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grandisknight · 2 months ago

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at your service | rafayel

summary: Gaining the upper hand in Kitty Cards has its benefits, which solely consist of making the loser (Rafayel) comply to the winner’s choice.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, kitty cards (derogatory), teasing, gn!reader (no specific descriptors), 'miss bodyguard' name mention, thomas mention, maid!rafayel, sub!rafayel, costumes, roleplay, maids, photography, kissing, praise kink, ‘master’ kink, brief mouth fucking, finger sucking, handjobs, m!orgasm, ejaculate, implied/suggestive ending

wc: 3.0k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: don't ask me what happened but just know i will die on the hill that is maid!rafayel

You couldn’t believe your luck.

And Rafayel couldn’t understand his lack of it.

The Evol kittens were no better in-between the two of you—some were happily purring or fast asleep, comfortable in their colored teacups. More importantly, unbothered and unaware of the two players on opposite spectrums in their aftermath.

Out of the nine creatures, an overwhelming majority belonged to you. After a long, arduous dual and third round sweep, you had overshadowed Rafayel with a score of thirty-two points to his measly eight sum. He held a quarter to your victory.

“This game sucks,” Rafayel sulks. His frown mirrors one of the red Evol kittens closest to him, rounded tears blobbing down its cheeks. Both defeated, worse for wear at the outcome.

You let out a small laugh. “You say that, and yet you still play with me every week.”

You poke the cheek of a cheery green Evol kitten, who nudges against your touch in turn and meows. “Isn’t that right, little fella?” It delightfully purrs back at you, the accordance only rubbing more salt into Rafayel’s poor wound.

“Hmph.” He doesn’t fight you there, chin resting in the palm of his hand and averting your teasing gaze.

You collect your hand and his, returning all cards to the discard pile with a satisfied hum. No sooner did a café worker come by to clear your table, leaving the two of you to your devices.

“And you know what that means, don’t you?” You lean forward, reaching to his sulking demeanor. Catching the sleeve of his blouse, you lightly pinch the silk between your fingers, putting on your own petulant expression. “Unless you forgot so soon.”

As long as he breathed and lived, it was actually Rafayel who would constantly have to remind you of things said and done in the past. Less of the forgetful one between you, he takes pride in his memory retention.

Even so, he couldn’t stay upset with you for so long. His shoulders relax at the sound, back straightening and taking your hand into his. A scoff of, “Puh-lease, of course I remember,” answers your questions.

“Loser does what the winner wants,” he tacks on in confidence.

It was the terms agreed upon when stepping into Meow Meow Café earlier that day—he didn’t think much of it at the time, confident he would win today’s rounds.

But, that wasn’t the case. Right. You won the first, he the second, and as for the third…

Rafayel pauses then, dual-chromed eyes now narrowing in suspicion. “Wait a minute. I’m the loser.”

You nod, a grin plastered to your face. “Today you are, yeah.”

“And you’re the winner,” he follows up.

(If you look close enough, you could make out swirls of equations and calculations floating around his head.)

“Two for two, you’re absolutely correct.” With a gentle tug and rise from your seat, you string along a bewildered artist in tow.

It came altogether then. A sense of dread at your unrevealed schemes quickly fills his tone, face already draining of its color. “Oh no,” Rafayel groans.

“Oh yes,” you chirp. “I have a wish that needs to be granted, and you’re going to help me out!”

—

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

You stood outside the bathroom door, which was currently (and firmly) locked from within. Not that you were going to barge in unannounced, but surely it warranted some concern when Rafayel hadn’t stepped a single foot out since entering. Only the rustles of clothing and hushed utterances echoed the acoustics of tiled walls; you couldn’t really make out any of the finer details otherwise.

And it’s been ten minutes.

You clear your throat, wondering if he missed the first time you called out. “Ra—fa—yel—“

The door swings open then, the man of the hour greeting you with, “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

It took a second to register his reappearance, and your mouth fell slack taking him in. “Woah,” you breathe out in awe.

No longer in his casual blouse and accompanying slacks, the artist stood before you in a newly picked attire.

White knee-high socks stuck to his calves, with the edge of their supporting garters partially hidden and neatly wrapped all the same. A frilled apron of ivory linen rested neatly above his kneecaps, blanketing the black satin of a dress in an equally-met length underneath. Sleeves puffed around his shoulders, and a pointed collar was tastefully unbuttoned in fashion—undoubtedly of his own doing, revealing the flush of his chest and collarbone that homed one of his many beauty marks.

To which, he instinctively covers up with a defensive cross of arms and ears tipped in a bright red. Embarrassment follows his rather meek stance. “So like, that’s all, right? Can I take this off now?”

You take a step closer, hands clasped behind your back in observation and hum. It was well-fitted to his body, hugged neatly in all the places where it mattered. Thomas came in clutch when you asked him the other day, catching him at Flux Arts during one of the slower viewing hours.

“His measurements?” The agent pondered your request. A couple swipes to his tab later, he adds on with a smile, “Sure thing. If it’s for Rafayel’s sake, then I’ll send them over.”

A little secret kept between the two of you, unbeknownst to the wearer. It was probably for the best, you wouldn’t hear the end of his moping otherwise.

Rafayel whines under your scrutinizing gaze that was lost in thought. “Hey—“

“Not yet,” you say with a shake of your head. “Indulge me for a while more. You took forever in there all by yourself, anyhow.”

You reveal a matching headdress between your once hidden fingers, a row of pleated ribbon swiftly placed amongst his wavy locks. The final piece of the puzzle, a maid in all his glory and in the comforts of your humble abode. A sense of glittering pride holds your gaze to his.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he points out.

Your shoulders raise in a slight shrug. “Of course I am, it’s the winner’s right.” A hand trails down to the curve of his jaw, holding the face that continues to pout. With a light snicker and compliment in attendance, you tell him, “You look very cute, by the way.”

Rafayel’s pout twitches for a second, slyly revealing his enjoyment to the compliment. He clears his throat, saying, “Yeaaah right. Take a picture, I’m sure it’ll last longer.”

Oh, but he spoke too soon. His eyes widen when you actually take out your phone, much to his better judgment. “Hold on, you’re not planning on really keeping a memo, are you?”

“It would be a shame if I didn’t,” you counter. He said so himself—might as well take his word for it.

Swiping to the camera app, you position the lens inches away and see his furrowed brows through the viewfinder. You gently tug him forward, fingers fully curled underneath his chin. On the other hand, he purposefully sways back and forth in an effort to blur your captures.

You tsk. “The more you squirm, the longer I’ll have to keep trying to take a shot.”

“What, you don’t like my blurry faces too? They’re all handsome,” he huffs. Though a squish to his cheeks cuts him short, stilling him long enough for a ring of shutters to seal the deal.

“Alright, alright,” you coo to console his woes. “I think I managed to get a good one.”

You lower the phone in observation, scrolling through the new gallery additions. The flurry of dark lavender and hazy skin aside, a few select shots captured the paused moment of time where he did behave.

Device neatly tucked away into your back pocket, your attention turns back to the subject of your newest wallpaper. Even if this was a reward for you, he deserved just as much in compensation.

A soft kiss to Rafayel’s jutted lip melts some of his tension, brows no longer scrunched together. You smile at his relaxing shoulders and opening arms when you give another.

You shower him in adoration, butterflied smooches and his closing eyes soon pressing against the closest wall. Your hands run over the frills of his skirt, smooth to the touch and gently laid out atop his thighs. The barrier of fabric did nothing to hide the amount of warmth emanating through, the effect of your touches having a clear reaction on him.

You wondered if there was more to be seen—only one way to find out.

Shifting, you drag your lips away from his and to the sweet spot where his jaw and earlobe meet. You ask in a low voice, “So, what do you think?” His blush steadily follows into the very space, worsening when you blow gently over the affected skin. “Dressing up like this for me.”

“My thoughts?”

Whether it was in disbelief or furthered embarrassment—perhaps a fine condition of both—Rafayel could only exhale. You could feel his legs pressing together in unspoken confirmation, and a bashful turn of his head carries his murmur of, “What do you think I’m thinking about when you touch me like that?”

“Well,” you trail off. “I’d rather show and not tell.”

In a blink, your fingers bunch up the skirt fabric into messied pleats that reveal the answers you sought after. And it truly was a lovely sight to see—you let out a low whistle, impressed at the state he’s in. Through the sheer lace of white trim, a curved tip as red as his ears was weeping quietly, soiling the undergarment dutifully.

“Don’t look,” he whines, attempting to cover up his hardened arousal with the satin.

“Would you prefer if I touched instead?” You tease, catching his wrist in apt timing. You guide his hand over where his body couldn’t lie, and he noticeably twitches. “Oh? Maybe you prefer touching yourself.”

“I can’t do that,” Rafayel weakly counters. It breaks into a low moan when you slowly inch him closer to the beads of precum pulsing past his slit. He hisses when your thumb slips against it, purposefully smearing his come against the lace. “You’re so, so mean, Miss Bodygu—“

“Ah, not so fast.” You tut, drawing back and a string of his arousal follows. He gasps at the unexpected loss, protests shaping his lips before you continue your turn. “That’s not my proper title.”

Confusion tints the hues of red and blue that, already, were far dipped into the seas of lust. “I call you that all the time though.”

In hindsight, you are his Miss Bodyguard. Have been, for months on end, and with generous bank statements stamped with his name as a source of proof. One who graciously accompanies him when your schedules allow it, to even sightseeing trips for both business and pleasure.

He pauses, then notably gawks with the cogs of realization spinning. “You… Don’t tell me, you want me to call you that?”

It wouldn’t be the first time this particular name has come up in conversation, but the circumstances were vastly different. You bring your soiled thumb to his lips, swiping it across and allowing it to settle into a thin layer of gloss.

“You can’t be serious,” he says.

“Sorry, are you talking to me right now? I only listen to those with manners.” His eyes only grow in size, yet you feign indifference to it. Of course you would hear him out—though only with the proper name.

Ignorance was never bliss, but rather a crude form of torture for Rafayel. “M… m…” The word laid on the tip of his tongue in a hesitant sound, before a quick mumble follows.

