#Stacking shipping containers

[lotuscontainers]

Container stacking | LOTUS Containers

Container stacking is the placement of containers to utilize the optimum space inside the vessels. For efficient stacking, you must comply with the weight limits and security measures. According to ISO guidelines, only nine containers are allowed. Contact LOTUS Containers for efficient logistics services for secure and optimized container stacking.

[thethirdbear]

[comatosebunny09]

preface [ deux ] | sylus

summary: in his haste to find you before the auction begins, sylus uncovers something much more harrowing. and he curses himself for agreeing to let you be bait in the first place.

warnings: violence, minor character deaths, human/sex trafficking, mentions of underaged girls, profanity, allusions to reader’s past as a kidnappee, reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, sylus is mad murderous & an emotional wreck

tagging: @world-of-hearts, @athanasia-day, @falon-fen, @queen-serena88, @karespocketboyfriends, @mrswanel, @readerxyourfave, @sunsets-and-crows, @antonneva

notes: a continuation of this. thank you so much for reading! part 3 can be found here.

now playing: mozart - requiem - lacrimosa

The docks are deceptively quiet tonight.

Nothing seems amiss between the creeks of old wood and the slosh of waves breaking on the pier.

Sylus isn’t convinced of its purity.

Not when the tracker dwarfed in his palm blinks a steady red, signaling to your whereabouts.

He’d followed the signal here after it grew stagnant following an hour of movement away from the city. He waited another 45 agonizing minutes to make his move. Had to be sure he wasn’t being led into a trap and that wherever Fate’s men whisked you off to was where he’d find the others.

He stands on the edge of a weathered connex, the wind ominously ruffling his coat.

He studies the device in his hand. Paints a shadowy figure amid the bokeh of distant city lights glittering behind him. With one hand in his pocket, the composure adorning his features contrasts with the hushed maelstrom brewing beneath his skin.

He holds out his unoccupied hand for Mephisto to perch on, the crow materializing on his wrist as if summoned from thought. Mephisto preens himself, iridescent feathers gleaming in the moonlight. When he’s done, he fixes Sylus with a lifeless, scarlet stare before a holographic image emerges from his eyesight.

It’s a detailed layout of the docks. Metal containers, small, worn ships. For a second, nothing looks abnormal. Yet something stark white and rectangular piques Sylus’ intrigue.

Sylus scrutinizes the shape further before he makes out what it is. A semi-truck inconspicuously parked between stacked connexes. Three dark figures circle around it like wolves. Guards, more than likely armed. Whatever they’re protecting, it must be big.

“Well, that doesn’t look very suspicious at all,” Sylus drawls, scratching Mephisto’s head with appreciative fingers. The crow bows out of existence in a flurry of inky shadows and feathers, having served Sylus well.

He spares another glance at the tracker. The blip of your signal aligns with where the truck resides.

It is then that he decides to make his move.

A smirk tugs on the corner of his lips. It’s been a while since he’s gotten his hands dirty. Had you and the twins for that. The prospect of a good fight makes his fingers twitch, the tips of them sparking with dark red electricity.

In superhero fashion, he pitches himself forward, swallowed by the misty vines of his Evol, as he ascends from the connex at breakneck speed.

You’d make fun of him for being so dramatic; he’s sure of it. He’ll tell you all about his heroic feats when you’re safely tucked back in his penthouse with this night shoved into the furthest reaches of your minds.

He lands on sturdy feet. Insufferably cool as he maneuvers through the maze of cargo containers. The click of his shoes reverberates off damaged metal until he spots what he’s looking for.

The guards have yet to see him. Two of them pace back and forth at the truck’s rear. Another circles its perimeter, two hands on a rifle.

Such meager security for whatever’s housed in that trailer.

He breathes deeply. Fades into obscurity, drawn into the shadows of his Evol, preparing for a sneak attack. He doesn’t need to. Could effortlessly eviscerate the guards with a snap of his fingers. But where’s the fun in that?

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” sighs a disgruntled guard all by his lonesome in the driver seat, hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “What am I, a fuckin’ babysitter?” So caught up in his head, he’s none the wiser to Sylus’ appearance on the passenger side, amused, crimson eyes boring into his skull.

“You’re right,” Sylus replies, his voice abrasive yet cocky. “You don’t get paid enough.”

The driver doesn’t get the luxury of a scream before wispy, handlike tendrils snake around his neck. Bone snaps, followed by a sigh of life drained from cold lips. He dies with terror twisting his features, shepherded into the afterlife by The Boogeyman himself. His head slumps onto his shoulder as his energy flows into Sylus’ body.

“Now, what exactly are you babysitting,” Sylus ponders. The kingpin blinks out of existence again, readying himself to dispatch the other three henchmen.

Sylus doesn’t make a sound as he takes out the guard who’d wandered to the nose of the semi to ensure his cohort was still on the job. The other two, he snuffs out similarly, their blood gurgling in their throats and their bones crackling, music to his ears.

He rolls out the kinks in his neck and shoulders to ward off the stiffness as their life force seeps into his body. It’s been too long since he’s had some fun. Hopefully, this is the most action he’ll see for the night.

His eyes grow intense with concentration when he stares at the worn handles of the truck’s trailer. He burns with anticipation. With something of wariness nestled between. Your signal stops here, steadily buzzing on the tracker in his pocket. He clings to the notion that you’re inside, unscathed and none the worse for wear.

He shuts his eyes, focusing a stretch of energy on the handles. The doors fly off with a deafening screech of metal, sure to draw some unwarranted attention.

Nevertheless, with his hands in his pockets, he waits for the dust to settle. Leaps into the truck trailer with practiced ease, eliciting screams and gasps of varying pitches from within.

None of which sound like yours.

Red emergency lights flicker in the space inside. It reeks of mildew and sweat. Fear. Revulsion.

When the grime completely clears, Sylus makes out dozens of sets of eyes fixed on him. He stiffens. His blood turns ice cold.

Girls of diverse creeds, colors, sizes, and ages cower against the back of the trailer. All from him. He makes out at least 30 of them, crammed in the trailer like cattle awaiting slaughter.

Something in his chest pulls. His lips twitch with the threat of a grimace.

Those sick fucks.

Sylus is no saint. He’s done horrible things to equally deplorable people to increase his reign. To strike fear into those who would oppose him. Challenge his title as Onychinus’ ruler. But he’s never dreamt of doing something as vile as this.

There’s no telling how long Fate had them—these young women, these girls. How long they’ve been emaciated, deprived of food, water, and sunlight.

Sylus bristles as an image of you forms in his mind. A flash of a girl, young like these ones. Terrified yet burning with fury. Revenge rotting your mind, anger warping your tear-stricken features.

Speaking of you, he scans through the girls’ faces in search of yours. He doesn’t find you through their varying degrees of fright. Sucks in a breath through parted lips, his blood running cold.

He cautiously steps further into the trailer, and the girls inside shy away. He holds out a placating hand. Sure, he’s despicable. Terrifying, and the red light highlighting his imposing figure as he nears them doesn’t help matters. But he has to be sure you’re not nestled between them. Playing a cruel joke on him after he spent all this time hunting you down.

The tracker in his pocket vibrates violently. The group of women parts, cowering away from him like he’s something of a sickness. He stops in front of a girl who looks no older than sixteen. Peers down at her, and she shivers, swallowed by your coat. She ducks into the fur, shrouding herself from Sylus’ penetrating gaze.

There’s no mistaking this jacket. Pristine lynx fur.

One of the first he’d bought you when you joined his entourage. A peace offering, a sign of his unyielding protection.

You wore it faithfully like it was your most prized possession. No matter how many more Sylus stocked you with, you never let this particular coat go.

He smooths shaky fingers down the collar. Suddenly sees red when he tugs on the lapel, snatching the girl up, and she shrieks, her feet dangling above the floor. The other women yelp in terror, shrinking away from Sylus’ ire. He must look like a monster to them. As beastly as the men who ripped them from their homes. From freedom. But he doesn’t care as anguish drives him into rage.

It’s rare he loses his cool. But when it comes to you, things just hit differently.

“Where did you get this?” Sylus demands. He’s breathy. There's a manic look in his eyes. He’s desperate. Running out of time. For all he knows, they could’ve already sold you off to the highest bidder.

Or worse.

The girl donning your coat says nothing. Too shell-shocked, her voice corked in her throat. He recognizes the look in her eyes all too quickly. Well acquainted with it, having seen it too often in his enemies before he extinguished them like a candle’s flame.

Gravity comes sinking back in. Sylus scans the space around, the fear in the dank space palpable.

He peers at the girl, at his hand fisted in the coat, disgusted with himself. They’ve already endured so much, and he’s only exacerbating their torment. Gently, he sets the girl down. After her feet return to the floor, something clanks on the wooden boards, and she scurries away. Sylus kneels to retrieve it, the telltale gleam of a crimson gem causing his muscles to tense.

The brooch.

Your brooch.

The tracker.

The fucking—

Fuck!

A tidal wave of grief crashes into him. He squeezes the pendant in his hand, its intricate carvings biting into his fingers. Anguish mars his features. He pinches his eyes shut, curling into himself. The girls cling to the lining of the truck, scared witless.

He tamps down an impulse to scream. Instead punches the wooden floor. Punches and punches until the skin of his knuckles split, and his fist is raw, bleeding red.

You wanted him to find them first. These girls who’d been snatched away from their families, their livelihoods. Sold to deplorable men to do revolting things. To suffer. To die.

To you, this was personal. Sylus fought against using you as bait to draw out the ringleader of this trafficking act. But you wore him down, citing that he owed you this moment of redemption. Why you sought him out all those years ago.

You fucking martyr.

The trailer grows silent. Sylus feels numb as he stands, chest heaving. His fist has already mended itself when he dismounts the truck in a daze, leaving the girls cowering in his wake.

Luke and Kieran, as if sensing their boss’s shock, call him back to the present in his earpiece.

“Boss?” cautions Luke, the radio silence alarming.

“I’ve found them,” Sylus states, his tone grim. Detached. Dejected.

“And the little boss?” Kieran queries, optimism breaking through the static.

Sylus’ silence serves as their answer.

There’s a pause before Luke cryptically disrupts it. “On the way, boss,” he promises before the line cuts dead.

Sylus stares at the ground. Dissociates, starting away from the truck before the sound of merriment catches his ears.

His attention’s drawn to a sizable ship on the opposite side of the pier. It cuts a sleek outline against the horizon, bordered by smaller passenger boats.

He narrows his eyes. Homes in on the ship, exhaling slowly. If he were an auctioneer, he would hold it somewhere in plain sight. Somewhere seemingly innocent that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. What better guise than a party?

Hope spumes through him. Adrenaline. You’re so crafty sometimes, it hurts. The brooch was merely a marker. You knew he’d assemble the pieces the moment you found the others and left your brooch where he could track it.

You could very well be aboard that ship, waiting to be sold off. Waiting to be returned to a life you fled from years ago. He could only hope he was right in his deduction.

Sylus sinks into the vantablack abyss of his Evol, setting course for the cruise ship at the pier's edge. He clings to the idea that you’re onboard, safe and sound, waiting to cuss him out for taking so long to find you.

—

He needed a distraction.

There were too many innocents onboard. Or, so they seemed. He couldn’t glean the difference when he landed on the deck. He had a one-track mind.

A few partygoers eyed him suspiciously. Perhaps he didn’t blend in with his wind-swept hair, harrowed features, and suit stained dark with blood.

Regardless of their intrigued looks, he wended through the crowd. Scanned the scenery, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Anything to signal nefarious dealings taking place aboard the cruise ship. Anything that could lead him to you.

He’d heard whisperings as he descended to the mid-levels of the ship. Hushed tones speaking of meetings for the elite taking place on the lower decks.

He clung to the bits of information he extracted. Pieced them together. Found his way to the kitchen. The staff was clueless to his presence—or they ignored him, too busy whipping up meals for the ship’s guests.

Sylus grabbed who he assumed was the sous chef by the collar. Pinned him with a stare that promised pain if he wasn’t compliant.

The man cowered in his hold. The remaining cooks caught wind of it, shrinking away from Sylus’ imposing, blood-speckled figure. From the malevolence pouring in waves off his skin.

“There’s a fire in the galley,” Sylus stated between the man’s eyes. The sous chef looked at him with pinched brows. Confusion showed through his fear, as nothing was amiss.

Sylus would soon change that.

“I would advise you to start clearing out your staff. Now.” He punctuated his sentence with a growl, tossing the chef back a few paces until he stumbled into his coworkers.

They weren’t moving quick enough for Sylus, so he set his plan in motion. Turned a few knobs with a flicker of his Evol, a fire sparking on the stove. It erupted into something more menacing, the flames licking the ceiling, triggering the sprinkler system.

The kitchen staff finally sprung into action. Hurriedly poured out of the room as the shrill cry of the fire alarm pervaded the air.

With his hair matted to his face and his mouth drawn into a rigid line, Sylus moved further through the kitchen. Descended to the lower floors as people rushed past him, all seeking refuge from the fire.

At least this way, he could wheedle out the scum who’d taken you while sparing the innocent a horrible fate.

[pandapetals]

Already Yours

You and Logan's students think you should date due to the teasing banter you have. However, you are already married to him.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

There was a loud knock on your classroom door, breaking the silence and immediately drawing the attention of your students. You looked up from the stack of essays you were grading and felt a small smirk tug at the corner of your lips when you saw Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, with his signature scowl plastered across his face.

You weren’t the only one who noticed him. From the corner of the room, one of the students leaned toward his friend, stage-whispering, “Oooo. Professor Howlett looks pissed.”

You barely contained your eye roll. You’d heard the rumors—how the students thought Logan was some grumpy bear of a man, ready to tear into anyone who crossed him. But the truth? That was just his face and his attitude. Mostly his face, though. Still, the whole “gruff Wolverine” thing really worked for him, even if the students had no idea that beneath all that tough exterior was a man who had a soft spot for a certain English professor.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair as you raised an eyebrow at him. “What can I do for you, Professor Howlett?”

Logan gave you a long, slow look, his jaw tightening for effect as he ignored the stifled giggles coming from your students. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and then back to you. “You realize it’s been twenty minutes since your class was supposed to end, right?”

You feigned surprise, glancing at the clock and then back to him. “Oh, has it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Behind you, one of the students snickered. “Bet they’re gonna fight,” a girl whispered to her friend.

“They should just kiss already.” The friend whispered back. 

Logan smirked, stepping into the classroom and making a deliberate show of walking over to your desk. “You know, some of us have important subjects to teach. You’re holding up my history class.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. “I’m sure your students have heard enough about Pride and Prejudice for one day, darlin’.”

You couldn’t stop the amused smile from spreading across your face. “Oh, right. Because nothing says riveting education like listening to you lecture about... what was it again? The Battle of Saratoga?”

Logan gave you a deadpan look. “Better than listening to you talk about Mr. Darcy.”

The class was barely holding it together at this point, eyes darting between the two of you like they were watching the most interesting tennis match of their lives. They didn’t realize they were watching an argument between two professors who had been very happily married for years—and this was just your everyday banter.

You shrugged, standing from your desk and making a show of addressing the students. “Alright, everyone, class dismissed. And don’t forget your essays are due on Friday.” Your students groaned but began packing up their things.

Logan crossed his arms, watching them leave with a faint look of amusement on his face. He turned his attention back to you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Friday? Cruel, even for you.”

“Hey, they’ve had two weeks to work on those essays. Besides,” you shot him a wink, “maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll start shipping Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth instead of... what was it again? Wolverine and the English Professor?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth that told you he was amused. He leaned against your desk as the last of your students filed out of the room, throwing glances back at the two of you and whispering as they went. “You know they think we hate each other, right?”

You grinned, stepping closer to him once the classroom was empty. “Well, we do give them plenty of ammunition for that theory.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking down at you with that familiar, teasing glint in his eyes. “And yet, they still seem convinced we’re meant to be.”

You laughed softly, resting your hand on his chest. “I wonder what they’d think if they knew we were married.”

Logan smirked, his hand sliding to your waist. “Probably think I brainwashed you or somethin’.”

“Oh, definitely. I mean, who in their right mind would marry the ‘mean’ history professor with anger issues?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble that always sent a shiver through you. “Guess you like a challenge.”

Your fingers trailed lightly over his chest, your heart warming at how easy and natural this was. “You’re not that much of a challenge.”

Logan chuckled, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple, his voice softening. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

The moment lingered, quiet and intimate, until the sound of hurried footsteps outside the door reminded you where you were. You quickly pulled back, even though no one was around, and gave him a playful push. “Go teach your class, Professor Howlett.”

Logan chuckled, adjusting his stance. “You’re gonna pay for makin’ me late,” he muttered, though his tone was far from serious.

“I’m terrified,” you deadpanned, smirking as you leaned against your desk.

As he turned to leave, one of your students poked their head back into the room, eyes wide with curiosity. “Hey, uh, Professor? Are you and Professor Howlett... like, a thing?”

You barely managed to keep a straight face. “No, no,” you said, shaking your head with a smile. “We’re just coworkers. He’s not my type.”

Logan paused in the doorway, casting a glance over his shoulder. “You’re really gonna lie to the poor kid like that?”

The student’s eyes widened as Logan threw you a wink before walking out of the classroom. “What does that mean?” the student asked, completely intrigued.

You just waved it off, chuckling to yourself as you grabbed your bag. “It means... you’ll just have to keep guessing.”

