#but its nice to be self indulgent for a bit

[gouraminnow]

Birds of a Feather

(Entirely platonic | SFW | Marco & OC) Marco the Phoenix is found by an orphaned harpy child that mistakes him for one of their own kind. It takes less than a day to commit to adoption- he really is taking after his father.

Warnings: Past world government/celestial dragon related incident, drugging/sedation. This is self indulgent fluff catered to me and exactly one other person she knows who she is. Hi <3

Marco had just wanted to stretch his wings. The winter island they’d all stopped at was beautiful- sloping hills, valleys and deep forests blanketed in thick snow, with the soft orange lights of the small town that had only recently sprung up. They weren’t going to be here very long- at least they didn’t plan on it. Apparently, there were some nice hot springs in more remote areas, and some of the others had asked him to see if he spotted them on his flight. Whether or not his brothers actually wished to commit to the hike when there was booze to be had in town was another matter, but he enjoyed the airtime anyway. The clear wintery skies were quiet and refreshing.

Cresting over a hill and peering down into a valley, he spots the stacked hot spring pools overlapping like fish scales.

But he also spotted something else.

When he swooped lower to get a look at the layered pools of the springs, he also noticed a small white shape- scampering through underbrush, between trees, trying to keep up with him despite being grounded. He can’t get a good look from up here- but whatever it is, it’s awfully little and makes no attempts to conceal itself. He dips again, going lower in an attempt to catch a glimpse of this thing- aiming for a clearing between some pools up ahead, he turns in a wide arc, flaring his wings out to catch the frigid air and slow his descent. He kicks up a healthy plume of snow when he lands, and takes a second to shake himself off. He stands still, arms still transformed into wings as he searches for any movement- though he doesn’t have to wait long. Something white and fluffy with bits of gray and black darts right toward him with a loud trill. He steps to the side, the tiny thing skidding right past him with an undignified squawk. 

The fluffy mess shakes itself off, and he’s met with the confused face of… some sort of little bird creature. It can’t be much taller than his mid-thigh. It wears no clothes, but it does have a leather shoulder bag. It’s covered from head to taloned toe in thick, downy feathers. It has wings instead of arms, but longer, more dextrous phalanges form three functional fingers at each wrist. Little black talons poke through a generous amount of unkempt plumage at both the feet and pseudo-hands, and the face- large, black eyes rimmed with orange, with bright blue circular markings on the cheeks, framed by a wild mane of… well, feathers, but it takes the place of hair. Two little tufts stick out on top of its head, not unlike the “ears” of a great-horned owl. They’re covered in gray and black stripes and speckles- impressive camouflage. He’s sure if the little beast had actually tried to be stealthy, he never would have noticed them. 

But it wasn’t. It was dead-set on getting his attention. It didn’t take a genius to be able to guess that it mistook him for its own kind. He furrows his brow, watching it shake itself off and look back up at him, releasing a quizzical chirp. His mouth presses into a firm line. This was… probably a harpy chick. While harpies were typically depicted with bare faces and torsos, this was a cold environment. Probably just a climate-specific adaptation- or maybe they’re completely feathered as babies and they’ll lose coverage as they age. It chirps at him again, taking a tentative step forward, and he sighs. He’s not sure what to do here. He’s unfamiliar with whatever this species is, and he doesn’t want to inadvertently upset some territorial parents. While the little one seems to think he’s one of them, it’s entirely possible the adults would know better. He looks around- scanning the treeline, the clearing, the sky- and finding no hint of any other presence, he turns back to the creature before him, who has been inching closer and closer. He holds their gaze for a moment. “Where’d you come from, little one?”

They blink up at him. One of their little ear tufts twitches.

“... Can you understand me at all?” He tries.

They tilt their head at him, a little chrrr chrrr chrrr sound bubbling out of their throat.

Inconclusive, but probably not.

With a low chuckle, he crouches down- and that’s when they strike. They launch themselves forward, tackling Marco with a shrill cry. “Woah there,” he says as they cling to his coat, little feet scrabbling frantically as they struggle to get themselves up on top of his bent legs, sitting themselves right down on his lap. They’re not shy at all about getting settled, curling up and nuzzling his chest with a sweet trill. Marco huffs. “Well, aren’t you affectionate, yoi?” he muses, shifting his wings back into arms. Gently, he wraps an arm around the creature, supporting their weight by pressing them against his chest as he sits down cross-legged, settling them back into his lap.

They don’t really react, just continuing to nuzzle against the man. They’re awfully happy to be here, aren’t they? His hands run through the downy, speckled feathers on their back and his mouth presses into a firm line. Checking them over, he finally realizes just how dirty and unkempt they are- specifically in spots they wouldn’t be able to reach on their own. There’s an uninterrupted strip of grimy, disheveled feathers interspersed with the waxy sheaths of developing pin feathers down their spine- when he pulls his hand away, there’s a thin layer of grime on his fingertips. 

“... Who’s taking care of you, kiddo?” He murmurs, only met with the happy, idle twittering of the creature in his lap. “You’re real excited to see me huh…” He’s not sure what to do. They very well could be an orphan, or even a case of a hatchling being ejected from the nest by a stronger sibling. Or they could just be very, very lost. Gently, he pushes the creature’s shoulders back, so they can look each other in the face. “Blink three times if you understand me,” he says, voice firm. They just stare, tilting their head a little bit. Marco sighs. The language barrier is a problem. He takes a second to think, letting the kid snuggle up again. How much this creature takes after regular birds was unknown but some things could be inferred. The eagerness with which they latched onto him suggested a social species- the state of their feathers suggesting flock members assisted each other in grooming. At least at this age, anyway. If this creature had parents, he needed to figure out how to locate them- but as of right now, he had no way of telling if that was the case or not.

 He’s pulled out of his thoughts when the creature begins to rummage through their little bag- producing what looks like two small, dried pieces of meat and then holding one up to his face. They chirp, smiling brightly, practically shoving it against his chin. He looks at the creature's wide eyes, then at the shriveled, burnt looking scrap they’re offering. When he doesn’t accept it immediately, their little face scrunches up, mouth settling into a pout. They pull away, maintaining eye contact, and pop one into their mouth. They make a loud, exaggerated display of chewing(with their mouth closed, thankfully) and swallowing with an audible gulp. Marco huffs, a lazy smile spreading across his face. As unappetizing as it looks, he can smell the char on it, so at least it's been thoroughly sterilized at this point. Not that contaminants were something he worried much about with his particular devil fruit, but some things are just a matter of principle. Dubious meat is dubious. But the display was awfully cute, and he’d hate to disappoint them, so when they slowly hold it out to him again, he plucks it from their talons and swallows it whole. He does briefly taste the char he suspected, but the big grin from the hatchling is worth it.

He ruffles their hair, and they eagerly lean into the gesture. But when he tries to pull away, they grab onto his hand, hopping to their feet and gently trying to tug him along with them. “Oh? Got something to show me?” He gets a series of chirps in response, and they keep tugging. Well, he’s got plenty of time. Might as well see where they want to take him- it's probably his best bet at answering some of his questions.

-

Marco casually follows behind the little bird as they lead him through the snow. He’d gotten them to let go of his hand- they were so short he had to awkwardly bend down in order for them to reach it, and walking like that was very uncomfortable. At one point during their little walk, they had turned back to him and twittered with a quizzical tilt to their head, before flaring their wings out. He raised a brow, and they just repeated the gesture. “Sorry, kiddo, not sure I get what you mean…” they huff, stomping their little feet- before pointing to him and flaring their wings out a third time. A light goes off in his head. Ah, that’s what it is, huh? With a dramatic flourish of blue flame, his arms bloom into wings. He flares them just like they had, flapping a couple times for good measure- disturbing the pristine snow around the two of them in a ten-foot radius. He seems to have gotten it right- they cheer loudly, hopping up and down and twirling in a circle. He can’t help but soften at the sight- he wasn’t a conceited man, but appealing to his ego certainly didn’t hurt. After the little display he just followed along, listening to them chirp and warble endlessly. They may not understand each other, but there was no doubt they were a chatterbox. 

It isn’t long before they come upon a sort of crevice between two tall pools, hidden away by some simple foliage. The little one slips right in, but it’s a bit of a tight squeeze for Marco. The first thing he notices is just how warm it is in the little cave. Makes sense to him- perfect place to make a den. The walls are a soft, reddish brown, working with the pleasant warmth to directly contrast the bitter chill outside. There are a few old wooden crates and cracked, scavenged pottery shoved against the walls of the cavern- the former of which store a variety of pilfered knicknacks, most notably packs of crayons and paints along with what looks like a coarsely-bristled brush tied to a long stick. There’s a nest further in, made of loose furs and old rags primarily- but just beyond that, on the far wall, countless drawings have been pinned up, rows of wobbly child-like sketches displayed right next to their bed. Stepping further, eyes gradually adjusting, he notices something else:

Tally marks.

Hundreds of them- tiny, shallow tick marks etched into every wall of the cave, reaching only a little higher than his knee. Something in him twists, as he crouches down to run his fingers against the clumsily scratched lines. These ones are organized in groups of seven, rather than five. 

He hears another trill, the rustling of papers- and he looks back to see the little one bounding toward him, holding a drawing up above their head with a grin. They shove the paper towards him with an excited cry, earning a chuckle from the man, who graciously accepts it, raising the yellowed material up for a closer look. He goes still, a tightness blooming in his chest. In a childish crayon scrawl, the colors bleeding past the wobbly outlines, are three figures. One is the child standing before him, who is currently excitedly hopping from foot to foot in silent anticipation. They draw themselves as little more than a speckled puffball with big eyes, blue cheeks and their distinct ear tufts. The second figure is bigger, standing to the left of the child. The stripes on this figure are darker, with some browns mixed in with the black and gray stripes. The markings are similar to the child’s, with the blue cheeks and orange-rimmed eyes, but with a few key differences- namely the large tail feathers, black tipped wings and feet, with a hint of that same blue on the undersides of the wings.The drawing is actually… really good, for a kid- there’s an impressive amount of detail put into recreating the distinct markings of their family.

The third figure… confirms some of his suspicions. It’s slightly smaller than the second, but still larger than the child. And the plumage of this adult is primarily a bright, brilliant blue, save for white patches on the belly and face. There’s a tightness in his chest as he holds the paper, eyes flitting to the ever-hopeful face of the child. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. If these harpies matched up with the same types of sexual dimorphism as many bird species, the brightly colored ones are probably the males. This is clearly a family portrait, but the little one’s parents are nowhere to be seen. And the tally marks on the wall don’t reach very high, nor do the drawings they’ve hung up- if they had someone older looking after them, more of that wallspace would probably be utilized. Do they think he’s just another harpy, or their dad specifically? Probably not- if they were able to draw out the markings their parents had, then they’re probably able to see the difference.

“Kid…” he starts, taking a step forward and crouching down. They seem to view this as an invitation, because just like last time, they launch forward and flail their way onto his lap. He sighs, circling an arm around their waist and standing back up. They barely weigh anything at all. He wonders if their bones are hollow.

Now carrying the child, he approaches the wall featuring the rest of the drawings. His steps reverberate around the small cavern, the harpy purring against his chest. He steps into their makeshift nest, settling down in the various pelts, blankets and cushions. It smells a little musty, truthfully… reminds him of the few times he’d entered Ace’s room.

He shakes the thought out of his head, instead focusing on the drawings the little one had made. It’s… a lot of drawings of other Harpies, some scribbly mountains and trees… one seems to depict a gathering of twelve, with a bonfire in the middle and the bird people taking turns roasting nondescript lumps on sticks. He’s sure it’s meant to be meat, as two of them do almost look like rabbit silhouettes. Another depicts the child in his lap playing in the springs with other harpy children- all drawn with sweet little smiles and those big, black dot eyes. All the drawings they’ve pinned to the cave wall are happy scenes with a loving flock that is nowhere to be seen. Many figures celebrating, playing together, hunting and cooking game… none depict a Harpy by itself, all of them groups of at least three. Going off of these, he was right in suspecting they’re part of a highly social species, raised as part of a crowded and attentive flock. Abandonment seems out of the question if these idyllic little pictures are to be believed- but regardless of the circumstances behind their isolation, this was clearly some sort of desperate coping mechanism. Hanging pictures of the family they missed dearly, right by where they sleep? Examining another drawing of adult harpies fending off some large, fearsome thing- mostly black scribbles, big sharp teeth and eyes- while the chicks watch from behind them- the idea of abandonment at the talons of these bird-folk feels like nonsense. He doesn’t want to say anything for sure when all he has to go off are these pictures, but some deep, small but sharp sting of instinct within him makes the suggestion of neglect feel utterly wrong. Something worse had happened, the phoenix was all but certain. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he can’t help but hold the poor kid a little tighter. 

They’re completely oblivious to the inner turmoil welling up inside him, interpreting the slight squeeze as deliberate affection. Their eyelids droop and their feathers puff up as they settle against his warmth. It isn’t long at all before they’re snoring softly in his lap… Marco sighs, idly petting the little bird monster as they doze. “You make it real hard not to get attached, huh, yoi…” He mumbles, gently scratching their chin. Hmm. He wants to check something. Thinking back to their little family portrait, he leans them back and gently unfurls one of their arm-wings. Most of the feathers are still soft and downy, but he catches hints of those iridescent blue patches the mother in the drawing had right under her armpits. Checking their wings, gently detangling as he goes, he catches no further glimpses of those vibrant pinfeathers, and concludes that the child is most likely female- though he is unfamiliar with the child’s age and how quickly their species develops, so he wouldn’t know for sure until all the baby feathers were gone. Judging by the little blue sprigs, it wouldn’t be long-

Marco blinks, stopping his train of thought. When had he started thinking as if this kid was going to live with him? He hadn’t even known them for a day. Suspicious circumstances and heartstring-pulling be damned, it’s far too early to be acting this way. The ideal way this all turns out is that their real family is located, and they’re left with their kind. In the best-case scenario, he’d never even see their adult plumage, having sailed on with his family after reuniting the child with their own. If he did take them with him, he would have to figure out their specific needs on the fly, such as diet, exercise, hygiene, sleeping habits… though at least the size of the crew was unlikely to bother them once they’d integrated, if the large social groups in their artwork were anything to go by. 

Marco sighs. It’s simple- he just needs to know more. And now is the perfect time, seeing as the little one is sleeping like… well, a baby. He sits up, hands raising to their shoulders to gently pry them off from where their claws dig in to the fabric of his coat- and god is the little puffball tiny, one splayed hand covering the width of their speckled back- but as soon as he tries to pull them away, he hears a sleepy little whine and their three-fingered hands bunch up the wool. He frowns- taking in the way their eyes move behind their lids, and the drooping of their ear-tufts. Ugh. Damnit, they’re far too cute for their own good.

