#drop in anchor expansion anchor

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

FIXDEX November 2023 poster🔩 are there products you need Consult me quic...

[spencerxalvez]

18+

spencer reid x reader microfic; 500 words; mild smut

She presses her head back into the pillow, tumbling into the mattress with force.

Beneath her hips, the lithe muscles of her inner thighs tremble with overexertion.

Above her, Spencer tugs his lip into his mouth with his teeth, hazel eyes leveled on her in total and intense concentration. It’s heated, the way he’s looking at her in the shaft of faint light that streams horizontally in from the window. His bare skin is so warm against hers as she takes quick and dizzy stock of herself: his strong shoulders holding him easily above her; the brush of his long fingers against her neck; his thigh between her legs and the desperate ache for friction that pulses steadily through her shaking muscle.

“Spencer,” she whines. She hears herself as if she’s somewhere else, and then his hand is on her head, his palm warm where it smoothes over her hair.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, lowering himself over her just enough that he can drop his forehead to her collarbone, his curls brushing her neck and the underside of her jaw. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, the low tone of his voice sending shockwaves through her from the point where his breath ghosts over her skin.

The movement of his body lowering over her brings his thigh to press against her; she shifts her hips unconsciously against the friction and tilts her head back into his hand, tensing beneath him. He breathes a laugh, gentle and soft and warm against her ear.

“Let me help,” he says. It’s no more than the shadow of the words, not even a murmur but something lower and softer, and then he’s pressing a kiss to her neck and then he’s gone.

It happens in flashes from there; she wraps her fingers in his hair and holds steady— not pulling, just anchoring— as Spencer presses open-mouthed, hot kisses to the inside of her thigh, working his lips over the skin there until he’s at the center of the muscle she had overworked before.

There, he sinks his teeth confidently into the tender flesh and doesn’t hesitate even when she cries out, throat exposed. He flattens his palm against the expanse of her hip, fingers curling gently into the angel of the bone on both sides, and holds her in place as he works his mouth relentlessly into the skin and soft vessels underneath; she would swear she could feel them bursting, buckling beneath the sharp bite and force of Spencer’s warm mouth until she’s flayed open and her skin is violet and mottled, all shades of lilac and flushed red with uneven watercolored edges.

Spencer pulls away. Puts his mouth elsewhere; sends her careening over an edge in a matter of minutes. Even when he’s finished; even when she’s fighting to catch her breath and he’s murmuring i love you in her ear; even when she drifts to sleep against him, sticky and sated:

The bruise stays.

[mewdas]

mdni siren!gojo fucking u full, breeding mention, horror themes, fluffy near the end, blood + wound play (mild), he’s feral stop booing me . 2nd instalment of my jjk monster men series

black, wet and.. cold, so cold, an endless inky blot your ship sat minuscule on, blurry and hazy in a way that made it hard to tell if you were awake or dreaming — fuck, the sting.. that poorly timed cut on your arm kept nagging for attention in the bleak saltwater. it was impossible to decipher exactly which part was on you and when; heavy, suffocating pressure in— no, on your chest, weighing you down or.. latched on, or all at once. teeth in your neck, webbed fingers clinging so hard - wet against wet, you swore you were rapidly bruising every which way. you could tell you were being moved at least, roughly, then soft then back again, a flash of white hair every so often in your bleary vision, half-lidded blue eyes danced with lust and a primal need to consume that peered into your own.

this wasn’t how you envisioned your ships voyage into the uncharted expanse of the great sea, the ‘unknown’, said to be festering with beast and outcasts alike - where the pirates in those endless legends resided; longhook, greybeard, ‘the butcher’, it was a thrill - for someone as adventure hungry as you and your small crew, at least.

you were determined to make a name for yourself; once the ‘dock rats’ of the pirate world, offering to clean up other crews vessels for coin, help haul in a large full fishing net or to keep the gulls away while your temporary bosses ate — mundane, boring. this wasn’t what you were made for, not in the slightest. that’s what your ma used to tell you, too.

at the first whiff of prospect on the salty breeze, you hired up the finest boat — well, perhaps not the finest. it was lined with barnacles and barely had enough space below deck to swing a cat, let alone store the things they’d actually need for the voyage. though you were always remaining undeterred, it was perfect, in your eyes. sure, the sail was a little ragged, or maybe an oar was missing a chunk or.. two — but it was yours! the vessel that’d carry you and your three-man crew into uncharted territory, to finally document the unknown, to prove yourself, to show the world you weren’t just lowly deck-scrubbers or gull-scarers!

really, the problems that arose nearly off the bat should’ve deterred you. ever stubborn, though. they were plentiful and came in swarms, overwhelming being an understatement. before you had even made it past the fabled ‘current of bones’, said to be so strong it sank even the greatest vessels — likely why most went around — you had sprung a leak below deck, one of your men near breaking his ankle rushing to plug it up and bucket the water out post haste.

okay, a minor hiccup..

whether it was leaks, gulls stealing most of your lunches, or that dark shape below the murky waves your men ‘swore they saw’, this whole thing was a far bigger challenge than you had first anticipated, and a good nights rest was well overdue. or, as well a rest you could get on this little wooden buoy you had cashed out on.. all swaying and rocking even with the anchor dropped.

god, nobody tells you how hard and sickening the waves get, or how… creepy the ocean at night really is.

the gentle snores of your crew, settled like sardines shoulder-to-shoulder below deck, was the only thing that accompanied the gentle brush of saltwater against your ships hull - with you propped up above deck, elbows rested on the side as you looked out over the empty expanse. judging by the map you kept rolled in your belt, you were a couple hundred nautical miles from the nearest—

what was that?

everything stops in your mind - frozen still as you wait, wait ever so patiently just to see if that sound you thought you heard is something real. and you fucking hope not, because it was scary, unknown, all.. garbled and almost human, but not quite.

who are you kidding..?

you ease a fraction, palming the stray trickle of sweat from your temple. just the waves. you’ve been out here a bit on the water, couple days now, you’re just.. antsy, it’s fine.

and then you tense again, the colour you swear draining from your face. there it is again, that sound, that.. song? it’s eerily familiar, akin to something you’re sure is from your childhood, perhaps.. something your mother once sang to you as she rocked your little warm form in her arms. but of course, your mother isn’t out here. nobody is supposed to be out here, not like this.

a sudden nudge of the boat startles you from your shock, prone and short of breath when your white-knuckled grip finds the edge of the ship, you’re frantic, senseless as you scan the black depths, even blacker below the soft moons reign. fuck, fuck, there’s nothing - you can’t see anything so there’s nothing. it’s fine and—

and the boat rocks again. it’s a wonder how your men haven’t woken yet. god how you wish they would - how you’d be much braver with them rallied by your side to rid this sea.. thing from your vessel, how you’d all cheer and toss up hefty mugs of too-strong rum in celebration once safe.

but they don’t. they don’t even stir, and you can’t bring yourself to scamper below deck and let this thing just circle without your eyes on it, which is what you think it’s doing. oh— a flash of white beneath the dark, so brief you almost twist yourself up trying to follow it with your head.

and then, you see it. god, you see it. and it’s beautiful, yet so frightening you can feel your pulse hammer away in your throat at the sight of it. two piercingly blue eyes locked onto yours, swirling with mirth and something you don’t dare think about too hard - reflective and deeply intense in the face of the moon. it looks.. almost man, with such a large mass you can only imagine, partially blurred away beneath the endless depths, all white shimmering scales and blue spots. his long strikingly white hair lay slithering down his back in mindless ways, wet and slicking past his finned, webbed ears.

you’re not even sure how long you’ve just been staring at eachother, but you faintly recognise it getting closer, just gradually, and it sets you on edge - really it does, the water giving way for its hulking form. in that maw, now that it’s nearer, you can see delicate pink lips, long white clusters of lash bordering those beautiful blues, glinting jagged teeth hidden away. the blue spots, you make out, are much akin to eyes.. though seem to function quite the same as a tigers markings would — evolved to intimidate and frighten.

the large form is lunging into the side of the ship again, thrashing its tail unabashedly into the side, sending you clinging to the side - fuck! you barely register the searing pain of a gash up your arm as you’re sent dangling off the side, scrabbling to keep yourself out of the depths, away from that. must’ve caught it on one of the barnacles off the side.. shit.

there’s a sudden rush of water, you can feel the entire boat sway with the force of the wave alone, and it’s enough to make your already white-knuckled grip release the wooden side, the sheer temperature drop of the water sucking away your breath before anything else does, like a jolt of lightning through you.

it takes the freezing water to draw your frantic eyes to the blood muddying the water around you - and you only get a fraction of a second to let your mind catch up before the beast is all over you, two large scaled arms finding your shoulders to slam you unceremoniously into the side of your own ship, which groans and creaks in protest.

“not fair.” he’s seething out through jagged teeth and lips that don’t quite seem used to speaking, forget the common language. his breath warm against your ear when he leans in, allowing long, forked tongue up against your ear, ghosting. “naughty.”

you can barely hear him, head spinning and bleary - not to mention the fact he’s speaking to you. your breath is coming in quick gasps, and you can’t help the pathetic little pained sound that spills from your lips when his webbed fingers find your wrist, yanking it up to his pale scaled face to get a long, languid sniff, burying his face into the gash, lapping away at the blood and marking like his life depends on it.

you’re all ow! and wait! but there’s a dark, wavering little part deep in your gut that’s thrilled, brimming with excitement at not only the contact but the discovery!

—fuck! his tongue against your lips quickly snaps you from your thought - and you realise you can soak in the rays of accomplishment later. if this siren allows you a ‘later.’

he has you pinned firm, the jagged wood pressing into your soaked back a painful sting, the odd barnacle snagging your elbow or ankle as you wriggle. the siren, satoru he says his name is between desperate ‘kisses’ — really just him shoving his long tongue past your lips and down your throat — a fact you just barely hold on to, too distracted by the insistent hump of what you can only assume to be his arousal up against your thigh.

“wait, just— mnh-“ you’re spluttering out, body yielding entirely subconsciously, your quivering fingers finding solace on his shoulders, arms slung around his gilled neck like you would a lover, pulling him close in your grasp. god, you feel utterly drunk off his scent, his song, all you can think about is him.

this seems to strike a pleased chord in satoru, grinning a flash of jagged teeth as he releases your shoulders, his sides huffing and second set of gills beneath his ribs allowing him to pant desperately into your warm skin as he pries your legs apart, drooling openly down your already ocean-soaked collarbone. “let me.. in..” he’s hissing into your ear, webbed fingers pointedly finding your clit with an accuracy that startles you.

“oh..” you whine, incessantly rolling your hips into his touch, entirely drowning out the chill of the water around you, or your crew asleep on the other side of the hull as you wrap your legs around his hips, duly noting the thick muscle replacing his legs below his waist, the long finned tail he’s partially using to keep you pinned without his hands.

it’s all you can do to keep yourself spilling into his hand at the chaste little strokes of your clit alone, pulling him so close you can smell the faint waft of fish and blood on him - not that it matters when he’s nudging his pointed tip against your slick slit, growling and huffing like an animal gone wild, seeking the give of your hole - which finally yields with a lewd shlick, your eyes snapping wide when he’s hilted to the base inside your willing cunt, a satisfied little trill of his own sounding into your hair when he sees himself bulging out of your stomach.

satoru can’t keep his attention off the gash up your arm long, nudging and huffing the coppery scent as he ruts his hips up into yours, smooth penis leaking copious amounts of arousal that coat your gummy walls with each push, his claws digging in when he feels you flutter and squeeze along his length. “take.. “ he mumbles into your wound, blood streaking his stark white face, intensely watching yours as it twists and slacks with pleasure all at once.

judging by the strangled choke you give whenever he angles his hips in that specific way, pointed tip seeking out your spongy g-spot like a missile, knocking it again and again and again until you’re mindless on his cock, head tipped so helplessly into the back of the hull, back arching up into him like his dick was a lifeline and you were drowning. “oh- please-!”

and christ he’s cumming just as you are, claws drawing angry marks down your soft back, teeth sank into your neck with a feral choke, growling heavily through the blood seeping onto his tongue like syrup, his hips stuttering into your cunt as each heavy spurt of velvety heat finds sanction deep in your greedy womb - sending your eyes rolling.

it feels like forever until he’s sated, finally pulling away with a pleased chuff, big blue eyes searching your face desperately, as if seeking approval - the hungry, wild look in them replaced with an almost fond little glint as he thumbs away some blood from your chin, a wide grin spread over his face.

“you.. carry pups, mine.” satoru nods eagerly, palming hair from your eyes as he lofts you out of the water by your armpits, holding your spent form up like a prize won from a carnival game.

“…the fuck?” you hear from above you, the distinctive voice of one of your men, laced with disbelief. oops?

— ⚓️

holding him up by the scruff like a dog to show all of u . planning to do more fics on siren gojo i’ll be honest . i’ll say it . my friends gave me some real cool ideas and they’re sssoo super cute,, stay tuned

[everparanoid]

kisses in the rain w/ genshin men

various genshin men x gn!reader

a/n: I listened to Mitski's "Strawberry Blond" for Alhaitham's one especially. Also a lot of Hozier and "Northern Downpour" by P!ATD, but that's just normal for me so...anyways enjoy <3

cw: suggestive undertones, tooth-rotting fluff

characters: Diluc, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Ayato, Alhaitham, Itto

Diluc

“Although I don’t require one, you are welcome to use one if necessary.”

Diluc, typically reserved and private, has a rare soft spot for kisses in the rain. It’s during these moments of downpour that he allows his guard to drop, revealing a more tender side of himself. Imagine accompanying him on one of his hunting trips, camping out under the vast, open sky. The sudden patter of rain against the canvas of your tent lures you outside, where you find him sitting in the rain, seemingly at peace with the world. He sits there, unbothered by the rain soaking his clothes, his gaze lost in the rhythm of the falling droplets.

You join him, sitting beside him, sharing in this quiet moment. The world around you fades into a soft blur, leaving just the two of you and the gentle symphony of the rain. The kiss that follows is soft, tender, a delicate dance of rain-kissed lips. It starts as a gentle brush, a whisper of a touch that gradually deepens. Lips moving against lips; breath meeting and intermingling. His thumb gently traces the path of a raindrop on your cheek, his eyes closing for once outside the sanctuary of his home. In the solitude of the rain, when the world has retreated to seek shelter, it’s just the two of you. He holds you close, his heart echoing the rhythm of the rain. Each droplet, each kiss, is a silent prayer - a hope that the purity of the rain might cleanse the tainted spirits of the world, and perhaps, even his own. In these moments, under the veil of the rain, he allows himself to be vulnerable, to be tender, to simply be with you.

“If only rain could purify the tainted spirits of this earth.”

Neuvillette

“Ah, my apologies. This heavy rain must be quite an inconvenience for you.”

Neuvillette, much like Diluc, is a man of a more reserved and aloof nature, but unlike Diluc is neither here nor there about kisses in the rain. His solitude finds companionship in the rain, his contemplative frown mirroring the melancholy of the downpour. As the people of Fontaine seek refuge from the sudden shower, you spot him standing alone, his gaze lost in the vast expanse of open water. At first, he doesn’t notice your approach, so engrossed is he in his thoughts. But as your hand gently brushes his shoulder, he turns to face you. For the first time, you see the depth of sorrow in his eyes, a silent testament to the trials he has judged and the human emotions he has yet to understand.

It’s you who initiates the kiss in the rain after he apologises for the rain bothering you. His response is hesitant, unsure. As he, despite his years is still unfamiliar with human customs. But when you smile tenderly at him, whispering, “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry,” something shifts. He kisses you again, this time with more certainty as if he’s found his anchor in the storm. The kisses remain comforting, a gentle balm to soothe the wounds of the soul. Out here in the rain, he allows himself a rare moment of vulnerability. A soft smile graces his lips as he relaxes into the kiss, his hands gently pulling you closer, cradling your back as if you were a delicate flower that might wilt under the weight of the world. With each tender kiss, the rain seems to abate, but the kiss doesn’t. It’s as if time itself has paused, allowing you both to find solace in each other amidst the chaos of the world. When the sun comes out Neuvillette steps back, and composing himself looks up to the sky.

“It’s over…”

Wriothesley

“Oh, it’s raining? That’s alright. A real problem would be if we could feel water dripping on our heads in the fortress of Meropide.”

Wriothesley is a man of preparation, so kisses in the rain are less common occurrences with him. On the rare occasions when he ventures out into the overworld, he carries an umbrella, a testament to his meticulous nature. However, one day when it rains, the sweetness of your shared kisses truly blossoms. Wriothesley, ever observant, notices you standing alone in the rain whilst waiting for him to arrive for your date. He stops, his gaze softening as he offers you shelter under his umbrella. You accept, and together, you walk in comfortable silence, the melodic patter of the rain on the umbrella the only sound accompanying your shared solitude. As you walk, he glances at you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the rain-soaked surroundings. At that moment, he leans in, laying a gentle kiss on your lips.

The world seems to stand still, the only movement being the falling raindrops, creating a symphony around you. The kiss, sweet and lingering, tastes like the rain, a perfect blend of the unexpected and the familiar. As you are still in public, Wriothesley is less likely to take it any further than a sheltered kiss, however, when you part he will smirk and tease you with the promise of more when you are behind closed doors. It’s safe to say you skipped the set plans for the date and made quick work of getting behind the promised closed doors. From then on, every time the sky darkens and the first drops of rain touch the ground, you find yourself yearning for those sweet, rain-kissed moments.

Ayato

Ayato, a man known for his cunning charm, finds a unique kind of romance in the rain. He relishes the thrill of a stolen kiss during a downpour, all while seeking temporary shelter under a Sakura blossom tree. The first time this happens, it’s an unplanned kiss, sparked by Ayato’s admiration for how the rain delicately adorns your lashes and moistens your lips. This unexpected moment occurs during a leisurely walk, a rare break for Ayato from his responsibilities with the Shuumatsuban, the Kamisato Clan, and the Yashiro Commission.

He pulls you close, intentionally seeking the sensation of your lips against his, fully aware that one of his associates is about to arrive. He cherishes how you cling to him, momentarily forgetting the respectful distance usually maintained when outside of his private quarters. He delights in hearing your composure break as he gently nibbles on your lips, drawing gasps from you.

When a throat clears in the distance and one of his associates makes their presence known, he suppresses a chuckle at the flustered expression that crosses your face when the intensifying kiss is interrupted by the timely arrival of an umbrella. What you don’t know is that each subsequent rain-kissed moment has been meticulously planned by Ayato. He intentionally invites you for walks on days he knows it will rain, because for him each rain-soaked kiss becomes a cherished memory, a testament to his affection, as beautiful and fleeting as the rain itself.

“Let’s take shelter for the time being. Don’t worry, one of my people will be here with umbrellas momentarily.”

Alhaitham

“Going out on a rainy day is the worst.”

Alhaitham isn’t one for kisses in the rain. He prefers the comfort of dry, warm places where he can indulge in his books in peace and tranquillity. However, since he met you, tranquillity has become a rare commodity. If he hasn’t distanced himself from you yet, it’s because he has grown to appreciate your whimsical bursts of chaos, which make the shared moments of peace even more precious. If you were to share a kiss with Alhaitham in the rain, it would either be because a sudden downpour interrupted a sunny day in Sumeru, or because you coaxed him out of the safety of a shelter at a festival that he attended merely for the food and to see you smile.

