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celestie0 · 18 days

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

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“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it.

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket.

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.”

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible.

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you.

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks.

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age.

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.”

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him.

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you.

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation.

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time.

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes.

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–”

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–”

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you.

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden.

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut.

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.”

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating.

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw.

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie.

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape.

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you.

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist.

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now.

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives.

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains.

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

[the end]

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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tinydefector · 3 months

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I was just interested if you were a suckered for the clothing and fabric and perfume trope as I am. In the sense where fabrics and a abundance of organic flora was considered more common for higher class cybertronains but that even then it was pretty scarce. Imagine a bot or con after getting over their fears or mild disgust of the squishness of humans so to speak the next few things they notice is how many types of hair there are. How many styles and how many different ways to dye said hair. It drives them nuts the feel such softer fibers all together to make a more denser form. Curled,staight,wavy it all catches their optics. Painted nails almost similar to paint for their frames. Tattoos so intriguing. A human willingly damaging their surface that is more fragile than their metallic frames. It's a living scar. And they can't help but slowly come to love it to when they see how much their human complain does. But fabric? God they almost get drunk off of it. When they get a hug they shiver at the smooth article that brushes on their frame. The variety. So many styles and colors. So many meaning behind patterns and techniques. They can't help but almost grow jealous hearing how far back a simple stich can come from in human history. Humanity dressing itself in plush silks and flimsy polyester but it's all gold compared to what the cybertronains have come to crave. Imagine them having made themselves smaller so they could be inside your living space and they can't help but notice all the fabrics. All the plush surfaces. Their in heaven fully convinced they're going to meet the great primes. And if you had a scented burning candle? Sweet or citrus they can't help but want to inhale deeply to capture the scent. Perfumes? God their drunk whenever a human walks into a enclosed space because all mechs and femmes are fighting themselves to not snatch you up and keep you. If you use scented body wash or scented lotion then can practically taste it on your skin if you are near or hug them. They crave it when it's late at night and they've got you sobbing and thighs shaking as they kiss and lap at your scented thighs. And if theirs multiple humans in a space? That almost has a bot slurring their words as iff they just had the best energon. Just some thoughts haha I'm very sorry it's so long. I'm just a suckered for all these headcanons and just how while they may be disgusted and have hatred for humanity some fo them can't help but swoon for so many qualitys of their human companions that are nothing like their skin. So soft and complaint and so very warm at heart.

So I do have some fics on this stuff one is

Ratchet x reader. Involving perfumes effecting cybertronians like a sex potion or sex pollen.

Then I have

Starscream x reader. Involving the infamous dress and him testing out different outfits on his partner.

This small collection of bots reacting to nipple piercings (was like my first fic I ever wrote here)

_________________

I am quite a sucker for the clothing and fabric and perfume trope. I really enjoy writing cybertronians who adore seeing their partner drapped in shimmering fabrics. Becuase to the human its could just be a satin sheet, but to the cybertronian it is luxury, it showcases so much about you and every chance they get they love getting to just feel or touch the fabrics.

Imagine: your cybertronian is sat on theirs berth which is a mix of almost foam matting(yoga mat/ expanding foam) They don't lay on just metal but it's not particularly comfortable for their human. So one day, they introduced them to memory foam, and its like the bots world has opened up. It becomes a soft, comfortable recharge. But as you start bringing sheets, blankets, and your pillows, it makes the bots feel as if they are falling in love. They love it when you drape the soft fabric over them and make yourself almost a next on their chassis with the soft bedding. To they it feels like a luxury that you are pampering them even if it's just to make yourself more comfortable. It's the fact you leave them in their suite on their berth take makes their spark clench in delight knowing you'll be coming back.

I also tend to write cybertronains have alot more nasal sensors and detectors to the point they can break down the partials to annalise them. The smell of fresh lining is something that effects them almost like catnip with a cat. They will roll around in the fabric optics wide. Engines roaring in delight. As their joints squeak and clank against the walls.

I also love writing that Fabric was something that only the Highest of society had on cybertron, but mainly due to have small the fibers are it is extremely hard for cybertronains to replicate the material, so it fetched for high prices when Imported from organic planets. If you were of the lower classes, you would be lucky if you had a tarp or some sort of soft plastic as it was also still very sort after. So you can imagine how the cybertronains reacted once on earth, even while undercover. Fabric is such a huge part of human culture that cybertronians, when they find even just a pretty scrap of Fabric, keep it as a token. As if to say "frag you" to the universe.

But I can also see a human finding the stash of Fabric cut off's and offering to sew them all together in an almost patchwork like blanket for their bot and you can bet your ass you will have that cybertronian on thier knees worshipping you for it.

______

"Hey, we have hail forecasted," their voice calls out to the vehicle parked in the driveway. The cybertronian is rather quiet as they register what was said to them. "It isn't acid rain, so it won't be anything too bad." they try to argue only to have a large old blanket thrown over them. "Hey, what are you doing?" It sends shock throught their system having something so soft drapped over their frame.

"I'm covering you up so you don't get hail damage, I sadly can't get you into the garage at the moment so the next best thing I can do is cover you up with some blankets and a tarp so you don't get damaged by ice falling out of the sky" they explain as they throw another over the vehicle. Making sure to fully cover the bot before throwing a waterproof tarp over them, too. "Sorry, I don't have anything better than this, but it will keep you dry and our of harm's way." Those words hit their spark in a way they never would have thought it would. They are left almost speechless, cosy, and somewhat warm as the hailstorm rolls in.

________________

When it comes to hair colour, skin colour, and tattoos. It fascinates them so much to see such diversity and colour on a species they originally believed to be quite dull. It gets to the point when making their holoform avatars they love exploring and expressing themselves as if making a sims character. Even going as far as some get custom paint jobs of the tattoos, they get on their avatars because, for them, it's the closest thing they can have to tattoos. But think about you getting a tattoo in a shop right across from where your cybertronian partner is getting their paint job because it was a cute couples day out.

And don't get me started on how much cybertronians love human's hair. The fibers are so different to them and they love the feeling of it, they just have to be very careful when running a digit theought thier lovers hair as to not get it jammed in the joints causing you pain.

Another thing that cybertronians are fascinated by is humans' willingness to injure themselves in the name of beauty. From tattoos, piercings, injections, and surgery. In honesty, it's not that different from frame ulteration, but they don't know how a human can do it. The bots can turn their pain sensors off while humans are just soldier on through it.

I love the idea that the bots also horde car freshners that their humans get them. It becomes a full-on pokemon card situation of them trading double ups, begging their partner to get them others so they can rub it in their friends' faces. But air freshners weren't a thing until Earth, and the bots love how it makes their frame smell different from the oil, grease, and car smell.

But perfumes gods I love the idea that perfumes have a certain chemical reaction to Cybertronian systems to the point to turns them into a raging horny bot who can't get enough of how your skin taste and how desperately they try to literally lick the perfume off your skin as if it were the riches and most expensive high grade energex on the market. It also leads to a lot of personal working with the bots not being allowed to wear perfume/cologne. Deodorants don't affect them the same way, but they also enjoy how they smell quite a bit.

But yes I love the idea of perfumes pretty much working like a pheromone spray and don't get me started on actual pheromones spray, your not leaving that bots berth for atleast 3 days, they will bring you food, water and anything you want but it literally overrides their system protocol and makes them desperate to breed you.

In conclusion, DO NOT wear perfume or Pheromone spray near the bots unless you don't intend to be leaving the berth for at least 3 days if not more becyase they can and will keep you their.

________________

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luescris · 5 days

Text

Everybody buckle up and to those of you who follow me: I am sorry.

But I have acquired the Images and I must yell about them.

Because there are two things that always gets to me when it comes to shows: Imagery, and symbolism. It is not often where both are done well or right. Sometimes neither even exist. So I would have never expected a "what if" funny haha Lego star wars show that has a million meme refs in it to put such thought and care into how both are EFFORTLESSLY presented. And then slap on a whole layer of emotions and meaning.

Let me show you what I mean.

This. This was like the second thing that had my jaw drop to the floor. Glass shattering imagery combined with sick as hell lighting and a hint of symbolism in it???? Are you kidding me??? Like look at these; they're gorgeous!! I could stare at the quality for HOURS.

And don't even get me started on Dev and Sig's whole relationship. Cuz I have a MILLION things to say about it. For example.

Yes. This image is similar to the glass shattering one. But it's also so very much different because of the lighting and position of the two brothers. Dev being high above and Sig looking up from down below. This could also be a clever way to reference the, “I have the high ground” scene, but with that crack on the wall behind them?? Literally separating them apart while the bridge is already physically doing so??? There's so much to look at, so much to inference. The creators of this show paid so much attention to placement and meaning it's actually insane.

Dev's whole point was to be devastating. He's more than just a villain with a temper, he has been hurt and was alone and was angry. His intro scene had him going, “If I didn't have you..” With a look of despair. He shook, he yelled, he was on the verge of tears. Like.

This. This? Sig's face. Dev standing over him like that. The freaking. Placement of where the characters are I don't know what the word is but dude. This was on purpose.

He doesn't even have the yellow Sith eyes! Sig knows he's not going to hurt him and he's so right and Dev hates that he's right.

How can you sit there and hate after being given a face like that. A face so trusting and open and it's proving what Sig already knows. There is still hope left for Dev. There's still hope for everyone. Sig is just that beacon.

All his life Dev was alone and out of nowhere here Sig comes to ruin everything all because he cared. And the voice acting just sells it. It SELLS it. Sig whining whenever he was scared, Dev's “shut up.”, Jedi Bob being a sarcastic Master. Actually Dev's va work entirely like who IS that guy god-

I loved the chaos and ridiculousness of this entire show, but it combines the elements of Lego humor with the serious and heartbreaking stories of Star Wars and it's been a long time since I've seen that for this franchise. And to top it off???

It's all about grief. About moving on. Jedi Bob lost his whole galaxy, Sig has to learn how to live in this new one, Dev is struggling with the idea of how unfair it all is that he never got to be happy. Like at this point I don't even care if I'm looking way too far into this there's still so much meaning.

How does Lego nail it in the head so many times. They're plastic toys meant to sell toys and it is working.

One last honorable mention image that I just find absolutely sick as fuck for the road:

Another purposeful shot. Absolutely amazing. I'm gonna fall over and die. They're just legos..,,..,..,,,

This all happens in the span of the last episode and it is only four eps long, 26 min each. But it is so worth it.

Tdlr: Go watch Rebuild the Galaxy so we can get More of this please and thank you.

#star wars #lego star wars #star wars rebuild the galaxy #star wars disney #disney #disney star wars #lego #sig greebling #dev greebling #darth dev #analysis #please watch this #i beg of you #please.......

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swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual · 2 months

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I'm not opposed to hear your rambling of DP in dungeon meshi

Ayyy someone asked!

Oh, you’ve activated my trap card.

So, naturally, I cannot find the post because Tumblr ate it off my blog, BUT what they’re referring to is a post about how the Fenton parents could have TOTALLY ended up overshooting when trying to get to the Ghost Zone and ended up in different worlds instead… and thus decided ‘hey free children!’ And surprise adopted (read: kidnapped) both Jazz and Danny from two different realms.

I actually had a LOT of ideas on how you could do this. But, I ultimately decided that a post-canon approach was best for this little exercise. Not that you COULDN’T add Jazz and Danny, I suppose, but the timeline and the character movements are, for lack of better terms of it, EXTREMELY tight. You can wiggle an OC in there, sure, but for a fully developed character from ANOTHER media, especially one as OP as Danny, it’s far more difficult.

That’s my way of saying, this absolutely has Dungeon Meshi spoilers if you’ve never read the manga and don’t know how it ends. That’s my only warning.

So here’s the ideas and eventual story (there’s elements that are general and some that are specific to whatever storyline I ended up with) that I have doubts I will ever write but someone might as well enjoy them. I technically wrote a few scenes in my notes app, but these aren’t those, this is—kind of the whole roadmap? It’s a little funky still though, haha.

Here goes!

As with the post, Jazz is Barbara Gordon’s twin, and Danny was actually a half foot. And now he’s a halfa halffoot. Lmao. Lol even.

Before I chose to do a post-canon approach, I considered having the Fentons as a party. Jazz and Danny are basically playing babysitter to their FAR too enthusiastic parents who keep almost or actually dying because they’re exploring the whole immortal dungeon thing. While that is scrapped, some of the ideas I did have came from this, er, phase of development? So I felt it was worth a shoutout.

Marcille describes magic (well, mana) as coming from ‘The Infinite’, which is also where demons come from. And these demons can do things like grant wishes, ‘feed’ off of emotion, and change people. They also, once sealed into dungeons, do various things inside these dungeons, including making animals that cannot exist without magic for very long but also seem to still require a sort of internal logic. This sounds a LOT like how ghosts work in Danny Phantom, if you take maybe a hint of liberty and a dose of speculation about how lairs likely work.

Basically, The Infinite = the Ghost Zone, also known as the Infinite Realms. Demons = Ghosts. Dungeons = Lairs. And, most importantly… Ectoplasm = Magic.

For my own sanity and also for a successful meshing of these two very different universes, I’ve decided to go with the semi-fanon idea that the influences of the people in the living world can create things in the Infinite Realms. Belief creates reality, basically. For example, perhaps Pandora was never alive in the first place, but because people heard and believed her story so much, she became a ghost (realms being, demon, what have you). So, while those in Amity Park might not have initially believed much in ghosts, they saw them, and because people saw Phantom as powerful and either villain or hero-like, Danny and the rest of the ghosts became more like comic book characters than spooky ghosts (somewhat explains how things are still a LITTLE spooky, but seem a bit more heavy on the probably dead people thing at the beginning of the series).

Similarly, demons became what they are over time as the people of the world influenced them. You could call what demons started as, as ‘proto ghosts’, and that every world that HAS ghosts has them, and the beliefs change them into whatever form and binds them to whatever rules the dimension now holds.

There should still be some universal ‘laws’, though. For example, ghosts exist in both stories, and so do magic, as do spaces that operate at least SLIGHTLY outside the usual laws that govern the area outside of it (again, lairs and the Ghost Zone, dungeons in general).

All this to say—when Danny ends up in the Dungeon Meshi world, he ends up being a very unorthodox and extremely powerful mage, but might lose a good percentage of his usual ghost powers. He is not salty about this, no, really, ITS FINE JAZZ.

This would be less of a problem if there wasn’t a SLIGHT issue about halffoots being known as not being magically inclined… and those that might have had an interest in the past sorta-kinda got taken by the elves.

Another note is that this isn’t going to be a particularly Fenton parents friendly sort of story, because the whole thing STARTS with them KIDNAPPING CHILDREN and passing them off as their own. I’m sure there are ways to spin it as a happy tale, but uhhhhhhhhhhh. I’m not.

An additional point that you do NOT have to take from this if you make your own story is, if you’re a big fan of halffoots having tails (which, to fit with the humans-all-have-the-same-bones thing, are made of cartilage), you can have Danny have been docked as a baby by the Fentons. Adjust angst regarding that to your own tastes, but I imagine its probably something that HAD been done in the past for not-great-reasons, and so the social stigma for the parents doing that to their child is messed up—but due to the dangers of dungeoneering, some halffoots may have lost their tails in accidents or just because they were THAT serious. Point is, it’s at minimum a gossip point.

Anyways, as halffoots are very short, and Danny is one, by age fourteen his teachers are probably going to go ‘uuuuhhhh, I think there’s a problem here?’ But the Fenton parents are oddly reluctant to arrange a doctor’s visit to check for various possible causes of potential dwarfism. Like, they’re already dodgy about doctor visits, but this seems particularly avoidant.

Both Jazz and Danny might know that they’re adopted, but even if they don’t, they know where all their papers are. So they snoop through them to see if there’s any leads or anything.

There’s various ways to for them to figure it out—realizing there’s no paper trail about their adoptions or about how delayed the at-home-birth paperwork was—but one that I did contemplate was that the Fentons KEPT the tail they cut off Danny as a baby, claiming it was a ‘lower spine surgery and don’t worry about it champ!’.

As you might imagine, he’s worried about it. But also, you can nix that plot point if you’re not a fan. (Well, I mean it technically my own story developing here, but—part of this exercise is to see what other people would take away from what I’ve got too.)

More searching through papers and likely a conversation if not confrontation with the parents later, Jazz and Danny learn about the different realms and such.

Jazz is still worried about Danny’s health. They SEEMED human, but what if they weren’t and they were just lucky to not have gotten super sick? Or what if they’ll live thousands of years or something??

Danny is, understandably, a little upset about everything too. So they both pack what they might need, basing their travel kits on what notes they DID have about the world they were heading to (minimal technology, so laptops were a bad idea, but Jazz did pack a bunch of instructional books on How To Make Things), and got the dimensional coordinates to where they needed to go. Or, if you don’t wanna explain HOW those dimensional coordinates are still accurate or how that system might work now that the Ghost Zone was there, because who knew how to navigate that place on a GOOD day, Danny could just ask Frostbite or Clockwork for a quick favor. On that note, Danny should probably have a way home—personally, I gave him the starting ability to make portals, although they’re not YET powerful to get through, which is why he’s concerned that he might actually be unwell on his human side.

POINT IS. Jazz and Danny arrive, taking the name Nightingale just in case their parents went around calling themselves as Fenton and pissing people off by, oh say, kidnapping their child.

A quick survey around tells them a bit about the world, with Danny probably very used to being very adaptable on the fly. And also we’ll let him keep invisibility. As a treat. Though it may now be a bit more difficult to do. Jazz is tasked to either help Danny to let him hide behind her presence when needing to actually be invisible, read through the travel journal from the Fentons to find clues to Danny’s birth family, and her own self imposed mission to reinvent running water and water filtration systems. She is not about this no-indoor-plumbing life.

As it so happens, with the Golden Kingdom beginning to pop up, there’s plenty of spaces and houses in various states of repair that they’re currently REALLY trying to fill up. Jazz files some paperwork about being refugees, and they take a house that’s pretty far into the woods for most of the people looking for a place. The two need the space, as they are keeping literal dimensional secrets. Other than the lengthy walk to town, it’s fine. Plus, it lets Jazz do her plumbing project.

Once they both have a pretty good grasp on things, Danny C-student Nightingale realizes OH. WHAT IF I’M A HALFFOOT— wait no I’m not going by that. Call me a hobbit instead. In Jazz’s defense, she spent most of her time grasping everything else about the world, or otherwise spent most of her time they spent either camping in the woods or making their new house LIVEABLE that the whole ‘different races’ thing completely sped by her. Plus, where they live might be more Tallman heavy.

Good to know he’s healthy though! But they’re already here, and they do actually want to find Danny’s family, and… it’s just… been very nice and not stressful. The ghosts hadn’t been bothering Danny nearly as much back home, to the point where he felt pretty comfortable leaving it in Valerie’s capable hands, but this is the most relaxed he’s been in a while. It’s amazing what not living with people who would skin you semi-alive will do for mental health.

They also realize they maybe need to like… make money.

Good news is, when they switched dimensions, they automatically became able to speak Common. And, as a compensation for losing some of his other abilities, Danny can have omnilingualism. He also keeps his ice powers, mostly, and he’s pretty sure he kept his Ghostly Wail.

There ARE reasons why he keeps the powers he does. In short, he’s still part ghost (or, part demon here, but words are just words and in this case, both just mean ‘realms being’), so turning invisible is fine. So is making things cold—and, as he’s also human and able to use magic, he can create ice like other mages do. He also has limited intangibility, but for reasons involving ‘I don’t recall any mages doing it’, he has more trouble with it than usual. As for the Ghostly Wail, its similar to the mandrake cry, and thus something that likely involves magic to do—as a veritable wellspring of magic, as he’s kinda sorta a dungeon master ruled by HIMSELF now, he has plenty to spare. Plus, banshee legends might still exist in Dungeon Meshi. As for the languages thing… it’s me throwing him a bone for taking away his ability to use lasers. I might let him overshadow people, but seeing as that just kills people in Dungeon Meshi, I might not.

The two siblings begin taking odd jobs in town. The people think it’s a LITTLE odd that a Tallman (Jazz) and a Halffoot (HOBBIT, Danny) are siblings, but they usually just explain that they were both taken in by the same couple. If anyone even slightly insinuates it’s something else, the two both start gagging before they begin lecturing the gossiper.

While Danny’s skills as an interpreter ARE extremely valuable, they find that with so many new people in this town that, apparently, JUST rose out of the gotdang sea, that there are many people looking for all sorts of odd things, and THAT is something Jazz is more suited for than translating, seeing as the only language that she knows from THIS world is Common.

In short, she finds out about potions. You know, that thing mentioned like ONCE at the beginning of the Dungeon Meshi series and NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN (afaik).

Ingredients are a liiiittle hard to come by in markets, but most of them just need magic to grow, right? And Danny can make magic ice that turns into magic water.

Jazz starts a farm. When Danny starts taking home books and such to translate on a commission basis, mostly in order to avoid another close call about knowing ancient elvish languages that they may or may not be incredibly suspicious about him being able to know, he takes care of a lot of the gardening.

It’s at this point that Danny finds out he can just take a mandrake that’s in a pot, dunk it in a barrel of water, and harvest that way. It’s still a bit LOUD, but it won’t harm or kill anyone. And, the water now has magic toxins or whatever, which could have uses of their own that Jazz is now experimenting with.