With an exaggeratedly resigned sigh, he pulls them back in, the little one cooing contentedly as they snuggle back into the warmth of his chest. He takes a second to adjust, moving the sleeping chick up to a more comfortable position before swinging his legs over the nest’s edge and standing up. He'll just... carry them while he has a look around, since they're so attached. So, with the little chick tucked against his chest with one arm, he begins his search. Starting with the wooden crates off to the side, he’s careful- sinking into a crouch and resting the harpy in the gap between his chest and the tops of his thighs. He picks through- this one is primarily art supplies, as he observed before. Packs of wax crayons dumped into a smaller box, paintbrushes- most in poor condition, he observes, the chipped handle of one resting against his palm as his thumb rubs over the frazzled, uneven bristles spiking outward. There’s a ripped canvas with a broken frame slotted into the box- when he goes to lift it, some chalk falls from where it had likely been resting on the wooden struts. The soft clatter makes the hatchling twitch, but nothing else. There are a few paint pots at the bottom as well, but they’re mostly empty or dried out. Curiously, he finds a couple small rectangular boxes with hinged lids as well, no bigger than his palms. They’re made of a thin, light colored wood and they remind him of Izo’s makeup- a thought that proves its merit when he flips the lid up to reveal the brightly colored chalky substance they have packed away inside. This one has three colors- yellow, orange, and red, and there’s a small mirror tucked into the underside of the lid. Snapping it closed, he opens the other- a sky blue, a darker cobalt pigment, and a deep purple. Hmm. He puts the palettes back where he found them, and turns his attention to the sleeping kid again. Leaning back, he rubs a thumb against the bright blue cheek spot, then pulls it away. Nothing. Those markings were natural, then. Well, it was left at the bottom of the box. If it was something they used with any regularity it would’ve been easier to reach. But the idea of birdfolk adding a little extra pigment to their plumage is one that tickles him.

He doesn’t find much else of note. He examines the brush on a stick he had seen earlier, finds some tools such as knives and scissors. One box has netting, rope, and fishing line- a broken rod laying at the bottom in two pieces. There’s a hole in the floor closer to the entrance of the cave, covered with an old pot lid- when he opens it, he finds a rabbit, two wrapped fish, and a handful of berries in a cheesecloth resting in a bed of snow.

But then, looking back to the inside of the cave, his eyes catch something he’d missed, somehow. Peeking out from under the nest, are more scraps of paper- the crinkled, triangular corners overlapping each other. More drawings… moving back toward the nest, he crouches slowly, careful with the child as usual. Reaching out, he tugs the crinkled papers out from under the furs they’ve been hidden under-

His heart leaps into his throat. His hand, tightening its grip, further crumpling the thin material.

The first picture is of a ship bearing the familiar emblem of the world government, scribbled navy blue and white trim topped by the golden figurehead all world noble ships have. He doesn’t need to look at the rest to know this poor child really is alone. The rest of the hidden drawings, pulled out from where they’ve been shoved and unfolded by his deft hand, are devastating- not just because of the contents. All of them less precise, more frantically drawn, indents or even tears where the kid had applied too much pressure while coloring. Tiny pinprick stains of water damage, if he looks close enough. One drawing is just a large fire. In another, adults and children alike trapped under nets. One shows suited men shooting some of the creatures as the ridiculous bubble-headed celestial dragon oversees. And there was yet another, depicting the familiar bright blue-plumed male flying away with the baby in his talons, little dots as tears falling from their eyes.

No wonder they were so happy to see him. No wonder they could overlook the glaring differences between him and their own kind.

The little one shifts, and Marco realizes how hard he’s breathing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a moment to calm himself, for their sake- but it’s not easy. Well. He’d already wanted to take the little one with him. He didn’t see a world where Oyaji would say no, especially not once Marco told him everything. And if anyone else had an issue (though he doubted anyone would, other than the typical rational concerns when it comes to having a small child on a pirate ship), they would just have to deal with it. Marco was a commander, he did what he wanted.

But of course, he still has questions. In the brief time they’d spent in town, nobody had made any mention of harpies. He knows the small village is a very recent development- four years old, if he remembered right- is it possible that its presence is younger than the tragedy that befell the birdfolk? When visiting a new place with his family, local urban legends were quickly picked up on. Proud, hardworking folk like these often want others to be impressed with the places they call home- that’s why they’d put so much emphasis on the springs. It seemed odd that nobody had mentioned that this island once contained at least one whole flock of mythical creatures.

But looking at all the tally marks on the walls, the small, clustered groups of seven, seven, seven- he hadn’t counted them, but over four years of living alone looked very plausible if he assumed the kid counted accurately. Did… the kid know there was a human settlement? He would assume they did, but then again… the distance is a lot for someone so small. He only spotted the remote cluster of pools from the air, before he swooped down for a closer look. And all of their things look old, held together through improvised fixes- nothing new that would suggest they had stolen from town. Though if they did know of its presence, it was possible they avoided it on purpose. They only wanted Marco’s attention because he was a giant blue bird. They might not differentiate between world nobles and humans in general. With that in mind, he should be cautious with crew introductions.

Well, regardless of the kid’s relations (or lack thereof) with the other locals, they were coming with him. As well as he can using one hand, he gingerly stacks the previously hidden artwork, tapping it against the ground to line them up. He wishes he had some sort of folder… tucking them into his coat will have to do for now, so he slowly leans them back- prying their little fingers out of the grip they hold so he can unbutton the front enough to slide the papers in. Something to show the others- some sympathy for his cause wouldn’t hurt.

And with that, he lets himself partially transform- Wings, feet, tailfeathers. with a flourish of healing fire- that he washes over the child, just in case. She blinks, yawning- and he watches the flickering of his own flames in their dark, glassy eyes as they widen. They smile up at him with a chirp, and he returns it. “Have a nice nap, little one?” He croons. “How would you like to go on a little flight with me, yoi?” They twitter up at him, feathers puffing up. He sets them down on the floor- which they whine about, earning a laugh from him. He shifts from foot to foot before holding one up and making a grabbing motion with his talons. They perk right up- and sprint outside. Marco blinks, moving after them and squeezing himself through the jagged opening to their little hideout. That’s something he wasn’t looking forward to when he came back to pack up their belongings.

Out in the snow, the hatchling calls out to him- they’ve laid down on their belly, sinking into the powdery substance. He’s amused and impressed they got the message so fast. He thought he’d have to take a leaf out of their book and draw a picture of himself carrying them away. He approaches slowly, holding out one foot again- and when she doesn’t move, he slowly, gingerly wraps his talons around their midsection, the first of his three front toes resting just under the armpit. He tests his grip first, lifting them up while balancing on the other foot, which earns a giggle from them. It feels secure enough, and they don't seem uncomfortable. So using his free foot to propel himself upward, he flaps once, twice, and they’re off- Marco smiling widely at the excited trill they let out. While a little awkward to carry, they’re tiny and weigh nothing to him. They soar over the trees, and Marco climbs higher- even through the sound of the air rushing past his ears, he doesn’t miss the little gasp that escapes them once he’s gotten enough air to reveal the pinks and oranges of a horizon at sunset.

It doesn’t take long. His jaw clenches when he can feel their little body growing more and more tense, the closer he gets to the Moby Dick. When he begins his descent towards the deck, Oyaji and a few others in view- they emit a loud, piercing whine, starting to wriggle. He pulls up, wings flaring out to slow himself, and sticks the landing on one foot, balancing himself before gently setting the kid down with the other. They immediately latch onto Marco’s legs, feathers bristling in agitation. Whitebeard raises a brow, leaning forward in his seat. He’s still shirtless, despite the weather. “Marco,” he rumbles out in greeting. “What’s this you’ve brought to us?” He asks, gesturing to the cowering child clinging to Marco’s legs.

Some of the others have started to gather around, wanting to see what this is about. Marco sighs. First, he reaches into his coat for the bundle of artwork. “Tate, would you mind looking over these with Oyaji?” He asks, extending his arm to the nurse, who approaches slowly. He hands them off to the nurse, who is thankfully dressed for the weather unlike his father, and crouches down to try and dislodge the kid. They whine at him when he grips them by the shoulders, peeling them off of him to the amusement of his brothers. He flashes a quick glare to the men and their chuckling quiets down. “Come on kid, you’re fine, yoi” he chides, opting to lift them into his arms. They bury their face in his chest as he sits them on one arm, turning the other into a wing which he carefully folds around their trembling body. Hopefully, hiding them from view gives them a little security.

He looks back up to Tate, and to Oyaji- he’s leaning over her shoulder as the blonde woman examines each childish drawing, her face growing more troubled with each one. Oyaji keeps the same stony expression the entire time, save for the subtle narrowing of his father’s eyes. “This one spotted me flying, Oyaji. Chased after me from the ground.” He says, watching his old man’s eyes raise to meet his own. “... They think I’m one of them. They’ve been alone for a real long time, yoi. What you’ve got right there, that’s what happened to the rest.”

“These… these are awful,” Tate breathes, still fixated on the foreboding artwork. Marco nods, mouth set in a firm line. 

“Hmph. So you’re saying we’re keeping them, I take it?” the old man says, plucking one of the drawings from Tate’s hands and leaning back to examine it closer. 

Marco nods. “My responsibility, of course. The kiddo’s already… attached.” He sighs, feeling them shift against his chest. “They don’t speak any… human languages. I have no way of telling them that I am not what they think I am, yoi.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over the deck, Whitebeard’s stern gaze sinking to the wing concealing the tiny creature. “And you are certain there are no others of their kind left here?” He asks, the unspoken meaning clear. He is not unsympathetic- it’s the same thought Marco had. It would be better to reunite them with their species, if possible.

Marco nods once again. “They’ve been living in a small cave, and they’ve scratched hundreds of tally marks into the walls. I didn’t count, but it’s been years, yoi. I think…” he sighs, pausing for a second. “None of the townsfolk said anything about bird people. I think this event predates the existence of the village, and this child has managed to remain hidden all this time, yoi.”

His father regards him from a moment, a warmth in his eyes few others would have recognized. “Let me get a look at them. Only for a moment.” Marco nods, retracting his wing. The little one sits with their face buried in his chest, trembling. He nudges them. They whine. He sighs, leaning them back, patting their head with his free hand and gesturing to Whitebeard. They hesitantly turn their head, and he feels them tense when they meet eyes with the Yonko. The towering man gives them a small smile, but it doesn’t help much. They recoil into Marco, pitchy squeak leaving their throat. The Phoenix sighs, letting them latch onto him and covering them from view once more. “Well, that’s it, then.” Whitebeard grunts. “What d’you need?”

“Somebody find Thatch- I need him to whip something up for ‘em. Some meat, add a sedative- I’m going back to their little hideaway to pack their things while they sleep.”

-

Thatch is located, and is reportedly happy to assist. Marco had moved the little beast to his own room, since being around so many humans all of a sudden had utterly terrified the poor thing.He swaddles them in blankets, and intends to leave them in bed- but his face softens when a hand shoots out to cling to him once more. He sighs at the little one glaring at him from the bundle of fabric. “I know, I know,” he coos. “I wish you understood me,” he laments, lifting their swaddled form into his arms. “But this is a good thing, yoi. We’re going to take care of you.” He makes his way over to his desk, opting to at least read over some reports while he waits for Thatch. Settling the child in his lap, he picks up some papers and leans back. 

A bit of guilt creeps up the back of his throat- the poor thing is still trembling. They aren’t being deliberately affectionate like they were before- no chirping, no squeaking, no nuzzling. Just laying where he put them. He sighs, using his free hand to rub their back. They don’t do anything, other than shift slightly. 

It doesn’t take long before he hears three knocks at his door- making the kid flinch. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, patting them softly before speaking up louder. “Come in.” Thatch enters, carrying a  covered platter on one hand.

“Hey, Marco!” the chef beams, strutting inside and setting the food down on the little corner table. The child clings to Marco’s chest tighter, at the sound of his voice. “Heard the big news- fatherhood is gonna look great on you, papa bird~” he teases in a sing-song voice. Marco rolls his eyes, adjusting the kid and standing up to face his crewmate. Thatch’s face softens when his eyes fall onto the bundle in Marco’s arms. “Aw. Still upset, huh?” He says, considerably more subdued now.

“Yeah,” he affirms, patting the bundled creature on the top of the head. “Can’t blame the poor kid- they don’t understand a word we say, so it’s not like I can do much to reassure them, yoi.”

Thatch sighs. “Well, I got the message,” he says, one hand on his hip as he removes the lid with a flourish. The child doesn’t move, but Marco can hear them sniffing. Thatch prepared various types of meat, cut into thin strips, arranged almost like a charcuterie board. There’s a peeled orange and some mixed berries as well. “I’ve got some cured meats, fruits, and I grilled a bit of pork- that’s what's got the sedative in it. Thought about doing chicken, too, but y’know…” He gestures vaguely, and Marco snorts with a shake of his head.

“Thanks, Thatch. And don’t leave just yet, alright?” He says, sliding into a chair. Thatch pulls up one of his own right across from them.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘em, anyway. Everyone up top is gossiping.” He smiles, leaning back and propping a foot up on the opposing knee.

Marco returns the smile. “It’s your lucky day, then. You’ll be the first crewmate I introduce, yoi.” If he wants the kid to learn that the others won’t hurt them, the chef is a good place to start. He pries their little talons out of his shirt, shushing the undignified whine the action draws from them. He pulls the blanket down so it’s bunched around their waist, and spins them in his lap to face the tray of food. Thatch’s eyes widen, and a soft gasp falls from his lips. 

The kid regards him warily, leaning back against Marco’s chest. Their ear tufts are drooping back, and their talons find their way to the arm around their waist. “Hey there, little one. Oh, aren’t you cute?” Thatch greets, offering a small wave and a reassuring smile. “I heard all those brutes upstairs gave you a scare, huh? Poor thing,” he coos, before pushing the platter closer. They tense, but lean forward, sniffing the air. “Go ahead, kiddo, all yours.”

The hatchling is hesitant. Their little hands rise from Marco’s forearm, and both men watch their fists clench and unclench. When they turn back to look at Marco, their little face is scrunched up in worry- even if he can’t see their eyebrows through their thick, messy hair, he can tell they’re drawn tight. He gives them a relaxed smile, and slowly reaches out to pluck a piece of salami off of the plate. He makes sure they’re looking when he eats it, chewing slowly. He nods to Thatch. “You eat something too, yoi,” he says. The other man nods, opting for an orange slice. The kid’s little ear tufts perk up, just a little, and they lean forward. Some of the apprehension is beginning to melt away, but they still aren’t going for it. They look nervously back and forth between both men, head swiveling on their little neck. So Marco reaches out again- another piece of meat in his hand, holding it to their mouth as they had done to him. Slowly, they lean forward, biting the edge, and Marco lets go. It doesn’t even take a full second for the kid to realize how good it tastes, snapping it up instantly. They chew, swallow, lick their lips, go to reach for another-

And they freeze, just shy of touching the food. Marco could groan, but he doesn’t. Thatch gives the kid a nod, and when they look back to Marco, he does the same. Their dark glassy eyes go wide for a second. They pick up a blackberry, looking at both men for any reaction before eating it. This repeats a couple of times before they finally give in and start eating like the damn place is on fire, much to Thatch’s delight. The cured meats and fruits are snapped up in a flash, the thin prosciutto torn to shreds as they indulge. The pork is a bit chewier, taking them a little longer, but they eat everything before the drug even starts to set in. They’re licking their talons clean when Thatch pulls the platter back, and stands up. “Well, that was impressive,” he muses, smiling down at the child. They don’t cower against Marco anymore, instead leaning forward to chirp quizzically at the tall man. “Yep, I’m talkin’ to you, honey,” he laughs. “You’ll give Ace a run for his money, I know it.”