As you spin and clap your hands, lost in the rhythm of the dance, your clothes soaked and a bright smile on your face, the downpour only enhances the beauty of the festival of flowers. You notice Alhaitham leaning against a sheltered pillar, his arms folded, his focus locked on you. With a grin, you approach him with the grace of a fairy, taking his hands and pulling him into the rain despite his protests. He won’t dance, of course, but he’ll stand there, watching you dance around him, desire evident in his eyes, his hair soaked to his face. As you come to a stop before him, the world seems to fade away, your eyes flickering between his lips and his eyes. The music merges with the sound of the downpour as you step closer till your lips meet his. Alhaitham warms ever so slightly, and he reciprocates the kiss. It’s not a dramatic kiss; there’s no touching or holding, the only point of contact is where your lips meet. As you pull away and spin off into the dancing crowds, you leave him yearning for more, his desire as palpable as the raindrops on his skin.

Itto

Itto, the ever-charismatic and headstrong Arataki gang leader, is known for his refusal to carry an umbrella, even when the skies threaten rain. You’ve always chalked this up to his stubbornness and his relentless pursuit of maintaining his ‘cool’ persona. Or perhaps, he simply doesn’t own an umbrella. On the other hand, you’re always prepared for the whims of the weather, armed with an umbrella when the forecast predicts rain. On one such rainy day, you find Itto, as expected, braving the rain without any cover. Seeing him soaked, you can’t help but want to share your umbrella with him. At first, he denies your offer but when it looks like the rain won’t be letting up he nearly snatches your umbrella from you trying to huddle under your small shelter.

Shocked, you try to tell him to calm down when a gust of wind sweeps in, snapping the umbrella in half, and leaving both of you exposed to the rain. You stare at the broken umbrella in disbelief, while Itto bursts into laughter. His laughter is infectious, and soon, you’re both laughing heartily, the rain forgotten. Once the laughter subsides, Itto looks at you, his eyes softening. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The rain only adds to the intensity of the kiss. Soaked to the skin, neither of you cares about the rain anymore. After all, it’s not every day you get to share a kiss in the rain with Itto. And though Itto may never carry an umbrella, you find that you don’t mind at all.

“True men don’t carry umbrellas, pff… Wow, it’s really picking up now, my word. Oh, come on, get yours out already! Come on, move quickly!”

masterlist

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[m1d-45]

my love, my god

summary: the ‘tomorrow’ you’ve been putting off finally comes, but not how you expect it to

word count: 2.6k

-> warnings: spoilers for baizhu lore/story quest, you have several nosebleeds

-> gn reader (you/yours) and aether as the traveller

taglist (+those that asked for a pt 2): @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @fleurdawn || @extremelytoastybread || @ambermondy || @loyal-to-dottore

<< first part || < masterlist >

living with aether was supposed to be easy.

you’d established a routine, your days simple. you spent your time in his library for plausible deniability, surprised at how expansive his library was. a lot of the books seemed like gifts, with little notes scrawled in the front covers. you honestly spent more of your time reading the notes than the book themselves, tracing over the handwriting.

barbara had given him a copy of a medical handbook, with notes in the margins from both of them for replacement herbs since the book was intended for use within mondstat. you didn’t try to memorize it, just skimming for a few details. some you knew, like wolfhooks or onikabuto helping to close wounds, but some was new. apparently, a diluted solution of cor lapis shavings in water could help heal broken bones, though it was noted that this shouldn’t be used in excess if the receiver didn’t have high enough elemental affinity.

a book of liyue’s local specialties, given from someone with exceptionally sloppy handwriting. there was a whole row dedicated solely to various recipe books, the one from liyue with a few extra pages tucked in.

aether liked to write in his books, you noticed, even the fiction ones. you had yet to encounter a single book that didn’t have at least one note in the margins, each in his sharp, quick writing.

‘cut lavender melon thinner than you think.’

‘who actually talks like this?’

‘when cooking for paimon, add slime concentrate to the broth.’

it was endearing. you saw so little of him in the game, most of the dialogue given by paimon. while you’d certainly gotten to know him in your time here… it was different, seeing his notes like this. it cemented the idea that you were really in your game, since what dream of yours would include the fact that ningguang had given him a journal of advice on how to deal with various poisons someone might try to use on him?

despite his expansive collection of books, he had very few historical records. the ones he did were well worn, filled with pages of notes as he tried to decipher the history of teyvat. it was sad to see, his writing becoming more desperate the further through the books you got.

‘ask zhongli for clarification.’

‘kokomi doesn’t recognize the name ‘istaroth.’ ask miko?’

‘dahri = khaenri’ah?’

‘ask zh ask dainslef. where would i even find him?’

‘even if i knew everything, would it make sense?‘

tears pricked at your eyes, and you closed the book in your hands before you smudged the writing. you wiped at your eyes, sniffling as you put it back on the shelf. it was hard not to feel bad, but even if you told him everything you knew about teyvat, would he believe you? would he still be as kind to you as he was? he was your one real anchor here, what with the world in chaos after you stopped playing… you couldn’t even point him in the right direction, since even that would raise suspicion.

maybe that was enough reading for today.

you wiped at your nose, walking for the exit to the library. when you reached for the handle, however, you spotted a smear of glittering blue across the side of your hand.

it took another drop of blood hitting the wooden floor before you realized what was happening, quickly plugging your nose and rushing to the bathroom. you took care to wipe up the drop that landed on the floor, both so it wouldn’t stain and so that nobody saw it.

you weren’t trying to die today. and even if, somehow, aether was fine with your constant lying to him, you didn’t want to ruin what you had.

not today, thank you.

despite it being where you’d first ‘landed,’ you had never been to mondstat. ever since your run in with zhongli, it was the nation you were avoiding going with him most, second only to maybe sumeru. venti, kaeya, and diluc, three of the most perceptive people in game, all in one place… it was a recipe for disaster.

unfortunately, aether was an excellent cook.

he’d decided to take his commissions from mondstat today, and only one required combat. plus, he wanted you to see the city.. and you couldn’t exactly say no to him without reason.

the first was helping wyatt find his key in dadaupa gorge. you’re not sure why he was drinking out there, but you’re not gonna ask too many questions. the gorge was beautiful in person, cranes nearly everywhere you turned… though that might just be because you were there. the wildlife had been getting more daring lately.

the second was delivering connor some mist flower corollas, carefully moved from aether’s inventory to a thick, special made bag. you got a strange look or two from the maids, but within a few minutes aether was teleporting you to the city, tunner‘s prescription in hand. mondstat was much more lively than in the game, though you supposed that was for convenience. having hundreds of npcs roaming the city, each holding their own conversations, would likely hit performance.

paimon told you all about the city, though all of it was things you already know. there’s the adventurer’s guild, there’s bennett—you both waved—and there’s ellin! that’s the statue of barbatos, boasting a height of…

paimon scratched at her head, looking up at the statue. “how tall is the statue?”

aether shrugged, holding one hand to block the sun as he tried to guess. “nobody ever said. do you think one of the sisters would know?”

“hm, paimon thinks our best bet is venti! he sits up there all the time, doesnt he?”

you looked over the statue, taking in all the details not present on it’s in-game model. even from ground level you swear you could see individual feathers carved into the rock. “you said he flies, right? i think we should ask the knights, they-” copper landed on your tongue, and you put a finger to your top lip. it came away blue.

shit.

you covered your nose quickly, the other two thankfully getting the message without you needing to talk. a napkin was pressed to your hand, and you were careful not to let any of the blue show as you switched your hand over it.

two nosebleeds with barely two weeks between them. were you sick? were the foreign bacteria finally showing face? you didn’t feel sick—if anything you’d been feeling much better physically, since coming to teyvat—but what if you were? what if it was some illness that only targeted outlanders- no, aether would have told you about that, he was too kind not to. but then why…?

you were sat in one of the pews of the cathedral, paimon sitting by your side. your eyes tracked aether to one of the nuns, but were quickly distracted by the beautiful stained glass set in the windows. shades of blue and green decorated the walls, coloring the inside of the cathedral. you couldn’t quite make out the scenes depicted, but it gave the room so much more *life* than its model. it was lived in, not just another location on a map.

“my my, traveller, you look different than i remember.”

you’re given little warning before kaeya speaks, his steps having not made a single sound. both you and paimon turned, her hands lifting in a wave while yours tightened around your stained napkins.

“hey kaeya! what are you doing at the cathedral? paimon doesn’t remember there being a service today…”

“just going for a walk.” his eyes shift to you, and you look away, in the direction aether left. the nun was back, but he was nowhere to be found. he wouldn’t leave to the winery already, would he? “who’s this?”

“a friend.”

a hand sets on your shoulder, and you jump. was it some unspoken rule not to let your steps be heard in a cathedral, or did it come with the territory?

aether passes you a small vial of a clear blue liquid, moving to stand between you and kaeya. “i talked to barbara about your nosebleed, this should stop it. a small sip will do.”

you don’t ask why he did that, instead just doing as he said. kaeya gave you an odd look but you were quick to follow paimon out of the cathedral, leaving them to it. soon enough aether joined you, and you all went back to the teapot for lunch.

it was a fluke. it had to be.

it wasn’t.

you were sitting at a table at wanmin, listening to xingqiu talk about his latest idea for a novel. paimon had helped you order, picking you out a minty drink that was as refreshing as it was delicious. you took a sip, sharing a look with aether over the rim right as a drop slid down your top lip. thankfully, the blue streak was explained by the tint of the drink, though chongyun did give you a few more odd glances than you preferred.

running into the arataki gang in inazuma city, itto excitedly showing you and aether the new beetles he found earlier. he stuck by your side, holding your hand in his as they switched to talking about tcg. they patted their pockets, searching for the cards they’d won today. a cough into your elbow was all it took for blue to mark the inside of your sleeve, and shinobu was quick to pass you a napkin coated with onikabuto dust. it felt funny against your fingers, but apparently the gang used them to patch wounds all the time when a friendly wrestle went too far.

the more people were around, the worse they were. your nose was near constantly itchy, like the world was channeling every irritant in a mile radius right into your face. any minor bump would cause at least a drop to spill down your lip, leaving you overcautious and aether forever worried. the bottle barbara gave you ran out quick, and though she ended up giving you the recipe, it was clear that something more serious was going on.

you laid on the couch, pinching a napkin around your nose while you waited for aether to finish your medicine. he’d gone outside to get the rest of the ingredients with paimon, leaving you to your thoughts.

you hated teyvat for doing this to you. you’d bet good mora that simply showing him the color of the stains on your napkins would solve whatever phantom illness ailed you, but you didn’t want to. you were happy with the life you had! you didn’t need a shining palace or the worship of the world, you just needed aether. him and paimon and your teapot, with the small herbs growing in the windowsill and crystalflies fluttering outside. why was the world so determined to get you to spill your secret? it wasn’t like he’d hate you for keeping it—at most he’d be surprised, or maybe even a bit apologetic himself.

it was stupid. shouldn’t you be the one to decide whether this was shared or not?

you sighed, the sound of the door pushing that train of thought aside. aether tapped your shoulder and you sat up, accepting the medicine thankfully.

“sorry about the delay, baizhu was dealing with another patient.”

“you went to the pharmacy?” you hand him back the bottle, looking away as you wipe off your nose.

“yep! when we got there he was mixing up a nasty smelling poultice for some other lady—paimon swears she can still smell it, even after all this time!”

“really?” you look up, satisfied you got it all off, but freeze. aether is standing beside you, and paimon’s sitting on the arm of the couch, but behind them is baizhu, changsheng loosely coiled around his shoulders.

oh no.

“one of the ingredients in barbara’s medicine is qingxin,” aether explains, “i only had so many, so i started buying them from the pharmacy. he got curious and asked about you… i hope you don’t mind?”

you barely hear him, focused on the lift of changsheng’s head as she whispers something into baizhu’s ear. he looks surprised, mostly, but also confused, and you know exactly why.

after all if he can sense god remains, he can surely sense the god.

“is there a problem, doctor?” you ask, and wait until both aether and paimon turned to him to raise a finger to your lips.

keep quiet. don’t tell him. i don’t want to lose this yet.

he looks between you and aether, clearly conflicted.

please.

after a moment, he sighs, shaking his head as he adjusts his glasses. “nothing is wrong, my apologies. changsheng, if you will..”

he begins to search through his inventory while changsheng slithers past paimon, curling around your wrist. baizhu takes out a notepad, pulling over a chair.

“aether, you’ve been coming to the pharmacy for qingxin for a little over 3 months. is that a good estimate for the length of time this has occurred?”

he glanced at you, and you nodded.

that was a lie, technically.. but it was for the greater good. baizhu would mark you some anomaly, recommend you just keep taking barbara’s medicine, and everything would be okay. you’d be fine. no stresses of godhood, no giving up your peaceful life in the realm within, nothing.

changsheng uncoils from your hand, climbing onto aether’s shoulders to get to baizhu. he doesn’t so much as blink, letting her wind back into place. what did she go to you for, then? “do any other symptoms come with them, such as nausea or headaches?”

“no, not really.”

“have you noticed anything strange about the blood? clots, maybe, or discoloration?”

you meet his pointed look, ignoring how your heart picks up. call it selfishness. “nothing.”

baizhu sighs. “are you certain? if you want this to go away, you need to be honest.”

at least you were right on one front. to get back the life you had, you’d need to give it up. while you knew neither aether or paimon would resent you—they’d dealt with gods disguising themselves before, surely they couldn’t hate you—their attitude toward you would certainly change.

your silence is clearly worrying, and you shake your head before anybody asks questions. “i’m certain, there’s nothing.”

he again looks conflicted, and paimon looks between the two of you, frowning. “uh, is paimon missing something…?”

“i’m sorry,” baizhu says finally, “but it’s for your own health.”

before you can protest, he reaches up towards changsheng. she shifts, revealing the napkin you used earlier hidden between her body and his, clearly marked with blue.

when did she-?

baizhu flicks out the napkin and paimon gasps. “i can tell they’re getting worse, and while i understand it’s your choice, i value your life more.”

aether turns to you, and you can’t read the expression on his face. “is that really yours?”

“…yeah. i put it together that teyvat wants me to tell someone, but i didn’t want to lose what we had.”

he smiles, holding out his hand. when you took it, he pulled you up off the couch and into a hug.

“you’ll never lose me,” he promised, “not even if you’re a god. not even if you’re my god.”

[soulofapatrick]

No Words Needed - Jeremiah Fisher x Reader

Summary: Jeremiah joins you at the end of the pier, wondering why you're not having fun with everyone else

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: makeup session

 Y/N’s POV

The worn wooden planks of the bench cradle me as I is at the end of the pier, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. The evening sun, now a radiant orb of orange and pink, begins its decent, casting a warm glow that dances upon the water’s surface. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the pier is a lullaby, a gentle reminder that time moves in tandem with the tide. The air is infused with the unmistakable scent of saltwater, a fragrances that’s both invigorating and comforting. It tickles my senses, and I take a deep breath, letting the tangy breeze fill my lungs. The distant calls of seagulls add a melodic layer to the symphony of the sea, creating a serene atmosphere that wraps around me like a familiar embrace. 

As I watch the sun dip lower, the sky transforms into a canvas of hues — apricot merging into lavender, then fading into the deeper blues of twilight. The colours reflect off the water, creating a mesmerising panorama that stretches as far as the eye can see. The world seems to slow down in these moments, as if the sun and the sea have conspired to gift me a pause button

With each passing minute, the temperature drops slightly, and a gentle breeze ruffles my hair. I draw my knees up to my chest, embracing the slight chill that contrasts the lingering warmth of the day. It’s a sensory feast—the taste of salt in the air, the sound of waves serenading the shore, the sight of the sun bidding its daily farewell. 

As the light continues to fade, the ambient sounds of the evening become more pronounced. In the distance, I hear the soft padding of footsteps against the wooden planks, and a shadow falls across the pier. A subtle anticipation rises within me, wondering who might be joining me at the edge of the world. 

The approaching presence becomes more distinct, and soon a familiar figure settles beside me. Jeremiah’s silent arrival is like a gentle breeze, a quiet acknowledgement that needs no words. I send him a soft smile before turning my attention back to the breathtaking view. 

Jeremiah doesn’t say anything: he just watches. His presence is comforting, and the shared quiet is like a secret language only we understand. I steal glances at him in the fading light. His profile is etches against the backdrop of the ocean, the hues of twilight casting a soft glow on his features. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m prettier than the view unfolding before us. The breeze tousles his sandy hair, and I find myself drawn into the tranquility of the moment. The lines of worry on his face seeming to ease, and it’s as if the sea has a way of soothing not just me but him as well. 

The silent dance of the waves below continues as the sun sinks lower, painting the sky in its final strokes of warm colour. Jeremiah’s silent company becomes a steady anchor, and the shared quiet between us deepens, becoming a refuge from he world beyond the pier. 

I shift slightly, almost instinctively, closer to Jeremiah, feeling the warmth of his presence. The wood of the bench creaks softly under our combined weight, a testament to the intimacy of the is shared space. Without a word, I rest my head on his shoulder, finding solace in the subtle connection that goes beyond the spoken language. 

Jeremiah responds with a gentle squeeze, his arms wrapping around me. It’s an unspoken embrace, a wordless assurance that he’s here, not just physically, but in a way that transcends the tangible. The breeze carries the scent of the ocean, and I close my eyes, breathing in deeply, letting the tranquility of the moment seep into my soul. 

As the sunset’s glow begins to yield to the embrace of the night, the horizon transforms into a tapestry of deeper blues and purples. The last remnants of daylight linger on the horizon, and I find myself melting into Jeremiah’s side, the lines between us blurring into the fading light. The worry lines on his face seems to soften even more, and the weight that lingers in the air dissipates. We sit there together, a silent union against the backdrop of the sea, finding a refuge in each other’s presence. 

I feel an inexplicable peace as I nuzzle my face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck, breathing in deeply. His scent, a subtle blend of saltwater and the warmth of summer envelopes me. It’s a fragrance that mingles with the sea breeze, creating a sensory symphony that feels uniquely ours. 

Jeremiah’s heartbeat echoes beneath my ear, its rhythm a steady lullaby. As the world around us falls into quietude, I sense the subtle quickening of his heart. It’s a whisper of vulnerability, a shared heartbeat that transcends the layers of silence. His arms, which encircle me, feel like a protective cocoon, creating a haven within the expending darkness. His hands find their way into my hair, fingers moving with gentle grace. Each touch is a reassurance, a tender affirmation that we’re both present in this shared sanctuary. I close my eyes, savouring the sensations of his hands running through my hair, a tactile expression of understanding and connection. 

His other hand moves, bodying shifting towards me more, to cup my cheek. His thumb stroking a delicate path along my cheekbone, a gesture so tender it feels like a silent promise in the dimming twilight. I revel in the warmth of his palm against my skin, the reassurance of his touch anchoring me int he present moment. The night, now fully unfurled, wraps around us like a velvet cloak, and I find myself feeling both vulnerable and secure within the confines of his embrace. 

His eyes, softened with the ambient glow of the evening, meet mine. There’s a silent question in their depths, a query that transcends words. The air around us holds a subtle tension, a moment suspended in time. As his gaze flickers down to my lips, a sudden spark of anticipation dances within me. It’s a simple glance, yet it carries the weight of unspoken desires and uncharted territories. In that fleeting moment, I feel a subtle shift in the rhythm of my heartbeat, an anxious flutter that echoes the gentle pulse of the sea. 

Jeremiah’s eyes return to mine, and the unspoken question lingers in the air. The sea, the stars, the night—they become witnesses to this delicate interlude, where a shared silence speaks volumes.

A subtle breeze carries the scent of salt and summer, as if nature itself holds its breath, anticipating the next move in this shared dance. Jeremiah, with a gentle tilt of his head, leans down, closing the distance between us. The touch of his lips against mine is feather-light, almost hesitant, as if he, too, is navigating the uncharted waters of this moment. 

His kiss is a whispered promise, a tender exploration that resonates with the ebb and flow of the waves beneath us. The world around us seems to blue, the sound of Belly, Steven and Conrad shrieking and laughing in the distance fades to nothing, and for a moment, it’s just him and me. The sweetness of the kiss lingers, a taste o fast and the promise of something new. In the hushed atmosphere of the pier, Jeremiah's kiss is a delicate revelation, a soft caress that resonates with the rhythm of the waves beneath us. As our lips meet again and again, there's an almost ethereal connection, an exploration that transcends the physical and delves into the uncharted territory of emotions.