So, basically, Jazz is out here doing the Dungeon Meshi Cooking Montages except its potions and it’s mildly terrifying.

Danny is just glad that he’s ALSO legally a halffoot adult and can just go to town to a tavern whenever she’s being too weird. Good news: he can drink alcohol now! Bad news, sort of: it does nothing for him. I mean, go him for never getting drunk, but like, rude.

Both Danny and Jazz are learning magic, mostly because Danny needs to offset some magic every now and again so it doesn’t build up (ie, his ice) and should at least look like he knows what he’s doing so he doesn’t get caught, and Jazz is learning so they can occasionally depend on her to claim that Danny’s magical whatever is actually HER doing. Plus, it helps with the potions. Most involve magical ingredients, so the maker doesn’t need to be a mage, but still.

Danny gets a bit homesick about Sam and Tucker, so he makes a magic mirror in an afternoon and contacts them through one of Sam’s compact cases. It had some unique design she made on the back of it, so he’s able to hone in on it. Sam is EXTREMELY jealous that they’re living some kind of cottage witch fantasy, meanwhile Tucker is like ‘they have wHAT kind of meat? And you left me here?!’.

Yeah. Tucker and Laois would get along, although Senshi would definitely have some words to say about his nutritional needs.

SPEAKING OF the Dungeon Meshi characters. What, you think I wasn’t going to add them?

Falin likes to take walks through the area. As it so happens, the Nightingale House is about two hours of very casual strolling from the castle. She discovers them one day when she noticed Danny tending to the mandrake farm (there’s likely other magical plants, but I imagine Danny is wary of the more monster-like ones).

Danny just can NOT keep her name in his head. He keeps calling her Bird Lady. Falin is not upset by this. She’s actually pretty glad to make somewhat friends with Danny and later Jazz, because they’re both pretty nonchalant about the feathers thing. Most are fine, but some are still… Off about her. Also they didn’t participate in the whole eating her thing, which she didn’t MIND but some people avoid her because they think she WOULD be upset.

Falin is also glad to find that Danny can see ghosts like she can. She promised to keep his little magic secret, though she likely has no idea how powerful he actually IS, and she visits like twice a week.

At some point, Itsuzumi claimed their front porch as one of her napping spots. Jazz thought they should maybe not have a cat girl sleeping on the doorstep. Danny agreed… by making a hammock. Jazz just accepted her fate and occasionally feeds her. That said, Itsuzumi doesn’t stay in one place as her ‘home’, so it’s a toss up if she’s there. Still, she somehow convinced the postmasters to only deliver mail to the Nightingales, seeing as they don’t mess with her letters and are out of the way enough that she has privacy when she does read them. If she’s there while it’s raining, she’ll take over the couch.

Like, Itsuzumi doesn’t have keys to the house or anything, and Danny and Jazz are both a bit secretive, but that translates really well to respecting Itsuzumi’s privacy as long as she isn’t bringing huge problems to their doorstep. Danny did once offer to see about making up a guest room that was more or less hers—the house did need repairs, so some of the rooms weren’t quite habitable even if the house itself was fine to live in. Itsuzumi was not a fan of this, as I imagine her the type to not like feeling so tied down, but she did accept a compromise of having a closet space for her to store things. It’s where Danny and Jazz will put her letters when she DOES get them.

Danny’s need to help people isn’t an obsession, but he IS quite fond of it, so as he does his work but also studies magic Just In Case, he finds a certain affinity for sensing magic, monsters, and breaking curses. The first one he broke was entirely by accident—the client had no idea that the book passages he gave to Danny were cursed.

It worked out, it was fiiiine, stop worrying so much Jazz.

While Danny certainly wasn’t advertising the curse breaking part, his previous client was told about it, and suddenly everyone knew that the Nightingales knew a little about curse breaking. They assume it’s Jazz, and Jazz has to learn on the fly how to break simple curses and protect herself until Danny can come actually work his literal magic. Jazz, oddly enough, is the one to figure out how to make protective charms.

Also, she’s successfully made the first section of her water filtration system.

Listen, they are very busy. But they’re hoping if they branch out enough, get a big enough system, they can find Danny’s parents. Because all they REALLY had to go on was One—They were halffoots, Two—Danny’s hair came from his mother, and Three—in both Jazz AND Danny’s cases, the Fentons kidnapped a twin.

It’s this work as a cursebreaker and Jazz’s work as a near miracle worker at potions—her little mad scientist experiments were bearing fruit after all—that Falin brings Laios over to work with. Long story short, Danny’s general attitude about it is ‘fuck that lion guy’ because he recognizes the work of a ghost—er, demon—when he sees it. Sure, the Toudens don’t TELL Danny it was a winged lion, saying after a really long pause that the cursers name was Leo or whatever. But Danny isn’t completely stupid, especially not about something he can PLAINLY see.

Also, a good note here is that neither Jazz nor Danny have ANY idea who Laios is. Sure, they’d HEARD of the King, but either Danny gave him a nickname, they think Laios is one of those cases where there’s an uptick of people named after a famous person, or it’s just a super common name. Or, heck, it’s entirely possible that Laios has a king monicker and that’s ALL that Jazz and Danny have heard, and they don’t know that the king’s name is Laios.

Anyways, Danny is like ‘you have two curses from your frankly very petty curser’. And they’re like ‘yeah we know’.

For the monster repellent curse, Falin points out (possibly on her own but also possibly remembering something Kabru said once) that it’s a pretty useful curse, but that it upsets Laios to have on him. So, Danny thinks ‘What Would Sam Do’ and makes a creepy doll. The idea is to attach the curse to the doll, but for various reasons involving having the curse NEED an amount of magic to stay going, it needs to be, well… fed. As you MIGHT recall from Dungeon Meshi, blood is pretty potent as a magic tool.

So, anyways, blood sacrifice for the repellent doll curse, preferably either by Laios or someone of his blood. I’m sure this won’t become a plot point for a b rated adventure story several generations later where they need to find the One True Heir to help save the kingdom or whatever.

As for the hunger curse, it’s a pretty tricky one. Most curses, Danny can kind of just. Push it out using his own magic, or trick it into thinking its done whatever the curse maker wanted it to do. But this curse is very ingrained, as hunger is something very basic to literally everyone, and it’s goal is basically ‘then SUFFER’ and that’s hard to make it understand when Laios is, technically, already and constantly suffering from it.

So, it needs to be magically purged. Starve out the magic in Laios’s body, starve out the curse. Issue being that it’s EXCEPTIONALLY hard to do that when magic is LITERALLY in the air.

With a bit of thinking, Danny comes up with a solution, and tells them to set up their creepy doll shrine and see him in three days. Also maybe haggles the price because while he DOES have a way to do this, it’s a bit risky to not only Laios but to the makers of Danny’s curse-breaking method.

Danny contacts Sam, who contacts Frostbite, who is VERY against this but ultimately agrees so long as Danny is careful. Danny technically has Jazz do most of the next part, so he’s being cautious.

The Toudens come back, with Laios happily chattering about a small monster he noticed just before they got to the Nightingales—good to know what the range of that is then, though it may have become smaller with the smaller vessel and the lesser amount of regenerating magic supplying it. I’m not looking up the one panel that sorta shows how big the field is right now.

Danny is like, bundled up and covering his mouth, while Jazz is very careful with the prepared potions.

Blood blossoms. Basically anti magic, which do not grow in this world naturally and should never do so, and involved Sam needing to travel back in time to grab a few. They explain their caution as Danny being extremely allergic to one of the ingredients and the effects of the potions being dangerous to mages in general by DESIGN.

In short, Laios has to take these potions for three days—one bottle for each day—and to light a candle anointed with the potion in the forth bottle in a closed space he needs to stay in for the duration and at least an extra two days. There’s also a fifth bottle that he needs to sprinkle into any food or drink he has for that time until after the fifth day. Remember, magic is everywhere in Dungeon Meshi. This is basically him going into a sterile bubble field for a while, but also needing to include sterilizing the things he eats and drinks as well.

“Don’t keep even a drop,” Danny warns them both very, very seriously. “This stuff shouldn’t exist here, but that is one NASTY curse you’ve got. Anything you’ve got leftover, including the bottles, bring back here.”

He also tells them that its possible that Laios might never regain magical ability he had previous, or if he DID he had to relearn it. Laios accepts this risk. He wasn’t much for magic anyways. Danny also tells him to maybe make sure the room(s) he uses isn’t his usual bedroom, and again that he needs to stay in them as MUCH AS POSSIBLE, preferably not leaving at ALL, until after his treatment.

They take his warnings seriously, at least, and they head off, carefully with the contents they just got.

They actually do as instructed! Kabru did manage to take a drop, though, just to see what would happen. Holm’s undine DISSOLVED is what happened. Kabru did not take any more risks about that because WHAT the hell, WHAT. Laios and Falin also won’t tell him WHERE THEY GOT THIS FROM. At least, not until after they finish the treatment and see if it works.

It does work though! He gets his normal hunger cues back after a couple of weeks, and Falin happily tells the Nightingales that it worked. Great! Never tell anyone what they did. Also give back the bottles please and thanks (handed off to Sam very carefully—although blood blossoms ARE a magic-and-ecto disruptor, they can be put through portals, such as the mirror phone things that technically also act as portals).

A little late for total secrecy, but no one that the Toudens didn’t already trust with the numerous secrets they already had, including but not limited to Marcille’s fun necromancy habit.

… Listen, I know that the curses Laios gets are like, consequences or something, but I didn’t like the hunger curse because of my own traumas and didn’t like the monster avoidance curse cause that just seemed cruel. Which I get was the point but I have OPINIONS on the whole thing, and it ultimately equals up to “Laios didn’t ask for this, and I’m not sure he’s actually happy in the end”. Anyways.

Because they literally helped heal the king, Laios does invite them over to dinner in the castle.

“That guy was a KING?!” Danny shouts.

Jazz is just like. Yeah that fucking tracks. But hey we can ask his help about the parentage thing!

So, now they’re going to dinner. That’s fun! Maybe!

Side note, Jazz has now invented showers and indoor baths. She’s still working on a heating and cooling mechanism but at least all the water is clean. She’s still working on getting faucets for sinks, such as in the kitchen.

Don’t ask how they have time for this, by the way. The gardening, their actual jobs of potion making and translations, Jazz’s plumbing project, Danny’s (and slightly Jazz’s) magic training, and the biological family search. To be fair, they probably have very few leads on that last one, so extending their social net is kind of their only plan.

They get dressed up fairly nicely and go to the king’s castle for dinner because apparently Danny just cannot stop impressing royalty both dead AND ALIVE as it turns out.

There, they meet the whole Touden party. Itsuzumi is there. Both parties are very surprised, but good to know, but also what. W h a t.

Senshi likes hearing about how similar potion making and cooking is, and he and Jazz seem to be getting along pretty well! Chilchuck, meanwhile, is like. Why does this kid—sorry, young halffoot adult—look so gotdang familiar. Regardless, he offers to help teach him a few things about halffoot culture, seeing as Danny was apparently raised as a Tallman.

“Yeah, we didn’t even know about other races! We just thought Danny was a little weird,” Jazz said.

“That must have been really isolated,” Marcille replied.

Oh, she didn’t even know the half of it.

Of course, someone questions how Danny was so good with languages if their ‘isolated little village’ never said that any race other than Tallmen existed, to which Danny just kind of says he had a knack for it and was bored, so. Languages. They kind of just start following patterns after a certain point. And he and Jazz HAD been traveling for a while.

Dinner goes well, with just one odd report about scratching in one of the mirror halls by the guards that Danny juuuust manages to hear before he and Jazz go out the doors.

That’s probably nothing!

A bit more time passes, with Senshi visiting Jazz and helping her learn ACTUAL cooking in exchange for those sweet sweet mandrakes and the water harvesting method while Danny gets lessons from Chilchuck and, ironically, another halffoot named Dandan about Halffoot culture. Luckily, Danny just so happened to know the halffoot language equivalent of Common, but they teach him a bit more about the language anyways.

This is also when he learns that Halffoots tend to have twins, but also that it’s not terribly uncommon for one of the twins to die. Happened to both Dandan’s ex wife and to Chilchuck and also so, so many other halffoots. That just made Danny’s search even harder. Yikes.

By week two, Danny is very tired of CONSTANTLY hearing the term halffoot, and so has requested Tucker get him a copy of the Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy to send through mirror-mail so that Danny can then translate THAT into Common and go publish. Maybe if he has a book or two to sell, he can make a passive income so he can concentrate on things other than translating YET ANOTHER tax form because the local government all wants Common—understandable—but not everyone can READ Common.

This may be a time to give Danny a misadventure with some orcs that paint him as a fucking weirdo but ultimately friendly.

Jazz gets the idea that hey, if the whole halffoots have lots of twins thing is true, meaning that she and Danny are going to have a TIME of it trying to find HIS parents, maybe she and Danny should invent, like genetic testing with magic and or potions or whatever. It’s not like they don’t have an understanding of genetics, if what Kabru’s (adopted) mother teaches him is any indicator, but genetic testing it relatively modern by our own standards.

So they start developing that. Falin still visits, mentioning how there seems to be a scratching that just won’t stop in the castle, but its always in the same hall of mirrors so at least its localized. Just, really weird. Everyone else thinks its ghosts, but Falin has checked so many times now and there just isn’t one. But Laios is doing fine, he’s very thankful, and Danny is like hahaha don’t mention it! No really, don’t! You already paid me! We had dinner! We’re friends now! Ahaha!

Should it be the case that Halffoots (-HOBBITS!) have tails, Chilchuck still has his, though it’s a liiiittle shorter than it should be, and he’s the sort thats proud about how long his wife and daughters’ tails are. He’s reconnecting with his family! Slowly but surely! In case you CAN’T tell, I actually like happy endings here. Despite the everything else I put in a story, ha. Anyways, as such, he’s a little offput by Danny’s parents since Danny admitted that they’re the ones who cut it off of him, and that even then they never told Danny that he wasn’t a Tallman despite having to have had at LEAST a clue that he wasn’t one. Shouldn’t the orphanage or however they got their kids from know? Don’t tell him that both Jazz AND Danny were just left on their doorsteps.

“Definitely not that one, aha…” Danny quickly changes the topic. “So I wrote this story—or, well, its like this story that was SUPER popular where we’re from—“

Chilchuck also explains how Danny’s name is just SO weird to most of the other halffoots. Like, it’s not OUT there, per se, but definitely reads as Tallman. Even admitting its fully Daniel does not help. This is also when Chilchuck explains that part of the infant mortality rate, halffoots don’t get their names until their fourth month of life.

Jazz made some liberties and changes to the Hobbit to fit in a little better with Dungeon Meshi and it’s whole world, but otherwise it’s mostly the same story. Chilchuck and Dandan get free copies as they’re helping Danny so much, especially with getting Danny used to other people like him (mostly). They’re both pretty impressed with it, though Danny insists that it wasn’t exactly his own writing. But, hey, the actual author was dead and he doubts any copies are going to come from his old hometown any time soon so like, might as well!

Also, copyright law is probably far different in Dungeon Meshi than here, ha. I declare it—legally in the clear!

Danny has a mission with this and that’s getting people to use the word Hobbit dammit!

Surprisingly, despite not showing up in it, the gnomish community quite like it. And so do dwarves, and elves, and halffoots, and it becomes pretty popular.

It’s The Hobbit. This is not an unexpected result. Thank you Chilchuck for helping with the printing rights and contracts for getting the book published. (And we can guess that the printing press DOES exist in Dungeon Meshi, since we can see the books they have—though there may be other obstacles about getting your hands on a book, we can see by the amount they have and how gimmicky Laios’ monster book is that printing a book itself is likely a done and solved issue in some way or another).

Danny is extremely glad he did not put his own name as the pen name for that mess.

While all that drama is happening, including the fact that Chilchuck’s wife—I have named her Brightmerry—is now a very avid fan and would love to meet Danny, Danny and Jazz have just about perfected their genetics test. Laios and Falin know about the test, although not WHY they’re doing it. Despite some concerns that the magic and chimeraism that probably STILL affects both, though Laios’s maybe got purged during the magic curse breaking thing, it certainly was unpleasant enough for him that he’d BELIEVE that he got part of him ripped out, they still seem to test just fine as siblings. Still, they need more tests.

But it’s not like they know an entire family, do they?

Danny complains about this issue to Dandan, in part to see if Dandan knew anyone that MIGHT be willing to help.

As it so happens, Dandan volunteers Chilchuck. Chilchuck only agrees to drag his family into it because he generally trusts Danny and Jazz even if they ARE kind of weird and make incidental inventions at their house that they should REALLY sell, because WHAT do you MEAN you have a hot water shower?! He also knows that both Brightmerry and Fullertom would like to meet Danny because of the book he totally did not steal from another dimension to make a profit. Might as well drag the rest. Plus, they assure that the test itself won’t hurt, and will even demonstrate with themselves and with the Toudens what a false and what a positive result will look like.

So, they arrange a date to do so at the castle. Kabru is pretty interested in the experiment, truthfully, because it seems neat! Not at all because of his own issues with his hometown involving his eye color! Why do you ask!

Off they go, and the best space to do this in due to some preparation and magic circle nonsense is the same room Laios did his whole magic purge, which was the mirror hall. It’s small but open, with no windows except for a small one in an attached restroom area. Sure, there’s some creepy scratching going on from time to time, but no one has gotten hurt or recorded anything else odd.

The magic genetics test involves having the participants positioned equally around a magic circle in little circles of their own, having a small cup of a potion that gives off a lot of steam or vapor—entirely harmless-, and pricking a drop of blood into the potion. What happens with a positive is that the vapor takes on a color and follows a trail through the magic circle, and the colors and how strong the connection between the vapor trails between two people tell how related they are. In a negative or, when two parents are in the circle, the vapor trails will not have ‘matching’ or similar colors, and the trails will not actually meet up with each other.

It’s still a work in progress, but it should tell at least siblings. Luckily, Chilchuck did manage to get all three of his daughters and his wife along, with Dandan being invited as another variable to test with.

Danny and Jazz go first, showing how their trails don’t meet up. And there’s not a particular meaning to what color a vapor trail is to a person—it can change and vary for each test, it’s only consistent when it’s a ‘positive’.

Than Laios and Falin. Fittingly enough, their trails are fairly strong, with just a few different trails fraying off, and slightly different shades of green-ish yellow coming from their potion cups.

The Chilchuck Family then take a turn, and they can observe the trails. Sure enough, Chilchuck and Brightmerry don’t have any connection, but seem to match and meet with each of their daughters’ trails, who also connect to each other in a web of vapor. They decide that maybe more than three is hard to read.

They agree to do a couple of combinations and tests, which Jazz and Danny are like ‘sorry for all the finger pricks!’ But they DID bring a bunch of sterilized needles at least. And Falin is happy to heal them in the meantime—using the space as an anti magic purge room seems to not have left an affect on the magic now in the space.

Dandan joins a few times so they can record how he doesn’t match at all. Laios then mentions why Danny isn’t doing that when they explain he’s adopted and therefore for all he knows, he’s distantly related.

Which prompts them to have him test with Dandan and Chilchuck.

He doesn’t match Dandan.

But he does match Chilchuck.

This does not change when he repeats the experiment.

They then switch out Chilchuck for Brightmerry.

… And he matches to Brightmerry.

SEVERAL different trials later involving all the halffoots there confirms it.

Somehow. Someway.

He is Chilchuck and Brightmerry’s child.

Are you surprised? Probably not that was a twist coming a mile away not going to lie.

Anyways, the story THEY give is that he’s Puckpatti’s twin. They’d been napping outside while with one of Chilchuck’s brothers, when something or another distracted said brother for, at most, two minutes. But then Puckpatti’s twin was gone. He was stolen, although they hadn’t actually KNOWN what had happened, when he was three months. It’s why Puckpatti’s name was, well. Puckpatti. Puck was supposed to be her twin’s name, and they considering having her be Pattipuck, but Puckpatti worked better. It wasn’t particularly odd for twins where only one survived to carry the other twin’s name as either their first or second name. This is also why her usually nickname is Patti instead of Puck.

Danny and Jazz explain that… yeah, they were taken in. As in kidnapped. Hadn’t wanted the pity points but saying they were adopted felt kiiiiinda wrong.

Now, this would be a very touching family reunion scene.

Except now that mirror scratching has started up.

And its loud.

And—Oh would you look at that.

Mirror portal.

Can you guess who pop through?

It’s the Fentons! Say Hello to Jack and Maddie.

It’s a whole confrontation scene, which BASICALLY goes with Maddie and Jack absolutely NOT realizing anything they did wrong, insisting they SAVED Danny, that there were two and it was fine, and BESIDES, JAZZ wanted a little sibling and when ASKED she asked for a brother, so really, its her fault.

Jazz gets a guilt complex! Chilchuck tells the Fentons that thats NOT HOW THIS SITUATION WORKED, SHE WAS TWO!

Jazz also has a horrifying memory of when she was four and Danny was two, and asking if they’d like a younger sibling, and that they’d have to agree, but Jazz said yes and Danny said NO and was this why there were only two of them?!?

Danny disowns them, pointedly saying that cutting off a baby’s tail is kind of MESSED UP DON’T YOU THINK. And they go, well if you’re going to be ungrateful—and he gets like, hella hurt.