“Hope so. All of this is fluff, they’re a scrawny little thing underneath, yoi” Marco chuckles, rubbing the top of their head, relaxing when they lean up into his touch again. He was right. Food is a good way to help most creatures feel secure. 

“What do you need hope for? You know I won’t disappoint! They certainly seemed to like it, didn’t they? Oh, just look at them,” Thatch coos, watching as their eyes squint in satisfaction. 

The two speak a little longer, Thatch telling Marco that word had spread quickly. Oyaji had already given them a nickname, referring to them as “Pipsqueak” and sternly instructing his sons to leave them be for now. Marco told Thatch more about his encounter in turn- the way they’d exuberantly tackled him, the cave, the way the happy drawings had been pinned up by their bed- that particular detail had him dramatically slapping a hand over his heart. “Sent off to find some hot springs, and you come back with an orphan. You’re really taking after the old man, Marco.” He says with a sly smile. It doesn’t take too long for the kid to start nodding off- after around five minutes, there’s a big yawn, and they’re snuggling up to Marco again. He wraps an arm around them, gently preening their wings with his fingers. The speckled little creature all but melts against his chest.

“I think that’s your cue to get going, yoi,” he says.

Thatch sighs, dramatically slapping his hand over his heart. “So it is… how cruel.”

“Oh don’t pout about it, yoi. I actually let you see ‘em didn’t I? And you’ll be bringing them plenty more meals, I’m sure.”

“Of course I will! I’m aiming for the title of Favorite Uncle, after all!”

“You’ll have some stiff competition, yoi.”

“I’m a chef, my dear brother,” Thatch beams, spreading his arms. “Kids love food. Everybody loves food. I like my odds.”

Marco wouldn’t say it, but he did, too. Instead he just smiles, lifting the child into his arms. They rub a blue cheek against his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, yeah. Now go, yoi. Shoo. I’m sure I’ll be up shortly.” Thatch chuckles, gazing tenderly at the child before shaking his head. As his weathered hand grips the brass door handle, he shoots his brother a knowing smirk.

“You sure you’ll be back in time for them to wake up? I’m a busy man, but I’d be happy to keep an eye on-”

“I said shoo, yoi! Get on with it!”

Thatch laughs, the door swinging closed behind him with a creak. Marco sighs, shaking his head, but he’s still smiling. Turning his attention back to the kid, he holds them closer and stands up from his seat. He listens to their soft breathing, trying not to let the patch of drool seeping through his shirt bother him. He sets them down on the bed, carefully unwrapping the blanket to tuck them in properly. He lays them against the pillow, huffing at their drowsy face, their mouth still hanging open. He pulls the blanket up to their chin, patting them on the head. They nuzzle into his pillow, sigh, and quickly slip into slumber.

He stays for a moment, warm hand resting on top of their head as they doze. “Big day for you hmm?” He muses. It didn’t take long at all for him to commit to this, did it? He wishes they understood him. That he didn’t have to do things like this. But at the very least, his intentions were altruistic, and the child suspected nothing. And when they woke up, they’d have all their drawings hung up within view of their new nest.

[midnightmischief10]

welp. i'm posting this unedited and EXTREMELY self indulgent pedro pascal x reader fic. i have more written, but i will only post the full thing if ppl are also as sick and twisted as me.

hope who ever reads this, feels a little more seen bc i am SICK (well not really HHAHAH) of all the pedro character ddlg fics!! i just wanted to write something more realistic? idk welp, here it is! (not in its entirety:P )

Si no te hubieras ido

pairings: Pedro Pascal x Reader

warnings: age gap, drinking, reader is in their 20s

getting to work on a set like The Mandalorian was a dream if you were being honest. no, you weren't some high end actor, or a famous director, just someone part of the production crew, doing things like planning, writing, hell even editing. you'd do anything to just be a part of a project like this.

interactions with the actors were also common in a job like this, but apart from just guiding them through certain scenes and how they should look, you really didn't cross the boundaries that weren't professional. It was really nice to admire them though. Getting the occasional chat with big shot superstars was so cool and always something to brag about to your family even though they weren't supportive of your career choice. You didn’t end up a doctor or lawyer like they wanted, but hey! You did something you loved.

It was honestly a very normal day in the workplace. You were working in the art department as usual, helping make sure the vision that the director wanted was really coming through. Being behind the scenes for such big projects like these was really something. Your admiration for the process really grew getting to do all the behind the scenes work, it was such a nice feeling seeing the thing you along with many others, worked so hard on being televised was something special.

You weren't the overly ambitious type, but the thought of directing something sounded really cool.

You continued on, designing what the director wanted on a few scenes we’d be working on in the following weeks.

Lost in your work you didn’t expect anyone to come up to you for anything, you weren't the art director so it wasn't usual for people to come to you. Unbeknownst to you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm, not roughly just to get your attention.

you look up and woah…why the hell was Pedro Pascal standing right behind you.

"uhm, I'm sorry to bother you, you seem busy, but I've been meaning to ask, would you like to go out for a drink sometime?" Pedro asked.

huh? what…the…fuck…?

it caught you off guard.

Firstly, why was Pedro Pascal even looking for you? Because I mean you? of all people he could ask something like that, it was you? A man notorious for not having any sort of relationship, at least not public, was standing here with you asking you to go out for a drink.

you didn’t even think about your response before the words fell from your mouth.

"oh..uhm…Is this some kind of prank?"

you dumb BITCH WHY WOULD U SAY THAT???

was what you thought immediately after.

In your defense, you were in disbelief because what the hell was Pedro Pascal, a very prominent and influential actor, asking you out for drinks? I mean the interactions you both have had were merely professional and work related so why?

he looked confused at your answer, maybe even a little insulted, which was not your intention.

"shit I'm sorry I didn't mean to sound rude I'm just in a bit of disbelief" you let out an awkward laugh to soften the previous response and got out of your seat to face him properly. how do you even respond to a question like that, you had no idea that's for certain.

He stared softly at you and started, "no I'm sorry, that was very sudden haha. no need to say yes I just wanted to see if you would." His response was genuine and he wore a soft smile as he did.

God, was he really handsome up close.

To be quite honest, you always found him super attractive. But he was the internet’s daddy so it wasn't just you who felt attraction towards him. And sure, you might've dabbled in the idea of maybe even going out with him, but you were realistic with yourself.

But here you are now. Getting asked out on a date with this hunk of a man.

You were still lost in thought, trying to reflect on what was occurring and what came out of Pedro’s mouth.

He spoke again, "Sorry, just forget it ev-"

"no no, I mean I'd love to, who wouldn't want to go out for drinks with you, I'm just not all that special ya know?" you were being honest. You weren't some super sexy model or a renowned actor, you were just some girl working on the same set as Pedro.

Also, you were much younger than Pedro.

"I'd beg to differ." he said quite frankly. He smiled that sweet and tender smile of his and you couldn't help but think, for an older man he was sure fine.

you were daydreaming again at this point when Pedro spoke again,"so...is that a yes then?" it snapped you back to reality. It was so odd to see him so nervous over something like this, but being in the know of most things Hollywood, everyone who knew Pedro also knew that he had social anxiety so it must've taken a lot out of him to even ask you out

your heart raced, “yea- yes, I'll go for a drink with you.” you smiled, but if you were being honest you were really nervous too. What exactly did he see in you? Sure you were kind and respectful, but that's how you were with everyone. Pedro felt way out of your league to even grasp the idea of flirting with him, I mean come on. Who would even think about flirting with an A-list celebrity, especially someone way way WAY younger than he was and someone who wasn’t on any level to him.

he had a huge smile on his face, he seemed so content. “Great, should I get your number while I’m at it?” He pulled out his phone and handed it to you. You slightly grazed his hand when he did and it caught you by surprise.

His hands were so big, and you didn’t realize till just then how much of a height difference you two had.

You put your name and number, your hands were trembling a bit as you did so.

“here you go. so…when should I expect that drink?” you tried being coy to play off the fact that you were actually freaking out.

he smiled and laughed, “what about tonight then?”

that was quick

“oh. uhm yeah sure, i get off at 5, would like 8 be okay.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll pick you up, wear something nice.”

“Do I not look nice now?” you said sarcastically.

“No no, you always look great, I’d just like to see you in a dress.” He looked at you with so much love, his sweet smile still plastered hard on his face.

You couldn’t help but blush hard.

Has he always looked at me?

“I’ll send you my address then, see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” and he stepped out.

