#about the relationship between Man and nature

[00valentina-writes00]

Enemies to lovers sevika.

Sevika absolutely despises reader, and yet reader is still so nice to sevika always smiling at her and offering her nothing but kindness…sevika hates it.(no she doesn’t)

Could be either fluff or smutty just an idea

✞⛧ Tension and Temptation ✞⛧

Warnings: emotional vulnerability, slow burn, developing relationship, implied tension, brief violence, slight injury, angst, reluctant affection (no smut..sorry gang-)

Word count: 5.3K

The air in Zaun always feels heavier, weighed down by the grinding industrial machines and the lingering scent of decay. The narrow streets are filled with the constant hum of activity, the hustle and bustle of a city where survival is a day-to-day struggle. You've barely stepped foot into Silco's territory, but the tension that thickens the air makes you feel as though you've already failed the moment you arrived.

And standing before you, arms crossed, is Sevika.

She's a force of nature, towering and imposing, with the kind of presence that could crush a man just by staring at him. Her broad shoulders and muscular frame practically hum with power, her every movement radiating command. A scar runs down her face, another testament to her brutal world, and her grey eyes, cold as steel, meet yours with a flicker of disdain. Her hair falls in dark waves over her sharp features, partially obscuring the fierce, calculating look she's giving you. The metallic sheen of her copper-colored prosthetic arm glints in the low light, its shimmer-enhanced strength evident even in the way she holds herself.

The first thing you notice is how she's completely unapproachable, the natural aura of violence that wraps around her as tightly as the red poncho draped over her shoulders. You almost feel sorry for the fact that she's been stuck with someone like you. You're just a recruit, fresh off the streets, trying to earn your place. You can already tell she doesn't want you here.

"I don't need a damn assistant," Sevika spits, her voice like gravel scraping against metal. Her tone cuts through the heavy air, sharp and immediate. "So don't get any ideas. Just stay out of my way."

You can't help but smile—soft, almost out of place. It's your natural instinct to meet coldness with kindness, even if it seems pointless. You've always believed that if you show warmth to the right people, maybe you'll get something back in return. But Sevika? She's a brick wall. Her sharp eyes narrow, assessing you as if you were a problem she needed to solve.

"Yeah, whatever," she mutters, dismissing you with a wave of her hand. "Don't make me regret this."

You follow her closely as she turns, stepping with heavy purpose down the grimy streets of Zaun, her boots clicking against the ground in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. Despite the tension crackling between you, you do your best to keep your tone light. "I just want to help. I can handle whatever you need."

Sevika doesn't respond. Instead, her eyes stay fixed ahead, ignoring you completely. The silence between you feels suffocating, but you persist. "I know it might not seem like it, but I'm here to learn. I'm not looking to get in your way, I promise."

Her scowl deepens. "Then keep your mouth shut, and maybe I'll consider it," she growls. Her voice is low, a constant hum of irritation. But it's not just her words that make you pause. It's the way her eyes flash briefly toward you before her gaze returns to the horizon. There's something about the sharpness in those eyes, something that makes the air around you feel charged.

It's like trying to strike a spark in a cold, barren landscape. The more you try to offer, the more Sevika pushes back, her harsh words biting through your calm demeanor.

Still, you can't help but offer a small smile as you keep up with her. You've always believed in the power of kindness. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to crack through her tough exterior.

By the time you've reached your destination—a crumbling building where Silco's orders are handed down—you've managed to learn that Sevika has little patience for anything, let alone for someone who dares to try and offer kindness. You find yourself standing in the shadows as she barks out orders to a group of men, her posture demanding respect. There's an undeniable force behind her words, a presence that commands the room as much as her stature does. Her copper arm gleams under the dull lighting, the intricate mechanics of the prosthetic arm seeming almost alien in the harsh, industrial environment.

You're not sure why you still persist. Maybe it's because something about Sevika's rugged exterior, her unrelenting loyalty, and the way she carries herself pulls at you. Or maybe it's the fact that you can see through her cold exterior—there's more beneath the surface, and you're determined to figure it out.

As the hours drag on, the work piles up. It's hard, grueling, and entirely mundane, but you keep at it, offering help when needed, sticking close to her side. There's something about Sevika's quiet, controlled rage that fascinates you. The way she moves, the way she handles everything—each gesture calculated and efficient—reminds you of a well-oiled machine. But machines don't need kindness. People do.

Sevika finally throws you a glance as you hand her a cup of tea, carefully prepared just the way you think she might like it. She takes it from your hand with a grumble, muttering something under her breath about unnecessary gestures, but you know you've won a small victory.

She doesn't throw the cup at you. She drinks it instead, in silence.

The longer you stand beside her, the more her icy exterior seems to thaw—if only just slightly. You notice the subtle shifts in her posture when you speak, the way her lips curve in the briefest of smiles, though she quickly hides it behind her usual scowl.

"Stop smiling at me like that," she growls, her voice softer than before, yet still biting. "It's fucking irritating."

But you don't stop. In fact, you make it your mission to be even kinder, to offer more help, to make her realize that you're not a threat, that you're not here to steal her spotlight, but to be part of the team.

Later, when the day's work is done, Sevika's frustration with you seems to grow. She's angry, but it's not the same anger she directs at the people she dislikes. This one is different. It's more internal, a tension she can't shake, like you're pushing a button deep inside her. She doesn't understand it, and it only makes her hate you more.

"Why the hell do you keep doing this?" she asks, her voice rough with something unreadable. "You think your smile will make this any easier? You think I care about your little act of kindness?"

You stand your ground, though your heart beats faster. "Maybe I'm just trying to help."

Sevika scoffs, but it's not as cutting as before. She glances at you once more, her gaze unreadable, and for a second, it's almost like she's looking at you, really looking at you, for the first time.

"You're wasting your time," she mutters, her tone almost tired.

But when she turns away, there's a slight shift in her movements, an imperceptible change in the way she carries herself. You're not sure if she's getting used to you, or if she's just too exhausted to push you away anymore. But the more she resists, the more determined you become.

In the quiet aftermath of a long day, Sevika lingers at the edge of your vision. She's still rough around the edges, her anger still a flame that burns bright, but there's a small part of her that's starting to crack.

You can see it. She can't hide it from you forever.

And that's when it hits you—despite her constant grumbling, despite her sharp words and cold silences, you're not just an annoyance to her. You're a challenge. One she can't seem to escape.

As Sevika walks away, her prosthetic arm catching the light in a way that makes her seem even more formidable, you smile softly to yourself.

You won't give up on her.

The weight of Zaun hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of oil, decay, and danger. The city is a constant, humming machine of chaos and violence, a place where only the strongest survive. And you? You're still trying to prove yourself, trying to make your place known in Silco's ranks. But standing next to Sevika, as always, feels like a constant struggle.

Her presence is like an impenetrable wall of steel—intimidating, unyielding, and cold. Every time you speak to her, it's like your words just bounce off her, sliding into the abyss where they're quickly forgotten. But you're not deterred. You can't be. Her icy demeanor is nothing new. What is new, however, is the way you can't seem to stop smiling at her. Even when she glares at you like she's about to snap your neck, there's something in you that refuses to back down, refuses to let her coldness defeat you.

And it's that same smile you offer her now as the two of you walk through the dark, abandoned streets, on a mission to secure a deal with another faction. You've learned by now that Sevika doesn't deal well with pleasantries, doesn't like the niceties most people in Silco's empire try to pretend at. She's raw, blunt, a woman who cuts to the heart of the matter without hesitation. But despite her sharp words and colder gaze, you remain the same—cheerful, optimistic, and unnervingly kind.

"Quit looking at me like that," Sevika growls, her voice low and gravelly as her grey eyes flick to you. Her gaze pierces through you, as if she's trying to burn holes into your skin. The low hum of her prosthetic arm moving against the fabric of her sleeve is a constant reminder of her strength, her sharpness, and the danger she can unleash with a single movement.

"Like what?" you ask, genuinely curious, despite knowing the answer. You can feel her irritation like a thick cloud around her, but it doesn't deter you. Not today.

"Like you think I'm some sort of charity case," she snaps, the muscles in her neck tensing as her jaw clenches. "If you think you can win me over with your fake little smiles, you're sorely mistaken."

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the sudden sound of footsteps echoes in the alleyway ahead. A low hiss of tension fills the air, and instinctively, you tense up, your eyes scanning the shadows.

Sevika's hand immediately goes to the grip of her weapon, her fingers flexing in anticipation. You've seen her in action before—the way she moves, the way her presence fills a room with both fear and respect. But this? This is different. She's on edge, and that makes you on edge too.

"Stay behind me," Sevika orders, her voice a low command as she steps forward, her posture suddenly coiled with dangerous intent. Her left prosthetic arm gleams under the dim light, the cracked blue and purple veins in her skin pulsing faintly beneath the surface. She looks like a force of nature, ready to strike at any moment.

You don't argue. You've learned by now that arguing with Sevika is a pointless endeavor. Instead, you keep your head down, staying close to her as the two of you advance. But as you round the corner, you don't expect what happens next.

Gunshots echo through the alley, and in an instant, you're caught off guard. A burst of shrapnel flies toward you, the sound of the blast ringing in your ears, and before you even have time to react, a sharp pain explodes in your side. The world tilts on its axis as you stumble, your knees buckling under you as you fall hard against the cold, unforgiving ground.

Your breath hitches, the shock of the attack leaving your limbs weak. Blood starts to pool beneath you, and panic surges in your chest. You're not sure how bad it is, but you know you're hurt. You're not sure if you can stand again.

Sevika doesn't hesitate. She spins around with the speed of a predator, her metallic prosthetic arm coming down with the force of a battering ram. The gunmen are taken down quickly, their bodies slumping lifelessly to the ground, but you're not focused on them. You're focused on the sharp, burning pain in your side, the fear creeping in that you might not be able to move.

She doesn't see it at first. She's too caught up in the immediate danger of taking out the rival faction. But when she turns back to look for you, that's when she sees it.

Your hand is pressed tightly against your side, blood seeping between your fingers as you struggle to stay conscious. The shock is setting in, your head spinning, your vision blurring around the edges.

For a moment, Sevika's eyes narrow, her face unreadable as she assesses the situation. The emotions in her eyes flash too quickly to read—fury, disbelief, and something else you can't place. Her lip curls, the usual scowl deepening, but she doesn't turn away.

You try to force yourself up, to stand, but your body refuses to cooperate. Your legs shake, and you collapse back onto the cold concrete, gasping for breath.

Sevika swears under her breath, her brow furrowing in a rare display of concern. Her prosthetic arm shifts, clicking with the precision of machinery as she strides toward you, her pace quickening, her boots slamming against the ground.

"You're fucking useless," she mutters under her breath, the words as harsh as ever. But when she kneels beside you, there's a hint of something else in her voice—a softness that's quickly masked by her usual cold exterior. "Stay down."

Before you can say anything, she's already tearing off a piece of her red poncho, using it to staunch the bleeding. Her hands are surprisingly gentle as she presses the cloth against your wound, her fingers rough from years of fighting but oddly careful in their touch.

"You better not fucking die on me," she grumbles, though her voice lacks its usual bite. "I don't need another person I have to drag around."