The kiss is almost overwhelming, the taste of salt lingering on our lips like a secret shared between lovers. Jeremiah’s touch is a whispered promise, a gentle of exploration that communicates more than words ever could. The warmth of his lips against mine creates a cocoon of intimacy, a sanctuary where nothing else matters except the feel of his lips against mine and his hand cupping my jaw, thumb under my jaw. 

As the kiss deepens, Jeremiah breaks away, but the lingering connection remains. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed and we’re both breathing heavily, caught in the aftermath of a shared moment that feels suspended in time. The air between us crackles with the electricity of newfound emotions, and I can sense the vulnerability in his closeness. 

The moment of separation is brief but pregnant with unspoken understanding. Jeremiah’s ocean blue eyes, when they finally open, search mine as if he’s deciphering the depths of my soul. Without a word, he’s surging forwards again, his lips seeking mine with a newfound hunger that betrays the fear of losing this fragile connection. 

The second kiss is different, charged with an urgency as if he’s afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not just a kiss it’s a declaration, an affirmation of something unspoken but profoundly felt. His lips mould to mine, and I respond with an equal intensity, and I respond with an equal intensity, losing myself in the magnetic pull of the moment. The world around us dissolves once more, leaving only the symphony of our shared breaths and the distant murmur of the sea. 

Gripping Jeremiah’s shirt in one hand, I feel the fabric bushing under my fingers. The other hand is tangled in his sandy-bold curls, and I tug lightly, savouring the soft sound he lets out—a whispered melody that joins the symphony of the night. His hands, once cupping my jaw, now explore the small of my back, creating a sensation that blurs the line between reality and the ethereal. 

The kiss deepens in a convergence of desire and connection, and I feel every nuance of his response mirrored in the rhythm of our shared breaths. Jeremiah’s taste is both familiar and intoxicating, a blend of salt and sweetness that leaves an indelible mark on my senses. 

I feel him close, our bodies pressed together in an unspoken promise of mutual understanding. There’s a warmth that radiates from the core of my being, a fire stoked by the intensity of the kiss and the closeness we share. Jeremiah’s hands, strong and sure, traverse the landscape of my back, leaving a trail of electric sensations in their wake. 

A soft moan escapes Jeremiah, a muffled melody that becomes part of symphony of our shared breaths. Encouraged by the unspoken exchange, I tug at his curls again, and the sensation is met with a gentle squeeze of my hips. It’s an intimate dance of touch and response, each movement a silent affirmation of the connection between us. 

Jeremiah, seemingly guides by an invisible force, pulls me onto his lip. His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. The world tilts for a moment, and I find myself straddling him, our bodies now intimately entwined. His tongue runs across the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. The feel of his tongue against mine is new and electric, a dance of warmth and familiarity that sends shivers down my spine. Our tongues move in tandem, an unspoken language that speaks volumes. The taste of salt, the heat of the night, and the passion between us a sensory tapestry that leaves an indelible mark. 

But the kiss doesn’t linger on our lips for long. Jeremiah, with a subtle shift, moves his lips to my neck. The sensation is both tender and electrifying as he places soft, lingering kisses along the curve of my neck. His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers through me, and I find myself tilting my head, granting him better access. 

As As Jeremiah's lips linger on my neck, his touch takes a slightly different turn. There's a pinch of pain and a twinge of discomfort as he sucks a hickey into existence, the initial sting met with a soothing stroke of his tongue. Embarrassingly, a soft sound escapes my throat, and I can feel him smiling against my neck, the shared intimacy creating a unique connection between us.

The sensations, a blend of pleasure and the slightly awkward reality of a hickey, become almost overwhelming. I find myself yearning for the familiar warmth of his lips on mine, the need to feel the connection more directly urging me to pull him back. My hand instinctively grips his curls, intending to guide his mouth back to mine. But, before our lips can barely brush, our names are called, and a groan escapes me. Conrad, always the untimely intruder, seems to have impeccable timing.

Jeremiah laughs softly, a sound that resonates through both of us, and he wraps his arms around my waist in a comforting hug. He calls back to Conrad, assuring him that we'll be there in a second. As the distant call fades, Jeremiah whispers to me, his warm breath against my ear, "My bedroom door is always open for you.”

His words carry a promise, a reassurance that this stolen moment on the pier is just a prelude to something more. I meet his gaze, a shared understanding passing between us. The interruption may have cut the night short, but the invitation lingers, a whispered promise that the sanctuary of the pier is not the only place where our connection can unfold.

Reluctantly, we disentangle ourselves, the echo of our interrupted desires lingering in the air. As we make our way back towards the distant call of Conrad and the world beyond the pier, Jeremiah's hand finds mine, and we share a glance that speaks volumes—a silent agreement that the night may have been interrupted, but the story between us is far from over.

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

[rainandandy]

RAIN CARRADINE X GN!READER (alien romulus)

Warning! Slight Spoilers

The buzz of the air purifier in the tiny, cramped quarters on Jackson's Star was the closest thing to white noise that we had in this hellhole. You were lying on the thin mattress, staring at the ceiling when Rain walked in. Her face was tense, her usual guarded expression slipping into something more vulnerable as she saw you.

"Hey," You said softly, sitting up. "You okay?"

She nodded, but her eyes darted toward the door, checking to see if Andy was nearby. "Yeah. Just... tired," she sighed, collapsing next to you. Her fingers found yours, and she squeezed gently. “Got something to tell you.”

You knew that tone. She was about to drop a bomb. "What’s going on?"

Rain took a deep breath. “Tyler’s got a plan to get off this rock. Him, me, Kay... some others. We’re raiding a decommissioned space station. If we pull it off, we can get off Jackson’s Star for good.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “And you’re just now telling me?”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I knew it was real,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “But I want you with me. I can’t leave you behind.”

You searched her eyes, seeing the raw determination in them. “Of course, I’m with you. We’ll get through this together.”

Andy’s voice chimed in from the doorway. “Are we leaving?”

The both of you turned to see him standing there, his eyes—so human, yet not—filled with a mix of hope and fear. Rain stood up and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, Andy. We’re leaving.”

“Do you want me to pack?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, something you heard often with his broken mechanics.

“Yeah, buddy,” you said, joining them. “But just the essentials. We’re not coming back.”

The next few days were a blur of preparation and hushed conversations. Rain and you took turns caring for Andy, ensuring he understood the plan. You could see the stress wearing on her—on everyone, really. But Rain was the anchor, guiding us through with a steadiness that only made you love her more.

On the day of the escape, the air was thick with tension. The shuttle was small, barely large enough for everyone, and the silence as we took off was suffocating. Rain sat next to you, her hand gripping yours tightly.

“Keep your head down. We’re almost there,” she whispered as the shuttle broke through the atmosphere.

When we docked with the decommissioned station, the transition from the shuttle’s cramped quarters to the open expanse of the space station was overwhelming. But what caught you off guard was the light—real sunlight, filtering through the station’s old, cracked windows. It was the first time you'd seen it, and you felt a lump rise in your throat.

“Rain... look.” you pointed, your voice choked with emotion.

She followed your gaze, and for a moment, the weight of everything we’d been through lifted. The sun cast a warm glow on her face, highlighting the tears that had started to form in her eyes.

“I’ve never seen it like this before,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

She took your hand, soaking in the warmth. Andy came up beside her, his eyes wide with wonder. “Is this... the sun?”

“Yeah, Andy,” you said, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s the sun.”

Rain turned to you, her eyes shining with hope and determination. “We’re going to make it. We’re going to be okay.”

You smiled at her, feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long time—true hope. “Yeah, we are.”

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Cardigan

Hii guyss, here's the third one-shot about Taylor Swift's folklore love triangle, starring Max as James x reader (Betty). If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist or August's and Max's point of view :)

The coolness of the late evening breeze wraps around me, and the silence stretches unbearably between us. I stare at Max, taking in the familiar lines of his face, the same face that once lit up at the sight of me. And now, after all this time, after a summer that turned everything I knew inside out, he’s here, asking for a chance to put back together what he broke.

“I thought I knew you,” I whisper, my voice thick with the betrayal that still lingers. Memories crash through me like waves—the playful afternoons, our laughter ringing out as we danced in jeans and sneakers, drunk under streetlights with nothing but each other’s heartbeat to anchor us. You made me believe that was enough, that I was enough. I knew you, or at least, I thought I did. But how foolish I feel now.

I turn away for a moment, staring into the darkened horizon, searching for strength in the quiet expanse. You made me feel as if kissing in your car, tucked away from the world, or whispering secrets under hotel sheets were all that mattered. Like I was your favorite, someone you couldn’t live without. And then, you left. You chased something that wasn’t me, and I was left bleeding, like a forgotten cardigan left under someone’s bed.

��Now that summer is over, I’m your favorite again?” I laugh, but it’s bitter, sharp. The wound he left behind still stings. “Just because I’m young, don’t assume I know nothing, Max. Don’t think I didn’t see through the easy smile, the way you ran from what we were.”

He shifts, eyes dropping to the ground, the regret on his face unmistakable. But regret isn’t enough; it can’t rewind the sleepless nights or the feeling of emptiness that grew inside me when I knew he was with someone else. The cruel realization that our whispered promises were only as real as the moment allowed.

“You don’t get to choose when you come back into my life,” I say, the words fierce, my chest tightening with each one. “You don’t get to pick up where you left off like nothing happened.”

I remember how he drew stars around my scars, how he made me believe that together we could shine through anything. But now, those stars are just reminders of the places he hurt me, a map of mistakes that can’t be retraced.

Tears prick at my eyes, but I force them back. He was everything, and he made me feel as if I was too. And yet, here I am, a shadow of that girl, left with nothing but the echoes of what could have been.

“You left me like I was nothing, and now you’re standing here, thinking a few words can fix that?” My voice drops to a whisper, breaking on the last syllable. “I may be young, but I know what it feels like to be broken. And you broke me, Max.”

He lifts his gaze, the weight of my words sinking into the silence that follows. And though he doesn’t say anything, the look in his eyes tells me he knows just how deep the cut went.

[youaintnothinbuta]

I am begging for either Jack Kelly or Race smut!

“Give me another one, sweetheart, come on.” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: Jack fills you with his cum, bringing you to orgasm, but wants to see his fingers fuck you as his cum drips down them, so he forces another (intense) orgasm out of you

Pairing: Jack Kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 1,900 (sorry, for some reason I can never write short smut!!)

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), mature language, forced orgasm, typos probably

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As you and Jack step through the door, a sense of relief washes over you both, finally home after a long day spent at the races with the boys. Jack closes the bedroom door gently behind him, the click echoing softly in the room as you make your way to your side of the bed. A subtle exhale escapes Jack, partly in admiration for how stunning you looked in your specially chosen dress, partly in frustration that he hasn't gotten a moment alone until now.

He stands beside the bed, his fingertips grazing the smooth surface of the duvet, his eyes lifting from the bed to meet yours. “I couldn't get that dress out of my mind all day,” he confesses, his voice low and intimate.

”Really?” you inquire, crossing the room to join him, gently urging him to sit as you perch yourself on the edge of the bed, your foot resting on his knee. He obligingly unbuckles the strap of your heel, his touch tender yet purposeful, silently asking for the other. “More or less,” he replies with a nonchalant shrug, slipping off your second heel with practiced ease, “maybe less.” His voice is low and deep as his hand ventures under the fabric of your dress, tracing a path up the back of your thigh.

With a firm grip on the ankle of your foot, still delicately poised on his knee, Jack effortlessly pulls you onto his lap. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the how hard he was beneath you, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His skilled fingers roam freely over the expanse of your thighs and the curves of your ass.

Your own fingers deftly work to undo the buttons of his shirt as his lips find their way to the nape of your neck, trailing a path of fiery kisses down to your shoulder. He grabs both sides of your dress at once, effortlessly pulling it up and over your head.

He pauses to take in the sight of you, bare except for your underwear. “Fuck,” he breathes out in awe, his hands instinctively cupping and squeezing both breasts through their lacy confines. He runs his hands down your sides, gripping the fabric of your underwear and pulling them off in one swift motion, leaving you entirely exposed to his hungry gaze.

Standing, Jack wraps his strong arms around you, effortlessly lifting your naked form against his bare chest. You wiggle in his arms, trying to get some friction through the fabric of his pants that separated your heat from his. “Mh, desperate,” he nips at your jaw.

“You're the one who wants to fuck me so bad you can barely stand it,” you retort. With a decisive gesture, he lowers you onto the bed. Dropping to his knees before you, he gazes up at you intensely, sending shivers down your spine, his hands reaching to grip one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder. A gasp escapes your lips as anticipation courses through you, his lips mere millimeters away from your dripping core. Kissing a trail along the soft skin of your inner thigh, his hands firmly anchored on either side, you can't help but plead in a breathy voice, “Please.”

Nuzzling closer, he breathes in deeply, intoxicated by your scent. With gentle reverence, he spreads your lips apart, his gaze fixated on your glistening entrance, his mind racing. Slowly, slick moisture drips from you, coating your entrance in a tantalizing invitation.

“You're so wet for me,” he groans, his voice heavy with desire, as he savors the sight before him.

Leaning in with a hunger that matches your own, Jack's tongue traces a slow, deliberate path along your sensitive folds. A low, guttural moan escapes your lips as he expertly laps up the juices of your arousal. He slips a finger into you, skillfully curling it to graze that spot deep inside you. Your body responds instinctively, an audible symphony of pleasure building with each stroke. Another finger joins the first, stretching you deliciously as he continues to work his tongue over your clit.

“Jack, oh, fuck,” you whimper, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea for more. With a sudden withdrawal, your senses are sent reeling as Jack pulls away from your trembling form. Blinking back into awareness, your gaze meets his as he stands once more, shedding the last remnants of his clothing.

“Hands and knees, baby,” he commands, his voice a husky whisper. With eager compliance, you position yourself as instructed. With a tender gesture, he brushes your hair aside, trailing a path of fervent kisses down to where your body arches in eager anticipation.

“I'm going to fuck that pretty little pussy so hard, just the way you like it,” he murmurs against your skin, his words dripping with promise as he strokes himself. Jack rubs the swollen head of his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you mercilessly with the promise of ecstasy.

Each touch sends a surge of electricity coursing through your nerves, eliciting a small gasp of pleasure at the exquisite sensation of his hardness against your delicate flesh. As he finally begins to push into you, the world seems to slow, every inch of him stretching you as he fills you inch by agonising inch. A primal groan escapes his lips, mirrored by your own as he buries himself deep within you, his hips pressed flush against your ass, his tip grazing over that intoxicating spot buried deep within your core. For a moment, he holds himself still, allowing you to adjust to his size.

“Fuck me,” he breathes out, his voice thick with desire, as your walls clench around him, instinctively seeking more of the pleasure he offers. With a subtle shift of your body, you begin to move against him, eager to feel the delicious friction of his cock sliding in and out of you. Yet, before you can fully lose yourself in the rhythm, he seizes your hips with a firm grip, stopping your movements.

“Uh uh. That's my job,” he murmurs, his voice thick like honey. Slowly, deliberately, he withdraws from you, the sensation leaving you momentarily deprived as he reclaims his place within you.

With each thrust, he sets a relentless pace, his fingers deftly finding their way to your clit.

“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, the words torn from your lips in a desperate plea for more as he picks up the tempo, driving into you with an intensity that leaves you gasping for breath.

“Jack, don't stop,” you pant, your voice a breathless plea. Sensations collide from every angle.

“Baby, I can't hold on, I need you to come,” he groans, his own need echoing yours as he teeters on the edge of release.

“Cum for me, Jack,” you implore, your words urging him ever closer to the brink. With each relentless thrust, he pushes deeper into you, his fingers dancing skillfully over your sensitive clit. As his grunts morph into primal moans, a usual sign of his approaching orgasm, you tighten your walls around him, eliciting a long, drawn-out string of needy moans from his lips. The circles he traces on your clit quicken in pace, sending jolts of electricity racing through your trembling thighs as you too are close to climax.

“I'm coming, I'm coming," he whines, his voice raw with need as he plunges his cock as deep as he possibly can within you. A surge of hot cum spills from him, flooding your pussy as he continues to drive himself further into your trembling core.

Thats all you needed to feel your own orgasm come crashing over you like a wave, coating his cock with even more slick as pleasure consumes every fibre of your being. He groans as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his cock still hard inside of you.

“F-fuck,” he pants out, as the final waves of his high crash over him. As he finally pulls out of you, a sense of emptiness replaces him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he declares, his voice thick with desire as his fingers trace a tantalising path over your slick entrance and swollen clit. A small yelp escapes your lips at the sudden touch, your nerves still on fire from the intensity of your orgasm. He hums in satisfaction, relishing the sight of his cum on his fingers.

“Jack,” you mumble, not sure if you can handle it again.

“Sensitive, huh, baby?” he remarks, He smiles, curling his fingers inside your writhing body. “Push past it, baby. You know you can,” he encourages you, watching your face scrunch with the overwhelming sensation.

With a determined nod, you steel yourself against the overwhelming sensation. As his fingers continue to rub you, you release a deep breath.

“Good girl,” he praises you, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to your lips. You suck them into your mouth, tasting yourself on him. He hums in approval, a satisfied smile gracing his lips as he watches you, his gaze smoldering with a carnal intensity. Soon the tone of your moans shift slightly and he knows you’ve moved from painful pleasure to just intense pleasure. He changes the direction of the circles his thumb is drawing over your clit, your thighs try to clench closed.

He shakes his head gently, prying them open with his free hand. “That's it, baby, ‘atta girl now.” He praises you as you start to tremble around his hand. Your jaw hangs slack, your gaze alternating between his eyes and the mesmerizing sight of his hand working tirelessly to coax another release from you. Covered in a slick cocktail of your wetness and his cum, his fingers move with practiced precision, each stroke driving you closer to orgasm.

“Jack, Jack,” you whimper, his name a desperate plea torn from your lips as the pleasure builds to a fever pitch. He chuckles proudly at the sight of your trembling legs.

“Give me another one, sweetheart, come on,” he coaxes, his voice a gentle but stern. A moan escapes your lips as Jack deftly spreads your legs wider, granting him better access to your heat. He feels the walls of your pussy clench around him again and he knows it’s time for another orgasm.

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs in encouragement, his voice guiding you through the pleasure building within you, as your body tenses and trembles around his hand. He lets out a small groan at the way your thighs clench so hard against him that it he couldn't pull his hand away if he tried. With a scream unexpected even to you, your fingertips grip his hair, and he gasps a stream of liquid flows from your body. With quick reflexes, he redirects his fingers to your clit, prolonging the sensation of your squirt, a string of squeals and cries coming with it.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he groans, his voice thick. As you ride out the waves of your climax, he keeps his thumb pressed lightly against you, ensuring that every last tremor of ecstasy is savoured, your abs convulsing as you finish.

“Jack,” you pant out as he finally pulls his hand away from your pussy. He brings it to his mouth and licks your juices off of each of his fingers, before pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Oh my god,” you say, your body still shaking from the intensity of it all.

He chuckles and kisses you again, lying down next to you on his side. “You okay?” he inquires, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your flushed face.

“Yeah,” you reply with a contented sigh, feeling his warmth enveloping you as he rolls on top of you, pressing soft kisses along your jawline.