what the fuck were you getting into

~~~~~~~

[antidotesprout]

[and now for something completely self-indulgent]

Behold: Lehua

Just a purely self-serving-to-me pokémon OC as a treat to get those creative gears turning. More info under the cut for those that care lol

Lehua (lay-hoo-ah)

Named for the 'Ohi'a lehua tree, her shirt design represents the flowers of this tree (of which, there's currently a deadly fungus attacking these trees! I'd go off about it, might make a detailed post later. If you're interested please feel free to research)

Age: 30

Home region: Alola (specifically her family branch lives on Melemele)

Everything I have so far (subject to change)

Older cousin to Trial Captain Mina and they actually have a pretty good relationship. It's just Lehua's parents are constantly disappointed their daughter wasn't a prodigy like Mina and remind her of that constantly. This had led to Lehua being a little bitter, but Mina is oblivious to this one sided issue.

It's not that she wasn't good at things but she lacks focus that's led to a more "Jack of all trades" approach.

Her family is pretty dedicated to fairy types as a whole, but Lehua, while she does tend to lean fairy, is not exclusively a fairy-type specialist.

Didn't complete her island challenge.

Struck out at 20 to travel and figure herself out, ended up region hopping for around a decade before returning home. She worked odd jobs to pay for herself, a lot of restaurant work, a lot of freelance work.

Currently a bit of an x Nanu character, but who knows honestly where she's gonna end up.

Currently her Pokémon team consists of Puka (Eevee), Pikake (Comfey), Lilikoi (Mimikyu) Ahi (Tatsugiri)-- team is still in progress

Met Acerola on the hunt for a Mimikyu when she got home

Weirdly neurotic about not wanting Puka to evolve. Says that if Puka evolves she'll feel like it's a sign to settle down.

(Puka was going to be named Leho but that might be confusing with Lehua, but that's why the necklace she wears with the everstone has cowries)

Big former gifted kid energy

[p1ctur3]

Can't believe it has been a full year since I starting posting AvA/M fanart

so I redrew my first piece of fanart :]

[teenytinyapprentice]

life's been pretty odd and ever changing lately - so arts been weird, but I scrounged together a bunch of doodles from this year, made both on and off the clock that I thought might be fun to share ^^;

[prettyflyshyguy]

You people don't understand that when I started this mini for a local competition I spent the entire time like a caged animal chewing on the bars until I could put the blood effects on at the very end.

Look at it. My back hurts from shrimping myself but Look.

[cathalbravecog]

i'm the antonymph of the internet

[kudzuoath]

Sundown Vows

In some ways, being kidnapped by mindflayers has been the best thing to ever happen to Temperance Crier. For the first time in more than a decade she has people to depend upon. But even being plucked from her own execution and dropped into a fight for the free will of Faerun cannot prevent the past from catching up to her at last.

*this is chapter one of a larger fic posted to ao3. Future chapters are probably not being posted to tumblr.

-----

Vengeful outrage arced through her before she was even fully awake.

Temperance was on her knees and clawing at the air in front of her until she recognized the sun on her face and the sensation of sand beneath her. The ever present whispers faded to a dull roar in the back of her mind. Like the tide rolling in and out of the harbor back in Neverwinter.

She swallowed hard and waited for the white sparks to clear from her vision. Grounding herself by touch and scent to the world around her.

Water, she thought. Something… green and astringent – mergrass? Good for potions of mind reading. Heightened mental awareness even from suspensions.

Heat, near her left hand.

She searched it out – and flinched back when it burned her. That was – yes, the sword, right? There was a vague impression left to her of a cambion with a flaming greatsword. And it was the same greatsword that she saw when her eyes cleared. It lay in a warped cradle of glass, fire licking merrily over its abstract creation.

Temperance set her hand on the hilt, wondering how in all the hells she was meant to carry the damned thing out of battle – only for the sword to bite her. Well – something sharp erupted under her palm. The weapon tasted her blood. And perhaps she was just infernal enough, for the flames calmed, and the teeth retreated.

“At least I didn’t wake unarmed,” she rasped to herself, a grim smile pulling at the crust of dried blood caking the side of her face. Terrible.

Heart in her throat, she stood, taking in the world around her. There was sand, yes. The water she’d smelled, festooned with greenery – mergrass included – and sandstone cliffs rising up around her. Some sort of canyon then?

She took a few careful steps into the water, trying to peer around the massive fleshy tentacle of the ship that had stolen her.

And saved me.

What grim luck indeed.

Absently, she harvested the mergrass. Centering herself with the sharp scent of broken fronds, and the fuzzy texture of the purple blooms nestled within the stalks. There were a few likely boulders farther out in the water. She could maybe scale them and get a better lay of the land. But if she was going into deep water she’d need to shed her armor if she didn’t want to drown herself…

Her heart calmed.

Then the tadpole squirmed to life behind her left eye, shattering her fragile peace. Temperance’s hands tightened around the mergrass until it cut at her already much scarred palms, pulverizing her meager bounty and bleeding it.

She felt sick, remembering the way the Mindflayer clamped psionic fingers around her skull and squeezed… wrenching her head to the side as everything inside her shrieked in outrage.

A gods damned mindflayer.

She’d heard of them, but only just. It was enough to make a woman laughing mad. How much more could fit inside her at this point?

Of course the real question is which of my guests are going to win, she thought, morbidly amused.

“My coin is on the Phylactery,” she muttered. Trying to put the horrible moment aside. To avoid thinking about why her eye was burning.

So she waded back onto the beach and took a look at the tentacles to either side boxing her in. They were disturbingly moist and not because of the water. It reminded her of a dead whale that had washed up in Neverwinter’s harbor a lifetime ago.

Gods, she didn’t want to imagine the stink of the ship could rot. And even though it was more object than adversary she really didn’t want to shed any layers around it.

So, if she wasn't going into the drink…

“One step. Then another. Come on.”

The flesh of the ship pulsed at her. Mockingly.

Her palms itched with disgust. She didn’t want to touch the thing. But as it was several times the size of her, she really had no choice. She was going to have to climb it.

“Not the worst thing you’ve done in the last ten years, Temp, Hop to.”

She flexed her fingers, bounced up and down on the balls of her feet a few times – then took a running leap at the wreckage. Hoping to clear as much of it as possible. But of course that would be too bloody lucky wouldn’t it? Her foot went right through the center of one of the suckers and the thing latched on. Warm and wet, like a horrible toothless mouth.

Gagging she wrenched her foot free. Only for the suckers she’d caught with her hands to turn and try to curl around them. She sliced at them with involuntary viciousness, claws digging in deep as she scrambled up and over the thing. Temperance didn’t even try to climb down the other side – simply leapt and hit the sand below with a teeth rattling thump.

Skin crawling, she looked over her shoulder and watched the tentacle shudder and begin to contract.

“I hate you,” she told it flatly.

Naturally, it didn’t much care about the hatred of a lone tiefling. But she felt a little better for saying it. And might have felt better still if she’d had the luxury of hacking at the thing with her new greatsword for a few minutes.

But there was no time to waste. Even though there was also no clear path forward.

The ravaged beach stretched out before her, sand gone to glass in places from the heat of the fires the wreck had started. And there were corpses too. One, just a few feet in front of her mangled and salted and face down in the water.

Though she was years and horrors away from her life in the temple, she paused above it, and said a prayer. Then Temperance went through the dead man’s belongings. A few gold, and a wine bottle, of all things. She pocketed both, and was lucky enough to find a pack near the next body. Not much of use besides the fishing line but a place to store things was a boon.

The third body was breathing. And familiar.

The woman from the pod. Shadowheart. Laid out on her back with her braid covering her eyes like a blindfold. Under one hand, the spiked box covered in unknown runes.

Just as before, when Temperance laid eyes on the woman a pale gold four pointed star painted itself over her torso.

Pale was good. Pale she could ignore. Unlike the sunburst that had turned the cambion on the ship into a vaguely person shaped gout of flame and burned all the will to resist and memory out of her.

(Her fingers itched nonetheless. The whispers in her ear grew louder. She could almost understand what they said.

She ignored them. Painting over the fire with everything she knew about balsam.)

The cleric remained unconscious in the sand. The only sign of life the regular movement of her shoulders signifying breath.

First thing first. Temperance carefully moved the woman’s braid out of her face, and set her fingertips at the cleric’s temple. Reaching for that thread of divine fire that she’d carried with her for the past thirteen years. For the part of it that cauterized, that healed.

Nothing. The powers granted by her oath slithered just beyond where she could fathom. Retreating along with the whispers. And the pale stars. The worm wriggled, making her head throb. It was impossible of course, yet somehow she imagined the thing was smug.

Your doing? She thought at it, fury simmering. Just you wait.

With her own healing magic beyond her, the cleric would simply have to heal herself if she needed it. So Temperance took the half-elf by the shoulders and shook her.

Shadowheart woke with a gasp, pushing up to her feet and staggering a few feet back. Her green eyes darted wildly around her before at last settling on the one who’d woken her.

Temperance waggled her fingers at her with a bland expression on her face, still crouched. “Good morning.”

“You’re alive –” Shadowheart said, disbelief painted across her face. “I’m alive. How is this possible?”

Temperance pushed to her feet. Dryly she said, “Divine intervention perhaps?”

“The divine tend to keep their interventions close to the chest,” Shadowheart replied, matching Temperance’s tone. “Though I suppose it’s not impossible.”

Silence stretched out between them as they eyed one another.

We’re both wondering who the other serves now that the blood’s calmed, Temperance thought. Or at least I am. She’s in for a shock should she ever find out.

Funnily enough her certainty in Shadowheart’s reaction would be a source of amusement to her in the not so distant future.

“I don’t suppose you have any better idea about where we are than I do?” asked Temperance.

“No,” said Shadowheart after another moment of looking around. “I don’t recognize this place. But anything’s an improvement over where we just came from.”

“I can’t say I’m fond of Avernus from what little I saw of it, no,” Temperance deadpanned.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed. “You played a dangerous game back there on the ship.”

Temperance stilled and tucked away any hint of expression. Eying the cleric with feigned calm. She worried at the hole in her memory after spotting the cambion. Prodding at the gap like it was a missing tooth. “Oh?”

“Picking a fight with that devil. You’re lucky to be alive. Both of us are. Had you taken any longer we’d be dead in the hells instead of stranded wherever here is.”

“I can’t say I recall picking a fight,” she said – entirely honestly, though her tone implied otherwise. “Do you really think that devil would have let any of us get past it to the transponder?”

Shadowheart looked at her, eyebrow raised. “If you say so.”

“Shall I grovel?” she said mildly.

��Hm,” Shadowheart huffed – though there was the faintest hint of a smile hiding at the corners of her lips. “No. I’d much rather you find us a healer. Which is the first thing we need to do, I hope you’re aware.”

“We?” Temperance asked, tilting her head.

“We need each other. We both know what’s at stake. I can’t imagine better company.”

Considering that the smartest course of action for anyone who wasn’t infected to take was a swift beheading – yes, Shadowheart was probably right. Not that Temperance had any particular objections to the other woman’s company. Insofar as strangers went, she was fine.

“Then we had best make use of daylight while we still have it.”

“Wait. You have my name,” said Shadowheart. “What am I to call you?”

Well, there was no avoiding it now. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. Shepherds face painted on the back of her eyelids.

Take back the name your mother gave you for now, he’d said. Let Temperance Crier die.

“Surely it isn’t so difficult a question?” Shadowheart pressed, a hint of annoyance creeping into her tone. “I’ll have to call you something if we’re to fight together.”

“Odette,” said Temperance. “Just… call me Odette.”

–

“Tell me you aren’t about to touch that,” Shadowheart said.

The two of them had spent most of the day navigating the wreckage of the nautiloid and its dearth of broken trees, corpses, and horrible swollen little brain things. It was only now as the sun began to sink below the water that they’d found relatively flat ground lacking in the flesh structures of their captors.

Temperance had suggested a break almost as soon as they pulled themselves out of the wreckage. She hadn’t liked how pale Shadowheart’s lips had gone. And though she’d known her for all of a day, she also didn’t like how silently the cleric sank to the ground and set her head between her knees. Breathing hard long after Temperance had gotten her breath back.

It was only after a good twenty minutes of rest that they’d started their slow winding way down a dusty weathered road, rounded the corner and come across it.

A spitting whirling vortex of purple energy with a center of darkness so complete it seemed to suck the light of the setting sun into it. The energy crackled out of the rock face, obscuring all but the outer edge of some kind of rune circle. Clearly the thing was dangerous. And yet…

“I’m hardly going to stick my hand in,” she deadpanned. “I try to keep blindingly stupid actions down to once a day.”

“Ha,” said Shadowheart. “I suppose you’ve met that goal already then?”

Temperance bent and retried a long, gnarled stick from the brambles along the roadside, then strode forward and drove it into the maelstrom of magic. Immediately the stick vibrated against her palm – as if the end of it was caught in a riptide – and a massive purple spark leapt down the length of it to snap at her hand.

“Hells!” She dropped the stick and snatched her hand back, shaking it to dispel the lingering snarl of arcane energy. And then a moment later nearly fell ass over teakettle when an arm thrust itself out of the void and began to flail about blindly.

“A hand? Anyone?” called the owner of aforesaid limb.

Unable to help herself, she exchanged a look with Shadowheart. The cleric pursed her lips and lifted one shoulder, clearly no better equipped to understand rogue arms drifting out of black holes than she was. Though at least this meant they were both seeing the same thing.

Creeping closer, Temperance called, “Is there a person attached to the other end of this arm?”

“I should hope so! Or at least there was this morning in my tower. Pull me out and we’ll get properly introduced!”

The hand continued to snatch at the open air. She didn’t think she was imagining the air of panic to the motion.

“Shadowheart, would you –?”

The cleric sighed but obligingly took hold of the back of her belt with both hands. “I suppose I can’t complain about your rescuing of strangers seeing as it’s the only reason I’m not still in that bloody pod.”

Now anchored, Temperance took the stranger’s arm in both hands and started to pull. He immediately gripped her forearm and clung with a desperate, bruising grip. And the moment they were all connected, they began to jitter from the well of pressure tugging them toward the vortex. Both hers and Shadowheart’s feet began to slide through the dirt, leaving grooves behind. Alarmed, Temperance kicked up one foot and braced against the rock face.

“That’s it!” the stranger called. Sounding remarkably blase. “Go on, keep pulling!”

Taking a deep breath, she practically threw herself backwards, trying to wrench the man loose. So of course this was the moment the vortex decided to spit him out.

She, Shadowheart, and the purple-clad man all went flying backwards and hit the road. Hard. With the man who’d been trapped in the rock laying across them like a corpse. Or perhaps a very large stunned fish.

A stunned fish that smells like a library, Temperance thought.

Muffled swearing from Shadowheart (who had the misfortune to be at the bottom of the pile) followed by. “ – Would you get off of me!”

What followed was a deeply undignified scrambling as limbs went every which way. Someone stepped on her tail – which made her kick reflexively, catching someone else in a soft place that made them wheeze. But after a moment they were all on their feet again, with the wizard – because he had to be a wizard with an entrance like that – brushing off his robes.

Temperance opened her mouth to say something – only for the man to step forward and take her hand. Which he then shook enthusiastically. “Hello! I’m Gale of Waterdeep.”

“Odette,” she lied, bemused. He looked remarkably clean and possibly even well to do, considering where he’d just come from and their present surroundings. She was mildly annoyed to have to look up in order to meet his eyes. Wasn’t he a tall thing? Cut a rather excellent figure too.

“Apologies,” he went on. “I’m usually better at this.”

“Bludgeoning innocent passersby with your thick skull?” Said Shadowheart sweetly.

“Giving solid objects an identity crisis?” Temperance deadpanned.

“Ha! No and no again. Though all things considered you’re not too far off about changing the nature of things. What I mean is, better at magic.” He glanced behind him at what had once been a broken rune, almost… wistful.

“You’re still in one piece,” she said dryly. “So I’d say better is relative.”

She’d known a few wizards in her life. Enough to know that it wasn’t a question of ‘better’ so much as it was caution. Even the cleverest among them did tend to cause explosions now and again. Even the ones who dealt with magic that didn't seem remotely prone to combustion.

“Right you are! Though some of that is certainly due to your timely intervention. – Say but I know you don’t I?” Her blood ran cold. “In a manner of speaking. You were on the Nautiloid as well.”

And her blood thawed. Though she wearily noted that Shadowheart had spotted her flinch. Those green eyes marked her. Gods damn it. She really should be better at this by now.

“I had the misfortune, yes,” she said, intentionally putting her attention back on Gale. He was rather pretty, actually. With his thick, dark hair threaded with gray, and his expressive brown eyes. He was tattooed as well – though the purplish ink looked almost fresh where it cut into his clavicle and snaked up the side of his neck.

An arcane sigil? She wondered.

