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[fixdex-fastening-technology]

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[dulcescorderitas]

𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓴'𝓼 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 C.Kent

the house was quiet, the kind of stillness that came only when the kents were away. the hum of the farm at night wrapped around the walls, crickets chirping outside the open window, the faint scent of hay drifting in on the breeze. clark sat on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping his knees like they were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

his blue eyes were wide, filled with a mix of anticipation and nerves as he looked up at you standing in the doorway. you’d been together for a while now, long enough to know his every smile, his every twitch of hesitation, but tonight something felt different. he’d invited you over after his parents left for metropolis, the weight of whatever he wanted to say hanging heavy in the air.

“so…” you started, your voice soft, teasing, but careful not to push too hard. “you gonna tell me why you’ve been acting so weird all night?”

he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. “i just… i’ve been thinking about something. and… i need your help.”

you arched a brow, stepping closer. “what kind of help, clark?”

his gaze dropped to the floor, his hands wringing together now. “it’s… i mean, i’ve never… you know.” his voice was barely a whisper, and when he looked up at you again, his cheeks were flaming. “i’ve never been with anyone before. like… like that.”

the confession hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you just stared at him, your heart skipping a beat at the vulnerability in his voice.

“and you want me to…?” you prompted, stepping closer until you were standing between his knees.

he nodded, swallowing hard. “i trust you. i want… i want you to take the lead. to show me.”

his words sent a thrill through you, a warmth pooling low in your stomach. you placed a hand on his shoulder, your thumb brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt. “are you sure? i mean, this is kind of a big deal.”

he reached up, his large hand covering yours, his gaze steady now despite the blush still dusting his cheeks. “i’m sure. i’ve thought about it a lot. i want this. with you.”

your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned down, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. he sighed into it, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap, the bed creaking softly beneath you.

“okay,” you whispered against his lips, your fingers threading through his dark hair. “but you have to let me know if anything feels too much. promise?”

“i promise,” he murmured, his voice already thick with need.

you kissed him again, deeper this time, your hands roaming over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. his breath hitched as your lips moved to his neck, pressing soft kisses along the sensitive skin. his hands gripped your hips tighter, his body trembling beneath yours.

“you’re so tense,” you teased, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. “just relax, clark. let me take care of you.”

he nodded, his hands falling to his sides as you pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. your breath caught for a moment, taking him in—he was all muscle and strength, but there was a softness in the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“you’re beautiful,” you said, your hands running over his chest, your thumbs brushing over his nipples, drawing a soft gasp from him.

“you’re the beautiful one,” he countered, his voice shaky, his hands moving to your thighs, squeezing gently. “god, you’re amazing.”

you smiled, leaning in to kiss him again as your hands moved lower, tracing the lines of his abs before reaching the waistband of his jeans. you felt him tense under your touch, his breath coming faster as you unbuttoned them, sliding the zipper down slowly.

“it’s okay,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “i’ve got you.”

he nodded, his eyes fluttering shut as you eased his jeans down, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. the sight of him—hard and straining against the thin fabric—sent a rush of heat through you, and you couldn’t help but let your fingers trace the outline of him, drawing a low moan from his lips.

“you’re sensitive,” you said, your voice soft, teasing.

“i can’t help it,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing again. “you’re… it’s just you.”

you slid off his lap, kneeling between his legs, your hands resting on his thighs. his eyes widened, his breath catching as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down. his cock sprang free, hard and thick, and the sight made you pause, heat rushing to your cheeks. he was beautiful, just like the rest of him, and the way he looked at you—nervous but trusting—made your heart ache.

you kissed him again, slow and deep, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the way his body shuddered beneath you. his breath was warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they rested on your hips, unsure whether to hold you tighter or let you take full control.

"just relax," you murmured, your lips brushing against his as he let out a shaky breath, his eyes wide and locked on yours, filled with a mix of awe and anticipation.

before you continued, you leaned back slightly, reaching for the hem of your shirt. his gaze followed your every move, his cheeks flushing as you pulled the fabric up and over your head, leaving your upper body bare to him. his hands twitched on your thighs, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

"it's okay," you said softly, guiding his hands to your waist, letting him feel the heat of your skin beneath his palms. "you can touch me."

he swallowed hard, his hands moving hesitantly upward, his fingers tracing the curves of your body, his eyes flicking between your face and the way his hands explored you. "you're beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

you smiled, leaning down to kiss him as you reached behind yourself, unhooking your bra and letting it fall away. his breath hitched as his hands moved instinctively to your tits, his touch gentle, reverent. you let out a soft sigh, your body arching into his hands, the warmth of his palms sending a thrill through you.

you stood briefly, sliding your shorts and panties down your legs in one fluid motion, leaving yourself completely bare before him. his eyes roamed over you, his expression one of pure admiration, as though he couldn’t believe you were real.

"you're perfect," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

you climbed back onto the bed, straddling his hips, guiding him to lie back as you kissed him again. his hands rested on your thighs, his touch still tentative but growing bolder as you positioned yourself over him, your bodies aligning.

as you began to sink down onto him, his head fell back against the pillow, a low, guttural moan escaping his throat. the stretch was slow, deliberate, your body adjusting inch by inch until you were fully seated, your thighs pressed against his hips. his hands flew to your waist, gripping tightly as though anchoring himself to reality.

"oh my god," he whispered, his voice breathless, broken. "you feel... i can't even describe it."

you smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. "you're doing so well," you murmured, your voice soothing, encouraging. "just breathe. let yourself feel it."

he nodded, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to steady himself. you began to move, slow and measured, rolling your hips to give him time to adjust. every motion sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and the way he reacted—his moans, the way his fingers dug into your hips, his lips parting with every gasp—only heightened your own arousal.

"you're amazing," he managed to choke out, his hands sliding up your sides, over your thighs, as though he couldn't decide where to touch you. "i can't believe this is real."

"it's real," you assured him, leaning down to kiss along his jaw, your lips trailing to the sensitive spot just below his ear. "and it's all yours."

his hips bucked instinctively at your words, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat as you let out a soft moan, the sound spurring him on. his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together, his breath hot against your neck.

"can i...?" he started, his voice uncertain, his hands hovering as though waiting for permission to take a more active role.

"anything you want," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "just follow what feels good."

he nodded, his grip firming on your waist as he began to move with you, his thrusts tentative at first but growing bolder with each passing moment. the sounds he made—low, breathless groans, punctuated by sharp gasps—sent heat pooling low in your stomach, your body tightening around him in response.

"you feel so good," you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair, your lips brushing against his. "so perfect."

"it's you," he replied, his voice raw, his eyes meeting yours. "you're... you're everything."

his words sent a rush of emotion through you, and you kissed him deeply, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. the rhythm built, each thrust, each roll of your hips bringing you closer to the edge. his hands roamed your body, his touch hesitant but reverent, like he couldn't believe he was allowed to touch you this way.

"i'm close," he admitted, his voice strained, his movements growing more erratic as his grip on your waist tightened.

"it's okay," you murmured, your voice soft and encouraging. "let go. i'm right here."

his eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenching as his hips jerked upward, a deep groan spilling from his lips as he came, his entire body trembling beneath you. the sight of him—the pure, unrestrained pleasure etched across his face—pushed you over the edge, your own release crashing over you as your body clenched around him.

you collapsed against his chest, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat. his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"that was..." he started, his voice still shaky, trailing off as though he couldn't find the words.

"perfect," you finished for him, smiling against his skin. "it was perfect."

he nodded, his hold on you tightening as he let out a soft, contented sigh. "yeah. perfect."

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴, 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘶 ❞

harumasa X afab!reader

genre: fluff w some angst

summary: it’s Christmas time in the city, and he’s not in your arms when he should be

wc: 1k

It’s a bit late but Merry Christmas!

He had screwed up. It was Christmas Eve, his phone was dead, and he was supposed to be by your side over an hour ago….no two.

Lumina Square glowed with holiday cheer, wreaths and trees and colorful lights passing by at a dizzying pace as he sprinted down the sidewalk, dodging the thinning crowd of pedestrians that paced by slowly, arms hooked together as they fought off the late-year chill.

That was what he was supposed to be doing. You were supposed to be curled at his side, hands intertwined as you shared a late dinner and walked through the Square to enjoy the decorations together. It was your single request of him for the holidays once you showed up at his apartment and realized his Christmas cheer lived and died by the ugly sweater he wore to work for a single day.

All these Christmases alone, and for the first time there was a second warm body invading his space that actually cared enough to integrate him into their holiday traditions. And he had screwed it up.

His heart was thundering in his chest, his breathing labored as he could feel himself begin to wheeze but he didn’t care. You were the only thing at the forefront of his mind. Your disappointed face, the way you would quietly reassure him though you would never address your own feelings.

You were too patient, too kind, and it scared him out of his mind to think of returning to his apartment and you being gone just like everyone else he ever opened himself up to.

His pace faltered, breathing labored as a wet cough wracked through his chest, the cold air stinging his lungs as he caught his breath, his heart thundering in his ears. It was already over an hour and a half since he was supposed to meet you, and his hope was waning as quickly as the anxiety was building in his gut.

There wasn’t much more of the Square to cover anymore, the dark expanse of the sky over the bay feeling like an ominous sign of his fate before a flash of pink caught his eye.

A chunky knit scarf decorated with colorful pompoms. The same chunky scarf you had wrapped around his own neck a few weeks prior as he left for work one morning nursing a runny nose.

You were still here.

Hair tousled from the wind under your earmuffs, arms tucked tightly to your side as you sipped on a festive red cup of some hot beverage, your nose and cheeks flushed from the cold under the warm glow of the Christmas lights that still brightened the Square despite the business lights dimming as they closed for the night.

You’d never been a prettier sight in his eyes as you perked up, a grin dimpling your cheeks as your arm lifted in a dramatic wave.

Your laughter rang sugary sweet in his ears as he scooped you up in his arms, face burying into the wool of your coat as he spun you around, paying no mind to your chiding to be careful of the hot drink precariously balanced in your hand.

His breath was warm against your skin he buried his face into the side of your neck, his arms anchoring you tightly against his chest. You could feel him quiver in your embrace, a telltale shudder in his chest as your free hand slowly ran up and down his spine.

Apologies fell like a mantra from his lips, his voice quivering with such fervor that it scared you. You fisted the back of his coat. “Haru, Haru sweetie, listen—“

“Asaba Harumasa!” Your tone was sharp as you wrestled your arm against his chest, forcing him back, his arms falling loosely around your waist as you met his melancholy gaze.

He didn’t even know he was crying till your face fell, your coffee dropping unceremoniously to the sidewalk as you cupped his icy cheeks between your gloved hands, thumbs brushing away the wet streaks that marred his fair skin.

“Haru, why are you crying?” You whispered, breath condensing in the cold. He didn’t answer, his lip quivering as he pressed his forehead flush to your own.

His breathing was still labored, tongue thick and cottony. “I’m sorry, work ran late and then my phone and—,” his words were jumbled as his breath caught in his throat between hiccups, “and this meant a lot to you, ‘n I thought you’d leave.” He stammered out a few more apologies but you just shook your head, pressing a short kiss to his lips.

You still tasted like coffee, your fingers brushing the nape of his neck as you parted. “But I’m still right here aren’t I?” You mused, fingers drawing little shapes on the skin peeking from beneath his jacket collar as you gently swayed him on his feet.

“I’m still here, wrapped in your arms in Lumina Square just like we planned. It’s going to take a little more than you being late to get rid of me, so please,” you drew his face up as you rubbed the tip of your nose against his.

“Don’t cry~”

He sucked in a shaky breath as he nodded, the hint of a smile quirking his lips.

“Now how about we go home? You’re freezing and we can’t have you taking any more sick days now can we?”

“Might not be so bad if you’re there to nurse me back to health~”

You grinned as you spun around, tucking your arm into his, happy to hear his usual vigor begin to return despite his hoarse voice as you started to walk. “I’m afraid I make for a mean nurse.”

The chiming of a bell cut through the quieting square, 12 steady beats cutting through the air as little crystalline flakes danced out of the darkness.

“Well would you look at that,” you paused, pulling your scarf loose from your neck as you looped it around his own, drawing him close. Snowflakes clung to the tips of his hair like tiny gemstones as you stood on your toes and pressed another kiss to his lips, feeling him smile under your touch as he pulled you tighter to his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Haru.”

Rey 2024 🎄

[arilevenatz]

Ironheart

Pairing: captain!hongjoong x reader

Genre: Angst, action

Word count: 13.3k

Warnings: Child Abuse, Blood, injury, graphic Description of Injury, gore, pirate king hongjoong, lethal face card of the cameos (there will be two surprise cameos)

A/N: so yeah captain hongjoong is here. Not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. It has been in the back of my mind for a long time and I have finally written it.I don't know if it's good or not you guys will be the judge of that! and please like and reblog, it really motivates me to write, thank you!!

The sea was a vast expanse of restless waves and ominous clouds as the pirate ship Halazia sliced through the water like a predator on the hunt. Its sails, black as midnight, bore a crimson emblem—a snarling dragon that struck fear into the hearts of all who dared cross its path. At the helm stood the notorious Captain Hongjoong, a name whispered in fear across the seven seas.

Draped in a long, tattered coat with gold embroidery, Hongjoong’s piercing eyes glimmered with a mix of cunning and menace. His voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, commanded respect—or death. To defy him was to invite the unforgiving depths of the ocean.

The Halazia's crew, a motley band of cutthroats and thieves, worked with disciplined chaos. They revered Hongjoong, not out of loyalty, but out of fear. He was a man who showed no mercy; betrayal was met with the sharp edge of his blade, and failure was punished with cold indifference.

“Land ahead, Captain!” called Yunho, the ship’s navigator, from the crow’s nest.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a sinister grin. “Prepare to drop anchor,” he barked. “Tonight, we take what’s ours.”

The crew scrambled, each man knowing his role as the captain’s plan unfolded. The small port town ahead was quiet, its people unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Hongjoong’s reputation was built on raids like this—swift, brutal, and leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.

Below deck, the Halazia's armory gleamed with weapons. Seonghwa, the ship's relentless quartermaster, handed out cutlasses and pistols to the crew. “Make it quick and clean,” he growled. “The captain doesn’t like loose ends.”

As the Halazia approached the shore under the cover of darkness, Hongjoong unsheathed his sword, its blade catching the faint light of the moon. His voice cut through the night like a blade.

“Tonight, we remind the world why the name Halazia is whispered with terror.”

The crew roared in agreement, their bloodlust ignited. For Hongjoong, it wasn’t just about gold or glory—it was about power. And no one, not kings or gods, would stand in his way.

The Halazia glided silently into the small port under the shroud of night. The unsuspecting town, nestled on the edge of the island, was quiet save for the distant crash of waves against the shore. Its residents were blissfully unaware that terror had arrived at their doorstep.

“Lower the anchor,” Seonghwa ordered in a hushed tone, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened town. The crew worked swiftly, the only sounds were the creak of ropes and the splash of water.

Hongjoong stepped onto the gangplank, his boots striking the wood with deliberate force. “No mercy,” he commanded, his voice cold and unforgiving. “Take everything. Leave nothing behind.”

Yunho and Mingi led the first group ashore, their movements swift and calculated. Mingi’s massive frame carried crates of supplies with ease, while Yunho mapped their route through the maze of narrow streets.

Wooyoung darted through the shadows, his nimble hands prying open doors and snatching valuables with practiced ease. He hummed a quiet tune to himself, a stark contrast to the fear he left in his wake.

San, ever eager for a fight, kicked down the door of the local tavern, sending its patrons scrambling. “Hand it over, or face me!” he roared, his blade gleaming in the dim light.

Jongho remained by the cannons, his sharp eyes fixed on the town. He was ready to unleash hellfire at the first sign of resistance, though he doubted any would dare.

Yeosang followed the raiding party at a measured pace, his medical kit in hand. He had no illusions about the chaos that would ensue, and he was prepared to patch up the crew—or anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.