“Good,” he murmurs against your lips, then flipping you over to lay against his chest.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The gift of the pink dragon

Roronoa Zoro x reader

*****

Zoro yawned as he regarded the vast expanse of the beach in front of him, completely deserted under a cloudless sky, and the forest beyond that apparently occupied almost half of the island alone, a gentle breeze making the tree’s foliage sway gently. It was a nice enough place, he reflected, especially if one looked for peace and quiet, or was interested in the numerous species, both animal and plant, that inhabited its woods, some of which were said to have never been seen in other parts of the world. But for him, that little island held no interest whatsoever, and the swordsman was already bored out of his skull less than an hour after they had dropped the anchor.

The presence of rare animals in the island’s forest was coincidentally the reason they had sailed there, on Luffy’s request; he hadn’t had the heart to vote against, and the same had been for the others, despite the evident lack of enthusiasm. Sitting at the bow of the ship, Zoro nevertheless felt himself smiling as he regarded his captain as he stepped on the bridge, his straw-hat as usual on his head and a butterfly net resting on his shoulder.

(name) was with him. 

“Zoro! Are you ready?” Luffy asked as he approached, his enthusiasm evident “We are going to find the dragon!”

“Dragons don’t exist.”

“Of course they exist! And they live here on this island. (name) knows it. Right?”

The girl next to him smiled, her favourite necklace as usual hanging from her neck. “Well, it’s true that legends say this island is inhabited by a species of dragons, endowed with great powers, and a traveller who once came to my town said he had seen one.” she admitted “But, Luffy, that was more than a century ago; for all we know, they could have become extinct since then. Or maybe that man was lying, embellishing his stories like so many do.”

“Dragons are a myth.” Zoro added “Everybody knows. If there was reason to think  they actually existed, the newspapers would have talked about it.”

Luffy shook his head, a determined expression on his open face; the possibility of seeing a dragon had ignited his imagination, and he was clearly unwilling to let it go, at least without trying.

“I’m sure they exist; and I’ll find one.” he declared stubbornly “We have at least a couple of hours before Nami and Sanji are back; we should go look for them. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Zoro and (name) exchanged a look, both at least partially convinced of the uselessness of their captain’s endeavour. “Well, it’s not like I have more important things to do.” the swordsman pointed out as he shrugged.

“Same for me; I wouldn’t mind taking a walk, since we have been at sea for more than a week.” (name) added “And I have finished my book…”

Luffy beamed at them, undeterred by his friends’ lack of enthusiasm. “Great! Let’s go then!”

Nami and Sanji had left earlier to reach the island’s only village to stock provisions, so Luffy tasked Usopp with defending the ship in case of attack and departed, happily hopping along the path that led to the forest, (name) and Zoro trailing after him at a more relaxed pace. 

“I’m sorry you got involved in this.” (name) said after a moment. The girl was the latest addition to the crew, a young fighter whose path had crossed Luffy’s after she had left her village to explore the world and who had accepted the captain’s offer to join him. Zoro liked her well enough; she was a capable combatant -even though, unlike him, she fought barehanded- and had given him no reason to suspect she had bad intentions towards Luffy and the others. Something he admired of her was that (name) could really hold her liquor, and they had shared a drink a few times “I shouldn’ have mentioned the dragons’ legend to Luffy.” 

Zoro shrugged; as usual, he kept a hand on the handle of one of his swords, ready to unsheathe them at the first sign of danger; that little island seemed to be the most peaceful, non threatening place in the world, but one could never be too sure. “It’s not your fault; he’d have found some other thing to be excited about.”

“Yes, he probably would have. That’s the sort of person he is, isn’t he?”

(name) smiled, affection evident in her voice. “I had been on my own for two years after leaving my village, and I was content like that; I never thought I’d find someone I’d be willing or even happy to follow and to serve under, but then I met Luffy, and he… well, he’s special, anyone could see it, and not only because of his Devil Fruit. I know there are a million men who take to the sea to become King of the Pirates, but I do believe he can do it. Perhaps it’s crazy, but… I do believe that he was born for it, somehow.”

Zoro didn’t think it was crazy, because he had the same faith in their captain. 

They walked in silence for a while, advancing in the thicket until the vegetation had surrounded them; the green canopy was thick enough to block the sun’s light, and day seemed to have turned into night. (name) and Luffy stopped to observe the trunk of a huge tree, large enough they together couldn’t cover half of its circumference with their arms open wide; the three also looked at the fruits hanging from the branches of other trees, but they agreed that eating them would be an unnecessary risk, especially given the fact they still hadn’t found a doctor for their crew and therefore had no way to treat the probable food poisoning that would have followed. A bird, similar to an owl but much bigger than any Zoro had known existed, flew over them, and a couple of foxes -those normal-sized, their fur bright red- observed their trek peeking from among the bushes. 

“Luffy, you can’t believe we can actually find a red dragon in this wood.” Zoro pointed out after a while; a walk in the forest was as good a way to kill the time as any other, waiting for the others to return from the village, but the swordsman was suddenly, inconfessably loath to witness his captain’s disappointment when their search would yield no result “It is just a legend, a story you tell children to amuse them.”

“According to the stories the dragon is pink, not red.” (name) clarified “It is said he can predict a person’s future, and that its blood can cure any illness…”

“Same thing. Dragons don’t exist; have any of you ever seen one?”

Luffy shrugged. “Maybe they like to remain hidden, because they know people would try and capture them.” he reasoned, before cupping his hands around his mouth to better propagate his voice, the butterfly net under his elbow “Heeeyy, dragon! Little pink dragon, where are you? Come out, please, I just want to see you…”

No answer. Amused, (name) and Zoro exchanged a grin before returning their attention to the wealth of flora and fauna around them, the potential danger hidden in the forest that didn’t stop them from admiring its beauty, the lush vegetation alive with the quiet murmuring of the creatures that had made it their home.

As she walked, (name) was fiddling with her necklace, something Zoro had seen her do often when her hands were not otherwise occupied; it was a simple metal chain, with a ring hanging from it as a pendant. The swordsman wondered vaguely if it was that sort of ring, to signify an engagement or at least a committed relationship. It wasn’t unlikely, (name) was a pretty girl, but then, why wasn’t she wearing it on her finger? Maybe her partner had died? After all, she had been travelling alone before meeting Luffy, and she did seem to be extremely attached to that little token, since she never parted from it; once Zoro had even seen her sleep clenching the ring in her fist, as if afraid someone could steal it from her. 

No one would have called the swordsman a romantic, but even he had to admit that losing the person one loved had to be one of the most painful experiences a person could experience, especially at (name)’s age. He briefly considered asking her, but he quickly realised he had no right to meddle in what was clearly a personal, potentially painful matter; had (name), or anyone else, done the same to him, Zoro would have been furious. 

Also, all things considered, he didn’t really care. 

Luffy’s calls to the dragon received no answer. The three had walked for almost half an hour, plodding along what remained of a stone path almost completely hidden by grass and dirt, when suddenly it opened in two, dividing in front of them. It was too dark, and the trees surrounding the two branches too dense, for the three pirates to discern where each of them led.

“What do we do, captain?” (name) asked, but Luffy seemed to have no idea; he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair as he walked a few paces along the path on the left and then the one on the right. 

“I have no idea.” he admitted in the end “How do we choose? Toss a coin? Draw straws?”

Zoro shrugged. “We can go wherever you want, as long as we don’t remain here doing nothing.” he said. Luffy pondered the matter for a while, his face scrunched with concentration; he had to know that, presuming the two branches led to different parts of the forest, they had no time to explore all of it before Nami and Sanji returned from the village.

“We could split.” he proposed in the end “We’d have better chances to find the dragon.”

(name) nodded. “It’s a good idea.You guys can go that way, I’ll go there.” she said, pointing at the path closer to Luffy first and then at the other, closer to her.

“Are you sure you want to go by yourself? Won’t you get lost?” Zoro asked, blissfully unaware of his own abysmal sense of direction. 

“I’ll manage; as first mate, it is your duty to remain with the captain.” (name) pointed out “Luffy, I promise I’ll look for the dragon as well as I can, and if it lets me I’ll bring it to the Merry so that you guys can see it as well.”

Luffy nodded; (name) winked at Zoro before turning and walking away, while the two boys took the path on the right.

They walked in silence for a while more, making their way through the dense vegetation, in an occasion having to walk around what looked like the half-eaten carcass of a boar, that a fanged predator had left after eating its fill; Zoro brushed his fingers against the hilt of the Wado Ichimonji, as usual hanging from his belt together with the other two swords, almost hoping the beast would attack to make them its next meal, if only to break the monotony of that -he was sure- fruitless trek in the woods. 

“You should teach (name) to use a sword.” Luffy mentioned after a while.

Zoro blinked. “Why would I do something like that?”

“Because she told me she’d be curious to learn, since she can only fight with her bare hands and not with weapons. Nami suggested she ask you, but she said that you seemed so busy with your own training she was sure she’d just bother you.”

Zoro shrugged noncommittally; he was busy, since he still devoted hours to his training almost every day, and he had never thought about taking on an apprentice, especially after his resounding defeat at the hands of Mihawk had shown him how much he still had to learn himself, but why not, in the end?, he reflected. Zoro did allow himself a day free from training every week, aware that he had to take care of his body and allow it to rest once in a while, and teaching another person to wield a sword would be a better way to spend that time than many. He didn’t know whether (name) had any talent for it, but she was a capable fighter already, and trained tirelessly every day as well, which meant at least she was used to working hard and wouldn’t slack off. 

Zoro decided that before the end of the day, maybe even as they returned from the forest, he would talk to (name) to ascertain whether or not she was really interested in learning to use a sword. Maybe in exchange he could ask her to teach him the basics of hand-to-hand combat; he had no particular interest in it, but it might come in handy, if something prevented him from using his swords and he needed to defend himself.

“Zoro…”

“I’ll think about it.”

Luffy had stopped. “Zoro, loo…”

He huffed. “I’ll talk to her about it, Luffy, I promise…”

“Zoro, look over there.”

Startled out of his reverie, the swordsman blinked, instinctively following the finger his captain had directed towards a point a few paces in front of them on the broken, mud-covered stones. Due to the relative darkness, it took him a moment to actually perceive what Luffy had brought his attention on; and then, a few more to realise the creature standing in the middle of the path, perfectly calm like a dog waiting for the return of his master on the driveway, was not a skunk, or a fox, or any other mid-size wood creature. 

It was a dragon. The dragon, clearly, the one mentioned in the legends.

It had nothing in common with the majestic, vast creatures that populated legends and children’s stories, nor with the dangerous winged monsters warriors painted on their standards to scare the enemy away.

For starters, it was small. Tiny, even, its whole body barely longer than Zoro’s arm from his shoulder to his wrist, and narrow enough he could almost circle it with his hands, but there was no doubt about it, it was a dragon, not a weird species of lizard or another less-known creature, and it was there, in front of him.

“Fuck.” Zoro muttered to himself, completely astonished.

The dragon remained where he was, apparently unconcerned, as the two young pirates approached and kneeled in front of him. As the legends claimed, Its skin was of a vibrant pink colour, slightly paler on the creature’s belly and clawed paws; tiny silver scales covered its back, forked tail, and long neck. Its wings were even smaller than what could be expected from the dragon’s diminutive body, each of them not larger than the palm of Zoro’s hand; they moved gently with the creature’s breathing, partially translucent and streaked with silver. A short mane of silver hair covered its head, and tiny fangs peeked out of the dragon’s long snout. 

Zoro had no idea why, but he was sure the creature was a female. 

“I knew it.” Luffy whispered, clearly equally in awe; and then, way louder: “I knew he existed!”

Zoro didn’t bother correcting his captain, preferring to signal him to be silent. “You’re gonna scare her away!”

But the dragon didn’t look particularly worried; she kept observing the two young men now kneeling in front of her, her gaze tranquil but intense. There was something solemn, almost regal, in her bearing, the proudly erect neck, the long tail gently swaying on the ground. 

She regarded Luffy for a few seconds, sniffing the hand the young pirate had approached her with but pulling back to avoid being touched; then she focused her attention on Zoro, slowly but surely walked towards him, and when the swordsman also extended his hand, gently rubbed her head against the palm.

That brief moment filled Zoro’s heart with a wonder he didn’t remember experiencing before… as if he was a child again. He unconsciously smiled, and remained still while the dragon rested her forepaws on his hand, slowly putting her weight on him, and then heaved herself on the swordsman’s arm, her tail dangling near his leg, to press her snout against his cheek.

Luffy smiled, the butterfly net forgotten in his hand. “I think she likes you.”

A minute of cuddling later, the dragon jumped down; she briefly walked away, then turned back towards the two young pirates, then departed once more, turning to make sure they had seen her… and perceived her intentions. 

Zoro had. “She wants us to follow her.” he pointed out; Luffy nodded, silently accepting his first mate’s reasoning, and the two followed the dragon, who was now walking towards a particularly dense patch of trees.

A few minutes later they reached a small ravine, the ground sloping towards a stream a few feet below them; Zoro saw the creature jump in a dense clump of bushes. He kneeled, cautiously parting the branches, and 

“Luffy.” he murmured, feeling his captain walking behind him “Look here.”

The dragon seemed to have chosen the bushes as her nest: two eggs were placed on a bed of leaves and twigs, rounder than chickens’ and as large as Zoro’s palm, their pale pink surface dotted by silver spots. 

“So these are your babies, huh?” Zoro whispered, looking at the dragon who had curled protectively around the eggs and was now delicately rubbing her snout against them; a moment later she stood again, walking towards the ravine. She looked back at Zoro again, but Luffy, who was now closer, spoke before the swordsman could approach.

“I think one of her eggs fell.”

“What?”

“It’s over there.” the captain said, pointing at the bottom of the ravine; squinting, Zoro could see a pink spot standing out against the green of the grass and leaves. The swordsman supposed that an involuntary nudge of her tail, or perhaps the intervention of a small predator, had pushed the egg out of the nest and towards the ravine. Only a foot further, and the unborn little dragon would have fallen in the stream, the current strong enough to carry it away who knew where.

So this was why the dragon had approached them; to ask for help. One of her babies had been lost, or at least was in danger, and the egg was clearly too big for the parent to recover, pushing it back to the top or holding it in her mouth.

“Wait.” Zoro said, placing his hand on Luffy’s shoulder as his captain prepared to stretch his hand towards the bottom of the ravine and recover the egg “I’ll do it.”

It would have been much easier, and quicker, to leave the matter to his captain, but the swordsman felt -he knew- it was up to him, because the dragon had requested his assistance. He slowly descended along the steep terrain, grabbing a protruding root or the branch of a tree to balance himself, and finally reached the egg; despite the relatively long distance, it had landed on a bed of leaves that had softened its fall. 

“I think it’s all right.” Zoro said, holding the egg in his hand to check the pink surface for cracks.

“Great! You want a hand?”

The swordsman shook his head; he held the egg protectively in one hand as he climbed back to the top of the ravine, and a minute later the brood was complete once again, the dragon happily sniffing her three unborn babies as she held them close with her tail.

“Where is her mate?” Luffy wondered; when Zoro looked at him, the young pirate elaborated: “If she has laid eggs, there must be a boy dragon somewhere here in the forest. Why wasn’t their dad looking after the eggs?”

The reasoning made sense, Zoro admitted. “Maybe he went looking for food.” he speculated; in his heart, though, he suspected the reason for the absence of the  unborn baby dragons’ father was different, and much sadder, and that perhaps the mother had been forced to ask for their help because there was no one else of her species left in the forest “In any case, now they’re back together, and she’ll take care of them.”

He grinned as he observed the pink dragon scooping the vagrant egg closer to the others, and then carrying leaves to cover them; Zoro was sure the small creature would take better care of her brood from then on. 

A moment later, the dragon approached him once more; she briefly sniffed Zoro, and then quickly climbed up his leg and torso, balancing her small body on his shoulder; she promptly took advantage of the proximity to lick the swordsman’s cheek, her touch gentle despite the rogue tongue. 

Luffy grinned. “She really likes you.” he noted, his tone devoid of envy “You should adopt her, and her babies. We could bring them with us on the ship!”

Zoro doubted the idea was feasible, but he didn’t bother answering; he returned the dragon’s gaze, intense and somehow aware, conscious, much more than that of any animal he had ever met. He wouldn’t say that there was humanity in it, in her, because she clearly wasn’t human, but the little dragon’s feelings were so evident and earnest in that gaze, Zoro couldn’t help understanding them.

Thank you, she was saying, thank you for saving my baby. I’ll never forget what you have done for me. 

Zoro grinned; he vaguely wondered how foolish he had to look in that moment, and he quickly decided he didn’t care, and not simply because no one but Luffy was witnessing the scene. 

My pleasure, he thought, and he was about to actually utter the words, sure that the dragon could understand it, but the little creature acted first. Zoro saw her breathe in, filling her lungs like a person preparing to shout with all their might.

But dragons were not universally known for their loud voices. Oh, fuck, Zoro thought, suddenly tense; was the pink dragon about to breathe fire on him? But why, if she was so grateful for his help? Was this how her kind showed affection, burning each other? She was about to do it any moment now, and he could have attempted to protect himself, using his free arm to cover his face or pushing the dragon away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was paralysed, his body no longer obeying his commands.

He was aware of Luffy observing him, no doubt about to witness his first officer get roasted like a rotisserie chicken. The swordsman closed his eyes, ready for the excruciating pain of the burn…

… and a moment later the dragon’s gentle, barely lukewarm breath caressed his face, pleasant and completely innocuous, a vague floral scent wafting towards him. Zoro blinked, incredulous; when he opened his eyes, for a moment he could have sworn the dragon was smiling at him. 

Then his head started spinning, and his legs gave way under him, a violent and sudden sensation as if someone had punched him in the face hard enough to make him faint. Luffy cried in alarm, and Zoro felt himself falling backwards; before he could make sense of what was happening he lost consciousness, hitting the ground.

Zoro opened his eyes; he had already been awake for a while, but the sensation of the soft naked body pressed against his side, an arm splayed across his chest in a gentle but possessive hug, was too delicious and pleasant to move. He smiled softly, raising his head from the pillow just enough to depose a kiss on the top of the head resting against his shoulder; the gaze of its owner met him, and the two shared a smile, lazy and sweet and as intimate as everything that had happened on that bed on the previous night. 

It was not the sort of gaze one expected from the world’s greatest swordsman, not even in the intimacy of his bedroom, but Zoro didn’t mind; ever since he could remember he had thought the sword would be his only reason for life, the sole thing he could find joy and satisfaction in… and then, unexpectedly, the woman who was now circling his neck with her arms, an adoring look in her eyes that still made his heart tremble so many years after they had first met, had entered his life, and shown him how different things could be.

Zoro never thought a man could be so happy at being proved wrong.

“That was lovely last night; and you were amazing. Thank you.” she murmured as she kissed him lightly before hiding her face in the crook of his neck; Zoro had told her many times it was absurd, even ridiculous, to thank him for something that was so normal between spouses and that he was more than happy to do for and with her, but she insisted… not because she thought her husband made love to her out of obligation, but because she wanted him to know how grateful and happy she was that he was her man, and she was his woman, and so many years after their first kiss, formally married and as they raised a family together, they still chose each other every day, first and foremost… and they always would, until their last breath and beyond.

“You’re very welcome, my beauty.” Zoro answered softly; he kissed her back, gently tracing the curve of her side and hip with his fingers under the blanket, and then he plunged them in the warmth between her thighs, making her moan out loud.

“Zoro! No, we can’t…”

“Of course we can; the others won’t be back for a few days at least, we have all the time.” he argued, smiling as he saw her resolve crumble already, as a familiar and flattering warmth spread on his wife’s beautiful face, thanks to a simple but deliberate movement of his fingers “We are on vacation, are we not?”

