#BUT it entertains me nonetheless so here it gets posted

[paradife-loft]

me reading Babel: yeah Ramy Mirza is definitely giving me ADHD vibes for sure. dunno how intentional that is tho considering I could easily see inspiration for those aspects of his personality being drawn generally from RF Kuang's experience in academia rather than written with specific intent

the condensed Ramy backstory interlude: "in the Wilson household they called him the little professor"

me: ohhhhhhh, ok nevermind then, got it 👍

[palajae]

bfb. (my best friend’s brother is the one for me!)

PAIRING... best friend’s brother!riki x reader | GENRE... dancer! au, romance, humor, fluff, a flirty riki and down bad reader | WC... 2.1k | inspired by best friend’s brother by victorious (if you couldn’t tell already lmao)

wrote this at 2am in celebration of 1000 posts wtf 

the first nishimura you met and befriended was actually sola. the first day you joined lead entertainment all those years ago, the bright and bubbly girl was the one who greeted you and showed you around. 

“oh, and this is my sister konon!” 

your eyes widen at the sight of the sweaty, yet still gorgeous girl coming out of the practice room. by the looks of it, you assumed she had just finished leading a class. 

immediately, the resemblance hit you. the nishimura girls were both beautiful and talented. 

konon tilts her head at you, guzzling down water. 

“so you’re the newbie.” 

you nod, “nice to meet you. i watched a bit of your class and you were incredible.”

“could say the same here.” when your eyes widen, a bit taken aback, she explains herself. 

“saw your first class earlier today. not bad, for a beginner. you could work on your facials, though.”

you raise an eyebrow, “is that just constructive criticism or an offer to teach me?” 

konon shrugs as sola giggles, “whatever you want it to be.” you both then share a smile. you instantly knew you two were going to get along well. 

for the next couple of weeks, you spent a lot of time with konon. not just dancing, but also bonding to the point you considered her your best friend. she taught you a lot more about the performance aspect of dancing, which you greatly appreciated. honestly, konon was mesmerizing both on and off the stage. 

“wanna sleepover?” konon asks after a particularly long session. “my parents probably won’t be back since they have to close up the studio, so you can come over to my place.” 

“wait a second, your parents own the company?!”

“oh y/n,” konon shakes her head sympathetically, “there’s a lot you don’t know.” 

and right she was. you had absolutely no idea that the nishimura girls had, in fact, another sibling. 

a brother. 

freshly showered, you gasp in awe while admiring the nishimura residence. it was clean with those sleek modern vibes, and not to mention filled with countless dancing awards that you assumed came from the girls. 

as konon leads you up the stairs, she tells you to wait outside her door. “it’s a bit messy…” 

you roll your eyes, telling her that you don’t mind, but she protests nonetheless. while waiting, you explore the hall. most of the room doors were closed, but a faint sound coming from one of the rooms catches your attention. 

it sounded like, someone yelling? they had a remarkably deep voice, like they were a guy-

“y/n!” konon hisses and you jump, turning around. “what are you doing? get in here!”

finally seeing her room distracts you, as you momentarily forget about the noise coming from down the hall. 

you had stayed up rather (very) late with konon, yapping the night away. not expecting to stay over, you didn’t bring anything. at some point, you begin to shiver. “it’s kinda cold,” you whine. 

in a sleepy daze, konon goes out of the room and retunes with a random hoodie.  

she throws it at your face, in which you grunt a thanks. 

“why is it so freaking huge,” you yawn while shoving it over your head. she mutters something random while plopping onto the bed, leaving the both of you to pass out contentedly. 

the next morning, you groan as you wake up. konon was still snoring away, so you decided to quietly go downstairs and grab a glass of water. 

the whole house still seemed quiet, so you assumed her parents and sister were still sleeping as well. they knew you stayed the night, right? 

carefully grabbing a glass, you pour yourself some water and gulp it down with a satisfied sigh. turning around, you’re about to head back up when you almost bump into a body. 

your eyes fly open in surprise as your water slightly spills over you and… him?

the first thought in your head is that—

crap, this guy is ridiculously handsome. and tall. 

you gape, pointing a finger at the stranger although you know it’s rude. 

“who are you?”

he squints back, “what are you doing in my house?” 

the situation you were currently in was so unexpected that you remain speechless for a moment. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about,“ you splutter. 

he crosses his arms, studying you from head to toe before he smirks. you swallow uncomfortably, feeling a little too warm. 

“konon invited me over!” you manage to spit out, mirroring his actions by crossing your arms too. 

“sure. i guess that means you’re allowed to steal other people’s clothes as well?” 

you tilt your head in confusion. “what do you mean?”

he only chuckles, making you feel even more flustered. “answer my question!”

he takes a step closer and you force yourself to stand your ground and not take one back. “which one?” 

his voice is so deep that you shiver. then it hits you—he must’ve been the one you heard yesterday night down the hall! 

“b-both,” you mumble while looking away. just as he opens his mouth, about to answer, you hear konon’s voice sleepily calling out your name. 

“you’re up already?” she yawns as she pads down the stairs. you furrow your eyebrows, glancing from the strangely familiar tall stranger to konon, then back to him, and finally back to her. 

your mouth drops agape. 

“don’t tell me-!” 

“oh, you didn’t know riki was my brother?”

you want to die of embarrassment. not only were you clueless about the fact that a nishimura riki did indeed exist, you were really done dirty by konon. 

how were you supposed to know that the hoodie you ‘borrowed’ actually belonged to aforementioned person? 

how did you not even know konon and sola had a brother? neither sister had ever brought him up before and you had never seen him around the company because oh, you would have remembered a face like that. 

your face burned, mortified, as you brought the washed hoodie back to konon. 

“could you return this to your…brother?”

“shouldn’t you do it yourself, considering you were the one who wore it?” she snickers as you complain endlessly.

“you gave it to me, so i thought it was yours!” you groan while rubbing a hand over your face in frustration. 

“don’t worry about it. riki is chill, especially since you guys are around the same age.” 

great. how were you going to face her unfortunately, really stupidly super cute brother?  

she tells you what room he’s practicing in, and you despise how your heart is pounding as you make your way over. 

since you hear music still playing, you decide to wait patiently outside for him to finish. you figure there was probably no harm in peeking through the windows while you waited. 

you were wrong. your mouth literally dries up at the sight in front of your eyes. 

life was unfair. not only was riki blessed with good looks, he was also an incredible dancer? obviously, you should’ve expected no less from the nishimuras. 

when the music stops, you take a deep breath and knock. to your surprise, the door almost immediately opens. 

the sight of a sweaty and breathless riki is almost too much for you to handle. 

“hi,” you say meekly. internally, you face palm. just being around him caused your brain to shut down.

“hey. enjoy the show?”

“what?” your head snaps up, flustered. 

riki laughs before opening the door and letting you in. “i was just joking.”

“oh… well, i wanted to give this back to you.”

he looks down at the bag held out to him. 

“it’s washed,” you add hastily, “thanks for letting me wear your hoodie without permission, i guess.”

“no problem. it looked better on you than me, anyway.”

oh no. your heart definitely skipped a beat. 

seeing your reaction, riki reaches over to ruffle your hair. 

“you’re cute.”

you? cute? riki? his smile? adorable? 

“y/n? are you alright? why did you come here?”

“huh? what?” you finally snap to your senses. 

you don’t even realize where you are until sola is waving a hand in front of your face. after riki’s words, you definitely spaced out. how did you even get here, about to enter the youth group’s class?

she watches you worriedly. “you were walking down the hall like a zombie. did something happen?”

your mouth opens, but you aren’t able to formulate a response. yes-but no, not really - you don’t even know yourself. 

instead, you choose to place your hands on her shoulders and sigh pitifully. “you nishimuras are going to be the death of me…”

after that day, every encounter with the menace that is nishimura riki only makes your life harder. 

much harder in the sense that you just want to shut him up with a kiss. his nonstop flirting made you wonder if he was born like this. i mean, everyone at the studio knew he was handsome. 

girls would whisper and flirt with him whenever he stepped into the studio. and yet, he rejected their advances and seemed disinterested. riki only acted crazy, well, in front of you. 

when you tried to bring it up discreetly to konon, she simply snorted. 

“riki’s used to the attention. it doesn’t phase him anymore. he’s like a little kid. he doesn’t care—i think he’s just not interested in anyone.” 

except, riki wasn’t like that around you. he was sweet, offering you water when no one else was around. he left snacks and silly notes in your dance locker. he would make funny faces and wink at you when his sisters weren’t looking.

it almost made you delusional. like maybe he… reciprocated your feelings? 

you hated keeping all your feelings suppressed, all behind konon’s back. still, you always asked to come over to her house when you knew riki was there. 

you couldn’t get him out of your mind. your best friend, konon’s, brother. if only they weren’t related. then nishimura riki would be the one for you. 

“i’m gonna go use the restroom.”

konon hums as you leave to go out into the hall with purposefully loud steps. you hold your breath, praying that you’ll ‘run into’ riki somehow. you knew exactly which room was his, so you could only hope he came out at the exact moment you did. 

he doesn’t. deflated, you quietly tip toe over to his room, placing an ear to the door. 

you listen, hoping to hear some noise. it’s awfully quiet, maybe he’s not in his room-

whoosh! 

the door swings open and suddenly, you gasp as you’re dragged in. riki sneakily closes the door as you’re stunned by the latest sequence of events, almost jumping out of your skin.  

how in the world did you end up in riki’s room, with him, 

alone?

“riki-“

he shushes you by pushing his finger to your lips. goosebumps appear on your arm, simply by his touch. you didn’t even realize that his other hand was still holding onto yours. 

“eavesdropping, were you?” 

he renders you speechless. you really didn’t have an excuse… 

he grins, “or were you just hoping to bump into me?”

you mumble something random, embarrassed. 

“don’t worry, i was hoping to get you alone too.” 

your eyes flick up to him, before you sigh and pull your arm out of his warm grasp. “do you really wanna know why? it’s because i can’t keep wondering.”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean this,” you gesture outwards, “i can’t keep wondering about this-us- because…”

“because?” he gazes at you with adoration evident. you squint. 

oh, he knows. at that point, you realize he‘s known. riki has known for a long time, maybe even since the beginning. 

at this point, it’s too late. nothing else to do but swallow your pride. you stand up straight, biting your lips.  

“is it wrong for me to say that, i like you? like, a lot?” 

riki says nothing for a moment, which only serves to makes you panic. if you just made a huge mistake and misread all of his signals-

“honestly, i always liked you.”

your breath hitches. he shrugs, looking almost shy himself for the first time in front of you. 

“i noticed you on your first day. i just didn’t know you grew that close to my sister.” 

suddenly, riki leans in as if he’s about to kiss you. you quickly stop him by holding onto his broad shoulders. 

you swallow, searching his eyes. 

“but what about konon?”

he seems annoyed at the mention of his sister. “what about her?”

“you’re my best friend’s brother!”

riki simply smiles cheekily while leaning in, “she doesn’t have to know.” 

when your lips meet, you can’t help but smile. it felt so right, wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up by your waist. 

it seems like your best friend’s brother really was the one for you. 

a/n ▸ you know i had to for my 1000th post since riki is so bfb coded <333  

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@kflixnet

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒

ㅤㅤghostface!mike schmidt x afton daughter!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, dark content, ghostface au

word count: 4.5k

summary: how were you supposed to know one of your closest friends was also the one in desperate need for revenge?

warnings: dubcon (this can also be considered noncon to some since there's the fear of death in place so if that's not your thing please don't read), knife use, manipulation, voyeurism but no one actually sees, daddy kink, piv, blowjob, nonconsensual somnophilia, male masturbation, reader doesn't know what william did, dirty talking, creampie

a/n: a day late but happy thanksgiving everyone 🖤 i am thankful for my josh hutcherson phase (normally I was going to post this yesterday but oh well you get it)

**dividers made by @saradika xx

How long has it been since you came here? How long has it been since you witnessed the clean beige exterior that now looked more suffocating than liberating? 

You observe the dust over the picture frames as you drop the suitcases, the sudden release of weight making your back bend back like a bow. You stare for a while. Your dad had bought this particular vacation home ages ago. Ironically he had done it so the family could spend some quality time together over the summers. That was before the incident. Before your mom left, only leaving you and him. 

Now the dirt outside was muddy from the pouring rain. Leaves turning to mush under the pressure of tires and boots. You hear the faint sound of the car door closing. Moments later Mike stands behind you. You can feel his breath tickling the back of your neck. It soothes you. 

“So this is the famous summer house huh?” he looks around, not bothering to close the door behind him, he takes a step further. “God, it’s cold in here. Please tell me there’s a heater somewhere.” 

“Probably in the basement. Remind you this place wasn’t meant for winter.” 

“Yeah I can see that from the windows,” he turns and finally closes the door. “It’s a bit eerie that anyone might just watch us from down there.” 

You scoff, “Who’s gonna watch? This house is the only one. Besides it’s just a couple days.” 

Your dad was finally selling the place. Meaning you had limited time to pack the things you wanted to keep before the rest was torn out. You knew packing all the old pictures would be overwhelming so you asked Mike to join and he was more than eager to help out—which was a bit surprising but you were grateful nonetheless. He was always kind to you. Always so gentle. He made your heart jump whenever he looked into your eyes, observing, searching them for something more. You never knew what he was searching for. 

Mike walks ahead with just his backpack, he’s wearing all black: black hoodie, black pants, black jacket. . . he’s completely contrasting his surroundings. He turns to you with rounded eyes and you melt a little. 

“So where am I staying?” 

“Let me show you,” It’s odd being in the halls again, you remember them feeling endless when you were a kid. The floor underneath you creaks. “Luckily we have a bunch of rooms. I don’t know what my parents were thinking, it’s not like we entertained a lot of guests.” 

“Well, it worked out in the end. Now I have a place to say.” 

“Silver lining,” you agree, showing his room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to head to bed and we can brainstorm where to start in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he steps inside the room and you can’t help but be reminded of how out of place he looks. “Good night.” 

“Good night, Mike.” 

He stands at the door with furrowed brows and downturned lips. Not that it’s important what his expression is. It’s not like anyone can see it underneath his mask. The mask that he’d bought last second. It is now or never. And this is his chance to avenge his brother, his broken family. This is the solution to all of it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re soundly sleeping. Your lips slightly parted, more skin showing with each rise and fall of your chest. Mike takes a step further inside. The wind howls against the naked windows. Yet, your room managed to stay warm. You turn around to lay on your back and he sees you parting your legs underneath the comforter. His cock grows hard at the sight, he’d love to take you right now. Fuck you until you gasp awake, your sweet cunt dripping with arousal—you’d tell him to stop, not recognizing who he is and he’d go on until you’re creaming around him. Your body becoming sweaty and warm. 

Mike licks his lips and rubs a palm over the outline of his cock. His eyes search your room. You hadn’t unpacked yet. Your suitcase open with clothes pouring out the edges. You probably just picked that flimsy shirt you were wearing and headed to bed. He slowly walks to the pile of clothes, within, he finds a pair of black lace underwear. Mike picks it up. A gloved thumb follows the patterns of delicate flowers. His lips curl upward, just what you were planning on doing with him here? In your old family home where it’s just the two of you?

He stands at the edge of your bed. He’s amazed at how much he can get away with without waking you. It’s amazing how much you trust him without a second thought. 

Too bad he doesn’t trust you. 

With your panties, he fists his cock, the fabric catches against the head prompting the jerk of his hips. He strokes himself fast and hard. Precome seeping into the delicate fabric. His eyes are glued to your lips, the pacing of your breath, your body that’s sprawled underneath the sheets. His cock twitches. Balls tightening as he imagines the sounds you would make for him with a knife against your throat and him deep inside your cunt. 

The smallest of groans manage to escape him as he spills into his fist and the fabric, thick ropes of come staining your panties, he inches closer. Hips stuttering helplessly while wishing to see himself dirty your pretty parted lips. He knows he will soon enough. He sees the way you look at him, how desperate you are for affection and a sense of belonging. Mike enjoys the sense of control he has over you. It makes it all that much more sweeter. 

He’ll take you. Break you. And pull you back together again. 

He’ll ruin William Afton’s precious little girl. 

You’re blessed with a little bit of sun today. Bits of dust sway in the air, boxes upon boxes standing around you and Mike. Two empty coffee cups lay idly on the floor. You slept like a baby last night, which was something you hadn’t expected, yet when you woke up you felt a bit off. Your door was open for starters. And you definitely remember closing it. Mike had just shrugged it off, saying that you were tired and probably forgot. 

Which is likely, now that you think about it. 

Mike picks up one of the framed photos of you and your dad. Despite the sunlight filling the living room, a chill settles over your skin. He observes the photo longer than necessary. Then he traces the engraved name underneath the picture. 

“Afton,” he murmurs. “I keep forgetting you’re an Afton.” 

He doesn’t let go of the picture as his eyes meet yours, you don’t like the look in them. He almost seems angry. 

“What does it matter?” you say in a sheer tone. “It’s not like it means anything whether I’m an Afton or not.” 

“I’d beg the differ. And I know some other people would too.” 

Mike places the photo in a box, eyes dropping to the floor. Heat rises to your cheeks. You’re confused. Very confused. “Are talking about Freddy Fazbear’s? You know I don’t like talking about that Mike.” 

“No need to get defensive. I’m just saying that your surname isn’t nothing,” he gives you a small smile but it does little to calm your nerves. “You were never suspicious of him?” 

“Of what?” 

He gives you a blank stare, “Of the murders.” 

Your mouth opens and very promptly snaps shut. Mike was never interested in this before. He hadn’t even asked about it, not once. Your shoulders drop and your heart feels heavy in your chest—Were you ever suspicious of him? Of your own father? To be fair you never thought about it. You shut your eyes and plugged your ears. You never wanted to think about that wretched pizzeria and all the things that happened in it. 

Your stomach jumps when he reaches out, curling his palm over the slope of your knee. You release a long breath. 

“Sorry for bringing it up,” he says, his eyes now soft. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“That’s okay.” It wasn’t. You get up, feeling the weight of his gaze as you do. “Alright, I think I’m gonna take a brisk shower then we can make pasta or something.” 

“I can start on that,” he answers. “Pesto or marinara?” 

“You can pick. I’m fine with either.” 

He nods and you leave before he stands. You feel icky all over. The dust and the sudden reality check about your father’s pizzeria and his role in all that had happened make you desperate to scrub yourself clean. 

You swiftly enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, giving it a hard shove until you hear the satisfying click. The inside smells of lavender. 

You strip and throw your clothes into the washing machine. The water warms up easily when you step inside. You draw the curtain shut and sigh at the clean water caressing your skin. Warm showers are the solution to everything. Even daddy issues. You begin to wash your hair, a soft moan dropping from your lips as you massage your scalp. The water trickles down your neck and between your breasts. With soapy hands, you give yourself a firm squeeze and graze your thumbs over the pebbled nipples. 

“That’s nice,” you sigh, hands moving up to rinse your hair. Maybe after the shower you can lay down and treat yourself until lunch is ready. Your vibrator’s fully charged, and the prospect of Mike hearing the faint buzz of it makes your pussy throb. 

Just as you reach for the loofah a soft click echoes in the steamy room. 

Your body tenses. Your heart suddenly beating a mile a minute. 

