ended up with you crumpled up on the grass.

“Ow…” you groaned. “Josuke, are you alright?” That was not your voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Josuke answered, not in his voice. Actually, it almost sounded like your voices were swapped.

“Um, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you look just like me?”

When you finally looked over at Josuke, he looked just like you. “I could say the same thing,” you answered, not even realizing what was going on.

“Good grief,” Okuyasu walked up to both of you, pulling you up from the ground. “Don’t you get it? Your bodies are swapped.”

“What?” You started patting yourself down, realizing how different, and tall, this body shape was. Feeling your hair, you realized how it felt like it was up in a pompadour. This wasn’t good.

“No wonder the world felt like it got a little bigger,” Josuke muttered.

“Wait, so if we got swapped, then I’m assuming…”

“Yup. I’m Jotaro,” Okuyasu’s body answered.

“Josuke, you’re so small,” the actual Okuyasu, who was in Jotaro’s body, came up to you and plopped a hand on your hair.

“Well, I’m actually (Y/N),” you chuckled.

“Right! You were hit by the Stand attack, too!” Okuyasu exclaimed. “So Josuke is even smaller!”

“Geez, Mr. Jotaro is even more intimidating when you’re this tiny,” Josuke muttered. “How tall are the two of you?”

“That’s beyond the point,” Jotaro quickly changed the subject. “What we need to worry about is where that Stand user went. If we don’t find him, who knows how long we’ll be stuck in these bodies?”

“So, what do we do?” Josuke asked. “Split up?”

Jotaro nodded. “In twos. I checked, and I have The Hand instead of Star Platinum. It’s not safe to let yourself be alone with a Stand you don’t even know how to use. Okuyasu, you come with me. (Y/N) and Josuke, you go together. That way, we cover as much ground as possible while also making sure the Stands don’t go out of control.”

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” you answered. And with that, the four of you split up.

Every time you walked, you noticed how different it was. Your hair bounced up and down a lot, and the place between your thighs felt way different. But being free from a bra was nice. It felt so perverted, walking around in your boyfriend’s body, but what more could you do?

“Being a girl is weird,” Josuke said. “Especially looking down and seeing a part of my chest pop out. And this bra is so tight!”

“If you take that thing off in public, I won’t be afraid to use your own Stand against you,” you threatened, getting in Josuke’s face to make sure he knew you were serious.

“I wasn’t planning on taking it off!” Josuke put his hands up in defense. “It’s just a bit uncomfortable. And weird. Really weird.”

“You better not have been,” you growled under your breath.

“Hey, Josuke!” a kid called out. “Your hair looks stupid!”

That kid was not expecting your body to be the one to get so riled up. “What did you say?” Josuke asked, a menacing aura surrounding him. He ran up, and punched the kid hard in the stomach. At least, as hard as he could. He wasn’t nearly as strong in your body.

“Aw, come on!” another kid appeared from behind the bushes. “That is not worth a hundred dollars!”

“But you promised a hundred dollars if I called Josuke’s hair stupid,” the first kid smirked, “so hand it over.”

“My boyfriend wouldn’t be so happy about you getting away scratch-free after you said such a thing about his hair,” you slowly approached the kid. “So, for the time being, you’ll only get a hard punch to the face, courtesy of me.” You summoned Crazy Diamond and had him whack the kid’s jaw.

“Thanks,” Josuke told you.

“It’s nothing,” you replied. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

As the two of you continued walking, the differences in your body shapes were starting to be a little less obvious. You started getting used to it, actually. It didn’t feel as perverted as it once did.

“Hey,” Josuke nudged your arm. “I think that’s him.”

You looked over to where your boyfriend was pointing, and saw the man who swapped your bodies hiding in the crowd. He didn’t seem to notice that you two had found him, luckily, and continued being on constant alert instead of running away from you immediately.

“This is our chance,” you whispered. “Let’s get closer to him before we lose him.”

Josuke nodded in approval, and started slowly approaching the man. Of course, when your enemy noticed you breaking the distance between the three of you, he immediately ran in a different direction, but by that point, it was too late. You had already gotten close enough to where you could spot his every move.

“Looks like he’s moving into an alley,” you muttered. “I’ll go through the opposite opening, and we can trap him.”

“Good idea,” Josuke whispered.

And with that, you two split ways, attempting to catch the enemy. You knew Morioh’s roads and alleyways like the back of your hand, and that alley had only one other path out. When you reached that one other path, you dashed in, making an effort to not waste any time. You knew that he could be around any corner, but you were now way taller than him thanks to Josuke’s build, so running into him wouldn’t hurt a bit. Right?

Wrong.

Turning a corner, you slammed into your enemy, which gave your stomach a dull pain. However, you were still standing, while the man had fallen to the ground.

“Looks like you’re trapped now,” Josuke smirked. “Look, if you reverse us and Jotaro and Okuyasu, then we’ll let you go, scott-free. But if you don’t, we may have to get physical.”

“No, wait! Please, have mercy!” the man begged, backing away from the two of you. You could see that glint in his eye, the one that told you his plan was to back away far enough to run, so you grabbed his shirt and scowled.

“Don’t even think about getting away from this,” you said.

“Look, I can transform you two back, but the other two are too far away for me to do anything!” the man whimpered.

“Then turn us back, then come with us while we find the others,” Josuke told him. “Or, you can be my first and last victim while I try out (Y/N)’s Stand for the first and last time.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll turn you back!” the man screamed. He summoned his Stand again, hitting both of you hard in the chest, making you slam into the wall behind you.

“You still held onto him even when you were flying back,” Josuke, with his normal voice, said. “You made our job a lot easier.”

You grunted, slowly standing up after having the wind knocked out of you. As you stood, you could feel the shape of your body once again. Turning, you saw that Josuke had a solid grip on your enemy.

“Now, you’ll be coming with us,” Josuke told him. “We can’t have you running away again.”

“You were right about one thing,” you muttered. “This bra is tight.”

“See? I’m not crazy!” Josuke laughed. “Anyway, this guy needs to turn Jotaro and Okuyasu back, so we need to find them.”

“And then you’ll let me go?” the man asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Yeah, then we’ll let you go,” you repeated.

The three of you walked down the streets, careful to keep an eye on your enemy in case he tried to flee.

“Man, I’m glad that’s over,” Josuke chuckled.

“Me too,” you smiled. “But it was kind of fun.”

“It was, I’m not gonna lie,” Josuke replied. “But let’s hope it never happens again.”

#josuke #josuke higashikata #higashikata josuke #josuke x reader #diamond is unbreakable #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jjba x reader #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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saelwen · 5 years ago

Text

Maedhros x Albino!Human!Reader

Request by a lovely anon

How about a one shot of a albino reader with elf or valar of your choice because I can't decide, there was so many choices and I like your writings.

Masterlist

Summary: You are an albino human, who is a healer. After picking up some herbs in the forest, you were met by a tall stranger in front of your home.

Warnings: a little bit of angst, fluff

Words: 2,228

A/n: I choose Maedhros. I hope you don’t mind. 😂

Humming softly to a song your mother used to sing to you as a child, you bend down and begin picking up wildflowers and herbs, putting them in a basket. The sun was high in the sky, shining brightly with all his glory.