More arguing and fighting, and Danny just kind of lays there and lets himself heal before propping himself back up like. Did. Did you think that would work. You have a magic science workshop that I regularly cleaned did you NOT THINk. THAT WOULD NOT HAVE AN AFFECT.

The Fentons go ‘oh, he’s a ghost’ and disown him right back, though not in so many words. Whichever members of the Dungeon Meshi group you imagine are there right now take it as ‘he’s a MAGE?!’

Danny tricks the Fentons back through the mirror portal and shatter it. From what he guesses, the magic purging done to Laios let there be a slight thinning in the natural magical-ecto-whatever barrier that protected this world from another one. The Fentons didn’t know where the kids went, but might have figured out they went to another world, but couldn’t locate the notes to locate the Dungeon Meshi world. So, instead, they tracked Danny and Jazz themselves. With all the blood testing Danny did in the same room with a thinning veil, that meant they were finally able to break through by using him as an ‘anchor’ to follow through the mirrors.

Universal constants, remember? Both magic mirrors AND portals are things in both worlds.

Danny takes this time to go ‘well, they already know anyways’, and uses the opportunity and also all his blood now on the floor to make some quick magic barrier things with Jazz’s help. She’s better at protection sigils, after all, but he’s the more magically powerful. Together, they sort of ‘lock’ the dungeon meshi world. Or, more accurately, they lock out a certain scientific couple. And, because three is a stronger number for magic, they also block out Vlad. Three birds, one stone.

THEN Danny passes out, you know, like a champion.

Once awake and reunited with everyone, things begin to simmer down. Sure, Danny was just exposed as a powerful mage to the King, but the king is just like ‘Eh, won’t mention it, I don’t know anything I’m barely sure how I became king most days and I was THERE’. Marcille probably finds out, either because she was there or she’s just really good at finding out things she absolutely should not, also possible interest from a long time over Jazz and Danny and their whole deal. But she’s also just like NEAT. Translate these texts for me and we’re even.

Danny is not convinced about her smile but goes with it regardless.

Chilchuck and family are cautiously open to Danny. Of course they’re glad to have him home, but also—he’s lived his entire life ELSEWHERE, so while Chilchuck knows the most about him, he’s still a stranger.

A few cute fluffy bits about learning about his siblings and his mother and father. Notably—Chilchuck is APPALLED that any child of his doesn’t know how to properly lock pick. Even Fullertom, the MOST disinterested in his line of work, is well aware of how to do it. Brightmerry is fond of reading, and Danny has lots of stories she’s never heard of going through his head. He insists they’re just local stories he’s heard of here and there, but she’s like. Suspicious of it. Not enough to cause him to stop telling her them, though. He also learns of the interests of his sisters, and is also like WHAT. WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M STILL THE BABY.

The three girls are also fond of Jazz, surprisingly enough. Like, I’d hardly call them besties, but they get along pretty well. Especially when teasing Danny. Jazz tells them of the occasions she’d dress Danny up as a princess when they were little, and next thing Chilchuck knows, he’s walking in to see his son—not resisting being dolled up, because he loves his sisters already, but also very clearly hoping for an out.

“Have fun,” he says and leaves immediately before his daughters can drag him into it too.

Jazz has completed her indoor plumbing project! They no longer have a latrine and cesspit! They have proper toilets AND a filtration system for both incoming AND outgoing water, and along the way she’s made a waterwheel for electricity to power the filtration system AND the heating and cooling systems. They’re ALMOST modern at the Nightingale house!

From here, things are a bit more loose.

Danny makes gifts for his family for some kind of festive holiday. For Chilchuck, he gets a wood carving for the night each of his children were born, as well as his own birthday and Brightmerry’s. Since Meijack and Fullertom are twins, as are Puckpatti and Danny, this means four carvings. Each carving is technically a thin piece of darkly painted wood with holes drilled through, but when a light is shined onto the correct side, such as a candle or Jazz’s next project involving lightbulbs, it projects out the night sky.

Danny consulted a LOT of astrological charts for this thing, but due to how close their dimensions are, the stars were mostly the same between the two. It’s not a universal constant, but the closer two dimensions are, the more similarities there are.

After all, the Fentons were trying to slip BETWEEN dimensions, which is kind of like sewing but only going through to BETWEEN two pieces of fabric, even if the fabrics are already rubbing against each other. In other words, precision was needed, and there was no point in aiming for a FAR dimension for this, that was more likely to end in failure.

An alternate for Chilchuck is that Danny finds alcohol in the Infinite Realms to give him, if you want Danny to have more free access to the Realms. Just warns him to only drink it if he WANTS to be completely sloshed, and to maybe not do that at home, haha.

Anyways, for Brightmerry, he gives her not the next one, but the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, translated and edited for the Dungeon Meshi world. He assures his father they’ll get a copy for print later, but this was the first edition and it was for Brightmerry.

Meijack got an armband for easily hold and quick access to her most common picklock tools. Kind of like a bracer or that sliding blade thing from Assassins Creed.

Fullertom, Danny gave her a bunch of blue ribbons and accessories. Jazz had to point out for him that this meant he was supportive of her desire for marriage—Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Usually a tradition reserved for the marriage, but anyways.

As for Puckpatti, he makes her a magic compass. No matter where she is, she can always ask her to point it where she wants to go. North, South, the next town, home, to a specific person, so on. The first thing she has it point to is to Danny. It’s a much more touching moment than I am capable of writing right this second.

Uhhhh a plot point I hadn’t integrated yet was that Danny absolutely cannot cook with meat. It was started in the ‘they met during canon dungeon adventure times’ but I hadn’t translated it fully yet. Basically, when Danny tries to cook with meat, it comes alive—like the turkey or the hot dogs in canon, and SOMEWHAT like the familiars do. Of course, it’d be really weird to be able to do that without even trying, and possibly mildly illegal, so they just have Danny not cook meat. Then a draft came to be where Danny was like ‘fine I’ll just SHOW YOU’ to Senshi, and if it was in the dungeon, then he’d use them against a monster, and if it was during post canon, it’d be against his parents. Then the point of WHY all or most of them were together during the Fenton’s break in changed from the dinner party to the genetics test, and there was no reason for Danny to have been cooking.

Danny finds and introduces Fullertom to a dwarf that she starts dating. Chilchuck isn’t sure if he should be concerned or impressed with the portfolio Danny pulls out when Chilchuck asks about the dwarf and what Danny knows about him.

Another plot point for why Jazz and Danny were staying so long, outside of finding Danny’s birth family since we have now figured out he WAS developing normally and the whole portal thing was just sorta because of how tricky that power is, is that Princess Dora wanted Danny to find a good host for the Necklace of Aragon so that her brother could no longer claim it. It would, predictably, eventually go to Laios. Also, I am starting to realize I am more partial to Laios than the other characters, whoops. Anyways, I hadn’t figured out if I could or even SHOULD integrate that into the plot.

Payment for the blood blossoms were going to include five of Fallin’s feathers. They’re magically powerful, and three of them were going to be used for each name that was ‘blocked’ from the Dungeon Meshi world. So one feather for Jack, one for Maddie, and one for Vlad. I haven’t decided if I’d keep that or not, but I also wasn’t sure what to do with the other two feathers, and just asking for three and that HAPPENS to work out, the number being considered magic aside, felt a bit off and too convenient.

Danny would eventually take on a new name in honor of his birth family. Danbright Chils. Dan is him, obviously, and since he’d be taking Chils for Chilchuck, he decided to take Bright for Brightmerry. (I actually debated between Bright or Bridge. So either Brightmerry and Danbright or Bridgemerry and Danbridge. This is directly because of Danny’s ‘be the bridge’ thing.)

Things are just starting to settle…

Then, Sidney of all people shows up in Danny’s magic communication mirror. And we get information that due to Jazz and Danny’s mild meddling with the magic-ecto-whatever barriers, that Jazz’s twin has become aware of the fact she once had a twin—basically, Inspector Gordon kind of ‘felt reminded of [Jazz]’ and told Barbara about it. And since Barbara is part of the superheroes club, she was able to find out that not only was her twin alive, but in an entirely different dimension entirely.

Annnnd that’s all I got.

It’s a lot! Don’t expect me to publish it! Have a nice day!

#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #danny phantom #dp #spoilers #danny phantom crossover #dungeon meshi crossover #this is like. 8k of words #uhhhh I’m not? against? someone using this for their ish?#just no ai and if you’re taking more than An Idea from it I’d like credit you know?#we’ll see if anyone reads this ahaha #despite its length I probably forgot things #I’d have added the scenes like what I HAD intended to #but this is a fucking long post and most wouldn’t be quote canon unquote to the story above #like I originally had Brightmerry’s name be Bridgemerry but she INSISTED ON BRIGHT. SO.#there’s so much smoothing out that would need to happen haha #maybe if this gets enough notes or interest or what have you I’ll add them in a reblog lol #thanks for the interest I do not think this is what you had in mind 😅#do you like how inconsistent I am about whether I’m authoring a story or giving ya #y’all a copilot/writer role? I hope you did!#thanks for asking!#have a lovely day ^^

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fandom-imagines-stories · 1 year

Text

Trois Surprises

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6719

Summary: Aramis and the reader are changed forever by three joyous surprises.

Notes: I write a lot of angst for him, but dammit, this man deserves to be happy. And I wanted to write him actually being able to spend time with his kids. Also, the title is ‘Three Surprises’ in French, I just didn’t know ‘surprises’ is spelled the same way. At least that’s what translate said. Please don’t come for me. This also doesn’t follow any plots from the show, so ignore the timeline haha.

More Musketeers HERE

The garrison greeted you with metal clashing and the smell of sweat. Men shouted at each other across the way with language that was far from proper. It didn’t bother you, of course. In your time frequenting the training area, you’d grown used to its oddities and eccentricities.

A few of the men cheered to greet you and asked how you were or what brought you to the garrison, though they already had an idea. You were here for Aramis. You were always here for Aramis. Or for shooting lessons, which the captain had approved since you lived alone and association with the musketeers often led to trouble.

“Y/N!” A boisterous voice called. Porthos hopped up from the table he sat at and crossed the courtyard. Not one for propriety, he pulled you into a hug without a second thought. You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “What brings you here?”

He led you back to the table and brushed off the bench for you to sit.

Athos tilted his hat. Unlike his companion, he enjoyed upholding some of the rules of society. “Mademoiselle Y/L/N.”

“How many times must I tell you to call me Y/N?” You teased.

“If I did, you wouldn’t have to tell me any more,” he smirked. “I assume you’re looking for Aramis.”

You nodded. “I have important matters to discuss with him and Captain Treville.”

The two exchanged a look.

“Sounds serious,” Porthos said. “Anything we should know about?”

“All in good time, boys,” you beamed. “I promise I won’t leave you in the dark for too long.”

D'Artagnan eyed you curiously. Perhaps your closest friend among Aramis’ companions, it was unusual for you not to share something with him. You gave him a reassuring nod and he trusted he’d find out what all this was about in due time. It didn’t stop his mind from searching the possibilities, though.

The imploring silence only lasted a moment longer.

“Y/N?”

And just like that, at the sound of his voice, your knees turned soft and your heart stopped beating. Every nerve in your body seemed to bunch and twist in your belly. You turned, Aramis’s eyes sparkling at you in the morning light as a smile crept onto his face.

“I had no idea you’d be here,” he grinned, kissing your cheek.

“I had something I wanted to share with you before you galavanted off into danger somewhere.” The tremble in your voice made his face darken with worry. His gaze flicked to his companions and they took the hint, hurrying off to the side to give the two of you some privacy. You began to fidget with your cloak. “I hope my coming on short notice isn’t a nuisance.”

“No, please.” He took your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “You are my favorite kind of surprise, darling.” His dark eyes looked deeply into yours. “Is something the matter?”

“Not exactly…” You’d rehearsed the words numerous times and it was completely in vain. You might as well have been mute, standing before him with a blank, panicked expression, which of course only made him look more concerned.

“My love, you’re starting to frighten me,” he laughed nervously and tucked a hair behind your ear. “You can tell me anything.”

You took a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Porthos whispered. The three, having been observing from afar, watched on as you stared down at the dirt and Aramis lifted your chin with his finger.

“That’s between the two of them,” Athos said. “It’s none of our business.” However, he did not, nor did the other two, turn away.

You said something none of them could hear. Aramis’s arms fell to his sides, face turned white as a sheet. His mouth floundered open and closed, unable to say anything.

“You don’t think she’s broken things off, do you?” D’Artagnan asked.

After a moment of this awkward, anxious tension that even they could feel from across the courtyard, Aramis seemed to snap to his senses. He lifted you off the ground and spun around, a smile as wide as the Seine spread across his face. Your laugh rang throughout the space and when he set you down, your arms hooked around his neck, lips locking together for longer than what was probably publicly acceptable.

Athos turned to the youngest member of their group. “I take that as a no.”

Aramis kissed you one… two… three… more times before you said something about going to the market and left, holding his hand until the last possible moment.

When the marksman returned, his friends stood with brows raised and curious smiles. Porthos patted him on the back.

“What to share what that was all about?”

Still, with a starstruck grin, Aramis gazed around in a daze. Like before, his mouth fell open and nothing came out. He was sure his heart had stopped beating. Or perhaps it wasn’t there anymore. It was with you, as it always had been. Now more than ever.

He looked up at his companions- his friends- the men he trusted with his life and the words simply fell from his lips.

“Y/N’s pregnant.”

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” you whined, breathing slowly and deeply as you took a seat at the table.

Constance smiled. “You only have, what, a month or so to go?”

“Yes, and I feel like I’m the size of Notre Dame.” You laid a hand on your bulbous belly and laughed. “I look the size of Notre Dame.”

“Nonsense,” she chuckled along with you, setting a plate of bread and bowl of stew in front of you. Constance peeked out the door and shook her head. “They’re late. Again.” Despite the playful annoyance in her voice, there was a sparkle in her eye. One you recognized well.

“You know… D’Artagnan has been speaking of you more and more since I became pregnant. I dare say he even sounds hopeful.”

“Don’t start,” she swallowed. She took a rag and started to wipe down the table in order to avoid your gaze. “I, in case you’ve forgotten, am married to the man who supplies your fabrics. D’Artagnan and I are merely friends.” The younger woman glanced up at you with a kind of admiration. “It isn’t like what you and Aramis have.”

You scoffed. “I’m his mistress.”

Her eyes softened with sincerity. She put a hand on your arm. “You’re a great deal more than that.”

You averted your eyes, feeling the hint of tears begin in them and focused on the meal before you. Despite his adoration and his devotion, you knew not to hope for more than what you were given. And you had no complaints, of course, Aramis was the light of your life and to have his child was more than you ever imagined. But he was a hero. You were a seamstress.

As if summoned by your brief sorrow, the door to the cottage opened and you heard two pairs of thundering steps coming down the hall. While not banished completely, your doubts were pushed to the back of your mind upon the sight of Aramis’s grinning face.

“Sorry we’re late, ladies,” he said, removing his hat with a smug flare. “Paris needed saving.”

“When doesn’t it?” You laughed. He leaned to place a kiss on your forehead, hand falling lovingly to your belly.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. Aramis basked at the sight of you in the setting sun, golden rays streaming through the window. “Like an angel in heaven’s light.”

A lovely pink color crept onto your cheeks. “You flatter me too much.”

“My love, my words will never be enough.” Aramis brought your lips to his with passion and sweetness, despite the other two in the room. He set his weapons aside, his coat along with them, and sat next to you. Seeing the billowing sleeves of his shirt reminded you of your work earlier in the day.

“I almost forgot, I repaired the tear in your shirt. I’ll have to go fetch it.” You started to stand- with more than a little effort- and he laid a hand on your shoulder to set you back down.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, darling.” He kissed you again. “I’ll get it.” As he sauntered into the other room, Constance gave you a knowing look you did your best to ignore.

“Any news on the Red Guard?” D’Artagnan asked. You were glad of the change in subject, though Constance rolled her eyes at his abruptness.

“Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be the favorite to stitch their uniforms ever since-” You motioned to the rather obvious reason at your middle.

“Ah,” D’Artagnan nodded. “Right.”

Having made a reputation as having the most reliable repairs of any affordable seamstress in Paris, you’d often had members of the Red Guard come to you, as they were ‘too above’ mending anything themselves. It did, however, allow you to overhear things here and there, which you took to the musketeers. But keeping your relationship with Aramis a secret was hard enough. Now, with such a drastic change in your appearance, they’d kept their distance, though whether it was because you were unmarried or if they suspected you to be somewhat of a spy for your child’s father, you couldn’t tell.

The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you couldn’t contain your laughter. D’Artagnan sat beside you and asked you questions of a lighter variety while you pleaded to hear of the day’s adventures. Aramis always worried he’d distress you, so you received all the juicy details from the youngest musketeer. Through your friendship with Constance, D’Artagnan had become one of your closest friends as well.

A lull fell upon your conversation and you couldn't help but note how his eyes drifted back to your mutual companion by the fire.

One day, you thought…

A sudden movement within you forced a gasp from your lips. Aramis returned to the room in seconds.

“Love, what is it? Did something happen?” He knelt by your side with loving, concerned eyes.

“Yes,” you beamed, placing a hand where the movement was. You looked into his beautiful gaze and felt yourself overtaken by the excitement. “I believe he just kicked.” Gently, you took his hand and guided it to where you’d felt it.

“He?” Aramis awed, raising a brow.

You shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

Another motion fluttered against Aramis’s hand, this one stronger and almost more aggressive than the last. Aramis chuckled.

“I think she may disagree with your feeling.”

“Oh, a girl then, is it?” You smirked.

He shrugged, mocking you affectionately. “Just a feeling.”

He’d come as soon as he heard. All of them had. The four musketeers stood in the lobby of your shop, none of them able to sit down. Athos leaned against the wall, he and Porthos watching the windows as if for some dastardly foe. D’Artagnan tried to distract himself by sharpening his sword. Aramis paced at the foot of the stairs leading up to your rooms.

The midwife wouldn’t allow him to be with you, despite his protests. Only Constance was permitted to accompany her in tending to you. It took all three men to hold him back when your screaming began.

Hours of this hell passed. He paced until he was sure the soles of his boots would scuff clean off.

“Can I ask you something?” Porthos asked. He hoped to distract his friend from his pain but, in truth, it was something they’d all been wondering for months. Aramis stopped his hurried steps and turned with a nod. Porthos swallowed. “Why haven’t you married her?”

“Porthos now is hardly the occasion,” Athos scolded.

“We have to talk about something, else we’ll all go mad with her up there.”

Aramis held up a hand to silence them both. The three waited with bated breath as he looked up, wishing to float through the ceiling and be by your side.

“Because she doubts me,” he said with an unexpected sadness in his voice. He looked back at them. “She doesn’t believe that my love for her is genuine. I can feel it when her smile falters or when her hand falls from mine.” He turned away. “To ask her for her hand because of the child… it would only prove what she believes.” Aramis clenched his fist at his side, then relaxed it again. This idleness would destroy him if this was not soon over. “I could not force her to marry a man that she doubts.”

The others nodded in understanding, though none of them truly understood, especially D’Artagnan.

He’d never seen two people who loved each other more than you and Aramis. He wanted to scream at both of them until his throat was sore if he thought it would help. Seeing the two of you so clouded with your own doubts hurt him more than he could say. The younger man just couldn’t fathom it. He’d give anything to have the opportunity to marry the woman he loved.

The matter of your reputation, of course, had already been discussed. You told anyone who discovered your condition that you’d married while away in Gascony and that your husband was a merchant who traveled often and you always met with him back in Gascony. Most people didn’t care enough to gossip about an orphaned woman with little prospects to begin with. It’d been your idea to lie and Aramis accepted it as you being as unsure of him as you thought he was of you.

What killed him the most, despite his charming demeanor and always knowing the right words for the right people, was that he had no idea how to convey to you how he truly felt. He reminded you of his love every moment he had with you, and yet he knew you didn’t fully believe it. What else could he do but keep trying?

Another aching shriek echoed through the chamber, followed by a silence, and then… cries. An infant’s wailing filled the house.

Aramis raced up the stairs before the others could stop him.

The door to your bedroom opened and Constance stepped out, quickly closing it behind her. She had a bundle in her arms. The auburn-haired woman beamed at him.

“Would you like to meet your son?”

Suddenly, he couldn’t move. He just stared at Constance, stunned, as the baby continued to cry. It was as if he’d forgotten how to use his limbs, everything numb with a strange mix of disbelief and utter joy.

A son.

He stepped forward and spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-yes.” He felt like a child himself, standing before her with arms outstretched.

Constance, still grinning, gently placed the wriggling bundle into his awaiting embrace.

He couldn’t believe how small he was. His son. A tiny fist reached out. Aramis gave him his pinky to grasp onto, his little fingers not even able to wrap all the way around the digit. He rocked the baby in his arms, cooing slightly. The boy stopped crying.

“I have a son,” he gasped. He turned to the stairs, where his three friends had gathered at the bottom. His tone raised to a cheer. “I have a son!”

A chorus of joyous hollers and applause filled the stairwell.

The celebration, however, was cut short as another round of your screaming cries The boy in his arms began wailing again. He held him a little closer to soothe him, but Aramis had gone white.

“What’s happening?” He asked.

Constance shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I thought everything was fine.”

A guttural grunt. Another scream.

Aramis passed his son back to Constance and started toward your door. The three men had already climbed the stairs with worried expressions.