Your eyes turn in the direction of the door but you can’t see well with the curtain. All you see is the blurry darkness of the hall thanks to the open entrance. “Mike?” you call out, voice trembling. “If that’s you it’s not funny.” 

Of course, it’s not him. Even from here, you can smell the pasta sauce. Pesto. You desperately search for any kind of weapon you can use but all you see are shampoo bottles and the loofah you’re currently holding. You swallow. Turning back to the curtain, you see a faint shadow. It tilts its head. 

You need to attack. Need to do something before they do. How did they even get in here? 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

But you’re frozen with fear as the stranger curls their fingers around the shower curtain. The rest happens suddenly. The curtain is ripped open and you see who it is—Mostly. You see the mask, two pitch-black eyes staring back at you. Instead of screaming you jump away, the porcelain slips from underneath you, you fall and as soon as you do, you’re swallowed by darkness. 

Your eyes flutter open. There’s a sharp sting against your forehead. 

“Thank god you’re awake.” 

“M—Mike?” 

Your vision stops shaking and you finally see him. Mike, and his two soft brown eyes staring down at you. He’s holding a ball of cotton, the white stained by a bit of red. “What. . .” You attempt to get up but quickly forgo your decision when your head throbs. Mike clicks his tongue and presses the cotton to your head, your eyes tear up as it stings, but it slightly subsides seconds later. Looking down, you notice a towel was thrown over you. 

“I should be asking you that, how the hell did you slip?” 

“I. . . I didn’t.” 

“What do you mean you didn’t?” 

“There. . there was someone in the shower,” Your blood freezes as you remember. “He. . .I think it was a he? He was wearing a mask and he opened the curtain and fuck—I was so scared Mike.” 

Your arms move on their own and wrap around his neck, pulling him close. It takes him only a second to mimic your movement, wrapping his arms around your cold shivering body. His fingers trace your spine. A pleasant shiver runs up your back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now,” he murmurs. “But. . . the door was closed.” 

What? “What?” You shake your head as you pull away from him, ignoring the towel slightly sliding lower. “There’s no way. How did you see me then?” 

“Well, I shouted for you but you didn’t respond. Then I knocked and you didn’t respond again. The door wasn’t locked so I let myself in.” 

“And you found me unconscious? No one was here?” 

“Only you.” 

You shudder. That’s absolutely terrifying. 

“Come on let’s. . .” he swallows and you notice his eyes lingering where your towel has fallen. The swell of your breasts exposed. Looking away, you pull the fabric up and properly wrap it around yourself. His eyes move up to meet your gaze. “Let’s get you dressed and then we can eat.” 

Your last night here. Finally. 

After the unfortunate fall in the shower, you never managed to shake the feeling of being watched in your own house. You didn’t say anything to Mike but you knew he saw how freaked out you were from your eyes, by the way you would jump at every sound. Every time you closed your eyes you saw the stranger’s mask—those damn black sockets and open mouth staring back at you. It didn’t help that every morning you found your door wide open. You could’ve sworn that you closed it. But without fail, the door was open in the morning. 

And you’re so grateful to be done with it all. 

Stacks of boxes stand tall near the door. You were adamant about having everything ready tonight so that as soon as the sun peaked through the two of you could leave. Which was why you had ordered Mike to pack his suitcase— you’re doing the same, folding clothes with shaky hands and hoping the morning would come faster. 

Throwing your shirt into the suitcase your brows furrow, “What the hell?” you murmur as you lower yourself to your knees. The drawers and closet are emptied out, so why the hell do you only have three pairs of underwear? 

Sweat beads at your forehead. With panic, you rummage through the neatly folded clothes. You don’t care about the mess or the fact that you’ll have to fold them again—why can’t you find the other pairs? 

You’re completely defeated as your entire body deflates. Just three. You remember packing ten. They’re gone. All gone. Stolen. 

Your heart lurches and you feel it beating in your throat. You want to leave. You want to leave. You want to leave. 

The phone rings. 

It’s loud and booming. Your eyes shot towards the hallway. It’s the landline. A phone that hadn’t been used for god knows how long. You weren’t even aware that it was still connected. 

You blink rapidly, forcing the sting of tears to fade. You stand on shaky legs as you head towards the phone in the living room. You vaguely hear Mike mumbling a melody that’s familiar but also not at the same time. 

You stare at your reflection in the widows as you pick up the phone. Normally you’d appreciate the view. The dark sky, the swaying pine trees. But not today. 

You clear your throat, “H—Hello?” 

You hear a faint static, a low internal breathing, then the silence talks back, saying your name. You shudder at the rasp in his voice, fear weighing you down and gluing you to the floor. “Who is this?” you ask. 

“You know who I am,” he murmurs and takes a deep inhale. “We’ve met before remember? That moment in the bathroom.” Your body freezes all over, he chuckles, then speaks as if reminiscing a fond memory. “You looked so amazing. Nipples hard, body wet. Were you touching yourself?” 

You remain silent, eyes glued to the hall that is lit by Mike’s room. You want to call out. You really do. But you’re terrified. 

“Was it him you were thinking about?” 

“That’s. . .” you swallow. “That’s none of your business.” 

“Everything you do is my business,” he snaps but then the harsh baritone of his voice quickly softens. “Fine. Don’t. I know the answer anyway.” 

“What do you want?” 

“I want the truth, Miss Afton.” Your breath catches, your knees begin to shake. “Just answer my question and maybe you won’t die.” 

You remain silent and you hear the smile in his voice, “Good girl. Now, do you know your father is a murderous piece of trash? Yes or no?” 

You close your eyes, shake your head, you can’t answer. “Fine,” he huffs. “Do you think you deserve to live?” 

“I. . .” Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the phone. “I do.” 

Honestly, you’re not sure if you believe that. 

“Oh, I’m sorry but that’s just not correct,” he answers with a melodic lilt. “You don’t deserve anything. Why should your life matter more than the other kids that were killed by your father?” 

“It shouldn’t.” 

Your voice barely comes out in a whisper now. Your eyes drop to the floor, maybe if you run and get to Mike in time you can save you both? 

“Is your dad a killer yes or no?” then he adds. “You better answer correctly this time.” 

“I don’t know,” you say this time, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

“Wrong.” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath you open them again. All you see is your reflection. “I’ve been watching you,” he says. “You sleep like a log. I watched you. Fucked my fist while you were sleeping soundly, dreaming of sunshine and rainbows,” he sighs. “Or whatever the fuck girls like you dream about.”

You’re appalled by the sudden gush of wetness that courses through you. You shake your head, trying to push the images away. “Please don’t do this,” you beg. 

He stops speaking for a good while, for a second you think he hung up, but then you hear his breath in your ear and know that he’s still there. “I keep forgetting.” 

“Forgetting what?” 

“That you’re an Afton.” 

Your heart drops to the pits of your stomach. Every fiber of skin burning and tingling with the realization. You’ve heard those words before. You’ve heard the hidden accusation in them. Your ear burns from the phone pressed against it, you press it harder, not wanting to miss a second of dialogue. Your lips brush against the plastic as you do. 

“Mike?”

The line goes dead. Silent. And you realize you preferred words coming from the other line. Tortorously slow, as if in a dream, you place the phone back in its cradle. You feel him before you see him. Your head turns. You feel every muscle pulling as you do. 

And there he is. 

The man with the mask. 

“Mike?” you say again with less conviction. He tilts his head, not moving, not saying anything. Your body stiffens and your eyes drop to his hands where you see the sharp edge of a knife. You drag your gaze back to the mask, hoping that you’re staring into his eyes, “Why?” 

He takes a step forward and you take a step back. You’re inches away from the wide windows. “I had a brother,” he says, you’re surprised to find yourself relaxing upon hearing his voice. “I’ve tracked down the suspects. Looked at similar cases for years. Every bit of information leads to Afton.” 

“I had nothing to do with it.” 

Another step. The glass is cool underneath your palms. 

“You father did,” he answers. He stands only an inch away now, your stomach jumps when he presses the sharp edge of the knife against your neck. You hold your breath. “The day he took him is the day I lost everything. My family shattered. All because of him. And now. . .” Mike presses the knife harder, a hint of pain blossoming from where he’d cut. Your eyes snap shut. “Now I’ll take his little girl. Eye for an eye.” 

“Mike, please,” you whisper. Then you say something that surprises you both. “Take off the mask. If I’m going to die, I want to see you.” 

He tenses but obliges anyway. The mask falls to the floor, his hair mussed, soft curls fall over his forehead. A bit of stubble on his chin from not shaving at all since you two arrived. He doesn’t look scary, not at all. He looks vengeful, yes, but the softness in his eyes is still there. 

“What are you going to do to me?” 

Mike’s nostrils flare as he inhales, he exhales through parts lips, you feel his warm breath on your skin. “I’m going to ruin you.” The knife is replaced with his hand, he squeezes your throat, pulls you away from the glass, and slams you into it. “You’re mine now. I own you.” 

You shudder as he lets you go, his hands fumble with his jeans, and the fabric pools at his ankles. “Get on your knees and suck daddy’s cock.” 

You stare at him, wide-eyed but do as you’re told anyway. You drop to your knees. His cock achingly hard in front of you. He holds himself and drags the wet tip across your lips. He slides the underside of his cock against your face and without thought you dart your tongue out, tasting him. Mike groans, the sound rattling in his chest. With no warning given, he slips his cock between your lips and stops halfway. Your eyes water at how thick he is. 

When you look up you see he’s holding his phone, camera directed at you with his cock in your mouth. “Sorry,” he says with a faint smirk. “I need a souvenir to remember how good you look with my cock in your mouth. Who knew Afton’s precious daughter was such a slut.” 

Your eyes flutter as he shoves the phone back into his jacket pocket. He cradles your head and starts fucking himself deep into your mouth. “You know,” he rasps. Mike pushes himself especially deep and smiles broadly when you choke around him. “You really should be thanking me for not slitting your throat during all the nights I watched you.” 

He suddenly stops and pulls out until it’s only the head between your lips. His cock throbs on your tongue, he forces your gaze up to him, “Thank me for not slitting your throat.” 

“Thank—” It’s hard to speak with him still between your lips. You swallow and try again, your nipples tight. “Thank you for not slitting my throat.” 

“Such an obedient girl,” he muses. “I’m going to fuck you in every corner of this house. Get up—” 

He says that but lifts you himself, impatient, he presses you against the window, your cheek smushed against the clear surface. Your neck strains a little. His breath caresses the back of your neck, his lips on your ear, “Time to pay for your father’s sins.”

Mike lifts your shirt and pulls down your sweats. His cock lays heavy above the small of your back. Warm and wet. You clench as he pushes you forward, your breasts fully pressed against the glass. He kicks your legs apart, holding your arms back, Mike slips inside you with ease. Your breath halts in your throat. You only feel pleasure. You drip down his length, and with a groan, he buries himself to the hilt. 

“I knew you’d been waiting for this,” he groans. “So fucking wet—” 

“M—Mike—” 

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head to the side, his forehead brushing against the back of your head. “Not Mike.” 

“Daddy,” you moan as he pulls out and slams back in. You choke. “Daddy—” 

Mike fucks into your harder, the sound of skin against skin echoes in the room, wet squelches following. Your knees shake as you find yourself completely immobile against the glass. His fingers curl around your neck and he yanks your head back, hips relentless. 

“Look at that, anyone could see you now. I wish we had an audience.” Your cunt squeezes him like a vice, his hips stutter forward, a sharp moan rattling in his throat. He laughs. “Does that turn you on?” Helpless, you nod. “That’s it, take it. Daddy’s whore.” 

“Kiss me—please—” 

The plea takes him by surprise, he stops, hand tensing around your neck, you feel the pulse of his cock deep inside you. He drags his hips down your neck and teases you with his teeth. Goosebumps rise over your skin. And finally—finally—those perfect plush lips meet your own. It’s cruel really. The red strings of fate that tie you two together. You’re still not sure what to make of it all. Or of him. But you surrender. You surrender to his mouth and tongue. Mike swallows you whole. His tongue moves lavishly over yours, sliding and sucking as he presses harder inside you. 

“Gonna come inside,” he breathes into your mouth. His hand drops between your legs, your body shaking as he draws tight circles around your clit. 

Mike’s lips meet your throat, gentle then ravenous, making their way to the blankets of your clavicle, scraping the delicate skin. You arch against him, pleasure building, craving more. He thrusts harder, deeper, the pleasure increasing with each movement. His fingers grab your hips, and you can feel yourself tightening around him, his cock slamming against your core inside of you. Obscene sounds come from where he’s playing with your clit. You feel like a rag doll. And soon the coil snaps, you’re falling. 

Your entire body goes tense, his name leaving your lips in an urgent plea as the pleasure overtakes you. You shake and tremble, Mike continues to hammer into you, hand leaving your core and bracing itself near your head. Briefly, you manage to look outside. See the darkness that looms over the forest. Then you notice his reflection in the glass, eyes meeting yours. 

He smiles. 

Mike moans loudly, lips parting, his hips stutter over and over, spilling himself inside. Your eyes roll back, a whimper falling from your mouth as you take all of it. He holds himself there until his come starts to drip from where he stretches you. Your forehead finds purchase on the glass. Cold and soothing. His lips brush the back of your neck. 

“You look so tired already but we’re not done yet,” he parts your lips with his fingers and pushes them inside. Teary, you find his eyes in the reflection once more. He’s pleased. “I was serious in what I said, Miss Afton. I own you, now.” 

“Mike. . .” 

“And no matter where you run off to,” he murmurs, cutting you off. A hint of annoyance in using his name.  “I’ll always come back.”

[hihello-pinky]

Sight (5)

Suna Rintarou X F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintaro had to learn this the hard way.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WARNINGS: nothing, just fluff, and OH, did not go through proofreading lols

Word Count: 1.6k

Surprise quick update! I know I said in the last part that things are about to get downhill starting from this chapter. However, I really enjoyed writing this one that I had to cut out the angst portion. So... this is also quite a short read. Happy reading, though!

Kindly reblog, like, and/or leave a comment if you loved this chapter and let me know what you think! xoxo

part one part two part three part four

kofi ~~

˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚ - - - ˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚

“I’m very happy, Y/N,” Dr. Hirai says in front of you as she examines the papers. “These results look good. You haven’t been stressed much lately?”

You beam at the woman. “I guess so. My headaches have rarely occurred as well.”

”Great.” She smiles as she picks up her pen and starts to write. “I’m going to prescribe you some vitamins and supplements. But remember, rest and sleep is top priority, okay?”

You respond with a nod, akin to a child receiving instructions from their parent on the first day of school.

As you wait for Dr. Hirai to finish writing the prescription, a knock comes on the door. After the doctor’s “Come in”, your husband’s head peeks inside.

”Hi, Doc.” He greets before looking at you. “Hey. Something came up at the company and I have to go there. Would you want to wait for me at the cafe across the street?”

Other times you would have felt disappointed about his need to leave, but the mere fact that he’s informing you - through a cute peek at the door nonetheless - makes your heart flutter instead.

“Okay, sure.”

Rin shoots you a smile that almost melts your heart. “Great. I’ll keep you posted.”

And just like that, the door closes again. You turn to Dr. Hirai to see her looking at you. “Anything’s the matter, Doc?”

The woman just smiles before handing you the prescription. “Oh, nothing, Y/N. Nothing.”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You watch the busy street through the window, your hand tapping a pen against your journal. You’re not one to miss writing daily but these past several weeks, you have been too preoccupied to jot down your thoughts.

Then, there’s also the matter of an irrational fear.

Truth be told, you’ve been happy since that night Rintarou admitted his attraction to you; the night he asked you to give him a chance and for you two to get to know each other.

You’d love to pen down those memories but there’s a voice at the back of your head telling you that it’s a bad idea. That it’s a prelude to something terrible happening.

You place your pen on the table and flip through the older entries on your journal, only to remember the entries you are looking for are no longer in the notebook’s binder. You had them removed and placed in a box the day before you asked Rin for divorce, thinking that it's time to give up on trying to make things work for both of you.

But then, things have changed now.

Or have they really changed? That voice in your head asks in skepticism.

What if, just like before, this “peace” is a fluke? What if Rin ends up hurting you again?

You close your eyes tightly and rub at your temples. You shouldn’t be entertaining this kind of thoughts. Overthinking and worrying about things from five years ago…

”Hey, Y/N? Is that you?” A familiar voice brings you out of your thoughts and you open your eyes only to be met by a friendly smile.

”Oh,” you say in pleasant surprise, “Hi, Hajime. What an unexpected meeting.”

The older guy's smile widens as he gestures for the seat across you. You nod in reply, closing your journal and putting it at the side.

”What brings you here?”

”I had a check-up with my doctor at the hospital across the street. How about you?”

At your question, Hajime scratches his nape. You notice his ears redden and you try not to smile at how boyishly embarrassed he looks. “Um, I’m visiting someone.”

”A friend?”

He locks eyes with you and groans at the teasing look that you know is visible on your face. “Okay, okay. She’s not technically a friend. I… met her one night through an accident, my motorcycle bumped into her. Thankfully, her injuries are not serious.”

”Oh my god,” you cover your mouth in reflex. You compose yourself before continuing, “I’m assuming she’s okay, though?”

Hajime waves his hand in front of you. “No worries! She’s fine and getting better. In fact, she’s about to get discharged tomorrow.” He suddenly clicks his tongue. “Am I bad to feel sad about her being discharged? I won’t have a reason to see her anymore.”

This time, you’re not able to stop yourself from laughing. “Hajime, that’s silly! Why won’t you just ask her out? Or her family and friends, maybe? You probably have met some of them, right?”

He smiles sheepishly and it’s a contrast to his usual demeanor when in the playground with his son. “I’m nervous to ask. Also, her family’s not here. She very recently moved back to the country from living abroad several years before. She also mentioned she has yet to reconnect with any of her old friends.”

”Oh, I see. But isn’t that reason enough to ask her out, if you’re really interested in her?”

”I guess so…”

Seeing the flush on your friend’s face makes you smile. “Who would have thought you’d get yourself in a classic meet-cute scenario?”

”Ugh, Y/N, please stop teasing me.” You know he means to reprimand, but Hajime still joins you in your laughter.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

“Fuck.” Suna resists the urge to throw his phone after the screen died on him. The battery had been on the verge of dying and he couldn’t find his charger anywhere. So, he’s on the way to the cafe, hoping that you didn’t decide to go somewhere else.

As he approaches the entrance, it amazes him how he’s quick to spot you in a crowd now. He sees the baby pink dress you’re wearing, your cardigan looking soft and comfortable over it. He also notes that you had tied your hair into a bun, a few strands framing your face.

And then he notices you’re not alone. To his dismay, he recognizes the person you’re currently with. Before he knows it, Suna is already brisk-walking the short distance from the entrance to your table.

You notice his presence as you look up at him and smile. That very sweet and innocent smile instantly calms him down a notch. He takes a deep breath. “Hey. I wasn’t able to send you a message, my phone died on me.”

”That’s okay.” Then, gesturing to your companion, you ask, “Rin, you remember Hajime?”

Suna tries to sound as nonchalant as possible as he faces the man. “Yeah. What brings you here?”

Hajime gives him what he assumes to be a friendly smile and Suna reminds himself that there’s no acceptable reason why he should give in to the urge to punch the smile out of the man’s face. “I was gonna visit someone at the hospital.”

Before Suna can respond, the man quickly checks his watch as if suddenly remembering and curses under his breath. “Oh, shoot. Uh, I should go.” He gives a wave before going over to the counter to make his purchase.