You wore a long dark green cloak and two long gloves, that cover your sensitive skin and eyes from the sun and prying eyes. You were born albino, snow white skin and hair with two large violet eyes. Your mother and father used to tell you that you are a rare beauty, a white diamond. The people of your village didn’t see that same way as your parents. Every time that you got out of your house and go to the market, you could feel they envious and disapproval eyes on your small figure.

When your parents die from a rare disease, you took care of your father's business which is a small pharmacy. Your father had taught you everything he had known, making you do small pots of remedies since you were little.

With you taking care of his business, you move out of your village and build it a small hut in the forest. People would go there and buy your remedies and herbal teas, passing their word to other people.

As years pass through, people begin calling you the white witch. Saying that your potions and teas made wonders to the sick people. You didn’t mind that they call you that since it gave something to intimidate people.

Sighing tiredly, you grab your basket, now full of flowers and herbs, and begin walking towards your small house. A small smile forms on your lips while you see a deer couple walking in the distance with a tiny deer follow them happily. That was your dream since a child, having a big family to love. Sometimes, your tiny hut can be pretty lonely. Only hearing the sounds of the wolfs howls at night and rustle of the animals walking beside your home, sniffing your garden of herbs.

Suddenly your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy hooves hitting on the ground. A horse? Weird...normally your clients travel on foot.

Pulling your cloak tightly, hiding your pale face from the stranger. The sound becomes closer and you could see the large figure of the beautiful black stallion with a tall cloaked rider mounting him. The man stops the horse and climbs down gracefully, giving long steps towards you. You noticed long red hair coming from the opening of his cloak around the neck.

“Are you the white witch?” the stranger’s voice was deep and rough, making goosebumps in all your white skin.

“I am! And who is asking?” you said with a firm voice, not letting his large figure intimidate you.

The stranger left arm lifts it and grab his hood, pulling it back. The first thing you notice was his beautiful curly long red hair, seeming almost like flames as the sunlight touch it. His features were sharp and rough, with some battle scars. His eyes were grey as the sky in a storm day, full of fury and determination. Around his strong neck, you see a delicate brooch. It was shaped like a start, all bathed in gold.

“I’m King of Himring!... I wish to buy some of your teas.” Your eyes bulge when he said King of Himring. You knew that kingdom. It was there that the heir of the High King Fëanor rule, along with his younger brother. You have heard stories of him. People say that he was a proud ruler and of all the eight brothers, he was the most responsible and listener. You have heard his name one day in the market. Maedhros.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. Come!” you said while bowing your head to him, walking inside your house.

Inside, you put your basket in your working table and turn back to the elven king. “So, what kind of tea do you want, Your Grace?” you asked while pulling forward your hood, trying to hide your white snow hair. You don’t like people to see your strange appearance since people always look at you with envy eyes.

“Ahh...Well...I want a tea that helps me to sleep...” his voice was quiet and full of shame. His eyes darken and he looks down, trying to hide his tired face. He suffers from nightmares. You thought.

“Very well! I have the perfect tea for you then.” your voice calm and soft.

You begin opening drawers, pulling pots of herbs and dry flowers. You start working on his request quickly. In the corner of your eye, you notice him walking around your shop. Watching the potions and teas already made on your shelf.

His frame was muscle and tall, making him look like a mountain of an elf. You would be lying if you said that the elven King didn’t catch your eye. He was the most handsome and beautiful man you ever saw.

“Why the humans call you White Witch?” Maedhros’s deep voice broke your train of thoughts.

You look up from your work to him, seeing his grey eyes fixed on you. “People think I do magic with my potions and herbs...since they heal quickly my clients,” you said quietly, trying to change the topic of the conversation. The elven King notice that and resumes his watch to the filled pots in the shells.

When you finished, you close the small pot and give it to Maedhros. His large hand grabs it and puts it on his bag.

“How much?” he asked while pulling out his gold.

“It's on the house!” you said with a smile on your voice. “It’s a basic tea so I didn’t need to put my expensive herbs.” your voice soft.

Maedhros looks up and down at you, his grey eyes confused and a little intrigued. Then he nods and bows his head at you.

“Very well... Until we meet again, White Witch.” with that, he walks out of your hut. You heard him climb to his stallion and galloping away.

You felt a weird sensation inside you, like butterflies flying around in your stomach. You pull your hood away, letting your snow white hair fell down your shoulders. You put your delicate hand on your cheek, feeling it hot. Your heart beat was beating like a hummingbird.

“So that’s the famous Maedhros...” you whisper quietly.

-----

As the months go, you had more visits from the King of Himring. You were surprised at first when you saw him at your door. You quickly go dress your cloak and gloves for him not see your abnormality. He only asked for his sleeping tea and nothing more, and would always let a large bag of gold on your table.

Every time you two were together, you felt at peace. Felling that was easy to talk with him and you also notice that he felt that way too. Even one time you saw a tiny smile on his rough lips when you told him a joke.

Maedhros came visiting you three times a week but at first, it was once a week than pass it to two. He would also come always alone, not a single guard was with him which you thought was strange.

Today wasn’t different from other days. You wrap your cloak around your small frame when you heard Maedhros’s horse outside. He walks in and bows his head to you.

“Good Morning, Your Grace!” you said while working on your new project.

“Good Morning, White Witch...When I will get to know your name?” his voice full of mischief.

You giggle and shook your head. “Don’t know yet...maybe after a thousand years or more,” you said with a teasing voice which made him roll his beautiful grey eyes. “...Y/n...” you whisper quietly.

Maedhros look at you with a bright smile, a smile that made you blush like a young girl. “Y/n...What a beautiful name!” his voice was gentle and sweet, making your insides melt and your knees like jelly.

He took a step forward and put his left hand on the table, looking down at you. You notice that you never have seen his other hand which you thought was weird. Maybe he is lefthanded.

“When will get the luck to see your lovely face, Y/n?” his words have swept you off your feet. Taking a deep breath, you return to your work.

“You are very demanding today, Your Grace,” you said calmly while cleaning some herbs. “And how do you know that my face is beautiful?... Maybe under this hood is a very old woman with her face full of warts.” you heard him chuckle beside you.

“Maybe you could have warts but for sure you are not an old lady since your voice is young and soft,” he said gently. “But I think you are beautiful, with and without warts or moles.”

A giggle escapes your lips but you cover it with a cough. You knew that he only was saying that just to make you feel safe and show him your pale face but it isn’t working. You still remember the jokes and bullying that you had suffered in the village. The kids yelling at you, saying that you were a ghost.

“I think it's late, Your Grace... You better go, the roads can be dangerous at night.” your voice was cold and firm, lost it all the gentleness and warmth.

Maedhros’s eyes softer and he nods. Grabbing his tea, he bends his goodbyes and walks away. You let a heavy sigh and fought the tears that were threatening to fall down. You were too harsh with him...He only wished to see you but you were afraid that he would run away and never come back.

Putting everything into the drawers, you run outside to the big clearing beside your home. The sky was dark and the moon shined high in the dark sky, letting his light spread through the forest.

You took a deep breath and took off your cloak, letting it fall into the wet grass. The cold moonlight bathes you, making your pale skin and hair shine even more. You were wearing a grey dress which reminds you of Maedhros’s eyes.

Suddenly a gasp sounded behind you, making you turn back quickly. Standing there was the elven King, his grey eyes wide and his mouth open. You two stood there very still, shocked looking at each other. In the distance, you could hear owls singing.

You look down at your cloak and made a movement to grab it but Maedhros’s voice stops you.