By the time the town's alarm bell clanged in desperation, it was too late. The Halazia's crew moved like a storm, looting every corner of the town. Gold, food, weapons—nothing was spared.

Hongjoong stood in the center of the chaos, his sword drawn, a chilling smile playing on his lips. The flames of a burning warehouse reflected in his eyes as he declared, “Let this be a lesson to all who think themselves safe. The sea belongs to us.”

As dawn approached, the Halazia sailed away, its hold overflowing with stolen treasures. Behind them, the once-thriving town was left in smoldering ruins, its people haunted by the memory of the dragon-emblazoned sails.

As the first rays of morning sun illuminated the island of Aphynx, its streets bore the grim evidence of the night’s raid. Doors hung off their hinges, market stalls lay in splinters, and the blackened remains of a warehouse sent tendrils of smoke spiraling into the pale sky. The townsfolk gathered in silence, their faces etched with disbelief and despair.

In the center of the town, Mayor paced nervously, his finely embroidered coat now stained with soot and sweat. His eyes darted over the wreckage, his mind racing. Every crate of provisions, every ounce of gold, every weapon had been stripped away. Aphynx was defenseless, vulnerable, and utterly at the mercy of the sea.

“This was no ordinary band of thieves,” he muttered, clutching a scroll of parchment in his trembling hands. “It was them... the crew of Halazia.”

A young messenger arrived, breathless and pale. “Sir, the kingdom must be informed,” he urged. “Without help from Wonderland, we won’t survive another raid.”

Mayor nodded grimly. He knew there was no time to waste. “Prepare my fastest horse,” he commanded. “We ride to the capital immediately.”

By midmorning, the mayor and his escort departed, the sound of hooves echoing through the barren streets. Their destination: Wonderland, the kingdom under whose banner Aphynx pledged fealty. The crown would not take this insult lightly—piracy threatened their trade routes, their reputation, and their wealth.

As the mayor approached the towering gates of Wonderland’s capital city, he steeled himself for the audience with the royal court. He would demand justice, but deep down, he feared that even the kingdom’s might might not be enough to face the legendary Halazia and its fearsome captain.

The kingdom of Wonderland stood as a beacon of strength and unity, its influence stretching across the seven seas. Its towering white walls and majestic spires reflected the brilliance of its rule, and its bustling streets were a testament to the prosperity its people enjoyed. At the heart of this mighty kingdom sat King Eldred, a ruler beloved by his people for his wisdom, fairness, and unwavering commitment to protecting his land.

But what truly set Wonderland apart was its secret weapon: the Nishi. These elite warriors operated in the shadows, their faces concealed behind eerie white masks with two eye slits. The sight of a Nishi was both reassuring and terrifying—they were symbols of the kingdom’s unyielding resolve and its ability to strike from the shadows. Trained in combat, strategy, and espionage, the Nishi were unmatched on the battlefield and in the murky world of subterfuge.

As Mayor Alden stood before King Eldred in the grand throne room, flanked by banners bearing the kingdom’s sigil, he recounted the horrors of the raid. “Your Majesty, Aphynx has been stripped bare,” Alden pleaded, bowing low. “The people have nothing. The Halazia will return unless we act swiftly.”

King Eldred leaned forward on his throne, his sharp eyes narrowing as he processed the report. “The Halazia,” he repeated, his voice measured. “Captain Hongjoong and his crew dare to challenge Wonderland’s peace.”

From the shadows, a figure emerged, silent and imposing. The Nishi wore their signature mask, their presence sending a chill through the room. “Shall we mobilize, Your Majesty?” the Nishi asked in a calm, almost mechanical tone.

The king rose to his feet, his regal robes flowing around him like the waves of the sea. “Not yet,” he declared. “The Halazia is cunning, and we will not be drawn into a hasty response. I want information—where they’ve gone, who their allies are, and what they seek.”

He turned to the Nishi. “Deploy your finest. Track the Halazia. And when the time comes, we will remind the pirates why Wonderland is unchallenged on the seas.”

The masked figure bowed and disappeared as silently as they had arrived. The king’s gaze returned to Alden. “Fear not, Mayor,” Eldred assured him. “Aphynx will be avenged, and the Halazia will pay for its crimes.”

A few days after the raid on Aphynx, the Halazia anchored in a secluded cove to divide their spoils. The crew was in high spirits, reveling in their success, but the mood shifted when a small, unmarked vessel approached their ship under a flag of truce.

A lone messenger, dressed in simple but pristine clothes, was rowed aboard. He carried a scroll sealed with the royal insignia of Wonderland. The sight of the mark immediately put the crew on edge.

Seonghwa was the first to intercept the messenger, his sharp eyes scanning the man for signs of treachery. “State your business,” he demanded coldly.

The messenger bowed respectfully, his voice steady. “I come with a message from His Majesty, King Eldred of Wonderland.”

Hongjoong, seated on a barrel nearby, motioned for Seonghwa to step aside. “Give it here,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. The messenger handed him the scroll with trembling hands.

Breaking the seal, Hongjoong unrolled the parchment. His eyes scanned the elegant script:

> To Captain Hongjoong of the Halazia,

The Kingdom of Wonderland invites you to discuse the recent events at Aphynx. We believe diplomacy may resolve this matter without further bloodshed or hostility.

You are offered safe passage to the island of Eletheris, where a representative of Wonderland will await you.

We hope you will consider this opportunity to avoid unnecessary conflict.

Signed,

His Majesty King Eldred*

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he handed the letter to Seonghwa. “Diplomacy?” he mused. “From Wonderland? Either they’ve grown soft, or they’re planning something.”

San, ever eager for confrontation, crossed his arms and scowled. “It’s a trap. No kingdom invites pirates to talk unless they’ve got blades hidden behind their backs.”

Mingi, thoughtful but cautious, shrugged. “Could be a way to buy time. They might not know where we are and want to stall while they gather their forces.”

Wooyoung, leaning against a mast with a sly grin, added, “Or maybe they’re scared of us. That raid shook them up.”

Seonghwa handed the letter to Yunho, who studied it carefully. “The location is Eletheris,” Yunho noted. “Neutral ground, but also isolated. Perfect for an ambush.”

Jongho, standing by the cannons, spoke up in his usual calm tone. “We should assume the worst. If we go, we prepare for a fight.”

Hongjoong tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, deep in thought. Finally, he stood. “We’ll go,” he decided, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crew. “If Wonderland wants to talk, we’ll give them a show. But we’ll be ready for anything.”

A sinister grin spread across his face as he turned to Seonghwa. “Prepare the ship. We’ll make our move at nightfall.”

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared question their captain. Suspicious as they were, they trusted Hongjoong’s instincts. The Halazia would sail for Eletheris—not for peace, but for the opportunity to show Wonderland just how dangerous a cornered pirate could be.

As the crew debated the letter, Yeosang emerged from below deck, wiping his hands clean with a cloth. His sharp eyes scanned the gathered group, noting the tension in the air.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his calm voice cutting through the discussion.

Seonghwa handed him the letter without a word. Yeosang read it quickly, his expression unreadable. “An invitation to ‘talk,’” he said, his tone skeptical. He folded the parchment carefully and looked at Hongjoong.

“If this is a trap, which it likely is, I hope you’ve accounted for the injuries we might sustain. I’m running low on supplies after Aphynx, and if Wonderland has their warriors, this won’t be a simple skirmish.”

Hongjoong’s smirk remained steady as he met Yeosang’s gaze, his voice laced with confidence. “Prepare for the worst, but we’re not backing down.”

Yeosang nodded, handing the letter back to Seonghwa. “I’ll do what I can. Just try not to get yourselves killed unnecessarily. I’d rather not have to stitch anyone back together because of bad decisions.”

With that, he turned and disappeared below deck again, leaving the others to their discussion.

The Halazia arrived at Eletheris under the cover of twilight, its black sails stark against the fading light. The crew stood ready, their hands brushing weapons as they prepared for whatever awaited them. The island, a neutral ground known for its wild forests and rocky shores, seemed unusually quiet as they approached the dock.

As the crew disembarked, they were met by a contingent of Wonderland’s warriors. At the forefront stood a tall, imposing man clad in gleaming armor, a crimson cloak flowing behind him. His sharp features radiated authority, and his piercing gaze swept over the pirates like a hawk assessing prey.

“I am General Kael of Wonderland,” the man announced, his voice steady and commanding. “Welcome to Eletheris, Captain Hongjoong. His Majesty extends his gratitude for your willingness to meet.”

Behind Kael stood a line of warriors, their stances disciplined, their weapons polished to a deadly sheen. Among them were four figures that immediately caught the pirates’ attention—the Nishi.

Clad in flowing black cloaks, their white masks with two eye slits were hauntingly featureless. The presence of the Nishi sent a ripple of unease through the Halazia's crew.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “A grand welcome for pirates,” he remarked with a faint smirk. “I wonder if this is hospitality or intimidation.”

Kael’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile. “Perhaps a little of both. The king values peace, but Wonderland does not take threats lightly.”

Seonghwa exchanged a glance with Hongjoong, his hand hovering near his sword. San, standing nearby, muttered under his breath, “They’re itching for a fight.”

Kael gestured inland, toward a path that wound through dense forest. “His Majesty awaits you at the royal outpost further inland. You will be escorted there. I trust you and your crew will conduct yourselves appropriately.”

Hongjoong inclined his head, his smirk unyielding. “Lead the way, General.”

As the crew followed the warriors into the forest, the Nishi flanked them silently, their presence a constant reminder of Wonderland’s power. The forest was thick and eerily quiet, save for the crunch of boots on the dirt path.

Yeosang walked near the rear of the group, his gaze flickering between the Nishi. “If this is a trap, they’ve gone to great lengths to set it,” he murmured to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa nodded subtly. “Stay sharp. If they wanted us dead, they’d have done it already. This is a show of strength.”

As they neared the outpost, the imposing silhouette of a fortified structure came into view. Wonderland was not just extending an invitation—it was making a statement.

As the crew of the Halazia trudged along the forest path, flanked by the silent Nishi and Wonderland’s warriors, tension hung thick in the air. Despite their outward composure, the pirates exchanged quiet whispers, their curiosity about the masked figures overwhelming their usual bravado.

Wooyoung leaned closer to Yunho, his voice barely audible. “What’s with the creepy masks? Who walks around like that?”

Yunho shrugged, his brow furrowed. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing solid. Some say the Nishi are assassins, trained from birth to kill without hesitation.”

San, walking ahead, glanced back with a scoff. “Assassins? They look more like ghosts. It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for.”

Mingi, ever the practical one, muttered, “I’ve never seen anyone move like them. It’s unnatural. Did you see how they didn’t make a sound, even on the dock?”

Jongho, his tone calm but wary, added, “If Wonderland brought four of them here, they must be expecting trouble. No kingdom wastes resources like that for a simple meeting.”

Seonghwa, catching their murmurs, spoke softly but firmly. “Focus. Whatever they are, we’re not here to fight them. Not yet.”

Yeosang, his keen eyes studying the Nishi out of the corner of his vision, finally chimed in. “I’ve heard whispers in ports about them,” he said. “The Nishi are Wonderland’s shadow—their secret weapon. They’re not just warriors; they’re spies, assassins, and strategists. Their masks are said to symbolize detachment from emotion. No mercy, no hesitation.”

Wooyoung shivered, his usual smirk replaced by unease. “Sounds like a nightmare. You think they’re human under those masks?”

Yeosang gave him a faint, enigmatic smile. “Human, yes. But how much humanity is left in them? That’s another question.”

Hongjoong, walking slightly ahead, glanced back at the group with a sharp look. “Enough,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Whatever they are, we’ll deal with them if we have to. Until then, keep your wits about you. Wonderland’s trying to intimidate us, and we won’t give them the satisfaction.”

The crew fell silent, their unease replaced by steely determination. The Nishi remained as still and silent as statues, their masks giving nothing away, but the pirates knew one thing for sure: they had entered a world far more dangerous than they’d imagined.

The grand hall of Wonderland's palace was an imposing sight, with high arches and intricate tapestries adorning the walls. The crew of the Halazia stood before King Eldred, whose presence filled the room with an unspoken weight. His regal attire shimmered in the light of the chandeliers, his eyes sharp and calculating as he regarded the pirates.

"Captain Hongjoong, welcome to Wonderland," King Eldred said in a calm, steady voice, his gaze briefly sweeping over the crew before settling on their leader. "You've been quite the thorn in my side. But I believe diplomacy is the best course now."

Hongjoong, arms crossed, met the king's gaze with a wry smile. "I'd agree, Your Majesty. But let's not pretend this is anything but a show of power. You want to make sure we don't think we can walk away from this, don't you?"

Before King Eldred could respond, a sudden movement drew the attention of everyone in the room. A man-seemingly a servant-lunged toward the king with a dagger in his hand. The room fell into stunned silence as the assassin's target became clear.

But before anyone could act, one of the Nishi moved with blinding speed. In a single motion, the Nishi unsheathed a gleaming blade and, with flawless precision, cut the assassin's hand clean off at the wrist. The dagger fell to the floor, and the man screamed in agony, collapsing to the ground as blood pooled beneath him.

The Nishi stood motionless, their white mask revealing nothing-no satisfaction, no hesitation, just cold efficiency. Without a word, the other Nishi advanced, securing the would-be assassin and dragging him away, the severity of the moment leaving no room for mercy.

The room remained still, the only sound the heavy breathing of the wounded man as he was pulled out of the hall. King Eldred, unfazed by the attempt on his life, turned his eyes back to Hongjoong.

"Do not mistake this for weakness, Captain," Eldred said, his voice unwavering. "My kingdom is protected by those who do not falter, no matter the circumstances."

Hongjoong's gaze shifted to the Nishi, his interest piqued. He had seen many warriors in his time- skilled men and women, each formidable in their own right-but the way the Nishi moved, the speed, the precision-it was something entirely different. These were not mere soldiers. They were something else.

"The Nishi," Hongjoong mused, his voice low enough only for his crew to hear. "What are they? You say they protect this kingdom, but what are they truly?"

Seonghwa, standing beside him, spoke quietly. "Rumors. They're said to be more than just fighters. Spies. Assassins. Trained from the moment they can walk."

Hongjoong's eyes flicked back to the Nishi, who stood motionless at the king's side. His curiosity deepened. "Trained from birth... and no emotion. Just warriors without hesitation."

Yeosang, who had been silently observing the Nishi, nodded. "That's what they say. They wear those masks for a reason-to erase any trace of humanity. They're tools, not people."

Hongjoong's smirk returned, though it was tinged with something new-respect, perhaps even admiration. "Fascinating," he said quietly. "They're more than just soldiers. They are something beyond. And it seems Wonderland's power lies in them.”

King Eldred observed the pirates with a slight tilt of his head. "Indeed. The Nishi are the foundation of my kingdom's strength. Without them, Wonderland would be but a memory. And now, Captain, I suggest we return to the matter at hand."

Hongjoong's gaze lingered on the Nishi, but he returned his focus to the king. "Of course. Let's talk."

But as he spoke, the feeling in the room shifted. There was an unspoken understanding now, one that Hongjoong had picked up on, and he couldn't shake the thought: Wonderland had more to offer than riches. Its true strength was in its shadows- the Nishi. And that, more than anything else, was what intrigued him.

The grand hall of Wonderland fell into a tense silence after the attack on the king, the lingering unease palpable. The pirates stood with guarded expressions, while King Eldred’s steady gaze remained fixed on Hongjoong. The Nishi, ever silent, returned to their posts, their white masks as unreadable as ever.

The king cleared his throat. “Captain Hongjoong, let us return to the reason we are here. Your recent actions on Aphynx have caused great suffering. Wonderland cannot allow such acts to continue.”

Hongjoong, unshaken, stepped forward, his tone casual yet laced with authority. “You want us to stop raiding your lands? That’s fair, Your Majesty. But pirates don’t sail away empty-handed. If you want our respect, you’ll have to offer something in return.”

