#SHIPPING IS JUST TOO HIGH ANYWHERE ELSE

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

BOOK DEPOSITORY IS CLOSING??? NOOO THIS IS THE WORST DAY

[darabeatha]

/ L.ucifer being as big as a ship (can be even bigger than that or shrink much more, it depends) and holding ur muse in the palm of his hand and all u can see are huge blinding red eyes

[stonedstr8]

TOKE 'N STROKE

"Ads are getting so damn invasive." Lucas thought to himself, clicking skip on yet another pointless car commercial interrupting the video essay he was watching. "You think the algorithm would know its audience by now, I'm too gay to drive!"

He laughed a little bit at the joke, running a hand through his soft, bleached blonde hair. He was the epitome of a high-maintenance twink, with his smooth, hairless body and perfect sense of style. He was smart too and liked to boast about it, with a scholarship for his English Lit degree and being made President of his university's LGBT Chapter, which he was hoping to use as a stepping stone to become Student Body President next year.

Leaning back again in his chair he reached for his cellphone, seeing a text from his boyfriend Alex.

Alex: "Hey cutie, still busy with finals this weekend, but have time for a dinner date Sunday night?"

He smiled to himself, giving an eager text back to set it up, and to wish him well on his upcoming exams. "Ugh, I need to start studying too, Monday's going to be one hell of a final... I'll focus on it and head to the library after this video and-"

Just like that, his train of thought was interrupted again by a stupid ad, this time some obnoxious psychedelic visuals and a bad electric guitar riff blared out of his monitor. It startled him so badly that he seized up for a second, accidentally clicking the ad and being brought to their store page. "Broski's Bud's, one stop ship and shop for weed strains to fix your brain..." He rolled his eyes at the cringe marketing, getting ready to close the tab when a pop-up opened trying to tell him all about a deal he 'wouldn't want to miss out on'. "No thanks, stupid site, you can keep your Bro Buds or whatever to yourself." but every time he hit X on the popup another would open, being more and more insistent each time about new deals, until finally a desperate '90% OFF AND SPECIAL STARTER KIT AS A BONUS WITH YOUR FIRST PURCHASE' filled his screen. "FINE," he scoffed at his computer, "I'll take a look at the stupid site. My therapist suggested I try out weed to help lessen my anxiety anyways, so might as well get a good deal on it..."

Clicking the pop-up added the 'starter kit' to his cart, it was a pack of pre-rolled blunts and some sort of mystery box, but the description didn't help him understand it much either. "Get ready to step into the zone and open ur mind with this one bros, Broski's Buds bestselling strain, Toke 'n Stroke, is sure to change your life by stimulating a high never felt before! This isn't your sissy uncle's strain, this shit puts hair on your chest like a real man!"

"God this is so cringe, I bet they get all kinds of business marketing to the dumb jocks in town, no wonder their brains are mush. Still, it's just weed and for $20 I might as well give it a try, I probably won't find it cheaper anywhere else..." sitting in thought about it for a few seconds, Lucas finally filled in his payment info and placed his order, getting a free upgrade to same-day delivery since they seem to have a storefront a few miles from his apartment.

"Well, there goes my library plans I guess, I'll have to wait around for delivery since my package will probably get swiped otherwise..." Lucas sighed, turning off his computer and plopping down onto the couch, picking up his Switch to play Animal Crossing and kill time.

A few hours passed and the sky got dark before finally a long buzz came from his intercom. "Took them long enough, it's nearly 9pm!" he complained, putting his jacket on to head downstairs. When he got down there the delivery guy had already gotten into his car again, driving away and leaving Lucas to carry the package back upstairs all on his own. It was bigger than he expected, taking both hands to lift it and keep it stable. "Jesus, this thing must weight like 40 pounds! What did they put in here?"

After a bit of struggling and the occasional break to catch his breath, Lucas pushed his package into the living room, collapsing on the floor next to it for a while. "After that workout I'm surprised I don't look like the douchebags around campus." he laughed to himself, bouncing up to get a box cutter and pry his package open. After taking the carton of pre-rolled blunts out, he started into the box with a bit of confusion and disgust, pulling things out one after the other.

"A sleeveless tank top that says 'Toke 'n Stroke Bro'... A pair of douchey sunglasses... Some red gym shorts, socks and slides... Ew, a snapback saying 'Who ate all the pussy?', why the fuck would anyone wear this!... And 2 dumbbells, no wonder this thing was so heavy! All of this is useless shit that's gonna end up in a donation bin now, I'll have to drop this trashy stuff off tomorrow on my way to the library... But hey, at least the weed seems fine, smells... potent." He said, tossing everything back into the box and taking a whiff of one of the blunts.

Kicking back on the couch again, he played with the blunt in his hand for a while before finally having the courage to light it up, taking a hit. Immediately he started coughing, not used to the sensation, but it did make his brain start to feel... fuzzy. "Damn, okay I need to push past it and get used to it." he said, lighting up for another hit of the blunt, this time barely a cough escaping his throat, feeling suspiciously more used to it. Then another, and another, until finally the whole blunt was gone. Sitting in his daze for a while, he enjoyed the sensation of his mind drifting around experiencing the high, his anxiety melting away as if he didn't have a care in the world. Eventually he decided to try and get up, but his body slumped over off the couch and hitting the floor, the room fading to black...

...

When Lucas finally came to again, the first thing that hit him was the strong smell of weed floating around in the air. "Damn bro, did I smoke the whole set or what..." he laughed groggily, getting ready to stretch out and get back to laying on the couch before he was startled by the sound of moaning blasting from his TV, eyes shooting open in confusion. On the screen, two busty lesbians were making out, them taking turns groping each others boobs and fingering each other. "What the fuck bro, how long has this been on?" he cursed, nervous that the neighbors nextdoor might have heard it playing as he started desperately looking for the remote.

When he couldn't find it in the cushions, he got up from the couch only to be met with his feet kicking a bunch of empty beer cans. "Dude, there's gotta be 2 dozen thrown all over the floor, did I have a party or something? I don't even know anyone who drinks beer..." he mumbled, going to scratch his head in confusion, but was even more confused when instead of his hair he felt a hat on top of his head. "Huh?" he thought, as he looked down at the floor again, noticing that instead of his skinny jeans and converse he was now wearing the socks and slides from the box, along with the sleeveless tank top and the shorts too. He stumbled his way to the bathroom door still baked out of his mind, mouth dropping open at his reflection in the full-length mirror in front of him.

"Broooo, am I dreaming or what the fuckkkk is going on" he said in disbelief. No more was the cute, pale twink he used to be staring back at him. Instead, a douchey bro he didn't recognize was standing face to face with him. Tanned skin, pillowy muscles, his once blonde hair turned into a brown buzz cut and with that stupid "Who ate all the pussy?" hat slapped over it. He touched his face, feeling along his chin where his once smooth skin now had a rougher texture, and a trashy chinstrap sprouted from his jawline. He slapped his face a few times in his daze, trying to wake up from the dream and growing more confused each time nothing changed.

Turning around and staggering back to his living room to try and make sense of what's going on, it hit him that he barely recognizes the room anymore. His apartment used to be perfectly maintained and well-decorated, now there was beer cans all over the floor, along with dirty socks and cummed-in underwear, greasy pizza boxes and chip bags all over the table and counter, the decorations on his walls had been torn down and replaced with posters of chicks in bikinis and sports teams, his Switch replaced with an X-Box and a stack of COD games next to it, DVD cases of trashy bro-comedies were thrown around near the TV too... Then the smell hit him, it STUNK in here, like a sickening mixture of weed, cheap body spray, and sour BO wafting in a heat around the room. "Bro, it fucking reeks in here... Or wait..." he mumbled as he gave himself a whiff, "I fucking reek!"

After a bit of stunned silence he finally started to process things in his brain again. How the fuck did he get like this, was any of this even real, and how does he get back to normal? He plopped back onto the couch, picking up his phone to see he had a handful of missed texts and calls from his boyfriend before noticing the time... 2:00pm. On Sunday. He had somehow been blacked out for 2 whole nights, with no memory of anything that had happened. While getting ready to call his boyfriend back, Lucas felt his insides rumbling and at first he thought it was from the munchies because of all the weed, but then he realized "Oh bro, all that double-cheese pizza is really gonna fucking..."

*PHRRRBBBTTT!*

His body instinctively lifted its leg as it pushed out the loudest and most obnoxious fart he'd ever ripped in his life, as his body seemed to react on its own, letting out an immature laugh and wafting the air before muttering "Fuck yeah bro, smells like victory!" He leaned back into the couch, remembering he needed to call Alex, but the loud moaning on the TV caught him off guard again. This time he locked eyes with the screen, the cock in his shorts immediately bulging and straining at the sight of the lesbian porn before him. "I really need to turn this shit off and get whatever's going on sorted out..." he thought, but he realized he couldn't move his hand to reach for his phone, instead it reacted on its own, reaching down his waistband to pull out his cock and start stroking for the busty babes on TV.

"All I do is Toke 'n Stroke, bro..." a voice in his head seemed to say, except it didn't come from within, he spoke it directly out of his own mouth.

"Wait, I didn't say that bro, it's-" he tried to talk, realizing that his thoughts echoed around stuck in his own head, not even leaving the lips of his own body. He was just stuck there, watching in a dazed horror as he went on autopilot.

"Toke 'n Stroke bro, I'm such a loyal customer Broski's Buds will HAVE to take me as a hype boy this time haha!" his voice spoke again, continuing to stroke for the porn on TV, Lucas's eyes stuck fixed on the screen. Suddenly though, he was interrupted by his phone vibrating, a text from his boyfriend coming through.

Alex: "Hey cutie, I hope everything is alright? You haven't answered my calls or texts in a couple days, I know it's busy with all your studying but we do still have dinner planned for tonight. Still on for me to pick you up at 5?"

"Oh thank God," Lucas thought, reading the message, "I can tell him what's going on and have him come over to help me fix this shit!" Unlocking his phone, Lucas let out a sigh of relief as he got ready to reply, only for his body to still be taken over by whatever douchey daze it was stuck in.

Lucas: "dont u ever come around me u faggy creep, if me or my bros ever catch u within 100 feet of us we'll give u the beating of a lifetime! fuck around n find out if u dare to show ur face here."

Lucas screamed internally as the message was typed out and sent in front of his very eyes, before his hand moved to block his boyfriend's number and turn his phone off. "Something is seriously fucking wrong with me bro, I need to-"

*PHHRRRRBBBTTTTTT*

Another obnoxious and sickening fart blasted out of his ass, filling the room and breaking Lucas's thoughts down into a daze again, as he felt around under the couch for something before pulling a sweaty, well-used fuck toy of a girls ass and pussy up from the mess.

As Lucas once again locked eyes with the TV, he took another hit from his dwindling blunt stash, finishing up the last one. After throwing what was left onto the floor, he prepared the fuck toy and slid it right down onto his cock, starting to bounce the toy up and down as he edged himself closer to finishing.

"If I can't figure out a way to snap out of this, I'm so fucked..." he thought, as his voice spoke again. "Toke 'n Stroke bro, this chick is soooo getting fucked!" He moaned, as he shot his thick load into the toy, feeling some of his braincells permanently shoot out with it, sloppily wiping the mess on the cushion next to him as he laid back, feeling his insides start to bubble again.

Lucas had a lot of Bro Time to catch up on, but luckily his new favorite weed strain was making sure that he was a captive audience until he was fully converted and assimilated into just another Bro.

[revasserium]

Could you write something with 34. insomina: owner’s instructions for zoro? I’d love to see what you come up with <3

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

34. insomnia: owner's instructions

opla!zoro; 1,818 words; teeth-rotting fluff, truly mind-numbing amounts of fluff, strawhat!reader, gn!reader, simp!zoro, emotionally constipated!zoro, naps are the superior pass-time

summary: to nap, or not to nap, that is the question

a/n: or, the one bed trope, lampshaded with a hammock instead.

one.

The door opens.

“You’re in my space.”

“Last I checked, this wasn’t yours.”

“Who do you think set up the hammock?”

Zoro opens one eye and gives you a sidelong look.

“Hn. Thought it came with the ship.”

You narrow your own eyes, folding your arms.

“I’m gonna count to five —”

“Congrats, didn’t know you could count that high.”

You grab the nearest thing, which just so happens to be a fishing hook, and hurl it at him. Zoro parries it with the hilt of a sword, sighing as he turns to fix you with a hard look again.

“You wanna nap here? Then nap here.” He turns away, closing his eyes again.

You stare at him for a solid three seconds.

“So — not gonna move?” You frown.

“Never said I was.” He doesn’t so much as open his eyes.

You stare for three more seconds before the implication crashes over you like a wave. You go nearly apoplectic with indignation and embarrassment, heat cresting up the back of your neck at the image of the pair of you — together — on that tiny little —

“Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head as you tug open the door and slip through it, letting it click closed behind you.

two.

“Hn.”

You smirk, the vague contempt emanating from the body by the door tells you who it is before you even open your eyes.

“Don’t like what you see? Look away,” you parrot his words back at him, cocking your head as you shift left and right, making a show of swinging in the hammock, stretching your arms above your head.

“Tch.”

You’re just about to turn back around and resume your nap, content that you’d driven him away just like he did you but then — your world spins as a pair of arms hoist you into the air, and the next second, you’re being slung onto someone’s shoulders.

“Z-Zoro?!”

He grunts, and the room spins again, but this time, as it rights itself, you find yourself somehow still in the hammock, though now pressed against a body — all solidness and smooth skin stretched over corded muscle. You blink, startled, down at Zoro, who stares up at you, a daring smirk perched over his lips.

“There. Now we can both nap.”

You stare, utterly bewildered at this strange turn. But when you try to pull away, his arm bands tighter around your waist. Your fingers dig into his chest; he barely moves, only shifting slightly to better accommodate the shape of you lying next to him, nearly on top of him —

“I — I don’t think —”

“Thought you were tired.”

“Well — not after —”

“Whatever. I’m tired.”

“Y-you’re —”

“You’ve been in my nap spot for the last few days.”

You bite your lips, staring down at his too-close face. A shaft of errant sunlight falls through the small window near the top of the room, landing in a thick strip across his face, bisecting it over his left eye.

As if feeling your gaze of him, he peaks open that eye to stare back up at you, and in this indulgence of light, the black of his iris looks trapped in amber.

“You… you can’t sleep anywhere else on the ship?” you ask, your mouth suddenly very, very dry. His skin smells of sea-salt and steel.

“Tried. Not as comfy.”

He blinks, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips as his eyes flicker down to your mouth, lingering there for a beat before it trails back up your face. You swallow, suddenly very much aware of all the different places your bodies are touching — chest to chest, your leg slung over his, his arm still wrapped around your back, palm pressed to the bend of your waist.

“F-fine… I’ll just g —”

“Mn.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes as he tugs you back again, easily pinning you to his side, “quit squirming.”

“I’m not squirming — I’m trying to leave so you can —”

“I said quit it.” His arm tightens again, flattening you against him. Like this, you can feel every solid ripple of his stomach as he breathes, each steady beat of his heart pressed to your cheek. You hold yourself like this for a few more seconds, coiled and tense, before slowly — you force yourself to relax.

“You… you really want to nap like this?”

Zoro sighs, his grip on you loosening ever so slightly.

“If you’re gonna keep on asking stupid questions…” his voice is already gravely with sleep, like woodsmoke, or the edges of a serrated blade.

You let out a long breath as well, resigning yourself to the strangeness of it all, but unable to stop a tiny smile from forming along your lips as you settle into the crook of Zoro’s arm.

three.

Sleep comes easily, almost too easily. And even though some say that it takes twenty-one days to form a habit, Zoro wonders if some other habits are easier to form. If some might feel instantaneous because it isn’t so much a habit as it is a resolution — he wonders what it means for it to be so easy to fall asleep next to you, what it means for someone like him to be so willing to give up consciousness in your presence.

He’s gotten so used to sleeping with one metaphorical eye open that when he does finally fall asleep, it seems the most natural thing in the world — a reverting back, a coming home.

The sun is setting — he can tell from the dim, orange light seeping in through the tiny high window, casting the entire room in stark shadows, long and languid as a lover’s limbs.

You are soft and pliant next to him, your skin the scent of milk and cotton, the ocean breeze still caught in your hair. Your breathing is steady, and he knows you’re still asleep — briefly, he wonders at the landscapes of your dreams, if they might just mirror his. If they might be about something like this — about the sea as it laps at the hull of the Going Merry. About the muffled laughter of the crew — his crew, their crew — of the clank and clatter of Sanji’s pans as he prepares dinner down the hall, of the dull creak of the main sail as Nami shifts the tillers.

“Good dreams…?”

Zoro almost jumps at the sound of your voice, thick with honey, your cheek shifting against his chest as you curl deeper into his side.

“Don’t remember,” he lies easily, because he has no plans on telling you about his dreams, about how they’d looked somehow exactly like this — like waking up with a warm, solid body next to his. And perhaps, of waking up next to you.

“Liar,” you say, just as easily, grinning as you lift your head to pillow your chin on his shoulder. And when you’re this close, you don’t see someone move, so much as feel the compression of air between your bodies.

Zoro scoffs, shifting his arm up so his fingers trail up the small of your back. You let out a soft sigh of contentment.

“You’re right, this really is the best nap spot.”

You lay your head back down on his chest; when he glances down, he can see the flutter of your lashes in the burgeoning dark. He doesn’t know if your eyes are closed, but he finds that he doesn’t care much about that now as he reaches down to trace absent patterns into the skin of your back.

“Hn. Didn’t know that was up for debate.”

You laugh, the sound trickling of his skin like water.

“It wasn’t, I was just… validating your opinion, I guess.”

Zoro grunts a vague sort of concession as you make to pull away, sitting up to stretch your arms, yawning hugely. And in the rapidly fading light, the way your hair clings to your bare shoulders seems like an odd kind of poetry. And Zoro’s never ever been the poetic sort, but he finds himself held captive by the sight regardless.

Mindlessly, he reaches up to tug a few strands of hair free, letting them fall through his fingers.

Once, he’d lain awake in the dark and wondered what courage the lack of light had always seemed to give to cowardly men.

Now, he doesn’t question it.

Now, he only finds himself leaning up to kiss you, propelled by some unknown force — perhaps the same force that had possessed him to take a nap with you in the first place.

His fingers are still tangled in your hair when your lips meet.

You make a surprised half-squeak that Zoro finds he’s rather fond of and immediately resolves to hear it again. And again. His free hand presses you back into his chest, where he’d been noticing a distinct lack in the space where you’d been. You melt into him almost immediately, and he lays back, content with the task of exploring your lips, the column of your neck, the wonderous dip between your collarbones.

“Is this…” you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair as he slowly trails his lips back up your neck, letting his teeth skim over the delicate skin of your shoulder, “what you dreamt about?”

“Dunno. Might be.”

He lets out a satisfied hum as you pull him back up for another long, lazy kiss.

“Might still be dreaming,” he murmurs against your lips, reveling in the soft vibrations of your laughter. This, too, he thinks — is a sound he wouldn’t mind hearing again, of tasting again.

“Didn’t know you could be so cheesy,” you say, cocking your head as Zoro scoffs.

“Don’t mistake me for the cook — I’m just still —” he cuts off, searching for something to say that isn’t stomach-twistingly embarrassing.

“Still… sleepy?” you offer, grinning a Cheshire grin.

Zoro narrows his eyes, pushing himself away from you, flipping out of the hammock in one fluid movement, his swords clanking at his hip.

“C’mon, sounds like dinner’s almost ready.” He waits by the door, a hand already resting on the hilt of his swords.

“Hm… and here I thought you might’ve wanted to sleep some more.”

Zoro glances over his shoulder, fixing you with a dark, piercing look.

“Food first.”

You smile, slipping out of the hammock, “Sleep… after?”

Zoro nods, seemingly satisfied with this sequence of events as he opens the door and waits for you to step through. Neither of you question where each of you might be sleeping that night. It is, after all, now a foregone conclusion.

“Sleep after.”

[luveline]

𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when internet trolls poke fun at your appearance while working on a case, hotch is there to make you feel better. fem!reader, 3k

tw cyberbullying, poor eating habits, criminal minds typical violence

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You're not a media liaison or anything close, but with JJ off for maternity leave and Penelope in Quantico, there's a face needed for the press announcement on TV, and you offer to step in. 