“Don’t!... Oh my Eru...I was right. You are beautiful.” his voice was soft and rich. “Such a delicate being.” his words shocked you. You were prepared for the worst but nothing had prepared you for his beautiful words.

Maedhros slowly begins walking towards you, his footstep careful and soft against the grass. You try to move away but something told you to stay still, to let him get closer to you.

When he was in front of you, his tall muscled body dwarfing you, he lifted his left hand and stroke gently your cheek. You sigh in content and melt a little into his touch.

“Why did you hide from me?” he asked softly.

You lift your head and look up to his grey eyes. “I...I was afraid...People usually don’t appreciate my appearance...” you whisper quietly.

“Then, those people are extremely stupid.” you chuckle a little with his words. “You are the most beautiful maiden that I've ever seen... You have a unique beauty,” he said gently.

Maedhros put a piece of white hair behind your ear, stroking gently your earlobe. Then he sighs and looks down, making you follow his gaze.

“I’m the one who isn’t beautiful.” with his words, he lifts his right arm, showing you that he was handless.

You let out a small gasp and trace gently his scars, feeling his rough skin there.

“That’s not true,” you said with a firm voice. “You are the most stunning man that I've ever seen... the scar doesn’t make a person ugly. They make them strong...They make them brave.” your voice was now soft and calm.

You put your hand on his sharp cheek and stroke it gently, moving to his pointy ear. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, resting his forehead against yours. That moment, sudden courage came to you. Putting in your tiptoes, you crash your lips against his rough ones. He let out a surprise hum and return the kiss.

His strong arms wrap around your waist a while yours wrap around his neck. The kiss was filled with love and passion, you two pouring all your love into each other.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath and rest your forehead against his, smiling brightly. He nuzzled his nose against yours and kiss the tip which made you giggle.

“I think that I've fallen for you, White Witch.” his voice full of love.

You felt your cheeks burn like flames and you cuddle against his strong body, nuzzling your face against his neck.

“I think that I have too, Your Grace,” you said shyly.

You two begin giggling and he spins you around, making your laugh grew louder.

“I love you, Nin Ithil(My Moon)”

“And I love you, My Sun.”

Hey Guys!! Here’s a new One-Shot with our lovely Maedhros! So, what do you think? I loved this request! It was so good to write this. I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

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r3almellow · 5 years ago

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Second Thoughts (Gavin x F!Reader)

Thanks to the anon who requested a second part to my Gavin x F!Reader fic Late Night Thoughts! Hopefully you enjoy this one! I tried proofreading this so many times, so I’m really sorry if there are any typos!

Warning: Slightly-Angstish

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Everyone knew about the “Bad Boy” of Loveland High. Not many dared to go against the infamous Gavin Bai because they valued their lives too much.

Gavin couldn’t remember where the rumors sprouted from, but if it got people to leave him alone then who was he to say anything? He didn’t have many interests and didn’t see the need to befriend the entire student body. What was the point when he knew he would never see ninety percent of these people in the future? Like most students he only wanted to finish his schooling and get the hell out of there.

When it came to fights, he rarely started them. It was always people who felt threatened by him. The reason for that was beyond him, but he had no problem throwing a few punches if it meant he would be left alone afterwards. These beliefs made him seem disinterested, unapproachable, and straight up intimidating. You had to have had a few screws loose to want to befriend him. Which…in hindsight, probably explained why Minor was stuck to his side like glue.

However, Gavin would be a liar if he said the rumors that floated around didn’t bother him a little bit. It was even worse when he came across you, the small nerdy looking shy girl who seemed too innocent and kind for her own good. Gavin couldn’t quite understand it at first, but there was something about you that immediately grabbed his attention. Was it the big rimmed glasses or the way your fingers effortlessly danced across the piano keys in the “empty” music room? He wasn’t sure. What was first a spark of curiosity turned into a full on crush. For the first time in Gavin’s life he was interested in someone. He wanted to get to know you. What were your interests? What was your favorite food? What made you happy? What made you cry? What kind of guys were you interested in? He wanted to know it all. All he had to do was take that first step and talk to you.

Unfortunately, you were one of the many who were weary of him. He didn’t blame you. Who would want to talk to someone who got into fights constantly, had the school faculty cowering before him and allegedly threw another student out a window for “accidentally touching” a female student? In Gavin’s defense, it was out the first floor window and the grass probably cushioned the assholes fall. With rumors like that what girl would want to have anything to do with a guy like him? Despite all that you were always kind the very few times you two crossed paths. You even gave Minor a first aid kit in hopes to help patch Gavin up after one of his really bad scuffles.

You were so nice. He had never known such kindness before. His upbringing didn’t allow him to experience that and there you were throwing a smile at him when ever you glanced his way; before running off with your group of friends. You have no idea how much those smiles brightened his day.

Despite fearing him, maybe you knew that deep down Gavin wasn’t some misunderstood monster. Maybe you saw something in him that no one else saw. And maybe that’s why the boy who never cared to prove himself to others, grew into the man who wanted to prove himself to you.

And his hard work paid off years later.

When you agreed to be his girlfriend, Gavin was shocked to say the least. Sure you two had grown close since your reunion, but he never thought in a million years that you would have given him a chance.

After a year of dating, Gavin knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

He played with the idea of asking you out right a few months ago while your sleeping form laid in his arms. He remembered casually asking you to marry him and you mumbled a somewhat coherent “yes.” He knew you couldn’t comprehend what he was asking, but that didn’t stop his heart from almost leaping out of his chest. Gavin knew it was only a matter of time before he asked you. He just needed the courage to do it.

Marriage was a big step and while he knew you loved him, there was a lingering feeling of doubt. Love and marriage were two different things. You could love someone and not be ready to take that leap. What if you had no intentions of getting married? What if he scared you off? What if this was all a dream and the minute he got down on one knee you would be replaced with his father.

“You want a wife? A husband is the foundation of a family. The protector. How do you expect to protect your “wife” when you couldn’t even protect your mother?” His father’s words would echo in his head and suddenly marriage was just a fools dream.

It was rare for his thoughts to travel to such a dark place, but they were there nonetheless.

You needed someone who could protect you, be with you for every good and bad moment in your life, and most importantly make you feel loved. Despite his fears, Gavin wanted to be that person who gave you the world.

He thought about how he was going to propose many times. It had gotten so bad that he had to enlist the help of Minor and Eli. Surprisingly, Minor was really good at throwing some ideas his way and Eli brought Gavin to ring maker who specialized in making custom wedding rings. He ended up walking away with the perfect ring which he’s been walking around with for the past three months.

Gavin almost had all the pieces, he just needed t-

“Earth to Gavin!” A loud feminine voice pierced through Gavin’s thoughts, bringing the man back to the present. His line of vision was quickly met with hands waving in his face and a slightly amused you looking at him.

“We’re going to be late for the Policeman’s Ball if you keep spacing out like that.” Oh right. That was something he was supposed to be getting ready for.

Gavin thought about asking you at the Ball. There was a nice gazebo behind the building he could take you to. Although he’d rather not be surrounded by his colleagues, as he asks you the most important question that could be a turning point in your relationship.

Even so, he had the box containing the ring in his back pocket just in case he was feeling spontaneous.

“You know we could always skip it.” Not like they had to be there and Gavin wasn’t much for parties.

You gave him a disapproving look.