[zwhoreo]

mommy kink luffy? 👀

ok so I don’t think luffy would ever actually use the word mommy but I think the rest of the kink can apply hehehe

nurture me - luffy x f!reader

smut

summary: missing the comfort of a nurturing female figure as a child, luffy sometimes turns to you to get that feeling back. and sometimes, he wants sex

contains: mommy kink (the word mommy is never mentioned), very innocent luffy, he’s pretty sub in this one, soft dom reader

words: 2k

_______________________________

Luffy is upset today, he’s not sure why, he’s feeling this rush of some sort of unplaceable loneliness even though he isn’t alone at all, surrounded by people to love and spend time with and hug. He had fallen and broken a stack of glasses in the kitchen yesterday, and he was chastised for his clumsiness, smacked by Nami, shoved out by Sanji. He had cut his arm on the glass, nothing deep, nothing a couple bandaids from Chopper’s office couldn’t fix, but it still made him a little sad and distressed for some reason. He needed comfort but pushed it away and forgot about it.

So now he’s sitting on the bow of the ship and picking at the bandaids. He wants to go bother you, he needs some comfort, a hug from you seems to be an immediate fix for times like these. And maybe something more, he thinks, like playtime, sort of.

You’re reading a book Robin gave you, curled up on your cabin’s chair, the porthole open next to you for that crisp sea breeze. You’re delighted at those little sandal steps, your door opening, large, glittery eyes looking at you excitedly.

Luffy hops on your bed, rolling on his back and kicking his legs and reaching for you, a teasing grabbing motion with his fists. Absolutely adorable.

You lean over to take his hand, he squirms and giggles at the contact and he’s smiling so brightly.

“[naaame]…” he whines, trying to pull you to him but you pull instead, still holding his stretched arm as you sit back in the chair. He pouts and stretches his other arm out to you.

“No pulling, Luffy,” you say, gently removing one arm from your waist knowing his intention to yank you into bed.

“Please… can we please cuddle… I wanna really bad…” Luffy’s squirming again, begging, you just can’t resist him.

You set down your book, walking over to your bed and sitting by him which makes him squeal in delight and open his arms for a hug. You lay back and pull him up onto you, letting him bury his head in your chest and find a comfortable position as you pet his hair.

He likes to be nurtured. It’s a childish part of him that comes out sometimes, especially when he thinks about his old village and Ace and Sabo and Shanks, when he misses getting to play and explore all day and just be a kid. But he didn’t really have anyone back then to take care of him like this. Makino was the closest, he got a taste of the affection a mother could bring, but mostly he was just raised by himself and his brothers, and bandits, and he wasn’t really ever cuddled or held when he was young. So now you’re his person, he gets to be extra close to you and he’ll never be too much.

And usually he’s more dominant, even in his innocence and softness, he’s your captain and you’re his to take care of and keep safe, he picks you up and carries you and holds you against his chest, you’re his, he likes being in control.

But that doesn’t have to be always.

Those times like now where he paws at you and lays on you all slack like a baby, you just curl up with your arms around him and murmur comforting things in his ear. There’s those deer eyes again, searching, he’s leaning in to kiss you and you catch him halfway with his cheeks squished in your hands. Arms circle your waist needily and this poor boy has squirmed his way between your legs because he wants friction, maybe.

“Lu, hun, what do you want?” you coax gently, tracing his shoulders, you know he wants you so bad but he has to try to say what he wants if he wants something, that’s what you’re teaching him.

“Um… I dunno, I guess uh…” Luffy’s mind is cloudy, he wants your body but he doesn’t know what to ask for so when your thigh comes to naturally rest between his legs he just settles for this, at least.

You laugh lightly as he begins to grind on your leg, hips rutting, rhythmic but messy, he starts making these little whimpering noises in your ear as he rubs himself on you like a puppy in heat. You let him, hugging gently and just laying there listening.

“I… mm! I wanna suck your breasts?” He seems excited to have found words, talking casually as he continues to get himself off on your thigh, aching and growing beneath his pants. You can’t refuse him.

“Sure, hun.” This is perfect because you’re a little tired. Let your boy enjoy himself and relax with him and it’ll all be ok. And you pull off your shirt, you let him see you, and he grins before squeezing you tightly and latching on, suckling gently on your nipple while looking up at you with stars in his soft brown eyes.

“S’ good…” he growls, mouth full, nuzzling and gripping against you.

You lift him into your arms after a few minutes, when he gets teeth-y with your skin, he whines at the loss of contact with his mouth but lets you pick him up and place him in your lap, squeezing his face in your hands, giving him a caring hug.

“Luffy, baby, you want more, huh? C’mon…” You place your hand on the small of his back, rubbing his skin.

“Mmf… I wanna put my dick in you,” he says, voice in the most amount of innocence he could possibly sound with those words. You weren’t expecting this, usually he’s more innocent when you two play, when he asks for something, but you won’t complain.

You smile. You pet him lovingly, gentle praise. You kiss his cheek and then his mouth and he’s still in a teething mood so you need to pull away when he bites your lip, but you press his face into your neck because you always like biting there.

“Want some help?” you coo to him, tugging at his clothes, and he nods happily against you and makes a tiny sound.

His shirt is open, easy to slide off. Glistening warm skin meets the cool sunlight of the porthole, wave reflections, he’s so beautiful when you can see his bare shoulders. You take a moment to lean in and kiss them. And then his jeans, you have to sort of pick him up again to unbutton and remove them and his cock slaps your wrist, no underwear, you ignore your aching need to touch it and continue to take care of him, settling his twitching hips and tossing his clothes to the side.

Soft and bare, dripping with sweetness and innocence, he’s draped on you, sitting in your lap, naked and waiting to be touched in a gentle way.

Your shirt’s off. Now your jeans, your panties, Luffy starts moaning and thrusting into nothing at your scent and the feeling of your skin but you have to calm him.

“No, baby, let’s be patient ok?” You poke his cheek and he whines but just curls into you a little more, trying to wait like you’ve taught him.

You switch the positions of your legs, you’re on his lap, propped up on the bed, sort of straddling him, he’s sitting in front of you with his cock rubbing through your wetness, eyes hooded in pleasure, he’s waiting for your command because he’s yours to comfort and hold and protect right now.

“[naaame]…” he whines in such a little voice, staring up through his hair, begging.

“Move like this…” you murmur, lining up his hips so he can rub against you for a while, and get you wet. He does so in a careful way, biting his lip as he tries not to plunge within you just yet. You’re still so tired, you want lazy, careful sex. But Luffy’s the one who needs to be looked after and cared for right now. Nurture me, is what his eyes say, mind in a space so far away.

So once you’re warmed up and once Luffy’s being tortured by need and the rising and falling of his chest is pressed to you with brutal pressure, you smile and reach down to line him up yourself. He squeaks as he feels the touch of your hand down there, and the cocoon of velvet enveloping him, you can move just be gentle like I taught you, your smile says.

So he does. Instinctual thrusting fueled by pure love and appreciation, his hands reaching to grip your ass and lift you up more against him, he’s getting a little more dominant but just in an excited, playful sort of way. You hold him, you put your arms around his shoulders and breathe in his scent.

“So good, Lu, you’re doing so well…” you whisper in his ear as he works you into pulp, grabby hands, needy whines.

He likes to feel grown up but still be cared for. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing but he likes to be shown how. He likes to be cradled but to feel you so deep, his infinitely loving girlfriend who knows his needs, who would give him the world.

It comes eventually, that confusing knot in his stomach, now is the time he wants to be held the most. You squeeze him so tight and let him squirm in your arms as you carry him in coaxing gentleness through his powerful climax. He drips within you, you’ve claimed him with the comforting warmth of your body.

You make sure to pull him out and wipe him off and even in his hazy, submissive state he still makes sure to rub your hips and thighs and make sure you’re ok and nothing hurt you. “Was that good? Did I do good?” he murmurs as he squirms onto his back in your arms like a cat looking for affection.

“So good.”

Luffy’s restless now, he needs to occupy his mouth which he often does before sleep for self-soothing, and he’s going to nurse right now, curled up in your arms. So he reaches for your breasts again but that’s when you see his arm.

“Hey Lu, what’s that? Did you hurt yourself?” You lift his forearm for examination and he blushes in slight shame. Because you then say, “when did this happen? You shoulda told me!”

“Um, yesterday. I dunno… I fell and broke some glasses and I thought you’d get mad, it’s just a scratch, I’m fine.” He avoids your eyes.

“I’d never be mad at you for something like that, it’s ok, accidents happen.” You run your hand through his hair. “These bandaids aren’t fresh, we gotta get you new ones, hun…”

“N- no! Don’t leave… I don’t wanna let go!” Because he’s attached to you in a tight embrace and can’t picture a world without your arms right now.

“It’ll just be a minute-”

“Carry meee! Please, please, please-” He’s scrambling up your body as you begin to sit up so you let him. You stand up shakily because Luffy is glued to your back, arms around your shoulders and face buried in your neck.

You get bandaids from your cabinet, you have to pry Luffy off of you and let him curl up in your lap again so you can gently change clean and re-bandage his scraped arm. This protective kindness lulls Luffy, it makes him sleepy and happy and like he needs to take a long nap with you which, from the beginning, is what you were excited for. Pulling a curtain over the porthole you’re back to laying on your bed, letting Luffy drift off with his mouth on your breast, calming and grounding for both of you. His hands find yours in his dreamy state, holding on, wanting you to know how much he loves you, in a quiet and innocent way.

[wonderlanddreamer]

I was wondering if you could write something on Alfie? Alfie seeking comfort in the reader after a bad day? Or soft seduction after a long day, either works

His Serenity.

[Alfie Solomons x Reader]

Summary: After a bad day, Alfie just wants to be alone, or so he thinks. But then there's you, with your own sensual way to bring him serenity.

Warnings: Explicit content. Oral sex [m receiving]. 18+MDNI.

Word Count: 3086

The faint, musty scent of old books and aged wood fills every corner of Alfie Solomons' office as you meticulously sort through the stacks of paperwork on his cluttered desk. The hum of the bustling distillery outside seeps through the walls, a comforting backdrop that provides a steady rhythm you've grown accustomed to over the months. Golden sunlight filters through the small, grimy windows, casting long shadows that stretch across the room, signalling the end of another arduous day. Just as you finish organising the last stack, the door slams open with a force that sends a shiver down your spine and rattles the windows.

Alfie strides in, his presence like a storm brewing in the confined space. His face is a mask of fury; his eyes are wild, and his teeth are gritted as if he's biting back a torrent of words. Papers cascade off his desk in a chaotic flurry as he sweeps an arm across it, sending documents flying. The sound of glass shattering pierces the air as he hurls a bottle against the wall, the remnants glittering on the floor like jagged stars.

"Get out!" His voice is a thunderclap, reverberating through your bones and echoing in the small room.

You freeze, your instincts screaming at you to obey, but something deeper holds you rooted to the spot. Leaving him like this feels wrong, unbearable, as if abandoning a ship in the midst of a storm. Despite the danger radiating from him, you step closer, your heart pounding so loudly you fear he might hear it.

Alfie's eyes narrow on you, his breath coming in heavy, ragged bursts that speak of barely contained rage. He snatches a bottle of whiskey from a nearby shelf, the motion abrupt and aggressive, and slumps into his worn leather chair. The fury in his movements still simmers just beneath the surface as he takes a long, hard swig, the tension in his frame almost palpable, like a coiled spring.

Ignoring the voice in your head that begs you to leave, you move behind him, your steps careful and deliberate. Your hands rest gently on his broad, tense shoulders, and you start to knead the tight knots of muscle with a practised touch. He tenses beneath your fingers, a low growl escaping his lips, a sound that mixes frustration with reluctant relief.

"I said, get out," he mutters, but the command lacks its former bite, sounding more like a plea than an order.

His protests grow weaker as your fingers work their way into the tension, soothing the rage bit by bit. The knots of stress begin to unravel under your touch, and you remain gentle, your hands a source of comfort to him and a balm to your own worry. Gradually, you can feel the tightness leaving his muscles, his breaths becoming more even and less ragged, as though the storm within him is slowly abating.

Feeling the tension slowly ebb from his body, you continue to massage Alfie's shoulders with a gentle, reassuring touch. His breathing steadies, the furious edge softening as the anger drains away. You can sense him becoming more receptive to your presence, his body relaxing under your ministrations as the tempest within him begins to calm.

After a long, silent moment, Alfie leans back slightly, his eyes closed as he savours the relief your hands have brought him. His rough exterior seems to crumble ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerable man beneath the tough facade. Without warning, his hand reaches up to cover yours, holding it in place as if to anchor himself in the newfound calm.

He lets out a low, rumbling sigh, and before you can react, he gently pulls you around to the front of his chair. The look in his eyes is different now, softened by exhaustion and perhaps something more profound. He guides you into his lap with surprising tenderness, his strong arms encircling you protectively.

For a moment, you hesitate, unsure of this sudden shift in his mood. But the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear offer a strange, unexpected comfort. Alfie's rough hand strokes your back in slow, soothing motions, his touch seeking out the solace you provide.

"Stay," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly whisper that carries the weight of unspoken emotions. "Just for a while."

You nod, relaxing into his hold, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.

As you settle into Alfie's lap, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, your hands continue their gentle caress. The heat from his skin radiates through the fabric of his shirt, mingling with your own warmth and creating a cocoon of intimacy. You can feel the tension leaving him in waves, replaced by something softer, more intimate. Your fingers trace along his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch, a soothing cadence that matches your own.

In the quiet of the office, the only sounds are the distant hum of the distillery and the soft, steady breaths you both take. You become acutely aware of the subtle shift in Alfie's breathing, the way his chest rises and falls more deliberately. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly, and you feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against you. A flush of heat rises to your cheeks, your skin tingling with the electricity of the moment, but you don't pull away. Instead, you let your hands explore more deliberately, your touch both soothing and inviting, each stroke a silent promise.

Alfie's eyes meet yours, dark and intense, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But you hold his gaze steadily, your own eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity, acceptance, and something deeper, an unspoken understanding. The corner of his mouth twitches into a small, almost vulnerable smile, as if seeking your permission, a rare glimpse of the man behind the hardened exterior.

In response, you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear with a feather-light touch as you whisper, "I'm here, Alfie. I'm not going anywhere." The words hang in the air, a vow as much to yourself as to him.

He closes his eyes, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he pulls you even closer, your bodies fitting together as if they were meant to. His arms encircle you with a protective strength, and the tension melts away, replaced by a profound sense of connection. Your hands slide down to the small of his back, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his desire and the depth of his need, a silent communication that passes between you.

Feeling the palpable tension and desire between you and Alfie, you decide to take things further. Your hands slowly slide down his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles with deliberate, tender movements. You shift your position with care, easing yourself off his lap and sinking to your knees between his legs, your eyes never leaving his. The intimacy of the moment deepens as you look up at him, your touch a blend of reassurance and invitation.

Alfie's eyes follow your every movement, dark and intense, filled with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, a silent communication that speaks volumes. The atmosphere in the room seems to thicken with every passing second, the air charged with a palpable tension. Your hands, now trembling slightly with the gravity of the moment, fumble with the buttons of his trousers.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you work to free him from the confines of the fabric. The sound of your breathing mingles with his, creating a symphony of shared anticipation. Alfie’s hand reaches down, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture.

"Are you sure?" Alfie's voice is a low, gravelly whisper, laced with both desire and a hint of uncertainty. The question hangs in the air, a delicate balance of vulnerability and need.

Looking up into his eyes, you nod, your own voice soft but firm. "I've never been more sure about anything." The conviction in your words seems to resonate with him, his eyes darkening further.

His hand gently cups your face, his thumb tracing a slow, path along your cheekbone. With a sense of newfound determination, you finally manage to undo his trousers, your hands moving with more confidence as you begin to explore the warmth and hardness beneath. The fabric parts easily under your touch, revealing the intense heat and the throbbing evidence of his desire.

With Alfie's trousers undone, the anticipation between you grows thicker, almost tangible. You take a steadying breath, your lips trailing soft, exploratory kisses along his shaft. Each touch is a silent promise of what's to come. The warmth of his skin against your lips sends a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened by the intimacy of the moment.

Alfie's breath hitches, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your tender assault. The sensation of his touch, the way his breath catches, fuels your confidence. You take your time, savouring the moment, allowing the tension to build like a slow-burning fire.

As your kisses reach the tip, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you both. Your tongue flicks out, tasting him, eliciting a low, guttural moan from Alfie. The sound spurs you on, your movements becoming more confident, more purposeful, your touch a blend of reverence and hunger.

Your tongue begins to work along his length, tracing patterns, exploring every inch of him with desire. Alfie's hands, once tense, now cradle your head, guiding you gently, his breath coming in ragged gasps that speak of the pleasure you're giving him.

"Christ," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper filled with awe and desire. "You're fuckin' magic, sweetheart." The words, spoken with such raw emotion, sparked your ignition, your movements becoming even more deliberate, more intense, as you seek to bring him the pleasure he so clearly craves. You look up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and you see the raw need and admiration there. The intensity in his gaze seems to fuel your determination to pleasure him, to bring him relief from the storm that had consumed him earlier.

With each stroke of your tongue, each gentle suck, you feel him responding, his body tightening, his hips subtly moving in rhythm with your ministrations. The room feels charged with an almost electric energy, the air thick with the scent of his arousal and the sound of your shared breaths.

Alfie's grip on your hair tightens, his breaths turning into soft, broken moans. The sounds he makes, the way his body reacts to your touch, is a symphony of pleasure that echoes in the quiet room.