Eldred’s jaw tightened. “And what is it you seek, Captain? Gold? Resources? Wonderland is not a kingdom that barters with thieves.”

Hongjoong smirked, his gaze shifting to the Nishi. “I don’t want your gold, Your Majesty. I want your shadows—your Nishi.”

The hall erupted into murmurs, and even the ever-stoic Nishi seemed to shift slightly. King Eldred’s expression darkened, his voice rising. “You dare demand my kingdom’s most sacred protectors? The Nishi are not pawns to be traded!”

Hongjoong didn’t flinch, his smirk unwavering. “You want us to stop touching Eletheris and your other territories? Then give me three of your Nishi. And not just any—I want the best. Warriors who can ensure my enemies fear the Halazia as much as they fear Wonderland.”

The king leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his throne. “Do you think I would sell my kingdom’s greatest weapon to a pirate? You overestimate your position.”

Seonghwa, calm and calculating, stepped in. “Your Majesty, consider this: Wonderland’s resources remain untouched, and the Halazia becomes an ally rather than an enemy. You lose nothing, but gain peace.”

The king hesitated, the weight of the decision evident on his face. He turned his gaze to General Kael, who stood at his side. “What do you make of this?”

Kael frowned, his voice low. “Risky, but tactically sound. Better to have them as allies than adversaries.”

Eldred’s eyes returned to Hongjoong, his reluctance clear. “You ask for much, Captain. The Nishi are not merely soldiers. They are trained from birth, their loyalty bound to Wonderland alone.”

Hongjoong’s smirk softened into something more serious. “I don’t need their loyalty, Your Majesty. I need their skill. Three Nishi, and I swear Wonderland’s lands will never again know the Halazia’s wrath.”

The king sat back, his expression one of defeat. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “But you will not choose. I will decide which Nishi to send.”

Hongjoong’s smirk returned. “No, Your Majesty. If I’m to trust my life and crew to them, I will choose. Send me your best, or the deal is off.”

Eldred’s fists clenched, but he finally nodded, his voice heavy with resignation. “You will have your three Nishi. But know this, Captain: should you betray this agreement, their blades will be the first to find your throat.”

Hongjoong chuckled, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “We'll see about that.”

The crew of the Halazia had been granted an unexpected stay in Wonderland, a rare opportunity to explore the fabled kingdom and observe its famed Nishi up close. The palace guards kept a watchful eye on the pirates, but Hongjoong and his crew were far from intimidated.

On the second morning, they were led to a large training arena within the palace grounds. The space was surrounded by high walls and overlooked by balconies, where nobles and soldiers often gathered to witness the Nishi in action.

“This,” General Kael announced as the pirates entered, “is where you will decide. The Nishi you seek are among the finest we have. Observe them well.”

The Nishi, clad in their signature black cloaks and white masks, were already in the arena, demonstrating their skills. They moved with an elegance that was almost otherworldly, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they sparred. Each strike was calculated, every movement a testament to their rigorous training.

Hongjoong watched with keen interest, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against a stone pillar. His sharp eyes darted from one Nishi to another, assessing their movements, their precision, and their lethality.

“These aren’t just warriors,” he murmured to Seonghwa, who stood beside him. “They’re artists of war.”

Seonghwa nodded, his gaze fixed on the display. “Efficient. Deadly. They don’t waste energy or time. You’re choosing weapons, not people.”

San, standing nearby, grinned. “Weapons or not, I wouldn’t mind seeing what they’re like in a real fight. Sparring’s one thing. The heat of battle’s another.”

Yeosang, ever observant, added, “Their discipline is unmatched. But loyalty is another matter entirely. They’ve lived their lives for Wonderland. You think they’ll follow us?”

Hongjoong’s smirk returned. “They don’t need to follow us. They need to obey orders. And I intend to make sure they see the Halazia as worthy of their blades.”

As the demonstration continued, one Nishi stood out. Their movements were impossibly fluid, their strikes faster and more precise than the others. Even among the elite, this figure commanded attention.

“That one,” Jongho said, his tone firm. “They’re the one I’d trust in a fight.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, watching another Nishi with blade, who moved with a deadly rhythm. “I like that one. Quick, unpredictable. My kind of chaos.”

Mingi, ever practical, gestured toward a Nishi with a massive glaive. “That one’s strength could turn the tide in a skirmish. We need power as much as speed.”

Hongjoong listened to his crew’s observations, his mind already working. He approached General Kael, his smirk never wavering. “We’ll need more time to observe. But I already have a few in mind.”

Kael nodded stiffly. “Take your time. The king’s orders are clear—you may choose three. But remember, Captain, they are not yours to break. They serve Wonderland first.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his gaze drifting back to the arena. “We’ll see about that.”

The days passed with the pirates watching the Nishi train, each session revealing more of their deadly skills. By the end of their stay, Hongjoong and his crew were ready to make their choices—Nishi who would become part of the Halazia’s legend, and perhaps its greatest weapon.

As the sparring sessions continued, Hongjoong’s sharp eyes scanned the arena, observing the Nishi with a mix of curiosity and calculated intent. His crew murmured among themselves, pointing out impressive maneuvers or debating the merits of strength versus speed.

But then, something—or rather, someone—caught Hongjoong’s attention.

Standing at the far edge of the arena, away from the other Nishi, was a lone figure. The Nishi wasn’t participating in the training but instead stood silently, its posture rigid, observing the others much like Hongjoong and his crew. The way it leaned slightly, arms crossed, almost mirrored Hongjoong’s stance.

This one wasn’t like the others. Its stillness was different—not passive, but deliberate. The air around it seemed to hum with an invisible tension, as if it were assessing not just the Nishi in the arena but the pirates themselves.

Hongjoong tilted his head, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice cutting through his crew’s chatter.

General Kael followed Hongjoong’s gaze and frowned. “Ah, that one. It is not a combatant today. A senior Nishi, more involved in leadership and strategy.”

“Leadership?” Hongjoong’s curiosity deepened. “What’s its name?”

Kael hesitated. “Nishi do not use names. They are referred to by rank or designation.”

“Then give me its rank,” Hongjoong pressed, looking bored.

“Second Blade,” Kael said reluctantly. “One of the most skilled among them. But it is not intended for this... arrangement.”

Hongjoong’s interest was piqued further. The detached aura of the Second Blade, combined with its air of quiet authority, intrigued him in a way no other Nishi had. There was something magnetic about the figure—a mystery that demanded unraveling.

“That one,” Hongjoong declared, pointing at the Second Blade. “It’ll be my first choice.”

The general’s expression darkened. “Second Blade is not for sale, Captain. It serves the king directly.”

Hongjoong’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You said I could choose. And I choose it. If the king values peace with the Halazia, he’ll agree.”

Kael stiffened but said nothing, knowing this matter would ultimately fall to the king.

The Second Blade, as if sensing the attention, turned its masked face toward Hongjoong. Even with no visible expression, the intensity of its gaze was palpable. For a moment, the pirate captain and the enigmatic Nishi seemed locked in a silent exchange, one that neither his crew nor the other warriors could decipher.

“I like it,” Hongjoong said, more to himself than anyone else. “There’s something about it. A spark I haven’t seen in anyone else here.”

Seonghwa, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about this? It doesn’t seem like the type to take orders easily.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “That’s what makes it interesting. I want the best, and that one’s the best.”

As the pirates continued to watch, Hongjoong knew he had made his decision. He wanted the Second Blade—not just as a warrior for the Halazia but as a puzzle to solve, a force to understand. And he wouldn’t leave Wonderland without it.

After days of observing the Nishi, the Halazia crew finalized their choices. True to Hongjoong’s word, the first pick was the enigmatic Second Blade, the senior Nishi who had caught the captain’s eye with its silent yet commanding presence. The other two selections were equally skilled—strong, agile warriors with ranks just below the Second Blade.

When General Kael informed the chosen Nishi of their new roles, the Second Blade simply nodded, its white mask betraying no reaction. The other two Nishi, larger and imposing, accepted the news with quiet compliance.

As the three assembled before the pirates for their departure preparations, something became strikingly apparent.

“Wait a minute,” Mingi said, breaking the silence. He squinted at the lineup, tilting his head as if trying to reconcile what he was seeing. “Is it just me, or is that one... shorter?”

The crew turned their gazes toward the Second Blade, and sure enough, it stood a full head shorter than the other two Nishi.

Wooyoung snickered, elbowing San. “You picked the shortest one, Captain. Thought you were all about power and presence.”

San crossed his arms, frowning slightly. “Size doesn’t matter if it can fight. You all saw what it did to that attacker in the throne room. Fast and precise.”

“It’s true,” Jongho added, his voice calm but analytical. “Height isn’t everything. If anything, it might make it more agile.”

Still, the contrast was hard to ignore. The Second Blade’s stature seemed almost diminutive next to the hulking forms of the other two Nishi. Yet, despite its smaller frame, there was something undeniably commanding about it.

Hongjoong, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally smirked. “You’re all looking at this the wrong way. It’s not about size. It’s about presence. And that one,” he gestured toward the Second Blade, ���has more presence than anyone else here.”

The crew exchanged glances but didn’t argue. They’d seen enough to trust their captain’s instincts, even if the choice seemed unconventional.

Yeosang, ever the practical observer, leaned toward Seonghwa and murmured, “Smaller frame or not, it’s still the most intriguing of the three. The way it carries itself... it’s like it’s always thinking three steps ahead.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement. “If anything, the contrast makes it even more dangerous. People underestimate what they don’t fully understand.”

As the crew prepared to leave Wonderland with their new recruits, the Second Blade remained as silent and enigmatic as ever. Despite its shorter stature, it exuded an undeniable authority that seemed to silence any lingering doubts.

Hongjoong glanced back at it one last time before boarding the Halazia, his smirk growing wider. “Short or not, you’re exactly what I was looking for.”

In the dimly lit barracks where the Nishi rested, the Second Blade stood by a window, its white mask catching the faint moonlight. Across the room, the two newly chosen Nishi, seungcheol and Mingyu, sat on a bench, their masks placed neatly beside them.

Seungcheol, the elder of the two, crossed his arms, his brows furrowed as he broke the silence. “I don’t understand it. Of all the Nishi, why pick you first?” His tone wasn’t hostile, but there was an unmistakable hint of curiosity.

Mingyu, chuckled softly. “Come on, Seungcheol. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The captain likes the mysterious ones. Second Blade’s got that whole ‘silent and deadly’ vibe going on. You can’t compete with that.”

The Second Blade turned slightly, its masked face tilted as if considering whether to respond. After a moment, it spoke, its voice low and measured. “The choice was the captain’s. Not mine. Does it bother you?”

seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really. I just think it’s strange. You don’t even interact with anyone, and suddenly, you’re the captain’s favorite.” He leaned back against the wall, his gaze narrowing. “But I guess that’s part of the appeal, huh?”

Mingyu grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Honestly, I’m just glad I got picked. Can you imagine staying here, doing the same drills every day, while the three of us get to see the world? Feels like a promotion to me.”

seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You would see it that way.”

Mingyu shrugged. “What? It’s true. Besides, the Halazia crew seems... interesting. They’re not exactly the kind of people we’re used to, but they’ve got their own kind of charm.”

The Second Blade returned its gaze to the window. “They are unpredictable. That makes them dangerous.”

“Dangerous to us?” seungcheol asked, his tone more serious now.

“To everyone,” the Second Blade replied, its voice calm but firm. “But that is why we were chosen. To ensure their chaos is controlled.”

Mingyu leaned back, resting his arms on the bench. “Controlled, huh? I don’t think those pirates are the type to take orders. Especially not from us.”

The Second Blade turned fully now, its posture straight and commanding despite its smaller frame. “Then we adapt. As we always have.”

seungcheol watched it closely, his expression softening. “You’re really something, aren’t you? No hesitation. No second-guessing. You just... do.”

Mingyu nodded, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, that’s what makes it so cool. Honestly, I think we’ll learn a lot from this one. Even if it’s shorter than both of us.”

seungcheol snorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Don’t let the captain hear you say that. He might have your head.”

The Second Blade didn’t react to the teasing, instead walking toward the exit. Before it stepped out, it paused and said, “Rest while you can. Tomorrow, everything changes.”

As it left the room, seungcheol leaned toward Mingyu, his voice low. “I’m not sure if I admire it or if it gives me the creeps.”

Mingyu laughed, patting seungcheol on the shoulder. “Why not both? Keeps things interesting.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, both wondering what lay ahead as the newest recruits of the Halazia.

The following morning, the Halazia crew and their newly acquired Nishi stood at the gates of Wonderland, preparing for departure. The Second Blade stood slightly apart from seungcheol and Mingyu, as stoic and silent as ever, its mask firmly in place.

The pirates were busy securing their belongings and discussing the logistics of integrating the Nishi into their operations. Hongjoong, however, couldn’t shake the lingering curiosity he felt toward the Second Blade. Something about it was different—unreadable, yes, but also magnetic in a way he couldn’t explain.

As the group prepared to board the Halazia, Hongjoong lingered near the Second Blade, his curiosity still piqued. He turned to her, gesturing for her attention. “Second Blade,” he said, his tone casual but firm, “before we leave, there’s something I need to clarify. You’ve barely spoken a word since we met. Let’s change that.”

The Second Blade paused, tilting its masked head slightly, and finally spoke. “What do you wish to clarify, Captain?”

The voice caught everyone’s attention. It was soft yet sharp, calm yet commanding—a voice that held the kind of authority forged through years of discipline. But what stood out most was its unmistakable femininity.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened briefly before his expression settled into his usual smirk. “Well, well. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Mingi, standing nearby, blinked in surprise. “Wait a second... That's a woman?”

A crew member laughed nervously. “A woman? On a pirate ship? Isn’t that, like... bad luck or something?”

The atmosphere tensed for a moment as some of the crew exchanged uncertain glances.

Another chimed in, “I’ve heard the stories. Women on ships are supposed to bring misfortune.”

Before anyone could respond, Hongjoong’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “Enough.”

The crew fell silent as their captain stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over them. “Bad luck? Misfortune? Since when have we, the crew of the Halazia, believed in such pathetic superstitions?”

He turned to them, his smirk hardening into a glare. “Do you think the Halazia have survived storms, battles, and betrayals because of luck? No. We’ve made it this far because we’re the best. And I’ll take anyone who proves their worth—man or woman.”

Hongjoong’s gaze then shifted to the Second Blade. “And this one? This one’s already proven it’s better than half of you just by standing there. So unless you’d like to challenge that, I suggest you keep your mouths shut.”

Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the Second Blade. “Honestly, after seeing her fight, I’m not about to argue.”

Hongjoong turned back to the Second Blade, his smirk returning. “You’ve already got my respect, Second Blade. And that’s not something I give out lightly.”

The Second Blade inclined her head slightly, her voice calm and unbothered. “Respect is earned, not given. I will continue to prove myself, Captain.”

Hongjoong chuckled, stepping back. “I like you, Second Blade. You’re full of surprises. But if you’re going to serve on the Halazia, you’ll need a name. I can’t keep calling you by rank.”

She hesitated, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Finally, she said, “Call me whatever you wish. It makes no difference to me.”

Hongjoong’s smirk widened. “Then I’ll think of something fitting. Welcome aboard, Second Blade.”

She inclined her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment.

As the crew of the Halazia made their final preparations to set sail, the Nishi stood off to the side, silent and unreadable. Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged glances, each wondering what life aboard the infamous pirate ship would hold for them. The Second Blade, as calm and composed as ever, remained still, watching the pirates as they moved about with practiced efficiency.

Hongjoong returned to the main deck, his sharp eyes scanning his crew. “Alright, let’s get moving. Wonderland’s hospitality is wearing thin, and I’d rather not linger where too many eyes are watching.”

The crew murmured in agreement, their movements quick and purposeful as they cast off from the docks.

Seungcheol leaned slightly toward Mingyu, his voice low. “This crew is... different. They don’t seem to operate on any rules I’m familiar with.”

