Xoxo ~ Sugar heart and Sour Tarts

~ 22 ~ I just love love 💕

[marshmallowkisses]

💕 Hi! Hello~ How are you dear? 💕

You can call me Mellow~

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪I’m 22 and I use they/them⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

I’m here to read fics and maybe write some of my own, but I’m not too sure yet. ₍^⸝⸝> ·̫ <⸝⸝ ^₎

Regardless I hope we can be friends, I love talking about my fixations and f/os.

I hope you have a wonderful day 💖

[candlewaxletters]

Hi yo!!! I have two request for One Piece. If you can't do it, that's completely fine!

1) Strawhats reaction when a person confuses them and Gn!reader as a couple

2) Strawhats having to deal with sick Gn!reader for a day

That's all I have :D Thank you!!! 🫶

Being Confused as a Couple | HCs

Luffy x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Nami x Reader, Sanji x Reader (separate)

a/n: hell yeah, gonna do both! but i’ll start with the first one, also i didn’t write Usopp here nor will on the next cause he (and kinda zoro but he’s on thin ice) is one of the characters i find difficult to write in a romantic setting, idk why, i love them all.

cw: fluff, silliness, leaning more toward anime Sanji instead of live action (cause it’s more fun to write him dramatically).

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Luffy

he’s a really touchy guy, so randomly touches you and others without even realizing it most of the time, it was normal to the crew, that’s just who he was, but when new people saw it, and saw how he’d just hold your hand or hug u randomly they’d just think that you were a couple.

not everyone who thought so mentioned it, mostly just ignoring it, but some got a little too curious.

“so when did you two get together?”, “oh i joined the crew a while back—“ you’d start as Luffy was nodding along shoving some bread into his mouth, “no no no.. when did you start dating?” they’d just ask as if it was the most obvious thing, while Luffy’s head had snapped up with a big look of surprise on his face.

after you’d innocently corrected them and they apologized before leaving flustered, Luffy would get this look in his eyes, just watching you, before… “so we’re dating now.. COOL” he’d grin, “LUFFY—!“.

honestly this is one of the few ways for Luffy to ask someone out lol, cause when would he ever if the opportunity wasn’t presented to him blatantly, he just wouldn’t think of it as something he could do otherwise.

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Zoro

he wouldn’t really catch it.

someone could ask him to his face and he still wouldn’t connect the dots that they thought that you and him were a couple.

it’d take seeing you flustered trying to explain it to them for it to really hit him, ‘wait- why are they so flustered? what’s the problem with what they said- wait a minute…’ and the the lightbulb flickered on, “oh..”.

he’d just walk up behind you and wrap an arm over your shoulder, pulling you to his side, just starring blankly at them till they’d leave, as you’re stood frozen, your anxiety calming a bit as you no longer had to try and over explain to that person anymore.

but getting hit with an arrow of butterflies when he leaned close to your ear and whispered “what’s the matter sugarcup..?”, your eyes just slowly moving toward him to see that smug smirk on his face, oh he knew exactly what he’s doing.

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Nami

wouldn’t happen often, but the one time it did, you were out having dinner while the rest of the crew had gone off someplace else, and the waiter came over taking your orders, adding an “your such a cute couple by the way” as they made casual conversation, which of course confused the both of you, but then Nami got an idea, and she’d 100% play into it.

making up a toothacheingly sweet story about how you two got together to pull on their heartstrings before slipping in a small “oh and today’s our 5 year anniversary!”, and just like that you got your meal on the house, plus a dessert with a bottle of wine too.

you’d just look away too flustered to correct her, waiting till after the waiter’s gone before quietly asking what the hell just happened!?

“oh nothing to worry about sweetheart, just enjoying this precious time with the love of my life, having this FREE meal” she’d sigh with a smirk, giving you a wink as she took a bite of her dessert.

as you’d get up to leave for the night she’d link arms with you, resting her head on your shoulder, ‘oh now she’s really selling it alright’ you’d think before she actually leaned in and gave you a small peck by your lips, “we should do this more often, shouldn’t we my love?”.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Sanji

of course the most flirty guy in the world gets confused a lot to be in relationships with whomever he’s showing affection towards, when viewed by strangers.

so one day where you and him were out shopping and restocking the ship, a random group of elder women came by and talked a little louder than they thought, “aww look at them, such a handsome couple” caught your ears like lightning, then the more confident one stepped closer to you asking “how long have you been together sweetheart?”.

being too confused you didn’t even realize what it did to Sanji, the second he heard those words in relation to you and him, he got such heart eyes.

swooning all over the place “awwwww wouldn’t that just be so wonderful~ wouldn’t it?” he’d say with a singsongy hum, giggling all silly.

and you’d have to stand there ignoring how he’s hugging you from behind, snuggling his face into your neck as you plainly explain to the person that you two were not in a relationship, meanwhile sanji still to blissed out in fantasy land to hear any of it.

<3

[antiquarianfics]

Y/N, to the Straw Hats: I don’t know how to tell you all this, so I’m just going to whisper it in Luffy’s ear so he shouts it out in astonishment.

Y/N whispers in Luffy’s ear.

Luffy: YOU’RE DATING NAMI?!

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Sanji’s reaction when you cry after hearing his life story...

Sanji finished his story about he came to work at the Baratie and set his knife to rest against the board.

“Do you have any idea what that’s like? Having someone lose a limb to save your life?”

Luffy’s eyes widened. “I kind of do.”

The silent room was suddenly followed by a single sniff… then another. Sanji turned to where you stood and frowned when he saw you crying quietly.

Clicking his tongue, Sanji rounded the side of the bench and approached. He pulled the towel off his shoulder, folded it carefully before using his free hand to tilt your head up gently.

The young man dabbed the cloth just under your eyes. “Just like the food on Baratie, tears should not be wasted.” He smiled.

“You didn’t deserve to go through that.” You whispered. Sanji slowed his movements as he thought.

“Perhaps. But I made it through.” He took in a sharp breath and lowered the fabric to look into your eyes once more. “Besides, without that one bad thing in my life, I never would have been put on a path to meet you. Would I?”

You reached up and pushed his loose blonde hair aside. Fingers gently dancing against his skin as you fell into his depths of his eyes. Sanji leaned forward and pressed his head against your own. Smiling only for you in that moment.

~ More imagines here ~

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine trying to hide your hand injury from Sanji…

He was chopping vegetables for a pie when you walked into the kitchen. Politely, you smiled at him and Sanji felt his heart burst with a warm light. He tried to channel it back into his cooking, making a mental note to save you a second helping of dinner just for being so you.

He worked away quietly and listened to you rustle about. Cupboards opened and closed. Drawers slid out and then back in again. Another cupboard clicked shut in disappointment.

“What are you looking for?” He wondered, eyes focused on the carrots on his board.

“Just some bandages.” Your reply was too casual for that specific item and it caught his attention.

Sanji turned his head, glancing briefly at the cabinet of medical supplies and wondered aloud, “Oh, why?”

He noticed almost everything about you. The way you closed your eyes and smiled under the sun. The way you tapped your foot to good music at a town bar. The way that you winced when you hid your hands behind your back… wait, what?

Slowing his knife work to a complete stop, Sanji moved his whole body to face you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked because something was certainly wrong.

“I-nothing...” You stuttered. Something you only did when caught red-handed amongst the crew. “I think I’ll just go.”

When you moved to leave, Sanji stepped forward and held out his hands, “Whoa now, you came in here for bandages. Let me help you.”

You looked at him and, again, Sanji had to steel himself from melting into the floorboards. After a quiet minute of consideration, you nodded. “Okay.”

Sanji let out a breath of relief and led you to the small table by the window. On his way, he grabbed the small bag of medical supplies that he picked up at the last town.

He took a seat opposite you and opened the supplies. “What are we patching up?” He asked.

This time you looked at him like he was going to bite - which he would never do without your permission. Then very slowly, you raised your hands to the table and turned them palm up, revealing bright red blood where the skin had peeled off.

Sanji felt his heart drop. How had your beautiful hands been so damaged and how much pain have you been in since then?