With Alfie’s moans echoing in your ears and the palpable tension between you, you decide to take the next step. You pause for a moment, looking up at him, ensuring that this is what he truly wants. His eyes, dark and intense, meet yours, and the gentle pressure of his hand in your hair is all the confirmation you need.

Slowly, you part your lips and take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before gradually taking him deeper. The warmth and taste of him fill your senses, and you feel his whole body shudder in response. Alfie’s hand tightens in your hair, not forcefully, but in a way that guides and encourages you, his fingers threading through your strands with a tenderness that belies the raw desire between you.

You start with slow, deliberate movements, your mouth creating a rhythm that matches the rising and falling of his chest. Each time you take him deeper, you feel his body tense and hear the soft, husky sounds escaping his lips. The way he responds to you, the way his body reacts, pushes you to give him everything you have.

"Fuck," Alfie groans, his voice rough with pleasure. "You're fuckin' incredible. Don't stop." His words are a command and a plea, filled with a desperate need that resonates with your own.

Your hands find their place on his thighs, gripping them for support as you continue. The muscles beneath your fingers are tense, coiled with the anticipation of release. You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction, and you can feel him responding to every move you make. The taste of him, the feel of his hardness against your tongue, and the sounds of his pleasure create a heady mix that drives you to go further, to push him closer to the edge.

Alfie’s hips begin to move in time with your motions, his breathing becoming more erratic. You can feel the tension building within him, his body on the edge of release. Your mouth works him with a determined rhythm, each movement designed to bring him closer to the brink, to draw out his pleasure.

As Alfie’s moans grow louder, you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you is electric, charged with a shared intensity that transcends words. In this moment, you are his anchor, his solace, and his desire, all wrapped into one.

His grip on your hair tightens one last time as a deep, shuddering moan escapes his lips, signalling his impending climax. You brace yourself, ready to take all of him, determined to bring him to the release he so desperately needs. The anticipation builds within you as you feel him teetering on the edge.

Alfie’s body tenses, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. With a final, deep moan, he climaxes, his release filling your mouth. The taste of him is a heady blend of salt and musk, a testament to the intensity of his desire. You do your best to take all of him, savouring the moment and the intimacy it brings.

As the waves of his pleasure subside, Alfie gently but firmly pulls you up to his lap. His eyes have softened, now a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more profound. He cradles your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks as he helps you clean up. The intimacy of the moment lingers, a quiet testament to the bond you've just deepened.

"Come ‘ere," he murmurs, his voice still rough from the intensity of his release. He reaches for a handkerchief from the desk, carefully wiping away any remnants with a gentleness that contrasts with his earlier ferocity. His touch is tender, each stroke of the cloth against your skin filled with a reverence that takes your breath away.

You sit straddling his lap, your arms resting around his neck, allowing him to care for you. There's a vulnerability in the way he tends to you, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. The room feels smaller, cosier, as if it has been transformed from the earlier chaos.

"Thank you," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. The words are simple, yet they carry a weight of sincerity that resonates deeply within you. "You have no idea how much I fuckin’ needed that."

You smile softly, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I’m here for you, Alfie. Always." The promise in your words is solid.

His eyes meet yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a burgeoning affection. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. The world outside may be chaotic, but in this moment, you both find a rare, fragile peace in each other’s arms.

Nestled in Alfie's lap, you find a comforting rhythm in the gentle sway of your bodies. His fingers trail up and down your back, leaving a path of warmth and tenderness in their wake. The roughness of his hands contrasts beautifully with the softness of his touch, each stroke sending shivers down your spine. The feeling is intoxicating, grounding you in the moment.

You lean in closer, resting your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your touch is a soothing lullaby. Alfie presses a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin, a silent promise of his presence and devotion.

"You're somethin’ else, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice a quiet rumble that vibrates through your entire being.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. "I could say the same about you, Alfie."

He chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich, filling the small space with a rare sense of contentment. His eyes soften as he looks at you, the hard edges of his usual demeanour melting away to reveal a man capable of profound tenderness. The transformation is striking, and it fills you with a sense of awe and affection.

You shift slightly, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. "It's nice to see you like this," you admit softly, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "At peace." The admission is vulnerable, but it feels right, a reflection of the honesty that defines your relationship.

Alfie leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the moment. "You bring out the best in me, darlin’," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "I dunno how, but you do." The admission is raw, honest, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Alfie's hands continue their gentle exploration of your back, each touch a silent promise of safety and affection.

With a tender smile, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the way he melts into the kiss. It's not urgent or passionate, but slow and lingering. The sensation is intoxicating, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

When you finally pull back, Alfie's eyes are half-lidded, a serene expression on his face. "Stay with me," he says quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings. "Just like this."

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair as you lean in closer. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you whisper, your voice filled with a quiet certainty.

The two of you share a lingering kiss, a reaffirmation of your promises and the unbreakable bond between you. As you sit there, wrapped in each other's arms, you know that this—right here, right now—is where you both truly belong.

[thedarlingdearestdead]

Losing Control

Summary: Anakin needs to let off some steam, he has found a willing partner.

Warnings: Yeah this is pretty shameless smut. R18.

Word count: 1,350

Missions did not always go well, and Anakin Skywalker hated it. 

He didn’t like to lose, never had. He didn’t like the disappointment - the losses, the debates, the paperwork, there were all worth it if the battle was won. But when they lost? He could barely contain himself. That’s where you came in.

A younger Jedi, assigned to his corps a few months ago, your relationship began after only your second mission together. 

On that fateful mission, the odds were stacked against the Republic forces from the beginning. Anakin's frustration was palpable as the mission unraveled, the enemy proving more cunning and ruthless than anticipated. The aftermath was a grim scene of wounded soldiers, damaged equipment, and a bitter taste of defeat.

As the surviving members of the mission trudged back to base, the weight of failure hung heavy in the air. Anakin, visibly seething, marched ahead with clenched fists. It was then that you approached him, respectful but determined.

"Master Skywalker," you began, choosing your words carefully, "we did everything we could. The enemy caught us off guard. We'll learn from this and be better prepared next time.”

Anakin shot you a stern look, his blue eyes flashing with frustration. "We can't afford mistakes like this, especially when lives are on the line. We need to be better, faster, stronger.” His agitation had become visible, he was practically vibrating with anger. This un-jedi-like behaviour would surely earn him a reprimand. Concerned, you dragged him with you down a hallway, trying to find him a space to calm himself, to straighten out his attitude. But he had only took the opportunity to kiss you, to push you against the wall, to drag you into a cupboard and pound into you until all this annoyance had been spent.

Since then it was like a ritual after every failures. He sought you out, you helped control him stabilise his moods. You were where he could focus his frustrations on, and you enjoyed it so much. 

Anakin was not a man to be messed with. He was a general, he was smart and strong and brave, and terrifying. Attributes which made him both the perfect soldier and the perfect lover. 

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, your relationship with Anakin Skywalker evolved into a dangerous dance of desire and secrecy. The allure of forbidden love was intoxicating, fuelling the flames of passion that burned between you. Behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, you revelled in each other's touch, your bodies entwined in a tangled web of carnal need.

But with every stolen moment, a seed of doubt began to take root within you. The weight of secrecy hung heavy on your shoulders, burdening your conscience. You knew the consequences of such an illicit affair, the potential for scandal and disgrace that could bring ruin upon you both.

Yet, in those stolen moments, it was easy to forget about the world outside. Anakin's touch ignited a fire within you that could not be extinguished. His commanding presence combined with tender vulnerability made him irresistible. It felt as if the universe conspired for your bodies to collide, to find solace in each other.

So here you were yet again. Anakin dusty and sleep deprived, returning from battle unharmed physically, but the toll on his soul was heavy. You could see it in his eyes. And in the numbers which emerged from the ships, so many fewer than those who had left on them. 

His eyes met yours from across the hangar and you knew he needed you. Back in your chambers he had you shoved against the door, hot mouth biting harshly down your neck, onto your chest. 

“Force, I needed you. I need this.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as Anakin's lips trailed down your body. The familiar rush of desire flooded through you, eclipsing any sense of guilt or rational thought. In this moment, there was only the two of you, bound by an undeniable magnetic pull.

His hands roamed hungrily over your curves, igniting every nerve ending in their wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a testament to the intensity of the fire between you. As he claimed you with every fevered kiss and possessive stroke, the world outside ceased to exist.

“I want you right here, now.” He was on his knees then, mouth level with your burning core as he shoved your robes up to your hips. He was harsh and fast with his movements, desperate. 

The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of passion and the sound of your ragged breaths filled the room. Anakin's eyes, dark with desire, locked with yours as he continued to worship your body. The raw hunger in his gaze set your nerves ablaze, electrifying every inch of your being.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh, as waves of pleasure coursed through you. The world around you blurred into a hazy euphoria, leaving only Anakin and the overwhelming sensations that consumed you.

“Oh Force, Anakin…”

“I could do this all day.” He said, stopping briefly and kissing up to your lower stomach before going back down again. Revelling in the feeling of your hands tangling in his hair.

Minutes passed in second and soon you were spilling into his face as he lapped you up. Hands moving up and down your legs to keep you steady, then just as you caught your breathe, he moved under your thighs and picked you up. 

Once his face was levelled with your once again he took your mouth in a hungry, desperate movement. Your slickness had left a tart flavour on his tongue as he consumed you, distracting you so much that you didn’t notice that he had lain you down on the bed. 

By time you realised, coming in and out of consciousness, he was already above you once again, and had already disposed of both of your robes. His heavy form pressed you down into the bed, strong arms reaching up and down your body, finally resting at the point where your two cores met. 

He nudged into you slowly, always giving you time to adjust to his size. He watched your face, his chin resting near your collar bone as he gazed at your open, gasping mouth, neck lent back into the pillows. He grinned an Anakin Skywalker grin, full of pride, and power, and anticipation, he revelled in your moans as he bottomed out inside of you. 

You were practically shaking, he cooed into your neck, kissing softly and moving slowly. The touch of his lips sent shivers down your spine, every sensation heightened as he moved.

Thrusts came in faster, an enthusiastic and increasingly wild rhythm that drove you wild, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on. He plunged into you deeper, harder, your cries echoing in the chamber as his name tumbled from your lips."Anakin," you gasped, your back arching off the bed as you clung to him, his name a plea, a prayer, a desperate call to the force.

Soon he was groaning softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he reached his own peak. You could feel his body trembling as he poured himself into you. His climax was hot and intense, filling you completely, it was almost too much.

He collapsed onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, your skin sticking to his as your bodies mingled together. Your heart raced, your mind spinning, your body still impaled by his hard length. You could feel him still leaking out of you, so much of him must be staining your sheets but you couldn’t care. Not when it was him.

You looked down at him, the crease of frustration and fatigue which had dominated his forehead for weeks now, was faded. His breathing slow. You shut your eyes and smiled, you were the only one who could do this to him. The older General relied on you, on this time with you. And you were more than willing to oblige.

[konigbabe]

steal the thunder - I -

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x fem!sorcerer!reader Word count: 5.8k Tags/warnings: no y/n; unhinged reader; manga spoilers (Culling Games + Perfect Preparation arcs); fight description; canon-typical violence; there will be eventual smut in the later parts fyi Summary: There's murder in the air – with the Culling Games underway, a simple task of finding an angel turns to a fight for life when you meet a certain, static and 400 years old sorcerer with cyan hair and wicked intentions.

Artwork by poro (poro06625649) on Twittter [source]; divider by @skylightlantern [source] For a better understanding of the reader's CE and CT, visit this Tumblr post.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

There's murder in the air – an unsettling undertone that pollutes the atmosphere. Gentle breeze carrying the metallic fragrance of blood within its currents.

The dockside keeps quiet. Sky clear, devoid of seagull calls. Walking by colossal steel shipping containers, stacked high, the scent persists. Clings to the air like a persistent specter. Each step accompanied by the gentle lap of waves against the pilings, their rhythmic cadence a stark contrast to the horrors you've seen.A soothing lullaby in the midst of chaos.

The maze-like layout of the quayside comes to an end when your muscles strain, lifting off the ground and landing atop the steel structure.

A giant panda comes into view. Its relaxed posture, perched on hindlimbs, contrasts with its impassive countenance as it gazes your way.

"Panda," you address what some might believe to be an actual animal; innocent, cute and completely harmless. Except for this Cursed Corpse – your subordinate – is none of those things.

He fixes you with your very name; a disturbing familiarity in his eyes, then the words escape his lips.

"The smell of blood's so thick," he voices as you draw near, words cutting through the tension. "There must be about three people dismembered here–"

You hold up two fingers, the other hand nestled in your pocket.

"Two actually," you intervene, voice a measured interruption, "walked past a man with a hole the size of a soccer ball in his chest."

The memory resurfaces – the sight of the man, head drooping, neck bent at an unnatural angle. Eerie web-like burns sprawled across his bare flesh. The smell of singed skin and ozone hangs in the air, a pungent reminder. Yet, it's not just that which jolts your senses. It's the residual static of someone's cursed energy, an unsettling presence that lingers.

"But that's not what troubles me," continuing, you stand next to Panda, arms now crossed as both of you watch the lifeless skies, "something bad's here. I tried following the remnants of the cursed energy of the perpetrator but it was very faint."

"Could be an expert who can turn their cursed energy on and off at will…" Panda thinks out loud.

You let the idea sit for a second. Could it be the case? Could someone in this colony be capable of doing it? Known, registered sorcerers are absent here. The majority are newly awakened, scarcely equipped to comprehend a sophisticated notion like this. And why would they feel the need to hide their cursed energy?

No.

Dismissing your doubts, you shake your head and stride toward the edge of the shipping container.

"Don't think so. Nevertheless, we're here to find that angel girl and negotiate with her." Stepping onto the container's edge, unfazed by the high drop; balancing skillfully, you extend one leg over the edge, about to step into empty space. In a seamless motion, you touch down on the solid concrete ground below.

Panda follows suit, rolling off the shipping container with agility, landing right beside you. Then he stands, an odd combination of human-like stance and panda appearance, more akin to a person in a panda costume than an actual animal.

"Our safest bet is to leave the docks. Fast. Just play pretend, avoid any unnecessary conflicts and make it out of this colony in one piec–"

The sentence's left hanging as a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. Panda falls on all fours, frozen still.

"Ah," a deeper, resonant voice rumbles from your right, the words echoing as the familiar sensation washes over you. A sudden buzz inside your mind, an abrupt surge of awareness regarding another sorcerer's presence. Heart mirroring the rapid flutter of a startled bird's wings.

Their cursed energy, concealed and latent, manages to evoke an almost primal response within you. A sense of fight or flight.

You pivot to face the uninvited presence before you.

A cascade of hair, vivid as a robin's egg and kissed by the hues of a clear summer sky, is gathered into twin buns atop his head while tendrils of untamed locks dance freely in the breeze, resembling a stormy sea. Longer bangs frame the contours of his face, softening his visage.

He stops when his eyes – the same uncanny shade as his hair – bore into yours. Carrying what you'd guess is a Nyoi staff slung over his shoulder, he stands at a slight angle. Excludes casual confidence, a sense of poised readiness.

"Another one," he breaks the silence. You stand your ground in response to his observation.

"Not interested in a fight," you remark, hands risen in a defensive gesture. Yet you don't dare take your eyes off the sorcerer. Ready and composed.

Panda, ostensibly cautious, inches closer to you, fur bristling in sync with his unease towards the newcomer's presence. The air tightens, charged with the unspoken potential for violence.

"Kogane," he calls out to the shikigami, summoning it like a wisp from the aether; the small creature materializes, its hue the shade of a serene lake, light and amicable as it floats near his head, "is the panda a player too?"

The shikigami screeches its answer, its words setting everything in motion.

"Indeed!! A player! Yep!!"

"That's a function," your pondering voice meets a forced silence. The state of perturbed ambiance vanishing as your thoughts are cut off.

A flesh of white. Empty space occupies the spot where the sorcerer was standing less than a second ago.

You sense his presence before your eyes even settle on his countenance; his eyes, framed with short zig-zag lines reminiscent of lightning bolts underneath them, a furious cauldron of murderous excitement as they lock onto yours. They widen with a manic intensity. An undertone of madness lurking deep within their depths.

A predator's gaze fixated on its prey.

In a heart-stopping moment, time stands still. The world around you fades into a blur as a primal instinct takes over. Your body reacts; a precision born of pure reflex – muscles coiled like springs, you counter his attack with a swift and calculated movement.

His volatile energy crackles in the air. Your hands snap up. Fingers attempting to curl around his bandaged forearm. Channeling your cursed energy to your clavicles, the place where his palm lays flat against you –

But your reactions prove inadequate. You're too slow. A shocking speed and heavy push; a surge of force is sent through your body, catching you off-guard. The ground beneath you becomes a temporary adversary. Your balance disrupted as you're sent flying backward.

Back colliding with the hard, metal steel of a shipping container – you watch in horror as the sorcerer mercilessly attacks Panda. Using his staff as a weapon. With unnatural speed and agility, Panda struggles against him; his valiant resistance a testament to his determination, his form a blur of motion as he evades the sorcerer's attacks and manages a few good blows of his own.

Your body feels light. A tingling sensation surging through your veins. Electric current's rushing beneath your skin, setting your pulse racing and your focus to a razor's edge. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouth. Mingles with the adrenaline in your body. Every nerve firing in response to the raw energy pulsing through your body.

It hits you then–

"Heh, electricity," you mumble, the word slipping from your lips as you raise your palms, clenching your fists. Feeling the tingling in the tips of your fingers. The slight buzzing in your ears.

–his cursed energy has a special trait. One certainly hard to defend against.