“Misfortune is a mild way of putting it. If you were indeed there I can only assume you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the, ah… ocular region.” He made a gesture that was both simple, and terribly graphic at the same time by the side of his head. One of snapping teeth and slithering.

The memory of the tadpoles' entrance unfortunately remained to her. Temperance became eerily aware of the pressure behind one of her eyes. Her hands twitched as she fought the urge to claw at her face and start screaming. “I couldn’t have put it more repellently myself.”

“No use sugarcoating it, is there?” he said, brow raised. And a moment later, raised one finger too. “The insertee we speak of, this parasite - are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation it will turn us into mind flayers? It's a process known as ceremorphosis, and let me assure you: it is to be avoided.”

This time Temperance couldn’t help a full body shudder. Remembering the other woman in the pod on the ship. The cracking of bones and rending of flesh… the screaming. If Shadowheart knew what had been risked to free her, perhaps she would be less grateful for Temperance’s interference.

“Now, not to diminish your considerable help already but I can’t help but ask… you don't happen to be a cleric, do you? A doctor? Surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?” And once more he made a rather terrible motion with his hand to illustrate that last bit. With a gleam in his eye too, as if he thought the last idea were rather funny.

“You seem to know enough about our condition to realize it is beyond most clerics' skills,” said Shadowheart.

Gale inclined his head toward her. “Most, no doubt. But I find myself hoping to be in the presence of the few. You don't happen to be one of them?”

Temperance watched Shadowheart’s eyes narrow and quickly stepped between the two of them. Just in case. “I’m afraid our skills lend themselves more toward pulling wayward Wizards out of rocks. And the healing of more… common ailments.”

“Ah, well.” He stroked his chin. “I suppose I can’t complain – though it would have been quite neat to have our problems mutually excised merely through the providence of meeting one another!”

“And yet that sounds awfully like complaining to me,” said Shadowheart.

“Friend, you haven’t even begun to experience what a wizard truly in a snit is capable of unleashing,” Gale returned. Never losing his smile and still seeming in surprisingly good humor.

“And I’d rather we didn’t,” said Temperance. “If it’s all the same to you.”

“I’d prefer a less contentious relationship myself,” he agreed, folding his hands behind his back and leaning forward a touch. “Speaking of, with as much danger as we’re in, having a wizard of my not inconsiderable talents along on the road would be to your benefit. To make no mention of my other areas of study coming in handy. One can never predict what needful things might be found through one's love affair with books!”

Temperance smiled faintly. He had no need to convince her – what sense would it make to reject help? Even quite talkative help. Not that she minded overmuch – he had a rather nice voice. “You’re welcome to join up, Gale.”

She watched him smile brightly at her and snatch his hand to his heart. He talked as much with his hands as his mouth, she’d noticed. “Most excellent! A parasite shared is a parasite… halved. Or something to that effect.”

And that actually got a snort out of her. “You’re in good spirits for a man in your position.”

“Well now, being maudlin isn’t likely to do any damage to the wee one. If it did I imagine few enough amongst us who have had the dubious joy of being infected by an illithid’s tadpole would ever transform. And truthfully I’m still rather glad not to be trapped between realms.”

“So I see,” she said. And turned her gaze skyward. There was very little light left, now. The blue shadows of dusk were creeping in around their feet. And so close to the water it was bound to get cold. Temperance frowned to herself, mentally cataloging what she and Shadowheart had scavenged thus far. “I don’t guess you know a place we might camp?”

“Afraid not,” he said. “I’ve been trapped since the crash. Ah, but speaking of! Before you think you're about to embark on a journey with most ill-mannered a man: thank you for pulling me out of that stone. It was an act of foresighted kindness I assure you, for I have the feeling ample opportunities will present themselves for me to return the favor.”

“You’re welcome?” she said, once more bemused. “I’ve made something of a habit of that today.”

“Oh –?”

“We should get moving,” said Shadowheart, interrupting before Gale could pursue his current line of thought. “Find some place to bed down before it's dark and our new wizard friend can’t see.”

“Ah, to be the only human,” he said, setting a hand to his heart in faux pain. “I shall make up for my inability to see in the dark with my skills at the cookfire. Providing we find a place to set one up, of course. Shall we go then?”

Temperance nodded, taking them both in. Shadowheart still seemed a little tired around the eyes – and Gale seemed a touch manic around his. But nothing was broken and no one was bleeding. And – yes. They were indeed both looking to her. She swallowed, heart lodging itself in her throat.

I’m keeping the both of you alive, she promised herself. It was almost unconscious. A thought that formed in the very bones of her, even though she knew neither of them well.

“Let’s keep moving away from the wreckage,” she said. “If anything is still kicking inside I don’t want to run into it.”

[the-kipsabian]

..also would like to be annoying today and ask ppl to reblog my work instead of just liking things, thanks

[piper-2244]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your stressed lover comes home from a long day of work and finds you asleep. he can’t help but wake you up in a rather special way.

wc. 1.6k total

tags. dom!jjk men x sub!female reader (gojo, toji, sukuna). smut. general warnings: dark content — somnophilia (consensual). size difference because im self indulgent ; reader gets referred to as small. ehm they’re kinda depicted as perverts. rest of the warnings are given before each character.

GOJO SATORU; cw. cunnilingus. fingering. he’s a bit whiny. nicknames used ‘princess, sweets’. he cums untouched lol.

“mm, fuck. look at my sweet princess,” satoru sighs under his breath. he’s welcomed home by the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the bed, your hips lifted a bit as you rest on your stomach.

satoru’s voice is shaky as he mutters something to himself. he carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trembling fingers reaching out to trace the shape of your plump ass. he can’t not touch you—especially when you present yourself so nicely to him.

it isn’t long before his fingers dip under the material of your shorts. satoru gauges your reaction to his advances and notices the corners of your lips twitching. a sign you’re unconsciously feeling his warm touch.

“fuckfuckfuck. ‘m sorry, princess — i have to.”

satoru gives up any self-control that he had left. he doesn’t waste any time pulling down your shorts and panties to your knees. his already erect cock twitches in his pants at the beautiful scene; your wet cunt in all its glory.

he clenches his fists, desperately trying not to do anything. that determination does not last long.

in just a second, satoru’s already lapping up your juices, his hands firmly holding your hips still. his nails dig into your flesh and he moans once he feels your body instinctively pushing back against his mouth.

“mm, s’rry,” the sorcerer whines in a muffled voice. he knows you’re awake by now—judging purely by the increase of your little moans of pleasure. his tongue doesn’t stop moving between your spread folds, tasting you until your thighs are spasming.

you’re confused when you’ve awoken to a tingly sensation between your legs, though you quickly put two and two together. you’re too lazy to comment on satoru’s sudden actions, only babbling a soft ‘welcome home’ between whimpers.

satoru’s breath hitches the moment you tell him those words. those sweet words. like you don’t mind that he’s dragged you out of your slumber this way. it’s such a turn on—your acceptance to what he’s doing.

“yeah? oh god,” satoru’s nose bumps against your slit each time he moves his jaw, lewdly slurping the fluid your pussy produces. he can feel his dick throbbing against his pants, begging to be released, “ngh, can’t—gonna cum, sweets.”

your lover’s desperate whines make your fingers curl around the bedsheets. the sole image of him cumming in his pants just from eating you out pushes you over the edge as well.

you reach your climax at the same time. satoru lolls his tongue out to catch your juices, moaning loudly against your puffy folds as he feels it trickling into his mouth. he can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers, “shit.”

the white-haired man removes himself from behind you, licking his lips for any residue. you lazily look over your shoulder at him with glazed over eyes. his big hands are already working on his belt and zipper.

satoru shows you the dark spot in his underwear and pouts, “ah, look what you’ve done to me, princess—made a mess out of my favourite boxers b’cause of you.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI; cw. tiny hint of implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected. spooning position. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut, whore’. degradation / objectification.

toji kicks his shoes off and makes a beeline towards his bedroom. he’s in a shitty mood after he had met up with a rude client. despite that, his lips curl up into a faint smile the moment he sees you laying on his bed.

“heh, there’s my little girl,” his voice is raspy, hoarse and utterly exhausted. the older man climbs under the covers and wraps his strong arms around your small figure. he nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in the nice smell of your shampoo.

toji wouldn’t be him if his hands didn’t wander all over your skin. his rough palms squeeze everywhere and anywhere—enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh in them. you subconsciously react to his touches by pushing your body back against his.

“. .do not,” toji hisses like you can hear him. he was already half hard on his way home as the thoughts of you clouded his mind, but now that he’s actually with you, he’s fully aroused. especially with your ass pushing back at his aching bulge.

he’s too lazy to get up and get himself off in the shower. thus, he starts off by humping the fat of your ass. the friction isn’t enough for the assassin and therefore he switches to the real thing.

“such a slutty fuckin’ thing. can’t keep my hands off ya,” toji groans into your ear, half hoping you’d hear all the dirty things he’s calling you. your pants are pulled down and your panties are pushed to the side—making way for his fat cock to drill into you.

your impatient lover adjusts your legs so he could have easier access to your tight cunt. the slow strokes inside you make you squirm and tighten up around his throbbing erection. this only riles toji up more.

“hah, y’can feel it even in y’r sleep, can’t you? my cock stretching your tight pussy out—my pussy,” toji corrects himself with a low moan. his warm breath hits the nape of your neck, his hands fondling you whilst he thrusts aggressively.

he doesn’t care if you wake up or not. he’s going to use your delicious body to relieve himself. you gave him the green light when he asked you if he could fuck you in your sleep when he needs it. so, there’s no reason to stop now.

you eventually jolt awake once the continuous stimulation become too much. if it wasn’t for toji’s hand on your mouth, you’d have woken up the neighbours with your loud and lewd moans.

toji scoffs. he keeps a tight grip on your face and thigh, not stopping the rough pounding he’s giving you. he sees your eyes roll back from the unexpected pleasure and he snickers.

his lips connect with yours, muffling your moans that way;

“hah, seems like you needed this as much as i did—waking up ‘n already moaning like a whore. missed me that much, huh?”

SUKUNA RYOMEN; cw. true form!sukuna. has two cocks woops. masturbation (m). turns into blowjob. hairpulling. reader gets called ‘brat’.

sukuna returns to his chambers. finally, after dealing with some sorcerers that’ve had challenged him for a battle. he’s tense, sweaty and obviously in need to blow off some steam. he knows just where to get said relief.

sukuna’s red eyes instantly spot your sleeping form on the middle of his kingsized bed. his favourite little human—resting without a care in the world. the innocent sight is one that sets his loins on fire.

“oi, brat,” the male speaks up as he sits on his side of the bed. the mattress dips to one side due to his huge form, causing your small body to automatically manoeuvre his way. you don’t seem to stir nor wake.

you’ve gotten used to sukuna’s demanding voice to the point that it doesn’t scare you anymore. he smacks his lips in frustration. guess he’ll take care of his problem himself for now.

low grunts fill the spacious room—sukuna’s head lolls back against the headboard whilst two of his hands move swiftly on his now exposed cocks. his sharp eyes are focused on your body, shamelessly checking you out. from the cleavage of your breasts, your clothed cunt to your perfect parted lips; all of you is turning him on.

“fuck, can’t believe this. .” sukuna curses under his breath. he can’t believe how weak he is for you. how his cocks throb and leak drops of pre-cum from just the sight of you sleeping. fully clothed at that.

whilst one set of his hands is busy touching himself, the other reaches out to grope your body. one hand on your chest and one on your ass. of course, sukuna doesn’t pass on the opportunity of smacking the soft flesh.

“i said get up,” sukuna clicks his tongue and tries to wake you again. this time you do actually wake up. a short, inaudible whine leaving your lips. you take a few seconds to process the view in front of you; your lover with both his thick cocks out, pre-cum making the lengths glimmer under the light of the lamp.

it got you horny. immediately. you slowly crawl over between his legs, like you know just what to do. sukuna raises an eyebrow—surprised by your lack of questioning. he’s amused at how fast you took the hint.

“that’s it. you’re learning fast,” sukuna sighs deeply the moment your lips wrap around his upper dick. your small hand jerks off the lower one. both stimulations at once makes the man beneath you grunt in satisfaction.

you still are and look extremely drowsy, though your devotion to sukuna knows no bounds. even in your half-asleep state. the king of curses pats your head—a surprisingly appreciative and loving gesture that he rarely does.

you bob your head carefully, not wanting to gag too much. however, the pace you set is too slow for sukuna who’s waited way too long to fuck you. in any way.

he bucks his hips—thrusting upwards into your hot mouth. his strong hands yank at your hair, keeping you in place as he hears your muffled whimpers of protest. not that he cares; you choking on his fat cock only adds to his pleasure.

“keep it up like that. fuck, where do you want me to cum? in your little mouth? yeahh, you’d like that huh, filthy girl. you’d have to work harder for it if you’re so desperate.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FAVORITE CREATORS !!

[yueebby]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town.��“You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[k3n-dyll]

☆F.U.C.K

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, also, written at 2am, established friends with benefits, self-indulgent smut, dom!Abby, shower sex, strap on (r!receiving), strap referred to as a dick/cock Word Count:2.08k || MDNI Banner Creds. || Donations 4 Palestine

Notes ☆ The next fic I have based on a song will not be as fun! Just a heads up. Also, two works back to back within a few hours? We're so back

FWB!Abby who isn't known to be very open about her sexuality. Sure, there are rumors, and there are people she's told that she's lesbian, but that list is pretty limited to close friends. It's not that she's trying to hide it, anyone with working eyes who takes more than a second or two to look at her can tell, she just doesn't feel like it's anyone's business but her own.

And yours of course.

Abby's never been particularly sappy or romantic. Still, despite how intense her day-to-day is - fighting Scars, killing infected, being on high alert at every turn because there's no way of knowing what will be the next thing to try and kill her first - she's a bit of a thrill seeker in her own way. The idea of doing something seemingly forbidden, the rush of nearly getting caught doing something less than savory, has never failed to be a turn-on for her and it's something that, over time, you've become acutely aware of. She's gotten into the habit of dragging you into bathrooms, and storage closets, sometimes even taking it upon herself to get handsy underneath tables when in the presence of others just to see that nervous look you get.

It should be no shock to you that she'd do something like this and yet, you're still baffled.

The showers were peaceful today, it was late and most people were either asleep or just waking up for their own shifts. After a long patrol, all you wanted to do was turn on the hot water and let it soak over your aching muscles, washing the blood, dirt, and sweat that had accumulated on your skin down the drain. You weren't expecting to feel a large pair of hands gripping at your waist in the shower, and if you hadn't known better, you might have started swinging.

"Abby, what the hell?" You flinch a little under her grasp, and while you try to sound angry, the amused chuckle that forms with your words is hard to stifle.

"Nice to see you too" Abby mutters, already beginning an assault on your neck with her lips, trailing wet kisses down your skin as she speaks.

"I thought you said you were tired" You try and turn to face her but you're only met with a tightened grip on your body, forcing you to face the glass shower wall.

"I lied."

Before you can think up something snarky to say, Abby presses her front up against you further and you stiffen completely, the sensation of something that definitely isn't normally there now flush against your ass.

"What is that?" You question, turning your head in attempt to get a look at whatever it is she's got rubbing against you, but again she forces your eyes forward, grabbing your chin to make you face the wall again.

"I want you to guess." She purrs, nipping at your earlobe, unable to stop herself from letting out a low chuckle. "C'mon, baby, I know you remember. That shop we passed by the other day? You were all curious about it, but we never got the chance to really look around."

In order to somewhat jog your memory, one of her hands releases its grip on you, wrapping around what she has and pressing it between your soaked thighs, shallowly thrusting it between them. Your breath hitches at the feeling and the memory comes flooding back into your mind. It was a few days back - Manny had pointed out an old sex shop and being the man he is he just couldn't shut up about it. Mostly he'd bragged about how, as much as he'd like to experiment, his own hands and body got the job done just fine.

In the moment it was funny, and a little stupid. The three of you managed to catch a quick glimpse of the interior, seeing some of the different toys that hadn't been looted or destroyed and joking about all of the time people in the Old World must have had to be so experimental with their sex lives. Unbeknownst to you, one toy in particular had caught Abby's eye. She didn't point it out to you or Manny, but right before you all had to leave, the rest of your patrol group having already started packing up to head back to base, she'd hidden it so that she could go back for it later. And she did.