“I can’t hear you.” Your fingers curl themselves once more in a grip over his chin, directing his gaze to go nowhere else but to you. And your eyes were steadfast, committing his flustered face to memory.

“Speak up,” you encourage.

The air above sea had never felt so suffocating yet enticing all at once. Rafayel couldn’t help but enjoy the heat, and the root cause of it, to which he says in a low groan, “Master.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Your faceted praise comes with a tilt of his head and a kiss to reward his newfound diligence. He sighs into your warmth that welcomes him, though it shifts to a whine when you pull away too soon.

Rafayel nudges your nose with his, a pity show pooling in his eyes. “More, Master.”

“More of what, exactly?” You contemplate, before a decisive, downwards push of his lacey underwear has him sighing.

His length stood proud against his abdomen, way past a softened state, firm and twitching to the exposed air. You draw a fine line from base to sensitive head, gauging his reaction. The other hand toys with the closest garter on his thigh, fingers dipping past the fine leather. “My sweet Rafayel,” you purr. “What should I do with you?”

“Want you to touch me,” he strains, an edge of impatience to confession. His lips move to mouth at your collarbone, no longer hiding his neediness and taking it in stride. It was rare for you to see this side of him, so vulnerable yet entirely reserved for you—a face he wouldn’t dare show anyone else.

Rafayel spoke with heat in his voice and hazy stars in his eyes. “Master, please. I swear I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything,” you muse, squeezing his thigh thoughtfully. “And all you want me to do is touch you.” You can’t help but chuckle when his enthusiastic nod only adds to your point.

You could see his illusory fox ears flatten in disappointment when you pull away, against his wishes. He lets out a small yelp when your fingers release the garter and smack against his skin.

“Master, I—“

“Open,” you instruct, fingers searching his lips once more.

And Rafayel does, choking a moan when you place them against his tongue. Carefully, you stroke his warm cavern, to which his mouth closes around and sucks with zeal. He swirls his tongue against the pads of your fingers, determined to please you.

His canines briefly graze your skin when you depart with a faint string. Now finely coated in a layer of his saliva, you dip your hand downwards—curling the sticky fingers around his nearly-neglected cock. Rafayel cants his hips immediately, supporting the salaciously wet noises that echo in tune.

You squeeze his length in warning, pressing the other hand to his abdomen. “Stay still,” you scold, feeling him contract beneath your pressure. “If you can’t follow a simple order, I’ll leave you high and dry.”

“No, no, no,” he whimpers, shaking his head adamantly. His hands grip the skirt, desperate and knuckles almost turning white from their strength. Something to keep him grounded, to make sure he listens well to his beloved—“Master, I won’t move, promise.”

You purse your lips. “We’ll see about that.”

Up and down, you tenderly attend to his arousal in generous strokes. Steady rubs and an occasional swipe to his sensitive head last for what feels like an eternity to Rafayel. He was so well-behaved when his orgasm was threatened, all in the palm of your hand.

“You’re close,” you observe with a particularly firm flick, “Aren’t you?”

“Mhm, ‘m very close,” Rafayel quickly admits, his breaths ardent and changing in pitch. He looked so beautiful like this, prettily wrapped around your fingers and a sweet song of your name resonates from his throat.

Abandoning the languid strokes, you angle your elbow to reach him sooner—faster. “A good, honest boy,” you coo. His blush only deepens at the sound, and his keens grow in volume. You’d apologize to the neighbors later.

“Should I let you come?” You ask knowingly.

“Master, Ma—ah—ster,” he cries out. “Can feel it, I’m about to—“ A tear rolls down his cheek, matching the one threatening to bead past his slit. “Please, please.” Overwhelmed and in a desperate need for relief, Rafayel’s expression stirred a flame within you.

“Let it out,” you coax, pace unrelenting and threatening to cramp your fingers. The finish line was only a step away, and you say with a smile, “Do it for me. Come undone, my little maid.”

Blissful orgasm wrecks his body, accompanying his labored whines and pearls of white leaving his spent cock. Both the fabric of his outfit and your hand became victims to the viscous liquid, with the air equally met with nothing but the scent of it.

Rafayel was boneless by the time he was nothing but dribbles of cum and a wrinkled skirt, slouching against the wall.

Your dry hand finds its way to his face, kindly stroking his cheek and adding a kiss to his relaxed brow. “You did so well, Raf.”

“Course I did,” he manages to jest in a hoarse voice. He eyes the state of his clothes and your dirtied hand, to which he nods towards. “Give me your hand.”

“What?” You look down, before raising it between your faces. It glistens, brought to the light and sinking into the creases of your skin. “Why—Ah.”

Obediently, Rafayel takes your fingers dripping in release to his mouth. He licks in strides at the leftovers as if it were a swirl of ice cream on a hot, summer day.

“Cleaning up the mess you made,” you muse, though make no movement to stop him. “What a dutiful maid I have.”

He nips your now unsullied fingertips at the comment. His hold on your wrist brings you closer—you stumble unexpectedly, letting go of his face to steady a hand to his chest.

“Raf—“ Your voice stutters when you feel his knee rub between your legs. Purposeful and angled, the pressure stokes the forsaken flames in your abdomen. “Rafayel,” you breathe, attempting to collect your bearings.

“I hope you know I won’t easily forget all the things you’ve done,” Rafayel murmurs, eyes glimmering in mischief. “I won’t let you off easy, Master.”

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alnilaem · 10 months ago

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a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

Something is wrong.

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat.

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong.

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest.

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil.

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums.

“Welcome home, Love.”

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.”

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless.

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin.

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to.

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?”

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.”

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back.

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans.

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter.

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.”

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones.

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear.

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you.

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?”

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal.

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed.

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion.

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down.

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt.

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin.

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids.

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost smut #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost/reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #writing #simon riley/reader #simon riley smut #ghost writing #orion writing

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firebunnylover · 2 months ago

Note

In transformers,

What are sparklings? Are they like robot babies?

YES!

They are a mostly fan concept however. Hasbro has been cowards and unfortunately haven't realized how good an idea it is.

Mostly cuz that opens the floodgates of robot pregnancy I assume.

With that said, IDW comics does touch on the concept as far as I understand, regarding protoforms where they start out like lil marshmallows, then grow into their basic robot forms.

I think that protoform is a scraplet, but I'm not terribly familiar with IDW continuity so take that with a grain of salt.

In TFA, Sari can technically count as one.

Prof. Sumdac found her as a lil protoform that somehow ended up in his lab and after touching her, she somehow absorbed his DNA and became humanlike.

We probably would have GOTTEN MORE INFO IN SEASON 4 ABOUT HER ORIGINS BUT WE DIDN'T GET SEASON 4!!

Personally, I love the idea that they start off as lil squishy marshmallow blobs, developing arms n legs later on as they develop, along with more rigid structures.

And I think sparklings could be one of the reasons why Cybertronian altforms' tend to have this conveniently open space in them that you can access. They can get carried around like how marsupial do

Also we can't forget the biggest contribution to Sparkling Ideas, the KOBD child - Wildbreak.

He had so many similar traits to the gay cat husbands that fans just took the idea he was their kid and RAN.

(old drawing of mine of KOBD family feat. sparklings Wildbreak and Override)

I don't draw KOBD family as much as I should, I apologize for that.

#sparklings #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #transformers animated #tfa #sari sumdac #wildbreak #override #kobd #tf rid15 #tf rid

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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I Ponder The Humble Blob Ghost!

You think they are what happens when you ALMOST but not quite A Ghost(tm)? Like, you have the ectoplasm and the will to continue... but you didn't really have A Thing in life? No Final Crystalizing Thought that brings focus? Just "ow! Ah! I'm scared. Don't wanna die!" And theeeeen.... *poof!*

Why am I Orb? Am squish? No bones.

Like? Remove any one piece of the Critical Formula and you get Blob instead of Ghost? Different KINDS, mind you, but blobs none the less.

Like Skulker! Not enough Ectoplasm. Ended up Blob. He CLEARLY had the Will, the Obsession, the gory end and unfinished business... buuuut? No green goo to power the creation of a full body. He clearly knows what he's supposed to LOOK like? But it's not something FIXABLE? Even with his now unlimited access to Ectoplasm.

Like in utero damage that permanently stunted his growth. HE is fine. All his facilities are on-line and checking in as they should, for the level of sentience expected of a ghost of his people. He just... smol. Same strength, intelligence, and power as he would have always HAD...

He just got handed a really, REALLY crap "customize your eternal meatsuit" option screen. Like for real guys. Basicly NO options. His salt is eternal and entirely justified. He could have had his tattoos. He paid a LOT of credits for those! Sat for DAYS! Had to track down this One(1) artist on this SHITTY little trading hub, that BARELY QUALIFIED as one, to sit in on uncomfortable overturned crate... IN A GAS MASK because the AIR SUPPORT KEPT KICKING IT... for hoooours!

It was a WORK OF ART. You would have CRIED.

This is BULLSHIT.

But wait, I hear you say, staring at the Blob ghost chewing on a lamp post. The one that has wii music playing behind the eyes. No thoughts, head jello, one might say. What about THEM?

Good point! Remember that formula?

LOT of Ecto! But THAT... might be either an animal or a fungus. We'd have to check. ANYTHING can and DOES die. If it's alive? It can die and potentially leave a ghost. But! Consider the noble Ghost Rabbit! *holds up squirming rabbit that is ABSOLUTELY trying to both bite me and kick me in the face* A noble and friendly creature!

THIS is what happens when an animal: has sufficient Ectoplasm at the death site, a reason to continue living (fairly common. It's usually their offspring, escape, the instinctual drive to survive itself or other understandable base drives. Like love, loyalty, or hunger.), and that all important High Emotions End.

Miss any of these? You get Blobbertson over there! He's clearly a hungry boy! But! Not very DRIVEN is he? Just floating along, chewing on whatever seems interesting, looking for a snack. He's food motivated. But not MOTIVATED motivated.

Blobbertson over there? A peaceful death. Too much Ectoplasm too leave, too food motivated in life NOT to carry over, but? No DRIVE. To DEFINE and DEMAND the Ectoplasm in his little body become sharp and active. No highly emotional state to stir it into action.