“Like we did last year because a certain someone couldn’t keep his hands to himself? No way!”

To be fair, you were the one who initiated what led to an all night love making session, not that Gavin was complaining. He’d much rather spend the rest the of his night worshiping you than going to an event he had no interest in.

Ignoring his small frown, you turned your back to him, revealing your partially exposed back.

“Zip me, please.” Gavin heard you say. He eyed the zipper that stopped half way up your back and glared. Cursed thing. Gavin had half a mind to see if he could convince you to play hooky with him, but decided against it.

He reluctantly zipped up your dress, earning him a quick kiss and “thank you” from you.

You made your way over to the full length mirror to check yourself out. The long red dress that tightly hugged your body, showing off your curves in all of Gavin’s favorite places, was beautiful; but he would much rather look the gorgeous body hiding underneath.

“You think the food will be good?” You asked. That was probably your only concern for the night.

Gavin shrugged as he made his way over to the nightstand in search for his cufflinks. Events like that always had drinks and finger food that was probably way too expensive than it needed to be. They were never filling either...

“Not sure. If anything we can grab something to eat on the way back.” He watched your eyes light up through the mirror at the idea. You were so cute.

“Hopefully that hotpot buffet place around the corner will still be open.” You said with a happy sigh.

“Worst case, I’ll cook.” Gavin wasn’t a master chef, but he did pick up a few things once you two started dating. Out of the two of you, you claimed he was the better cook, but honestly Gavin would eat your home-cooked meals all day if he could.

“You’re so good to me! Did anyone ever tell you that you’d make a good husband?” You jokingly questioned as you rummaged through the closet for a pair of heels.

Gavin wasn’t sure what came over him at that moment, but the next sentence that passed his lips would change your relationship forever.

“Good enough to be your husband?” And just like that, silence filled the room. Gavin was prepared to smack himself. He was always straightforward and honest with his feelings, but now definitely wasn’t the time for that.

Before he could backtrack and claim his question to be a joke you spoke out. The shakiness in your voice evident.

“Do...do you want to be?” Your question surprised him, but it gave him hope. Hope that maybe just maybe...

“I do.” His voice was low, but with your refusal to look in his direction and the way your back tensed up he knew you heard him.

There was no going back now. No incoherent talks of hotpot weddings, no more ghosts of his past trying to deter him, and no more waiting.

“If this is your way of getting out of th-” You paused mid-sentence as you turned to face Gavin who was currently kneeling on one knee before you with a small box in his slightly shaken hand.

Suddenly Gavin forgot how to breathe. For the first time in a really long time Gavin was fearful as hell. So much could go wrong in this moment and not being sure how this was going to go was full on torture.

This might not have been how you would have imagined a proposal from Gavin would be, but he hoped with every fiber of his being that this was enough. That he was enough.

Gavin opened the box, revealing a beautifully crafted silver band in the shape of two ginkgo leaves, holding a diamond ring.

“Will you marry me?”

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Done! There were so many ways I wanted to go about this, but I hope this end result was to everyone’s liking. I feel like Gavin is a total sweetheart and while he’s pretty nonchalant about a lot of things he tries to do right by you. I also believe his proposal would be an accident. I actually have a n/swf proposal idea if anyone was interested in that. What do you think? Please leave a comment! Have a request? Drop me a message! You can also read my other MLQC works here!

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #gavin #gavin bai #bai gavin #fanfic #fic #mlqc fanfic

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momoh-chiin · 5 years ago

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Steven Universe x Dense!Female Reader - Fluff Scenario!

Your wishes are my command, anons! I hope you don’t mind me mashing the requests, that’s just the way the story came out! ; 7 ; Order up!

Dense!Female Reader + “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together”!

You and Steven were friends as long as you could remember. You accompanied him with his journey, praising him whenever he got to handle his powers! Both of you had many stories to tell, and you would love to embarrass him now and then! —Hey, you know, once Steven tried to stretch to look bigger on his birthday, but he turned into a baby at the end! Oh, he would cry a lot, only I and Connie could calm him down! I got photos, wanna see? You stayed on Earth while he was on Homeworld dealing with the diamonds; you were so worried! It’s been days and you didn’t know anything about him, neither Connie! Bismuth and Greg did their best to comfort you. When he arrived you ran right to him, embracing him with a huge hug. —Wow, thanks (Y/N), I’m fine too — Connie said, rolling her eyes in a jokingly manner, causing everyone else to laugh. Little did you two know, a bet was starting to grow right there, at that very moment. ////////////////////////////////////////////

You couldn’t believe that years later, Little Homeworld was finished, gems were learning, deciding what to do on their own. Of course, your bond with Steven was bigger than ever at this point, you both now teenagers. He has a neck and everything! The only bad part it’s that he is now a little taller than you. But hugs were better now, so it wasn’t that bad.

Many of your friends would say that you both were a couple; heck, even your parents whined that you basically spent all your day with that “boyfriend” of yours, when would you two just move in together? You didn’t really understand why they would say that. It is true that now that you were older, you had a more…feminine body. Boys would come to you more often, trying to achieve a date with you. Of course, your body guard Steven usually was hanging out with you, scaring these people off, with this angry frown. It you didn’t know better, you would say he was jealous! To everyone in town, you were just a dense idiot. Affection was normal between the two of you; grabbing hands while on Funland? Yes! Cuddling while watching a movie? Absolutely! Steven sleeping on your lap if he was that tired? Yeah! You hugging him tight and comforting him whenever he was feeling down? Duh. If some outsider saw you two, they would ask if you two were dating. —Oh no! We are just best friends! — You would say, with the biggest of smiles on your face. You just didn’t understand why Steven had a sad smile every time that happened. Why couldn’t you just see that he was so in love with you? Hell, he started to love you when he was fourteen! But then again, confessing could just ruin your friendship, and Steven wouldn’t let that happen. One day, you were hanging with Amethyst on Steven’s house while he was running some errands. —Be honest with me, (N/N) — Amethyst said, with a smirk on her face —. What do you feel towards Steven? You can fool everyone but not me! I know you two aren’t just friends! —I don’t know why you say that, Amethyst, we are just friends! — You giggled, making Amethyst growl. —Alright, just think about it! How do you feel when you are around him? You thought about it before answering. —Well, I do like his company a lot. He is really nice, and kind, and strong! — You started to ramble —. I can’t help but feel like I have butterflies on my stomach every time I see him smile or laugh. I believe he is really handsome, too. His hair is just so fluffy! And his hugs are the best! I can’t help but feel safe every time he hugs me, you know? You continue to ramble, ignoring Amethyst knowing smirk, until you realized. You were in love with Steven Universe. — Do… Do I love him? Why didn’t I realize that? — You exclaimed, annoyed with yourself. —I assure you dude, everyone in town knew before you — Amethyst joked, even if she was actually just saying the truth. —What do I do, Amethyst? — You shaked her shoulders, desperation in your eyes —Woah there, cowgirl! — She yelled, now dizzy thanks to you —. Take your time to think about it. There’s no rush! We waited a few years, we can wait a little more! — She joked, chuckling at you while you just pulled your hair for some kind of relief. Just as you calmed down a little, Steven decided to open the door. You couldn’t be really mad at him, this was his house after all. Connie was also now with him. —Hey Amethyst, hey (N/N)! — He said while waving —. How are you two doing? Having fun? You blushed immediately, remembering your little chat with Amethyst. The nickname he gave you now sounded so different. Why did it took you so long to understand your own feelings? —Uh, hey (Y/N)? Are you okay? — Connie asked, worryingly touching your forehead —. You are really red! —Oh? Are you feeling sick, (Y/N)? — Steven asked, now approaching you both. His closeness just worsened your blush. —Yeah! I’m absolutely fine! In fact I have to go now! Bye! — You exclaimed, rushing out of the house, soon no longer seen. —W-What? —Did you do what I think you did? — Connie asked, now smiling and raising an eyebrow. —Perhaps — Was the only response Amethyst said before leaving a knowing Connie and a puzzled Steven.