You can feel her frustration radiating off of her, but there's something else beneath it, something that tugs at the very core of you. She's trying to save you. Despite the way she treats you, despite how cold and distant she's always been, there's a flicker of something deeper in her actions—a recognition, maybe, of your sacrifice for her.

You offer her a weak smile, the corners of your lips pulling up despite the pain. "I'm not going anywhere, Sevika," you say, your voice hoarse but steady.

She freezes, her hand pressing down harder on the wound. The faint glow of purple lights up her eyes for a split second as she injects shimmer into her bloodstream. It makes her scarred veins pulsate, the colors glowing brighter, but it's the softening of her gaze that you notice first.

"Don't make me regret this," she mutters, but it doesn't feel like an insult. It feels more like an acknowledgment of something she doesn't want to face. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, one that she quickly hides behind her usual hard shell. She doesn't want to care. She can't afford to.

But she's already made the choice.

When she pulls you into her arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you're nothing more than a weightless bundle, you feel the odd warmth of her body against yours. The clash of her cold demeanor and this rare moment of tenderness sends a shock through you, a realization that perhaps she's not as immune to kindness as she makes herself out to be.

As the two of you make your way back to safety, Sevika's hand never leaves the cloth pressed against your side. She's steady, unyielding, and yet... there's something in the way she holds you now, something that wasn't there before.

You know she won't admit it. She can't. But for the first time, you see a crack in her armor.

And you can't help but smile, despite everything.

She's still the same Sevika, tough as nails, unrelenting, but underneath it all? You're starting to see that she's capable of something more.

You won't stop smiling—not even for her.

It's the middle of the night, and you're wide awake, groaning softly as you try to adjust your position on the bed. The wound on your side, though healing, hasn't quite been fully stitched up yet, and tonight, it seems, it's decided to protest. The dull ache from earlier has turned into something sharper, something more insistent, as you shift again and feel the sting of stitches pulling loose.

You sit up, pressing a hand to the wound, biting your lip as the pain spreads. Damn it, you can't let this go unchecked. The medic has already gone home for the night, and the last thing you want to do is try to deal with it on your own. You've only been out of the infirmary for a few days, but you know that if you don't do something about it, you could risk making things worse.

So, you do the only thing that comes to mind: you go find Sevika.

She's always there when things get rough, even when she doesn't want to be. Whether she likes it or not, you're stuck with her. So, you pull on a loose shirt, the fabric brushing against your skin, and you make your way toward her quarters in the heart of Zaun's underground complex.

The hallways are quiet, and the dim light overhead casts long shadows across the stone walls. You hesitate for a moment, the familiar nervousness creeping up your spine. What if she's not in the mood for this? What if she snaps at you, tells you to figure it out yourself? But you push the thought aside, biting your lip and walking with more determination toward her door.

You knock twice, a hesitant but firm tap. The response comes quickly—a grunt followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the other side. The door creaks open, revealing Sevika in nothing but her sleeveless top, her metallic prosthetic arm gleaming faintly in the dim light. She's standing there, as imposing as ever, eyes narrowing when she sees you.

"What the hell do you want?" Her voice is rough, like gravel grinding underfoot, but there's an edge of concern in her gaze that she doesn't bother to hide.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, the wound on your side still aching painfully. "I—uh, I think my stitches came undone." You gesture weakly to your side, a little embarrassed that you've come to her for something like this. "I need help."

Sevika's brow furrows, and before you can say anything else, she steps aside, ushering you in with a sharp, "Get in here."

You hesitate, but the pain is still there, gnawing at you. You wince as you step inside her quarters, and the familiar scent of leather, metal, and the faint, earthy smell of Zaunite air fills your senses. Sevika's space is sparse, functional—a bed, a few chairs, some scattered tools, and a small table with a few half-drunk bottles of something strong.

She gestures for you to sit on the edge of her bed, the sheets slightly askew, but she doesn't seem to care about the mess. You sit carefully, lifting your shirt to reveal the bandages around your side, only to wince again when the motion tugs on the wound.

Sevika doesn't say anything, just walks to the small table and grabs some fresh gauze, a roll of medical tape, and a few tools. You notice the way her gaze flicks to your side, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Don't just sit there like a damn idiot," she mutters, her voice unusually soft as she crosses the room, "Take that shirt off. You're making it harder for me."

Your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks flush with warmth, even though you try to hide it. You've never been this close to Sevika before, especially not in this context. Her usual scowl is softened, but there's an undeniable hardness to her presence, making your pulse quicken.

You take a deep breath and pull the shirt off, revealing your bandaged side and the remnants of your wound. You're left in just your bra, feeling a little exposed, but you try to push the nervousness down. Sevika doesn't seem to care at all about your state of undress. Her attention is entirely on you, her sharp eyes scanning the injury as she leans over.

The air feels suddenly thick with an intensity you haven't noticed before. Her movements are methodical, but there's an odd tenderness in the way she handles the gauze and the bandages, even though her touch remains firm and practical. When she leans in closer, you can feel the heat of her body as she works on your side, her breath brushing against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room is filled only with the sounds of Sevika's breath and the faint click of her prosthetic arm as she moves. You focus on trying to steady yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hold still," she orders in a low voice, and you comply, not trusting your words to come out steady.

She works in silence, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her fingers are gentle as she adjusts the bandages, her calloused hands brushing against your skin every so often. You can feel her eyes on you, though she doesn't look up. The soft touch of her hands against your skin is a stark contrast to her usual coldness, and you can't help the way your stomach flips at the intimacy of it all.

When she finishes, she steps back slightly, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before she clears her throat. "There. That should hold for now. Don't make me do this again."

You glance up at her, catching the faintest hint of something soft in her grey eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appears. She's back to her usual self—stoic, guarded, but there's still that unspoken understanding between the two of you.

"Thanks," you say quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the vulnerability of the moment. "I really appreciate it."

Sevika rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything else. Instead, she tosses the supplies onto the table and walks back to the chair in the corner, leaning back with her arms crossed. "You're welcome," she mutters, sounding almost gruff, but there's a softness in her tone that wasn't there before.

You glance at her, a small, teasing smile creeping across your face. "You sure you're not going to throw me out now that you've seen me in my bra?"

Her eyes flick to you, the faintest spark of irritation flickering before she grunts. "Don't get any funny ideas, alright? This doesn't change anything."

You smile at her, watching her try to keep up her tough exterior. It's the first time you've ever been this close to her in this way, and you can't help but feel a sense of warmth that spreads through your chest.

"Sure, Sevika," you say softly, "whatever you say."

Sevika doesn't answer, but as she watches you, her lips twitch into the smallest of smiles, just for a fraction of a second.

You never quite get used to the sight of Sevika after a mission gone wrong. It doesn't matter how many times you've seen her come back battered and bruised, bloodied and bruised, a quiet part of you always hopes the next time won't be as bad. But it's always worse. Each time she walks in with a limp, a scowl, and that dark gleam in her eyes, you know it's only a matter of time before it breaks you.

And tonight, it's the worst it's been in months. Her left arm, her prosthetic, is badly damaged, sparks still crackling from the shattered circuitry as she stumbles through the door. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. The shimmer-enhanced blue and purple veins pulse under her skin, glowing faintly in the dim light of the warehouse. The glint of her copper prosthetic, normally a symbol of her unyielding strength, now looks like a taunting reminder of the fragility that even she can't escape.

You feel your chest tighten as you rush to her side, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her.

"Shit," Sevika mutters, her voice rough from the effort it takes to stand. "I'm fine. I don't need your help." But her words lack the usual bite. They're hollow, like she's trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

You ignore her, not caring about the gruff tone or the coldness that oozes from every word. You've seen it before—the way she hides behind that wall of indifference, masking the cracks with bravado. But tonight, there's something different. Her guard is slipping. Maybe it's the injury, maybe it's something else, but for once, she's not pushing you away.

Her heavy, labored steps are slow as you help her to the nearest chair, your hands steady as you guide her down. She winces as her weight shifts onto the seat, the strain evident in the furrow of her brow and the clenched jaw.

You sit beside her, your eyes tracing the damage to her arm, the shimmer scars that mar her skin. Your stomach knots. She's always been tough, but this time, there's a vulnerability to her that you've never seen before.

"You need to rest," you say gently, your voice softer than you intended. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. It's okay to take a break, Sevika."

She snorts, her usual sharpness returning, but it's forced. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," you insist, your gaze meeting hers. "It's care. You're not invincible, Sevika. You're allowed to feel things. You don't always have to be the tough one."

Sevika's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think she's going to snap at you, throw out another biting retort, but she doesn't. Her lips curl downward, and she looks away, focusing on the floor as if the weight of your words is suddenly too heavy for her.

For a long beat, there's silence between you two. The sound of Sevika's ragged breathing fills the space, and you can hear the faint crackling of her prosthetic arm, still sparking erratically.

"Why do you always act like this?" you ask, your voice quiet but steady. "Like you're untouchable. Like you don't need anyone."

Sevika's shoulders stiffen, her jaw tightening, but you don't let her retreat into herself this time. You place a hand gently on her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the cool metal of her prosthetic. Her gaze flicks to your hand, and for a moment, you think she'll pull away, but she doesn't. Instead, her breath hitches, and she stares at you as if seeing you for the first time.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice cracks, a sharp edge to it. "I'm not some fucking damsel in distress. I can handle myself."

You lean closer, your eyes softening as you study her face. The harshness of her features, the furrow in her brow, the tightness around her eyes—all of it is a mask. A mask she's been wearing for years, hiding the truth underneath.

"I don't want anything from you, Sevika," you say, your voice soft but firm. "I just want you to stop pretending you don't need help. Stop pretending you don't need someone who cares about you. You're not weak because you need someone. You're human."

Sevika's eyes flash with something—anger, fear, uncertainty—before she looks away, her fingers tightening around the edge of her prosthetic. "I don't need anyone," she mutters, though it sounds more like a plea than a statement.

You shake your head. "You do. And I'm here. You're not in this alone."

Her gaze flickers back to you, her expression conflicted. You see the war in her eyes—the part of her that wants to let go, to accept your care, and the part of her that's terrified of doing so. You know she's been through hell, fought battles that no one should have to face, and survived in a world that doesn't give a damn about her. But you also know there's more to her than the walls she's built.

The silence between you both grows heavier, but instead of pulling away, you stay. You let the quiet linger, giving her space to process the unspoken things hanging in the air.

Sevika exhales sharply, and for the first time tonight, she doesn't try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. "You think I'm just some cold-hearted bitch who doesn't care about anything. But you don't know...you don't know what it's like. To care. To have someone depend on you and then—" She cuts herself off, her eyes flicking to the floor. "It hurts, alright?"

You don't say anything right away. You just listen. Because it's the first time she's admitted that. The first time she's let someone see the cracks in her armor.

"You don't have to carry everything on your own," you say, your voice soft but insistent. "You don't have to be perfect. Not for me. Not for anyone. I'm here. Let me help."

There's a long pause, but eventually, Sevika lifts her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes are dark, but there's something different there now. Something softer, less guarded. She blinks, the tension in her shoulders slowly dissipating.

"You really are ridiculous, you know that?" she says with a faint smile, but it's not mocking. There's something genuine about it. "You don't know when to quit."

"No," you reply with a small grin, "I don't."