You aren't particularly eager to do it, but Hotch doesn't have the time or wherewithal and such a high intensity case, not while Spencer is at half-mast, migraines rendering him ineffective and stubborn. You're trying to keep the ship sailing smoothly, doing your part of the profiling while juggling media and supporting the police sergeant that's heading the tip line.

You're not expecting to become a joke. After a red-eye, three sleepless nights trying to find a missing woman in Oklahoma —the domestic violence capital— and a full day without something to eat, you're aware you don't look your best, but you aren't sure what that has to do with your missing person. 

The FBI — fugly bitches International. #FindDanaLangley

Damn, are they not letting those agents sleep or what? She looks terrible ! 

she should be less worried about Dana Langley and more concerned with the dead woman in the mirror, ew 

hope theu find her just so they stop putting this creature on TV #FindDanaLangley

"Well," you murmur, wondering if it would be inappropriate to burst into tears, "these aren't especially helpful." 

Derek looks at you, his gaze measured, and you know he's not sure how to react to you or what's happening. He settles on his usual loving encouragement, because he's a very good friend. 

"Don't listen to all that," he says, throwing his arm around your shoulder, "those trolls wouldn't know beautiful if it hit them in the face. But we could always try it?" 

You sink into his hold, needing the reassurance even if you wish you didn't. "No hitting," you say, covering your mouth to hide a large and possibly fugly yawn. Your head is racing with regurgitated insults. "It doesn't matter, Derek. Promise. We have bigger stuff to deal with." 

The door opens and Hotch and Emily step inside, Rossi just behind them. You're thinking Hotch is going to agree with your sentiment, no time for comfort when a woman's life is at stake, so you move away from Morgan to sit in front of your laptop again. 

"Is something wrong?" Hotch asks. 

You meet his eyes just long enough to smile at him. "Nothing. What did Amandla have to say?" 

Emily retells the alibi of Dana's ex-girlfriend and is clearly suspicious but without proof, you're forced as a team to move on to the next lead. Spencer returns shortly afterward and you try to brainstorm your next step. 

It's Penelope that pulls through. "You asked me to cross reference the neighbours at Dana's previous address with people crossing state lines, right, after that one guy ended up being kinda icky? Well I did that, and nothing came up, which was–" 

"Garcia," Hotch interrupts. 

"Right. Long story short, one of the neighbours recently had an extreme falling out with Icky Guy after a years long friendship, his name is Justin Mantova, he has extreme PTSD with documented episodes of confused aggression, and he's been seen coming in and out of a storage unit in Paseo Storage Solutions for the past four days." 

"Address?" Hotch asks. 

"Already sent to your phones." 

"Thank you, Pen," you say. 

"Just go catch the bad guy, pretty girl," she says. 

Ah, so she's seen the tweets too. You frown rather than smile, reminded again of what's been said and wishing you could be anywhere else. 

You get your wish and forget all about personal grievances for a while, concerned with the safe location and extraction of Dana Langley. The operation is clean, and she's hurt but has a great chance at a full recovery. It's quick, it's professional. 

You're falling asleep in the SUV on the way back. Hotch at the wheel, Spencer in the backseat, you rub your eyes from the passenger side and try not to look suspiciously morose, but it's impossible. Hotch is too good at his job. 

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asks. With Spencer's window open and the wind whipping, it's hard to hear him. 

"Hm?" 

"Is everything okay?" 

"I'm just tired." You don't look at him. It's rude of you, but if what they've said is true —you'd seen the photographs, and you looked tired, sure, but you still looked like you. "Just tired," you say again. You snap your mouth closed when your voice wobbles. 

Hotch is regularly too sweet on you. Most of the team say it's a crush. Emily calls it 'character development. Whatever it is, he's nice to you. He warmed up to you near immediately when you first joined the team, and he's been as welcoming months later as he was in your first week. 

Maybe he feels sorry for me, you think, submerging yourself inch by inch into self pity. 

The three of you regroup with the others at the police station to pen immediate recounts of what happened before you can forget, tying up loose ends. 

Finally you're able to go back to the hotel. Another half an hour and you're in the lobby.

"We'll go home in the morning. Nine AM flight, meet in the lobby at eight thirty," Hotch says. "Get some rest." 

You disband. They've squeezed you in all over the place, and you're lucky enough to be next to the elevator on the second floor. Hotch is the third floor, and everyone else the sixth, so you say goodbye to your colleagues and exit the elevator, stepping onto the second floor with a parting smile.

You can't know it, but Hotch notices the way your smile falls before the doors have well and truly closed. Your shoulders slump in defeat. 

You trudge into your room and don't bother turning on the lights. The door closes behind you and the mask you'd been holding up starts to crack. You put your laptop in the closet despite temptation to boot it up, knowing no good can come of looking at the tip hashtag again. 

You head into the bathroom to pee, and you're confronted with your appearance as you wash your hands. 

You stare at yourself. 

You look tired. 

Tears well as you look at yourself. You're not those things those people said. You're pretty, and when you smile everyone knows it. There's nothing so beautiful as a smile. You can't summon one, but you know it's the truth. 

Or, it should be. 

A single tear falls down your cheek, quickly followed by a second, and a third from the other eye. You ignore them, tracing the line of your bottom lip, the texture of your skin on your cheeks, the slight sunken effect of your under eyes. 

A knock makes you flinch. "Fuck," you say, wiping your cheek with the back of a hand, twisting on the spot like looking into your room might reveal whoever it is at the door. Probably one of your team. "Hello?" you call. 

"It's me. It's Hotch. I know it's after hours, but I wanted to speak with you."

Whatever reassurance he has to give might actually make this all much worse. You don't want any pity from anybody, you just want today to be over. Still, you wiggle your toes into the plush hotel carpeting, debating only for a moment about the pros and cons of pretending to be asleep. 

"Hey," you say, opening the door. You wipe your eyes and hope he takes it for a tired gesture rather than a method of hiding the glassy sheen at your waterline. "Hi, Hotch, how are you feeling?" 

"Fine. Tired. Thank you for asking." 

"Do you want to come in?" you ask. 

"Please." 

Hotch follows you into your room. There's an armchair across from the bed next to a desk and an old TV sitting atop it. Your suitcase is still open on your bed, your pyjamas crumpled in the shell. You close it before Hotch can see. That's another thing to add to your list: being a slob. 

"It's very clean in here," he says. 

You startle. "What?" 

"It's clean, considering how long we've been here. Have you ever seen Spencer's room at the end of a case?" he asks. 

"No, is it bad?" 

"It's like a paper hurricane."

You look down at your knees, hyper aware of his gaze on your face, tired of feeling uneasy in your skin. 

"I wanted to say thank you for doing the press release yesterday. You did an amazing job. It's something to be proud of." 

Of course he's talking about the press release, the one thing you need to not think about. 

"Did Derek tell you?" you ask. 

"Tell me what?" he asks, voice sharpening.

You look up. Hotch is a picture of concern, professionalism slightly off centre. 

"Nothing." 

"Something's been bothering you. Something Derek should've told me, I'm guessing." 

You chew over your words. "Uh. Hotch, it's really nothing, it's a hiccup. The press release, I…" You really don't want to have to say it. The words get stuck at the back of your throat.

He leans forward. "What?" 

"I looked sick. On TV. I looked really unwell, and it– it actually–" Why are you stammering? What's wrong with you? You laugh and it's not your laugh but it's better than your nonsense stuttering. "Sorry. On the press release, I didn't look my best, and it was a hot topic. That's what I thought Derek told you about. But I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me, Hotch." 

"I don't feel sorry for you." 

You wince, "No, of course not." 

"Two seconds," he says, putting his hand forward in the air between you. "A hot topic? I don't understand." He looks genuinely apologetic. 

"The tip line got clogged up with comments about my appearance," you say. You phrase it as a professional error rather than the embarrassing event it represents in your personal life.

His lips curl downward. "Saying you looked tired." 

"Saying I looked unagreeable." 

"As a friend," he says, tone softening, "could you tell me what they said?" 

Heat blooms in your cheeks and behind your eyes, your throat aching as you scratch at a nonexistent itch in the crook of your elbow. "Um. Well, there was a lot of them, and they weren't all about me, but the ones I saw, they seemed to think I needed more sleep. That I–" 

Hitch rarely interrupts, but something in your voice must impel him. "What did they say?" he asks again. 

"That I looked like a creature. That they hoped Miss Langley would be found, so that they didn't have to see my face on TV again. Hotch," you say, your throat sounding as tight as it feels, "it was pretty bad, but it really doesn't matter." 

"I think it matters if it's upset you," he says. 

He has the warmest voice when he wants it to be, so dulcet, almost melodic. You'd think it was a practised phrase, but he speaks freely. 

"It didn't," you lie. 

Pointless in your line of work and automatic anyways. Hotch doesn't deny you the safety of your untruth, but he doesn't entertain it, either. 

"You're beautiful when you're tired," he says. 

You don't mean to, but you hold your breath. The silence that follows his remark is deafening. 

"You're beautiful," he says, again, as though you could've missed it the first time. "Regrettably, you're very tired, but you don't look any less pretty. Don't think what was sent in to the tip line has any merit." 

"Are you saying that as my friend or my boss?" you ask. It's meant to be a joke that lightens the mood. 

"Neither," Hotch says.

You gawp, and then falter. "Why…" 

Hotch is close enough to offer a hand, and you're feeling stupid enough to take it. He squeezes tenderly, looking you straight in the eye. "I'm sorry about what's being said. I had no idea. We can pull the video, and the tipline should stop now Dana's been found, but it doesn't erase what's already happened. I'm so sorry. It's not right, and it's not fair." 

"It's a hard job, right?" you ask.

His hand is so so big, and not as soft as you'd pictured. It doesn't make a difference, not when he's touching you like you might shatter. 

"That's not the job," he says.

"It's silly to care, though. About what other people think." 

"I hope you care about what I think. The merit of an opinion comes from the person, and the relationship you have with them. Anyone who knew you would know that you're beautiful." 

"Inside that counts," you say, not fully comforted, but trying to give him an out. 

"You're beautiful on the outside," he says, giving your hand a small shake. "You're an amazing woman, of course. But I, for one, enjoyed seeing your face on TV."

You try not to smile too hard, directing your gaze at your joined hands lest he get a read on you.

Hotch must know how you feel about him. He'd be an awful profiler if he didn't. You fawn when you're around him even now, months down the line from your very first meeting when you were sure your heart would ricochet from your chest, the intensity of your instant crush like nothing you'd felt, not even as a schoolgirl. He'd been tall, striking, classically handsome and completely unaware of the fact. Now he's sitting across from you and he doesn't seem so tall, nor so striking. His caring side shines like a gem. It's blinding, and it really does make you feel better. 

"I cried in the bathroom," you confess, rubbing your thumb against his in minute, near imperceptible circles. "I wish it didn't matter to me, how I looked. I know I was doing something important, and there wasn't time to freshen up. Maybe I should've just asked somebody else." 

"You did it perfectly. You were perfect. No one else could have delivered the profile to the public that professionally, and that astutely." 

Hotch stands up, and you don't know what to do. You decide to look up at him just as he takes your face into his hands. 

"No crying in bathrooms, okay? It would… it breaks my heart thinking about it. You come to me."  

Such a dramatic statement, yet Hoch lays it out like it's an unquestionable truth. No bravado, only a sincerity that makes your throat hurt. His frown slides back into place as his palms warm your cheeks. 

"You're so busy, I could never," you say, shaking your head. 

"Time and place, sure, but. I will always try to make time for you. I hope you know that by now." 

You nod dazedly. Hotch's hands drag with a pressure down to your neck, your shoulders, leaving tingling skin in their wake. He looks at you and time stretches, a few seconds pulled out of order. It's his closeness, and his affectionate, empathetic smile. 

You nod again. 

He relaxes. 

"Try and get some rest, okay? You need to take care of yourself. I know it's hard to ignore how you feel, I know today was hard, but you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. I have faith in you." He gives your shoulder a final squeeze. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," you say. It comes out much more quietly than intended.

"Rest, honey. Call me if you're upset again. I mean it." 

He smooths your cheek with the back of his forefinger and you wonder if this is some weird fantasy. Hotch makes for the door, and you know for sure it's real when he says, "And no more caffeine tonight." 

"No more caffeine," you agree. 

He doesn't realise he's twice as bad as a coffee. Your heart races all by itself, his phantom touch on your cheek. 

—

"Hi, beautiful," Derek says. 

"There's the girl of the hour," Rossi says. 

You roll your arm in a bow, eyes stinging from the bright lobby lights but otherwise quite happy. Hotch called you beautiful last night. Hotch called you honey. People on the Internet who have nothing better to do thought you looked gross, but Hotch thinks you're pretty. It's hard to focus on the negative with a positive that good. 

"Good morning, my favourite boys," you say sweetly. 

Spencer looks up from his book. "Hey." 

"You didn't say hello," you say, "you excluded yourself." 

Spencer frowns and goes back to his book. You offer him a mini cookie from your pocket and he perks up, better when you whisper, "You know you're my favourite, Reid." 

"We all know that's a lie," Emily says, rolling her small suitcase to your left and nearly trampling your foot. 

"Unfortunately so," Rossi agrees. 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Hotch looks chipper this morning, doesn't he?" Derek asks, nodding. You follow his nod too quickly and give yourself away, earning a scattered round of laughter from your tired team. "Got you."

"Laugh it up," you say. You're on a high that can't be killed, even with their collective teasing. 

"Why are we laughing?" Hotch asks from behind you. 

You jump half out of your skin. 

"We were laughing at Y/N's swift observational skills, but we spoke too soon," Emily says.

Hotch takes a moment to smile at you. "Hey, you look a little more rested. Feeling better?" 

A flush rises to your cheeks. "Much," you say, sounding foreign to your own ears. 

Hotch gives a pleased nod and clasps your shoulder gently before manoeuvring around you. "Let me go see where JJ is." 

He walks around the lobby corner and into the hotel restaurant. You have your face in your hands before he's gone, harassed by quiet whistles and giggling. 

"She's so embarrassed!" Rossi cheers, like a proud dad. "How hopeless, young love." 

"Someone please shut him up," you beg, rubbing your aching eyes. It's an excuse to hide your smile a moment longer. 

"Are you still tired?" Spencer asks. "You look tired."

"She does not," Derek says severely. 

You raise your head with a smile. Tired or not, Hotch thinks you're beautiful. He liked seeing you on TV. You lavish the memory.

"I'm genuinely exhausted," you say eventually, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek as you stand tall again.

"I want whatever kind of tired you're feeling," JJ says as she arrives, Hotch a step behind her. 

You meet his eyes. You think he might not acknowledge what's been said between you —it wasn't strictly professional to have held your face in his hands like that, after all— and the beginnings of disappointment creep in, until he stands at your side, his fingertips brushing yours. It cannot be accidental. 

"She wears it well, doesn't she?" he asks the group. He gives no time for an answer. "Everyone ready?" 

You practically vibrate your way to the SUV. Not a bad case, as they go. 

 ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, so much! I hope you enjoyed! if you did and you have the time, please consider reblogging cos it makes me happy <3

[pastafossa]

"From A Squirt Gun, With Love" (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 5's prompt: water gun fight. It's also been a while since I've written for my favorite super soldier, so today's prompt is for Bucky Barnes! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! Side note, once I've got more these will all be edited a bit more and placed on my AO3, so if you lose one, just keep an eye out over there!

Ship: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: some suggestive dialogue and innuendo

You couldn’t afford another mistake. 

He’d been hunting you for at least an hour now, stalking you determinedly through the corridors of the compound and the manicured gardens outside. He’d already nailed you half a dozen times. And much to your disbelief, one of those times was because he’d somehow managed to find his way up into the air vents where he could track you unseen. You’d done your best to at least make it a challenge for him, relying on a variety of traps you’d managed to set up ahead of time, but it hadn’t done you as much good as you’d hoped, your hit count a measly two against his six. And now? Now you were running low on ammunition, and just as low on workable options. What was worse, he’d cornered you in the garage. You’d been able to tuck yourself beneath an SUV before he could see you, but there was only one exit—one currently being monitored by your annoyingly precise marksman of a boyfriend. 

You held your breath at the quiet scrape of heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete floor. If you had to guess, he was wandering around about two rows over and off to your left. He could have bent over and just scanned beneath the cars immediately, but he was enjoying this far too much to let it end that easily. He was toying with you, dragging things out now that he had you boxed in. 

“I know you’re in here, doll,” came his low chuckle. “Come on out, and I’ll go easy on you. Besides, you gotta be soaked by now, and not in the fun way. But I can change that for you if you want. All you gotta do is pop that pretty head up for me.”

Not a chance. 

You weren’t going down without a fight. 

You clutched your water gun tighter, checking the glowing tactical display—you hadn’t even known high-tech water guns existed until Bucky had dropped one into your hands with a grin. “If my girl wants a water gun fight, we’re gettin’ a water gun fight.” 

And what you saw wasn’t good. 

Shit. 

You were down to eighteen percent tank capacity. Anywhere else in the compound, you might have had a chance to reload with one of the buckets you’d both scattered around, but you’d forgotten to put one in the garage. If you didn’t get him with your next shot, you were done. 

“The fact that you’re not out here shootin’ at me like before tells me you’re low.” His voice sounded different now: higher up, and a bit more distant. Had he… climbed on top of the cars? “You need more practice. I’ll admit, I was proud of you when you got that ass shot in, but that ain’t happenin’ again. My turn to get your ass now, darlin’. You gonna give me what’s mine?”

You sucked your lower lip for a moment before carefully edging your way forward, water gun held in front of you just in case he decided to pull a horror movie move and drop into view. It wasn’t easy. The goddamn water gun was shaped more like a shotgun than a super soaker, clunky and a bitch to drag around. The upside was it had an automatic reload so you didn’t have to worry about making any noise while pumping the gun. Its range was good for a water gun, around twenty feet, but not good enough that you could shoot Bucky at distance. You’d need to get close.

One of the cars down the row creaked, tires groaning, presumably as your massive super soldier of a boyfriend strolled along the top of the cars like they were paving stones. That he wasn’t bothering to be silent was… unusual.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he purred, his voice growing fainter as he wandered down towards the other end of the garage. “Where’s my pretty girl gone?”

On the one hand, you enjoyed hearing that tone from him, playful and relaxed, warm and content. He’d grown pretty comfortable with you, open and affectionate, over the time you’d known him. That comfort, that openness with you had only blossomed further as your relationship had morphed into something romantic. But even so, it was still unusual for him to let go like this just so he could have fun. It was progress, and that knowledge filled your heart with a sparkling warmth. 

But you also couldn’t help but be the least bit suspicious, because it would be absolutely like him to use his voice and playful tone to distract you from something. 

You froze again when a pair of boots suddenly appeared on the concrete in front of you, landing without a sound—you’d been right; all the sound a minute ago had been to try to lure you out, make you think he was farther away than he really was. You didn’t dare move, not when the slightest sound might give you away. Slowly, the boots shifted on the concrete as he turned one way, and then the other. Waiting for you to make a run for it. 

But he’d taught you better than that. 

There was the softest, quietest little huff of amusement, or maybe pride, instead. But instead of heading off, he began to kneel. 

Shit, shit, shit—

He was going to duck down and look under the car. He knew you were here, he had to. He had to. Could you shift the angle of your water gun before he leaned down and saw you—

Fortunately for you, it became clear a second later that he was only lowering himself into a crouch. You stilled again in the shadows beneath the SUV, your gun still aimed cautiously at his legs.

Speaking of which, you had a really good view of his thighs at this angle. With him crouched the way he was, his thighs looked even thicker than usual, deliciously hard muscle covered in old denim. The round curve of his ass looked just as good where he filled out his jeans, though the dark splotch on the tight fabric made you grin. It was a testament to one of the only two shots you’d managed to hit him with. Sure, he’d shot you twice in the ass in retaliation, but it had been absolutely worth it. 

He settled onto the balls of his feet, rocking a little back and forth. You heard a soft whir, before his metal hand appeared in your view. Your heart skipped a beat, a droplet of maybe-water-maybe-sweat rolling down your temple. Only… his hand didn’t appear to be going for you like you’d expected. Instead, it slipped down to the concrete. One metal fingertip gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, it brushed lightly at the droplets of water drying on the concrete. 

Fresh droplets. 

From you. 

Crap. 

His head appeared beneath the SUV as he leaned over to meet your eye. Then he flashed you a feral grin. “Hi doll,” he said smugly. “Hi Bucky. I love you,” you said fondly, and shot him in the face. 