They had already been together for years when the sudden disappearance of her menstrual blood, not to mention a series of unequivocal side effects, had informed them that their couple was going to become a trio soon. They had talked about it, argued about it, and hugged tightly after realising they both wanted to keep the baby; the wedding had been simple, with their friends -the crew of the King of the Pirates, with Luffy himself officiating in his own personal way- as the only witnesses, and six months later, Kuina had been born. A pirate ship was no place for a child, but fortunately a few years before the crew had found an island they particularly liked, and that had become a sort of base camp when they were not gallivanting around the world; Zoro and his partner had built a house to raise their little family in, and for a few years they had limited their time at sea to take care of their daughter - quite a sacrifice, after so many years they had spent on the Sunny, but that they had been happy to make. Soon, Zoro reflected as he gently pushed his wife on her back to kneel between the legs she had readily opened for him, their little girl would be ready to travel with them, or at least to remain at home for a while with her grandmother, who had moved to the island years before to help them; he couldn’t wait, whatever the case might be, and he knew his wife was of the same mind. No matter how much they loved and wanted to protect her, and how good it was to spend time together as a family, that was not the life they had chosen: he was the world’s strongest swordsman, the first mate of the Straw Hats, and his wife was an equally formidable combatant and pirate; they both couldn’t wait to return to their life of adventures, when danger could be waiting behind any corner and they both faced it with a smile on their faces, watching each other’s back. Yes, it would be good to return full-time to the sea, especially with little Kuina with them…

Not now, though; now, Zoro thought as he grinned, lowering himself to brush his lips against hers and feeling her tremble at the contact, he would focus on his wife, on her warm flesh and the bliss he would find in it. He took his time to regard her, casually throwing away the blanket covering them; her body had changed since the first time he had known it, both because of the passing of time and her pregnancy, but he still couldn’t find a more enticing, feminine and attractive sight; she was his woman, the only one he had ever known, and he would never stop desiring her - he’d never stop wanting her by his side. She was strong, capable, she didn’t need protecting; but Zoro would gladly fight God himself to defend her.

He felt her hands linger on his face, gently caressing his cheeks and hair; he took her left to kiss the finger she wore her ring at - one of the two, the one he had given her on the day of their wedding. She smiled under him, legs open wide, her hips gently rolling as she used her free hand to lazily caress her chest; that sight never failed to have an explosive effect on Zoro and they both knew.

“Well, husband?” the woman said with a smile “Are you going to simply stare at me all morning, or are you going to make love to me?”

Zoro was half a second away from kissing her -not on her hand this time; and not on her mouth either- when, not for the first time, their intimate moment was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door… and the high-pitched voice of a little girl demanding the attention of her parents.

“Mom! Dad! Are you awake?”

Used to being interrupted, both husband and wife were quick to cover themselves with the blanket, just before their daughter ran in and jumped on the bed to kiss them both on the cheek.

“Darling, how many times do we have to tell you? We don’t enter another person’s space without knocking and being invited in, especially if it’s their bedroom.” Zoro’s wife said, a touch of sterness in the kind voice she always used when talking to their daughter.

Young Roronoa Kuina bit her lip, apologetic but still unwilling to let the reason that led her to her parents’ room go. “But it’s late already, and you told me today we would go have a picnic in the woods!”

“We’ll go for lunch, Kuina; it’s still hours away.”

“Then we could go to the market and buy some food. Or you or dad could fight with me! Please, it’s been morning for ages…!” 

The girl was being trained by both parents, both in the hope she’d soon be able to defend herself in case of danger, and that she had inherited their talent; they had decided not to put pressure on her, in case she decided to dedicate her life to something else, but for the time being the results were encouraging and Kuina loved crossing swords with her father, or learning the best way to throw a punch or a kick from her mother. 

“I’ll train you, if you really want; there’s a technique I want to show you.” Zoro said, a pillow protectively placed on his lap, and he smiled seeing his daughter’s little face beam with joy “Now go wash your face, and put some clothes on. And Kuina, please, start knocking. It’s… well, it’s polite.”

“I will, dad, I promise!”

The little girl kissed him once more before bolting out of the room; her mother sighed as she shook her head, both amused and resigned. “I don’t even want to think about what she would have seen, had she come two minutes later…”

“Well, that would teach her to knock for sure.”

“Zoro!”

“I’m kidding; I don’t think she’s old enough to understand sex in any case.”

“Hmm…”

They looked at each other, a bit disappointed their moment had been ruined; Zoro smiled as he observed his wife rise from the bed and retrieve her night robe from the floor he had tossed it on the night before, too busy kissing her to worry about dirt and wrinkles. 

“Well, I’d better go prepare breakfast; Kuina is too young to do it.” she considered “Don’t go too hard on her today, I trained her yesterday and she needs rest, even if she’s always so full of energy.”

There was no need to warn him, but Zoro appreciated her concern. “‘Of course.” he said, leaving the bed as well and starting to pick his clothes from the floor. He stopped for a moment and then turned to regard her once more. “(name)?”

“Yes?” 

“I love you.”

She smiled; she had heard those words a million times, but they never failed to make her heart soar, because every time, no matter how sleepy or distracted or even angry he could be, she perceived the sincerity behind them.

“I love you too.” she answered; she quickly crossed the room to reach and kiss him once more, a chaste but intense kiss her husband gladly returned “I love you so much, Zoro…”

“Zoro? Zoro! Can you hear me? Zoro!”

It took the swordsman an enormous effort to open his eyes, and when he did he quickly closed them again, moaning against the blinding light. “What the…?”

“You fainted. The dragon breathed on you and… you just fell.” Luffy explained, scratching his head; he seemed worried, but smiled as the swordsman cautiously sat up, massaging the back of his head. Zoro winced when his fingers met a bump; it wasn’t bleeding, but it hurt.

The creature responsible for that little misadventure was in front of him, comfortably wrapped in its coils, its amber eyes focused on Zoro, who returned the gaze, glaring half-heartedly. “You could have made me sit down first…”

“What happened?” Luffy prompted him; the swordsman hesitated, suddenly embarrassed.

“She… she showed me my future.” he admitted in the end “It’s like the legends say. I had a… a vision, or a prophetic dream; I saw myself, much older than I am now.”

“Nice! How was it?”

It was good. It was amazing, and Zoro found himself unable to swallow as he remembered the brief but intense glimpse of his future the dragon had shown him.

“I’ve seen myself… married.” he explained softly, looking at his hands; he was happy Luffy was the only witness of his confession, because he knew he had blushed “I… I woke up in my bed, with my wife next to me, and then our daughter came to wake us up.”

Luffy whistled, impressed. “Wow, that seems… nice.”

“It was (name).”

“What?”

“It was (name), Luffy; our (name). She is… she will be my wife in… I don’t know, fifteen years from now? And I… well, I am happy she is. I’m happy with her, and with our little girl.”

He still couldn’t believe it. Zoro had never thought about marriage or, indeed, romantic relationships as a whole; he had never had a girlfriend, he was still a virgin, and was more than content with that. At least, he had vaguely promised himself, he would not entertain any relationship before reaching his goal of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, in order to remain focused on his training; and then, perhaps, he would meet a person he felt something special for, a person who would not ask him to settle down, and renounce his dreams and ambitions, but who would share them, a person who he could count on and trust… and even love.

He thought he could do it, one day; instead, it turned out, he already had - he had already met the woman who would one day become his wife.

(name). It was weird, thinking about her that way; he still knew her so little, and nothing even vaguely romantic had ever happened between them. Zoro was not in love with or sexually attracted to her, and if (name) felt something of that sort for him she was also exceptionally good at hiding it.

He did respect her, trusted her ability as a fighter and enjoyed her company as a drinking buddy, which, he reflected, was not bad as starting points for a relationship went, but had someone else told him they would one day build a family together, and he would feel happy, even blessed, for it, he would have told that someone to go easy on the beer.

But he had felt those emotions on his own skin, so to speak, and he couldn’t deny the effect they had had on him. Zoro knew he would remember the look of (name)’ -his wife-’s body, naked and warm and soft and willing in his arms, for the rest of his life; he just needed to think back to it to feel himself burn up. He had never had any interest for older women, but after all he was also older in that moment, the witness and the protagonist of that scene at the same time, and she was… well… she looked amazing, and if Kuina hadn’t interrupted her, he wouldn’t have minded to indulge in a little session…

And he loved her. A feeling younger Zoro still hadn’t experienced but could recognize, a feeling that was passion, affection, trust and respect all mixed in one, exhilarating and almost scary in its intensity; (name) was his life-mate, and while he still couldn’t begin to comprehend how that bond would come to be, he knew in his heart that the older him had never regretted getting her pregnant, and asking for her hand. 

The revelation about their daughter was another bolt out of the blue. They had a child - he had a child, a little girl of his own, who carried his name and had his eyes, as well as her mother’s smile. Zoro thought he had absolutely no paternal instinct, but knowing about Kuina filled his heart with a tenderness he had never experienced before, a desire to protect and defend her from any danger, even at the cost of his own life; it was a somehow alien, but not unpleasant feeling, and Zoro found himself mourning it, even if he had known it only briefly and knew he would have years to enjoy it in the future.

“So you and (name)... wow, I didn’t expect that.” Luffy mentioned “Are you still part of my crew, when you are older and have a daughter?”

Zoro nodded; he considered telling his captain that in his dream Luffy had conquered the coveted title of King of the Pirates, but he quickly decided his friend wouldn’t thank him for it; Zoro himself wasn’t particularly happy to know for sure his dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman would one day come true, since he now feared he would instinctively stop pursuing it with all his might, content with the certitude of his inevitable success.

“Oh, good! Well, that’s nice.” Luffy commented, shrugging; he had even less interest in romance than Zoro did, but he saw nothing wrong with two of his friends pursuing a relationship. He peered at Zoro, noticing his less than enthusiastic expression “Or not?”

“I… I don’t know, actually.”

“Is it because of (name)? Aren’t you happy you’re gonna marry her? She’s cool. She’s a good fighter, and she likes drinking, like you.”

Zoro shook his head; surprisingly, he felt able to talk about his feelings without any embarrassment, at least in Luffy’s company, but the truth was that he didn’t really know what he was feeling.

“It’s not that I am unhappy; it’s like you said, she’s cool, and… well, future me is happy he has married her, so I guess things will work out, even though it is weird now to think about us as a couple.” he began slowly “It’s just… what if I get together with her now because I know that we will get married one day, and not because I like her?”

“Then don’t. Don’t ask her out unless you actually feel it.” Luffy suggested simply; his reasoning made sense, and Zoro trusted himself not to get swept up by the predictions, and the feelings he now knew he would one day experience for his wife and daughter, but like for the realisation of his dream, he preferred to live his life remaining in the dark about his future, making his choices freely, mistakes included, and not because he already knew what was to come. It was like knowing what was in the wrapped box one was presented with for their birthday; they still appreciated the gift, but the lack of surprise did spoil the pleasure of receiving it.

The creature responsible for all that brooding was still looking at him, benevolent and somehow amused by the shock she had procured the swordsman; Zoro glared at her again, aware his heart was not in it, and carefully picked the little dragon in his hands.

“Can you… make me forget what you showed me?” he asked her “I’m happy with what I saw, but I think it’ll make things difficult in the future. Can you make it so that I don’t remember?”

The little dragon didn’t answer -naturally; but had she suddenly started talking in their language fluently, Zoro wouldn’t have been surprised- but she gently bit his finger, which the swordsman decided was a yes. Good.

He turned to Luffy, still sitting cross-legged by his side, waiting for his decision.

“Promise me you’ll never tell me what I told you I saw.” Zoro asked him; he was serious - as serious as he had looked that day at the Baratie, after waking up from what he had been sure was going to be his last sleep, as he vowed to remain by his captain’s side whatever the future may bring “In any case. Even if (name) and I do end up getting married, even if we get together but then we break up or years pass and we’re still just friends… can you swear you’ll never tell me what happened today?”

“I swear.” the straw-hatted pirate promptly answered, equally solemn, raising his hand “I’ll never tell you, or (name), or anyone else. Captain’s promise.”

Zoro smiled briefly; he knew his captain would not disappoint. He sighed deeply, his gaze returning to the little dragon patiently waiting in his hands; this time, at least, he wouldn’t get hurt falling.

“I’m ready.” 

Nothing happened - for a moment at least, long enough Zoro had time to fear the dragon only granted one wish to each person and he would have to cope knowing his future for the rest of his days; but a moment later the little creature opened his jaws and breathed gently on his face for the second time.

And then, again, he lost consciousness, his mind instantly turned off as if someone had closed a door plunging a room into darkness; Luffy was quick to grab him by the shoulders to accompany him to the ground, while the dragon swiftly jumped off the swordsman’s hands when they could no longer support his weight. A second later Zoro was dreaming -normal, harmless dreams, of great seas opening under his feet, and the distant memory of his mother’s lullaby- while his captain observed the small pink dragon spread her wings, their span much greater than they expected, and take to the air.

“Are you sure he’s alright?”

“Don’t worry, he is fine; he’s… uh, sleeping.”

“Sleeping? Luffy, it’s the middle of the afternoon, and he has a nasty bump on the back of his head. I’ll go back to the ship, I’ll take the first-aid kit…”

“‘m fine.” Zoro grumbled; he rubbed his eyes as he sat up slowly, aware of his friends fretting -at least, one of them was fretting, her eyes full of concern- by his side. He had hit his head but, he realised touching the area with his fingers, the bump hurt less than he expected “What… what happened to me?”

“I have no idea; I got here a minute ago, and you were… well, you looked as if you had fainted, even though Luffy says you were just taking a nap.” (name) said, uncertain, as she fiddled with the ring hanging from her neck once more; she was kneeling on his left, clearly worried for the swordsman, while Luffy, a step behind her, stood looking on, an amused and interested smile on his face; he had retrieved his butterfly net “Are you alright?”

Zoro considered it for a moment before nodding; he didn’t remember falling asleep, but he felt well and, he decided, there was no need to worry his crewmates.

“Did you find the dragon, (name)?” 

“What…? Oh! No, I didn’t, unfortunately; not a trace.” she answered, clearly disappointed; she offered the swordsman a hand, and easily helped him to his feet “And you didn’t either. Maybe Zoro was right, it’s just a story for children and this was only a waste of time.”

“Yeah… maybe.” Luffy agreed, smiling innocently; (name) looked strangely at him, while Zoro made sure his three swords were still by his side.

“We should go back to the ship.” he suggested, lifting his gaze to the sky; he had lost track of time, but judging from the position of the sun they had spent a couple of hours in the forest already; by then Nami and the waiter had probably returned with the supplies, and were waiting for them “It’s no use to remain here.”

“Yeah, well… the two of you go.” Luffy said, with the look of one who had suddenly had the best idea of his life. (name) looked at him.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I need to do something first.”

“Do what?” 

“Nothing important.” the captain insisted innocently, gesturing for them to start in the direction they had come from; he put his hands on (name) and Zoro’s shoulders, gently but firmly pushing them on “I’ll be back soon. Just… take your time returning to the ship, ok? Take a walk… chat a bit…”

The two combatants looked at each other, nonplussed; then, both tacitly decided to humour their captain. “Just don’t be long, Luffy, otherwise we’ll have to remain here tonight.”

The captain promised he would join them soon, and smiled broadly to himself as he observed his friends set off, walking side by side; he had promised Zoro he would never tell him he and (name) were destined to become a couple, but that didn’t forbid him from making sure they spent some time together alone, did it?

“Well, no trace of the dragon, but I must admit this was a pleasant walk; there must be animals and plants here that don’t exist in any other part of the world.” (name) pointed out as they walked. Zoro noticed she was now wearing a flower behind her ear, no doubt picked in the course of her exploration. She would probably lose it soon, or have to throw it away because it had withered, but it did look pretty on her “I wish I could show it to my mother.”

“Why? She likes flowers?”

“Oh, she sure does; she’s a botanist, she has dedicated her life to the preservation of rare plants and trees, and also manages a flower shop. I used to joke that she had sap in her veins, instead of blood. My father once told her that it was the most appropriate job for her, since she was a kind, nurturing woman, even though none of the shop’s flowers could rival her beauty…”

She stopped, both talking and walking; Zoro looked at her, both confused and a bit worried. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just… It’s weird talking about him; I don’t think I ever did it, even with the friends I have grown up with.”

She smiled softly, her pendant ring once more in her fingers. “My father was a pirate.” she confessed softly “He still is, actually; there was his picture on the paper last week, together with his crew.”

Zoro blinked, intrigued despite himself. “Why aren’t you with him, then?” he asked; the girl in front of him was a capable fighter, any captain would be lucky to have her as part of their crew, unless her father had wanted to keep her safe.

“Well… mainly because he has no idea I exist.”

Her parents, (name) told Zoro, had met when her father’s crew had reached the coastal town her mother lived in to spend the winter; they had met and had become involved, fully aware their relationship was destined to end at the arrival of spring; before leaving, the pirate had gifted his soon-to-be-former partner a ring, to remember him by. Neither of them knew yet he had also given her something even more precious… a little girl, who would be born eight months later, and who since early childhood had only dreamt of two things: to become a pirate, and to meet her father.

“All things considered I’m on the right course; my father’s crew is on the Grand Line, which is where we are also going, and Luffy says he’s a good man, that I can be proud to be his daughter. One day I will meet him, and I know a father is not someone you should need to impress, but I want him to be proud of me as well.” (name) explained; she looked at Zoro, tense as if afraid he would make fun of her dream, but then she smiled, seeing he was listening intently “I know that perhaps he doesn’t even remember about my mother, that he probably has no interest in being a father… but I want to meet him; I want him to know I exist, what sort of face I have, and that I have been waiting to meet him since I was three.”

She looked so earnest, so sincere and open in confessing her deepest desires, Zoro felt embarrassed for a moment, as if he had caught (name) as she cried her eyes out - or as she changed her clothes. Still, he could respect her dream, that might look less ambitious than his, or Luffy’s, but that was clearly equally precious to her.

“Well, you’re a very capable fighter, you’re brave, and a reliable crewmate; if he’s a pirate, I’m sure your father will appreciate that, when you do meet him.” he pointed out, and (name) beamed at him.

“Thank you. Maybe when I do I’ll introduce him to my friend, the world’s greatest swordsman.”

Neither was trying to flatter the other, or to raise their spirit; they simply, honestly, respected each other, and that feeling would never whither, even when other and more intimate emotions had arisen between them. 

“Wait a moment… Luffy has told you about your dad?” Zoro realised a minute later, as he and (name) resumed their trek to return to the ship.

“Exactly; they met when Luffy was little, they were friends. Luffy didn’t tell me until weeks after I had joined you guys, he almost gave me a heart attack!”

“You’re telling me your father is…?”

“No; not him.” (name) interrupted him, turning to regard the swordsman; it seemed important to her to make things clear “My father is… well, his you, in a sense.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Funny coincidence, is it not?” 

(name) smiled; she had never shared that story with anyone before, not even with Luffy, but for some reason she felt happy she had confided in Zoro; she felt happy he was there with her. 

A minute later, as they walked unhurriedly, the scent of salt coloured the air, and the sheep figurehead of the Merry appeared in the distance in front of them, with Usopp busy polishing its horns with a rag.

They still had a few minutes before joining the others - except for Luffy, who had disappeared to do God knew what; Zoro walked with his hands in his pockets, the sheats of his swords gently dangling by his side, feeling content, even strangely hopeful, even though he had no idea why. 

“Hey, listen.” he started, suddenly remembering, and (name) turned to look at him, an interested smile on her lips “Luffy said you’d like to learn to use a sword…”

Is it clear who her dad is?

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: biting

☆ pairing: the ghoul/lucy maclean

☆ summary: A quick bit of teasing falls into something more as Lucy chooses to bite at Cooper's skin.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Tucked as firmly into his side as physically possible, Lucy rubbed the ball of her foot harshly against Cooper’s ankle as she wound her leg within his to give her a more thorough anchor to his wider frame. The afternoon heat had proven too much for either to tolerate, a sudden heatwave knocking even the sturdiest of the wastelands freaks to the wayside, and they had taken the opportunity to hole up in an old bunker which housed a decent sized cot – one large enough to house both their frames.