Barely seconds have passed since your body was forced to rest against the ground. It still feels too long with Panda barely matching the man's speed and force.

Gritting your teeth, the urgency of the situation anchors you, overriding any pain or disorientation as you fight to regain your footing. A sense of pride fills you when you watch Panda use his technique, striking the sorcerer with enough force that'll easily knock him out cold. One of Panda's winning moves.

Except it doesn't.

"Nice one," the man's voice rings out. A taut smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Your teeth clench, disbelief intertwining with unease as you watch. With a predominated precision, the sorcerer maneuvers his staff, entwining it with Panda's arm in a smooth motion that catches you off guard.

Exerting a forceful pull, he forces a grimace from Panda. Right arm caught in the vice-like grip, a sickening crack underscores the moment. Followed by the nauseating sensation of Panda's arm being torn from his body. Violently. And mercilessly.

Panda stumbles. Pain and agony escaping in a cry. The sorcerer doesn't waste a second. Hurls the arm back at Panda, using the momentum to charge forward. Palm aiming flat against his chest, he sends Panda flying backward – the same way he did to you. Causing your junior to experience a similar sensation to yours.

The cyan-haired man straightens, seemingly relaxing, already content with winning the fight.

"But I'm not impressed," he taunts, words an ominous echo of the violence just unleashed, "It's too ordinary."

Feeling the concrete beneath your feet, you take deliberate steps forward. With an inkling of Panda's potential strategy, you expel the pooled blood from your mouth, spitting it onto the ground.

"...Sukuna, you know where he is?" The man's words flow, attention diverted, ignorant of your presence.

A fortunate circumstance.

"No clue," Panda responds. His reply burdened with weariness and defeat; yet his gaze remained fixed on you, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as you position yourself, tension radiating from his weary form.

The sorcerer scoffs; a contemptuous tilt of his head, a gesture laden with superiority. "Sounds like you know something, then," he snarls, his grip on the staff constricting as his fist clenches, "Spit it out. I'll be merciful."

With the sorcerer's back turned you raise your arm. Your gaze remains fixed upon the convergence point of the two delicate lines, their path crossing at the very heart of the expanse that's the upper part of his broad back.

"I won't be," you declare; voice carrying a firm tone. A deft flick of your wrist – the current of cursed energy takes the desired shape before it's hurled toward your target. Slashing the air in front of you, aimed right at him.

His gaze veers to the side. And in a fraction of a heartbeat, he moves; executing a skillful sidestep. Body positioned to face you from the side, both hands now gripping his staff, aiming it at you; a glint of fervor ignites his eyes as they widen, locked onto the shipping container stationed behind Panda. The unforgiving force of your attack rends the shipping container apart, leaving two gaping slashes that could bisect a man.

You don't give him time to react properly.

The moment blood begins to stain his white robe crimson red from the nick on his shoulder, you lunge forward. Like a bull being waved a red flag. Feet imbued with your cursed energy, reinforced to ensure protection.

As you close the distance at a breakneck pace, you sense the distinct composition of his cursed energy. With your fingers curled around the staff, your eyes meet his, a faint grin playing at the corners of your mouth as you tug on his weapon with your full body weight. Lifting your legs off the ground, you use the staff as a fulcrum. His body feels resilient, akin to forged steel, against the soles of your shoes.

With the potency of your cursed technique coursing through your strike, the man is propelled backward, his body hurtling through the air. The Nyoi staff clings to the concrete. Left untouched upon the impact.

Flying through a shipping container, he quickly finds his footing. Stance shifting in response to your aerial maneuver. Legs splayed to establish a firm foundation, you focus your intent on targeting his jaw. Fists charged with cursed energy, you hit once; knowing how troublesome the push-and-pull effect of your technique feels once your flesh makes contact–

"Not bad," he manages to spit out, the corner of his lip stained red. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip as you sprint toward him.

The surroundings blur into a muddled backdrop, irrelevant in your unwavering concentration. The sorcerer becomes the sole axis, a focal point in a world that seems to slow to a crawl, even though only a fraction of a second has passed.

The tip of your foot touches his; a mere whisper of contact between two opposing forces.

"Not bad at all."

–he counterattacks. Hand darts forward. Grabs your wrist. With an economy of motion, he employs your own momentum against you. His grip becomes a pivot, briefly throwing you off-balance, diverting your forward surge into an unexpected spiral.

Fluidity. That's how you'd characterize his movements. A seamless transition from being a passive target to an active agent.

His chest brushes against your back as his right hand remains locked around your right wrist. Single-handedly swinging your body like a marionette, you exploit the vulnerability of your position. Using his grip as leverage to move backward, simultaneously grabbing hold of his bandaged left forearm and pulling. Crashing your body into his, redirecting the movement into a collision.

With a potent surge of intention, you force the prepared rejection and attraction effect within your clenched fist, propelling it like a bolt toward the rear of your skull. Teeth gritted, you throw your head back.

Crack.

He stifles a groan, a step taken back but footing resolute. A red trail paints his nose as you swivel to confront him. Pausing briefly to charge your energy again, you grant him a moment to speak. His expression freezes as he locks eyes with you

"You," he speaks up, his voice textured with the tang of iron as his tongue grazes his lips, "Have we met before?"

With your hand still tingling, the ripples of sensation spread up your arm, an electric current tracing a pattern beneath your skin. Your head sways subtly, dispelling the notion of a previous encounter. "Unlikely. You'd be history."

A chuckle dances from his lips, a response to your retort. "What's your name then?"

You share it deliberately, each syllable a measured beat in your dance around one another. He nods, his head tilting with self-assured grace. It's then that he takes his stance – feet planted firmly, palms outstretched, a grin playing on his lips.

"The name's Hajime Kashimo."

The words hang, a telltale echo–

Hajime Kashimo.

–recognition snaps into place when you repeat his name in your mind.

The Hajime Kashimo, the sorcerer whose score reaches a hundred points; a mark that sets him apart from any other Culling game player (except for the intricate Hiromi Higuruma). Hakari's elusive target.

And here, right before you, stands the man himself.

"Hey," you call out, a new determination blossoming, your stance embracing the challenge; retreat is no longer a consideration, "if I beat you, can I get your points?"

The corners of Kashimo's lips twitch, smile fading like a wisp of smoke carried away by the wind. Expression blank, with only his brows furrowed as he responds, "Sure, but you tell me everything y'know about Sukuna," his voice lowered to a dangerous undertone, a velvet threat veiled in words, "that is–if you're still alive."

He charges then. Doesn't spare a single consideration. The air crackles with tension as his presence engulfs you. His hands make contact – not with fists or strikes – but with the calculated pressure of his open palms. You feel the weight of his touch on your skin. Pressure on your left, then on your right ribcage.

"Don't disappoint me now," breath tickles your ear, voice a tantalizing, dangerous melody. His fingers anchor firmly onto your right shoulder, an assertive grip that both commands and unsettles, while his other hand exerts a calculated force on your left shoulder guard, propelling you into a spin.

Your training surges forth, a symphony of muscle memory and instinct harmonizing within you. With the resilience born of countless battles, you swiftly adapt your stance, shifting your weight to face him.

An annoyed huff leaves your now-bruised lips. You channel your own cursed energy, a torrent of power surging through your veins.

Detain an attack when it comes,–

Knees bending, body swaying to evade the incoming fist; your left hand grips his left wrist, fingers tightening with determination, followed by your right driving into its intended mark.

–and send it away when it retreats.

Your palm meets the solid plane of his chest with a resonant thud; pushes and then pulls him back to you before sending him away again; successfully pushing back against Kashimo's pressure. It's a momentary reprieve. One that sends the sorcerer tumbling back, makes him roll on the ground, lending on one knee.

"Here I thought we were just getting started," you quip with a hint of playfulness amidst the dance of combat. Moving swiftly towards the target. As Kashimo's force ebbs, you seize the opportunity, your muscles coiling like springs.

"You're getting me–" he barely makes it back to his feet before you're at him again. With enough cursed energy imbued into your foot, utilizing the momentum of your motion, leg rising up in a calculated kick – only for Kashimo to shift; a fraction of movement that proves decisive. His arm weaves beneath the arc of your thigh, a sinuous and serpentine maneuver that seeks to entwine and subdue. As his grasp tightens, his fingers snake around your throat, lifting you from the ground, suspending you momentarily.

"–quite excited," he concludes, his voice tinged with an eerie excitement.

Once the hand is freed from contact,–

A heartbeat's pause feels like an eternity. With your legs rendered weightless and no stable ground beneath you. Despite the vulnerable position, your mind remains steadfast, honing in on Kashimo's Achilles heel. His hands are preoccupied, his grasp unwavering but his neck and face exposed.

–carry out a strike with it.

Seizing the opportunity, you make the most of the opening. Your palms press against the sharp contours of his cheeks, each hand finding its place on one side of his face. In one swift and deliberate motion, you channel the wellspring of cursed energy that resides within you into your technique. The currents of your energy converge between your palms, weaving a tapestry of arcane force that manifests as a palpable vacuum, centered precisely where his head rests.

It's an intentional manipulation. One – if done right, that is – could even lead to a cataclysmic implosion. A violent severing of life from the body. But you don't want to kill him; not yet at least. You need the points. And so, you temper your approach, exerting only the necessary amount of energy to induce a sensation of compression.

As the feeling envelops him, Kashimo's expression shifts, a flicker of realization that dances within his eyes. He instinctively withdraws. Bandaged forearms push at your body, sending you hurtling backward; a testament to his strength and strategic finesse.

"You cheeky little thing," a bead of blood traces a path from the corner of his eye. At the same time, another droplet emerges from his nose.

This time it's him who doesn't let you regain enough control as he charges at you. His approach swift and unrelenting. The tables are constantly turning – now being his time to dictate the tempo.

Another dance of offense and defense plays out as the two of you clash once again. Each move a deliberate response to the other's actions.

Chase the movement of the opponent–

As the flurry of his strikes slices through the air, you find yourself navigating the ebb and flow with a synchronicity that borders on the sublime. With a hawk-like focus, you track the trajectory of his hand, your senses attuned to his every motion.

While his hits continue to swing through both empty space and meeting your body, a fleeting opportunity presents itself. With the precision of a seasoned sorcerer, you follow the path of his hand with your own, fingers closing around his forearm as it narrowly misses your cheekbone, the other digging into the open slash wound on his shoulder.

–to continue the attack.

It earns you a hiss. A "Tsk," coming from his damaged lips.

One fluid motion; one that belies your strength. You capitalize on the momentum of his own swing, utilizing your grip to exert control. Your foot surges forward with unbridled force, the sole of your shoe connecting with the vulnerable juncture of his knee.

Kashimo's reflexes kick in as he instinctively leaps back the moment your foot makes contact with his leg. His visage bears the marks of battle, a canvas adorned with streaks of red, the vestiges of blood from the prior exchange. A mirror to his appearance, your own face likely reflects a similar narrative. Marked by the intensity of the confrontation. By his pure, physical prowess. One that, even if you use all your cursed energy, you're certain you couldn't match.

The shadows of weariness begin to cast their subtle touch on you. A weight that tempers your movements and shadows the clarity of your thoughts. Each calculated step, each strategic strike, seems to bear an additional burden now.

Still, resolute, your unwavering determination fixated on Kashimo, persevering in the face of creeping exhaustion.

Then you take off.

With a surge of action, you propel yourself into motion. Pivoting on your heel, you sprint toward the towering container crane a mere few meters behind. Kashimo's quick thinking registers in the corner of your vision—a flash of white on your right, drawing nearer.

"Running so soon?"

His taunting words reach you.

"Just limbering up," you reply. Muscles tensing, you feel his energy almost brushing against your own. So, with a leap, you vault into the air. Fingers curling around your ankle.

Time seems to slow as Kashimo's grip tightens around your ankle, his fingers like a vice attempting to anchor you to the ground. The world spins around you, the crane's towering structure becoming a blur as your body is abruptly yanked back, denied the freedom of flight.

Instinct kicks in, your mind racing to find a solution. With a swift twist of your body, you channel the energy within, your cursed power surging to your fingertips. A burst of force courses through your arm, the concentrated energy propelling your free leg forward in a powerful kick. Your heel connects with Kashimo's face, the impact forcing his grip to release.

In the split second of regained freedom, your body soars toward the container crane.

Muscles strained, you manage to grab hold of a protruding metal edge, fingers gripping with an iron determination. The harsh clang of metal meeting metal reverberates through the air as your body comes to a halt, swinging slightly from the momentum before you propel yourself higher onto the structure.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. The distance between you and Kashimo now a tangible reminder of your evasion. His frustrated gaze meets yours, the tension between you electric and palpable.

"Nice try," you retort, voice laced with a mixture of weariness and defiance. There's an undeniable satisfaction in defying his grasp, in proving your prowess even amid exhaustion. Without wasting a moment longer, you hoist yourself up more, using the crane's structure to propel your body upward. Your form melds with the steel as you ascend, a maneuver to gain the vantage point.

Gotta limit his movement to the minimum.

Kashimo's expression shifts, a glint of admiration piercing through his irritation. "Impressive," he concedes, the words carrying an unexpected note of respect, "but you can't run from me."

He follows your lead. The two of you ascending the crane in a synchronized rhythm

"I told you, Kashimo–," you declare, your voice echoing between the steel beams as you reach the crane's zenith, standing face to face on the narrowest edge.

Now standing face to face on the crane's uppermost beam, the narrow back reach providing only small support. Your breath heaves, each inhalation a reminder of the intense exertion. Across from you, Kashimo's gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression deceptively relaxed.

"–that I'm only stretching."

His eyes, however, tell a different story – a depth of focus that cuts through your form. Anchoring onto you with an unwavering intensity.

A mournful melody weaves through the metal lattice, the wind's haunting whistle creating an eerie harmony with the tension in the air. The gusts playfully tousle both your hair in the process. You steady yourself into a stance, your body a testament to both resilience and purpose.

"Plus I want those points," you remark, a hint of determination coloring your words.

It's then that you charge — cursed energy flowing through your body like currents of compressed emptiness. A void. Unyielding. Relentless. And pneumatic.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it slicing through the air. A blade of nothing. A thin line etches across his chest, traversing from ribcage to his already wounded shoulder — a mark of your earlier endeavor. Nowhere to dodge now that he's standing between two metal beams.

Or so you thought.

Kashimo charges. The white of his robe tainted with scarlet. The cut isn't deep.

He must've reinforced his cursed energy.

"Tsk," you utter. A flicker of irritation crosses your features. Agitated. With waning stamina, the dwindling reservoir of cursed energy depleted by your previous usage; this could've been your last-ditch effort.

The final move.

And it failed.

It makes him smile. A sinister twist of lips that morphs into a grin. Moving fast, his expression resembles one of a predator closing in on its prey. The ruby stain on his robe seems to accentuate his aura of danger, a stark contrast to the pristine white it once was.

As your body contorts and arches backward, you skillfully evade the incoming fist aimed at your face. Your unwavering gaze remains locked onto his intense stare. With your palm pressed flat against the ground of the crane, you swiftly raise your leg, delivering a targeted strike to the meat of his thigh.

But before your maneuver can fully unfold, his hand seizes your ankle, pulling you towards him and locking your leg in place as he maneuvers over your body. Kashimo's grin widens, a predatory glint in his eyes that triggers a ripple of unease down your spine.

As his fist whizzes past your face, you seize the opportune moment to mount a counterattack. His fingers, still harshly locked around your right ankle, you push and pull against his grasp. Leg successfully moving to close over his thigh, the other hooking around his hip.

Legs now firmly encircling his waist, you use every ounce of your strength to push. Destabilize the sorcerer. Break his foundation. Disrupt his equilibrium.

The outcome? Both of you soaring through the air and down the crane. Kashimo's form aligns perfectly with the approaching solidity of the dockside concrete.

A rapid free fall, gravity's pull unrelenting.

If you're not getting the points, he's not getting his answers either.

His eyes momentarily flit to the ground below. Unspoken recognition of the shared peril that binds you both. The realization dawns in his eyes, widening them momentarily, before his gaze settles onto your face once more – unimpressed. Jaded.

"Oops," you jest under your breath, fingers finding purchase on the fabric of his torn clothes. An unhinged smile on your lips, eyebrows lifting in a mix of audacity and exhilaration. The wind sweeps through, rustling your hair with a cool caress that contrasts starkly with the warm stickiness of blood on your skin.

"It's accumulated enough."

That's the only forewarning you get. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts; an electrifying tension that dances along your skin. You sense the already familiar tingling as the static charges from the man beneath you. Kashimo's cursed energy now gaining intensity.

His open hand thrusts towards your face, a surge of energy gathering at his fingertips. Only to get countered by your own palm. Flat against each other. Forcing a focal point of energy converges and resistance to form. As the push effect comes into play just in time with waves of electricity.

The crackling intensity escalates, its tendrils reaching out with an insatiable hunger. Only to be pushed back by your own manipulation acting as a steadfast wall. It's a symphony of sensations — the tingling of your skin, the hum of power in the air, the gradual crescendo of pressure between your palms. The vortex throbs and pulses, a living embodiment of the forces you both wield.

The thing is – The conductivity of the vacuum…depending on how you look at it, it behaves in two different ways:

Firstly, when you examine the motion of charged particles with a constant velocity within a vacuum, you encounter an interesting phenomenon. Unlike in other mediums, there is no opposing force acting against these particles. Consequently, maintaining a steady current across any surface within a vacuum demands no additional effort.