He gingerly took your hands in his and got to work. You didn’t seem to like it when he asked questions but maybe he could get an understanding of what happened through conversation.

~~~

Zoro was up in the Crows Nest. His eyes were closed, hands behind his head as he started to doze off. His mind clearing until…

Boom!

The kitchen door burst open. A furious kick from an equally furious chef.

“They tripped over your swords?” Sanji’s voice boomed from below. “Moss head, where are you?”

Zoro exhaled, exercising patience and disguising a hint of nerves. “Shit.”

~ More One Piece imagines here ~

A/n: Inspired by real-life events when I body slammed into the sidewalk and messed up my hands twice in two months. Silly, silly!

[peachesdearest]

young! gomez x reader

(This is a request for anon)

No pronouns used for user

𝔾𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕫

Gomez treats you like royalty, he can barely keep his hands of you.

Sweetly caressing your body and kissing your neck, you can’t help but laugh as his mustache tickles you softly. Your body is his place of worship, he is more than willing to praise you while on his knees.

Your voice is a song he never wishes to end and without it there is nothing but radio static in how world.

At night,

Gomez holds you as close as possible, basking in your warmth and scent.

No matter if you snore, steal blankets, or move about in your sleep, Gomez loves it all.

He always helps you shower. Wether if its washing your hair or helping you scrub your back.

He is beyond willing to help you shave if you so choose to do so.

Dyeing your hair? No problem, He already has the gloves on. Interested in makeup? He makes sure to take it off for you if you fall asleep with it on.

If you ever fall behind in class, he helps you study and always keeps up with projects and clubs you could be interested in and even recommends things he sees that you might like.

He worships you, he loves you, 𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

You are his moon in the dark of the night, You are the blood coursing though his veins.

You are his, and he is yours.

[dioslesbianwife]

saw your lovesick Jofoes. Can we also have lovesick JoJo's?

(and maybe their reaction to getting a kiss on the cheek pls?)

sure! hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting <33

Jonathan Joestar

Internally combusts.

Your kiss is soft, brief, and on his cheek, but Jonathan is completely floored.

His breath hitches, his hand hovers near the spot like he wants to preserve it.

“Ah… you’ve honored me more than I deserve…”

You’re like “Jonathan it was just a kiss” and he’s like “To you, maybe… but to me…”

Literally lays in bed that night thinking about how warm your lips were. "I must protect them at all costs now..."

Joseph Joestar

“WHOA WHOA WHOA- ”

You kiss him on the cheek and he instantly short circuits and stumbles back like you slapped him.

Tries to act cool. Fails.

“I mean- pff- of course you’d kiss me, I am extremely kissable- ”

Lies awake that night giggling like a schoolgirl. Kicks his feet under the sheets. Murmurs “I’m gonna marry them” into his pillow.

Next time he sees you: “So like… you wanna do that again or was that a one-time cheek coupon thing?”

Jotaro Kujo

Frozen.

You give him a quick kiss on the cheek while saying bye and walk off like it’s nothing.

Jotaro just… stands there. His soul leaves his body for a second.

Blushes like crazy, but hides it under his hat.

Tries to play it cool, mutters “yare yare daze” even though he’s internally screaming.

Stares at the ocean dramatically for like 20 minutes afterward thinking “They kissed me… They actually kissed me… What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Josuke Higashikata

SCREECHES. Internally.

“UhhhHHH wh- HUH?!”

You kiss him on the cheek and he gets so red so fast it looks like he’s got a fever.

Freaking out about whether you could feel how warm he got.

Keeps touching the spot over and over again like “did that really just happen???”

Can’t stop thinking about it all day. Tells Okuyasu like “Bro. BRO. I GOT KISSED. Not a full kiss, but a cheek kiss!! That’s a whole category!!”

Giorno Giovanna

Blinks. Visibly stunned.

He’s composed… but you broke his brain a little.

“Oh…,” he murmurs.

Then you see the tiniest hint of a smile curve his lips as he touches his cheek.

That kiss becomes his Roman Empire.

Later that night, he writes about it in his journal and tries to imagine what it would feel like on the lips.

Lowkey starts daydreaming about you more. Starts plotting how to get you to do it again- but this time twice.

Jolyne Cujoh

Pauses. Visibly flustered.

“Wait. Waitwaitwait. You just- ?”

Laughs off how red her ears get.

“Okayyy, smooth criminal. I see you.”

Instantly goes from tough girl to giggling puppy. She punches your arm way too hard out of pure flustered energy.

”You tryna start something orrrr…?”

She brings it up CONSTANTLY.

“Remember that time you kissed me on the cheek? ‘Cause I do. Every second of every day. Just saying.”

Johnny Joestar

You kiss him on the cheek and he straight up glitches.

No words. No breathing. Just a very still, very pink Johnny.

“You… kissed me,” he mumbles under his breath after like 3 full minutes.

For the rest of the day, he’s quieter than usual. Totally distracted.

Keeps running his fingers over his cheek like he’s checking if it’s still there.

Eventually tells Gyro. “They kissed me, man.”

Gyro: “Where??”

Johnny: “On my face.”

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

Absolute shellshock.

You press a kiss to his cheek and he flinches like you poked him with a taser- but then his whole body just melts.

Touches the spot with both hands like he’s holding a butterfly there.

“…W-what does that mean?” he blurts. “Are you trying to ask me out? Do you do that to everyone?? Should I kiss back- wait, no, I didn’t mean- ”

Gappy.exe has stopped working.

Avoids eye contact for hours while sneaking glances at you.

“That was the best day of my life,” he says to Yasuho with a spaced out smile. “I think I’m gonna faint.”

Jodio Joestar

Stunned… but thrilled.

Tries to act cool like “Oh damn. You’re bold. I like that.”

But he turns to Dragona 5 minutes later and goes “BROOOOOOOOOO- ”

Blushes every time he remembers it. Smiles like an idiot whenever someone says “cheek.”

He starts trying to recreate the moment: leaning close, angling his face just right, pretending to point out something near you like

“Yo, is that a bird or-”  accidental cheek proximity intensifies

“If I stand like this, you might be able to kiss me again. Just sayin’.”

[door2hevn]

✿˚｡⋆ SBR characters when their horses like you more!⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: Johnny joestar, gyro Zeppeli, Deigo Brando, Hot pants x gn! Reader

☾⚠︎warnings: fluff...I have no idea what to put here , will say I'm not too sure about the gender of each horse I'm sorry if there is any misinformation, this idea popped in my head as I was trying to sleep and couldn't ignore it

JOHNNY JOESTAR.

Slow Dancer likes you. This is not a recent development it started approximately one week into you riding near them and has been getting progressively worse since then, and worse is the word Johnny uses for it privately because there is no horse on this continent more loyal to him than Slow Dancer and watching her choose someone else repeatedly is doing something to him.

It starts with small things. Slow Dancer letting you pet her nose without the usual period of assessment she gives everyone. turning her head toward you when you're talking even when the conversation isn't about her. Johnny notices these things and files them under fine, whatever, horses are social animals.

Then you start bringing her things. An apple here, some sugar there, talking to her in this soft voice you apparently have specifically for horses, and Slow Dancer his horse, his starts looking for you when you're not around. Turning toward your voice. Getting noticeably more settled when you're nearby.

Johnny tells himself it doesn't bother him.

It bothers him.

The breaking point is a morning when he comes to get Slow Dancer ready and she is standing with her nose pressed into your shoulder while you talk to her about something and she has the most content expression Johnny has ever seen on her face. More content than she ever looks with him. He stops walking and just looks at this scene for a moment with an expression that is complicated.

"She likes me," you say brightly when you notice him, not reading the room even slightly.

Johnny looks at Slow Dancer. Slow Dancer does not look back at him. Slow Dancer is still looking at you.

"I like you more," Johnny says.

It comes out completely flat and simple and he turns and walks away immediately because he said it before his brain caught up with his mouth and now he has to go be somewhere that isn't here. He gets approximately fifteen feet and then stops and stares at the middle distance with his jaw tight because he just said that. Out loud. In the open air.

Behind him you're doing something he can't see but Slow Dancer makes a pleased sound.

Even his horse is rooting for you. He has no allies left.

For the rest of the day he rides with the specific energy of someone pretending a thing didn't happen while being completely unable to stop thinking about it. You ride up beside him around noon and he keeps his eyes forward.

"Johnny."

"What."

"Did you mean it?"

A long pause. The landscape goes by

"...Ask Slow Dancer," he says finally, which is not a no, which you both know.

You look at Slow Dancer. She turns her big eyes to you immediately and makes a soft sound.

"She says yes," you report.

"She's a traitor," Johnny says, and something in his voice is losing a battle with something warmer, and he rides ahead before you can see his face do the thing it's doing

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro has a complicated relationship with the fact that Valkyrie likes you.

On one hand his hand, Valkyrie is extremely selective. She tolerates most people and actively likes very few of them and has bitten at least two people who got too comfortable around her too fast. The fact that she warmed up to you is objectively a mark in your favor and Gyro knows this.

On the other hand Valkyrie has started doing things for you that she has never done for him in years of partnership and that is simply not something he can let go of without comment.

It starts when Valkyrie lets you braid something into her mane. She stands completely still for it, patient and cooperative, while you work and talk to her softly. Gyro watches this from nearby with his arms crossed.

"She never lets me do that," he says.

"Maybe you should ask nicer," you say.