Suna shakes his head, a small scoff leaving his mouth. “Rin,” you call his attention. “Let’s go?” He watches you zip your bag close and before you can put the strap on your shoulder, he swiftly grabs to carry it for you.

If he didn’t turn his back as soon as he does so, he wouldn’t have missed your blush and smile.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Once you reach Rintarou’s car, he asks if you have your phone charger with you. As you say yes, he asks again if you would plug it in the car’s charging port as he maneuvers the car out of parking.

You do as he asks and, as you place his phone on the console, notice some things that spark your concern.

”Rin?”

”Yeah?” He responds, eyes ahead.

”I know we both have sweet tooth, but didn’t we agree not to give Risa and Ryuu too much candy?”

”Huh?”

”Lollipops and gums,” you answer, finally tearing your eyes away from the items that had caught your attention. You turn to Rin and watch as the confusion leaves his face.

To your surprise, he only chuckles in response. “Those aren’t for the kids, Y/N. They’re mine.”

Now, it’s your turn to feel lost. “Huh?”

Rintarou bites his lips. “I’m trying to quit smoking. I heard those are nice alternatives.”

”Oh.” You’re at a loss of words for a moment, remembering the many times you have told him in the past that smoking is bad for the health. As you struggle to find what to say, Rin continues.

”It’s gonna take a while though. To be honest, this isn’t the first time I’m trying and it’s really hard.” A small laugh. “I’ve been smoking even before I was legally allowed to. But god, I do hope I can finally quit this time.” He shoots you a quick smile. “I don’t want my wife to leave me because of nicotine problems.”

And just like that, whatever response you’ve been able to come up with in your mind gets forgotten, chased away by the butterflies in your stomach.

Rintarou has been doing this a lot lately: calling you his wife.

Of course he had done so in the past, but they were all said in mockery, with the intent to spite and hurt you. It’s the very opposite now. He knows he makes you flustered and you know he enjoys seeing you blush.

You turn your head to look out the window, hoping he can’t see your very red face. Behind you, he laughs a little. It does not help in calming the beating of your heart. “What’s the matter, Y/N?”

”Shut up, Rin!"

to be continued.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added or if you changed your user): @warrior-of-justice @alisa--things @wolffmaiden @kurookinnie @simp-nerd-16  @alex-is-100 @k4g3hika @harukaaaaa172993 @themoonreflectsthesun  @lvjycrow @cantbedenied @sweetlikerockcandy @sirimiripetrichor @yamiakari-chi  @noideawhothatis @nervouscoffeetaco @lovemyfamily4ever-blog nervouscoffeetaco  kamukayakmonyet  yuqixidle ieathairs  cantbedenied  gariben  beomeomgyu  esmeisdrunk-blog  123j456l  iluv-ace  semitje @justablogforreblogs @alienvarmint @itohsi @tamimemo @mshope16 @jeonsfizz @syndyj @susuarin @ssc7514 @tkooooop @lialoveskaisersomuch @dilucsleftshoelace @bakingcuriosity @appepel

[notnctu]

johnny: the dominant

━ welcome home to housemating smut series :)

☆ click the link above to read background info about this housemate!

☆ GENRE: smut, pwp ☆ DETAILS: fem!reader, college!au, housemate!au ☆ WARNINGS: face riding, penetration, unprotected, slight corruption kink, size kink, pet names, dirty talk, explicit language, big dck johnny ☆ WC: 3.8k ☆ SYNOPSIS: Johnny knows just the way to entertain you when you’re bored.

☆ AUTHORS NOTE: the housemating series has been completed. this will be my final post on here. thank you all as always for being so patient with me and still giving me so much support. love you.

On this calm Friday afternoon, you are found laying flat on your stomach with your legs kicked up in the air. Your finger aimlessly scrolls through your social media, completely mindless and bored to everything. Your room is perfectly situated right by the stairs, meaning you hear every person that comes and goes downstairs.

Some of your housemates enjoy announcing their entrance to the whole house, some stomp upstairs or rummage through the kitchen silently, Johnny likes only greeting you when he comes home. Right on cue, the front door downstairs is open and shut within the same second. Quick footsteps run up the stairs and a familiar tall man leans against your door frame with a large beautiful smile.

“Hi tiny, I’m home.” Johnny rests his arm on the frame and his bicep pops subtly from underneath the sleeve of his white t-shirt. “How was your day?” 

You sit up in bed, tossing your phone somewhere on your pillow to rid the distraction. “Absolutely boring. My class was canceled so I’ve just been home alone all day.” Your adorable pout practically makes his knees weak.

“Say, what if you join me in my room? I have some homework to get done first, but then I promise I’ll entertain you.” You catch the slight mischievous twinkle in Johnny’s eyes. Nonetheless, Johnny knows how to feed into your love language too well. 

While the boys may be too much at times, you’ve always enjoyed company at your side. You never ask for anything more than their quality time, knowing that you’d have more comfort just sitting in the same room as them in silence. 

Johnny lends out his hand for you to take and you’re hopping off your bed as fast as you can. His hands are large and a bit rough from frequent trips to the gym, but you loved how they engulf your own. He isn’t the biggest guy in the room, but he definitely lets his presence known. 

Big personality, big heart, big smile, and big…. “What homework do you have?” You clear your throat and Johnny opens the door to his clean room. Unlike Jaehyun and Haechan, Johnny can see the floor of his bedroom. His room has a hint of his cologne still lingering and accents of his favorite things. 

“My professor split us into groups for a proposal project. We have to give a 15 minute presentation on a new pitch for this large corporation.” He swivels in his fancy chair, turning on his monitors to hurry on a video call with his groupmates.

You make yourself comfortable in his sheets, mindlessly going on your phone again. “Hm, sounds important.” 

“Never as important as the weird shit Haechan always talks about.” Johnny jokes and enters the video call with three other people on the screen. One of them is a girl you recognize from a party not too long ago, her brown eyes widened as Johnny turns on his camera. 

“Hey Johnny.” Something about her flirty tone causes you to chuckle to yourself, not caring if she heard you in the back. 

“Hey.” Johnny smiles back, but pays her no extra mind, “Shall we continue on the graphs?” 

The disappointment in the girl’s face is notable. Johnny has always had an entourage of girls waiting to be noticed by him. You’ve stopped keeping track of his and Jaehyun’s body count at this point. Despite his popularity among girls, Johnny genuinely loves spending time with you. 

You and Johnny are friends before anything else. He was actually the one that invited you to live with them, knowing you desperately needed a place and had a budget to stick to. He has helped you with many sticky encounters with unwanted male attention at parties.

Johnny makes sure your voice is heard in a large chatty crowd. He is every introvert’s favorite extrovert. That’s just the kind of person he is. Infectious personality, everyone wanted a piece of that.

Johnny is not the type to flirt with everything he sees, he is actually quite selective and intentional. He found you attractive the moment he laid eyes on you, but the flirting didn’t start until much later in your friendship. He wanted to make sure it was mutual, not wanting to ruin a good dynamic due to his desires. 

Your attraction toward Johnny began when you had moved into the house. Living with Johnny showed you a whole new side to him that you don’t see normally on campus. His preferred attire at home is no shirt with his toned stomach on display and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, a rather large print that dangles whenever he walks.

When Johnny walks, he strides. He walks with a sense of purpose, confident and so sure in every step. He is touchy, but not to the point where it was on the level of Jaemin. Johnny is a respectable skinship type – gentle head pats, light cheek pinches, a guiding hand on your lower back, chin lifts so that your gaze never falls. 

Johnny, your friend from class, became incredibly dreamy and irresistible. Then came the usual greetings: hi tiny, welcome home, how was your day? As if you two lived in a sitcom.

All of which piled onto the incredible person he already is. Nonetheless, the real tip of the iceberg was when you observed the mutual attraction on your own. Johnny loves holding eye contact with someone, he told you he likes making them nervous. So when your gaze started to waver at the new found nervousness that settled in your stomach, Johnny only held on longer. 

You also caught onto his stares when you would walk down the stairs, his dark eyes following your every movement. Johnny played it safe though, making his flirting into actions and expressions rather than verbal affirmations.

You’re smart enough to know that his lingering stares, cute pet names, and chivalrous acts meant something intentional. So somewhere down the line, you two start sleeping with each other. You can’t remember how it happened, just that the next day you could barely walk. 

While Johnny is popular among the girls, you are also heavily sought after by many admirers alike. You have your fair share of one night stands and friends with benefits, but none of them compare to the way that Johnny fucks you into oblivion. Johnny isn’t the jealous or possessive type either, knowing your worth should be acknowledged by others. 

With Johnny, you’re safe to be submissive. You can guarantee that he’d be someone to take care of you the entire time. His dominance in bed is extremely fitting to his character, making his sex appeal more attractive.

After a complete 45 minutes of listening to Johnny speak in academic language and talk about things that do not make any sense to you, he finally ends the call with his groupmates. He quickly turns around in his chair and you think he’s going to finally talk to you.

However, he gets up and heads to the bathroom without a word. You sigh at the false hope and bury yourself in his warm blankets. His aroma fills your nose and your heavy eyelids start to fall over your tired eyes. Maybe you should have taken a nap during his long call.

The close of the door and the shift on the bed causes you to face the man of the hour. Johnny appears without his shirt, the pendant of his necklace lands perfect at his collarbones. Without any words, he pulls you onto his naked torso and rests a sneaky hand on your lower back. “Missed me?” 

“All I heard was you.” You groan, “but you did sound sexy using all those business terms.” 

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, his fingertips gliding against your soft skin underneath your shirt. “Got all wet hearing me talk about KPIs and APRs?” 

“So wet. Why don’t you see for yourself?” Your playful smile is more than inviting. Johnny raises a brow at your suggestive tone. While his ears perk up at your suggestion, he teases a bit.

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into, y/n?” He questions, a bit more serious. “Because I don’t think you remember when’s the last time we’ve slept together.” 

“Of course I do.” You scoff, sitting up on your knees and the blankets falling from your shoulders. “Way too fucking long.” 

Johnny laughs at your answer. “So what I’m hearing is that you want me?”

“I always want you.” 

He’s quick to bite back at your response, “then maybe you should come into my room more often, you know you’re always welcomed here.” 

“See, I would do that but you’re so busy.” This back and forth is a game you two like to play. Johnny wants you to practically beg for his attention, but you like when he makes promises to give you more.

“Oh,” Johnny sits against his headboard and crosses his arms. His pecs squeeze together and his biceps bulge against his chest. You lick your lips, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “Are you saying that I don’t give you enough attention?”

Your innocent eyes drop from his intense stare, but his thumb holds your chin up and you’re met with a softened gaze. “I promise I’ll make more time for you. Just know that I’d open the door for you whenever you come knocking.” 

“Pinky promise?” You hold your pinky out for the broad man to seal the promise. He laughs at the childish act, but god how he’s hard as fuck in his sweats right now.

“Promise, baby.” Johnny wraps his pinky with yours. With one swift movement, he’s pulling you by the pinky on top of his chest again. You fall against him with a small “hmph” and Johnny dives in for a sweet kiss.

His hot lips are greedy for a taste. Johnny deepens the kiss and his big hands hold your cheeks to keep you steady. Your hands wander around for something to hold onto, knowing how you’re in for a wild ride in a few more kisses. 

Johnny moans into your mouth when your fingers graze the waistband of his sweats. When your instinct is to move your hand away, he holds your wrist and grinds his hard dick against your palm. Your gasp is lost in the kiss, swallowed by the one man that consumes you. 

His bulge grows bigger with every thrust and you’re reminded by the massive size of him. Johnny pulls away and he looks at you with small stars in his pupils. “Can’t wait to see how wet that pretty pussy is for me.”

“Why wait? I’ll show you right now.” Your eagerness causes his heart to swell tenfold. He still sees every ounce of cuteness that you exude, even in the middle of taking off your clothes. While his nicknames may be an exaggeration, he really does find you the cutest thing ever.

When you roll your pants off of your hips, Johnny watches the string of wetness stick from the fabric of your panties to your thighs. He has to hold himself back from pouncing on you. “C’mere and sit on my face, darling.” 

You happily oblige and hover over Johnny’s face. Your eyes meet briefly, grabbing the headboard in front of you to keep yourself steady and balanced. Johnny cups both of your cheeks to help hold you up. He takes his first long lick for a taste and a low groan erupts from his throat, “you taste so good, just dripping all over yourself.” 

He can barely control his desires, bringing your hips down more as he quite literally devours your clit. You jolt from the contact and as much as you move your hips, Johnny’s grip on you is tight. You try your hardest to keep your legs from squeezing together, but Johnny eats you out like he’s starving. 

“Oh my-” You grip the headboard until your knuckles turn white. His tongue enters your warm hole and your juices cover his chin, sliding down the corners of his lips. If you’re not mistaken, the muffled sound of a chuckle catches your attention. 

Looking down, you see Johnny completely engulfed in between your legs and hazy eyes peering back up at you. “I’m going to cum.” You coo softly and Johnny fucks you on his tongue faster.

Your legs shake from the pleasurable feeling and everything inside of you erupts like a cannon. You’re uncontrollably cumming on his face, eyes rolled back and hand gripping the headboard like you’re holding on for your life. His room is full of your sweet sounds as he helps ride out your first orgasm of the day.

Johnny lightly lifts you up and places you with ease on the bed. Your back hits his lovely sheets and he hovers over you, arm wiping your juices from his lips and chin. “How can you be so cute riding my face?” He kisses your cheek, his hand lightly wrapping around your neck. “You make me so hard, I want to fuck the cuteness out of you until you’ve lost yourself.”

His deep voice remains sensual and light — not menacing or threatening. Johnny’s actions are always full of adoration for you, nothing of malice. “Then do it. I want you to. I want to take you whole.” 

Your hands run up and down his abs. He can’t resist you anymore. Johnny is quick to discard his pants and his large dick springs up proudly against his stomach. He gives himself a few pumps, watching your expression turn into lust at the sight of it. 

“You like what you see, y/n?” The usage of your name catches your attention, causing your heart to flutter to his call. He rarely uses your name in bed, resulting in mostly pet names or his usual tiny nickname. Nonetheless, on the rarity of your name being used, it excites you even more. He knows every way to make you all his.

“Yes, Johnny. I always love what I see.” You respond, quite seductively. Johnny smirks, running his tip up and down your entrance. Every few swipes has his tip entering your hole just barely, but you’re really a mess to it all. 

Johnny grunts at how your wetness drips onto his sheets, a dark patch forming like a puddle. Your juices stick to the side of your thighs, emphasizing how much chaos he has caused in between your legs. He positions himself and enters slowly, enough for you to adjust to his size. You're squeezing your eyes shut from the pressure and the stretch. 

His thumb leaves a soothing touch between your eyebrows to ease the tension in your face. Each touch has him pushing deeper into you. However, your hand is quick to halt him at his abdomen and he stops all of his movements. “Should I stop?” He asks with concern, not wanting to overdo anything that could result in pain.

“Johnny,” You breathe, “just give it all to me.” You can tell Johnny was holding back, but the slowness only causes more anticipation and agony. You’d rather him singlehandedly thrust into you, all the chaos to hit you like bricks. 

He takes your wrist from his stomach and pulls your body onto his dick in one fluid motion, until your hips hit and he is practically in your guts. You yelp at how he fills you and you’re shy at how well you take all of him in. “Like this, baby? You take me in so well.” He leans down and you’re awarded a kiss on the lips.

Johnny lifts your body onto him as his back hits the mattress. You lay on top of his big stature, your boobs against his chest, dick still in you and legs now on either side of his hips. He bends his knees, feet planted sturdy on his bed, and drives his dick up into you. 

You quickly grip onto his bicep, wailing at how intensely his tip hits your sweet spot every time. Johnny wraps his arms around your body, hugging you close and keeping you steady. The position is cute, quite lovable as it’s like the two of you are in a warm embrace. All until someone sees his vigorous thrusts into your drooling pussy and your body moving up with every hit. 

Your eyes meet his for a moment. He smooths out the hair from your face to see you clearly and smiles at you. Johnny has the biggest heart for you – it’s all obvious in how his pupils dilate ten times in size when he sees you. “All of a sudden, you want to look at me with your gorgeous gaze?” His voice rumbles your chest and despite how raw his dick is stretching you, he is quite a romantic.

“I’m not cute anymore?” You’re barely able to speak, every thrust causes your voice to tremble and your mind to go blank. Johnny holds your hips down onto his shaft and every rush of wetness wraps around him tightly. You’re shaking yet again as his tip rubs against your insides, kissing every part of your cervix. 

“Fucked all the cuteness of you, my sweet girl.” He plants a wet smooch on your temple, grinding his hips into your quivering body until your nails dig into his skin, marking beautiful moon crescents.

Suddenly, you both hear the front door slam close and hurried footsteps running up the stairs. As you’re frozen, Johnny quickly switches positions and covers the blanket over the two of you. Not that anyone would come barging into his room, but it’s good to be safe. He’s always thinking of your comfort and decency.

You’re back on your back and Johnny hovers over you. His weight is slightly heavy over yours, but the pressure on your chest feels warm and enough to feel secure. Your legs are spread wide for him, as he holds up your knee and pushes it at a bend. Johnny handles you so freely, all the work at the gym paying off in these fortunate situations.

“I’m home, losers!” Doyoung yells. “And so is Jaehyun!” Doyoung’s voice follows with another door slamming shut across the hall. Another set of heavy footsteps run up the stairs and without a word, another door closes. 

“I guess Jaehyun finished his classes early.” Johnny’s mind wonders and you cup his cheeks to focus.

“Where is your mind at right now?” Your stern expression has Johnny laughing, completely entertained by how he is balls deep in you right now and his mind was on why your housemates came home early.

“Okay, tiny. You got me.” His smile brightens up his intimidating demeanor, you’ll never get over how handsome this strong man is. “Let me finish what I started.”

His statement sent shivers down your spine, but you already know what’s to come. His hard dick pulls out, almost all the way, the feeling of emptiness occupying your lower half fast. Johnny pushes back in without another word and fucks you into the future. His rhythmic thrusts are fast and hasty, but enough to feel intense and cause your orgasm to build once more.

“Look at me when you cum.” You don’t have to say it because Johnny literally feels your pussy tighten around him, just seconds from coming undone. You aren’t sure if you’re able to hold eye contact in the midst of you losing your wits, but Johnny doesn’t let it slide. 

As you squirm from the pleasure bubbling in your stomach, he leans forward and lifts your head off the pillow. A large hand to support the back of your head and eyes wide open to see how his big cock enters your pussy with so much ease. 

Every part of your muscles break at this point and you’re moaning at the top of your lungs. You do feel a bit apologetic to the other boys in their rooms, but it has to be an afterthought. Your high comes crashing and crumbling as your cannon shoots out everything you’ve held in. You feel so hot and tense, pleasure leaving your body within seconds all because of Johnny. 

Johnny watches your orgasm, feeling his come a close second after. He pulls out and gives himself a few strokes over your naked stomach. His white streams paint your skin and Johnny’s eyes are full of intensity. 

You both release air from your lungs as fatigue takes over both of your bodies. Johnny reaches over for some wet wipes he stores in his nightstand, cleaning you up and leaving a trail of wet kisses behind. Your giggles only cause him to continue, wanting to hear more of them.

