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perlelune · 7 months ago

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Oblivion | Paul Atreides

There used to be beginnings and ends, nights and days, dream and reality, before the haze took over, swallowing every thought, every memory, every whisper of free will.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen Reader, Kynes!Reader, Mind Control, Memory Manipulation, Padishah Emperor Paul, Loss of Identity, Brainwashing, Mentions of war and religious fanaticism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Muad’Dib leads the way.

It is what the prophecy dictates. That he is the voice from the Outer World. The one who will lead your people to paradise. The one who will turn Dune’s arid desert lands into bountiful, endless green fields.

But as your eyes rest on him, you do not see the chosen one. You do not see the Lisan Al-Ghaib. You see your friend Paul, broken, lost, his heart shattered into a million pieces due to your cousin’s absence.

He sits at the head of his bed, shadows fluttering across his delicate features from the glowglobes’ dull orange light. Wide black rings surround his sunken blue eyes, the result of his daily consumption of spice melange. Lank, greasy brown curls hang around his handsome face. A pang twists your chest. He hasn’t slept in days, has barely gotten a full night of replenishing sleep since she left on a maker’s back.

You cannot blame your cousin. Paul’s ascendency to the Golden Lion throne came at a cost. A hefty one. Promises were broken. Trust was destroyed. Only time will repair the damage that was done. Though you carry faith the two of them will find their way back to each other.

You stir the spice-coffee in the pot, straining the shimmering dark powder before pouring some in a cup. A spicy cinnamon smell coats the cool night air.

You rise and bring the cup to him.

“For you, Usul.”

A soft smile blooms on his lips as he takes a slow, weary sip.

“You make it so well,” he praises.

You glow at the compliment, returning his smile. Your grandmother used to show you and Chani how to blend coffee beans with spice and herbs. The knowledge never left you. Now, every time you feel troubled or upset, you make a fresh kettleful. A single sip of the familiar brew is enough to alleviate your frazzled nerves. Especially here, so far away from Sietch Tabr, between the strange stone walls of the Arrakeen Keep, you have craved little reminders of home more than ever before.

Fremen belong in the desert, not in peculiar tents made of marble and stone.

Paul’s brows crumple as he studies you.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says.

“I can get another Fremen-”

His fingers latch around your wrist, desperation sizzling under his touch.

“I prefer it to be you.” He sighs. A bone deep fatigue radiates from the sound. You halt in your tracks. You suppose you could stay a while longer. “Please, stay, your presence soothes me.”

You nod. “I’ll stay, Muad’Dib.”

Relief falls over his features.

The doors suddenly open, the guards stepping aside to let Stilgar in. He bows to Paul.

“Lisan Al-Ghaib…”

Your friend’s mouth flattens into a thin line.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Stilgar acquiesces. He will never stop addressing Paul with reverence and admiration. None of his followers believes in him more. At times, it scares you a little. While you share the same faith, the fervor with which every Fedaykin is willing to lay their swords in his name can be frightening. Sometimes you wonder if Chani was right. How much will it take to liberate your world? How much blood will require spilling? You’re not completely naive. No war was ever won without a few casualties. Still, part of you hopes the war will end soon and peaceful times will come.

“No sign of her?” Paul asks.

A contrite expression tugs the older man’s face.

“Apologies, my liege. We scouted the Southern regions this time. We couldn’t find her. She knows the desert well. It is home to us Fremen. She will not be found…”

“...Unless she wants to be found,” you finish, grabbing the empty cup from Paul’s hands and placing it back on the table.

The faint embers of hope in Paul’s cobalt gaze flicker out. Your heart sinks, for both you and him. Though you do not wish to burden him, you miss your cousin too. Her practicality and common sense. Her strength. Without her, a piece of you is missing. A crucial one. Your mother died in childbirth and your father in battle, so both of you grew up together, close enough in age to share secrets and play together for most of your childhood.

It was Chani who taught you how to summon a worm and ride upon its back for the first time. She is the sister tragic circumstances blessed you with.

Stilgar apologizes profusely once more before taking his leave.

As soon as he’s gone, Paul’s shoulders slump.

“She hates me.”

You crouch beside him.

“She doesn’t hate you. She never could. She is your quiet in the storm, and you are hers. She will return when she is ready.”

A wry laugh escapes his lips.

“I have Irulan, my beloved wife, who is likely plotting my demise as we speak. Qizarate missionaries pressing me to take action and purge the non-believers on Aldinor. I am surrounded by foes, everywhere I look.” That distant expression he gets whenever his visions haunt him touches his face. “Blades pointed at my neck at all times, waiting for a sign of weakness to strike.”

You grab his hand, reassuring him, “You also have friends, Usul, who believe in your cause.”

“Fanatics,” he corrects bitterly.

Your chest swells with worry. You don’t like it when he questions himself as such. His cause is right. He freed Arrakis from the Harkonnen’s iron-fisted rule. He will bring peace to every world in the universe. It is written. It’s the only path forward.

“You are not alone.” His fingers squeeze around yours. Warmth rushes to your face, the realization that you’re awfully close to the Emperor striking you. You adjust the nezhoni scarf covering your hair and rise. “I shall let you rest, my Lord.”

“Stay, please.”

His tone is beseeching. Your gaze swings to the window. There, moon beams pierce through the colorful glass, scattering rainbow splashes of light across the floor. Vibrant stars pepper the dark sky, pearls lost in a sea of ink. It’s pitch black outside. You should be in your own room. Not his.

“Muad’Dib, it’s late…”

His grip on your hand tightens. When he speaks again, his tone is different. Disembodied. Powerful. Its tantalizing echo drips inside your head like honey.

“Stay,” he mumbles. You plop down on the bed, your body moving on its own, driven by the strange, irresistible thrall of Paul’s voice.

“Usul…”

He cups your cheeks.

“Sleep beside me tonight.”

“I’m not her.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“She should be with me and she isn’t. But you are.” His inflection becomes soft and inviting as he drinks you in. As if he were lumbering through the desert, parched and desperate, and you were a well overflowing with fresh water. “You are beautiful. I never noticed before.” He pauses, tracing your bottom lip. “Perhaps I should have.”

You blink, dazed. When did Paul’s face get so close to yours? You can outline each of his long lashes, the speckles of green lingering in his blue eyes.

“Paul-”

His mouth grazes yours, his thumb stroking your cheeks. It only lasts a few seconds. The warm plushness of his lips on yours yanks you back to reality. You gasp and flinch back. When you recoil, his silky tone fills your ears once more.

“Don’t fight it. You love me, remember?”

A confused whisper slips through your lips. Two parts of your mind wrestle with Paul’s words.

“I do?”

His eyes dive into yours.

“Of course, you do.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat, his tone nudging aside the doubts lurking inside your mind.

A bright smile unfurls on his lips, his lids sagging to half-mast.

“It’s like you said before. You are my quiet in the storm and I am yours.”

Right. You uttered those very same words. How could you forget?

You are Paul’s quiet in the storm. He is yours.

His mouth covers yours. It moves slowly against your own. He explores your mouth as he cradles your face. His long lashes fall over his cheekbones as he loses himself in your taste. He hums against your lips, gentle fingers touching your face. You don’t move, eyes half-open as you let it happen. It’s foreign, the sensation of Paul’s lips on yours. Foreign and strange yet you can’t help but numbly accept it.

Once he frees your lips, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Come into my arms, my love,” he says.

You don’t resist as he pulls you into his embrace, nudging you onto the bed. Soft strands of Paul’s brown mane brush against your cheek as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your spice-coated scent.

His arms circle your waist. Your back melds against his chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling through the thin layers of your clothes.

“You smell so good,” he mutters. Your scarf shifts when he rubs his face against it. “Don’t ever leave me.”

When you don’t reply, his tone gets firmer. “Promise it.”

The words roll off your tongue easily.

“I won’t ever leave you, Paul.”

Tension leaks out of his tightly coiled muscles.

“Good,” he says, drifting off to sleep quickly with you nestled in his snug embrace.

You fall asleep too, no thoughts in your head, Paul’s soft snores lulling you into peaceful slumber.

You awake with a start, the stark unfamiliarity of the palatial chambers you find yourself in causing your pulse to soar. Your eyes dart about the room. Recognition hits you. These are the Emperor’s apartments.

Your eyes grow wide. You’re not supposed to be here. Panic sets in.

“W-What am I doing here?”

Paul’s quiet voice flows across your back.

“Calm down.”

“No. I shouldn’t be here…”

You start crawling off the bed but Paul’s fingers around your wrist impede your departure.

He holds your face, vibrant blue eyes locking with yours. You find yourself incapable of looking away, ensnared by his unflinching focus.

“I said, Calm down.”

The alarms ringing inside your head fall quiet. You lean into Paul’s touch. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Every thought you attempt to grasp at evaporates in the heat of Muad’Dib’s stare.

“There. Much better,” he coos, satisfaction hovering on his handsome face. His voice sinks into a sensual whisper. “Why don’t you kneel for me?”

You do as he instructs. Then all fades to black as quicksands of confusion engulf your thoughts.

When you return to yourself, you aren’t on the bed anymore, but on your knees on the carpeted floor.

Paul is looming over you, grunting, his throat bobbing. One of his hands is curled around your nape while the other is under your jaw.

You note the saltiness coating your tongue, the drool on your chin, the soreness in the back of your throat.

You choke on his length, air wavering inside your lungs.

Paul’s cock is in your mouth.

The sick, awful realization tumbles over you like a bag of stones.

Muffled moans leave you as you lift pleading eyes towards him.

You place your hands on his thighs, shoving with all your strength.

Paul doesn’t let you move. He cradles your face and thrusts inside your mouth until his balls are pressed into your chin.

Clouds of lust obscure his gaze as it falls upon you.

He caresses your face, dragging his cock out before pushing it inside your mouth again. Gurgled sounds leave your throat. Tears skip down your cheeks and you wonder when you’ve started crying.

Fremen do not cry. Ever. Even for the dead. It is a rare, sacred act.

Paul wipes them off your face with his thumbs.

“You love me. It is what lovers do,” he says matter-of-factly.

Your body relaxes.

Right. Of course. You love him. It is what lovers do.

You hollow your cheeks and suck him off. He unleashes a throaty sigh of delight as you pleasure him with your mouth.

When his seed drips down your tongue, he coaxes you not to waste a single drop. You swallow all of it, showing no resistance when he nudges a stray drop between your wet lips.

Several days in a row, you awake in the emperor’s chambers. At first, you experience great confusion. However, Paul’s soothing words always quell your rising panic. It becomes all you know. The Emperor’s mesmerizing voice. His large, soft bed. His ceaseless, ravenous touch.

Sweaty, tangled limbs melting in lewd harmony.

You stop questioning it. Even the strange lapses of time when you are in one room and mysteriously wind up in another. It isn’t rare for you to wake up with the Emperor’s head bobbing between your thighs, greedily lapping at your folds, or with your hips grinding into his as he impales you on his cock.

It is where you belong. And you believe him when he says that, mumbling loving promises into your ear in the dead of night.

“If we do not strike fast and hard, they will not accept your rule,” Stilgar says.

“They worship a false god. We are doing them a favor,” another man sitting at the table interjects.

A shaky exhale flows from your tongue. You look around, dismay filling you when you realize you’re in Paul’s war room amidst a council meeting. Your head throbs. How did you get here?

You rise from your chair. Bemused gazes land on you.

Princess Irulan snickers from her seat.

“Husband, your concubine is acting strange,” she sneers.

Concubine? You step away from the table.

You blink several times as you stumble outside. You grip your temples, your forehead scrunching. That cannot be right. Is it?

You are no one’s concubine.

You are…

Adrenaline pumps through your blood as your head buzzes.

The answer will not come, your mind keeping it under firm lock and key.

Frustration mounts within you. You blindly waddle around.

You end up in a room that bears vague familiarity. You lean against a basin full of water. Water…just lying around. That seems strange.

Your eyes land on a mirror on the opposite wall. The reflection in the glass has your heart rate spiking. Who is this?

You bolt to your feet, the water in the basin splashing around your feet.

Your tremulous fingers rise to your face, horror filling you when the woman in the mirror mimicks your exact motions.

Your gaze travels across the wide, open space. Quick breaths rush from your throat. The Emperor’s room. Why did you think it was your room?

You stagger backwards. You gasp as you bump into a solid form.

You whirl, eyes widening.

“Paul.”

He gauges you, slight concern etched in his blue eyes. Relief fills you as you soak in his boyish, slender features, much more familiar than those of the stranger in the mirror.

You know Paul. Muad’Dib. Paul is familiar, safe. You trust him. He will tell you who you are.

“Yes, my love?”

“Paul, who am I?”

A displeased frown settles on his brow. He approaches you and grabs your face. His expression hardens.

“You are mine. Nothing else matters.”

“But Paul-”

Your protests are stifled by the feverish press of his lips on yours. A fog surrounds your thoughts as his kiss grows more passionate, his hands sweeping over your curves. You place your hand on his chest, pushing feebly.

“Forget it. Forget it all, beloved,” he mumbles against your lips. You sag against him. You drown in Paul’s blue eyes, time stretching beyond eternity.

When you gain a semblance of awareness, your naked form is writhing above Paul’s. Your palms are spread over his lithe muscles, your hips moving as he slams his cock into your cunt repetitively. Paul bites his lip, his gaze glued to the sight of his length disappearing between your wet folds.

When did you get on the bed? When did you shed your clothes?

Every inquiry melts in the heat swirling across your damp flesh.

Your lashes flutter as you unleash a broken whimper, Paul’s hard length touching you in places that send electricity rippling through your spine.

You tighten around him and he purrs.