“You aren’t supposed to-” Constance started, but she stopped as soon as she saw Aramis’s look of absolute panic.

He burst through the door.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Aramis rushed to your side, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from your cheek.

“Aramis?” You muttered, almost dreamily.

“You shouldn’t be in here monsieur,” the midwife scolded.

Your knees were pulled up before her. He tried not to look, for the bed sheets were slick with blood and it only made him panic even more. He, instead, looked into your eyes and you looked into his, the comfort of those dark brown irises grounding you through the pain.

“Something’s… happening…” You took heaving breaths in between your words. His hand found yours and you held onto it with a near-crushing grip.

“There’s another,” the midwife said.

Both of your heads snapped up to look at her and you spoke at the same time.

“What?!”

She peered up at you, cast a disapproving look at the father, but decided it was too late to force him out of the room.

“Just as we did before,” she instructed. “Ready? Three… two…”

For the first time, there was quiet.

The midwife had gone, having gathered the soiled blankets and bowls of water. Aramis sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, your son blinking up at both of you from your embrace. With the other arm, he held your daughter.

“I doubt I’ll ever understand what I’ve done in my life,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, “to deserve all of this.”

You turned your head to kiss his lips lightly, reaching a hand to caress your daughter’s soft cheek.

“It seems impossible for two things so perfect to come into my life at once,” you mused, bringing your hand up to his face. “And you… to have you for as long as I have. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to be so blessed.”

Aramis leaned into your touch, the hair of his beard tickling your palm as he nuzzled your skin. Those near-ebony eyes looked into yours with a love more powerful than he’d ever felt before. He wanted, right there, to ask you to marry him.

A knock at the door was followed by Constance peeking her head into the room with an excited, but exasperated expression.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off,” she laughed. “I haven’t told them anything, like you asked, other than that everything is alright, but I don’t think they’ll believe me until they see you.”

Aramis chuckled, the vibration rumbling against you. Your daughter stirred against his chest, stretching her tiny arms toward him. He leaned to kiss her forehead.

You beamed. “Let them in.”

Constance nodded, smile growing, and turned back to the door.

“Be quiet, all of you,” she ordered. “I don’t want you scaring them.”

D’Artagnan’s brows drew together as he stepped in first.

“Them?”

As the two others piled in behind him, all halted abruptly, their eyes darting between you and Aramis and the not one, but two infants in your arms. Confusion turned to shock and finally to unbridled excitement.

“Twins!” Athos exclaimed with one of the first real smiles you’d ever seen on his face.

Porthos was still glancing between the two. “Twins?”

It was D’Artagnan who stepped forward first and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his joy for you clear in his dark eyes.

“It’s incredible,” he said. He glanced up at Aramis with the same warm kinship. “I can’t begin to say how happy I am. For both of you.”

The other two gathered on Aramis’s side of the bed and shared similar congratulations.

“Have you thought of names?” Porthos asked.

“Actually, we thought we’d get your thoughts,” Aramis said, glancing over at you with a smirk. He touched a finger to your daughter’s nose. “For her, we were thinking of Christine.” She swatted at his finger lightly, making her father laugh again. “She’s quite the fighter already, hm?”

“I wonder where she gets that from,” Porthos smiled and patted him on the back.

“For our son,” you took a deep breath and looked up at your friend beside you. “We thought Charles would be fitting.”

D’Artagnan’s mouth fell open and his eyes filled with even more admiration and feeling than before, which didn’t seem possible.

“C-Charles?” He asked, as if he’d heard you wrong.

Aramis nodded. “Charles.”

“But only if you’ll allow it,” you said, reaching for his hand. “You’ve just been such a good friend to me- to us- and I hoped you would be his godfather as well, but if-”

He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “I would be honored.” His voice was heavy with emotion, tears of joy welling in his eyes.

“We’ve already asked Constance to be godmother to them both,” Aramis said. He turned to his best friend. “I was hoping, Porthos, that-”

“Do you even have to ask?” Porthos chuckled. He leaned over your daughter and made a face.

She started to cry.

“Congratulations,” Aramis sighed. “You’ve already frightened off your goddaughter.”

Porthos made another face and she stopped. He raised a brow at Aramis, beaming. You snickered at their antics.

“They are beautiful children,” Athos said, leaning against the dresser. “I can’t say enough how happy I am for the two of you.”

“Oh don’t feel left out, Athos,” Porthos teased. “I’m sure you can be godfather to the next one.”

You snorted. “I think he may have to wait a while for that.” Everyone in the room laughed. D’Artagnan gazed down at your son, still trying to hold back tears.

“Would you like to hold him?”

He gulped. “Can I?”

You smiled and carefully handed your son to his namesake. Aramis did the same with your daughter, slowly putting her in Porthos’s arms. And just like that, you watched the two grown men turn to puppies, all wide eyes and cooing smiles.

A happy tear rolled down your cheek. Aramis pulled you closed and kissed it away. You knew, more than anything in the world, that your children would be safe. And they would be loved.

III

He rocked the child in his arms with the whispers of a lullaby on his lips.

“Lullay, thou little tiny child,” he sang softly, “bye, bye, lully, lullay. Thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay…” Aramis smiled and kissed his sleeping son’s forehead before laying him gently in his crib. Charles’s nose twitched and he stretched his tiny arms but didn’t stir.

Aramis watched him in wonder. Ten months and he still couldn’t quite believe all of this was real. His heart ached from being so full.

A small clattering sound drew his attention away and he felt his heart stop in a panic. Aramis rushed across the nursery and plucked his daughter from the floor before she could pull another one of his swords off of the table where he’d placed them.

“Christine d’Herblay, how many times must I tell you to leave Papa’s things alone?” He scolded, nuzzling her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hurt yourself, darling.”

She leaned into his embrace, looking up at him with those big eyes with a perfectly innocent expression. Quite cunning, he thought, for a toddler. Of course, he melted instantly and began bouncing her up and down. Her bell-like laughter filled the room, as well as his chest.

The door to the nursery opened and you stepped in with messy hair stuck down by sweat from your exhaustive day and a harrowed expression. Your eyes fell upon the sheathed weapon on the floor.

“I tell her to leave them,” Aramis said. “But she doesn’t listen to me.” He tickled her side, earning more laughter. “Just like your mother, aren’t you?”

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you sighed and stooped to pick up his sword from the ground. From there, you began picking up everything you could find, tidying up the room in a flustered hurry. Aramis placed Christine in her crib beside Charles’s and took your hands in his to stop your anxious movements.

“What’s happened?”

You bowed your head. “Nothing.”

“Y/N…” He sighed, laying a hand on your cheek. You pulled away.

“It’s this Rocheforte.” You ran your fingers through your hair, more aware than ever of their lack of ring. “He isn’t like the cardinal- which I thought would be a good thing- but he’s somehow worse. He’s suspicious and- and cunning, and his men are asking more and more questions when I’m called there to repair uniforms.” Your rambling caught in your throat, paired with tired tears.

“What can I do?” Aramis asked. “You know it pains me to see you in distress. Just say the word, and I’ll have the heads of half of the Red Guard by sundown.”

“It isn’t just them.” You shook your head. “I’m just… so tired of lying, Aramis.”

Christine made a cooing sound. Charles yawned.

Aramis stepped toward you. “Then let us make it the truth.”

You paused, making sure you’d heard him correctly. Aramis continued.

“Marry me and none of this will matter. You can stop spying for Treville and the Red Guards will have the whole of the musketeers to face if they bother you again.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wiped them hastily away. At first, he thought they were tears of joy, but the closer Aramis looked, he knew he was wrong.

“I will handle Rochefortes prying myself. He’s likely figured out you are the true father and is just trying to frighten me into admitting it.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand. The solution for this is simple-”

“I will not doom you to a life you don’t want simply because it is the simplest answer!” you said, louder than you’d meant to. Charles awoke with shrieking cries.

“A life I don’t want?” Aramis scoffed, trying to hide his hurt. “What are you talking about?”

“My answer is no, Aramis.” You moved to pick up your screaming son. “Marrying is clearly something you’ve never wanted and I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice anything for me when the children and I have done just fine in the current situation.”

Aramis reached for both of you.

Christine started to cry as well.

“Y/N-”

“I think you should leave.” You didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on your children in order to hide your sorrow from their father. “I’ll watch them now.”

Aramis didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to kick himself for his insensitivity. He’d known of your doubts for so long and yet he sprung marriage on you as if it were nothing more than a way to fix a problem.

“If that is what you wish,” he sighed and left, closing the door behind him while the children’s crying followed him out.

He knew how he felt. He just needed to prove it to you.

You saw no one else for the remainder of the evening. Only your children kept you company, and even they seemed more interested in empty spools rolling around on the floor. Not that you minded. With them so distracted, you found it easier to let yourself cry.

He asked you to marry him.

How many times had you dreamt of Aramis saying those words and yet now they felt like musket shots to your heart. He saw you as a burden. A duty to fulfill. You could never live like that, even if it meant being free of the jeers of the Red Guard.

You only wished you could regret ever involving yourself with the musketeer, but your heart forbade it. Whether or not he felt the same, your love for Aramis had given you the world. The proof sat before you with their carefree laughter. Your son and daughter with their smiles just like their father’s. The time you’d gotten with them, with him, was worth all of the heartache.

It was late when you finally got them both to go to sleep. One was always waking the other, but eventually, Charles and Christine laid in their cribs and soundly drifted off.

You tried to finish up some work on a dress order at the table in the nursery,, but found your eyes unable to stay open. You must have fallen asleep as well, for the next time you opened them, the morning sun greeted you.

And the children were gone.

You were awake in an instant, tearing through your small apartment, but finding nothing. It wasn’t until you could hear Charles’ laughter that you hurried down the stairs, finding your son in the lap of his namesake and Christine grasping at a flower that Athos held over her playfully.

“Morning,” Porthos greeted.

You smacked the back of his head. “Don’t do that,” you exasperated, “I thought they’d been taken by miscreants or something.”

“We just didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” D’Artagnan smiled.

“What are you talking about?”

“It seems we are replacing you, for the day,” Athos explained, picking up Christine to give her to you. “The three of us are to deliver your finished orders.”

“While the four of us spend this beautiful day out, as a family,” Aramis said, having appeared in the doorway with a basket in hand and dressed in a casual tunic rather than his uniform.

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but your mind refused to give in so easily. After all, it was only the night before that you’d nearly cried yourself to sleep over the discussion you’d had with the man before you. But the charming smile on his face and the look in his eye made it awfully difficult to argue.

“I don’t know.” You made a point not to look at him. “I have so much still to do and-”

D’Artagnan stood, picking up your son and raising his brow at you. “Take the day, Y/N,” he said. “You deserve to rest.”

“Plus, he’s been going mad all night, which has driven all of us mad, as well,” Porthos muttered, motioning to his nervous friend in the doorway. “Go on,” he encouraged. “What trouble could we get into delivering a bunch of dresses and coats?”

“I don’t really like to think about it,” you frowned.

“I will make sure that everything gets to its proper place,” Athos assured you, making you feel a little bit better.

Aramis stepped inside, taking Charles from D’Artagnan and giving you a pleading glance.

“It’s a beautiful day, my love,” he said. “Let us spend it as a family.”

Any lingering frustration you’d felt from the night before was no match for his soft, wanting tone. And beneath his charisma, you knew that there was something else. Something far more serious. Whatever it was, you knew it was better to talk now than dance around it while the two of you buried yourselves in your work.

“I suppose I can spare one day,” you said.

Porthos and D’Artagnan cheered but were silenced by a look of annoyance from Athos. Aramis just lit up, kissing your cheek.

“You won’t regret it,” he whispered against your skin. But when he turned back to the door, son in his arms and his two girls behind him, he muttered to himself, “I hope.”

It was the first moment of peace you’d experienced in months. The only sound- other than the occasional cheer or coo from one of the children- was the slight breeze through the meadow flowers. The morning passed like dandelion seeds floating through the air.

Charles and Christine crawled around and explored the small plot of grass you’d found for them. Christine chased a butterfly and Charles plucked a light blue flower from its stem and brought it back to your lap.

“I see he’s inherited your charm,” you said, taking in the blossom’s sweet scent.

“And she your spirit,” Aramis pointed out, gesturing to the feisty toddler who was nearing the edge of the grass. He rolled onto his side and caught her in his arms before she could get too far. She whined, but only for a moment, before settling against his chest.

Despite the wonder of the morning, there was the crawling under your skin, whispers of your doubts reminding you of the hopes you’d felt had been dashed by your own fear. The fear that all of this would be gone in an instant. That he would finally tire of you and the life you’ve built and he would galavant off into the arms of another woman, into another battle, another fight he could not win.

You understood, then, looking at him under the swaying shadows of the willow tree above you, perhaps that was why you allowed your doubts to persist. Though you cared so deeply for him, you kept him at arm's length because the idea of him leaving of his own will was easier to take than a musket ball piercing his heart or a dagger across his throat.

The realization brought tears to your eyes. You bit your lip to hide the trembling, but Aramis knew in a heartbeat.

“Oh, my love,” he sighed. He set Christine beside her brother, both of whom had fallen asleep on the blanket. Aramis laid a hand on your cheek. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake in the years we’ve spent together.”

You sucked in a breath and bowed your head, preparing for his regrets, his change of heart, and his announcement he was going to leave. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your face back to his.

“I have known you believe me to be with you out of a sense of duty. I have allowed you to believe that you are little more than a distraction grown into an obligation.” Taking your hands in his, his voice softened due to the overwhelming emotion in his tone. Now it was him trying to hide his tears. “I have wished my words of devotion were enough to convince you, but my actions last night have done just the opposite and for that, I deeply apologize.”

“Aramis-” You started, but he stopped you with a squeeze of your hand.

“I love you,” he said. He kissed the inside of your wrist, dark eyes watching you, so full of adoration and care that you held back a sob. Aramis held your palm to his cheek. “Every breath of every day belongs to you. Every beat of my heart is devoted to our family. Not out of any sense of duty. In fact, you’ve tangled my senses all together.” He chuckled, the lovely sound vibrating up your arm. “I can’t tell sunset from sunrise because you are my new sun. I don’t know which way is south because you are my north star.”

You found yourself leaning into him until you were but a few shallow breaths apart. Aramis turned his gaze to the sleeping children beside you.

“You have made me a father,” he beamed. “A dream I’d forgotten I had. You have made me a better man. Better than I thought I was capable of being. You are not an obligation, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours and he drew even closer to you. “You are everything.”

His fingers laced into your hair and pulled your lips to his, silencing any of your cries. You kissed him with a passion like no other, but mostly you kissed him with belief.

When you parted, you both smiled tearfully.

Aramis continued.

“Which is why-” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but it was no use. You left him completely breathless. “I ask you once more, to do me the honor of making me your husband.” He kissed the trail of tears on your cheek. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Aramis, I-” Your mind searched your heart for a reason to say no. It warned of loss and heartbreak. But you found that, no matter what, your guarded feelings would only be in vain. Your heart could not be protected by you alone because it did not belong to you. You pressed your lips to Aramis’s and whispered against them. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

You spent the rest of the day taking Christine and Charles around the city, proudly walking side by side. A few people whispered as you went by and several Red Guards glared, but quickly looked away with one deadly glance from your fiance.

The sun began to dip in the sky by the time you returned to the shop.

To your surprise- and much to your relief- the other men managed to get through a day without destroying anything, which was a fair accomplishment for them. Any conversation between them ceased when the four of you entered.

“Welcome back,” Athos said.

Three pairs of eyes stared expectantly.

“So…” D’Artagnan needn’t voice his question. He could tell from the light in your eyes what the answer would be.

You merely gave them all a simple nod and they practically leapt with joy.

With the children placed in their chairs, Porthos pulled Aramis into a crushing hug, D’Artagnan kissed your cheek, and Athos smiled brightly at you both, all voicing their congratulations.

“I take it the final part of the plan is still in motion?” Porthos asked with a wink.

“What final part?” You asked.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair, nerves returning.

“Well, now that everything is settled and you haven’t decided that you’ve had enough of me,” he said. “These fine gentlemen have agreed to watch Christine and Charles while you and I partake in a romantic evening together.”

“The picnic in the meadow wasn’t romantic enough for you?” You snickered. “I don’t want to take any more of their time.”

“It’s no trouble, at all,” D’Artagnan said. “Constance will be joining us as well.”

You gave him a suggestive smile. “I see.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think you’d better just find out what your last surprise is for today and let us take care of everything else.”

“We’ll take very good care of them,” Athos promised. “And I’ll make sure these two don’t get into any trouble while you’re gone.”

“As if you’re one to talk.” Porthos slapped him on the back. He quirked a brow at the couple before him. “Go enjoy your evening. We’ll drop them off in the morning.”

“But I still don’t understand.” You looked in between the four of them. “You all speak as if we have somewhere else to go. Unless you’re suggesting the garrison…”

Aramis reached for your hand with a smirk. “Just follow me.”

You kissed the children goodnight and thanked the men one more time before allowing Armis to lead you back down the street in the direction of the garrison. He stopped, however, at a building he’d made a point to admire earlier in the day.

“As much as I find the apartment above your shop charming, I thought this may be better suited to fit a family,” he said.

It was a small structure, but there was a cozy feeling to its appearance as well. The potential to become a home.

“It’s the perfect distance between the shop and the garrison, so neither of us would have to travel very far. I know it isn’t much, but Treville gave me an advance on my commission and the others chipped in as well. And I figured I could spend time fixing it up for us in between missions. I think, given some time and effort, it could be-”

You stopped him with a kiss.

“I love it,” you smiled. “And I love you.”

Aramis’s face split with a grin and he scooped you into his arms, kissing you deeply, despite the people passing you by.

“Wait,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. You raised a brow in amusement. “You bought this before you asked me to marry you. What if…”

He chuckled. “I was just really hoping you’d say yes.”

You pulled him into another kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. With your hearts full and the first evening you’d had to yourselves since the children were born, he wasted little time carrying you inside and kicking the door shut behind you.

#aramis x reader #armis the musketeers #santiago cabrera #aramis #bbc musketeers #the musketeers #porthos #d'artagnan #athos #fluff #aramis fluff #romantic hero type

136 notes · View notes

runnning-outof-time · 2 years

Note

Couldn't resist these prompts, so here you go:

placing a soft kiss on their forehead

For Arthur Shelby because I want all the soft things for that man.

Thanks for sending this in Akasha!!! I 100% agree with you there! 🥰❤️ also I promise blurbs aren’t going to be taking this same ‘encouragement’ vibe…or at least I don’t think they aren’t 👀👀 guess I’ll have to write them to find out haha. I should be writing Birmingham, but I had this idea instead…but don’t worry, the next chapter will be up before the weekend’s over.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

———

You’ve Got This

Arthur Shelby

Warnings: language

(Y/N)’s worried about the upcoming job interview that she has, so Arthur’s got to give her some words of encouragement.

“Whatcha workin’ on there, love?” Arthur’s voice came from the side of the room. It made (Y/N) look over to see him leaning up against the far wall, and she briefly wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“I’m making sure all of my papers are in order for the interview tomorrow,” she answered him, exhaling a huff then as she gathered her hair up into her hands, tugged on it softly, and then let it fall to her shoulders again.

“You nervous?” he asked her as he watched her movements, his brows furrowed.

“I am,” she sighed again, deciding to come clean rather than tell a lie.

“Why?” he asked another question. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped over to him and she shot him a deadpan expression as an inital reaction to his question.

He didn’t get the hint. “Why do you think?” she put the question back onto him, her words coming out more snarky than she intended to. Arthur stayed mum. “This is an opportunity that only comes once in a lifetime. What are the odds that a position opens up a week after we finally move here? I can’t screw it up or else…or else I…” she ended her ramble with a frustrated sigh when she couldn’t think of the words to finish off her sentence. She hung her head then, feeling like she was about to start crying.

The sound of footsteps echoed off of the hardwood then, telling (Y/N) that Arthur was approaching her. She didn’t look up though. Not until she felt the couch dip down next to her and the weight of a hand on her shoulder. Arthur waited until she was looking at him again to speak. Once she did, he spoke softly, “you’ve got nothing to worry about, (Y/N). You’re one of the smartest people I know, and any boss would be lucky to have you as their employee. You’ve got this, yeah?”

“But what if I choke? What if they ask me a question and I have no idea what to say?” she wasn’t on board with accepting his words of encouragement.

“Then you get to come back here and enjoy some time at home until something else comes up. I’ve told you before…you don’t need to work, we’ve got enough money to live off of for fucking years now,” he answered her, his stance not wavering.

“But I want to work,” she pouted slightly.

“I know you do…and that’s why you’re going to kick this interview’s ass tomorrow,” he said to her, a grin breaking onto his face when he saw a ghost of a smile appear on her lips. (Y/N) saw his grin and couldn’t help but smile wider. He always knew how to turn her mood around. “You’ve got this, (Y/N),” he enforced his previous point, leaning over to press a soft kiss on her forehead once he was finished speaking.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she breathed once he’d pulled back again. She now had a sincere smile on her face, and she couldn’t quite stop herself from reaching over and wrapping her arms around him. Of course she was still worried about tomorrow, but Arthur’s words of encouragement had brought her some much needed respite.

“You’re welcome, love,” he responded, a smile on his face again as he held onto her tightly, happy that she was now relaxed in his arms.