"I do ask nice—" he stops because he doesn't actually ask, he just does it, but that is beside the point. "She's MY horse."

Valkyrie flicks an ear toward him that reads as dismissive.

He lets it go.

Then Valkyrie starts coming to find you when she gets loose. Not staying near Gyro's things the way she usually would actively walking over to wherever you are and standing near you like you're a point of reference. Gyro has to come collect her from your vicinity three separate times and each time he clicks his tongue and says something to her in Italian and each time she goes with him at her own pace

The real incident is when they stop for the night and Gyro goes to check on Valkyrie and finds her with her head in your lap while you're sitting against a log. She has physically put her enormous horse head in your lap. You are scratching behind her ear. She looks like she has reached a state of peace that Gyro has never provided her.

He stands there looking at this.

"Gyro," you say happily, "look—"

"I see it."

"She came and found me-"

"I see it."

He crouches down in front of Valkyrie and looks at her very seriously. She looks back at him with large unbothered eyes.

"traditrice," he tells her, very quietly.

She moves her nose fractionally closer to you.

He makes a betrayed sound and sits down on the ground nearby and starts muttering in Italian and English in a way that's hard to follow but the gist of it is that he raised her, he has fed her for years, he has treated her well, and this is the thanks he gets, and so on.

"Are you jealous of a horse?" you ask.

"I am jealous of the ATTENTION—" he catches himself. "I'm not jealous."

"You're jealous."

"I want what I want," he says, which is such a Gyro way to accidentally admit something that you almost miss it.

You look at him.

He looks back and then looks away and then says, to Valkyrie, pointedly

"Tell them I want what I want."

Valkyrie does not translate this. She stays in your lap.

"I think she told me already," you say.

Gyro looks at you for a moment and then tips his hat down over his face and lies back against the ground and says "I'm going to sleep" at the sky.

He stays exactly where he is, within arm's reach, for the rest of the evening

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

Diego's relationship with Silver bullet is one of the most genuine things about him.and that has always been the whole of it a loyalty that doesn't require performance, that just exists, which for Diego who performs almost everything is quietly essential.

So when Silver bullet starts showing a marked preference for your company he experiences it as a personal betrayal of the highest order.

He doesn't say this. He would rather fall off Silver bullet at full gallop than say this. But the way his eyes track you when you're near him, the way his jaw sets when he turns toward your voice, the way he calls silver bullet back to him with slightly more edge than necessary it's all there for anyone paying attention.

You're paying attention.

You also find the whole thing genuinely funny which is something Diego finds deeply irritating.

"he followed me again," you tell him one evening, without any attempt to hide your delight. Silver bullet is standing near you.

"he does that," Diego says dismissively. "He's curious. It doesn't mean anything."

"he left your side to follow me."

"he wanders."

"Diego he walked through a stream to get to me."

He looks at Silver bullet. His horse looks at you.

"Silver bullet," he says. His voice has a very particular quality.

He flicks his tail.

He says his name again louder this time

He moves approximately one step toward him. Then stops. Then looks back at you.

Diego pinches the bridge of his nose.

He gets through the evening without saying anything about it, which takes more effort than it should. But the next morning when you come over to say good morning to Silver Bullet which you do now, apparently, this is a thing you do now he's already there and he watches you with him and something in his face does something complicated before he shuts it down.

"he has good taste" You say proudly.

"he has sentimental taste..." Coming from diego it seemed like a highly achieved compliment

You look at him. "Is that your version of saying he knows a good thing when he sees it?"

He looks back at you for a long moment.

"he's a horse," he says. "He doesn't reason that far."

"Hm," you say.

Silver bullet pushes his nose into your hand.

Diego watches this happen. Something in his expression does the complicated thing again and this time he doesn't fully shut it down before you see it.

"he's not wrong," he says quietly, like it costs something, and walks away before you can respond, and the fact that he doesn't look back is doing a lot of work in a Diego Brando way.

Silver Blaze watches him go and then looks at you.

"Yeah," you tell him. "Me too."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot Pants.

Hot Pants' horse is steady and reliable and professional about everything, which is fitting because Hot Pants is steady and reliable and professional about everything and they suit each other. She has never been an expressive horse not standoffish, Going where she's supposed to go and doing what she's supposed to do.

So when her horse starts being expressive around you it takes Hot Pants a moment to even recognize what she's seeing.

It's a nudge at first. Her horse putting her nose against your arm while you're standing nearby unprompted, You go still with surprise and then smile and reach up to pet her and say something soft to her and her horse leans into it.

Hot Pants watches this from a short distance away with an unreadable expression.

She processes it practically. Her horse likes you. That's useful information about you animals read people accurately. She files it and moves on.

Except her horse keeps doing it. Finds you across camp. Stays near you when she's not being directed otherwise. Makes sounds she doesn't usually make small, content ones when you're talking nearby. Hot Pants notices all of this and keeps filing it and the file is getting very full.

The moment that gets her is when she comes back from scouting and her horse is standing with you and you're talking to the horse in a way you do like she understands, like the conversation matters and her horse looks more relaxed than Hot Pants has seen her horse look in the entire race.

She stands there for a second.

"your horse really likes me," you say when you notice her, nodding at the horse.

"I can see that," Hot Pants says. Her voice is neutral.

"Does that bother you?"

A pause. Hot Pants looks at her horse. Her horse looks at you.

"No," she says.

Which is true. It doesn't bother her. What bothers her is the thing underneath it the fact that her horse, who has her trust completely, has extended that trust to you, and Hot Pants doesn't know what to do with the information that maybe her horse knows something she's been deliberately not letting herself know.

She takes the reins and her horse comes with her, and as she's walking away her horse turns her head back toward you once.

Hot Pants keeps walking.

"it'll get over it," she says, which is directed at her horse and possibly also herself.

She doesn't get over it. The next morning she's standing with you both and her horse is between you

Then she looks at you.

"it doesn't do this with anyone," she says quietly.

You understand what it means.

"I know," you say, just as quietly.

Her horse presses her nose between you both like she's trying to close whatever distance is left.

Hot Pants lets her.

[door2hevn]

yellooo im here again since reqs are opened!! you write these all so fast like it genuinely takes me ages to think of one word 😭 but anyways i hope your taking care of yourself well because you are COOKING with these ✌️guelp anyways can i request another random thought with sbr and reader that is very independent or has hyper independence? thank ayou 🦭

✿˚｡⋆ hyper independent reader! ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: SBR x gn reader

A/n: YAYAYAYA this is old back in the olden days when I was actually writing LMAO IM SORRY, I've been losing motivation bc of the state my stupid country is in but YOLOOO, THANK YOU POOKIE ILYSM

Johnny Joestar.

Johnny understands the drive to rely only on yourself. He spent a long time trapped in his own head, feeling like a burden, so he recognizes that fierce defensive "I can do it myself" look instantly.

But because he knows where it comes from, it actually makes him incredibly stubborn when he sees you doing it.

If you are struggling to lift a heavy pack, stubbornly dragging it while your knuckles turn white

Johnny will walk Slow Dancer right up to you. He won’t make a big scene or coddle you. He’ll just reach down and grab the strap, hoist it onto his own saddle.

If you snap at him that you had it under control, he just stares you down with those hyper-focused eyes

"I know you did. But the horse has four working legs and a spare hook. Don't waste your energy on pride when we have Stand users trying to kill us tomorrow."

He won't push you to talk about why you're like this. But if you’re injured or exhausted and trying to hide it, he will literally get his horse in your way and refuse to move until you let him or Gyro check the wound. He treats your hyper-independence like a challenge to trick you into accepting help.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro is a loud, expressive guy who thrives on partnership and shared burdens. Your hyper independence doesn't just confuse him at first it genuinely ruffles his feathers. He views a refusal to accept help as a lack of trust, and Gyro prides himself on being reliable.

You’re trying to set up camp in a freezing desert evening, your hands shaking too hard to spark a flint, but you keep swatting his hands away.

Gyro will literally sigh dramatic as always, roll his eyes and just crowd into your space anyway. He’ll take the flint out of your hands, light the fire in two seconds, and flash a gold toothed smirk.

He will absolutely call you out, but with his classic ridiculous flair. "Hey, look at me. Are these steel balls just for decoration? Am I a ghost? No! So stop acting like you're crossing the American continent entirely alone. It’s insulting to my capabilities!"

He works around your defenses using humor and routine. If he knows you won't ask for food, he won't ask if you're hungry

he’ll just make a massive, bizarre pot of "Zeppeli-style" coffee and soup, hand you a bowl, and say, "Eat it, I made too much and it's making the horses nervous."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

