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tacitoru · 2 months

Text

pleaser - gojo satoru ; geto suguru

pairing: gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

summary: A wedding for an old friend reunites you with a figure from your past. Except now he's famous, successful, and rich - richer, at least. You're not having any of it, but Gojo is determined to show you how much he's grown since you've last seen him.

rating: explicit

tw: basketball!au, enemies to lovers, slight non-con

wc: 5.1k

ch: 1/5

read on ao3

At long last, my attempt at unhinged Satoru and the basketball au that's been rotting in my brain since that damn twitter post. Enjoy!

Now

The wedding is a quiet, modest affair, but that doesn’t stop the paparazzi from finding you.

Or not you, but rather the several high-profile guests rumored to be attending your friend’s big day. You peak out at the gaggle of people and cameras gathered at the front of the venue from the makeshift bride’s dressing room. Anxiety blossoms in your chest. If this is the turnout for just the rehearsal dinner, you can only imagine what chaos will ensue for the main event. Any other day, you might have been among them - standing among a crowd of sweaty, haranguing men, juggling a Canon with a lens the length of your forearm in the hope that the next picture you snap lands you your next paycheck. Your next meal.

“Don’t worry,” Utahime sidles up behind you just as your stomach growls. She places a gentle hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile, guiding your attention away from the window. “Our vows are short. Dinner is right around the corner.”

Having made the mistake of arriving at the rehearsal dinner on an empty stomach, you’ve kept your hands and stomach occupied with the free-flowing wine and sake offered by the venue up to this point. Placing your glass on the windowsill you pat your stomach with one hand and take her manicured hand in the other, shooting her a grin and shifting the unease from your expression with practiced grace. “As long as you still promise I can take home leftovers.”

You take a step back to take in your former colleague, adorned in a beautiful pink kimono. Even in the fading afternoon light, Utahime is radiant, practically glowing from the inside out at the prospect of marrying her best friend. You give her hand a gentle squeeze and tell her as much.

The clamor outside the venue gets a little louder. The crowd grows restless. Glancing out the window again, you slip out of your friend’s grasp to pocket your hands and ball them into fists in the fabric. You think you spot a few white basketball jerseys among the crowd. “Well, that’s just fucking rude.”

“No, no. Don’t look over there, look at me.” Utahime admonishes, pinching your chin between two fingers to twist your head back in her direction with a grave expression, redirecting you once again with a little less gentleness.

“But that’s bad luck, don’t they know - the fucking audacity -,”

The bride-to-be shakes your head with her grasp on your chin before releasing you with a scowl.

“Sports fans will be sports fans. Plus, they’re technically not even attending the wedding, so it doesn’t even count, right?”

Maybe it’s the wine getting to you, but the fact that one person can cause such a hassle before they’ve even arrived grates on your nerves more easily than usual. You make a rebuttal but it dies on your lips at the sight of Utahime’s pleading expression. It’s the night before her wedding day - you should be doing everything in your power not to transfer the bubbling pit of unease manifesting in your chest in light of what awaits you beyond the dressing room doors.

“I know it’ll be difficult having him here, but he’s important to Shoko, so he’s important to me,” she tells you not unkindly, and not for the first time.

“I’ll be civil.” You promise and mean it. You had practiced your carefully crafted looks of disinterest in the mirror in the nights leading up to tonight. Any word spoken in his direction over the course of this weekend would be laden with well-rehearsed apathy.

Utahime sighs, adjusting the neckline of your dress before moving to return to where the gaggle of her aunts and cousins sit and gossip among themselves. Waiting for the rehearsal to start. “I’m less worried about what you’ll do when you see him, than what Gojo will do when he sees you.”

This day isn’t yours, but the days building up to it have been an excruciating crawl. The full picture hadn’t yet registered with you when you first received the wedding invitation. Initially, you had been overjoyed and honored to see the epic conclusion of what had been a long time coming - the marriage of Ms. Shoko Ieiri and Utahime Iori.

You remember scrambling for your phone and screaming, crying. Blubbering your well wishes to an exasperated Utahime and sleep-disheveled Shoko over a video call. The ceremony would take place in less than six months and there was so much to do. What dress would you wear? How would you afford to book a flight to Kyoto so soon? How much tourism could you squeeze in between your arrival and the ceremony?

The guest list hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind.

Utahime and Shoko had proven themselves to be far from the flashy wedding type. The venue of choice was a tiny art gallery in Kyoto, with just enough space for a selective audience to be present to witness the nuptials. You had anticipated meeting your former colleague’s childhood friends and relatives. You had assumed that, aside from Utahime’s family in the States and an old classmate or two from college, you would be the furthest traveling guests. Reuniting with your ex-college situationship is the last thing you would have expected given your circumstances and his.

And yet when the bride-to-be texts you a photo of Shoko and the man in question looking buddy-buddy at a dive bar captioned with a simple heads up a week before your departure, it’s already too late to refund your flight. Of course, world-famous top-ranking NBA player Satoru Gojo would be best friends - childhood pals, even - with renowned sports medicine physician Shoko Ireri.

Of course.

“So is he, like, a bum in real life or something?” A family friend of Utahime’s whispers to you from where you’re seated at the back of the ceremony space, watching as the wedding coordinator flits about the venue, rearranging furniture and decorations about the altar. She seems young - also a foreigner, maybe early twenties, and looks about as out of place as you feel. You distantly wonder which relative she knows.

“Hm?”

“You know…”

“Who?”

“That basketball player. You’re that journalist, right? I like your dress.”

You furl your lips and do your best to not appear peeved. So much for being a fly on the wall. It appears that feigning ignorance won’t get you out of this one, but you should have known better - this is Japan’s all-star athlete she’s talking about, after all.

“Thanks. Yeah, yup. That’s me.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole?”

“What-, no. No, that’s not what I said.” You blunder for the right words, torn between overexplaining yourself and telling her to get the fuck away from you. Taking a sip from your new glass, you glance around the rim and look for one of the brides or a signal that the rehearsal is starting to save you to no avail. At this point, even after all of these years, you’re not used to the questions. The speculations. The envious glances and disdainful side-eyes that follow. “He’s fine, great,” you offer her instead with a noncommittal shrug. “I wouldn’t really know.”

The guest looks surprised to hear this, but then you think back to how she referred to you as that journalist , and figure she assumes that’s still your field of work. Or that maybe you’re still in touch. It’s not a completely unfair assumption - Gojo was the much-needed catalyst to your career. Or at least, writing about him was. Whether he was just as charitable towards you in other, more illicit ways was always up for debate in the fan circles online whenever your article was brought into question.

Silence falls between you both as you watch the wedding coordinator struggle to carry two chairs across the room by herself. Neither of you stands to offer help. The guest doesn’t let the pause in conversation last for very long. You can practically hear the words buzzing behind her lips before she can even say them. Or maybe your ears are just ringing. “I read your article, I think.”

“Mm. Yeah?”

“Sure. It’s a shame, what happened to those two boys.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And they were so young too.”

“Yes, we all were.”

Your response comes off a little sharper than you intend it to be. The woman jolts a little in her seat, as though it’s just occurred to her that you had to have been a witness to the falling out she’s referring to for you to have published the detailed account that you did. To write the piece that cemented the legacy of your careers together forever, or at least until the athlete’s inevitable downfall. The invisible string that tied you to Gojo Satoru no matter how far you ran or how often you tried to cut it.

The ringing in your ears gets a little bit louder. Your lips bruise under the pressure of your teeth before you take another sip.