His head reared back as he spat out a curse, frantically swiping the water away from his face. It gave you just enough time for you to squirm out from under the SUV and take off down row between the cars, your sneakers slapping against the concrete, the wind blowing your hair back. If you could get to the door before he did, you could turn around and lock him in. It wouldn’t keep him here forever, but it might buy you a few minutes to reload. 

Based on the rapidly pounding footsteps behind you, though, you weren’t even going to get close. Not when it sounded like he was charging after you with every last bit of super-soldier-powered speed he had. You needed another plan, or else—

Something slammed hard against one of the cars behind you, startling you enough to make you stumble. In that brief moment of distraction, Bucky had vaulted himself up off the car and over your head. 

His broad form landed smoothly in front of you in one easy motion, dropping into a crouch. He rose slowly, powerful muscle gradually uncoiling inch by inch, until finally he loomed up over you, water gun held ominously in one hand. His pale eyes had gone dark with heat, pupils blown wide as he fixated on you: his prey. He took one prowling step forward, a flash of pink from his tongue as he lazily licked the droplets of water away from his mouth.

“You shot me,” he rumbled hungrily. “I should be mad. But damn, doll. That was hot.” “Hot enough to stop you from shooting me back?” you asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” he said with a smirk, before firing a blast of cold water directly at your abdomen. You let out another shriek, turning to sprint away from him, a trail of damp footprints left behind. And if your shriek was half laughter, well, his playful growl was just as full of joy as he took off after you. 

[eternalmoonlight18]

...Love Won't End (pt. 2 of Maybe this Time)

Akagami no Shanks x afab!Reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

synopsis: reunited with him once more, Shanks offers an agreement with you; to stay with him and his crew for a month and once the month was done and you still didn't want to stay, he agreed let go of you forever. but of course, you couldn't help but stay by his side.

cw: sfw, childhood friends to lovers trope! fear of abandonment, fluff and a bit of angst. BASICALLY TWO IDIOTS IN LOVE

a/n: i went on a crazy writer's high and whipped this up in two hours. enjoy! again, this isn't proofread lol

wc: 5.3k

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It’s been a week since you boarded the Red Force against your will.

Technically, the one man you swore you’d never see again kidnapped (saved) you from impending doom. You were not happy about it at all.

Every day you would try to escape by whatever means. From jumping overboard, sneaking away in a getaway boat, to even calling the Marines on the Red-Haired’s crew, all attempts were futile in the end because somehow, the man or one of his crew members managed to find out your plans.

You swear that Shanks could see into the future by the way he managed to intervene with every attempt you made.

And now, he once again thwarted your plans to escape as you found yourself pinned up against the door of Shanks’ room. His one good hand was gripping over your two hands above your head as he cheekily grinned down at you as you helplessly struggled to get out of the compromising position he put you in. The knife that was in your right hand clattered to the floor in front of you as the red-haired man gripped onto your wrist tighter as he realized you were trying to escape from him again.

“Come on (Y/n), really? Trying to stab me while I’m takin’ nap?” he chided.

"Let me off of your fucking ship Red Haired." you scowled. You shot a deadly glare up him but the man simply chuckled at your attempt to threaten him.

"I told you, you're not going anywhere sweets." he teased.

Unhappy with the nickname he used, you sneered and used your right leg to kick him in his crotch. But of course, he shifted his body to his left and avoided your assault on his family jewels.

"I have a proposition for you," he said, ignoring the fact that you just tried to kick his manhood.

"I don't want to hear it," you growled.

"Stay with me for at least a month." he pleaded.

The tension in your body deflated in surprise. "Last time I checked, you left me alone in the rain and told me to get away from you." you lowly said.

"And I'm here now to make up for that stupid mistake I made that day," he whispered as he let go of your wrists.

The scowl that once adorned your face softened to a vulnerable expression. "I don't have time for the past, I have somewhere to be," you lied.

Shanks gently smiled at you. "And somehow I don't believe that. You were being chased by those pirates for three days."

"Wait a minute, how did you know- Hey! Were you following me for three days before you decided to be my knight in shining armour?!" you yelled at him, pointing a finger to his face.

"You caught me." he laughed while holding his hand up in defeat.

Having enough of the conversation you were having with him, you proceeded to walk away. However, you ran into the sturdy chest of your childhood friend as he somehow made his way in front of you.

"Just hear me out (Y/n). Just stay with me for a month. You have nowhere else to be, so why not stay at my ship and my crew? If you decide that you officially want to be a part of my crew after one month, I'd be happy to welcome you. But if not, I'll drop you off wherever you want." he proposed.

You looked up at him with skepticism. "And why do you want me a part of your crew? All of you have monstrous strength compared to me, if anything I'd just be an anchor." you reasoned out.

Shanks places his hand on your shoulder. "You doubt yourself too much. We were both in Captain Roger's crew remember? You're a great fighter." he reassured you.

The redhead observed your face. It had an unreadable expression, but your eyes told him that you were unsure and a bit fearful of his sudden reappearance in your life.

"Tell me Red-Haired, why did you suddenly decide to reappear in my life fifteen years later?" you asked him.

The atmosphere of the ship suddenly became thick with tension. A pregnant silence overtook as Shanks tried to find the answer to your questions. Then, his eyes softened as he bore his eyes at you once more.

"Remember that promise we made that night when we watched the shooting stars together? I decided it was time that I kept that promise," he admitted.

As much as you wanted to hate Shanks and to hold onto that grudge you had when he left you, you couldn't help but give in to his words. You genuinely missed him after fifteen years of no contact. He sounded so sincere, vulnerable and honest, which is a rare sight to behold, especially since he was one of the most feared pirates on the seas.

You sighed. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to be under a powerful and infamous crew like yours. It would give me some sort of immunity. You got yourself a deal, I'll stay with you for a month, but after that month is over, drop me off at Loguetown." you declared.

A large smile broke out on Shanks' face. "You mean it?" he asked with excitement.

"Don't make me regret my decision Red-Haired." you joked.

Unable to contain his happiness, he engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm so glad that you're back in my life." he sighed. As he pulled away from the hug, he noticed a light blush appeared on your cheeks.

"Whatever," you muttered as you scratched your cheek.

"Also, you haven't said my name at all this entire time." he pointed out.

"It's because you don't deserve to hear your name come out of my mouth." you scoffed as you folded your arms.

The grown man in front of you pouted. "Awww, come on! I thought we were friends again!" he whined.

You snickered as you started to walk past him. "You just might earn that right if you make it up to me before I leave Red-Haired." you teased as you started to walk away.

Shanks chuckled. As he turned around to watch your form walk up to the deck, he sighed dreamily.

"I won't let you go this time (Y/n), I'll make sure of it." he confided as he started to follow you.

--------------------

The first week since you made your agreement with Shanks, you managed to make your place within the Red Hair Pirates. Everybody knew that you and Shanks were childhood friends, and with that knowledge, they constantly bombarded you with questions about what their captain was like in his youth.

This night, it was no different. The crew docked at a remote island and partied well into the night. As most of the crew were passed out drunk or asleep at the sandy beaches of the island, Benn Beckham, Yassop, Lucky Roux, Limejuice and Hongo were sitting around the campfire with you. You were telling them the story of when you and Shanks pranked Silvers Rayleigh as kids.

"I'm telling you! Captain Roger had to hold back Rayleigh from throwing Red-Haired and me overboard once he found we stuffed his gun with paper!" you giggled as you took a swig of beer from the bottle. The men hollered in laughter.

"Cap't was sure a mischievous one as a young'n!" Lucky Roux laughed as he proceeded to take another bite from his stick of meat.

"He never changed, he is still the same immature man." Benn sighed as he also took another swig of beer.

The laughter died down as the fire crackled its flames into the clear night.

"Say (Y/n)," Hongo began, "You were so hostile towards the captain last week. I'm pretty sure that childhood friends don't try to kill each other."

"More like she tried to kill him," Yasopp muttered.

"Did captain do something to offend you?" Limejuice asked you.

The men were met with silence as you stared at the bottle in your hand. For a minute the only things that could be heard were the quiet crackling of the campfire and the crickets singing through the night air.

"It was the day Captain Roger was executed. Emotions were high, the crew was separated and-" You paused to take a big gulp of beer then continued, "He just left me. We promised that we wouldn't abandon each other, but that day, for the first time in my life, I was all alone." you confessed to the senior officers of the crew.

Another uncomfortable silence filled the air as the heaviness of your confession weighed upon the men who were listening. Quiet shuffling could be heard as the silence continued to prolong.

"He can be an asshole at times," Benn sighed, finally breaking the silence. "But I'm sure he had his reasons for doing that."

"But that's unacceptable! Leaving her like that!" Yassop exclaimed.

Lucky Roux let out a laugh, "What the fuck do you know about that?! You literally left your wife and kid!"

"Do NOT go there ya big jug of lard!" the sharpshooter snapped back.

The bizarre argument made you laugh. "Guys it's okay! I'm okay now. I guess you're right Benn. Maybe he did have his reasons. But it doesn't excuse his behaviour towards me. However, I will give him a chance to make it up to me." you smiled as you swished the golden liquid in the bottle.

"I feel that Captain isn't just going to make it up to you (Y/n), isn't that right Limejuice?" Hongo nudged his crewmate.

"Yeah, I think Captain has some sort of feelings towards ya!" Limejuice piqued up.

The men started to hoot and whistle. You scoffed, taking a deep gulp of the liquor. "Y'all are idiots, Red-Hair and I are just friends that's all."

"Sure, but I ain't never seen the Captain stalk a woman for three days." Yasopp teased.

"And he stares at you all the time." Lucky Roux added on.

"Alright ya meatheads, stop pressin' the lass' buttons." Benn chided the men. "I'm sure Shanks was just glad to have you back."

"Yeah,"  you said, giving a soft smile to the second mate.

Somehow, the idea of Shanks harbouring feelings towards you didn't bother you at all. You recalled the time when the two of you were ten years old and he gave you a daisy during the Day of Love. The two of you were young, not knowing what romantic love was, but somehow the red-haired boy made your heart flutter for the first time that day. Now that you were all grown up, that feeling never went away, even after all that happened between you and him.

Your train of thought was suddenly disrupted as you felt a hand on your back. Jumping up in surprise, you swung the empty bottle in your hand as it connected to a bed of red hair.

"Woah! I thought we agreed that you weren't going to kill me?" A deep voice shouted in surprise. You turn your head to see that you smashed the beer bottle on top of Shanks' head.

"You idiot! Don't sneak up behind me like that!" you exclaimed as you shoved him away.

Everyone started to laugh while the captain made his way into the campfire circle and sat between you and Benn. "I heard that you were all talking about me!" Shanks spoke.

"(Y/n) was just telling us stories about when you were a young'n on Roger's crew!" Yasopp said back.

"I hope you didn't tell any embarrassing stories about me sweets, I have a reputation to uphold here," Shanks said to you with a light grin.

"Well, I did tell them about the time when you stuffed Rayleigh's gun with paper." you whistled.

"Dahahaha!" he laughed as he put his right arm around you.

The men watched in amusement as you and Shanks continued to tease one another. They started speaking amongst themselves, placing bets on whether their captain was going to confess before the one-month agreement ended. The laughter started to fill the air once more as you gradually warmed up to the red-haired captain once more.

----------------

As the second week with Shanks' crew rolled in, you found yourself working alongside with Hongo, assisting him in the infirmary. Your skills as a former apprentice of Crocus, the doctor of the Roger Pirates, shone through as you helped the sick and injured crew members. While you expected the less powerful members to visit the infirmary often, you were puzzled about why Shanks was making his way to you for the third day in a row.

"Hi doc, I'm injured again." he greeted you as he sat himself down on the infirmary bed.

"Red-Haired. What's your excuse again?" you said as you stood in front of him, with hands on your hips.

The man pointed at the scar on his eye. "It's throbbing again," he complained. A small grin appeared on his lips as he watched you roll your eyes.

"You said that yesterday, and the day before you dolt. At this point, I'm convinced you're just making up excuses to see me." you sighed as you proceeded to put some healing cream on his scar.

"Mmmm, you got me there sweets," Shanks confessed to you. He continued to hum as he watched your fingers smear medicinal cream around his eyes.

His warm brown eyes followed your face and hand as you worked. As your hands lightly touched his face once more, he felt his heart pick up in speed. You moved your face closer to his, not noticing that the man in front of you was intently looking into your eyes. Shanks' breath started to hitch as he observed your face, wanting to grab it and kiss you senselessly, but he held himself back, not wanting to scare you away from him.

After a few seconds, you noticed that you were close to Shanks' face, and suddenly drew away from him. You felt your cheeks heat up while you turned away to place the medicinal cream back in the drawers. The red-haired man chuckled, seeing that you were flustered.

"Can't handle a handsome face?" he teased you in a sing-songlike voice.

Not turning around, you stuck your middle finger up with your left hand. Shanks simply chuckled.

"Don't try your luck Red-Haired. Your flirty attitude might work with other men and ladies, but not me." you shot at him as you finally turned around to face your friend once more.

"And what makes you think that I flirt a lot?" he questioned.

"I know you very well and your attitude never changed since you were a youth smartass," you replied, patting his right cheek with playfulness. But as you were drawing your hand away, Shanks held your left hand against his cheek.

"Mmmm, I guess you're right (Y/n). Nothing about me changed, especially how I feel." he drawled as he leaned against your hand.

The infirmary suddenly felt unbearingly hot. You felt yourself heat up even more. Your feet were frozen in place, and as much as you wanted to move, you found yourself stuck in place as Shanks affectionately held your hand in place. You desperately wanted to speak out, but no voice came out of your mouth. The room became so hot that you felt you were going to pass out from shock until you heard the infirmary door slam open.

You and Shanks turn your heads to see Hongo at the door, blankly staring at the two of you. You rapidly pulled your hand away as soon as you felt the grip on your hand loosening, rushed past Hongo and quickly left the room. You leaned up against the wall next to the infirmary door and took a deep breath.

"Hongo! What brings you here?" the red-haired captain exclaimed, completely brushing off the scenario he was caught in.

The ship's doctor warily squinted at Shanks. "What the hell were you and (Y/n) doing in my infirmary?" he groaned as he went to grab some supplies from the drawer.

"Well, you saw us having a moment until you rudely interrupted us," he spoke as he hopped off the bed.

"Ugh, don't bring that yucky romance shit into my infirmary captain." Hongo moaned in disgust. The captain let out a cackle as he made his way out of the infirmary. The doctor followed suit and nodded his head at you to follow him.

As you meekly followed Hongo out, you looked back and saw Shanks smirking at you. You quickly whipped your head away and bowed down in embarrassment as you continued to walk away.

Gripping onto your chest, you felt your heart pound. You wished the next three weeks would go by faster so you could leave the wretched ship.

----------------

On the third week of the agreement, you found yourself drunk and laying back first on Red Force's deck. Shanks decided to throw another party because Dracule Mihawk decided to come on board for the night. Of course, you had too much to drink and now you were drifting off to sleep on the floor next to Lucky Roux until you felt heavy boots make their way toward you. Slightly lifting your head, you look up to see Hawkeyes gazing down at you.

"Heyyyyyy Mihawk." you slurred as you dropped your head down back to the floor.

"(Y/n). I reckon you need a hand up?" he coolly responded. You nodded in response.

A right hand stuck up to your face and you grabbed it with your left hand as you hoisted yourself up. Once you were on your feet, you lost your balance and stumbled forward until you felt someone catch you. Raising your head, you bore your eyes on golden yellow ones. You soundlessly stabilized your footing and smiled at your saviour.

"Thank youuuu for catching me Hawkeyes. You're always a gentleman to the ladiesss." you giggled.

The swordsman sighed. "You are anything but ladylike right now (Y/n).

You wagged your index finger up to his face. "Alas, you caught me before I fell." you tutted. "Now, follow me!" Grabbing onto his sleeve, you dragged the helpless swordsman to the railing of the ship and threw yourself over. You almost fell towards the sea but Mihawk grabbed onto your shoulder and pulled you back.

"Are you always this careless when you're drunk?" he questioned as he glanced down at your drunken form hanging on the ledge.

"Only sometimes." you faintly responded with your head still hanging down the ledge. The gravity forced you to wretch and you threw up into the sea. Once you let the contents out of your system, you hoisted yourself back up and leaned against the railing. Turning your head to your left, your eyes bore into Mihawk's once more. You knew of the swordsman, but you never held a full conversation with him, until now.

"So why are you staying with Shanks and his crew?" he asked, breaking the silence. "You haven't seen him in fifteen years and now suddenly I hear that you've been staying with him for almost a month."

"Well," you started, "We're friends again!" you announced loudly. Your voice was loud, but not loud enough as the passed-out crew continued to snore away.

"Is that so? Interesting. So your grudge against him is gone I assume?" he smoothly asked as his eyes looked out to the sea in front of him.

"How did you know about my grudge?" you jabbered.

"Your red-haired friend told me everything a while ago. He's awfully chattery when he's drunk." the swordsman responded.

Your hands slapped against the railing of the ship with annoyance. "That stupid man can't keep his mouth shut at all," you whined.

Mihawk turned his head back to you. "I'm curious about your relationship with Shanks, what is he to you?" he inquired.

"Well aren't you a nosey bird," you remarked. "But if you must know, Red-Haired is my childhood friend. He's trying to suck up to me so that I don't leave him anymore and to be honest, it's working too well."

"Interesting. What else?" Mihawk asked as he placed his hand on his chin.

You sat down with your back against the rail as you continued to speak. "I missed him a lot, so I was really happy when he proposed for me to stay aboard for a month. He said I could stay forever if I wanted to, but I don't know if I can," you explained. The swordsman remained silent and you took it as a sign to continue.

"He doesn't know this, but I always harboured a place for him in my heart. He broke it the day he abandoned me and now that he showed up out of nowhere fifteen years later kind of scares me. I want to stay, but what if he leaves again? I can't handle going through that pain anymore." you choked.

Mihawk simply hummed. "Well, that is quite the dilemma."

"Indeed it is." you agreed. Your mouth opened to continue, but you slumped over, falling asleep from the liquor. But before your head could hit the ground, Shanks suddenly appeared next to you and lightly held the side of your head. The red-haired captain proceeded to carry you up bridal style as he faced the guest of his ship.

"I was wondering where you went. I see you've been getting friendly with her." Shanks quipped, his tone slightly laced with contempt.

Mihawk glanced at Shanks with amusement dancing in his golden eyes. "I was simply making conversation. You piqued my interest in her since our last conversation. No need to get hostile over her. I am simply interested in how this interesting woman has such an influence on you." he coolly said.

Shanks chuckled and held your sleeping body closer to him. He looked down at your sleeping form with affectionate eyes. "I heard everything she said, and I gotta thank you. My resolve is now solid with knowing how she feels about me." he sighed.

Hawkeyes raised his eyebrows at his friend. "She's still afraid you know. After all, abandonment is not an easy thing to get over with."

Shanks deeply sighed. "I know. I realized that I was foolish to leave her like that. I guess the realization that the pirate's life is dangerous hit me when Captain Roger was executed, and I was afraid of (Y/n) going through the same fate. Now I know that I should've just kept my promise to her."

Mihawk started to walk down the ship and hopped onto his small coffin boat. "Well, you better make the right choice now. I look forward to hearing how this ends," he said.

The redhead glanced down at his friend sailing away from the Red Force. After watching the boat sail away for a few minutes, he proceeded to make his way into the ship, with you in his arms. He had made up his mind; he would finally let you know how he felt before you left.

--------------------

It was the day before you were going to be dropped off at Loguetown, and Shanks has been avoiding you all week. You were annoyed and a little sad since you thought you rekindled your relationship with him. He brought himself closer to you the day after the party with Mihawk, and you let him as your heart slowly opened up to him once more. Your fear of losing Shanks again started to fade away, but the anxiety started to come back. You told yourself that it was just like you wanted in the first place, and by tomorrow, you would be off on your own once again, just like Shanks promised. But the small voice in the back of your head kept nudging you to stay.

It was now nighttime at the Grand Line, and it was a windy, but calm night. The sky was clear and littered with stars, and the sea gently swayed with the breeze. You were perched up at the crow's nest as sleep hadn't hit you yet. With your back leaning up against the post of the nest, you gazed into the sky, reminiscing the times you would stargaze on the Oro Jackson as a child. As you closed your eyes, you heard creaking and footsteps made their way up to you. Turning your head to the sound, you found Shanks standing and looking at you with an unreadable expression. Flashing a small smile his way, you nodded in acknowledgement as the red-haired captain made his way and sat beside you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking up at the sky until a single shooting star made its streak across the dark sky.