———

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mgcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut @zablife @cillmequick @letal-y-poetica @lora21 @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx @cilliansangel @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder @christinasyellowflowers @insanitybyanothername @daisyblinder

MASTERLIST

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x y/n #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby blurb #arthur shelby fanfiction #arthur shelby fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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eldritch-nightmare · 1 year

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Hi! So sorry to bother but could I get something for the puppeteer, in in his story he dated emmra but once he Is a ghost...it's kind of unclear?? I HOPE THAT MAKES SENDE haha. But could I get something that's like..."other woman" vibes. Like he has his s/o but Emmras feeling not to happy for him

a/n: the 'ricky when i catch you ricky' audio is me at the puppeteer. i've been thinking about this since the moment i saw this in my inbox.

emra is the other woman. (the puppeteer x gn!reader)

warnings: emra refers to the puppeteer as jonathan, this is in her pov btw, more of a small character study on emra than anything else im sorry, it's not cheating because they aren't together anymore but it still hurts, emra and the reader form a platonic bond because she deserves it okay, emra injures herself, monophobia.

In the beginning, when she still loved him, Emra was certainly upset that Jonathan was interested in someone other than her. She was so devoted to him as both a proxy and a lover, so why was he messing around with someone else?

She would get saddened just at the mention of your name because she knew that Jonathan no longer held the love he used to have for her. She wanted to be happy for him, and she put on the facade that she was, but how could she be? She no longer had a heart, but it still ached.

He's dating you, and yet he still uses Emra's love for him against her. She does whatever he demands because she loves him. She needs him to know that she loves him.

But as time went on, Emra came to realize that the Jonathan she loved was dead and gone. The man before her was The Puppeteer. A vile, evil being who will stop at nothing to torment the lives of innocent people.

She grew to despise him. In his eyes, she was still a devoted doll for him to use whenever he so needed. He thought she still harbored feelings of love a devotion, but there was nothing there except for hatred.

A part of her wanted to despise you as well, but she knew it wasn't your fault. If anything, you're as much of a toy to him as she is. She knows that your life is in danger now that you're with Jonathan. You're sweet to her, and you're sweet to Zachary. She's grown to care about you. She would hate for something to happen to you.

Whenever she's alone with you, she always tries to hint that you should run while you can. She can mimic your appearance while you get as far away as possible, she'll be fine. Jonathan would never kill her fully. She is his masterpiece.

She and Zachary will never be able to escape him. They're in too deep to leave now. But you? You still have a chance. You should take it, and soon.

Emra hurt herself. Emra was alone, and she had accidentally hurt herself while practicing an old dance routine. She could only stare blankly at the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor. She's lucky that it was only her fingers that had broken off when she hit the floor.

She was alone. Jonathan wasn't here. He never was, not anymore. Zachary was off spending time with Rosemary, so he wasn't around to patch her up either. She could try doing it herself, but Jonathan told her to never fix herself up because it would only make things worse.

So, she just sat on the stage of the theatre, staring down at the little pieces of her broken fingers. She doesn't know when Jonathan will visit her again, so she can only hope that Zachary comes back soon.

She looked up from the broken pieces of porcelain when she saw a shadow looming over her. She meets your gaze, and she's a bit surprised to see you. She looks around momentarily, searching for Jonathan only to see he wasn't around.

"Where's Jona--" She pauses, cutting herself off before quietly continuing, "Where's the Puppeteer?" She questions. It was rather rare to see you without him lurking around nearby.

"Hm? Oh, he's off with a new..." Whatever words you intended on saying died in your throat as you kneeled down to the ground and carefully began picking up the pieces of broken porcelain. It was clear that you still weren't used to dating a killer, not yet willing to verbalize that he was off torturing some innocent soul.

"Ah..." She watches you for a moment, expression unable to change even though she feels confused, "What... are you doing here then?"

"Well, I thought I'd come and pay you a visit since everyone else is so busy." You casually explain, picking up the last bits of porcelain before standing up and offering your free hand to Emra, "Besides, I was feeling... lonely." You add, helping Emra to her feet when she accepts your hand.

She had expected you to pull away from her after that, but instead you just gently squeezed her hand and guided her off the stage. She just silently stared at the back of your head as you guided her through the Puppeteer's Theatre.

She wasn't paying much attention to wherever you were taking her, too caught up in the fact that she wasn't alone anymore to really give a damn about anything else.

Emra only really began paying attention to her surroundings when she felt you let go of her hand. For a moment, there was a spike of panic in her chest. Are you leaving too? The panic subsides when she realizes you were just letting go of her hand to pull out a seat for her.

That's when she also realized that you had brought her to Jonathan's workshop. It's where he always took her whenever he needed to fix a chip or a crack. Emra couldn't help but feel dread building up in her as she thought about how he might react when he saw that three of her fingers had broken off.

Even if they were no longer in love, Emra is his masterpiece.

She silently watched as you moved around the room, gathering what seemed to be glue and tweezers, along with other things that she normally saw Jonathan use whenever he would fix up a crack or chip.

"What are you doing?" She asked, even though the answer was obvious.

"Well, Puppeteer isn't here, and who knows when he'll come back, so... I'm gonna make a temporary fix for your fingers until then, okay? It probably feels uncomfortable without them, right?" Your response is so casual as you sit down at the desk inside the room, already beginning your process of carefully reconstructing the pieces of porcelain.

Emra couldn't lie to you and tell you that she wasn't feeling pain because she was. It hurt more than anything she's ever felt before, and she can't even show it in her expression. She just sat there silently as she watched you work, watching how you carefully inspected each piece to make sure they lined up correctly before gluing them together. She watched as you held the pieces together as you waited for the glue to dry before you moved on to the next set of pieces.

You were so careful with everything, and you even happily talked to Emra while you worked. You told her about your everyday life and told her about all the interesting things you've learned recently. Jonathan was always silent when he fixed her. She liked having that silence filled. It was... nice.

To be honest, she thought you would've hated her. I mean, she's Jonathan's ex. She was still in love with him when she first met you, and she still pretends to be in love with him because it's all she knows how to do now. She certainly wasn't your biggest fan in the beginning, if we're being honest here.

You treated her with so much kindness that it made her feel bad for ever wanting to hate you.

"Why are you dating Jona--The Puppeteer?" She suddenly asks. The question even caught her off guard. She saw you pause, glancing up at her before returning your focus to the pieces of porcelain you were gluing together, "I'm sorry. That was a rude thing to ask." She quickly apologized.

"I love him." You respond.

"Pardon?"

You let out a soft sigh, motioning for Emra's hand. She holds it out for you, and you place the first finger back in its spot, holding it in place while you wait for the glue to dry. You didn't seem upset with her question, which calmed her nerves a bit.

"I'm dating him because I love him." And you say it like it's the easiest thing ever. And... maybe it is.

"Ah..." She stares down at her hand, contemplating your words. There were so many things she wanted to say in response.

You shouldn't.

You need to leave him.

He'll only hurt you like he hurt me.

Escape while you still can.

I don't want you getting hurt.

But all those words refused to come out. Instead, all she could say in response was, "He is easy to love, isn't he?"

And silence falls between the two of you. It doesn't last for long, because once you place the next finger on her, you're recounting a happy memory from your childhood with the smallest smile on your face.

Once all three fingers were placed back on her, you brought her back to the stage of the theatre and the two of you just sat together while you continued your conversation. It wasn't until Zachary came back that you finally left, waving Emra goodbye as you promised to stop by again soon to continue where you left off.

And late into the night, the Puppeteer would stop by to check up on Emra after he learns of her... injuries. He had brought her back to his workshop to inspect the work you had done earlier that day, carefully studying her hand with a look of genuine awe on his expression.

You had done such a good job at repairing Emra's injuries that he only had to make a few minute fixes himself. It was clear in his expression that he was proud of you, and that just... made Emra worry.

"You're in love with them, aren't you?" This time, she wasn't caught off guard by her own question. She meant to ask it. The Puppeteer paused his inspection, his glowing eyes snapping up to meet her own.

He likes to think that he can hide his 'weak' emotions pretty well, but Emra has known him for years now. She knows the signs; she knows how to read him better than anyone else.

She doesn't miss the way his lips always twitch upwards whenever you're around. She doesn't miss the look of genuine content on his face whenever he's with you. She certainly doesn't miss the way his gaze always seemed to linger on you.

"Don't speak such nonsense." Is his response. That was enough of an answer for her.

The Puppeteer was in love with you. It was obvious.

He sends her off shortly after, and Emra is alone once more. She had much to think about.

#anon #emra #emra & reader #the puppeteer x reader #the puppeteer x you #the puppeteer #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta

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sku11kidz · 8 months

Text

Come, my child.

Fandom: Biohazard: Village, Resident Evil 8, Resident Evil: Village

Character Tags: Ethan Winters, Reader, Rosemary Winters (mention), Mother Miranda, Alicia Dimitrescu, Salvador Moreau, Karl Heisenberg,

Tags: Lord Ethan winters AU, Haha Ethan is an old 1950s dad, soft, Alternate canon, father is fathering, Child!Reader, children, horror tags, Ethan isn’t a good person, no matter how he wants to convince himself he is :(, reader is no older than 12, ???, writer is a teenager/slow updates

All is platonic in this fic.

Please do not tag as otherwise

PROSHIP DNI 🍖🌈 DNI

The air is sharp and cold. It feels like you’ve been lost from the village for hours. Your parents told you not to go too far out into the village yet you did out of feeling curious and brave.

You were hungry and weak as the snow bit and ripped your body apart without even touching you. Despite this, your own ego prevented you from going back.

Blinded, you looked up to see a small home in the woods. The home has a simple and modest exterior, with a simple white paint job and a small front porch.

The windows were warm and inviting as the voice calls out to you. “Child. Dear child. Come here. Let me comfort you.” The voice called out. “Come home to me.” This voice was masculine and soft.

As you wake up, you feel the warmth of a cozy bed. The bedroom you’re in is soft and homey. The room is filled with various stuffed animals and kids toys. The thing was, who brought you in here?

You open the door and begin to creep downstairs. The bright walls of the hallway compliment the dark wooden floors. Small roses and carnations are painted the walls, it reminds you of a hospital in a way.

Whoever lived here really enjoyed plants. Specifically, roses and carnations. The base floor wasn’t much different. Same floral print as before, the walls were just green this time. This whole situation had you thinking.

Who brought you in? Was in the same person who spoke to you before? Just as you think this, you’re hit with the smell of mashed potatoes and roast chicken.

The aroma was intoxicating and mouth watering. You felt your own stomach growl, it had been a while since you had eaten. Last time you ate was when your mom sent you out to the forest this morning. By the look of the windows, it was after 8pm.

Beginning to think with your stomach, you follow the smell. As you get closer, you hear soft humming. It sounds like the song *Be Cruel/Hound Dog* by Elvis.

Coming closer, the smell gets stronger. You peek in the kitchen and see a tall man, Ethan. He hums softly and pulls the roast chicken out of the oven. It looked as tasty as it smelt. The chicken is a golden brown, covered in crispy skin and dripping with juices. A small hint of garlic and lemon can be seen along the lines of the chicken.

Just as you observe the chicken and get lost in the daydream of eating, you hear Ethan let out a small gasp of shock. You somehow startled him. He chuckles and puts the chicken down on the stove. “You’re awake.” He coos, bending down to your level. A bit scared, you back away. Ethan frowns and raises his hands. “Listen—! Listen,” he chuckles “I’m friendly, see?” Feeling his generosity, you slightly let your guard down.

Ethan sighs and smiled. “I was just about to wake you up. You’ve been sleep for hours and it’s almost dinner time, sweetheart.” He stands up and and picks the roast chicken up, placing it on the table. “Here, take a seat. Dinner will be ready soon.” He ruffles your hair while you sit at the table.

Just as you observe the chicken and get lost in the daydream of eating, you hear Ethan let out a small gasp of shock. You somehow startled him. He chuckles and puts the chicken down on the stove. “You’re awake.” He coos, bending down to your level. A bit scared, you back away. Ethan frowns and raises his hands. “Listen—! Listen,” he chuckles, “I’m friendly, see?” Feeling his generosity, you slightly let your guard down.

Ethan sighs and smiles. “I was just about to wake you up. You’ve been sleeping for hours and it’s almost dinner time, sweetheart.” He stands up and picks the roast chicken up, placing it on the table. “Here, take a seat. Dinner will be ready soon.” He ruffles your hair while you sit at the table.

The dining room walls have small antique photos of Ethan and what looks like his wife and daughter. You can’t even register the whole picture before you’re distracted by the Mashed Potatoes, Biscuits, and cherry pie on the table. “Poor kid, you’re just skin and bones.” He begins to set his plate. “Come on now, dig in. A growing child like you needs your nutrition and what better nutrition than a home cooked meal?” He begins to eat.

One bite of the greens and you’re in heaven. They were seasoned and cooked to perfection. You completely devoured at least three plates and Ethan was glad to feed you. “It’s late you know,” his voice is calm and safe, “why don’t you stay here? It’s dangerous to leave at night.” You were about to object but you remembered just how unnerving the woods got in the winter. Reluctantly, you agree. Ethan looks more than glad. He smiles and gently holds your hand. “Where did you come from?” He asked. You explain how you came from the village and Ethan frowns. “That village? It’s dangerous over there. Mother Miranda isn’t the kind woman you think she is.” You didn’t understand what he was saying. Mother Miranda hasn’t done anything bad

…

Right?

Of course not. This old man was just out of it. Ethan sighs and gently lets go of your hand. “How about this? I’ll walk you back home to the village tomorrow. We can leave after breakfast. Sound good with you?” He asked as if you had a choice.

Later that evening, Ethan tucks you into bed. “There we go.” He whispers to himself, ruffling your hair. “If you need anything, you can cry out to me and I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Hearing this makes you feel warm. Your parents back at home never reassured you at times like this. Normally, they’d send you off to bed without a story or a kiss but this wasn’t the case. Ethan was better to you in his few hours of knowing you than your parents who knew you all your life. He looks down at you with his soft eyes, almost looking glum. “Goodnight, Rosema–” He cuts himself off. “Do you have a name or a nickname I can call you?” The name you choose to go by leaves your lips. “What a sweet name. I’m Lord Winters but I really just wish people would call me Ethan.” He chuckles and sighs. “Sleep well. I won’t let any monsters get you.” He stands up and turns off the lights, leaving the room for you to get some rest.

As you lay in bed, you can’t help but fully look around your surroundings. While Mr. Winters’ home was inviting, why was it welcome for you to sleep in? You couldn’t think too hard before your eyes got heavy. The cold pillows and soft blankets kiss you goodnight as you drift off to bed.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day. You’ll see your mom and dad and they’ll welcome you with open arms.

#resident evil #rebhfun #ethan winters #resident evil au #re8 village #reader insert #my fic #Ethan winters x reader #platonic #re8 ethan winters

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soleilnomoon · 1 year

Note

Hi again! Still absolutely adore your Kid fic from your last event 💜 Never got around to asking for a Sanji one, so here I am again😅 But seriously, congrats on over 550 followers!! Love seeing your blog grow, cause you’re really talented and deserve them all and legit can’t wait til you hit 1k+ 🥰

For the event order, may I please ask for a #1 with my boi Sanji, with anmitsu, konpeito, and keylime pie and with honey, please? 🥹 i hate this but need some sanji angst 😭

I also dunno if these three would work particularly well together for a prompt, so you can choose whatever! just really feeling angst and sanji rn and maybe comfort if you’d like 🥰

Thank you for all your works you’ve done so far 💜💜

hiiii omg haha i loved that fic fr (i'm obsessed w that man!!!) also ily for requesting sanji i don't write him nearly enough 🥰️ but thank you sm!! 😭 making me all soft and i am so so sorry this took forever, as u know i am so slow but!!! i had fun tormenting sanji w the angst ngl 💓💓💓💓 also those were great choices for the prompt, i wanted to write more but it would've been 8k words before i finished and who has time for that (i do, but listen... that's besides the point) ✨

2k words, fem reader (honestly gn too now that i think abt it), sfw (SHOCKING i know), 18+ mdni, a lil bit suggestive but nothing wild, angst angst angst city babey, fluff if you squint, also i gave u comfort bc u deserve it bb 💗(and sanji does too); feat. sanji being in denial forever and ever, mutual pining, fake unrequited love, reader is determined and sanji is a coward; also i made myself sad writing this but a good sad bc sanji deserves happiness and i'll fight oda if he doesn't get it i s2g... (if u see grammar mistakes/spelling errors... no u didn't 💗)

“loving each other began this way: threading / loneliness into loneliness / patiently, our hands trembling and precise.” — yehuda amichai

STEP 01:

what does it take to kill a soul? —

a question that’s posed unironically, without a hint of remorse or tact, the words precise and venomous, slicing through the thick veneer that he’s carefully crafted. he’s never been able to answer that question — not at six years old, not twelve or fifteen, and not at twenty-one. his siblings took pleasure in taunting him with seemingly philosophical questions, ones that clamped down onto his thoughts with heavy shackles.

even after he’s extracted himself from that life, he can’t scrub those memories from his mind — no matter how hard he tries. they sit, still raw and bloody, giving rise to unpleasant emotions that make his stomach churn from so many things left unsaid. he never set out to be a pirate, but piracy has given him the sort of freedom that he could only wish for as a child.

it’s with tender hands, with nimble yet graceful fingers, and with a fastidiousness that puts him in a category of his own, that he creates and creates and creates —

he’s told he’s an artist, which only pushes him to work harder, to be better. and when he asks himself why, he doesn’t have an answer. or, rather, the answer he does have only serves as a punishing reminder that he’ll never be good enough. no matter how many times his crew mates thank him — their emphatic, genuine praise a soft, warm breeze against his heart, gentle caresses that he commits to memory — despair still manages to infiltrate, a darkness choking out what little light he has left inside of him.

STEP 02:

how far are you willing to go to reach the truth? —

when you join the crew, he’s unnerved by your presence, which is wholly unlike him. usually, he’s able to put on his façade of the flirtatious cook, one that’s jovial and sociable, that lives to serve and please those around him. his first conversation with you ends in disaster; he spills the drink he tried to pour for you, despite your insistence that you are perfectly capable of pouring your own drink — and he knows it’s not out of malice, but it cuts into him all the same.

he tries again and again, bringing you little treats that you only agree to eating if he sits and eats with you; confusion eats away at his mind, and when he opens his mouth to decline, you pat the seat next to you and he acquiesces. he sits stiffly, at first, unsure of why he always feels on edge around you — an irritating need to impress you in a way he’s never wanted to for others grows stronger by the day.

you think it’s cute that he always seems flustered around you — that he stumbles over his words, refuses to hold eye contact with you for longer than thirty seconds — you also think it’s cute that the false bravado that he puts on for the world, diminishes immediately the second you come close to him. if he’s skittish, it’s because you always catch him staring at you; despite his quick reflexes, his reactions around you are slow but pure — childish, almost.

lately he’s clumsier and scatterbrained, nearly burning dinner when you decide to keep him company. you lean against the countertop, a teasing smile on your face — the same one that that caused him to bump his forehead against the cabinet door earlier — as you prattle on about a dream you had. he can barely keep up, his eyes drifting from the skillet to your face, gliding around the curve of your cheek, dipping lower in a slow descent along your neck.

he blinks repeatedly when he reaches your clavicle, stunned at his restraint; and it’s only when you call his name loudly that he realizes he’s left the heat on for too long.

“are you okay?” you ask when you see that he’s fussing over how best to save the dish, mouth moving as he quietly mutters to himself. he barely registers your voice, as an insidious one whispers harshly into his ears about his perpetual incompetence and lack of talent.

you can see that he’s retreated even further into his mind, a feat that also leaves you frustrated. you want to shake him but refrain and grab his hand instead. he snaps out of whatever stupor that held him captive just moments ago, lips parting as he sighs softly before glancing down at you.

“thank you.”

the words are quiet, but impactful, as he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out. you let go of his hand too soon, but he doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on cooking than embarrassing himself again in front of you.

you take his silence as a silent dismissal, but you don’t fight him on it — it’s bitter, that sort of rejection, and you swallow back your argument with great difficulty.