However, a contrasting phenomenon manifests when we consider the existence of free charges within conductors. When an electric field, denoted as E, is imposed upon a conductor, it triggers a flow of electric current. This internal charge movement gives rise to a current density described by the equation: J = σE, where σ symbolizes the conductivity of the material. Notably, within a vacuum, σ assumes a value of 0; hence, electric fields lack the capacity to spontaneously induce current flow.

In this context, the vacuum departs from the role of a conductor. Even materials known as insulators, which typically restrict the flow of current, possess conductivity values that are low but not completely absent.

As a result, the resistance exhibited by a vacuum effectively amounts to infinity—particularly when you define resistance through the lens of how charge carriers in a substance respond. Viewed from this perspective, you could liken the vacuum to an insulator, given the absence of charge carriers that are essential for the propagation of electric current.

So in the end, your innate ability functions like an antistatic force.

It should be enough to counter his attack. Neutralizing his endeavor and ricocheting it back to him. Only if his other hand, clenched into a fist, suddenly hasn't entered your line of sight, aiming for your jaw.

The controlled push-only effect falters. Then crumbles. The void's pull reclaims all that Kashimo had imparted, drawing it back with an insatiable greed.

"Damn you." It now comes down to the last aspect of your technique.

Implosion.

The energies within your vacuum field converge, collapsing inwards with a blinding intensity. A jarring impact against the back of your head – or it might be the ending of your fall. Everything's just confusing. Everything blurs into a disorienting haze of continuous events.

The unforgiving touch of concrete grates against your scraped back. Each breath, now shallow and ragged, causes pain.

Above, the sky stretches wide and boundless. Until the sight is blocked by a mop of cerulean blue hair. Two buns somehow still in place. Same-colored eyes staring at your form. Arms folded and a countenance marred by bloodstains and scrapes. Each leg positioned on either side of your hips before one presses against the flat of your clavicles.

"You're quite durable," Kashimo retorts, pushing his weight down on you, "that should've killed you right there."

"Heh," you manage a wry chuckle, your voice strained but defiant, "guess I'm full of surprises."

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of almost-amusement dancing in his eyes. The world around you seems to blur at the edges, the strain of the plummet combined with the failed attempt of your innate technique taking a heavy toll on your senses.

"It's been a while since I've encountered someone who can keep me on my toes this long. Now tell me," your name rolls off his tongue in a taunting lilt, "where's Sukuna?"

The distant sounds of the dockside begin to fade, replaced by an eerie emptiness. Despite your unwavering determination, a tide of dizziness threatens to engulf you, and you struggle to maintain your focus on Kashimo's face.

"On vaca–"

The weight on your chest vanishes abruptly. Kashimo's foot makes fleeting contact with your cheek before returning to its original place.

"Don't play with me. Spit it out."

"Oi," a voice calls to your right. A voice you know; Hakari's, "It's not very chivalrous to strike a lady like that."

From here, everything dissolves into darkness.

The world sways, a disorienting dance of shadows and sensations. Light pressure settles on your stomach with sounds echoing faintly in the distance. A gentle, steady rhythm envelops you as if you're being cradled in a cocoon of safety. Your limbs feel weightless, as though the ground beneath you has transformed into a soft cloud that carries your burdens away.

Your mind struggles to tether itself to the present, grappling with the fragments of consciousness that slip through your grasp. Colors blur, merging into a hazy kaleidoscope of fleeting images. The arms that encircle you exude warmth thought. One that lulls you back to sleep.

Yet you manage to summon the strength to part your heavy eyelids. Through the haze, you see a blur of black and white on top of you. Head resting upon something firm and solid – a breastplate, you realize. The rhythmic cadence that envelops you is accompanied by the subtle rise and fall of breath, a heartbeat that resonates beneath your cheek.

"Panda," you murmur, voice a tentative whisper as you attempt to comprehend whether or not you're dreaming, considering the creature on you is now a size of an actual teddy bear.

The toy-sized Panda remains seated on you but looks your way, emitting a surprised yelp at the sound of your voice, before swiftly turning his gaze forward again, "Hakari, she's awake!"

Your vision – still blurred – manages to trace a figure walking at the edge of your peripheral sight – left arm missing, shirt gone (he's shirtless, you discern), and crowned with purple hair. Hakari. But if Hakari's walking in front of you. Then…

Lifting your eyes, you suddenly lock onto a fleeting sight of vibrant cyan hair. The once-pristine white attire now soaked and marred with splotches of vivid red, creating an unsettling contrast. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns upon you.

It's Kashimo who bears the weight of your limp form.

"She's gonna pass out soon again," his voice carries vibrations that travel from his chest to your cheek with his gaze fixed upon you.

And he's right as your body, weary and battered, succumbs once more to the embrace of slumber.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie | Part 1: The Convenience Store

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Eijiro Kirishima x Femme Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Tension, Hero Situations, Eijiro Kirishima is a Pro Hero

Link to My Master List 😬

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie

Part 1: The Convenience Store

It is a rainy Tuesday night and you are absolutely exhausted from work. On your way home to your apartment, you decide to stop by a local bodega for some junk food. You have been looking forward to binge watching a trashy reality TV show all day long, and some potato chips would be the perfect snack to munch on as you enjoy the juicy TV drama.

The bodega’s glass sliding door opens with a squeak as you hastily fold up your dripping umbrella. You shiver as the cool store AC hits your wet skin, and goose bumps flare across your bare arms. The day had started out deceptively warm, and you hadn’t dressed for the weather. You are deeply regretting the choice to wear the navy sleeveless dress that is now clinging to your body and dripping a puddle onto the dull bodega carpet. Oh well – you will be home in just a few minutes and will be able to step into a hot shower soon enough.

You grab a shopping basket and wander the aisles, eager to satiate your cravings for salty crisps. The store is unusually empty for the hour – the sudden rain must have kept most people inside. The only other people present are the elderly cashier, and a man pursuing the energy drinks in one of the freezers. The other patron is keenly focused on a bottle of purple Gatorade - intently reading the ingredient list on the drink’s packaging. You pay no attention to this other customer as you locate the snack aisle and load up your basket with chip bags boasting a variety of fun flavors (BBQ chips?? Yes please!). The aisles are tall – stacked ceiling high with boxes and bags containing every flavor of chip one could imagine.

SMASH! A loud crash reverberates throughout the tiny store, followed by the sound of small objects scattering across the vinyl floor. A deep voice booms out: “This is a hold up. Give me all the money in that register. And make it quick – I don’t think either of us wants any trouble.” You freeze; blood running cold in your veins as you quickly put the pieces of the situation together.

“I swear old man – I’ve got a special quirk that will make your life all kinds of painful unless you Hand. Over. The. Cash.”

You move slowly along the aisle, looking for a gap in the snack shelves so you can better assess the situation. Through a small space between cereal boxes, the situation comes into view – the man that you had seen shopping for sports drinks is now standing menacingly over the check out counter. He is around six feet tall with sharp features; a simple black domino mask obscured his eyes. Clad entirely in black, he stands with his right arm gripping the linoleum countertop, the other poised grotesquely above the cashier’s balding head. It takes you a moment to put together exactly what you were seeing – the villain’s right arm was a gigantic crab claw! If the situation weren’t so tense, you would have died from laughter. The scene is ridiculous – the man’s arm (claw) is twice the length of a typical human arm and had a bright, shiny red hue. This kind of mutation quirk always gives you a start – the unnatural way the man’s body blends seamlessly with the extra large claw is uncanny.

            The shop cashier looks up at the villain with terror in his eyes. He seems absolutely frozen on the spot as the masked robber clicks his claw menacingly. With a start, you notice that the inside of the claw is wickedly sharp. The villain flashes it dangerously towards the cashier’s neck to drive a sense of urgency.

            You assess your options. Your quirk isn’t particularly powerful, but it definitely has some use here. If you could just get a little bit closer to the situation, you could probably use it to distract the villain long enough to get the cashier out of harm’s way. You stretch out your hand to activate your quirk, but stopped dead when you feel a warm, rough hand clamp around your mouth from behind.

You try to scream, but the sound comes out muffled. Adrenaline floods your veins as you prepared to fight for your life. You hadn’t heard someone sneak up behind you, and you squirm in an effort to get away. An arm reaches out to steady you, and it’s owner whispers: “Sorry to startle you – I’m here to help.” The soft, gravely voice sends a fresh wave of goose bumps down your chilled skin. You turn to see one of the year’s top heroes - the Red Riot - crouched over you in the snack aisle. You’d recognize that trademark red spiky hair anywhere. Your body starts to relax a bit – things are under control and a hero is here!

Over the past few years, Red Riot has been making quite a name for himself in the media as a dependable, chivalrous hero. You’ve often watched his battles and rescues play out on the television – not only was he a skilled hero, but also he was kind and genuine. His interviews were your favorite – he always found such nice things to say about his teammates and the people he rescued. And he wasn’t bad to look at either.

He’s clearly not on duty – his usual simple costume has been traded in for a black t-shirt, jeans and a soft red hoodie. Your heart skips a beat. He’s so totally hot. When he realizes you’re not going to scream and give away his position to the villain, he releases you from his embrace. He smiles reassuringly, and the warmth of his grins reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of this.” He promises.

For a second there, you completely forgot about the convenience store hold up occurring feet away from where the two of you were crouched. Your senses are clouded by the closeness of Red Riot, who is still holding you steady with his muscular arms. When he realizes his touch is lingering a bit longer than necessary, he quickly pulls away. He shifts to peer over your shoulder through the small cereal box window. The movement brings him ever so slightly closer to you, and you find yourself inhaling the sweet scent of clean laundry. You lean the tiniest bit closer to him.

But back to the situation at hand – you can hear the crab clawed villain barking commands at the cashier. He wants all the money from the register as well as a roll of lotto tickets. He must be either extremely overconfident or incredibly good at crime – because this man is taking his time! Red Riot scowls as he watches the scene unfold. You can see his body tensing as he prepares for a confrontation. With a look of determination, he turns to you and whispers “stay quiet and out of sight. I’m going to go distract the villain and try to de-escalate the situation. If things get physical – run. There’s a dumpling shop across the street – get someone there to call the police.”

His red eyes bore into your own. There’s something so intense and hot about him. You feel a strange connection pulling you closer to this man, closer to the heat of his body.

            “W-wait.” You whisper. “I can help!”

            You point to the man with the crab claw – he still has the Gatorade bottle in the pocket of his pants. To his left you see a palette of energy drinks waiting to be restocked. “With my quirk I can control small amounts of liquid. I can distract him by levitating all those energy drinks at once. I’ll suspend them in the air and bring them all crashing down on top of him, giving you time to get the cashier out of harm’s way.”

            Red Riot smiles appreciatively. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that. I’ll handle this on my own. Just keep quiet and get across the street, okay?”

            You make a face. You don’t understand why he won’t let you help. After all, the villain seems untrained and unfocused. His claw hand can’t do much damage to a bunch of small, moving targets.

            “Trust me.” Red Riot reaches for your hand. He places the pads of your fingers on his palm. You can feel him activating his hardening quirk beneath your fingers as his skin slowly becomes rougher. “I was built for this.”

            You nod, unable to argue. His quirk makes his skin feel smooth and strong like the bark of an oak tree. You press your fingers lightly into the center of his hand, but there’s no give. Reflexively, he closes his fingers around your own, causing electricity to shoot through your hand at the intimate touch. Red Riot’s eyes widen, an apology already at his lips. You quickly slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Good luck, Red Riot.” You tap the hardened skin on his forearm. “You’re right – definitely built for this.”

            He grins, seemingly basking in the compliment.

            “That’s right – just leave this to me!” He whispers back. “Stay safe, okay?”

Red Riot army crawls down the aisle. You watch as he slowly steps out from behind the shelves and approaches the counter confidently, grabbing a bag of BBQ chips on the way. The poor cashier is now filling a grocery bag with money from the register as the crab armed villain hulks over him, sneering and clicking his claw. The villain doesn’t even seem to hear Red Riot approaching him from behind.

            In two strides, Red Riot closes the distance and reaches out to tap the villain on his crabby shoulder.

            “Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the counter. Other people want to check out.” As he says this, he pointedly tosses his bag of chips onto the shiny linoleum counter.

            The crab villain whirls around, face full of fury. His eyes widen and his face contorts in fury when he realizes whom he’s talking to. The villain wastes no time – he propels himself away from the counter, whirling his deadly sharp arm towards Red Riot.

Crack!

The arm makes contact with Red Riot’s rock hard skin. The hero smiles smugly, his right arm taking the brunt of the blow.

“Why don’t we take this down a notch, sir? I’m clearly a match for your quirk, and the police are already on their way. There’s no need to fight, we can just talk - ”

            The villain moves surprisingly swiftly, shifting around Red Riot’s outstretched arm and reaching to position his claw around Red Riot’s neck. The hero’s facial expression shifts to surprise – he wasn’t expecting a villain with such a cumbersome quirk to be able to move so languidly. The crab villain slowly starts to press down his claw around the hero’s neck. Red Riot is making a face that clearly says “Oh, shit.”

You turn and desperately reach your hand through the gap in the cereal box display, pointing your fingertips at the villain and willing your Quirk to activate. Almost instantly, the Gatorade bottle resting half full in the villain’s back pocket lifts into the air as all of the liquid rushes towards the top of the container. You focus all of your concentration on the bottle.

Unfortunately, you never had a lot of opportunity to train and refine your quirk as you had pursued an educational track that prioritized tech and computer skills over quirk competence. However, you had a grasp on the fundamentals of how your quirk worked – and you figured if you could just distract the crab villain for a moment, you could give Red Riot a chance to regroup.

The villain pressed his sharp claw further around Red Riot’s neck. You could hear an ominous cracking notice – and you hoped desperately that the sound wasn’t the hero’s thick skin crumbling beneath his assailant’s grasp. You began to feel a sickening mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins and you try to renew your concentration. The liquid inside the bottle begins to boil – the water fizzing and popping in the small confined space. You shakily will the bottle to float up and behind the villain’s head.

Red Riot uses his hardened hands to try to break the villain’s grasp, but the crabby grip holds fast. The villain is intensely focused on trying to crush Red Riot’s windpipe, and so he is completely taken by surprise when the bottle of Gatorade explodes and hits the back of his head with a splash of scalding purple liquid. The villain howls in pain – both hands reflexively flying to cradle the back of his burned head. In his pain and fury, he unwittingly releases Red Riot from his grasp. The red headed hero is quick to take advantage of the situation – dropping to the ground and sweeping a strong leg beneath the villain’s own. The crab-clawed villain comes crashing to the ground with a large “thud.”

Red Riot wastes no time, dropping on top of the villain to pin disproportionate arms to the ground.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for armed robbery and for engaging in combat with a licensed hero. The police will be here shortly to take your statement - but in the meantime please stop resisting.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Red Riot continues to hold the villain tightly to the ground. Behind the counter’s register, the convenience store clerk still stands frozen, holding a wad of bills in bills in a vice-like grip.

You hear the metallic slide of the store’s automatic doors followed by several pairs of heavy boots off to your right. Within a few seconds, a team of police officers comes into view, their starched blue shirts bright in the florescent lighting.

At the sight of the police, the crab villain finally seems to give up fighting – his body sagging to the ground beneath Red Riot. The hero holds his position, eyeing the villain’s mutant arm warily. Even from a distance, you can tell his hardening quirk is still activated – he isn’t taking any chances.

“Great job, Red Riot! We’ll take it from here.” A tall officer with a glinting badge steps forward and uses a length of metal cord to bind the villain’s large clawed arm. “We’ve been after this guy for weeks!”

Red Riot smiles as he steps back and lets the police team capture his assailant. He turns and meets your eyes through the space in the cereal box wall. He grins at you, his dark eyes wink a quick “thanks” in your direction as he detectives whisk him away for questioning.

“Miss – are you alright?” You let out a small squeak of surprise, turning to find a short female officer with a tight bun of dark hair coming around the corner of the aisle. You look down at yourself – crouching like a wild animal in a soggy, rain-drenched dress.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You laugh, allowing the policewoman to help you to your feet. You feel the adrenaline slowly start to melt away, leaving you feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded. You can’t think of the last time you used your quirk, so you’re sure the little stunt you pulled to save Red Riot has impacted your stamina.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened here?” The officer asks, motioning for you to follow her to the front of the store where the crab villain is being checked for weapons.

“No, not at all!” You wrap your arms around yourself and attempt to bring some warmth back into your body.          

The police had a lot of questions. Apparently this villain had been evading them for quite sometime. He had been robbing convenience stores across several cities. He was quick, efficient, and sometimes even deadly – having injured half a dozen clerks and store patrons in his mad pursuit of cash.

“We heard that you used your quirk to get Red Riot out of a spot of trouble.” The policewoman with the bun taps a pen to a pad of paper thoughtfully. Her tone isn’t accusatory; she’s just stating facts. “The unsanctioned use of a quirk in combat is illegal, but since you were put in a potentially life threatening situation and you were in under the supervision of a pro hero, the Good Samaritan law should cover your actions today.”

 You feel the last bit of energy absolutely drain out of you and you reach out to grab a nearby store shelf for support. Illegal? The thought of breaking the law hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had just acted on pure instinct when you saw Red Riot in trouble. You start to shiver more violently as the weight of what you’ve done fully sinks in. The policewoman quickly waves to another officer and you find yourself being guided to a chair.