Despite it being five years after its publishing, there is no escape from the meteoric impact of your last submission to your alma mater's student newspaper and the events that transpired before it made print. Even if you could somehow stop the memories from resurfacing, the public will do its due diligence to remember for you. To remind you wholeheartedly. Sometimes you wished back then you had learned a lot sooner to say no to some tasks when offered. But back then you had been so eager to please.

The guest clears her throat and shifts in her seat, effectively chastened. You wonder what the chances are that Shoko is hiding a pack of smokes somewhere in her dressing room, and if anyone would notice if you snuck off for a moment. The wine is slowly creeping up on you like a warm cloak. A drunk cigarette to take the edge off is beginning to sound nice.

“Have you seen him play since he joined the league?” The woman asks in a poor attempt to change the subject. You eye her wearily, facing her directly this time to discern if she’s a fan. She prattles on without waiting for you to answer, nervous in the face of your sudden full attention. “He’s a freak of nature, I swear, and that smile when he-,”

“No, m’fraid not.” You cut her off, finally making to stand. The idea of seeking out Shoko’s cigarettes before the rehearsal starts becomes more and more appealing the longer you sit here. Something in the way the woman scrunches her face at your dismissal tells you you’ll be hearing about this interaction from Utahime later.

“Really? He’s literally everywhere these days.” She remarks, but you hear the underlying snark loud and clear: I find that hard to believe.

The double doors to the ceremony space are flung open behind the harried wedding coordinator as she suddenly rushes from the room, whispering fervently into the phone pressed to her cheek. Beyond them, the cacophony of paparazzi and fast clicks of camera shutters spill into the space. That’s my cue to leave.

You offer the family friend one last tight-lipped smile before turning to escape in the direction opposite of all the noise.

“Honestly, I’m just not a big sports fan.”

–

You’re purposefully sitting on opposite sides of the room, but that doesn’t stop Gojo Satoru from sweeping the place head to toe in the middle of the rehearsal.

You try to maintain your tipsy focus on literally anything else. The ceremony altar, the guest next to you breathing a little too hard, the price tag of the dress digging into your back that you’re determined to keep on until you can return it next week. Anything other than the flagrant way the grown man in a designer button-up and shades twists and turns in his seat to scan the room.

The pseudo-ceremony plays out before you, as you watch from the Iori family’s side of the room as ceremony officials walk the soon-to-be newlyweds through the process. The couple surprised you with their decision to go the more traditional route, but as you watch the rehearsal, you can appreciate how much more intimate this is compared to the alternative. The lack of a bridal party or audience participation is also a plus.

Wondering how much more different this affair would have been if your former colleague had needed a bridal party and you had been a bridesmaid, you allow your mind to wander. Would Gojo have been a groomsman? Or would he also be considered… a bridesmaid…?

Your wine-addled mind conjures up the image of Gojo and his Herculean figure squeezed into a modest gown, and you can’t help but huff through your nose. Somehow, regrettably, you know he would manage to pull it off. Curiosity getting the better of you, you finally manage to glance in his direction, hoping his attention has returned to your mutual friends as they nervously fumble through the ceremony steps.

Immediately, your eyes lock and you whip around to face forward again, incensed. With little care for discretion or the several other scrutinous pairs of eyes that follow his every move, Gojo’s head had been fully turned in your direction. Even the dark tint of his Ray-Bans - indoors, of course - couldn’t hide the full weight of his gaze. His megawatt smile turned up to its full effect once he’s got your attention. The athlete wiggles his fingers in a girlish wave.

You fume in your seat for a minute. So much for appearing uncaring. Whatever, you think, it’s not like you wouldn’t have had to face him eventually. In a setting this intimate, it was inevitable that you would run into him at some point. You will just have to do your due diligence and keep your distance.

Despite this, you still manage to cast one final look his way, having mustered up enough confidence to pull together a sneer. If you can’t give off an air of disinterest, then your next best play is disdain. The contempt is not hard to reach for, but your concern grows for the other guests playing audience to two performances, unwillingly. You wonder if that family friend of the Irori’s from earlier, seated a few rows behind you, has her phone out.

Gojo, whose unwavering stare in your direction at this point could be classified as downright rude for the setting, appears unbothered. More likely amused. His smile is unshakeable. Before you can redirect your attention, he mouths three words that make you go rigid in your seat.

There you are.

The ringing in your ears grows a little louder.

–

When you finally do find a moment of reprieve to make use of the cigarettes you “borrowed” from Shoko, the damage is already done.

As you pace around the enclosed garden beside the art gallery, away from the warmth of the festivities, panic begins to set in. The cool spring night air is sobering and nips at your cheeks.

All it took was one look to rattle the carefully conducted wall around your emotions and suddenly you’re second-guessing your ability to do this. Your strength to be here.

It feels like you have spent so much of the past few years of your life fighting for your independence from Satoru Gojo. There was a time, even before the article was published when the man had had a hand in every aspect of your life. And you had welcomed it. Directionless, spineless, and eager to make something of yourself. You had become a wayward sailor in the sea of post-graduate opportunities and Satoru Gojo had positioned himself as your North star.

And there was no doubt about the way your life had flourished when you let him. Not just the parties and the lavish gifts and the recognition.

The power that came with being associated with Satoru Gojo, even as a young college student and recent graduate, was unimaginable. But what you had been hooked on the most was his recognition, his steadfast attention to you, once earned. His belief in your craft. That kind of rare affection, the feeling of being seen - of belonging - had been his greatest gift to you. And that affection had buried itself so deep into your heart that once it had blossomed, it was nearly impossible to manage, and even more difficult to weed out.

You think of dark hair and amber eyes, and the warning that was afforded to you too little too late.

The cigarette, slightly bent from your pocket, trembles in your fingers while you dig through the other pocket for a lighter. Silently thanking whoever it was that made the rare decision to stitch pockets onto a dress.

You seclude yourself to a bench furthest from the garden entrance, take a deep, shaky breath, and flick the lighter to life. More than five years later, he can still get a rise out of you and it hurts .

“You know you can’t return the dress if it smells like smoke.”

Speak of the devil. Gojo's voice, dripping with amusement as he approaches, cuts through the relative peace. He startles you, the unlit cigarette fumbling to the ground from your feeble hold. You don't turn around, the anger simmering in your belly threatening to boil over.

"Still haven't learned to handle your nerves, I see."

"This isn't about nerves," you finally manage, voice tight.

"Oh, come now," he chuckles, leaning against the railing a few feet away. "Don't tell me seeing me doesn't stir a pot or two."

You clench your fists, the cigarette forgotten between them. "It shouldn't."

"No?" He steps closer, resting a hand on the furthest corner of the bench, yet very nearly leaning over you. Stopping a safe enough distance away, but still close enough to impose himself upon you. You don’t have to look to know that he sports that same teasing, knowing smile you’ve seen plastered on magazines and across news headlines for years. Your inability to see his eyes always makes it appear more menacing than not.

"I’m glad it’s not a problem then. I wouldn’t want things to become awkward between us.”

Clearing your throat and pocketing the lighter, you fight the urge to kick your aggravator in the shins. Utahime’s words come back to you. I’m less worried about what you’ll do when you see him, than what Gojo will do when he sees you. She should be more worried about me, you think as you finally turn to face him, wearily sizing him up from your seated position. It’s unfair that he’s still gorgeous after all this time. Rumors of enhancement drugs and body modifications chase him constantly, but you know better. Muscles built from years of hard work and relentless discipline flex and strain under the fabric of his dress shirt, smooth skin peeking from the collar of the top two buttons undone. You avert your eyes.

“You clearly still are unable to recognize when somebody wants to be alone,” you chide. “But other than that, no hard feelings, Gojo-san.”