“Remember nothing but my name,” he rasps, clutching your hips possessively. He impales you on his length, thrusting faster. You choke on your breath, his quickening pace driving you wild.

You brace yourself on his chest and lose yourself in the pleasure, your breath hitching each time he pounds into you.

The filthy sounds of your coupling fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Paul’s deep, animalistic moans. Your soft, desperate whimpers. The blunt, wet sounds your cunt makes as he buries himself inside you. The bed rattling and squeaking under your writhing forms.

“Paul, Paul…” you pant as you bounce on his cock. An intensity ignites his eyes as his name falls from your tongue like a prayer. You toss your head back, voice dying in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your toes flex. You tremble, your body jolting as your slick walls flutter around his length. A husky moan leaves him. He twitches inside you. His back lifts from the sheets, his body tensing as he hits his peak too. Slick warmth spills from his tip, glazing your walls.

An errant sliver of panic lurks inside your brain. Your eyes bulge as you glance down at where your body and Paul’s are conjoined. Rapid breaths burst from your chest.

Seeming to sense your distress, he shoves your hips back down when you try to squirm away.

His authoritative voice booms across the room, unnatural, multiplied. Everywhere at once.

“Do not move, beloved. Let me fill you up. Make you mine in every way.”

Your breaths settle down. Your worries disappear. You look into Paul’s loving gaze. A smile unfans on his lips as you ride him with abandon again.

“What are you doing?”

You pivot at the abrupt sound of Paul’s voice. You pause above the bag you’re packing. You peer at him, mulling over an appropriate answer to his question. You do not find one. You only know that you stirred awake that morning, feeling strange, sore…Lost. The urge to collect your meager belongings and leave the Arrakeen Keep seared inside you since then. A hollow, distant voice rings inside your head.

Return to Sietch Tabr.

“I have to go. Something…Something isn’t feeling right.”

The muscles of Paul’s jaw flare, his tone as ice as he states, “You want to leave me.”

Discarding your bag, you rush to him. You take his hands in yours.

“No. I made you a promise. I just need time to think…I can’t think anymore, Paul.”

It’s true. Every day feels like trudging through a Coriolis storm, your thoughts scattering as dust in the wind the minute they form.

Everything that was solid before is now sand slipping through your fingers.

Paul’s gaze corrals yours.

“You don’t need to,” he says, gripping your face. His tone dips to a soft lilt that penetrates your senses. “Who are you?”

You search his eyes. A breeze blows away every single doubt you had.

The answer to every inquiry you had is right there. In Paul’s fond stare.

The persistent little voice in your head, that pesky plea begging to be heard suddenly falls quiet. The truth echoes in your head, Paul’s powerful voice filling your mind.

You are right where you belong.

“I’m yours,” you utter with certainty.

His face softens. “That is correct, my love,” he says, stroking your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you settle down, beloved?” You let him escort you to the bed, coaxing you to take a seat on the sheets. “Agitating yourself as such isn’t good for you.”

He sinks to the floor and drops a gentle kiss over your round belly.

“And it’s not good for the baby either.”

#paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #dune fanfiction #dune #dark!paul atreides #dark!paul atreides x reader #dune part two #paul atreides x you #paul atreides imagine #dune part 2

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hellfirenacht · 2 months ago

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Anomaly Part 2

Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who's not named Eddie Munson.

Tags: Anxious-ish!Reader but not shy, one sided pining, no use of y/n, fem!reader, one sided enemies to lovers, fem!reader

2.1k Words

Part 1

School assemblies were fun in their own way. You weren’t exactly brimming with school spirit but you could fake it for a half-hour when it got you out of your History class. Everyone was ushered into the gym at the end of the day to celebrate the sport season. You had no idea if the Hawkin’s Tigers were good or not, you could really only name two and a half people on the basketball team: Jason Carver, who you unfortunately had shared a free period with once, Lucas Sinclair, who you had seen talking to Eddie once in a blue moon, and Steve Harrington who had graduated, so he didn’t really count. You vaguely remembered working with him on some school project for two days and thinking that you just wanted to squish his hair down to see if it would spring back up.

Stacy bounded over to you in the bleachers, decked out in more Tiger’s Green than a leprechaun. She shook the scrunchy out of her hair and slipped it onto your wrist. You sometimes wondered how she never became a cheerleader with how perky she was.

“There, now you look like you tried.” she giggled, nudging you.

“I was gonna scribble on my face with a green dry erase marker, but Mr. Thompson’s had run dry.” You said.

“He was probably lying so you wouldn’t steal one and huff it in the bathroom.”

“Hey, that was one time and 4th grade math was hard.” you cackled.

“Speaking of hard drugs, look who decided to actually show up.” Stacy smirked and your stomach instantly dropped as you followed her gaze.

“What the fuck is Eddie doing here?” you whispered to Stacy. “He doesn’t do pep rallies!”

“Guess he does now.” she shrugged.

Eddie was a few rows lower than you, leaning against the end railing of the bleachers. You vaguely wondered if he was burning up in that leather jacket, it wasn’t exactly cool in the gym with so many bodies all squished together.

He was alone, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. You didn’t blame him, this clearly wasn’t a place where he fit in. You looked down the bleachers in the opposite direction, unable to pick out any of his friends. During pep rallies, the bleachers were divided by grade, with Seniors on your end of the bleachers, and freshmen on the opposite end. Maybe Eddie was pressing himself against the railing to create his own section of Super Seniors.

If he was anyone else, you’d join him in that section, but you kept that knowledge to yourself.

“He looks lonely, go talk to him before they start.” Stacy encouraged.

“Please, I doubt he’d want to talk to me at any other time. You think he wants to talk to me now?” you asked incredulously.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could convince me to join a cult and then sacrifice me to the dark forces.” you said, looking over at him. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Eddie’s head snapped up and he whirled around. Out of everyone around, his eyes immediately locked onto yours.

Oh shit.

He heard that.

His round brown eyes sized you up, and you cringed out of embarrassment for your stupid joke. You felt like a deer in the headlights. Eddie was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time and you were about two seconds away from jumping off the back of the bleachers and tunneling your way out of the school.

Next to you, you could practically feel Stacy shaking as she tried to hold in her laughter, which unfortunately, triggered your own set of nervous giggling because this whole thing was so stupid and Eddie was still looking at you.

He looked unimpressed, and flipped you off before turning back around to sulk against the railing again as the band suddenly started up, and everyone started cheering for the team.

“Gotta say, I am nailing this, Stacy.” You laughed, leaning against her shoulder. “Practically had the boy swooning.”

“Yeah, he’ll be asking you out any day now.” She rubbed your back sympathetically.

“I can’t believe he heard me. He totally thought I was being serious.” Your giggles finally subsided and you looked up at her.

“It would be very easy to clear this up, if you’d just talk to him.” She said.

“I don’t like it when you’re rational, you know.” you replied and glanced at him again. Eddie was no longer looking at you and was just fiddling with his rings as he watched boredly as Principal Higgens was giving announcements.

You had to apologize. The last thing you wanted was for Eddie to think that you were really like that. You didn’t buy into the bullshit that some dice and graph paper could damn your soul to hell.

“Fuck it, I’m going in.” you said, and turned to head towards Eddie.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger!”

You made your way to the edge of the bleachers, and three things happened in quick succession. First, Miles Cooper got overly enthusiastic as you passed by him, and his elbow made a quick and sharp connection to your stomach, knocking the wind out of you. The second thing that happened was a stray backpack got kicked right in front of you as you staggered from the shock of being elbowed. The third and final thing was you falling down the two benches of bleachers that separated you and Eddie.

“You can either go to the pep rally and act like you are a part of this school, or you can have detention, Mr. Munson. The choice is yours.”

Normally, no one gave a shit if Eddie skipped out on something like a pep rally. That time was better spent either reading in an empty classroom or as a smoke break in the parking lot. He had just made it out to the parking lot before he was spotted and given the option. Eddie had been good about not skipping class this year, but he really didn’t want to give Higgins another reason to threaten to withhold his diploma.

So there he was, leaning against the railing of the furthest bleachers so that the second the pep rally ended, he could just book it back to the van and leave to.. Somewhere. Uncle Wayne had work, and Eddie didn’t have a shift at the Hideout. There was no Hellfire today.

Eddie was feeling restless as he fidgeted with his rings. Today had already been annoying and he really just wanted to sneak out to his van and have a smoke. It’s not like anyone here would miss him, they’d probably celebrate his departure more than the entrance to the basketball team.

He looked down at his hands, taking his rings off and rearranging them on his fingers. He tapped them on the railing, listening to the sounds they made as he counted the seconds for this whole thing to be over.

As his mind started to wander off, a voice snapped him back to the hell he was currently in. “-join a cult and sacrifice me to the dark forces.”

It was always obvious when someone was talking about Eddie. Normally he’d let it go and ignore whoever it was, but he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods today. His head whipped around, looking for whoever was talking about him.

There you were with Stacy, again. Eddie wished he could be surprised, but he wasn’t. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over. You weren’t dressed in anything that screamed “school spirit” except for a scrunchie around your wrist.

He saw how you cringed at the sight of him, which only pissed him off more. What was your fucking problem? You were friends with Stacy, who had been on the cheer squad before her ankle gave out, the skaters liked, you liked everyone. Everyone who wasn’t Eddie Munson.

Eddie had wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, that maybe the two of you just hadn’t crossed paths enough. Maybe it wasn’t personal. But now, after hearing you say that you also thought he was some sort of demon worshiping freak he was fine to write you off as just another Hawkins student. Maybe then he could finally move past this weird feeling he had whenever you gave him the stink eye.

Stacy started giggling next to you, and Eddie just rolled his eyes and turned away. It wasn’t worth it to start anything now at the pep rally. He was already on thin ice after being caught trying to skip. The sooner this was over the better.

His attention drifted as Higgins droned on and on about school spirit and upcoming fundraisers and games. It was all background noise. In his mind, Eddie was working out the next dungeon that Hellfire was going to take on. His party was getting too used to his usual tricks, so he’d have to pull out something new to really throw them off-

There was a choked off gasp.

Then a curse.

Then a horrible cracking sound as something fell next to him.

“Jesus-!” Eddie jumped nearly a foot in the air as you hit the bleacher next to him. His eye nearly bugged out as he saw you sprawled next to him, clutching your stomach and gasping for air like a fish.

Everyone in the section was still as they all stared at you, before a few started to snicker. Stacy was quick to jump down with far more grace and land by your side. Eddie was completely frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard Miles Cooper say-

“It was Munson! He did it!”

Eddie’s head snapped to Miles, about to say something before a teacher sharply demanded the Eddie get off the bleachers and come down for what was sure to be a one-sided lecture and detention for something he didn’t do.

He didn’t fight it, he was about to argue and cause a scene right now in the bleachers. Not when that teacher had a fire in her eyes that said she was just itching for trouble. Fine, he wanted to be as far away from this as possible.

Eddie walked down the bleachers and followed the teacher out into the hallway. He was already tuning out the lecture about watching your body and not hitting girls. This was such bullshit, and he knew he couldn’t even fight back and defend himself.

“Look, I didn’t touch her!” Eddie couldn’t stop the frustration in his voice. “She was behind me when she fell!”

“Witnesses say otherwise.” The teacher crossed her arms.

“Look, just because that dumbass said it was true-”

There was a loud CLANK as the heavy doors to the gym burst open and to Eddie’s surprise, you were rushing through the door, holding onto your arm.

You made a beeline for him and the teacher and Eddie could already see it now. Your fake tears as you cried about how the freak shoved you down for no reason-

“Didn’t... do it.” you were shaking your head and panting hard. With your free hand you were pointing at Eddie. “He didn’t... he didn’t do anything... Miles elbowed me. Then I tripped. Eddie never.... Touched me.”

Stacy was behind you and grabbed your shoulders, trying to hold you in place. “Eddie didn’t do anything, Mrs. Jane.” she explained. “She was just trying to go get some water and ate shit. Eddie had nothing to do with it.”

You nodded, still panting hard as if trying to catch your breath. Stacy was rubbing your back, and you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

Eddie felt like he had just stepped into an alternate timeline. You were actually defending him? You were in that much pain but had still come running to claim his innocence?

Mrs. Jane looked at you with concern. “Eddie, you may go back to the pep rally.” She dismissed him without so much as an apology for chewing him out.

Fuck this. Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. He made his way back towards the gym, but slipped into a side hall. The pep rally was going to be over soon anyway, he might as well beat traffic.

He paused just as he was out of sight. Fine, he was a little nosey and mildly concerned as you had just come to his rescue.

“I... I think I hurt my arm.” you said, and he could hear the real pain in your voice.

“I’ll take her to the nurse.” Stacy said.

Eddie heard the sound of footsteps, and quickly slipped out of the school before Mrs. Jane caught him escaping.

Yeah, he was going to need something stronger than a cigarette after this.

I really didn't think the original blurb would get much attention lol

Tag List: @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

@sp1dyb0y1008 @projectcampbell @emxxblog @thebadbatchfan

@transparentenemypenguin @ghoulsgraveyard @spread-the-hope @exploding-bonbon @paleidiot

@2spock @c14r3v1b3srs @yujyujj @saramelaniemoon @morganlolitta

@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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renai-fr · 1 month ago

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Perler Flight Banners!

Made the first of these when I made the flight flags a bit back (my flight, Light), and figured it was a good time to make the rest of the flight banners and share the designs! To the best of my ability, they're also to scale with each other, so I think they'd look pretty good if you wanted to make the whole set and put 'em on your wall or something.

Sort of also for Dergtober's first prompt ("Flight"), but uh, ran into that thing with trad media where sometimes you run out of materials, ha! This is also why they're mostly not fused (Ice and Water share most of their mid/light blue beads, for example).