She sighs, the weight of the moment finally sinking in. "You're right," she mutters, almost to herself. "I'm not good at this. At...letting people in."

"I know," you say, reaching out and placing your hand over hers. "But you don't have to do it all at once. We can take it slow. Just...let me be here for you. When you need it."

Sevika's eyes flicker down to your hand, her thumb brushing over your skin, and for the briefest moment, it feels like the world pauses. The connection between you two is palpable now, not just a shared silence, but something deeper. Something that neither of you can ignore.

Her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile before she leans forward, her face inches from yours. "You're not like anyone I've met before," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. "And that's...frustrating."

"Why?" you whisper, barely able to keep the distance between you two.

"Because you make it hard to be a cold-hearted bitch," Sevika says, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and something else you can't quite place.

Without another word, you close the distance. Your lips meet hers in a kiss that's soft, tentative at first, but soon deepens as the tension between you two finally gives way. The kiss is slow, exploring, each touch of your lips against hers a silent promise, a moment of vulnerability shared between two people who have spent so long hiding from each other.

When you finally pull away, Sevika rests her forehead against yours, breathing heavily. There's no more need for words between you two. The connection is enough.

For the first time in a long time, Sevika lets herself feel what she's been hiding, and you, quietly, let her.

[butterflys-corner]

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗿.. ♤

Summary: The monster trio took your lovers' quarrel just a tad bit too far, leaving you to cool off alone. Until you weren't. [Warnings: Swearing, arguing, established relationships, hurtful words, mentions of kidnapping, angst and sad parts!]

Luffy

Your romance with Luffy was never simple. That's what you liked about it.

One day was a lazy nap here and there, sharing snacks together and an occasional game of tag you supervised. Others were full of adventures with your energetic captain, you and one of the others along side him as he explored a new island.

But today was no such casual day.

For weeks now, you along with the other Straw Hats sailed closer and closer to an uncharted island. Nami, Miss Navigator herself, has never heard of an island being here, but her log pose pointed toward it. So onward you went.

The closer you got, the worse everyone felt.

Luffy was more tired and annoyed, Zoro more unfocused, Nami growing evermore well.. bitchy. Robin and Franky alike argued themselves, Chopper growing more antsy under the constant bickering. Usopp and Brook seemed more skittish if it were possible. Jinbei was more to himself, if it even made sense. And of course Sanji was effected in his way, no longer doting on the females aboard how he usually did.

Today the Straw Hats landed on the strange island, the foreboding emptiness making everyone feel on edge. The usually joyous captain included.

You almost never fought, his more airheaded nature being canceled out by your intellectual one. But as the Sunny reached the shore of the island and Zoro dropped anchor, the unease in everyone grew tremendously.

"Luffy," you start quietly, a tremble in your voice. "Maybe we should go to another island? This doesn't seem-"

"Nah. This one is fine. Hop to it, crew!" Your brows furrow and you sidestep, stopping him from gum gumming his way off the deck.

"No. Really, Cap. I don't think this is a good idea-"

"Are you going against your captain's wishes?"

A deadly silence as everyone stops in their tracks.

Luffy never talked to you like that.

"Excuse me?" You cut through the tense silence, arms firmly crossed against your chest- the way everyone knew you wouldn't back down from the argument.

The resident swordsman and sharpshooter had come to the side of either of you, the latter holding scarred hands in the space between you. They shook, unsure of if he should touch you.

"I'm the captain of this crew. That never changed. We're going." The lack of chipper tone in his voice scratched against the very wrong part of your brain as your upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Hey, Y/n, come on.." Usopp tried his best to coax you back, his rough fingertips creeping around your bicep. But you wouldn't back down. No way.

"Well, Captain," you practically spit the venom onto the deck, teeth gritted as you spoke. "I'm keeping my happy ass here. You die, you die on your own."

You didn't mean it, of course. But you knew that was the only way to get through to the rubber man.

"Fine. Stay here. I don't care."

He... didn't care?

"Fine." You huff and tear your arm away from Usopp in a furious snap. You climb into the crows nest and keep watch, the captain and the others' forms disappearing on the horizon.

Your thoughts brewed as you paced the crows nest. They were so loud, you failed to hear someone sneaking their way on board- into the room with you.

A struggled shriek under a firm hand, black spots lining your vision, and a muffled voice of a man is all you remember.

Everyone was gone- Captain Monkey D. Luffy included, while you and the Thousand Sunny were abducted from the island cape.

Zoro

Everyone has off days. It's inevitable.

But damn if you haven't been having an off week, constantly bickering back and forth with your meathead of a swordsman, Zoro.

It was one thing or the other with him recently. He trained too hard and hurt himself (which was rare), you decided to take things in your own hands and made a mess of your duties, you snapped at your best friend, Nami was upset at the both of you- it was a mess of a week.

So, when you realized that Zoro wouldn't give up the petty stalemate, you thought you would. Or you would at least attempt to.

"Zoro," you started with a small breath. You know he wasn't one to easily discuss arguments, preferring avoiding the topic as much as possible.

But this was too important.

"I know you hate this kind of conversation-"

You already noticed his attention going to polishing the blades of his swords. You bite back grievances, taking another calming breath.

"But this is important. We can't keep-"

"Fighting?" He grumbles, not bothering to look up as he dabs polish onto the metal.

"Exactly," you nod. He always had that way of acutely knowing what would come out of your mouth next.

"Well, I'm not fighting you. I'm just doing my own thing." He dismissed you almost too easily as your heart clenched.

"If we aren't really speaking, that's not really fixing anything either-"

"-because not talking is just as bad."

Another annoyingly accurate finishing of your sentence. Another few dabs of polish on the dark grey blade.

"If you can't take this serious-"

"-usly you can just go."

"Okay, really? I'm trying, Roronoa. More than your stubborn ass has."

"I see no point." He hadn't lied, he really didn't see the point in dwelling on a fight he didn't remember the start of.

Your arms cross over your chest, eyes disapproving as you look down at him.

"The point is figuring this shit out and being able to be in the same vicinity without this.. dumb shit that we're doing right now." You grow angrier, hating when he would do this after fights. Act like nothing happened and just keep to himself until you came around.

"You're the one keeping it up," that was the final straw in the hat. You shriek behind gritted teeth and your arms fall from your sides, hands clenched in aggravated claws.

"You know what? Forget it. I don't want shit to do with you right now."

"You'll come back again," Zoro lowly speaks, dark olive eyes looking over the sword blade as he held it against the sunlight.

"Oh, you'll miss me so bad, Roronoa. I'm going into the village. Stay here with your precious swords."

He grunted in response, half of his brain cutting that out of his ears.

Oh, how true it would turn out to be.

You walked through the village of the island, honestly just wanting to blow off steam and reconcile later with your sword weilder. But you wouldn't make it back to the ship.

"You're Roronoa's woman, yeah?" Some random man had spoken over the busy bar. You sat at the counter, drink glass long since empty as you just held onto the rim.

"Who's asking?"

"You're her alright."

The last thing you remember was your head spinning after the impact of.. you didn't know what it was, it was just hard and painful. Your eyes fluttered shut, your head already starting to ache.

And your stubborn pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro stayed up all night waiting for you to return to no avail.

Sanji

You were never a jealous person, really. You were content with your life, your looks, even your choice in lovesick boyfriend.

Sanji, however, was a different breed. He would glare at other men with looks that could kill. He would roll up his sleeves like one of those boxing types, light a cigarette and step to bat over you.

Normally you love when he does it. It made you feel special, worth fighting for. But right now, you couldn't be bothered with showing your favor toward him.

All you asked was for him to come along on a trip to the market.

That's all. A trip to the market.

Now he's nose to nose with a bigger man, who wasn't even bothering you, because you wanted something nearby and the man happened to be in the way.

"Gods, Sanji, let's go already." You practically begged him, the cook not stepping down from the fight he picked. At least there was that.

"Right after I put this bastard in his place, Y/n." You sigh with crossed arms and look at the bags Sanji carried for you. They better not get messed up.

"Fine. I'll meet you at the ship. This is ridiculous." You didn't really wait for him to answer. If he wants to fight then-

"Oh~ What fine ladies you are! Such delicate curls and eyes as beautiful as gemstones!"

That made you stop.

"Excuse me?" You did a full one-eighty, facing the blond cook again. Sure enough, he forgot about the fight he was just in- over you no less- for some island women that passed by.

Like you thought, the lovesick cook was fawning over two ladies. The man before was gone and your annoyance grew tenfold.

"Sanji." His name left your lips in an angry growl, the two ladies looking you up and down, sizing you up in a way.

Paying them no mind, since well they honestly weren't a match for you, you step closer and grab the cook by the suit collar and spinning him around.

"Sanji Vinsmoke, you better be joking."

"I'm sorry, my love! Those beautiful ladies were just too delectable to let pass me by!"

You did not want to hear that.

"Unbelievable," you shake your head, curly brows only swooning at you with his usual interlocked hands at his cheek.

"Don't follow me." You stomped away and left him in the shopping plaza, another woman catching his attention as you did.

So that hopelessly romantic fool left you to walk to the ship alone, but you never made it.

Before you even made it to the docks, a mysterious figure had nabbed you from an alleyway.

Sanji had made it to the ship, a few gifts to soothe your anger with him. He searched your usual hang out spots for you to no avail.

He realized then that something happened to you, and that the last thing that happened was he paid attention to other women.

He had a lot more than just making you upset to make up for later.

Sanji's was a bit rushed, I apologize. I was just tired of seeing this in my drafts ;^;

[Header credits: @yur1ed1ts @artistslayouts ] If I can find the other art tag I will add it!

[spurbleu]

where the aster grows

ch.1 bookmarks neighbor!price x fem florist!reader

The sky wears blue to your grandmother’s funeral

Memories of yesterday’s rain remain as dew on the grass shards of the cemetery, but the sky gives nothing away. Robin egg belly, sun peaks from behind thinning clouds, and the crisp air denies downpour.

There’s plenty of irony, here. Every fiction iteration of death leads you to believe that nature cries with you, feeding the oceans and the dirt she returns to. And by all accounts of your Ma, who at the ripe age of 87 still jumped in puddles, rain had restorative properties. What about your grief had convinced nature not to join?

Perhaps you had enough for the both of you.

Your father graciously accepts the condolences as people file out into the parking lot. Even from where you stand, you can see the mulberry beneath his eyes, paling ears. At a certain age you forgot his fragility. Found it again as you drove him home after the last visit, offering the tissues in the front compartment. It was the first time you’d seen him cry. You’re nearly 35.

He joins you by the fresh grave once everyone had left. Her coffin is closed, and you think that’s for the best. The morbid curiosity died a long time ago. He doesn’t look at you, and you struggle with your words. You eventually settled with,

“Wanna get dinner? On me.”

His response starts with a sigh. When he faces you, you wish you were five again, when you didn’t recognize misery when it meets your eyes.

“Yeah.”

The hostess gave you a look. It falls somewhere between questioning the formal (albeit bleak) clothes you woreto their hole in the wall diner, or figuring out the relationship between you and man across from you.

The reality is it was a seven-minute walk from the cemetery, and was the cheapest place in the area.