Mingyu shrugged, his tone light but curious. “That’s what makes it exciting, don’t you think? We’ve been stuck in Wonderland for too long. It’s about time we see how the rest of the world works.”

The Second Blade didn’t join the conversation, but its masked face tilted ever so slightly, suggesting it was listening.

As the ship drifted farther from the port, Hongjoong approached the three Nishi. “I’ll be clear with you now. You’re no longer in Wonderland. On this ship, you follow my orders. I don’t care about ranks, titles, or protocols from your past. You’re part of my crew now, and that means loyalty to me and me alone.”

Seungcheol and Mingyu nodded in unison, their movements precise and obedient. The Second Blade simply inclined its head again, its silence speaking volumes.

San, standing nearby, crossed his arms as he eyed the trio. “Can they fight in real battles, though? Wonderland’s training is one thing, but out here, it’s chaos.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the Second Blade. “What do you think? Can you handle the chaos of the seas?”

The Second Blade’s voice was calm and unwavering. “Chaos is an opportunity. It reveals the weaknesses of those unprepared. I have no intention of being unprepared.”

Mingyu chuckled under his breath. “I think that’s the most poetic way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘yes.’”

Seungcheol shot him a look, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Hongjoong smirked, clearly satisfied. “Good. Then let’s see how you adapt to life on the Halazia. You’ll have plenty of chances to prove yourselves.”

As the ship gained speed, Wooyoung called from the galley, “Captain! If they’re part of the crew now, they better learn how we eat. Mingyu looks like he could finish off the week’s rations in one sitting!”

Mingyu glanced toward Wooyoung, his posture relaxed. “Only if your cooking’s as good as you claim.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning out the doorway. “You’ll regret challenging me, rookie. Dinner’s in a few hours. Let’s see if you survive it.”

The crew laughed, the tension from the earlier departure easing. The Nishi, while still enigmatic, were beginning to feel less like outsiders and more like the newest pieces of the Halazia’s puzzle.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Hongjoong stood at the helm, his eyes flickering between the horizon and the Second Blade. That strange pull toward her lingered, growing stronger with every interaction. He couldn’t quite place it yet, but one thing was certain—this journey was about to get far more interesting.

As the crew of the Halazia made their final preparations to set sail, the Nishi stood off to the side, silent and unreadable. Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged glances, each wondering what life aboard the infamous pirate ship would hold for them. The Second Blade, as calm and composed as ever, remained still, watching the pirates as they moved about with practiced efficiency.

Hongjoong returned to the main deck, his sharp eyes scanning his crew. “Alright, let’s get moving. Wonderland’s hospitality is wearing thin, and I’d rather not linger where too many eyes are watching.”

The crew murmured in agreement, their movements quick and purposeful as they cast off from the docks.

Seungcheol leaned slightly toward Mingyu, his voice low. “This crew is... different. They don’t seem to operate on any rules I’m familiar with.”

Mingyu shrugged, his tone light but curious. “That’s what makes it exciting, don’t you think? We’ve been stuck in Wonderland for too long. It’s about time we see how the rest of the world works.”

The Second Blade didn’t join the conversation, but her masked face tilted ever so slightly, suggesting it was listening.

As the ship drifted farther from the port, Hongjoong approached the three Nishi. “I’ll be clear with you now. You’re no longer in Wonderland. On this ship, you follow my orders. I don’t care about ranks, titles, or protocols from your past. You’re part of my crew now, and that means loyalty to me and me alone.”

Seungcheol and Mingyu nodded in unison, their movements precise and obedient. The Second Blade simply inclined its head again, its silence speaking volumes.

San, standing nearby, crossed his arms as he eyed the trio. “Can they fight in real battles, though? Wonderland’s training is one thing, but out here, it’s chaos.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the Second Blade. “What do you think? Can you handle the chaos of the seas?”

The Second Blade’s voice was calm and unwavering. “Chaos is an opportunity. It reveals the weaknesses of those unprepared. I have no intention of being unprepared.”

Mingyu chuckled under his breath. “I think that’s the most poetic way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘yes.’”

Seungcheol shot him a look, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Hongjoong smirked, clearly satisfied. “Good. Then let’s see how you adapt to life on the Halazia. You’ll have plenty of chances to prove yourselves.”

As the ship gained speed, Wooyoung called from the galley, “Captain! If they’re part of the crew now, they better learn how we eat. Mingyu looks like he could finish off the week’s rations in one sitting!”

Mingyu glanced toward Wooyoung, his posture relaxed. “Only if your cooking’s as good as you claim.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning out the doorway. “You’ll regret challenging me, rookie. Dinner’s in a few hours. Let’s see if you survive it.”

The crew laughed, the tension from the earlier departure easing. The Nishi, while still enigmatic, were beginning to feel less like outsiders and more like the newest pieces of the Halazia’s puzzle.

The Halazia loomed over the coastline of a small, unsuspecting island, its black sails striking a foreboding figure against the azure sky. Hongjoong stood at the bow, his piercing gaze fixed on the settlement below.

“Alright,” he said, turning to his crew. “We go in quick and clean. Take only what we need—gold, weapons, supplies. Leave no loose ends.”

The main crew gathered around him—Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho—all ready for the raid. Beside them stood the three Nishi, their white masks gleaming ominously in the sunlight.

“This time,” Hongjoong continued, his smirk sharp, “it’s just us. No extra hands, no distractions. Let’s see how well our new recruits handle the chaos.”

San grinned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Finally. Let’s see if they’re as good as they looked in Wonderland.”

Wooyoung chuckled, glancing at Mingyu. “Think you can keep up with us, big guy?”

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, his voice calm. “I think the better question is if you can keep up with me.”

Seungcheol sighed, ever the level-headed one. “Let’s focus on the task, shall we?”

The Second Blade, as always, said nothing, but its presence was palpable.

As the crew descended on the island, chaos erupted. The inhabitants, though armed, were no match for the seasoned pirates. And then there were the Nishi.

The Second Blade moved like a shadow, weaving through the fray with unnerving precision. Its twin blades flashed, striking down attackers before they could even raise their weapons. Every move was deliberate, efficient, and terrifyingly silent.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, was a powerhouse. His strikes were methodical and brutal, each one designed to incapacitate swiftly. He moved in sync with the others, covering blind spots and ensuring no one was overwhelmed.

Mingyu, despite his easy going demeanor, was a force of nature. His sheer strength was undeniable, and every swing of his blade sent opponents flying. Yet, there was a grace to his movements, a calculated elegance that belied his size.

The Halazia crew couldn’t help but notice.

“Did you see that?” Mingi shouted, fending off an attacker. “That’s insane!”

Yunho, navigating through the chaos, grinned. “I think we made the right choice bringing them along.”

Jongho, in the middle of taking down a group of armed guards, smirked. “Not bad for newcomers. But let’s see how they handle the next wave.”

The fight raged on, but it became clear that the Nishi were unstoppable. By the time the dust settled, the islanders had been subdued, their weapons confiscated, and the pirates stood victorious.

Hongjoong, standing amidst the wreckage, surveyed the scene. His eyes lingered on the Second Blade, which was wiping the blood from its swords with calm precision.

“Well,” he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I’d say you’ve all more than proven yourselves.”

Seungcheol, ever the professional, inclined his head. “We’re here to serve, Captain.”

Mingyu leaned on his sword, grinning. “That was fun. When’s the next one?”

The Second Blade remained silent, but the way it sheathed its blades with a flourish spoke volumes.

San, catching his breath, clapped Hongjoong on the back. “You weren’t kidding when you said they’d be useful. I don’t think we’ve ever had a raid go this smoothly.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his sharp gaze still fixed on the Second Blade. “Useful? They’re more than that. They’re exactly what we’ve been missing.”

As the crew gathered their spoils and prepared to leave, the bond between the pirates and their new allies had grown stronger. The Nishi had not only earned their place on the Halazia but had also become a force to be reckoned with—one that the seas would soon learn to fear.

As the crew regrouped on the beach, the spoils of their raid piled high behind them, Wooyoung let out a dramatic sigh, collapsing onto a barrel.

“Well,” he said, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead, “that was easy. Almost boring, actually.”

Mingyu, standing nearby, chuckled. “You call that boring? You screamed when that guy lunged at you.”

Wooyoung pointed a finger at him, indignant. “It was a battle cry. You wouldn’t understand.”

San smirked, shaking his head. “Pretty sure it sounded more like a dying seagull.”

“Seagull?” Wooyoung gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “You wound me, San. I’m the voice of this ship!”

“More like the noise of this ship,” Jongho muttered under his breath, earning a laugh from Yunho.

As the crew bantered, Hongjoong stood slightly apart, his eyes fixated on the Second Blade. She was meticulously cleaning her twin swords, every movement precise and deliberate. Despite the chaos and bloodshed of the raid, her calm demeanor remained intact, and Hongjoong couldn’t help but find it fascinating.

Seonghwa, noticing his captain’s lingering gaze, sidled up to him with a knowing smirk. “You’ve been staring at her for a while now.”

Hongjoong didn’t look away, his voice low and thoughtful. “There’s something about her, Seonghwa. The way she moves, the way she fights... it’s mesmerizing.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “Mesmerizing? Or are you just—”

“Don’t,” Hongjoong interrupted, shooting him a sharp look. “Don’t even start.”

Seonghwa chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything, Captain.”

Nearby, Wooyoung leaned toward Mingi, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I think the captain’s got a crush.”

Mingi snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s not exactly the talkative type.”

Hongjoong turned sharply toward them, his glare cutting through their laughter. “Focus on the loot before I throw you both overboard.”

The crew burst into laughter, but it quickly subsided when the Second Blade stood and approached Hongjoong. Even under her mask, her presence was commanding, and the air around them grew quiet.

“Captain,” she said simply, her voice steady and calm. “Your orders?”

Hongjoong cleared his throat, straightening his coat as if caught off guard. “We’ll load the spoils onto the ship and set sail immediately. Good work today, Second Blade.”

She inclined her head and turned to help with the loot, her movements fluid and efficient.

As she walked away, Hongjoong couldn’t help but watch her again, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Seonghwa leaned in once more, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re obsessed.”

Hongjoong didn’t deny it. “Maybe. But there’s something about her, Seonghwa. Something I can’t quite figure out.”

San walked by, overhearing their conversation, and quipped, “Careful, Captain. You keep staring like that, and she might think you’re planning to challenge her to a duel.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “If I did, I’d probably lose.”

The moment the words left Hongjoong's mouth—"If I did, I’d probably lose"—the deck went completely silent.

San, mid-step, froze. Wooyoung dropped the sack of loot he was carrying. Yunho, who was tying down a sail, turned so quickly he nearly tripped over the rope. Even Jongho, typically stoic, looked like someone had just smacked him in the face with a fish.

Seonghwa stared at Hongjoong, his jaw slightly slack. “Did you... did you just say you’d lose a fight?”

Hongjoong blinked, realizing what he’d said, and immediately tried to backtrack. “I mean... hypothetically. It’s not like I—”

But Wooyoung wasn’t about to let this go. He clutched his chest dramatically, stumbling backward. “The great Captain Hongjoong, admitting defeat? To anyone? Oh, this is historic! Someone write this down!”

Mingi, trying not to laugh, nudged Yunho. “You think the world’s ending? This feels like one of those moments.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” Yunho said, pretending to inspect Hongjoong from a distance. “Captain, should I call Yeosang? You might be delirious.”

San, smirking, crossed his arms. “Or maybe... you’re just that whipped.”

The entire crew burst into laughter, the kind of loud, boisterous laughter that echoed over the waves. Even Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by the pirates' antics.

The Second Blade, however, remained silent, standing as still as a statue. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was processing the conversation but chose not to comment.

Hongjoong, trying to salvage his pride, raised his hands. “Alright, enough! You lot have had your fun. Get back to work before I start assigning punishment duties.”

But his threat only made Wooyoung laugh harder. “You can’t scare us, Captain! Not when you’re this close to writing poetry about the Second Blade!”

“I do not write poetry,” Hongjoong snapped, his cheeks faintly red.

Seonghwa smirked, leaning in just enough to whisper, “If the mask comes off and she turns out to be beautiful, you’re doomed.”

Hongjoong glared at him but didn’t reply, his mind briefly wandering to what might be beneath that mask.

As the crew slowly returned to their tasks, still chuckling under their breaths, Seungcheol spoke up, his tone even. “Is this how your crew normally behaves, Captain?”

Hongjoong sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately, yes. They’re skilled, but they have no sense of decorum.”

Mingyu grinned. “I like them. Feels more... lively than Wonderland.”

Seungcheol hummed in agreement, but his sharp eyes flicked to the Second Blade. “Though I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone affect a group so quickly.”

Hongjoong ignored the comment, instead turning his focus back to the horizon. But as the laughter of his crew faded into the rhythm of the ship’s movements, he couldn’t shake the faint heat rising to his cheeks.

He stole a glance at the Second Blade, who was quietly inspecting her weapons near the mast. The sight of her—silent, enigmatic, and completely unbothered by the chaos she caused—only intrigued him more.

And though he would never admit it, not even to himself, Hongjoong knew one thing: he was whipped, and he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.

As the days turned into weeks, Halazia sailed through the vast oceans, leaving a trail of fear and fascination in its wake. But amidst the looting, planning, and endless chaos that came with being the pirate king, Hongjoong found his thoughts increasingly occupied by one thing—or rather, one person.

The Second Blade.

She was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered. Her movements were a study in grace and lethality, her silence spoke louder than words, and her presence was magnetic. Hongjoong had always viewed his crew and allies as tools to further his goals, weapons to carve his path to dominance. But the Second Blade… she was different.

She wasn’t just a weapon; she was a treasure. And as the self-proclaimed king of the seas, Hongjoong always took what he wanted. Right now, he wanted her.

He often found himself watching her, more openly than he intended. Whether she was sharpening her blades, silently observing the crew’s antics, or simply standing at the bow of the ship, her mask reflecting the sunlight like polished ivory, Hongjoong couldn’t look away.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and red, Hongjoong leaned against the railing, his sharp eyes fixed on her.

“She’s something, isn’t she?”

The voice didn't startle him, and he turned to find Seonghwa standing nearby, a knowing smirk on his face.

Hongjoong scoffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Seonghwa said innocently, though his tone was laced with amusement. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s not like the others, Seonghwa. There’s something about her… something I can’t quite figure out.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “You mean besides the fact that she could probably kill us all in our sleep without breaking a sweat?”

Hongjoong chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Exactly that. She’s a mystery, and you know how much I hate not knowing things.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so drawn to her,” Seonghwa mused. “You’re used to being in control, Captain. But with her, you’re not.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, but the truth of Seonghwa’s words lingered in his mind.

Later that night, as the crew gathered for their usual round of rum and storytelling, Hongjoong found himself drawn to her again. She stood apart from the group, leaning against the mast with her arms crossed. Even with the mask, he could feel her sharp gaze cutting through the revelry.

He approached her, his boots clicking softly against the wooden deck. She didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge him, but he knew she was aware of his presence.

“Why do you always stand alone?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

She turned her head slightly, the white mask catching the moonlight. “I’m not part of your crew, Captain. I’m here because I was ordered to be.”

Her words were cold, but Hongjoong detected a faint crack in her usual stoic tone.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning casually against the mast beside her. “But you’ve proven yourself more than just an order. You’ve earned your place here.”

She didn’t reply, and the silence stretched between them. For once, Hongjoong didn’t mind.

Finally, she spoke. “You’re different than I expected.”

“Oh?” His lips curled into a smirk. “What did you expect?”

“A tyrant,” she said simply. “Someone who rules with fear and takes without thought.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I am those things, Second Blade. But even a tyrant can appreciate something extraordinary when he sees it.”

Her head tilted slightly, as if she were studying him, trying to unravel his words.

“Goodnight, Captain,” she said finally, her voice softer this time.