Diego is the king of hyper independence, so seeing it in you is like looking into a twisted mirror. He grew up learning that the world gives you absolutely nothing and that relying on anyone else is a fast track to getting stepped on.

Because of this, your self reliance actually earns his respect but it also makes him highly tactical about how he interacts with you.

Diego won't argue with you. If you insist on tracking a target alone or fixing a thrown horse shoe by yourself in the mud

he’ll just sit on Silver Bullet, chin resting on his gloved hand watching you with cold calculating reptile eyes. He’s measuring your limits.

He only steps in when your independence crosses the line into genuine danger. If you’re about to collapse from fever but you're still holding a knife, ready to defend your tent, he will disarm you so fast it makes your head spin. He won't be gentle, but he will be efficient.

He’ll hold you down or force you to rest, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous hiss

"You're no use to me dead or broken on the side of the trail. If you want to survive this race, you utilize the tools you have. Right now, I am the tool. Let me handle the perimeter, or I’ll leave you behind to freeze." Spoiler: He won't actually leave you behind, but he’ll die before admitting he cares

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

Because of her past and her secret mission, she completely understands the mentality of "If I don't do it, it won't get done right" and "No one can know my weaknesses."

However, in a survival situation, she has zero patience for pride getting in the way of efficiency.

Hot Pants will watch you struggle silently for a bit, evaluating whether your independence is a strength or a liability.

The second it starts slowing the group down or putting you in danger, she steps in with icy precision. If you’re nursing a bad sprain and trying to limp along without a word she’ll simply block your path Cream Starter already in hand.

"Sit down. You're bleeding through your boot and your pace is dropping. Do not lie to me and say it's fine."

If you try to push her away, she’ll firmly pin your shoulder down. She won't argue with your stubbornness; she will just out stubborn you.

She won't offer sweet words or gentle comfort, but there’s a deep, unspoken respect in how she treats you.

Once she patches you up with her Stand, she might sit beside you for a rare quiet moment. "I know what it's like to trust only yourself," she’ll say quietly, looking into the distance.

"It's exhausting. You don't have to trust my heart, but trust my utility. We keep each other alive. That is all this is."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Mountain Tim.

As an experienced bounty hunter and a man of strict cowboy chivalry, Tim’s entire instinct is to protect and assist.

Seeing someone completely refuse to lean on anyone else doesn't annoy him it breaks his heart a little.

He knows how cruel the frontier is, and he immediately assumes you’ve been deeply let down by people in your past.

Tim won't force his help on you aggressively because he respects boundaries, but he will utilize Oh! Lonesome Me to subtly make your life easier.

Trying to reach something heavy or secure a stubborn knot on your saddle while refusing to ask him? A stray length of rope might just "happen" to snag it and pull it closer, or give you the exact leverage you need.

When he does step in, he frames it so it doesn't feel like a blow to your pride. He’ll never say "You look like you're struggling."

Instead, he'll tip his hat, flash a warm, reassuring smile, and say, "Mind if I take over a spell? My hands are itching for something to do, and a capable partner like you deserves a breather."

If you snap at him because your hyper independence makes you defensive, Tim doesn't get angry.

He just looks at you with those steady, calm eyes. "I know you don't need me to survive out here. You've proven you're tough as nails. But a campfire is warmer when two people are keeping it fed. You're allowed to let your guard down around me."

[door2hevn]

HI HII i hope yk I was the one who requested the "caught in an intimate moment" and I LOVEDDD IT SOOO MUCH ITS SO AMAZING!!

So because you are literally REALLY awesome and I of course love your writing.. may I request SBR cast with a reader who genuinely doesn‘t care when people for example throw insults at them but the cast still defends them with their life. They admire the reader JUST BECAUSE they are pretty laid back, calm and have their gentle moments with them. When the person who threw insults at the reader finally goes away, we go to the cast and give them a sweet kiss on the cheek. (YK hands cupping their cheek and just smewch)

IM VERY EXCITED FOR WHAT YOU‘LL COOK UP, OFC NO RUSH IM VERY PATIENT! Have a good day/night 🫶🏻🥹🥹

✿˚｡⋆ unbothered reader! ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: johnny joestar, gyro Zeppeli, Diego Brando, hot pants x gn reader

☾⚠︎warnings: profanity? But it's most fluff nothing much! FEM reader for hot pants part

A/n: IM SOOO GLAD THAT YOU ENJOYED THE PREVIOUS REQUEST I ADORE YOUR IDEASSS, THANK YOU LOVELY I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS 🩷🩷 I'm sorry the banner was too funny not to add okay </3, idk how real the source is but I saw

Johnny Joestar.

The afternoon sun hung low over the camp, casting long shadows through the sparse trees. You sat propped against a worn saddle, a book open in your lap though you hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes. Your attention drifted instead to the horizon, where the desert seemed to melt into gold.

Johnny lay a few feet away, hat tipped over his eyes, pretending to sleep. He wasn't fooling anyone. You'd caught him peeking at you twice already, that familiar flicker of something soft behind his guarded expression.

Gyro sharpened a knife nearby, humming some Neapolitan tune off-key.

"Oi."

You looked up. A rider you didn't recognize had stopped at the edge of camp one of the other competitors, broad-shouldered and sneering. You'd seen him at the last checkpoint, throwing his weight around.

"You're the one with the cripple?" The man's eyes slid to Johnny, then back to you. "What, you his nurse? His pet?"

You blinked at him.

"I asked you a question." He dismounted, boots thudding against the dirt. "You deaf? Or just stupid?"

Johnny's eyes were ice cold

"Keep walking," Johnny said quietly.

The man ignored him entirely, advancing on you instead. "I've seen the way you hover around him. Pathetic, really. A pretty thing like you wasting time on-"

Gyro was on his feet, knife still in hand. "You have three seconds to remove yourself from this camp before I remove something from you."

The man laughed, but it was tight. Nervous. "I'm just talking."

"Talking's done." Johnny's voice cut through like a blade. He hadn't moved from the ground, but something in his posture had shifted. "Apologize to them..right now"

The man looked between the three of you. Your complete stillness seemed to unsettle him most of all. You looked like you were waiting for a toddler to finish a tantrum.

"What, they can't speak for themselves?" he tried.

You closed your book. Very slowly, you stood, dusted off your pants, and met his gaze. "I'd leave if I were you." Your voice was calm. Almost kind. "My friends get really protective. It's sweet, actually."

The man's face twitched. He muttered something under his breath probably an insult but he was already backing toward his horse. A moment later, he was gone, hooves fading into the distance.

Silence settled over the camp.

Gyro sheathed his knife with a sharp click. "Cretin," he muttered, and went back to sharpening.

Johnny was still watching you. His jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists against the dirt.

You walked over to him.

"Hey," you said softly, crouching down. "I'm okay."

"I know." His voice cracked on the second word. "I know you are. That's not the point."

"What's the point, then?"

He looked away. His throat moved as he swallowed. "The point is someone talks to you like that, and you just you take it. You don't give it back. You don't even seem bothered."

"I'm not."

"That's the problem!" He finally looked at you, "You should be bothered. You should care when people are cruel to you. Because I care. I care enough for the both of us, apparently."

Your chest tightened.

Without a word, you reached out and cupped his face in both hands. His stubble was rough against your palms. His skin was warm from the sun. He went completely still, eyes widening just a fraction.

"Johnny," you whispered.

Then you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek soft, deliberate, lingering. Right where your thumb had been.

He didn't breathe.

You pulled back just enough to see his face. His expression had cracked wide open, all that sharp-edged armor crumbling into something almost vulnerable. His hand came up to cover yours where it still rested against his jaw

"You're impossible," he said, but his voice had gone thick.

"And yet."

He turned his head, just slightly, and pressed his lips to the inside of your wrist. "Don't expect me to stop defending you," he murmured against your skin. "Even if you don't care. Especially then."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Gyro made a gagging noise from across the camp, but when you glanced over, he was smiling into his coffee.

You stayed there, kneeling in the dirt, hands still cradling Johnny's face, as the sun dipped lower and the world went soft and amber around you.

Some battles weren't worth fighting.

But some people were.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

The afternoon had been long and so so hot. The kind of heat that made tempers fray and tongues sharp.

You hadn't meant to draw attention. You never did.

It started at the watering hole a rare luxury in the middle of nowhere. A cluster of riders had gathered, including a woman with a viper's smile who'd been trailing the race for weeks, always with something nasty to say about everyone else.

"Look who finally decided to show up," she called out as you approached with your canteen. "The group's little shadow. Do you even do anything, or do you just follow those two around like a lost puppy?"

You tilted your head. Considered the question. Decided it wasn't worth answering.

"You know, some of us are actually competing here," she continued, louder now, feeding off the few snickers from her companions. "Not just playing nursemaid to a cripple and a clown."

You crouched at the water's edge, filling your canteen. The cool water lapped at your fingers.

"Hey. I'm talking to you."

"You are," you agreed pleasantly. "I'm just not listening."

The snickers stopped. The woman's face flushed an ugly red.

Before she could retort, a shadow fell over both of you.