“Since when did you get so buff?” You ask, poking at his arms. He flexes for you, showing off his protruding muscles on display.

“Since I found motivation for the gym.” Johnny helps you get clothed, along with putting on some clean pairs of underwear and sweats. 

“Which is?” 

He joins you underneath the sheets. His arm snakes underneath your head, allowing you to turn your body into his. “To be able to toss you around in bed.” He smirks and you’re already rolling your eyes. “Not that I ever had trouble before, but it’s nice for you to have something hard and solid to grip while I’m fucking the life out of you.”

“Okay, Johnny Suh.” You cover his mouth. “We get it, you’re a big buff guy. You can even toss Doyoung if you wanted to.”

His eyes light up and he sits up with an idea, “should I try?” He gleams, his boyish nature captivating his expression. Nonetheless, Johnny is jumping out of bed and out the door before you can even respond. 

Doyoung’s yells fill the hallway and Johnny is laughing maniacally. The one time Doyoung doesn’t lock his door. “Just let me try!”

“Get your sweaty body away from me! I know what you two were doing in there!” Doyoung shrieks back. 

Oh, how you love living with your boys. You’re thankful that Johnny took you in and truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Through protein powder scattered on kitchen counters and nightly hangouts after long days of classes, you wouldn’t trade laughter with your housemates and the love you all share for anything. 

When you peer out into the hall at the commotion, a smiling Johnny has an angry Doyoung over his shoulder at the door. “I did it, y/n!” Johnny exclaims, even doing squats with the bunny flailing around.

“Put me down, you meathead!” Doyoung kicks his feet, eyes up to the ceiling.

You smile to yourself, a soft chuckle bursting into a robust laughter. “You guys… are so weird.” 

“But you love us.” Johnny points, “isn’t that right, tiny?”

Your usual response would be something sarcastic and hard to get, but you give in this time. 

“Yeah, I do.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

Nadira (Shree 420, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai)— She had a blast playing the femme fatal in Indian films in the 50s. Also the costumes she wore in Shree 420 are absolutely iconic. It's important to mention that she was Jewish. She was born Farhad "Florence" Ezekiel in Baghdad to an Iraqi Jewish family. They moved to India sometime in the 1940s. The funny thing is that she originally wanted to convert to Catholicism and become a nun but joined the film industry instead as her family desperately needed money. Even though she was unfortunately typecast in femme fatale roles after playing the nightclub entertainer Maya in Shree 420, she always gave 110% to every role she was cast in. Apparently she acted in a German film as well? She was also one of the most highly paid actresses in the Indian film industry and was one of the few Indians to own a Rolls Royce.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

Nadira:

I just submitted a whole list of golden-era Bollywood stars without whom I thought this tournament could not conscionably be considered complete BUT Nadira has got my personal vote for Hottest of the lot. She played a bunch of delicious vamp roles in her youth before graduating to being a creepy spiderlady antagonist type in middle/older age. Rare is the still in which she looks like she's NOT about to gnaw your face off. Yow!

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Would you write about Reader who's scared as hell to come out.

And she's accidentally outed because on someone's photo you can see Reneé and Reader kissing ?

It can be at a party and they're like "hiding" to make out but on this photo we can clearly see ?

Photo-Bombed

|| Reneé Rapp x fem!reader

|| Warnings; reader's outed, drunk reader and reneé, swearing, reader has an anxiety attack, implied homophobia

|| Summary; reader and Reneé drunk kiss at a party, someone takes a photo and reader gets outed in the process.

Requests open!