As for your father, he looks young  for having a middle-aged daughter. You were a college baby. Your mom didn’t want the responsibility, but your father lacked the iron fist to change his mind on raising you alone. You’ve seen how guilt stamps itself to the print of his loafers for the trivial mistakes. Your absence would eat him alive.

You chew your noodles in a practiced silence. It comes as a surprise to you when your father is the one to break it.

“Your grandma was still working when she died.”

You pause mid-bite. “The…she still kept the old thing?”

Your Ma, after her retirement and just before your grandfather’s too-early departure to the grave, bought a floral shop. You’d visit them for weeks, sharing their flat in Liverpool and helping around the shop while your father worked. Once Pops passed, Ma offered you a paid position as an assistant. You took the job without the salary.

However, when you went to college, you had to quit. She understood- but said she couldn’t hire someone outside of the family. “Wouldn’t feel right”. You had assumed the shop dwindled with her age, and that it had been lost to time and some expensive construction project. But…

Your father laughs. “You’d be surprised. That ‘old thing’ kept a handful of cliental. Still running now.”

You stutter. The image of your grandmother, arthritis bows and yellowing teeth, giving flowers to a sweaty teen in February makes your eyes water. You take another bite to swallow the feeling.

“She never lost her charm, did she.”

He shook his head. He took out a folded piece of apple slice paper, and under the dim lights of the restaurant you see her cursive in browning ink.  

You look at him over your water glass. He confirms your hunch when he purposely avoids your eyes.

“Dad I can’t-“

He slides the letter to you. “I know. It’s up to you. but you wouldn’t inherit any debt. She owned the property. It comes with her old house, above it. And…”

He doesn’t say you’re jobless, but you hear it anyway. With your recent ‘let go’, you needed something to pay the bills if you wanted a roof over your head. The English major has really only brought you to libraries and we appreciate your application but emails. Your sigh makes your chest cave.

“I’ll think about it.”

The misery in his eyes is replaced by hope. You wish you hadn’t put it there.

“Great.”

The letter wilts on your desk for three days. You procrastinate opening it- not because you haven’t come to an answer, but because it’s the last remaining piece of Ma you have. It would be like unwrapping a limited-edition action figure or leaving an antique on the edge of the table.

You risk losing what made it so special to begin with. The choice to give an object mortality or permanence.

Your hands shake when you peel the stamp.

Missy,

When you read this, I will have finally kicked the bucket. Pops had always been the patient one, between the two of us, but I think he’s waited long enough.

I know you’ve got a lot on your hands. But the shop and house are yours when I’m gone, if you choose to have it. It’d kill your father, if I gave it to him. Don’t think he knows how to feed the flowers, and I can’t have them all dying on me. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Think it’d just make him miss me, too. I gave birth to such a sap.

Keep him steady for me, will you? You’ll be just fine, I know it. I swear you were born with two green thumbs- if anyone knows how to keep my petunias, it’s you. And if you don’t take the shop, I want you to sell it. Your father has a notoriously bad sense of character.

Love you heaps and heaps and a pebble more,

You better miss me,

Ma.

You’re weeping when you text your dad for the key and address.

Although it is cliché, walking into the store feels like you never left.

citrus oil. tepid rain. chipping paint.

The store architecture is a family secret.

The room was vacant of the crowded charm that drips from green grape wallpaper before it met your grandfather. leather glove labor remains in the medullary rays of the oak that dresses the shop in various shelves, tables and chairs. The centerpiece, an island with base cabinets, is engraved with small familial symbols- some that you recognize- others older than you are.

But it’s not just your grandfather that breathes in the construction of the store.

Your grandmother was a talented ceramist. Being a florist, pots were her specialty. You find many of them in corners and nests on the floor, warm as they were out the kiln, analeptic in gauzes painted off-white and copper. They hold her other children, fiddle leaf figs and dracaenas, next to smaller pots of her florals, dwarfed by their greener counterparts.

But none of these things are known by someone who isn’t you, which is perhaps why it was so important you inherit it. The secret dies the minute its sold.  

The only anomaly is the cat.

Calico sleeps where you’d draw as a child. Nuzzles the lace curtains that haven’t been opened since Ma passed. Looks at you with eyes that convince you animals can miss someone.

You kneel with an outstretched hand, after setting your stuff down. She sits and watches you from afar.

“She’s not here.” You scold yourself for talking to a cat, but when she dips her head to the side you feel strangely understood.

“I miss her too.”

She rolls over, exposing her belly in what you can only assume to be an offering of vulnerability. You run your hand through the burs of her stomach, and when she starts purring the fondness your grandmother must’ve had for her balms your palm and the pit of your stomach.

Everything aches as you sit with applesauce legs on the cool tiles of the main room. It feels weird to call it yours- so you decide to share it with the cat.

“Do you want to run the shop with me?” She rolls over and nuzzles your knee. The corners of your mouth twitch.

Everything lulls. Ataraxia unravels from the spines of the walls. The sun sets over the sills, and the world seems to fold into you, the cat, and the space you’re still learning how to breathe in.

And then the door begins to rattle.

You think it’s a figment- until it rattles again, this time more aggressively.

You’re on your feet in two seconds flat, and the cat scampers to a corner. You see the flickering outline of a wide, tall figure from behind the lace shudders of the door. Your heart leaps to your throat.

In the ten seconds you have before the shadow enters the shop, your franticness focuses on a blue watering can on the shelf. The toolbox with the more intimidating and likely effective weapons sits across the room on a desk, which you do not have time to reach. At least this might keep the perpetrator distracted until you grab them.

The door rattles again, this time it whines at the hinges.

You brace your arm for the throw of your life.

The next few seconds register as a blur. You launch the watering can the minute the door opens, you hear a startled grunt, and you scamper to the toolbox across the room. You pull out a small shovel, aim at the door, until you notice that his eyes seem to be just as startled as yours.

He raises his hands forward in surrender, and your arm falters.

“Who the hell are you.”

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Thinking about: Hairdresser X.MH

💭Who: Xu Minghao (Seventeen) x reader 💭What: Fluff. Friends to lovers. Co-workers. Hairdresser Minghao. Hairdresser reader. 💭Word count: 2.4k 💭Warnings: None! 💭Summary:“For months now, you’ve pined after your co-worker and friend, Xu Minghao. You haven’t let yourself even entertain the possibility of your feelings being reciprocated in fear of getting your heart broken.

But, in the midst of bleaching your hair for you one evening, Minghao shows you that your heart will always be safe in his gentle hands.”

Masterlist

A/N – Thank you to my beabie @ourdawnishotterthanourday for helping me with the summary! 💗

“What are you doing?” The amused tone of your co-worker and friend makes you look over at him where he’s sweeping up from his last client, and away from the mirror you’d been staring into while holding various shades of blonde extensions up against your face.

“I think I want to go blonde,” you inform.

“Oh, really?” He looks at your natural hair in surprise. “I always assumed you don’t like to colour your own hair, you’re the only one of us who has their natural colour,” he muses, prompting you to look over the other hairdressers and stylists around the salon.

Although you logically know they all have dyed hair, even in natural colours, because you’ve probably dyed and bleached all of their hair at least once over the past few years, it hasn’t really clicked until Minghao points it out that you are genuinely the only one without coloured hair. Even Minghao as the newest member of the team, has streaks of various colours mixed in with his otherwise dark and shaggy hair, some of which you had put in only days ago with left over dye from a client, turning the last of his blond streaks a royal purple.

“I used to when I was a teen, but it got messed up so much that I don’t trust people to touch it anymore,” you explain with a shrug and turn back to the mirror to try and decide which shade you like best. “I know everyone here is incredible at their jobs and I’d highly recommend them all, but I just can’t bring myself to let them near my hair with scissors, let alone dye.”

“Ah, so offering to stay behind with you today to bleach it for you is pointless,” he realises with a chuckle and moves to empty the dustpan and wash his hands.

When he returns, you’re looking between two different extensions in your hands. He plucks them both up and turns you to him so that he can hold them either side of your face consideringly. You can only stare at his focused features and hope that your awe for this beautiful, kind hearted and endlessly talented man isn’t obvious on your expression.

From the very first moment Minghao was introduced to you as the newest member of the team months back, you were taken. At first it was his natural beauty and uniquely elegant, yet artistic style, paired with his shy smiles that pulled you in. But as you got to know him and became friends, you realised that everything about this man is utterly endearing, and you would love to have the chance to know him romantically too. Yet, you don’t want to risk ruining your working and platonic relationship with him that you do your best to keep your feelings to yourself.

“This one,” he decides, lifting the blonde hairs in his right hand higher, making you look at it instead of him. Silently, you take the extension and turn back to the mirror to hold it up. “I think you’ll look stunning in that shade.”

“Yeah?” He hums in confirmation. “This one it is,”  you agree and notice the way he smiles because you approve his choice. “So uh, you don’t have anything to do after work?” You wonder.

“Hm?”

“You said you’ll stay to do it for me?” You turn just enough to peer at him and notice his expression turn mildly surprised. “I’d like that; I think I’d really fuck up if I tried to do the back myself.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’d love to have the honour,” he smiles softly. “We’ll do the patch and strand test now and bleach after work?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Hao.”

“Of course, any time.”

Which leads to a few hours later when everyone has gone home and the salon is closed for customers, the keys left with the pair of you today, Minghao pats the chair at his station invitingly, prompting you to sit and allow him to put the cape in his hands around your shoulders securely to protect your clothes.

He had finished with his last client with enough time to clean up his station and prepare everything needed to bleach your hair, including all of the foils and the bleach itself so it’s all set up neatly in wait for this moment.

“Sure about this?” He checks for the last time when he’s finished sectioning your hair and pulled on his gloves to get started.

“I trust you,” you assure, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. Minghao’s expression softens slightly, and his eyes do that tender thing they do sometimes, which never fails to make your heart race.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and brushes his hand over your shoulder before he grabs the bleach and gets started diligently painting it onto your hair.

As Minghao works, the two of you talk about everything and anything that comes to mind; art, movies, music, family, friends, work, food, nothing is out of bounds for you two but curiously, one thing Minghao never asks about, nor mentions, is romance.

You know he’s single thanks to co-workers having been excited to learn as much when he started, and they still regularly seem to be updated on his lack of love life, but he hasn’t once mentioned it to you or asked about your own. You can’t tell if he’s purposely not talking about it or if he’s just following your lead and not bringing it up.

Honestly, you’re kind of glad either way because you dread to think of the day he is no longer single, and you have to learn that someone else has his attention.

Sometimes, you think about just biting the bullet and asking him to get dinner with you after work as a date, not just as co-workers and friends. But every time you approach him to ask, you lose all your nerve and fail to make the distinction, so you end up sitting with him in the same restaurant as usual with your heart aching. Though his sole attention and bright smiles on you always picks you back up before dessert is over, so it’s not a complete loss. At least you still have him by your side as a dear friend, something you hope will remain for a long time.

By the time Minghao is putting the last foil in and moving around to stand in front of you with his careful gaze glued to the crazy silver mess atop your head, the conversation has only just ceased, to be replaced with a comfortable quiet.

It always amazes you that Minghao is a man of few words with his clients, he’ll respond to them politely and give smiles, but his clients know he’s not the one to go to if they want someone to listen to then blather away the whole time or gain a reciprocated line of conversation with.