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A few days went by. Steven was more and more worried about you. You would decline every hang out offer, saying she was busy with something. You weren’t someone to keep secrets, especially from him. He was in his room, thinking about it, until he heard some noise downstairs. He walked slowly, and ended up eavesdropping. —I tell you Amethyst, betting over something like this is wrong! — He heard Pearl voice, she sounded annoyed. —Oh, come on, P! You know those two will get together! Why can’t you just help me win a little more of cash? — Amethyst murmured, mostly just ignoring Pearl. —Because it’s none of my concern! Besides, (Y/N) is just really dense! I really don’t believe they will get together — She harshly explained — Garnet, what do you think? —Can’t say. Would be a spoiler — Garnet simply shrugged. —Agh! You know what? Bring it on! — Pearl then said, taking out some money out of her gem. —Yeah, P! I know I will win, since (Y/N) and Steven just love each other so much! — Amethyst said happily, she was going to be rich! Steven couldn’t believe this. He face palmed, blushing darkly. Were people really betting over him and (Y/N)? He just shook his face. You didn’t like him that way. He sighed before going all the way down. — Hey guys — He could feel the gems tense at his sudden appearance —. I’ll go to check on (Y/N) — And with that, he was gone. Amethyst just giggled and Garnet smirked.

////////////////////// You inhaled sharply. Okay, you got this. You could do this! Just confess your feelings for Steven and wait for his rejection! You exhaled dramatically; you couldn’t do this! You felt bad for avoiding your best friend, but you needed some you time to get yourself together. Connie told you to just be honest with him, but that was easier said than done! Before you could continue your panicking, someone knocked at the door. You scoffed. —Mom, I told you I’m having a typical teenager crisis- You couldn’t continue because your buddy Steven was outside your door. —Really, teenager crisis? — He asked, giggling a bit. You blushed insanely. You weren’t prepared to see him just yet! However, you weren’t surprised; you were avoiding him and of course he would get worried about it. You just let him in. —H-Hey Steeven, how a-are you? — You cursed at yourself for stuttering, but he didn’t seem to notice. —(N/N), can we talk? — He asked then, nervous and worried. You just nodded and made your way to sit on your bed. Steven did the same. —So…— He started —. I’ve noticed you’ve been avoiding me… Have I done something wrong? Did I upset you in any way? Just tell me and I’ll fix it-! —No, no, no! Steven, you didn’t do anything! — You rushed, nervous, putting your hand on one of his shoulders to comfort him —. I… I just… He looked at you, his full focus on you. Oh god, could you really do this? He deserved an explanation! You blushed even more, your face now a bright red. Steven got worried as you didn’t say anything and looked like you were going to faint. —(Y/N), you don’t have to- — IreallylikeyoualotStevenandIwouldliketogooutwithyoubutIwastoo- — You said, way too fast for him to understand. —Woah, woah! Calm down! Repeat that, but slowly — He said, now he being the one comforting you, with a small and kind smile on his face. He would be the death of you, for sure! You inhaled deeply. —I… I s-said that I like you, Steven — There! You had done it! Now you just had to wait for his rejecti- Your thoughts stopped when you felt unfamiliar lips on your own. Steven was kissing you! You couldn’t believe it! Soon you returned the kiss, happily. He liked you back! What kind of miracle was that? Steven was the one to break the kiss. —I can’t believe you like me back! — He exclaimed, a goofy grin on his face, his eyes in the shape of stars —. I’ve liked you since I was fourteen! I’m s-so happy right now! He embraced you with a warm hug, which you of course returned. —I guess Amethyst did win the bet. —Bet? — You asked, confusion in your voice. —Oh, yeah — He chuckled a little —. Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together. Or better said, some betted that we would get together, and other people better that we wouldn’t because you are a little… Dense — He explained. You just did a little “oh” in response, blushing in embarrassment. You would worry about that later. —So… Are we dating now? You know, as girlfriend and boyfriend? — He asked. —Well, if that’s what you want! —Of course that’s what I want! — He let go of the embrace just to look at you, that big smile of his never faltering —. Oh my god, you are my girlfriend! —And you my boyfriend! — You said too, his enthusiasm affecting you —. Call me (Y/N) Universe! You both just laughed before kissing each other happily again.

BONUS:

—Hey, Amethyst!

—Hey, (N/N)! Steven told me the good news! How is it going-?

—What is that about you starting a bet regarding my relationship with Steven? — Even if you asked that with a sweet voice, a vein in your neck was basically jumping with rage.

—… Welp — Amethyst gulped, smiling nervously —. At least I’m dying rich!

I got carried away- Hope you all liked this! ♥

RULES!

#steven universe x reader #steven universe imagine #steven universe scenario #steven quartz universe x reader #steven quartz universe imagine #steven quartz universe scenario #female reader #dense female reader #got carried away aaaa #my head hurts but it's worth it lmao

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Baby We Made It (Jankie) - Katy

A/N: please forgive me, anon, whose bodiposi! Jan prompt I took from here and made it sad. I promise the last paragraph at least is happy. Also smut writers, please forgive me. I kept it short because I can’t write write anything other than mental breakdowns and sad people for the life of me. Let me know if you enjoyed! X

Jan absentmindedly stood in front of the full-length antique mirror in her and Jackie’s bedroom, fingers running over the dips of her stomach, the stark contrast between the softness of her skin and the slight itchiness of the lace trim on her panties bringing her back to the present.

She’d seen comments, again. Not about how she was robbed of the Rusical win, or how she owns the colour purple, Shuga Cain be screwed.

But about the way her thighs now meet in the middle. How her stomach isn’t perfectly flat, her ass a little rounder, her arms a little bigger. The pressure she felt before going to Drag Race was off, and now, with Jackie making love and Iranian dishes she remembers from her childhood, she was happy.

She knew the fans would notice, their eagle eyes catching every little detail, from when Jackie leant Gigi her earrings on the show, to the way someone had spotted her heels in the back of Jackie’s Instagram Live. It unsettled her at the best of times, so after perhaps the seventh time Jan had struggled to get into her jeans that month, she dreaded checking her social media.

Her fans were good, kind to her and to each other, bringing her bath bombs and fanart on tour. She knew they meant no harm. She knew that they’d be horrified to think they ever upset her. She knew that they had no idea that she burst into tears every time one of them asked her to wear one of her outfits from the show, thinking she’d bust the seams open and only be able to get it past her shoulders before she couldn’t tug it down any further.

She was more worried about the ones she couldn’t call fans. The ones who send anonymous confessions to those stupid Instagram pages that come up on her explore feed, those who hide behind private pages calling her a cry baby, questioning why she got on the show, and why she’d gotten so fat since drag race.

She’s not fat.