Clothing peeled from their sweating skin, the joint relief was palatable as Cooper had barricaded the door and dropped his holster by the cot before joining Lucy as she stretched out like a cat. That was only about ten minutes ago and already the two were deep in the throes of some obnoxiously heavy petting.

A cool breeze swept in from somewhere and Lucy pulled her hair up a little to allow it to ghost across her neck, shuddering at the gooseflesh it left in its wake as she enjoyed the relief.

“Shivering for me already, sweetheart?” Noticing her shudder, Cooper couldn’t help but offer her a shit eating grin as he dragged his hand up her side, tracing along the shape of her waist with rough fingers.

“Not for you,” Lucy denied in an instant. “The breeze. It’s lovely.”

“Well, fuck me then.”

“Maybe. If you can behave for more than five minutes.”

“Now that,” Cooper drawled, “is a hard bargain. How’s a man supposed to be good when he has all this pressed against him?”

Groping her ass with a thick hand, Lucy scowled at how roughly his fingers dug into her ass and responded in kind by digging her nails into the textured expanse of his inner thigh. A move which made him inhale a sharp hiss and let her go as a low insult was muttered in her direction – one she wasn’t quite able to pick up on as she flashed him a full smile.

“Damn, vaultie. And you say I’m too violent.”

“You’ve created a monster.”

Shifting his body to allow her head to fall to his shoulder, Cooper fixed her with a suspicious glare. “Next you’ll be sneaking my knife to carve more bits off me.”

“More bits?” Indignant at the accusation as a very definite memory of a certain ghoul carving her finger from its place flashed in her mind, Lucy flicked at his chest with her hand. “Hey! I think you’ll find th-”

“Carving. Biting. It’s all the same shit on a different day.”

Interrupting her as always, his constant overstepping guaranteed to get a fun rise out of her as she struggled to take control of the conversation again, Cooper tightened his grip of her side as he pulled her flush to his chest – forcing her to wrap her arm around his stomach to ensure that she stayed comfortable.

“Oh, is it now?

Her teeth sinking into the curve of his shoulder without warning, Cooper grunted as she worried at the skin for a moment, squeezing her jaw hard enough to hurt while not breaking the skin. At his grunt, Lucy smiled into his flesh, the textured skin feeling weird as hell against her mouth as she rolled her tongue against it.

“Biting you is like biting into beef jerky,” Lucy complained.

“Shit talking me like that will get you punished, Miss Maclean.”

“I can’t believe the big bad ghoul would punish an innocent vaultie like me just for telling the truth.”

“Innocent,” Cooper huffed with derision, his disbelief pairing with his hand as he reached over to tug playfully at Lucy’s right nipple – pulling at the nub between textured fingers until she shuddered and arched into his touch. “You’ve been about as innocent as a whore on shore leave since I had the misfortune of stumbling on your sorry ass. Do it again though.”

“What?”

“Bite me again,” giving her the demand, Cooper guided her hand to his cock shamelessly – allowing her to feel the growing hardness there as his body responded to her beastly attack. “It’s something’, vaultie. Watching you bite at me like a feral kitten and feeling those teeth attempting to tear my hide.”

Tucking her dark hair behind her ear, Lucy couldn’t deny the flush of arousal which dampened her cunt as she traced her tongue along the skin she had just bitten. Her body felt so light against his own, her soft skin brushing along the pitted mess of his and she gasped as his hand slid down her side to pull her lower body tighter against his own – his cock grinding against her hip.

Lucy bit him again, this time slowly increasing the pressure on her bite as she clamped her teeth around the sensitive juncture where his neck met his shoulder. Cooper’s reaction was immediate, his cock jerking in the heated space between them as he inhaled sharply through his teeth.

“Keep going, vaultie,” Cooper hissed and a wicked determination settled in Lucy’s thoughts as she considered how much it would take to get him off like this. His teeth were more than familiar with her skin, his delight in taking her into his mouth in all the ways that he could having driven her to absolute madness as she screamed and writhed beneath him.

It was only fair that she got her own back.

Continuing to bite along his neck, the texture of his skin felt so wrong against her mouth but also familiar in a way that made her hand want to drop between her legs and take care of the ache that was making her thighs wet with arousal. Cooper’s body was more than making up for her lack of action, every sharp bite of her teeth making his groin grind against her hip as his cock desperately sought the friction of her skin.

He was unashamed in his pleasure and she was unashamed in teasing it. With only a few brushes of her hip or easy-to-misinterpret wordplays it was never too difficult to have him pressing against her back roughly and suggesting they pause for a quickie on whatever available surface would house them.

And, in the wasteland, sex was one of the few activities which didn’t directly involve murder or violence.

Well.

Most of the time.

“God-fucking-damn!”

Coming back into her thoughts as Cooper’s lips sealed around her neck with a brutal pressure, Lucy knew that the mark left would be absolutely livid against her skin as it healed and she scowled at the thought.

Responding in kind with a particularly vicious bite against the crook of his shoulder, Lucy gasped into his skin as a low grunting noise slipped free of Cooper’s lips and the wet heat of his release splashed across her hip – his mess immediately being ground into her skin as Cooper continued to buck his body against her own.

Delighted, Lucy gave a little giggle as she tucked her arm around Cooper’s chest, anchoring herself to his body as his pecs rose and fell with every laboured breath. “All this mess from just a little biting? Wow.”

“Hey now, can’t a man enjoy having his balls emptied without being put up on the firing line?”

Lucy smirked despite herself, “I’m grouchy. I don’t think it’s fair that only one of us gets off when I was the one doing all the work.” But her lips formed into a quick ‘o’ shape as Cooper’s fingers shifted to press at her soaked cunt in an instant.

“Hmm, yeah, I can feel that. Well, we can’t be having that can we? What kind of gentleman cowpoke allows a lady to go without her own?”

Muttering the word gentleman with as much disdain as she could muster, Lucy spread her legs without hesitation and settled in to get as good as she gave.

[tokiwarcube]

May i suggest an nsfw charles x afab!reader fic where the reader is shy and sweet in general but a loud/vocal desperate sub during sex? Maybe w some elements of humiliation n roughness??🤞🤞 honestly take this anywhere i luv ur writing sm i have faith u would do this justice 🫡 ☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

WAAAAA, thank you so much!! Faith of this caliber is truly the highest compliment 🦇🖤🦇

Partially inspired by this post, talks of silk rope shibari/bondage. Might expand this into something more someday? I could have gone harder with the humiliation and subsequent drop into desperation, me thinks, especially if there are. others. who fall into the same camp as me in that regard🖤🖤🖤

Either way, 1k drabble below the cut! Enjoy!

Too much, and not enough — it’s a contradiction of course, but in the moment you don’t have time to think about the inconsistency of your wanting. Not when the soft rope tugs so pleasantly at your skin, keeping you anchored both to the moment and to your position of complete and utter submission. You feel like a doll, the way you’re put on display — on your knees with your arms behind your back, expertly tied knots accentuating every curve of your body — and it doesn’t help that the man behind you refuses, refuses to indulge you further.

He taps a rhythm against your throat as you lean back onto him — your only support in this precarious position — as his clothed cock presses gently at your dripping cunt. You want so desperately to rock back into him, to gain some sort of stimulation, but you can’t — not when you’re bound like this.

His free hand roams slowly across the expanse of your body, taking its time in the re-exploration of all that is you, but notably missing all of the places you want it most. Blunt nails on ribcages, on thighs, grasping at your chest — it’s a patient kind of torture, made purely to drive you mad.

You can’t be sure how long you’ve been pleading for — it feels like its hours, dizzy as you are off of lust — but you know well enough by now that he doesn’t need that much time to reduce you to this. Hell, the simple act of tying you was enough to leave you fuzzy in the head. Strong hands pulling you this way and that as he knotted the silk rope imparted a heat in your core, sparking where his hands first touched before washing over your body in waves — the tying could have lasted hours with his patience… or perhaps only minutes, with his efficiency. It doesn’t truly matter to you, now — all that matters is Charles, and how badly you want his hands on you.

“Charles,” you beg, breathless with equal parts want and exertion, “please, please touch me?”

“I am touching you.” He taps his fingers against your throat once more, collected as ever.

“Fucking, God—”

His fingers flex around your throat in warning — no true pressure applied, but the message comes through clear enough: Behave. You bite back another swear at the motion, breath shaky beneath his palm. A pause as he tests your submission, your recall of his unspoken commands, before rubbing his thumb over your pulse fondly. It’s then that he takes his hand from your throat, instead grasping your jaw in his hands to force you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he says, “and tell me what you want. Clearly, now.”

You swallow, willing your voice to stay steady in spite of your growing fervor.

“Please, fuck me?”

His lips upturn subtly, and finally, finally, the hand pressing against your hip eases you further unto his clothed cock. Your face flushes as he presses more insistently at you, spreading your wetness as the pressure becomes more pleasurable, closer to what you need.

“Good, good,” he says, as casually as he might speak during a damnable business deal, “Is this what it takes, to get you to use your words?” A well-timed buck of his hips has your mouth parting in a keen, and he presses on. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep you tied up, now would it?”

The mental image has you shuddering — bound beneath your clothes, paraded around in secret. And with all things, he catches your interest as it blooms.

“Pretty little thing. Is that want you want, hm?”

Words mix in your head, syllables crashing into eachother in velvet waves of lust — it’s nearly impossible to pull together any form of a sentence, and so distracting is your sudden incompetence that you hardly notice when he peels his boxers down. What you do notice, however, is when the head of his cock comes to press at your entrance. The “yes” that falls from your mouth is desperate, pitching higher as he runs himself through your dripping folds, and warps into an unintelligible cry as he slides into you.

Everything is so electric, every micromovement sparking a new wave of euphoria, and each sensation is only doubled when you’re given a glimpse of your lover. He’s a vision, with his normally well-kept hair now mussed, stray strands plastered slick to his face without his glasses to impede them. And those pretty green eyes you’ve come to love are dark, devouring each little reaction you give — entirely on display, and unable to shy away.

Tied up as you are, the pace is left entirely to Charles — and somewhere in the back of your mind that still has some semblance of coherent thought you surmise that all of the teasing must have affected him too, with how he bounces your body against his cock. Mocking words fall from his lips, rumbling against your back and going straight to your core, and you can’t help the needy agreement that comes from you in turn. You’re like a toy in his strong hold, hips meeting again and again with a fervor and desperation so unlike his usual demeanor.

It’s not long before your walls are clamping down on him, trembling in his arms with a garbled cry and some semblance of “thank you.” And you’re content to let him take further from your body as you ride out your orgasm, especially when his voice drops, swearing hoarsely into the skin of your throat. His grip tightens, fingers flexing against your hips before he bucks into you with a particularly deep thrust, pulling you flush against him as he cums with a cry of his own.

Too much and not enough. Shy but vocal. Collected but desperate. It’s contradiction after contradiction, but as you pant against one another in the afterglow, you can’t find it in you to care.

[lilac-5ky]

Roommates from Hell, pt.2 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 2: 2912

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed the first part of the story! I'll do my best to update every 1-2 weeks and to keep things interesting. Feedback and suggestions are always welcome, and if anyone wants to be notified for updates, drop your name in the comments and I'll gladly tag your @.

Warning: Flashback, mentions of violence, blood, and sex toys (odd combo, I know)

2…9…1…2

Deft fingers punched in the numbers on the door’s keypad, a practiced crescendo of beeps and bops granting you access to your flat. Hesitant fingers that dropped to the handle, but refused to push forward, instead anchoring you there. Not yet, you mumbled, your eyes squeezing shut as soon as your forehead hit the frame.

Today has been a long day. So long that you barely had a moment to process the line of rapid escalations as it brought you to this very doorstep, with the ghost of your former scarf dangling from your neck. Some people would rather be glued to the little screens of their little phones than discipline their eight-year-old brats who, for some reason, thought playing tug of war with others’ scarves while they busted their gut to make a leaving to be of utmost entertainment.

Some people ought to keep their genes to themselves, you exasperated, untying the fabric from your neck and then balled it inside your bag, zipping the bunny across the seam.

The bunny…

Toji…

It was becoming a habit of yours to follow up his name with a sigh. Sometimes a sigh that meant “What am I going to do with you?” and others coming from a place of deep longing and frustration, meaning “What am I going to do without you?”

He said he’d be home after “snipping some loose ends,” which in his dictionary either referred to him breaking some poor woman’s heart, or quite literally stabbing some equally unfortunate man’s heart out of his body at his job’s demand. Depending on the plausibility of each scenario, you were given a minimum of four and a maximum of six hours to try and make sense of his actions and devise a plan to make this cohabitation work.

You licked your lips for the millionth time that day, gnawing at the chapped flesh with the edge of your teeth. No lip balm could aspire to salvage their sorry-ass state, aggravated by the low temperatures and honed by your continuous munching on them. You’d become so conscious of their existence, that it seemed as if you were trying hard to erase it before he had the chance to realize his goal of kissing them— even when that was a common goal shared by the both of you.

The taste of metal pooled in the hollow of your mouth, your teeth sinking a tad too deep. There wasn’t much reason to keep contemplating that which never happened and that which, perhaps, would never come. You wiped your shoes on the crooked doormat (was it always crooked?) and walked inside, your legs nearly giving out at the sight of two knees dangling from your beloved couch’s armrest.

“Woah, keep it down, won’t ya?”

None other than the voice of Toji reprimanded you as you screamed at the top of your lungs. His body was spilled across your couch, the expanse of muscles barely fitting upon the three azure-colored pillows. A soda —your soda— nested in his palm, while a bag of empty potato chips —your chips— lay on the kotatsu.

“What the hell are you doing here?!?” A trembling hand reached out to where your heart supposedly was, checking whether it was still in its place.

“Watching some travel show about Chikura,” he answered, unfazed and undisturbed. “You like abalone, right? Why don’t we-”

“I’m asking, how the fuck did you get in here?”

“Oh, that,” Toji smirked, lowering the TV’s volume just when the travel host was about to devour a platter full of steaming hot seafood—mouthwatering enough to divert your attention for a second. “Sayaka let me in.”

“Sa-yaka…?”

“Flat hair, narrow eyes— kinda like Izumi Pinko. Walks around with a cane twice her size. Rings a bell?”

“Talking about Ogawa-san?” you asked, a caricature of your crabby landlady taking shape before your very eyes. “She never lets in anyone without a key, though. Last time I forgot mine, she acted as if she didn’t know me and went right past. Had to phone a locksmith,” you sighed, murmuring under your breath about the extravagant sum of money you were forced to pay. “How did you do it? Convince her to open up?”

“How else ya think?” His chin rotated leisurely atop his knuckles.

“You can’t be serious! Y-you fucked her?” Your eyes went wide like saucers, the notion sounding both feasible and surreal.

His smirk sharpened into a sly grin as he stood up, a slight slouch on his shoulders carrying him to your eye level. You couldn’t exactly look away from this proximity, so you began quietly analyzing him. The tight-fitting black tee and baggy training pants that greatly accentuated his hips and shoulders; his work outfit. The overgrown hair that curtained the dark circles of his eyes; evidence of a sleepless night. The absence of scent, not even of dirt, sweat, or struggle. He must’ve actually been working on a bounty, you deduced, your final thought of rationale as he invaded the last bit of personal space you’d left.

“You really think the worst of me, huh?” His tongue circled his lips, prompting yours to do the same as you sheepishly shook your head, the sultry sound of his voice as hypnotizing as his hooded green eyes were.

“You think I go ‘round spreading the legs of everything that moves?” Toji asked again, his tone growing more condescending by the second. “ ‘fraid that ain’t the case, princess. I’m not into goodwill. Don’t do things without merit, either. She asked who I was, got all perky when I said I’m moving in, and then handed me these,” he paused, throwing a bundle of creased envelopes at your feet.

You kneeled awkwardly, seeking the sender’s origin in each logo seal. Water company. Electricity company. Phone company. Insurance company. Even the bills from that one debit card Hinata issued in your name in case of an emergency.

“Could say I paid my way in,” he scoffed, his eyes searching for an inkling of appreciation that he failed to find in your stubborn squint.

“I could’ve handled these myself.”

“Thought you’d say this, that’s why I saved this one,” he tossed another, smaller yellow-tinted paper onto the pile. “Eviction notice. My, you have it quite hard, don’tcha?”

“I don’t need classes on financial handling from someone whose living conditions are entirely dependent on ‘the bimbo of the week’,” you snapped, rising back to your feet with the bills in hand.

Maybe things were a bit tighter these past few months than you’d accounted for, but you weren’t like him. Sooner or later, you paid all expenses through sheer work and effort— a concept foreign to him, who’d rather be thrown into the streets than save a dime.

You weren’t like Toji. Not one bit. You knew that if he hadn’t run into your landlady, you would have definitely paid all your debts off in a month’s time or two, even if that meant devolving your breakfast’s nutritional value to that of instant ramen. You could take care of yourself, just like you’d done for 14 years now. He had no right to interfere because, come next month, you’d—

But the overdue deadlines at the top of each paper spoke louder than your inner thoughts and bravado did. The next month would never come for you. Not in this house, at least.

Defeated, you unfolded the paper, straightening the creases your fingernails had helped create. You hated feeling this way— indebted. The last thing you wanted was for this to turn into just another transactional relationship with an expiration date dependent on the other’s wage.

“Thank you, and,” you mumbled, your stare hiking up his body and stopping at his chest —right about where the difference in your height manifested— “….sorry, I guess. Just thought that with the way you look, and all that-”

“The way I look…?” A winsome smile tugged at his dimples, his left hand weaving through his hair as if he were oblivious to how effortlessly attractive he appeared in his work clothes, every single crevice of his body visible under the little piece of fabric.

“N-never mind.” You tore your eyes away, cheeks flushing bright red at thoughts a friend shouldn’t be having. “How was work?”

“Pretty dead,” he shrugged, using the same hand to rub some of the tension around the crook of his neck. “Don’t see a real challenge rising until that Gojo kid hatches from his egg. Rest die like flies.”

As a regular person with about an average percentage of cursed energy running through your system, you had little understanding of the mystical world of Jujutsu and its sorcerers, all the information you had acquired being bits and pieces that Toji had shared with you over the years. He never went into too much detail about his job but never hid anything either. He killed sorcerers with the same ease he spread butter on his bread.

You really didn’t understand much, and perhaps the keywords “kills for a living” ought to ring an alarm or two, but an outsider like you who didn’t abide by their rules had no right judging those who broke them. Besides, with the way his family had disposed of him as if he were a chewed piece of gum stuck on the back of their sole, things weren’t as black and white as one would assume.

“Gojo, you say,” the name sounding awfully familiar on your tongue. “Is that one of the three big clans?”

Toji nodded, his arms folding over his chest. “Special grade when he ain’t grown any pubes yet,” he scoffed, voice twisting in an unnatural way that could have tricked you into thinking he was jealous of the young boy.

“Are you gonna kill him?”

His brows knitted together, clearly not expecting such bluntness. “Question is, can I? Answer being, for the right price,” the frown he wore subdued into a crooked smile. “maybe. Kid should fetch one good wad of cash. I’m sure many want the six eyes out of the picture.”

Six eyes?

“Just make sure you save some of it,” you mindlessly said, eyes dancing around the room for the first time since you’d entered the house.

There were no real signs of his presence. The duffel bag seemed to be nowhere in sight either. Only his shoes were left by the door right next to yours, a sign you’d completely missed upon entering.

“What happened to your things, by the way? Don’t see ‘em.”

“Took the liberty of sorting them out,” Toji said. “You had a lot more empty space than you made it sound earlier.”