Is Blobbertson INCAPABLE of higher emotions? No. He is every bit as capable as the Ghost Rabbit that has savaged my hands and escaped while you were reading. It was, in fact, NOT as friendly as originally assumed. I may be bleeding. Unimportant. Blobbertson is PERFECTLY capable of getting attached. Being trained.

Whatever level of intelligence Blobbertson had in life, still remains. And WITH that? Comes the ability to improve and grow in death! IF (and this is the big one) he ever finds MOTIVATION to do so.

Because you see, Blobbertson is quite happy. No thoughts, brain jello. Drifting along in a happy green ocean like a jellyfish. Only concerned about his next snack. It's comforting. His food obsession filled, his tiny motivation barely enough to move him place to place.

He would GLADLY sit in one place and eat for the rest of eternity. Head blissfully silent.

And that's OKAY! It truly, honestly, is. Not everyone has to be conquers and kings, crafters and cosmonauts. Sometimes you just want to spend the rest of time playing in the sand. Resting on a sunshine-y hill. Not EVERY soul is a loud one.

This is the INFINITE Realms.

And there are places like Amity Park out there. THICK as cold honey with Ectoplasm in the air, gently infusing all the life that grows there with greater and greater chance of Ghost-hood. Even the peaceful blinking awake after that final rest to look down and... little nubby green paws.

Congratulations on becoming a Blob, grandma! Yes, I imagine you ARE furious it is inordinately difficult to knit like this. No, I don't think complaining to the king will help, MeMa.

That said? I can not tell you if Blob Ghost all belong to the same Family or the same Order, but they are NOT the same species! The WAY in which you fuck up that ever vital Fomula results in WILDLY different Blobs! Was it an animal? A sentient species? A sentient PLANET? A complexe interlocking colony of fungi? What was the EXACT Ectoplasm concentration at the death site? Was that the historical levels or the At Death levels? Was the individual under sedation?

Yes! All of this IS in fact, VERY relevant!

And you think it ends THERE? HA! The SKIES are FILLED with Fighty Mother Fuckers! Ghosts LOVE to fight! It's built into their social dynamics and hierarchy! Good ol brawls to get the Ecto pumping!

......Local Blob Farmer would like to take this moment to say "GET OF HIS GHOST PEONIES, YOU HEATHENS."

No they would NOT like to join your 24/7 thunder dome in the sky, THANKS! Martha here is trying to compose some Atlantian Shell Poetry. Blobby Jr of Blobbington and Blobbington Incorporated is TRYING to study! You've DESTROYED THE COMMUNAL ZEN GARDEN!!

Get! GET!!! *swings broom*

And THEN you look not even a mile east? And it's the floating island of Blobs. They LIKE that rock. It's just an ever shifting, accidentally rolling off the edge, falling slightly, making an offended squeek, and floating back to the top of the pile to repeate the process, MOOSH of thousands of blobs. No one's certain if they used to be seals or some sort of cat.

Apparently THAT island is Warm(tm).

So there they sit. Making contented noises, chirping and shoving for the best spots. They never leave. You can literally just... float up and sit on them. It's amazing. You gotta be careful not to get buried, but it's So Soft and bouncy? And they are ALL making that soft happy Blob vibrate noise. It's like a giant, island sized, warm and almost fuzzy but not, water bed that massages you.

Just DON'T start anything there! Holy SHIT are they territorial. You Will Die. They SWARM.

And THATS not even getting into the Blobs that are? Literally brainless. Some people eat those. Which? I guess? They ARE basicly Ectoplasm jello. But SOME of them are NOT? Like... it's a debate. Hot button issue, ya know?

Some fungus turns into Ecto Jello with negative IQ and delicious insides. Is this food? But OTHER fungus was SENTIENT in life and become a whole RANGE of Fungus ghosts, from Blob right on up to complexe dryad like ghosts! Clearly NOT food unless you are a MONSTER. But THEY argue the FIRST group are ALSO not food?

Plant Ghosts have strong opinions and are willing to Gruesome Violence about it.

Which brings us back to the Humble Blob Ghost! Check before you pet! That might be grandma! Or planning to eat your hand! Just as Mammal tells you little to nothing about what animal you are looking at, so too does Blob and Ghost! Stay safe out there! And if anyone sees a glowing green rabbit? I want my blood back! That's supposed to be in MY body! Rude!

This has been, the daily ghost!

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #danny phantom #blob ghosts #blob lore #i like to PONDER the lore #get my grabby little racoon hands on the set dressings #gib me your SECRETS #gib to the racoon #minji's writing

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wajjs · 6 months ago

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but the green lanterns are 100% spooked by batman & co, am I right pals hahaha 🫠

#blob salts

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dstryvampres · 5 months ago

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Riders on the Storm

Neil Lewis x Reader

Summary: you decide to pick up a hitchhiker, he gives back a generous payment.

Warnings: car sex, semi-public sex, I misuse the geographic term of badlands(sorry geology lovers), p in v, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: don't pick up hitchhikers please, this is fiction, i hope you guys are smart enough to already know this...

Eight hours. That’s how long you’ve been cruising through the badlands of North America. At some point the eyes, after staring at the same scenery for so long, start playing tricks on you. They are small tricks. Inconsequential, even. A ploy to entertain you made by your own brain. Yet, they are just enough to piss you off, drive you a little crazy. You’ll see something flash across the road, a black blob that never existed, maybe a cactus in the distance that when you look away and then back is gone.

That’s what you think Neil is initially, another one of the tricks being played by your mind to fill some space, but he doesn’t disappear when you get closer. In fact, he gets all the more real as you approach. Arm stretched out in front of him, thumbs up, a hitch-hiker, clad in a pair of dusty jeans and a off-white tee, backpack slung over his shoulder. How long has he been out here? How dehydrated is he? Who hitchhikes anymore? You roll down your window and stop your car in front of him.

“Where are you going?” Neil asks, before you can get a word out.

You debate telling him a fake destination, you never know who’s out there after all. There’s a look of loss and sorrow in his eyes that makes you pity him, almost like a kicked puppy. You decide to tell him the truth.

“Vegas.”

“Well, I’m headed down that way too, not as far, I just need you to drop me off in Salt Lake City,” Neil pleads. He’s got these big blue watery eyes. How could you say no? “I’ll pay for gas?”

“Get in,” you sigh out, unlocking your car.

Neil looks enthralled by the news, basically running over to the passengers seat and hopping into the car. You put the car back into drive before speeding off from where you first met and picked up Neil. He introduces himself to you, and out of courtesy you do the same. Soon enough the car settles into an almost awkward silence, quiet beside the car’s radio softly playing music. Neil stares out the window, hugging his backpack to his chest.

“So, why are you going down to Vegas?” Neil asks, breaking the silence.

You jump up a little, thinking that he had fallen asleep.

“Bachelorette party. Why are you going to Salt Lake?” you hum, trying to play your previous surprise off.

“They’re hosting a pokemon tournament down there,” Neil smiles, seeming to find the contrast between your two respective reasons amusing. “Is it your bachelorette party?”

“God, no,” you say, shaking your head.

Neil seems to find your response even more amusing, starting to laugh. His laugh was warm and spread throughout the car, leading you to join him in his fit of amusement.

“What do you even do at a pokemon tournament?” you ask, once you’ve gained more composure.

“Battle it out with cards,” Neil states, only leading to him bursting out in more laughter.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. The way his eyes crinkle up as he laughs, and how he throws his head back.

“What do you do at a bachelorette party?” Neil retorts, shaking his head trying to stop himself from laughing again.

“Get drunk and, if I’m lucky this weekend, get laid,” you respond, increasing your speed back up to the speed limit.

“Well, it seems we both have equally exciting endeavours this weekend,” Neil says, reaching over to just barely increase the music so that it’s audible as you talk.

“Yours is far more exciting than mine,” you joke, rolling your eyes. “Actually, can I ask what you’re doing hitchhiking down to Salt Lake?”

“Uh- yeah… My car broke down about a mile back from where you picked me up. It was a piece of shit that was already giving up on me before I took it on the interstate. I was like halfway to the city, in the middle of nowhere, when it just started to slow to a stop. I heard some sputtering from the engine and before I know it I’m just stopped on the side of the road,” Neil pouts as he tells you the story, letting out a deep sigh accompanied with the shake of his head when he finishes it up.

“I’m sorry. Do you know how you’re planning on getting home then?” You ask, now genuinely worried about your passenger princess.

“My friends are going to drive me back up, no worries,” Neil offers you a smile, seemingly charmed by your worry of him.

For the next hour, you and Neil let the radio of your car do most of the talking. This time it’s a comfortable silence that settles. The initial fear of him murdering you on this deserted road slipping away as the minutes pass. If he wanted to murder you, he would’ve already!

“Can we pull into the gas station, I’m running low,” it’s not really a question, you’re just telling him why you’re veering off the interstate.

Neil hums out in response, seeming to have fallen asleep, or in an adjacent state, during the hour or two gap of silence. He stretches out, making sure not to inch too much into your own personal space, then rubs at his eyes.

“Sleep well?” you tease, only earning a soft grunt in response.

You pull into one of the pumps, turning off the car and hopping out of your car, towards the pump. Neil follows you slowly. You quirk an eyebrow at the man, but he just ruffles through his backpack. Once he’s pulled out his wallet he locks eyes with you, staring blankly for a few seconds at your confused expression.

“I promise to pay for gas,” Neil deadpans, fishing his credit card out of his wallet.

“I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I be joking about that?” Neil inserts his card into the machine attached to the pump before you can even respond.

“Neil you don’t have to,” you say, tilting your head in pity.

“Well, I don’t know how else I could repay you for a favour this big,” Neil starts to fill up your car.

“I’ll get you snacks, a drink maybe? I can’t let you pay for gas, it’s so expensive,” you're almost whining as you say this, stamping your foot lightly.

“Fine,” is all Neil says in response.

You wait for Neil to finish filling up your car, leaned up against your car, arms crossed. It’s almost embarrassing that you’re just letting some stranger pay for your gas, but you can’t complain about the view he’s giving you. His bicep flexed as he held the oil pump, looking around at the scenery. Back turned to you for a moment, and you can see the bones and muscles of his back move around as he stretches briefly. Then, you get to admire his smile as he puts the pump back and removes his card.