“Gojo- san ?” The young man gasps dramatically, clutching his chest above his heart as though he’s been shot. “Such formalities! I thought we were friends.”

He says your name and it takes everything in you not to shoot off of the bench and break for the door. Torn between your fight or flight instincts as he makes himself comfortable on the bench beside you, folding one long leg over the other.

“Must’ve been excited to see me again, since you’re learning the language ‘n all. Who’s your teacher?”

You scoff. “Duolingo.”

“Ah. The wretched bird app. The final boss.”

“Need a tutor?” He tests his limits, broad enough to lean over and bump your shoulder with his own without moving too much when you don’t dignify him with a response. You don’t budge either, careful to keep your expression blank, your posture ramrod straight.

You can do this. You can be civil.

“Keeping me at arm’s length I see.”

You wonder how difficult it would be to knock him out and hide him somewhere in the garden underbrush, this man twice your size in stature, if only to gain some semblance of peace for the rest of the dinner. Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. You still haven’t eaten.

Taking that as your cue to stand, you brush your clammy palms across the front of your dress and fix Gojo with a steely look. “I would appreciate it if you could keep things professional between us tonight. And tomorrow. As colleagues.”

“Colleagues?” He can hardly hide the laughter in his voice. The condescension in his tone is clear nonetheless. “Sure, sweetie. Is that what you told them?”

Them as in your mutual friends. As the one who greenlit the finished copy of your infamous undergraduate article, Utahime knows only slightly more than the average weekly paper reader about the months that led up to its printing. Caught glimpses of how your closing chapter in college shaped and broke you, then launched your career into an unimaginable trajectory all within the short period of a spring semester. You had only been able to come partially clean about the nature of your relationship with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto in the years that followed, long after you had cut ties with the industry.

The tabloid media and its avid followers had enough to say about you. You didn’t need to hear it from your actual colleagues either.

“I’ve told them enough,” you bristle, spotting your discarded cigarette in your periphery and getting agitated all over again. “And you will tell them nothing-,”

“Relax, relax.” He cajoles. Gojo's laughter hangs heavy in the air, stinging like a mosquito bite. You hold his gaze steady, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

"Fine," he finally says, a playful glint still lingering in his amber eyes. "Truce it is. For now."

Gojo studies you for a moment, raking you in from head to toe as though trying to commit you to memory. You, arms crossed, hip cocked to one side, avoiding his gaze and flushed with irritation as you try to make a quick and dry escape. He wishes he could somehow reach inside your chest and pull on the loose thread he knows will unravel you.

Instead, he rises with a flourish, the movement sending a tremor through the ground beneath your bench. Having stolen your intention to leave first for the sake of having the last word, you watch him saunter back towards the building, as quietly as he came for someone so lanky, hands shoved casually into his pockets. Before he crosses the threshold, he says your name again, and you hate the way it still sounds perfect coming from his lips.

“It’s good to see you again.”

As he disappears through the doorway, a sliver of relief washes over you, leaving a cold dread in its wake. You make sure he’s gone for good before you pick up the cigarette again and snatch the price tag off of your dress.

The name cards look back mockingly at you from the dining table, your name typed in a dainty serif script and printed on cardstock too expensive to burst into flames from your glare alone. On the table is a matching one, delicately placed across from the one person you’ve tried your best to avoid all night. Seated at the head of the table with the love of her life, Utahime pointedly avoids your pleading looks, while you do the same to the giant man squeezed between two of Shoko’s aunts in front of you, pouting just as poorly.

The guests who aren’t a part of his usual entourage (his assistant and PR manager stand stiffly off to the side of the room, as though trying to blend into the wallpaper) are torn between overtly fawning over the new couple and not-so-covertly fawning over the basketball player. Gojo appears all too comfortable appeasing Utahime’s young cousins between heartfelt toasts given by closer friends and family. They gush at the slightest flex of this man’s biceps and find a little too much amusement in his jokes, much to the bride’s chagrin. You resist the urge to gag while you eat.

Yet as he works the crowd with his little sideshow, he still finds ways to coax your attention back to him whenever it wanders off too long for his liking. Laughing a little too loud. Accidentally kicking your shin under the table. Accidentally scooting forward too abruptly, shoving the surface so that it presses into your ribs, causing you to sputter into your drink. All done with that teasing, unapologetic smile playing on his lips.

Drinking on an empty stomach hasn’t served you well tonight, yet under the weight of Gojo’s constant attention, you grasp your fork in one hand and another wine glass in the other like a lifeline.

Dinner goes by smoothly, for the most part.

You down the rest of your wine with a grimace, the sweetness doing little to quell the rising tide of nausea threatening to erupt. The world feels pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, but the sharp awareness of Gojo's presence across the table cuts through the haze like a spotlight.

His amusement has morphed into something closer to concern, a flicker in his cerulean eyes that you can't quite decipher from behind the dimness of his shades. You clench the wine glass a little tighter, the condensation slick against your palm.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washes over you, accompanied by a horrifying pressure in your bladder. The three glasses of wine you've downed on an empty stomach are starting to make their unwelcome presence known.

Panic claws at your throat. There's no way you can make it through the endless stream of toasts and speeches with this bladder situation. You shoot a desperate glance around the table, hoping for a discreet escape route.

Utahime, bless her oblivious soul, is busy clinking champagne flutes with the Shoko’s parents. Shoko, on the other hand, seems to have noticed your distress. She raises an eyebrow in your direction, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. You mouth a silent plea for help, hoping it doesn't translate to "hold my hair" territory.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, simply nods and subtly gestures towards the back of the room. Relief floods your system, momentarily pushing the pressure in your bladder to the background. You manage a weak smile of thanks in Shoko's direction before excusing yourself from the table.

"Just need some fresh air," you mumble to Gojo, his presence looming large across the expanse of the table. He raises an eyebrow but thankfully doesn't press the issue. An uncle swoops in before he can address you, eager to grill him on the plays made in his most recent game, on the odds of his team winning the next.

Clutching your stomach, you weave through the maze of tables, the polite murmurs of the guests a distant hum in your ears. The borrowed dress whispers its disapproval with every movement you make. You finally reach the back of the room, a secluded hallway leading to what you hope are the restrooms.

As you stumble towards your salvation, the world tilts precariously on its axis. You grab onto the nearest wall for support, willing the dizziness to subside.

Suddenly, a strong hand shoots out and steadies your arm. You look up to find Gojo standing there. Worry looks foreign etched onto his usually carefree face.

"Are you alright?" His voice is surprisingly gentle, devoid of its usual teasing lilt.

You open your mouth to retort, but all that comes out is a weak groan. The pressure is unbearable now, threatening to become a full-blown disaster.

"Bathroom?" Gojo asks, already guiding you down the hallway with surprising ease.

You nod mutely, following him with the grace of a newborn giraffe.

"Second door on the left," he mutters, his voice a low murmur close to your ear. He pushes open the door and ushers you inside before you can even react.

You stumble into the cool, brightly lit restroom, practically falling onto the nearest stall. But when you turn to close and lock the door, Gojo’s hand is already there, stopping you mid-way.

“Gojo-san,” you startle as he pushes his way into the cramped stall. You back away in a clumsy attempt to make room for yourself, only to nearly fall into the toilet basin when the back of your knees hit the lid. “Gojo, wait -,”

"You know," he says, amusement creeping back into his tone, as he looms over you. You hear rather than see the lock click in place behind him. "There were simpler ways to get me alone."

At this point, your legs are squeezed together with little hope of alleviating the rising pressure in your lower stomach. You want to strangle him. But given your current state, a withering glare is the best you can muster.