Somehow that statement terrified you— not because you were some overbearing control freak who didn’t want others interfering with their stuff, but because you feared the misplaced items he might have found casually lying around, providing him with all the excuse he needed to tease you to an excruciatingly slow and shameful death.

You went on a parade through the rooms, Toji following in your steps like a well-trained puppy, letting you freely inspect the new “changes”.

In the living room, you spotted a pair of dumbbells lying by the window, heavy enough that when you tried to pick one of them up, it resulted in one loud, unintentional shriek as your feet were nearly crushed, much to Toji’s vile amusement. Then in the bathroom, you found a second toothbrush that shared the exact same color yours did, along with a black fuzzy towel and a men’s deodorant that was missing its lid. You’d have to get another cup for his toothbrush, you noted, and moved along, eventually making it to your apartment’s sole bedroom.

“Where are your clothes?” you asked, Toji nodding in your closet’s direction.

You opened the first door, finding a series of dark-colored shirts, sweaters, and cardigans hanging from the previously vacant racks. You didn’t wear much color yourself, but when comparing the disparity between his almost exclusively black side of the space and the creamier pastels that predominated yours, the clash in taste was indisputable.

Absentmindedly, you run your fingers through his clothes, stopping at the dark blue parka you’d gotten him for his 21st birthday. He wasn’t the type to keep gifts from women, but seeing he’d preserved yours in mint condition filled you with a strange sense of pride.

“Not bad,” you exclaimed, satisfied with how aptly his clothes were displayed until a new worry surfaced. “What about your underwear?”

He glanced toward the bottom drawer, his instep gently kicking against it. You weren’t too sure if that was necessary, and under different circumstances, you’d rather avoid such overt embarrassment, but this was your house first and foremost. Your closet, your drawer, and—

“The bottom drawer…?” The realization struck like a ton of bricks, your pupils widening and then trembling as a breath hitched up your throat, remaining there.

The bottom drawer is where you kept it, perhaps the only thing in this entire household that you’d rather he didn’t see, at the cost of your own life, even. A rabbit, whose little ears tapped in excitement every time it saw you. A rabbit vastly different from the ones that hopped around happily in fields or the one that was weaved through the zipper of your handbag. A rabbit that had kept you company in his place many nights and knew the sound of his name better than Toji himself did.

Sinking to your knees, you felt his shadow loom over you like the shadow of imminent death. You let go of that breath and yanked the drawer open, eyes squinting at the sight of neatly stacked black boxers, their size big enough to make you arch a brow, yet not big enough to completely conceal 6 inches of hot pink. You were safe.

“Looking for this?” A light buzz rang in your ear, your head tilting to meet Toji’s namesake.

“G-give it back!” You dived forward, gracelessly collapsing at his feet when he pulled it out of reach.

“Come and get it,” Toji retorted, wiggling it before your very eyes.

Piecing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you pounced at him, fingers locking around the silicone and his hand, while he refused to surrender, his thrilled expression revealing just how much he enjoyed the demand in your tone as you bossed him into handing back the vibrator.

“What will I get in return?”

“Wha— why would you get anything?” You gritted your teeth, stumbling forward as he dragged you to him.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he shook his forefinger playfully. “Finders keepers, losers weepers. If ya really want it, better compensate me first. Oh, look, it has multiple speeds, huh….” he said semi-impressed, revving up the rabbit’s switch to its second and third speeds.

“…What do you want?” You practically begged, seeking a way out of this humiliation.

“Now we talking,” Toji smirked, barely restraining himself from ruffling the hair of the ferocious, albeit cute, beast that attacked him. “2912. What do the numbers mean? Tried your birthday first, but seems like you do have a few brain cells in there,” he tapped at your temple with his free hand, frustration pooling in your eyes. “Then your mom’s death anniversary, your sis’ birthday, that brat’s too— even mine, but no good.

“So, what’s 2912 to you? Indulge me, and I’ll let you have it.”

2912, or more accurately, 29/12. It didn’t surprise you that he didn’t remember. After all, it wasn’t an important date, just another winter’s day from many, many years ago. A day that was all but erased under the thick blanket of snow as it engulfed your tender memories.

A heavy sigh parted your lips, and at that moment, you knew you’d already lost.

“You really wanna know?”

It was the 27th of December.

The 27th morning of a month whose sole notable event was the week-long blizzard that’d condemned the entire nation to a period of absolute and unfaltering inertia. Well, as unfaltering as the in-between downpours let it be, snow washing over the streets in a diluted mixture of ice and mud every two days— streets turning into a dangerous minefield, and hospital beds quickly filling up with broken-boned smarty pants who thought wandering out and about in the heart of winter would be as inconsequential as those dull days were.

You were one of those idiots. Not quite, but you were on your way to join their ranks, every step you took across the frozen pavements of Tokyo threatening to leave you with a bad case of a sprained ankle, or worse, a cracked skull. You regretted wearing those worn-out boots today of all days, but then again, your wardrobe choices were limited to whatever clothing you’d grown out of, and the clothes your mother left behind.

This old suede pair was hers, too. A gift from back when your house was still open to crowds and birthday parties— when it wasn’t just an empty carcass of termite-eaten joists and web-infested corners that could barely welcome, let alone host, the final of its residents: yourself.

Returning to the reason why you’d chosen today as the day to stride across Shibuya —a thermos of soothing Butajiru soup gripped tightly between your mitten-clad palms and a backpack full of advertising fliers for your afternoon job attached to your back— and consequentially, the reason why you sported your mother’s beloved shoes: you had a job interview. Your first non-canceled interview in over two months since your personal inertia began when you were suddenly and unjustifiably laid off.

Those were tough times. The entire country was dipped in despair over the biggest economic recession they’d known. Left and right, people had their jobs snatched from within their grasp in the name of meek excuses such as cost reduction, or merging and buyouts, or even staff redundancy, and who could blame those small enterprise owners, really?

In any case, the cost of running your previous employer’s rathole of a convenience store might have been reduced, but your living expenses weren’t, and the supplementary funds the state provided were running dry. No one wanted to hire an inexperienced, uninsured high schooler. It was too much of a gamble, especially when the contenders were overqualified college graduates desperate enough to work menial jobs for the same breadcrumbs a part-timer would.

You were at your wit’s end. Out of luck and starved for something other than vending machine onigiri. Thirsty for a life you’d probably never be able to obtain. But today wasn’t about wallowing in self-pity. No, today was the day you’d take your first step toward normality and dignity. Today, you marched proudly in your mother’s most prized possession, and today you felt her comforting scent linger in the breeze, giving you the much-needed push to achieve what you’d set out to do.

Live. That was the final request that left her lips, and that was exactly what you were planning to do. You’d live. No matter what, against all odds, you would live.

The headlights at the bustling intersection shone a brilliant green as the herd of sharply dressed businessmen and casually dressed students on their day off pushed forward like a troop of toy soldiers, sweeping you past Shibuya River, where the crystallized waters from below its bridge stilled your grimacing reflection.

It’d been so long since the last time you’d genuinely smiled that your facial muscles barely remembered how to. It looked awkward and forced. Foreign. You’d practiced your introduction days ahead, but that damn smile stood in the way. If only there was a “smiles for dummies” playbook, though you doubted it’d help. Those without a reason to smile could only second-guess the happiness of those who were blessed with it.

As if to further test your theory, today’s misfortune came pedaling right in your direction, a hasty biker knocking the thermos off your hands and onto the water with a faint “sorry” echoing in his stead. You ducked over the handrail, spotting the silver shine a couple of meters away from the river’s brink. You sighed in relief, grateful that the impact hadn’t shattered the ice and that you still had about 45 minutes to catch your interview— more than enough time for you to carry out your flask’s impromptu rescue operation.

You walked over to the bridge’s sideline, where, in place of stairs, an overgrown cherry tree cast its shadow. This was far from sensible, but the cliff wasn’t steep enough to dissuade you. You looped your scarf around a leaning branch and began your descent, the non-existent friction between your tattered soles and the slippery cement sending you to meet your maker as you tumbled down the slope and hit the ground. Shit.

Once you were done lamenting your sheer idiocy, your faulty shoes, the tree branch, the weather forecast, and every Shinto deity’s name you could remember off the top of your head, you pushed yourself onto your knees, carefully rotating each ankle around itself. Not broken. Thank those aforementioned gods you cursed, or else you’d never be able to afford the medical bills.

You shook the snow off your clothes and stood up, stretching both arms over your head, only to realize your blunder had become a lonesome spectator’s object of amusement. The man —assuming that the creature behind you was a man and not some wild beast with the way his jacket fluffed over his skull— was bent in half, knees to his chest, and arms coiled around, the sole distinctive trait that of his sparkling green eyes zeroing in on your plainer orbs.

You could have sworn you heard a chuckle, too, but you weren’t about to start a fight with some unhinged bum at the bottom of a bridge— not when you were one missed bill away from sharing his fate.

Deciding to temporarily forsake his presence, you located the now broken branch and attempted to fish your bottle out, moving as close to the ice as you could. Desperate lunges pushed the thermos further in, your hold on the wood relaxing with each failed attempt until you barely had a grip.

“Excuse me!” you turned at your last resort. “Hi, um… could you please help me out here? I dropped this into the water, and it’s really important I get it back, but my arms can’t reach and the ice is so thin and slippery I just might fall.”

An uncomfortable chuckle failed to appease its tough crowd, with the man remaining lost in his thoughts, his eyes blinking slower than traffic lights during rush hours. It seemed like you’d found the worst person to exercise your communication skills with.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Shut up.”

It was your turn to blink in surprise, your jaw dropping at the man’s barking. You were too shocked to be offended and too offended to question if it was you he addressed, but his next sentence left no real room for misunderstanding.

“I said, shut the fuck up and take it elsewhere. You were the one who dropped it. If it was that important to you, then shoulda taken better care of it instead of avalanching your way down here and disturbing my peace.”

Clapping your hands over your agape mouth, you muttered an apology and faced away from him, coming to your senses a minute later when you realized you weren’t in the wrong. Sure, he could be dealing with some lachrymose life-shattering situation you knew nothing about, but that wasn’t an excuse for him to act like a complete jerk to a fellow stranger in need.

You weren’t sure why you held back from flipping him off. Maybe you’d accepted that dealing with douchebags was going to become part of your new reality as a service worker, or maybe it was because you really didn’t want any trouble with a guy who looked this intimidating even while seated. Either way, you whipped out your trusty branch again and neared the brink, this time using it as a cane to help you tread the frozen waters and snatch your thermos.

You didn’t even get a chance at a victorious cheer when you felt the ice shatter beneath your feet, eager to swallow you into the depths of its bottomless abyss. Or that’s what would have happened if the river didn’t cap at 2 meters, and if a hand didn’t yank you by the scruff of your neck, hurling you back to the shore as if you weighed no more than a snowflake.

“The hell you think you are doing? Got a death wish or something?” the brass voice of your savior accused, belonging to a much more pleasant and youthful face than one would have expected.

The boy was more or less your age, about a head taller with broad shoulders and a toned physique his baggy clothes undermined— much stronger than your average high-schooler, judging by the sheer strength he’d flung your body with. Messy raven black hair rained down to his ears, sloppily chopped into shape by their owner himself. Eyes as green as a thousand springs gone by, and as fiery as the blazing fury scorching them. The only discord in his features was that of a scar on the right side of his lips, begrudgingly moving with each profanity he spat.

Your second apology came as a knee-jerk reaction to his outburst, encouraged by the temporal trance his good looks had subjected you to. You wouldn’t say you had a type, and even if you did, you doubted that a no-good, rude bridge inhabitant was it. However, the only way for you to tear your gaze off of him was to physically force yourself away. The guy murmured something under his breath and moved back to his original spot, arms dangling over his spread thighs.

You were unsure of what to do. The time for your interview was closing in, and no one guaranteed he wouldn’t rip the vocal cords off your throat if you tried to verbally thank him. You had a very bad feeling about this guy, and perhaps you should have listened to your gut rather than nullifying the distance with a peace offering.

“Here,” you prodded a spare cup of soup into the empty space between you.

He arched a brow at your gesture, his irritation gradually melting into curiosity and then acceptance as he brought the cup to his lips and took a hesitant sip.

“Hmm,” he hummed, gulping down some more after he’d made sure you weren’t trying to poison him.

You expected something else to follow, but it seemed like his outburst exhausted his vocabulary. You could always ask what he thought of it, but the thought alone was as scary as going for another suicide dive. So you said nothing, and he did the same. Just two strangers who barely tolerated each other sharing a moment of silence in the snowy landscape.

A short while later, the boy shoved the cup toward you and dug his hand in his jacket’s front pocket, dropping about six crumpled ten-thousand yen bills at your feet.

“For the soup,” he explained as if the notion of spending such an extravagant sum on half a cup of pork loin soup made sense.

“Are you outta your mind?” You pushed the bills back at him, lest your greed take over. “How much do you think this cost to make?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, no real hurry to reclaim his cash.

Your initial impression was completely false. No bum would ever wave ten-thousand bills around as if they were nothing. No, this guy ought to at least be some troubled conglomerate heir that’d run away from his five-bedroom mansion.

“I’m sure you don’t know how dangerous this neighborhood is,” you said, placing your hand against your heart. “But as a born and raised local, allow me to say that if you keep flaunting wads of cash in people’s faces so recklessly, it won’t be long before you get mugged. It’s your lucky day you ran into me and not some sleazy money grabber, but trust me, not every day’s lucky, and not everyone’s as nice.”

Something about what you said must have resonated with him, considering his frown cracked into a simper.

“I’d like to see them try,” he spoke in a cocky tone that reeked of confidence. “How much for seconds then?”

“Not for sale,” you answered, throwing the thermos inside your backpack.

His weight shifted in your direction, chin balancing against his elbow. “Why not?”

“You see, I’m on my way to a job interview. Figured if I don’t cut it, then the soup will,” quickly adding, “It’s my trump card.”

“What a dumb plan,” he sneered. “If ya wanna bribe someone, better make an offer they can’t refuse. Couple of these work like a charm.”

He waved the money again, successfully drawing your interest when you noticed tiny splotches of red on one of the bills. Blood.

Picking up on the change in your expression, he hurriedly stuffed the cash inside his pocket, his thumbs sticking out in a relaxed grip so as to hide his discomfort. The air grew heavy once more, albeit for a different reason.

Every guess you’d made regarding this guy’s identity clashed with the next one. He was rude, but he’d jumped to your rescue. He looked unkempt yet strikingly handsome. He’d taken refuge under a bridge but was damn loaded. A walking (more like seated) contradiction of a man that intrigued you in more ways than he repulsed you.

“So, what are you doing out here? Did you also fall from up there?” You chuckled nervously while pointing upward.

He smiled.

“That’s a pretty old-school pickup line, if ya ask me.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Your chest pounded against your fleece jacket, hands quick to dispute him. “Did something happen? Why did you end up here?”

He shook his head.

“Did you run away from home?”

He shook his head again.

“Did you get into a fight with someone?”

He thought about shaking his head a third time, but instead, he opted for a groan and hissed about how he should have let you drown.

Your tongue embarrassed you yet again, as you mumbled an apology and cowered in your corner. For some reason, you couldn’t stop apologizing to him, and if that was enough to frustrate you, then it was definitely enough to annoy him. Maybe the time to leave had come. You’d done your part in thanking him, and it was really none of your business to pry into his sad character backstory.

“Well then. It was nice knowing you, and all. Hope you have a Happy New Year’s and a nice life, and let’s never see each other again for as long as we-”

“What if I told you I just killed someone?”

The blood in your veins froze for a reason separate from the cold. You were left staring at him with wide-open eyes and a wide-open mouth that refused to form anything other than a soundless “What?!”

“Thought so,” he scoffed as if he expected the outcome, sorrow lingering in his voice. “Go away if ya don’t wanna end up the same way. I’m still getting the hang of it, and I’m afraid it’d hurt more than drowning.”

But you didn’t leave. Even when that little voice of reason thrashed and begged for you to seize the opportunity and get the fuck away from this place, your legs refused to take another step. Instead, you settled back upon the snowy blanket and stilled your gaze on his face, watching a glimmer of something tune in the green of his eyes.

“W-Who was it?” You feigned calmness.

“Does it matter?” he shrugged.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Does it really matter?” he sighed, reconsidering his answer. “Dunno. Money, I guess. Not as if I had a personal grudge or anything. Didn’t even know the dude up until three days ago. Took him out with a single bullet to his brain. T’was instant since he didn’t move. Painless, too.” He tried to humanize his actions.

You weren’t entirely sold on his story, but on the off chance he was telling the truth, that made him a murderer and you a witness to his crime. Worse, if you didn’t rat on him, it made you an accomplice, and as far as you were concerned, neither was less illegal than the other.

Your hands cupped your mouth completely as you pretended to blow hot air, the reality being that you didn’t want to spew anything too backhanded before thinking things through. Oddly, it all made sense. The reason he sat down there like a puppy kicked by his owners. His devil-may-care attitude and rude comments that meant to throw you off. The blood on the bills and the stain on the hem of his jacket that you’d previously overlooked.

That was all the incriminating evidence one needed to possibly sentence him, and yet you sensed no real danger in his presence. Only a deep sadness that stemmed from his lifeless eyes, making you believe that his so-called victim was none other than himself. He looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep in God knows how long, the light in his eyes reduced to a murky shade of jade now that everything was laid bare.

There was so much you didn’t know about this boy, his name included. But you knew that look of despair all too well. If it was because of money, then maybe, just this once, you wouldn’t mind giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“How much did you make?” You lowered your palms.

Your question surprised him more than he thought possible, and his stupefied expression was a telltale sign of that. He flipped both pockets inside out and let the money fall onto the snow, revealing twice the amount he’d held before— a total of 120.000 yen.

“Minus a grand. Felt hungry after,” he admitted.

“Must be nice… With that amount of money, I could have rice to last me until the end of the year.”

“You’d kill for rice…?”

Glancing at his face, you couldn’t help yourself from snorting. You were both too deep inside the twilight zone to be questioning each other’s motives.

“Why act surprised? People like us do all sorts of things to get out of our predicaments, don’t we?” you asked, deciding there were more things you had in common than things that divided you. “Is ‘just money’ a better reason than rice?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “But if I were you, I’d get myself a pair of boots that ain’t a death trap of its own. Gotta be a special kind of idiot to wear crappy shoes in the snow.”

“These were my mother’s!” you objected, and he smirked. “What about you? Where do you plan on spending all that money?”

“Roppongi probably. Or Kabukicho. Heard the right price fetches you the right type of fun there.”

He couldn’t be serious. Those were two of the most renowned bad districts in the history of bad districts. Drugs, gambling, prostitution— you name it.

“How old are you again?”

“Older than you,” he childishly retorted.

“What’s your name?”

“So you can snitch?” His tongue wet the scar below his bottom lip. “Toji.”

“Last name?”

He contemplated his answer for a bit before proudly stating that he didn’t have one —that he didn’t need one— and then he asked you the same.

“Y/N.” You smiled faintly. “I do have a last name, but doubt the one who gave it wants me to have it. Would’ve asked it back if it had any real value.”

“So we are two fuck-ups,” he— Toji, declared.

“I suppose we are.”

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the kind that wasn’t heard but felt through the eyes of two kindred spirits entirely content with each other’s presence. Ever since your mother passed, you lived in a sphere separate from other people. Your classmates and those who tried to be your friends could afford the luxury of sharing takoyaki on a school day and going karaoke singing the next. They could attend field trips and leave memories on a string of Polaroid frames.

You didn’t. You couldn’t. There wasn’t a single moment in your life when you hadn’t thought about the cost of milk and the value of one-plus-one deals you convinced yourself you didn’t need. Such were the concerns you had at seventeen. Not boys, no friendships, no university entrance exams, no nothing. You couldn’t afford the price tag of a dream, let alone a tomorrow. You lived for today and for making ends meet, so how could someone like you ever aspire to be understood? How could you ever view yourself as something other than the zeros at the bottom of your meager paycheck?