As she walked away, Hongjoong watched her disappear into the shadows, a strange sense of longing settling in his chest.

For the first time in his life, the pirate king found himself wanting something he couldn’t simply take. But he was determined to have her—one way or another.

The clash of swords and the thunder of cannons filled the air as chaos reigned on the Halazia. The navy had come prepared, their ships surrounding yours with ruthless efficiency. The crew fought valiantly, their cries of defiance rising above the din of battle.

You moved through the fray like a shadow, your twin blades cutting through enemies with practiced precision. Every movement was deliberate, every strike lethal. You had faced battles like this before -chaotic, bloody, and merciless-and you thrived in them.

But then, a presence caught your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man moving toward you, his stance predatory and his sword glinting under the sun. He was no ordinary soldier; the way he carried himself spoke of years of training, and his eyes locked onto you with singular intent.

You met his first strike with one of your blades, the force of the clash vibrating through your arm. He was stronger than most, but you didn't falter. Instead, you pushed back, twisting to deflect his follow-up strike with your second blade

“You're nothing more than a masked puppet” the man taunted.

The two of you exchanged a flurry of blows, each one testing the other's limits. For a moment, you thought you had him, your blade finding an opening in his defense. But then, he sidestepped with surprising speed, his sword coming down in a powerful arc.

You raised your blades to block, but the force of his strike was immense. His sword slammed into yours, the impact sending a shockwave through your arms. Before you could recover, his next strike came, aimed high.

His blade scraped against the edge of your mask, and you felt it-the sharp crack of the material breaking under the pressure.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow. You felt the pieces of your mask splintering, the fragments falling away from your face and scattering onto the deck.

The man froze for a split second, his eyes widening in shock as he took in your uncovered face. The noise of the battle seemed to fade for an instant, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

You didn't hesitate. Using his momentary distraction, you surged forward, your blade slicing through the air. The fight wasn't over-not yet-but you knew one thing for certain: the secret you had guarded for so long was now exposed.

The man fell before you, your blade driving cleanly through his chest as he crumpled to the deck. You pulled your sword free, standing over him, but the usual sense of victory that came with a kill was absent. Instead, a cold weight settled in your chest.

Your mask was gone.

You could feel the open air against your face, the stares of those around you. The battle continued to rage, but in your world, time seemed to slow, every sound muffled as if you were underwater.

Your hand instinctively twitched toward your face, but there was nothing to cover it with. The scar- the mark that had defined you in more ways than one-was exposed to the world. It stretched from the corner of your lip to the middle of your cheek, a cruel, jagged line that almost mimicked a half-smile.

A mockery.

You didn't need to look around to know what they were seeing. A warrior, unmasked, scarred, and vulnerable. The thought alone made your stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in your throat.

You could feel their gazes-some fleeting, others lingering. Enemies paused mid-battle, caught off guard by the sight. Even your crewmates, the ones who had fought beside you for weeks, faltered for a moment.

"Second Blade!"

The sound of Hongjoong's voice snapped you back to reality. He was fighting his way toward you, his sword cutting down anyone who stood in his path. His eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto yours.

For a split second, you saw something there- surprise, yes, but also something else. Something softer.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to focus. The battle wasn't over, and neither was your duty. You turned sharply, ignoring the weight of the stares, and threw yourself back into the fight.

But no matter how many enemies you cut down, that feeling of exposure wouldn't leave you. The scar wasn't just a mark on your skin-it was a reminder of what you'd endured, a testament to your survival. And now, everyone on this cursed ship could see it.

You had always been the Second Blade, a faceless warrior, a weapon to be wielded. But now, stripped of that anonymity, you felt exposed. Vulnerable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt defeated.

The battle raged on, but your focus wavered, a rarity for someone of your skill. Each strike of your blade felt mechanical, detached, as though the strength you once carried had been siphoned by the shattering of your mask. The scar burned—not from pain, but from the weight of being seen.

You cut down another attacker, breathing hard as the chaos around you began to subside. The navy soldiers were retreating, their numbers dwindling under the relentless force of the Halazia crew.

"Second Blade!"

Hongjoong’s voice rang out again, this time closer. You turned to see him approaching, his sword slick with blood, his expression unreadable. Behind him, the rest of the main crew was regrouping, their faces a mix of triumph and exhaustion.

And curiosity.

You stood still as Hongjoong stopped in front of you, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He didn’t speak at first, his gaze lingering on the scar.

“Your face…” he started, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“I know,” you interrupted, your tone clipped. You turned your head slightly, as if to shield the scar from his view, though you knew it was pointless. “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” San commented, stepping up beside Hongjoong. His eyes flicked to your scar, but there was no malice there—only curiosity.

“Looks like a story,” Yeosang chimed in.

Wooyoung, leaning on his weapon with an almost playful grin added,“And you know how much we love stories around here.”

“Enough.” Hongjoong’s voice was firm, silencing the murmurs of the crew. His gaze hadn’t left your face. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You don’t need to hide from me, Second Blade. Not here. Not with us.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Before you could find the right words, Yunho called out.

“Captain, we’ve got their ship retreating! What’s the plan?”

Hongjoong straightened, his commanding presence returning in an instant. “Let them run. They’ll spread word of what happened here. That’s enough for now.”

The crew began to cheer, their energy renewed despite the toll of the battle.

Hongjoong turned back to you, his voice quieter but no less authoritative. “We’ll talk later.”

With that, he moved to rally his crew, leaving you standing amid the aftermath of the fight. The scar on your face still felt like it burned under the weight of their gazes, but there was something about the way Hongjoong had looked at you.

Not with pity. Not with disgust.

But with something else entirely.

You exhaled, steeling yourself. There was no room for weakness on the Halazia, but maybe—just maybe—there was room for something else.

The dining hall of the Halazia was alive with the usual banter and clinking of cutlery. Plates of food were passed around, and the crew reveled in the aftermath of their victory against the navy. Yet tonight, there was an unusual air of curiosity lingering in the room, all eyes subtly drifting to the three Nishis seated among them.

You sat at the table, your mask broken and discarded, your scar fully visible under the warm light of the lanterns. To your left, Seungcheol and to your right, Mingyu sat quietly, but the absence of their masks drew more than a few glances.

San finally broke the silence, gesturing toward the two Nishis. “Alright, I have to ask—what’s going on here? I thought the masks were, like, sacred or something.”

Mingyu, ever the more casual of the two, shrugged nonchalantly. “They are. But when an upper rank removes their mask, it’s tradition for the lower ranks to do the same. Out of respect.”

Seungcheol nodded in agreement, his tone more formal. “It’s a symbol of unity. If one’s identity is exposed, the others stand with them. It’s the least we can do.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of the explanation sinking in.

“So, you’re saying it’s because of her,” Mingi said, gesturing to you with a nod.

“Obviously,” Wooyoung chimed in, grinning as he leaned forward on his elbows. “Makes sense. She’s the top dog, after all.”

“Second Blade,” Jongho spoke up suddenly, his voice cutting through the chatter. His expression was unusually curious, his gaze fixed on you. “How did you get that scar?”

The room fell into an awkward silence, the air heavy with tension. Hongjoong, seated at the head of the table, immediately narrowed his eyes at Jongho.

“Jongho,” he said sharply, his tone carrying a warning. “That’s not your place to ask.”

But before he could continue, you raised a hand, stopping him. “It’s fine, Captain.”

You set your utensils down and leaned back slightly in your chair, your gaze sweeping over the expectant faces of the crew. It was rare for you to speak, let alone about something personal, but tonight was different.

“If you want to know, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of the memory.

All eyes were on you now, the room completely silent as the crew waited for you to begin.

The house was cold when the men came for you. Your mother’s hands trembled as she clutched the doorframe, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Your father stood stiffly behind her, his jaw tight as if forcing himself not to speak.

You tried to hold back the fear clawing at your chest as the soldiers stepped inside. Their uniforms were spotless, their movements brisk. You’d heard the stories—families giving up their children to the military for better housing, steady food, and money. You just never thought it would happen to you.

“Come along,” one of the soldiers said, his tone curt but not unkind.

Your mother’s lips moved, forming silent words. Maybe a prayer, maybe an apology. She didn’t look at you as she gently pushed you forward.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Your father’s eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment before he turned away. “It’s for the best,” he muttered.

The soldiers took you by the arms, and as they led you out of the house, the weight of abandonment settled heavily on your chest. You didn’t cry, but your throat ached from holding it back.

The training camp was a harsh, unfeeling place. From the moment you arrived, you were thrust into a world of grueling drills, barked orders, and punishments for the smallest mistakes. It was exhausting, but you pushed through, clinging to the faint hope that surviving this would lead to something better.

But then, the whispers started.

“She’s got potential,” one of the camp hosts murmured, their eyes lingering on you.

“For more than just combat,” another added, their tone making your skin crawl.

At first, you didn’t understand what they meant. But when you were summoned one evening, it became clear. The hosts eyed you like a prize, their polished appearances and honeyed words hiding something far uglier.

“She’s got a face that’ll sell,” one said, their gaze raking over you.

“Such a waste to send her to war,” another added with a smirk.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. They didn’t see you as a soldier in training—they saw you as a commodity.

When the general was informed of their plan, you were dragged to his quarters. General Rael was an imposing figure, his towering frame and sharp eyes making him impossible to read. The hosts explained their intentions, their voices sickeningly eager.

“She could make us a fortune,” one said, as if you weren’t standing right there.

The general listened in silence, his expression unreadable. Then he turned to you.

“You,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Come here.”

You hesitated, fear and anger warring within you, but the sharp tug of a soldier’s hand forced you forward.

Rael’s gaze bored into you for a moment before he spoke. “They think you’re too pretty to be a soldier.”

His words made your stomach churn. “I don’t care what they think,” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt at defiance.

“Good,” he replied, pulling a dagger from his belt.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as he stepped closer. “W-what are you doing?”

“I’m fixing the problem,” he said flatly.

The blade was cold against your skin as he pressed it to the corner of your lip. The first cut was searing, a pain so intense that you couldn’t stop the scream that tore from your throat.

“Stop!” you cried, tears streaming down your face as he dragged the blade across your cheek. Blood poured down your face, warm and sticky, soaking into your shirt.

“Stop struggling,” Rael barked, his grip like iron.

When it was over, he stepped back, tossing a rag at you. You caught it with shaking hands, pressing it to your wound as sobs wracked your body. Your legs felt weak as they gave out and collapsed on the floor.

“Still think she’s worth more off the battlefield?” Rael asked, turning to the pale-faced hosts.

They left without a word, their greedy smiles replaced with wide-eyed shock.

You sat there trembling, blood dripping onto the floor, the rag clutched tightly against your face. Rael said nothing as he turned away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.

That night, you lay in your bunk, the pain of the wound throbbing with every heartbeat. Silent tears slid down your face as you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing with anger, humiliation, and despair.

You weren’t just scarred—you were marked. A cruel reminder of what had been taken from you. And yet, somewhere deep inside, a spark of resolve burned.

They had tried to break you. But you would not let them win.

The room fell eerily silent as you finished speaking, the weight of your story settling over the table like a heavy fog. Your hands were still clenched tightly, the memory of the pain and humiliation as fresh as if it had happened only moments ago.

The crew, usually so brash and unfiltered, seemed almost reverent in their silence. Their eyes locked onto you, no longer the fierce, untouchable warrior they’d seen before, but a person—a woman with a past far more painful than they could have imagined.

Hongjoong’s gaze softened, his usually sharp and calculating eyes filled with something different—sympathy, perhaps, or understanding. But before he could speak, you lifted your chin, your voice cutting through the quiet like a sword.

“You wanted this,” you said, your tone firm and unwavering. “You asked. So I told you.”

The crew exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of shock, admiration, and something else—something that mirrored your own unspoken resolve.

Jongho, usually the most forward of the bunch, was the first to break the silence. “I... didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

You nodded once, sharply. “Curiosity has consequences. But you wanted to know, so I told you.”

Hongjoong leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re not just some weapon, are you?”

You looked at him, eyes hardening slightly. “I never was.”

A heavy silence passed between you all, and for the first time, the crew seemed to understand you better. Not just as the deadly, cold warrior they had seen fighting beside them, but as someone who had been broken and reforged into something stronger. Something they couldn’t quite fathom, but now respected even more.

“Let’s eat,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension. “We’ve got work to do.”

And with that, the crew reluctantly returned to their meals, the weight of your story lingering in the air as they silently processed what they had learned. The bond between you had shifted, subtly but unmistakably.

The bond between you and the crew had grown stronger with each passing day, but there were moments when things shifted, when the air between you and Hongjoong became a little heavier. He noticed the way you held yourself—how you kept your distance, how you threw yourself into your duties with a fierce intensity, but never allowed yourself to relax, never allowed anyone to get too close.

One evening, as the crew settled around the ship’s deck after a long day of sailing, Hongjoong approached you. You were leaning against the mast, staring out at the horizon, your arms crossed over your chest in that familiar defensive posture.

“Second Blade,” he said quietly, standing a few paces away from you, his voice low enough not to draw attention from the rest of the crew.

You didn’t turn to face him, but you acknowledged his presence with a slight tilt of your head. “Captain.”

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, his words measured and thoughtful. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? More than anyone should have to endure.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze still fixed on the endless ocean. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, but you weren’t ready to let the walls down, not yet.

“I get it,” he continued, a slight edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re protecting everyone else. The crew, the ship, the mission... but who’s protecting you?”

The question hung in the air, but you kept your silence. You couldn’t afford to let anyone protect you. You couldn’t afford to need anyone.

Hongjoong stepped closer, his presence a comfort and a challenge all at once. “You don’t have to do it alone, Second Blade. You’ve been protecting everyone around you, but what about yourself?”

You finally turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for the first time. There was an intensity in his eyes, a longing that you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t have time for that,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “I have to protect the people who matter. The ones who can’t defend themselves.”

His gaze softened, and a small, understanding smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I understand,” he said, his voice low and serious. “But while you’re out there protecting the world, let me protect you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the simplicity of his words. It wasn’t just a promise—it was an offer. A chance to be seen, to be cared for. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider in a long time.

“I don’t need protecting,” you said, though your voice was quieter now, less certain.

Hongjoong’s expression softened even more, his eyes holding a quiet intensity. “Maybe not from the world. But from yourself, Second Blade. Maybe you need someone to look out for you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the soft glow of the evening. The crew continued their chatter behind you, unaware of the subtle shift in the air.

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. Could you really let someone protect you? Could you allow yourself to lean on someone else for once?

But before you could speak, Hongjoong gave you a small, almost teasing smile. “I’m not asking you to let your guard down completely. Just... let me take care of you when you need it. It’s what a captain does, right?”

A small part of you wanted to refuse, to keep your distance, to push him away. But another part of you, the part that had spent so long alone, finally relented.

After a while, you sighed, “But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

Hongjoong chuckled, a rich, warm sound that made your heart beat a little faster. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And as you stood there with him, the weight of his words still lingering between you, you realized something. You had always been the protector. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to let someone else guard your back for a change.

[magnagaruzenmon]

Blackberries and Vanilla

Part 2 to the collaboration with the nameless writer. If you see his work (you'll know it when you see it) please support him he's been very kind to us despite his upstart “attack” at us saying we don't know how to right Sohyun

Part I here

Doflamingo floated weightlessly in the void, surrounded by an endless expanse of stars shimmering against a backdrop of oppressive heat. The heat wasn’t external—it burned from within, coursing through him like molten fire. His mind was foggy, caught between dreams and reality, but one question burned through the haze like a roaring flame:

“What do you fight for?”

The voice was deep, resonant, and impossible to ignore. It echoed within him, reverberating against the raw edges of his consciousness. Doflamingo furrowed his brow, instinctively clenching his fists. Memories flickered to life like embers igniting in the dark: the moments of anger, the countless times people had tried to take what was his, the fights he had endured, not out of choice but necessity. Each image fanned the flames of a deep, abyssal well of ferocity—a ferocity he had always carried with him, buried just beneath the surface.