"Figured it out, pretty girl?"

Abby's voice snaps you out of your head and you nod, coaxing another low chuckle out of her.

"You wanna see it?"

The moment her hold on you loosens you turn around, eyes panning down her toned, naked frame to the black harness that was fixed around her hips and landing on the toy that had just been sliding up against your cunt. Your eyes widen at the sight of the thick, purple silicone toy dangling from her body, and as much as you'd like to deny the immediate heat that rises in your belly at the sight of it, you can't.

"I don't think that's gonna fit. And...and what if we get caught, Abs you can't just hide that thing"

You say it without much thought, your words forcing a genuine laugh out of your 'friend'. She shakes her head and playfully rolls her eyes.

"You worry too much, baby. I locked the door. If someone comes knocking, I can just get out and tuck it in my bag before we open the door" She reassures as she gently guides you by your waist to the fogged-up wall, pressing you against it. "And trust me, once I get you nice and warmed up, it'll fit"

Abby sinks to her knees in front of you without another word, settling herself between your legs and dragging her tongue along your slit. The doubt that was once present in the front of your mind quickly starts to fade as she laps at your dripping heat, your hands weaving into her wet hair and holding on to keep her in place. You feel the tip of two of her thick fingers dip into your pussy, coating the digits with your arousal before slipping them into you completely.

She never failed to have this effect on you, and if it weren't so sexy, it'd be frustrating. Your mind is so quick to go blank under her touch, hips unconsciously grinding against her tongue as she swirls it along your puffy clit. Abby's unusually slow about it at first, curling and scissoring her fingers in and out of you, making sure to prepare you as best she can, but by the time she slips in a third finger her impatience and excitement makes itself known. You're practically teetering at the edge of an orgasm when she pulls away from you entirely, a whine escaping you as you're denied a release.

"Abby..."

"Shh, baby I know" Abby murmurs, standing back up, smiling softly as she watches your brows fix together. "I want you to cum on my cock, not my fingers. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Something about the way she refers to it as her own, as if she'd grown it herself sends a shock of electricity through you, and you answer her with an eager nod.

"Atta girl, now be good for me and turn around" She instructs, pushing you flush against the glass when you obey her command.

Abby knows how badly you must be aching at this point, her own precum leaking down her thighs as her eyes rove over your back. Even so, she takes her time, fucking your thighs, calloused palms spreading your ass a bit to get a better view. She groans at the sight of your essence combining with the water, making the dildo glisten in the fluorescent lights.

"God, you're so fucking wet" She whispers. "So ready to get split on my fuckin' dick, aren't you?"

The desperate little whines and the way you wiggle your ass back onto her is all the confirmation she needs to slowly push in, though, to neither of your surprise with how soaked you are, it proves to be rather easy. The difference is almost funny to her. You looked so nervous when you'd seen it initially, and now you were sucking her in like you were used to it.

"There ya go, slipped in so fast baby, fuck"

The way Abby moans when the toy is all the way inside of you, the way she struggles to keep at a slow pace to make sure you're well adjusted to the girth - you'd think she could feel it. It's an adjustment for both of you, the task of keeping it from fully slipping out of you when she pulls back proving to be a tad more annoying than she thought it would be, but she figures it out. And, God, if it isn't fucking worth it when she does.

Each thrust is like a shock to your system, Abby's pace only increasing as she loses herself in the moment. She could probably - and likely will end up - cumming from this alone. It was already a bit of a fantasy in her mind, having often wondered what it would be like to fuck you like this, but she didn't think she actually could. Her vivid blues are transfixed on the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin only made more intense by the water flowing along your bare bodies.

"A-Abby I- oh my god, please!" Words barely come out of you, and when they do, they're choppy breathless rambles with no real substance. Normally you were so careful about volume, but there are always times when she'd fucked you so stupid that you stopped caring. This, for example, being one of those times.

"So fuckin' pretty...you look so fuckin' pretty trying to take it for me" Her grip on your hips is bound to leave bruising, but all you can think about is how grateful you are for that fact. If not for her hands, you'd be on the ground by now, legs shaking and unable to hold your weight any longer.

Abby knows your tells well enough to see when you're about to explode - the incoherent sobs, twitching legs, your hands desperately trying to grab onto everything - anything that could possibly help ground you even a little bit. It only eggs her on, her arm snaking around your body to rub feverishly at your aching clit, almost impatient in her need to watch you come apart for her.

"Fuck, don't stop Abby, please, 'm so close...so fuckin' close" You manage to blurt out, damn near crying at the intensity, eyes rolled into the back of your head, head lulled forward against the wall. It's taking everything in you not to fall apart this instant but you want to drag it out for just a little longer.

"Almost there, honey, I got you... C-c'mon, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking cock"

The white-hot intensity of your orgasm sends you reeling, a string of curses and choked cries spilling from your lips, arousal further wetting your inner thighs as it spurts out of you. Abby can't help but moan loudly at the sight, continuing to pump in and out of you to let the base of the toy bump against her clit more, her own climax following soon after yours.

Somehow, Abby manages to stay upright despite her legs feeling like putty, knowing full well that if she falls you'll go down with her. Her strong arms wrap around you tightly as she pulls out of you, her sweaty forehead resting against your back as you both work to catch your breath.

"Fuck..that was..." She trails off, the actual strain of her actions hitting her body, making it difficult for her to get a word out between breaths. You giggle at the sound of her struggle, though you aren't doing any better.

"So fucking good.." Is all you breathe out, your mind still too fuzzy to think of something better to say.

Abby just nods, lacking the energy to say something snarky in response, the only sound remaining being the now cold water from the showerhead pitter-pattering against the ground, though eventually, she does force herself to speak up once more.

"Once I....catch my fuckin' breath...we're so doing that again"

Reblogs are appreciated ☆ tags: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,

[doromoni]

Off Time | LN4

Ships : Lando Norris x F1 Presenter! Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Subtags : She fell first; He fell harder, Misunderstanding, Mutual Pinning

A/N: Bruh this is so self indulgent! FYI~ I made this during my internship time (I was literally doing nothing). So heree enjoyyy ig?

Summary : You have pursued Lando’s affection, yet he doesn’t seem interested. Till your patience wavers and Lando realizes it too late. Will there be a right time for the two of you?

Masterlist

Part 2

It was another season of Formula 1 on the Silverstone track, the paddock was buzzing with excitement and cameras flashing as the drivers arrived one by one.

You were patiently waiting by the entrance of the paddock club eagerly looking for the family that loved you like their own. You promised them that you’ll see and spend time with the Norrises first before your busy schedule fully takes over and renders you unavailable for the rest of the weekend. It was expected considering that your line of work requires you with a mic and a camera on you at all times.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, probably your boss Mia giving you orders on your next driver interview, and as you checked — you were right. Oh! It was at Mercedes with George. You were in the middle of replying to your boss when you suddenly felt arms wrap around your waist with force enough to make the both of you stumble for balance.

“Y/N! I missed you~ did you bring my stroopwaffles?” You were suddenly engulfed and bombarded by the youngest Norris sibling.

“Yes, Flo . Its at the hotel and I missed you too. Babe, I saw the horse show on video. You were amazing!” you exclaimed proudly as you hugged the younger girl back.

Your eyes then softened as you gazed at Adam and Cisca. They were smiling from ear to ear waiting for their turn for a hug.

“Hi, guys!” You finally said as Flo released you from her clutches and the Elder Norrises hugged you in one big group hug.

“Hi, darling. It’s so nice to see you again. Don’t get me wrong dear you’re amazing on TV — I just prefer to see you in person” Cisca comes at you as she pushes her husband aside to gather you alone in her arms; squeezing you.

“ Honey, let the poor girl breathe.” Adam Norris lovingly reprimanded his wife as he placed his hand on your head and messed with your hair.

You giggled at the family’s antics. Your eyes wandered around the area and you couldn’t help but look, hoping to see Lando’s presence nearby— hoping to have a chat or something.

The Elder Norris couple saw you looking around, probably looking for their son and they couldn’t help but feel awful for you.

“I’m sorry sweetie, Lando said that he’s running a bit late. We should go on ahead”

“Oh, yes of course. Shall we? I need to show you my office, I just got promoted!” You said trying to hide your disappointment with the achievement you got.

They knew that you liked their boy, and they were so happy about it. They would do anything to have you in the family. They just hoped that their son would finally clean his act up and see the amazing girl that was in front of him before it was too late.

As you walked through the paddock with Flo’s arm draped around yours, you couldn’t stop thinking about the British McLaren Driver.

He didn’t hate you, he didn’t hold anything against you— he just was… indifferent. Lando Norris didn’t like you the way that you did. Lando wasn’t interested, not in a romantic relationship type of way anyway. Or that’s what you concluded considering that for the past months of trying to shoot your shot, you were always turned down by the English Mclaren Driver.

His fellow drivers and best mates had always supported your attempts to pursue Lando. They said that you would be good for him, that you and Lando made sense. They knew that you would make him happy.

You met his family by chance and it bloomed when you saved them from being hounded by the press during the race where their son crashed; this resulted in a thank-you dinner and the rest was history.

His dad had loved you and wanted you in the family — so much that you were invited to intimate family gatherings and outings. His mom cherished your times together inside the kitchen, bonding over shared recipes and coffee dates. While his younger sister ran to you for comfort and advice. You were practically a Norris at this point.

However, the Norris sibling that held your fancy wanted nothing to do with you. To him, you were the family friend and the commentator from Sky F1. You were just a distant friend at best and for you that was enough.

Your mind was preoccupied with dazzling green eyes, the head of full curly hair, and now a blemish on his nose from a cut that you found most attractive on him. Your thoughts were fully circling Lando Norris and you didn’t realize that it was time to say goodbye to Adam, Cisca, and Flo.

“Ok guys, I need to work. I’ll find you when I can, alright?” You sulked as you dropped the Norrises off in front of Mclaren’s Motorhome. They said their goodbyes with hugs and cheek kisses. As you were leaving and them stepping inside the doors of McLaren — you were so sure that you saw the mop of curly hair that belonged to Lando Norris.

And you knew deep down that Lando was there the entire time and he just didn’t want to talk to you if not necessary. Knowing that information hurt you tremendously, but you continued to smile nevertheless.

***

Inside the McLaren Motorhome, just as you left, there stood Lando Norris clad in a black hoodie and sweats waiting for his family to enter. Yet his eyes lingered on the girl who seemed to catch his family’s affection like a bear to honey.

“Mum, Dad, Flo! How have you been?” Lando exclaimed as he hugged his family one by one.

“What is it, mum?” Lando asked his mother as soon as he spotted the disapproval on her face

“You said that you’ll be late, why are you inside the motorhome then?” Cisca’s eyes narrowed at her son.

Lando’s eyes shifted away from his mum, he didn’t like to lie to his parents. Rather to be quiet than lie.

“You know why, plus I’m thinking of dating someone else so please stop pushing Y/N to me,” Lando said somewhat indignantly.

“Son, Y/N is an amazing girl. Anyone would be lucky to have her. We just don’t want you to regret anything” His father explained pointedly however still gentle.

“Listen, I know that you love having her around. But, I just don’t fancy her like that. “ Lando languidly explained to his family his feelings for the commentator for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“Lando, I love you, but you’re being stupid. Maybe Y/N could be better off with someone other than you” Flo mutters with her lips pouted out as she pulls her parents further into the motorhome, not bothering to wait for what seems to be a frozen Lando.

Lando knew to himself that he didn’t like you. He was sure of it. Then why does the thought of you with someone else make his stomach churn and his blood boil?

He pictured you aiming your beautiful smile towards another man. Lando imagined you riding in another man’s car and being your attentive and caring self. A memory of you doing the same to him came to his mind.

You were seated in the passenger seat of his Mclaren, the sound of the Japanese house’s “Sunshine Baby” slowly playing in the background as the three of you cruised through the streets of Bristol, while Flo was dozing off in the backseat. Everything was peaceful and calm as Lando drummed his hand to the beat. The drizzle of rain slowly pelted on the windshield, adding to the calmness.

“What song is this?” Lando suddenly asked you, catching you off guard. His eyes then met yours and held your gaze.

“Oh! It’s Sunshine Baby by the Japanese House. You like it?” You asked back, reluctance was evident in your voice.

“Mhmm, It’s very calming. I mostly listen to house music and EDM… something calm is great. Do have other recommendations?” Lando conversed with a smile on his face, his eyes meeting yours once again before looking back to the road.

“I have an entire playlist! Give me your phone” You showed Lando your palm gesturing for his phone.

As Lando hands his phone to you, Flo wakes from her sleep and demands food on the way.

“Lando I want food. Y/N please buy me food” The younger Norris pouted at you and his brother.

“What do you want to eat, Babe?” You asked Flo when you saw Lando nod in approval.

“Fish and Chips!” Flo exclaimed with enthusiasm. You saw the look of apprehension of the British Driver but he didn’t say anything— only silently drove to the nearest fry shop instead.

“I’ll be back with food.” You spoke as you went to grab your wallet. Lando was handing his card, but you only grinned at the driver then sticking your tongue out as you exited the vehicle.

“I got this covered London boy!” You teased, earning a laugh from both the Norris siblings.

The food didn’t take too long and before you knew it you were back inside the slick Mclaren as the smell of grease and salt wafting the air.

“Ohhhh, that smells amazing~ did you get us all Fish and Chips, Y/N?” Flo asked as she moved to get her food.

“Babe, Your brother doesn’t like fish. So I bought Chicken and Chips for him instead. While you and I get fish” You replied as you gave Flo her food and drink.

“You got me food too and it’s not fish?” Lando asked you with a look of both admiration and a bit of confusion.

“Mhm, you hate fish, right? So chicken it is!” You smiled at the McLaren Driver as you popped the straw in his diet soda and handed it to him.

You were always thoughtful and sweet to everyone, but Lando saw that you were especially so with Him and his family —you remembered every detail.

An uncomfortable sensation settled on his chest as Lando saw in his mind you sharing the bond you had with his family with the family of your other half.

“Lando! Come on” His train of thought was disturbed by the shouts of his dad. However, the feeling of stuffiness remained.

***

You were walking through the paddock towards Ferrari when you walked into Alexandra and Rebecca along the way. The two wags were sweet and inviting, despite their lives of luxury and glamour; their humility shined especially Charles’ girlfriend.

While you were friendly with Rebecca — you didn’t have anything that connected you other than Carlos Sainz. You always felt a bit of tension with the girl, on her part of course. Maybe because of your close relationship with Carlos, jealousy was a feeling you understood well, so you didn’t hold it against the girl. However, with Alex, Alex just like Flo has found solace in your presence in the paddock. You were the first of the few who welcomed her with smiles and open arms when she first started appearing in races; solidifying your bond with the art graduate.

And so Alexandra was the very first to advise you on the news that ultimately breaks your heart.

“Y/N, I heard from Kika that Lando has been going on dates with a girl named Magui for a couple of weeks now and she says that the girl would be coming to the races in the very near future” Alex gently said as she clutched your arms tighter around hers— offering comfort.

Your breath was caught in your throat and you didn’t know how to reply without bursting into tears.

You thought after Luisinha you had a chance or at least to be closer with the driver. But with rumors swimming around about him dating this Portuguese model with a checkered dating past, your chances grow slimmer and slimmer.

Maybe you were kidding yourself for hoping for Lando to reciprocate your feelings. Maybe you were being overly optimistic when everyone said that Lando would come around. Maybe the best was just to give up.

Maybe it was time to truly let go of Lando Norris.

***

It was impossible to miss each other in the paddock, one way or another Lando and Y/N crossed paths.

It was almost routine for Lando to hear your voice calling out his name as you waved your hand in greeting. A sweet smile was always ready for him.

That’s why shock and bewilderment overcame Lando as you walked past him as if he wasn’t even there. No greeting, no smile, not even a brief eye contact.

You went past the driver as if he weren’t there. As you continued to walk away, Lando couldn’t help but look at your retreating form with hurt— he looked wounded by your indifference.

He then heard your sweet voice calling out a name, but this time it wasn’t his— it was his teammates' name. “Oscar!” You bellowed at the Australian Driver; with a smile that Lando wished was directed at him.

***

It has been a month with Y/N’s interactions with Lando at a standstill. And at this point Lando cannot deny that it drove him mad, that you drove him mad.