Started; september 24th

Finished; september 24th

~~~

Reneé had invited you to a party as her plus one, you were a little nervous about going. Given that you aren't out and you knew for a fact you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off your girlfriend when you're drunk. But you went anyways, not wanting to upset your favourite blonde.

When you got there Reneé was already pulling you over to the drinks with a massive grin on her face," come on, Y/N!"

She looked back at you as she held your hand, making sure you followed her through the crowds. You gave her a soft smile to assure her you were there.

In what felt like no time at all, you and Reneé were well into your third round of drinks. She was smiling and giggling as she clung to you, head rested on your shoulder while she just rambled as her finger twirled your hair.

Though you couldn't focus on a single word she was saying. When you're sober, you can keep up with her fast pace rambles. Drunk? It felt like you were listening to an entirely different language. It was adorable to you nonetheless. You loved when she rambled.

"somweplandthen-!" Is basically how she sounded to you right now. You would just nod and give an occasional, 'no way' or 'really'? Which seemed to keep her happy and entertained.

She continued her rambling for another five minutes until she gasped, turning suddenly to grip your shoulders. The suddenness of Reneé's actions made you flinch and you gave her an awkward/startled smile.

"What is it, baby?" You asked, your words a little slurred as you spoke.

Reneé just giggled and put her finger to your lips," shhh! Follow me~"

And she was pulling you along again. You easily followed, letting her pull you around. It made you smile.

Reneé lead you through the crowds to a more secluded corner, there were still people around. But they all seemed to be doing their own thing. Either making out, playing beer pong or whatever else.

Once she had you in the corner she pushed you against the wall, grinning from ear to ear as her lips brushed yours," you're so fucking pretty.."

Your cheeks flushed, especially because you were in public," Reneé..-" You'd started to protest, but then her lips were on yours before you could say anything else. Forgetting all your worries about being outed almost instantly, you kissed back.

Her lips moved slowly against your own, her hand coming to rest on the side of your neck. Adding gentle pressures here and there; that got a small hum out of you.

There was a flash of light, but you didn't think anything of it. Too focused on your girlfriend.

It wasn't until the next day where you realized what exactly that flash was.

"Oh fuck, no no no- please.." Your eyes widened with horror, the familiar feeling of anxiety rising in your chest as you sat on the edge of your bed. Just staring at an insta post with wide eyes. Someone from that party had taken a photo of the beer pong game with some friends. In the background of the photo you could see you and Reneé making out.

Sure, it may not be entirely obvious. But it was there. You knew what Reneé's fans were like, they would recognize her in an instant and then do some insane FBI shit to find out who you are. Then you'd be outed, if you weren't already.

What would your parents think if it ever made its way back to them? The rest of your family? Your younger sister was a big Reneé fan, she would probably hear about it first then blab to your parents about it.

"Shit!" You said it a little louder this time, having trouble slowing your breathing. You set your phone down as your hand rested on your chest, finger grazing your neck.

Reneé had just come out of the bathroom, having taken a shower to try and help her hangover just a little when she heard you.

" Baby?" Reneé walked over with a towel wrapped around her, settling down beside you. "Take some breaths, baby. In... out."

She coached you through some breathing exercises, letting you grip her hand as tight as you needed while brushing your knuckles with her thumb.

"What's wrong?" Reneé asked once you'd settled a little more.

You rested your head on her damp shoulder, keeping back tears as she held you.

Not knowing how to put it into words, you held your phone. Showing her the photo someone took last night. It took Reneé a moment to understand but when she saw it her eyes widened and she looked a little closer; making sure she saw right.

"Shit." She murmured, but when she felt you start to panic again she quickly altered her reaction.

"No no, baby. It's okay, just breathe. You'll be okay. I'll be with you the whole time, alright? And if anyone says anything bad or looks at you the wrong way," She held your chin, making you look into her eyes which were soft; but held a sense of seriousness," you come get me. Okay?"

"What if it's my parents that..." You murmured, not even finishing your sentence. Though Reneé knew what you meant. What if it was your parents who didn't accept you?

"Then fuck them, you're perfect. I don't care who tells you otherwise." She gave your forehead a kiss and you started to relax.

Feeling better that, knowing no matter what happened next, you had Reneé with you.

[milfjuulpod]

Good Girl II.

Summary: a continuation of Good Girl, read it here! aka the dinner date

warnings: NSFW, minors DNI!

A/N: i’ve never rly written smut before which is why this took me so long to post so…if you like pls lmk!! feed back is both greatly appreciated and helps motivate me. ok love u mwah

<3

It was nearly seven, and you waited anxiously on your couch for Melissa to arrive. She had texted you after school to tell you she would pick you up, so you sat dressed and awaited her arrival. Out of nerves, you began playing with the edge of your dress, it was casual enough but still, made you look your best for her.

Although you were happy to finally have a date with Melissa, your mind was full to the brim with thoughts. Number one, she never told you where dinner was. Melissa just sent you a text that read, I’ll pick you up at seven, wear whatever makes you feel your best 😘, keeping the dinner plans to herself. Secondly, the events that led you to this very moment. Melissa’s pet name, everybody hearing it, and the kiss. Her kiss. She kissed you with so much care and want, you could only hope you would get to feel that again tonight.

Before you could drive yourself any crazier, there was a knock at your door. Straightening yourself out one last time for good luck, you opened the door and felt speechless. “Cat got your tongue?” Melissa teased you, bringing you back down to earth. “Sorry, you look…wow. Incredible,” you sheepishly replied, giving her another look over. Her fiery hair was full of waves, falling across her bare shoulders. All of her curves were accented perfectly by her black pantsuit, practically making you drool.

Once you met her eyes again, you realized she was eyeing you just as much, if not more. You felt your face heat up at the attention, feeling a sudden warmth in your stomach. “You don’t look too bad yourself babe. You ready?” Melissa finally spoke, offering her arm to you. She walked you to her car and opened your door for you. “Feeling chivalrous, are we?” You asked her with a smile. “I know how to treat my good girl,” Melissa said to you, but instead of a smile, she had a smirk across her face. Unfortunately, (or, perhaps fortunately), for you, Melissa somehow already knew all of your buttons to push. You silently wondered how long you would last through this date before becoming a needy puddle right in front of her.

“So, where are we going exactly?” You asked once on the road. Melissa took one of her hands off the wheel and rested it on your thigh, “Don’t worry about it kid.”

Before you knew it, you pulled up to a familiar driveway. “Did you forget something?” You asked, wondering why the two of you ended up back at Melissa’s. “No hon, we’re here.” She wasn’t taking you to dinner, she was making you dinner. Of course she was, honestly you should’ve expected it.

“Now, since you’re here, anything you see stays here, alright?” Melissa asked, stopping at her front door. You realized you had seen the outside of her house a few times, but never the inside. Nonetheless, you nodded your head in agreement and were led inside.

Immediately, you noticed all of the photos on her wall, but what took your attention was the dining room. Not only was it decorated so homey, but she had put in the effort to set the table, complete with flowers and candles.

“Mel, did you do all this for me?” You asked, turning to face her. She chose not to answer, instead giving you a small smile and looking back down at her feet. For the first time since you’ve met her, you saw Melissa nervous. You took her hand in yours and pulled her close to you, giving her a quick kiss to show your appreciation.

Without letting go of your hand, she led you to her kitchen, “Come sit in the kitchen while I cook, keep me entertained.” You do as she asked, pouring each of you a glass of wine and sitting yourself on her countertop. You watched Melissa meticulously, watching her dance around the kitchen getting ready to start dinner. You could tell this was her happy place, and you felt honored to be part of it.

“Can I taste the sauce you’re making?” You asked, finishing off your glass of wine. Melissa nodded and walked over to you with her spoon, blowing on it oh so gently. You reached out to take it from her, but she pulled back. Melissa used her free hand to gently open your legs to allow herself to be as close as possible, offering to feed you. “Good girl, always let me feed you,” she said as you closed your mouth around the spoon. “You have got to stop calling me that, Mel,” you said to her quietly. Of course, both of you knew you didn’t actually want her to stop. “You sure hon? Because the way your cheeks get red and you lose your words makes me think you like being called that,” Melissa said, pulling you by the hips so her front was flesh with your core. You were positive she could feel the throbbing coming from between your legs. She was warm against you, her hands squeezing just tight enough on your hips. This close, you got lost in her beautiful green eyes, getting a shade or two darker as she met your gaze.

“Hon?” Melissa’s voice interrupted your thoughts. Her hands pushed the edge of your dress up, rubbing circles on your inner thighs with her thumbs. “I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” She asked again, giving you the biggest smirk you’ve seen yet. “You know you are, Schemmenti. You’re quite good at that, y’know,” Melissa lightly laughed at your comment, “I’m quite good at a lot of things,” she replied, inching her fingers farther and farther up your thighs. “Oh yeah? Show me,” You told her, pulling her in to a deep kiss. The feeling of her fingers finding their way closer between your legs made you moan into Melissa’s mouth.

Melissa used her middle finger to gently rub between your folds, groaning at the wetness she could already feel. “All this for me, huh baby?” She teased you. Your hips bucked towards her, begging for more. “Melissa, please,” you begged between kisses.

She trailed wet kisses from your lips down your jaw, whispering in your ear, “use your words baby.” Melissa pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side and slowly ran her fingers between you. “God Mel, fuck me. Please fuck me.” You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, you couldn’t care when Melissa was touching you this way. “Attagirl,” She said, gently pushing a finger inside you. She was fast to add another, quickening her pace and making you come completely undone right on her kitchen counter.

“Melissa I-“ You tried to speak, “I’m so close baby.” You felt her curl her fingers harder, move them faster. “Let go hon, I’ve got you,” Her breath was hot against your neck, her lips even hotter. When she nipped at your pulse point you were done for, clenching around her fingers and arms wrapped around her for dear life. “Such a good girl you are, my good girl,” Melissa cooed, giving you gentle kisses as you caught your breath.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” you smiled at her, still panting from earlier. “Yeah, a lot sooner,” Melissa said. Her smile was even bigger than yours as she gently picked you up off the counter and pulled you back to cook with her.

[agenderduck]

This is one of many posts I have planned on electricity. For this post specifically, I’m touching on the lack of autonomy the puppets have, and the unhealthy coping mechanisms and regression they fall into. If you listen closely, duck and red are talking about stain edwards, specifically how they had been used as a replacement for duck, in the background while yellow is preparing to climb the staircase. Considering the bigger boys actions later on in the episode, this feels more significant than just a joke or a piece of background dialogue (it probably is, just bear with me for the sake of over analysis). It’s a detail I don’t see brought up often, but an interesting one nonetheless. Not just because it’s funny, but because it serves as insight for what’s to come. This conversation is barely audible as yellow stares up into the black abyss above him. A divide between the trio is set up here, they are not on the same page. As yellow scales the staircase, base level red and duck fiddle with electricity. Theres a lack of care for the objects, or even living things around them showcasing that have that potential to do worse like the big and bigger boys. On a smaller scale, yes, but there’s a colder quality to the scene. Electracy warns them that what they’re doing is too much, but they are ignored. This ultimately leads to the power outage, spurred on by the two’s reckless over usage of electricity

The limited use of technology, and by contrast overconsumption is intentional, as it showcases a real lack of freedom. The puppets are stuck in a cycle regardless of what they do. They desperately want to feel in control of something even if it’s trivial. When they’re not doing that, the trio find themselves waiting for things like having access to a computer once a year. It’s worth noting that Colin is an older model of computer, as is pretty much every other piece of technology in the house. Interestingly, the trio do actually own a laptop, which is a lot more modern in appearance. They are never seen doing anything with it however. The few things that do take on a more modern appearance are either unusable or serve as a distraction. So the choice of duck having a hand held device in the void feels significant. It’s almost like a reminder to the audience that in theory, knowledge is right outside of their grip but they will never have it. Everything they do is limited.

The fridge scene is a rare moment where we see the puppets speak their genuine feelings, no strings attached. Not at all one sided or hollow. Duck and Red sit beside each other in the fridge scene knowing this is not something they’re allowed to have, but you can tell they want to scoot closer. They live in an unforgiving routine where the mere act of looking at each other feels like rebellion. They’re something more tangible and warm than their bigger counterparts, even if through skin made of cheap felt and faux fur. Compare this to the cold emptiness of the big and bigger boys and how duck and red seem to grow further apart despite always being paired together. Even if they’re sitting at a similar length in both rooms, the bigger boys seem to be magnetically pulled apart rather than together. The big boys sit side by side with their limbs tangled, in defiance maybe, but they don’t question their environment anymore and the walls have gotten smaller. The bigger boys live in a pseudo- futuristic prison. They have become the technology seen being fiddled with before. They play into each other’s antics, but lack any real emotion which greatly upsets yellow once he comes across them. He watches as they poke and prod at a suspiciously stain edwards shaped hunk of meat as their only source of entertainment, thinking that this is as good as it gets. Technology prodding at flesh. A parallel between Stain Edwards and the puppets can be drawn here.

Stain Edwards, in their initial appearance clearly craves more in life, but their sole purpose is to be moldable, to be shaped into anything the hands that grasp them want them to be. The trio are the same way, though they don’t know it. They’re obviously not aware of their true situation, but each of them have their own level of awareness, albeit in different areas, but that’s a different post for a different time. Red and duck comply and mold to their environments out of fear, a fear of losing that false sense of control. So, the bigger boys become the perpetrators of violence. They let bitterness consume them until they’re unrecognizable. Their egos get the better of them, fully encompassing them and leaving nothing but mechanical empty husks behind. Red and Duck are tricked into believing they’re in control, when in reality they’ve dug themselves into an even deeper hole than before. They expect yellow to join them, as this is just the way things are, and this horrifies him. Here before him are creatures that sound vaguely like his friends but in a completely unrecognizable form. Ultimately, no matter what form they take on, yellow’s urge to search for answers will always scare them. Yellow’s batteries means change, and change means bad things will happen. No more false sense of control. Yellow literally has his awareness stolen from him time and time again through his batteries. Without them, not only can’t he properly articulate himself, but he also can’t remember what happened before.

Yellow loves his friends, he knows that they’re flawed, and he can’t help but scale back down the staircase time and time again to help them. They’re all he has. He knows that they’re smart to an extent, but is that enough? Will they be able to handle it this time? I think he knows the answer to this already, though he desperately wants it not to be true. He knows that it’s not their fault that they get like this, but also maybe it is. Because truthfully the two like to let it get worse. Yellow sees the good in Duck and red and he wants them to do better, even if his efforts are in vain. Because the puppets do not have autonomy. He shreds the book because he can’t bear a reality where his friends don’t love him, but also because that’s where his strings are pulling him to begin with. He looks to duck as he does so knowing it will make him happy, as if to say he’s not wrong anymore. All he ever wants is to please him. Truthfully, that book had nothing that could truly help them , as such a thing doesn’t exist. Still there’s that small thought in the back of his mind that it could, and ultimately he chooses his friends over knowledge every time. It was never his choice to begin with. It was inevitably going to end this way, and a small part of yellow knows that, even if he can’t express it. The puppets are prisoners here, prisoners to another prisoner. She too participates in the same routines everyday, she too has strings that hold her back, but that’s a post for another day.

[romaritimeharbor]

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

       act i, chapter iii        "the crow, the mouse, and the doll."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: the mouse bites and gets bitten.

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: trauma and recollections of trauma, references to self-harm (briefly mentioned, and not done intentionally—moreso done in the panic of a stressful moment), crying, reader acts like dottore in scaramouche's eyes, choking, burns, bruises, implied broken bones, dissection, general gore/graphic warning, dehumanization/non-sexual objectification (both the reader and scaramouche), reader is fucking MEAN and feels guilty about it later, blood, prescription pills. generally, tread carefully when reading this chapter.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 4.0k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: HELLO MORAL INJURY NATION!!! CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE and it is horrible and terrible. because i love angst <3 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @www-songbird, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas, @francisnyx. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

       After speaking to Collei—poor thing, they absently mused to themselves—they made haste in leaving Haeresys and returning to the main lab. Had they lingered even slightly too long, they were certain they’d run into its ruling segment, and they simply did not have the time to entertain his… antics.

       (‘Antics’ meaning anything from standing next to him and listening to him explain the intricacies of his work with ancient Khaenri’ahn technology and entertaining him with the occasional question to being thrown into an active battle with a Ruin Guard. He insisted that it was to keep their skills with their delusion sharp, but they personally thought he just wanted to see them bleed a little bit. Though they always emerged victoriously, they did not always emerge unscathed. They’re certain their suffering brings him some kind of satisfaction.)

       Thankfully, by the time they returned, the Sixth Harbinger was already waiting impatiently.

       "Good afternoon, Lord Sixth."

       "Hurry up," he scoffed, shooting them a wicked glare. Of course, they reacted naught. Being looked at like some kind of lab rat by Dottore was significantly worse than whatever glare Scaramouche sent their way. "I don't have all day."

       "I understand," they reassured, gently setting down their bag on the very same counter that they cleaned of blood a few hours prior. "If you would, please remove your shirt, and describe the issues you are encountering to me."

       His eyes followed their motions precisely. They wondered if it was some kind of trauma response. Nonetheless, he—shockingly—obliged their request, nimble fingers working to shed his upper layers as they snapped a pair of disposable gloves on.

       "...The issues, sir?" they gently reminded, gloved thumbs gingerly pressing into his ribs to check briefly for any wounds or areas of tenderness they'd need to be mindful of. It wouldn't be unexpected for him, a Harbinger, to be injured, so they figured it would be best to check beforehand. "Would you mind telling me—"

       A vague stinging sensation ran vertically across their lips, and they stopped. 

       "Reflexes." He smirked at the way their hand slowly raised to their now-bloodied lip. The pain didn't hit them for a few seconds, but even once it did, their expression remained boringly the same. The only indication they gave of having felt anything at all was a slight twitch of their lip. "My reflexes have been poor lately."

       A surge of rage flowed through their veins. They did their best to suppress it.

       "Lord Sixth, please take this seriously."

       "Are you implying that I'm not?"

       Agitation bubbled in their throat, but they again did their best to swallow it down and ignore it.

       "I am not..." Their jaw clenched slightly as they let out a shallow breath. They had hoped their irritance would leave with it; unfortunately, their emotions did not dissipate even a little bit. If anything, the Balladeer's smug look just made them feel worse. "I am not implying anything, Lord Sixth, but I'm sure we both have better things to be doing rather than bickering like children over your necessary bodily maintenance. Would you rather Lord Dottore do this? If so, I will gladly take my leave for the day. I will tell you this once only—I am immeasurably kinder than he is."

       "Are you threatening me?"

       "I don't know. Do you want it to be a threat?"

       His hands were wrapped around their throat in an instant. Within just those few brief seconds, they could already feel bruises beginning to bloom and burns beginning to boil their skin from his electro alignment.

       They gathered all the strength they could manage in their legs and kicked him off, forcing all of the air—not that he really needed to breathe—out of his lungs. He remained relatively unfazed, but didn't lurch at them again. Their chest heaved as they shot him a dirty look from beneath their Fatui mask, which had been knocked slightly out of position.

       (It wasn't often that they wore it. Honestly, around any of the Harbingers, they would usually just take it off. Both their name and face were well-known by now. Yet, they had diligently put it on before coming to see the Sixth.

       They could not be certain as to why. It was only inconveniencing their work.

       ...Maybe they were trying to hide, as fruitless as that endeavor was and would always be.)

       A deep, tired sigh left their aching throat. They turned away from him and laid their face against the icy wall, the bite of the cold much welcomed against the heat that had built under their skin from both anger and the recent struggle.

       "Hah, what? Are you going to cry?"

       "Do you want me to be honest, Lord Sixth?"

       The monotone exasperation in their voice surprised him a bit. Nonetheless, an amused look settled on his face.

       "Oh? If you so dare, you may speak freely, then."

       "I wasn't asking for your permission," they scoffed, standing up straight again and removing their mask mandated by the Fatui. They turned back to him, meeting his eyes with such immovable nonchalance, such tiredness that only someone who worked with Dottore for years could possibly display. "I was asking whether you wanted to hear the truth or not. You want to? Fine. First of all, you wouldn't be the first to try and strangle me, so don't fucking do it again. Try something else if you really want to kill me. You think I haven't been nearly choked to death by Lord Beta or Lord Delta? Do you honestly believe that? Secondly, you are acting like a goddamn brat. Either let me do your maintenance, or be Lord Second's science experiment again. Your choice. I have not met a single person who would rather be at Lord Dottore's mercy rather than mine, so choose, and do it fast. I don't have all day either."

       Silence. Then, a response came:

       "...Hah. You've got some guts, talking to a Harbinger like that."

       Static tingled along their flesh and danced in the air, waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for them to say something wrong, waiting for them to cross that invisible thin line from being firm to committing insubordination.

       ...As if they already hadn't. They couldn't be bothered to care. He was acting like a child. How were they supposed to be patient with him when they'd already been spread so thinly? Either way, it was a lose-lose scenario, because surely the Balladeer would accuse them of pitying him or infantilizing him if they did continue to be patient. Being frank was simply the better option.

       Unbothered, they rolled their eyes. "I have no respect for anyone who makes my job more difficult than it already is. You aren't the only one with a hard job. You think I've got it easy? You wouldn't last a day in this position. Make up your mind, Scaramouche. Now."

       "Tch."

       "You want to be a test subject again? Fine by me. Have a good day, Lord Sixth."

       But of course, that was not the end of the Sixth Harbinger's bite. No. It never was, for as they reached for their bag, his sneer reached their ears and made their fingers twitch with rage.

       "What, like you were?"

       The tattoo on their wrist throbbed with the ache of distant, blotted out memories.

       All the nights they spent crying, wailing, hyperventilating, scratching at that foul tattoo on their wrist until their own blood coated their nails and oozed out of their raw flesh to blend with the scorching tears sliding down their cheeks and landing elsewhere...

       All of that for a useless little brat to comment on the situation like it was nothing?

       No. His Harbinger status be damned—no-one would disrespect them like that and get away with it.

       "Don't you ever"—in a swift movement that even the Sixth Harbinger did not expect nor predict, they whirled around and pressed their foot into his chest further and further until they felt something crack under the pressure—"speak of my experiences in such a foul way ever again. It was one time. You have been here, in this very same position, for five hundred years. I was in that position one time. Do not speak in such a manner ever again. I will break you beyond fucking repair."