You gasped as you suddenly stood up and made your way to the railing of the nest. Shanks slowly got up and made his way beside you. A small smile adorned his lips as he began to speak. "I feel like I'm living through a moment of Deja vu right now." he chuckled.

The sky started to light up as more shooting stars started to fall.

"Yeah, how can I forget that day?" you quietly said with your eyes still trained forward to the sea and sky. You hadn't noticed that Shanks was looking at you the whole time.

You moved closer to Shanks, now standing side to side as you continued to watch the scene in front of you. A deep sigh escaped your chest as you subconsciously leaned your head into his right arm.

"I wish I could stay like this forever." you sighed. Glancing up, you bore your eyes into Shanks' brown ones as he looked down at you.

"You don't need to wish for that anymore you know," he whispered to you. He leaned his head down to yours but you drew your head away from his arms as you faced the man you desperately wanted to love.

"Shanks, why were you avoiding me all week?" you asked him.

A smile briefly appeared on his lips as he realized that you said his name in the four weeks that you stayed with him, but it fell as he also realized that he was avoiding you all week. The hurt in your eyes squeezed his heart.

"I'm sorry (Y/n). I hadn't realized that I was avoiding you. Truthfully, I guess I was just diverting my attention away from the fact you're going soon." he confessed.

"Ah, so he accepted the fact I was going to go for good." you thought as a sad smile adorned your lips.

"I guess it's for the better right? I mean, what good is it for me to stay here? Don't get me wrong I truly enjoyed my time here with you and the crew but..." you paused with a sigh.

Shanks brought his right hand up to your cheek and gently caressed it. "Please don't hide around the bush anymore. I know you want to stay (Y/n)," he murmured, with his deep brown eyes looking right into your soul.

The intensity of his stare made you blush and look away. "As much as I want to, a part of me is still afraid that you're just going to leave me again. I'd rather have you drop me off like we agreed to rather than you leaving me again in the unforeseeable future." you choked up as tears were threatening to leave your glossy eyes.

The red-haired man leaned his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. "But I came back, didn't I? I'm here now to fulfil that promise now and forever, so please don't go, not now that I have you back in my life. I know I shouldn't have left you, I was just scared that I was going to lose you just like how I lost the crew and the captain." he whimpered.

To see Shanks left in such a vulnerable state for your sake made your heart yearn and ache for him even more.

You recalled that day when you asked Shanks to stay by your side forever.

“You’ll stay by my side forever right?” you shyly and quietly asked him.

“You’re so silly (Y/n)! Of course, I’ll stay by your side. We’re best friends right?” he joyfully replied.

"Don't ever leave my side, please." he pleaded with you once more.

You drew back from him and took a good look at the man in front of you. As the stars continued to fall, the light that came and went danced upon his rugged features. The once playful glimmer in his eyes was replaced with a mix of mellow sadness and adoration, with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. A sad smile was drawn on his lips, slightly quivering as if he was going to cry at any given moment. His strands of red hair gently brushed against the wind. Reaching out to touch his hair, you gently stroked it before changing his life with a simple sentence that you told him when you were kids on that fateful night;

"You’d have to pry my dead body off of you if you want to get rid of me.” you quietly professed as tears started to fall freely down your face.

A second or two passed by before you were enveloped in a tight hug. However, that hug soon transitioned into a kiss as Shanks wrapped his strong arm around your waist and dipped down to brush his calloused lips against yours. At that same moment, the last stream of shooting stars fell through the sky in the background, lighting up the sky like it was day.

His red streams of hair bristled against your cheek as he carefully tilted his head to the left to deepen the angle of this kiss. You grabbed onto his white shirt and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss as well. You felt him breathe out into your face as he moved his lips to gently kiss you again.

After a minute, the two of you pulled away from the heated kiss and gave each other an earsplitting grin. The both of you started to laugh, and you wrapped your arms around Shanks' waist and buried your head on his chest.

"I can't believe it took us that long huh?" you giggled as you looked up at him. Your eyes twinkled as Shanks patted your head.

"I bet you won't believe what I wished for that night." he cooed.

"But you said that wishing was for kids!" you spouted.

Your lover hummed in amusement. "Well, I ended up making a wish okay?"

Pulling away from the hug, you brought both of your hands to his face and dragged him down to your eye level. "Well, what was it?" you pressed, the smile not leaving your face.

"Eighteen years ago, I fell in love with you that day we were stargazing together, and I wished for you to be my partner in this lifetime." he finally admitted, as he grabbed your left wrist towards him to kiss you once more under the starlight night sky.

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

BLADE NSFW ALPHABET

My first time writing NSFW alphabet, enjoy. + 18 content under cut. Who should I do next?

GENERAL MASTERLIST

Aftercare

Blade is a bit awkward during aftercare, he is very touch deprived person and most people don't even dare to look him in the eye, afraid of his criminal record and mara. Still, he cares about your wellbeing so if you tell him to clean you up or bring you a glass of water he will do so immediately. He just needs to learn how to take care of somebody properly once again.

He will let you do whatever you want with his body tho, you can cuddle him (don't worry about his initial stiffness, he will relax if you massage his scalp), give him kisses, even braid his hair. He very rarely allows somebody to get into his inner circle but once you are there he is very lenient person overall. He got very distrustful and aloof with age, he is too tired to sleep around with people he doesn't have emotional connection to if he can just rub one off in need instead of being vulnerable in front of a stranger. To get anywhere close to his body you need to get through his defences first, and once you do he gets kinda soft for you.

You know how he allows Stellaron Hunters to use his phone, accepted Kafka's nickname for him, listens to Silver Wolf yapping about games etc.? Now you have that privilege to annoy him as well.

Body part

He feels very detached from his body, to the point of objectifying himself as a Blade. He doesn't like any part of his body in particular but he is entertained by your reaction to his chest. When you swoon over it, cuddle his boobs or suck on them he definitely is amused. Might even pat your head when you push your face in it.

On you he absolutely adores your face and all the cute expressions he can observe on it. He especially likes it when your eyes light up at his sight and when your gaze gets clouded with desire.

Cum

He doesn't mind making a mess at all, but if you prefer it inside of your holes he will do as you wish. He doesn't care much about that, he's not disgusted by yours or his bodily fluids with one exception. If it lands on your face anywhere besides your lips and chin he will wipe it down in a second, he doesn't want to feel like he disrespects you.

Dirty secret

So Blade is a very flexible, fit man...Once during jerking off he realised he can bend and lick the tip of his pretty long dick. He came instantly.

Experience

I believe his experience as Blade is limited to occasional quickie with Kafka, just to release some tension in between missions. I don't see them as proper lovers, more of a coworkers with occasional benefits, of course he respects her and cares about her but nothing else. Once he got committed to you he stopped sleeping with her. Kafka isn't bitter about that cause she has many options but if she finds you cute she might suggest threesome sometimes.

As Yingxing his situation was much more interesting. I don't necessarily see High Cloud Quintet as a polycule, but you can't convince me that him and Dan Heng didn't play around a bit, even now their fates are intertwined in special way and they reference each other. They just give divorced couple vibes, sorry not sorry. The way Blade refers to Baiheng so tenderly makes me believe he had a certain past with her as well, I ship her with Jingliu but I think Blade was in love with Baiheng at some point. His feeling were probably unreciprocated.

It's just my headcanon so don't cancel me pls.

Fav position

He likes it when you ride him, doesn't matter of it's his face, thigh or dick... He wants you to get yourself off on him in selfish way. When he gets on top he likes missionary cause he loves your lewd expressions so much.

Goofy

Blade takes intimate situations very siriously, it's not easy for him to show you his scars and he prefers to not joke around during sex. If he feels like it, he might tease you a little bit after it but that's it.

Hair

Just like in case of his beard, he takes good care of it. It's not completely shaved like his face but it's soft and clean.

Intimacy

For him to turn into your service switch you need to make him feel very safe and accepted, it makes him very vulnerable to give himself like that. It's important for him that you don't want to change him and appreciate him with all his scars. He can't be fixed and if you understand this and you don't mind - it's a very good beginning.

He might not be the most affectionate man out there but he will hold you like you are his greatest treasure, carress your hair and kiss your forehead so you feel safe in his arms.

Jack off

He doesn't get horny often if his sex partner isn't around to arouse him, after 800 years he doesn't see much appeal in jerking off. Still, he will do that to put himself to clear his mind and put himself to sleep faster. His hands are stiff and get tired fast so he masturbates by pounding into a fleshlight.

Kink

To me he is a switch (leaning sub) so I will split kinks into sub and dom. As a sub:

This man calls himself a Blade. It's easier to go through all the pain as a cold weapon without soul than as a shadow of his former self, genius who lost his ability to create and his main ambition. So he gave himself a new purpose, objectifying himself in the process of becoming his last masterpiece.

The thing about swords is they are meant to be used, directed by hand of their owner. Centuries of self-objectification messed with the way he perceives his body, also during sex. He wants to be used by you to please yourself and he needs to know he does good job as your toy. He has heavy praise kink, please tell him how great he feels and how he fulfills all your needs.

His extended life lost spark centuries ago, he craves intense sex to feel something. Blade has a high pain tolerance, he likes it rough. While he might be a bit skeptical towards typical tools used on masochists like whips or paddles, scratch his back really hard when he pounds into you and he will go crazy. He will mock you if you try to give him love bites but secretly will enjoy the sensation.

As a dom:

He is still obsessed with being used for your pleasure, but this time he takes matters into his own hands. He will figure out how to give you best sex of your life, even at the cost of overstimulating you. Trust me, he's very observant. He will use every trick known to him to fulfill you with his fingers, tongue and cock until there is not a single coherent thought left in your brain.

Sometimes he feels like this is not enough to ruin you properly. He will use toys to play with you even more, on a rare occasion he might think about threesome but he is very picky about who can touch you and he has one strict rule - nobody but him can slide into your tight hole. He will let Kafka satisfy you with her mouth and scissor/grind into you tho, if you are fine with it.

If you want to see the dominant side of him more often you just need to ask or to misbehave a bit, he is a natural brat-tamer. Loves to show you your place and fuck the attitude out of you, sight of submissive look in your teary eyes makes him very hard. Knowing he earned this look from you feeds his pride.

Location

He needs to feel safe and in control of his surroundings. Sorry, the only places he can unwind in are his room and his car. Don't worry, he made sure the backsits are extra comfortable and warmed up.

Motivation

In the past he used to have sex to get his mind off certain things from his past, but with a regular sex partner he will most likely be turned on by the thought of his body being the source of pleasure instead of pain for once. He wants to be nothing more but a weapon, tool of destruction, so why does he feel so proud when you let him know nobody could satisfy you like he can?

No

He will never ever approach you during his mara attacks, he can't bear the thought of hurting you. Fetishizing his condition in any way will result in getting kicked out of his life so no feral mara-struck beast Bladie for ya.

While I see him as a bit poly and I believe under certain circumstances he could rarely share you with Kafka, I also think he doesn't trust people so easily anymore, he is very protective about his closed social circle (it's literally just you and Stellaron Hunters) and he won't take it well if you suggest threesome with somebody whom he doesn't know very well or with one of his old friends from Quintet. His reaction depends on who do you suggest tho, if it's Jing Yuan you will receive cold shoulder for many nights but if it's Jingliu or Dan Heng - instant break up.

Oral

He wants you to ride his face and is proud of all the things he can do with his skilled mouth, especially in contrast to his long and beautiful but stiff fingers. He hollows his cheeks when he sucks on your clit/dick, looking you straight in the eye all the time and forgets to breathe when he french kisses your hole. Does he even need to breathe as an immortal?

When he receives head he likes the sounds you make the most, gagging on his length, salivating around it, kissing up his vein... Lick right under his foreskin and watch him lose control over his body.

Pace

He can go very fast and hard when he wants to fuck the brains out of both of you or he can go so gently it breaks your heart. Nothing in between. When it comes to your pace he wants you to do it however is the most comfortable for you.

Quickie

He would only indulge in them if he uses sex as a distraction, this elder prefers to take his time with you and take care of you thoroughly. He especially dislikes skipping foreplay, cause getting in the mood is very important to him.

Risk

With his fighting skills he could totally do risky stuff and come out of this with no trouble but to him sex is a time to relax and feel good, not to give himself more stress. He might do such things if you really, really want them, but it's not his style and he would rather not to be honest.

Stamina

His physical stamina is almost endless, with his self-healing and regenerating abilities he is capable of lasting for much longer than any mortal, but his emotional and mental exhaustion influences his stamina. If he gets overwhelmed at any point he will stop. Just hold him tightly and tell him it's alright. Otherwise he has no problem lasting for the whole night.

Toys

He will use toys on your nipples and clit to give you even more pleasure but no dildos or anything that could penetrate you cause that's his job and you don't need anything but him in your pretty holes.

Unfair

He teases you only if you have been a brat before. He doesn't like to deprive you of pleasure, that's not what he wants do to. But if you behave like you need to be tamed, for example smile a bit too much at another man, don't expect him to go easy on you. Once you've been too friendly during your trip on Astral Express and Blade edged you five times before you fainted.

Dont think you can tease him too much either, this man is very old and very patient when he gets petty. Just look at how long he holds on too grudges. He will tease you back and make you swallow all your words. You can't win this game with him.

Volume

Not a loud man, you can hear a few grunt here and there, quiet moan rarely and that's it. Let's just say he prefers to use his mouth differently in bed. It's not much but you know those sounds are genuine so you appreciate them. Also, who wouldn't get weak being praised in that husky voice of his?

Wild card

You surely heard of people having sex rooms in their places, but have you ever heard of making one in the car?

He lives in Stellaron Hunters headquaters and as much as you guys like to spend spicy time in his room, collection of toys you guys keep in there is nothing compared to the one he has in his car. He knows the rest of Hunters can hear you two so you need to keep quiet when you are at home, but in the garage you can moan his name as loud as you want to. He takes you out on dates in secluded spots like empty beaches or near the lake so you can enjoy each other's bodies while connecting with nature (but you guys stay in car during the do so he feels secure, comfortable and covered) . He lived in wilderness for years before joining Stellaron Hunters so if you encounter animals he will know how to behave.

Backsits are warmed up, they can be extended so you guys can lay down almost like in the bed, Blade carries you favourite blankets with himself. Locked up together with you toybox, so none of his coworkers can find those things when he gives them a ride.

How did he manage to get warmed up sits in such an old car? Well, this man was hella good at mechanics during his previous life as Yingxing. His memory and hands got worse but his brain is as sharp as it was when it comes to such things.

X - ray

Very long but not so thick, not overly prominent veins, very fragile head and base. His balls don't hang too much. Sorry, I never know what to write in this cathegory.

Yearning

He's an old guy, his libido went down with age to certain extent. He doesn't have the best relation with his body, doing physical things isn't something he does just for the sake of it.

He usually has sex for one of two reasons. To get stress out of his body and distract himself from his flashbacks or when he is deeply attracted to somebody and being in their company turns him on. Since he met you his libido woke up again after years and if you spend quality time with him on a daily basis you will have regular sex.

Sometimes he just wants to be left alone but it's not about you, he needs to deal with demons of his past on his own from time to time. There are nights when he just needs to be held, he will be grateful if you stay for him.

If you want to turn him on the easiest way to do this is first making sure he's relaxed and relatively in good mood at the moment, sometimes you can improve it with massages and hugs, sometimes you need to give him space. Then, sit or lay down very close to him, initiate a slow make out session and he will get hard in no time.

Tip: His ears and neck (especially on the back) are very fragile. Tease them well and see what happens.

Zzz

Blade needs a lot of sleep, you have to let that senior citizen rest his eyes in peace. He usually falls asleep surprisingly quickly, especially when he can smell your perfume and make sure you are safe and content, but he wakes up as soon as he hears anything suspicious, even if it's as quiet as leaf crushed under shoe. That makes him a great bodyguard. Also he can fall asleep while standing, with his eyes still open, holding onto his sword. He looks like a Halloween decoration when this happens.

There are nights when ghosts of the past and pain from mara won't let him sleep. He likes to watch over you on those nights, finding peace in slow rhythm of your breathing.

Face he makes when you sext him on his public cellphone:

[robertreich]

How Amazon Is Ripping You Off

Shopping on Amazon? Stop! Watch this first.

Amazon is the world’s biggest online retailer. This one single juggernaut of a company is responsible for nearly 40% of all online sales in America. In an FTC lawsuit, they’re accused of using their mammoth size, and consumers’ dependence on them, to artificially jack up prices as high as possible, while prohibiting sellers on Amazon from charging lower prices anywhere else.

They’re accused of using a secret algorithm, codenamed "Project Nessie," to charge customers an estimated extra $1 billion dollars,

If this isn’t an abuse of power that hurts consumers, what is? So much for all of those “prime” deals you thought you were getting.

Project Nessie isn’t the only trick Amazon has been accused of using to exert its hulking dominance over the online retail industry — leading to higher prices for you.

Much of the FTC’s antitrust lawsuit centers around the treatment of independent merchants who sell items on Amazon’s online superstore — accounting for 60 percent of Amazon's sales.

Amazon allegedly uses strongarm tactics that force these sellers to keep their prices higher than they need to be. Like barring them from selling products for significantly less at other stores — or else risk being hidden in Amazon’s search results or having their sales stopped entirely.

And Amazon is accused of engaging in pay-to-play schemes and charging merchants excessive fees that end up costing you even more.

Independent sellers are effectively forced to pay Amazon to advertise their products prominently in search results. If they don’t fork over cash, then their products get buried underneath products of companies who do. This hurts sellers but also harms shoppers who have to parse through less relevant products that may be more expensive or lower quality.

And to be eligible for the coveted “Prime” badge on their items — which is considered crucial for competing on the platform — independent sellers are pushed into paying Amazon for additional services like warehousing and shipping, even if they could get those services cheaper elsewhere. If sellers forgo trying to qualify for Prime, their goods apparently become harder for customers to find.

When all of these extra fees are added up, Amazon takes around a 50 percent cut of each sale made by a third party. It’s projected that Amazon will earn around $125 billion from collecting fees in the U.S. in 2023, most of which get passed on to you.

By charging all of these extra fees and stifling independent companies from selling their products for less elsewhere, Amazon is using its dominance to essentially set prices for all consumers across the internet.

And when you combine Amazon’s control of ecommerce with all of the other industries it has entered by gobbling up companies — such as Whole Foods, One Medical, and MGM — you’re left with a behemoth that simply has too much power.

This is all part of a much larger problem of growing corporate dominance in America. In over 75% of U.S. industries, fewer companies now control more of their markets than they did twenty years ago.

The lack of competition and consumer choice has resulted in all of us paying more for goods because corporations like Amazon can raise their prices with impunity. By one estimate, corporate concentration has cost the typical American household $5,000 a year more than they would have spent if markets were truly competitive.

This power isn’t just being used to siphon more money from you. A giant corporation has the power to bust unions, keep workers’ wages low, and funnel money into our political system.

It’s a vicious cycle, making giant corporations more and more powerful.

But under the Biden administration, the government is making a strong effort to revive antitrust law and use its power to reign in big corporations that have grown too powerful.

We must stop the monopolization of America. This FTC lawsuit against Amazon is a great start.

[malleleothreesome]

Fellow Honest Drunken Confession Feat. Playful Land Cast

(Ch.1 & Ch.2)

🌟 summary: Rewriting the end of Playful Land event where instead of Fellow Honest running away, he tries to convince you and your classmates to go out drinking with him. Cause he's super into you. ༶༶༶ 🌟 warnings: gender neutral reader, SFW so far (undecided on the end), fluff, romance. This is a slice of life comedy. You're just gonna have to go into it blind. Take my word for it. You're gonna love it. If you don't, don't tell me. All characters assumed to be of legal drinking age besides Gidel. ༶༶༶ 🌟 inspired by: this ask from @omo-kitty thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

🌟 song: Trust Fund "Oh, where, oh, where is my trust fund? Why can't I get ahead? 'Cause I have to work My daddy's such a jerk For not givin' me all his cash" ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 4.7k

Fellow Honest lets out an exasperated sigh, perched next to you and your classmates as the massive cruise ship that housed Playfulland amusement park sinks into the ocean’s abyss. With his hands clasped behind his head, a carefree grin lights up his face. 

"You know what?" He asks, turning to you. 