“Miss - it seems like you’re in shock. Please take some deep breaths and we’ll get you to a hospital shortly to get checked out, alright?” The officer pats your hand kindly and pockets her notepad. She walks out of view to call a medical team with her colleagues and you are momentarily left alone in the corner of the store. You stare at the ground, your head feeling fuzzy and cold. It was so stupid to use your quirk so recklessly like that! You admonish yourself silently. You’re sure that Red Riot could have gotten himself out of that bad situation given time – he was a top hero after all! You were just so worried and eager to help…

A soft material engulfs your shoulders. “You’re freezing! Here – take my sweatshirt.” You turn and see Red Riot standing behind you, his strong hands pressing his large red hoodie around your shoulders. He smooths the plush material around you, and you shiver at the contact.

“I couldn’t possibly take this!” You said weakly despite your body hungrily leaning into the warmth of his touch and the offered piece of clothing.

“It’s too late – it’s already yours. Consider it a thank you for saving me back there.” Red Riot grins, showing off a row of pointed teeth. You gratefully accept the gift – tucking your arms into the floppy sleeves. You’re practically swimming in sweatshirt.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, ashamed. “You had the situation under control, and it was irresponsible to use my quirk like that. You even told me not to help earlier.” You shake your head, and then blush when you realize you’re probably showering the chivalrous hero in raindrops.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that at all! While it’s true that a Pro can always break out of a tough spot, someone once told me that ‘meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of a hero.’ You moved without thinking to help me when I needed it. That took guts.” His grin widens. “I’m so lucky that such a strong person was looking out for me from the cereal section.”

You laugh, cheeks blushing at the compliment. He’s just so…handsome, grinning roguishly at you with his deep, dark eyes.

“Your quirk is really strong, too. What was that – liquid manipulation? Have you ever trained your quirk?” You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his interest in your small little quirk.

“Not really – I had the standard quirk class in elementary school where we are evaluated and learn how to control the basics of each of our quirks. Beyond that, I never had much interest in it. I can make small amounts of liquid float, boil and freeze. It’s not particularly powerful, but I can make a mean pot of soup with it.” You smile, appreciating the attention you’re receiving from the hero. “I went to a specialty high school focused on business and marketing, so I pretty much avoided any quirk training or hero-focused track. Exploding that little Gatorade bottle was probably the crux of my power.”

“Well it was incredible! I feel like you’re really underselling yourself – I see so much potential in you and your quirk. With just a little training, I think you could really do some damage.” Red Riot says excitedly, talking animatedly with his hands. You laugh, picturing yourself in some ridiculous hero suit parading around the city splashing boiling water on legions of seafood-themed villains.

“Surprisingly, the hero life is just not for me!” You grin before a wave of shivers wracks through your body. Is this from shock? Or is it the damp cold of your rain soaked dress finally catching your attention.

Red Riot instantly notices your discomfort and shakes his head thoughtfully before saying: “Stay here a minute, I have an idea.” He scampers away and you’re left alone again. You focus on taking a few deep, calming breaths as you zip the hoodie up to your chin. You inhale deeply and realize that the red fabric smells comforting and sweet – a combination of mint and cedar wood. You deeply breathe in the scent of Red Riot, and you feel your panic ebb away. You’re steeped in exhaustion as you slouch against the hard plastic chair.

A moment later, Red Riot re-appears, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. “I made you some peppermint tea.” He says shyly, holding out the hot cup. “It always makes me feel better after a fight – I thought it might do the same for you.”

You take the cup gratefully and tip it back for a sip. He holds out a hand to stop you. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a second to cool so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Thank you so much, Red Riot. I really appreciate all you’ve done today.” You’re too tired to care that you sound like a fan girl.

“Hey, call me Eijiro. After what we’ve been through together, we should be on a first name basis.” To your surprise, his cheeks tint pink as he shares his first name. You smile softly and share your own nickname. He repeats it back to you, seeming to like the way your name rolls on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you Eijiro.” You feel the warmth of the tea sinking into your icy hands.

“So what were you buying here at the store anyway? Let me go get you a cart and – oh, hold on!” He absentmindedly leans in close to you, reaching out to pull a stray wet strand of hair away from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. “We should really get you a hair dryer or something!” He laughs, “You’re still soaking wet!” Despite just having met, the touch is so intimate and familiar. You lean towards him, wanting him to touch you again with his strong, capable hero fingertips.

“Red Riot – the press is outside waiting to interview you.” A police officer calls over, snapping you both back to reality. “They’re eager to hear about how you apprehended the villain. For the sake of her privacy, let’s leave this young lady’s roll in the capture out of it.”

Eijiro snaps to attention, his hand still hovering close to your face. He turns to give the officer a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be right there.”

He moves to look at you again. His eyes are wide and his expression intrigued. “They’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything looks okay. They’ll probably keep you overnight for observation until you’re out of shock. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you, cutie.” He stands to walk out of the store. “Thanks for saving my life – I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with a wave, he strides away towards the press team waiting outside. You look down into your tea, confused and quietly delighted at his hope to hear from you. You have absolutely no idea how you would ever contact him again, but the sentiment and the term of endearment he had used is sweet. Ever the chivalrous hero.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of tests and scans and interviews with police officers and doctors alike. Despite your protests, an ambulance whisks you away to the closest hospital and you are kept under observation just as Red Riot - Eijiro ­- had predicted. The staff is courteous and sweet, praising you for your roll in the incident when the police officers tip them off. You’re given comfortable clothes to borrow and access to a hot shower adjacent to your hospital room.

When you finally sink into the hospital bed, it’s pitch black outside. You flick on the grainy old TV that’s mounted above your bed and flick through the channels until you stop to see a familiar face on the local news.

Red Riot is smiling down at you from the TV set, his eyes warm as he answers the questions of various reporters.

“I was just shopping for some ramen when I noticed the villain. Weird coincidence that I just happened to be at the same store as him!” The hero laughs, rubbing his hand behind his head. “I’m thankful to the store patrons and the clerk who stayed calm as I handled the situation.”

“Red Riot – did you have any difficulty subduing the victim?”

Eijiro pauses to think for a moment before carefully saying “There was a moment that he had the drop on me, but a really cute shopper distracted him for me and allowed me to get the upper hand.”

“You’re so humble, Red Riot. I’m sure you had everything under control.”

Eijiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to encourage recklessness, but I do want to make it clear that you don’t need to be a Pro to be someone’s hero. The woman who helped me today – her bravery and willingness to act even when things were scary is what true heroism looks like. I’m grateful to her, and I hope that I’ll be able to see her again soon.”

The reporters continue to fawn over Red Riot for a few more minutes – peppering him with more questions that he cheekily answers. He avoids revealing any additional details about you despite the reporter’s needling and prodding. Soon the news broadcast ends, and the anchor appears on screen and starts discussing upcoming movie releases.

You sit with your mouth gaping open. Had you really made such a lasting impression on the sturdy hero? You feel your heartbeat increase at the thought, causing the heart monitors strapped to your chest to peep and whir. A nurse appears at your side in an instant, and you bashfully explain to her that you are fine – just a bit overexcited from the day’s events. Once she is assuaged, you return to flipping through channels before settling on reruns of The Bachelor. This wasn’t the soapy TV series you had been looking forward to all day, but it was as close as you are going to get at this point. You let the show run and before long you are dozing in the propped up hospital bed, dreaming of seafood villains and heroes with bright hair and dark, endless eyes.

When you’re finally ready to check out from the hospital the next day, the nurse at the front desk presents you with your belongings. Your wallet, your high heeled work shoes, and an extra large bright red hoodie. “Oh – I forgot about this.” You gratefully accept the sweatshirt and shrug it on. It swings around you like a trench coat, fluffy and warm. You can still smell traces of cedar wood on the collar.

You walk out of the hospital and into a surprisingly sunny day, metallic sliding doors parting for you as you exit. You sink your hands into the hoodie’s overlarge pockets and are surprised to feel a rectangular square object tucked into the deep right pocket. Had Eijiro left a piece of gum in his hoodie? You fish it out with your index and pointer fingers – it’s a small folded up piece of paper ripped from a notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it’s branded with the convenience store’s faded logo. You guess it was ripped from the clerk’s register notepad.

Curious, you unfold the small wad of paper. Written hastily across the note is a messy scrawl of digits and the words: Would love to take you to dinner some time, cutie. Thanks for rescuing me. – Eijiro.

            Oh my God. He gave you his number. A warm blush creeps up your face as your eyes run across the note over and over again. What a crazy 24 hours it has been! You reach into your purse to grab your phone. With shaky hands you add “Eijiro Kirishima” as a contact in your phone, adding a few rock emojis and a bright red crab emoji beside his name. He’d probably find that hilarious.

            You draft up a fresh text to the red headed hero and type: “In need of rescuing tonight – the villain: hunger and boredom. In need of a hero who knows the perfect ramen spot.” You hit send and hold your breath. What if he’s on patrol tonight? You worry. What if he was just being nice and doesn’t actually see you again?

            Your worries are totally baseless, because within seconds you have a reply: “I’m more than up for this mission – meet me in front of the convenience store at 8. Wear the sweatshirt so I’ll recognize you in the crowd?” He ends it with a winking emoji and your heartbeat quickens. You officially have a date set with Eijiro Kirishima – the Red Riot.

Your hero.

Thanks so much for reading!!!

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

Other Kirishima Stories:

Headcannon: Kirishima LOVES wearing Bakugo's clothes.

🦈❤️Boyfriend!Kirishima ❤️🦈

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima (A18+ - MDNI!!!) 💋

Link to My Master List 😬

[failbettergames]

You dream of rain. You dream that the ink that is your flesh is running off the page, smeared into dark rivulets on the vellum. When you wake, you can still feel a stiffness in your back; as if your spine is being held tautly by yarn.

In the dark of the cabin, your mind enumerates sensations as your eyes adjust: The sway of the gondola. The vibration from the engine in the starboard nacelle above you, rattling slightly – still no replacement for the broken fuel intake.

The noise of water rapping against a porthole window.

Hello, delicious friends. It appears that time, very disrespectfully, has chosen to march on until it is very nearly April. The time has come to talk about our major future plans for Fallen London.

A new major storyline

Firmament is Fallen London’s next major expansion, a main story arc that adds on to the game’s ongoing progression. Acquire an airship – permanently, this time. Fly to the Roof. Explore the stalactite fields ruled by the Starved Men, the carved paths of the Moon-MIsers, the inverted jungles of the Antipelago, and more.

This expansion focuses on the Roof. Just like the unterzee gets stranger and darker as you zail away from familiar shores, so do the upper airs of the Neath contain more than what you know about. As these castles on the ceiling open to you, you will learn more.

Firmament will launch over the course of April, with a prologue becoming available on April 11th, and the full first chapter on April 18th.

While Firmament is in some ways a follow-up to the Railway storyline, we are aware of how long it takes to get to the very end of the game’s (current) highest-level story. When Firmament launches, you will be able to start it as long as you have already begun the Railway storyline and reached Ealing. While you will need to advance your railway further to access the latter parts of Firmament, there should be ample time to catch up on the Railway in between Firmament chapters.

New mechanics

The Railway arc added new advanced skills. During the Zeefarer cycle we added revamped Zee travel and the new Boon/Burden mechanic. This set of updates comes with its own mechanical expansions to the game.

New item slots

Airships make their return as full-fledged items. Much like zeefaring ships, they serve you mostly in air travel – Aerial Prowess and Aerial Armament also make their return. But we’re also adding a few other item slots, while we’re at it.

Adornment includes all manner of jewellery and accessories – rings, necklaces, earrings, neckties, brooches, and more. Previously, items in this vein would appear in slots like Gloves or Clothing, leading to the somewhat odd mental image of wearing your Pendant of Helicon Amber and nothing else. With this update, these items gain their own space, enabling more player expression and empowering players to reach slightly higher stats.

Several existing items will be shifted to the Adornment slot, slightly buffing them by allowing them to stack with other existing items. Adornment is intended to be a part of the game from relatively early on – around the later parts of Making Your Name. A new Bazaar store, selling Adornments, will be added in a future update.

Crew is a complement to both ships and airships. We’ve long wanted to give ship crews (distinct from the vessels themselves) a bit more personality. Are they experienced or green? Are they Admiralty men through and through, or a band of privateers and villains? These kinds of concepts never really fit the Companion or Affiliation slots, so we are creating a purposeful slot for them.

Crews will be made available in a future update, initially accessible to players who have a ship.

Luggage may seem like a slightly odd addition, but so much of Fallen London, and Victorian fiction in general, is about travel and the mystique of travel. A battered steamer trunk that’s been everywhere. A briefcase full of secrets. Phileas Fogg’s carpetbag. Luggage is intended as a midgame slot. In a future update, you will be able to assemble some initial Luggage items in the Bazaar Side-Streets.

New Skills

We are conscious of not adding too much complexity to the game, especially not all at once. Firmament doesn’t add a full suite of new skills, like the Railway. It adds one new skill, and two new qualities of a somewhat skill-like nature.

Chthonosophy, the study of the root of things, has already been teased – but you’ve not really been able to obtain it, thus far. It is the major new skill for Firmament, playing a role similar to the role Zeefaring had in Evolution.

Inerrant and Insubstantial join Neathproofed as its two other counterparts. Like Neathproofed, these will appear more as additive benefits; they help your checks with other skills, more so than being checked in themselves. They exist to add a little extra, to help differentiate otherwise-similar items, and to act as an occasional bonus. As part of Firmament, we are pushing to make more use of Neathproofed, and carve out that space for its new counterparts, also.

Roof Travel

I won’t go into too many details about Roof travel, other than to set expectations. Yes, there is a new map. No, Roof travel is not quite a fully-fledged activity like zailing is.

We aimed it at a sort of middle ground between Railway travel (which is convenient and fairly predictable) and Zee travel (which is a whole venture unto itself.) Traveling from point to point on the Roof mostly takes one action; very occasionally, two. But it is drastically more variable than rail travel. There’s a broad variety of different things you can encounter in the upper airs of the Neath. And as you progress this storyline, you will encounter stranger things as you travel through the air.

And other delights…

Of course, we have other things planned for the rest of 2024. Our usual festivals will run as usual. A new Estival. Monthly Exceptional Stories. Various other surprises, including a series of more grounded new stories set in London. But we’ll talk about these things in detail sometime after Whitsun, which should take place, as usual, in May.

[squibsformers]

Feral Fears, Ch. 1

Human x Transformers fic

MTMTE/Lost Light, First Contact AU

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,004

Desc: After needing to stop off for more supplies, the Lost Light gets a strange, displeased, new passenger.

AN: Hi hi hello I hope you like this! This was the poll winner, maybe I'll do another chapter soon. If you like it let me know! I enjoy reading tags and comments on my things a lot. This one's short to kinda get me back into the swing of writing.

[Next]N/A

“How in the pit have we gone through this much energon so quickly…?” Yellow servos tapped rapidly against the owner's desk, glaring at the report from Ultra Magnus. 

“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have heard me when I said the breach in the ship had us LOSE much of our stock, as well as how quick we went through our repair supplies... We can refuel and pick up more once we hit the next stop off, but we may be stationed at the outpost longer than you'd like.”

The prime sighed. “Longer as in a few vorns or-”

“Cycles. We have to wait for them to get us what we want if they don't have it.”

“Slag. Well… Damn. Okay, I guess we don't really have a choice- Set a course for the nearest outpost, tell the crew they're getting a… surprise few days of tourism to go run around and do whatever it is they please.”

“...That's not-” Ultra Magnus sighed. “That's bound to lead to trouble.”

“You wanna explain to everyone they're grounded to their rooms while we're parked and picking up supplies?”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “No…”

“That's what I thought. Plot a course! Let's get moving, the ship isn't gonna fuel itself!”

–---

Legs carried them desperately, ducking and weaving along unshipped cargo and barrels of fuel.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep quiet, keep running. Your lungs burned, feeling like hot embers were popping in your bronchial tubes, making them hiss and whine quietly as they flex, their feet thumping quietly, trying to run on the balls of their feet as they scurried through the shipping bay.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep running, keep pushing and going, it can't stop, if they stop they're FUCKED so utterly fucked-

“♠︎£°▪︎¤#%¡¡¿ ~×&%ꕥ˚꒦꒷꒷﹆¡¡”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-

They ducked down between two shipping containers that barely had enough space that they could squeeze between, cutting down the row and looking around.

Where to go. They had to hide, running wasn't going to work, they were so much bigger, so much stronger and faster and smarter- but they could be crafty. Ohoho and could be sneaky.

….I mean they couldn't see shit but. Well. That would just be an obstacle to work past.

The organic looked around, squinting while leaning back against a crate… and stumbled some, feeling the massive box's frame was warped. Frowning, it looked up, and noticed a small, dark spot waaay up at the lid.

….Hole. That had a hole.

Hopefully, a hole the human could wedge itself into.

To the right, they spotted some metal pallets…and started climbing, grunting and huffing with effort. The makeshift knapsack weighed them down some, but they kept moving, desperate for an escape, for freedom. The fleshy's hands slip at one point and they drop, letting out a pain-filled wheeze and hearing a nasty, wet crack.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it, don't do it. Barely even slowing down, the human heaves themself up, panting. Their free hand reaches over…and they whine as they clench the break, sliding the bone into…relative place. It looked…okay. Perfectly fine. Yes.

Absolutely. Couldn't even tell it had a staircase break.

….Time to climb again.

The human sighed and began scrabbling up, wincing and trying to ignore the obvious injury it had. They didn't have time to worry about that, and they needed to get to safety-

“^^□●₩◆°°°▪︎°%”

Fuck. Those fucking robots were close.

One pallet, two, three, four, six, eight-

When the organic reached the top of the pallets stack, they looked over to that crate, judged the little distance you could out…

And leapt across the gap, purposefully overshooting the edge so it wouldn't miss but stumbled and landed hard, cracking their already damaged arm, letting out a yelp of pain.