"Signora."

Gyro's voice was light. Almost playful. But the steel under it was unmistakable. He stood with his arms crossed, cowboy hat tipped low, that familiar smirk on his face the one that meant someone was about to regret their life choices.

The woman straightened. "This doesn't concern you, Zeppeli."

"Oh, but it does." He stepped closer, positioning himself between you and her with an ease that felt practiced. Natural. "You see, this one.." he jerked his thumb toward you without looking away from her, "is under my protection. And I take that very seriously."

"It was just a joke"

"Was it?" His voice dropped. "Because I didn't hear anyone laughing. Did you hear anyone laughing"

You shook your head, fighting a smile.

The woman's companions had suddenly found urgent business elsewhere. She stood alone, caught in Gyro's orbit, visibly shrinking.

"I wasn't trying to-"

"You were." Gyro's hand drifted to one of his steel balls. Just touching it. Casually. "You were trying to be cruel to someone who has done nothing to you. Someone who wouldn't even defend themselves if you spit in their face." He glanced back at you, and something in his expression softened.

The woman opened her mouth. Closed it. Thought better

She left without another word, mounting her horse with jerky, embarrassed movements and disappearing down the trail.

Gyro watched her go, then let out a long breath, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

"Some people," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he turned to you, and his whole demeanor shifted the hard edges melting into something almost shy. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Gyro."

"You're always fine." He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the sun on his skin, the faint trace of mint he chewed on long rides. "That's what worries me."

You looked up at him. Saw the concern behind his eyes, the way his hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure if he should.

So you reached for him instead.

Your hands came up to cup his face sharp jaw, slightly rough from days on the road, warm beneath your palms. His breath hitched. The ever-present smirk vanished

"Thank you," you said softly. "For defending me. Even when I don't need it."

"You always need it," he whispered. "You just don't know it."

You rose onto your toes and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to his lips.and another one where the sun had kissed him brown. Your thumbs brushed his cheekbones as you pulled back, just enough to see his eyes.

Gyro went completely pink.

From his neck to his hairline, a slow spread of color that made him look years younger. Decades younger. Like a boy caught stealing sweets.

"You.." He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Tried again. "you can't just-"

"I just did."

His hand came up to cover yours against his cheek. His fingers were surprisingly soft

"Tesoro," he said, and the word came out rough. Broken. "If you do that again, I'm going to do something very stupid. Like fall in love with you."

You smiled. "Who says you haven't already?"

He stared at you for a long moment. Then he laughed, pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"I'll defend you forever," he murmured into your hair. "Even if you don't care. Especially because you don't. Someone has to care that you're good. That you're kind. And I volunteer."

You pressed your face into his shirt, smiling against the fabric.

when he finally pulled back, just enough to look at your face, he pressed his own kiss to your forehead gentle, reverent, like you were something sacred.

"Next time," he said quietly, "let me punch someone. Just once. For my own sake."

You laughed. "We'll see."

He groaned. But he was smiling.

And that was enough.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

The stables were quiet at this hour just the soft huff of horses and the rustle of hay. You'd found Diego here more often than not, brushing down Silver Bullet long after everyone else had turned in. He said it was practical. You suspected it was the only place he felt like himself.

Tonight though, the quiet had been interrupted.

"You honestly expect me to believe you're not using him?"

The voice belonged to one of the race's wealthier backers a man with fat rings on every finger and a sneer that never quite left his face. He'd cornered you near the stable entrance, blocking your path with his bulk.

"Everyone has an angle," he continued, jabbing a finger toward your chest. "And you attached to him of all people? The cold-blooded one? Please. You're either a fool or a gold-digger, and I haven't decided which."

You stood there, canteen in hand, watching him with the same mild expression you'd wear for a slightly tedious weather report.

"Are you finished?" you asked.

"Finished? I haven't even started. The way you hover around him it's pathetic, really. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone. The second this race is over, he'll drop you like-"

"Like what?"

The voice came from behind you, low and razor-sharp. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You felt him before you saw him the temperature drop, the way the air seemed to tighten.

Diego Brando stepped past you with the fluid grace of a predator. He wasn't tall, but somehow he filled the entire stable entrance, his presence pressing against the wealthy man like a blade to the throat.

"I asked you a question." Diego's head tilted, just slightly. His eyes those cold, brilliant eyes had gone flat and dangerous. "Like what, exactly?"

The backer took a step back. Then another. "I was just-"

"Talking about my business?" Diego moved closer, and the man stumbled over a bucket. "About my companion? About things you know nothing about?"

"There's no need for hostility"

"You came here." Diego's voice never rose above a murmur, but it cut like broken glass. "You followed them. You cornered them. And now you want to play the victim?" His lip curled. "Pathetic."

The man's face had gone pale. He glanced toward the stable door, calculating his escape.

"I'll remember this, Brando," he spat, scrambling backward. "You've made an enemy tonight."

"I've had better." Diego didn't watch him leave. His gaze was fixed on the space the man had occupied, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides.

Silence.

You walked up beside him, close enough to feel the tension radiating off his frame. His breathing was controlled too controlled.

"Diego."

"They shouldn't speak to you like that." His voice was flat. Careful. "They shouldn't even look at you like that."

"They're not worth your anger."

"Why don't you care?" he asked quietly. "They insult you and They threaten you. They call you names and question your intentions, and you just.." He gestured vaguely, frustration bleeding through. "You just stand there. Like it doesn't touch you."

"It doesn't."

"But it touches me."

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than either of you expected. Diego seemed to realize what he'd said his jaw tightened, his gaze dropped but he didn't take it back.

You reached up slowly, giving him every chance to pull away. He didn't. Your hands found his face sharp cheekbones, a jaw set with stubborn pride, skin cool despite the desert heat. His eyes widened just a fraction, the ice cracking.

"Diego," you said again, softer this time. "You don't have to fight every battle for me."

"Yes, I do." His voice came out rougher than he intended. "You won't fight for yourself. Someone has to. And I will choose to everytime"

You kissed his cheek.

It was gentle barely a press of lips against his sun-warmed skin. Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth as you pulled back, and you felt him shiver.

For a long moment, he didn't move.

Then his hand came up to cover yours, pressing your palm more firmly against his face like he couldn't bear to let go. His eyes had gone dark, unreadable, but something flickered there something desperate and hungry and terribly, terribly young.

"You're going to ruin me," he whispered.

"Maybe."

"You're not afraid of that?"

You smiled. "Are you?"

Diego stared at you. The stable was silent around you Silver Bullet nickering softly in his stall, hay rustling in the breeze. Somewhere far off, a coyote called into the dark.

He didn't answer your question.

Instead, he turned his head and pressed his lips to your palm once, twice, a third time, like a prayer he'd never learned the words to.

"I'll destroy anyone who hurts you," he said finally, matter-of-fact. "Anyone who looks at you wrong. Anyone who even thinks about making you unhappy."

"That's a lot of people."

"Then I have a lot of work to do."

You laughed, and the sound seemed to startle him like he hadn't expected to be capable of inspiring joy. His expression softened, just for a moment, and he looked almost human.

"Come on," he said, tugging your hand away from his face but not letting go. "It's late. You should rest."

"We should rest."

He glanced at you sidelong, a ghost of his usual smirk returning. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

He led you out of the stable, hand in hand, his thumb tracing small circles against your knuckles. The stars were brilliant overhead, scattered across the sky like someone had thrown a handful of diamonds.

"I meant what I said," Diego murmured as you walked. "About destroying anyone who hurts you."

"I know."

"Good." He squeezed your hand.

Diego closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were brighter than the stars.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

The afternoon sun blazed down on the main street of a nothing town one of those dusty waypoints that existed only because the race passed through. Merchants hawked their wares. Riders watered their horses. And you, for once, had a moment of peace.

Hot Pants stood beside you at a vendor's stall, examining a length of cloth. Her shoulder brushed yours. Her fingers, when they reached for the fabric, grazed your knuckles.

Neither of you moved your hand away.

It was small..and subtle The kind of touch that could be accidental. But you'd been doing this dance long enough to know better.

"Blue suits you," you said quietly.

She glanced at you something softened in her expression. "You think so?"

"I know so."

She looked back at the fabric, but her fingers intertwined with yours. Hidden between your bodies

The vendor, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, pretended not to notice.

You bought the cloth a deep indigo, the color of twilight and stepped away from the stall. Hot Pants didn't let go of your hand. Neither did you.

"Hot Pants," you said.

She stopped. Turned. "What?"