He was no longer in denial about his feelings for you. He fully accepted it and he wanted you back. Lando Norris liked you the way you did.

[freakassfemme]

beloved butch abby and her soft femme

a/n: yeah, this is a self indulgent as fuck drabble <3 this is heavily inspired by my own relationship so sorry if it gets too niche </3 my fiancé and I just have a running joke about how much they are like abby so it kinda veered off that way. I still think its rly cute regardless

how you meet! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who manages a nice cafe a few streets off of downtown in a big city somewhere on a northern coast. she's stumbling in the front door, grumbling about how the delivery trucks always drop packages out front instead of the back when she sees you.

sure, she's used to tourists, but it's fucking february. hardly anyone is traveling, let alone for anything beyond the major sights, and you're sitting in a booth, sipping on a hot latte with lipstick stains on the mug and clasping your hands like a princess as you look over your scrapbooking supplies. yeah, you're a local.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who doesn't even bother trying to get your number at first. she's too busy with the cafe, with lev, with crippling debt from her attempt at medical school before her dad passed -- at least, that's what she tells herself and her coworkers who catch her ogling you when you show up more and more.

she notices some pins on your tote bag when you come up one day, listening to you chat to the barista and waving them off each time they ask her a ridiculous question like what syrups do we have, playing stupid so she is forced to interact with you.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who just can't resist you when you start showing up more and more, so she goes home and listens to chappell fucking roan because she sees a pin on your bag. she hates it, but one day, after a month or so, she adds it to the morning Spotify shuffle, and just turns and smiles and says "me too" when she hears you telling the barista how much you love my kink is karma.

"oh my gosh, really?!"

yeah, everyone knows that's bullshit.

dating! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who surprises you with full on fucking roses every date night, which are often on Wednesdays, because she loves taking you to karaoke nights. no, she doesn't sing, but she'll hold up your mirror for you to check your makeup before you run on stage, singing something adorable like from the start by Laufey.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is always so delighted when you swing by midday, dropping off a handmade lunch in a cute little metal bento box, even if she's covered in flour. she'll bring you to her office, give you a little somethinggggg sweet to hold you over, make you a coffee and send you on your way.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is so scared to have you meet lev, her fingers are physically shaking when you two are in the same room together for the first time. lev is a little suspicious of you at first, but quickly becomes well-adjusted when you start sending baked goods home with abby for him as well.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who comes over to your apartment in a black tank top and sweats, hair messy whenever (yep! you guessed it!) the sink is clogged, because city plumbing is terrible and she's fixed them enough times at work to be able to save you from a regular bill each month. plus, the way you thank her is always payment enough

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who nearly fucking cries when you make her a homemade Christmas stocking. lev doesn't celebrate, and without her dad, she hasn't found a reason to do anything like that just for herself. so on Christmas morning, when she carefully shakes out a set of matching heart-shaped carabiners, yeah, she does cry a little bit.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who shyly comes out of the bathroom one day holding some chest tape, asking if you’ll help her put it on because “for some reason the right side is halfway on but I put it on backwards on accident so I can’t get the plastic off so—“ (obviously you help her)

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who offers to buy you tennis skirts, athleisure dresses, fucking lululemon or whatever it is that will get you to come to the gym with her, even just to sit on her lap when she does hip thrusts. she loves sending you mirror pics after leg day, and yeah, you of course die every time.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who weaves through crowded downtown like it's nothing with you on her arm and two tote bags of your mail hanging from her arms when you finally get around to sending it out. she insists that she doesn't mind the little canvas bags with their floral prints.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who wears her beat up brown leather jacket like she's trying to run through the fabric. Lets you help her condition the material and put on patches, and even goes so far as to wrap you up a matching red one for your birthday that year.

as for her other clothes, she's constantly wearing little holes in the elbows and knees that you're more than happy to stitch up for her, and she swears her heart flutters every time she catches a glimpse of the woven embroidery thread in a green tee shirt or wool sweater.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who goes feral for the type o negative/out of the fire TikTok trend. she doesn't have her own account, but when you show her the videos of girls in their dainty Mary Janes stepping on to leather or work boots, she agrees without batting an eye, much to your surprise.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who slips a tag with your name on to it next to her other dog tags, keeping it like a secret special token on her necklace.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you do her hair sometimes, even though she's perfectly fine at it herself. she just adores those sweet late nights in her bedroom where you're rubbing some warm-smelling lotion into her back and weaving her hair back into place.

nsfw! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is a god damn sucker for praise and worship, both ways. she feels like you two are the only people in the world when she's on her knees, hands inching under your skirt and up your thighs while you purr sweet things in her ear, and she's telling you all the things she wants to do to you.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who definitely talks you through it, and is constantly astonished by just how into her you are.

"oh, fuck baby -- you're dirty, jesus,"

"she's so needy for me, huh? you gonna let me take care of her, baby?"

"mmpf, thank you, thank you--"

"fuck, i know baby, i know. you can, i know you can. you're taking it so well, let me do it f'you. shit"

-`♡´- beloved butch abby whose hand nearly rips the mattress open the first time you're sat in front of her, leaving little lipstick marks on her strap as you work your mouth around it, making a slobbery and moaning debauched version of your pretty self for her.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you slip a finger between her legs while you suck her strap, lets you push it inside while your mouth pushes the base of her strap against her clit until she's shaking and stuttering and practically face-fucking you.

yeah, she stays strapped up on dates, too.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who has a mean 3 finger combo that she'll pull out absolutely anywhere - in the back of her truck, on the kitchen counter, in the bar bathroom, wherever she sees fit.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who takes mirror selfies while you're riding her, or just in her lap, sucking on her neck or looking shyly back at the mirror. puts her huge ass hand on your ass, squeezing it and saves the photos for her own personal spank bank. the arch of your back drives her crazy.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who melts so easily under your prettily-painted nails, dragging down her abs while you murmur how handsome she is right into her pussy. her legs twitch, and god, she's trying so hard not to fucking crush you (not that you'd mind), but she about loses it when you ask her to sit on your face.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who hoists you on to her shoulders against the inside walls of her office, the door locked shut and your hand clamped over your mouth during her lunch break. covers up any stains on her shirt with her apron, acting like she needs to work up another batch of something while you're prancing out breathless and pink in the cheeks.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you play Jesse Jo Stark when you fuck in the backseat of her truck, hands intertwined and leaving palm prints on the steamy windows while you eat each other out in parking lots, murmuring I love you's while the truck rocks back and forth.

[callilypso]

II ▷ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 — l&ds 0:01 ───|────────────────────

↳ there's no way they're getting jealous over pixelated men.. right? it's not your fault you've got a very particular type.

↳ scenarios in which they witness you fangirling over fictional men (ironic i know) that's actually quite similar to them in personality/vibes

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: mdni; fem!mc (but ur welcome to hc urself as whatvever you want); mostly crack; zayne suggestive (implied smut), fluff, xavier fluff, rafayel angst, hurt/comfort, sylus fluff; references to l&ds myths lore, a lot of anime references and possible spoilers for shows/game (jjk, apothecary diaries, ghibli movies, ff), established relationships; a lot of thirsting, jealousy, mc is emotional and assertive, periods, ovulation mention, mc and sylus have playful banter dynamic; unedited

❥ a/n: these are silly ideas that's been in my head for a while now and its most self indulgent. its been plaguing my head now about how i would let nanami and zayne hit at the same time and dingdingding! ideaaa. i do appreciate some feedback and reblogs!! this is my first time posting about l&ds, and my own interpretation for them may vary from yours. english isn't my first language so pls pardon my grammatical errors. minors and ageless blogs will be BLOCKED.

Now ever since you were both kids, he already knew your absolute fascination for anime, sometimes even joining you as you watch the latest Sailor Moon and Detective Conan episodes. He also remembers vaguely how you had an absolutely massive crush on Roy Mustang from FMA. He was sure you didn't even understand the plot you were just ogling at him as he silently judged you.

So it shouldn't be a surprise that you still are, in fact, a massive weeb.

And it shouldn't be surprising you would still have fictional crushes, even with your established relationship. It's not that Zayne feels threatened in anyway—they're not real for heaven's sake.

But after a long 36-hour shift and a major surgery, exhaustion seeping into his taut muscles, bones aching, skin longing for yours—something just slightly irks him when he sees wayyy too close to the TV, kicking your feet like a silly little girl on the floor, gripping your biggest plushie.

You were giggling and grinning like a mad woman as you were just practically drooling over the latest episode of Jujutsu Kaisen.

You were replaying the part of Nanami Kento pulling some blonde dude's hair roughly, pulling him to his shadowed face.

"What's the number and location of your allies?" Nanami growled through the screen, and you were giggling again, rewinding for the nth time. Damn his wide ass shoulders seems so nice to rest (your legs) on.

He was the perfect balance of serious and dry humor. His suits were always on point, paired with leather shoes and luxury silver watch. The way he would carry himself; his presence bringing in the level-headed maturity needed by the mostly teenage cast, truly the reliable adult they all need. Nanami Kento was truly husband material.

You go over the scene again when Nanami tugs the dude again by his ponytail, a good shot of Nanami's packed pants in side view.

And god, you would have pulled those pants down and showed Shibuya a real incident—

After a while, you were getting uncomfortable, so you stood up from your spot, deciding to get something to drink when you stop dead on your tracks.

There was Zayne, sitting on the couch still dressed from the hospital minus the white coat. He had his arms folded against his chest, watching you with tired eyes.

"Oh—Zayne! Welcome back, love." You greeted as you made your way to him to give him a kiss.

He didn't kiss you back.

You give him a concerned look. Although you were already used to his stressed demeanor though after work, you can sense this was slightly different.

"Love?" You called out to him again, hand travelling to his chest. You see his gaze faltering into a fondness familiar to you, and he looks away.

Ah..

You bit your lip to suppress a snort, grabbing the tie to make him face you again.

"Is Doctor.. sulking?" You quirked an eyebrow at him.

Zayne grabs your wrist, pulling you into his lap and you oblige, effectively straddling him.. You put your arms around his neck as he nudges his nose at the crook of your neck, placing butterfly kisses.

"I don't know... maybe my woman saying she's about to pull down another man's pants is a justifiable reason?" he murmurs into your skin, hugging your waist closer.

Oh fuck, you said that out loud?

He felt you shake with laughter. Unraveling from the embrace, you cup his face with both hands.

"My love, we both know the only man I can and will ever that to is you." You reassure him, still giggling as you feel him sigh a shaky breath.. and a familiar tent poking you down there.

You loved when Zayne gets like this, being extra clingy after long work days—soft, yearning, needy.

The renowned Doctor Zayne, always so frigid when it comes to other matters, is melting under your touch, almost pouty because of a fictional blonde man on TV. You could almost coo.

"Hm.. maybe I'd like a demonstration?" Zayne drawls out in request, almost plea. Polite as always, you would think,

If not for the sudden tug at back of your hair, exposing the column of your neck.

A silent moan breathes out of your lips, feeling him nip down to your collarbones.

You huff out a laugh, feeling Zayne hum on your skin.

"Seems like someone's got inspired."

Xavier is a jealous man. Whether or not he acknowledges this, everyone and their mother knows this is an established fact.

Another man breathes your direction and something immediately itches under his skin to pull out his sword. This may or may not be an exaggeration.. I mean the man is literally jealous of himself.

So what do you expect when, unbeknownst to you, he catches you giggling to yourself at your phone during lunchbreak? He's on his way to spend it with you at your usual place, take out of your favorite food in hand.

"Did your boyfriend text you or something, girl?" He hears someone tease you—Tara, he figures—and he stops at the corner where he's about to turn. Xavier peeks his head a little and he sees her nudging your arm as you look up at her, eyebrow quirked and a goofy smile on your lips. You were both turned away from him waiting at a table.

He remains hidden at the corner, confused.

He didn't text you though? Did he?

"Noooo—it's nothing.. just a new episode." You tuck your phone away from her prying eyes.

"Ohhh, so it's your other boyfriend-" Tara teases, and you hit her playfully. "Who is it now? Gojo? Himmel?"

There's a ringing in Xavier's ears.

"Ssshhhh!—you're so loud!" You whisper yelled, pulling Tara beside you to show her your screen.

It was Apothecary Diaries. Jinshi spotted Maomao at work as a servant after being laid off the palace, and of course, went to bother her.

Jinshi brushes his finger over Maomao's lips, staining it with pink rouge, before bringing it up to his own lips and kissing it. He smiles at her after and she looks away, flustered.

You and Tara start squealing as discretely as possible to avoid looking like total idiots in public to no avail, as you were shaking Tara in giddiness.

"If Maomao ain't gonna kiss him soon enough, I will!" You say through your gritted teeth in frustration.

The way he looks at her, like she's so far out of his reach whenever they do touch, sadness and longing in his gaze. You eat it up every time he's getting starstruck by her hidden beauty. It was so obvious he was the supposedly sickly prince of the kingdom, masking his own identity for the sake of his mission (ahem), yet it cracks sometimes just to let this supposedly common clever peasant girl to seep through, leading to his silly misunderstandings and petty jealousy-

Behind, you both hear someone clear their throat, and you slowly pan over your gazes.

There was Xavier, arms crossed, an unamused look in his eyes as he looks down on you both. Tara stands up way too fast.

"Hey there! I just remembered I have something to do—See you later, girl!" She quickly takes off, leaving you high and dry.. and awkward as fuck.

Yeah, he's seen the scene himself too while you two were too busy fangirling amongst yourselves. Yes, he knows who Jinshi is, as you two were also watching the show together every new episode. And yes, he was aware about your love for shoujo and how you absolutely going crazy over Jinshi and Maomao's moments way before this. He did find it cute whenever you get giddy about them, telling him they should just get together already.

"H-Hey, Xavier!" You stammer, also quickly standing to greet him. Shit, you think to yourself. You were holding those other thoughts to yourself as you watch together because once again..

Xavier is a jealous man.

Maybe you can still get off the hook because its a fictional man for heaven's sake. You internally sigh, remembering the one time you were hitting the sofa too many times with a hushed scream the moment Yuta Okkotsu popped out on screen in season 2 of JJK.. Xavier had his eyebrows knitted the entire evening after that.

But alas, Xavier is your jealous man.

There's a pout on his lips with the familiar frown, and you could almost laugh.

"You watched it without me.." He complained, yet still letting you pull him beside you this time, and sat down.

"We can watch the whole thing later again, bunny." You hook your arm around him, and you feel him loosen up a bit of his tension. But now he won't look at you.

"Maybe, I don't want to anymore.. It's been spoiled now." Xavier pouted.

You can't help snickering, squeezing your embrace on his arm, tugging him to catch his gaze again. He just continued to look away pettily, sulking.

An idea pops in your mind.

You brush your finger over his lips ever so slowly, finally catching his attention.

He watches as you bring them to your own lips, kissing intently just as Jinshi did for Maomao.

A blush creeps into his cheeks, ears tinting red as you smile at him. He's so adorable, and all yours.

"Kiss me?" You ask, eyes lingering on his lips, and Xavier's breath hitches.

"You're no fair.." He huffs, closing the distance between the two of you.

Who was he to refuse?

We've all got our childhood cartoon crushes, in more 'hear-me-out' ways or tame ones. There's ones we grow out of and ones that's like.. forever ingrained into your mind because it changed your brain chemistry.

You were rewatching your ultimate comfort Ghibli movie for the millionth time: Howl's Moving Castle.

Yeah, yeah—it could be considered overrated nowadays but that doesn't matter as it never truly gets old for you. You always find new ways to appreciate the film, from the enchanting music, the vibrant distinct art style and animation, the beautiful characterization of the cast, and the overall themes and plot is just absolutely perfect.