Minghao is quiet and efficient, professional yet still friendly.

Yet he has barely stopped talking since he first started on your hair and not even just to respond. He’s started new topics, made jokes, and even walked away at one point from laughing so hard that he had to lean against the chair of the next station until he gained his composure, only to return with sweet giggles spilling from his lips.

It makes you feel beyond privileged to see the man like this; so open and bright when he’s always careful with his reactions and sparse words with all of your shared colleagues. Even outside of work when you go for staff meals and drinks out, Minghao tends to remain content in his calm bubble while watching everyone else act like fools with a little smile on his face. You would assume he’s just naturally a listener in all regards, but with you he instigates and talks, laughs, and playfully nudges you when you make jokes or tease him.

If you weren’t already so infatuated with the man, you’d think he likes you, but you refuse to entertain that thought and get your hopes up. You think it would crush you too much to have your heart broken by Minghao, even if you know he would be nothing but gentle with it all the same. He’d hand your shattered heart back in delicate, tender hands, and that would hurt even more than the rejection.

Sometimes you wish Minghao isn’t such a kind person, sometimes you wish he’d tell you to stop talking or turn down dinner invites, but he never does. He always turns to you to listen patiently and accepts with a smile on his pretty face. It both lifts you up into the clouds and drags you deeper into the aching abyss of your own feelings for him.

“There,” he declares once he leans back, eyes still darting over your head to check everything is correct even as he removes his gloves to toss onto the station behind him. “Now, we wait.”

“Now we wait,” you agree with a nod, causing the foils to bob above you, making Minghao giggle. “Don’t laugh,” you complain, gently nudging his leg with your foot in something so weak it can’t even be considered a scolding kick. He smiles at you brighter. “You should count yourself lucky to be here with me like this, I wouldn’t let just anyone make me look this insane.”

“I always count myself lucky when I’m with you,” he retorts simply and turns to tidy up as if he hasn’t just caused your heart to body-slam against your ribs erratically.

You can only watch, struck silent by his words, as he moves around to clean up, disappearing into the backroom to wash everything he needs to and put away items.

When he returns he starts to talk, though about what you’re not really sure, at least not actively because a part of you is always tuned in to Minghao enough to understand the topic and carry on the conversation naturally, as if a part of you isn’t still having a breakdown over his blasé words.

Minghao perches on the table of his station in front of you as you talk despite there being a chair a few metres on your left at the next station. His feet are on the floor pretty much underneath where your own are propped on the bar of the chair.

There’s not that much space between you right now so you’re glad he didn’t sit in the next chair, while also wishing he had so that your heart would stop racing with nervous hope.

As the topic ends, Minghao doesn’t start another one and you don’t have the brain capacity to even attempt to either. He hasn’t looked away from you once and there’s something contemplative in his eyes that doesn’t match his relaxed expression.

Then, only seconds after quiet envelops you both, Minghao leans forward, one hand lifting from where it’s holding the edge of the desk beside him so that he can gently cup your cheek a second before his lips touch yours.

You’re too shocked to respond, mind whirling and screaming as your heart tries to break free of the confinements of your chest to jump into his elegant hands to make a home there in his peaceful touch.

When Minghao pulls back after only a few seconds of soft pressure, he gives you small, apologetic smile and settles back against the table while both hands grip the edge. “Sorry, I just…I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time and couldn’t stop myself anymore.”

“Y-you have?” He nods and then yelps when you reach out to hit his arm.

“Ow! I said sorry!” He defends and flails to grab your hands before you can whack him again, even if you are barely adding any sting to your touch, not wanting to hurt him and he knows that, he has to know that.

“Why did you have to pick now when I look like this?!” You exclaim and free one hand from his hold to motion to your hair.

He glances up at the foils then looks at you. “I don’t understand.”

“I look crazy, Minghao! Of all the times you could kiss me, you chose this to be the first? Now this is what we’re both going to think of every time our first kiss comes up! Couldn’t you have chosen a time when I look decent?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he declares flatly then leans over to press a quick peck to your lips again. “You’re always beautiful to me,” his lips brush against yours as he speaks.

“Hao…” You reach up to touch your fingers to his jaw gently. “Do you mean that?”

“When have I ever said something I don’t mean?”

“I…Good point,” you concede then tilt your chin up the miniscule distance needed to kiss him. You feel his lips turn up into a smile before he kisses you back.

“I want to clarify,” he says when he’s leaning against the table again, but he’s slouched more now so that he can comfortably hold your hand with your fingers laced together. “I really like you and I would like to date you, not just kiss. But I’d of course like to do that too, a lot, if possible.”

“Very possible,” you confirm with an emphatic nod that makes him giggle as the foils flop around your head comically. “I’ve been trying to ask this for so long now but tonight, please get dinner with me, as a date, not just friends.”

Minghao doesn’t answer at first, but he does light up with joy before he sweeps back in to kiss you happily, hands cupping your cheeks to brush his thumbs over your skin adoringly.

After many kisses, Minghao finally agrees to get dinner as your first date before you kiss, and kiss until he has to wash the bleach from your hair.

Then you kiss some more and barely make it to the restaurant in time to eat. You don’t mind not being able to order dessert when Minghao pulls you in close once outside of the restaurant and out of the way, to slot his lips adoringly against yours.

You’d pick kissing this beautiful man over dessert any day and you’re finally understanding that the feeling, your feelings, are entirely mutual.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

[spinchip]

Never the dark 7, 10 [dareth x Cyrus, it's not a pairing I've seen before and it humors me in a good way], and 11?

[ask meme]

YAAAY THANK YOUUU

7: Where did the title come from?

Bury Me Low by 8 Graves! I was listening to this song a LOT when conceptualizing the fic and I feel like the whole thing kinda describes Zane in the fic. In retrospect, I do kinda wish I had named it something smoother, I had a few ideas for what I might change it to (Inside the Dark, Forsaken Dark, and [redacted because i might be using it for another project teehee]) but I do like Never the Dark and I think i'll keep it lol

the funniest thing about this song is that I played it so much I got sick of it and now I wont listen to it

If I die today, it won't be so bad I can escape all the nightmares I've had All of my angry and all of my sad Gone in the blink of an eye I've seen the devil. I've shaken his hand I've seen the evil that dwells in a man For all of my wisdom, I can't understand ...... If I die today, it won’t be so hard Everything scares me, but never the dark

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

Polyninja because I love them and the fucked up relationship dynamic post zanedeath called to me.

Pixal/Skylor has always been awesome but I included it here specifically because of how I view their character actions in the three year time skip. Skylor joins the ninja a few month after Zane dies and despite the fact that they don't harbor any ill will towards her, Zanes absence is a fresh wound that it feels like she's trying to step into. It makes everyone bleed. No one is coping well and things get messy and tense between skylor, the ninja, and pixal until Skylor has a mental breakdown and removes herself from the team (trauma response due to the nature of how her father raised her.) Skylor was never part of the team- she's not been there from the beginning, so she's an outsider. And so is Pixal. (Not intentionally of course, but the others share a different kind of grief that the two don't.) Cyrus eventually convinced Pixal to go to therapy where she gets some clarity on things and reaches out to Sky to apologize again for any role she played in the teams tension with her. She invites Skylor over for dinner and they accidentally end up talking for 6 hours- and the rest is history

(Skylor IS on good terms with the ninja btw. they apologized and hashed things out- but she won't rejoin the team for a lot of different reasons.)

Coppershipping my beloved. new-ish in the ficverse! They were starting to be more friendly with eachother after zanedeath, and that progressed post s11. Dareth took his grief at losing Zane as motivation to get in better shape and actually try and train, so he hits the gym and puts on a lot of muscle. takes up boxing. He wants to be able to do more to help if something happens again. He ends up putting his new skills to use protecting Cyrus from something or another and Cyrus asks him to be his bodyguard. They spend a lot of time together and fall in love teeheehee

also, fun fact for you, Dareth handmade all the ninja suits they wear in NTD!

11: What do you like best about this fic?

oh man. Is it bad to say the fact that it's almost finished? I'm just really proud I've been able to stick with it and put in the time and effort. I've got a pretty spotty track record with chaptered work- i lose motivation and drop things a lot, unfortunately. But i'm still dedicated to finishing NTD!

and im really proud of the wordcount! 100k!!!!!!! WAOW

[forever-and-whats-left]

More TPOTO AUs

You were all so overwhelmingly kind, and I can't thank you enough for how welcoming this community is! To think I was once afraid to post at all.

Enough of my corniness, onto the post...

Western

The town of (I can’t do fucking names) has been a ghost town for years. Strangers pass through, but never for more than a night, always moving on to somewhere better.

Then Christine arrives.

A quiet girl with only her fiddle to speak for her, she plays melodies that do more than sound beautiful—they enrapture. Like men possessed, travelers and townsfolk alike find themselves dancing to her tunes, emptying their pockets at her feet without a second thought.

Word spreads. For every passerby who hears her, another comes seeking the girl with the bewitched strings. Soon, the once-deserted town is teeming with customers, and the main benefactors—André and Firmin—are thrilled. At last, business is booming.

They offer Christine a stage, eager to capitalize on her talent. She refuses. At first, they think it’s shyness, but when pressed, her reaction is alarming—disarmingly angry, almost fearful. She plays only for those passing through. No grand performances. No lingering audiences.

But André and Firmin are greedy. Ignoring her warnings, they spread her name far and wide, ensuring the world knows of the girl with the haunting music. It is then that he comes. A rider with eyes like burning coals, smoldering beneath the brim of his hat. A demon, drawn by the name in the papers. He has come to reclaim the fiddle Christine’s father traded for his soul.

(To those who assume this is an enemy-to-lovers story, this is more of a Christine exploration. Erik serves as more of a force of nature rather than a full character. The main focus is the relationship between Christine and her father. At least for now, I have no fucking idea what I'm doing with this story)

2. Swap

Erik, as he always dreamed, lives the life of an ordinary man—or rather, an extraordinary one. From architecture to music, he dominates any field he chooses, yet perfectionism proves his fatal flaw. Nothing holds his interest for long. Not even Carlotta, the greatest diva of all, is enough for him. After one too many harsh critiques, she quits the stage for good, taking his benefactors with her. Left with a failing opera and a bruised ego, Erik wanders the streets of Paris, drowning in his misfortune.

Then, he hears it—a voice so ethereal it feels ripped from his own compositions. He follows, helpless against its pull, until he finds her: a lone woman standing before a moss-ridden grave, donning a pale mask. Her song is so haunting he barely notices his own steps as he approaches—until she startles at his presence. Erik scrambles to explain himself before she can flee, but apparently screaming at a stranger about paying them to sing isn’t the best approach. She vanishes into the night, leaving him with nothing but regret—and a missing cufflink.

Hope seems lost, until fate intervenes. Enter Philippe de Chagny, benefactor of the arts, offering salvation to the “poor” (rich) starving artist. And like magic, the masked woman returns, offering her services to Erik—under one condition. He must help her seduce her long-lost love, Raoul.

(The main inspiration for this is my fair lady. don't ask.)