(Crafting info after the break!)

First off, all of these are either 17x34 or 19x34 (these squares are 17x17 on their own). They fit fine on the larger squares, but my big squares happen to all be either bright red or bright yellow, and don't show off the colors very well. They almost all use transparent beads for structural reasons- if you want to cross-stitch these, the transparent beads are fine to ignore! I was just making them so they could theoretically hang on a wall.

Colors used (my best guess, not gospel! I get most of my beads from kits/mixed bags, and they don't always list the color names :/ )

Light: Cream/Créme, Yellow, Cheddar, Transparent

Lightning: Copper (metallic), Robin's Egg, Parrot Green, Glitter Blue, Turquoise, Transparent

Fire: Black, Cherry, Orange, Cheddar, Neon Orange, Transparent

Arcane: Pearl Pink, Cheddar, Raspberry, Pink, Light Pink

Plague: Red, Cherry, Raspberry*, Pewter, Brown, Kiwi Lime

Earth: Brown, Light Brown, Pewter, Dark Gray

Ice: Robin's Egg, Pastel Blue, Gray, Dark Gray, Toothpaste, Light Blue

Shadow: Pastel Lavender, Purple, Dark Gray, Pewter, Toothpaste, Transparent

Wind: Kiwi Lime, Dark Green, Bright Green, Yellow, Rust, Red, Transparent

Water: Denim, Turquoise, Pastel Blue, Parrot Green, Teal, White, Marshmallow, Pastel Yellow, Transparent

Nature: Olive, Bright Green, Kiwi Lime, Dark Green, Marshmallow, Cream/Créme, Transparent

(* I used Raspberry on Plague's flag because I ran out of Cranberry. Cranberry looks WAY better, but like... mismatched didn't work at all. I highly suggest using Cranberry in place of Raspberry in all places it occurs on the design!)

Another color note- when you fuse metallic beads, the shiny stuff makes a lil halo around the bead's center hole. For Lightning, since they have wires/chains on their banner/support, I figured it would work fine, but you could swap the Copper beads out for Rust and it would look good enough, I think. You do lose the shiny factor doing that, though.

A couple of these extend off of the side of the boards; better to use a bigger board for them if you have one (or like, if you have a third 17x17, sticking it to the side of the others and scooting the entire design over a peg would also work!)

As is very visible on the Light banner, it's really easy to get a faulty fuse where the boards meet. The trick where you put masking tape/painter's tape on the back of the beads before ironing (the OTHER side, and then take the tape off to iron its side, to be clear) helps a lot on multi-board fuses. You don't have to poke holes in the tape, but I find that doing so with a ballpoint pen or what have you can help a lot with keeping the beads from moving around, etc.

Happy crafting- if you end up making any of these, please ping me (or um, whatever I'm supposed to call it... still don't quite know how this site works) so I can see!

#flight rising #frfanart #flight banners #perler bead creations

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saradika · 9 months ago

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— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

#so sorry I am late my love #I have been thinking about this so much - such an great prompt and event!! 💖#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #writing challenge #din djarin imagine #din djarin

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asuyaka · 1 year ago

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Gojo-Sensei has a husband?!

★ - drabble s part of m' first Satoru oneshot !!૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

☆ - Gojo Satoru x Househusband! Reader

♡ - f m' manga readers, how we feelin' 'bout nurse kenny ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ (she's m wife m callin' it rn!!)

Gojo [Name], the loved and unknown husband of The Strongest, Gojo Satoru.

Satoru was at work, most likely teaching the first years he loved to talk about. You were at home. Cleaning the house and making preparations for dinner when Satoru got home like the good husband you were.

You brought out a chicken broth cube from the cupboard, brushing the slight dust on your pretty light-blue apron that Satoru brought for you (then ended up fucking you in but that's on days when you're being a brat).

Your eyes scan the countertop, looking for the knife holder until they land on a sage-green bag dusted with flowers that you hand-painted. It was Satoru's lunch bag that he had forgotten.

You weren't a sorcerer, but you're able to see curses. Ironically, that's how you and Satoru met. A younger you (who just got unemployed) was walking home when something you couldn't describe stopped you in the alleyway you took sometimes as a shortcut.

It was tall, with eyes running along its skinny, dark-red arm. You were only twenty-two at the time and have only ever seen things like that in shitty horror-flicks. You never thought they were real.

As if you were in a cliché love story, a patch of white hair stands in front of you. He has sunglasses on despite the sun being nowhere in sight.

Due to you being (obviously) weaker than the average sorcerer, Satoru always discouraged you from going to Jujutsu High unless it was an emergency.

You huff diligently, grabbing the lunch bag and putting your shoes on. You'll make sure Satoru gets his lunch. What kind of husband would you be if you didn't?

Turns out, the people at Jujutsu High are either scary or odd. There's absolutely no in-between.

You've only been at Jujutsu High a handful of times. More times than not, it was to help Megumi.

You make your way to the main school building, holding the bag close to your chest for safekeeping. You didn't bust your ass making cute shapes out of food just for Satoru to go eat fast food instead.

Reaching the door of Satoru's class, you knock softly. It’s quiet, and you guess Satoru must be out training with his students. You turned around to try and find just where the training grounds could be on this huge campus.

All of a sudden, the door opens and there he is. Your beautiful husband, wearing his black blindfold and Jujutsu uniform. “Baby? What are you doing here?”

Baby. That’s right, you’re his baby. No one else's. “You left your lunch, so I…” Your voice trails off as you gesture toward the bag in your hands. Satoru smiles, opening the door wider and pulling you in.

He keeps your hands intertwined, softly pushing you against a chair. “You’re so nice, baby. Going out of your way to bring me my lunch?” His hands are on your cheeks now, still smiling sweetly even with a saccharine voice.

Your face flushes and your hands are stiff. You don’t know where his students are, but you’re sure they’ll be back soon. This is risky— irresponsible even.

“Satoru, ‘s risky..” You mutter under your breath, your hands cupping his. They’re warm like they always are when you two are close. You wish you could see what his eyes looked like, but they’re for his comfortability, you’re aware.

“You know I love you, right baby?” He leans closer, to the point you can smell the cologne on him. It’s the one you bought him a few weeks ago because it smelt like home.

Satoru smells like home.

Shakily you nod. “Are you sure this is safe…? I don’t want you—”

“Shh… let me worry about all that.”

And with that, he closes the space between your lips. Satoru’s strong– dominant even; and no matter what he does, it always manages to show through his actions.

His tongue breaches past your lips, slotting perfectly against yours. You can hear the clicking of teeth as Satoru sits across your lap. It’s hot and you can feel your cock start to rise in your pants.

“Wore this cute fuckin’ apron all f’me–” He plants a kiss on your cheek, your face flushed and breathing heaved.

“Satoru– sir, I need—”

“But baby…” He whines.

He fucking whines.

His face is pouty and it looks like he’s getting off your lap. Is he denying you? You haven’t done anythin’ wrong– did he give you instructions and you didn’t see them?

“I’m at work, and as much as I want to fuck you ‘till you can’t think– you can’t have my students seein’ you all messed up like that, can you?”

Satoru’s words bring your attention to your appearance. Your apron is messed up and so is your hair (most likely from Satoru gripping on it). Your lips are slightly swollen and your cock is half-hard.

Embarrassment brings you back to your senses, your arms covering what's between your thighs. If you stood up, your apron would cover it (hopefully), but your pants weren’t going to do you any justice. “‘M sorry ‘toru…”

Satoru cocks his head, sitting on his desk and crossing his legs. “It’s okay baby, I know you just can’t help yourself when I’m around.” His tone sounds mean like he’s mocking you. It’s condescending.

“But that’s what makes you my good boy, isn’t it?” His foot brings the chair closer to the point where your body is sandwiched between his legs. “Always so plaint f’me to fuck you, right?”

God. You can’t do this, and it isn’t helping your slowly growing problem go down.

Satoru must sense your nervousness (he knows you and your emotions like the back of your hand) because his expression turns soft again. “Just wait till I get home, okay baby? Relax for me.”

His fingers caress your cheek gently. It’s lulling you, pulling you in. Like he’s a siren, and you’re a plaint, very easy sailor.

You nod because you’re his good boy and you want it to stay that way.

Satoru smiles before pulling you in again for a kiss.

It’s gentler this time. There’s less kiss and more gentleness behind it. It feels like the kiss you shared at the altar. It makes you calmer, it makes you happy.

All of a sudden, the door slams open. Revealing three, very surprised teenagers.

“Gojo-sensei!?”

“Gojo-san?”

Satoru breaks the kiss, briefly smiling coyly at you before looking at his students. “Hello, my favorite first-years! I didn’t know lunch had already ended…”

A boy with pink hair and what seems to be two sets of eyes stares at you, then back at Satoru. “Lunch ended five minutes ago. Nobara stayed to eat more watermelon.”

The girl, who is shorter than all of them and who you assume is Nobara, kicks the boy in the knee. “Shut it Yuuji! Not my fault somebody decided to eat all my food while I was gone!”

“Gojo-san, I thought you’d be at home.”Megumi looks at you with a confused expression. Your heart tugs in fondness when he says ‘home’ like all three of you share it together (legally, you do but Megumi would never admit that).

“Why would Gojo-sensei be at home? He has to teach us, stupid.” Nobara rolls her eyes, before pointing at you accusingly.

“All I wanna know is why this random man and Gojo-sensei were kissing!”

Satoru steps off the desk, grabs your arm, and pulls you up as well. He slings his arm around your shoulder, slightly leaning on you with a bright smile on his face. “Yuuji, Nobara, this is my husband, [Name]!”

“Husband?!” Yuuji and Nobara parrot, staring at each other before staring back at you.

Nobara notices it first, the sleek ring on your finger. There’s an initial that she can’t make out but can only assume it’s the one that belongs to her teacher.

“Why would anyone date you?” She says suddenly, causing Yuuji to laugh.

Megumi rolls his eyes. “I thought that at first too. Gojo-san is too good for him.”

Satoru gasps. “Rude! You cried during our wedding, or do I have to ask [Name] to pull up the photos?”

“Wedding?! Why wasn’t I invited?” Nobara looks at Satoru like he committed a war crime.

You don’t notice it, but somehow Yuuji is right in front of you. “Hello! I’m super glad Gojo-sensei has someone to love!! He’s always saying something about how he misses his ‘hubby’ randomly during class but we never thought he was being serious!”

You smile bashfully. You never thought Satoru would think of you during work, and for him to call you his “hubby”?

Megumi stands beside him, handing you a book. “That’s because Gojo-sensei can’t shut up. They’re so lovey-dovey behind closed doors it makes me sick.”

Yuuji smiles. “That’s ‘cause they’re in love Megumi! Shouldn’t it be sweet that your dads love each other?”

Megumi frowns. “They aren’t my dads.”

“They totally are! You called Gojo-sensei dad one time during a mission, don’t think I’d ever forget that!” Nobara teases, holding Satoru’s ring in her other hand to presumably examine it.

Satoru claps his hands. “Okkayy! I appreciate that you two love my husband, not as much as me of course, but he’s got stuff to do! And we have to learn about the boring sorcerer families. Ew.”

His students groan but make their way to their seats. Satoru walks you to the door of the classroom, a small apologetic smile on his face. “I can’t walk you all the way to the door, Yaga would kill me, but I’ll see you at home?”

You nod with a soft smile on your face.

Satoru kisses you one last time. It’s more of a peck than anything, then leans into your ear. “Prep yourself for me before I get home okay? I have to reward you for being so good today.”

Blush rises up to your cheeks as you nod again. Pushing your hands down to your lap and turning away from his classroom door. The blush gets harder when you hear a loud “See you at home baby!” from the door.

Satoru watches you until he can’t anymore. A relieved sigh leaves his face as he closes the door and sits on his desk. Legs crossed and a ring adorning his finger, with your initials on them.

“Ask away, and I’ll show you any pictures you want.”

Yuuji and Nobara visibly light up and begin asking questions about where he met you, how long you’ve been together, and how long you’ve been married, plus the pictures of Megumi crying.

He shows them every photo and answers every question without hesitation.

After all, they’re all questions about you, his husband.

And he knows you’ll be home waiting for him with dinner, and dessert.

Your ass (that he loves to watch jiggle every time he fucks you), and ice cream.

He loves you, and he’s glad his students (and son) love you too.

#writin' shit.#jjk x male reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x male reader #satoru x male reader #jjk fluff #gojo #gojo satoru #male reader #x male reader #megumi fushiguro #itadori yuuji #nobara kugisaki #gojo satoru x male reader

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neoplatinum · 7 months ago

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primadonna girl | cho miyeon

summary: dispatch catching you with korea's femme fatale is NOT on your 2024 bingo card

pairing: idol!miyeon x fem!reader

themes: clubbing in hongdae!, mentions of alcohol, implied sex, hook up buddies, dispatch :(, minor angst, fluff, shuhua! + her doggies

wc: 2.7k

[hongdae, 1am]

you grab your glass half full and down it, leaving the bar. the sting of the hard liquor making you shudder all over. the sea of bodies is making it hard to move around. you weave through the bodies heading for your friend's silhouette across the dark room.

when you feel tugging on your shirt. you turn around to the sight of a gorgeous girl with blood red lipstick and light blonde hair.

she nearly stumbles into you, underestimating her drunk strength.

her face is flushed even in the lowlight of blue and green lasers. her body tilts forward into you as she reaches her hand out.

you shake it, a little confused at the gesture. she's probably drunk out of her mind and mistaken you for someone she knows.