"Get out," you croak, collapsing onto the closed toilet seat. He tuts like a disappointed parent as you groan and fend off his growing proximity with weak swats of your arms.

He chuckles softly. "Take your time. We can wait here when you come out."

"We?" you echo, surprised. Mortified. The ringing in your ears returns, in full force.

"Yeah," comes his breezy reply. "Remember, professional colleagues and all that? Besides, wouldn't want you to collapse on your way back to the table, now would we?"

“Gojo-,”

He sucks his teeth. “C’mon, babe, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You saying I lost pissing privileges?”

“Gojo, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” a slick look of satisfaction crosses his face when he notices you finally drop the formal title, one more barrier of familiarity extinguished. “Now piss.”

All at once, the frustration and anxiety that had been brewing all night wells up inside you at the height of your duress. You launch at him with what little movement you can afford, but Gojo is faster. He’s quick to pin you against the stall, one arm braced across your shoulders, the other splayed against your lower abdomen. Threatening to press right on the growing balloon of pressure that is your bladder. You immediately wrench back in fear. From his vantage point, Gojo admires the way the wine flush that once populated your cheeks now spreads down past your neckline.

“Do I have your attention now?”

next>>

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #geto suguru x reader #jjk angst #basketball!au #pleaser #geto x reader #gojo x reader #stsg x reader #gojo satoru x you

147 notes · View notes

gothgleek · 2 months

Text

Adrian Chase Nsfw Alphabet

TW: mentions of canon torture (nothing explicit or of a sexual nature though), blood, and knife play.

Disclaimer: I do not own Peacemaker or DC Comics or the images used in any form.

Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♂️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This boy is touch starved so no matter how long the two of you were going at it, Adrian will wrap around you like an octopus and kiss your neck.

Unfortunately, Adrian is also cringe. He will give you a high five and thank you for letting him ‘smash that ass!’ Every. Single. Time.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Adrian spent a lot of time crafting his body into the killing machine that it is so he loves his entire body (except his missing toes) but his most favorite would probably be his ass. He likes the way you react when you see it. But before you, it was his abs.

His favorite part of you is your ass as well. He’s an ass man.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes cumming on your ass but if you beg him enough he’ll cum inside you too. If you wear glasses, he likes covering it with cum as well.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes eating ass (but that’s hardly a secret).

He also fantasizes about fucking you while he’s on patrol but that’s unfortunately illegal so he only enjoys it in theory rather than practice. (Unfortunately, he takes vigilantism very seriously.)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not a ton of experience. Honestly, he’s only had threesomes with Chris and whoever is into Chris. He tends to be ignored but he was happy to watch. “Less chances of getting my mask removed!” It takes him a minute to realize you only want him and a little longer how to have sex with only one other person.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything involving picking you up. He likes to show off how strong he is for you. He gives you a whole goofy smile and everything. Alternatively, any position where he can grab, smack, or watch his cock go in and out of your ass.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Pre- relationship, he was adamant that the mask stays ON during sex. Post relationship he was serious about learning how to please you. Other than that, the two of you are bound to burst into giggles at least twice while fucking.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is waxed because his suit is best without hair getting caught. But if you preferred he grew it out for a vacation away from vigilantism, his public hair is a dirty blonde and his chest hair is a light brown.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is hardly a natural romantic and the advice he gets from Chris has… mixed results to say the least. His attempts at romance are cheap and cheesy at the least (flower petals in the shape of a heart, a box of dollar store chocolate, some leftover pie from the diner, etc.) But he does make you feel looked at and cared for during sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t really get horny, maybe a few times a month, since he is pretty busy. Of course, upon meeting you he is willing to

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s into roleplay, especially the kinds where he can rescue you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s pretty vanilla in this aspect as he likes to fuck inside his place. But he does enjoy picking you up and taking you from room to room.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He likes making you laugh at his dirty jokes and pickup lines. He always likes you covered in lingerie and blood and hopes to see you in both one day. Outside of you, if he kills someone in a really cool way, he will run home and start eating you out without even taking his uniform off.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

The funniest answer is that I think that Adrian has all the federal and state laws memorized so he will not do anything illegal- even the ridiculously outdated laws. Like, if you happen to be in one of the states that forbids extramarital sex like Utah or Idaho, he will not have sex with you until you cross that border.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a giver 1000% but he also enjoys getting a blowjob while you have someone else (aka Chris) or a toy in your ass and watching you give someone/a toy a blowjob while he fucks you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s used to doing it hard and fast but he does dedicate a lot of time to foreplay.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies with the two of you were born out of necessity since you’re traveling together. Even when you settle down for long periods of time, he will have a quickie in the motel room if you ask. But in those moments, he would prefer to take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think he would be into knife play and maybe wax play but that’s as far as he will go. Someone brought up the idea of using a cattle prod and he was curious but right now he associates extreme bdsm with losing his toes and nothing is as much of a boner killer as that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

By virtue of his threesome exclusive past, he is used to going multiple rounds. His recovery period depends on how much exercise he’s gotten that day but he will use toys or something to keep you ready for him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He appreciates toys and will use them on his partner. He’s especially found of DP-ing you with a teal dildo you bought together. Sometimes, if he’s feel cruel, he’ll tie you up and leave a vibrator on your clit.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s a pretty impatient guy who values the power of a quickie but he knows sometimes teasing is better than the actual sex.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not loud but he is super chatty and will talk you through it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He would like to have sex with you on a boat with flames on it while dolphins swim around you two. Ideally, you would also be a mermaid in this scenario.

He also had Chris make him a sex playlist… depending on your taste in music, it’s very cute or incredibly cringey.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Solid muscle with a v line and no body hair and an ass like a baseball player. He likes to say he’s as smooth as a dolphin.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty low. You usually are the one to initiate things. Non-sexually though, he is pretty clingy and wants to be with you all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep pretty quickly, he likes to keep his days and nights busy after all!

#adrian chase #adrian chase imagine #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x you #vigilante x you #adrian chase x y/n #peacemaker #vigilante fanfiction #Adrian Chase fanfiction #Adrian Chase fanfic #my writing #mine

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xoxochb · 10 days

Note

Hey!! Can I request one with Jason and fem!reader maybe she had a bad day and went to see Jason and he comforts her and it's all cute please

— hoax

warnings: hurt/comfort + tons and tons of tooth rotting fluff!! pairing: jason grace x fem! reader a/n: this is for everyone who had a shitty day today like me

It started when you woke up late and missed breakfast and lunch. you had to scavenge for leftovers in the kitchen, even going as far as to asking the satyrs if they had stolen anything (they hadn’t— which was infuriating because usually they would have). you didn’t eat either meals today. then next at arts and crafts you hurt your finger with a hole puncher and had the be brought to the infirmary where you received stitches over your injury. then you couldn’t find your favorite strawberry chapstick and in a fit of ‘I’m not using cherry!’ you decided to leave your lips chapped (unfortunately you started peeling away at the dead skin until it started bleeding— you took your second visit to the infirmary after this)

then you found out that you had spilled paint all over your shirt and with your laundry not yet done all you had was an old shirt with a cringe saying written on the front of it. stupid luck, tyche would be hearing many complaints during your offerings at dinner (that is— if you even got to eat dinner!). the next thing that sent you into a frenzy was your siblings. noisy and constantly fighting. you thought it would be okay to read in your cabin for a while but the noise in there compared to outside was ten times worse. then you ran into a tree, how you even managed this was a mystery

now with your hair disheveled, a silly shirt with an inappropriate term splayed on the front, two injuries, and hot tears streaming uncontrollably down your face you knock on the door belonging to cabin one. although you were always welcomed in your boyfriend’s cabin the thought of walking in unannounced worried you. stupid anxiety, you should add that to your list of awful things that happened today. after five seconds you hear shuffling and the door opens in front of you. the sight of your blond boyfriend has you crumbling into his arms with a sob. jason is quick to return your embrace, one hand resting on your back while the other rests on your head, keeping your head against his chest