You stepped closer. Raised your free hand to her face cupped her jaw, felt the sharp line of it beneath your palm. Her eyes widened, just slightly, because she knew what was coming. Because you'd done this before, in quiet corners and empty stables and once

But never in broad daylight. Never on a crowded street.

You kissed her cheek.

Slow. Deliberate. Your thumb brushed the corner of her mouth as you pulled back, and you watched the flush spread across her face like sunrise.

The world didn't stop. But a few people noticed.

And one of them.a man leaning against a hitching post, tobacco-stained teeth bared in a grin decided to open his mouth.

"Well, well," he drawled, loud enough for half the street to hear. "Didn't know we had that sort of thing going on in this town. Two women, carryin' on like that in public?"

Hot Pants stiffened beside you. Her hand tightened on yours not with fear, but with the effort of restraint.

The man pushed off from the post, swaggering closer. "Ain't you got any shame? Kissin' your... whatever she is... right out here where decent folks can see?"

You tilted your head. Ended up founding him utterly unremarkable.

"Plenty of shame," you said pleasantly. "Just not about this."

His grin faltered. "What?"

"She said," Hot Pants interjected, stepping forward and her voice had dropped to that low, dangerous register that made men twice his size flinch, "that she doesn't care what you think."

The man laughed, but it was hollow. "You threatening me?"

"No." Hot Pants released your hand and for a moment, you mourned the warmth but only because she needed both hands free. "I'm informing you, Walk away now. While you still can."

"You can't just-"

She moved.

One hand resting on her hip, where the edge of her cream sweater concealed something harder beneath. Her eyes never left his.

Something in the man's bravado cracked.

"You're crazy," he muttered, backing up. "Both of you, Crazy mentally ill"

"Maybe." You smiled at him warm, easy, utterly unbothered. "But we're the ones still standing here. And you're the one leaving."

He left.

The street resumed its business. A few people glanced your way curious, confused, some disapproving but no one else said a word.

Hot Pants stood rigid beside you, her breathing controlled, her jaw set. She didn't look at you for a long moment.

"You didn't have to say anything to him."

"I know."

"You could have let me handle it."

"I know."

"Then why.."

You turned to face her fully. Reached up and cupped her face in both hands her skin warm from the sun, her eyes still sharp with leftover adrenaline. She went still beneath your touch, like a deer caught in torchlight.

"Because," you said softly, "I wanted him to know that I'm not embarrassed. That I'd kiss you again right now, in front of every person on this street, and not think twice about it."

Her lips parted. "You.."

"And because," you continued, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, "you defend me every single time. You fight my battles without being asked. You stand between me and the world and you dare anyone to try."

"That's different though.."

"Is it?" You leaned in, close enough that your forehead nearly touched hers. "You protect me from cruelty. Let me protect you from shame."

Hot Pants stared at you.

"You're going to make me cry in public," she whispered.

"Would that be so bad?"

"Yes." But she was smiling.

"I love you," you said not for the first time, but maybe for the first time where anyone could hear. "And I don't care who knows it."

"You're impossible," she breathed.

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

[otterwifey]

Tav: *laying on their stomach with a book in their hands*

Owlbear: *laying stomach down on tabs back*

Scratch: *laying on his back on tavs outstretched legs with his head on the smal of your back*

Wyll: *chuckles* “you comfortable there?”

Tav: “I didn’t choose motherhood, motherhood chose me.”

[witchymommy27]

A girls first heartbreak is her favorite fanfiction being deleted.

[wysteria-bloom]

I have a funny little request, How do you think the baldur's gate 3 companions would react or respond to Tav talking to someone and who ever they are talking to asks them something about a husband/Wife and they point to one of the companions say “Yeah that’s my Husband/Wife right here”, Or Tav greeting the bg3 companions and saying “Hello my beautiful Wife or Handsome Husband how are you today?” Idk I think it would be funny you can either do all the companions or just a few and whoever else you want.

P.S One of the companions has to Karlach pls and thank you. Have a good day/night

↪"Say that again?"

Bg3 companions x reader

Warnings : none that I can think of, if there anything triggering please let me know

A/n : this is such a cute idea !!! Thank you so much for the request and ofc I'll include Karlach it's a literal crime if I don't

Characters : Astarion, Karlach, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel, Wyll, Halsin, Minthara, Rolan, Raphael

▢ astarion

Astarion is mid-sip of his wine when he hears it. You’re chatting with a bartender, mentioning offhandedly, "Oh, my husband enjoys that brand of wine!" The words seem to hang in the air. A moment later, he chokes, coughing as he hurriedly sets his glass down.

"Sorry, darling, did I just hallucinate, or did you actually call me your husband?" He grins, sharp and playful, but there’s something else lurking in his ruby eyes—something softer. "How bold of you. I don’t recall signing any vows, though if they involve more pet names and adoration, I might be convinced."

Despite his teasing, there’s an undeniable smirk of satisfaction on his lips, and later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you catch him whispering his name with your last name attatched—testing the sound of it with a chuckle.

▢ shadowheart

Shadowheart stiffens, her hand momentarily pausing over the clasp of her pack as you effortlessly refer to her as your wife in conversation. She recovers quickly, a well-trained mask slipping into place, but you catch the slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tighten just a bit.

When the conversation is over, she turns to you, arms crossed, voice a delicate mix of amusement and hesitancy. "Wife, huh? That’s...a rather serious word, don’t you think?" There’s no irritation in her voice, just a quiet wariness.

You lean in and reassure her—tell her it just felt natural—she exhales, her stance softening. "I suppose... it doesn’t sound terrible coming from you." She smirks faintly, then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she murmurs, "Say it again. Just once."

▢ gale

Gale practically beams. He was in the middle of explaining some grand magical theory when you casually referred to him as your husband, and the conversation might as well have ceased to exist. He turns to you with wide, delighted eyes, as if you just handed him the crown jewel of Mystra herself.

"You—you truly think of me that way?" His voice is filled with genuine wonder, his hands twitching as if resisting the urge to pull you into an embrace right there. "I must admit, I rather like the sound of it."

For the rest of the day, he finds ways to bring it up—entirely coincidentally, of course. "Ah, yes, my spouse and I were just discussing that," he’ll say to a trader. Or, "Well, as my beloved has so kindly pointed out..." He’s positively radiant, and when the two of you are alone, he holds you close, murmuring, "One day, perhaps, we could make it more than just words."

▢ karlach

Karlach lets out the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. One moment, she’s hauling a crate of supplies, and the next, she’s throwing an arm around you, laughing loud enough to startle a nearby bard.

"Wife? You think I’m wife material?" She practically lifts you off the ground in a hug, her infernal engine humming warmly. "Oh, babe, you really know how to make a girl’s heart melt."

For the rest of the day, she won’t stop teasing you. "Hey, love, your wife could use a back rub after all that heavy lifting." Or "Shouldn't a wife get extra rations? I think that’s fair." But underneath the playful exterior, there’s a warmth in her gaze every time she looks at you—like you just gave her something precious she never thought she could have.

▢ lae'zel

The moment the word leaves your mouth—wife—Lae’zel halts. Her expression sharpens, golden eyes locking onto yours with an unreadable intensity. The person you were speaking to wisely excuses themselves, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

She steps closer, head tilting, her voice a low rumble. "You claim me as a wife?" It isn’t anger, but a challenge. Prove it, her tone demands.

You meet her gaze unwaveringly and confirm it without hesitation, she exhales, something pleased flashing across her face. "Hmph. Among my kin, such a title is not spoken lightly. If you speak it, you must own it."

Later, when camp is quiet and you were walking towards your tent, she pulls you aside, her hand gripping your wrist—possessive, firm but there was a softness to it that couldn't be denied. She looked flustered, frowning at you with a twitch of her brow," As your... wife. I demand we sleep in the same tent."

▢ wyll

Wyll is in the middle of charming a noble when you casually refer to him as your husband. The words slip from your lips without hesitation, and at first, he doesn’t react—so well-trained in maintaining composure. Only until the noble left did something warm flicker in his bi-coloured eyes, his confident smile faltering for just a heartbeat.

"Ah—your what?" He turns to you, and for the first time in a long while, the Blade of Frontiers looks genuinely caught off guard.

When you confirm it with an easy smile, he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to suppress the warmth creeping up his face. "Well, now you’ve gone and made a man blush," he teases, but there’s a softness to it. A part of him that seems to hold onto the word like a cherished melody.

Later that evening, when the two of you have a rare quiet moment, he leans in, his voice lower, more earnest. "You really see me that way?" His hand finds yours, thumb tracing circles against your palm. "Because I could get used to that."

▢ halsin

Halsin is kneeling by a wounded animal, murmuring a quiet spell of healing, when the word husband leaves your lips. It’s said so casually—to another druid, in passing—that at first, he doesn’t seem to react.

But then, as the spell finishes, he turns to you, golden eyes warm with something deeply affectionate. A slow smile spreads across his face, creasing the corners of his eyes. "Husband," he repeats, testing the weight of it, his voice rich with amusement. "That is… a title of great commitment. And yet, hearing it from you, it feels as though it has always been true."