“Do you want to go in now?” you ask, watching as Neil puts his card back into his wallet.

Neil nods, and you lock the car before heading over to the small convenience store attached to the gas pump. You and Neil split up, seeming to have different priorities when it comes to snacks and drinks. Caffeine is what you desperately need to complete the next eight hours of this trip, so you wander over to the energy drink section. You settle on a pacific punch monster, before turning your attention to a snack. Something light perhaps? No, you’re starving. Gas station food is never the best, and you likely wouldn’t have eaten anything here if you noticed earlier. Alas, you were too busy focusing on driving and now you must settle.

It seems that Neil was also relatively hungry, as you found him in the refrigerated food section. A Dr Pepper tucked under one arm, and a bag of puffy cheetos under the other. He gives you a polite smile before going back to browsing.

You decide the best option here is a sandwich, picking it up and then going around to wander until Neil is finally done. Sometime along the way you pick up a sweet treat, and stack that in your small pile of three.

“I think I’m good now,” Neil says, walking over to you with two taquitos now added to his collection.

You insist on paying for both of you at the cash register, much to Neil’s chagrin, and head out to the car. Situating both of your drinks in respective cup holders before heading back onto the interstate. Sandwich you bought is situated in one hand, the steering wheel in your other. The sandwich is truly nothing to write home about but it satisfies your persistent hunger enough. It’s about three fourths of the way through the sandwich that you notice the dark clouds looming ahead of you. You’ve never been a huge fan of driving through storms, but maybe you’ll get lucky and this one will be light. A sprinkle of rain before clearing out for the rest of the trip.

Neil opens up his Dr Pepper, breaking the silence in the car. He utters out a soft sorry before he’s gulping down the drink, washing down the taquitos he just ate.

“Were the taquitos good?” you ask, taking a bite of your own food.

“They’re good for gas station food, never really have to worry about them,” Neil replies, wiping his upper lip off from the Dr Pepper residue.

You him out in response, mouth full of gas station sandwich. There’s now a soft pitter patter of rain hitting the car.

“Hope it doesn’t get any worse,” you pray around the sandwich.

“I mean it looks like it might…” Neil muses, quickly adding on a ‘but I don’t think it will!’ when he notices your eyebrows furrow.

Unfortunately for you, Neil was right. It had gotten so bad that you didn’t feel comfortable driving, pulling over on the side of the road to wait this out. Luckily for you, this gave you time to snack on your little treat. Unluckily, you were now stuck in a car for God knows how long until conditions got better.

Thunder rumbles outside.

“Yknow, because you bought me food, I feel like I didn’t repay you enough,” Neil frowns, stuffing his cheetos into his bag, seemingly not up for them anymore.

Maybe it was the long drive both ahead and behind you, or possibly being stuck in the rain. Could’ve even been the gas station sandwich you had just finished. Yet, for some reason, you replied to Neil’s small statement with:

“I got a way you can repay me.”

Leaning over the centre console, eyes fluttering closed. There's a small pause, and for a moment you feel like Neil’s going to reject you, laugh this weird situation off completely. Then you feel his lips on yours. It takes two seconds before you feel like you two are melding together. Your whole body feels fuzzy and warm, despite the rain pouring outside and the blast of the A/C. Neil breaks away for a second, panting. His pupils are wide, almost engulfing the blue iris of his eyes fully.

“We should move to the back,” Neil suggested, tilting his head towards the backseat.

You climbed over the centre console and into the backseat, Neil following you over as soon as you were seated. Once he too was seated, he placed his hands onto your thighs. Rubbing his hands up and down the exposed skin. He looks at your thighs for a couple seconds before looking back up at you. One of his hands goes up to cup your cheek, bringing you closer to his own face. Softly, a brush against the area, he places a kiss on both corners of your mouth, then kisses you again.

Neil eventually drags you into his lap, or as close as you can get to sitting in his lap while cramped in a car. You sip your tongue into Neil’s mouth as he gives your thigh a squeeze. You moan into his mouth, your own hands navigating their way down his chest and to the hem of his jeans as Neil works up your thighs to the hem of your shorts.

You both hopelessly fumble with the other's pant button and zipper. Now just a mix of soft moans, sweaty hands, and tongue. You’re able to push Neil’s pants down to his knees first, leading you to help him slide your own shorts down. Both of you pull away from the kiss to admire the other, and just as a treat for Neil, you slip your shirt off exposing your lack of a bra. Neil’s eyes widen as he admires your body, stopping himself midway through taking off his pants to do so. You palm at the bulge in his underwear, trying to encourage him to finish taking his pants off. Which is surprisingly successful.

Thunder crashes in the distance.

Neil starts trailing soft kisses down your neck and collarbones as he plays with your breasts, massaging them and tweezing at the nipples. You let moans slip into the air of the car. The windows have started to fog up, giving you slight peace of mind that no one who passes by would likely be able to see either of you. Though, with how hard the rain is coming it would be hard to see anything.

Lightning illuminates behind you.

You move to take your own panties off, hoping it will be enough to get Neil to just fuck you already. Pushing his hands and lips off of you before leaning back into the leather seats of your car before spreading your own lips with your fingers to expose your wet cunt. Locking eyes with Neil. He lets out a sigh, shaky and needy despite the fact that no one is touching him. He stares hungrily at your cunt, licking at his lips.

“Fuck baby,” Neil pants out, slowly taking off his own underwear.

His cock slaps against his stomach once freed. It's thick, not so much long, but very thick. You can’t imagine just how good the stretch is going to be once he's inside of you.

“Go ahead,” you urge, you’re sure you're wet enough that he doesn’t even need to finger you.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks, eyebrows furrowed. His face seems genuinely worried, but the head of his cock is already lined up to your entrance.

You roll your eyes and nod, and not a second goes by before Neil pushes his cock into you. The intrusion alone makes you see white for a few seconds. You let out a small yelp, he’s so thick. He pushes himself to the hilt immediately, letting out a groan as your heat encloses tightly around his cock.

“So tight and wet for me,” Neil moans out, placing a hand on the seat to stabilise.

“You’re so thick,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment desperately trying to adjust to his girth before Neil starts moving.

Neil gives you a couple more seconds before he’s slowly pumping in and out of you, consistently spearing you on his cock. His is definitely the thickest cock you’ve ever had the pleasure of being split on. Devastating to know you didn’t even have to get to Vegas to get the best dick of the week.

Everytime Neil rocks back into you, you let out a small squeal. Somehow each time he comes back into your cunt, he feels almost just as thick as when he first entered you. As he thrusts into you, building a steady pace, you seem to get wetter. Making the task of taking his cock a little easier, but also building a small puddle of your slick onto your leather seats. His cock glides across your sensitive spots each time, before his tip presses into your g-spot.

Neil is panting above you, alternating between closing his eyes in pleasure, staring at his own cock coming in and out of you, or looking at your own expressions of pleasure. Your moans fill up the air in the car as your hands scratch at the seats for purchase.

Neil’s pace starts to increase, soon becoming rapid enough that you bump your head on the door of the car once. You wrap your legs around his hips, head becoming fuzzy as your own high is rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum, Neil, gonna cum,” you babble out, reaching down a hand to rub at your clit.

“Me too. Pretty girl, where do you want it?” Neil gasps out, placing both hands on your hips forcing you into a position to take him in deeper.

“Tummy,” you groan, feeling your high on your heels.

You cum around Neil’s cock, screaming out his name as you see stars. Neil pulls out of you, disappointing you only slightly. Ropes of cum land on your tits and stomach. Soon enough both of you are coming down from your high, Neil slumping against the door adjacent to you.

That was definitely payment enough.

Taglist: @paradiseprincesss @luluartpop @xanaxiii @galactict3a

#Spotify #neil lewis x y/n #neil lewis x you #neil lewis fanfic #neil lewis smut #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis #watching the detectives #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #dstryvampres

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imaginesforeons · 1 year ago

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Bubble and Foam(Yandere!Nanami x Reader)

~You and Nanami take a bath~

CW: Past kidnapping. Yandere Nanami. Forced nudity but not really NSFW.

Word Count: 1,347

Reqs are OPEN! At the top of my page you can see what fandoms I write for, so DM me with your ideas!

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

There used to be, you think, something calming about the sound of water lapping at the sides of a tub. The way the mirror and windows would fog, until your reflection was only a blob of color through the glass was delightfully anonymous, and you used to draw little flowers in the corners of the mirror when you were done bathing. The steamed room felt nice on your skin, and you always reached a light doze, warm and relaxed as you were in a tub with essential oils or salts or mountains of pearlescent bubbles. It was a private place, a slice of the world set aside just for you, and you treasured it.

There used to be something calming about it. But things changed.

Now you stood, shivering and bare except for a towel that was much too short wrapped tightly around you, nothing inside you feeling calm. It was easier, you knew, if you went along with the stereotypical domesticity that Nanami seemed to crave. It took you a while to understand, but when you realized and started treating him more like a husband than a man who probably suffered from insanity, he became calmer, smoother, like a rock polished of all its edges. Instead of hiding yourself away when he came home from whatever made him look beat up and bloody, you’d make him dinner. When you’d wake up to an empty bed, Nanami already long gone, you’d make it instead of trashing the room. You even tried to greet him at the door at the end of his workday, shyly pressing a kiss to his cheek, yet leaning back with a hammering heart whenever he seemed to want more.

You did this, because in return he became softer. He became- not like a husband, exactly, but a prison gaurd with his favorite prisoner. With his supervision, you were allowed to watch tv. You could request books or magazines from him, and he’d deliver. Once, you were even allowed to go to a park by his house, even though the entire time you were outside his arm stayed wrapped posessively around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly over your hip bone. It was a precarious balance of risk and reward, but as you stared at the tub, stomach sinking ever lower, you weren’t sure this risk was worth it.

This was too far.

“I can’t do it,” you said, staring at the slowly filling tub in front of you with terror. “This is too much.”