"can i help you?" you ask as you continue to shake her hand. she giggles at the action and covers her laugh with her hand before nodding her head.

"yes, your number?" she tilts her head as she asks the question, you're a little shocked at the boldness. her eyes shine in the light and she giggles a bit before shoving her hand into your jean pocket and grabbing your phone.

she faces the phone in your face before looking for the phone app, adding her contact into your phone. you let her too, mouth agape as you watch her type her contact info into your phone.

"call me?" she says as she tucks the phone back into your pocket. giving you a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the crowd on the dancefloor.

you don't call her. you don't see her for weeks actually, not until you're out with your friends in another different club.

you don't spot her, but she spots you. too busy in a trance of people watching the dance floor to notice her.

she walks over, moving past the sea of people and making a beeline straight for you.

"hi, lost my number?" she starts, pulling you towards a more secluded part of the club. less sweaty, you focus on her, she's got the same blood red lipstick on, a dark you barely register what she's saying.

"no, i don't know you, sorry." you say quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. she nods at you.

"that's why i gave you my number, so we could get to know each other."

"oh, sorry, no one has ever done this. i’m just confused with what to do." she nods and brushes all of it away.

"no problem, just call me, okay?" she says, and you agree. feeling inclined to do whatever she says with those gorgeous eyes staring back at you.

"come dance with me." she says and pulls you closer to dance up against her. you get lost in the passion.

so, it turns into becoming hook up buddies? friends with benefits, but not friends? sleep partners? it's hard to understand what exactly you two are considering how little you two interact outside of hooking up occasionally.

doesn't help that it’s never at the same place more than twice. sometimes you show up to a studio at 4pm on a tuesday, other times its 2am on a saturday in a club. or sometimes even a bathroom in 9am in some cafe.

it's hard to really understand why you're doing this too, you just feel so inclined to answer every text, no matter what you're doing. each time you leave you feel a little more intrigued by her.

she always manages to send a car for you to get back home though, no matter how far or weird the location is. you think it’s almost like an escort service...but you're not being paid.

it's mind-blowing sex with a gorgeous girl way out of your league, so really you let all precaution leave your body every time she sends a text. lately it's been less frequent, and sometimes you think about reaching out and seeing how she's doing. but you've never initiated anything, it's always her telling you where to go and when to go.

you feel like you don't know your own power in this dynamic. you begin to really miss this girl, even though you don't know her name.

your friend, for whatever reason, dropped so much money on her favorite girl group's concert. begging you to join her, even negotiating ticket prices so you'll be more inclined to go. you ask her who the group is, and she says gidol?

you're very unsure of who they are. but she does tell you that they have that famous song called queencard, so you agree to go. now you stand outside jamsil indoor stadium, watching everyone decked out in purple. while you're still trying to figure out who's who in the group.

you never get to figure it out once you're rushed inside by screaming fans behind you. you nearly stumble over yourself, but mostly you make it to your seat without bumps or bruises.

the signature sound of the group's song getting louder makes the stadium erupt in a roar. the stadium turns into a sea of flashing purple with all the lightsticks.

the concert starts and you're watching the concert videos being played. you focus on one girl; she looks so familiar, but the scene ends too quick for you to really figure it out. and after another minute of screaming, the lift brings up five girls. they stand center stage, lights shining on them looking like they own it.

then you see her, the woman that's been leaving you walking weird, and your neck mauled all last month. her blonde hair draping over her body, a tight red and black corset, and heels high enough to break ankles. your blood runs cold.

"who's the girl there?" you shout into your friend’s ear. she's trying to see who you're pointing at.

"which one?" she asks, shouting into your ear over the screams.

"the one in the middle!" you shout back.

"oh! that's miyeon!" she says and returns back to her cheering. miyeon, miyeon, miyeon. you pull out your phone, fingers flying across the screen to search up the name on naver. and there at the very first result is exactly pretty girl from the bar. you probably stared at the photo for a couple minutes, just so your brain can catch up to who're you’re looking at.

you bring up the camera app to snap a photo of her. a weird feeling sitting in your chest. it feels like you have been deceived. she never mentioned her day job, something along the lines of being in the music industry, but she never mentioned being a top idol.

you try to enjoy the rest of the concert, chanting through queencard and super lady, but in your heart, you are thinking about miyeon. what else could she be hiding?

by the end of the concert, you pull out your phone. sending the photo of miyeon that you took earlier.

(me): you never told me you were an idol....

(me): attachment: 1 image

you shove your phone back into your pants. feeling a little frustrated, you two never disclosed much information to each other about your personal lives, but now you can see why. the girl you have been sleeping with is a global superstar, korea's princess. here you are in a taxi trying to get home, with your friend talking your ear off about how amazing the concert was.

it starts to spread, the uncomfortable feeling in your chest. you feel like you exposed yourself for nothing. now you find out cho miyeon, the girl that is such an expert at eating you out, has a whole other part of her life. it explains the random locations you were asked to go to. probably photoshoots, or the times in between her busy schedule. you are just a booty call to her.

when you finally get home, exhausted from all the shouting at the concert and making sure your friend gets home safe. you hear the signature ringtone sound you set for miyeon.

girl from the bar: can we meet up to talk?

you call miyeon.

"hi miyeon, when can you meet?"

"tomorrow afternoon." she says, you can still hear the sound of busy traffic, maybe she's just getting home now.

"yeah, that works. where did you want to meet?"

"you know that park by the han river, the one we ate ramyeon at." you hear movement through the phone, but you agree. it is time to finally settle what you've wanted to say the whole night.

"see you then miyeon."

"hi." she stands before you, hoodie over a cap and sunglasses bigger than her face. with a mask tucked over her lower face. you stare at her in confusion. this get up is really different from how you usually see her.

"are you sick?" you ask.

"no, disguise." she offers instead. it makes sense, she is cho miyeon of g-idle. so, you sit down, and she sits by you. both of you staring out into the han river. people are biking and enjoying walks, while you are having a nerve-wracking conversation with miyeon. she fiddles with the sleeves of her hoodie as she waits for you to start.

"would you have told me yourself? about being in gidle?" you start. it is time to rip the band-aid off.

"probably not." she answers honestly. you sigh at that.

"okay. we aren't dating but i still feel like i've been deceived by a partner."

"i'm sorry." she continues. feeling a bit guilty from withholding her identity from you. "you didn't recognize me when we were first talking, so i figured it would be okay if we kept this lowkey."

now you feel both upset and awful, miyeon's probably had to walk on eggshells ever since she's been in the industry. keeping her identity hidden as she enjoys her life. you want to apologize too, for pressing her on this matter.

"i'm sorry too then. must be hard trying to stay out of the public eye when you want to have fun." miyeon agrees, nodding her head at the honest observation. meeting you was good; it was a way to protect her idol image while enjoying herself. you never asked for more, and she never offered more. it was the perfect.

"so, what do you want to do now?" you ask.

"i'm okay with continuing what we have if you are okay with it. you cannot tell anyone you know me though." she says, firm about her identity.

"that's okay with me. i would not sell you out." you offer your hand, and she shakes on it.

you are trying to finish up this dinner, stirring the stew in the pot, when you hear your front door open. sight of your friend bursting through the door.

"you whore!" she shouts at you, closing the door behind her as she walks right up to you. shoving her phone in your face. "you're the one dating miyeon?"

"woah, what are you talking about?" panic rising in your body. you take her phone and read the top headline.

DISPATCH: [BREAKING] CHO MIYEON OF (G)I-DLE SEEN WITH GIRLFRIEND

you look below, and photos of you and miyeon (poorly taken), were filling the article. photos of you and miyeon spotted at bars, her photoshoots, late nights outside, even the conversation you had with her by the han river.

"so? you are actually dating her?" your friend accuses you, hands on her hips as she stares at you.

"shit, i need to call miyeon." you hand your friend her phone, before pulling out your own. speed dialing miyeon, it is picked up immediately.

"miyeon."

"i know, i've seen it everywhere." she says, you can hear the sounds of people all around her, swear words being thrown around. you panic while you wait.

"what do we do?"

"nothing to do, we lay low. don't be seen out in public first off. they're going to try and pry into everything in your life." she continues.

"damn it miyeon, i have a life to live, i can't be holed up in my house forever waiting for this to die down." you say back, thinking about work and your life. your friend senses your frustration and stops to sit down.

"i'm sorry, i really am. it's out of my hands right now, the company is deciding what to do next. i'm not even supposed to answer your calls." she explains, and that just makes you feel worse.

feeling like you've been cornered. but then you think, this must be worse for her.

"what about you, do you have to lay low too?" you ask.

"yes, i have to wait until the news cycle shifts to another headline. so, i can't be seen outside or online. it's frustrating but i can handle it, i’m sorry to drag you into this too." she explains, feeling sympathetic for all that has happened.

as much as you want to be upset at miyeon, it's not her fault there’s rabid fans who lack boundaries and are so interested in the private life of idols. you think in a different setting you would have dated miyeon, had there not be paparazzi swarming her for the intimate details of her life.

so, you relent, letting her have her space. the call ended a week ago and you've been cautious being seen outside. putting on a disguise much like the one miyeon wore when she met you.

not seeing miyeon for a week has made you miss her. with both of you forced to lay low in the public's eye, you often chat over the phone. calling or messaging, it's a relief to know that she won't just toss you to the side now that the news is out.

you start to realize that missing miyeon isn't about the mind-blowing sex or the thrill of not knowing where you'll have to meet her. it’s the excitement of being near her, being able to kiss her under the guise of sexual intimacy. the ability to spend the truly little time she has carved out for you.

you feel like a teenager in love, running around at her beck and call because you miss her desperately. late night calls with miyeon feel like they're turning into virtual dates. often eating dinner over the phone together and spilling to each other the details of your life.

"hey, visit me. in the dorms." she says one day over call. you stop your reading as you look up at the screen with miyeon's face filling the screen.

"right now?"

"right now." she says with a smile, and you get up, keys in hand and slipping on your slippers. nearly running out the door to find a cab. miyeon texts you her address, and you take off, smiling at the idea of seeing miyeon after not being around her for two weeks.

after paying for the taxi and looking at the building where her dorm is. you tuck your cap a little lower and quicken your steps. eager to be able to see miyeon. you walk up the stairs to the third floor and knock on the door.

the sound of dogs barking through the door. and there is miyeon, behind the door with her dogs rushing up on your legs. jumping for attention. you give them both ear scratches before walking straight for miyeon, kissing her desperately. pushing her against anything that's close enough.

"hi." she pulls you into another kiss, until you hear something.

"oh, hello." you see another woman. your eyes go wide as you step back, face flushed with embarrassment.

"hi, um, nice to meet you." you offer a hand. the girl smiles and shakes it.

"you must be the girl that miyeon's been seeing." she smiles and picks up the two dogs, putting them on the couch.

"yes. i am. you are?" you ask.

"shuhua, nice to meet you." she says as she turns on the tv.

"nice to meet you shuhua." and you get dragged by miyeon to her room, still feeling the embarrassment of being caught by someone.

"i missed you." miyeon says as you both sit side by side in bed.

"me too."

"i've been thinking about us." she starts. "i want us to date, for real."

"yeah, me too. i would really like that."

"great because i already told my company that i’m serious about you." she says and pulls you into a kiss. dragging her hands down your body.

"oh really? i don't get a say?"

"of course you do, i just thought we both liked each other and wanted to be more."

"i'm messing with you, i would love to be with you." she pushes you backwards and you let out a laugh before pulling her towards you again.

"we're together then." she says with finality.

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. so i powered through it to finish it. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

#gidle x reader #gidle imagines #gidle miyeon #cho miyeon #miyeon #miyeon x reader #miyeon x you #kpop imagines #neoplatinum

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kana-daydreams · 8 months ago

Text

𝐚 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 || 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨

summary: zoro decides just for your sake and his, for once, to allow himself to express a feeling he’d long buried inside him after Kuina’s death—and a feeling he’s only ever had for you. genre: mild angst, fluff cw: none wc: 3.2k

I love you.

Settled atop the crow’s nest dome- shaped roof of the Thousand Sunny, Zoro’s dark-brown eyes dart open to meet splotches of fluffy white painted across a canvas of endless blue.

A gentle breeze rustles his clothes and threads through his mint-green hair as he lays with his back pressed flat against the roof’s surface, head cushioned by his arms, while his gaze continues to follow the clouds lazily gliding across the sky.

I love you.

Zoro clicks his tongue when he hears the words teasing melody continue to play in his head.

Words that had repeated its haunting every daylight, and every nightfall.

Words you’d confessed to him weeks ago—and words he had thought would be your last.

Why did you do it?

Zoro still relives the moment when he watched your body go limp in his arms, crimson red trailing its way down in gushing streams from the wound in your torso.

Why did you risk your life to save his?

A question that lingered along with your confession deep within his mind during the couple of weeks you’d remained a victim of sleep.

A furrow lines Zoro’s brows, deepening as he unwillingly recalls the urgent scream of your voice calling his name, followed by the sound of steel tearing through flesh and then the painful sight of your body collapsing, motionless, in a pool of red.

After the tragic occurrence, day after day, Zoro would visit you inside the sick bay. It was a difficult task at first, seeing your comatose state, but he made it part of his daily routine to check up on you. And assisted Chopper where he could, sometimes spending the entire day by your side and wishing that you would just open your damn eyes.

And during that time he spent with you and without you, he prayed.

Zoro never believed there was a god but yet, for you—he did.

Like a devout believer, day in and day out, he prayed and hoped for a miracle.

Hoped that some god— any god—would hear his prayer and that you would awake from your seemingly endless sleep.

Though when a couple of weeks had flitted past and you showed no signs of waking up, the little faith he’d mustered started to wane.