And yes, you do cry every time. You stopped wondering when you would grow out of that phase because it just hits so good.

It also doesn't help that it's your period, so the hormones are wack as hell and your uterus was killing you and stabbing out your fucking ass. You were contorted in an uncomfortable curled position as you downed the left over ice cream on Rafayel's couch in his studio. The night sky through the windows was a nice ambience as the TV illuminated the rest of the living space. You were wearing his favorite cream diamond patterned cardigan, the one with the red and blue hems. It still smelled like him, perfect for maximum comfort.

Rafayel wasn't actually in the studio when you got there. Ever since you got together, he gave you a spare key, insisting you were welcome anytime even when he wasn't around. His home was your home now too, he said. You texted him several times beforehand you were coming over, yet no reply—not even a seen. Moody as hell, you still crashed the place anyways, even more disappointed he wasn't anywhere in his property.

So now, you were just waiting for him to finish whatever business he has you have no idea about. You decided to stop pestering poor Thomas over him either as he too was didn't seem to know where in god's green earth Rafayel was—you were too tired and moody and in fucking pain to give a shit. If he doesn't wanna show up, fuck that guy.

Whatever, at least you've got Howl.

It was nearing the climax of the movie. Sophie was wandering through what was seemingly Howl's dream, finding herself in a familiar stone house in the middle of valleys of flowers. The meteor shower drifted against the night sky. A young Howl stood in the middle, jet black hair flowing with the wind as he catches a falling star. "I know where I am! I'm in Howl's childhood!" Sophie realizes, as the wind starts to lift her off her feet. Howl swallows the star, keeling over at a pain in his chest, and in his hands was his heart—Calcifer. "Howl! Calcifer!" Sophie yells desperately, and they both look over to her. "I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!"

Aaand you were bawling. It wasn't even that dramatic yet but you were bawling. It goes on for god knows how long as your attention wanders off.

Howl, despite his eccentric and seemingly vain nature, is deeply caring. Howl did not care for the war, only that it would end for everyone's sake. He sees the beauty within Sophie when she could not. The symbolism of Calcifer being able to be tamed by Sophie, the implied longing for her all those years, so much so even if the only thing seemingly linking them is an unsaid promise.

To be honest, you might just be projecting right now.

Maybe you actually miss him bad—his familiar low V-neck white shirts and black slacks hugging his waist, his pouty lips, and stupid charming smile. The studio was in the familiar mess, meaning everything was reminder of a touch of your own gorgeous annoying ass lover who's somewhere out there—

"Baby..?" A concerned voice calls out, and despite being here the entire time already, you finally felt like home.

You didn't even notice he was already there cause of your tear-blurred vision, relief making you cry a little harder as Rafayel wipes your tears away. All your irritation and the mental angry scolding you were gonna give him melts away as you lean into his hands.

"Hey—what happened? Are you—" Rafayel stammers, as this was kind of the first time he encountered you this seemingly distraught the entire time you were together. He knew he kind of fucked up by not answering soon enough because of his dead battery—fuck all that actually why are you even bawling your eyes out over the TV?!

He knew you can get emotional in films and shows but not this much. It made his chest ache seeing you like this even if it's just a movie.

"Let's run! Don't fight them, Howl!" Sophie cries out, drawing Rafayel's attention for a moment to the screen at the familiar dialogue. "Sorry, I've had enough of running away, Sophie. Now I've got something I want to protect. It's you."

He remembers you saying Ghibli movies were your comfort movies and you both had plans for a marathon together at some point. Seems like you started on your own. Rafayel knew a bit of this story.

Alright, perhaps more than just a bit.

"A-at the beginning, he greeted her saying he was—" you hiccupped, stammering your words out, placing your own hands over his, "He said he was looking everywhere for her."

"Yeah?" Rafayel whispered, hushing your cries.

"Mhm.. And he did wait for her, looking everywhere for his heart even when it was actually with him the entire time."

There's a pang in Rafayel's chest, squishing your face gently.

"And yet, it wasn't with him, even if his heart was in his chest—not unless she was with him." Rafayel whispered with an aching softness in his tone that's hard to miss.

Because Rafayel was holding his own heart in his hands right now, drying her tears.

You finally get a better look at him, the purple hues in his eyes twinkling like twilight seas against the dark. It was there again—a look into the familiar murky depths he doesn't let you dive into, lest you drown.

Yet you wouldn't mind if it was Rafayel. You wish he could trust you a little more.

Rafayel leans in for a kiss, but you stop him with a hand over his mouth.

"Wait—I'm literally snotty and ugly right now-" You quickly wipe the rest of the wetness from your face away, but then Rafayel's hands directed you back to his now growingly intense gaze.

"You're beautiful." He states, true with conviction.

"Are you trying to make me cry more?" You whine.

"Of course not, cutie. I-"

"You made me wait an eternity here.." You sobbed out, pain twisting in your gut again.

Rafayel's gritted his teeth, a flare of something unwanted momentarily rises but quickly gets doused again. No, this situation was all his fault and it's not fair on you. You were in pain and he wasn't there.

"I.." He manages, "I'm sorry.. But I would wait an eternity for you, my bride. I really will, I—"

I did.

The words immediately die in his mouth, drying his throat.

You notice Rafayel's own eyes glistening, tears threatening to fall and his breath beginning to shorten.

"Fyel? I'm not mad anymore, please don't cry too.." This time it's your turn to cup his face.

"I just really really missed you." You confess, caressing his cheek as you rested your forehead against his own.

"Well, I'm hear now, sweetheart.. Sorry I'm late." He breathes, finally pressing his lips against yours.

A heavy burden beats in his chest, one he knows you will unknowingly carry evermore.

Maybe you really had a type.

You admit you're always quite drawn to the questionable, morally ambiguous characters. Bonus points if the said character is insane to some degree. You tell yourself it's not like you would actually date people that crazy in your actual life. It's just all fun and games, right?

Sure.

Well, now you're dating The Leader of Onychinus, Sylus, the unofficial uncrowned emperor of the N109 Zone himself.

It isn't really as bad as regular people would think really. Sylus is a sweet and genuinely caring man in contrast of his public image. He has a reputation to uphold after all. He always spoiling you in whatever you wish, always open to whatever you want to say, and always present for you to call or visit. His tall imposing figure was more of a sign of comfort. He was basically a walking hearth, free to cling to whenever, wherever as you walk through the frigid streets of the N109 Zone.

Like look just at the man.. You literally fucking won at life.

To be honest, you have no idea how the hell you even got at this point. And who are you to complain? You were living your best life with someone who can match your freak, so to speak.

But, for now..

"Damn, why is he so.." You mutter to yourself, caressing the large tablet at your lap like an idiot.

"Don't deny me." Sephiroth says, doing some mental fuckery with Cloud for the hundredth time. It got you biting your nail. "Embrace me."

You definitely had a fucking type, you giggle to yourself.

You were just killing time since it's your vacation, and you were spending it in the ideal environment: your boyfriend's dark luxurious base, in the comfort of his king sized silk sheeted velvety bed, sleeping your troubles away. Sylus is out as usual, going on about his own business, so you had the whole place to yourself.. and Mephisto.

Upon your doom scrolling, you stumble upon this hauntingly beautiful man, Sephiroth, and you were pulled in like a moth to a flame.

It's not your first time seeing him—heck, everybody who's at least half as chronically online as you are has at least seen him once—but more of the first time to appreciate him more closely, especially that goddamn face—damn, are you ovulating or something what the hell?!

And now you've been going on for hours just ogling at the dude with no idea how long it's been. You already ordered all the games with the help of your so ever generous boyfriend's card, but your ass cannot wait for it anymore and just spoiled yourself silly watching other streamers and silent walkthroughs of every Final Fantasy content you could get your hands on.

One hundred percent no regrets.

You then wonder about how Sylus would look like with longer hair.. it might not be good for your health, you conclude, for both the sake of your heart and uterus.

Luckily for you at least, Sylus doesn't seem like he's hellbent to destroy the planet in an existential downward spiral of insanity. But it makes you think about how far you'd be willing to actually follow him in his path.

(Something dark stirs within you, but you pay it no mind. You don't wanna be hearing those voices again anytime soon.)

The camera pans to Sephiroth's lips for what seems like half of his screentime, and your biting your own goddamn lip. The curve of that upper lip was killing you.

They didn't have to make him literally so damn ethereal, although it fits his fallen angel motifs. His uncanny green eyes literally stares into your soul, pulling you in and in and in, until you you're all snug under his thumb. Sure, the dude is a manipulative murderous bastard with a literal God-complex, because fuck his ugly ass father you refuse to acknowledge has any relation to him..

But now that's just a part of his charm now, isn't it?

"Good, Cloud.. very good.." Sephiroth whispers as he embraces the blond with such eerie intimacy that shouldn't be possible while being fucking stabbed.

You swear you can already feel the hot breath fanning your ear as he said those lines.

"Damn it—Cloud, let me be the trusted adult to save you right now and switch!" You shake the screen with frustration. "That should have been me..!"

"What should be you, sweetie?"

A familiar deep voice calls out from the dark entrance of your shared bedroom, reverberating from your toes and up your spine.

"Sylus!" You throw your tablet so fast you weren't sure if it landed on the mattress as you stood up, sliding your feet towards him.

No one beats your real white haired, ruby-eyed, impossibly handsome, ridiculously tall powerful man for you..

But you would never say that out loud because the man needs to be kept knocked down a peg or you will never hear the end of it.

"A little birdie has been bugging me all night about how.. unfaithful you were being," Sylus tucks a strand behind your ear, finger trailing down your jaw. "Care to tell me what's that all about?"

You gape at him, snapping your head towards Mephisto who was still as a statue at your bedside. From your view, it seemed like that accursed bird is avoiding your gaze in shame.

"You little..!—"

Sylus grabs your attention back by your chin, making you lock eyes with him. There it was—that intense gaze, his crimson eyes pouring into yours, making you come undone. He can pick you apart and mold you back piece by piece, and the scary part of it all was that you would most likely let him.

Again, not that he needed to know that.

"Now, now, kitten. Don't blame him." He chuckles and you swear it's the sexiest sound you've ever heard, your heart pacing faster.

"I—He's literally exaggerating! I was just watching a game here the entire time!" You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away like a petty child. He laughs a little more.

"What were you watching so intently that I catch you still awake at the break of dawn, hm?"

You glance at the clock. 5:02 AM. You were up all night? Damn.. not the first time but you haven't lost track of time that badly since binging House of the Dragon a couple months ago.

"Oh, I thought that little traitor—" You give Mephisto a pointed look, still looking away with guilt, "—told you everything at this point."

Sylus pulls you closer by your waist, until your chests bump each other. "Well.. maybe I want to hear it from you, since you somehow purchased a whole game series with the card I lent you."

Okay, fair enough.

"It's just a game, love. I saw a character I liked, so I decided why not get it myself? But then I couldn't sit around waiting so I just.. watched some videos." You scratch you head in frustration. "Like how did that turn into unfaithfulness!" You whine.

Maybe it's the sleep deprivation drooping your eyelids that's got you more irritated as you hit his chest with some considerable force.

He huffs mockingly. He was obviously messing with you, yet you were oddly taking this more serious than he anticipated. Makes him wanna tease you more.

In a blink, your tablet was in his hands, grabbed by his Evol. It's still open.

"Hey!" You jump up into your tippy toes, trying to pry your gadget back from him, but he's literal fucking giant.

Seeing an opportunity, Sylus hooks his arm under your thighs and hoists you up easily as many times as before. You quickly bring your arms around his neck, trying to remain in balance.

"Put me down!" You struggle in his hold whilst still reaching for your tablet to no avail. It made Sylus laugh even more.

"What's the matter, sweetie? I simply want to watch it together."

Sylus walks the two of you to the edge of the bed, sitting down with you on his lap. Before you could protest more, the video compilation starts playing,

And you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

"You're practically panting." Sephiroth says, walking up behind Cloud. "I'm excited." Cloud admits, claymore in hand. Amused, Sephiroth tilts his head with a hum. "Such a puppy."

You find yourself your face Sylus' shoulder in embarrassment, pursing your lips to suppress a scream.

Cloud, can you not enable this motherfucker I swear—

"Okay, that's enough of that—Sephi, shut the fuck up right now." You finally get a hold of the tablet with a burst of speed, throwing it in the furthest part of the bed.

Sylus just looks at you with a knowing smug grin, and you wanna smack the it off his stupidly handsome face.

"I am in no obligation to elaborate nor divulge into whatever the fuck that was." You quickly state like an automated message, and Sylus is just laughing at you. "I know that my agony brings you amusement but please just shut up right now."

"I haven't even said anything yet." He says between his chuckling.

"I can feel the judgement brewing in your brain, Sy." You glare at him half-heartedly.

"Could you at least tell me why are you so attached to.. Sephi?" He repeats the nickname you gave him mockingly, and so you smack his chest again.

"I'm going to kill you." You hissed at him. Sylus wants to kiss the scrunch on your nose. You wiggle out of his grasp, but his hand catches your fingers in time, holding you in place. You attempt to tug out of his grasp.

"Where are you going now, sweetie?" He quirks his eyebrow at you, tone amused. Sylus was enjoying this way too much for your sake.

"Out, far away, in another universe so I don't have to deal with you making fun of me." You sneered at him pettily, still tugging your arm away.

Deciding to ride along your silly threat, Sylus asks. "And how do you plan to do that? You can't go anywhere around here without me, kitten."

"I'm flying away with my half winged, crazy, silk-pressed white haired man to help him attain godhood since I am apparently disloyal to you." You spat out pettily, lacking any real venom. Apparently the wrong answer, since Sylus just pulled you back closer, trapping you between his thighs while gripping yours.

He had his eyebrow quirked, crimson gaze laced with something you can't discern maybe because sleepiness was slowly creeping up on you now. Honestly, you're like half aware of what you're saying at this point.

"Don't deny me.." Sylus whispers, almost like a plea instead of a command, breath fanning your skin, raising goosebumps. "Embrace me."

Your eye twitches, reference registering in your mind. "You—How long have you been standing there?!"

You raise your hand to smack him again, but he catches it and keeps it in place over his heart.

"Even if you do leave, sweetie, I'll still be here." He says, the sudden softness slightly catching you off guard. Sylus smiles up at you, not the usual smug one, but pure adoration.

His blood-red eyes were blooming roses as the first dew of sunrise greets its petals—it's pure, unadulterated, natural—like how his heart beats with so much fervor you could feel the thrumming of it under your fingertips like a rushing river. It was overwhelmingly powerful, tempting you to pluck it yourself, thorns digging in your palms. It was almost like you had your hand already buried deep in his chest, his heart pulsing in your grasp, blood pouring out and merging with yours, because you would carve out your own for him too.

"After all, my love, I know you will come back to me." He says with an assurance that shouldn't be possible without sounding pretentious, and yet it got your heartbeat racing, matching his.

Because you were his as much as he was all yours.

"You seem so sure of yourself, huh?" You say instead, feeble way of trying to remain composed after all that, scratching the back of his head lightly the way you know he loves. A relieved sigh leaves his lips. "You're lucky I love you."

"Perhaps I truly am." Sylus draws you closer, placing kisses on your neck, just above an artery. The blood flowing underneath hums against his lips, deciding to gently nip the skin. It made you melt, letting out a shaky sleepy sigh. Your eyelids droop dangerously heavier.

"Seems like your joining me in my sleep, sweetie." Sylus kisses your jaw.

You hum in response, and before you know it, you're curling on his lap again, relishing the welcoming warmth like a kitten and their favorite spot. Sylus swears you're purring.

You smile up at him. "Maybe that was the plan all along."

"Oh? How naughty, ruining your sleep just to blame it on me?"

You yawn, snuggling closer. "I would do anything for you."

He didn't need to know that, but you said so anyways.

He stills for a moment, bated breath, carrying the weight of your words in his embrace. Maybe it was just your groggy murmurings of the moment, but the declaration already sowed itself in his heartstrings, making it skip a beat. The kind that lingers physically for a moment. You were too dangerous, all cutely cuddled up against him to be saying that.

Despite your fading consciousness, you gave him a longing look. Your eyes flickered down where you were mindlessly tracing over his bottom lip, lingering for a moment, then back at his gaze again. It's all he needed to know you were being genuine.

He leaned in for a kiss, savoring the softness of your lips pushing back against his, until it didn't. As soon as Sylus pulled away, you were already softly snoring.

You really were purring.

"Such a kitten." He chuckled.

11:09 ─────────────────────|──

❥ a/n: i definitely got too carried away with sy and raf.. don't blame me i love me howl and raf parallels istg and im a sucker for sylus fluff. zayne got me feeling something all week istg and xavi is my forever baby. let me know what you think but pls be nice c: i'm working on the dads lnds one i swearrrr this just took longer than expected.