Nanami dipped his hand in the water, moving it back and forth, eyes unreadable behind his glinting glasses. “It’s just a bath. Nothing else.”

He was wrong, because it definitely was something more. Nanami had seen you in your underwear once, but only because you needed help changing the first night he took you, as you had a bad reaction to whatever drugs he used for sedation. He had never seen you naked. You and he had never, to put it bluntly, had sex. The most romantic thing he had done was kiss you on the lips, and both times you had fled to your shared room for the rest of the night. The only sleeping together you and Nanami did was sleeping in the most literal sense; you shared a bed, and only because Nanami insisted on it.

“We’re not having sex,” you blurted, then immediately felt your body go hot with embarrassment. It wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin; you’d had sex before, but it was never with a man who had kidnapped you. It was never with someone as strong as Nanami, who you had seen punch a hole through a metal door and come out of it with not even bruised knuckles. Watching the muscles in his arm flex as he stirred the water, you felt your mouth dry, and your hands tightined the grip they had on your towel.

“No,” Nanami said flatly, making you feel more ridiculous than ever. “We’re not having sex.”

He turned off the water, and the silence of the bathroom was more deafening than anything you could have imagined. The tub sat full, yet empty of people, like it was taunting you. Hadn’t Nanami just turned on the water? When had it have the time to fill up so quickly?

“Let me get in first,” you begged. “Please?”

Nanami’s brows rose. “I thought you would have been more against this.”

“I am!” you exclaimed. “It’s just that…” It’s just that you’d like to get in first and fast, so he’d barely have that chance to see you. Nanami had put some type of salt in the water, which made the room fill with the scent of lavender and gave a slight cloudyness to the quality of the water. Combined with the height of the water, it should be just enough to hide everything important from the towering man in front of you.

“...maybe you could turn around first?”

Nanami’s brows fell into a scowl, and he took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course. Turn my back on you, and allow you that chance to attack me. It’s only happened once, so why shouldn’t it happen again?”

“Only once! And that was weeks ago!” You waited in terse silence, watching for any reaction.

Nanami only crossed his arms over his bare chest, muscles bulging. He was in a towel too, but where yours covered you from collarbones to thighs, his only hung low on his hips, putting everything on display. Well, you thought, staring at the trail of dark blond curls starting at his belly button and trailing behind the towel, almost everything. How was he able to look so confident dressed in so little, while you felt like the world was collapsing in on you?

“I wouldn’t be able to do anything even if I wanted,” you tried. “There’s nothing in here for me to attack you with. So could you turn around for just a second? Please?”

Nanami sighed and shook his head, and just when you thought he was about to say no, he turned his back. You took this as your chance, shucking your towel and praying that he wouldn’t peek as you lunged into the steaming water, submerging yourself up to your neck. To your side, Nanami let out a grunt, and untied the towel, letting it fall to the ground, exposing his-

You jerked your head to the side, staring resolutely ahead. You didn’t move, not even when you heard Nanami step into the tub. When he settled, placing his legs so they were on either side of you, bracketing you in, your hands clenched.

Slowly, he slid an arm around you, ignoring the way you clung to the rim of the tub and pulling you against him with ease. You had never felt so much of his skin on yours, and you felt your pulse climb as he moved against you. His hand fell over your forehead and began to pull you back.

“Relax,” Nanami said. “Let me wash your hair.”

You forced yourself to stay still, resting against his chest as he cupped water over your head and hair. When you heard something click, you jumped, eyes shooting open only to see a bottle of shampoo. Nanami squeezed a fruity-scented dollop out, set the shampoo aside, then covered your eyes with his free hand. When you caught the hint and forced them shut again, he started moving strong fingers across your scalp, deliberate yet tender.

You stayed still against his chest, a heaviness overtaking you, and you fought back the drowsiness. As you did, Nanami worked his hands through your hair calmly, in little to no rush. He rinsed the suds from your hair, and placed a kiss at your temple before smoothing conditioner through your locks.

While he washed the conditioner from your hair, you sank into something resembling relaxation, and for a moment allowed yourself to pretend you were alone. The steady rise and fall of the chest behind you made it hard.

#jjk imagines #imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #yandere #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n

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fatasticfeedernurse · 1 year ago

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Missunderstanding

eating healthy? Exercise? Nonono my dear, you didnt understood the kind of dynamic between you and me. We are not working towards making you fat on a long, steady run that will end up in you being obese in a relative safe way.

Ohh no, we dont want that. But...what do we want? The answer, its results!

So what do we do to achieve that? Double, triple meals, loaded with fats, oils and salt, always snacking in between. Not letting you move a single muscle, turn every part of your body that can move into soft mush that will leave you pinned down to the bed/couch.

We want to turn you into a blob quickly, afterall you said it yourself "i want to get fatter". And your eish is being granted. Unrestricted, unrestrained and unregulated gluttony and spoiling, your chest pains may be constant and shortness of breath may be heavy. But we have pills and machines to deal with that. What we dont have is another way to satiate your hunger....so open up pig, this foo wont eat itself~

#health play #death feedee #death feedist #death feederist #death feederism #Healthplay #immobile

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jisokai · 3 months ago

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If a tree falls (does it bring you to tears?)

Exploring the relationship dynamics of the Strawhat Pirates and a reader coming to terms with grief.

Set right before Enies Lobby.

strawhats x GN reader, slight romantic nami x reader Life of Pi and Haruki Murakami-inspired, reader lives in a floating tree, loss of home/habitat destruction, reader is a friend to animals, queerplatonic relationship-building with everyone basically 7.7k words | oneshot, complete

notes: this was my first fic when i started writing again recently so it has a special place in my heart even though it's pretty rough imo <3 definitely niche so i'm mostly posting it here for archive purposes. + the timeline for this is so nonexistent, i promise it's better for everyone if you don't think about it + there's some background/implied frobin

ao3 option

Distance. Space. Atmosphere.

Life at sea means many days of drifting into nothingness, waiting for a figure to appear in the distance to follow. Drifting usually starts as a peaceful pause between events, crew members taking time to find their strength for the next piece of their journey. But as the days drag on, quiet stillness turns to impatient irritation. There’s an itch for chaos, a fight, change. Not seeing land for days, weeks even, unsettles them.

But no matter their skepticism, they always trust Nami. Nami who has never failed them in knowing how to bring them to where they have to be, oftentimes a destination they were not aware of.

In the blue of the vast beyond is a speck, also blue from the space that sits between said speck and the Going Merry. Nami frowns when she sees it. Normally specks have a spread to them if they’re a landform, a long but narrow shape that appears all at once. The alternative is a ship, which usually has a particular proportion between its length and width. However, this speck is tall . So tall it disappears into the clouds. And it’s narrow. It isn’t perfectly straight, a little wobbly-looking from this distance. Glancing around her workspace, Nami locates her telescope, grabs it by the base, and gently kicks the door open to make her way out to the lower deck.

“Usopp,” she calls as she walks to the stairs. Usopp looks up from his seat near Luffy and Chopper curiously. Nami cocks her head to the upper deck where she plans to set her telescope, turning and walking along. The sniper pouts at the lack of explanation, but rises with a sigh to meet her.

Still too far away to be discernible, two figures lounge together dozens of stories in the air. One nestles itself into the soft warmth of the other’s fur. The other swishes its tail in contentment. It huffs, yawns with its tongue out, then blinks and lowers its head to sleep.

“It’s a tree.”

“It can’t be a tree.”

“Well what else could it be!? Through your telescope it even looks like there’s a branch.”

“Trees can’t grow in salt water. Besides, there’s no land for it to attach to. You think it just floats around? It would topple over!”

“This is the Grand Line, Nami. In Skypiea you could swim in a cloud in the sky. What’s a floating saltwater tree compared to that?”

“Then this is a tree growing higher than the clouds, Usopp. From sea level.”

That does sound ridiculous, he can admit.

“It’s a tree,” Nami groans the next day. Overnight the ship traveled significantly closer to the speck, now a more complicated looking blob that becomes much clearer with the telescope. Through the lens she can see the edge between the tree and sky clearly. Moss and vines are apparent now, too. Odd lumps reveal themselves to be knots and welts where limbs once were. There aren’t many branches in view, the canopy likely condensed in the clouds.

Usopp snickers next to her, “and you dared question the great sniper Usopp!”

Luffy interjects while she punches Usopp in the back of the head. “What’s a big tree doin’ in the middle of the ocean? It get lost like Zoro?”

“I don’t know,” she responds softly, questioning. She thinks Robin may have ideas, but after asking for her thoughts they still don’t have adequate guesses.

“Trees have quite massive root systems. It’s possible that this one’s go deep in the water and have anchored to something below. Or maybe the distribution of weight keeps it upright. Either way I couldn’t guess how it got here.” All Nami can do is sigh in response.

Without verbalizing it, the Strawhats are in agreement that the tree is their next stop. It falls in line with the route they were already traveling, and the crew never turns down a sidequest. Especially not after nearly a week without touching land. Nami figures they could make contact in less than two days with the winds coming in.

Intense winds make the branches rustle. Smaller twigs break off and fall into the marsh below. The bird chatter dies as they nestle themselves into crevices of bark. Rodents scurry the length of the tree to find refuge in clumps of leaf and sticks. There’s a stillness hanging in the air, one thick with moisture. The sign of a storm. The two figures make their way down, finding their dwelling in the base of the tree. This is how it goes. Creatures live in one tree, but live like nomads as the microclimates change with weather and time. They read the signs. They are ready.

A storm delays their arrival by another day. Nami isn’t sure how she misread the sky patterns, but it isn’t unusual for the Grand Line. She’s frustrated but she knows her reading will improve with time.

The sunlight begins to touch the water and the clouds begin to part when the Merry gently rocks while approaching the tree. The root systems span a wide diameter, serving as the base for marsh and wetland conditions. Lush grasses and shrubs emerge on the roots above the water, while the ones below are fuzzy with algae. Minnows weave through their habitats between the root structures. Bunches of lily pads and mosses part as the Merry charges forward, scraping the woven foundation of the tree.

The vibrations are noticed by the creature sleeping at the base. It wakes, rises with a careful shift of bones, and slowly makes its way outside to scout. The other remains asleep.