Tears begin to well in Jan’s eyes as she stares at herself with a critical glare. With trembling hands, she prods and pokes her body like she’s nothing but their words. She squeezes her arms, watches the way the skin tightens and releases, puts her hands on her waist and pushes her stomach as far inwards as possible. The faces of the haters have stick and poke tattooed themselves between her thighs, disfigured but still distinguishable, unprofessional yet very much permanent. Jackie will never look down there the same again.

Shit. Had Jackie noticed? Was she heavier when she sat on Jackie’s face in bed or her lap on the couch? Jackie wouldn’t want a fat girlfriend. Jackie deserved the world, as far as Jan was concerned. Love, cuddles, lavender oil scented baths, the left side of the bed.

Jan is so lost in her own mind that she’s completely oblivious to Jackie arriving home from the store, carrying shopping bags and a smile down the hallway, into the bedroom to find her girlfriend.

Jackie stops when she reaches the door, peeking her head in to check Jan wasn’t asleep before she barged in, knowing how Jan gets when she’s woken up from a nap. Her heart plummeted to the bottom of her feet when she saw Jan, and before her body could catch up to her mind, she was pushing the door open heavily and dropping her bags in sheer shock.

Stop.

Jackie stood in the doorframe, eyebrows knitted together with concern for her girlfriend, who was currently standing semi-naked, crying in front of the mirror. Jan’s feet were turning 180, forcing her to walk away, to get away from her reflection like it was flammable and her face was a open fucking flame.

Jackie.

She runs to Jackie, lets her lower her to the ground because she’s not convinced Jan’s legs are going to hold her upright much longer, lets Jackie pull her onto her lap, sees the absolute heartbreak in her eyes when she tries to scramble off because she’s ‘too heavy to hold’. Heat’s radiating off of Jan and Jackie almost wonders whether Jan’s in some sort of fever-induced delirium because there’s no way in hell she’s just heard Jan call herself heavy. Her tears won’t stop and she won’t let Jackie hold her and it’s breaking her heart. Jan’s face is buried in her hands, tears leaking out from between her fingers, and Jackie takes her chance. She stands, tiptoes over to behind Jan, and scoops her up into her arms in one fluid motion, holding her to her chest. Jan’s shaking and swatting and screaming for Jackie to put her down and Jackie’s internally doing all of the same actions out of fear and desperation. She’d never seen Jan like this, the younger girl being an effervescent light of energy and excitement. Jackie knew she had to start calming Jan down, whatever it took, before she ended up with an unconscious girlfriend and a broken heart.

Jackie supports Jan in one arm, wraps it securely around Jan’s waist and stars rifling through her shopping bags to find what she’d been so excited to come home and show her. The bag’s inside of another bag in typical organised Jackie style, and when she pulls it out, the receipt flies out over their heads and she thinks Jan may have stifled a giggle into her shoulder. Jackie’s bouncing Jan on her hip in such a child-like fashion, that when she takes out the delicately tissue paper-wrapped item, she presses it into Jan’s hands like a game of pass the parcel.

Jan snorts inelegantly, wipes her nose with the back of her hand and shifts in Jackie’s grasp until she’s facing her girlfriend. Jackie motions for Jan to open the gift, nudging her shoulder with a gentle hand. Jan’s acrylics rip the tissue paper, and she’s left staring at lingerie. Delicate lilac, adorned with lace and crystals and everything sparkly. The bralette is sheer and lacy, diamonds decorating the straps and clearly so very overpriced, but she can’t bring herself to care when Jackie’s lifting her chin with a careful finger, and they lock eyes for the first time since Jackie arrived home.

The tears come back thick and fast, wetting the lace with something other than pleasure, Jackie’s smile turns to a grimace as Jan begins mumbling how sorry and she is.

‘Baby’, Jackie starts, sitting them down on the bed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m so sorry’ Jan hiccupped, her breath getting caught in her throat. ‘You’re so good, too good and I don’t deser-’

‘Stop’.

Jackie’s grip on her waist gets stronger and Jan tenses in fear, relaxing only when Jackie starts wiping Jan’s tears with the pad of her thumb. ‘Take a breath. You’ve got to start breathing properly before you talk, baby.’

They sit in silence for moments, minutes with Jan’s shaky breaths and Jackie’s slow counting the only noises.

‘I was reading Instagram comments and they were so fucking mean Jacks’.

Jackie’s eyes turn dark and her hands subconsciously squeeze Jan’s waist tighter and tighter until she has to unpeel Jackie’s fingers from around her, feeling an organ rupture or permanent crescent shaped nail indentations weren’t far off if she kept her grip up.

Jackie looks at Jan with an unreadable expression, before she’s pressing their foreheads together and locking her fingers at the base of Jan’s head, Jan seated in her lap. The tears still run freely from Jan’s eyes and in turn, they spill onto Jackie’s cheeks, sharing her pain.

‘What were they saying, baby?’

Jackie wasn’t stupid, by any means. She’d seen the comments on Jan’s Instagram, and after one mid-afternoon shower turned into Jackie’s fists repeatedly hitting the tiles like a makeshift punch bag, she vowed to herself she wouldn’t bring it up to Jan, her own futile effort to protect her girlfriend from the cruel world of fandoms and stans and biggest fans.

Sure, she’d noticed Jan’s stomach was a little squishier, her tits more rounded, but Jackie still, always, though she was perfect, no matter what.

Jan gasps in a huge breath, holds the air in her lungs before her mouth is running like a runaway train. She tells Jackie everything. How the sight of her stomach makes her want to cry, how the way her thighs press together makes her feel like she’s suffocating, how Jackie makes her believe she’s beautiful but she can’t help but listen more to the guy on social media with 14 followers and a car that’s definitely not his as his profile picture, telling her that she needs to go on a diet.

Jackie’s in shock. Her whole body goes rigid, stiff to the touch and she hears nothing but Jan’s sobs vibrating through her ears. She’s so completely overwhelmed that it isn’t until Jan starts hiccupping, the lack of steady breathing but the steady fall of tears catching up to her, that Jackie zones back in and internally curses herself for not being in the moment.

Jan’s next coherent thought is that she’s being moved, lying down under the covers with Jackie pulling her head down to lay on Jackie’s now topless chest. The skin on skin contact is too much in her current state of sensitivity, and she whines, moving to instead lie next to Jackie.

Jackie knows she needs to give Jan a minute, but every second she’s not holding her whilst she’s this upset is torturous, and eventually when Jan’s hand starts seeking Jackie’s under the blankets, she pulls Jan into her arms and kisses her softly.

‘Jackie?’

‘What is it, baby?’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Jackie’s lips smash themselves into Jan’s, not wanting to hear anymore of Jan’s needless apologies. She curls an arm around Jan’s waist, pulling her closer until they’re pressed flush together, Jan laying on top of Jackie.

Jackie’s hand moves down Jan’s body until she reaches her bra, gently tugging on the strap to ask permission.

Jan’s brain goes into overdrive, and the desire to put a huge hoodie on to cover her body is insane, but then she remembers. This is Jackie. Her Jackie. Her Jackie doesn’t care about being able to fit two fingers around Jan’s wrist, how big her tits are, what dress size she wears. Her Jackie loves her, no matter what.

Jan nods and tries unsuccessfully to help Jackie remove her bra, as she grabs both of Jan’s wrists in her hand, and tells her ‘No, baby. Relax. Let me make you feel beautiful.’