[naga-raja-suresh]

Suresh's nose had fixed itself, there had been nothing to stop it from going back to what it was supposed to look like so it straightened itself without any further interference. The Naga grinned, "I was keeping you prone. You kicked me in the face. Slightly different... -what do the children say these days- Vibes? But you're right. Even is even." It wasn't something to stay on. He could move past it for the time being. He listened to the laugh. Interested in the sound. He knew that Callum hadn't been telling the whole truth but Suresh was not about to wholesale believe the witch. Not now, not ever. He simply nodded, "That is what he told me." Because it had been. He leaned his head on the couch and listened to whatever semblance of the truth poured from Corvinus' lips. The relationships with the Lightless was contentious at best but they had found a common ground until the man sitting across from him had appeared. Suresh nodded his head. The way Corvinus told it was a bit different than how the Hellhound had painted the circumstances. And somewhere in the middle was what had actually had happened. Suesh nodded again and said, "Yes, I believe he called you a walking abomination." But that was between Loughty and his god. His need to right the scales. True believers had their place in all orders. Suresh's golden talons clicked against each other as he folded his hand over his chest. At the string of mostly rhetorical questions Suresh shrugged, "Why do any of us hide anything? Because we do not trust." The comment about nagas and Callum made Suresh's eyes narrow and he shook his head, "Naga's are natural. Old or not. Just because no one knows what our life expectancy actually is... we are natural." Well, they were natural. Whatever he'd done to augment himself... that was something else.

Suresh considered what Corvinus thought would be the things that he would reject outright. He wasn't going to give Corvinus a blank check. The Naga let out a soft amused noise when the witch said he didn't mind getting his own hands dirty. Of course. "If you are disliked that is entirely up to you." But whatever the witch chose to do he would do. A favor that he could reject was fine with Suresh.

He glanced down at his hands. Looking at his talons. Then back back up at Corvinus. "The talons are what bother you? Really? Alright then." He cracked his neck and drew in a breath and a soft shimmer on his hands, talons gone like they had never been. "Standing in the rubble looking across at each other... No. There is no rush. Though the next time I think neither of us will be holding back like we were..." A soft acknowledgement that what had happened between them was a mere skirmish. "Most people that know what I can do either crave it or are repulsed by it. I'm not fond of either reaction." Suresh reached his right hand out across the space between them, palm up, offering it to the witch. "You don't have to pretend." He held it there waiting, just to see what he would do.

An elemental witch... It didn't feel right. But wanted a face to the Nameless. Something with no face and no real intentions were difficult to guard against. And there was always the possibility that the leader could be trapped and then killed. However Suresh was not in a rush to gather all the important people in the city into one spot for the Nameless to possibly act against. "I will reach out along the channels I am able to use. And give you a location when appropriate. But why offer him up? You could have given him one of us couldn't you?" Suresh agreed that others feared power. It's why he hid so much of his. His eyes drifted over Corvinus' face as he spoke about being erased from living and written memory. "We've seen our share of Ozymandias' I think. But for us, it goes in cycles. We are the gods and we are the monsters. It just depends on the age and who writes the histories. But we are the myths and legends. Things that the others can only hope to aspire to."

He couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the mention of being slapped, as if they both hadn't taken their fair share of blows for the night. At least Corvinus had wrapped up his fairly quickly. Torture nonetheless but it had been fairly quick and not so...invasive. Or at least in his own eyes. "And you broke several of my bones. What's a little kick in the nose for that?" A nose could gush blood easily, that was true, but it allowed him a glimpse of the healing in Suresh as well. Not as quick, but effective either way. He did wonder if it would automatically set properly like his own body or if it would fuse into whatever position it was left in. But at the mention of Callum, oh, that earned a whole laugh. "A territory dispute? That's what he told you? Oh, he is quite the liar then. There was no territory dispute. Just because our countries aren't far from each other doesn't mean mean anything. I've never once claimed all of bloody Ireland and certainly not Scotland. I have an estate and property around it, that's all I ask others to not step into."

Clearly the man was trying to keep things under wraps, to hide his history from the others. Corvinus knew better, had come face to face with what the Lightless leader now tried to hide. It did make Corvinus all the more curious what else the renowned Hellhound was trying to keep hidden. What was one blood witch the others were aware of? Who else had he gone after. "I call him the cú sídhe. Hellhound, not too much of a thing to us Irish. I'd never even heard of him before but apparently he had a name amongst others. It just wasn't important enough to reach me so there couldn't have been any territory dispute to begin with. I was happily minding my own business at the time." Well, not exactly. He had been meddling around in political affairs at the time but that wasn't important. "He found me. He hunted me. All because my lifespan defies 'natural order' as he put it and I had blood on my hands. That's what he did. He sought out those that were alive for too long and snuffed them out, or if they committed any sort of egregious crime that justice had not been served. Judge, jury, executioner." Of course, Corvinus had learned all of that after the fact, when he had become aware of Callum and had temporarily been on his radar. Corvinus had simply gotten bored of tracking him across Europe and a few other continents.

Though a thought did occur to him. "It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why hide it? What else has he killed for sins or for simply living longer than others?" He was staring into space for a moment, as if considering, before his gaze returned to Suresh. "What do you think he would do if another very old naga had crossed his path? Perhaps that's why he hid it from you."

The scale was a reach, he knew that. Especially after he had just been caught with naga blood; it meant it would most certainly not be used for mere decoration and would simply go into spellwork. Likely against Suresh himself. But he took the rejection in stride, giving only a small shrug though certainly a face of disappointment at the potential to deny a favour. "Oh, don't worry. I won't ask you to kill anyone or anything like that. Or any pieces of you. I have no issue getting my own hands dirty. Think of it as more insurance down the road. Especially if I'm so disliked within this city and want to enjoy my time here." Hopefully enough of a reassurance that whatever the favour was shouldn't be too gruesome though Corvinus couldn't say for sure. He merely liked the idea of being owed.

How quick the other was to retreat. He rose an eyebrow, gaze drifting down the other's long form and eyes particularly on the talons. Those were his main concerns for the moment. "Put the claws away and I certainly wouldn't mind if you did. The thing with us ancient beings is...we don't have to rush to kill each other. I could wait another thousand years and still have every chance to come back and end you if I wanted. The mortals, their lives are so fleeting. If they don't kill now, they may not have another chance. There have been surprisingly few that have upset me enough to warrant me murdering them right away." Though those that did...well, he always went beyond simply attacking them and killing them. Even killing was a game. Wipe out the family, leave them for last, let them know they were being hunted and let them live in fear of it.

At least he was getting somewhere, one step closer into settling in officially as the leader of the Nameless. An order here and there didn't mean much while he was still pulling the strings from the shadows. There was clearly a dislike for the actions so far, but no real admiration for how far he could get just yet. That would come with the meeting. "An elemental, I believe. He didn't want to talk too much about his powers." But he would invite the others. Gather them all. There was a brief though it would be the perfect setting to destroy them at once but that was hardly any fun and would only descend into chaos so quickly. "Simply tell me where to be and I'll make sure he's there. You finally get the meeting he's been avoiding and thankfully I'm quite good at luring. As for being so disliked....people just don't appreciate power. They fear it instead. But it's better than damnatio memoriae." Something he'd ensured for his predecessors.

[locuas642]

I just saw someone say that Greek Mythology is about Intergenerational Trauma and Abuse. and

I kinda want to scream.

[butchniqabi]

Nature became land, conceivable only in terms of property, laid bare of myth, custom, tradition. Land if it were to function as land, needed not men, nor communities, but so many units of labor-power. The Middle Passage, it must have been assumed, was wide and deep enough to exile the tribal African from all the social customs and traditions that defined him as a man rather than a labor unit.

-Sylvia Wynter, Black Metamorphosis New Natives in a New World

[worshipfulmercy]

i have so many thoughts about his gender and how he's kind of textually a woman and/or abinary (read tags if interested)

[johnny-depplyloveyou]

I know there are many bad takes about Gale on this site, but the worst takes I’ve seen on another social media site in another language are much more abhorrent than anything here tbh, the recent one I’ve seen even gets some popularity among his “fans”... They were basically saying it’s Mystra who made him the humble man he is now, without her influence on him he would be as egotistical as in his god ending, and more than a hundred of reblogs are all thanking Mystra for “training her lapdog so well” for them🤢

Did we even play the same game? Isn’t his god ending a direct result of Mystra making him think he will never be enough as he is, and he can only find his self-worth through gaining more power? Didn’t Tara say he’s not himself anymore and she would no longer be his companion in his god ending, she knew him long before Mystra made him her chosen, he was powerful enough before his relationship with Mystra, if he’s anything like god!Gale at the time wouldn’t Tara just leave him? I’d imagine he would have been more confident and had a more stable self-image if Mystra had never contacted him, therefore he didn’t even need the Gale of Waterdeep persona. He would always have been Gale Dekarios in that timeline. And people glorifying Mystra’s grooming and abuse towards him and unironically calling him “her lapdog” is just... I have no words. But what do you expect from an online space that’s infested with terfs and radfems? They just won’t recognize or acknowledge any abuse from women towards men...

[annalyticall]

To be honest I think I'm starting to become so apathetic to gender that I could possibly be non-binary but at the same time I am also just apathetic enough to not care about changing my pronouns or doing anything differently about how i present to people

[aeide-thea]

[witcherposting ahead—nb that this is all totally lighthearted and it's fine if you feel differently!]

anyway what i'd started to say before tumblr ate my post was that like. disclaimer that my approach to netflix witcher canon is that i fully reserve the right to cherrypick, because some of the changes they made were good but others were character assassination, and that obviously i get that if one isn't cherrypicking one does have to actually Grapple With Certain Things 🏔

but like. that said—the more 'Geralt Must Grovel for Weeks and Probably Scourge Himself, Look at What He Did to Poor Sad-Eyed Woobie Jaskier' fics i read the more i'm fucking grateful for the tiny handful where jaskier's just been like, yeah, i never bought that bullshit tbh, he was lashing out and he owes me an apology for sure but a single angry outburst does not in fact scupper an extremely well-established relationship of literally twenty years' standing in one fell swoop???

like i just. idk. imagine remembering that jaskier's a cheery irrepressible little shit and not actually as crushably low on self-esteem as all of us are. of course that would probably require *netflix* to have remembered that, so, you know, no actual shade to anyone who's been projecting that onto him! but just like. idk. they're obviously not siblings but they honestly do have that vibe in certain ways and it's just like. did you never say something overdramatic and shitty in the heat of a fight with yr sibling growing up and then after taking a bit of a breather just like. make a rueful face and apologize for yr respective roles in winding each other up and move tf on, without having, like, a whole extended OTT reparations process where you tell them repeatedly how perfect and sinless they are and how you know you're a miserable worm who doesn't remotely deserve their sunshiny presence in your life but would be so grateful if they could, possibly, somehow, see their way to forgiving you despite yr essential unworthiness—

[welcometoteyvat]

the rarepair pipeline really is just (wants to see two characters interact) (the only people who make content of those two interacting are the shippers) (doesn't mind them having a romantic relationship and thus is converted into the rarepair)

[therhythmafterthesummer]

the chokehold this story had me in. i read it all in one sitting and i was emabrrassingly squealing the entire time. y'all, read it. it's SO good.