“come here, angel. come sit”

jason closes the door behind you and leads you to his bed, where you sit and curl yourself into him swiftly. he runs his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner— indeed soothing you

“do you want to talk about it?”

you sigh before saying, “just a bad day”

he frowns and places his lips to the top of your head. “poor girl. let it out, I’m here”

you indeed do. the held in emotions from the previous experiences from the terrible day you had pool out, soaking into jason’s shirt. when your tears slowed down a bit you begin to ramble about your day and the unruly events

“I woke up late and missed breakfast and lunch. then I cut my finger open with a hole puncher” you lift your pointer finger up to show jason, who kisses it gently. “and I lost my chapstick then I dropped paint all over my shirt so I had to change into this!” you grab at the fabric of your shirt and pull it up for him to see— displayed on it says, ‘reading is sexy’ “which apparently isn’t camp appropriate according to chiron. dionysus was fine with it though but again he’s fine with anything. then I was trying to read and my siblings kept fighting so I went out to the woods to read but I walked into a tree and then I just came here”

“you could’ve come over earlier y’know?”

“you were busy today. you told me yesterday”

“and you don’t think I would’ve dropped everything for you?”

you hide your head in his neck to hide the rising blood rushing to your cheeks. “can I sleep here tonight?”

“of course. we gotta get you something to eat though”

“after. I wanna stay here for a bit”

you lift your head up from jason’s neck, he takes this to his advantage and kisses your very chapped lips

“whatever you want”

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #pjo hoo toa #jason grace imagines #jason grace #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader

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toomanythoughts2 · 21 days

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Murderface reads to me as someone who would have a battle jacket.

Like, his vest he wears everywhere, even as a kid, gives me battle jacket vibes. But because he had like no money growing up, the only patches he could get were from shitty bands that he didn't really like for either really cheap or by stealing them. He also can't sew, so he would either beg his grandma to do it or use safety pins. But it was a hot mess with patches, buttons, and layered fabric. Just all over the place.

But once he got into Dethklok, something he had to do was get rid of the patches/buttons/fabric because it was advertising other bands, and they couldn't do that. It's the one time he actually listened to Charles and Nathan about something pertaining to the band. So for years, he went without adoring anything on his jacket, but he still collected patches/buttons/fabric from concerts they did go to. Especially once he was able to actually go see bands he loved and got their merch, he was all over their merch table.

He would dream of how to configure the best-looking battle jacket in the world. But he still wasn't allowed to wear one because it's advertising. So, years go by, and Murderface's dream of creating the best battle jacket fades away. Until Toki picks it back up. Toki had always wanted one of his own, but his inexperience and fear of being made fun of stops him. But he collects all kinds of things that he loves and will even collect patches for Murderface. Toki knows they can't have battle jackets, so he makes them in secret. They're crudly made, but they have a lot of soul put into them.

Somehow, Murderface finds Toki making one. And Toki is afraid that Murderface is gonna make fun of him or that he's gonna get in trouble with the band, but he does neither. Murderface tells him that it's looks off balanced and to switch the patches around to make it flow more coherently. And that's when Toki realizes that he could use Murderface. They have a talk, and Toki hears all of Murderface’s love for his jackets and how his dream is to make the best one. So Toki suggests that he make them anyway, and that Toki will help him. Charles and Nathan just said you couldn't wear them, not not make them.

So Murderface starts constructing battle jacket after battle jacket with Toki, using all of his collected pieces. Toki sees this as an arts and crafts club and loves spending time with Murderface making jackets. Murderface helps construct the pieces together while Toki sews or pins the pieces. Toki even learns how to put in metal studs or spikes.

The band realizes that they've been spending a lot of time together and find out that they've been making jackets together. Soon enough, it's a group activity. Pickles brings out some of his old battle jackets of when he was younger. Skwisgaar shows the band pictures of different variations of his early jackets that were destroyed sometime in his childhood. Nathan brings in his own collection of patches/buttons/fabrics to make his own. Nathan has choice paralysis though so the band has to help him map out the jacket. It's the most coherent the band has been in a long time, working on making their own jackets. Charles is shocked the next time he sees them when he realizes that he got through an actual productive meeting.

Bonus: The band makes Charles a battle jacket out of the leftover scraps and patches and buttons to show their appreciation for his hard work. Charles accepts it then shows the band his own jacket he made decades ago from his closet.

#metalocalypse #toki wartooth #william murderface #they care about each other #LET THEM BOND #OVER THE LOVE OF THE MUSIC #skwisgaar skwigelf #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #charles offdensen

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miokki · 6 months

Text

# RIBBONS OF AFFECTION

✰ synopsis: xiao’s small act of showing affection and a larger encounter.

✰ paring: xiao x gn!reincarnated!reader

✰ warnings: crying ig and past lives

✰ notes: tbh i no idea what this fic is about. it was supposed to be about ribbons but it turned into reincarnation??

XIAO is rather shy by nature—blood quickly rushes to his ears whenever he gets flustered, even by the most simple gestures. this time is no exception, as xiao is picking out flowers for you. the feeling of the flower store has always had this moist atmosphere, yet it feels best during the morning; right when the last of the dews drip off the leaf.

as he enters, the bell attached to the door rings alerting the woman behind the forest green counter, who only smiles before looking back down at the materials in front of her. the store is decorated in colours and life, with flowers on one side displayed in the window and a longer area full of blooms to his right. the blossoms being the brighter shades that human life seems to be afraid of nowadays, the shades dance in front of xiao as he continues to stare.

in truth, he has very limited experience with flowers and its symbolism; less is known about how much you like flowers. yet, xiao isn’t known to ask and only hopes that you’ll understand the vision as he admires the beauty of the them—each petal handled with such delicateness and care. yet, his mind swiftly switches to you and the way you handle him—like porcelain, like glass. that’s what your touch feels like. your skin on his is a hot fire burning on his, yet it’s gentle. in a way that makes him feel that no one has been kind to him—at least not before you.

he wishes there were more to convey his ocean like affections for you, something that meant his life long oath to you. yet, you wouldn’t agree such a thing, he thinks. he finds it strange humans, your kind, can be the same yet completely different. he’s seen humans that want the world, but seem to only want to love him and live knowing your boyfriend loves you back.

“excuse me?” he asks quite meekly to the florist standing by the counter.

the florist gaze meets his, “mm, how can i help?” her smile glows as she disregards the floral foam and roses in front of her.

“what flowers would you recommend, for my partner?” he replies.

her smile widens, and xiao tenses as she moves from behind the counter and towards him. however, he soon relaxes, his shoulders now sitting in a comfortable position as she speaks purely of her craft. xiao watches as she points to all different shades, some of of white, some of red. yet, it still leaves him feeling clueless and embarrassed. it isn’t long before, the florist is stumped. simply unsure of what other flowers could the man want.

“i’m sorry for troubling you,” xiao says, sounding incredibly apologetic.

“nono, you’re fine. it’s not everyday someone shows up with a challenge.” the florist panics as her hand waved in the morning air before she turns back to grab a book and pencil. “tulips.. no, maybe something else.” she turns the page. “we’ve gone over liles… ahah, what about some chrysanthemums?” she turns her head to xiao and xiao tilts his.