Jackie rids herself of her jeans and flips them over, Jan now lying on a sea of pillows as she presses their chests together, intertwining their arms and legs, with just the lace of their panties separating their bodies. She cups Jan’s jaw, smiles at her with childlike innocence, yet X rated lust filters through her eyes as she wedges her thigh between Jan’s legs.

Jan lets out a breathy moan at the unexpected action, and attempts to grind down to gain friction. Jackie lets herself be used, reminds herself that this is all about Jan.

‘Let me tell you something, baby’ Jackie whispers as she moves up to hold Jan’s face.

‘You may not agree with me right now, but I want you to know how perfect you are, to me. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet. I need you to understand that you are beautiful, and nobody can tell you otherwise.’

There’s a stray tear leaking out of Jan’s left eye, and Jackie quickly swipes it before it can fall, and then she’s moving down Jan’s body to play with her quickly hardening nipples.

‘These tits, baby? Are so fucking sexy’ Jackie emphasises, swirling her tongue around Jan’s right nipple, taking it into her mouth and sucking to hear Jan let out a series of exquisite, high-pitched moans. ‘They look so good when you wear those dresses with the low neckline, but they look especially good like this.’ Jackie pinches Jan’s nipples, hard, and she almost screams in pleasure, but before she can plead with Jackie to do it again again again, Jackie’s lips are travelling down towards her stomach, pressing kisses into the soft skin. Her hands trace the lines of her curves, and Jan almost starts crying again at the tenderness and care of Jackie’s movements. This was probably Jan’s most hated area of her body, and she conveyed that to Jackie through her eyes falling closed, not wanting to look. ‘Do you know how comfy your stomach is to lay on, honey? So damn comfy. I swear you have the softest skin in the whole world,’ Jackie starts, punctuating each sentence with hundreds of little kisses to the area. Jan’s body jolts, and Jackie immediately stops, moving back up and cradling Jan’s head.

‘Baby, your jean size doesn’t define you.’

The tears return and Jackie holds her through it, stroking her hair soothingly and whispering comforting words of reassurance. Once she’s sure Jan is okay, she starts moving back down, towards Jan’s thighs, and looks up, mouthing an ‘Okay?’ to Jan, before she spreads her legs.

Jackie peppers kisses to the inside of Jan’s thighs, and much to the amusement of the girl above her, tells Jan that her favourite thing about her thighs is the way they bracket around her head. Jan laughs at that, but before too long, Jackie’s hand is inching towards the waistband of her knickers, and the huge, breathy moan that escapes Jan’s mouth when Jackie dips her fingers under it lets her know what she needs now.

‘Jan, you’re so gorgeous baby. Especially here.’

Her panties were on the floor, and so was her jaw. Jackie’s tongue circled her clit whilst two long fingers entered her and began scissoring her opening. The vibrations of Jackie humming around her clit made her moan brokenly, and she pushed down onto Jackie’s fingers, desperate to be filled. Jackie crooked a third into her and Jan was gone, back arching, hips bucking, hands shaking. Jackie licked her through it, her hands on Jan’s hips to ground her, an attempt to stop the girl from falling off the bed in her relentless pleasure.

Once Jan was settled, a dreamy smile and wide eyes, Jackie crawled up to Jan and wrapped her in her arms. ‘How you feeling, baby?’ Jackie questioned.

‘Beautiful.’

Jan wore crop tops and mini skirts for the next two weeks, figure hugging bodycon dresses and jeans her new go-to. She’d broken the antique mirror that night, and they replaced it with a new one that her and Jackie spent all afternoon gluing post-it notes to, little notes of encouragement. Jackie told her she was beautiful, every morning and night, even on harder days when despite her team working hard to filter through Jan’s comments, she’d see something and get upset.

It got better. Jan learned to love the body she was in.

It’s different now cause I love the mirror every time.

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #jackie cox #jankie #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #smut #body worship #tw panic attack #tw body image #s12 #gigisgoode

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star-birthmark · 5 years ago

Note

Hello I was hoping that you might be able to do Josuke who has a crush on chubby s/o who’s a stand user as well and s/o starts receiving small gifts and letters from Josuke with her stand finding them?

Note: Please go easy on me for this one. It was my first time making up a stand for a story and I'm not sure how it turned out. But essentially the reader's stand is called Harmony Hall (after the Vampire Weekend song yes), and it's basically like Harvest in p4. The difference is that the user can choose any bug for the little stands to take the shape of. If she wants to get from place to place, for example, she'll turn Harmony Hall into a colony of ants to carry her around. If she wants to fly, she'll turn them into a group of butterflies. Attack? Mosquitoes. You get the point. Sorry anon if it's not what you had in mind, I'm only trying to be as creative as possible please go easy on me.

So, without further ado: Signed, CD: Josuke x Fem!Reader: 2.1k words

Josuke Higashikata had a crush on you. But he could never outright tell you that. At least not yet. He had a cool guy persona to keep up and he wasn’t going to let a little crush get in the way of it. Except for several problems. It was not, in fact, a little crush. It was, in fact, a big crush on you. You, probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes in class, his heart soared with glee when he saw your beautifully round cheeks widen with a smile. Every time you meekly raised your hand to answer a question, he mentally cheered you on for getting the right answer. He saw how you would sometimes shift uncomfortably in your chair for fear that someone might have been judging your appearance, ready to fight anyone who might make you feel bad about yourself. Because to Josuke, you were probably the cutest thing to ever step foot in this little town he called home. He saw your curves and rolls and thought about how soft of a cuddler you must be, all the while a dusty red came to the boy’s cheeks. He saw your bubbly personality and inherent shyness and wanted nothing more than to bring you out of your shell through his love. But of course, he couldn’t actually tell you all this.

But Crazy Diamond could.

The first time you received a letter, it was hidden in your locker at school. Harmony Hall, an adorable loveliness of ladybugs flew into your line of sight and presented the letter to you in a heart formation. You teasingly wave your stand away with a tut of your tongue and go to inspect the letter.

“Hello, I’ve been noticing you all over the school and I want to encourage you to keep that cute smile up! Brightens my day! Shine on!” - CD

Confused, you put the letter in your bag with the rest of your things and go about your day, not thinking much of it.

The second item you found was a small box addressed to you, resting under one of the legs of your desk. That’s weird, you didn’t even notice anyone touch your table... Picking up the parcel, you untie the quaint pink bow at the top and see to your shock, the pearl bracelet that you had broken a few days prior. The craftsmanship was impeccable, you couldn’t even tell where the cracks had been. You feel something touch your leg and look down to see a small ant from your stand holding up a small notecard that went along with the gift.

Inside read, “I was gonna buy you a new one, but it seemed like you liked this one best. So I decided to repair it! -CD”

Later that week, you read the note aloud to your friends as you all sat together for lunch. The table was adorned with several gifts and notes that you had gotten, from the bracelet to a drawing of one of your favorite characters done by Rohan Kishibe himself. How the hell did this “CD” guy even get that? There were a few more notes, all that Harmony Hall has collected for you from various locations in the school.

“I just don’t know who’s been sending me all of these things? It’s not any initials I recognize…” You huffed.

One of your friends chuckled at your perplexed state. “Aww come on (y/n)... if you ask me, this “CD” seems really romantic! I wish a guy would send me all these cute notes and gifts.”

Another one of your pals nodded along. “I know! You’re super lucky (y/n), to have such a secret admirer.”