EVERYTHING AND NO ONE

PAIRING: prince!minho x maidservant!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. angst. royal!au. forbidden love. CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. unprotected intercourse. major injury. pet names. WORD COUNT: 14.3k (and i could’ve kept going)

SUMMARY: you’re a royal servant, someone who was supposed to sink into the shadows and speak only when spoken to. power: you had none… except when it came to the crown prince.

NOTE: thank you to @lino-nyangi, @tasteracha, and @therhythmafterthesummer for beta reading and helping me edit this beast.

You’d never forget the first time you saw him. Pushed forward by the momentum of the crowd, you found yourself in a prime position to see the royal procession through the city. Leading an annual hunt in celebration of his birth, Minho sat astride his horse, offering small waves to the cheering crowd as he passed. It was only then, seeing him in the flesh that the reality of your new role as a royal maidservant finally sunk in. You were due to start the next day, to train while they were away and be prepared to serve when they returned.

Keep reading

[tonycries]

Like An Animal - T.F.

Synopsis. Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, cúmplay, mating press, chóking, overstim, oral (female receiving), créampie, dirty talk, Toji really REALLY wants to get you pregnant, spitting, mentioned kids, absolutely filthy, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Need this man so bad you don’t even understand AAA.

Toji Fushiguro didn’t want any more kids. Why would he? They were messy, expensive, and it was a sheer miracle that Megumi wasn’t anything like the little demons he’s seen during drop-off at the kindergarten. He didn’t need another reason to watch Babyshark for five hours straight - and he wasn’t about to change his mind anytime soon. 

Or, so he thought.

“Hey doll, m’home- what the f-”

“Toji! Language!” you hiss, hastily covering the ears of a very oblivious Yuji, who was deeply engrossed in mixing icing. 

Oh? 

Now, there have only been three times in his life that Toji has been truly taken aback. The first being when he discovered that yes, Megumi’s hair really does stand up that way naturally. Second, when he realized that he was falling for you - and that oh shit maybe he does still have feelings somewhere in there after all. 

And finally, right now, the sight of you covered in flour and wrestling three giggly toddlers into some semblance of order in the kitchen. “Welcome home, handsome.”

Oh. 

It made something deep inside him lurch so strangely.

“Why…” Toji rasps, eyes flitting between the mixing bowls messily clinked together and the three toddlers happily stood on stools, flour in their hair and matching smiles on your faces. “Why have they multiplied?” 

“We’re baking cookies!” Yuji exclaims from the counter, swiping a thick wad of dough on Nobara’s hair. To which the latter responds with a swift smack on the head. 

You smirk at your dumbfounded boyfriend, “Well, Toji, it seems that when you leave me alone with a batch of cookies to bake, I have a tendency to summon reinforcements.” Gesturing at the chaos surrounding you, “Megs wanted to bake some cookies before his sleepover at Yuji’s so I had these three over because we have more than enough space.”

“I see…does insurance cover this kitchen?”

Rolling your eyes, “Oh c’mon, don’t be such a spoilsport.” You reach for the batch of freshly baked goods, “You’re just in time to taste-test our latest creation!”

And, well, how could he ever say no to you? Although - flour-dusted and disheveled - some strange part of himself thinks you look even more gorgeous than usual right now, as if that was even possible. His girl was so pretty, even when you’re wrangling three little gremlins. Too pretty. Toji just couldn’t get his head around that nagging little voice saying you looked so pretty especially when you’re wrangling three little gre-

“Ehh? Fushiguro is your dad blushing?”

“Gross.”

“You idiots he isn’t blushing, it’s called ‘swooning’. My mommy says it’s a grown-up thing.”

It was hard to not hear the (extremely loud) whispers from behind you, but it was even harder to ignore the slight red tinting Toji’s ears as he pointedly reached out for the tray you were holding. Fingers barely even brushing against the cookies before a tiny voice speaks up, “Mama, can I have one too?”

You freeze. Toji freezes. You think the whole world freezes except for Yuji and Nobara who stifle giggles behind their hands.

“Look Kugisaki, now he’s really swooning.”

“Yeah, my mommy says that’s also how you get babies. You swoon and pop! they appear.”

Toji raises a brow at Nobara, gritting out a strained, “Your mommy says a lot, huh?” That jolts you out of your reverie, and you flash a gentle smile at a very red-faced Megumi. Leaning down to reply, “Of course, sweetie.”

And as he mumbles a quick “Thank you”, hastily grabbing another cookie and retreating to a corner of the kitchen - hoping to disappear into the shadows - you risk a glance at Toji. Cheeks flushed hard enough to rival Megumi’s, ah, like father like son. 

“Anyway, don’t just stand there. Come help me n’ the kids, Yuji’s grandpa’s coming to pick them up soon!” you playfully swat at your boyfriend’s sculpted chest, going back to busying yourself with the icing. 

Toji, however, was having an epiphany that was altering his perception of reality, one that he’d probably been denying ever since he stepped in through that damn front door. You. The kids. You and the kids. You and his kids. 

“Mama.”

And Megumi’s little slip-up had been the final nail on his coffin to certify that oh Toji Fushiguro was utterly and irrevocably screwed. And he’d like to blame it all on you being such a goddamn wonder, but he’s got a nagging feeling that the three little gremlins currently decorating cookies share an equal part of the blame. 

What was it that girl had said? Swooning is how you get babies? Because, well, eyeing the way you scooped up a pouty Megumi in your arms, chatting animatedly with a tittering Nobara and Yuji, only one thought rings through his mind - damn right, kid.

---

“-and make sure to brush your teeth. No faking this time, okay? I’ve told Yuji’s grandpa to check. And-”

“No summoning demons, and no summoning the police. Though you’re probably too young for that.” Toji interrupts your little tirade, ruffling the hair of a very disgruntled Megumi. “Have fun, little man.”

You giggle at the usual father-son dynamic, but as you waved off Megumi and his friends, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something in the air felt a bit different. Something a bit tense. A bit exciting.

Maybe it was the heavy silence that hung in the room after that door slammed shut, leaving just you and Toji all alone in the house. Forcing you to register the heat of his large frame looming behind yours. When did he get so close? Or maybe it was the prickly of his gaze on your back, a resounding slam! echoing in your ears as he cages you against the door. 

Or maybe - just maybe - it was the way he leaned down to whisper in your ear, husky and tinged with something so utterly dangerous. 

“So…mama, huh?” 

A thrill goes down your spine at his words. “Oh, stop.” you wave off, though you feel your cheeks flaring up in response. Especially as he plows on, “Why? I think you make a great mama.”

You scoff, casting a sidelong glance at the muscular arm just inches away from your head. “Don’t joke, Megs was so embarrassed after that.”

“I’m not joking.”

Your back hits the cool door before you can react. Toji’s hands almost painful on your shoulders, muscles rippling as he turns you to face him. You raise your eyes to meet his and oh-

Oh shit. 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies as you take in the man before you. His expression darkened, breaths slightly labored, eyes half-lidded and locked on you. You’d almost have been worried at the sudden flip of personality had it not been for the words that spill from his lips. 

“I’m not joking.” he repeats, voice strangled. 

Great, the man has finally lost it. Despite the traitorous throbbing in your cunt, you try to make sense of the situation. “Toji, this joke has-”

Your words get caught in your throat as he raises a hand to squish your cheeks together into an almost-embarrassing pout, looking down at you through dazed eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking, doll?” Leaning down to lick a stripe up a smudge of icing on your cheek. Lingering far too long, murmuring into your skin, “What do you think?” 

In the heat of it all, you manage to choke out, “W-what?”

“Don’t you think,” he mutters, as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each word that comes out of his mouth. “That you’d make the best mama?”

“I mean- yes-”

And then his lips are on yours, shutting you up - bruising. Such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit as he drinks you in with an aching desperation. Toji breathes in your gasp as you feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your front. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your mouth. “Not enough, ma. Need you s’bad.”

The buttons hit the floor before you realize what’s happening. Toji’s fisting your shirt in one hand, too impatient - too starved - he pulls down, down, down. Ripping. Urgently moving down to your shorts- “Those are expensi-” you yelp. 

But it’s useless - the tattered fabric hits the ground faster than your jaw as he groans out a quick, “I’ll buy ya a new one when we shop for baby clothes.”

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, hands trailing up your thighs. He swiftly unclasps your bra, mouth dropping into a soft little oh! at the sight, immediately groping each and every inch of skin he could reach. Tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples on his fingers in wonder. “Oh, doll. These are gonna be s’full, huh? Wan’ taste how sweet you’ll be.”

“T-Toji hah-” you whine, as he takes one nipple in his mouth. Lips wrapped so prettily around your tit as he tugs lightly, sucking harshly like he was miraculously trying to draw milk out. Looking up at you so obscenely through his thick lashes. “Ngh- wan’ more.” you buck your hips, grinding against his thick cock. 

And, well, how could Toji ever deny the mother of his children?

Because he immediately drops to his knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties. Tugging with his teeth, “This what you want, ma?” he slurs. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he breathes in the scent of your dripping pussy, “Wan’ me to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt? Jus’ say the word.”

“Please, daddy.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

And then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds with his teeth. Flashing you a devilish grin at the sinful strings of slick that connect you to the flimsy fabric. Oh Toji had half the mind to tease you about how wet you were already, but no, he had no time to waste.

With a guttural, fucked-out little grunt, he’s surging forward, diving face first into your pretty pussy. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit, licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds. 

“Oh hngh- please.” you mewl, as he buries himself deeper into your dripping cunt. Tongue bullying its way past your folds to lap at your slick, not stopping till he’s had his fill of your sweet juices. “M-more.”

Two large hands dip into your waist as he wraps his glossy lips around your pulsing clit to suck harshly, both keeping you still and supporting your weight as your knees weaken. Toji can’t have his pretty girl hurt herself right before he fills her up n’ gets her pregnant, right?

“Sure ya can handle more, ma?” Electricity runs up your spine as your boyfriend rolls his tongue across your clit just the way he knew you liked. “Y’should be thanking me for not jus’ stuffing you full of my cock like I want to right now.” 

“Then hah- why don’t you?”

Toji pulls away ever-so-slightly, relishing in the delirious little whine of disappointment that leaves you. One that quickly turns into a surprised squeal as he spit a steady stream of spit into your quivering cunt, spreading it across your pussy with his thumb.

Sloppy - it was so fucking sloppy. He looked at you like you were his favorite meal and ate you out just as much. 

Your juices decorating his lips like a badge of honor. Smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw. One which moves as he utters, “Can’t break the mother of my kids, doll.” 

But oh how you’d beg to differ as he brings his face to your sloppy pussy once more, tongue darting out to catch the obscene little drip! drip! drip! of your slick. “Gon’ be the best fucking dad to all three of ‘em.”

“T-three?”

And with that, he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Throwing your left leg over his sculpted shoulder to make out deeper with your cunt. You tug on his hair pathetically, impatiently. Cute little whines of his name leaving you each time he drips into your sloppy pussy, stretching you out, swiping at your clit, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Yeah, three.” he mutters into your folds, “Gon’ give me two more beautiful babies? Gon’ be so round n’ pretty with my kids?” Tongue curling deftly against that one spot he knew would have you keening and rocking your pretty cunt into his mouth. 

“Ah- fuck fuck fuck- hngh- yes!” you moan, body jerking violently at the way he hit that spot over and over.  