It was comforting, in a way, like the warmth of an old, familiar fire. He had been an outcast for so long, an intruder in a world that seemed bent on rejecting him. So when something—anything—fell into his grasp, whether it was success, security, or someone he cared about, his instinct was immediate and primal: Protect it. Fight for it. Guard it with everything you are. Even if it costs you everything.

As the flames surged brighter within him, the voice spoke again, each word like a drop of molten metal in his chest:

“A dragon draws strength from their hoard. So I ask you again, what is your hoard?”

The question lingered in the air, pressing into him. Doflamingo tried to dismiss it, tried to claim that he was above such things—that he didn’t need anyone or anything to define him. But the voice was not so easily swayed. It knew him too well because it was him, and it would not let him lie.

The stars around him began to pulse with a fiery glow, and scenes from his life played out before him, each one more vivid than the last. They weren’t material things—no mountains of gold or treasures locked away in vaults. Instead, they were moments of connection. Memories of the friendships he had forged, the bonds he had nurtured despite his rough exterior. Each face, each laugh, each fleeting moment of closeness lit up the darkness like stars being born.

He saw Sohyun, her sharp wit and radiant presence anchoring him in ways he hadn’t fully understood before. He saw the trust in the eyes of her friends, people who had once looked at him with suspicion but now saw him as family. He saw the countless times he had fought, not for wealth or glory, but to protect those fleeting, precious connections—to ensure that he was never alone again.

The flames inside him roared to life as the voice spoke, its tone shifting, tinged with curiosity and understanding:

“How curious. While many dragons hoard knowledge, power, or riches, you take a different approach. You hoard knowing. You hoard intimacy, not for greed but for fear of isolation. You gather bonds and guard them as fiercely as any treasure. You are gregarious, a trait most uncommon for a dragon, yet you provide a compelling argument for its strength. You fight with a vigor that rivals any dragon’s, yet your greatest strength lies not in what you take but in what you give.”

The heat in his chest swelled to the point of pain, but the pain was transformative. It was not destruction—it was rebirth. The flames burned away the doubts, the insecurities, the self-imposed barriers, until all that was left was warmth. Pure, steady, and radiant.

Doflamingo felt himself drifting among the stars, no longer weighed down by uncertainty or fear. The voice burned brighter, filling the void with its presence.

“A Dragon of Bonds… that is truly an interesting tale.” There was an almost amused warmth in the voice now, as if it relished the novelty of his existence. “Go forth, and take all you can. Protect what is yours. Build your hoard and let no one take it from you. You have the heart of a dragon, and now, you will have its power as well.”

With those final words, the stars around him flared into a brilliant, blinding light. Doflamingo’s body felt heavy again, the weight of the world pulling him back to reality. But the warmth remained, rooted deep within his soul.

Doflamingo groaned softly as his senses stirred, the world around him slowly coming into focus. The first thing he noticed was the scent of vanilla—a soft, soothing aroma that cut through the dull ache in his body. It was intoxicating, grounding, and oddly reassuring. He took a deeper breath, his newfound instincts sharpening the edges of the sensation, and realized the scent wasn’t coming from the air. It was coming from her.

His eyes fluttered open, drawn toward the source. There, sitting over him, was Sohyun. Her expression was a mixture of relief and exhaustion, her eyes shimmering with an emotion he couldn’t quite place but felt all the same. She smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned closer.

“Don’t scare me like that, big guy,” she murmured, her voice low and warm, but trembling ever so slightly.

Doflamingo tried to sit up, wincing as the pain in his muscles flared like tiny embers beneath his skin. He wasn’t sure what hurt more—the fight he had endured or the weight of knowing he’d put her through that fear. He wanted to apologize, to say something that would ease her worry, but the words caught in his throat as her scent wrapped around him like a balm.

It was then that he realized his senses were no longer the same. Everything felt sharper, more vivid. The warmth of Sohyun’s hand on his shoulder was electric, her scent so rich and layered he could almost taste it. And then there was the faint hum in the air—a ripple of energy that emanated from her like a soft heartbeat.

“You smell different,” Doflamingo muttered, his voice hoarse but laced with curiosity.

Sohyun blinked, startled, before laughing softly. “Funny, I was just about to say the same thing about you.”

She leaned in slightly, taking a deliberate breath. His scent was no longer the neutral, faintly clean aroma she’d grown used to. It was deeper now, richer—a heady blend of blackberries and something warm, like smoked cedar. It was intoxicating and grounding all at once, a powerful signal of his new nature.

“You smell… amazing,” she admitted, her cheeks tinting pink as she glanced away.

Doflamingo tilted his head, confused but intrigued. “What’s happening to me?”

Sohyun’s gaze softened, and she brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek. “You’ve changed. I don’t know what kind of therianthrope you’ve become yet, but I can feel it. Your aura—it’s strong. And your instincts…” She trailed off, a small smile tugging at her lips. “They’re sharp enough to notice me, even before your eyes open.”

Doflamingo’s brow furrowed as he processed her words. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he felt it—the fire within him, the pulsing presence of something vast and primal that hadn’t been there before. And yet, none of it felt foreign. It felt like a piece of himself he had always been chasing but never quite grasped until now.

Sohyun’s heart fluttered as she watched him. Relief coursed through her veins, but it was accompanied by an uncomfortable pang of guilt. She hated admitting it, but part of her was glad—relieved—that Doflamingo was now a therianthrope. She hated how that part of her felt vindicated, like the world finally made sense because he wasn’t fully human anymore. It was selfish, and she knew it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she brushed them against his cheek again. You’re still you, she told herself, trying to push the guilt aside. But the truth lingered like a shadow in her mind. She had always worried that their differences—her primal nature, her instincts as an alpha—would one day create a rift between them. And now? Now, those worries had evaporated, leaving her wondering if she had secretly wanted this all along.

Sohyun stood, offering him her hand. “Come on. Let’s go home,” she said gently, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her.

Doflamingo hesitated for a moment, staring up at her. The way she looked at him—like he was still him despite everything—made something in his chest tighten. He reached up, letting her pull him to his feet, and as their hands touched, a spark of connection shot through him, more vivid and visceral than anything he had felt before.

He caught her gaze, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I think I’m going to need your help figuring this out.”

Sohyun grinned, a flicker of mischief returning to her eyes, though her heart still felt heavy. “You mean everything? Or just the therianthrope part?”

Doflamingo chuckled, his voice still rough but warmer now. “Both.”

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Sohyun tightened her grip on his hand, her guilt still whispering in the back of her mind. You’re still you, Doffy, she thought again, and she vowed to never let her relief diminish the love she already had for the man he’d always been. For now, she chose to focus on the fact that they were together, and that, despite everything, they would face whatever came next as one.

“You’re still you,” she whispered under her breath, and this time, she meant it. She guided him out of the cafe. As they walked the owner; a werebunny named Nayeon apologized for not being able to help due to only being sigma. Maggy, Kazuha, Dino and Arin were still frozen in their seats processing everything. They all felt elation at Doflamingo’s turn like he now fully was what he was suppose to be but also guilt because they had partially wished he'd be like them. They all eventually left with gift baskets from the baker bunny though, with extras for the “Red Dragon Archfiend”

As they walked out of the café, Sohyun’s hand firmly wrapped around Doflamingo’s, he couldn’t stop noticing. Everything was sharper now—details he never would have caught before flooded his senses. The scent of the baker bunny Nayeon lingered, light and sweet like freshly baked bread, but beneath it was a thread of anxiety she was clearly trying to mask. The creak of the café door as it swung shut behind them resonated in his ears like a chime, and every shift of Sohyun’s body as she guided him was something he felt acutely: the warmth of her skin, the subtle hitch in her breath, and even the way her thumb stroked his hand absently, almost like she was trying to ground him.

The dragon inside him, however, wasn’t so easily calmed. It wasn’t frantic or panicked—it was methodical, constantly observing, cataloging. Her friends were scared of us. They’re relieved, though. The werebunny has a good heart but weak instincts. Is she safe in a place like this? That man at the bar—he’ll regret crossing us if he ever tries again.

Doflamingo’s head throbbed slightly as his consciousness struggled to keep up with the relentless observations of the dragon. It wasn’t just thoughts; it was sensations too. The distant hum of a streetlamp buzzing with electricity a block away, the vibrations of an engine as a car passed, the rustle of a bird’s wings as it flitted into the night—everything pressed on his mind, layering one on top of the other.

And yet, it wasn’t overwhelming. It was exhilarating.

He could feel the streaks of crimson, gold, and teal that now marked his body glowing faintly in the dark, as if they were alive, pulsing with energy. He caught glimpses of them as they walked, reflected in windows and puddles on the street. They were an extension of the dragon’s presence—a sign of its watchful, tireless awareness.

The arrival at their home was quiet but charged, a thick anticipation lingering in the air. Doflamingo stepped through the doorway with measured steps, the weight of his transformation and everything that had happened resting heavily on his shoulders. Sohyun, however, had no intention of letting the moment pass quietly. As a born and raised Werekirin, and an alpha through and through, her curiosity burned bright. She wanted to see the full extent of who and what Doflamingo had become.

The moment the door clicked shut, she turned to him, her eyes glowing with excitement. “Okay, let’s get it out of the way, baby. I need you to shift for me,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Doflamingo froze. His dragon stirred beneath his skin, humming softly in encouragement, but all he could feel was an overwhelming wave of hesitation. The thought of fully embracing this new side of himself in front of Sohyun—his equal, his partner—terrified him. Would this change how she saw him? Could he still meet her expectations?

He took a shaky breath as his senses continued to heighten. Her scent—sweet and grounding, like vanilla and fresh rain—pulled at something primal within him, and his fire surged in response, his dragon reveling in her closeness. Yet his mind remained locked in a storm of doubt.

Sohyun noticed his struggle immediately. She crossed the space between them and placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her expression softened, and her voice dropped to a tender murmur. “Babe, babe. Look at me. I’m here with you. It’s okay. You won’t hurt me. You’re too noble for that. The dragon and you are one now—not separate, not enemies, just you.”

Her gaze was , calm yet commanding, staring at him like a steady current, grounding him. She leaned in and kissed him, soft and deliberate. It was a kiss that spoke of reassurance, of love, of her unshakable trust in him.

The storm in Doflamingo’s mind stilled. Slowly, the barrier between him and the dragon dissolved, their essences merging fully for the first time. His body began to shift, a feeling of heat rushing through him. At first, it was sharp, almost painful, but as he let go of his resistance, the discomfort transformed into euphoria. His muscles stretched, his skin hardened and gleamed as crimson scales emerged, each edged with streaks of gold and teal.

His senses sharpened even further, the world around him coming alive in exquisite detail. Every flicker of light, every shift in Sohyun’s scent, every hum of energy in the room—he noticed it all. Power coursed through him, raw and untamed, and for the first time, he didn’t shy away from it.

Sohyun stood back, watching in awe. Her inner kirin purred with excitement, practically stampeding in delight as she took in the sight before her. Doflamingo’s weredragon form was magnificent—regal and commanding, every inch of him exuding strength and dominance. His aura, however, was what truly captivated her. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

It wasn’t just powerful; it was layered, complex, a tapestry of emotions and energy. She could feel his joy, his hesitation, his protective instincts, and, most importantly, his unwavering devotion to her. It was intoxicating, emboldening. Her kirin surged with pride and desire, its hooves stamping impatiently as if to say, This is ours.

And yet, even as her heart swelled with love and excitement, a pang of guilt struck her. It was small but sharp, like a pebble caught in her shoe. She felt the weight of her earlier desires—the secret, selfish wish she’d harbored for Doflamingo to be like her. She had never wanted to admit it, even to herself, but now that he stood before her, fully transformed, the guilt was impossible to ignore.

Her momentary lapse didn’t go unnoticed. Doflamingo’s keen senses picked up the slight hitch in her breath, the flicker of guilt in her aura. His glowing golden eyes narrowed as he shifted back to his human form, his expression etched with concern.

“Soho,” he said softly, stepping closer to her. “Is something wrong?”

Sohyun blinked, caught off guard by his question. She forced a smile, but it was weak, betraying her inner turmoil. “No, everything is perfect,” she said, her voice wavering. “Too perfect, actually.” She sighed, looking away. “I feel bad because… you’re everything I’ve ever wanted now, but I can’t help but feel like I didn’t consider your feelings. Like I wanted you to be like me so badly, and I don’t know if it was right to want that.”

Doflamingo tilted his head, his expression softening. “Wait,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You didn’t set up that weredragon attack, did you?”

Sohyun’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No! I’d never put my babygirl in danger like that!”

Doflamingo chuckled, the tension in the room easing. “Good,” he said lightly, though his voice carried an undertone of sincerity. He stepped closer, cupping her cheek. “Listen, Soho. First please don't bring that nickname back. Second, It’s understandable to want an equal. I get it. And honestly? I’m not mad about it. If anything, I’m glad you pushed me—because now I know what I’m capable of. And if this is what it means to stand beside you, then I’m all in.”

Sohyun’s eyes shimmered with emotion as she pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. It was a kiss of relief, of love, of letting go. For the first time, she allowed herself to fully embrace this new chapter of their relationship.

As their kiss deepened, her kirin purred within her, basking in the warmth of their connection. She had an equal now—a partner who matched her strength and fire. It wasn’t what she had imagined, but it was everything she had ever needed. As the kiss deepened the couple shifted as if second nature as their truest natures took center stage. Sohyun smiled as her cerulean werekirin form stood in front of Doffy’s weredragon form. Their scents growing intense as their desires grew until neither could take it anymore. Sohyun ripped off her clothes desperate to be bare for her mate and Doflamingo followed suit.

As they stood before each other bare Sohyun noticed a new thing about Doflamingo…well two new things. She marveled at his two cocks. She raised an eyebrow before saying, “have you always had two um…dicks?”

she was obviously surprised as was Doflamingo. He stared at them before he said “um we should probably research weredragons but not right now because I need to fuck you…no I need to breed you. I need you to have my litter,” he said as the dragon took over. He crossed the distance between them and traced her jawline before lining his bigger cock with her slit, Sohyun moaned as he filled her with him. Sohyun moaned.

“Fuck!” Sohyun groaned as she grabbed Doflamingo’s horns and locked her legs around his hips.

“Come on Doffy take me.”

Doflamingo groaned as he grabbed her waist. Sohyun smiled as she felt his manhood pierce her. As they mated their scents danced around each other Sohyun smiled as she smelled their scents mixed and moaned as the pleasure overtook her. Doflamingo smirked happy his mate was lost in the pleasure. He dug his claws gently into his mates hips and increased his intensity. Sohyun groaned as she came on one of Doflamingo’s cocks.

“Fuck you fill me so well. Get rougher with me,” she moaned knowing that both of them needed this. Doflamingo then fully let go and let the dragon take over. His blackberry scent amassing and claiming Sohyun as hers reciprocated the action. He rammed his cock in and out of her as his inner dragon overtook all of him.

“Youre mine. My greatest treasure nothing compares. Not diamonds not gold, nothing.” he says as his cock tears through her walls. Sohyun moans and teases.

“How sappy.” her words hit their mark as Doflamingo loses himself to his orgasm. His smaller cock explodes all over Sohyun’s chest and torso. Doflamingo watches with lust as Sohyun rubs his cum all over her body

“Fuck now I'm properly yours,” she says as she cums for the second time before collapsing on the couch. She turns to Doflamingo staring at both his hard cocks hungrily but the soreness preventing her from satiating that lust frustrates her.

“Fuck I'm exhausted but I want more,” she groans.

“Fuck I have felt like I've entered a rut, but Im too sore and tired.”

She turns to Doffy and says, “Tomorrow we are gonna whenever we can. Got it,”

“Okay take tomorrow off then. You have a previous engagement,” Soyhun

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, bathing their room in a soft golden glow as Doflamingo stretched his limbs. His dragon form was still prominent, the crimson and gold hues of his scales glinting faintly in the light. The sheer weight of his body now felt oddly natural, but his alarm clock blaring had jolted him into a grumpy mood.