You laughed along with your friends until your eyes looked over your friend’s shoulder and made contact with another pair. Josuke was standing cooly against the doorway when the two of you locked eyes. You let out a polite smile and he quickly turned around awkwardly, nervously combing his pompadour as he walked away. Your smile remained on your face as you watched him leave.

“What are you looking at (y/n)?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing…” You smiled shyly, trying to shrug off the moment.

But your brain simply couldn’t let it go. You wondered if someone like Josuke could be into someone like you. You decided to find out.

* * *

“I’m telling you guys, I’m nervous! She’s gonna find out soon!”

Josuke paced back and forth in the empty classroom. Okuyasu and Koichi sat there watching the lovesick teen struggled with how to come to terms with his intense crush on you. Little did any of them know, of the unassuming (and very literal) fly on the wall that was relaying all of its information for your viewing pleasure via your stand. You listened in to the conversation from another classroom, guilty that you were intruding, but you simply had to know how Josuke felt about you. Josuke Higashikata wasn’t anywhere close to the initials CD, but you couldn’t help but think there was something here.

Okuyasu shrugged. “Why don’t you just ask her out? She might like you back man…”

“Exactly! Just tell her exactly how you feel!” Koichi agreed.

Josuke groaned; his friends weren’t understanding the situation. “I can’t just tell her my feelings! I can’t just tell her she’s the cutest chick I’ve ever seen… even if she may not see it that way… Just, I gotta be cool about all this!”

Your brow furrowed as you listened in. So he likes someone? You supposed that was a good sign in your favor, but he could be talking about someone else. That was a strange thing about the age you two were both in. Teenagers fall in love with other teenagers so easily. You smiled softly thinking about Josuke, speaking only a few doors down from your embarrassed self. Both of you wanted the other, but neither wanted to downright say it. You rested your head on your arms as you sat at your desk, listening in to Harmony Hall.

Josuke kept speaking. “I would look like a total idiot if I just walked up to her and said ‘h-hi (y/n)-”

Your head sprung up at the sound of your name, your face bursting bright red. On my god, he likes you? He likes you!!! Your head was spinning, so much so that you lost control of your stand, the insect falling from the wall. You weren’t made aware of this though until you heard Okuyasu grumble that there was a fly buzzing around the classroom. Before he could swat your stand away, you control yourself once more, albeit much more embarrassed than before. M-maybe you just misheard him? Did he really mean you?

“Anyway… as I was saying. I gotta be cool about this! I’ve been trying to lay low you get me? I asked Mr. Joestar for advice and he said he would write Lady Suzie little notes every once in a while, or get her a gift. So I’ve been writing these little notes for a week or so.”

You felt like you were going to short circuit. Not only did Josuke Higashikata have a crush on you, but he also admitted to being the one who wrote the notes. But then who was CD? You shook your head. Not important right now. You listened in more.

“So how do you plan to ask (y/n) out then?” Koichi asked in earnest.

“Ah-ha! That’s where my cool guy creativity comes in! I’ll demonstrate. You see, I wrote one last note earlier today and placed it loosely in (y/n)’s desk compartment.”

You listened along, confused. Was that true? You hadn’t looked in the compartment yet that afternoon. You carefully lift the cover to your desk and find a horribly torn and mangled note laying atop all of your books and such. You tried to read the paper but to no avail. You continued listening to Josuke.

“However, I ripped off a big section of the note to the point that she won’t be able to read it. Then when she goes looking for the other half, I’ll use Crazy Diamond with the other half. Like this-”

Suddenly, you felt your whole form spring up from your chair as your body was pulled along by the piece of paper in your hand. You tried to step back, fearing that Josuke would see you. Your stand tried to stabilize your feet to the floor so you wouldn’t be pulled, but they failed as well to stop this mysterious force dragging the paper and you along with it. You made a sharp turn into Josuke’s classroom, tripping on your way in just as the young teen turned around to see the paper coming his way. Instead, you landed in his arms, your face burning in shame. The two halves of the letter joined together seamlessly, crinkled in between the two of you as your head rested in the tall teen’s chest. Neither you nor Josuke wanted to say anything.

So Okuyasu and Koichi spoke for the both of you. Well, not really spoke. Okuyasu more howled in laughter and Koichi called your name out in shock. You stumbled back from Josuke and straightened out your uniform, staring down at the ground.

Josuke spoke first. “Sorry about that (y/n). Didn’t know anyone was still in the building.”

“No no I’m sorry to bother you all! I was just looking at this note someone left for me and then I got dragged to you…”

Shoot! Does he know that you know! He couldn’t have noticed Harmony Hall! And what was that weird force pulling you to him?! What do you do from here? You decided to make it seem like you had no idea just so you could give this big dork his moment in the sun.

Josuke looked you dead in the eyes and decided to man up finally.

“W-well… what does the note say?”

He gulped as you looked down at the note, reading in fake confusion.

“It says… ‘CD = Crazy Diamond = Josuke Higashikata.”

Your face turned bright red all over again. What a lovable nerd, you were so grateful that out of everyone, he had a crush on you. Still, you had to play shock.

“You’re CD?!”

“Yeah… “

“You’re the one who’s been giving me the notes?”

“Yeah…”

“Why me?”

“Cause um... Uh…”

“Cause he thinks you’re cute!”

Both you and Josuke turn around to see Okuyasu shout out the obvious. You chuckled a little as Josuke groaned in embarrassment. You then decided to be the bold one and took ahold of Josuke’s hand, biting her lip nervously.

“Crazy Diamond must be your stand then?”

Josuke looked at your shocked for a moment. “Yeah… He can take anything broken and put it back together. That’s how I fixed your bracelet- oof!”

Josuke was then cut off as you lunged yourself forward, enveloping the young teen in a tight hug. You nestled your head in his chest, overjoyed that someone liked you the way you liked them. Josuke looked down at you with a smile and patted your head gently.

“Shall we go get a sandwich from St Gentleman’s?”

You giggled. “I’d like that.”

And off the two of you went, hands interlocked, walking down the street towards the center of Morioh. Then suddenly, you looked up to see Josuke’s face twist in confusion.

“How do you know about stands?” You smirked, ready to reveal the truth.

“I’m a stand user. You know that fly that was in the room? That was part of my stand. I was listening in the whole time while you were confessing to liking me.”

At your simple words, Josuke stood frozen in the center of the street, lovesick embarrassment plastered on his face.

“Oh…” You giggled and leaned up, planting a gentle kiss on your new flame’s cheek before taking off down the street, leaving him in further loss of brain function.

“Come on! The sandwiches are gonna sell out!”

“I-I’m coming!”

Josuke awoke from his daze and rushed to catch up with you. A single piece of paper fell out of his bag and fluttered onto the concrete. It was a draft that the young highschooler had planned to give to you, but thought it wasn’t very cool. What was written on it?

“This is the last note I swear because I need to come clean and be honest with. I’ve had a crush on you ever since you transferred into my class. And I can only hope you feel the same way about me. Whenever I’m near you, I only want to tell you that you should see yourself the way I see you. Come and find me if you feel the same way.

-CD aka Josuke Higashikata.”

#jjba #part 4 #Diamond is Unbreakable #Josuke Higashitaka #jjba writing #jjba hc #jojo writing #jojo #Okuyasu Nijimura #koichi hirose #fem reader #request #fluff #ugh this was so cute to write

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