Your self-exile had no room for others, yet somehow, this foul-mouthed stranger had barged his way in and given you a moment that you couldn’t price. A moment that neither loan sharks nor the bank could ever steal. A moment of your youth.

The thick fingers of a calloused hand came to tap at your knee softly, making you wonder whether you’d missed something during your short period of contemplation.

“When’s the interview?” Toji asked.

“Uhm.” You rolled your sleeve to check your watch. “Ten minutes? There’s still time; the place’s right around the corner.”

“Somethin’ tells me getting your ass over there will take longer than that.” Suddenly, the hand that was on your leg hovered above your head, prompting you to grab it as Toji towered over you. “Let’s go.”

“You coming with?”

“You think I’d rather sit down here like some bridge troll that reels in defenseless damsels in distress?”

You were tempted to answer “yes” to see his reaction, but he resumed talking before you could utter a word. “Won’t say it again. Let’s go.”

And with that, you followed Toji to the other end of the bridge, where the stairs you previously failed to locate mocked you with every little squeak your heels produced, until you stood back at the top of civilization, finding it, unsurprisingly, the same as you’d left it. Thoroughly white and eerily quiet.

Just as you thought your ways would part, Toji took your hand in his rather forcefully and picked up a steady gait that you were made to keep up with, your shoes leaving deep imprints in the snow.

He held your hand all the way to the diner, and although you were truly curious as to why he did that, you didn’t dare ask. You walked side by side in silence, occasional fleeting gazes catching his warm breath clashing with the cold. It was then that you realized how warm his palm felt, despite it being all bare. Warm, strong, and certain. So this is what holding a guy’s hand feels like, you giddily mused.

By the time you reached the front door, you were more reluctant to let go than you’d been to grab his hand, thinking that this was the first and last time the two of you were saying goodbye. Sweat made your fingers slippery. You were anxious. You slid your mittens off your fingers and, on a whim, pressed them tight against his palms, making him the recipient of the first gift you’d ever given. He shot the pink-colored wool a funny look —maybe because the prospect of him accepting such a girly-looking accessory puzzled him— and then lingered for a moment or two before he turned around and waved at you over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you gonna wish me good luck?” You asked when the distance between you began to increase.

“You won’t need it,” you heard him say. “The soup will do.”

And with those final words exchanged, you traded the frigid cold for the diner’s artificial heat and the presence of a prospective friend for that of your boss-to-be.

Just like Toji predicted, you didn’t need luck, and you didn’t need that lukewarm soup either. The man hired you almost as fast as he saw you, sternly announcing that you start come Monday. You thanked him from the bottom of your heart and ran back outside, searching through the various white-painted buildings for that stubborn hint of black you’d not too long ago parted with— which you quickly spotted a couple of alleyways ahead.

“I got the job! You hear me, Toji?” You yelled in utter glee, sensibility alone keeping you from springing upward like a jack-in-the-box. “I’m not a fuck-up anymore; I got it! I got the job!”

You weren’t even sure whether that shadow really belonged to him and whether he’d actually made sense of all your frantic cries, but maybe if you’d hushed a little, then you could have heard a distant voice chiming, “I knew you would.”

It was the 27th of December when we first met, but it was on the 29th that I fell in love with you— the scruffy boy with the snow-laced hair and emptied pockets who ordered the cheapest fries off the menu as my company’s fee.

You had your answer locked and loaded— a trigger waiting to be pulled. A clear shot. One bullet was all it’d take to end it. One word, and the farce you called friendship would fizzle right then and there. A sadistic impulse uncoiled deep within your stomach, hitching up your throat like a vile serpent of temptation spurring your chaste tongue to commit the greatest sin imaginable.

I hate being your friend. I don’t want to do this anymore. Do you have any idea how hard it is?

All synonyms for the same emotion. A gut-wrenching, soul-crushing, and above all, self-destructive unrequited love that made your heart clench at the mere sight of him, pound at the sound of his voice, and hammer at the ghost of his touch. If you could reach deep within your chest and cut that useless thing off the strings that held it in its cavity, you certainly would. You’d hand it over to him and gladly watch him stomp on it with the biggest smile contorting the final expression on your face. You wanted to rid yourself of this pointless emotion, but you knew very well that to destroy yourself meant to destroy him.

The 18-year-old Toji that held your hand on a cold winter’s day as if it were the most precious thing to him. The 20-year-old Toji that came along to meet the sister and nephew you didn’t know you had. The 22-year-old Toji that said he was proud of you when you paid off your parents’ house’s mortgage. The 24-year-old Toji that came to your graduation from state college with blood-stained lilies in his hand, again letting slip how proud he was. The 26-year-old Toji that didn’t hesitate to knock the teeth right out of a handsy prick’s jaw, spending his first and last night in a holding cell. The Toji from the last ten years of your life that never strayed too far away from your sight and always managed to return in time for lunch.

Standing in front of the 28-year-old Toji, you felt more apologetic than ever, wishing that you wouldn’t have let your love for him fester into something so selfish and consuming. Because if Toji left, then you’d still have your sister and her family, but if you left, Toji would have none.

And that was why you could never tell him what that day meant. It was impossible to speak of it with any less fondness than the one depicted in your memories, and as dense as Toji could be at times, he was no idiot. So rather than giving him the answer he thought himself to seek, you retracted your hand and took a step back, forcing the meekest smile your guilty conscience could muster.

“How about an offer you’d never refuse?”

tags: @absoluteindulgence

[isalisewrites]

Fem!Tomarry

I blame ya both. @monsieurclavier and @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger You're responsible for this. Seducing me with lesbian Tomarry and sexy ladies. *shaking my head*

----

The rhythmic drips were a requiem of damned.

Scales glittered in the dull light of the expansive chamber; a guardian to her queen, the great basilisk coiled around a runic diagram, where a steaming cauldron simmered in the center with bubbling black liquid. Tom took a step back away from it and rolled down her dress shirt sleeves, revealing unmarred pale skin in the dim light. She opened the waistcoat of her uniform and unbuttoned her shirt, opening it enough to reveal the upper part of her breasts.

Next… she needed a bit of blood.

Well, a lot of it.

Her eyes were drawn to the sniveling, sobbing girl that lay a few feet away. The girl stared up at her from behind pitifully ugly glasses, wrists bound behind her back with conjured rope, and a gag shoved in her mouth. She thrashed on the ground, her screams muffled, and then sagged, her chest fluttering with her gasps. 

“It’s a shame,” whispered Tom, her voice light and lyrical as she took a step forward. The bound girl hiccuped and sobbed in terror. She could almost taste it in the air. “You really shouldn’t snoop into other people’s business. Bad things might happen when you do.”

The girl wailed behind her gag.

“But it’s all right,” said Tom; her gentle tone was a dark constant to the gleaming knife she held in her hand. She stepped closer and knelt in front of her. The girl screamed some more, her glasses askew. “This will hurt, quite a bit. And when I’m done, I’m going to kill you.”

Tom smiled at the renewed sobs. She put a hand onto the girl’s shoulder and shoved her face down. The girl screamed again, legs kicking, body thrashing wildly, but Tom straddled the back of her thighs and grabbed her tied wrists. A lock of her short hair hung a few inches from her face as she hunched over the girl’s prone form. With a light caress, the knife brushed against the girl’s forearm.

It sliced through flesh with ridiculous ease, red blood blooming to life at the seam.

High pitched screams echoed through the Chamber of Secrets.

“There, there,” murmured Tom, but she couldn’t be heard over the cries. She dipped her fingers into the cut, coating them in blood. “Your blood is important to me. I shan’t waste a drop of it.” Tom painted runes, one by one, her right forearm. Though her runes weren’t drawn as steady, she did the same for her left forearm. Tom pried the cut open a little more, briefly jostled by the girl kicking in furious sobs of terror, and dipped her fingers with more warm blood. She drew another set of runes over her breasts and her heart. As she painted the final runes on her cheeks and forehead, she whispered, “Almost done now.”

Tom forced the girl onto her back. The girl continued to weep, but the life had been drained from her. Tom stood up and looked at herself, doubling checking the runes.

“I’m ready,” said Tom softly in parseltongue, a well of excitement bubbling up inside her. Scales slithered against the ground as the basilisk moved towards the lone girl on the ground. Tom lifted the diadem of Ravenclaw and gazed down at the girl. “Myrtle, you’ve been so good for me.” The girl let out a wretched sniffle. “Really, you’ve been a delight. But, sadly, this is where we part ways.”

Tom’s smile cut through the darkness.

“Kill her.”

“As you wish, Mistress.”

This was it. The moment she’d spent countless hours studying for, meticulously planning for - this was the moment she created her first horcrux, the first anchor to the mortal plane.

Except…

Multiple things happened at once. A flash of golden red light burst high above in the chamber, flames flickering on the stone ceiling. A bird cried, high and warlike, and more light illuminated the chamber. There was a girlish screech, a low curse, and a loud crash.

The cauldron toppled over, spreading out all over the stone floor and smearing the runic circle away. The basilisk shrieked in pain when it splattered her scales and reared back away from the spilled potion.

“Ew, ew, what is this?!” cried a new voice, a woman’s; though, it was a touch lower than the average girl. “Ouch, I think it’s burning me—shit, it’s definitely burning me—”

A rush of magic - wild, intoxicating, elysian - flooded through the entire chamber. There was another screeching, birdlike cry, mournful and powerful. The spilled, sizzling potion that had been meant to consume Myrtle’s blood and merge with the diadem vanished.

Months of work and preparation.

Gone.

Tom trembled with apocalyptic rage. The intruder—she’d have to die. Perhaps all wasn’t lost. She had two victims from which she could forge horcruxes from now. How long before someone noticed Myrtle’s absence? Tom could probably brew another potion in a shorter amount of time. She had the ingredients. Myrtle didn’t lose that much blood and she was still breathing.

Tom double checked.

Ah, yes. Myrtle was alive. 

The intruder stood up, spluttering in such an undignified manner that Tom couldn’t keep the sneer from off her face. It was young woman, a girl who couldn’t be much older than Tom. Her strangely casual clothes were disheveled, messy, covered in dried mud, and she had a wild mane of black hair that looked as if it hadn’t been brushed a day in its life. A phoenix with feathers of a sunset landed on the young woman’s shoulder. It folded its wings and cuddled up against her hair, nipping through tangled strands.

But it was those eyes that captivated Tom the moment she saw them.

Hidden behind ugly circular frames, those emerald green eyes held an ethereal light to them, so unnatural that Tom had to wonder if they belonged to something supernatural.

Tom’s heart stuttered when those eyes locked onto her.

“Fancy meeting you here in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle.”

Coated in fresh blood, from her fingertips to her forearms, to the parted dress shirt and vest which revealed bloodied cleavage, Tom smiled up at the young woman in her most perfect, charming smile.

“And who might you be?”

“I’m Harry.” The phoenix trilled lightly, burrowing its beak into her hair. The young woman’s eyes never faltered. “Harry Potter.”

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - Praise (*)

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: NSFW, smut.

Word count: 909

Summary: a tender moment together.

Masterlist

-------

Jason’s bed was large and luxurious, and it had a satisfying bounce when he dropped her on it. 

She looked up at him. 

He stood at the foot of the bed, watching her like a tiger eyeing its next meal as he peeled off his layers. His eyes were dark and hungry. The ironclad restraint he had displayed up to now was starting to fray. 

Her clothes had been discarded on route, her hair was a tousled mess, and her chest was still heaving. The curtains were closed, the rest of the world shut away. Nobody existed but the two of them in the semi dark.  

Naked, he put a calloused hand on her bent knee, and gently ran it down her thigh. 

“This all for me?” he asked, with a crooked smile. Like he hadn’t put his hands to work already, making doubly, triply sure she was ready for him. 

“So damn cocky,” she said, nudging him with her foot.

“With the way you look at me? You betcha.”

“Shut up and get down here.”

He climbed over her, settling between her legs. 

It had become a familiar dance as her body learned the needs of his, and vice versa. His sheer size, at first an alarming and exciting prospect when looming over her, was a comfort now. The white shock of hair hung above his eyes as he looked down at her. 

She ran her legs up his sides, bracketing him. He kissed her slowly as he entered her.

He pulled back to draw in a long shaky breath. She ran a hand up the back of his neck, playing with the soft hairs at his nape. His eyes drifted closed. 

The cockiness never lasted. The vulnerability left in its absence stole her breath every time. 

“Are you alright?” he asked on a whisper.

She cupped the back of his head and kissed his temple. “I’m perfect, baby. You?” 

“Yeah.” 

Only then he started to move, a hand anchored to her hip. The other arm was braced against the bed above her head. 

In many ways Jason was a very complicated man. He had so many opaque and unscalable walls there was no way through unless he explicitly let you in. In other ways he was quite simple. 

“You feel so good inside me, Jay,” she said. “Taking such good care of me.”

The noise he made was so tender, so vulnerable. So unlike the hard shell he wore even in the privacy of his own home. She wanted to hide him under the covers, hold him tight and ward away the world. Mine, she wanted to snarl at everyone who would claim their pound of flesh.

He hid his face in the crook of her neck. 

Out in the daylight he didn’t know how to accept praise or even gratitude. He had no use for fame or glory. But in the dark when nobody was looking, was it so shocking that a man who would destroy himself for a cause he believed in, wanted to be told he was doing a good job?

He put on such a show for her every time they were together. Showing off, sure, but it was all for her enjoyment. He never even touched himself until she was already on the edge, if not already toppled over it. 

And as soon as she could give him any pleasure, he got shy about it. 

This man. 

He rocked into her with a neediness that set her heart aflutter. She wound a leg around his waist and wrapped an arm across the flexing expanse of his back. 

“Keep talking, baby,” he said. 

She moaned in contentment. “I can feel you stretching me with every thrust. Feels divine.” She ignored the warmth in her cheeks at the filth from her own mouth. It was for him, but it was adding to her own pleasure as well. “You’re so thick. So satisfying.” 

He made a guttural groan that made her toes curl and her core clench. Her breath against his ear was shaky. 

“I feel so full,” she whispered. “So safe.” So loved. 

He rocked into her a little harder.

“Nowhere I’d rather be than underneath you, Jason.” She nibbled his ear lobe. “Except, maybe, on top of you.”

He laughed, breathy and helpless, and only a hair shy of a whine.

“Tough luck,” he said, mouthing her neck. “I called dibs tonight.”

She grinned, perilously close to the edge again. 

“Give it to me a little harder.”

“Like that, sweetheart?” 

“Yesss, just like that. Oh, that’s good, Jay, that’s so good.”

He brushed her hair back from her face and gazed down at her. His eyes were dark and desperate, green shot through blue.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his voice choked.

She cupped his cheek and grazed his cheekbone with her thumb.

“Yes you do,” she said fiercely. “You deserve the world.”

He groaned low in his chest, and his pace stuttered. 

She reached up to kiss him and swallowed his groans of ecstasy. His hand moved to her thigh wrapped around his hip and gripped her hard. She bound him in her arms and held him as he fell apart.

He shivered and bucked into her in great wracking bursts of pleasure, tipping her over the edge into her own sweet, rolling climax. Her eyes squeezed tight, and his name sighed on her lips. 

Jason curled around her and his heartbeat thundered against her chest. 

She felt like she held the whole world in her hands.

Next>>

[doumadono]

Hi, new follower to your blog and I have to say I really love your writings. I might have a Emergency Request to ask you.

In these past months I'm seeing a therapist for varius life problems. Doc said that I'm somehow a “succub” of my mom with the way she controls some aspects of my life and still babies me despite me beign an adult. She's not a bad mother, she always given me the love and attention any child could ask for, but in some aspects (like money, friends, ecc...) I do agree she's nosy and overprotective and we do argue, quite violently too sometimes.

May I please ask for either Hawks or Dabi (whichever is fine) comforting their SO after a fight with their parent. I just need to be told I can be strong and independent on my own. Thanks in advance💙.

Hawks and Dabi & s/o after a fight with their parents

A/N: it's important to recognize that acknowledging certain dynamics with your mom doesn't diminish the love and care she has provided. It's a testament to your maturity and self-awareness. Identifying areas where you feel controlled or overprotected is a crucial step towards personal growth. It's a journey towards establishing healthier boundaries and finding a balance that respects both your independence and the love you share. Embrace the progress you're making, and continue to communicate openly with your therapist.

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Hawks

The apartment was cloaked in a heavy silence, an aftermath of the emotional tempest that had unfolded during your phone call with your parent. Hawks, ever attuned to your moods, noted the turmoil etched across your face. He moved gracefully towards you, the subtle rustle of his feathers accompanying his approach. With a gentle touch, he enveloped you in the expansive embrace of his wings, creating a sanctuary that shielded you from the outside world. "I know it's hard," Hawks spoke, his voice a soothing melody that echoed through the room, "But strength doesn't mean facing everything on your own. It's okay to lean on others, especially those who genuinely care about you." His fingers traced a delicate path across your face, wiping away the remnants of tears.

You nodded your head slightly. "I-I… I know, Keigo, but I don't want to be a burden…"

"I've been where you are," Hawks admitted, his eyes reflecting the weight of his own past. "But you, you're a force to be reckoned with. You've got the strength to rise above this, and I'm right here with you every step of the way. And you're never a burden. Ever."

With a lingering smile, he pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes. "You've got this," he reassured, his hand cupping your cheek. "And remember, I'm here whenever you need someone."

"Thank you," you whispered, looking up into Hawks' golden eyes.

He offered you a genuine smile. "Don't thank me, dove. It hurts my heart to see you like this," he admitted, his tone stripped of its usual carefree cadence. "Your tears, they hit differently. I'm supposed to be the one who soars above troubles, but when it comes to you… it's different."

His hand reached out, fingers brushing away a lingering tear, as if trying to erase the pain etched on your face. Hawks gazed into your eyes, determination replacing the concern. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes for those tears to drop rarely, you know? Whether it's fighting the world or just being here, I want to see you smiling more than anything else."

Dabi

The cityscape outside your window twinkled in a mesmerizing dance of lights, a stark contrast to the lingering tension from your confrontation with your parent. Dabi, leaning against the wall, observed your restless pacing with a quiet determination. With a swift yet gentle motion, he reached for your hand, his touch a cool anchor amidst the emotional tempest.

"Independence is about choosing who deserves a place in your life," Dabi asserted out of sudden, his words cutting through the lingering turmoil. "You don't need anyone who brings you down, especially not family. You're stronger than you think, and you have every right to be independent and happy."

"You know it is not that easy," you told him, sitting on a couch, pulling your knees under your chin. "I know that deep down they do love me, but sometimes they just… It seems like… Like they're crowding me, ya know what I'm sayin'?"

"I get it," Dabi murmured, his voice a low rasp that betrayed a depth of understanding. "Dealing with family is a special kind of hell, isn't it?"

He sat next to you, his demeanor shifting from the usual standoffishness to a more contemplative stance. "I've been down that road. Having people who are supposed to care but don't… it messes with your head yeah? But you know what, you're not alone in this."

Dabi's turquise eyes bore into yours, a shared pain reflected in their depths. "Sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones fought at home. And not everyone gets it. But I do. I know what it's like, and I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but I'm saying you're stronger than you think. I mean it, Y/N."

He reached out, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, a silent gesture of solidarity. "You deserve better. And you've got a choice — you can let them define you or rise above it. I'm here if you choose the latter."

As Dabi spoke, he drew you into a tight embrace, his warmth a stark contrast to his typically cool exterior. "I've seen too many people get held back by toxic ties," Dabi murmured, his voice carrying a rare tenderness. "You're not one of them. You're capable of breaking free and forging your path. And remember," he added, his eyes locking onto yours, "you've got me by your side."