STEP 03:

what’s the difference between cowardice and self-preservation? —

frustration bubbles underneath his skin when he can’t find where he placed his lighter; he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on impulse, accidentally ripping a few strands from his scalp. they swirl and tumble onto the ground, pathetic in a way — just like me, but he never really says that out loud. he doesn’t hear your footsteps, although you did your best to remain as quiet as possible.

a cigarette sits in between his lips, and he has half a mind to toss it over the railing of the ship, but a warmth suddenly appears in front of him in the form of a flame. you found his lighter on the floor earlier and meant to give it to him, but every time you got closer, he found every excuse to leave. you don’t realize the impact you have on him — not really, anyway — because he’s genuinely surprised that you can’t hear the heavy beats of his heart that grow more intolerable the longer he hangs around you.

always afraid of being found out, he opts to keep his distance. it’s easier this way, he tells himself, better. but he doesn’t quite believe that; the evidence is plain as day when his tongue feels like its grown three sizes in the span of seconds, where his words get lost and forgotten. it’s all your fault, he reasons; you who insists on talking candidly with him, who insists on listening to him ramble about his dreams, who absolutely insists on stubbornly tearing down his walls, steadily chipping away without a care in the world. he looks at you as if you are the source of all his problems, but he also looks at you as if you’re the solution.

the intensity behind his stare makes your hands tremble slightly, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep yourself composed for this long. you light the end of his cigarette with ease, as if you’ve done this for him hundreds of times —and place the lighter into his pants pocket afterwards. if he wasn’t so used to you getting in his personal space all the time, he’d retreat immediately. the proximity is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t step back; you take that as a good sign and keep him company for a few minutes.

you don’t care for the smell of smoke, but on him it smells good. you almost tell him that, but instead bite down on your lip and keep your comment at bay, nerves getting the best of you as you nearly choke on the possibility that your feelings won’t be reciprocated.

another time, maybe. cheeks flushed, you turn your face to look elsewhere. although, you wonder if there ever will be another time. with him, you never know.

he’s still trying to figure you out and why he feels a different sort of calm around you; it’s alarming and new, drumming up an irrational fear within him. he doesn’t think he’s deserving of your attention or affection, and he’s convinced himself that you don’t harbor any romantic feelings for him. and why would you?

one by one, his thoughts pummel into him, acerbic and overwhelming. he exhales a sliver of smoke and puts the cigarette out. he gives you a quick, apologetic look before telling you goodnight, the smile on his face is melancholic and barely existent. you don’t dare say a word, keep your lips pressed together stubbornly; exasperated and dejected, you don’t know what’s worse — his inability to lower his guard around you for longer than ten minutes, or your inability to stop yourself from trying to carve pieces of yourself to give to him.

maybe if you helped him fill the gaping holes in his heart, he’d truly understand how you feel.

STEP 04:

if you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently? —

sleep evades you after that night, and the night after that, and so forth; it gets so bad that you’re yawning in the middle of the day, falling asleep before you can have a cup of coffee or tea. this does not go unnoticed by the others, and after talking with nami, you feel less out of your element and finally can see the parts of sanji that he wants to keep hidden. her advice is simple: approach slowly and with intent; corner him and don’t let him escape.

you bide your time, full confident that you can find a moment to sit down with him and talk this all out. it doesn’t come easy, but franky mysteriously swaps sanji for the night’s watch — something that should strike you as odd, but it’s a small opening that you take without thinking as you hurriedly climb up to the crow’s nest with a renewed sort of energy.

even with his eyes closed, as he sits lazily on the bench with head tilted back against the wall, he knows it’s you.

“go back to bed,” he says firmly, refusing to look at you.

your stubbornness, unfortunately, wins out. “i’m staying.” at that he sits up, his attention completely on you as his eyes widen at your words. he wants to ask you why, but cowardice wins out — again. as his features soften, a flush crawls along his face, lightly painting his cheeks pink. he closes his eyes again, tries to steady his breathing as he counts backwards, only for his efforts to be obliterated with ease the moment you sit next to him.

as your thigh presses against his, you take his hand and on impulse you trace your fingertip along the lines on his palm. he watches you with a morbid fascination that scares him; but then you start to say things like, “you will live a very long life,” and “you are courageous, and you have a big heart.”

a small part of him wants to pull his hand away, so you won’t say anything else — but he remains put, so still that you almost think he’s stopped breathing. your voice is sweet and disarming, even when you carry on this charade of reading his palm. a belated realization hits him forcefully, making him blink several times; it dawns on him that you’ve always been so kind and gentle with him, even when you teased him. he’s spent all this time overthinking and hiding behind his past, that it never occurred to him that he could have simply let you in. you’ve never given him reason to believe that you’d betray or harm him intentionally.

he takes a deep breath, voice a little uneven, “i—”

you lean in close, adoration dripping onto your words as you interrupt him. “hey, have i told you?” the question glides along his skin, the words seeping into him as you continue, the lilt in your voice a honeyed, melodic spell. “you remind me of starlight and the mysteries of space.” your lips brush against his when you tell him that, and a warmth settles into the middle of his chest, makes it hard to focus. he doesn’t think when he curls his fingers around yours and doesn’t think when heleans down to kiss you — tender yet electrifying all the same.

the move disarms you in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, so you simply hum in approval and lean your head against his shoulder. a comfortable silence settles around you both, but you don’t mind that at all; it’s nice, not having to tip-toe around him anymore, and the demons that plagued him for so long don’t seem so intimidating with you by his side.

#fic request #milestone event #500+ followers event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭#one piece angst #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji angst #sanji fluff #i love sanji a normal amt as u can tell

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sumire-no-nikki · 8 months

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Hardy Days

January is a month that takes some time to break into like brand new shoes. It always feels longer than it is. It has been a while since I’ve been online properly though for the best reasons. My days have been full. My desk succumbs to entropy just as soon as I’ve tidied it up, my planner is abundant with marks, overflowing with tasks in constant flux. But that just means my hours are well consumed. My days feel very lived in and I’m endlessly thankful for that.

It hasn’t been all work though! I managed to read 4 books so far this month, two of which I would like to mention here. The first book I read is Before We Say Goodbye, which is the fourth book in the Before the Coffee Gets Cold Series by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. I think the fourth one is my favorite so far, if not a close second to the first book. This one made me cry so hard it felt like a cardio exercise haha. The fifth book hasn’t been translated yet and I’m too impatient so I went ahead and started it in Japanese. I was just telling a pal how much comfier it is in the original language. I think I will reread the previous books in Japanese as well once I can get ahold of it from Kinokuniya. I’m so excited!

Another book I finished recently is Voices of the Dead by Ambrose Parry. It’s a historical fiction medical/crime novel set in Victorian Edinburgh. It also has hints of angsty romance between the two main characters, and if you know me at all, you know angst is my fuel, my reason for being lmao. But on top of the already very attractive premise, I must say the pervasive question of “am I what I come from or am I what I can become” throughout all the books is such a robust subject that I can never get enough of. I really enjoyed it! Ah, but now I’ve got to wait for the next book (if there is one). I’m pretty hopeful because the ending was set up for a continuation for sure, but you never know. Also, can I just complain about something extremely petty? Why is the fourth book’s spine different from the rest of the series? It’s from the same publisher, the same font is used. But why is the symbol not the same size as the other volumes’ symbols? WHY. Why would they make it not line up properly like that? I’m losing my mind!!

Now, I’m not one for redecorating just because it’s a new year, but I did change up my vinyl corner by switching out the old art with two posters in matching red—one from a Mitski concert way back in 2017, and one poster of Billie Marten’s 2023 album. Two very different eras of my life coming together. Quite poetic now that I think about it.

While on the subject of music, I’ve had Marika Hackman’s new album “Big Sigh” on repeat since it came out. Oh my god it’s so so good. I remember thinking when I first heard it, god, this is like having my guts pulled out of me. The lyrics are so raw I felt like my chest was going to cave in. Even the music conveys such angst and self-sabotage. The one song that struck me the most is the penultimate song called “Please Don’t Be So Kind.” That one really spoke to me. I love it so much I figured out the guitar chords by ear because I badly wanted to play it. (It’s just three chords in slightly different arrangements throughout the song: C/G-D/A-Em7/B. Half-step up tuning or more conveniently with capo on the 1st fret). I haven’t stopped thinking about the album and I don’t think I will ever stop doing so. I feel that my life is made richer by having listened to this body of work. Even though it’s rather depressing, I actually relish that about it. I think I’m at an age now where I can clearly see my emotion outside my body. It’s a place I can visit as I please. I can work through my feelings and then when I’ve done my best with it, I can leave it be. I can experience things as deeply as I want to while having the confidence that I won’t lose myself in it. It’s a very freeing sense of clarity.

Also, this is from a while back now but I got the newest volume of the coffee magazine I’m subscribed to and the coffee sampler they sent for the quarter is stellar. It tasted of peach and orange, it was insane. The sampler had enough for only two espresso double shots but it made such an impact I just have to note it down here. The roaster, A Matter of Concrete, is based in Rotterdam. I might have to pop in there to try more of their coffee one of these days. Oh, but this reminds me that my grinders are due for a cleaning. Right, I’ll have to do that sometime tomorrow. And I’m not looking forward to it because I’m always anxious I’ll fuck up the burrs or put the grinders back all wrong. Also, looking at this photo, I have to polish my espresso machine, don’t I? Oops.

What else have I been up to? I’ve recently reconnected with my best friend from my undergraduate days and it has been such a blessing. We didn’t have a fight or anything. We just drifted apart because I moved away for my MA and they went back home for a job offer. But they reached out to let me know they’ll be moving to Europe to start a second degree and a career change!! Which means we will be able to see each other again!! Oh, I’m looking forward to that so much I’m counting the days. I have such fond memories of them I can’t wait to bear hug the hell out of them haha.

I also finally decided to finish a writing project I have left alone to stew in its own unfinished mess for far too long lol. I forced myself to churn as much words as I could, and then the arduous task of negotiating what to keep, what to expand and what to cut came soon after. I’ve since finished it and I’m relieved to have concluded that story. I’m quite satisfied with the arc. It felt like a good study of how I write, what I want from a story and how I can achieve it. Writing is a process of self discovery and I’m always overwhelmed by that feeling when it’s happening in real time. Like you feel minute parts of yourself shifting into new positions, light shed in previously dark corners. It’s overwhelming and terrifying, yet tranquil and natural at the same time. I look forward to whatever I’ll find in the next writing project.

Anyway, I’m off to do a bit of translation work. It has been quite an eventful Friday for me over here, and my weekend is looking like it will be just as busy. How has your January been? I hope you’ve been taking good care of yourself. I leave you with a song by This Is The Kit called “Inside Outside.” It has a groovy bass line that I enjoy playing and straight up just vibing to. I recommend the album it's from if you’re in the market for something new to listen to.

That’s all for now. Until next time!

#diary #sumire-no-nikki #Bandcamp

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angelst4re · 2 years

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Good Girl (part 3!) - Tattoo Artist Jamie x Reader

summary: you and jamie are friends with benefits, but you both want more..

warnings: NSFW!! contains smut so if you're uncomfortable then please don't read it my love!

notes: i finally got my ass around to writing part 3! :) and yes i'm using the same gif that i used in part 2 haha!

‘Where are you?’ You send the third text in 10 minutes.

You had matched with a nice guy on tinder and had arranged to go on a date tonight, you got dressed up, did your hair and makeup and even bought new lingerie for the occasion (just in case!)

However, you were now on your second glass of wine and had been sitting at the bar for 15 minutes. It was quite obvious that Stephen wasn’t going to show up tonight, you accepted that, you were just waiting for the text to confirm it. In the meantime, you told Jamie about the situation, hoping he’d take the hint and meet you here instead, but he seemed quite pissed off.

‘Really?’ Jamie’s message read, ‘well that’s a shame.’

‘I know, I got ready for nothing!’ You replied, ‘I’ll give him 5 more minutes.’

‘Cool.’ He replied, ‘have fun.’

‘I’m starting to panic, what if he doesn’t show up?’

‘Go home? You can’t spend your whole night waiting for him.’

Jamie’s replies started to get shorter and blunter, until he eventually stopped replying altogether.

You placed your phone on the bar with a ‘thump’ as your face fell into your hands. You shut your eyes, wondering why you even bothered this evening. It was clear that no one had an interest in dating you, they only wanted you for your body

Your thoughts were disrupted as your phone vibrated in front of you. Jamie?

It was Stephen.

‘Sorry doll, can’t make it tonight!’

You didn’t even bother to reply to him.

Instead, you slipped your coat on, paid for your drinks and left the bar.

When you got outside, you lit a cigarette. You didn’t smoke regularly, it was a tiny habit Jamie had gotten you into. Whenever you get stressed, it would help to calm you down.

You decide you should call a taxi to get home, your original plan was to go home with Stephen and either stay the night or hope he would ask if you wanted him to take you home before you went that far, but now that plan was scrapped.

—————————♡—————————

Sat in the backseat, you rest your head against the window as you drive through your city. You watch as the lights pass you by, seeing people walk hand in hand down the streets, watching cars stop to pick people up. You take a moment to think. You were sick and tired of living like this. Going on dates to take your mind off of the only person you could only ever want.

You look back down at your phone, noticing Jamie still hadn’t texted you back since you told him you were leaving the bar. You sighed and turned your phone back off, returning to staring out the window.

You have an idea. It was a risky one, but in your mind it was now or never.

“Hey,” you say to catch the attention of the taxi driver, breaking the silence, “do you think you could just drop me off here? I can walk the rest of the way.”

“If you’re sure, love.” He said in his Scottish accent, pulling up on the side of the road.

You paid him for the short journey before pulling your phone out of your pocket and calling Jamie. But he didn’t pick up. You turned around abruptly, and began to make your way to his apartment.

Jamie was tired of all the calls and texts. He had left his phone in his bedroom as he went to the kitchen to cook dinner. He wanted nothing more than to tell you to come over, to tell you that he would take you out on a date, to tell you how he truly felt about you.

He knew that hiding the truth from you was for the best, although it did hurt when you would tell him how excited you were to finally be meeting the guy you matched with on tinder. He knew you fucked your dates, too. You would tell him it would be nothing more than oral, yet he didn’t believe you.

He had just finished cooking his veggie lasagne when he heard a knock on the door. He placed the hot dish on the counter to cool as he rushed to the door.

When he opened it, he was met with you.

“Jamie,” you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat. It had started to rain while you were walking over, so your eyeliner had smudged a little and your hair was quite damp. Before you could open your mouth to finish what you were going to say, he pulled you inside.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, “how long were you out there? Did you walk all the way from the bar?”

“No…” you began, still trying to catch your breath, “I got a taxi, but I got him to drop me off down the road. I was going to walk home but I ended up here instead.” You said, and a soft smile tugged on Jamie’s lips.

You noticed he was going to say something, but stopped. He then turned to you again before saying,

“I’ve just cooked some lasagne, have you eaten tonight?” He asks, you shook your head in reply.

“No, I was kind of hoping that-”

“It’s okay, I’ve made enough for us both.” He says, leading you to the kitchen.

You both sat at the table, enjoying what Jamie had made, when you continued to talk about your night. You told him how his cooking was fantastic, you’ve never had something so delicious. As he began washing the dishes, you continued telling him about how pissed you were that Stephen didn’t turn up, then Jamie started to shake his head.

“Look, y/n, I’m sick of pretending that I care about your love life. It’s all you talk about, I try to make it seem like I’m not interested but you don’t seem to get it, and then you go on and on about it in front of me. As harsh as it sounds, I don’t care.” He says, taking you by surprise.

“Well at least I’m actually trying.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m trying to find a partner, Jamie. I don’t want to your fuck-toy forever, only seeing you when you want something from me.”

“So you don’t want us to-”

“No! That’s not what I mean…” You rest your head in your hands as you think about how you’re going to word your next sentence. “What I’m trying to say is that I want a relationship. I want to wake up next to someone in the morning and know they won’t leave after breakfast, I want to go on dates and hold hands as we walk down the street. I want someone to love me as much as I love them! I want you to love me as much as I love you. Because I’m tired of trying to pretend that what we do means nothing. I go on these dates with hopes that I’ll find someone to take my mind off of you, but it isn’t fucking working, Jamie. None of these men are you, yet I force myself to flirt with them, just hoping that maybe they’ll love me half as much as I love you, then maybe I’ll have a chance. A chance to get over you, but that won’t happen. Fuck, I wish we never became friends with benefits, it’s just fucked me up! It was fun in the beginning but once I caught feelings I knew-”

Jamie shutting you up by crashing his lips into yours shouldn’t have come as a surprise. You watched as he placed the towel down on the counter and watched you with sad eyes as you poured your heart out to him, but as he placed his hand on your cheek, your mind went blank. All you could think of was him.

“I know,” he says between kisses as his lips slowly move down to your jaw, “I feel the same, I just didn’t want to tell you,” his lips now kissed your neck, “I thought it might scare you off.”

“Never.” Was the last word you said before you ran your fingers through his hair. You felt his hands reach around you, unclasping your bra underneath your top before pulling back, lifting your top over your head and leaving you standing with your chest bare in front of him.

“So if I ask you to be my girlfriend now, does that make this our first fuck of the relationship?”

“I’d say so.” You smirk, bringing your knee up to rub against the growing bulge in his jeans. He gives you a look that says ‘don’t tease’ as you bring your foot back to the ground.

Your hands slide down his stomach, to the button of his jeans. You were about to begin working on undoing it when he stopped you.

“You first, baby.” He said, a devilish smirk on his lips as he slipped his hand into the waistband of the trousers you were wearing.

With no warning, he pulled them down, along with your underwear.

You were now fully naked in front of him. He took a moment to admire his work of art (the tattoo) on your cunt before he pushed you up against the counter, his hand falling to the back of your thigh, a signal for you to jump.

You planted your hands either side of you on the counter, pushing yourself up so you were sat on the counter, Jamie licked his lips, trailing his hand up and down your thighs before spreading them further, exposing your hot, wet cunt to him.

He leaned down, kissing your thighs as a way to tease you. You tugged on his hair with a quiet whimper, as if telling him not to tease. He eventually gave in and kissed your clit, ever so gently yet it knocked your breath out of you.

He wrapped his lips around the nub, sucking gently as his hands rubbed your thighs. The sight of him between your thighs made you throw your head back, your fingers tangling in his hair again, as if you were trying to pull him closer.

His mouth moved down, licking a strip from your clit to your entrance, keeping eye contact the entire time. His thumb was now working small circles into your clit as his tongue pushed into you and back out, leaving sloppy kisses on your thighs before repeating what he had done.

“Jamie,” you whimpered, “more.. Please.” Your eyes met his and in that moment, he wanted to give you everything in the world, everything you could ever ask for.

His mouth moved back up to work on your clit as he pushed a finger into you, curling it up as it stretched your walls. You let out a small moan as you felt him press into the special, spongy spot inside you.

Your thighs trembled around him as he slipped another finger into you and sucked your clit into his mouth. Both actions happening at the same time made you dig your nails into the counter, feeling like if you let go you would have floated away.

His fingers worked at an incredibly fast pace, curling up into that spot every now again as you became a breathless, whimpering mess for him. You could feel him smirk against you as you told him you were getting close, and he soon had you begging him to let you finish.

“Can I… Can I-”

“Cum for me, darling. All over my fingers, that’s my girl.” He talked you through your orgasm, his thumb replacing his mouth again as he moved up to capture your lips in a kiss.

As you came down from your high, you caught your breath. When you looked up at Jamie, he gave you a genuine smile and helped you off the counter.

“We’re not done yet, baby.” He told you as you bent down to pick up your underwear.

“Are we not?” You asked, although the thought of him fucking you sounded more than amazing, you were extremely tired.

“Not yet, darling. But it’s okay,” he says, sliding his hand up and down your waist, admiring you, “I’ll do all the work, you just lie there and look pretty, okay?”

You nodded your head and followed him into his room.

You lied down on his black sheets, relaxing into the mattress, watching as he checked his phone before he took off his jeans.

“I didn’t know you tried to call.” He said, undoing the button.

“It’s okay, you’re forgiven.” You say with a lazy smile as he joins you on the bed.

“How kind of you.” He chuckles, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

You feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh and you move your hips a little to give him some friction. He notices what you’re doing and leans down to kiss you, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing the tip against your slick centre. The overstimulation caused you to shiver but once he had thrusted inside of you, it became an overwhelming pleasure.

You held onto his shoulders as he fucked you. Normally he would go hard, fast and rough, but this time he wanted to show you how much he loved you, he would take you slow and hard, hold you as close to him as possible, kiss every inch of your skin. He also wanted to know he had fucked the thought of all the guys you had been talking to out of you, making him the only things on your mind.

You were biting down on his shoulder when you heard him whisper something, his hips snapping into yours faster and faster. You pulled back a little, burying your face in the crook of your neck when you heard him say,

“I love you.”

You initially thought you imagined it, you thought he had truly fucked your brains out, but then he said it again.

“I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you more.” You whispered into his neck, feeling your second high approaching you.

He pressed his hand down onto your lower abdomen, creating a wonderful pressure that was soon going to send you over the edge.

“Gonna cum inside you… is that okay?” He asked, pressing down harder.

“Yes- fuck, yes!”

You had both managed to cum at the same time. You threw your head back with a moan as his hips stuttered and he let out a low groan. You felt the warmth shoot inside of you- he had only ever finished inside you twice before, once when the two of you were drunk and again when you first started taking birth control.

Your cunt pulsed around his cock, taking him for all he had before he pulled out of you, collapsing beside you on the bed.

He pulled you closer to him, so he could feel your body on his. He cupped your cheek with his hand and wiped a tear away, he didn’t know whether it was a tear of love or pleasure but the smile on your face told him it wasn’t regret.

He propped his arm up so he could face you and took your hand in his, giving it a kiss.

“So, where do you want to go for our first date?”

#jamie bower smut #jamie campbell bower smut #jamie campbell bower #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie bower x reader #jamie bower #tattoo artist jamie <3

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oksana-moods · 2 years

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Queens of Promise - Part 7

Summary: Between battles and treasons, a new emotion comes to play. And oh poor Wanda, she found herself a traitor.

A/N: Look at me keeping my promises, but have to warn you though, chapter 11 progress is slower than I had planned. But we’ll get there when we get there. Well, I am dropping hints to solve the big puzzle (at least I think I am haha), do you guys have any theories by now?

Trigger Warning: Violence, mentions of blood, death. Game of Thrones canon violence. Previous parts here

"Between heaven and hell"

#just because I love her smile in this gif Fury Valley – Improvised Campsite

You looked around the place and saw people arguing, while others tried to make any sense out of this madness.