Waned until like a flame drawn down to a single spark of light left with nothing to fuel its burn, it extinguished.

But today Zoro’s flame reignites.

At the sound of Chopper's crying voice, Zoro’s body bolts upright, his eyes drawing wide when he hears him announce in between sniffles and hiccups, that you’re awake.

And in an instant, he’s on his feet.

And in an instant, his legs carry him with desperate steps towards the direction of the sick bay, Zoro thinking to himself, despite his once wavering belief—for the first time—a god really just might exist.

“Nami, Robin— you guys are going to hurt her!” Chopper’s worried voice warns the two women hugging the life out of you—literally, Chopper thinks.

“Okay, just one more hug.” Nami snivels, long tears rolling down her cheeks as she gives you one last squeeze before she and Robin unwrap their arms from around you, moving to stand amongst the rest of the crew huddled around your bed.

Your eyes scan each of their tear-stained faces like your own, at the same time searching for the perpetual stone-cold expression of Zoro’s, your heart sinking when there’s no sight of it.

“I’m so happy to see everyone.” You manage a weak smile, brushing off the disappointed feeling at the swordsman’s absence, and instead focus on the wide smiles, happy tears and collective expressed words of happiness and relief of your long-awaited recovery.

For the next hour or so, the sick bay’s room is permeated with mirthful chatter and laughter until Chopper starts kicking everyone out, informing them of your much needed rest.

“I don’t understand? Why would she need more sleep?” Luffy who sits cross-legged at the foot of your bed asks with a genuinely confused expression. “She’s been sleeping for we—” he’s interrupted when Nami grabs a hold of one of his ears and forcefully starts dragging him out of the room, the scene making a small laughter bubble up your chest.

Luffy’s painful groans and complaining voice drowns out when the door clicks close behind them, and with solitude now your only company, your mind is left to idle.

To idle on the memory of Zoro.

To idle on the memory of his mortified features as he held your form, drenched in blood, close to his chest. And the prominent picture of hurt mixed in with other indiscernible emotions that crossed his face when you confessed your years-long harboured love for him, just before your vision turned dark.

You can’t help but wonder exactly what he thought during that moment of your untimely confession, as you absent-mindedly reach your hands under the hem of your shirt, smoothing it along the rough scar that lines across your stomach. A reminder of the small price you had to pay in exchange for the life of the one you’d always cherished with your whole heart, and the one your eyes longed to see the moment you’d opened your eyes.

A sudden rap at the door pulls you out of your thoughts and you rasp out a “You can come in!” wondering if Chopper had returned to check up on you.

However, when the door cracks open, instead of the doctor, it reveals the familiar figure of the man you’ve yearned to see.

You watch as he steps into the room, your eyes catching his steely expression which immediately melts at the sight of you.

Zoro closes the door behind him and wordlessly approaches your bedside, neither of your gazes unyielding from the other. That is until his eyes flicker down to your hand still settled on your exposed stomach, the muscles in his jaw becoming visibly tense.

There’s a silence that settles between you both. One that is equally tense and you can’t help but attempt to lighten the mood.

“Fell asleep again or forgot I existed?” You quirk a brow, a teasing lilt carried in your tone. “I’m placing my bet on the first one.” You chuckle.

“It’s none.”

Your laughter simmers down when you look up to see that Zoro’s features are void of any hint of amusement.

“Oh? Then…”

“I wanted us alone.” He explains and your head tilts in curiosity at his words.

“Alone?”

“Yeah. We need to talk.”

You ponder on what he says. On what the topic of discussion might entail that he didn’t want the others around. And in a second or two, when an answer suddenly dawns on you—that it might be about your declaration of love— you feel a faint touch of warmth caress your cheeks.

Shyly, you pat a hand beside you on the mattress. A motion for him to have a seat.

Zoro takes you up on your offer, joining you on the small bed after removing his swords which he settled in a nearby corner of the room.

“So, what you wanna talk about?” You ask as you feel the bed sink under you from his added weight.

Zoro takes his time to form an answer as his eyes examine you for a bit: the healthy gleam of your skin, the vibrant light in your eyes, and the way your lips curl into that beautiful smile he’d longed missed.

And the longer he takes to respond, the more your heart races in anticipation.

“How do you feel?” He finally asks.

You pout. It isn’t what you expected, but his concern for your well-being at the same time isn’t a surprise.

“A little woozy and tired. But Chopper said I’ll feel better with a little more rest.”

“Right…rest.” Zoro murmurs to himself.

He had been more than determined to see you as soon as he watched the others leave your room that he didn’t consider the toll their long visit had probably taken on you.

“Then you should get some.” He stands to his full height, ready to make his departure, only to be stopped by a sudden and gentle tug on his shirt.

He peers over his shoulder, looking down to see your fingers gripping onto its hem, your face creased with worry.

“Please Zo, don’t leave.” You plead. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You’d noticed it in his tense expression—that what he wanted to discuss carried a heavy weight on his shoulders, though you weren’t exactly sure what it might be if not your confession.

“You need to rest.” Zoro urges.

“I won’t be able to unless you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Your persistence and stubbornness is no surprise to Zoro. He knows all too well that your words are true, and stands there conflicted with your hand still glued to his shirt, before momentarily releasing a deep sigh as he relents to entertaining your request.

You watch as he seats himself near you once more. “Tell me Zo. What is it?” You prompt when a lull falls, lingering between you two.

Zoro’s eyes sweep down to where your hands lay before flitting up to meet your worried eyes. “Why…” He pauses for a beat as if gathering his thoughts, before he pieces together the rest of his words; finally asking the question, though not in full, that has been long weighing on his mind. “Why did you do it?”

Your brows wrinkle, confused. “Do what?”

When his gaze leaves your own and you notice it drops down to your stomach, you immediately come to comprehend the meaning behind his words.

“Because I wanted to.” A smile pulls at your lips.

A smile that makes Zoro’s hands, unnoticeably to you, ball into fists.

A couple of weeks ago, you were on the brink of death because of him and now you’re here, smiling warmly up at him, saying that you didn’t mind that you’d almost die!

Zoro’s fingers curl, digging deeper into the palm of his hands.

He’s happy—overjoyed, though his features mask the feeling—that you’re okay and that he gets the chance to see your smiling face again. But what if he had lost you?

What if he had lost you, just like he lost…

Zoro shoots up to his feet, your fingers hold on his shirt, ripping away.

“You’re leaving.”

His sudden burst of words leave you to stare dumbfoundedly at him as he walks over to the side of the room where his swords lay, propped up against the wall.

“What do you mean ‘you’re leaving’?”

Zoro faces your direction once he’s finished securing his swords to his hip. “As soon as we dock at the nearest town, you’re getting off.” The tone of his voice hints that there's no room for an argument.

You gape up at him. “You can’t be serious.”

This wasn’t the first time, the second nor the third, that Zoro had tried to get you to leave the ship—and to leave their crew.

He’d wanted you long gone since the day Luffy’d recruited you and tried his earnest to get the boy to throw you off the ship.

Figuratively of course.

“I thought we were past that phase. Aren’t you tired of trying to get rid of me?”

“Not, exactly.” Zoro says and you purse your lips, brows knitting into a frown at his curt and honest reply.

“Well like I’ve told you countless times, Roronoa. I'm not leaving.”

Zoro gives a subtle flinch when you refer to him by his family name instead of the nickname you’d called him since you were children. He then releases a deep sigh meeting your defiant gaze. “Being a pirate isn’t child’s play.” He ends with your name. “It’s dangerous.”

“And, what? You think I don’t know that.” You cross your arms, eyes narrowing.

You were aware that like the others, Zoro was worried about you. But you were here because of your own volition. Not his. A fact you verbally express.

“I’m not a little girl, Roronoa.” You say, voice stern. “I’m an adult. Meaning, I make my own choices.”

Zoro scoffs, almost mockingly at your words. “Yeah, choices that almost left you in a permanent coma, sleeping beauty.”

“I was only trying to protect you.” You feel yourself becoming more pissed, for lack of a better word, at his retort. “You could have died if I didn’t—”

“I ain’t no weakling. I could’ve taken it.” He argues back.

“You don't know that, you arrogant seaweed!”

Zoro was strong. Inhumanly strong. A verifiable truth you’d always known. But like any other human being, he was still mortal—and all mortals bleed. All mortals die.

Seaweed?! Zoro’s brows furrow, the muscles in his face twitching. He then heaves a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look…” he starts, voice much mellow than before. “You’re not a pirate. You’re not me and you’re not Luffy—you’re not like any of us.”

Zoro watches as your expression morphs into a reflection of hurt at his words—and it aches him. But his words are somewhat of the truth. You aren’t like any of them. You don’t have raw strength or devil fruit powers to protect yourself nor are you cautious when faced with life-threatening situations, choosing to tackle those situations head on without much of a drop of hesitation.

And that’s what scared him the most.

“It'd be best if you just go back home where it’s safe.” Zoro finishes, eyes meeting anywhere but your gaze.

“So that’s the real reason you don't want me around?” Your fingers clench around the sheet wrapped around you. “Because I’m weak?”

“That’s not what I mea–”

“Then what do you mean, huh! Zoro Roronoa.” Your eyes well with unshed tears and your voice cracks as you choke back a sob. “Why is it that you keep trying to get rid of me?”

Your question is only met with silence, as Zoro continues to keep his mouth sealed.

“Is it because I’m a burden?”

You weakly voice a thought that’d always remained rampant in your mind since the day Zoro vanished a few years later after Kuina’s death, leaving you only a single letter explaining his aspiration and his pursuit of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman along with a stern warning that you never attempt to search for him.

You’d adhere to his wishes which brought with it many sleepless nights, especially when you thought you would never see him again.

Fortunately, by a stroke of luck, you’d managed to cross paths when you stumbled upon him wandering around like a lost puppy back in one of the towns you usually frequented for selling your goods. And after your fateful reunion, spurred on by what’ve been years of friendship blossomed into unrequited love, you decided to join Zoro in his ambition—and the rest of the straw hats who’d unexpectedly and without a doubt become your home: your family.

“...It is. Isn’t it?” You say when you notice him tense at your assumption.

“No it is’n—”

“Then what is it!” Your voice consumed by a mixture of anger, sadness and disappointment bounces off the walls of the room. “At least tell me why?”

Zoro looks across at you and a pained expression shadows his face when he sees droplets of tears rain from your eyes, wetting your cheeks, falling and seeping into the white sheets clutched in your grasp.

“Why do you want me to leave?” You continue. “Why don't you want me to be a part of your life?” Some of your words get caught up in an uncontrollable storm of hiccups and sobs. “... and I promise Zoro. Tell me why and I promise I’ll leave.”

Zoro was never one to be emotionally transparent. You know that. But you wanted to know why…

Why is it that he was so determined—eager to make you leave?

Why is it that he was so eager to drive you away like you were never a part of his life? And him, never a part of yours.

Silence permeates the room as Zoro’s lips remain sealed shut like before, and as it prolongs so does your impatience.

“If you’re not gonna answer, then go.” You breathe out a weak sigh, feeling new tears starting to emerge. “I’ll leave just like you ask, so just get ou—.”

“‘Cause I love you.” Zoro mumbles out in a rush, that you barely register what he says.

You blink away the tears, directing your attention over at him, more precisely his back. “What…did you say?”

Zoro’s face contorts into a frown, heat burning at his cheeks. “I said…” He grits his teeth, finding it cruel that you were making him repeat such cloying words. “...I l-love you, you idiot.” He stammers out and you notice his ears tinge a dark red.

Your heart stutters at his unanticipated confession, words you’d been longing and hoping to hear for years—and words which render you speechless.

“S-say somethin’” Zoro practically begs, growing increasingly embarrassed by your lack of a reaction, still keeping his body pointed in the opposite direction.

You shake yourself out of your surprised state. “You love me?” You ask as heat fans across your face. “Then…why do you keep pushing me away?”

“..Because you’re reckless.”

Your face contorts into a slight grimace, feeling somewhat offended by his words. “I am not reckless.” You retort, regretting it when he starts to recount childhood memories and those of late, that bear witness to his claim.

Though those events couldn’t compare to the one that almost made him lose you.

The room descends into utter silence when Zoro finishes, leaving you with your head drooped down in embarrassment which had seeped in bit by bit during his narration of your every rash act.

“I can’t…”

You raise your head slowly to look across at Zoro whose voice punctuates the silence. And your heart sinks when you hear the subtle crack of his voice.

“I can’t...” He repeats, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I–we lost her. You—” Zoro grits his teeth, clenching his eyes tightly from the growing pain in his chest. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

To Zoro, you are his everything.

The woman who holds the entirety of his heart in the palm of her hands; all he has that reminds him of home—and a reason other than his promise with Kuina to become the world's greatest swordsman.

Zoro’s hands ball into fists as he feels a burning sensation settle behind his eyes. “I can’t lose you t—”

The words that pained to leave his lips are cut short, when Zoro feels arms wrap, snug around his torso, a soft and familiar body pressing against his back.

“I’m right here, Zo.” You reassure with tears and soft whimpers. “I’m here. And I’m alive.”

Zoro’s heart pounds violently against his chest when you hug him closer to your body, as if trying to prove to him you were real and not just a figment of his imagination.

To your surprise, Zoro turns around and captures you in a tight embrace. “I know…” He presses a light kiss to your hair, letting it linger for a second, before settling his chin atop the crown of your head. “And about what’ve said before. Forget about it.” He says, as your soft sobs continue to fill the room. “I…I don’t want you to leave.”

“You mean it?” You quiver out.