His fox ears twitch atop his head as a salty breeze sifts through his orange hair. Night was encroaching, a half moon suspended in the starry sky, pale and glowing. You stare back into his face, noting the visible points of his fangs, and the tip of his curly orange tail swishing happily. 

Fellow winks as he laughs his signature haughty cackle. "Do you want to grab a drink sometime?"

Ace Trappola perks up at the mention of alcohol and barrels forward, face beaming with naivety. "Hey, free drinks? You're talking to the right person, Man. You gonna let us drink free? I mean, it's like, the least you could do for trying to traffic us, am I right?" 

Trey Clover hisses, “Ace!!!” in a desperate (and failed) attempt to shut him up. 

Fellow regards the spectacle with the blankest of stares, his ear flicking as a whisper of a wince flickers across his visage.

The monster of a man tilts his head and smiles slyly to you—and only you. 

His eyes sweep you up and down as he croons, "just you and me, Hot Stuff. We're talking romantic, steamy even. We’re connected… don't deny it. Whaddaya say?" 

Fellow steps closer, tongue running along his canines as he looks you up and down with a cheeky grin and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "You, me, alone, drinking, talking... I'll be real good to you—I'm an honest guy! All my business is legit now!" 

He throws his head back, and with a flourish of his arms, roars with a particularly raucous laughter. Upon composing himself, his piercing orange eyes turn sharp, and he flashes you another lecherous look. A smirk plays on the corner of his lips, an eyebrow rises suggestively. Fellow leans to whisper in your ear, lingering in the electricity of your aura a bit too long before speaking. You shiver. 

His voice drops to a low, suggestive purr as hot breath grazes your neck, "but, if you like, a little bit naughty ain't out of the question... "

Before you can respond, Ace—unable to be subdued by Trey—makes his way back over and elbows you in the arm. As clueless as ever, his freckled cheeks flush bright pink from excitement. 

"Free drinks, Bro! He's an underworld mobster, Dude—a high ranking one—we'll be VIPs anywhere we go. We’ll be sipping absolute top shelf… not that gross, warm piss from a barrel everyone else gets!" 

Ace is giving the performance of his lifetime, gripping his heart and holding out his arms in utter theatrics, then leaning heavily on your shoulder. 

"Free… top shelf… liquor!" Ace shouts to the rest of your classmates, waving them over.

Fellow's eyebrow elevates further, threatening to leave the confines of his forehead. His eyes remain dead, cold. His tail, for once, stays perfectly still, frozen in an upright arch. When his lips part in a rigid smile and his shoulders begin to shake, a venomous displeasure radiates from him, palpable enough for you to feel on your own skin. Out of his mouth spills a jumble of fragmented curse words and giggles. You look at him in mild alarm, unsure if he has finally reached a state of losing his goddamn mind, or if he's about to commit a violent murder—starting with Ace.

Fellow holds up both gloved palms, covering his face. Slowly shaking his head, he doubles over, wiping away tears of hysteria in an uproarious guffaw. You are stunned, staring as Fellow wheezes and struggles to get ahold of his faculties. 

Catching his breath, he throws back his head and bellows with unrestrained joy, "The sheer audacity! The unmitigated gumption of this fool—oh my GOD.”

In a valiant effort to calm himself, he holds up his hands, as if praying, a wicked grin plastered across his face. Ace squints suspiciously at his antics, still totally clueless to Fellow's intent. Trey shakes his head slowly, rubbing his face in abject defeat, looking as if he's willing his brain to purge the trauma of ever coming to this place. 

Fellow breathes deeply. "Sorry, sorry, it's just funny, oh my God. Wow. He has some balls on him, I'll give him that! I really admire the gall. You know what? This brat might have a career in the biz." The fox beastman reaches out and condescendingly ruffles Ace's head of red hair.

"Alright, tough guy. Yeah, let's go get boozed. And hey, little Bastard—" his fiendish grin takes a more sinister tone, fangs slightly exposed. "Just so you know, if your pathetic college didn't send that sweetheart…” He winks suggestively at you, before his eyes wander across the crowd of students, utterly unimpressed, “I'd never be letting any of you idiots go. No way! I’d have dragged each of you back to my boss by force. Don't test my generosity or my kindness." 

Smirking, he shoves his finger into Ace's face, leaning towards him with intent to intimidate.

Fellow takes a sharp inhale and clasps his hands shut. "Now, just for fun, let's get liquored up on the highest rooftop bar, play some poker, do a little dancing..." His eyes flit back over to you— "...maybe some smooches, hey?" A foxy yip punctuates his sentence. His eyes return back to Ace, whose lips are pressed in a firm, disapproving line. Fellow's eyebrow twitches with delight as he takes in Ace's defiance, biting his lip for a second so as not to cackle.

"There isn't going to be any 'VIP treatment,' 'free drinks,’ or 'top shelf.' Is that clear? Who do you think I am? You think I like doing that type of shit?" 

He points to the water, gesturing to the decimated remnants of the amusement park. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Kid, people don't do those types of jobs because they're loaded.” 

He leans down to get eye level with Ace, using expressive jazz hands and a pompous voice. “'Oh, man, my yacht's all paid off and ready, better become a goddamn kidnapping organ trafficker—oh, the glamor! The luxury!' Do you understand what I'm saying, you dinky little shit?"

You can't help it—you burst out laughing. His grin returns full force, and he winks at you knowingly. He looks back to your classmates, and you consider his movements. The pure self-assurance in his stride, his careless and brazen attitude, his cheeky cockiness—intricate pieces of exactly what drew you to him initially. While his irreverence for any societal construct has both scared and enamored you, the sheer madness he exhibits on a regular basis is so addictive. How could you deny a guy with this level of audacity? You really, really want to give it a whirl—experiment with what might be if you throw caution to the wind.

His smile grows, noting the chagrin across your classmate's faces. Fellow gestures dramatically once more, his gloved hands clawing through the air, his gesticulations growing increasingly overzealous as he waxes poetic on the harsh realities of adult life. 

"So, listen up. Listen very carefully. Picture this: I'm poor. I'm scrappy. I was homeless. I don't even own the suit you're seeing right now! My clothes are stolen off the street." His expression darkens, ears and tail drooping, shoulders slumped, and head lowered. For a fleeting, transitory instant, there's an indiscernible emotion that flickers through his eyes—something genuine that betrays his frivolity. "That boy is the only family I have, and we've got nothing to our name."

He stares forward at something only he can see, his gaze boring a hole into the horizon. It is a wistful, haunted gaze, a longing and lost memory in his eyes, a sad sigh that drifts on a gentle summer breeze, lost within its dreams. "Not a single thing. Just the two of us, struggling and barely making ends meet, scraping by in this horrible, unforgiving, greedy world that cares not for the innocent and goodhearted folk. We need to be greedy. Selfish, if we want to keep each other safe. So, excuse me for being just a tad on the offensive side, you entitled fucking brats! I had to be the strongest so I could support the both of us. You truly know nothing about suffering—this isn't a pretty life to have and it isn't fair, yet, what can you do? Adapt, or die. There is no romanticism about hunger, about living like animals, constantly scrambling for scraps of food like the world is a bottomless garbage can and you are its filthiest dog." The sardonic chuckle he gives isn't unkind, merely tinged with bittersweet longing. You reach a hand out, resting it on his shoulder, and his fingers close over it with a soft caress.

There's a touch of vulnerability in his eyes, and his words strike a cord that resonates deeply within your soul. Though it hurts and grieves you, his explanation was enough for you—a starting point of understanding, as you accept him exactly for who he is. You see beyond the facade—the sheer intensity of the desperation that underlines his words and actions, that hollowness within him that yearns for more than the world can provide. 

Fellow seemed to awaken with greater purpose when you looked into his soul and told him he didn't have to do bad things. Something shifts in his eyes as he considers new paths. You see the stitches holding his tattered spirit together loosen slightly, revealing glimpses of his raw wounds, the aches and scars that he buries with sarcasm and callousness. His vibrant, intelligent, playful nature deserves more—his life isn't meant to be wasted, yet he feels as if that's precisely what he has done, resigning himself to this existence of bitter hatred against the world. When you meet his gaze, you feel a tenderness blooming in the chilly winter frost of his chest, like the first glimpse of spring. At last, you can sense the farce crumble, and the real Fellow taking shape underneath. You wish you could spend the rest of the evening talking to him. 

Fellow's fingers remain intertwined with yours as the moment passes and his flirtation returns. There is an uncanny ease with which the man is able to keep his expression blank while swapping personalities, as if each identity is a costume he wears as long as it suits him. A fleeting look of sadness drifts over him before being replaced by his cheeky, foxy smirk. He reasserts the cocky, irreverent demeanor—his favorite cloak. His orange eyes flit towards yours before gazing into the crowd of your classmates. You squeeze his palm reassuringly, and he beams down at you with gratitude. His finger swipes across your cheek, gently brushing it.

Fellow smiles his carefree smile, but there's a warmth and gentleness behind his orange gaze now. 

"All that being said,'' the beastman claps his hands together, grinning widely and putting on another showman's performance, "I bet I could do a little persuading to get us some free booze. We're going drinking, my new friends!" He throws his hands up jovially. 

A chorus of voices in front of him ring out in dissonance at the thought, except for Ace—who is whooping and hollering triumphantly, and Kalim, who is cheering in earnest. Before the rest of your classmates have time to voice their objections, Fellow shouts out, pointing at everyone, a finger dramatically extending in the air.

"Ah, ah ah—none of your whining and sniveling bullshit, you snot-nosed punklings. We're all getting our rocks off tonight and it's on me. Consider this the apology tour for almost making you all... well, go into involuntary servitude, to put it lightly." 

The corner of his lips twitch as his orange eyes scan the crowd for recognition, yet remain friendly despite his teasing. 

"Besides, a celebration is due! What I learned tonight was so startling to me—I did not foresee myself going down an honest path, a career in helping the helpless. This is truly life-altering, and it's all thanks to you folks." 

Another moment of vulnerability flickers in his eyes and his mouth is slack, letting the raw honesty and realization of change settle. A stunned silence from the crowd ensues.

Flailing his arms wildly to keep up and air of lightheartedness, Fellow huffs, the first signs of exertion finally showing. He was beaten up pretty badly while trying to detain your classmates, after all. He continues his pitch. 

"Of course, no hard feelings or anything. Just a nice fun night, free drinks, music, laughter—how could any of you possibly turn down such a gift?" 

With a grin and a gesture to the amusement park's busted entrance gate, he declares his final verdict. 

"It is your final day off before a lifetime of school, study, stress and commitment to society—your youth is ending, friends. Embrace this wonderful last sunset of freedom—because by tomorrow, we will all be under the yoke of labor, spending our lives slaving away to pay rent while we deal with taxes and the true horror of capitalism! At least, those without trust funds, right? Hah." 

Once more, your classmates all clamor with protests. 

"Like Hell I’m goin’ out drinking with that guy! Don't take orders from that shady jackass," Leona roars through the crowd.

Fellow’s scowls, tail swishing vehemently back and forth. 

"Ya just met him yesterday and he was about to sell us all off! Does a sociopath's Nice Guy act not make you the least bit suspicious or even nervous? Don't fall for it. No one's that forgivin' or stupid." Leona stares coldly at the conman with an indignant sniff as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.

Vil stands with his arms crossed as well, but his posture and expression exude boredom as he blows out an annoyed exhale, visibly judging his idiot classmates. "Unfortunately, I have to agree with Leona once again," he chimes in, ignoring the aggravated huff from the Savanaclaw dorm leader. "Our kidnapper is insistent on buying us drinks? Who does that?! Clearly, this guy has something up his sleeve." Vil clicks his tongue derisively, and flicks his purple hair over his shoulder in dismission.

Floyd, ignoring the forewarnings entirely, throws his arms up happily. He bellows, "hell yeah! What's better than a night of heavy partying to lighten up the mood, right? Bring it on. There's alcohol involved? It’s free? I’m in." He giggles maniacally, wrapping an arm around Fellow to pull him in for an enthusiastic noogie (and completely ignoring the pained squeaks coming out of the conman's mouth). Floyd’s twin brother, Jade, grins in agreement to the proposal.

Trey adjusts his glasses nervously, brows knitting and mouth stuck in a grimace. He opens mouth and closes his mouth a few times before suggesting, with trepidation, “it is... quite unusual for him to take us out drinking all of a sudden... are we sure this isn't some sort of trap, or a game, or—"

Trey is cut off by a loud groan from Ace. "Weren't you guys paying attention?!" Ace shakes his head rapidly and scoffs with derision. "He's obviously trying to get into Y/n's pants! The guy's totally thirsty! How are you not seeing this? He was checking Y/n out when he was doing all that crazy shit in the amusement park." 

A tense moment of silence falls across your class as they turn their heads towards you, eyeing you with surprise. "He's been hitting on the prefect this entire time! His weird-ass obsession is for real—no joke or scam. He's interested, I know it when I see it. He knows Y/n's not gonna go unless he takes all of us. So, like... yes, of course I'm into free beer!" 

Ace's red eyes gleam like he's just discovered the polio vaccine, proud of his insightfulness and intellect. The other students look back and forth between you and the notorious criminal fox beastman, noting his nonplussed smirk, calm tail wagging, and the way in which his ears prick up in excitement at the conversation about you.

Another uncomfortable moment passes. Your cheeks feel warm, knowing everyone's eyes are still on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet them. 

Kalim claps his hands together and chirps, "oh yeah, come to think of it, he does seem like he's super fond of you! All his cute talk and that sparkle he gets in his eyes when he looks at you and listens to your every word—he clearly really, really likes you, Y/n! That's totally awesome you found someone special in such a dark place!" 

Kalim is—almost comically—unaffected by Fellow's unsavory reputation. "And isn't it great if he's truly starting down a righteous path instead of being a bad criminal who hurts and steals from people? We've got to support him, this could be his fresh start! We're his friends, and that's what friends are for—they help each other out. We'll save him from evil!" 

Kalim is positively beaming now, his energy infectiously reassuring and radiant. "I’m looking forward to a fun night, count me in!" 

Leona scrunches up his face and screws his eyes shut before looking into the distance. It’s as if his consciousness has departed, from the sheer idiocy of this conversation. 

“How much has that fuckin' clown got you brainwashed already to make you spout such delusions of grandeur?!" He gapes at Kalim's relentless positivity. "C'mon Jack, we're goin' back. They can handle themselves." Without a backward glance, he walks away, trusting that the freshman will follow suit.

With a short sigh of resignation and a brief incline of his head, Jack follows along in his dorm leader's wake. "Sorry, guys," he murmurs. "I gotta agree with my Housewarden. Something doesn't feel right. Hope to see you all later." The wolf man turns his back and trots to catch up with Leona.

Fellow wears an indecipherable expression as he watches them leave. The muscles around his eye twitch slightly and an ear has flattened against his hair in annoyance. Though Fellow is doing his level best to remain unaffected by the sour reactions, a tiny tendril of disappointment wavers briefly over his features. His resolve steels, yet he keeps his smile, resolutely ignoring their mutterings as his fox tail sweeps side to side. His body language remains relatively casual and open, save for a subtle defensive set in his posture and shoulders. He stands a little taller in an attempt to maintain his cool.

Vil scoffs and walks over to the gate, holding up his perfectly manicured hands in mock surrender. "There's no amount of liquor on the planet worth suffering his disgusting presence or getting tangled in whatever diabolic schemes he's attempting. He's a repugnant vagabond with nothing but deceit and manipulation oozing from his vile, malicious tongue. Y/n, you can do far better—really, anyone with a proper background and education instead of someone from the fringes of society who can't even feed himself." 

With a flip of his hair, Vil sniffs dismissively. He gives you one last look of disapproval before strolling away in search of a less irritating place to be.

Ace begins to panic, feeling his chance at free drinks slipping through his fingers. "Wai- Wait- wait, WAIT—everybody STOP," Ace frantically exclaims in desperation. "Come back, you can't just leave! Come on! There’s free alcohol at stake here! Please?! Dammit. UGH!" 

Vil's words seemed to hit home. Fellow's unbreakable poker face crumbles as his ears pull down flat against his scalp. His tail stiffens, lowering between his legs in utter humiliation. The fox beastman swallows thickly as the tides of his happiness drain. Gidel scurries up to Fellow and places a hand gently on his back to console his guardian. Fellow tries to plaster a makeshift grin back on, but his pain bleeds through, brow furrowed and eyes darting, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

Ace blinks and smiles awkwardly before muttering, "Well, now I actually feel pretty bad." His freckled face reddens slightly, cheeks taking on a darker tinge of rose as the color creeps out to his ears. A soft, self-conscious laugh tumbles from his mouth. He runs a hand through his copper-red hair, clearly caught somewhere between guilt and shame—internal conflict is evident. 

Despite all the flippant, disrespectful comments, teasing and general disregard Ace has shown Fellow, this complete and public emotional breakdown appears to hit Ace harder than he'd care to admit, and perhaps—just maybe—a faint sense of kinship forms at the connection he sees between himself and the conman. Two jovial and clownish individuals—born entertainers. Suddenly, this moment strikes Ace more so than anything else Fellow has said or done thus far, leaving the redhead oddly touched. It’s as if his own heart was personally struck by the kind, selfless soul Fellow seems to be deep down, no matter how hard the foxman tries to keep it buried.

"Listen, man," Ace smiles shyly, shifting from foot to foot with his thumbs stuck in his belt loops. "You know, even if nobody else says it, I, uh... Well... If you're going straight," Ace chuckles, clearing his throat, "like you say, then you're pretty cool. Besides, all your antics are pretty funny. And... The way you really care for him..." Ace stares with admiration, nodding his head towards Gidel, voice low with reverence. His cheeks are completely red now, unable to formulate words, just awkwardly shuffling around trying to escape his own embarrassment. 

"You're a... a really good big brother. You know," He sputters, blinking and glancing to the side before slowly looking back at Fellow, and then you. "So... Just forget about Vil's stupid bullshit and move on. Because..." He pauses for a second before nodding assuredly, his confidence growing. "Because you've got plenty to give! It might not feel like it, and sometimes there will be a moment where all seems lost..."

You shake your head in disbelief. Had Ace just openly spoken words of wisdom? Such kind words, too—from him of all people! That, surely, is the sign of an actual miracle happening, since Ace, your dearest friend, is not typically one for… sincerity. ‘Shocking’ would be an understatement. Ace's friendly gaze causes Fellow's orange eyes to grow glassy. Your classmates, equally as stunned, stare at Ace in open astonishment.

Ace presses on with his impromptu speech, conveying the utmost sincerity, "You've got to be strong and push past your misfortune, and not allow yourself to think you're not worthy of love or care." His smile grows warmer and he turns his face to you, making brief eye contact before casting his gaze back towards Fellow. "I just know that somewhere out there, a happy life awaits you... and maybe... there's someone wonderful to share it with."

Now why would Ace allude to you when you haven't even decided your feelings yet? You quickly turn around to conceal the rising flush in your cheeks. You’re somewhere between mortified and thrilled for Ace to publicly express his support of your romance. Nerves flood your stomach—the anticipation, the prospect of falling in love has made you equal parts anxious and giddy. A mixture of euphoria and despair hits you all at once—how beautiful to acknowledge your affections for the fox man—yet, can you commit?

You look over at Cater and mouth with abject horror: 'What the fuck is going on?'

Cater looks thoroughly entertained by the entire event, flashing you a thumbs up. He bites his lower lip, silently giggling to himself. He snaps a picture of you on his phone—the audacity.

Cater mouths back, “looks like someone has a cru-ush.” 

Your face displays all of your confusion. “Stop—shh—be serious, this is real,” you whisper, stifling a tiny, strained giggle and putting an end to the banter by sternly holding out your index finger.

This is too much—too fast—you feel helpless, swept up in the stormy waves of fate and romance. One single day has dragged on and on, as if stretched forever by the overwhelming events of your trip. Even Fellow's unexpected change of heart is but a fleeting part of some fever dream—it couldn’t have all been real. An insane whirlwind romance, a kidnapping, a deadly amusement park, and a desperate con artist—who you’ve become increasingly drawn to. This has been one of the strangest experiences of your entire life.

Glancing quickly over your shoulder, you catch Gidel grinning and bouncing happily, his eyes bright with energy, seemingly thrilled at the idea of you and Fellow becoming partners. His excitement is contagious, and it only adds fuel to the fire in your heart. To know the little boy holds high hopes for the two of you—maybe something is already blooming? Blood pounds in your veins and a tightness builds in your chest, causing your heartbeat to drum ever faster as Fellow takes a step toward you.