“Ugh,” he groaned, slamming the clock off with more force than necessary. “Why is everything louder now? Even that damn alarm.”

Sohyun chuckled softly, her kirin form still draped lazily across the bed. Her silver and cloud-like markings shimmered, her mane wild but elegant. She turned to face him, her voice teasing yet tender. “You know, babe, after the success of my last book, we’re pretty set financially. You really don’t need to keep dragging yourself to that boring office job.” She smirked, her eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “I’d much rather have you as my house husband—or my babygirl if that suits you better.”

Doflamingo’s dragon stirred, growling low in his chest. The teasing was good-natured, but his alpha instincts prickled. He wasn’t going to be anyone’s “baby girl,” even if the thought of staying by Sohyun’s side all day was tempting.

“You know what?” he said, his voice deep and commanding, the resonance of his dragon evident. “Screw that job.”

Sohyun’s laugh was rich and delighted as she watched him march over to his laptop. He quickly fired off an email to his boss, cashing out his vacation time. The decisiveness in his actions only made her kirin purr in satisfaction.

When he returned to the bed, Sohyun let out a dramatic groan, her tail flicking in protest as she noticed him gathering clothes. “Ugh, I thought you weren’t going to work today. Why are you getting dressed?”

Doflamingo smirked, shaking his head as he slipped into some comfortable jeans. “I’m not going to work, but I do need to figure out what this new life is going to look like. Being a weredragon comes with its own… complications.”

Sohyun perked up, rolling onto her stomach and propping her chin on her hands. Her voice was laced with excitement as she asked, “Oh? And what does figuring it out involve?”

He glanced over his shoulder, holding up his phone. “I’m scheduling an appointment with a weredragon expert.”

That caught her attention. She jumped out of bed and bounded over, her body brushing against his as she peeked over his shoulder to see the website he was browsing. Her scent—sweet and electric—wrapped around him, making his dragon rumble in approval.

“Oh,” she said, her voice brightening. “He’s a college professor. Wait, I know this guy!”

Doflamingo raised a brow, intrigued. “Do you?”

“Yeah! He came to one of my book signings.” She grinned, her kirin tail swishing behind her. “He asked some really deep questions about the abuse in therianthrope communities, like the werehyena and wereorca packs. Super passionate guy. Gave me a scathing review, though, for how I framed matriarchal customs.”

Doflamingo chuckled, turning to face her fully. “Sounds like he knows his stuff, at least. That’s what we need right now.”

Sohyun nodded in agreement but quickly shifted the topic. “But before we dive into all that, don’t forget we’ve got my parents to meet today. They’ve been dying to know when I’m finally going to settle down.” She smirked, running a clawed hand gently over Doflamingo’s chest. “And I want them to see my new alpha partner.”

He laughed, the deep rumble in his chest making Sohyun’s kirin hum in delight. “Your parents, huh? I hope they’re ready for this.”

“Oh, they’ll love you,” Sohyun assured him, her eyes sparkling. “And if they don’t, well, I do, and that’s what matters.”

The two of them exchanged a quick, affectionate kiss before setting about their morning routine. Even as they prepared for the day ahead, their natural chemistry and ease with each other shone through. Whether it was Doflamingo playfully swatting Sohyun’s tail as she teased him about his outfit, or Sohyun stealing bites of his breakfast while declaring she wasn’t hungry, the comfort and love between them were undeniable.

By the time they left the apartment, they were ready to face the world together—new challenges, nosy parents, and all.

The cafe buzzed with quiet conversation as Sohyun and Doflamingo entered, the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods filling the air. But to Doflamingo, the sensory overload was more pronounced than ever—scents, sounds, and even the faintest hum of emotions seemed amplified. His dragon thrummed beneath his skin, purring with approval as his eyes locked onto the two figures seated by the window: Sohyun’s parents.

Both alphas, Sohyun’s mother a regal wereKirin with a shimmering silver mane, and her father a stately wereGriffin whose piercing gaze seemed to cut through the room. Yet, as they turned to greet their daughter, their composure faltered.

The presence of another alpha rolled through the room like a tide. It wasn’t oppressive or overbearing, but it demanded acknowledgment. Sohyun’s parents froze momentarily, their instincts forcing them to reevaluate this newcomer. The aura was unlike anything they’d expected. It was commanding yet warm, feral yet refined.

Doflamingo.

When they’d first met him months ago, he’d been ambitious but very much human—a scrappy, determined man who exuded potential but lacked the innate authority of a true alpha. Now, that same man stood before them transformed. His aura was magnetic, his presence so grounded that even Sohyun’s parents, both experienced alphas, felt a pull toward him.

Sohyun’s mother stammered, breaking the silence as she tried to reconcile this man with the one she’d met before. “Doflamingo, you’ve… changed.”

Doflamingo smiled, the gesture as charming as ever, but there was an edge to it now—a sharpness that wasn’t there before. He shrugged casually, his voice steady and smooth. “We’re always changing, aren’t we? But yeah, I suppose I’ve been through some things. It’s not an issue, is it?”

His tone was pleasant, almost disarming, but the weight behind his words made Sohyun’s parents hesitate. For a moment, they felt like prey before a predator—a sensation they hadn’t experienced in years.

Sohyun’s father cleared his throat, trying to shake the unease. “You’re the Red Dragon Archfiend we’ve been hearing about, aren’t you?”

Both Sohyun and Doflamingo frowned in confusion before her mother explained. “There have been rumors. A human turned by a weredragon who fought tooth and nail to protect his mate. The description matches you.”

Sohyun beamed with pride, leaning slightly into Doflamingo. “Yep, that’s him. My Red Dragon Archfiend.”

Her parents exchanged a glance. Weredragons were rare and notoriously unpredictable, their power immense and their temperaments volatile. To have someone like Doflamingo, already fervent and intense, take on such a form… It was both exhilarating and terrifying to witness.

Still, they couldn’t deny the way he carried it. The strength, the confidence—it radiated from him like sunlight. Even as fear lingered in their hearts, there was a magnetic pull that left them enthralled. Sohyun’s parents found themselves unconsciously leaning into his presence more than once, unable to resist the sheer gravity of his being.

Sohyun and Doflamingo noticed the shifting emotions rolling off her parents, their scents a tangled mix of pride, fear, and awe. But it hit Doflamingo harder than he expected. His senses, sharper since his transformation, picked up every nuance, and his dragon stirred with interest.

Dragons liked power, and power was everywhere. Sohyun was powerful, of course—his equal in every way—but now, sitting across from these two dominant alphas, his dragon was curious. It wasn’t attraction in the traditional sense; it was more primal, instinctive. His body hummed with the latent desire to engage, to test boundaries, to claim.

Doflamingo found himself flirting unconsciously, his tone charming, his words laced with subtle compliments that made both Sohyun’s parents pause. Sohyun’s mother laughed at one of his remarks, her cheeks faintly flushing, while her father raised a brow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Sohyun watched the interaction with amusement and understanding. She knew what was happening. Her mate’s dragon wasn’t tied to the rigid human constructs of attraction or preference—it was fluid, bound by power and connection. Doflamingo was still hers, fiercely loyal and devoted, but his instincts were awakening in ways that neither of them had fully anticipated.

By the time brunch ended, Sohyun’s parents had softened considerably. Their initial reservations about Doflamingo had melted away, replaced by cautious admiration. They could see he wasn’t a liability; he was an asset. And as they said their goodbyes, her father muttered, almost begrudgingly, “Maybe we were wrong about that arranged marriage idea.”

Sohyun grinned, her arm looping around Doflamingo’s as they walked out. “Told you they’d love you.”

Doflamingo chuckled, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I think your mom has a crush on me.”

Sohyun rolled her eyes but laughed. “Don’t push your luck, Red Dragon Archfiend.”

As they strolled down the street, Doflamingo felt more at ease. The swirling emotions, the shifting dynamics—it was a lot to process, but he wasn’t scared anymore. He was finally beginning to understand who he was and what he could become. And with Sohyun by his side, he knew he’d figure it out.

After leaving the café, Doflamingo and Sohyun headed to the expert’s office. The building itself was nondescript, nestled between an herbal tea shop and a quirky stationery store, but the moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The air was heavier, charged with a tension that made Sohyun’s inner kirin stir uneasily. For Doflamingo, though, it was different. The air felt alive, saturated with a primal energy that sent a shiver down his spine. His dragon rose to the surface, not in defiance but in silent, almost reverent recognition.

The receptionist, a sharp-eyed werefox, waved them through with a knowing smirk. “She’s been expecting you,” she said lightly. “Good luck.”

Sohyun raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off, leading the way. Doflamingo followed silently, his dragon buzzing with an almost childlike anticipation.

As they entered the spacious office, the overwhelming presence hit him like a wall of flame. The room was a curious mix of academia and mysticism—bookshelves stuffed with tomes that looked older than most civilizations, tapestries depicting ancient dragons, and artifacts that thrummed faintly with energy. But the true source of the oppressive energy wasn’t the room.

It was her.

Seated behind a massive oak desk was Dr. Park Sooyoung, a woman whose aura was like a living thing. She stood as they entered, her soft, round face framed by a sleek ponytail. She moved with an ease and confidence that spoke of centuries of experience, and her golden eyes gleamed with something ancient and all-knowing.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice deep and resonant, but with a warmth that belied her intimidating aura. “I’m Dr. Park Sooyoung, but most people just call me Joy.”

Doflamingo froze as her presence crashed into him. His dragon didn’t bristle as it had with Korvold; instead, it quieted, settling into a submissive calm he’d never experienced before. The feeling was… confusing. His dragon didn’t feel afraid or inferior—it felt safe like it was in the presence of something worthy of its respect.

“You’re a weredragon,” he blurted, his voice lower than usual, almost reverent.

Joy smirked, her gaze sharp but amused. “Very astute, Red Dragon Archfiend. Or should I say, Doflamingo?”

Sohyun tilted her head, watching the interaction with interest. There was something strange about Doflamingo’s posture—he was standing still, his shoulders slightly bowed, almost deferential. For a moment, she blinked in disbelief. Is he acting like an omega? The thought was absurd; she knew Doflamingo’s confidence and dominance well. But then she remembered his peculiar adoration for powerful and wise figures. No, she realized, it’s not submission. He’s just… drawn to her aura, like a moth to a flame.

Joy chuckled, her laugh a melodic yet sharp sound that sent shivers down Doflamingo’s spine. His dragon all but purred at the sound, and he felt his face flush.

“I’m not just any weredragon expert,” Joy continued, leaning against her desk with casual grace. “And I already know why you’re here. News of a human fighting Korvold and surviving? It travels fast. But I wasn’t expecting you to look so… fresh.”

The jab was subtle but deliberate, and Doflamingo’s dragon rumbled faintly in protest. He stiffened, his jaw clenching. “Korvold was reckless,” he said evenly. “I did what I had to do to protect my mate.”

Joy’s golden eyes flickered to Sohyun, then back to Doflamingo. Her smirk deepened, amusement flickering across her features. “Protecting your mate? Admirable. Stupid, but admirable.” Her aura pressed against his, firm yet oddly comforting.

For a moment, his mind went blank. His dragon surged forward, a low hum of approval resonating in his chest. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“Well, maybe I need a strong, wise lady like you to teach me restraint.”

The room went still for a heartbeat before Sohyun groaned, covering her face with both hands. “Oh my God, Doffy?”

Joy, however, threw her head back and laughed—a sound that was both mocking and strangely approving. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that. But I’m far too old for you, young one.”

Doflamingo’s lips curled into a smirk, his crimson eyes glowing faintly as his dragon murmured its agreement. “Age is just a number, isn’t it? Dragons don’t play by those rules.”

Sohyun watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and secondhand embarrassment. He’s hopeless, she thought, biting back a laugh as Joy’s aura seemed to soften, her amusement genuine.

Joy regarded him for a moment longer before shifting her attention to Sohyun. “You’ve got your hands full with this one,” she said dryly.

Sohyun grinned, crossing her arms. “Oh, you have no idea.”

The conversation turned to the peculiarities of weredragons, with Joy explaining their unique dynamics—how every weredragon was born an alpha but shaped their aura differently depending on their hoard and instincts. As Joy spoke, Doflamingo couldn’t shake the magnetic pull of her presence. It wasn’t romantic or even necessarily submissive; it was awe, plain and simple.

For a fleeting moment, Sohyun wondered if his dragon was trying to form a bond with Joy. But as she watched him glance at her, his eyes softening in a way they only ever did for her, she knew the truth. His loyalty to her was unshakable. Joy’s aura might be impressive, but it would never hold a candle to the bond they shared.

By the time they left, Doflamingo was uncharacteristically quiet, his thoughts a swirling mix of awe, respect, and confusion. Sohyun broke the silence first.

The walk back from Dr. Joy’s office was filled with an air of reflection—at least for Doflamingo. For once, he wasn’t his usual self-assured, frenetic self. His gaze drifted downward, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, while Sohyun walked beside him, clearly waiting for him to speak first.

She finally broke the silence, nudging his arm lightly. “Alright, out with it. What’s going on in that fiery head of yours?”

Doflamingo glanced at her, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the street lamps. “I just… I felt weird in there. Like, weird.”

Sohyun tilted her head, intrigued. “Weird how? Do you mean Joy? Or the vibe of the place?”

“Both,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But mostly Joy. The second we walked in, it was like… my dragon couldn’t stop staring at her. It was like…” He trailed off, frowning as he searched for the right words. “It wasn’t just admiration or respect. It was deeper. Like, instinct.”

Sohyun raised an eyebrow. “Instinct?”

“Yeah, like…” He hesitated, lowering his voice as if someone else might overhear. “For a second, I thought I was about to submit to her.”

Sohyun blinked, caught off guard. “Submit? You?”

“Yeah,” Doflamingo muttered, clearly embarrassed. “And that’s not normal for me, right? I mean, I’m a dragon now—an alpha. I don’t submit. But when she looked at me…” He exhaled sharply. “I felt small. Like she could crush me with just a thought.”

Sohyun’s lips twitched upward, though she quickly pressed them into a neutral line. “And let me guess, your dragon wasn’t mad about it.”

“Exactly!” Doflamingo said, his voice rising slightly. “It wasn’t mad. It was… content. Like it wanted to roll over and show her its belly or something. And for a second, I thought…” He trailed off again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I thought I might be an omega.”

At that, Sohyun couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching her stomach as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Oh my God, Doffy! An omega? You?”

He scowled, though his ears turned a faint shade of red. “I’m serious, Soho. Don’t laugh.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, waving a hand as she tried to compose herself. “It’s just—an omega? You’re the most alpha person I know. Even my parents, who are literal legends, don’t make you back down. And now you think you’re an omega because you got a little flustered around Joy?”

“It wasn’t just flustered,” he grumbled. “It was… more than that.”

Sohyun wiped her eyes, finally catching her breath. “Doffy, listen to me. You’re not an omega. You’re just… you.”

He frowned, still unconvinced. “Then why did it feel like that?”

“Because,” Sohyun said, smirking, “you’re a sucker for powerful, wise people. You always have been. And now that you’re a weredragon, your dragon is amplifying that. Joy’s not just powerful—she’s ancient. She’s everything you look up to: strength, knowledge, agency. Of course, you wanted to submit. It’s not about you being an omega—it’s about your dragon recognizing someone higher up the food chain.”

Doflamingo stared at her, processing her words. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Sohyun said confidently. “It’s like joy told just told you: dragons are drawn to strength. Joy’s aura is practically screaming, ‘I’m the boss.’ Your dragon isn’t used to feeling outclassed, so it panicked and latched onto her like a baby bird imprinting on its mom.”

That image made Doflamingo groan, covering his face with one hand. “Great. Now I feel even more pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Sohyun said, her voice softening as she reached up to tug his hand away. “It’s normal, Doffy. You’re still figuring out what it means to be a dragon. And honestly? I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Cute?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “You think me almost groveling is cute?”