“Yeah.” He replies. “Just please, promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Your eyes flutter close as you snuggle closer into his warmth. “I will. I promise.” You say, both of you, unknown to the other, making a silent vow to become stronger.

Stronger for each other.

#𓇻 kana's op ddrms #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #op fluff #zoro x f!reader #zoro fluff #roronoa zoro x reader #op angst #one piece angst #one piece x you #zoro angst

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soiwj · 5 months ago

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hiii! i rlly love your arle/reader baker au,,,,it’s so cute ueueue & i had a thought, what if arle got jealous of someone that’s suddenly rlly close & flirts w reader while she’s visiting reader’s bakery or smtg? that’d be a sight to see >:)

but again, thank u for writing such a great fic!

Omg wtf? That is such an amazing prompt i love you literally kiss me?

Jealousy's Delight

jealous!arlecchino x baker!fem!reader

Synopsis: Someone's starting to get a little too fond of our lovely baker, and Arlecchino seems to have a problem with that.

You just woke up, and your hair's a mess as you saunter downstairs to your bakery. It's times like these where you really appreciate living right above it. As you finish prepping all the boxes for Arle to carry, you set up your kitchen like normal, preparing for another day of sitting idly behind your store counter waiting for clients to order.

Although your customer frequencies and ratings have increased since closing a contract with the house of the hearth, it's a blessing and a curse. Not many people want to get involved with the fatui, but some people get curious and actually end up liking the sweets.

Normally, Arle tends to be a bit early when picking up the boxes, leaving right when your bakery opens, but today, it seems she's a bit delayed. Nevertheless, you set the baby pink boxes aside as you flip the open hanging on your glass door towards the open world.

After half an hour, the bakery is scarcely filled with a few people. Margret, sitting in the corner enjoying her croissant with a cup of tea and a surprisingly hard crossword puzzle. Judonte, another local, sitting in one of the couches enjoying his coff-

"..hello?" You hear an energetic voice tear you out of your thoughts.

"O-oh hello! Sorry, it's still morning, haha. What can I get ya?" You quickly recover from your slacking. Wouldn't want the new customer to be on your ass for not working hard enough. Weirdly enough, you don't recognize this one. His dark blue hair falls slightly over his forhead as his bright green eyes stare straight into your soul. "Wait, I haven't seen you before. Are you new in town?"

He looks confused yet pleased at your question. "Yes actually, I just moved here from Liyue. It's quite a contrast between here and there." He grins at you before looking behind you at the menu.

"Hmm, let me see, you have quite a lot of options. Are you the only one working today?" You look at him, slightly confused. "Oh no, I'm the only one that works here. I'm the bakeries owner." His face is painted with a surprised look as he slips back into his ever-confident demeanor.

"Wow, you set this place up all by yourself? You must be quite the talented lady." He smirks as he takes a swift look at the show-pasteries before turning back to you. "I must say, this croissant looks really delicious, but that's not the only sweet treat in here." He winks as he delivers his line almost theatrically, straight out of romeo and juliette.

"Well yeah its a bakery, we have more than just a singular tasty snack, haha." That pick-up line flew right past your head straight into his ego, oh my.

"Haha, I guess you're right. Maybe we could get coffee sometime?-"

"I'm afraid she won't have the time." The white and black haired woman says while gripping the mans shoulder. Tightly.

"And who are you to decide that for her?" The man looks into her eyes, defiantly. Not knowing that he just signed his death sentence. Everyone present is looking at him now.

Yet you are as oblivious as ever.

"Oh good morning, Arle! Let me get the boxes. Hold on." You excuse yourself as you leave them for a couple of minutes. When you come back, however, the previously defiant young man has turned into a scared shell of himself with the social potency of a wet napkin. You don't know what Arle said to him. And maybe you don't want to find out.

He quickly fumbles out apologies to you and Arle as he runs off.

"Huh, why'd he leave? I thought he was gonna order?" She looks at you with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Some people are just a bit eccentric."

Arle doesn't mind a little competition, but ones as pathetic as this one shouldn't even get the chance.

But Arlecchino is also a fair woman. So, for driving away a customer, she's given you a hefty tip for today's delivery. It's not like she wasn't planning on doing that already.

Its kind of short so im sorry about that but i really liked writing this one! Again thank you so much for the request!

#x reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino genshin #i love arlecchino #arlecchino #genshin #genshin impact #baker #fem!reader #fem reader #female reader #i love women (maybe a bit too much)

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icanhearcolors · 1 year ago

Note

I really love the idea of Tav drawing Astarion to show him what he looks like, could you maybe write something about that? ^-^

Hiiiiii! I can indeed thank you for the request :b

Welcome back to another episode of Abby tries to write something short and can't make it less than two thousand words.

EVERYBODY LOOK AT THIS GIF CUZ KJNKBJHGFRRETFO

Sorry I think I got possessed for a second there

Word count: 2.1k

The night sky had never been this gorgeous in the city. In Baldur’s Gate, the upper city was illuminated by mage lights that adorned the cobblestone paths. The light was bright enough that the citizens split into two factions, the night life and the day. Even those without dark vision could operate solely at night in total comfort if they chose to. In the lower city, fires were always burning, sending plumes of rich smelling smoke into the air constantly, obscuring the night sky.

But out here, under the blue light of a full moon, you can see every star and constellation in vivid detail. A soft purr-like snore hums against your back, and you brush a hand over the downy feathers of the owlbear cub you rescued from the goblins. He was getting so big. If he gets half as big as his mother was it is going to become a challenge to travel with him. It’s a sacrifice you’re more than willing to make. Besides, you could always cast the reduction spell on him in a pinch if any problem arose. He sleeps curled around your back, alongside his friend Scratch the dog, whose fluffy white head is resting in your lap.

The campfire crackles a few yards ahead as Wyll adds a few logs, humming a Baldurian tune you recognize but can’t quite recall the name of.

For the first time since the nautiloid crash you feel peaceful. Safe.

You turn your gaze to Astarion’s tent, probably for the thousandth time tonight, and stare at his profile as he flips through the pages of the seemingly sentient necromancy tomb you had discovered a few tendays prior. A faint green light curls from the pages like mist, illuminating half his face and casting the rest in shadow. You’d never really understood the saying “so beautiful it hurts'' until you met Astarion. An unknown emotion compresses your chest in a way that makes it hard to breathe sometimes when you look at him. You think it started out as empathy. Every detail of Astarion’s story he revealed to either warn you about vampires or shock you for his own amusement painted a picture of a horrific life full of trauma and misery that you found hard to reconcile with your enigmatic companion. He was always the first to crack a joke. He laughed loudly and on a constant basis. From an outsider’s view he’d appear almost carefree. Happy even. You wondered now how much of that laughter was real, and how much of it was the armor he’d donned a couple hundred years ago when he breached the surface of his own grave. You recall a conversation you had with him a while back about vanity. In his two hundred and forty years, give or take, he’d only been able to see his reflection for thirty nine. An incredibly young age to die for a high elf, and a small fraction of his life-span. Even if any fuzzy memory remained of that past life, it was no longer accurate anyway.

He was something different now.

Your eyes slide to your pack. You had found something yesterday- something rare indeed. A merchant selling art supplies outside of the city. You had everything you needed to give Astarion something you took for granted every day. His reflection.

Slowly, both as to not disturb your sleeping friends and not alert the elf in question to your actions, you slip a hand inside the bag. Your fingers find a pencil easily, the paper next, and you begin to draw. At first you draw him as he is, using his current unmoving form as a model, but you had been quite the artist in your time in Baldur’s gate, and you finished that drawing almost too quickly. So, you draw him again from memory, this time with his head thrown back, face scrunched with laughter. Then you draw his frown, his smirk, the condescending expression he so often gives Gale, the softer one you don’t quite understand that he reserves for you. You don’t hide or downplay his vampiric traits. You draw him exactly as he is, blending colored chalk to capture every shade of red in his eyes. Time falls away as you lose focus on everything but your work. Eventually, some time much later, the cramps in your muscles wake you from your trance. You stretch, and your knees, shoulders, and spine crack loudly. Scratch wakes up, stands, shakes himself off, and trots into the bushes. Your owlbear notices, and trills a soft sound before standing too, following him into the woods. You smile as you watch them amble off, happy they get along so well. You turn back to your drawings and examine them with new eyes. You expected to feel excitement, pride maybe, but instead a cold feeling ties your insides in knots as you realize you can never give these to Astarion. The drawings are some of your best work, but they’re also… reverential. A glimpse of Astarion through your eyes. Anyone who saw them would think you had drawn your lover, not your less-than-trusting involuntary traveling companion. He would take one look and realize exactly what you’ve been hiding from him since- well since you met him. You were infatuated with the vampire, and somehow, miraculously, despite the fact that you’d slept with him once already, he seemed to be unaware.

He was going to find out.

You eye the campfire, half tempted to toss the whole pad of paper into it.

In your panic you turn your gaze toward Astarion’s tent.

He’s not there.

His tent is open, and no one is inside it. You can see that from here.

Somehow- maybe it’s the tadpole, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent so much time with the rogue, you realize you know exactly where he is.

Slowly, as if to avoid instigating an attack from a stalking predator, you turn your head to find Astarion standing behind you, peering over your shoulder.

Even though you were expecting it, you still startle out of your skin. Astarion drops to his knees on the ground in front of you and claps his hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your screech. You both look at eachother with wide eyes before turning slowly and in unison towards a sleeping Lae’zel. She’s frowning in her sleep, which isn’t unusual for her. She twitches, and then rolls over to her other side, sound asleep. You sigh in relief, through your nose because your mouth is still covered by Astarion’s hand. You swat it away and throw him a withering glare.

“What the in the hells is wrong with you?” You whisper-shout.

Astarion presses his lips together and turns his head away from you for a moment, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Oh yeah, laugh it up. If she’d woken up we’d be dead right now.”

“Look it’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention. You haven’t moved in almost four hours, I wanted to know what you could possibly be writing.”

You clutch the drawing pad to your chest and swallow nervously, eyes darting around for any glimpse of something you can use to distract him.

Unfortunately as you’ve come to realize, regardless of what they used to be, once turned vampires become lethal predators. Astarion sees your darting eyes, catches the scent of your fear, and you see the shift in his demeanor.

His movements become slower, more fluid, as he tilts his head in malicious curiosity.

He reminds you sometimes of the big cats that roam the mountains of Faerûn. Once something captures his attention, there’s little use in trying to pull him off the hunt.

Still, you’re going to try.

“I’m not writing.”

His eyes flick to your hands, dusted in red powder, then back up. He hums.

“Drawing then. What have you been drawing Tav?”

His voice is darker now. Persuasive.

“It’s- uh… personal.”

Astarion lowers himself fully to the ground and stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his arms.

“A personal drawing?” He purrs, “Well now I have to see it.”

“No-” You cover your face with your hand, “That’s not what I meant and you know that Astarion.”

A moment of silence passes, so you lift your hand away from your face.

Astarion is gazing at you with that unknown expression again. His eyes look earnest, a soft smile on his lips, when he speaks the words that are your undoing.

“You can trust me, Tav. I already know how talented you are, you don’t have anything to worry about. Just show me.”

You sigh, and his smile grows. He knows he’s won.

Bastard.

“Fine you can see my drawings, but I need to tell you-”

The drawing pad is already out of your hands, your permission apparently all that was keeping Astarion from snatching it away from you.

Your heart stops at his first look at the paper. He stills, flipping through the drawings slowly, his eyes tracing every detail with excruciating slowness.

Finally, he puts you out of your misery.

“I-” He clears his throat, not meeting your eyes. “These are...”

He grips the paper tightly when you attempt to take the drawing pad back from him. You’re confused, and a little… well actually very hurt for a reason beyond your understanding.

Does he hate it? Did you overstep?

“What are you thinking?”

Astarion finally looks at you, his expression guarded. He points to the drawings.

“Who is this?”

Oh.

You’re shocked silent. You should have anticipated this. Of course Astarion wouldn’t recognize himself in your drawings. That was the entire reason you drew him in the first place.

“He’s um-” You fall silent again.

Astarion looks both terrified and heartbreakingly hopeful. You’re sure he already knows the answer. You’ve spoken to him at length about what he is. You know that he knows he’s the only vampire spawn you’ve ever met, and you’ve been traveling together without much separation ever since.

He still needs to hear you say it.

You stare at your wringing hands in your lap and take a deep breath.

“I remembered that conversation we had about how you don’t know what you look like, you just have to go off of what other people tell you, and I bought these art supplies earlier and I haven’t drawn in so long, I used to all the time but with everything that’s going on- and I meant to just draw you once but I wanted you to know what you looked like when you smiled too and then I got a little carried away I’m so-”

You don’t hear him move. Your rambling speech stutters to a stop at the sensation of a hand on your cheek. Astarion hooks his thumb under your chin and lifts your head just enough to press his lips to yours.

Your eyes widen in surprise and then flutter closed. All thoughts cease, replaced by a languid warmth that melts you into a puddle on the ground.

You tilt your head and kiss him back, a tingling sensation racing down your spine. His hand slides from your cheek into your hair, and he gently pulls your head back, deepening the kiss in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

All too soon he pulls back, just a few inches, and smiles.

A real, genuine smile that shows his teeth and lights his eyes. You think you would do terrible terrible things to see that smile more often.

He brings his other hand up to frame your face, holding you in place as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“Thank you.” He says simply, his voice hoarse.

“This is a gift. I won’t forget it.”

He repeats the words he said to you what feels like centuries ago, the night you found out he was a vampire and agreed to feed him.

“You’re welcome.” Is all you can think to say.

With absolutely no warning at all Astarion drops his hands to your shoulders and yanks you toward him just in time. A pillow, rather violent in its velocity, grazes the back of your head in its catapult into the forest. Somewhere in the dark woods, Scratch yelps.