He gently turns you to face him. His grip is strong, yet soft. A twinge of hope tugs at the corners of his lips, though his posture betrays his vulnerability and fear of rejection. His interest in you is palpable, and the seriousness of the impending moment makes you want to run away. As hesitant as you are to admit it, you definitely feel a connection to this man—one beyond lust. A deeper bond transcends physical attraction, as if your hearts are bound, stitched with a million red puppet strings of fate. With each pump of blood, another thread pulls taut, drawing the two of you closer together.

You're nervous, embarrassed, and entirely unsure of what you want. In an attempt to stall, you address your remaining classmates. "Well, I sure could use a drink right now! How about it?" Slight panic italicizes your statement.

Ace raises his hands in the air with triumph. "Fuck yeah," he laughs, looking around eagerly. Cater looks relieved to have the perfect excuse to drink a ridiculous amount of booze without getting nagged by Riddle for acting inappropriate. Trey sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in a strained manner, as if resisting another stress-related aneurysm. He nods with resignation that he won't be back at Heartslabyul any time soon, committing himself to making sure none of the trouble-making underclassmen get up to their usual antics of havoc, mayhem and chaos. You catch Trey mutter, "I will definitely regret this," to himself, but you still allow a surge of gratitude wash over your anxious heart at his kind gesture.

Lilia's laughter rings out, the night breeze sweeping back his hair to reveal a playful grin. "The Pop Music Club is always down for a fun time. This will be the perfect opportunity for me to show Kalim and Cater how to really party! Oh, what a splendid evening this will be," he gleams, patting his clubmates heartily on the shoulders. They both gulp, nervous about his declaration.

The gentle moonlight reflecting off the ocean catches Lilia's irises in a breathtaking display of shimmering crimson. In a flash, he materializes in front of Fellow, nearly scaring the poor fox out of his skin. Lilia's lips are curled in a wide, sly smile and he stares deep into his soul. 

After a moment of silence, he narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue, stepping forward and speaking conspiratorially. "But tell me the truth. What really is the score on this entire set-up?" The sinister, terrifying nature Lilia exhibits makes Fellow's ears tremble and tail swish madly in defense, eyes large and alert. Fellow lets out a nervous yelp, frozen as the staring contest commences. After what appears to be some type of mental standoff, the vampire's demeanor eases. 

Lilia puts a comforting arm around Fellow and hugs him to his side, eyes glowing brighter. "Ah, young love! So fun to watch! You two have my blessing," Lilia beams at the stupefied Fellow, whose ears still lay flat against his scalp in terror. His tail is tucked tightly between his legs in an act of submission, a concession of defeat.

With that, your classmates trail out of the boardwalk, away from the ruins of the defunct Amusement Park. Their loud banter fills the night air, a jovial cacophony of nonsense and delirium. Fellow places one hand between Gidel's shoulder blades to gently guide him along, and he extends his other to you, silently inviting you to interlace your fingers with his. His expression is relaxed and expectant—but his eyes show his nerves. His smooth, gloved palm envelops your hand and together, the three of you follow your classmates.

🌟 song: Violence (Club Mix) - Grimes ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 1.8k

The dark streets of the city are lit in an amber glow from the many shops that stay open late, with neon signs boasting special deals and hot food creating a gorgeous rainbow of flashing colors in the night. Bustling crowds move briskly, pouring in from all directions. They mill around, eager to engage in the nightlife of the entertainment district, excited to partake in their desired sins. You follow a group of partygoers through an arching entranceway that has the phrase 'Hell's Den' lit above the metalwork in garish crimson lights. Passing underneath the grand entrance and entering the gaudy exterior is another world of sound, color and light—a vibrancy not meant for the meek. The entirety of the complex is covered with glowing tiles, casting a radiant aura in such a dazzling fashion it reminds you of a place in your home world: Las Vegas.

Welcoming aromas of cigarettes, alcohol, and cheap cologne, and the buzzing, neon atmosphere draws a content sigh from Fellow. The wide array of faces passing by—all of them new and shining with happiness, seeking to escape their own respective realities. There is something inspiring about this bustling den of iniquity. The electricity that percolates within the underground is like a shot of adrenalin. It's pure magic. It is no wonder all of this serves as an irresistible lure for those craving freedom. In this night-city, any sinner can find solace.

As you pass the main foyer of Hell's Den, an enormous set of double doors lies ahead. Three large, burly bouncers loiter at the entrance and peer closely at you all.

"Now what do we have here?" the bouncer booms, zeroing in on Gidel. The bouncer points towards the kid, accusatory. "Ain't he a little young for this joint?"

All heads turn towards Gidel, who stands proud and fearless in the face of these mountainous men. While most everyone else shifts nervously, Gidel plants his little hands on his hips and looks up at the bouncers unabashed, pursing his lips in an indignant pout and giving an extra little sassy bob of his head. He stands his ground with the cold, fierce and commanding presence of someone much older. The way his stance radiates authority, even in the face of danger, is both admirable and comical. The usual slouching and youthfulness of his mannerisms and body language are totally eradicated as the imperious stare he fixes on the bouncers bears down. Gidel is a fearless soldier—a fiercely determined, stalwart pillar in the face of adversity, daring the guards to deny him passage.

"You wound me, good sir," Fellow puts a gloved hand to his heart in a mock sign of hurt. "Of course, he is of drinking age. How insulting!" He levels them with his withering orange gaze. The muscle men shift uneasily at his silent challenge—the cocky facade is his customary tactic for warding off hostilities before they could grow and take root. "This here," he grabs the glowering Gidel, patting the child proudly on the head, "is the eldest of our party." The bouncers look at each other, then at the boy, then back to Fellow. The sheer absurdity of Fellow's statement is undeniable—no reasonable person would buy it.

Fellow goes on. "Cater, are you seeing this shit? Discrimination, in this day and age? Put these nitwits on blast," Fellow gestures to Cater's phone, and Cater begins filming. Gidel points aggressively at the bouncer, shaking his little index finger with the might of his wrath, as Fellow declares loudly, "I want everyone to know—this place is not welcome to those of different social stations, based on age or appearance. This is preposterous!" He turns his attention back to the bouncers, widening his arms to the gathering crowd.

"Bigotry, ageism, it's so awful! No wonder Gidel hides the fact that he's over 2,000 years old. Now I see why the man refuses to share the wisdom he's collected, the amazing anecdotes and experiences, and the undeniable brilliance he could impart upon the world—instead, he hides, ashamed, all due to the abuse he receives on a daily basis from these types of buffoons!" 

The surrounding individuals stare in stunned silence. "It's not Gidel who is the child here, but all of you. People should not be judged so harshly due to their appearance. Everyone should be accepted—their ideas, actions, and experiences embraced with respect, despite physical differences that set them apart. Everyone must be loved and appreciated, for there are precious gems everywhere we look in this beautiful world. The rich, diverse community of people who inhabit this planet should be able to share with all, learn from one another and work together in unity, free to be who they are without harassment!"

The neon light catches fresh tears running down various faces in the crowd. To add further insult to the bouncers’ injuries, Royal Sword Academy's Seven Dwarves—who happened to be waiting to get into the same bar—stare daggers at the gatekeepers and gather near Gidel in solidarity. Their angry, diminutive stature radiates powerful force when unified against a common enemy—it is truly a frightening sight to behold.

In one single swoop, Fellow swings public opinion in Gidel’s favor, inciting rage to right the wrong. The fervor of the crowd continues to rise. "Please, show our precious elder the respect he deserves. Do not look at him and see a mere child—look into his eyes to the aged visage beneath." His orange gaze bores into the guards. "Can you not sense his inner radiance, the power and splendor of his soul, and the treasures locked away within? Don't allow your prejudices and expectations to hold him back. Or you, for that matter. The sheer fact of his youthful appearance is no obstacle to greatness! And as long as you carry this narrow-minded sentiment, you will forever be barred from ever knowing the greatest secrets of the universe. Remember, folks! In the end, it isn't your status, money, or popularity that ultimately leads to a better future! It's our kindness, compassion, and tolerance." The conman punctuates his powerful speech with a satisfied swish of his fluffy tail, and the crowd cheers wildly in approval.

Cater is eating this up. His thumbs frantically type out a lengthy post that ends with his signature sparkling diamond hashtags, creating the most glorious online discourse. 

Trey is lost in thought, muttering to himself, "he does have the right idea, maybe he'd make a good Headmage after all." 

Kalim stares intently, with a faraway gleam in his eye, utterly entranced by Fellow. He’s just about ready to sign up for a personal tutoring session on the topic of the Universal Principles. 

The rest of your classmates have the most deadpan expression on their faces, looking at each other and silently communicating how deeply uninterested they all are at witnessing this bizarre, disturbing spectacle for the umpteenth time.

The guards can’t hide their bewilderment, and they reluctantly backpedal to let your group inside. You and Cater share a mischievous smile, impressed at Fellow's antics. 

Your devious fox pulls you flush to his body, ushering you into the club with a sly wink. "Shall we, dearest Y/n? Let’s make our debut, hmm?" He smirks in the direction of his brother as he spins you around, all while moving backwards into the bar. He bows deeply and gestures elegantly, indicating you should head inside first. You can't help giggling, covering your mouth to conceal the toothy grin that betrays your giddiness as you make your way inside. His eyes travel up and down your frame, marveling at your swaying hips, devouring every curve. His suggestive tongue wets his bottom lip before he bites it, fangs now visible. You're almost ashamed of how attracted you are to him.

Your classmates follow like ducklings trailing a parent, curious to see where the night will take them and if any of it will be blackmail-worthy. How amusing. They muffle laughter at Fellow's narcissistic flamboyance and over-exaggerated antics, taking note of every ridiculous attempt to woo you. A few pretend to gag, exchanging distressed, strained expressions—a theatrical attempt to shove down the raw, unbridled horror they feel at the thought of having to live through another performance of the clown show.

You're not even sure if he wears a persona—a true entertainer, for the thrill of it all—or if he's trying on sincerity for once. You suspect he's a walking caricature of his own making. Even so, the raw energy and manicured showmanship are alluring. His penchant for high-pitched laughter and dramatized emotion adds levity to an otherwise dark situation—something about it really tickles you. His potentially-feigned amusement lights up his impossibly expressive face in a manner that is genuinely contagious.

Slowly taking in your surroundings, your mouth falls slightly open. This was no ordinary dive bar—this was a full on club. A disco ball hangs from the ceiling, dispersing kaleidoscopic beams of color and light throughout the space. The rhythm throbs, perfectly synced with the strobe—each flash of luminescence reveals a slightly new scene. Sweaty bodies bend and sway to the thumping, seductive beat—you’re so ready to join them. Every face around you morphs into carefree bliss. From behind you, Fellow's presence is electrifying, playfully tracing his fingertips across the curve of your lower back as he leads you to the bar. His hand lightly smacks your ass, as if in approval, and your face warms. The effervescent air and residual excitement of escaping death creates an aphrodisiac unlike anything you’ve experienced. The pulsing bass, Fellow's slightly-territorial hand on your hip, and his sensual gaze makes your heart thump erratically. An aching want—no, need—simmers beneath your skin.

"May I get you a drink?" 

Fellow's soft words pull you from your daze, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes appraises your dilated pupils. His toothy grin widens. 

"You prefer sweet, don’t you? I know just the thing." 

He studies you lasciviously. 

"Freshly-squeezed juices and top shelf liqueurs always do the trick. I just love the taste of cherries." 

He brings his hand up to your cheek, the pads of his fingers hovering over the shell of your ear before landing around a stray tendril of hair. He twirls the silky strand between his gloved fingers and tucks it gently behind your ear. Tantalizing.

"Yes, please. That sounds delicious."

You giggle nervously, unable to break eye contact. You hadn’t noticed how full his lips were—the bottom pout most inviting. You hope he doesn't notice you gulp.

Somehow, the man's smile grows even bigger. He takes your hand in his, clasping it tightly and bringing it up to his mouth to plant a soft, chaste kiss. 

"Wait right here for me, won't you, my dear? I'll be back in a heartbeat." 

With a spin, he dances his way through the crowd towards the bartender, expertly navigating the chaos. You stand there dumbfounded, unable to keep the affection from blossoming in your chest; full, red, and so tight that you're afraid it might burst.

Hi, it's me again. Erica. The girl who said "my goal for 2024 is to spend the whole year writing!" Yeah. Sorry about that. Turns out that life sucks and writing is hard. I'm doing my best out here, though. I hope y'all enjoy this one! This shit really makes me laugh, so I hope you laughed too. If you want to create any art based on a scene from this, PLEASE do. I've already started working on chapter 3. I hope it won't take me forever to finish this story but, I'm really just taking my time with it. By "it" I mean, you know, getting to the whole point of this request, which is where Fellow Honest drunkenly confesses to you. But as you can see, we are going on a whole journey, here. I hope you love it! That's why I'm calling it a slice of life. I hope I get to talk to you all again really soon, in my next writing, which I hope... will be... soon. Love you all dearly, ❤️ Erica Malleleothreesome. P.S. I'll be at Anime Expo at the beginning of July. Come say hi!

[anystalker707]

a sweet reminder

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Spending a nice time with Luke after he's done working at the farm, and of course he's awfully sweet. Tags: clingy luke / he really wants to take care of you / lots of kisses

MASTER LIST

          Despite the usual high temperatures, the day felt exceptionally hot—the suns seemed to be taking out personal anger on Luke, making each step towards his home feel like torture, and he already knew he’d need some cream later tonight to deal with burning in the areas where the sunlight chastened his tanned skin. He furrowed his eyebrows, patting his clothes to get rid of the sand accumulated between the folds.

The droids wouldn’t do everything, so Luke still needed to carry those heavy buckets of water back home to refill the sprinklers. He tried to balance between no water spilled and the intense pain in his fingers to let buckets down on the ground as slowly as he could, and the pain lingered uncomfortably around his knuckles.

“Fuck,” Luke breathed as he opened and closed his hand a few times until the stiffness went away, or at least most of it. He sighed as he placed his hands on his hips, looking down, letting the breeze refresh the back of his neck before he moved to finish his task. He would be free for the last of the day, hopefully.

Luke’s thoughts were fuzzy already after so many hours under the suns, but he had done that enough times to trust himself on autopilot. He could name a handful of things—more, actually—he would rather be doing right now.

A long breath escaped his lips once he was done, and he tried his best to ignore the tingling in the back of his mind that told him it was only a matter of time before his uncle told him to do something else. He took a deep breath as he walked over to the kitchen, his body instinctively freezing when he heard his name being called, but hey, it wasn’t Uncle Owen.

“Luke,” the voice called again, and he stepped out to see you coming down the edge. A smile tugged on your lips when you finally saw him, sighing. “Wow, you look like you’ve been… smuggled by Jawas.”

“Oh,” Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Just slaving away as usual,” he breathed, glancing behind him, but no one from his family was around. He wiped the sweat away from his brow with his forearm, and he shook his head again so that his strands would fall back into place.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just feeling a little too hot and cranky.” Luke scrunched his nose a little. Today’s weather seemed harsher than usual, and opposite to his wishes to stay home upgrading his ship, he had to work at the farm for longer than normal today.

You raised your eyebrows, nodding faintly. “I was gonna ask you to come grab a drink with me, but we don’t need to go anywhere if you don’t want to.”

Luke’s eyes followed your hand reaching out to brush his hair back into place, and he made sure to stand still while you did so. “Doesn’t sound bad at all,” he said. “Maybe we can have a couple of glasses of blue milk while we hang out in the garage. I was gonna tinker around with my stuff anyway.” He grabbed your hand, walking by the kitchen with you to grab the promised drink before you two could go sit on the couch in the garage. He always sat close, pressed to your side. “Ugh, what a day, I swear. Anything interesting happened while I was slaving away?”

“Stop being so dramatic,” you scoffed with an endearing smile. You enjoyed the refreshing sensation of the blue milk going down your throat, and the garage felt a lot nicer than being cooked under the suns outside. On the other hand, maybe it’d be colder than usual tonight. “And no, nothing interesting. I did hit my head on the edge of a ship while fixing it, though. I’m not sure if that’s interesting,” you chuckled, bringing a hand up to the sore spot on top of your head out of instinct.

Blue eyes observed you over the rim of the glass before Luke lowered it, licking his lips as his eyes roamed over you with clear concern, a crease forming between his eyebrows. A small sound came from him as he put his glass away. “Oh no, are you alright? Let me take a look.” He adjusted his position and placed your glass on the table as well, reaching out to touch your head. His fingertips gently traced the area where you’d hit with a delicate and soft touch. “Does this hurt?” He applied a little pressure.

“Ow,” you hissed at the unexpected pain, though it wasn’t too bad. You’d forget it hurt if nothing touched the area you’d hit. “Only a little sore.” 

“I don’t feel any bumps or swelling, but I think we should keep an eye on it, anyway,” Luke exhaled. “But that’s a relief. We don’t want you losing any more brain cells.” He chuckled and kissed the top of your head carefully, his hand descending to cup your cheek for a brief moment. Concern was evident in his eyes as they met yours, making your heart flutter in your chest. “I have a bacta spray. It should help. Do you want me to get it?”

You placed your hand on top of his to squeeze it reassuringly, letting it fall to your lap. “I’m fine, I swear. Maybe we should be more worried about your brain cells cooking in this heat, yeah?” You chuckled, running your thumb over Luke’s knuckles when his eyes widened, and you were sure his blushing would be apparent if it weren’t for his sun-kissed skin.

“H-Hey, my brain is just fine, thank you very much!” Luke’s attempt to sound indignant failed miserably with his embarrassment, and he bit his lip, glancing away. “It’s not like I’m hallucinating or anything.” His eyes softened when they met yours again, and he lifted his free hand, his fingertips grazing your cheek gently—he raised his eyebrows a little when you leaned into his touch. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He leaned in closer. “Maybe I should take another look, just to be safe.”

Part of you regretted telling Luke about the bump when concern laced his gaze once more—you thought he’d be more used to it, since you and him were always with a bruise or another from working on those ships or machines the whole time.

“It’s okay,” you insisted, catching his hand between yours before he could reach for your head again. “Trust me, Luke.” You squeezed his hand gently.

Luke exhaled. “Okay. If you’re sure.” He looked down at your joined hands before he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. “But if it gets worse, you’ll tell me, right?” His wide, earnest eyes looked into yours, pleading, before he pressed his forehead to yours, both out of habit and out of worry. Clingy, as always. “I could kiss it better.” His breath fanned over your face. “If you want me to, I mean.” As if he hadn’t already.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you mumbled, your eyelids instinctively hiding half of your irises when the distance between you diminished. “Why are you always doing this? Pressing your forehead to mine. Trying to read my thoughts?” You chuckled, and he couldn’t help but do the same.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Luke furrowed his eyebrows lightly. “It feels… nice. Comforting, I guess.” He bit his lip, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder, near the base of your neck. “Don’t act like I’m being clingy.”

“Yeah, feels nice, I enjoy it too… But you’re very clingy all the time, in fact,” you whispered with a small smile, placing a hand on his waist instead, adjusting your position so that you could be closer to each other.

A soft scoff escaped his lips. “You’re the one who wouldn’t stop kissing me the last time,” he pointed out with a shy smile, and he quickly pulled one of your legs to hook over his. “Not that I’m complaining,” he mumbled in a quieter, embarrassed voice, but he didn’t move away. The closeness was exciting and terrifying all at the same time. “I really like it when you do that.”

You raised your eyebrows, feigning cluelessness, despite how your heart fluttered in your chest. “Me? I never even kissed you. Let alone kiss you nonstop.” You clicked your tongue.

Luke pulled away suddenly, making your head fall forward a little, and looked at you with a wide grin and disbelief. “What? But you did! Here in the garage, when we were working on the speeder.” He paused. “Trying to.”

“Did I?” You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t remember it, baby.”

His heart pounded in his chest, and his cheeks burned, not just because of being under the sunlight for hours before. With a dramatically heavy sigh, he leaned in again. “Maybe you should kiss me again, love.” He glanced at your lips. “Just to remind you.”

“Oh, so that’s your suggestion?” You asked, and Luke nodded, biting his lip. “‘M not sure about it,” you mumbled against his cheek, nuzzling it softly.

“Well, we should try, maybe it’ll remind you,” Luke chuckled softly, turning his head. His lips brushed against yours in a barely-there touch. It was more of a tease, but still managed to send a tingling down his spine. He cupped the side of your neck, his thumb under your jaw, leaning in, and finally kissed you properly. His lips finally met yours, his breath hitching. Luke loved the warmth of your mouth, the softness of your lips, and it made his head spin when you kissed him back just as lovingly. “Like this?”