Nami and Sanji are the only ones awake on board. The navigator feels a deep relief at having made it, tired from surprises from the past few days. The cook rose earlier to begin the preparation of breakfast. He meets her on the deck to confirm their arrival. He’s already fawning too much and insisting he can moor the boat for her. It irritates her but she lets him do it if it means a break from his attention for a few minutes.

She does, however, step out onto the…shore with him. She’s curious about this land—this organism that became its own land. She wonders what lives here, what kind of life blooms in such isolation. If anyone else has set foot here.

Sanji becomes a distant sound as her eyes take in the landscape, the seascape. Nami feels a sense of security at the base of such a massive presence. As she looks up, the tree extends endlessly into the sky, asserting its height and wisdom. It withstood a storm with ease, now standing calmly in the water. Still.

A rustling sound brings her gaze back in front of her and she feels her stomach drop. All security she felt is now gone.

A lion.

A golden, massive cat is before her. It’s beautiful, with a mane that sticks up like streaks of grass. Its color is saturated, a deep gold unlike the pale yellow she associates with these beasts. It’s crouched within the overgrown vegetation. She realizes it’s stalking her. She’s alone. Sanji is less than a hundred paces away, but she can’t get herself to call out to him. Afraid it’ll trigger the lion’s instincts.

But Sanji, ever the sense for a woman in distress, turns to her after the mooring is complete. His voice dies out as he registers her panic and immediately moves on instinct. In the moment he takes a few steps her way, the lion creeps forward one. He easily closes the distance between himself and his crewmate, reaching to move towards the animal when a voice calls out.

“Hin,” it says. Firm. Meaningful.

The lion blinks, ears twitch. It rises to its full height and waves its tail, but it doesn’t break its gaze with Nami and Sanji.

They hear more footsteps. Nami takes her chances by moving her gaze from the beast and to the origin of the sound. She sees you.

You are what she least expected to see in this environment. A person, firstly. Specifically a person with a grounded presence, purposeful. Dirtier than herself, as to be expected. But stable. Sure of yourself. And unwelcoming, eyes on alert as you scan Nami and Sanji’s faces, take in the exchange occurring before you decided to intervene.

She’s not sure how to proceed, especially alone with Sanji while everyone else is sleeping on the Merry. Her instincts are alert, but less with run hide fight and more with determination to prevent Sanji from escalating things. She can sense the new tension in him after having a glance at you, gearing up her fist to punch him swiftly as soon as he begins: “Oh wow! What pleasure do I have to—”

She feels that these first moments are crucial. She hasn’t felt an intensity like this since journeying with Vivi in the deserts of Alabasta. Something about an unknown landscape holding people who are lost, looking for something. Adding to the map of their own lives. She feels that from you. Wants to participate.

She smiles nervously. “Sorry, we don’t mean any trouble. We’ve been sailing for days and saw this tree along the way. We figured it’d be a good place to reset before getting back on the water.” There’s no reaction after she pauses. She adds, “We’re just hoping to spend a night or two here, maybe find some food, explore if you’ll let us. We really don’t mean any harm.”

There’s a moment where she panics, wondering if there’s a language barrier she wasn’t prepared for. But you look like you understand her words. Still on guard, but opening to curiosity. You look towards the lion again.

“Hin,” you say, just as firm. The beast turns to you as you cock your head to the side, away from Nami. The animal turns slowly, looks back at the pair of pirates, and walks its way back to you. The exchange is not unlike the way Nami called for Usopp the other day.

After an excruciating silence you finally respond to her: “Who are you and how did you find us?”

Nami explains briefly that they’re pirates, but not the bad kind. You don’t seem to care either way, or at least until she repeats that they simply stumbled upon this tree while sailing to their next destination. It wasn’t intentional, or even on the map. She adds that they were just at Long Ring Long Land, but it makes you frown further in confusion.

It only takes a moment for you to remember the original implied request by Nami. You nod briefly, “It’s fine. You can stay for a few days.”

Nami sighs in relief, thankful to not experience your rejection or have one of their crew resort to violence to persuade you.

“But on my terms,” you add.

Nami grimaces, already imagining the way Luffy would violate every possible term you could propose. But she nods again, hopeful.

It’s not so bad, it turns out. You help them choose a better spot to moor the Merry and secure it in place with Nami while Sanji returns aboard to prepare breakfast. You’re gentle and helpful, but Nami still feels a slight intimidation. She assumes it’s at least partly from the massive predator watching her every move. While she’s curious, she avoids asking too many questions since Robin will ask them again later.

Luffy is still sleepy when he wakes and is quickly fed, which helps to keep him subdued. He does immediately fall into the water upon leaving the ship, leaning too far forward while looking at the roots in the water, and has to be surfaced by an annoyed Zoro. You show the crew around the marshy base of the tree and the small room you’ve made out of a particularly twisty bundle of roots. You then demonstrate to them how you make your way around: a system of vines and pulleys and weights that makes Zoro wince at its overcomplicated nature. Luffy bypasses this by shooting his arm towards the next branch and sweeps everyone into his other arm as he pulls himself in the air.

You then show them your gardening space by the second branch. A particularly odd twist in the tree’s trunk creates a series of small hills that drain into a pond. Lush rows of planted crops are growing, some bearing fruit or vegetables. You explain that they can have some of the fresh fruit and vegetables, but that they’ll mostly have to take preserves. But you're also willing to help them forage for other foods—the varying climates of the different branches offering a sizable variety.

Before Sanji can blurt out a nonsensical compliment and Luffy can grab a handful of whatever’s closest, you state firmly, “In exchange for my food and docking here for a few days, you will abide by these rules: you must keep your disruption to the other animals to a minimum, including killing and eating them. You also can’t damage the tree or the environments on it.”

Luffy immediately begins to pout while Sanji blabbers that he will make you the finest vegetarian cuisine in exchange for your hospitality. The others just nod in affirmation. Except for Zoro.

“You some tree guardian or somethin’?” he asks.

You huff, amused. “It’s complicated.”

It doesn’t turn out to be that complicated, just a long story that Luffy nods off to. You try to be brief, explain that you were on a research trip to study an island near your home in the South Blue. A storm came, swept you away to wake up cradled in the salty roots of the massive tree. You thought you were dead, especially after turning and making eye contact with Hin, one of the lions from the island that had been tagged for research. At the very least if you weren’t dead, you assumed you would be shortly. It was a delicate dance of asserting authority that became a sort of skeptic symbiosis. Lions are hard to read. Some days he looks at you with an intensity that registers as keep your distance , others you’ll comfort each other through a cold night. You think the mutual loss of prior kinship contributes to the unconventional relationship, but you’re still aware he could end your life at any moment he wanted. Even though he hasn’t in the past five years of opportunity.

Usopp shudders and mumbles to himself while attempting to spot said creature below, “I just don’t get why you’d keep a giant predator around. Push him in the water or something.”

Robin intervenes. “The South Blue? That must mean the tree is floating through the ocean. You’ve never touched land since arriving? I’d imagine the currents and winds would bring you to shore at some point.”

You just shake your head, having the same assumptions.

“That means you passed through the calm belt,” Nami realizes. “How would something like this get through there?”

Again you don’t know. You don't even know what the Calm Belt means. You’ve long since resigned the impossibility of things to the great mystery of the world. Plants and animals you can study, get familiar with and build knowledge (though they’re impossible in their own smaller ways). Matters of nonsensical geology and weather patterns were beyond the understanding of a single person.

You notice Zoro and Luffy are like that too. They don’t seem to mind that there are things they’ll never know. They just want to nap or swing through the branches. You notice that others in their crew see mysteries as the reason to keep going. Robin’s fascination and Nami’s confusion motivate them to take action and find answers. You notice that the rest are preoccupied with something else entirely. A sense of duty to a purpose. You notice it’s more of an alignment chart than it is a system of categories.

While you feel surrounded by great mysteries, you do know that you miss home. You resigned to never having the opportunity to return, so it was a safe longing that didn’t inspire you to take action, to take risk. You realize that while these pirates all have different means of navigating their mysteries, they’re taking a risk together. Some don’t see it as a risk as much as a necessity. You wonder how hard that decision was for them to make. You realize that you now have to make a decision of your own. There’s no rush, you have a few days to mull it over. A few days isn’t nearly enough time, but it’s a small comfort.

You help them explore the length of the tree and at night help Sanji prepare a meal at the top of the crown. He’s unfamiliar with some of the ingredients and you explain what you know of their flavors and best methods of preparation. You’re a mediocre cook, but the information is helpful regardless. Chopper asks you about your knowledge of their medicinal properties. You tell him that you can share your notes and show him how to care for them if he wants to take any with him when they leave.

Nami makes a complicated face. “You… you’re staying here?”

You think about your mom and your sister. Your dad. Close friends, other researchers. The rest of the world that exists out there. You think about Hin and all the life you’ve made intricate relationships with.

“I don’t know,” you say.

The sun falls through the clouds while everyone eats their meal. Sanji has to prevent Luffy from grabbing stray birds that linger in the canopy after he finishes his plate. The clouds turn pink, orange, red, a twinge of purple. As the sky fades into its deep sleepy blue, you remember your third rule.

“Don’t go in the water after sunset.”

Usopp makes a “huh?” sound while Robin excitedly asks why.

“It’ll eat you alive.”

Despite Usopp’s worries, the Merry is fine the next day. He was torn between being too afraid to sleep in the boat out of fear he would also dissolve in his sleep, and wanting to be with her in case anything happened. He felt sick to his stomach watching you demonstrate a few clippings of your hair turn into nothingness. Luffy thought it was awesome and Nami thought Robin looked the happiest she’s been in over a week.

When the sun rises you share your herbal notes with Chopper and your accounts on the island with Robin. You’re embarrassed at the personal nature of some of your entries, but figure the details would be forgotten eventually after she leaves. You notice your internal monologue is assuming you’re staying again. Luffy’s new favorite activity is to swing through the tree branches in a one-sided race with the monkeys, but Zoro spends his day strength training at the bottom out of fear that Luffy will fall and drown himself. Nami explores with Sanji, attempting to create a map while the cook forages. Usopp is forced to tag along to be Nami’s buffer.