There’s no teasing, no hesitation—only an earnest kind of joy. He steps closer, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch feather-light. "If this is how you see me, then I will wear the title with pride." His voice drops to a low murmur, meant only for you. "And should you ever wish to make it more than words, I will answer gladly."

From that moment on, he often refers to you in kind—my heart, my love, and, on particularly affectionate days, even my wife/husband/mate. It is not just a title to him; it is a promise.

▢ minthara

Minthara doesn’t react at first. Not outwardly. She merely continues sharpening her blade, her red eyes cold and unreadable as you casually refer to her as your wife in conversation.

The person you were speaking to quickly departs, sensing the weight of silence that follows. Then, without looking up, Minthara speaks, her voice dangerously low. "You called me wife."

It isn’t a question. It’s an evaluation. A test.

You confirm it, she finally lifts her gaze to meet yours, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "How bold of you," she muses, setting her blade aside. "Amongst lolth-sworn drow, such words are not spoken lightly. They are a claim. A promise."

She stands, stepping into your space, her presence as commanding as ever. A hand grips your chin—not harsh, but firm. Possessive. "If you call me wife, then you had best mean it."

And yet, later that night, when the camp is quiet and she believes no one is watching, she lingers at your side a little longer. A rare softness flickers in her eyes before she turns away, murmuring to you just loud enough for you to hear—"Hmph. It does have a certain... power to it."

▢ raphael

The moment the word husband leaves your lips, Raphael goes completely still. The conversation you were having with an unfortunate merchant screeches to a halt as the cambion turns his attention fully on you. The air crackles with something dangerous—something deeply, intensely amused.

A slow smirk stretches across his lips. "My dear, I do believe I misheard you," he purrs, voice as smooth as velvet. "Did you just call me your husband? How delightfully bold of you."

He steps closer, red eyes gleaming with something unreadable—pleasure? Possession? The thrill of a game he suddenly must win? He takes your hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. Never breaking eye contact as his lips were curved in that usual salacious smirk of his,"Now, if you are to call me husband, I expect proper treatment. Gifts. Devotion. Perhaps a throne befitting a devil of my caliber."

There’s teasing in his tone, but beneath it? Oh, there’s something else entirely. Later, when no one is around, he murmurs against your ear, "let me hear it again... it sounds so terribly tempting when it falls from those lips of yours."

▢ rolan

Rolan is mid-rant—complaining about some idiot who failed to organise the library books the right way—when you absentmindedly refer to him as your husband. He stops talking. Completely.

His mouth opens. Closes. His tail flicks rapidly behind him, betraying his internal spiral.

"Wha—wait—what did you just call me?" His voice cracks, and he immediately clears his throat, straightening his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain his dignity.

When you repeat it, casual as ever, he stares at you like you just cast Wish in front of him. "That’s… I mean, I am an impressive partner, but—" He crosses his arms, looking away, his cheeks burning a darker, unmistakable shade of red. "You can’t just say things like that without warning someone!"

But for the rest of the day, he’s noticeably smug—standing taller, magic practically crackling at his fingertips. And if you listen closely, you might hear him muttering under his breath: "Husband. Hah... obviously."

[connorsui]

"How beautiful was she?"

"Was? ...please ..she is beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She is beautiful, for the way she thinks, She is beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she speaks about anything she loves. She is beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She is beautiful, deep down to her soul ....

She is the love of my life"

The man: Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, John Price, Jason Todd, Sam Winchester, Higuruma Hiromi, Halsin, Astarion Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, Levi Ackerman, Simon Riley, Johnny Mactavish, Leon Kennedy, Aizawa, Dabi, Hawks, Rafayel, Cooper Howard, Logan Howlett, Aemond, Nikto,

[why-the-hell-do-i-exist]

I doubt Astarion ever gets completely used to you sleeping beside him. You, a fool, happily lays beside a creature that only knows blood and death. A mouse that steps into the jaws of a cat and expects them not to close.

And yet, there you are. You sleep soundly beside him, you reach for him in your dreams, you sigh happily when you holds you.

He doesn’t believe it most days. He touches your wrist to feel your pulse thump slow and steady beneath his thumb. He rests a hand against your chest to feel the rise and fall of your lungs beneath your ribs. His fingers slip beneath your sleep shirt just to feel the warmth of you, to watch you wiggle away from his chilled touch, to hear your sleepy grouse.

An alive thing lays beside him. Flesh and bone, muscle and fat. You.

You’re a fool, he knows it as do you. But you’re his fool and that thought makes his old, dead heart do something similar to beat, just a little.

[moonselune]

The boys reacting to reader collapsing from exhaustion please?

Gale:

The stars had just begun to glimmer overhead, the velvet sky above the Shadow-Cursed Lands dimming into the kind of darkness that swallowed sound. The campfires crackled gently, casting flickering halos of warmth against the long stretch of gloom, but you were still going. Still walking. Still sorting. Still preparing.

You hadn’t rested. Not really. Not since that last fight, not since the argument with the goblins in the pass, not since the near ambush from twisted shadows. You’d kept your pace steady, your shoulders square, pushing through the weight in your limbs and the ache behind your eyes. You thought if you just did one more thing, the tension would stop building in your chest.

But your body had other plans.

You didn’t even remember falling. One moment you were standing, checking your gear, your fingertips trembling from fatigue, and the next—

Blackness.

A quiet thump. The faint scuffle of feet on earth.

Then a voice, fraying at the edges with fear: “Wait—wait! No, no, no—gods, please—!”

You came to slowly, like rising through molasses, every sound muffled by a distant ringing. The smell of lavender and parchment hit your senses before anything else—then warmth. Gale. He was crouched beside you, cradling your head with trembling fingers, his brow furrowed with frantic concentration.

His face was pale beneath the firelight, lips pressed in a tight line, panic storming behind his eyes like thunderclouds.

“There you are,” he breathed, voice rough, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until you stirred. “You—by Mystra’s grace, you scared the life out of me.”

You tried to sit up. “I’m fine—”

“No, you are not,” Gale snapped. The edge in his voice shocked you—it was so rare, so unlike his usual soft-spoken warmth. But it cracked with strain, with the sharp weight of helplessness. “You collapsed. Not tripped. Not stumbled. Collapsed. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and you think I wouldn’t notice?”

You blinked at him, throat dry. “I just—there was a lot to do. I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to?” he echoed, his eyes going wide, almost wounded. “That somehow makes it better?”

His hands trembled as he brushed dirt from your cheek, then stilled when he cupped your jaw gently. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t have to carry it all.”

You looked away, ashamed—because you had been trying to carry it all. Because you didn’t want to be a burden. Because you thought if you didn’t slow down, maybe everything else wouldn’t catch up.

But Gale wasn’t done.

“You think I wouldn’t burn the very weave itself if it meant keeping you safe?” he asked, his voice suddenly soft again, but still fierce. “You think your worth is measured by how much pain you can ignore?”

Your lip trembled, just a little. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, eyes glistening. “Then you’ve failed spectacularly.”

You smiled despite yourself, and Gale immediately folded forward, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and shaking.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t apologize. Just let me help. You don’t have to prove your strength by hiding your exhaustion. Not from me.”

He helped you sit up, guiding you gently like you were made of glass—his hands constantly checking for bruises or signs of injury, his eyes flicking across your face like he might lose you again if he looked away too long.

“I’ll rest,” you murmured finally.

“You’ll rest now,” Gale corrected, brushing your hair back. “And you’ll let me stay, even if all I can do is hold you while you sleep. Agreed?”

“…Agreed.”

And so he settled in beside you, holding you close beneath the stars, heart still racing, fingers still trembling—but never letting go.

Astarion:

The campfire crackled gently in the distance, its glow barely brushing the edges of the clearing as the evening slipped into deeper shades of indigo. The world beyond was all hush and shadow, quieted by the oppressive weight of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Everyone had started winding down, preparing for rest. Everyone except you.

You had been pacing—relentlessly. Repacking your gear. Polishing a blade you’d already sharpened twice. Pretending that the tremble in your limbs wasn’t there. That the weight behind your eyes didn’t burn. That you hadn’t been pushing yourself beyond the brink for days.

And then, quite simply—your body gave out.

Your knees folded. The world tilted. And the last thing you heard was a very undignified shout:

“Oh for—you dramatic idiot!”

You woke with a sharp inhale, but the moment you stirred, cold hands were already gripping your shoulders, a familiar voice hissing through clenched teeth:

“Don’t you dare try to sit up.”

Astarion loomed over you, silver hair in slight disarray, cravat askew, red eyes wild with something that looked like fury—but was far too sharp-edged to be anger alone. He was kneeling at your side, holding you like you were made of glass and pure trouble at once.

“You absolute menace,” he growled, inspecting you as if he might hex your exhaustion into submission. “I knew you were overdoing it. I told you. And what do you do? You drop like a sack of poorly stitched laundry!”