“I don’t think I’ve remembered enough,” you said as soon as his lips broke away from yours.

Luke chuckled. “We’ll have to keep trying, then.” He pecked your lips. “Until you remember.” Despite the calloused skin, his hands gently cupped your face as he kissed you once more, needy lips pressing to yours in a longer, deeper kiss. His kisses were messy in the best way possible, oscillating between the need and shyness, refraining into more contained movements right after deepening it and getting lost on your lips, trying to get a grip of himself again. “Do you like this?” Luke’s lips grazed yours as he spoke.

“Mhm. So good.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, mirroring his smile. He couldn’t be close enough.

Something shifted in Luke’s gaze as he tilted his head; it was like you were the most precious thing in the whole universe. He kissed you again, letting it last longer, as his thumbs ran along your cheekbones. “You’re so good at this,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you tightly while nuzzling your nose. “I love being close to you like this.”

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ✩°｡⋆

[foxgirlmoth]

Okay, lets go through this apparent list of positives that Biden is in favor of.

Trans Rights: There have been multiple laws within states to fully close off especially trans kids rights to medical treatments and more. This is extremely current. Biden puts in minimal effort to look like he's doing anything at all for trans and queer rights, and there haven't really been any efforts aside from doing one or two proposals that immediately get shot down, and he's more than okay with that, hence why there's no longer really any push for this shit still. If you're trans, you can't piss in Utah without the risk of getting a fine right now. Even though these are state laws, the fact that there's been nearly zero effort federally to address this besides the title IX rule, speaks a lot about priorities in this area.

Abortion Access: Are we just forgetting the whole Roe V Wade getting overturned thing that happened in 2022? Are you really trying to say that this is good for abortion access? Abortion access has gotten actively worse.

Environmental Reform: Biden has endorsed extreme oil drilling projects and in general oil companies still love him! Not to mention the train crashes which we'll get to later.

Healthcare Reform: Covid-19 is still around and is sadly predicted to stay around for a long while. Healthcare is still private and a competitive field in the US and that causes major issues as well. If you look this up, you see articles titled along the lines of "Biden has lowered the cost of insurance" and meanwhile it just dropped in 2020 once during the pandemic but has been growing in cost.

Prescription Reform: Reading into this, not much has changed, which isn't surprising under genocide Joe. Drugs in the US are still higher than anywhere else in the world, and with healthcare issues still abundant, this is still a big issue.

Student Loan Forgiveness: Student debt is still extremely high in the US, and while Biden has rolled out some plans for forgiveness, it's a fraction of the debt, and he primarily uses the whole thing to win over swing states. This is a dangling carrot that provides very little overall.

Infrastructure Funding: Train crashes from 2020-present, worldwide, but notice the amount of US crashes! Neat! Quite literally just look up train crashes in the US during his presidency, there's too many to link here. It is also important to remember that Biden signed a bill to prevent rail strikes, preventing a lot of pressure to the government and the economy, which would have been a GOOD THING. Seriously, this guy has fucked up our environment and our rights in multiple ways.

Advocating Racial Equity: Structural racism within the US is still a huge problem, Biden hasn't addressed much. Also people are still in cages on the Mexico/US border (Which has been maintained by every president in office since it was established), with a very recent crackdown on the border.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion: Just. Look at the racial equity and trans rights sections above. Biden does the bare minimum, loves focusing on swing states, and all around uses the ol' carrot on a stick.

Vaccines and Public Health: Once again look above at sections on healthcare, abortion access, and prescription reform. Its bad. Remember how Covid-19 vaccines aren't being continued for free?

Criminal Justice Reform: This is just structural slavery still. Disproportionate amounts of black people are incarcerated, police are still heavily funded under Biden. He does not care about reforming the justice system, he even supports cops breaking up campus protests! Cool!

Military Support for Israel: Yup! Both sides suck! Biden has a very long history of sure hating Arabic countries though! He's done nothing but ship weapons and participate in the genocide of Palestinian people. Would Trump also do this? Yes. Does this mean this is an issue you should just drop and call a non-issue? No, what the hell are you talking about.

Israel/Hamas Ceasefire: Netanyahu has no plans to accept any actual ceasefire, yet Biden still provides weapons and support. Wow! That sure is weird? I wonder if Biden really cares about a ceasefire or how he just looks publicly.

Biden is not a good president, much less a good human being. You provided such a flimsy chart with zero resources or support behind you, and it just feels like people are just making shit up at this point. Get your heads out of the liberal cesspool you grew up in.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Prescribed Medicine (+18)

Prescribed Medicine (+18 Law x Reader)

Summary: Law knows you have trauma. He wants to help you look past it. The doctor orders a risky procedure. Will it be successful?

Pairing: Law x afab!reader

WC: 3900 lmao

AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS DNI

TW: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. This fic hints that the reader has experienced sexual trauma. I understand the delicacies in this matter and have not tried to highlight them any more than necessary for the plot. sex, kissing, pet names, praise, doctor play, vaginal sex, oral sex, fingering, begging, crying.

*Get off of me! You’re sick! No!*

“No!” You sat straight up in your bed, chest heaving trying to catch your breath. Sweat dripped down your neck, staining the grey tank top you had on. Another nightmare. You had been having them almost every night lately. Every time you close your eyes you see those men and live through what they did to you over and over again…

—

As a much younger woman, your island was raided by violent pirates and burnt to the ground. During the fire you snuck onto the pirates ship while they pillaged and destroyed your home. You hid in a storeroom and shook while you imagined what they were doing to your friends and family back on the island. You had to save yourself. 

To your dismay, upon discovering you holed up in a broom closet, the pirates took you straight to Sabaody and sold you to the slave auction. A young, beautiful virgin woman fetched a high price. 

You spent the next 5 years as a slave. Being bounced around from master to master, having to do more depraved and violent acts each time. Until one day your life changed forever. Your weak body and mental state had left you a lifeless husk. When you overhead the whispers of your fellow slaves that there was a strong pirate crew liberating the slaves you barely even looked up. It was probably just a rumor. There would be no end to your suffering, this was your life now. 

But they were right! The pirates had handily took out your brutal captors and no less than an hour later, men in white jumpsuits were removing your shackles and cuffs. The other slaves all ran to the docks, cheering, trying to get a ship back to their home islands as fast as possible. You however, just stood there. You were in the middle of the plaza in town, surrounded by bodies… no… not bodies… body parts? The men had been sliced into neat, tidy pieces and littered across the ground. Who could have done this?

“Aren’t you going to run?” A deep voice rumbled from around 20 feet behind you. You whipped your body around, shocked out of your trance. There stood one of the most powerful pirates in the New World, a Warlord of the Seas. 

“Trafalgar Law…” You said more to yourself than anyone else. 

“I didn’t ask you my name, I asked if you were going to run.” He says nonchalantly as he crosses his arms in front of him and leans back. “You’re free. Go.” Law turns on you and starts to walk away when you yelled out. 

“I don’t have anywhere to go. My home was burned. This is all I have.” 

Law stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn towards you. “Hm. And what can you do? Anything useful?”

“I.. I can cook… pretty well actually. My parents owned a bed and breakfast on my home island. I can clean… and I… I can fight too… well.. at least I could…” 

There was a long silence. You could see the gears in his brain turning just by staring at the back of his head. 

“Alright. Let’s go then.”

“What?” You asked, tilting your head. 

“You’re coming with me. Our cook sucks. It’d be nice to have a decent meal after all of this.” Law didn’t turn toward you, just started walking back to his ship. You said nothing. You couldn’t believe that he was inviting you to join his crew.. one of the most powerful pirates to ever live was asking you to join him at sea. But, what choice did you have? You could go with him and risk your life on a journey of piracy and probably die in the process, or you could stay and rot here.

You saw him walk further and further away from you, so you started jogging after him… fully committing to your new life.

—

“Fuck” 

You started to sob. All you could think of was your past, the things that befell you during your time as a slave. You needed to distract yourself. After you wiped your tears and blew your nose, you hopped up out of your bed and pulled on a pair of black joggers over your panties. After pulling the door of your small stateroom aboard the Polar Tang open, you made your way to the kitchen. Trying to slow your heart and catch your breath, you brewed a cup of tea. Sitting at the counter in the galley with your tea, you let your head fall back and eyes close with an exasperated sigh. 

“No sleep for you either?”

Your head shot up and you opened your eyes. 

“God damnit, Law. You have to stop doing that.” You scolded him for having a habit of sneaking up on people. 

“It’s not my fault you have poor hearing and can’t tell when I’m coming.” He smirked at you. Law walked toward the counter and sat down sat the stool next to you. You look up at his grey eyes and they met yours. He was searching for something. He saw that they were bright red and your eyelids are puffy. There was no hiding that you had been crying. You hung your head back down.

“The nightmares… they’re back, huh?” He knew. This wasn’t the first time you’d had periods of night terrors due to your past mistreatment. He could always tell. He rarely slept so he knew when someone else was awake on the sub. Sounds traveled far under the sea. He could hear your wracked sobbing or your feet pacing across your room trying to calm yourself down from a panic attack. His normally unaffected heart couldn’t help but feel for you.

Without an answer from you, he continued. 

“I want you to come to my office tomorrow night. I think… I think I know what treatment you need…” Your head shot back up to meet his eyes when you heard him.

“You mean… you can make them go away? The nightmares?”

“I don’t know, y/n, but don’t you want to at least try?”

You nodded. 

“Good. Go back to your room. Try and get some rest.”

Law stood up and walked out of the galley. You finished your tea and stared at the empty mug. What did he mean? What kind of treatment? It had been a year of sailing together now and he hasn’t offered any sort of procedure or medication so far. Why now? 

—

It was 9:55 PM the next evening and you were checking yourself in the mirror before you were going to head down to Law’s office/surgical room. After smoothing out your hair and your off-white jumpsuit, you left your stateroom and walked nervously down the narrow hallway towards your captains office. Upon reaching his door you stood still starting at the doorknob, unable to move your body another inch. 

“Come in, y/n” Law said as the doorknob turned and the door creaked open. Fucking haki. 

You gingerly walked into the office. It had been so long since you had been here… His tall bookcases so unorganized with some books facing the wrong way outward. It smelled like him… a musky, mysterious scent. Law was hunched over at his desk, going over some maps of the New World. 

“I’m glad you could make it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for awhile.” He says as he rolls up the maps and moves towards his bookcase. He’s being so casual about all of this while you’re nervous out of your mind. He hasn’t even looked at you. It’s like you’ve come to him for a band-aid, not a life altering cure. Law grabs a large book off the shelf and brings it back to his desk. He finally looks up at you as he opens it and flips through the pages. 

“Sit.” He nods towards a leather char next to his desk. You oblige.

He settles on a page in the book, which you now realize is a psychiatric textbook.

“Post traumatic stress disorder.”

You stare blankly at the words he’s pointing to in the book. You didn’t know what to say.

“People who have experienced massive, violent trauma often suffer from side effects long term, even years after the event. Effects include night terrors, panic attacks, trouble focusing, and other psychical symptoms… Y/n this is what you have. I am certain. It’s no surprise after what those..” He slams his fist onto his desk next to the textbook. “.. Those fucking monsters did to you. I am so sick and tired of seeing you suffer every day and every night because of what happened.”

He crouches down next to you seated in the chair. He looks directly into your welling eyes.

 "I want to help you. Will you let me? Y/n, do you trust me?”

Tears were threatening to spill over, could he really fix your pain? Did he have that ability? And he would do it… for you?

You nodded. 

“Captain… please help me…”

“Hm.” He nodded his head and stood up. “I need you to go next door into the operating room. Remove your clothes, all of them. Lay on your back on the table. I will be in in a few moments.”

Law left the room. You stood there in shock. You had no idea what was going to happen or what he had up his sleeve. He had essentially just told you that your brain was broken and he was going to fix it. You finally collected yourself and you went towards the door of the operating suite he kept next to his office. You walked into the cold, sterile room. There were machines, surgical instruments, a large operating table… nothing comforting. 

But, not wanting to displease your captain you followed his orders to the Nth degree. You zipped down the front of your jumpsuit and let it slide off your shoulders onto the floor. 

*remove your clothes, all of them* you heard Law in your head. You slipped your sports bra over your head and you pulled your panties down to the floor. Finally fully bare, you hopped up onto the operating table and laid down on your back. You expected there to be some sort of blanket to cover your body with, he was a doctor, wasn’t he? But there was nothing. You were completely nude staring up at the fluorescent lights. 

The doorknob turned and your head instinctively snapped in its direction. Law came in wearing gloves and a white coat. 

“Y/n… literature suggests that sufferers of post traumatic stress can be aided by turning those negative feelings into positive ones. In a way, replacing the memories of those events with more pleasurable ones.” 

You were confused, but he stared into your eyes and you saw a flash of warmth. He wanted to help you. You gestured for him to continue.

“My plan of treatment is to give your body intense sexual, physical pleasure slowly over time to retrain your brain into associating those things with good memories as opposed to the bad ones.” 

“Intense what-?” You must have misheard him. There’s no way he said what you thought he did. 

“Y/n those horrific cretins took your body from you, I intend to fight to get it back. You deserve your own autonomy. If you trust me, I’d like to begin.” He said as he pulled the metal foot stirrups from the corners of the operating table and folded them up. “Scoot down and place your feet in here and we can get started.” 

You moved down to do as you were told. You hesitantly opened your legs. You knew that it wasn’t pretty. You had experienced such hardships that things weren’t looking as nice as they should. You opened them anyway and slotted your feed up into the cold stirrups. 

Law rolled his stool over to between your legs and sat down. 

“I am going to touch you now, okay? If anything is uncomfortable at any point I need you to say ‘stop.’”

You nodded.

“No, y/n. I need you to tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Captain.” 

Law leaned in and inspected your pubic area. He saw the scars and deep cuts that were left on your inner thighs from those disgusting monsters long ago. He ran his gloved finger over the ones on your right leg. You jolted from his touch, so startled by someone touching you there. You didn’t like it. It reminded you of the last time someone tried touching you there. 

“Law.”

“I can stop. But just breathe for a second.” Law looked at a monitor across from him but behind your head. “Your heart rate is at 124, try thinking of something else. Remember when we landed on that tropical resort island? And Penguin tried taking that girl back to the ship?” 

You chuckled. That was such a nice day. Nothing but sun and pampering yourself. You read your book on a pool float while waiters served you endless margaritas. Law paid for everything of course, happily watching you from a shaded lounge chair. He loved seeing you relaxed. It was hard, due to Penguin and Shachi constantly trying (and failing) to pick up women and Bepo complaining that this was not the correct environment for someone with a fur coat. But Law tuned them all out, seeing you smiling and content floating in the sparkling water… in the tiniest yellow bikini he’d ever seen… You were the only thing on his mind.

“Yeah, Law," You breathed out heavily. "I remember that. It was a fun day.” He continued to slowly stroke up and down your inner thighs, getting you used to having his hands on you. 

“I remember the bathing suit you wore… When you jumped into the pool it bunched up on your ass. I watched you adjust it, and pull your top down.” He laughed softly. “Your tits are incredible. Your whole body, really y/n.”

Law had never spoken to you like this. He found you attractive? He watched you in your swimsuit and thought about your body? You had pined for him for so long, there was no way that he felt the same way. Maybe he was just talking like this to get you more receptive for his treatment… but it was working. 

“You.. you think so?” You stutter out as he gently grazes his right hand over your heat. 

“Of course I do. I’ve always thought that. Such a perfect little thing you are y/n.” Law’s tattooed hand finally moves to rest over your whole mound and pussy.  Your hips buck instinctively. This was nothing like anything you were used to. 

“The procedure is going well. I can see you’re becoming more lubricated. Far more, actually. I am going to touch you here now, y/n.” 

Before you could protest he  takes his pointer and middle finger together to stroke the sides of your now engorged clit up and down. 

“Oh! Law!” You shout and lean up on your elbows. “I… That feels… Oh my god…”

Law takes his fingers and now applies pressure to your bud and rubs it in smooth, tight circles. You feel your lower abdominal muscles tightening and releasing outside of your control. 

“Talk to me y/n. How does this feel?” Law asks, his eyes never leaving your dripping cunt. 

“I.. It feels? Pressure? It feels warm, it feels.. fuck, it feels like so much Law” 

“But good or bad? Does it feel good? Your pussy is leaking all over the operating table. Do you enjoy when I rub you like this? When I treat you like my sweet little girl?” He was so serious. It was like he was taking notes on a mental pad in his brain. 

“YES! Fuck yes, Law, yes this is good I don’t want you to stop.” Your chest was heaving, you had never experienced a sensation like this before. You only knew pain, not pleasure. You felt Law’s other hand ghost over your thigh. 

“Ok y/n I think you’re ready for the second part of the procedure. I am going to insert my fingers into your hole now.” He said it so casually, like he was prescribing you an aspirin. 

Law continued rubbing your clit with one hand as he took his two fingers and slowly pushed them into your sopping wet hole. You gasped and jolted at the intrusion. Your mind started to go a darker place…

“Hey y/n it’s me, I’m right here. Your captain is right here. It’s me. It’s just us, okay? Try to keep your eyes open for me, sweets.”  He felt your muscles tense so he rested the side of his face on your thigh. The scruff of his facial hair brought you back to reality. He was looking up at you to gauge your facial expressions. You looked down at him breathing heavily, he smirked at you from between your legs as he began to crook his fingers up and pull on them. 

“FUCK, Law!” You shouted, forgetting that everyone else on the Polar Tang would hear you. 

“Perfect, that’s perfect. Keep your eyes on mine, sweet. You’re doing so well for me. I am so proud of you, y/n you’re being so good.” He praised your endlessly while his two hands worked your pussy into a soaking mess. 

“Law I’m starting to feel weird…”

“Weird how, describe your symptoms to me.” He was back in doctor mode. 

“Like… Like there’s something in my belly that’s big and swollen. It feels like my skin is hot. It feels like something is going to burst… it feels like I have to pee but I don’t? Law there’s so much pressure, Law, please help me I don’t know what it is! Stop!”

Quickly Law pulls out his fingers and stops his motions on your clit. 

“Room.”

A light blue tinge covers your space. He raises his right hand, tips of his two fingers glistening with your slick. His doctors notepad and a pen come flying into his hands. He furiously takes notes. 

“Hmm… Yes…. Better than expected…”

Your body started to ache. An ache you’ve never experienced before. He flips his pad over and looks through previous notes he had taken. You realize they were all about you and your condition. He had been watching you for awhile. 

“Y/n… have you ever experienced an orgasm?” Law asks after he closes his pad and sets it down. 

You flop backwards on the operating table, unable to look at him with your answer. 

“No. No I haven’t.”

“I see…” Law looks over your sweaty, heaving body. He knew you were frustrated by not achieving release, even if you didn’t know. “I’d like you give that to you. I think it’s what’s best for your treatment. Would you allow me to do that?”

“… how…?” You knew where this was going. 

“I’d like to fuck you, Miss y/l/n.” He smirked down at you from the side of the table. “I believe I can make this all go away soon.”

You were hesitant. 

“Ok…”

“Y/n listen to me.” He grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest and looks into your eyes. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you and I won’t let anyone else hurt you ever again. You’re mine now. I’d kill anyone for you.” He was confessing. This wasn’t about your treatment anymore. He let his feelings take over. It as no longer doctor/patient. It was no longer captain/crewmate. This was 2 lovers. 

You were nervous, but you trusted him. You brought your hand that was still held in his up to his cheek. 

“Fuck me, Law. Make love to me. Fix me.” 

He stripped his white coat and gloves first. Yellow baseball tee and hat went next. After he was out of his jeans and boxers, your mouth was agape at the size and girth of his hard cock. Clearly the “procedure” was affecting him just as much as it was you. He hopped up on top of you on the operating table swiftly. He locked eyes with you before he brought his face down to give you a soft, yet fully passionate kiss. Your lips moved together slowly, you moaned softly into his mouth.

Going back into doctor mode, Law looks down between you and grabs his cock to line it up with your hole. 

“I am going to push inside of you now, y/n. Tell me if there’s any discomfort.” 

He presses the weeping tip of his massive dick into your pulsing warm hole. You begin to get stretched out and instinctively slam your eyes shut. 

“Hey, hey. No. With me.”

Law holds your cheeks with the hand that wasn’t holding himself up on top of you. 