“those white ones over there,” she directs, pencil hanging out of her mouth as her finger lifts up to point the white flowers sitting on the middle shelf. yet before xiao can get a closer look, the light wood from her lips drops and her hands start to shake from her joy. “oh my! i have some leftover carnations in the back. give me a second, i have a really cute idea.” then she starts to run off.

it’s not long after that she comes back out of the storeroom with a bunch of white chrysanthemums, pink carnations and a hand full of baby breath, along with rolls of paper and ribbon all wrapped in her arms. a smile spread across her tan skin, and her rosy cheeks bright and clear in the sun as the materials land on the wooden surface.

it isn’t long before the range of flowers transforms into bouquet, lands in xiao’s callused palms and is paid for in full. however, the bunch of petals doesn’t leave the store without a series of thank you’s, smiles and goodbye’s before xiao exits. the bell ringing behind him as he walks along the streets of liyue. internally smiling to himself as he travels back home.

“xiao?” your voice rings in his ears.

you grip onto the tote bag’s handle resting on your right shoulder as you lift off the heels of your shoes. a shocked look splattered on your boyfriend’s features as you speed toward him, the stone under your feet scratching against the soles of your shoes. fresh morning air spreads across your face while you loose the distance between the two of you.

“hun, i’ve been wondering where you’ve been all morning. i was worried,” you say to his face before looking down at his left hand. “oh, are those mums?” you point at the white flowers.

“chrysanthemums? yes, do you not like them?” your lover’s eyes displays a thousand words, years of worry in them, as he stumbles over the word ‘chrysanthemums’. it’s endearing.

you can’t help but panic all the same, “nono, i love them, their beautiful. but how come your look disappointed?” you question, staring at the somber look in his golden eyes.

“i wanted to surprise you. i hadn’t anticipated that you would go out to find me.” the discontent takes a spotlight in the pools of gold and stars.

oh. perhaps you should just pretend to be blind and walk—

“i mean you still can, i’ll just pretend i never saw you this morning and—“ you begin to walk back in the direction you came from yet don’t make it far. you barely get two feet away before your wrist is used to tug you back to him.

he pushes the flowers towards you, “i want you to have them now, even if it didn’t go to plan. i should of known, i’m always meant to find you in every lifetime.”

you take a step forward as you hear a break in xiao’s voice, your lips closing in on the side of his porcelain face. you place a gentle smiled kiss on his skin before taking the bouquet from his grasp. you stop. you stare and admire it for its beauty. yet your eyes catch onto the pink ribbon loosely wrapped and tied into a pretty bow around the pieces of paper and parchment that hold the stems. it only takes a moment and a half for your fingertips to caress the thin, long line of closely woven fabric and to tug it undone. a long line now in your hold along with the bouquet.

“here, give me your hand.” you gesture towards his left as you lift your right towards his.

your boyfriend holds up his pinky as you lift your own, carefully placing the bouquet in between your arm and you side. xiao watches intently as you wrap the ribbon around his finger twice and tie it off with a knot before doing the same to your own pink before tying it off with a bow. the sun shines in your eyes as the ribbon between creates a curve.

“here, i know we can’t see it normally but it isn’t just you that finds me, i chase after you too. i found you here after you disappeared this morning. and in every life time this ribbon will lead us both to each other, in all my life times. you’re not alone xiao, i’m here now at the very least.” you reassure, combing back his green toned hair out of his face.

he can’t help but laugh. he smiles. xiao smiles so brightly that you can watch the moment his eyes start to shine with tears. yet the moment the tears starts to roll, you pull him straight into your embrace, rubbing his back and whispering your affections for him.

do not copy or repost any of my works.

@ miokki 2024

#genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin impact #genshin x reader #miokki #xiao fluff #genshin x gn reader #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #xiao fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xiao

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vulpixisananimal · 5 months

Text

"So. . ."

(You were lying down on a couch. You were doing woodcarving; it was theraputic. Mirabelle had just come over from cleaning up and sat at the other end of the couch.)

"Hello Mirabelle, got any questions for your friendly star~"

(She tittered at that.) "Hehe, maybe a few. Even if it, might not matter much."

"Talking is still nice, ask away."

"Well. . ." (She thought for a second.) "Well are you, doing ok?"

"???" (That took you by surprise. You were expecting something about how the loops worked, or where they came from.) ". . . I'm, well I'm doing great! We've only been doing this for a few loops and that's practicaly No time at all~"

"W-well, I suppose, but I meant more in general."

(You paused carving.) "Hmm?"

"Well, Siffrin said you showed up soon after we beat the King. And, well, I was wondering, has it been alright? I-I mean, sharing a body with Sif and all. A-and like, since we didn't know you were around did we do something that made you-"

"Oh hush Mirabelle." (You twirl your dagger casually.) "It was a lovely time in Bambouche, really! The beach was just so nice, it was a good way to meet Nille too! No need to explain the whole being a star thing~"

"I guess so. . ."

"I will say, as much as I like Stardust," (You lower your tone to a dramatic one.) "Sharing a head with them is agony sometimes."

(She giggles again.) "Is it really that hard? Or. ."

"It's complicated. So, so complicated." (You thougt for a moment.) "Talking to eachother is like. . . Almost like someone else is having thoughts in your own head. And you have thoughts back. It can be hard to tell whos thoughts are whos, but you can 'talk' very fast."

"Because you're just thinking to eachother?"

"In a way~" (You tap your chin with your knife.) "It's hard to explain, but I might to better a better job next time, tee hee~"

(Another giggle.) "It makes some sense, I think."

"From what I've read it's a very complex disorder." (Odiles voice. You turn, she was finding a place to sit down.) "Each person experiences it differently too."

"Complex doesn't even start to describe it. . ." (You decide to just put away your carving.) "Headaches are almost constant."

"With how Siffrin thinks? Well I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Oh the burdens we must bare."

"What burdens are we bareing today?" (It was Isabeau walking in now.)

"The big furry types of course~"

"Ha! Haha!"

"Well you two have something in common."

"Tee hee~"

(You sat up and made room or Isabeau on the couch. He sat down and talked.) "Bonnie and Nille are just putting some leftovers away." (He looked over at Mirabelle.) "You're sure there's no bruising? Bonnie still has a headache."

(. . .)

"I'm positive, I double and tripple checked."

(For the love of Stars will you just tell me what I missed already?!? CLEARLY something happened you're not telling me.)

(I will not tell you.)

(You are infuriating.)

"Kid probably just needs a lie down." (Isa comments.)

"Once this is over we all do." (You say, you still felt exhausted from all this time craft. Will you at least tell me when we're out of this blinding loop?)

(I can agree to that.)

"Speaking of such. Would you mind if we try talking to Stardust now?" (Odile asked.)

(You nod.) "If ever there was a time for it~"

". . . So how do we do this?" (Asked Mirabelle.)

"Well, first I'll get Siffrin back here. It might get a bit confusing for us but don't worry about that~" (You thought for a moment.) "Although, Isabeau, if that mind craft is still afflicting Siffrin, could you try making sure he doesn't do anything stupid?"

"Uh, alright! I think I can do that."

"I'd like to ask Siffrin the questions if that's alright." (Odile had gotten up from her seat and walked over.)

"Of course, and Mirabelle if you could. . ."

"Morale support?" (She suggested.)

"Morale support!"

"Perfect, moral support it is."

(Alright. . . Siffrin. . .)