He huffs out a laugh, hungry gaze taking in that cute, desperate expression on your face. Toji just couldn’t help but tease you a little bit. “Use your words, ma.”

“H-huh?”

“Tell me what you want.”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “Want to so badly. Wan’ you to hah- fill me up hngh- W-wan’ cum-”

“So demanding.” he titters teasingly into your cunt, vibrations making you drag your pussy more erratically on his mean mouth. Now, Toji could tease you with his tongue for hours until you’re crying and begging for his cock. But right now, he doesn’t think he has any more patience nor sanity. “I love that.”

Toji knows by the way your pretty pussy clenches around his tongue that you’re close, pulse urgent on his face as he greedily laps at your cunt. So he speeds up his movements, drinking you in like a madman. 

A hand snaking up to plunge knuckle-deep into your sloppy entrance. Pussy taking him so readily after being stretched out on his tongue. Your adorable, fucked-out little whines of his name going straight to his rock-hard dick as he fucks you with his fingers the way he wants to with his cock. Two fingers thrusting in and out while his thumb draws rapid little circles on your clit. Sinking his teeth gently into your swollen folds.

Bucking into his touch, “Hah! S’too much, daddy. Hngh, g-gonna cum ah! Gonna cum-”

“Then cum, doll.”

And you are - fast and violent. 

Plushy walls clamping down on Toji’s fingers as if your fluttering cunt was trying to suck him up. Mind hazy and your only thoughts being about Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Mmm taste s’sweet, love you on m’tongue.” he grunts, breathing you in and letting your juices slide down his throat. Lewd squelches in time with your cute lil’ whines as you ride out your orgasm on his pretty face. Tongue fucking you through your high. 

“Had fun, ma?” Toji grins once you blink back your vision, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Dangerous little smile only growing at your barely-lucid nod. 

Ah, but even the ever-confident Toji Fushiguro faltered as your shaky hands reached out to pet his achingly hard cock. Swollen and leaking a mouthwatering dark patch against his trousers. 

“Wan’ your cock now, daddy.” you murmur, watching the way his darkened eyes widen ever-so-slightly, breath hitching. “Wan’ you to fill me up over n’ over like you promised.”

Oh you little minx, with all your dirty tricks - you were going to be the death of him. 

With a dark little chuckle of disbelief, Toji rises to his full height. Lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss - tongue licking at the seam of your mouth and intertwining with yours. Forcing you to taste yourself on him. So sweet of sin and all his dreams of stuffing you till you were sure to have his kids - two of them, in fact. 

“Anything y’want, doll.” he whispers into your lips. 

And that’s all that is said before the clinking of a belt rings in the heady air. The realization that you were so naked and splayed out for him while he was still unfairly clothed finally hitting as Toji peels his shirt off. Your mouth waters at the chiseled front, hands immediately reaching to squeeze his large pecs. Running your hands along his body. 

“Ah, fuck.” he shudders, “Y’never change, huh?” 

Yet your greedy hands are momentarily stunned as he lets his pants fall to the floor with his boxers. Rock-hard cock springing up and hitting his stomach. 

He was so painfully hard that it made your cunt quiver in anticipation. Red and throbbing, soaked in precum and glistening in the dim lighting. Twitching at the sound of your voice as you say “Want you to fucking ruin me, daddy.” you blink up at Toji, all doe-eyed and teary after your last orgasm. 

And oh does that make him snap - maybe his sanity, maybe you by the end of this, because before you know it, Toji’s spreading your legs with his knee. Biting his bottom lip as your slick trails down your pretty cunt and onto your legs. 

“What m’girl wants.” he grits out, dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head. “My girl- gets.”

You keen as Toji bullies his massive cock into your cunt on the last word. “Ngh- T-Toji.” you whine, vision flashing at the stretch. No matter how many times Toji stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.” Trying to steady your breathing as he fucks into you in quick, mindless little jabs to fit himself inside your snug pussy. “I’ll make sure of it, doll. How else m’gonna breed your pretty lil’ cunt?”

Your dripping cunt rubs so deliciously against his abs, slick mixing with his precum and smearing across both your bodies. Filthy, and exactly what you wanted right now. 

“Shit, love when your pussy’s so messy. Now, legs.” he rasps, with a quick smack to your thighs. And that’s all that has to be said - your queue to wrap your legs around Toji’s waist, letting his strong arms lift you with ease. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper onto his cock, veins rubbing so deliciously against all the right spots. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat. 

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck fuck fuck, m’so full.” you keen, heels digging into his hips. 

Sliding down his cock far enough that his heavy balls meet your ass, already so wet with precum and slick. Ah, you were so full of him you almost felt like he was pushing against your lungs.

“Oh, yes.” Toji hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” Finally he gets what he’s been aching for ever since those three gremlins stepped out the door. All the blood draining to his cock at the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he was the only one you could think of. Hey, he needed to get some attention before the baby arrives, right?

“Need this s’bad. Fuck.” he gasps. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, shallow, desperate little grinds of his hips. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you little slut. Fill you up with my seed till you can’t take it anymore.”

Neat little crescents of his fingernails on your ass as his thrusts get longer, more purposeful. Twitching balls smacking against your skin in such a lewd rhythm, matching the cute little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. So deliciously painful. 

“C’mon, ma.” Toji moans, hips out of control now. Taking in the way your head was thrown back, body bouncing each time he rammed his cock into your tight cunt. But oh how he wanted to see the fucked-out expression on your face. “Look at me.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way Toji cradles your head to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Only looking up at him with delirious heart-eyes as he milked himself on your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit feel s’perfect split-apart on my cock. Really made for me, huh?” he gasps into your mouth. “Need to cum in this pretty pussy. Need to fill you up- ah- need this need this- fuck.”

“Shit shit shit, Toji m’so close. I’m hngh-”

A hand hurriedly unwraps from your waist to draw rapid, desperate little patterns on your cunt. Not even circles anymore because shit Toji couldn’t think of anything aside from the way your pussy was milking him so good- And how he was gonna fuck a baby into you and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-you’ll bake with ‘em. And I’ll tuck ‘em to bed.” the words tumble out of his lips and into your parted mouth. Pussy drunk and babbling, “N’ we’re both taking those three to the park and try not to lose ‘em.”

Dragging himself inside you till his weeping tip kisses your sloppy hole. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by quick, harsh thrusts, “Then at night m’gonna steal you all to myself, and y’know what, ma?”

At this point you can do nothing more than just take it as Toji bounces you on his cock in midair, sobbing out a strained, “W-what, daddy?”

Toji leans impossibly closer, thumb catching on your swollen lips, breath fanning your face as he mutters, “Gonna fuck another baby into you. Fill you with my cum all over again, doll. Give it all to you.”

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere and have you seeing stars. And this was no different - yet you see the pearly gates of heaven as you cream around his cock. “Ah! Hngh m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

He lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back, hips stuttering and sloppy now. Breathing out raggedly, “Yeah fuck jus’ like that use me like’ that- hngh squeezing me s’tight gonna cum. Gonna give my pretty baby my cum, fuck a baby into ya- oh-”

Body bowing into yours, teething latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Fingers digging and bruising on your hips, holding your filthy pussy to his cock as he cums with a strangled moan. Hard. almost painfully so. 

White-hot pleasure behind his eyes, pumping thick, hot ropes to fill your snug cunt. Just animalistic movements from such a carnal part of himself as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper into you. 

Not even thinking of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy. Toji’s cum dripping down your legs and onto his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, who said we’re done, doll?” Toji tuts mockingly, snapping you out of the haze. “Don’t pass out on me just yet.”

And you don’t even realize it before he’s manhandling you onto the nearby couch. Pulling out only admire his seed gushing out of you, so white and hot and his. Cock twitching to life at the pool of cum and slick slowly forming on the cushion below. Fuck that, you’ll need a bigger couch for five people anyway.  

Ramming his throbbing cock into your poor, swollen pussy. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and bending down down down till your knees were at your tits. 

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till Megumi gets home. Promises he fully intended to fulfill. 

“Fuck. One more. G-gotta make sure it takes, ma.” he swears into your mouth. Voice jagged, and you almost couldn’t recognize it as your boyfriend’s. Barely even lucid, just mindless motions of his hips as he watched your slutty cunt suck him up so good. “Yeah, who’s cum is that, doll? Who’s that painting your pretty pussy white?”

Drinking in the sobbed out little, “Y-you, Toji! Ah- Hngh-” as he starts ravaging your swollen clit again. Toji’s balls squeeze so painfully as he fucked you like his personal sextoy. And your pussy was so heavenly around him that you were basically asking for him to go harder. Begging. Begging him to ruin you. 

“Ah! Fuck I’m-” throat shot, you can’t even form a proper sentence before you’re seeing stars being your eyes. Walls milking Toji’s thick cock as you cum - almost painfully. Mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! tears streaking down your face. 

Ones that Toji can’t help but lick off, salty on his tongue as he cums again. And again and again. Voice stuck in his throat, eyes widening, the veins popping out on his arms as he pulls your hips closer to his. 

Hips burning now as he breeds you like some animal. Like he was ready to fill you up until he was shooting blanks and couldn’t anymore. Cum squelching out of your sloppy pussy and seeping into where you were joined. Ah, well, the couch was ruined - time for Plan B. 

Which is why Toji found himself wrestling you onto the cool floor, cock still twitching inside you, spreading you for him on whatever flat surface he could find. Milking his cock so he can cum more than he has his whole life. 

Both of you barely lucid at this point. He wasn’t even sure if he could cum again - but by God if he wasn’t going to try. He was drunk off of the feeling inside you, so warm and wet with him. So perfect to carry his child.

“Hngh- yes yes yes wan’ carry your child, daddy.” you whine. Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck at this point. The only thing he cared about now was the feeling of your sloppy lil’ pussy wrapped around him and whether Megumi would want a brother or a sister. 

“Hm, yeah? Like the idea huh, you little slut. Fuck s’perfect f’me- ngh-”

Running on just the sting of your nails down his back and your legs pulling him impossibly closer. Barely even thrusting at this point, just frantic shallow, grinds to milk his swollen cock. Trying to fuck out something delicious. It hurt, but it hurt so good. 

So good that Toji doesn’t even realize when he’s cumming again. Just faint little tingles before his cock is shooting thin, long wisps of cum, making you squeeze around him as he fills you up again and again.Your own orgasm just a small spike of euphoria before he starts moving inside you. Again.  

Ah, he wonders, vision hazy at the edges - but still perfectly capturing the white gushing out of your ravaged cunt. Taking in the messy floor, and your even messier pussy. Where to next, huh? He hasn’t even fucked you in the kitchen yet.

“N-next?” you repeat, eyes widening as much as they possibly could through the exhaustion and the urge to pass out. And oh he said that out loud too? Whoops.

“Of course.” he pools the cum trickling out of you on two fingers, shoving them in your mouth. Making your head spine as you choke and gag around his thick fingers, pressing the back of your tongue. Only two things ringing in your mind, Toji’s unforgiving cock - raw and hot, dragging against your ravaged walls again and again - and the words that spill from his lips.

“Besides, we gotta practice for the fourth one, too, ma.”

A/N. Fully believe this man will fuck you till both of you pass out. 

Plagiarism not authorized.