“I need you to know you’re here with me. No one else. Just us.” His breath was ragged, now that’s fully pressed  inside of you his calm demeanor seems to dissolve.  You open your eyes and look up at him.

“That’s my girl… that’s my good girl…” He coos to you looking into your eyes as he starts thrusting. He lets go of your face as he lifts your hip upwards onto his strong thighs. His cock was pressing hard into a spot inside of yourself you didn’t know existed until 40 minutes ago. 

“Law! It’s there! It’s right there! Please don’t stop!” You shrieked at him, no longer knowing yourself. That strange “weird” feeling starting to come back in your belly but it was coming on much faster than last time. 

“Law wait I feel it again…”  You push your hands on his shoulders.

“That’s you about to cum, sweets. I promise it will feel so good. Don’t fight it anymore y/n. I want you to cum on my cock. It’s going to feel so good. It’s totally normal and healthy. Let it go. Do you trust me?” He punctuated his sentences with strong grinds against your spot. 

You did trust him. You’d do anything for him. He was your captain, and now your lover. 

“Law I-“ You moaned out louder than you ever have. Your vision went blurry and your body lurched forward as your muscles spasmed. Your cunt tingled and squeezed without your permission. You could barely breathe it felt so incredible. 

“Such a good job you did, y/n. You did so perfect. You’re the perfect patient. You’re the perfect girl for me. I want you forever, y/n. Oh sweets I’m going to cum-“ Law let out a strained groan as he pushed his hips into yours as far as they would go. You felt his cock pulse within you, pushing out his hot seed. 

His head lolled forward after your pussy was finished milking his cock. He kissed your lips gently before pulling out of you. Your brain was hazy and foggy. Law was saying something to you but you were so relaxed that you felt yourself drifting into sleep already. He carried you bridal style, fully nude back to his captains suite. You fell asleep immediately in his strong, tattooed arms. 

—

You woke up after an uninterrupted 12 hour of sleep. You couldn’t even recall the last time you got more than 2 without having nightmare. But when you woke up, Law’s bed was empty other than you. Had he regretted helping you? Changing your relationship forever? You brain ran a mile a minute before Law walked in with a tray from the galley holding a few pieces of toast, a glass of water and a little white pill.  He smiled at you. 

“I’d say your procedure was a success.”

He set the tray down in front of you. 

“You should drink a lot of water today. You lost a lot of fluids last night.” He smirked to himself at his dirty implication. 

“What’s with the meds?” You gestured at your tray. 

“There’s enough crazy pirates out here in the New World. Let’s not add one more.”

You laughed, realizing what it was. You swallowed the pill with your water and took a bite of the toast. Law added,

“Not now… at least…” 

[victonair]

“Was it really Casual?” - Azul Ashengrotto x reader

Since childhood, you had always been unsure about romantic relationships - tending to avoid them at all; you didn’t know how to feel when people often confessed to you. Unfortunately, you were always a magnet for things you didn’t want, weren’t you? Which led you to the ultimate form of trouble itself, the calculating and dealmaking Dorm Head of Octavinelle, Azul Ashengrotto.

Or rather

In which, Azul falls in love with you, and you don’t know what to think or do.

Author’s Note: I’ve been writing too much fluff in both my drafts and blogs, so this is a nice refresher. Once again, I am open to requests! I really need something to motivate me to write more, so a couple would be nice! I wrote this within an hour so please don’t have that high of a standard for this! I consider this a drabble since it’s only 1600+ words, so please do enjoy!

Content Warnings: Angst, Reader and Azul being in a situationship, and Reader’s gender being ambiguous! Both Azul and reader are childhood friends and both of them are toxic in some way, but they’re toxic together! Azul is an unreliable narrator, and lastly, this fic is left with an ambiguous ending.

-

Azul had been in love with you for a long time. And that was an understatement; the feelings he had, had boiled, marinated, and developed for years. It took him so much time to realize the fact that he had been in love with you that he didn’t even know when his feelings started to develop. He wondered when it first sparked to life: was it when you took to exploring the sunken ships under the sea with him? Or was it when he first arrived on land, and for the first time, you gazed at the stars and looked at him so adoringly that it was almost sickening. He didn’t know, but all he knew is that he couldn’t bear to hide it from you anymore. It had took him years to accept it, and another year to gain the confidence to confess to you.

He didn’t know exactly what went wrong when he did confess; the plan was perfect, he’d woo you and charm you till you fell for him, that was if you didn’t fall for him like he did for you in the first place. He calculated his odds and although he wasn’t sure of it - he took the risk.

So, why was your answer like this?

You stood across him, the lounge empty from the private dinner you just had. Your eyes looked off to the side, refusing to look at him - this wasn’t the worst scenario he had expected, but it wasn’t the best. Little did he know that he’d see that your answer was the worst one he could’ve ever expected - not because of the answer itself, but the outcome that he would see through due to it.

“…I don’t know.”

What do you mean by that? You didn’t know? Were you in love with him or were you not? When was there ever a middle-ground? Perhaps, you were still in the stage of discerning, and to him, that was okay. He would help you discern your feelings for him, and he’d make sure it’d be all right for both him and you.

For a while, he was silent, before smiling at you. The same smile he’d use on his clients, and you clearly saw that. There was clear tension in the room as he hid the unsure hurt he felt, because then again, based on your answer - he did have a chance to convince you that both you and him were perfect for each other.

“I see.” His eyes stared at yours, whilst yours looked down to the ground, anywhere else. You looked like you wanted to be anywhere else in the world, and for some reason, his hurt began to ache with a pain, similar to the pain he felt when he loathed himself for getting these feelings in the first place, and by extension: you.

He kept the same business-like smile on his face, taking a deep breath before speaking once more, “Are you unsure? If so, then at least give me a chance to convince you that I’m good for you, or that you have feelings for me.” His hands clenched tightly underneath the table, something to still his heart from the pain he felt.

And for a few moments more, silence was present within the room - it was eventually broken by you giving him a nod and one word:

“Okay.”

And so began the hell that you put through him to, starting with your answer.

-

From that point on, he had done everything in his power to have you make the decision to love him: from showering you with gifts, to offering to do everything for you, and everything in a typical romance novel - he had done it. And each time, you had accepted it with a smile, almost like your answer and tune had changed regarding your answer to his confession. He took it as a positive.

But each time he had tried to bring it up, you looked uncomfortable and shied away from the subject as a whole - you instead tried to change or deflect the topic. And not wanting to lose his chances, he foolishly let you do it, always complying with what you wanted regarding the subject. If you didn’t want to talk about it, then he wouldn’t force you to.

However, with months of this development, it drove him insane. You did everything he wanted you to do to him - you smiled at him adoringly, took his courting gifts, and made it clear to the world that both of you were meant for each other - so why were you so annoyingly persistent about not bringing up the topic of defining what you were? When he asked, you - you looked uncomfortable and proceeded to say that you just weren’t ‘ready’.

He understood, it took him years to come to terms with his feelings. However, you couldn’t do this to him, not when he had already waited for months, years if you count when he didn’t recognize his feelings and one more year for when he did. It was hell. And for how rare it was for him to feel helpless in life, he felt so helpless to you - only you could end his suffering and you could do that by just doing something, anything.

He didn’t know what to do with you anymore, really.

-

The moon and stars looked so beautiful, but it couldn’t compare to you - you looked especially radiant as you laid down on the grass beside him. You had invited him to stargaze for one night, and he had taken you up on your offer. He couldn’t understand how beautiful you were; he was sure God existed, because if he didn’t - why wouldn’t he have given you to him? You were both his blessing and curse to bear - your existence and friendship was a blessing, whilst his unaccepted feelings for you were a torturous curse, he was sure that God had planted for his greed and all he had done to deserve this.

But it didn’t matter if God existed or not, because either way - he would have you do something to end his pain.

“…Sometimes, I imagine myself in your arms, dancing with you and laughing with you. And at times, I think that I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing I see when I fall deep into my slumber within your arms.”

You had always said things like this to him since childhood, always things that made his heart race and when he was a child - he didn’t know what the feeling was, but now he knew. And this time, his feelings were laced with bitterness and hurt.

“Then, why don’t we make it official? We can do all of that, if you want. Just…say yes to me.”

Immediately, he could tell you were uncomfortable, but before your mouth opened to change the topic like you always did - he interrupted you, “And don’t tell me some nonsense about you not being ready, I’ve been courting you for months - doing the best I can to make you see reason. But you won’t see it.” His fists were clenched as he stared at you eye-to-eye.

A breeze rolled onto both of you as silence permeated the environment, the only noise coming from the woods that were filled with peaceful creatures, harmless ones unlike yourself. Finally, you met his eyes and after a while of hard staring, once more, you had one more answer.

“I know. I know I’ve been leading you on, but I can’t- I’m just not ready for a relationship-“

Azul immediately interrupted you with his own response, “Then reject me. Reject me and be done with it. Do something about it. Don’t lead me on and toy with me like I’m something to be stringed along and played with. I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just done it.”

You didn’t know what to answer to that, and so silence took your words once more. Azul knew that it was just two options and you had to choose, or else everything be damned - he would never look at your face once more. Despite the pain and hurt he had endured, he still wanted you to choose; he wanted you to choose him.

But with the way you looked so unsure, he already knew your answer.

“I like you. There I said it. But, I-I just don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship. Please, just give me more time.” Words fell off your tongue like venom disguised as pleasure; it hurt so damn much, and most of all: he felt so angry. He felt angry with you and himself. You couldn’t decide if you loved him, and him? He let you walk all over him and his feelings. Why the hell were you leading him on? He couldn’t fathom how you felt about him, it was two options to him: either love him or reject him. If you wouldn’t choose, he would force you too.

“It sure didn’t seem like it when you accepted all my courting gifts and said all the things you loved about me. Why are you doing this to me?” His heart hurt so much as he proceeded to say this, but he wasn’t willing to back down. You, on the other hand, went silent - not able to defend your actions nor say anything.

“…I don’t know.”

“Choose. Right now. Or leave this forest and in turn, leave me.”

And so you chose. The choice wasn’t easy, but either way Azul was satisfied with both options.

[carionto]

Too tough for paradise

One peculiar side effect of Humans hailing from a Deathworld is that their biological well-being is partly dependent on some degree of microscopic hostility from the environment and what they consume.

It is normal among most species that, should their surroundings change to more hospitable conditions, their minds and bodies would feel relief and be under less stress. However, as with any changes, if they deviate too far too quickly from their normal, you risk damage from a sudden shock to the system.

___________________________

Abigail "Abby" Hostaz had been legally grounded by the Gyin-Trov due to her, ahem, "expansion of business" without the right permits. Not that she bothered to learn that nobody outside Human controlled space in the Galactic Coalition would allow the creation of a deadly asteroid race track AND let sentient beings directly pilot ships through it.

Hell, finding an Alien crazy enough to partake in an activity even most Humans consider insane is one in a trillion. She still did find seven non-Humans, so that math actually is within a reasonable margin. Everything else is not reasonable.

The local Gyin-Trov government learned of the true nature of her activities when a rogue asteroid suddenly appeared on their threat detection systems. The unnatural change of course quickly pointed to where she had set up her latest "thrill track", which the authorities rapidly dismantled, impounded her vessel, named "Victor", and put her under house arrest in the Human embassy awaiting the conclusion of the investigation and subsequent trial.

While station based embassies are effectively fully contained perfect habitats for the respective species, planet based ones tend to adopt a lot of the local elements and integrate what they can simply due to proximity and availability.

Humans, the resourceful buggers that they are, used everything the planet had to offer (that wasn't outright lethal to Humans, which in the case of the Gyin-Trov homeworld were only a few pollen producing crops found in the poles of the planet).

A combination of a almost perfect temperature range (near constant lows of 14C at night, highs of 21C mid-day), slightly higher moisture levels, and bio-engineered local flora that made the water into this somewhat thicker soup containing virtually every nutrient, vitamin and mineral a carbon-based lifeform could ever want, leaving little for the digestive system to tackle. Heck, just being within a field of such plants lets the body absorb everything for healthy survival.

In short, the Gyin-Trov homeworld, also named Gyin-Trov, is as close to Utopia as you can get.

Aaaaaaand Abby is not having a fun time there.

It's not like she was imprisoned - she was allowed to wander around the city and surrounding area under light supervision, she even had her cat, Hector, with her. But there just wasn't enough excitement to be found anywhere.

They had arcades and various physical activities, but she never felt her body grow tired after hours of competitive gaming and contests. No feeling of hunger or exhaustion ever disturbed her focus. The only thing that kept Abby from becoming, essentially, a zombie perpetually engaged in whatever activity was most fun at the moment was the inherent nature of the Human brain - it gets... wobbly after a while and needs sleep.

Not even a week had passed and people noticed Abby had become... different. No strong reactions to anything, no outbursts of some crazy ideas, just a general positive but not quite cheerful apathy. The Human ambassadors had experienced a much milder version of this, and it is theorized that they did not deem it as concerning due to the simple fact the ambassadors always had something to do, and more importantly - something that put their minds, if not bodies, to the test. Regular challenges, worries, and stress from work in general kept them on edge in some ways.

Abby was just waiting around, "put on vacation" as one of the ambassadors had put it. After a couple of more days of this peace, she seemed more like a automaton than anything else. Mindlessly going from place to place, trying out whatever activities were available, but clearly none offered anything close to the level of excitement and danger she had grown so used to. Not even the flawed thirty year old Human body she was in offered any surprises or discomforts.

Everything was just perfectly fine.

When the paperwork finally cleared and she was issued a fine and formally banned from engaging in any construction efforts in Gyin-Trov controlled space, she was reunited with Victor, and the personality changes she had undergone during her short time were seemingly instantly reversed.

Once she was in her ship and the self-diagnostics showed a few blinking lights, Abby immediately became energized and took action. Breathing in the recycled air with a hint of dry rust made that old bruise on her right side make itself known again. She pulled an all-nighter making repairs and "adjustments" to Victor and collapsed from exhaustion on the hard floor.

The next day, she was already near the border to neutral space when she noticed a dwarf planet with a rock formation in the shape of a trebuchet (very vaguely, if you squint really, really hard, and imagine half of the parts), and that gave her an idea.

All the while, Hector the cat did not exhibit any noticeable changes during his stay with Abby on Gyin-Trov. Maybe just a few more hours of sleep per day than normal.

[esthelle-wanders]

The Chain: Dancing Headcanons

Because this poll sparked a train of thought, and it’s such a fun concept to explore!

Fairly detailed, so more beneath the cut:

Sky was actually the hardest— but I think he’s the kind of dancer who’s good, but you don’t really notice because he’s not trying to make it beautiful. His swordsmanship is graceful, powerful, and focused, and enough carries over from that to make footwork easy for him. When he’s dancing in a group, though, it doesn’t even occur to him to apply that degree of care and attention, because he’s relaxed and just having fun. He’s game to try anything and learns steps very quickly, but his stamina has limits. Takes frequent breaks and is definitely on the sidelines for the final stretch, applauding and/or nodding off. Likely to get a little goofy when he’s with a group of friends, if somebody pulls off a silly stunt he’ll try it too. Never steps on anybody’s feet.

Time doesn’t really dance in public. We all know he can— those moves in Majora’s Mask were smooth as butter— but most of what he knows is relatively “strange,” things he learned from the Kokiri or his Goron friends or Skull Kid etc., and while he’s not shy or secretive about it, it’s not the kind of thing he wants to exhibit to a room full of strangers. He’s learned from Malon too, so he’ll dance at home or at their own festivals and gatherings, but drag him onto a random floor and he’ll play up being awkward and uncoordinated until you leave him alone.

Wind is an excellent dancer! Kinda like Sky, though, he doesn’t see it as an art form. He has an outstanding sense of rhythm and general musicality; on top of that, he picks things up almost instantly, and can improvise at the drop of a hat. Can and will dance with anyone, anywhere. However, I think he prefers the styles he’s used to from Outset and Tetra’s ship— lots of stamping, clapping, flinging one another about, and singing until it becomes a test of endurance and you collapse. The kid’s all about exuberance, pulse, and the communal aspect— he’s the one pulling people onto the floor, he likes to set the pace, and he’s usually the last one standing— but as long as the music’s good, the aesthetic of the thing is kinda irrelevant to him. (Music does matter to him, though. Screw up the rhythm and he will canonically call you out in front of everybody, RIP Legend).

Twilight doesn’t strike me as a dancer. He knows his own from Ordon, and probably a few “elite” numbers from Castle Town, but he’s only really there for the camaraderie. Gets mixed up a bit and steps on a few feet, but he’s so good-natured about it that nobody minds. Solid stamina, but he’ll drop out relatively early so he can watch and talk to people. A dedicated hype man. I think he’s also the type to get a bit wistful, lonely, and withdrawn as the night goes on, so it’s a good idea to look out for him as much as he’s looking out for everyone else.

Four’s largely an enigma, because he’s the friend at the party who sits at the table and “people watches” all night. If he’s feeling especially sentimental you could probably drag him out on the floor for one or two dances, and he’s pretty decent, but it’s just not his thing. Not that he isn’t participating— he’s collecting memories like everyone else, but he likes to observe, and trade quips with whoever’s dropped out at the moment, and think his own thoughts. You can tell he’s really paying attention, because if anybody reminisces about it later and goes “does anyone remember when —?” Four is the one who recalls exactly what happened. The decisive authority on any disputed chain of events. Rather heartwarming, and shows he really cares (but also he has so much blackmail material).

Hyrule is like the polar opposite of Sky— his footwork’s shabby and he lacks poise, but his movements are so natural and agile that he’s delightful to watch in his own careless, homegrown way. Context and setting really matter with him: he‘s self-conscious in a high-class establishment, but put him somewhere he’s comfortable and he’s the one pulling goofy stunts and teasing people. In the latter environment, he’s the type who gets swept up in the experience and starts laughing. Frequently botches the rhythm, and it takes a while for him to warm up to the locale and the crowd, but once he gets going his endurance is high and he’s there until the music stops or everyone goes home (he may or may not be an extrovert, but the boy LOVES people).

Warriors is a mixed bag— he has beautiful posture, careful footwork, and he’s exceedingly graceful, but like Hyrule, how comfortable he is depends on the setting. Unlike Hyrule, though, he’s far more confident in a formal environment, because he knows what to expect and it’s easier to keep track of people. Dance is more of a social rite for him— not one he dislikes, but not the best conductor for vulnerability or expression. This seems ironic, since he’s also very familiar with the highly informal contexts he encountered during the war— impromptu dances in the barracks or around the campfires between campaigns, along with whatever he’s picked up from moving from place to place and interacting with citizens. To him, though, this is just another facet of dance as a social tool— a way to get to know other people on their own terms and in their own way. This doesn’t mean he’s cold or detached about it; on the contrary, he genuinely values it as a way to bond with people he cares about. It does mean that he’s not very demonstrative or inventive as a dancer, and unless there’s a social reason not to, he’ll also drop out fairly early to talk to people and keep tabs on everyone. He and Twilight are sideline buddies.

Wild’s a better-then-average dancer, but he gets moody, so it really depends on the day. When he’s feeling it, he’s smooth, playful, and creative. Like Time, he knows a “strange” smorgasbord of dances (possibly more than Time knows, though arguably less odd overall), but he doesn’t mind performing them wherever he is, and he isn’t afraid to play around with strange combinations during any given set. Since bits of his knight training have stuck, I figure he’s the type who can be comfortable virtually anywhere— not because he learns the dances quickly, but because he’s probably done something similar before, even if he can’t remember. On more melancholy days, he’s circling the periphery, chatting with Twi or sitting quietly with Four. The self-designated photographer, also has lots of blackmail. The mood and atmosphere have a big impact on him— tense situations really stress him out, but if everyone’s happy, he probably is, too.

Legend is, to nobody’s surprise, the best dancer of the group. Hands down, no contest, everybody else go home. Not only does his travel experience give him the broadest collection of styles, genres, and traditions to draw from, but he possesses the complete Triforce that nobody else quite has together: poise, care, and expression. Outstanding form and balance, and confident enough to make it his own, but he’s also invested in doing it “the right way,” and rarely mixes styles. Has mastered both focus and ease— everything is deliberate, but it looks almost nonchalant. Honestly enchanting to watch. He won’t dance every number, and he spends at least half the night heckling from the sidelines, but once he’s on the floor he’s serious. So good that you won’t even notice if he gets a liiitttle bit off-beat. (Wind will, though. Wind will notice. And Legend will take offense every time. One of those things in life to be relied upon).