“!#$♤♤□♡°•°¡¡”

Time to hurry. That sounded very aggressive.

Feeling along the edge of the crate, they finally found the hole… and blindly smushed themselves inside, falling a small distance onto a pile of…something.

Cabling? It felt like cables, it had the outer layer of rubbery plastic…

Geez it was dark.

……Geez it was really dark.

They heard metallic footsteps storm closer, and the little organic being covered their mouth, taking slow breaths to try and stifle the sounds of being… well, alive.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, the dark slowly pressing more and more in on you, stifling and terrifying but at the same time a sanctuary, a safety net. They listened as those pedes paced about, searching, scouring, seeking them out. They heard the strange “Vrr wrr chtcht chitter krr bzrtkr krrrzst” that was their strange natural language. Aggressive tones. Still mad. They heard…

….

They heard beeping. Something is getting closer, beeping is getting louder. Heard new footsteps, old ones fleeing once the shouting began. Heard the beep directly outside their cable sanctuary.

And then… felt movement. The crate jostled and shook, and you held your breath, waiting for the lid to be ripped off and you to be found….

But…that didn't happen. Instead…. the crate moved. And you were moving along with it, whether you wanted to or not.

There was chatter, again. Lots of chatter. Then there was an obnoxiously loud beep near one side of the crate, another more.. blippy-beep next to that spot…And the crate moved once more, rattling a bit, before there was a hiss, a soft thud and the sound of pedes leaving.

The little human stayed in that crate. Stayed in it for hours. 

And then there was a new noise. A louder noise. A deep, thrumming, hum, that evolved into a bone and brain rattling roar, of impossible machinery kicking in, engines revving, turbines whirling, and a feeling like, for a brief moment, their soul was pulled from their body.

When they felt relatively normal again, the human slowly peeked out from the hole in the crate, and squinted.

They had a feeling they were on another stupid ship.

[grillthegridmydear]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Love You Like A Love Song - Part Two :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

F1 Grid X Reader

The grid reacts to a love song you wrote about them.

Part One

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

Pierre Gasly

- Lover - Taylor Swift

The winter break in the F1 yearly calendar was possibly your favourite time of year, any time that you didn't have to miss your boyfriend for days at a time was time you cherished. During the season it was common for you and Pierre to pass each other like ships on the ocean. His early morning starts meant that you were waking up just as he left for the gym and with your days being spent in the studio you wouldn't arrive back to your shared home until long after he had eaten dinner, walked Simba and spent some time on the simulator to prep for that weekends upcoming race.

But winter break meant a few different things, the first being just over two months of freedom between the end of one season in Abu Dhabi and the beginning of testing before Bahrain kicked off the next. The second being that you and Pierre would spend a week visiting both of your families to spend some time with them before the two of you holed yourselves up in Strasbourg for the Christmas period, your apartment there playing host to the most wonderful time of year until New Years called you both down to Monaco for the annual celebration with your friends.

But tonight was more important than thoughts of the upcoming season, Christmas Eve was here and after you both got back from touring the Christmas market with Simba, the front door was locked and the curtains mostly drawn, the fireplace lit and the croon of old records on your player sealed you all inside your apartment for the night, wrapping you up in your own little snow globe. It was a picture perfect scene, you on the couch with Simba curled up in your lap, Pierre grabbing the wine and pasta that you were eating for dinner, with Miracle on 34th Street playing on the TV, snow falling past the window.

Every Christmas followed this routine since you and Pierre first celebrated the holiday together as a couple, and you couldn't picture a better way to spend it.

But of all of the traditions you followed there was one that seemed the most special, as a child Christmas gifts were locked away never to be opened until the morning, but being adults who made their own rules, you two always sat under the tree on the evening of the 24th and opened your gifts for each other. This year you could feel yourself on the edge of your seat because of the wrapped record that sat at the bottom of his pile, a surprise that you had been working on for about a month.

"qu'est-ce que c'est?" his goofy smile made you giggle as he got to the last gift in his little stack, a stack which had also contained a new watch, a silly t shirt with a photo of him and Charles when they were kids in their little karting suits (a matching one sat in a gift bag with the Monegasque's name on it) and a Cartier chain that now sat in its rightful place on his neck. The flat square was wrapped immaculately in the same gold and silver paper as his other gifts but once the paper was ripped off Pierre was met with a simple brown cardboard record sleeve, completely blank besides a polaroid that had been glued to the front, it was from your first Christmas together, taken in that very apartment when it was empty bar the Christmas tree and sofa you were currently sat on. One word decorated the bottom border of the photograph "Lover" written in your familiar handwriting.

Your own smile only grew when he immediately abandoned all his other gifts to swap out the current song for his mystery gift. Smooth guitars filled the room as he pulled you up to dance with him, your own voice echoing through the room as you settled into a slow sway.

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever) You're my, my, my, my Lover

The songs end was met with the muffled crackle of the needle but you couldn't pull your eyes away from his. without breaking away from your gaze Pierre pulled a small box from his pocket and knelt on the spot. Love and admiration never leaving his eyes.

Your Lover, Forever.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Charles Leclerc

- Feels like This - Maisie Peters

There were a select few honours that you had managed to have in your life this far, the first being the music you were able to give to the world. Since you were old enough to babble you held a tune and the passion you had for music translated to the songs you wrote and shared with the world as your career.

The second being the honour you had to be the long time girlfriend of the most amazing man you had ever known. Charles met you when you were traveling in Italy a few years ago as a well deserved treat to yourself after finishing university. A coffee shop in Maranello played host to your meet cute where you sat in a cosy corner next to the most beautiful piano, when the owner saw you eyeing the instrument she insisted that you play something, and among the crowd of café patrons stood a transfixed Charles Leclerc. He was still in his first year of racing with Ferrari at the time, and once you finished playing a song that you had written the patrons applauded while he worked up the courage to ask you for your name, and eventually your number. The relationship that followed was nothing short of a fairy tale and as his career in formula one grew so did yours in music, both of you growing into notorious and respected individuals in your respective fields.

All this to say that your third and most recent honour came in the form of a request 6 months ago. It was inevitable that Charles brother Lorenzo would eventually propose to his long time love Charlotte but when the day finally came it was magical. This exciting chapter in their lives came with a very special request from the future groom himself, as he pulled you to the side at the family dinner held to celebrate the upcoming nuptials and explained that he wanted to surprise Charlotte with a song for their first dance as husband and wife, and he wanted you (renowned artist and his brother's girlfriend) to write and perform it.

Which led you to tonight, mere hours before the wedding, where you were sat at the piano in the ballroom of the beautiful historic mansion in the Italian countryside that would play host to the reception the following day. You were so engrossed in your secret rehearsal that the footsteps of your love went unheard until you felt him sit with you, the both of you sharing the piano stool. Charles made a successful distraction as your fingers left the keys and you turned to look at him, joy dancing in his eyes as he took you in, sat in your happy place.

"So this is what you have been working on? It sounds beautiful."

Charles was just as much in the dark about your song as the rest of the family, the only one who had heard the song being Lorenzo when you sent a voice note to him three weeks ago for final approval, the phone call you received minutes later held his glowing admiration and you could almost swear his voice was heavy with emotion as he thanked you what must have been a hundred times, citing the songs perfection.

"Enzo asked me to write it, its his gift to Charlotte for tomorrow, their first dance."

You fiddled with the keys absentmindedly before launching into the full song, this time with the vocals which echoed through the empty room, the world coming to a standstill as Charles watched you with eyes full of love.

Who cares about star signs? I'm hardwired to be with you You're like a sunrise and I'm scared that I'll never get enough of you Nobody called it a starfall Come out the blue I'm all butterflies I'm sky-high for you When it feels like this, like a light came on And you look at me like I'm all you want I got everything at my fingertips How can I resist when it feels like this?

The final notes echoed through the room as you met Charles' gaze for his approval, you were met with his hazel gaze staring into your soul.

"How do you do it?" He whispers in awe.

"I write them about you."

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Carlos Sainz

- A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

You and Carlos never fought, in the three years that you have been lucky to love him it had never happened.

You were convinced that you were soulmates, twin flames that slotted together like puzzle pieces, your personalities fit in a way that you had never seen before, not in the love your own parents shared, not in the movies you grew up watching or the books you read, not even in the love you saw everyday between strangers on the streets that you would never meet again. Since the day you met Carlos Sainz you were convinced that he was the answer to the wishes that the little girl inside you once made on stars looking to find a handsome prince to love her forever.

Couples fight, it was normal, healthy even. The words bounced around your head, hitting the walls of your empty home in a never ending loop. Couples fight, but you never did.

Which is why you were so frazzled, why you sat in a trance in your living room, alone in your big empty house while your fiancé was on the other side of the world. Because you and Carlos never fought, until you did.

The argument became insignificant the second it ended, you couldn't even remember what it was about or what had started it in the first place, but it was enough to leave you in tears as Carlos picked up his keys and left two days before he was set to leave for Singapore. Your phone lay on the table in front of you, screen dark and notification bar empty. He had yet to reach out, no calls or texts since he walked out the day before, but neither had you. You didn't know what to say, and it wasn't for lack of trying, but every time your finger hovered over his contact you froze, what if he didn't want to speak to you? The Singapore Grand Prix was a difficult race in its essence, it was held at night in blistering heat and it was dangerous if the driver couldn't command their full focus, so the idea of distracting him before he raced left a pit in your stomach.

You were brought out of your thoughts when your phone finally lit up, the screen coming to life with a feint buzz, heart leaping into your throat you scrambled to open it, hoping for a message from him, but it was instead from Lando, one of Carlos' closest friends on the grid. His message was simple, a brief 'saw this on twitter' followed by a video.

Opening the attachment you were met with an edit, clearly made by a fan, of moments that the media and other fans had caught in your relationship. Clips and photos from the last three years of you and Carlos strung together in a video that captured the story of you both, from early days to the many races that you were in attendance for, snippets from interviews where the other was mentioned to the photo that had announced your engagement to the world. Every public moment of your love captured in a two minute video that had you smiling and filled with warmth.

The song took three days from start to finish, your extensive training in as many instruments as you could get your hands on let you compose the piece in record time, and the final product sat nestled in your phone as you boarded the flight to Singapore, the sixteen hour flight let you catch up on the sleep you had lost and when you landed on Sunday evening you were an hour away from the start of the race, you wouldn't make it to the track before Carlos was in the car but the audio file was sent as you settled into a taxi.

When you reached the paddock the race was well underway and a staff member from Ferrari waited at the gates with your pass. There were 10 laps to go when you finally made it to the garage, Alexandra waving you over as you both watched your boys in the final stint of the race, when the checker flag waved to signal the end of the race you accompanied the rest of the crew out to the parc ferme barriers, Max, George and Lando settled into their podium spaces and between them you could see him.

Your eyes met, and the world stopped.

As he jogged over the crew around you began their congratulations for his P4 finish, but your eyes never left his, not until he reached you and his lips crashed onto your own. The frozen world around you began to speed up, lights brighter and sounds louder as you poured you entire being into the kiss.

"mi para siempre" were the words that he mumbled, breaking the kiss with your foreheads pressed together like if you were to separate the world would end.

Couples fight, you and Carlos fought, once, and never again.

And all along I believed I would find you Time has brought your heart to me I have loved you for a thousand years I'll love you for a thousand more

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Daniel Riccardo

- Enchanted - Taylor Swift

It was official, you had finally lost your mind.

"I hope you guys are enjoying the show tonight" you spoke into the mic as the stadium crowd cried out in deafening screams, your usual tour costume had been swapped out for the most gorgeous purple gown of your dreams, this entire section of the show was brand new to debut tonight and close out your Sydney show. A new song that had never been heard by the crowd, or by the man who stood with your friends and family in the VIP tent.

You and Daniel had been friends for as long as either of you could remember. Attached by the hip all your lives you were best friends, well, you were his best friend, you were madly in love with him, which was inconvenient.

As the crowd died down you continued "It's so special to be back in Australia, this has been a pretty epic welcome back to my home so thank you all for coming out tonight." You could feel the love pouring back at you from the crowd, which was giving you courage to do what you were about to do, if this whole thing blew up in your face like fireworks then at least you knew that they would have a new song.

"So I have this song, its a new song that I wrote for my next album but I think that tonight is the perfect night to sing it to you all for the first time." Your eyes bounced between the floor and the section of seats to the left of the stage, where you knew Daniel was watching.

Yep, you had finally gone insane.

"This song was written with someone really special to me in mind, He is someone I have known all my life, and he just so happens to be the person I love most in the world, so I hope you enjoy."

The band played the intro to the song, guitars ringing through the venue which riled the crowd up once again into cheers, there was no going back now.

There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you

Thousands of lights began to erupt around the stadium, looking like the fireflies that you and Danny used to chase in the summer. This song contained your entire being, all of your feelings, memories, and dreams condensed into six minutes. Years of neighbouring desks in school, sneaking out to watch the stars, lounging on the sofa in his garage while he fiddled with his kart. It spanned all the cities that you followed him to, watching him race, every victory and every loss, different formula categories and varying teams over the years as he made a name for himself. All the years of talent shows and sleepless nights on porches with your guitar and your notebook, to the sold out shows that led you to tonight. Every single moment shared with him.

This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you

The consequences of your extremely public declaration of your feelings were glaringly obvious, it could all go horribly wrong. You knew that Daniel wouldn't exit your life if he didn't feel the same, but no matter the outcome, either he returned your feelings or you just publicly humiliated yourself on stage and you weren't entirely sure that you could live with the rejection that you would face if he didn't love you the way you wanted to be loved by him.

Daniel Riccardo held a tight grasp on your heart and he had the power to shatter it into a million pieces.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Your voice rang out to a final deafening cheer from the crowd as the lights went dark. The show was over, and now you had to face the music.

As the venue began to empty you paced the length of the backstage area, Daniel always met you back stage after a show if he was in attendance, and as the minutes ticked by and the tulle of your dress brushed the floor with every step dread started to seep into you.

Maybe you made a mistake.

Before you could wish for the earth to swallow you whole pounding footsteps came to a sudden halt behind you. When you turned to see him he looked out of breath, like he ran to get there. His expression was unreadable and a final strike of dread sent a shiver down your spine.

This was a mistake.

Before you could say anything, before you could fumble for the words to explain yourself, make up any excuse to save your friendship from the catastrophic end that your mind was envisioning he marched up to meet you.

The kiss was unexpected, you would have thought you were dreaming but even in your dreams, Daniel never kissed you like that. It lasted what felt like forever and as you both eventually came up for air the unreadable look in his eyes suddenly became glaringly clear.

"I'm not in love with anyone but you."

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Part two as promised, This one was a lot of fun to write so I hope you enjoy.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

[multixsposts]

The Jock

Context-> Suguru Geto is y/ns sneaky link and he demands you tell no one about the relationship. Because outside of you two fucking, you mean nothing to him.

Warnings-> Geto is basically a bully to the reader, name calling will be mentioned.

a/n-> This is a college au if you aren’t fond of strong language, name calling, or sexual scenes then this is not the story for you. Thank you.

Fandom-> Jujutsu Kaisen

Ship-> Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

This story will contain Sexual Content. Minors Please Do Not Interact.

I DID NOT RE READ THIS.

therefore if there are any typos i’m sorry !.

You were running around your dorm room making sure you got everything for you next class that starts in 20 minutes. You’ve never been late to a class. Ever. and you weren’t about to start now.

Gathering your things you rush out of your room and dash to your class. You don’t think you’ve even ran this fast before, the door to your classroom is approaching so you slowed down a bit to a jog not even bothering to check your surroundings which causes you to bump into someone.

You fall onto the floor, the papers that you had in your folder scattered out in front of you.

“watch where the fuck you’re going, freak.” you look up at the familiar voice only to make eye contact with the schools very popular jock.

Suguru Geto.

Someone you know all to well. You two have been sneaking around for a few months, after the first time you’ve hooked up you came up to him the next day at school and that was the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.

It was humiliating

He acted like he didn’t even know you, he spat at your feet.

he called you a disgusting pig and told you to get lost.

All while his friends laughed.

everyone laughed at you.

so now..

you don’t know how to end this…thing the two of you have.

You can’t say you don’t enjoy the way he makes you feel when he fucks you.

In fact, you enjoy it so much you almost, almost forget how he treats you outside of the sex you have in the janitors closet.

“s-sorry..” you whisper out as you collect your things that covered the dirty tile.

“tch.” he scoffed as he watched you down at his feet trying to get the folder that was underneath his sneaker.

“um..” you look at him hesitantly. “sorry..but do you mind…l-lifting your foot?.” you ask and his eyebrows bunch together in an irritated expression.

“are you telling me what to do?.” he asks as he squats down to your level. His face close to yours.

A feeling you’re to familiar with yet you could never remember what his lips felt like.

Sometimes he wouldn’t even let you face him while he fucked you stupid.

Let’s just say that the back of your head was more appealing to him.

“oh- n-no it was just a question.” you whimper, as your eyes drift to his friends behind him, their smirks letting you know they’re enjoyed this.

“…whatever.” you hear him grumble out as he stands up quickly- his foot moving off of your folder and you don’t hesitate to grab it.

you stack your things together, keeping your eyes on the floor in front of you only to see a folded up piece of paper.

hm..

you grab it and look up, watching as geto and his jock friends leave you in the empty hallway.

you open the note.

‘after practice meet me underneath the bleachers.’

this was…new. He never left you a note. Usually he just drags you away when you’re alone.

and this was also a new..location. this was out in the open..anyone could see.

he’s not this stupid is he?..