The whole day Hin is clingy, more affectionate than usual. It makes Chopper nervous that the lion is hanging around you all day, but Hin barely acknowledges him. You aren’t sure whether it’s because of the visitors or if it’s triggered by something else.

The Strawhats decide they’ll want to stay a couple more nights. Usopp thinks he can gather material to do some decent maintenance on the Merry and get her in a confident position with some time. You’re glad you get a little longer to be in their presence. You can’t help but notice that the decision is already made: that you can’t leave. But maybe a few more days will convince you otherwise. Hin still won’t leave your side.

On what the Strawhats decide is their last full day with you, an unexpected storm rages through. You show them how you wait them out at the base of the tree, a secure place with less wind and more distance from lightning. The storm is pretty average until there’s one particular strike of lightning that radiates through the entire length of the tree. Your heart drops as you feel a splintering sound resonating through your entire body. It’s paired with a short period of deafness that ends just before there’s a massive splashing sound. The base of the tree rocks, lurches upwards with your stomach and then slams back into the water. There’s the chattering of birds, howls of monkeys, buzzing of insects all moving away. In the distance.

In all your time on this floating ecosystem, you have witnessed animal migration. Some birds leave for a season, others never return. New insects appear out of the blue along with grasses and fruits and fish. The nature of a groundless entity puts it in constant range of new variables, new lives that come and go for varying lengths of time.

Never has there been a mass evacuation of life.

When you run outside the sky is still pouring. A mist simultaneously rises from the ocean and you’re immediately drenched. There is no canopy to shelter the rain. The tree has fallen. Your livelihood, all your relationships and meaning, plummeted in the ocean. It’s still afloat, a mile onwards into the mist of the sea. But it’s gone. It will never be upright again. You can tell by the way the bottom is shredded, splintered into a million pieces. You’ve never seen growth below the second branch, no watershoots to suggest the tree could embrace a new trunk.

Even if there was a chance for survival, it wasn’t in your lifetime. It would take hundreds if not thousands of years for there to be even a fraction of the biodiversity that occupied this space seconds ago. You know the world is a cruel place. After days of resigning yourself to staying, with no temptation towards a life-long journey of returning home, you are forced to realize it is the only way forward. You immediately entertain dying here. It hurts to imagine Hin dying with you.

Your brain moves a mile a minute, contemplating sending Hin with the pirates to their next island. Let him try to rebuild his life while you die with yours.

You feel his presence beside you. It’s cold. He steps forward.

The memory of his affections is distant as you watch him. His steps hold intent, they do not waver. You call for him in your mind. Turn back. At least look back at me. You can’t stop him, can’t even call out to him, knowing that nothing will change his mind. He marches onwards. You know that you cannot follow.

The Strawhats stay another day.

You have to go with them. It’s the clear decision, has been since their arrival. You deny it, have been denying it despite it waving obviously in your face. You hate the clarity that this was inevitable. Hin’s affections replay through your mind. He knew too. He was prepared before the storm came, the moment the pirates stepped foot on your land, before they spotted your tree on their ship. Even the Strawhats knew, Nami’s confusion the first night resurfacing in your memory.

It’s unfair, so unfair. You spent five years building something, finding your niche and your way to coexist in such a rich and unique environment. Again you remember your mom, your sister. You remember the injustice you felt when you first washed up in the basket of roots in the ocean face to face with the king of the jungle.

Chopper is helping you salvage the remaining flora you can find to propagate on the ship. You have a library of seeds still mostly intact that Sanji moves to a room in the Merry for you. Robin collects your journals and works with Nami to dry out the ones that were damaged in the storm. Luffy is excited to have you aboard. Usopp comforts you poorly and Zoro doesn’t even try. You appreciate all of it, but simultaneously seethe with anger.

Nami checks in with you after doing what she can with the books.

“I can’t fight,” you admit out of nowhere. A thought that had been sitting in your throat in a way that made it hard to swallow. Until Nami appeared and it leaped without warning.

She smiles softly. “It’s okay. I wasn’t much of a fighter either. Still not compared to the others.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fight.” You did when you were little, with your peers and your family. You fight yourself these days.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll be plenty of help no matter what.”

You look at her suspiciously and shake your head. Your eyes naturally travel down and towards the ship, the bundles of leaves from the tangerine trees and the early stages of their fruit. You speak without thinking again.

“You know if you pruned your tangerines better you could yield at least double your fruit.”

Nami smiles brightly.

You have fantasies of the tree growing back. In a few thousand years time there will be a new ecosystem flourishing. A new mixture of life will grow and fauna will migrate and emigrate in stages, cycles. It’s a beautiful, hopeful vision that keeps your heart lukewarm as you feel the coldness of abandonment.

You’re the last one on board the Merry. Before you go you take a long look at the remnants of what was once your home. The trunk split just before the curve that you made your garden, preserving the collections of your life artifacts. Over the past few days the length of the tree up to its canopy has drifted significantly into the distance. You can vaguely see it in the water, just an inch or so below the surface with small branches breaking through the surface. Of course it’s drifting in the opposite direction of where the Strawhats are going next.

When you raise your foot off the island and onto the first step of the Merry, you hear a bubbling and rippling behind you. When you turn you see the collection of roots and stump begin to sink into the ocean's depth.

A pain flares in your chest. You march towards your room, slam the door, lock it. Sob into your pillow.

Grief is funny. It’s also gut wrenching. You think it might be the only constant in your life. In the next few days on the Merry you’re too blinded by yours to see that it’s a constant in everyone else’s. The Strawhats all have their own special dance with loss, ones that make them annoying about yours. It takes a while to realize they’re offering you what they need. You try to offer it back, communicate your own preferences. Some get it better than others.

Chopper is the one you find yourself around the most. Your trades coincide and you learn from one another. You teach Chopper about what you were able to salvage and start growing on the Merry. It begins your healing process in a painful way, one that constantly reminds you of what you lost. But it helps you preserve it, transform it, share its beauty with others and make it immortal—something you never imagined. Chopper shows you his own collection of herbs and medicinals, and then the ones he’s attempting to grow on the ship. He explains his process and concerns. You suggest some maintenance strategies and offer to work with his plants to see what works best for them. He looks so happy.

It’s comforting to have an animal presence. You haven’t communicated with people in so long that you’ve forgotten how to read them. Your speech is awkward too, having written to yourself for the past few years and rarely communicated orally with words. You realize your response time is often delayed and that conversation doesn’t run smoothly. But you can understand Chopper’s behaviors, his little mannerisms and particular looks. You get the sense that it’s unsettling to him, but he appreciates it once he’s used to it. Some days when you’re working together not a single word makes its way between you two. But it’s healing. Familiar.

You find yourself on edge around Sanji. He’s an overbearing presence in your grief, one that drives him to constantly check on you and offer you comforts. It’s irritating. You sometimes think that he’s trying to catch you off guard and see you at your weakest. You aren’t sure what makes you think that, maybe because you struggle to differentiate when he’s offering you comfort or making a pass at you.

One day in the far future it’ll make sense. You’ll learn things about him that will make you want to ensure you’re there for him every moment of the day. But for now you try to recognize this as his way of showing love and care. You wonder why it has to look like this. You embrace it as best you can, offer some constructive comments so the benefits go both ways.

“If you make me my comfort foods all the time they won’t have the same effect every time I eat them.”

An unreadable expression passes through his face before he begins to apologize. You don’t let him.

“It’s okay, I appreciate your efforts. I want to eat your food though, too.”

His face immediately flushes and he vows to serve you his finest cuisines. It’s too much, you can’t look at him when he thinks so highly of you. You look down at your meal and finish it quietly.

You’re not ready to say goodbye to the Going Merry.

When the time comes and Luffy’s decision is made, you can’t stomach the argument, the fight that occurs outside. Robin’s gone too and you’re trying to sort out how you’ll relocate the plants, preserve the seeds and your library. Fixating on plans is how you distract yourself, trick your brain into moving forward instead of spiraling in on itself.

You want to reach out to Usopp, tell him you understand and that it’s unfair. But you don’t understand, will never feel for the Merry what Usopp does. The Merry was your last resort, and not even what you put above dying. For Usopp the Merry was a gift. A treasure offered by a childhood partner and a reflection of himself, his potential. A potential rejected by his closest friends.

As you predicted, you’re useless throughout Water 7 and Enies Lobby. You’re quick on your feet, can work out a plan pretty quickly. You’re able to diffuse some tense moments, even if your mediation feels surface level. But you can’t fight—or rather, can’t get yourself to fight. It’s okay in the end. You—your crew—win(s).

Even so, you can’t find a moment of peace. There’s another crew member—one that’s loud and a little tactless but you don’t want to judge prematurely, especially after seeing the way Robin looks at him. You can’t stomach this feeling that you overstepped, saw too much too soon in both Usopp and Robin’s lives that you were never meant to know. You have the gall to apologize, Usopp first because he’s less intimidating.

He looks at you sheepishly but brushes it off easily. “It’s bound to happen, ya know? How do you think I felt watching your whole home-tree thing and friend disappear a few days after meeting you?”

He makes a fair point, even as he rambles on about how he’s fine and that he’s too great to be held back by things like that. It takes him a second to realize his potentially offensive implications of the way you’ve dealt with your loss, but you know enough about the sniper by now to understand what he’s trying to communicate.

You tell him that you would be sad too. You briefly relate it to your own feelings as of late. You tell him that if he ever wants company that you’re there for him.

His eyes well with tears as he sputters and scoffs. He turns away from you to wipe his eyes as he tries to flip the script and offer you a shoulder to cry on. The next day he’s in your greenhouse-office and you make him a blend of herbal tea as he shares with you his favorite moments on the Merry. You believe him. You have no other choice. It offers the opportunity to learn about the people you’re cohabitating with, how they came together and what brought them here now.

You’ll cross check the validity later with Nami, but for now you believe every word Usopp says. It’s what he needs from you for his healing.