“Next time it will be my sword Isticks”

Growls Lae’zel from her bed roll on the other side of the campfire.

You turn back to Astarion with an amused but also terrified expression, and he smiles knowingly, rolling his eyes.

He picks the drawings up off the ground from where they’d been scattered at some point and gathers them in one hand. He stands, hoisting you up with his free hand, and practically drags you across the camp to his tent.

You’ll have to draw him more often.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate iii #bg3 astarion #bg3 #i have a problem

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dreamdragonkadia · 11 days ago

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A/N: I haven’t written a short little thing like this in forever, but I’m deep in my Percy brain rot right now, so here we are…

Percy’s love wasn’t a fickle thing. It never had been — not with his family, not with his friends, and especially not with you. When Perseus Jackson loved, he loved deeply, wholly, and without hesitation. It was just who he was: loyal to a fault, with a heart that always seemed to have room for more, no matter how many battles he fought or how many burdens he carried.

When he held you close, it wasn’t just a casual embrace; it was a vow, silent but solid as the ocean tides that pulled him. The way his thumb traced absentminded circles on your hand when you walked side by side, or the way he would look at you — like you were his anchor, something that kept him grounded even when the world around him felt like it was spiraling out of control. A light in a dark place. You’d catch that look sometimes, those sea-green eyes soft and stormy, filled with a tenderness that made your heartache in the best way.

No, his love was not fickle.

It wasn’t one for grand declarations or poetic words, but you never needed them. His love showed itself in the smallest moments: in the way he saved the last bite of his blue cookies for you, in the way he’d stand between you and any threat, like an unspoken promise to protect you.

It was the way his hand would drift to the middle of your back whenever you were close, guiding you gently, as if to say, I’m here. I’ve got you. It was the way he’d grin at you from across the room, a private little smile meant just for you, one that made you feel like the only person who mattered in a sea of faces.

Percy’s love was woven into every day, every laugh, every shared glance.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” he’d say sometimes, almost like he needed you to believe it as much as he did. And in those moments, with his hand in yours and the sea breeze playing with his hair, you knew he meant it. His love wasn’t fleeting or conditional; it was as constant as the waves, unyielding as the tides.

And you realized, maybe you didn’t need flowery words or overly dramatic gestures, not when the simplest things he did made your heart melt. The way he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the way he’d wait up for you, no matter how late it was, just so he could see you home safe. Percy’s love was always there, in the little things, shared between just the two of you.

His love was steady, sure, and it was yours. Always yours.

#✨️by yours truly✨️#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x you #pjo x reader #drabble #pjo #percy jackson series #reader insert #sfw #bookish #books

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cipheramnesia · 7 months ago

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Dr. Stevenson would have had to take Athena when she was a very young child. Maybe four years old, give or take. It could happen so many ways but it would have been so very easy for her to put just a little pressure on one or two people to have CPS take custody of the girl. This is all just a dream, and Athena's whole life after that is one neutral colored room after another with a slightly different ergonomic office chair every few years, and her only solid memory to hold on to is a reflection of light off water. Sand and water, surrounded by big trees with branches all bent heavy and green. A half open, half broken rusty gate clinging onto a couple concrete pillars long bereft of their accompanying wall. Athena would hold onto that for dear life, treasure any little sliver of color from a light blue hoodie to a cheap pair of headband bunny ears to blue and yellow rain-boots. They would have accumulated over the years of the taped on monitors, blood draws, urine samples, hair clippings, annual spinal tap.

Sometimes she'd go days without food, or her room temperature would swing from frigid to boiling, then the big orderly and the phlebotomist with Dr. Stevenson's sharp voice over them all would come in. "Be careful," she'd snap out, slapping off hands that gripped too tight, never once spoken out of love or even empathy. "Don't damage her, we don't know if we'll ever find another one." The concern only spoke of a rare and treasured object, perhaps a Cartier wind up music box. The others calmed her like an animal, "easy girl, just a moment and it's over." Sometimes when there was a new phlebotomist, Athena got a small piece of candy. She never had the same one more than a few months. She'd try to savor the hard lollipop or drop of chocolate and ignore the sound of Dr. Stevenson through the hollow doors, "This subject is on a specialized diet to ensure consistency of results, you are not to bring any such personal items-" and it went on.

Learning math and reading and writing after a fashion, information provided by Dr. Stevenson with grudging irritation, but once in awhile short and tantalizing sidepaths of the personal. "These sides are you, much like you and the light, you control both sides with the shared information. Oh, nevermind. Figure it out yourself." Athena would never know what kind of a monstrosity Dr. Stevenson was building from her blood and their studies, only the day that something went terribly wrong, and Dr. Stevenson didn't come to see her anymore. The time she'd showed the room the light and it hurt Dr. Stevenson, she still came back a few days later, but this time she left and Dr. White started taking care of her. He was much nicer, but wouldn't let her have her room in the dark, and did not think all the work Dr. Stevenson had been doing was very interesting. Sometimes he would talk about Dr. Stevenson's huge promotion with a sure bitterness. He showed up with a younger girl he called Alice.

#girl bites god #long post

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whitherwanderer · 1 year ago

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Pride Backlighting Tutorial

A few people have shown interest in replicating the pride backlighting I did, so hey, here’s a quick tutorial below the cut.

Enjoy, and happy Pride Month. 🏳️‍🌈

STEP 1 — SETUP

First thing you’ll want to do is find a suitably dark background to bounce the light off of. I use the White Screen housing item dyed Soot Black, available from the Housing Merchant or Apartment Merchant in any of the housing zones for 3000 gil.

I line up 2-3 of them for coverage, but one will do if you're trying to be frugal.

If you don’t have an apartment or an FC room to use, try asking friends, FC mates, or even folks you share a Discord server with. You might even find someone who already has a studio space set up and is willing to let you use it!

Lighting in your studio space should be 0 (though you might have success at 1 as well), so make sure to adjust that or ask the studio owner if they can make that change before you start posing.

STEP 2 — GPOSE

Position your character(s) just a little ways back from the edge of the screen. You want some space between them and the screen so that the lighting can float there without casting a weird circle on the wall.

Hop into /gpose and bump up the “Manual brightness adjustment” to about 120 or whatever level allows you to see your character well enough to pose them. Pose to your heart's content.

STEP 3 — LIGHTS

Here’s the fun part. In the Light tab of the Gpose menu, switch all of your Light sources to Type 1, which has the shortest falloff radius (meaning it doesn't reach as far as Type 2 or 3). I also set all of my lights to one strong color to differentiate them while I worked on lighting—red, green, and blue, all maxed out at 255 (for now).

Swing your camera (still on all default settings) around to your character’s back and up above their head a little ways. This is where Light 1 (red) will go.

Now pan your camera down at about mid-back height and set Light 2 (green) there.

Pan your camera down one last time until you have a nice shot of your character’s butt and set Light 3 (blue).

Spin your camera back around and enjoy this nice little macaw-colored gradient.

STEP 4 — CAMERA

Set your camera angle.

The way FFIXV’s lighting works is partially dependent on how much light is in a shot. It will adjust a lot like your eyes do when you’re entering a dark room from a bright room, or vice versa. Your zoom level and camera angle are going to directly affect the lighting, so set this before you start messing with light strength and color. Sometimes this means weaker lighting will actually light your character better.

I ended up bringing my lights down to around ~160 and boosted the "Manual brightness adjustment" up quite a bit to get lighting I was happier with.

For a straightforward vertical shot, I like to have my Field of View (FOV) at 200 and of course my rotation is set to 90. Zoom in or out as needed. Remember to save your camera angle if you plan to pan around and fix things!

STEP 5 — COLOR

Make it ~queer~.

Take your flag of choice and pick out 2-3 “main” hues. Generally these will be the strongest hues in the flag, if not the only ones. Some flags, like the Pride/Progress/Intersex-Inclusive flag itself, are difficult to replicate for the sheer number of colors that are in it. You can loosely represent a rainbow with some adjustment to the RGB colors, if you’re determined to have a whole rainbow in there.

Shader Note: I recommend picking a shader preset that doesn’t mess too much with color so that colors are represented correctly. You may need to adjust light strength and “Manual brightness adjustment” to be compatible with your preset of choice. Bloom will also heavily affect the way your colors are showing up, so you may need to tone down the bloom FX or toggle it off entirely. This all depends on your preset, however.

If you’re not into RGB math, here are some cheat sheets! Not every flag is represented here of course, but I tried to cover as many colors as I could so that you could grab a color from another flag as needed! Please note that colors will need some adjustment for your own screenshot, presets, and preferences.

And that’s it, y’all! 🏳️‍🌈

(Open this image up in a new tab for more detail.)

These were taken using a heavily customized shader for that nice glowy effect.

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #[ ooc ]#[ tutorials ]#i didn't actually have a tutorial tag but #now i do #enjoy ❤️

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hugsandchaos · 7 months ago

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Random bit, but does anyone else wonder if ghosts from the ghost zone react to humans similarly to how humans react to ghosts? Like sometimes I just want to write Danny in human form around Frostbite in a manner that’s kind of from Frostbite’s prospective, and describe Danny’s human form in a way that connects to the living world or at least partially does. Let me just show you what I mean.

It was odd for Frostbite, seeing the Great One’s human form for the first time. True, he literally asked for it during the checkup, and he’s met Sam and Tucker before, but something about this was different. Perhaps it was the simple fact that Frostbite had only seen him in ghost form until that point, maybe it had something to do with him being a halfa. Who was to say when there was so, so little information on Halfas?

Hair the color of freshly fallen snow, much like the fur of Frostbite and his people, now turned as dark as a shadow. Perhaps even darker, just like Sam’s. Unlike Sam, however, Danny’s eyes had a different color. A shade of green that both practically and often literally glowed just like the ectoplasm all ghosts were made of had been replaced by a light blue. Looking at them reminded the chief of ice, and he was sure that any glare from them would feel like ice piercing a ghost’s very core. His skin was a little darker now, but Danny still appeared a little paler than Sam.

Looking at Danny now was like looking at a glimpse of a world where everything was different. Frostbite knew that the two realms were obviously different, but it felt more... perhaps “dangerous” was a good word, or “mysterious”. The thumping of his heart was picked up on more easily by the machines used to read his core vibrations, and the thermometer rose gradually until it reached 94 degrees. That temperature was extremely dangerous for a ghost with an ice core, as the average temperature for one was between 10 to 0 degrees. And yet Danny Phantom’s recorded body temperatures were always between 32 and 40, which was by itself alarming enough. Now it was all the way at 94?!

“Young Phantom, are you alright?! The thermometer says that your body temperature is 94 degrees!” Frostbite exclaimed.

Danny nodded and smile a little, his new ghost teeth, which Sam and Tucker called fangs despite them being rather small, were visible for a short while.”That’s actually close to the average healthy temperature for a human, which is 97 to 99 degrees, but I guess being half ghost lowered it a bit? It’s when the body temperature reaches 100 or higher that we should worry.” He said.

“...I need to update your record.” Frostbite said after a moment’s silence. Once the checkup was over, perhaps he could ask the Great One to bring some medical books on humans to better understand the living, and dead, paradox that was Halfas.

“My what now?” Danny asked.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp #dp frostbite #danny phantom frostbite #Danny phantom prompt

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riordanness · 5 months ago

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bad blood — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

word count: 1.0K

warnings: mentions of period pains and other symptoms, etc. reader is a swiftie

There’s a knock on my cabin door, and I let out a soft groan, then call out, “Come in!”

Percy, my bestest friend in the world, sticks his messy head in. “Hey.”

“Hey, Percy,” I say softly. I’m curled up in a cocoon of blankets, pain written all over my face.

Percy studies me. “I was worried when you didn’t show up for archery. I heard from Chiron you’re skipping classes today cause you got your…” He winces slightly. “Shark thing.”

I manage a laugh. “Shark thing? You mean, shark week?”

“Yeah.” Percy shrugs. “Probably that.” He pushes the door slightly wider. “Can I come in?”

I nod. “Yeah, course.”

As he quietly shuts the door behind him and steps over to sit on the edge of my bed, I explain. “It’s not usually this bad.”

Percy nods. “Are you in pain?” His usual joking manner has softened.

“Mhm.”

He looks hesitant, and I can see in his eyes he’s trying to come up with a way to lighten my mood, to crack a joke to make me smile. “So,” he starts, “is this what that Taylor Swift song is about?”

“What?” I laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s so unexpected and I’m absolutely confused.

“Bad Blood, right?”

I laugh for real this time, and Percy allows himself a cheeky, triumphant smile.

“Percy, that is not what that song is about. It’s about—“ I sit up slightly and cough suddenly, then groan at the uncomfortable feeling that follows. “It’s about falling out with someone.”

“I know,” he teases, poking me on the nose playfully. “I do know some stuff about Taylor Swift, you know. Especially the 1989 album.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Yeah, of course.” He shrugs. “You never shut up about her.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t exactly argue with that. He isn’t wrong. Secretly, though, I’m overwhelmed by the fact that he actually knows anything about Taylor, which he probably only remembers because he wants to know, for me. My heart swells and I sit up and hug him tightly.

Percy is surprised, but after a moment wraps his arms around me. “What’s this for?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Just wanted to,” I say, my voice a little muffled by his shoulder. His dark blue hoodie smells like sea salt and that sawdust from the sword fighting arena.

“Okay.” His grip on me tightens, and he doesn’t let go even a little until I pull away and lay back down.

Percy studies me for a moment. “What do you need?”