       The Balladeer's porcelain skin burned. It was now his turn to be at the receiving end of elemental fury.

       "Fuck you," he rasped. They put their foot flat on the floor again, shooting him a harsh glare.

       "Fuck you too. Get back on the table or I'm leaving. How many times to I have to tell you? What are you, five? Are your listening ears off?"

       "...Fine."

       He begrudgingly stood up, hoisting himself up onto the examination table.

       "By the seven," they cursed under their breath. "Finally... You want painkillers or not?" They somehow still found it in them to offer some kind of pain management, though they already knew he would deny it, claiming he 'didn't need it.' "There is no shame in saying yes, Lord Sixth."

       "Don't you dare presume to patronize me. You really believe I'm so weak and—"

       As expected.

       As always.

       "Whatever. I offered, so don't go around telling people I didn't give you options."

       With that, they adjusted their grip on their sterilized scalpel and made the first of many cuts. If he wouldn't tell them what was really wrong, then they would just have to figure it out themselves—it would take longer, and likely be more painful and uncomfortable, but really...

       He did this to himself.

       The Balladeer was always a fascinating being to work on. If they were any less bitter, they would earnestly admit to being honored to have an opportunity to peer inside of him and poke around at his artificial systems, satiating whatever curiosity they might have had about him and how he functioned and—because of his creation being the work of an Archon—how one of the Seven's minds worked. As much as they may have disliked him, disliked his uncooperative nature, he was fascinating in his own right.

       (It was like they viewed him as less of a person, less of a coworker, and more of a subject to be studied. As more of a thing, a creature. Hm.)

       Scaramouche didn't bleed much. He bled, but never enough to inconvenience them. They were always able to simply pat away any blood with a tissue or a cotton pad when it began interfering with their work. He bled, but not like a human. Never like a human.

       He wasn't one, so...

       A soft whimper, a hitch of breath unnoticeable to the untrained ear drew them out of their thoughts. Their gaze briefly flickered to the Balladeer's face, fingers halting all motion. All the muscles in their abdomen tightened with an overwhelming sense of guilt and frustration.

       A stray tear rolled down his cheek. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. They chose to pay it as little mind as possible, if not for anyone's sake but theirs. His eyes were hazy and vacant, as if he were recalling some other event such as this one—as if, above him, he saw someone else.

       They shook that thought off before it could spiral into something worse.

      ��Whatever he was recalling was not their fault, and certainly not their business. It had nothing to do with them. It was no concern of theirs. It wasn't their fault. It was absolutely not their fault... right?

       Were they being rougher than usual? Surely not, they thought, but upon shifting their eyes back to what they were actively working on... it became clear that they were.

       He was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual. Either way, they would have to peel him open eventually to get better access to his systems, but... generally, they were very gentle about it. As gentle as one could be about something so grotesque, anyway. Even so, for some reason they couldn't really place, he was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual.

       Oh.

       As much as they wanted to apologize, the words only stuck to the sides of their dry throat. Their hands trembled a little at the realization of what they had done to him, of how cruel they had been to him the entire time. How could their cruelty outmatch a Harbinger's? How could their cruelty outmatch the Sixth's, of all people's?

       Of course, in a job such as theirs, dissociation was a hell of a skill.

       There was nothing they could do except grit their teeth, continue, and—ideally—wrap it up as soon as possible. 

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       "Are you done yet?"

       He sounded so vacant, voice lacking any of the bite, enmity, or sarcasm it should have held towards them. He should've sounded different, not... like this.

       He sounded so broken.

       ...Did they really hurt him that bad? They'd hardly done anything different at all. It was always the same, they swore it was. It was the same as any other maintenance day in the lab.

       Deep down, they knew that wasn't true, that they were only lying to make themselves feel better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. They wordlessly cut the last stitch, patting away the little bit of blood that remained.

       "...I am, sir. If you don't heal properly, please come see me or Lord Dottore."

       He didn't reply.

       They reached up wordlessly, shutting the overhead surgical lighting off, hoping that the motion might snap him out of whatever daze he was trapped in. He hardly flinched.

       Wordlessly, they pulled back from him, snapping their surgical gloves off. They absentmindedly found themselves a bit thankful that there wasn't much to clean up when it came to him.

       "...Um. You can leave." They cleared their throat. "If— if you want to. I don't know when Lord Second will be back, so I would... leave. If I were you. I also need to sterilize the table, so... if you would..?"

       He didn't respond. 

       "Right. Um... I suppose I'll leave it for one of the segments, then... I'm heading out for the day, Lord Sixth."

       Guilt nagged at their conscience, and they wanted to apologize, but somehow the words got stuck in their throat and, no matter how hard they tried, could not be dislodged. So, they nodded in polite acknowledgement before quietly grabbing their things and heading out.

       A weight settled in their gut as they swallowed thickly, stumbling out of the lab and closing the door behind them. A chill immediately settled into their bones; however, they paid it no mind, keeping their head tilted down as they walked down the halls and giving no response other than a hum to any other Fatui agents that nodded their way respectfully.

       In their daze, they did not notice the looming presence they were about to run head-first into.

       Run head-first into him, they certainly did.

       A sharp gasp was inhaled through their nose, and their instinctive response was to snap at whoever it was they bumped into; before they could, however, they caught a glimpse of the person's footwear.

       Il Dottore. One of his older segments, if they had to guess based on shoes alone. They did not get the chance to apologize. In fact, they barely even had the chance to process who they were looking at and how they should go about their apology; should it have been short and to the point accompanied only by a polite nod, or should they have gone as far as to bow at the waist level? The answer would slightly vary depending on what segment it was (there was surprisingly little variance overall, but they did need to express a bit more guilt with some segments for their apology to be accepted without punishment), but they had no time to even think about how to apologize before he began to speak.

       "My, [Surname]"—they could hear the entertained smile in his voice, and in an instant, the gears in their head clicked together in recognition of what segment in particular they had run into—"terribly distracted, aren't you?"

       "I'm..." They did not raise their head. Instead, they simply stepped back, hands fidgeting somewhat with the handle of the bag they held. "I'm sorry, Lord Psi. I wasn't watching where I was going."

       Psi, twenty-third of Il Dottore's twenty-four segments, and—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who one asked—the one who seemed to like them the most. A polite, straightforward apology without any excessive expressions of fear and respect would do.

       He was no different than any of the other segments in that he was an oddity and an enigma, someone who was not easily understood, but he was more personable than most. Oftentimes, it was him who attended publicity events in the place of the man himself. The original Il Dottore was generally not known for patience or grace. Therefore, the most logical action would be to send someone more… agreeable to such events. Psi was the only candidate for that kind of responsibility. He was no less of a threat than the others—he was simply harder to anger and easier to get along with.

       They supposed it was preferable to run into him instead of someone else.

       "Well, that much, I can certainly see."

       "Ah. Yes..." It was then that they finally straightened up and dared to peer at his face. "I should be going, sir. If you'll excuse me—"

       "Wait just a moment, mouse."

       Mouse. Mouse. He always called them that, if not their first or last name, and it made their stomach twist sickly every single time (they faintly recalled the first time he addressed them in such a way, but with that memory, they also recalled scalpels and cold metal digging into their skin that made their throat close up anxiously). It was demeaning and cruel and belittling. They expected no less from him.

       ...Yet somehow, he also made it sound fond, but not... fond. Fond, as one would speak to a pet—not fond in the way one might speak to a loved one.

       And really, they supposed that to him, they were a pet. They were most certainly not a loved one; they were simply a favored little mouse. Small, docile, and fragile in a way that was endearingly cute—a thing that could be grabbed by the tail and dragged around against its will with nothing to say in opposition for fear of angering its captor. It was disgustingly fitting.

       If they were a mouse—the prey—then they supposed that would make him a crow, the opportunistic predator who may not normally eat mice such as them, but could and undoubtedly would if he was given the chance to.

       A mouse trapped in a cage, constantly circled by crows threatening to finally kill them at any given point without warning…

       …Yes, that was accurate indeed.

       The leather of his gloves brushed against their neck, tilting their chin up to get a better look at their throat. They tried not to swallow too harshly—he'd know if they did, and then he would know that they were nervous. Then again, he would know regardless, since their pulse was ringing loud in their ears and his thumb pressed into their neck dangerously near to where he would be able to feel their heartbeat.

       He knew, and they were sure he was thriving on it.

       "...Sir?"

       "That is quite the nasty wound you've attained," he mused, withdrawing his hands from their neck, much to their relief. "I assume that the doll gave it to you?"

       "Yes. Lord Sixth and I got into an... altercation."

       "An altercation," he echoed, the very same amused tone seeping back into his voice. "I see. In that case, before you go, shall we treat this wound of yours? You would hate to worry your dear parents by returning in such a poor state, I'm sure."

       It was clear that he was not asking. They had no choice but to wordlessly nod and follow him back to the lab. 

       Upon entering, gently shutting the door behind themselves, they were relieved to find that Scaramouche had left. They really weren’t sure if they were relieved for him or themselves. Were they relieved knowing he would not have to face one of the segments in such a vulnerable state of being (though, somehow they were sure that he had done so multiple times in the past), or were they relieved knowing they did not have to face him again? It was truly anyone’s guess.

       Psi turned away from them, shedding his leather gloves and replacing them with disposable ones. They did not need to be told where to go nor what to do.

       They hoisted themselves up onto the cold, metal table (they could not manage to fully ignore the pounding of their heart against their ribcage—being on the one on the table for any reason was exceedingly uncomfortable) effortlessly, though not before leaving their bag by the door to grab on their way out.

       “Are you wounded elsewhere?”

       Their heart leapt somewhat in surprise of the voice cutting through the silence, and they chided themselves for being so tense. “No, sir. Only around my neck.”

       He hummed in a wordless acknowledgement.

       As he turned back towards them, the click of his shoes echoing eerily as he got closer and only ceasing once he stood directly in front of them, they straightened their spine somewhat. When his hands reached out to them, they tilted their chin upwards.

       They were not particularly interested in knowing what exactly he was doing; they only wanted it to be over as soon as possible so that they could leave for the day and return to the one place they dared to feel perfectly safe.

       “I hear that Beta was quite upset upon learning that you’d been to Haeresys today, yet left without seeing him.”

       They did not doubt it. Beta, the second of Il Dottore’s twenty-four segments… no, they did not doubt it whatsoever. He was very easily amused but equally volatile, and they knew he particularly liked the agents that were intelligent enough to understand even a little bit of his research; they were very possibly the first agent that would come to mind when thinking of someone who fit that criterion, unfortunately. They also knew that he was far more prone to anger than some of the others.

       They very much hoped that he was only mildly upset. If he was extremely bothered, however, he might just decide to hold them hostage the next time they visit—it was certainly not above him to do so.

       “Is that so?” they murmured, flinching somewhat upon feeling a gel’s cold bite against their wounded skin. “...I’ll make it up to him. Since I had to perform routine maintenance on the Sixth, I could not have stayed for long. Perhaps I’ll return to Haeresys on one of the lab’s less busy days.”

       “Well, he will most definitely hold you to it. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

       Somehow, they just knew that was a threat… a threat on Beta’s behalf, no doubt. They had long assumed that all the segments were connected mentally, though they had no real proof of that claim. They never cared to ask; it was simply always implied, a silent fact that they had been consciously aware of for quite a long time now. Moments such as these made them certain that it was true.

       They did not reply, opting for a simple hum instead.

       Moments passed in silence. Then, Psi spoke up once again after withdrawing from their body a final time:

       “You are dismissed, mouse. Take these”—he placed a small pill bottle at their side—”for the next week. One pill twice a day, in the morning and at night. We cannot afford to let your wounds get infected.’

       “Yes, sir.” They nodded. Only when he turned away from them did they get off of the table, taking the pills with them. Fear, more or less irrational in its nature yet nonetheless deeply ingrained into their instincts, still coursed through their veins. The racing of their heart had yet to settle down, and their hands trembled somewhat.

       It was with quick footsteps that they darted towards the door, snatching up their bag, before making a quick departure.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @www-songbird. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

[ani-radio]

This is a cover for a fanfic I’m writing. (Prologue ⬇️)

I may post it here, on Wattpad, and on Quotev.

Should I post it on AO3? I mean, I try to get in but I keep forgetting to check up on the set time for approvals or what not. It would take time but should I? Is there any other place I should post?

Prologue

The air in Hell crackled with static. Not the kind that buzzed from faulty equipment or broken radios, but the kind that lingered just before something catastrophic–or wonderful–happened. It was Alastor’s signature, an unseen ripple that stretched through the streets of Pandemonium and set its infernal citizens on edge.

In a lavish study lit by infernal flames, Lucifer Morningstar sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the source of this peculiar disturbance: a vintage radio on his desk. The polished wood gleamed in the firelight, but its appearance was deceptively plain for the trouble it carried. The static fizzled and morphed, forming a melody–a haunting tune that seemed to echo from a distant, crackling abyss. It was bold, whimsical, and entirely out of place in Lucifer’s domain. And then came a voice, smooth as silk and sharp as a razor: “Good evening to all of you wayward sinners! This is your favorite radio host, Alastor, here to remind you that even the damned deserve a little entertainment. Sit back, relax, and let me enchant you with tonight’s feature: the untold tales of temptation and triumph!”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, a bemused smile playing on his lips. He’d heard of Alastor, though the name took no space in his mind. But nonetheless he’s heard it, of course–who in Hell hadn’t? The self-proclaimed Radio Demon was notorious, a whirlwind of chaos who refused to follow the natural order of things. He was clever, unpredictable, and maddeningly audacious.

But tonight, something about Alastor’s voice struck a chord. It wasn’t the unusual nonsense Alastor broadcasted to his adoring, albeit terrified, audience. No, there was something deliberate in the way the words were chosen, as if they were meant for Lucifer alone.

He let the melody play out, the haunting notes weaving through the study like a challenge. When it ended, the radio fell silent, but the static lingered, faint and persistent. Lucifer’s fingers drummed against the arm of his chair as he considered his next move.

It wasn’t often that someone dared provoke the King of Hell. Rarer still was someone who managed to do so with style.

“Well, Alastor,” Lucifer murmured, his smile widening into something far more devilish, “let’s see if your little performance is worth my time. Or better yet, my attention.”

And as the flames danced higher, the Devil’s favorite tune began to take shape, a melody that neither he nor Alastor would ever forget.

———————————————————————————————————————

Present | First | Second | Third | Fourth | Fifth | Sixth

[kalinihta]

𝐂. 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋

a/n: my first post on this account (and fiction writing in months)! i’m not that great of a writer so corrections are appreciated but please don’t be rude to me or anyone on my blog. i hope you enjoy this:)

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plot: reader is a jazz singer in the wastelands and she sings about her husband of a lifetime.

trope: cooper howard x reader, the ghoul x reader

fandom: fallout

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even after the bombs, the living still needed entertainment. good thing i was still alive. i owned a small little jazz club downtown of filly, many people came to see me — ghouls, raiders, you name it. i made my living off bottlecaps from the entry fee and tips. 20 bottle caps for entry and i usually got tips above 30. i used my caps to buy meds, meds for my husband.

my husband’s a ghoul, somehow im not. i was already examining a vault when the bombs had dropped. coop had a birthday party gig, i felt i shouldve begged him to come with me to the vault, but i hadn’t. i should’ve trusted my instincts that day. nonetheless i still love him, hes still a divine being in my eyes.

currently, im backstage getting ready for a performance. cooper was out hunting a bounty, said he might be back in a couple days. i sighed as i combed my hair, i held my gaze in the mirror. if something were to happen to him i dont know what i’d do.

standing up, i examined myself in the mirror.

i think im ready..

as i walked out of the room i gave dogmeat i quick pet before walking out on stage. my heels clicked on the medium sized stage, gazes locked on my body, and commotion erupted. cat calls and claps echoed through the small club. one i had reached the mic i turned to my piano player and nodded. he smiled and began to play.

You're no good for me

Baby, you're no good for me

You're no good for me

But baby, I want you, I want…

i paused for a moment, a small blanket of whistles covered my ears. i took a breath and closed my eyes.

Diet mountain dew, baby, New York City

Never was there ever a girl so pretty

Do you think we'll be in love forever?

Do you think we'll be in love?

Baby, put on heart shaped sunglasses

'Cause we gonna take a ride

I'm not gonna listen to what the past says

I've been waiting up all night

i heard the old doors of the club open, but i didnt pay any attention and kept singing. silent foot steps echoed the club as i kept my eyes closed. i heard them pause for a moment before sitting on one of the many squeaky chairs.

Hurt me and tell me you're mine

I don't know why but I like it

Scary? My God, you're divine

Gimme them, gimme them dope and diamonds

whispers and mumbling always came up during this song. they speculated my lover physically hurt me, when it was never physically. he always had a way with my heart, and no matter how much bad news he told me i always was there for him. it’s not like he abused me, oh no, never. it was just sad to see him go through so much that it even hurt me.

as i sang along, i slowly opened my eyes to gaze around the room. many men’s stares and some women smiling and talking. as my eyes roamed i spotted a familiar cowboy. my eyes widened slightly seeing him here, he said he wouldn’t be back for days… i pushed away that thought and lightly smiled at him, holding his gaze. the song ended, i thanked everyone for being there and went off the stage and left the band to play. claps and whistles erupted as i left the stage.

as i cleaned off my makeup, i felt a hand on my shoulder. i looked up in the mirror and smiled.

“you know, that makeup made you awfully pretty, darlin’.”

i giggled. i looked up at him and held the hand that was on my shoulder.

“you did pick it out, remember? 200 years ago…”

i spoke softly. his hard gaze softened lightly, brushing my hair with his hand. he pressed a kiss to my head and held me for a moment.

“you said you wouldn’t be back for days, what happened?”

“well, sweetheart, the guy just so happened to be traveling on his way to filly. speaking of filly…”

he reached in his pocket, rummaging for a moment. he pulled out a beautiful ring that looked oh so familiar. our engagement ring.

he held it out between his two fingers, his gaze all over his face. i sighed deeply, tears building up. he softly smiled, wiping the tears that did fall.

“i just so happened to find our engagement rings. the rings that had been stolen from us, oh so, long ago, darlin’.”

“thank you…”

i breathed out. i was so surprised he found them, the same rings that matched our eyes. they were very dear to us, my ring matched his eyes, and his matched mine. i let him slide the ring on my finger, i gazed at it before jumping to give him a hug. he stood still for a moment, slowly moving to encase me in his grasp.

“do you find me scary, sweetheart?”

“scary? my god, you’re divine…”

i pulled back slightly to look at him. my hands held his face. we both leaned in and encased ourselves in a kiss, a soft embrace.

[enlitment]

What’s the beef between Voltaire and Rousseau? I follow this person who pretends they’re Rousseau and they shit on Voltaire every other day…I’m so curious what is the lore 👀👀

Hi, first of all thanks for the ask! There's a lot going on, but I think it's quite entertaining, so if you have some time to spare to learn about a beef between two colourful characters from centuries ago, strap in!

(Also just decided I'll make two posts because there's so much to get into. Sincerely sorry, brevity has never been my strong suit.)

The genius leads Voltaire and Rousseau to the Temple of Fame and Immortality (from French Revolution period)

PHILOSOPHICAL DIFFERENCES (aka let's get the basics out of the way first)

I know that a lot of people (myself certainly included!) are mostly there to discuss the juicier stuff, but I think an overview of their general outlook on life is still important, if only to better understand the drama that went down between them.

This will of course be a gross oversimplification of quite complex philosophical problems. (I can almost sense my lecturers shaking their heads as I'm typing this.) Nonetheless -

The simplest way to describe their differences of opinion is that Voltaire championed reason and logic while Rousseau’s philosophy focused much more on feelings. (His personal life was like that as well. JJ prided himself in being in touch with his feelings, which I’m all here for, but sometimes it does really feel like he’s crying in the woods on literally every other page). Another key difference in their general worldview would be Rousseau’s optimism contrasted with Voltaire’s pessimism (probably best exemplified in Candide).

Voltaire essentially believed that human Reason, along with all the rapid advances in sciences and arts overseen by the 18th century would lead to a better life and a better society. Rousseau, on the other hand, in his famous essay First Discourse on Arts and Sciences that skyrocketed his career as a philosopher basically argues that people were originally good in their 'natural state' and it is the artifice of society that corrupted them and rendered them unhappy.

2. PERSONAL AND LIFESTYLE DIFFERENCES

This then very much ties into the differences between the two philosophers as people.

From Paris. Shout out to my friends who waited for me for five minutes before I got a decent angle.

Rousseau saw himself as a champion of the simple, humble life. In a personal letter to Voltaire, he claimed that the fact V spends his life surrounded by opulence, luxury, and insincere manners of the upper-classes is the precise cause of his misery. V in turn though that both Rousseau’s views and he as a person are a bit ridiculous. (Honestly? Fair. Lot of people did, especially among the upper-classes and 'men of letters' - a lot of which were former Rousseau's friends as well before he decided to go full cottagecore).

3. THE BEEF PART 1: THE (MOSTLY) GOOD

Voltaire contacted Rousseau after he read his famous essay The Discourse on the Origin of Inequality among Men in 1755. The letter itself is far from just patting Rousseau on the back. Voltaire does defend the arts, the sciences, and the human progress in general against Rousseau's criticism. I'm including this quote from it since it illustrates the typical banter of V that nonetheless has teeth:

as well as this quote (mostly because I think it's a banger line):

Letters support, refine, and comfort the soul: they are serving you, sir, at the very moment you decry them: you are like Achilles declaiming against fame (...)

Nonetheless, the tone of the letter is overall quite amiable. To me, it reads as playful criticism - critical, sure, but no open hostility at this point. He even invites Rousseau to come visit him at the end:

M. Chappus tells me your health is very unsatisfactory: you must come and recover here in your native place, enjoy its freedom, drink (with me) the milk of its cows, and browse on its grass.

[1/2] to be continued...

[chelseachilly]

how deep is your love

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: ben's drunk and can't stop telling you how much he loves you 🩵 warnings: none :) word count: 1.4k

author’s note: written based on this post from @benchilwellx bc it was such a cute concept, just a quick fluffy little one-shot to get the writing juices flowing :) sorry i haven't updated this love in a couple weeks but life has been crazy! hoping to get the next chapter posted in the next week but enjoy this in the meantime 💗

also for the sake of this fic let's pretend chelsea didn't have a game this weekend, tbh would rather forget the one they did play lol

-

In the two years you’ve known Ben, and just over a year since you’ve been a couple, you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen him truly drunk. 