You blinked slowly, confused. “Astarion—”

“And not gracefully, mind you,” he continued, indignant. “You just crumpled. I had to catch you like some harlequin in a second-rate opera. I nearly broke a nail.”

Despite the scolding, his hands were maddeningly gentle, checking your pulse, brushing back damp hair from your forehead. He was so close you could smell the faint hint of bergamot and aged leather. You could feel the tension in his jaw, in the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into your sleeve as if grounding himself.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, voice hoarse.

He froze.

And then something shifted.

Astarion’s eyes softened—not much, but enough to crack the veneer of aristocratic outrage. He sighed, exasperated and... undeniably worried.

“Gods, darling, what were you thinking?” he said, this time quieter. “You looked like death warmed over hours ago. Why didn’t you say something? Or sit? Or, Mystra forbid, actually rest?”

You tried to offer a weak smile. “Didn’t want to trouble anyone.”

His face twisted like you’d just said the most offensive thing imaginable.

“Trouble—? Oh, how dare you,” he snapped, but now it sounded almost... wounded. “You think I waste my charms on just anyone? You think I go around catching unconscious fools for fun? You are my trouble, you idiot.”

He pulled you upright against his chest with surprising tenderness, wrapping his arms around you as he shifted you into his lap, cradling you like something precious and exasperating all at once. You could feel the way his thumb traced circles along your spine, even as he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“I swear, if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll—well, I’ll write a very strongly worded sonnet about your irresponsibility.”

You laughed softly against his shoulder. “A poem? That’s my punishment?”

“I am an artist of many talents, thank you very much,” he said primly. “But don’t tempt me. I’ll make it rhymed and awful.”

You looked up at him through tired eyes, heart aching with affection. “You were worried about me.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” he sniffed dramatically. “I was worried about me. What would I do if my favorite pillow went and died from pure stubbornness?”

And yet he pulled the blanket tighter around you. And his hand never left yours. And he didn’t stop holding you—not for the rest of the night.

Furious, indeed.

Wyll:

The world drifted back in slow fragments—light, sound, breath. You stirred, faintly aware of something heavy draped across you, of warmth pressed along your side, of a steady rhythm pulsing through fabric and skin: a heartbeat, far too quick to be your own.

“Wyll?” your voice came out as a rasp, thick and uncertain.

He did not move.

Your eyes blinked open to find him kneeling at your side, bent low, his forehead resting just over your heart like he was listening for something—proof you were still there, still beating beneath his hands. His fingers gripped your shirt, knuckles white, the rest of him utterly still save for the occasional tremble that betrayed just how close he was to coming undone.

“…You’re awake,” he whispered, voice hoarse, like speaking louder might break whatever fragile reality he’d constructed around himself while you were unconscious.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, trying to push yourself up.

Instantly, Wyll surged upward, pressing a firm hand to your shoulder and another to your hip, holding you flat against the bedroll with all the strength of someone who had just seen the person they love go limp and collapse in front of them. His dark eyes were wide, frantic, and furious—not at you, but at the helplessness clawing at him from the inside.

“Don’t you dare try to move,” he growled. “Not after that stunt.”

“I said I’m fine,” you muttered, wriggling against his grip. “I just overdid it a little—”

“You collapsed,” he snapped. “Like a marionette with its strings cut. One minute you were walking, talking, and the next—” He choked, fingers tightening for a split second. “You hit the ground and I—I thought you were dead.”

You opened your mouth to dismiss him again, to soothe, but Wyll leaned in, his voice low and sharp like flint striking steel.

“You don’t get to tell me this is nothing,” he hissed. “Because if you keep running yourself into the ground like this, someday it won’t just be a collapse. It’ll be you not waking up. And I—” He shook his head, his expression crumpling. “I can’t go through that.”

“Wyll—”

“I need you to understand what it does to me,” he interrupted, suddenly, dangerously close. “To see you fall and not know if I’ll ever hear your voice again. So if I seem dramatic, if I seem over-the-top, it’s because I’m trying to teach you something.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his curls. His tail flicked with restless tension behind him.

“Because when the real thing happens—when I do lose you—I’ll be ruined. You are the flame I measure all warmth by. And if that flame ever goes out…”

He swallowed hard. “Then I’m nothing but ash.”

Your heart twisted at the way his voice faltered, how the last word was barely more than a breath.

You tried to sit up again, to offer some comfort—but he lunged, practically threw himself down, sprawling across your torso like an overgrown, armored cat with an overdeveloped sense of righteous vengeance.

“You are resting.” His voice was muffled against your chest, but the weight of his body was firm, final, and very much unmoving.

You blinked. “…Are you pinning me down?”

“Yes.”

“You weigh a thousand pounds.”

“I will increase it if I have to.”

You sighed, flopping back with a groan of surrender. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being reckless,” he retorted, not budging. “So now we’re even.”

There was a long silence. Then a quiet chuckle slipped out of you, reluctant but real. You carded your fingers through his hair, letting the tension bleed from your limbs.

“Fine. I’ll rest.”

Wyll tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to your sternum, his voice a low murmur. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Halsin:

The moment your eyes cracked open, you knew you were in trouble.

The air inside Halsin’s tent was thick with the scent of dried herbs and pine resin, heavy with the warmth of the furs layered beneath you. It was dim—his tent flap drawn shut—but soft light filtered in, revealing the familiar shape of his travel gear stacked in its usual meticulous order. The cot creaked softly beneath you as you shifted, muscles aching, limbs leaden. There was a wet cloth resting on your brow, cool and fragrant with some kind of forest mint.

You had absolutely, unequivocally passed out from exhaustion.

And Halsin had clearly been the one to find you.

A groan built low in your throat, and with it came your brilliant idea: sneak out. Maybe—just maybe—you could slink off before he returned. You didn’t relish the idea of a lecture from a near seven-foot-tall druid whose entire body seemed to be carved from oak and thunderclouds.

You swung your legs over the cot, wincing as the rush of dizziness hit you. But you were determined. Quiet. Graceful. Almost at the—

“Where,” came a low, thunderous voice from behind, “do you think you’re going?”

You froze mid-step. Slowly, guiltily, you turned.

And there he was—Halsin—massive, bare-chested, his thick arms crossed over his chest, golden eyes narrowed and jaw clenched with a sternness that belonged more to a storm than a man.

“Ah,” you said. “I was just—stretching.”

Before you could retreat or formulate another weak excuse, he closed the space between you with startling speed, scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all, and slung you over his shoulder.

“Halsin!” you protested, smacking at his back as he turned and carried you—without effort, without ceremony—right back to bed. “Put me down!”

“You’re lucky I’m not tying you to the cot,” he rumbled, voice edged with exasperated affection. “You collapsed in the middle of the clearing. In front of everyone. I had to carry you back here—twice, apparently.”

He set you down with far more care than his grumbling suggested, adjusting the furs around you, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they brushed a damp curl from your temple. Then, without another word, he reached behind him and produced a small bundle of cloth.

He opened it to reveal a collection of deep red and violet berries nestled in soft moss. “I foraged these. You need to eat.”

You blinked. “Halsin, I—”

“Eat,” he said simply, with that patient, immovable tone he used when dealing with stubborn animals and, apparently, stubborn lovers.

You gave him a sheepish look, but obeyed, popping a few of the berries into your mouth. They were sweet, tart, and immediately grounding. Halsin watched you the entire time, gaze softening only after he saw you swallow a second mouthful.

Once satisfied, he slid in beside you, the cot creaking in protest beneath his weight. You barely had time to blink before his arms wrapped around you, strong and encompassing, pulling you into the heat of his chest. One leg tangled with yours as he pulled the furs up around both of you.

“You frightened me,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear, breath warm against your hair. “I have seen wounds. Disease. Poison. But watching you crumble from something so preventable? It... it undid me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice already thick and slipping into sleep again. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “No apologies. Just rest.”

You tried to protest, but your words slurred, consciousness unraveling like smoke. You barely registered his arms tightening around you protectively, his deep voice rumbling softly as he murmured something soothing in Druidic, something meant to lull, to calm.

“I’ll watch over you,” he promised into your hair. “You are safe now. Just sleep.”

And this time, you listened.

IM BACK WITH THE BOYS ugh I love it, also I'm on a dark bg3 brain rot so that will be the next post. Hope you guys enjoyed this and thank you all for your contiued support!- Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[faecupcakes]

Astarion but he feels really safe with you. His mask completely drops around you, so sometimes he just crawls into your tent and is soft and whiny and lays on top of you. You are required to stroke his hair and scritch behind his ears or else he is sad.

It takes so much courage for him to come to someone for comfort, so be sure to tell him how brave and strong he is.

He wants forehead kisses, and to be talked to, told that he’s loved. You can be sure he’d never let anyone but you see him like this. But you’re his safe person ❤️