You find yourself frustrated with Robin. Every attempt you’ve made at conversation with the goal of delivering your apology gets hijacked by a slew of questions for you. You think it may be like your own tendency to organize and plan to distract yourself: Robin takes in information to preoccupy her mind. For you to apologize would be to recognize what happened to her and admit that you were a witness. At some point that exchange will assist her healing, but for now you entertain her curiosities and hope that Franky is able to reach her.

You and Nami have the opposite relationship. Something about her makes you too quick to admit your feelings, even when her questions have nothing to do with them. It’s what let your guard down when she first set foot on your island and what had you sharing your insecurities before you came aboard. You don’t feel ready to share what she always pulls out of you. You never will be. You can tell she’s trying to confront you while also giving you proper space and you can’t help but hope she somehow understands the tension within you. That you want her comfort and her ease, but acknowledging these things about yourself will force you to move forward, take a step out of the darkness that connects you with your home.

You think she may know a thing or two about that, which is even more a reason to keep your distance.

“The tangerines have been growing really well,” she tells you one day. You think she’s caught on and is trying to give you space.

“Thanks,” you mumble, burying your face in the branches as you pick a few more and place them in your basket. You feel that Nami wants to say more, but you’re too flustered to leave the foliage. She walks off after a moment and Luffy pouts from afar. Why is it okay when you pick the tangerines?

The captain walks into your greenhouse-office one morning and witnesses your vulnerability. You had a hard time sleeping, mind racing with what if’s and hypotheticals and the same narratives you’ve been running through your mind for years. Luffy catches you in the middle of a crying session, tenderly checking the leaves of the saplings you’re nursing with blurry vision.

Upon being caught you try to reign yourself back into normalcy. You wipe your eyes with embarrassment and cough to level your voice. “Hey Luffy, sorry I didn’t—”

But he smiles, wraps his arms around you seven-fold and holds you close. He’s warm, like a heated blanket, like another body in the rain to keep you safe. You choke out another sob, one you didn’t know you had in you. You realize you haven’t been held like this since before Hin walked forwards and never looked back. You wonder where he is, where that tree took him. Who was waiting for him.

Luffy just snickers, in a wholesome way. One that finds your insecurities amusing because he thinks they’re silly (not that you voiced them; he just knows). Of course the Strawhats will be your family, hold onto you until you achieve your dream and then a little longer. Even when you push and push and keep everyone at a distance unless they’re trying to keep a distance from you.

You learn that Luffy is a great void for your most absurd or intrusive thoughts. He doesn’t remember them and his reactions make them feel like they might not be worth the world to entertain.

“What if I die before I see my sister again?” You blurt one day while the two of you are sitting on the head of the Sunny. It’s a spot you like to lay to soak up the warmth of the sun, but only by yourself. Sometimes being with Luffy is like being alone.

“Huh? That’d suck,” he says nonchalantly. “But you won’t, you’re strong.”

You can’t begin to fathom why he thinks that. But he’s so confident it breaks your line of thinking. This repeats a few times throughout the day.

“Sometimes I think that Hin left so easily because I didn’t mean anything to him.”

“That’s dumb, sometimes you just have to be somewhere,” he says easily. Pauses. “Why’s he called that anyways?”

You look up from where you're sitting to glance at Luffy’s face. He’s standing next to you, staring in the distance like he has better things to worry about, such as what Sanji’s making for dinner and the like. You can see the glow of golden hour sitting on his skin and his hat.

“It means the..” you trail off. From this angle, Luffy’s hat makes a perfect halo around his head. His unruly hair sticks out like a mane. Like light diffusing from one central bright light.

“The sun.”

(You think about how the crew agreed to name this ship the Sunny. You think about how Franky put a lion on the front before he heard anything about how you joined the Strawhats.)

You lay in that same spot the next day, soaking in the sun and letting your mind wander. You try to remind yourself of the reality you’re existing within.

Footsteps come from behind you. They’re heavy, Zoro’s. You aren’t sure why he’s coming this way. He usually naps at the bottom of the staircase and trains in the lookout tower. You sit up, ready to leave if he has plans to use the space. Of everyone, Zoro is the one you’re simultaneously the most comfortable with and reserved around. He keeps to himself in a way that makes you feel like you should too.

To your surprise, he mumbles a “sorry” when he sees you and makes to turn around and go back down the stairs.

You call out to stop him. “I can leave if you want to be here.”

“Don’t. I won’t bother you, I can nap somewhere else.”

“You should nap here if you want,” you encourage him.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Don’t wanna make you nervous.”

He thinks he scares you, you realize. He has a shimmer of reluctance in his gaze that looks out of place. Usually you’re awkward around him because his stare reminds you of the intensity of a predator. An animal with a roar that rules as king in the hierarchy of life. At first it was too much, but now it makes you realize that the beings you love are everywhere. Hin might be gone, but you have Zoro. These archetypes will repeat in your life for as long as you live. They’re different, of course, but there’s a reason you keep finding one another.

“You won’t,” you tell him confidently. “You don’t.”

Sleeping in the same space as Hin was how you grew to be confident in your trust of him and his in you.

You ask, “Can I lay here while you nap?”

He frowns at the fact that you would ask. “Of course.”

You find a middle ground with Nami. You like looking at her maps, seeing the expanse of space that exists that you’ve never set foot on. Places you may have been minutes from and never known. You like the way the paper wrinkles ever so slightly with the touch of ink on its surface. When it dries it sits mostly flat again, but there’s a slight warpage you can feel by running your fingers over the lines. You’re watching her draw one evening when she starts talking about her mom and sister. You don’t interject, just nod to yourself and give the occasional hum of affirmation that you’re listening.

You smile to yourself. “I hope I get to fight with my sister again one day.”

A knock on the door interrupts whatever Nami’s reply would have been. It’s Chopper, excited about an observation he made in the greenhouse that he wants your opinion on. You look at Nami apologetically and tell her you’ll talk more later. You want to hear more about her life in the village. She smiles sheepishly, realizing how much she rambled. Your heart pounds excitedly as Chopper grabs your hand and guides you to your office despite knowing you know how to get there. You fight the urge to scoop him in your arms.

One day while you’re napping on the Sunny’s lion, Zoro in his own slumber against one of the pieces of the mane, a slight drizzle starts to fall. It wakes you gently and just as the weather picks up into a heavier rain. You’re disoriented, but stand and close the gap of a few strides to where Zoro is still sleeping. You shake him gently, urge him to wake up.

He has the nerve to look annoyed and ask why you woke him.

“C’mon Zoro, we should nap inside. We’re gonna get sick in the rain.”

He raises an eyebrow, unbudging. You give his arm a push but he’s motionless. You give up, try to step over him and to the deck, slip a little but catch yourself on the railing.

Zoro sighs and stands. He somehow scoops you around your front and grabs the back of your knees in a one-handed bridal carry. You would protest but he’s warm and you’re still sleepy despite being somewhat damp. Zoro gets onto the deck with ease and walks down to the closest sheltered area. There he sits and places you next to him so that you lean against his shoulder for support. He falls back asleep immediately. You’re too tired to think about the familiarity and the warmth of waiting out the rain. You fall asleep quickly.

It gets easier with time despite the continuing uncertainty. It’s a constant question of what to do, how to get back home, if your family would even be there still. The crew knows you’re struggling, that you don’t know what path to follow. They’re here for you, welcoming you with open arms even as you think about leaving them. But you were never good at making decisions, always moving through life by the only option left.

The default here is to stay and follow everyone else’s journey. Luffy asks if you have a dream. You don’t. That’s never been what moves you forward.

It’s another night in a bar with the Strawhats. Not much of a drinker, you learn to assume the role of designated navigator to the Sunny while Zoro helps carry the ones who can’t walk. As you’re trying to rally everyone to head back, Luffy lets out a loud laugh and points to something on the wall.

“Hey! Looks like you finally got a bounty, hahaha!”

You look to where he’s pointing and freeze. The poster definitely has a resemblance but the person in the portrait has lighter eyes and a different haircut than you. Your noses are slightly different. You yank the paper off the wall and read your sister’s name at the bottom. Your heart is thrumming in your ears, body on fire as you stare.

Sanji takes your silence as fear that you have a bounty and drunkenly pats your back. Then he slings an arm over your shoulder and leans his weight on you for support. “It’s okay, we’ll protect you. Your portrait looks good even if it’s a little inaccurate.”

You fold the poster and shove it in your pocket, urging everyone to get moving. Before you leave the bar you do a quick scan of the room to see everyone’s face. She’s not here. You leave.

The next morning you stand by the kitchen counter as you watch Sanji prepare and serve breakfast for everyone nursing their hangovers. You watch them grumble, some of them argue despite it being so early in the day. You think fondly about how they’ve become your family when you needed it most. You recount hugs, late night conversations, tears, naps, lingering together in silence. You think about the poster in your pocket.

You didn’t sleep much last night, preoccupied with what-ifs and hypotheticals. Questions of who your sister has joined on the water, how she got there, how she’s doing. You think that you should get a bounty of your own, to show her that you’re still out there too. You imagine an unexpected run in on the open water. One where you show each other the people you’ve met and tell stories of all that’s happened while you’ve been apart. You imagine your crews working together, maybe they become one giant crew. More realistically you’ll eventually part your separate ways. But it’s the kind of parting that comes with the chance for return, a reassurance that you’re allies and there will be an again. You can say “see you later.”

You’re standing there too long. Sanji looks at you with confusion as to why you aren’t coming to eat. Luffy just shoots an arm over and pulls you between himself and Nami.

“Let’s eat!” he cheers. “Or I can eat your food if you aren’t hungry.”

You can’t hold back your smile. Luffy’s arm is still partially wrapped around your waist from where he grabbed you and you put yours around his waist to hug him back. You put your other arm around Nami and hug her too.

She yelps and her face flushes. “Wh-what’s up with you this morning?”

Luffy just giggles and hugs you harder. You love them. You beam and put your head against Luffy’s. “Nothin’. Just excited for breakfast.”

You feel like you have all the time in the world.

ok i'm finally done with my crossposting & can breathe again

#i doubt anyone will read this so i'm not gonna bother maximizing tags LMAO #..fics #one piece #fanfiction #strawhats x reader #nami x reader #sanji x reader #usopp x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #chopper x reader #(it's platonic guys)

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