With the football season preventing him from indulging too much for most of the year, and fitness at the top of his mind even in the off-season, he rarely gets the opportunity. Usually, when you go out, he either drives or makes sure to get you home safely in an Uber, and if you’ve had a really fun night, he’ll help you take off your makeup or even hold your hair back if necessary. 

So it’s an interesting turn of events when you show up a bit late to his best mate Harvey’s birthday celebration at a fancy club in Soho and find your boyfriend clearly tipsy already. 

He’s sitting in a booth next to Tom and Harvey singing along to some 90s R&B song, a drink in hand that is definitely not his first, or even his second or third. He’s a bit of a sight to behold, as he so rarely drinks this much, but you can’t help but smile at the sight of him letting loose - you know how much pressure he’s been under lately with the captain duties. 

“Babe!” Ben exclaims with wide eyes and an even wider grin as soon as he sees you, stumbling a bit as he gets up from the booth. “You’re here!”

He quickly makes his way to you and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, and you can taste the liquor on his tongue. You sink into him nonetheless, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms after a long day of work.

As soon as you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours and takes a deep breath, his thumbs drawing circles on your waistline.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,“ you smile back at him warmly, enjoying this affection, no matter how much tequila is playing a part. “You pretty drunk?”

“Mhm,” Ben says with a slightly dazed expression, his eyes still focused on your lips. “The boys were making me take shots since there’s no game this week.”

You chuckle slightly, rolling your eyes at Ben’s - and by extension, your - good friends at the booth behind him, dancing and ordering another round of shots. You’re glad Harvey’s having a good birthday.

“I’m happy you’re having fun, baby, you deserve it,” you say sincerely, cupping his face with both hands before leaning in to kiss him again. “Now, it seems I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Go sit with the boys, I’ll get you a drink,” Ben offers, pressing another quick kiss to your cheek before heading to the bar.

You nod with a smile and go to sit next to Harvey, pulling him into a quick hug and wishing him a happy birthday.

“Now, which one of you is responsible for my drunk boyfriend?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow as you glance back at Ben, who is still smiling lovingly at you from the bar. 

“That would be the birthday boy,” Tom chuckles. “He’s bloody entertaining though, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with him hungover tomorrow,” you joke.

The last time he was hungover, after one fun night on the yacht in Italy this summer, Ben had forced you to spend the whole day in bed cuddling with him. You pretended to be annoyed for about five minutes before giving in - partly because you can never turn down his cuddles, and partly because you were pretty hungover too. 

Speaking of how adorable your boyfriend is, within minutes he’s headed back over to you with that same dopey grin on his face and two vodka sodas. It’s your favourite, and his go-to during the season when he’s watching his calories.

“For you, my darling,” Ben says in an overly posh accent as he hands you the glass, making you giggle.

He then practically shoves Tom over to make room for himself to sit next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders protectively and kissing your cheek. You can feel yourself blushing from the unusually overt PDA, as he typically reserves this kind of affection for home, but you don’t mind.

“I love you,” Ben whispers once again against your temple, burying his nose in your hair. “So, so much. Missed you today.”

It’s amazing the way those three words still give you the same butterflies as the first time you heard them, making you smile like a lovestruck fool.

“I missed you too, baby,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make dinner. You know how crazy work has been.”

Ben and the boys had been a bit disappointed when you weren’t able to join them for dinner earlier, mainly because you’ve been so busy at work lately due to a recent promotion that your friends have hardly seen you. Even Ben’s time with you has been limited, especially with him also putting in extra time at Cobham as captain while Reece is out. 

It’s been an exciting time for both of you career-wise, but it’s also meant spending less time together, which is probably why Ben is being so clingy right now and why you’re welcoming his clinginess.

“S’okay, I’m just glad you’re here now,” Ben says, kissing your cheek a few more times before returning the conversation with the boys.

You contently settle into Ben’s side, his arm still firmly wrapped around you, and sip your drink while they talk about football and the girl Anish is seeing. When Ben interrupts the other guys’ suggestions of playing it cool and waiting to text her back by telling his friend to be honest and just tell her how he feels, your heart swells with pride that your boyfriend is the most emotionally intelligent guy you know.

“Since Ben’s the only one successfully in a relationship, I’m gonna take his advice,” Anish laughs, raising his drink to you. “Unless he just got lucky with Y/N.”

“Nah, he won me over fair and square,” you say, turning your face to meet Ben’s eyes and smiling lovingly at him. “I’m the lucky one.”

The way Ben’s eyes shine and his lip quivers slightly at your words makes it impossible for you to resist leaning in to press a quick peck to his mouth. It’s not your fault he’s so adorable, nor is it your fault that Ben deepens the kiss and pulls you closer.

“Alright, we’re going to get more drinks, we’ll leave you to it,” Harvey says with an eye-roll as the rest of your group gets up and starts to walk over to the bar.

You pull back from Ben’s kisses, feeling a bit embarrassed by how touchy you’re being, but he only takes the opportunity to grab your waist and hoist you into his lap.

“Baby,” you sigh, really enjoying the warmth of his arms and the little kisses he’s leaving on your neck. “Don’t you think we should cool it a bit? It’s Harvey’s birthday, doubt he wants to watch us do this all night.”

“Can’t help it,” Ben mumbles into your neck, sending a shiver up your spine. “I just love you so much.”

Ben never shies away from reminding you of this fact, often the last three words he says to you before bed or when you’re leaving the house, but he tends to tell you how much he loves you even more than normal when he’s drinking. You’re not sure if he forgets that he already told you multiple times or just that he feels particularly lovey when intoxicated. Either way, you love it.

“I love you so much too, Benji,” you smile, kissing his forehead and adorning the way his eyes flutter shut in contentment. “Why don’t we stay for one more drink and then go home and have sex on the couch and fall asleep watching Love Island?”

His eyes light up like a child who’s just been offered ice cream before bed, and he nods eagerly.

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to let me off your lap, babe,” you chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Unless you wanna get roasted mercilessly.”

“Don’t care,” Ben grumbles into your hair, but when you pull back and give him a warning look, he sighs and gives in. “Fine, but we’re dancing.”

You squeal slightly as you’re lifted off your feet, Ben dragging you to the dance floor. You might be exhausted and ready to go home at this point, but you’re content to spend the next few minutes dancing to some Calvin Harris song in the arms of your drunk boyfriend, him whispering how much he loves you between the choruses.

[sylvan-librarian]

In response to the (really good!) story for Murders at Karlov Manor, I've been seeing some (thankfully limited) discourse on the same old tired argument that Magic story has no stakes because characters can die and then come back to life as a ghost or get (seemingly permanently) turned into robot monsters and then get better eventually.

People can obviously feel what they feel and believe what they believe about Magic story, but personally, I'm just so tired of this argument. Magic story is largely a marriage of high fantasy and superhero comics. These two types of literature have much in common, but one similarity stands out in my mind: the impermanence of character death. Comic book superheroes famously won't stay dead, and while this fact has been controversial for decades, it is nonetheless a cornerstone of the genre. And hell, even in The Lord of Rings - the god-emperor and founding text of the entire fantasy genre (for better or worse) - Tolkien's wizard OC Gandalf dies and comes back to life STRONGER ... nigh invincibly powerful (if LotR was written today, people would call Gandalf [and probably Aragorn for that matter] a Mary Sue).

This not my attempt to shill for a corporation, mind you. In contrast, I'd rather see MORE people complaining about things worth complaining about:

The increasing price of the game gatekeeping so many from the hobby

Hasbro firing 1,000 employees right before Christmas

WotC sending hired thugs to someone's house over a mistake the company itself made

The focus on the collectability of cards over how they play

And I'm not even saying there aren't aspects of Magic story itself worth critiquing. To note:

The enjoyability of its prose is inconsistent at times (reread the Magic Origins stories, for example)

The messaging is sometimes off (i.e. - the worst bad guys in the entire universe are folks who use science to make their bodies more in line with their view of themselves)

The stories - especially the big epic ones - are rarely given time to breathe, and the authors are clearly asked to do a lot with very little

War of the Spark: Forsaken

Maybe asking people to have a more nuanced take on the storyline of a children's card game is too much, but I think that "story bad" is far too dismissive. I remember reading through the All Will Be One stories thinking: "Well, there is actually NO WAY WotC is going to kill off ALL of these characters that got phyrexianized." Jace and Ajani are literally two of the main characters of Magic; Nissa, Vraska, and Nahiri are maybe less popular and important to the overall setting, but they all nonetheless have their extremely devoted fans (me; I'm one of those fans; bet you can't guess of which 'walker). I find it a bit silly to assume that the mass permadeath of named characters would be how the Phyrexian arc would end. Modern Magic is just not the type of story where the creators will merc half of their cast just to appease certain sentiments about its literary value.

This post has turned into a lot of meandering nonsense, but here's what I'm largely trying to get across: I wish more people would accept Magic story for what it is, not for what they think it should be. I'm NOT saying people shouldn't have standards for their entertainment, but they also shouldn't expect Shakespeare* - or even Tolkien - from a story about wizard superheroes written to provide a backdrop for a children's card game.

*I also want to mention here: characters dying and then coming back is also present in Shakespeare.

[shewrites02]

The Crow's Nest | Zoro x Sanji |

Summary: Friends who sometimes cuddle... who are maybe in love

A/N: The setting is pre and post WCI so if you would like to avoid spoiler save this fic for later.

Request: Open

Word count: 8.1k

Leave a comment if you enjoy :)

Two Months Before

The crows nest is quiet, illuminated only by the stars that gleam brightly in the open sky. Zoro can't help but let his mind wander in the deafening silence. Thinking of how he hadn't even realized how willfully he has settled into their routine, how he has become more fond of sleeping on this wooden floor than his bed in the men's quarter. Fears what the implications of such may mean for him in the long run.

"I'm starting to think you're waiting for me mossy." Sanji teases. He wears a boozy smile as he approaches.

Zoro recognizes the red tinge that extends from his cheeks to his ears . A telltale sign that the cook had decided to indulge in the cheap sake he swore tasted of rubbing alcohol.

"You came looking for me!" Zoro retorts.

Zoro can smell the alcohol lingering on the cook when he bends at the waist to meet his face. The sake still wet on his lips, as though he needed one last swig to work up the courage to search for the ex pirate hunter. Sanji reaches his hand out, incidentally grazing Zoro's cheek with his knuckles then flicks his earrings.

"And you're always where I need you. Uh, Marimo?" Sanji whispers.

Zoro does not respond, won't entertain the cook's theatrics when they both know why he came. Instead he grabs Sanji's wrist before he can stand upright then urges the cook to the floor with him. Sanji can't help but give into the swordsman's touch. The sly smile Zoro wears makes it seem as if he knows this too. Sanji sit's between the swordsman's legs, in the most elegant way he can in his inebriated state , then rests his head against Zoro's chest.

"I sleep better when you're here." Zoro confesses.

Not necessarily an admission of guilt, but an answer to Sanji's inquiries nonetheless. Zoro strokes his hand through Sanji's blonde locks. Knows how much the cook loves his hair to be played with. Sanji listens to the soft inhales and exhales of the swordsman's breaths, finding comfort in the way he can feel the marimo's chest rise and fall.

"I missed you... Over these two years." The cook says breaking the comfortable silence that had surrounded the two of them.

"Oh, yeah?"

"I don't think a day passed that I didn't think about you."

In spite of Sanji not being able to see him, the swordsman still shifts his gaze to stare at the stars. Zoro feels the second his heart stops as it skips a beat, the heat that threatens to display on his cheeks.

"I missed you too." Zoro confesses. The words fall so softly they threaten to get swept up in the breeze.

Sanji snuggles closer, resting his back further into Zoro's chest. He tightens the hold his arms have around the cook's shoulders in response. He can't help the content grin that settles on his lips. Decides it's the alcohol that has him reminiscing. Thinking of how he had waited two long years to feel this again. At home. Back where he belonged, surrounded by his found family. While the cook laid in his arms drifting in and out of his stupor, Zoro can't help but think how much better it feels than he imagined.

"You're so warm." Sanji mumbles.

"That why you always come searching for me curly?" Zoro whispered teasingly. His lips grazing over his ear softly. "Need the sake to tell me you want me to hold you? Can't ask nicely?..."

"You know I won't turn you away. "

"Fuck you!" Sanji buries his face in the swordsman's chest, Embarrassed to show him just how flustered his words made him. "I-I'm just drunk."

"Right curly." Zoro places a small kiss to the back of his head. "Just drunk."

One Month Before

"You fucking dumbass!" Sanji grumbles shoving his mittened hands underneath his armpit with the intent to warm them. The ice cold air reddens his pale skin despite the beanie and earmuffs he wears. "If you can't make it back why the fuck do you keep wandering off?"

"I could've made it back!" Zoro defends.

"You still couldn't make it back on your own if there wasn't a snow storm!" Sanji snarls.

He is relieved to see the swordsman alive opposed to an ice statue of himself. Although, he wishes the pirate had just an ounce of self awareness to admit that navigation will never be one of his strong suits. When asked how he had planned to find his way back to the sunny Zoro simply states he was going to turn around and walk in the opposite direction. When Sanji tries to explain it isn't that simple, that his tracks had been obscured by the ever present snowfall, Zoro just crosses his arms against his chest mumbling in objection.

"We're still lost!" Zoro grumbles.

The cold wet flurries fall down in blankets coating the parkas they both wear. The snowfall has quickened in pace since Sanji first found Zoro. What had started out as ankle high has grown to the pirates' shins , forcing them to plow through the cold with each step.

"Look dumbass!" Sanji points to what looks to be an inn up ahead. "We'll stop for the night. Hope that some of the snow melts by morning."

Sanji pushes the door to the room open with a deep exhale, feeling relief at having some solace from the blistering cold. Even in the absence of the breeze he feels the need to drag his hands up and down his jacket sleeves to feel the glorious heat of friction. Zoro wastes no time getting comfortable, stripping out his snow covered jacket then draping it on the back of the only chair before going to take off his boots.

"There's only one bed." Sanji announces as though he has just taken notice.

Zoro can't help the crooked smirk that appears consequently . There's a chuckle that threatens to morph into a full blown laugh stuck in his throat, but the swordsman swallows it when he sees the genuine stress the situation has brought the cook.

"What? Now we can't sleep together?" Zoro retorts.

The red tinge the cold has left on Sanji's face deepens to more of a crimson. His eyes dart around the room looking for something to settle on that wasn't Zoro and his intense stare.

The itty bitty room doesn't leave many options. Besides the lone cushioned antique chair Zoro was leaning against, the only other furniture that remained was: the bed centered on the wall to his left, a night stand beside it with a lamp, and a dark patterned rug beneath his feet. Sanji chooses the tattered rug.

He is almost surprised at the way his chest clenches at Zoro's words. The physical reaction at the mere implication of those habitual nights where he would drunkenly seek out the swordsman's comfort with only the stars as witnesses. When he would revel in how warm Marimo's body was against his and shelter in the safety he found cradled in his arms. The nights that never found their way to daybreak.

"It's- this is different." Sanji insists.

"Would you like me to get you a bottle of sake to make it easier?"

Zoro's lips curl into a smile that almost fools the cook into believing it's a sincere question. For a moment he considers the offer. Thinks the burn of the alcohol may mask the burn of his cheeks, but quickly dismisses the thought of allowing the swordsman anywhere near the snow unaccompanied.

Zoro allows the question to dissipate into the air when the cook doesn't answer. Decides crawling under the warmth of the covers was better than standing here arguing about a decision that in his mind had already been made.

"Y- You really don't mind?" Sanji asks.

"Cook." Zoro pushes his palm into the mattress, and extends his arm to lift his torso before glancing over at Sanji. "Get in the bed."

Sanji begins to unzip his jacket and allows it to rest alongside Zoro's on the dusty chair. A chill runs down his spine when he removes the beanie and earmuffs reminding him of just how much he despised the cold. With another rub up and down his shoulders Sanji approaches the bed and hesitantly lays beside the swordsman. Zoro takes this as a cue to turn off the bedside lamp that illuminated the room allowing the dark to engulf them.

Sanji tosses and turns in the hotel sheets, can't seem to get comfortable with this chill still in the air. He tries to be still, doesn't want to disturb the marimo next to him, but even now as he rubbed his ice cold feet together pulling the blankets tight to his chin, there was no relief.

"Are you cold?" Zoro finally asks the fidgety cook.

Sanji takes a moment to reply, trying to decipher if his restlessness had in fact come from the chill in the air or if it could be his proximity to the green haired pirate.

"Yeah."

Sanji can feel the mattress shift beneath him as Zoro rolls over to wrap his arm around him, drawing him into his chest before letting a sigh fall from his lips onto the back of Sanji's neck. The cook thinks it almost sounds like relief, but tries not to think much of it. Just thankful to have his added warmth to protect him from the cold.

"I- is this okay?" Zoro whispers. "it's just- you always say I'm warm."

The vibration of his voice reverberated through every bone in the cook's body. There's an uncertainty to the swordsman's whispers making him speak so gentle and sweet, a cadence Black Leg has never heard before. It leaves him wondering what he would have to do to hear the swordsman talk to him like this every night.

"Yeah." Sanji rests his hand on top of the swordsman's, trying to resist the urge to face him. To stop himself from burying his head in the space where Zoro's shoulder meets his neck and resting there for the night.

"This is okay."

Two Weeks Before

The sound of Brook's violin fills the open air, the Strawhats' singing carries their joyful cheers. Zoro can hear them from the crow's nest. He laughs at Luffy being the loudest when he clearly didn't know many of the words . The first mate is a little surprised that the sound of Nami telling the captain to shut up hasn't followed suit. He blames the copious amounts of alcohol flowing on the deck for her sudden tolerance.

Zoro hears the footsteps as they approach. Knows who's coming by the way they clack against the wood. The cook. He stands in the doorway with a tipsy grin. A cigarette hangs loosely in his mouth. He stops as though he is waiting for Zoro to invite him in. As if he doesn't want to intrude or interrupt. A politeness that seemed to only wake in the lonely hours of the night.

"Smoke break?" Zoro asks, giving the cook the permission he is so desperate for.

Sanji walks in stopping at the end of the marimo's sprawled legs. His silence forces the swordsman to open his eye to greet him. The cook has a hand behind his back . A sheepish smile adorns his face as he hesitantly rubs the back of his neck .

"I was looking for you."

Zoro frees his hands from behind his head to scoot up right against the wall. A bit suspicious of what the blonde may have hidden. Sanji takes a deep breath, as if preparing himself, then extends out his hand. A white box stares back at the swordsman. It takes him a moment to grasp it from Sanji, isn't quite sure if the gift is genuinely his or not. Inside the box was a couple bow tied bottles of sake, onigiri , and polish for his precious swords.

When Zoro's eye meets Sanji, the cook tries to discern the expression on his face. Isn't sure if it's bliss or disappointment that lingers in his eye. Then a crooked smile falls on Zoro's lips.

"You did all this for me?"

"Yeah, you always help me with groceries, it's a thank you."

Zoro hums, accepting the cook's explanation for now. He takes out a bottle of Sake and pops the cap off to take a chug. The crooked smirk he wears is a full smile when he feels how easily the liquor slides down his throat. The cook had splurged for the good sake, sick of the cheap crap he swears Zoro is too fond of. He uses the back of his hand to wipe the excess from his lips before extending the bottle out to Sanji, urging him to take a drink. When Black Leg grants his request Zoro clasps his wrist before he has an opportunity to draw it back.

"Stay with me."

Sanji's eyes soften as he melted into the swordsman's touch, like he has done every time. The cook complies with his orders, taking a seat beside Zoro. He then brings the bottle to his lips taking a swing, revels in the good pick he's made.

"No more cheap shit?" Zoro jokes noticing the blonde doesn't wince at the burn.

"God Marimo, it was time you elevate your taste."

Sanji passes the bottle back to Zoro. He notes the deep blush that's bloomed on the blonde's face. It's Zoro's turn to let out a boisterous laugh.

"How about you elevate your tolerance."

"I'm not a lightweight!" Sanji protest in return. Regardless of never having beat the allegations from any of his other crewmates. Zoro gives a complacent hum nudging Sanji to pass him the bottle.

The swordsman wraps his arms around the cook's shoulders to draw him closer. Sanji rests his head against Zoro's shoulder in response. The room has fallen quiet, only the sounds of their breaths can be heard. Zoro inches his hand over to rest on top of Sanji's, squeezing softly at the warmth of his skin against him. the swordsman is holding out. Waiting to see if the cook will ask the question one of them has to.

Sanji takes a big gulp from the bottle before passing it back to Zoro. His eyes shut close as if what he will do next might physically hurt him.

"Can I... Sit in your lap?" The cook whispers.

A smile graces Zoro's lips. He understands what the chef is asking, assumes that these words come easier than the ones he had expected.

"You know I won't turn you away. "

Sanji doesn't respond, just moves to position himself so he could lay comfortably in the swordsman's lap. Zoro wraps his arms around him, caressing his thumb along Sanji's arms. The cook lays staring up at him adoringly. Sanji reaches his hand out to rub the side of Zoro's face. When the ex pirate hunter looks down to meet his gaze , the cook looks away.

"Hey, curly." Zoro taps Sanji's cheek lightly to bring his eyes to him. "This gift wouldn't have anything to do with what I said at dinner a few nights ago, would it?"

"I already told you what it was for." Sanji scoffs.

"Yeah, yeah you did." Zoro chuckles. "Now I'm asking if you lied to me."

Laughs spilled from the galley out onto the deck of the sunny before dissolving into the breeze of the night. The Strawhats gather at the kitchen table , unable to pull themselves from the dinner conversation that had stretched way past the evening .

It had started when one of Robin's stories stumbled upon the mention of an ex. One who had bought her many of the lavish items she owned now. The crew had gone around the table, each sharing the best gifts they've received from a romantic partner.

"What about you Zoro?" Robin asked "What's the best gift you've ever gotten from a partner?"

Eyes fell on the swordsman expectantly. Zoro shrugged bringing the ale filled glass to his lips to take a drink. The silence answered for him.

"You've never been gifted anything?" Sanji asked with a mirthful smile plastered on his face.

Zoro felt the eyes more intently than he did before. Acutely aware everyone was awaiting his answer. The air suddenly felt warm against his clammy skin. His eyes glanced about deciding if he should be honest or not.

Zoro wasn't ashamed of his romantic inexperience . Didn't believe his lack of relationship history spoke to anything remotely relevant. He had been far too focused on his dream to get caught up in something so trivial as a relationship. But with the shit cook staring back at him- Zoro could already imagine the teasing he'd hear.

"They're isn't anyone in my past that I'd consider a partner." He answered truthfully.

His crewmates lingered on him, deciding if they'll accept his answer. Prior to coming to a consensus ,Sanji's head tilted back and he let out a boisterous laugh. The sound like screeching on a chalkboard to Zoro's ears.

"Damn Mosshead, don't tell me we're the only ones willing to put up with you."

"Curly..."

"Fine , fuck!" Sanji lets out an exasperated sigh. "I- I like the idea of being one of your firsts."

The confession makes Zoro's heart clench in a way he's unfamiliar with. He knows it is the liquor that coaxes the cook's confession but he also knows its truths that spill from his lips. Zoro doesn't know how to catch himself before he's leaning down. The instinctual movement of his body overrules his mind's objections. He is astonished to see the cook leaning forward to meet him, their lips crashing into each other.

Sanji clings fervidly to the swordsman's chest. An attempt to stabilize himself, dare the marimo consume him whole. Zoro kisses him as though his life depends on it. Searches for his breaths in the cook's lungs like he'd die in this moment where the two to separate. He cups the blonde's cheeks, not wanting to allow him an escape. won't let the end come before he's satiated his appetite.

"You can have all the firsts I have left to give." Zoro mumbles against his lips. There's a string of saliva that keeps them connected when they part. Zoro places his forehead against the cook's, smiling innocently.