Present in Wanda’s tent were only the ones both Princesses trusted with their lives. That being said, Lady Rambeau, Lady Danvers and Lord Barton were your companions while Wanda called for Lady Romanoff, Lady Dreykov and Knight Bishop’s presence.

Sir Barnes wasn’t attending the meeting for he had marched north earlier that morning with part of his men as to inform the King about the death of Lord Rogers.

The fireplace attracted your eyes, and the fire dancing drew your attention for what felt like a lifetime but, in reality, only minutes had passed.

Your head flew miles away from Fury Valley, for Lord Wilson was on his way to Triskelion to inform the Queen about the ambush and the failed mission of returning Lord Rogers to Sokovians’ care.

Queen Calanthe would be mad, for sure. This was unacceptable, how could a simple task go so wrong as this one had? In a span of hours, you had analyzed and overanalyzed the past events trying to find where your mistake was.

Some of the best soldiers, ones that you trusted with your own life, were tasked with the burden of keeping and protecting Lord Rogers. It was as though they didn’t even have the chance to stand a fight and oh she knew how skilled they were.

You’ve been into many battles so far and had experienced some chaotic fights, but the attackers came out of the blue and easily outnumbered Taharrian and sokovian’s troops. It was messy and hectic, especially when you were trying not to die all the while making sure your nemesis wouldn’t get hurt as well.

Gladly enough, you were able to keep Princess Maximoff alive, otherwise this whole messed up situation would be even more chaotic. Suddenly, bile climbed through your throat as you thought about the possibility of Wanda’s death. It bothered you to no end and made your heart clench at the mere idea.

Why, though?

In terms of politics, it was only obvious what problems this would entail. If Wanda died this would mean extra violence from Sokovia. Because, if Loki were to die, no matter the situation, you’d wreak havoc to avenge your brother, surely King Pietro wouldn’t do any different.

In theory, protecting Wanda was a must. Firstly, to avoid more problems; secondly, chances were that you could warm your way to Wanda, therefore, you could try and ease the tension to stop the war for good.

However, deep down you knew these reasons were just the political Princess in you speaking. Deep down you knew there were ulterior motivations, maybe they weren’t clear to you just yet – or maybe it was clear, yet you kept in denial.

There was something about Wanda that pulled you towards her. It was something different from everything you ever felt, but somehow you knew she meant more than a possible acquaintance or possible not-enemy. To say Sokovia could be a friend was too much. Not-foe was good enough for you.

She shouldn’t mean anything to you, so why was she so important to the point your body would physically reject even the mere thought of her death? Why does your heartbeat lose compass when thinking about hers stopping for good?

Angry shouts broke through your bubble of thoughts and your head surfaced back to the exchange going on the tent. Lady Danvers had her hands in fists and was ready to attack no one other than Princess Maximoff herself. While Bishop only listened and swapped few words with Barton, Maria and Natasha argued near the fireplace.

Lady Dreykov was massaging her chin and judging by the distance, the cause of her discomfort probably was Carol’s fist. Sighing, you got up to your feet and walked towards the others.

“This is your fault, Princess.” Danvers’ eyes were red, visibly distressed, she had lost good friends the day before and this was a wound too fresh. “You brought this to yourselves, and now it’s rubbing on us.”

“This is outrageous! And you should take your tone down a notch, I’m not your Lioness that allows you to speak as you want. I’m Wanda Maximoff, Princess of Sokovia and you’ll treat me as such.” The redhead spat back at the lady in front of her.

“My Princess is a respectable warrior, one of the greatest that I had had the pleasure to serve, now I can’t speak the same about you.” Carol growled, eyes screaming danger. Not that Maximoff was one to bother with threats. Spoken or not.

“Draw your sword, peasant, and I’ll give you something to talk about me.” Wanda countered and this threat was plain as it can be. “While you still have your head above your shoulders.”

Before Carol could do anything stupid and force Wanda’s hand, you stepped between both woman, hoping you could try and calm their nerves.

“As entertaining as it could be, I’m afraid we have more pressing matters right now.” You spoke alternating your look between your Captain and the princess. “And we have to work together if we want to get to the bottom of this problem.”

“Work together?” Lady Romanoff took one step closer to the three of you, and the others gathered closer as well. The assassin in front of you had her brows furrowed, possibly trying to think how sworn enemies could work together without killing each other.

“Precisely.” You replied now focused on the spy in front of you. “It seems we found a common foe and I don’t know about you, but I want to know who they are.”

“We already know who they are, princess!” Lady Danvers, though a little more collected, spat once again. “It’s probably the Kree that this woman, disregarding all the suffering in Noveria, called back to our lands.”

You flinched at the accusatory tone, but also at the pain coating every single word pronounced by your dear friend. You understood where she was coming from, it could be the Kree, indeed. However, the mercenaries, though ruthless, didn’t seem to be the type of men the northern barbarians would choose for a job.

“Refer to me as this woman one more time and I’ll teach you how to address to a princess properly.” The redhead barked and you saw her hand looking for the hilt of her sword. Wanda was on edge with the attack, of course, but she still got a short fuse.

Faster than you or anything you had to say, Carol threatened again. “You can shove your little title on your ass, Your Highness. You brought these barbarians here, I wanna see what you’re going to do now.”

Wanda growled, audibly, with her hand clutching around her sword dangerously. Their nerves were escalating out of proportion, so you did the first thing that came to your mind. Almost innocently, you placed your hand on Wanda’s shoulder as if trying to ground her, somehow.

For a few moments, she let it. Her eyes trailed to your hand and to back to your eyes for a few seconds until she figured this intimacy wasn’t appropriate enough for her taste and slapped your hand away, as one does with a disgusting fly.

“Carol.” Your tone was underlined with a warning and the woman looked at you. “I understand and respect your worries but you, of all people, know that the Kree wouldn’t hire some bandits to attack us. They’d do it themselves. And these guys bled red just as we did.”

You held Carol’s eye contact, until the woman relented and nodded at you. Her instance, in turn, shifted from dangerous-ready-to-attack to attention. She was ready to jump into action if needed but took a few steps back and let go of this argument.

Again, you tried, this time looking around the room as to emphasize your words. “Together. Is the only way to find out who set us up.” You were rewarded with some nods but soon Wanda found her voice again and dropped a bucket of cold water on your ideas.

“Bold of you to assume that I’ll work with your… scum.” She dropped her hands to her hips in a defiant pose. “We can fend for ourselves.”

There were thousands of remarkable comebacks that you could throw her way, but you limited yourself to sigh. Taking a deep breath as if said breath could summon a little more patience, you commanded everyone in the room to leave. Taharrian or Sokovian, every single one of the presents obeyed.

“Ladies, gentleman, could you excuse us for a moment?” Your voice was soft, a simple request but still a command. Wanda was completely impressed with how easy her own people followed your demand.

It was impressive how you didn’t have to try, there was just this sheer confidence in your whole body as if this was a physical trait now. But if the redhead thought about it, your whole life you grew up knowing you’d be a ruler and your whole life you prepared yourself to stand tall before friend or foe.

Just like you had said to her, years ago, at King Tony and Queen Pepper’s wedding: “Enemies must see our strength. Flaws and weakness may encourage rebellion, we can’t afford that.” Wanda, for sure, saw the strength but something else.

Kindness.

You were sarcastic, yes. Extremely playful at moments that Wanda deemed inappropriate, not to mention the suggestions about intimacy that you insisted it should be public knowledge. However, she had never seen you speak unkindly with your subordinates and subjects, especially with hers.

Your strength relied, Wanda understood, not in your combat skills or obvious knowledge but because you were always kind and behaved as if there was no difference between ruler and ruled. And, more importantly, this wasn’t an act or a play to full or lure people into you.

It was simply who you were.

The power held by your eyes, scanning Wanda’s soul was too entrancing, maddening even. So the princess took one step back and busied herself with a cup of wine, not bothering to offer you one. Her body reacted strangely when you were close to her and all she needed right now was distance.

But she wasn’t getting any.

Wanda watched as Maria Rambeau stopped close to you on her way out of the tent and when your eyes were drawn to your friend, Wanda realized she could breathe again.

Your attention shifted from Wanda, who watched you like a hawk, to Maria, who had a not so satisfied knowing look on her face.

“I see the way you look at her.” Her voice was low as to not draw attention, especially from whom she was talking about.

You smiled softly, hoping this could settle some of her worries. It didn’t.

“Before you go and try to get into her bed, can I remind you that we’re at war and she is our enemy?” As last resort, Maria tried to knock some sense into your thick skull.

“Maria, have you ever seen me do something so stupid like that?” You asked, the face of seriousness, but she wasn’t buying. She knew you too well now.

“Dozens of times. Literally.” She hissed, letting you know she wasn’t amused by your attitude. “And I saved your ass a lot to know that when you want a woman, you get. But maybe, this time would be wise to avoid more problems with the Maximoffs.” You could see right through her scolding. She was concerned.

“I know what I’m doing, Rambeau. Trust me.” You flash her a sly smile as if this could help settle part of her worries, but a shake of her head as she walked out of the tent told you that she trusted that you would make something stupid. As always.

And you probably would.

Wanda Maximoff possesses an undeniable beauty that verges perfection itself and after the past few days made you realize that she’s way much more than a pretty face, for you saw not only her fighting skills but also how intelligent she was.

If anything, the woman you came to know was beyond extraordinary and she had you admiring her, drowning in those deep, green orbs without a single clue as to how pull back.

You took a long, deep breath and exhaled audibly as if this could clear your head.

“I know you don’t like us. Or trust us.” You started and after her eyes locked with yours again, you continued. “But these men killed Lord Rogers, so you’d think we lied about our bargain.” You spoke softly, Wanda was only a few steps away from you.

“You weren’t supposed to be part of the exchange, Princess. Think. Everything adds up.” You pleaded. “So many bandits? Only a few would survive this massacre and the news at Wolfgang would be that we killed Rogers even though we agreed with a truce. Even though you agreed with a truce.”

“Not to mention that those shady men looked awfully like the ones attacking your crops at Karov before this all began.” You added as an afterthought.

Your voice resonated through the tent while Wanda’s head spun. “How do I know that you’re not lying to me right now?” Then she looks at you once more. “How can I be sure you’re speaking the truth?”

The intensity poured from her eyes was breathtaking. Your stomach fluttered as if you were on your ship in the middle of a summer storm, even though your feet were very much grounded.

It was unsettling.

“You can’t.” Finally, you found your voice somehow. She turned to look at you again, alarmed this time, but your face was blank. No mockery, no deceit. “There’s nothing that I can do to make you believe in me. And there’s nothing that I can say to make you trust me.” You elaborated.

She remained still, simply watching your every more or word as if her mind eye could see the truth through your words. Then, you tried again.

“So, I say you gotta risk it, Wanda. That’s the moment you got to choose. You can get out of your comfort zone and get to the bottom of this pile of lies or keep your head stuffed in the sand like an emu and pray for everything to be okay again.”

“Spoiler alert: it won’t.” You added, running your hand through your hair restlessly.

Wanda snorted at your words more out of reflex while her heart pondered about their meaning. And the more she learned about you, the more she felt you were right and being nothing but truthful.

But old habits die hard. She was raised to hate your kind. Liberalists like you never paid attention to the traditional ways, never respected other sovereigns, always mingling with some other kingdom’s war.

In Taharr anyone who proved their loyalty to the crown and did great services to the realm were granted with a lordship or ladyship, this meant that a commoner could rise on the society disregarding other traditional families. Actions like these certainly encouraged rebellion, enviousness, she supposed.

Vision always mentioned how brutal the Taharrians were. Or how there��s always someone aspiring to take the Queen down. For they envy more power than they could get, boldened with titles that didn’t and shouldn’t belong to them. Commoners always aspired for more than they could have.

Wasn’t this line of thought right?

However, if the past few weeks taught her something was that her previous knowledge didn’t add up with what she was seeing.

Maria Rambeau rose from nothing, yet she was an outstanding warrior and clearly had the respect of her peers. She clearly had your respect. And she, definitely, didn’t look like someone who would scheme to bring the royalty down.

And even Wanda knew how devoted Lord Barton was, he treated you as if you were his own daughter and would lay himself on the ground if that meant you wouldn’t get dirt on your feet.

Wanda sighed. She was tired. Tired of fighting, arguing, thinking, learning.

“Lord Rogers was my subject, just as the people affected by the heists.” Wanda’s eyes locked on yours and you saw, again, her protective walls closing around her. “My people, my problem. You have your truce. So, take your men to your south.”

“These are my people too, not only yours Wanda. They are women, children and they deserve to live their lives without fear. War is our life, not theirs. Let us help you hunt down whoever’s behind this.” You were adamant on not letting her shut you out now. Only your combined forces and minds could make any sense out of this puzzle. “Let me help you.”

Still, she could not see it the way you did.

“You want to conquer us so you can have all the resources to yourself. The great, relentless Queen Calanthe who can’t be defeated surely wants to defeat the Maximoffs and get our lands. She’d become a legend, not that she isn’t one already.” Wanda spat the same speech she had been for the past years.

It wasn’t difficult to understand that Novi Grad as one realm again would have no match in this continent, maybe even in Westeros. Food, gold or spears, never ran low in Taharr and in Sokovia, imagine how giant their kingdom would be if their forces were combined?

Queen Calanthe had tried a diplomatic approach before, Wanda remembered. Still hurts. Her father and mother were interested in a peaceful negotiation, but fate got in the way before any real discussion could take place.

During their trip to south, as they were the first Sokovians’ sovereign in ages to be welcomed in Triskelion, the ship her parents were travelling in got lost in a storm and separated from the escort vessels, then when pirates attacked, they were outnumbered and did not survive.

If Princess Maximoff were to be reasonable your mother wasn’t the one to blame, much less you, not really. But she was emotional, her heart blamed the gods, the seas but specially the Taharrians for trying to reach out and solve your quarrels.

If her parents didn’t leave the castle, didn’t leave Wolfgang, they’d be safe and still alive. She wouldn’t have to take hard decisions if they were alive; Her and Pietro wouldn’t be orphans at a young age, and they definitely wouldn’t be alone for almost a decade by now.

The hatred, the blame… She knew this was repetitive, but your presence was making her feel ill.

She couldn’t breathe, there were shivers up and down her spine whenever you made eye contact and her body itched. Maybe you had sabotaged her wine, for she knew this was your doing, somehow, and for that she hated you.

“This war was your idea, your caprice, not ours. This is not about our ambitiousness, but this thick proud heads of yours that can’t see past your hatred.” You bellowed, exasperated at how blind and stubborn a person could be. How stubborn Wanda was.

“Stop.” It was her turn to roar, and it nearly startle you. “Stop talking. We are enemies, not allies and I don’t need your protection in my own land.” She shouted, stressing her words as she spoke as if this was a concept that was taking too long for you to grasp. A concept that you should’ve known already.

You bit your tongue about the protection part.

“Can’t you see that I’m tired of your stupid face and poor excuses? Can’t you see that I hate you?” Wanda continued, barking her words so passionately and you knew she meant it, this was the real Wanda Maximoff, devoid of all her decorous layers.

“You barely know me, Maximoff. Why do you hate me?” Your reply came in a serene voice that was so soft that made Wanda’s head spin for a moment due the contrast. “For real, not this childish reference about our realms feud.”

You took one step towards her and saw Wanda’s eyes go down to your feet and back to your eyes. As if this action could make you stop walking. It didn’t. “Tell me why do you look at me the way you do, as if I had personally inflicted you pain? Even the way you pronounce your hate towards me feels personal. Why?”

Wanda’s body now shook and every single step you took closer only provoked waves and waves of this strange feeling that she didn’t have a name for. For the nth time, Wanda felt conflicted about her emotions, and she didn’t know what to do.

There was something powerful between the two of you and she always named it as hate. Though, inside her heart she knew this hate was different. She hated everything you made her feel. Hell, she hated the intensity which you looked at her right now.

Desire.

Everything she wanted, everything she desired was to hate you the way she’s supposed to. But she desires to learn who the real woman beneath your title is. Wanda desires to understand how can you affect her so much, without even trying?

Against better judgement, the redhead caught herself replying.

“Because you get under my skin, more than anyone has ever been. And for that I hate you.” Wanda’s voice was low, but still had an edge of something that made your skin crawl. “Because I don’t know why I want you to go further.”

You stood there, bewitched by her presence and words. Even in the poor light, her green orbs shone more than thousands of stars, and their power sent shivers down your body like never before.

Wanda Maximoff took one step closer, and you felt as though she was stealing the air. As though her powers included to freeze you in place so you could all but admire her perfections. Your chest was beating erratically and, though you tried, you couldn’t avert your eyes away from her.

Right in that moment, you were her willing prisoner.

Your mouth was dry, but you managed a few words. “I’m tired of fighting, Maximoff.”

With her, with Sokovia, with bandits, with enemies, with the foreign emotions she made you feel. You didn’t want to fight anymore. “I hate you.” As her hot breath hit your face, you could feel her voice burning with passion as she meant every word she spoke. Though, none of you knew that this feeling was not hate at all. Quite the opposite.

“I hate you too.” Your voice was flat, but you couldn’t deny or pretend that your heart wasn’t hammering inside your ribcage. Especially now that you realized how close you were.

Until you weren’t.

As if in slow motion, you felt Wanda pulling you by the fabric of your tunic into her personal space and attacked your lips.

For a whole moment, you froze but a second later you kissed her back. As if acting on automatic, your arms pulled her into you by grabbing her waist, completely flushing her body against yours.

Then everything was Wanda. Her hair, her tongue, her mouth, her hands. It was as if she was claiming your very soul with such a simple action.

The princess gasped softly when her back touched the table behind her, allowing your tongue to slip past her lips. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull when her tongue clashed against yours for dominance, and your heartbeat was so erratic that you thought your organ would explode.

It was a sweet battle provided by her soft lips and you, for once, didn’t mind in fight.

Usually, your senses wouldn’t be so slow to keep a track of your surroundings, but you were so drunk in her scent, so lost in her lips that took you a little too long to grasp a shift on the atmosphere in the tent.

Somehow, a voice inside your head screamed for you to break the kiss. Later you’d thank that voice.

As soon as you pulled back from Wanda, you saw two things: one, the redhead lips chasing after yours as to reconnect the kiss and two, a figure in full black with a dagger centimeters away from the two of you.

It was remarkable how fast your survivor mode kicked in.

With one hand, you pushed Wanda away from you, so her back arched further over the table. But before she could complain at your sudden harshness, she saw your other hand blocking the hooded figure from slashing her metal over your heads.

Quite out of character, Wanda screamed in horror before her head broke from her stupor and joined the fight.

You were skilled, very much so, you and Wanda knew this. But your opponent was faster, and far much more skilled. You dodged, threw objects, tried to block with anything you could find and counterattack with anything resembling a weapon, but this new enemy kept moving around the tent relentlessly.

Few cuts were already visible on your tunic, and you knew some of those had reached your skin, nothing life threatening, but if you kept this pace, this assassin would have you in shreds in minutes.

Wanda attacked and the assassin’s attention shifted to her, granting you time and space to attack with a fire poker. Though before you could do real harm, they turned back to you and counterattacked.

Helped by the furniture that got in the way, they had you pinned down and their dagger were centimeters away from your throat. Their hood only allowed you to see only their eyes and it was darker and colder than the northern seas at night.

They’d be your demise.

Then, everything seemed to happen at the same time.

There was a commotion at the entrance of Wanda’s tent and the assassin blinked right before you could see a piece of metal piercing their neck, then their lifeless body weighted over you. In shock, you realized, Wanda had just saved your life.

As you pushed the body off you onto the ground, you locked eyes with her, and you could see the despair flooding those green orbs that you grew so fond of. She was scared and your heart ached to comfort her, but you weren’t alone anymore.

Your moment was broken. Just as fast as it started.

Wanda dropped her sword as if the metal piece weighted a ton, her hands were shaken and her whole body shook with a sick feeling that she couldn’t control. Or understand.

She hated you, yet she had kissed you and her lips still tasted yours when the idea of losing you was terrifying.

“Princess!” Maria Rambeau and Natasha shouted at the same time as they approached both women.

Lady Rambeau kneeled by your side and accessed your wounds. “Princess!” She patted your cheek lightly as to bring you out of your shock until your eyes focused on hers.

“I’m okay, Maria.” Your voice was low, almost as if you weren’t really paying attention at her. She followed your gaze and found that you had averted your eyes back to Wanda.

“She’s fine, Princess.” Maria reassured, thinking you were worried that Wanda got hurt.

Well, you were worried, but you were still trying to process everything that had happened in a span of minutes. You went from arguing to kissing to fighting for your lives and now her eyes burned your heart and soul.

You nodded and let the past events fall to the back of your head, at least for now, for Romanoff’s voice brought your attention back to present as soon as it reached your ears.

“A Black Widow.” The assassin revealed, ravaging through the dead’s clothes as to find any clues.

That made sense. Only someone with that skill level could easily overpower you and Wanda at the same time. Only someone with spy skills could’ve entered the tent after strutting the campsite undetected.

Then, after looking on another pocket, the Sokovian spy found more clues to add to the pot. A golden coin unmistakably from Sokovia and a small pendant beautifully worked in a golden form of a lioness.

All eyes were on you.

“I’m afraid you’re their target, Your Highness.” Natasha voiced what everyone in the tent were already thinking. After all pockets were cleared, she got up to her feet and dropped both the pendant and the coin on the table.