I try for a nonchalant shrug, fighting back a groan of annoyed pain. My head throbs in my temples, my lower back aches and my cramps are horrendously bad right now. I probably need to get up and duck into the bathroom again, but I’m so, so tired.

“What will help?” Percy presses. “I don’t know much about this, but I wanna help.”

I manage a smile at him. He’s the sweetest thing in the world, and he has no idea. No idea how much I love him.

“Chocolate sometimes helps if it’s dark,” I say. “But I don’t need that. I just need to sleep, I think.”

“Chocolate, okay.” Percy reaches over and gently rubs his hand up and down my arm soothingly.

“Actually, could you do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

I gesture to the sea green coloured heat pack on my bedside table. “I need to run that up to the Big House and microwave it, but—“

Percy is on his feet in an instant. “I’ll be right back.” He scoops up the heat pack and darts out the door.

He’s back surprisingly fast. But he doesn’t only bring the heat pack back with him. In his hands is a small

plastic bag, the kind you get from the camp store when you buy things.

Percy sits back on the edge of the bed. “Here.” He hands me the warmed up pack, and I immediately place it on my lower stomach.

“Thank you, Perce,” I say weakly.

Percy grins, then digs around in his plastic bag. “And…” He pulls out a block of dark raspberry chocolate. “I didn’t want to get the plain dark, I thought that would be boring. So I got the one with pink in it, cause you like pink.”

My eyes are probably shining as I gaze at him, in awe of this boy. Doesn’t he have even a clue of how amazing he is?

“And this.” Percy isn’t done. He hands me a can of Coke, and a bag of my favourite chips. “Cause snacks.”

“Cause snacks?” I repeat, a quote I use often as a stupid excuse for things.

“Cause snacks,” he echoes, that grin plastered back onto his face.

“Percy?”

“Yeah, princess? What’s up?”

“You’re amazing.”

“Nah.” He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares down at me. “I’m nothing special.”

“Yes, you are,” I insist, reaching over and grabbing his hand to squeeze it. “Genuinely, you are. You’re my best friend and… this means a lot.”

Percy half smiles, and shrugs. He twists his hand in mine so our palms are touching, then laces his fingers through mine. The pads of my fingers fit perfectly in the grooves of his knuckles. “Of course, princess. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “And right back at you, okay?”

“Okay.” Percy leans over, and presses a warm kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest, okay? When you wake up, I’ll convince Chiron to let us borrow that anti-monster not-really-a-device projector thing he has stashed and we'll watch a movie.”

I laugh. “Okay.”

And as I drift off with my hand still in his, I know it deep in my heart: I love this boy.

#percy jackson #pjo #fanfiction #percy jackson and the olympians #walker scobell #fanfic #taylor swift #perseus jackson #percy jackson x reader #book percy #book percy jackson #percy jackson x me #perseus jackson fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo fanfic

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driaswrld · 1 year ago

Text

one night only! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 2.1k

summary : fem!reader goes to a club with shoko to be free from her scary guard dog besties, satoru and suguru show up anyway, just a bunch of intimacy really. maybe one lil suggestive part w satoru?? mention of wlw shoko and possible insinuation of stoner geto lmao

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : i headcanon poly satosugu as often toeing the line between platonic love and romantic love bcus these three idiots rlly can't tell the diff sometimes. also shoko is gay and is my gf don't @ me. also this is ooc of how satoru and suguru would be at a club cs lets be fr satoru would be an emotional drunken mess while suguru is in the bathroom smoking or smth

other : im having so many teenage romance thoughts ab poly satosugu. also this was kinda inspired by a poly marauders fic i read agesss ago

current casette : i was never there - the weeknd. me and your mama - childish gambino.

You can feel the bass of the music in your throat, your heartbeat racing to catch up with it.

Parties like these only had one common thread : brainless, brainless fun.

“That one over there,” Shoko murmurs against your ear as discreetly as she can, but just as loud as for you to hear her over the thumping music inside the club. Your gaze moves from the sequin strap across Shoko’s shoulder and over to a girl across the way, a redhead, leaning against the bar and knocking back an expensive looking drink. “She’s pretty.” You turn your head to Shoko’s ear.

Satoru and Suguru have been… hovering these past few weeks.

You love them, truly, the bestest best friends anyone could ask for. But two popular conventionally attractive men by your side at all times? It does put a damper on your love life. Shoko would be able to understand your point of view — if she wasn’t playing for the other team at least.

The redhead looks over her shoulder out at the mass of bodies on the dancefloor, the dark blue dress she has on really accentuates her figure — among other things. “You should go tal–” Before you can finish, Shoko’s mouth is agape, eyes fixed on the girl, and being the wingwoman that you are, you shove her forward a little. “Talk to her.”

“You sure?” Shoko wobbles forward, tipsy but sober enough to take a pretty girl home. The neon lights inside the club flash pink and blue then red and green then pink and—

“I don’t wanna abandon you, name.” You only laugh at Shoko, giving her two firm thumbs up, nudging her forward again, and still, she stands there contemplating. That is, until the redhead turns around and locks eyes with Shoko.

Oh, she’s far gone already.

“Don’t leave my peripheral.” Shoko kisses the side of your cheek and begins to saunter off, just as the song playing in the club changes to a softer, more sensual song.

There’s something about parties. Something that gives you the uneasy feeling two specific people could pop up at any time – two people you’re trying very hard to make clear to that you’re your own woman.

What makes a grown man wanna cry?

You slide back to the spot on the dancefloor you and Shoko shared moments ago, and with a sigh of near relief, you let the music transcend you to a different realm. Your body sways among the masses, a tinge of alcohol probably clouding your judgement because on any other occasion you’d find dancing in public embarrassing—

When it’s time, when it’s time, when it’s time, it won’t matter

There’s a sense of complete euphoria that washes over you, and before you know it, a slender arm snakes around your waist. And despite your better judgement, you know who it is before you look over your shoulder.

It’s an eerily intimate thing, feeling the chill of the six eyes raking over you.

You’re sure Suguru must be the only other person to feel how it feels, the goosebumps that rise on your flesh, hair standing on end. But not in fear. In something else entirely—

“You’re so pretty.” Satoru whispers against the edge of your ear. He doesn’t sound drunk. At the very least he barely sounds tipsy, just a small slur of speech in between, and you look over your shoulder at him.

“Prettier than you?” You stop moving and let out a laugh, and he goes brainless. Crystalline orbs stare down at you, and he pulls your body flush against him, pressing his body into yours from behind.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles and your body sways, resuming with the rhythm of the blaring music. A whisper of the lyrics leaves his mouth, and you nearly forget how he knows the song — must’ve been in one of Suguru’s playlists. One of those playlists he keeps.

“Satoru—” you’re about to scold him, maybe tell him this is a thin line, one you’ve been toeing for too long.

Satoru brings his other arm around your waist, both his hands meeting in accord atop the flesh of your stomach. He waits for a beat, waits for you to tell him no, but it never comes.

I’m on the edge of something breaking

His head dips to your height, his hair tickles the back of your neck. You can feel the heat from his lips on your skin as he hums along to the lyrics. “Just feel it for a little...” He whispers.

Even in his tipsy but not-so-tipsy state, he knows exactly what he's doing. You think, maybe he’s always known. At least in body but not in mind.

If I keep going I won’t make it

A sigh escapes your lips, something akin to a breath of relief, like a weight lifts off your shoulders.

Satoru’s body grinds forward onto you, and your head tilts back onto his chest, a mouthful of lyrics leaving your mouth in a gasp. “Feels good, yeah?” He grins down at you, pleased, his voice a bit off-key in a more Satoru-like fashion.

“Didn’t know you knew the song,” the words leave your lips as you both lock eyes. He rolls his eyes and sinks his teeth into the exposed flesh of your shoulder playfully.

“Suguru plays it all the time—” He replies, then continues to hum along with the song, his voice barely sounding like his own. “It’s too sexy to not know.”

There’s a sense of comfort in not knowing the depth of what you feel in this moment.

Satoru spins you around to face him, and the breath leaves your lungs. And the moment in between knowing what your relationship is and not knowing all but fades to black.

And with the way he looks into your eyes, and leans forward, you think he just might break the line two.

And it’s all because of you—

The song fades out, to a more upbeat one, and Satoru’s hands fall limp at his sides. Suddenly, you remember how to breathe. And you swallow the lump in your throat, all while he gives you the signature goofy grin you’ve come to cherish.

You turn your head to look across the mini crowd, and Shoko is still there, one arm slung around the redhead as they both knock back shots.

Temporary. It’s no big deal, you and Satoru were just tipsy.

But that sense of relief is short-lived.

Embarrassingly so.

“Boo.” A sharp exhale leaves your lips as soon as you turn your head, and instead of Satoru staring down at you, your view is blocked by Suguru.

You look at him like a lost child, and he rears his head away to laugh at you. “Don’t look so scared, name.” He smirks, slyly, like Suguru always does when he’s taunting.

“You dumbass—” You breathe, a hand colliding with the edge of his shoulder in a soft shove and Satoru can’t help but laugh at the sight before him.

Then, Suguru’s fingers wrap around your wrist, two, then four then he’s tugging you forward, straight into him and Satoru. “Don’t be so mean to me, you’ll break my heart.” He says it so condescendingly, with such a smile that makes your heart leap at your current predicament.

Satoru really wasn’t done. He just brought in reinforcements.

“As if—” You grumble, and the lights dim for a second before flashing a neon purple. And that’s all the time Satoru and Suguru need.

“—I have a heart?” Suguru towers over you, and he bends his knees just a little, resting his chin against your shoulder so you can hear him. “Or as if you could break it?”

You think Suguru’s been smoking. The warmth of his breath against your bare skin makes you shiver a little. You think you feel a little dizzy just from looking at him.

The way his eyes are downcast, eyelids heavy, like he’s bordering on the precipice of eternal sleep or the best dream he’s ever had, one he doesn't want to wake from.

He looks at you like you're the latter rather than the former.

Satoru swings his hand forward, interlocking his fingers with yours, pale slender digits finding purchase between yours as he moves to your side. “As if to both.” He rolls his eyes, and Suguru lets out a soft whistle, “You’re so cold, Satoru.”

The song playing begins to fade out, and Suguru takes advantage of the few seconds before the song switches, that small gap of silence, and he whispers, “Dance with us..?”

“Duh.” You grab ahold of Suguru’s hand with your free one, all while Satoru’s grip on your other hand tightens just a little. “Who else would I dance with?”

These things are no secret, never have been and never will be. And you have a funny feeling you know why your love life remains so stagnant.

How does the old age thing go? Never let your girl have a boy bestfriend. Or worse, two.

The three of you saunter to the middle of the dancefloor, the neon lights flashing shades of blue.

And if you didn’t know better, you’d say whoever the DJ is, they’ve got a sick sense of humor.

Because they manage to play the most romantically erotic song you could ever hear in a club setting. Ironically, a song you recognize from your playlist — no doubt you learned it from one of Suguru’s tracklists. A very extensive one titled with a leaf emoji.

I’m in love when we are smoking that—

Suguru’s arm moves to wrap around your waist from in front, and he tugs you close as the soft tempo reverberates through the room. He shrugs some of his hair off his shoulder, dark eyes finding yours and he doesn’t dare look away for a second.

Suguru must think you're a pipe dream. That you’ll disappear if he blinks.

Your bodies rock from side to side and Satoru doesn’t let go of your hand, instead he slides behind you, following the rhythm you and Suguru have set in tune, raising your intertwined hands to his lips, and for a moment he uses them as a makeshift microphone to sing—

La-la-la-la-la

Suguru grins and he presses his chin atop your head, his other arm coming around to hug you close to his chest, while Satoru meets you both halfway, and it’s really just a sandwich swaying side to side with you in the middle.

I’m in love when we are smoking that—

What initially started off as something so simple, you coming to a club with Shoko wanting to finally get laid since your best friends managed to scare all the guys off — has turned into something so soft, so intimate.

There are never many words, never much explanation when you’re with Satoru and Suguru.

And it’s clear none of the three of you know what this is or where you stand. But for now, that’s okay.

La-la-la-la-la

“You okay?” Suguru dips his head to mumble into your ear, and you nod, words failing you.

In truth, you’ve never felt so soft, so safe yet so… vulnerable. But that’s also okay.

Satoru cranes his neck and leans his body over yours to look between you and Suguru, having not heard a thing. “You two okay?”

And you laugh. Suguru does too.

Suguru’s arms around you keeps you grounded against him, and Satoru’s weight against your back keeps you firm between them. “If you need us to stop… if you need a drink I can—” Suguru tries, but you cut him off with a soft pat to his shoulder.

“Don’t stop,” you mimic Satoru’s words from earlier as your own into Suguru’s chest and he melts. “Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah.” You affirm, and he nods, his chin going back to rest atop your head. And you wrap a free arm around Suguru’s middle, the other still softly interlaced with Satoru’s at your side. “M’ happy here.”

“In the club?” Suguru asks, albeit a little louder so you can hear him an amused smile slipping onto his features. “No, just—” Your words fail you. But this, there can’t be any intent without feeling, true unbiased feeling.

And you feel it, coursing through you in soft waves for them.

That unbiased wavy feeling, almost like you’re floating. That feeling for them. Though you don’t quite know what to call it yet.

“Here,” you mumble and a smile stretches onto your face. “With you, and Satoru too.”

Suguru stops swaying a bit, and at the change in movement Satoru stops too, peering over your shoulder to see what’s happening.

But Suguru only grins a little. “I’m happy too,” he says. Then he glances at Satoru, and Satoru glances to you. “I guess if you two are so happy, then me too.” Satoru chuckles.

#★ DRIASWRLD #tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #satoru gojo #suguru geto #gojo x geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen fic

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