"You know what that means right?" He asks. "You're mine now."

One week After

Nami wraps her arms fervently around Luffy's neck. He has no time to catch himself, brace, before they both crash to the ground. She cradles her head where the captain's shoulder meets his neck. Trying to hide her face from the rest of her crewmates. The sound of her cries reach their ears before her voice.

"I'm sorry." She clenches her eyes shut. "Sanji- he's gone."

The forest that was previously filled with cheers, only houses the sobs of the navigator. She gives Luffy one last tight squeeze, a silent plea, before she sits back on her heels to face her captain. Nami tries to use the back of her hands to stop her tears. Wiping at her face to no avail. The crew is silent. Knocked of the breath they would've used to gasp. The sounds of the doctor's cries come next as he begins to speak.

"We couldn't stop him." He sobs. "Luffy we're so sorry."

Zoro's heart threatens to rip free from his chest the way it thumps so violently. Sweat starts to bead at his brow while his hands get clammy. Gone? The cook? Zoro refused to believe it. Not when the two of them stand before him unharmed. There's a scowl involuntarily placed on his face, though the first mate doesn't do much to hide it.

"What do you mean?" Robin is the first to break the uncomfortable silence. "Nami, we need the details."

The navigator cries her way through the past eleven days on Zou. Ends with the circumstances of The cook's departure. Told how they implored Sanji to stay. Told him he didn't have to do it alone. But the cook was insistent it was his burden to bear. They looked at Luffy with broken eyes that spoke their apologies.

"I begged him not to leave us." Nami weeps. "Im s-"

"It's not your fault." Luffy pulls the navigator into his chest to reassure her. "I'm not disappointed."

When the two separate, the minks offer a private area to allow the newcomers to settle in. After excusing themselves from what seems to be an emotional reunion. Once in the privacy of the wooden walls Luffy inquires about the note, wants to read the words for himself.

I've gotta go see a woman. I'll be back'

Luffy hands the paper back to his navigator, having seen enough. Zoro snatches the note from Nami's hands before she has the opportunity to offer it. The paper trembles nervously between his fingers as if it's afraid of how the swordsman will react to its contents. Two sentences- Two. All the explanation he felt the crew was worthy of - That Zoro was worthy of. The intrusive thoughts force Zoro's hand before he has the chance to corral them. He crumples the paper to a ball and drops it to the floor.

"He said he's coming back." Frank says , although it comes out as more of a question. Looking to see if his words will assuage the grief his crewmates feel.

"He's not coming back." Zoro announces before walking out the door. Letting It slam close behind him. He can feel the rage swell in his chest, threatening to pop with the fragility of a water balloon. They had begged him to share what he had been told, tearful and desperate. Passionately pleading to help him. The cook chose to walk away. Not even Nami's tearful eyes swaying his decision.

"Are you okay?" Nami approaches cautiously with Luffy trailing behind her.

"He has a job on this crew and he fucking abandoned us!'

"We're going to get him back." Luffy chimes in, a reassuring grin rests on his lips.

"Fucking leave him." Zoro mutters. He plops on the forest floor allowing his back to rest against the tree behind him. "He can go. I don't care."

"No?" Nami holds up the crinkled ball that was formerly Sanji's note.

Zoro's gaze briefly lingers on the paper in her hand, before he shuts his eyes. His arms cross against his chest. He tucks his swords close to his side then turns his head forward. Nami huffs at his complete dismissal of her disguised as him feigning sleep. She drops the note to the floor rolling her eyes as she walks away.

"I know you're worried about him, you don't mean that." Luffy teases. The mirth in his tone deepens the frown on Zoro's face.

The captain knows nothing of what has transpired between his cook and his swordsman. Has no idea of the relationship they share outside of him. However, He does know that Zoro cares about Sanji. Despite his protests. So he would allow Zoro to wallow, feel his feelings under the guise of sleep. With that Luffy walks away.

Dark has fallen, and the marimo has yet to move. Still laid against the tree outside their private residence. Arms behind his head with his legs extended out in front of him. Usopp and Luffy have both come to urge the swordsman to come join them at the fest. Spoke of the generous display the minks have laid out for them in hopes to sway him. Said there's enough liquor for the swordsman to drink his weight in sake. He does not leave. The idea of celebrating while Sanji was going through god knows makes him nauseous.

"Still not sleeping?" Robin asks.

"Hard to fall asleep when I keep getting interrupted."

"My apologies." She giggles. "I just came to bring you these."

The swordsman opens his eye to finally address his crewmate. Her blossomed arms carry barrels of sake . She wears an innocent smile on her face , but Zoro sees the grief behind her eyes. Understands it's the heartache that has motivated her actions. She drops the barrels alongside the pirate then gives him a wave goodbye.

The first sip burns wonderfully down his throat. Relaxes his shoulders, though he didn't know he was tensing them. He wishes it would settle his thoughts in the same way. Stop the montage of the nights he and the cook shared cuddling in the crow's nest. The sweet words Sanji would let besottedly fall from his lips when only Zoro could hear. They all haunt him so vividly.

Zoro wonders what memories may accompany the name the cook has never spoken- what about "Vinsmoke" made Sanji so secretive. Made him so willing to abandon him. The thought plagues Zoro's heart. The cook is out there going through this alone, when Zoro would've stood by his side raging the storm with him. He wants to consider the pain Sanji must be feeling having had to walk away from his friends so abruptly, but all Zoro's body gives him is rage. That shitty cook. He never had to do it alone. Why couldn't he wait for him?

Three Weeks After

Sanji forgot how just the sight of his kitchen could bring his heart so much comfort. Likens the feeling to his return to Sabaody, though he had much rather be returning from Momoiro island than his obligatory family reunion. While he glides his knife against the chopping board, preparing for tomorrow's breakfast, the cook can't help but stare at the banded indentations on his wrist. A parting gift from the Vinsmokes. He swallows hard, squeezing his eyes closed as if forcefully pushing the memories of the gold bands from his brain.

"Straight to work your first night back cook?" Robin asked as she walks into the galley. Two books tucked under her arm as she retreats from the deck.

"Having a captain like Luffy doesn't leave much of a choice." The cook chuckles.

"Nonetheless, it's good to see you where you belong- Oh."

Robin's eyebrows raise to her temples. She reaches for one of the books beneath her arm then sprawls it open on the counter for Sanji to see. The book has a large rectangular sized cavity in the center, bordered by jagged edges from the roughly hollowed out paper. The cavity houses a bottle of booze. Sanji recognizes the green bow that's tied around its neck. the bow he had tied around the neck.

Sanji looks up at the archeologist through his hair, fearful of what his expression may give away if he were to address her head on. Still Robin wears a sincere smile, her eyes free of any ill will or malevolence.

"Apparently the swordsman has hid booze all over the Sunny, I found this in the library." She slides the book toward Sanji before continuing. "Maybe you could return this to him for me."

"W-why would you assume I know where that dumbass Moss Ball is?"

"Well, Don't you?"

Sanji doesn't have to look in the mirror to see the blush that has bloomed on his face. His accelerated heart rate plus the sweatiness of his armpits are indicators enough of his embarrassment. Robin flashes the cook one last smile before turning on her heels to exit the kitchen. Sanji stares at the Sake bottle. Dares to open it and take a few sips just to settle his nerves. In the end the cook decides against it. Doesn't have the heart to sully a gift he bought for the swordsman. Instead he grasps the bottle by the neck, a heavy sigh falling from his lips then departs the galley.

-

When Sanji reaches the Crow's nest the pirate is exactly where he thought he would be. Back leaned against the wall, staring into the stars of the night sky. The cook is hesitant to walk in, doesn't know how to face the swordsman after the way he left.

"Cook." Zoro calls out.

He can sense the lingering presence of the chef outside the door. Usually the swordsman would allow him to simmer, wait and build the courage on his own to enter but Zoro had waited two long weeks to lay eyes on the cook. He would not wait any longer.

Sanji saunters in with the bottle in hand. His expression rid of any hesitation he may have had earlier. The sight of The mosshead waiting for him makes it impossible to contain his crooked grin. There was a moment where Sanji thought he'd never feel this again. Safe. Desired. Wanted. All the things the swordsman made him feel so effortlessly.

"Robin found something of yours." Sanji taunts.

Zoro doesn't waste time with their usual back and forth. Doesn't feign ignorance acting as if he wasn't sitting there waiting for the cook to seek him out. Waiting to accept whatever excuse he had conjured for his visit.

Zoro grasps Sanji's wrist before he can offer him the bottle. Pulls him forward until he bends at the waist to meet Zoro's face. The swordsman leans in to passionately place a kiss to Sanji lips, tangling his free hand in the blonde's strands fervently. The green haired pirate's grasp is tight on the cook, fearful he would run off again were he to let go. A silent ask to never leave him again.

When Zoro finally pulls away the chef inhales deeply. Attempting to fill his lungs of the air the swordsman has stripped him off. Doesn't know what to say now that he doesn't have the booze to grease his tongue. Sober mind fails him as he draws a blank.

"I'm so fucking pissed at you." Zoro whispers. His hold on the cook keeps him close enough to feel the breath of his words fall onto his cheeks. The chef tenses. "...But that can wait til the sun comes up."

Zoro draws the cook in for another kiss.

"I missed you."

Sanji has to blink back the tears that threaten to swell in his eyes. Part of him feels as though he doesn't deserve how tinderly the swordsman is handling him. how softly the words fall from his lips. Another part, a bigger part, revels in the warm welcome. Swells at the words of endearment, loved hearing that the marimo was happy to see him.

Sanji doesn't ask the swordsman permission, or wait for him to pull him down before he sits in between his legs. Zoro instinctively wraps his arm around Sanji's shoulder, his hold tighter than usual.

"You'll open that for me?" Zoro tilts his chin toward the bottle still tight in Sanji's grasp.

"Why did you keep the bow on?" Sanji asks as he pops the top off. "Especially if you were gonna hide it in the library, dumbass!"

"Why would I take it off?" Zoro's brows furrow into a frown. "You gave it to me like this."

Stated so simply like the cook should've come to the conclusion himself. Sanji can't help the chuckle that falls from his lips, in spite of his intention to scold the pirate. Then a thought dawns.

"Are the other bottles hidden too?"

Zoro doesn't answer, just takes a large gulp from the bottle .

Five weeks Later

"Do you think he's okay?" Usopp whispers to the navigator. They sit at the table, eyeing Sanji as he plates the food on the kitchen counter. She narrows her eyes to concentrate her focus on the seemingly normal cook.

"I don't know... This is the fifth big meal he's made in two weeks. Think he's stress cooking?" Nami responds.

"Well, that would explain why he spends every waking moment in here now." Usopp brings his hand to his chin, making a show of stroking it in thought. "You th-"

"He's fine." Zoro snaps before Usopp has the opportunity to continue.

The pair cease their gossiping, turning their tight lips toward the swordsman to display their disapproval of his tone. He cares none about hurting their feelings, is more concerned with their observations. If the cook's odd behavior has already begun to catch the eye of the others, he is worse off than Zoro had initially thought.

"Shrimp tempura!" Sanji announces replacing the empty platter on the table with the fresh one. Luffy lets out an excited squeal moving quickly to snatch the food as if someone is competing with him for it.

"This is so good Sanji!" The captain praises with a full mouth. "It's so good to have you back!"

"It really is Sanji. You've been feeding us so well since you've returned." Robin adds.

The others chime in with a chorus of complements. Sanji wears a shy grin on his lips.

"It's nothing guys, really. I'm glad you all are enjoying the food."

-

The cook shoves the sleeves of his blue button up to his elbows, preparing to face the hoard of dishes that remained from dinner.

"Do you want help?"

The swordsman grabs the clean dish towel off the counter, and stands to the left of the cook. Sanji passes over the freshly cleaned plate in response. For a short time the two work in silence. Slowly, but diligently chipping away at the pile. Regardless of the serenity, the green haired pirate's concern hangs in the air.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." Sanji sighs.

Zoro gives a soft nod at his answer. The exact same answer he'd gotten the first time he asked the chef... and the second. Zoro doesn't mean to badger him, but he is watching how not fine the cook is with every passing day.

"The others think that you're stress cooking." Zoro states plainly. Though it's brief, He notes the way the cook's hands tense at his words before continuing to scrub away at the pot.

"I know that I've put you guys through a lot. I'm sorry about how you all had to find out about my family. Really, I'm sorry. " Sanji glances over with a crooked smile on his face. "But you guys don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm back. I'm fine."

Zoro takes the pot that Sanji hands over to him, the final of the pile.

"I have a bottle of sake... if you want to share." Zoro invites. The words are so gentle they risk not making it to the cook's ears. Zoro reaches for his hand, an attempt to draw him close, but Sanji pulls away before he has the opportunity. Fetching a dry towel for his wet hands to disguise the rejection.

"I think I'm going to call it a night." the cook declines.

Zoro can only identify the burning crushing feeling in his chest as anger. Maybe doesn't want to admit it's embarrassment. Despite the name, the pain stings the swordsman all the same. He takes a step back allowing space between the two of them. Waiting for Sanji to say something.

It is like the cook is frozen in time. Cowering in place. Speechless, not even able to meet the swordsman gaze.

Wordlessly, Zoro leaves to head to the crows nest.

-

Later that night, when Sanji pushes through the galley door he is surprised to see his kitchen already illuminated. Immediately gets a sinking filling that Luffy has tried to ravage the fridge again. Hopes that his captain hasn't settled on the pantry after releasing the cook has changed the password to the padlock... again.

Upon investigation he finds the swordsman laid across the couch , bow tied sake in hand, with his leg crossed over his bent knee.

"It's the middle of the night, shouldn't you be in your coveted crow's nest?"

"You want me to leave?" Zoro asks sarcastically, as if he was actually going to offer the cook a choice. Although Sanji ignores him, he continues to speak.

"You can't sleep."

It's not posed as a question. Does not linger to see if the cook will confirm or deny. It is fact as Zoro speaks it.

"You're watching me sleep now Mosshead?" Sanji lets out a dismissive laugh. "I'm fine."

Zoro narrows his eye at the cook then turns to stare up at the ceiling taking another swig of his sake. Sanji reaches for the cookbook on top of the fridge and begins to aimlessly flip through the pages.

Aside from Sanji's first night back, the two have not shared any more nights in the crow's nest. Instead Sanji lays in his single bed in the men's quarters. This Zoro could tolerate. If the cook had begun to favor his bed to the wooden floor in the crow's nest , Zoro could tolerate that. If there wasn't going to be any more drunken confessions, no more besottedly exchanged touches, or nights that turned into day too soon- The swordsman could tolerate that, but what he could not tolerate was watching how the cook deteriorates in front of him.

Zoro could hear how he tossed and turned throughout the night, till his muffled cries or light tremors woke him up.

The swordsman wonders what demons may haunt the cook's dreams, what kind of monster could send the cook into such a state of fear. Wants to show the cook that monsters can be slain, that he had earned the title of demon hunter for a reason.

"Are you having nightmares?" Zoro asks. "Is that why you can't sleep?"

"I know your ears work dumbass, didn't I just say I'm fine." Sanji barks.

Zoro sits up from his laid position. Using his forearm to wipe away the excess alcohol from his lips. He watches as Sanji aimlessly flips through the weathered pages. His hair has fallen in his face shielding his eyes from the swordsman.

"You're really not going to tell me anything..."

"Drop it Marimo!"

"Drop it-" Zoro sucks in through his teeth. "You're cooking all this food to just not eat yourself. You won't hang out with us, it's like you're always hiding in the kitchen... you won't even let me touch you!"

Sanji has to hold his body firm so as not to wince at the words Zoro tries incredibly hard not to shout at him. He can see it in his eye, Zoro's patience was thinning with each tug on his heart strings.

"Sanji..." Zoro pleads. His expression was stern, unwavering, desperate as he stared at the cook.

"I know I put you through a lot. I'm sorry about how you had to found out about my family, but you don-"

Zoro can't stop himself. The rage of hearing the cook mutter the same apology for the fourth time clouds his thoughts. The bottle he has clasped in his hands is flying through the air. It hits the wall with a loud crash before exploding into a million tiny pieces. There is a gaping hole Franky will have to repair in the morning.

"I don't give a fuck about that Sanji! The name Vinsmoke means nothing on this ship! " The swordsman has no restraint left to keep himself from yelling. "And don't you dare fucking say we don't have to worry about you."

Zoro sees the way Sanji flinches at his words. Notes how the cook retreats further away from him. His eyes glued to the floor as if the pirate would turn him to stone if they met. Zoro takes a deep breath running his right hand down his face. Guilt quickly replacing the rage he felt.

"I want to let you have your secrets Sanji. I really do." Zoro woefully professed. "But- why can you only trust me in the crows nest?"

"A few drunken nights don't make me your responsibility!"

"A few drunken nights?" Zoro repeats the words to be sure he heard them correctly. Wills the cook to correct him with imploring eyes.

"That's what I am to you? A few drunken nights."

In this moment, Zoro wants nothing more than to be able to say he couldn't have cared less about the marriage the cook was previously being forced into. Say that he was unmoved by Sanji's two sentence goodbye letter. That the cook's sudden disappearance hadn't completely disrupted his life in Zou. But no amount of lies could stop the grueling heat that starts to eat its way up his skin at the silence.

Zoro doesn't want to be angry, or hurt but as he stares at Sanji who can't even glance his way, that's all that he felt.

Six Weeks After

Something is off. Everyone could feel it. The uncomfortable air that envelops the sunny grows thicker day by day. A tension so pliable it could be cut with a butter knife.

Regardless of the sun that shines bright in the clear skies, Robin and Nami are the only two brave enough to take refuge on the deck. Zoro had isolated himself in the crow's nest with the excuse of an extensive training regime, spitting venom at those who dared to interrupt him. Sanji had found himself shrouded in the kitchen, frustratedly prepping for the day's meals. The others had dispersed amongst the ship trying their best to steer clear of the rivals. Fearing they too would get swept up in their clandestine conflict.

"Do you think they'll talk ?" Robin asks as She glances over at the navigator who sat in the chaise lounger beside her.

Nami is peering above the brim of her book ever so slightly to watch the swordsman approach the galley now that he has finally decided to leave the crows nest. She wonders, as the cook exits the kitchen, if this will be the moment that cracks their façade. Before she has an opportunity to relay her thoughts to Robin the chef collides with the swordsman.

Zoro stares at Sanji as if he is waiting for him to speak first. Like he is searching for an apology sufficient enough for more than an accidental bump. The cook takes a step back to create distance between them and no words leave his mouth. Zoro gives a disgruntled huff in response, not giving Sanji a second glance as he walks around him wordlessly. The cook looks back to get a glimpse of Zoro's shrinking figure then continues out the door rifling through his jacket pocket for a smoke.

Nami scoffed at the display, setting the book face down on the shared patio table. She drew in a sharp breath bringing her fingertips to pinch her nose at the bridge.

"They aren't even arguing..." She sighs.

"Well surely something must change. Even the captain is starting to notice." Robin warns.

It has almost been over a month since Sanji has returned to them. A month since he boarded the sunny and was met with gleeful smiles and heavy hearts. Even the swordsman had welcomed his return, but a different Sanji came home to them. Their vulnerable love sick cook was gone, and with him was his hidden affection for the swordsman.

-

Sanji glances back as the galley door opens. Luffy. The cook rolls his eyes then goes back to tending to his pots on the stove. He waits to hear the hunger pained whines of his captain asking when dinner is going to be ready. There is nothing. Instead Luffy stands beside him mindlessly staring into his skull.

"What?!" Sanji snaps.

"What's going on with you and Zoro?" Luffy asks bluntly, never one to have a skill for tact.

Sanji can feel the cascade of warmth beginning to spread across his skin at Luffy's interrogation. At the swordsman's mention. He brings the spoon to his lips to taste the broth, an attempt to buy time as his mind races as to what to tell his captain. Sanji had not wanted to lie to Luffy, saying that nothing was going on when the whole crew had been subjected to the consequences of his actions yet again. But there was no way the captain could grasp how loaded of a question he was asking. Sanji wasn't even sure he had an honest answer for Luffy.

"The dumbass is just mad. He'll get over it... We'll get over it." Sanji reassures, flashing a small smile as emphasis.

He hopes speaking the words aloud will manifest their existence. That there is a day in the future that the soft affection the swordsman's eye used to hold for him will return. That sweet words will yet again flow from Zoro's now venom coated voice. That Zoro will one day find it in his heart to forgive him.

Luffy looks unconvinced as he stares back at Sanji. His face displays neither a smile nor a frown . His brows neither raised nor furrowed. He just stares intently.

"Does it have to do with why there was a hole in the wall?"

"...yeah"

Sanji looks back, the evidence of him and Zoro's skirmish erased by the handy work of their shipwright.

"I need both of you to be king of the pirates."

Sanji nods understandingly. An order not a request to fix his transgressions against the swordsman. An order the cook does not know how or if he can fulfill.

-

Zoro's back is turned when the cook walks into the crows nest. The swordsman is staring out at the sea, watching how violently the waves crash into the sides of the ship as it storms. Zoro knows he is there, the smell of cigarette smoke always fills the air whenever the chef is near.

"What?" Zoro asks. There is no malice in his tone but the hidden affection that used to coat his words is gone.

"You want to know what happened... What they did to me?" Sanji asks.

There's a waiver in his voice Zoro doesn't recognize. He turns to face the cook, sees the tears that are swelling in his broken eyes. The shake in his voice the threat of succumbing to tears.

"You want to hear how Judge threw me in a cage with an iron mask over my face? How my siblings would come down to beat the shit out of me?" In spite of his efforts Sanji's tears stream down his cheeks. "How I'm the embarrassment of the Vinsmoke family? Too weak- A failure- Good for nothing, worthl-"

Zoro had started to stalk toward Sanji the moment tears coated his cheeks. The distance between them closed in time to prevent any more blasphemous words from falling from the cook's lips. Zoro pinches Sanji's cheeks tightly between his fingers, forcing his gaze to him.

"You are not worthless! You are not an embarrassment, weak, or a failure! " Zoro growls. The green haired pirate's brows furrow tightly toward the center of his face. " You were a kid who needed protecting! They should've protected you!"

Sanji looks at Zoro wide eyed, his curly brows raised to his temples. His eye scatters the pirate's face, as if searching for something hidden in his expression. Seemingly shocked that he can't find what he is looking for.

"I'm not asking you to relive old memories, Sanji. You don't have to rip open healed wounds to prove to me your bleeding. I know you aren't okay." Zoro drops his hands from the cook's cheeks to intertwine their fingers, drawing Sanji in until their chests meet each other. "...Let me protect you."

Zoro gives the cook's hand a tight squeeze before releasing his grasp to wrap his arms around Sanji's shoulders. Sanji holds him in return, wrapping around the ex bounty hunter's torso. Once Zoro feels the cook relax into his touch he lets out a sigh of relief. Didn't think he had it in him to get rejected by the man again.

"Sanji..." Zoro whispers. "I'm sorry that people made you feel like you don't matter, like you aren't special, when you are the reason the sun rises in the morning and the moon shines at night."

Sanji nestles his head into the swordsman's chest, shielding his face from view. Zoro can feel the moment his demeanor shifts, the second his armor crumbles down around him. Sanji clings fervidly to Marimo's chest and weeps. His sobs are quiet, reserved only for the ears of the first mate.

"I see them every time I close my eyes." The cook mumbles. "It's dark, cold. I'm all alone."

Zoro rests his cheek on top of the cook's head. Whispers a hushed "Shh" at his statements.

"You aren't alone. I'm right here."

Once Sanji's tears have slowed, and his breath has returned to his lungs he pulls slightly from the swordsman. He snakes a hand around the nape of Zoro's neck to draw him closer. Wants to be sure the swordsman can hear the next words to come out his mouth.

"I'm so sorry Zoro. You mean so much more to me than a few drunken nights." Sanji leans in to press his lips against Zoro's. "I love you... Please- don't leave me."

Sanji looks up to meet Zoro's gaze. His expression riddles with the affection the cook had longed to see again. the swordsman's lips upturned into a heartfelt smile

"I wouldn't dream of it curly." Zoro whispers, he pulls at Sanji to bring him in again. "I love you too."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a like and a comment if you did I'm actually begging lmao.

Also as I am aware many of you know, there is a genocide in Palestine right now, and many are fervidly trying to flee to safety. Families are trying to come up with $5,000+ per person just so they won't be killed. If you enjoyed this fic and are able I ask that check out any ways you can help:

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