You’re underneath the bleachers just like the note said.

You got here a bit earlier, your anxiety eating you away at what he could possibly want..

This is to public of a place for the two of you have sex. You wouldn’t allow it…

So as you sit, a book in hand, waiting for the football player to join you.

“what’re reading?.” a gruff voice asked to which you jump a little.

Your eyes find his and you smile a bit.

“ah..little women.” you tell him and he looks at you confused.

“you’re reading a book about little people?.. are they fairies or somethin’” he respond and you laugh lightly..

you didn’t catch it but your laugh made the corner of his lip quirk up into the tiniest smile.

some days aren’t as bad as others, you two have conversations every now and then, but the majority of this relationship is no talking and just rough sex. These are the days that make you forget what kind of person he truly is.

“no..it’s not.” you tell him as you stand, dusting the grass and dirt from your jeans as you stuff your book back into your bag.

“mm.” he hums out as he grabs your wrist and starts walking.

“S-Suguru?..” you question.

“what is it?.” he asks, not looking back at you as he continues to walk to the parking lot by the football field.

“where are we going?..” you allowed yourself not to panic as you watch his car grow closer and your staring at the passenger side seat as he holds the door open for you.

“you gonna get in?.”

“uh..w-where are we going?.” you ask once more and ‘tchs’

“it’s a surprise.” this is new. this is all to knew to you.. You have never been with him outside of school.

You have never been inside of his car.

yet you get in and so does he.

The drive was quiet and quick but what you weren’t expecting was..woods.

You two were in the middle of the woods.

is this his way of killing you..

shit.

Your heart rate was starting to pick up.

he helps you out of the car.

“relax.” you hear him say, in a voice so calm you swore it was a different person.

“i-i am relaxed.” you tell him and he rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand. leading you further into the woods.

As you make your way through you hear running water..

you get closer only to see a waterfall and your eyes widen.

“it’s beautiful..” you say with a hushed tone and he smiles a little as he watches you. Noticing how your nerves relaxed as you watch the water flow from the hill down the pool of water below.

“that it is..” he responds as he sits down. You taking a seat next to him.

“how’d you find this place?.” you ask, your eyes never leaving the water.

“i..was just wondering around one day and stumbled upon this. I come here sometimes to…think.” he reveals and you turn your head and look at him.

“why..did you bring me here, suguru.” You ask and he looks at you.

“just..thought we could use a different scenery when we have sex.” you don’t know why you felt your heart sting at those words.. honestly you shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“and…think of it as an apology.” your ears perk up at those words.

“yknow..for all the times i’ve been a douche.” he says and you smile a bit.

Suguru Geto..just gave you an apology.

you couldn’t believe it.

“thank you suguru..” You tell him as you lean in and place your lips onto his.

Things started to escalate pretty quickly as you ended up underneath, Your clothes thrown to the side as he brushes you hair back.

“you’re beautiful..” he whispers out and your eyes widen at such kind words..

He’s never complemented you in this way..

So you blush and he kissed your forehead.

You gasp as he pushes his dick inside of you.

Your nails immediately leaving marks on his back as you need something to grip onto.

“fuck..” he grunts out.

“i’ll never forget how tight this pussy grips me.” He says lowly as he starts to thrust in and out of your wet cunt.

This is completely different from the other times you’ve had sex. He’s being so gentle..so nice…

what’s going on?.. maybe he’s had a change of heart..

“hey..focus on me.” he slaps your cheek lightly as his thrust grow harsher..

“y-yes...sugu~” you moan out, not realizing what you said. As you focus on the way his dick fits perfectly inside of you.

Filling you up so good that your legs shake as you wrap them around his waist.

“f-fuck..princess. Don’t call me that.” He groans as he feels you squeeze around him. Him on the verge of cumming inside of you at your choice of words.

“sugu~..f-faster…” you say not caring how he told you not to call him that. You feel his speed pick up as you hold onto him tightly.

“s-shit..baby…gonna cum..” he moans out as he feels you getting closer to your release.

your heart fluttering at the nicknames he’s using.

“w-where..” he asks

“…i-inside.” your reply makes him stop. and your eyes shoot open as you look at him, panting.

“w…what?.” he says.

“cum inside me..sugu~” you tell him and you brush his hair back.

His pace starting back up quickly as you both cum together.

You moaning as you feel his hot cum spurt out inside of you.

To you this is the best sex the two of you ever had. You silently thinking how different things will be tomorrow..How you’ll be able to talk with him in public, maybe hold his hand.

you couldn’t wait.

but to Suguru Geto..

The way he felt when he saw you smile and laugh at his jokes, made his heart and his head confused. He doesn’t really know why he brought you to his spot. He refuses to believe that these feelings mean anything..so to him this is just a normal day and nothing is going to change.

He’ll back to ignoring you in public and fucking you in private 

This is kind of sloppy and i apologize, but nonetheless i i hope you enjoyed. 

-M

[disco-archetypes]

SHIVERS - All around you, rain falls on the great city of Revachol. Rain drips from the eaves and floods the gutters, washing the filth away.

SHIVERS - Winter's grip on the city is loosening. The spring thaw is here.

YOU - Finally. What now?

SHIVERS - Your shirt sticks to your chest. The shoulders of your disco blazer grow heavy. The cold finds its way in under your skin. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

YOU - What is in the west?

SHIVERS - Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.

SHIVERS - The ruins of a half-sunken seafort crumble on an inlet. Beyond the Bay of Revachol, ghosts rise into the sky.

YOU - Who are you, ghosts?

SHIVERS - The skyscrapers of La Delta, the financial district. Faint golden light seeps from the office windows.

YOU - What is down the shore?

SHIVERS - Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once seized by revolutionaries. An old wooden church stands on stilts above the water.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - Coal City, end of all lines.

YOU - Run your fingers through your dampened hair.

SHIVERS - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance.

YOU - What's in the east?

SHIVERS - The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.

YOU - Clench your teeth to stop shuddering.

SHIVERS - Behind the gates -- heaps of supply crates. Red and blue metal shipping containers slick with rain. The Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour is an artificial mountain range. Immense wealth resides within, and immeasurable poverty in its shadow.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - La Drisienne, King Dris's Passenger Harbour. Cruise ships flanked by dock arms. Cranes watching over the mouth of the river distributary.

YOU - What is across the distributary?

SHIVERS - Couron, the lower middle class. Distributary after distributary cuts the city blocks in half. Seven-story buildings trail off into the rain.

YOU - What is beyond the Couron?

SHIVERS - A silvery curtain of rain over the houses. The class divide.

YOU - What's in the north?

SHIVERS - Capeside apartments -- tower blocks crowd one another, 4.46 mm bullets still lodged in their war-torn stone walls.

SHIVERS - Hallways collapsed from the mortar hits of a war that was lost long ago. Clotheslines go to waste in the rain. Radios play.

YOU - And closer to here?

SHIVERS - A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Filthy water pools around a body. Droplets of rain slip from the dead man's cold cheeks.

YOU - What's in the south?

SHIVERS - A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.

YOU - What's on the other side?

SHIVERS - The road ascends; a raised motorway loops above the ghetto. Beneath its concrete columns -- a sea of rooftops, woodwork, and tar stretches northward. Four-story buildings as far as the rain can fall. The snows melt in Jamrock.

YOU - Why am I not there?

SHIVERS - To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.

YOU - What am I doing here?

SHIVERS - Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.

YOU - Where do I live?

SHIVERS - On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

SHIVERS - YOU CANNOT RETURN.

YOU - Shudder, look further...

SHIVERS - In the rain-swept distance above the rooftops of Jamrock, a re-purposed silk mill stands perched above the motorway exit. Precinct 41 hunches in the rain.

SHIVERS - Your vision blurs. You wipe your face with your hand. The rain stings your eyes, making you look up and blink.

YOU - What's above?

SHIVERS - More coalition aerostatics. Way up there -- where rain forms -- rotors flutter silently. Your sight clears.

YOU - What's below?

SHIVERS - Collapsed storm drains. Old sewage systems flooded with rainwater. Hidden weapon caches from the Revolution. Doors leading down to Le Royaume -- the catacombs to which, for three centuries, they delivered the blue-blooded dead.

YOU - "Motherfucker." [Finish thought.]

SHIVERS - These spring thaw will not last. The winter will return to Revachol.

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: No Longer Invisible

Request: Hii!! Sooo I've seen ur Harry hook x reader who is the mad hatters child and im wondering if you could do Harry Hook x reader who is the daughter of the Cheshire Cat?? I'm recently been obsessed with both lol.

Reader: Female

Word count: 1872

Average reading time: 6 min 50 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story contains themes of mild injury description, emotional distress, sensitive themes of neglect and self-worth. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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Y/n Cat, the daughter of the Cheshire Cat, walked silently along the streets of the Isle of the Lost, her movements as sly as a cat’s. Unlike her brother, who is highly praised by their father as the one to carry on his legacy, Y/n had been left to fend for herself. Her presence on the streets was a result of his disappointment and disregard, and she had grown accustomed to the harshness of her lonely existence.

Rumors have been circulating around the isle that Uma, the formidable pirate queen, was looking to recruit new members for her crew. The thought both excited and terrified Y/n. She had always admired Uma's strength and the power of her crew, especially a certain pirate with a hook. Harry Hook, with his striking blue eyes and his natural confidence, had captivated Y/n from afar. She harbored a secret crush on him, though she kept to the shadows, too shy and insecure to make herself known.

Determined to discover more, Y/n made her way to the docks, where Uma’s incomparable ship cast a long shadow. Climbing a stack of crates to gain a better view of the deck, she leaned in, straining to catch the conversation between Uma and her crew. But as she shifted for a clearer view, the crate beneath her shifted as well. Y/n lost her balance and tumbled to the ground, pain shooting through her ankle like a searing brand.

Instinctively, she became invisible, hoping to avoid drawing attention to herself. Yet, despite her attempt to remain hidden, Harry’s sharp ears had picked up the sound. His eyes, keen and alert, scanned the dock as he stepped into view, his gaze intense yet curious.

"Lass?" Harry’s voice, smooth and velvety, cut through the air, carrying a hint of playful charm mixed with genuine concern. "I know yer around here somewhere. Come on out, don’t be shy."

Y/n’s heart raced, her fear mingling with the throbbing pain in her ankle, creating a tight knot of anxiety. Though she longed to reveal herself, her sense of vulnerability kept her hidden.

"Lass, I know yer hurt," Harry continued, his tone softening with a tender lilt. "Don’t be shy now. I’m not here to cause ya any more trouble. Just want to help."

The genuine warmth in his voice seeped through her fear, clearing up her mind. Slowly, she let herself become visible again, sitting on the dock with her injured ankle cradled in her hands. Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as she avoided Harry's piercing gaze.

"There ya are," Harry said softly, his voice like a caress against the cool air. He knelt beside her with a lazy, teasing smirk, his eyes filled with both amusement and concern. His gaze was unwavering, a mixture of playful challenge and genuine tenderness. "What’s this, then? Hiding from me? I’d have thought you’d have a bit more courage."

Y/n looked away, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

Harry’s expression softened, the teasing smirk melting into a look of sincere sympathy. He gently brushed his fingertips over her injured ankle, his touch light and tender as if afraid to hurt her further. His eyes never left hers, their deep, ocean depths filled with a soothing warmth. "Yer never a burden, Y/n. Quite the opposite, really. It’s a shame yer hide so well I would have liked to see ya more around here."

Y/n's gaze met his, caught in the magnetic pull of his eyes. Harry’s touch, both firm and gentle, sent a shiver of unexpected comfort through her. His hand lingered on her leg, a steady presence that offered reassurance and comfort. "Let me help ya out," he said, his voice a low rumble of warmth and sincerity.

With surprising tenderness, Harry lifted Y/n into his arms, careful to avoid hurting her injured ankle. She instinctively clung to him, her heart racing from both the pain and the unexpected intimacy. Harry carried her gently onto Uma’s ship, his movements steady and cautious, while Uma watched with a blend of curiosity and irritation.

"Harry, what’s this?" Uma snapped, her eyes narrowing as she took in Y/n’s presence. "You’re making a scene."

Harry flashed Uma a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just helping out a lady in distress. Can’t have her wandering around in pain now, can we?"

Uma’s scowl softened slightly as she assessed Y/n, her gaze shifting from irritation to hesitant acceptance. "Well, come on then. Let’s get you fixed up. And don’t worry about Harry’s antics. He’s harmless, mostly."

Gil, ever the ray of sunshine, appeared with a warm smile. "Hey there! I’m Gil. Don’t be shy. You’re among friends here."

Harry walked further into the ship, setting Y/n down on a makeshift bed in a small cabin below deck, his touch careful and considerate. He examined her ankle with a frown, his fingers light as he assessed the injury. "Looks like a bad sprain. We’ll need some ice."

"Thank you, Harry," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

Harry’s gaze softened, filled with a warmth that contrasted sharply with his usual flirtatious demeanor. "Don’t mention it. But I do have one request."

Y/n’s curiosity sparked through her discomfort. "What’s that?"

"Promise me you won’t be afraid to ask for help," Harry said gently, his voice a soothing balm. "Especially from me."

Y/n’s heart swelled with a mix of gratitude and nervousness. "I promise."

Harry’s smile was tender as he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Good. Now, let’s get this sorted out."

As Harry worked to tend to her injury, his touch was unexpectedly tender, every move made with a care that contradicted his roguish exterior. The flirtatious edge in his manner was tempered by a sincere concern that Y/n couldn’t ignore.

"You know," Harry began, breaking the comfortable silence, "Uma’s been talking about recruiting ya for our crew."

Y/n’s eyes widened with surprise, not realizing she was the very one the rumours were about. "Really?"

"Aye," Harry replied with a smirk that was both charming and genuine. "Says you’ve got skills we could use. And I’d say she’s right."

Y/n’s cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and anxiety. "I’d really like that."

"Good," Harry said, his tone softening even further. "We could use someone like you. And if you don’t mind me saying so, I’d quite like to have you around more."

Y/n hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. "You know," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "even if I disappear so often, I really like being around you too."

Harry’s expression softened, a warm, genuine smile spreading across his face. "I like having you around, lass. Disappear all ya want, I'll always find ya."

Y/n’s heart fluttered at his words, her apprehension melting away. "I’d like that too."

Harry’s smile broadened, and he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist with a gentle possessiveness. He trailed soft kisses along her ear and down her neck, marking her with a possessive tenderness that left no doubt about his feelings. Y/n’s shyness flared once more, and she instinctively disappeared again, her body becoming invisible in a reflexive response.

Harry’s voice, soft and coaxing, cut through her anxiety. "Come on out, kitten. Yer safe with me."

He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, his touch both firm and gentle, and began to tenderly caress her sides. "I promise, no one’s going to hurt ya. Just be with me, and let me take care of ya."

Gradually, Y/n allowed herself to reappear, her heart fluttering with both excitement and nerves.

Harry’s eyes bore into Y/n’s, their depth and warmth creating an electric tension in the air. “Yer special, Y/n. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Before Y/n could utter a word, Harry’s lips crashed against hers with a fire that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was all-consuming, a passionate storm of longing and need that swept them both away. Y/n melted into the intensity of his touch, surrendering completely as Harry’s hands roamed her back, pulling her closer with an urgent desire.

The kiss deepened, each movement between them a testament to the depth of their connection. Harry’s lips claimed hers with an urgency that spoke of all the unspoken promises, and Y/n responded with equal passion, her body pressed against his as if they were two halves of a whole.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Harry’s gaze remained locked onto hers, filled with a raw, unwavering devotion. His hand lingered on her cheek, his touch tender yet insistent. “Yer going to be just fine, Lass. And I’ll be here for you, every step of the way.”

Y/n, breathless and overwhelmed, let a smile break through, her insecurities dissolving under the weight of his fervent assurance. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Harry's expression turned serious as he looked at her. “Listen, Y/n, I insist ya stay with me. I don’t want ya out there on the streets. Not when yer can be with me.”

Y/n's eyes widened at the declaration, a mix of surprise and doubt flickering across her face. "Do you treat all girls like this?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Harry’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a gentle, knowing smile. “I don’t treat all women like this, just my woman. And I’m not about to let ya wander around hurting and alone. If yer with me, you’re safe, and I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at his words, the weight of her doubts lifting. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

Harry’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and promise. “Then it’s settled. Yer with me now, and I’ll take care of ya. No more hiding, no more fending for yerself. Just trust me, and we’ll figure this out together.”

Y/n’s smile grew, her heart filled with a new sense of belonging. Just as they were basking in the warmth of their newfound love, the door swung open, and Uma walked in with a knowing smile, followed by Gil, who looked as confused as ever.

Uma's eyes sparkled with approval as she took in the scene. "Looks like my first mate has found himself quite the partner." she remarked, her tone light but genuine. "Y/n, you’ll make a great right hand for Harry. I’ve seen what you can do, and I’m glad you’re joining us."

Gil nodded enthusiastically, though it was clear he didn't fully grasp the situation. "Yeah, what she said! Welcome to the crew, Y/n!"

Y/n’s cheeks flushed, a mixture of pride and happiness swelling within her. She glanced up at Harry, who gave her a reassuring squeeze, his eyes filled with pride.

"Thank you, Uma," Y/n said, her voice steady and filled with determination. "I won’t let you down."

Uma smiled, her gaze shifting between Y/n and Harry. "I know you won’t. Now, rest. We’ve got big plans ahead of us, and with you on board, I’m confident we’ll succeed."

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Requested by: Anonymous