(You breath in, and out. Stardust, where just where are you Stardust. You were forced out quite abruptly, but you could come back with. . . The thoughts of Isabeau? No no, something bad maybe? Probaly not. What about his favorite foods? Oh well they did love that Pan Au Chocolate-)

(Huh?)

(You feel a bit dizzy. There you are Stardust~)

(Loop? What happened. I was forced out of front by Mal du Pays, I didn't remember much afterwards. You're here because they want to ask you a few questions. Yes? Why though?)

(They're worried about you. Something happened. So if you don't mind. . .)

(You blink a few times, you had a mild headache but it cleared fast.) "Uh. . ."

"Siffrin?" (Huh? Or Mirabelle was at your side. Isabeau and Odile too.)

(You rub your head.) "Hi uh. . . What happened?"

(Mirabelle glanced over to Odile, who started talking.) "Are you feeling alright, Siffrin?"

"Dazed, headache, confused. Did something happen??"

"I'm getting to that." (Odile continued.) "Do you remember what happened?"

"Uhm. . . I was talking to Ramos? Yeah, yeah Ramos came over to see Isabeau."

(You glance between the three of them. Loop what's going on?)

(Mental check in, Stardust.)

"And what did you talk about."

"It was. . . Right! We were chatting about our adventures, how we met Isabeau, and uh. . ."

(You glance at Isa as Odile continues.) "What else?"

"Well, well, they were curious if Isabeau mentioned them at all." (Why was it so hard to remember?)

"And you said. . ."

(You smiled.) "I said 'of course he did!'"

(. . .Stars.)

(Huh? Did you say something wrong? They all looked worried. Isabeau spoke up.) "Are. . . Are you sure Sif?"

"Positive, right?" (You think hard.) "Because. . . Because you talked about them helping you for the Defenders exams?"

(Isabeau looked. . . Sad? What was going on?!?)

"That, didn't happen, Siffrin." (Odile said.) "I'm, sorry but that's not true."

"Huh?!?"

(You could feel your breathing quicken. What do they mean??? Ramos was, was Isabeaus best friend, right? Hadn't you been excited to see them?!? That's why you came here in the first place right???)

(You have a headache. What was going on?!? No, no Ramos was your friend right?)

"Siffrin?" (You turn to Isabeau, he was holding out a hand. You grab it and squeeze. He doesn't even flinch.) "It's. . . Well, just take a breath first, ok? With me? Just like you showed us, right?"

(Right, right, just breathe. In. . . . and Out. . .)

(Feeling better, Stardust?)

(No, yes, maybe. Just. I'm just confused.) "Alright, alright, please tell me what happened, please."

"Siffrin, well, Ramos isn't really, a good person right now, I think." (You turn to Mirabelle as she continues.) "They, well, Loop told us that they've been effecting people with Mind Craft. You included."

(??????????)

(It's a craft type that effects ones memories, ones mind. Your perception of Ramos has been altered, Stardust.)

(Odile talking now.) "It should be reversable, but from what I know it might be more difficult as it may be powered by a wish. If that's the case it could. . ."

"It would just take a while!" (Mira jumps in.) "But! The good news is Loop isn't effected?"

(Your breathing is getting heavy again. What? But, Ramos was a big figure in Isabeaus life, right? There where all those stories! Like, like.)

(You cannot remember.)

(It's a trick, Stardust~ A nasty one at that.)

(You lean into Isabeau, you feel lightheaded.) "A-are you sure? I, I mean. . ." (It. . . It was really hard to believe. You had this feeling, this instinct, that Ramos was a friend, the best, the. . .)

"Sorry Sif." (Isa gently put a hand on your head. You didnt flinch.) "We'll get this figured out, ok?"

". . . Promise?"

"I promise!"

"Of course I promise!" (Mirabelle chimed in.)

"I don't want to see what happens when your memory gets worse. I promise we'll figure it out." (Odile adds.)

(You nod. And sigh.) ". . . Thank you."

(Your head hurts. Loop, can you, can you please just deal with this?)

(Of course Stardust~ It might be better since-)

(Because Ramos might still be able to effect me. Yeah. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone.)

(You breathe in, and out. And in the future, you can take over in a pinch if needed, ok?)

(Same back to you. stars, even for Mal too. Just in case.)

(Thank you.)

(. . . . .)

[You got the Memory of Switching! When equipped, this will make it easier for you to switch out with your headmates, even durring battle!]

(You pause a second before moving. Isabeau is comfortable, he's got a hand on your head. No need to pull away immediatly.)

(Is now really the time?)

(Hush you. Stardust's gone now, let me have this.)

(You took one more second before getting up and stretching.) "Well! That was quite enlightening~"

"Loop?"

"Yes yes, Stardust decided to go for now, didn't trust themself to act rational."

"Aww. . ." (Isabeau awkwardly rubbed his side.) "I can't imagine how he must be feeling."

"Now where have I heared that before." (Odile adds, going back to her own seat.)

"We miss anything?" (It was Nille, she and Bonnie where walking in.)

"Just checked in on Siffrin." (Odile sighs.) "Unfortunatly, the mind craft stuck."

"Crab" (Nille sat down on the ground.)

"Stupid Crabbing mind crab" (Bonnie stormed over to a chair and sat down.)

"Language."

(You laugh.) "You'll never get Bonbon to stop swearing at this rate."

"Oh I will!" (She replied, rolling her eyes.)

"Nuh uh!" (Bonnie stuck out their tongue.)

"Yuh huh!"

"Nuh uh!!!"

"Yuh huh or you a stupid face."

"YOU'RE a stupid face!"

"Gasp!! Bonnie! How could you! Your own Sister!"

(You fail to hold in your laughter.)

(Why couldn't ever day be this simple.)

#mehehoe #isat #isat spoilers #isat siffrin #isat loop #isat bonnie #isat nille #isat mirabelle #isat isabeau #isat odile #isat art #isat fanart #in stars and time #siffrin system au #sifstem #isat au #sifstem main story

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littlemssam · 1 year

Text

Mod Updates & Translations

As always delete old Mods Files and the localthumbcache, when updating my Mods!

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Mod Updates

Order More Groceries Added Nectar Bottles to be buyable

Choose Leftover Prepped Ingredients Container should not show up anymore

Craft More Nectar Bottles and more Added an optional Addon for the "Make 50 Excellent Bottles of Nectar" Aspiration. This Addon changes it to "Make 10 Excellent Bottles of Nectar". I could not get the Aspiration to recognize my extra Bottles, so this is a compromise.

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Translations

Improved Practical Spells - New Spell Harvestio - Added Russian by Origamika Improved Practical Spells - New Spell Upgradios - Updated Russian by Origamika More Servings Options - More Servings Part - Updated Polish by livi

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raainberry · 1 year

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Moonflower

« In literature, the moonflower has been used as a symbol of love, mystery, and enchantment. »

Sana x gn!reader

Not fluff, not angst, but a secret third thing

synopsis - your job is flowers. she’s not sure how she got into this mess. but maybe you could get her out of it.

- part.II - part.III -

wordcount - 1.6K

TW - like one (1) soft cuss word

A/N - Made a draft, let it marinate for a few days, came back, changed directions completely and VOILÀ. I might get a little silly and make a pt.2 bc there’s leftover drafts🤭

Getting married at twenty-two was not in her plans.

Getting her needs and wishes overlooked in the process was not something she imagined either.

Yet there she was…

“We’re here!”

The volume of that voice startled her. She’d grown to hate the sound of it too.

“You’re gonna love it! The flowers are so beautiful and smell amazing. It’s like they pick them every morning.”

Sana watched as her soon to be mother-in-law left the driver’s seat. The much older woman slammed the door behind herself, leaving her in a silence she craved for ever since that same morning.