Wanda took small steps towards the objects as if they were a menace. The implications were clear: someone in Sokovia wanted the Young Lioness dead and the prospect of your death made her sick in the stomach. Somehow, it felt as if she was responsible for your attack.

“Who would want you dead?” Maria asked to no one in special. It was more a question to herself, as if the action could help her find the answers of this entangled puzzle overflowing with odd things or facts that didn’t add up.

“Who doesn’t?” You retorted sarcastically, and the captain sighed, relieved that you were back to your common self, no longer lost in shock. “Wanda?” You asked tentatively and the woman locked eyes with you.

A sour taste impregnated her mouth and Wanda’s head couldn’t seem to stop replaying the scene of the assassin with their knife ready to slice your throat and the life out of you. The Scarlet Knight tried to focus, but her nerves got the best of her.

“I don’t know.” Wanda’s eyes were glossy, and she hated to be seen so weak. Not in front of Lady Rambeau or Natasha, but in front of you. “Please, leave.” She sobbed and turned away from you.

Romanoff’s head turned to her protégé, then at you and nodded. Silently asking you to comply with the Maximoff’s request.

You hesitated. You wanted to take the remaining steps that separated you from Wanda, so you could comfort her and hold her until everything was sorted and solved. But you didn’t.

In the end of the day, Wanda Maximoff was still your enemy, and you were a Lioness with a dead bounty over your head. Nodding back to Natasha, you left the tent without looking back.

As you walked away, Wanda felt a heavy cold blanket covering her whole body. There was a traitor playing the cards, that much was clear, but right then and there, she couldn’t help but think that she too was a traitor.

It was undeniable that there was a pull between the two of you, and she understood that her heart, somehow, harbored feelings towards someone she wasn’t supposed to. She was a princess from a realm with a deadly war against yours, her captain got killed after you took him as hostage, yet she couldn’t bring herself to think as she used to.

Traitor.

With the tip of her fingertips, she traced her lips and the redhead sworn she could still taste yours. It was exhilarating, disturbing, yet magical. One touch and the whole room vanished, one kiss and she forgot who she was.

Yes, she was a traitor. In her mind’s eye, this was unacceptable, absurd even. How one develops feelings towards their enemy? Fortunately, your home was far, far away from hers. Maybe with distance she’d come to her senses and her heart would stop betraying her reason.

Maybe with distance, she wouldn’t betray herself.

----

The next few days nothing really changed. Well, actually, your guard had increased in number and in patrols and even in your tent there would be a knight to protect you in case another assassin decided to show up.

Everyday Sokovians and Taharrians reunited in order to discuss their ideas or knowledge about this strange web of facts. And the sum of their info together granted them few answers.

For starters, they understood that Hydrarr had more participation in this mess than they previously thought, for Natasha tracked the dead Black Widow and learned that the woman lived in Cross Bones Village – Hydrarr’s Capital. With the wax and the assassin, this couldn’t be a coincidence.

Secondly, the group asserted that the bandits that attacked them several days ago were the same bandits railing Sokovia’s crops this whole time.

And third, the pendant with a lioness beautifully crafted in gold had an artist signature from Wolfgang Village, a man that only worked for the nobility in Sokovia and probably kept a record of his services.

So, this strange group of detectives formed by sworn enemies, realized that someone in Hydrarr or Sokovia, maybe both, was calling the shots in this dubious game of war. And this someone belonged to nobility with access to the castle and to King Pietro, for they knew where the entourages would meet to retrieve Lord Rogers.

Days had passed and though it was incredibly good to learn so many things about this war, you couldn’t shake away the memory of Wanda’s kiss.

Despite your attempts, Wanda never allowed you back into her tent for a private meeting. And after having your request denied twice, you understood the message, she didn’t want to be alone with you. She didn’t want to talk about the kiss nor to relieve it.

You respected her, of course. Even in your head this romance seemed farfetched, and this was saying something when you had your share of complicated relationships before. This wasn’t complicated, this was a girlish dream where one could find their soulmate and live happily ever after.

Real life was not a fairy tale.

As the meetings prolonged, you would always take your time to look at Wanda. To properly look at her. Somedays she’d show up dressed in confidence and others you’d see her puffed eyes or her strained smiles.

But there wasn’t a single day where you didn’t want to reach her and simply hold her body against yours. Touch her silk like skin, feel her warmth, feel her breath, feel her.

Much like a virus, the Maximoff impregnated and flooded your thoughts day and night. Though you had never felt like this before, you knew that your heart was inexorably falling. And there was nothing that you could do about it.

Unfortunately, there were still some mysteries to solve, and the increasing amount of snow was a somber reminder that their leads would run cold if they did not hurry. And that meant that they had to leave the camp and march their respective homes.

Only you couldn’t.

There was no way in hell that you would go back to Triskelion without getting to the bottom of this. The only problem was that the answers were guarded in Wolfgang, Sokovia’s Capital. You couldn’t just ask your unit to go with you, this would attract too much attention. Not to mention the danger and, of course, Wanda would never allow it.

You needed to go on stealthy mode. Luckily, you knew the perfect person for it. You only had to convince your guards to march south without you.

“Not going to happen.” Lady Danvers exclaimed as soon as you shared your plan.

“C’mon, Danvers, don’t start acting all serious and preoccupied now. You’re fan of action just as I am.” You intervened. “I just need you to stall.”

She snorted. “Do you have any idea of what your mother will do to me? Or my wife?” Carol ran a hand through her hair, and this was her tell-tale that she was already worried about the outcomes. She knew you too well, though, you wouldn’t change your mind.

“It won’t be your fault. Barton and I will march right after the Sokovians and everybody else will think I’m resting inside my tent.” You tried, you needed her help, otherwise Maria would think the Sokovians kidnapped you and would wrack havoc until she gets you back.

“Fuck.” Carol spat, then nodded. She hated being your friend. “But this is madness, Princess.”

“What’s the worst thing that can happen to me?” You opened your arms and looked around as to show her the place you were in, for in your head, a bounty was worse than death itself.

A threat like this is like breathing with a heavy rock over your chest. It’s breathing, but like hell uncomfortable. “Valar Morghulis.” You enchanted something that your years wandering in Essos and Westeros had taught you.

“Good luck explaining that to the Queen.” Carol kept her façade, but you knew she’d give in. She always did. No matter how much in trouble she’d get into.

You looked around, you didn’t have much time. The Sokovians would leave soon, and you wanted to go on their wake. Not too close as to not draw attention and not too far as to stay too exposed, alone in the woods that you and Barton knew so little about.

Captain Danvers sighed and cursed herself lowly before asking. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

“Clint used to be a spy and his stealthy skills are undeniable.” You began, the plan had one too many blank spots, and anything could go wrong, but you and Lord Barton knew about the risks. You were both going into this willingly and highly aware of its dangers.

“We’re going as commoners to Wolfgang Village, maybe stay a few days in a brothel as to keep a low profile while we’ll investigate the leads we have so far.” You shared your ideas, it looked simple, and you only hoped it wouldn’t get too complicated.

Carol’s hand pitched the bridge of her nose, as if foreseeing the possible outcomes of this absurd. “And you think they won’t recognize you at all?”

“Natasha Romanoff will help us. She’s aware of our plan.” You confided. It was astounding how easily was for the spy to agree with your plan, but you supposed that after losing her best friend, she’d want revenge and, in her mind, it didn’t matter who would help her get it.

She even tipped you about what gate you should use to access the city, for she knew they used to accept more gold than they should to let people inside the city without many questions.

“Does Princess Wanda know about this madness of yours too?” Carol inquired, voice far from the light tone she’s used to speak with. This is a death wish and she’s digging her own grave by indulging this foolish adventure.

Your eyes flashed with hurt, you didn’t have had alone time with Wanda, no matter how hard your heart craved for it. The kiss was a mistake, and the redhead was too intelligent, naturally she understood this. You, on the other hand, let the emotions get the best of you.

You wanted her still. Despite everything. Because of everything.

“Unknown.” You finally said. “I gotta go.” You muttered, after hearing the shouts of sokovians troops finally moving.

Carol nodded but hugged you before you could leave. “Please, don’t get yourself killed.”

“I won’t.” You smiled lightly at her and rushed through the trees where Clint was waiting for you with the horses and provisions, ready to sink in the craziest adventure ever.

A Lioness would enter the wolf’s den.

Part 8

Taglist: @californianwhiterabbit

#queens of promise #medieval au #princess wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda #angst #enemies to lovers

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magmythedevil · 1 year

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Do you have worries about either Envy or Nuzi being rushed and forced in the end to the audience to please certain fans? Would you be saddened if N and Uzi didn't get together in the end, despite all the development and growth the two have gotten over the season so far, especially with their friendship? I've honestly noticed lately that some Envy fans have said Nuzi is being shoved in our faces, but the same could be said for EP 5 "Envy" when they showed the past versions of N and V, and even EP 2 as well..it seems like kinda hypocritical, to me. Heck someone even went out and made an Nuzi hate account over on Twitter and it's laughable and dumb. But anyways, I wanted to ask are you worried about either ship being rushed and not given the amount of development?? I honestly feel bad that I can't like Envy as other fans do..I honestly DO wanna like it and I do kinda ship it, but I only ship and like their past versions, but it's just hard for me to really like N and V as a couple (especially present) In general when the show hasn't really given it the amount of development it deserves and the show also hasn't given me a reason to really root and make them seem believable, at least to me..maybe I'm missing something, idk. 🤷‍♀️🤔 It's sometimes scary and hard to be a Nuzi fan at times though when Envy fans and especially other fans in this fandom (at least when it comes to Tik Tok and Twitter, and even Reddit and Amino too) keep on calling Nuzi problematic and uncomfortable because of so much misinformation being spread and people thinking it's p*oship, EVEN THOUGH IT'S NOT!! PLEASE STOP SAYING THIS, BTW!

But some fans are theorizing and assuming that maybe Liam is just playing around with the audience and saying that N and V might end up being the endgame couple which I cannot say, none of us knows until Liam confirms and says anything! I honestly do think there needs to be proper closure with N and V no matter if they get together or not, especially with V's treatment of N. I honestly think that V's sacrifice will affect the characters, especially N..since he and V were close and had a bond with one another!

And one more thing I wanna add real quick is this, now I don't know if this is 100% true or not and I'm just going by from what I've heard, but apparently I've heard that during a live event screening that happened back for EP 2 of the show, Liam Vickers was talking and discussing about how much he loved and enjoyed N and Uzi's dynamic (they are also his favorite characters) and he doesn't like one over the other and was also apparently asked on what his favorite ship was which he didn't say and said we'd eventually find out...I wouldn't be surprised if he's referring to both N and Uzi, since not only do they have the most developed and strongest bond and friendship out of any of the other characters, but the show has hinted at them being a item so many times, it seems sooo obvious. (I know this trope is cliche of main characters being a thing and I'm not the biggest fan of this myself at times, but N and Uzi are an exception for me! ^-^) now I MIGHT be wrong and things may change and go differently we'll just have to wait and see afterall, but even if N and Uzi don't get together..I'll still ship them because they just have more chemistry to me. 💛💜✨ But in the end, shipping isn't everything to me and I'm just here for the story, world-building + angst and the characters as well, but I'm curious to see what Liam ends up doing with the relationships and dynamics, especially since with this show..since anything can happen, especially with how crazy and insane it can be, especially with all it's twists and turns, haha!

Yep, nuzi may be semi-canon right now but everything is possible. We cant be sure what will happen to them exactly. But if nuzi really ins't end-game i hope liam gives a satisfied conclusion to them and their relantioship at least, no matter If Its happy, Sad or bitter-sweet.

Now about envy, i agre with you, i cant really ship their present selfs because of their development and their fans (they are so weird about nuzi and uzi herself ughhh) .

And if envy is going to be the end game in the full series Liam has to like- FOCUS a lot on them since they have a some things to pack up before coming back to each other. But, he has to put Uzi a litte aside for that....and i think thats something quite controversial to do since shes such a beloved protagonist and her relantioship with N is extremely special for the show (and fans)

But now that V has got some development and doesn't really hate uzi that much, envy may still have a chance of end-game.

But If they arent going to be end-game, Liam surely will give a nice conclusion for their relantioship, most probally a bitter-sweet one. (I also still have some Hope for vizzy-)

Also V's death is OBVIOUSLY going to be a part of N's breakdown Togheter with Uzi Almost losing her control and having to save the whole universe thing, Thats the entire point. No matter If he has focused on Uzi more, and getting feelings for her. V still was someone special for him (even If she treated him poorly) not even in a romantic way, if a friend of my died i would go crazy too.

And i agree with you with the whole rest 👍 lets see what will happen

#murder drones #ask

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cosmos-coma · 1 year

Text

Blood and Vengeance - Part 6

A/N: Part 6 is here! I hope you like it! I know I was getting chills as I wrote it haha

Pairing: Dettlaff x Reader

Words: 1697

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Voices floated around you unintelligibly, dancing on the edge of your waking mind. Though they were still fuzzy at best you began taking in bits and pieces of what was going on. Regis and Dettlaff’s voices- you now came to realize- were the ones floating around you as they argued in the hallway in hushed but urgent tones.

“... Blood… bandits…”

“... Monsters…tell her…. we are…”

“.. can’t… Not yet…”

The softest groan vibrated from your chest as you tried to open your eyes and all semblance of conversation quickly ceased. Swift, almost silent feet approached you before a heavy weight dipped the bed. Cool and loving fingers caressed your cheek, urging you to wake further from your slumber.

As the light finally eased its assault on your eyes Dettlaff’s worried expression came into view, his face now clear of blood stains and its bat-like features.

Perhaps the fangs and claws were all another delirious dream?

“My moth…” his low voice rumbled with relief as his eyes swept over you in a cursory glance.

“What happened..? Where..?” you asked. Your body was cradled in unusual softness and warmth that your basement dwelling just did not have. You tried to sit up to get a better look, but pain ripped its way through your stomach in a humbling memory of the evening's events. A yell tore away at your throat and your grip on Dettlaff's hand tightened like a living vice.

“Ahhh! FUCK!” you screamed as you laid back, your breath lost from the simple effort and your face contorted with pain.

“Please do be careful or you’ll tear your stitches…” Regis advised from his place in the doorway, right behind a very concerned-looking Amelia.

“How are you doin’, girly…?” Worry painted her face like a picture as her hands wrung together in front of her, “can we get you anything? How about some soup? I have just the soup for you, it’ll heal you right up…!” she nodded as she rushed off toward the kitchen to get you some food-based medicine.

A faint smile played on Regis’s lips as Amelia hurried off in a way that only the redhead could, “And I’ll get you something for the pain…” He said, nodding at Dettlaff before taking his leave to give you two some time alone.

You looked down to examine yourself, lifting the neckline of the clean, loose dress you now wore to see bandages wrapped securely around your midsection. Blood just peeked through the top layer, old, brown, and dry, but nothing fresh so far.

You nodded a bit as you turned to look about the room, noting the familiarity of it.

“I brought you to my room…” Dettlaff admitted in answer to your unspoken question, “I couldn’t stand the thought of you recovering in that ice box of a basement.”

“But… how did you?” You started, but Dettlaff seemed to already know what questions plagued you.

“Regis has a knack for making medicinal items,” he explained, “And we had Amelia change you from your blood-soaked clothes…”

You nodded slowly, taking in all of his answers as your hands idly touched the soft sheets below you. Your lips had just parted to speak when the higher vampire beat you to the punch.

“I thought I’d lost you…” His voice was a somber whisper as a hint of grief laced his words. Though he turned his gaze away from yours, you could see the storm of his irises had slowed their perpetual storm to dark, suffocating clouds.

“I should have been here to protect you,” you could hear the trace of a self-loathing growl building in his voice, “Instead, I was traveling needlessly. I should have heard them coming. I should have-”

“Dettlaff…” your voice was gentle like the nighttime breeze, yet still pulled his spiraling attention to you in an instant. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m still here… and I’m safe now, thanks to you…,” You assured as your fingertips grazed his cheek, nimble fingers tucking away a few spare hairs.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as your touch left a trail of loving warmth across his cheek. His heart slowed its rapid beat as he listened to the breath fill your lungs. The light sigh from your lips tingled his senses as he turned into your palm, his lips tenderly brushing over your skin.

You were still here.

Still with him.

That's what mattered.

“Y/n? Oh-! Sorry to interrupt…” Amelia said bashfully as she entered, but the moment was already broken.

His chest ached as your hand fell away from his face, far too fleeting of a touch to satisfy him and a territorial rumbling threatened to spill from his chest, but he knew better. “You should eat… “ He urged.

You nodded in agreement and strained to sit up, grunting as you gradually pulled yourself upright.

Amelia, always the wonderful friend, stayed by your side the entire time as you ate, entertaining you by regaling the epic tale of her beating the living shit out of that bandit.

You chuckled at her bubbling enthusiasm, holding your stomach as each laugh pulled at your crude stitches. “Ow, oh, ah… too much, you're too much…,” you said through dwindling laughter.

“Well, laughter seems like as good a sign as any…” came Regis’s voice as he stepped in from the hallway with a small container. “Let’s get your bandages changed and then I think we all should get some sleep. It’s been… an incredibly long day.”

----

Darkness surrounded you when you woke, stirring the residual fear from your most recent nightmare. Only the sliver of moonlight coming past the curtains and the cooling embers of the fireplace broke up the monotonous black and gave your mind some relief.

A sigh escaped you as you rolled over slowly into the empty space beside you, the cool sheets chilling your skin uncomfortably.

Something was missing.

The sheets crinkled beneath you as you sat up and looked blindly into the dark room, “Dettlaff? Are you there…?”

Silence.

“I’m here, moth…”, finally came the familiar rumble of his voice from the far corner where he attempted in vain to sleep. Footsteps creaked the floorboards as he came closer until he finally stepped into the sliver of moonlight darting across the floor.

Your breath escaped you as pale light illuminated the graying strands at his temples and highlighted the silver that flecked across his blue irises. His fair skin sang a siren song, beckoning for your touch under the magical light. He seemed somehow both otherworldly and right at home in the light of the night and it made a different kind of chill run through your limbs, one that couldn’t be solved with the warmth of a fire.

“I’m cold…” You explained through a yawn, a testament to your body's exhaustion, “Would you lay with me?”

His body froze for a moment in surprise as your imploring tone rattled a part of him he had long since set aside, but he could never deny you. “... Of course, my dear…”

Your hand reached out as you heard him come closer, your eyes finally seeing him in the dark of the room as he peeled away his heavy outer clothes.

A small flame of desire flickered to life in him as your hand ran down his bare arm, the thrum of his heart at your fingertips as your alluring touch stilled. He propped his back up against the headboard and let his hand find its home in the soft strands of your hair.

But you were still cold.

“Hold me…?”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

Wordlessly, one strong arm wrapped around your waist as the other moved under your legs.

Your nose tucked away into his neck as he lifted you to his side with little effort. Dull pain radiated from your wound, even more so as you were moved, and caused you to let out a shaky breath as you winced.

Your shuddering breath danced like mist over his sensitive neck and made blossoms of fire bloom beneath his skin in its wake. His fingers pressed into your soft flesh as he fought back the inklings of desire, its flame now licking at what would surely be pure gasoline.

Surprisingly strong arms held you safe and secure against his chest as your legs draped over his lap. You looked up into those silvery-blue eyes as you settled into his warmth, their storms dancing just inches away from your own. Your gaze flowed along the fine lines and features of his face; the tiny imperfections that gave him character, the painted beauty marks that freckled his skin, all the way down to the gentle slope of his lips.

“Dett…” you whispered, afraid to shatter the moment in the already quiet night. Your fingers answered the relentless siren call of his skin, your fingerpads smoothing over his jaw as your thumb traced the curve of his bottom lip.

An intoxicating buzz ran like static across his lips, and he could feel that swelling flame inside his chest finally catch the gas-soaked wick alight.

“May I…” You started, your thoughts struggling to stay coherent as his warm breath puffed against your skin, “may I kiss you…?” Your lips parted of their own volition, your head tilting to the side in an open invitation.

“Please…” his words came out as a desperate plea. He watched your eyes flutter closed as he leaned in slowly, still trying to stave the growing fire in his chest from the fuel you so readily supplied.

He leaned in, the heat of your breath gracing his face as your lips came excruciatingly close…

Before you’re head lolled away from him, and your divine touch fell away from his face.

“Moth…?”

Your sleeping form let out even breaths through your still-parted lips, waiting for their promised kiss. Your entire being radiated pure peace for the first time since you had been so grievously injured, and Dettlaff would not be the one to wake you from it.

A shallow sigh filled the air between you but didn’t diminish the lingering smile on the vampire’s lips.

“I love you too, my dear….”

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Taglist: @writingmysanity, @open--till--midnight @unstable-kiwi @madamemelancholysstuff @tigerlyla-of-metinna @bluppulb @shit-i-say-shit-i-think

Wanna be added to a Taglist? DM me to let me know!

#Blood and Vengeance #Dettlaff #dettlaff x reader #dettlaff x you #dettlaff x y/n #dettlaff imagine #dettlaff van der eretein #dettlaff van der eretein x reader #dettlaff van der eretein x You #dettlaff van der eretein x Y/n #The witcher blood and wine #TW3 dettlaff #dettlaff fic #higher vampire

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