However, it wasn’t long until she heard that voice piercing through the windshield.

“Come on, what are you waiting for!”

Sana sighed, quickly gathering herself and putting on that fake smile she’d carefully crafted over the last few months.

She couldn’t remember the last time her smile had been genuine. One that conveyed how happy she felt, like whenever she’d meet up with loved-ones, get one of her sugary drinks no one liked but her, or simply listened to music.

Mundanities like these used to be enough. Now it was all a luxury she couldn’t seem to afford.

It felt like forever since she’d last enjoyed something as simple. Since she last enjoyed something.

Everything was a chore nowadays. Just chores she could only do with her fiancé and/or future in-laws.

Each time, each day she had to see them somehow meant adding a new detail to worry about in a wedding that felt less and less hers as time went on. A new box to tick in a checklist she had no desire to even start in the first place, much less partake in.

She barely knew how it had gotten to this point.

She felt as though she was drowning, yet had no idea how she’d even landed in the water.

The last few months were a blur. Everything went so fast.

One second she was graduating college. The next she was engaged to her year long partner.

Literally.

The man had proposed at her graduation party.

She blamed it all on the moment’s euphoria. That’s what made her say yes. It had to be. It was the only reasonable explanation as to why and how she would agree to such a mess.

Now the bliss was long gone.

“White roses are really pretty, aren’t they?”

Your voice startled her out of her thoughts, causing her lips to turn into that fake smile again.

It was impressive how quick she could switch up. That skill she picked up managed to fool more than a few people in the midst of this hell hole.

“I got proposed to with them.” She blurted out, her eyes stuck on the flowers proudly exposed in front of her.

It was almost robotic. Like a pre-loaded answer.

That didn’t go past your ears. You could tell her voice lacked a certain emotion that you were used to hearing in this workfield.

“Oh. Then would you consider them as an option?”

The woman finally looked at you, taking notice of your uniform and name tag. She looked confused, and a faint redness appeared on her cheeks, giving away something she’d rather keep to herself.

Now she regretted the words that slipped out of her daydream.

After taking a glance at you, she would have preferred to keep you clueless about her engagement…

“For your wedding.” You precised, breaking the silence that had settled.

“Right.” She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I see. Maybe something similar?”

You went on to show her and tell her all about a bunch of flowers that looked like this damn white rose. It didn’t go so far as making her smile again, but she enjoyed hearing about the various pretty plants surrounding her.

It took her mind off what she really was there for.

Until she was reminded again.

“Sana! Have you seen these? So pretty!”

The brunette glanced over to the other side of the shop, seeing the older woman holding what seemed to be a bouquet of bright, orange flowers.

She couldn’t contain the disdain she felt at the sight.

You caught her features tense up for a split second, completely understanding her reaction. It was hard to hold your laughter back, but you pushed through in order to keep the palpable tension between the two from exploding.

Sure, the flowers were pretty, but they were far from a good choice considering the kind of event you were being sollicited for.

“They are, but something a little more delicate would be more suited.” You said, attempting to save the poor bride-to-be by your side. “I’m actually showing Ms. Sana a few options here if you’d like to join us.”

You’ve dealt with a few mothers and in-laws before, you knew how to handle the more hands-on ones.

You always made sure to put the brides and grooms’ tastes first, earning you more than one scolding. You couldn’t care less, though, all you wanted was for your customers to have a pretty bouquet to their liking and a smile when exiting your shop.

“I’ll just look around on the side.” The older woman turned her back to the two of you, to the brunette’s delight.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

You looked back at her, catching a determined gaze with your own. It was certainly different than the detached, almost absent one from a minute prior.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m open to any suggestions. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to like at least one thing about all this.” She scoffed, bringing a peony to her nose.

Now, you’d sensed the fact that this wedding planning was being done under some tension. The patterns never lied, but you still found yourself surprised at her words.

It seemed to be worse than you thought.

“Do you not have one?”

Her voice snapped you back to reality. You must have been silent for a while.

“Sorry. I was just thinking.” You mumbled. “But to answer your question, I do have one. I like moonflowers.”

“Moonflowers…” She repeated under her breath. “It sounds pretty.”

“They look pretty too.” You smiled. “Would you like to see them?”

��Do you have some?” She asked, curious.

“Of course. It’s the main reason I work here.” You smiled, leading her to your favorite flowers.

Her face lit up at the sight of them. Her features suddenly looked much softer, her eyes a little brighter, and her smile… It was small, barely noticeable if you didn’t focus on her lips.

Yes, you were staring at her lips, but could you really be blamed? She was beautiful. Everyone stares at beautiful things. You were no different, and she wasn’t either.

She was staring too, only at the flowers.

You cleared your throat, suddenly remembering what you were being paid for, and resumed your job.

“We only have a few of them, but they’re beautiful.” You said, filling the silence between the two of you.

“Why do you prefer these?” She asked, tracing a few petals delicately.

“It’s a long story.”

“I have a lot of time.” She glanced at you, her eyes letting you know you’d better start telling her that story.

You weren’t sure where that attitude was coming from.

She seemed so hopeless when she stepped in behind that in-law of hers. You expected to deal with another worn out bride, bracing yourself for about an hour of work to turn that frown upside down.

Nothing had warned you about this rebellious trait she seemed to have.

You were curious now. Surely, if she wanted to put an end to this, it looked like she could…

So why was she here?

“Why are you getting married?”

Maybe a little too forward, you thought, wincing at your own words.

The motion of her fingers against the flowers came to a halt.

“What?”

Her eyes were back on you, and you felt your heart pick up the pace. You racked through your brain, searching for an excuse to cover your unprofessional slip-up, all while trying to decipher the way she looked at you.

“I ask this question to all my customers in order to get them the best flowers.” You lied, pulling your best customer service smile. “I’m not trying to sabotage your wedding, don’t worry.”

“Do you actually?” She asked, completely switching her focus onto you.

“Yes.” You lied again. “I’m not asking for details. Just a few adjectives will do.”

Sure you felt a little bad about it, but in all honesty, you were more impressed by the fact that you managed to keep it together and not stutter once.

That woman had one intense gaze.

“Well…” She trailed off.

She was hesitant, looking for words you could already tell would be lies.

It made you frown internally while you feigned patience in front of her.

Maybe the attitude was a façade.

“Because I was asked to.”

Or maybe not.

You weren’t sure of anything regarding this woman and her situation anymore. That was one good lesson of never judging a book by its cover, or something along those lines.

“I see.” You nodded, looking down at the ground.

It was a lie again, but in your defense, you didn’t know what else to say this time around.

“Have you ever actually sabotaged a wedding?”

Your eyes darted back to her. Your obvious surprise amused her, and she let you know with a laugh as soft as her smile.

You felt something in your chest. A sudden drop in temperature as her laugh sent chills down your spine, only for it to rise again along with your heart rate.

It was odd. Something about her was odd. It seemed as though she was hiding something, and your body debated on whether or not it wanted to be around to find out what.

And all you could do was watch, feel, and respond when needed.

“No.”

You opted for the truth this time. You didn’t expect much to come out of it, but it seemed to please her.

Her smile appeared again. It was a little wider than before. More confident.

You ignored its effects, but you couldn’t ignore the beauty of the sight before you.

It was all you could focus on, forgetting about your surroundings and their own beauty once again.

It was blinding.

Enough for you to agree to anything that might come out those perfect lips.

She knew all about that.

She’s been told all her life.

And she loved to take advantage of it.

“Do you want to?”

#twice x reader #sana x reader #sana imagines #twice imagines #twice sana #minatozaki sana

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