“Yeah,” she said with a teasing grin. “Because it shows you’re still you, deep down. You’ve always respected power and wisdom. You used to flirt with me for the same reasons, remember?”

Doflamingo blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on,” Sohyun said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You were totally into me when I gave that lecture on therianthrope hierarchy. You even stayed behind to ask questions you already knew the answers to, just so you could keep talking to me. Granted they were incredibly profound and probing but you love picking the brains of people who are equal or greater than you.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but the knowing look in her eyes made him pause. “…Okay, maybe. But that’s not the same thing.”

“It’s the same thing,” she said, poking his chest. “The only difference is, now you’re a dragon, so your instincts are stronger. But it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still loyal to me. And that’s what matters.”

Doflamingo sighed, though his lips quirked up in a faint smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you love me for it,” Sohyun said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“Yeah,” he admitted, pulling her closer. “I do.”

As they continued walking, Doflamingo felt a little more at ease. He didn’t fully understand his instincts yet, but Sohyun’s insight helped him realize that he didn’t need to fight them. If his dragon wanted to admire powerful auras, so be it. At the end of the day, he was still hers—and that was all that mattered.

The day had been long, filled with miles of travel and lessons that left Sohyun and Doflamingo’s minds spinning. When they finally returned home, they fell into their usual rhythm of unwinding—Doflamingo diving into his music and Sohyun typing away at her upcoming novel. It was a peaceful ritual they shared, the perfect way to decompress after the demands of the outside world.

Sohyun leaned back on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees as her fingers moved over the keyboard. The familiar sounds of Doflamingo’s studio work filled the air—guitar riffs, drumbeats, and his low hums as he pieced together melodies. Normally, she let the instrumentals blend into the background, an ambient accompaniment to her thoughts. But tonight, something tugged at her attention.

It was his lyrics.

Her fingers paused over the keys as she listened. For the first time, she truly heard his words, catching phrases that struck a chord deep within her.

“Pushed Aside to die slow inside. Face the pain to fight another day. This can’t be it this can’t be fucking it. Will you fold or will you hold the line?”

Sohyun’s chest tightened. The weight of the words hit her harder with each line, painting a vivid picture of pain, anger, and yearning. It was like listening to the very soul of therianthropes—of people like her and Doflamingo—laid bare. Themes of alienation, persecution, and the endless struggle for acceptance coursed through every line. She had been so focused on his melodies before that she’d completely missed the depth of his storytelling.

She was furious with herself.

Her gaze snapped to Doflamingo, who was seated in his studio corner, his headphones over one ear as he adjusted levels on his drum track. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. He looked so calm, so casual as if he hadn’t just unraveled a tapestry of raw emotion for the world to hear.

Sohyun stood abruptly, her laptop sliding off her lap onto the couch. Her feet carried her to his side before she even realized what she was doing. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and slapped him lightly across the face.

Doflamingo jolted in surprise, his hands freezing mid-motion as he turned to her, his eyes wide with confusion. “Um… Soho? What was that for?”

She crossed her arms, her eyes blazing with intensity. “You went to that job day in and day out,” she began, her voice trembling with equal parts frustration and disbelief. “You’ve been sitting on this—this talent, this gift—and doing nothing with it?”

“I… what?” he asked, blinking at her like she’d just started speaking in tongues.

“Your music!” she said, gesturing wildly at his equipment. “Do you even realize what you’ve written here? The way you’ve captured what it means to be us? To be seen as monsters, to fight against it, to try and find a place in a world that doesn’t want us? This isn’t just a song, Doffy—it’s a masterpiece.”

Doflamingo scratched the back of his neck, clearly taken aback. “I mean… I just write what I feel. It’s not—”

“Finish it,” she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Finish that song and release it. Now.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his lips parted as if to protest. But the fire in her eyes stopped him. She wasn’t asking—she was demanding. And he knew better than to argue when she looked at him like that.

“Okay,” he said finally, turning back to his equipment. “Okay, I’ll finish it.”

Sohyun stood over him like a hawk, her arms crossed as he got to work. He adjusted levels, tweaked the mix, and refined the drumline, his fingers flying across the controls. She didn’t move, her eyes fixed on him with an impatience that spurred him to work faster.

“Almost done,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat.

Minutes later, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief. “Alright. Done. It’s ready.”

“What’s it called?” Sohyun asked, her voice softer now but still tinged with urgency.

“‘Atlas,’” he replied, his tone hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how she’d react.

She smiled—a small, satisfied smile that made his chest tighten. “Perfect. Now release it.”

Doflamingo hesitated, his fingers hovering over the upload button. “You sure about this? I mean, it’s kind of raw, and—”

“Doffy,” she said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Release. It.”

He exhaled sharply, nodded, and pressed the button. The song was uploaded under his artist name, Red Dragon Archfiend, a name he’d never expected anyone to care about but it was starting to grow on him. Yet here she was, standing beside him like his fiercest advocate.

“It’s done,” he said, leaning back with a mix of relief and nervous energy.

Sohyun beamed at him, her earlier intensity giving way to warmth. “Good. Now come on.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “You’ve just shared a part of your soul with the world. Let’s celebrate.”

Doflamingo let her lead him out of the room, his heart still racing from the whirlwind of her fervor. He glanced back at his studio setup, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. She led him to their bedroom and pushed him on the bed. Her gaze was furious as she said,

“You’ve been a little slut today a bratty little slut. First, you flirt with my parents, then you flirt with that sexy dragon lady yeah I found her hot too, but now I learn you have an artistic gift and you squander to work a menial office job. I’m fucking furious,” Doffy felt himself growing harder under her gaze but worried so he flared his aura to make sure she was okay. Sohyun got the marker and said.

“I’m not Angry babe, but if you don’t strip and shift right now I’ll rip your clothes off and forcibly send us both into a rut. So please strip and shift for me,” Doflamingo nodded as he complied. Sohyun purred but frowned when she noticed he was having problems shifting.

“Babe don't force,” Sohyun said as she watched noticing his body contort and not be able to shift.

“I'm sorry babe I just feel overwhelmed with everything that's happened the last two days,” Doflamingo said tensely. Sohyun nodded her eyes hazy as lust overtook her. She went behind Doffy and bent him over the bed.

“Just relax baby girl and let daddy take care of it,” Doflamingo’s heart fluttered but remained tense as Sohyun’s ardor was about to get lascivious but also intense.

Sohyun moaned as her member expanded from within her. She smiled before ramming the rod into Doffy’s ass. As she bottoms out Doffy moans his mind is cleared and he finally shifts for her as both his cocks harden at her penetration sending him into a rut. Sohyun smiles as her mate takes her full length. She spanks his ass and teases him as she fucks him, “Did my little slut like that? Did my baby girl need his daddy to clear that silly little head?”

Doflamingo whimpers as his ass tightens around Sohyun’s member. Sohyun moans as she feels the lust overtake her mate. She watches happily knowing that after she fucks him he’ll fuck her.

“God you just have juiciest sluttiest ass Doffy. I could spank and play with it all day.” Sohyun moans as tightens her grip on his pillowy ass. Doflamingo growls with lust as his mind tears between euphoria and aggression. Sohyun delights in watching her mate struggle with his impulses. She knows he wants nothing more than to submit to her but he's her alpha, not her omega he isn't just some tight hole to fuck.

So as Sohyun knots her mate filling his ass with her seed she is unsurprised when her mate is overtaken by his instincts and growls before placing her in the mating press position. Sohyun stares at her mate with an immeasurable lust that Doflamingo mirrors. His cocks throb and pulse violently in the air.

Sohyun stares into his crimson eyes as he caresses her body lovingly before sliding his smaller cock into her sopping pussy and his bigger cock into her ass. Sohyun moaned and whimpered as Doflamingo violated her. His thrusts were as wild and fiery as he was. His eyes wandered over Sohyun’s lithe body as he claimed her. Sohyun’s body readily submitted for her equal. She laughed as his cocks went deep inside of her and how they took her to new highs and fucked her rapaciously and rapidly until he couldn't take it anymore.

Doflamingo’s orgasm was as violent as a wildfire tearing through a forest it fully consumed him as his seed spewed into Sohyun’s greedy cunt, but their fervor didn't stop them… not consumed by instincts and primal ties the alphas bred each other until neither could take it anymore, by the time their ruts had finally abated they had killed an entire week and a half.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains as Doflamingo and Sohyun sat on the edge of the bed, lazily getting ready to start their day. The comforting quiet between them was broken when Sohyun groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

Doflamingo glanced over, pulling a shirt over his head. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone warm and curious, though concern flickered in his eyes.

She let out a frustrated sigh, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “The tour starts today.”

He raised an eyebrow, sitting down beside her. “The book tour?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Completely forgot it was today.”

Doflamingo chuckled softly and reached over to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. “Well, that’s not so bad. We’ve got time to get you ready. Let’s get you to the airport.”

Sohyun groaned again, burying her face in the pillow. “I hate being away for so long. It always feels like there’s so much going on, and I’d rather be here… with you.”

He smiled at her words, the warmth of her admission settling deep in his chest. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, Soho. I’ll be here when you get back, same as always.”

She lifted her face to look at him, her pout unmistakable. “But I hate being away from my mate. It’s unnatural.”

Doflamingo tilted his head, his grin softening into something gentler. “I get that, but think about it this way—you’re gonna meet so many people who love your books. Your words change people’s lives, Soho. That’s worth something, right?”

Her pout didn’t budge, but her eyes softened as she looked up at him. “I guess,” she muttered.

“You guess?” he teased, nudging her shoulder. “Come on. You know I’ll be cheering you on from here. And hey, maybe you can write about how much you miss me in your next novel. Make me the tragic, romantic hero or something.”

That earned a small laugh from her, and she shoved him playfully. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a grin. “But seriously, Soho, you’ve got this. And you’re not gonna be gone forever. I’ll call you every day if you want. Morning, noon, night—you name it.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and she sat up, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Now, come on. Let’s get you packed.”

It took about 45 minutes for Sohyun to get everything ready. As excited as she was for the tour, she still hated the thought of leaving him behind. She stood at the door with her luggage, glancing back at him as he grabbed his keys.

“You sure you’re okay driving me to the airport?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they headed out. “Consider it a free ride from your biggest fan.”

The ride to the airport was quiet and solemn, with Sohyun staring out the window as if committing every detail of the city to memory. Doflamingo kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably on the console, his fingers tapping idly to a rhythm only he could hear.

Every so often, he glanced at her, his disarming smile never faltering. “You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I’ve got a little surprise for you when you get back.”

Her eyebrows lifted, and she turned to him. “What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, his grin widening. “But I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of curiosity in them now. “You’re insufferable sometimes.”

“And yet, you love me,” he said, his voice playful.

“Unfortunately,” she said with a smirk, her mood noticeably lighter.

When they arrived at the airport, Doflamingo helped her unload her bags, refusing to let her carry anything heavy. As they stood near the entrance, the finality of their parting began to sink in. Sohyun hesitated, fiddling with the strap of her carry-on.

“Hey,” Doflamingo said gently, stepping closer. “You’re gonna be amazing out there. I know it.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. “I’ll miss you,” she admitted, her voice quiet.

“I’ll miss you too,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “But you’ll be back before you know it. And when you are, I want to hear all about it. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

As she finally turned to leave, Doflamingo called after her, “Don’t forget—tragic, romantic hero. Put me in the next book!”

She laughed, shaking her head as she disappeared into the terminal. And as Doflamingo drove home, he couldn’t stop smiling, already counting down the days until she returned.

As Doflamingo watched Sohyun leave, a pang of sadness settled in his chest. This would be the longest time they’d spent apart since moving in together, and the absence was already palpable. The apartment felt quieter, emptier, without her. He shook off the feeling and told himself to stay busy.

He threw himself into his usual distractions—writing more music, playing video games, and just messing around. Hours turned into days, and during one particularly restless night, inspiration struck. With the momentum of Atlas still buzzing in the back of his mind, he picked up his guitar and began crafting a new track. This one was heavier, more aggressive—a metalcore piece he eventually titled Duel.

The song reflected the growing polarization he’d noticed in society, the friction between people who couldn’t see eye to eye, and the struggle to find one’s place amid the chaos. The lyrics came easily, pouring out of him in a raw, unfiltered flow. Duel felt cathartic, but to Doflamingo, it was just another project. Metalcore songs about sticking out and finding your place were a dime a dozen, after all. He released it without much fanfare, assuming it would be a side note in his burgeoning music career.

Days passed, and while Doflamingo busied himself with writing and gaming, his phone began buzzing with notifications. Messages flooded his social media accounts from fans, bloggers, and even music journalists. The analytics for Duel were spiking, far exceeding his expectations. People were connecting with the song in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

He dismissed most of the messages at first, brushing off the requests for interviews as noise. But then one stood out—an offer from a reputable music platform, complete with a generous payment for his time. Doflamingo usually wasn’t one for attention, but the interview’s location happened to coincide with the city Sohyun would be in on the last day of her book tour. That was enough to convince him.

“Two birds, one stone,” he muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. He could do the interview, catch up with Sohyun, and maybe even surprise her. The thought of seeing her again brightened his mood.

As the day approached, Doflamingo threw himself into preparations. He notified his job that he was quitting—his music was picking up enough traction that he felt comfortable leaping—and began packing for the trip. He spent his evenings imagining the look on Sohyun’s face when he surprised her, her eyes lighting up the way they always did when she saw him after time apart.

But as the tour went on, Sohyun grew busier. The calls that had once been nightly became sporadic, then almost nonexistent. Doflamingo understood, of course. She was out there changing the world with her stories, touching lives in ways that only she could. Still, the silence gnawed at him, and his inner dragon rumbled with unease, missing the soothing presence of their mate.

One evening, as he scrolled through photos of her book signings online, he caught himself smiling. There she was, vibrant and radiant, holding her own among throngs of fans. She looked like she belonged, and even though the distance stung, he felt a swell of pride.

“Soon,” he murmured to himself, running a hand through his hair. “Soon, I’ll see you again, Soho.”

The days seemed to stretch endlessly as he counted down to their reunion. When the morning of his trip finally arrived, Doflamingo stood in his living room, suitcase in hand, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. His inner dragon stirred, sensing that the wait was almost over.

With a deep breath, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door, ready to face whatever awaited him—whether it was a growing music career, an unexpected interview, or simply the chance to hold his mate in his arms once more.

Sohyun sat at a long, polished table in a bustling bookstore, her pen flying across the title pages of her latest novel as fans lined up, eager for a few moments of her attention. The air was filled with the soft hum of conversation, punctuated by excited whispers and the occasional click of a camera. Despite the long day, Sohyun maintained her warm smile, greeting each person with genuine interest.

A young woman approached, clutching a worn copy of Sohyun’s first novel along with the newest release. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you!” the woman gushed. “Your books helped me so much. I used to feel so alone, but your characters… they made me feel seen.”

Sohyun’s heart softened. “Thank you for telling me that,” she said sincerely, signing the books with a flourish. “Hearing that my work resonates with people like you makes all the hard days worth it.”

The woman beamed, holding the signed books to her chest as she moved on. Sohyun sighed softly, relishing the sense of fulfillment her work gave her, even if it couldn’t fully replace the ache of being away from home.

The line continued, and Sohyun’s rhythm became automatic—sign, smile, thank, repeat—until something unexpected caught her attention. As the next fan approached the table, a familiar melody drifted through the bookstore’s speakers. She froze mid-signature, her ears zeroing in on the song.

It was Atlas.

Her heart skipped a beat as Doflamingo’s voice poured through the airwaves, raw and full of emotion. The lyrics she had heard him write in their home studio now filled the room, and for a moment, the world around her faded.

“You okay?” the fan asked, concern lacing their tone.

Sohyun blinked, snapping out of her trance, and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I just—this is my boyfriend’s song,” she said, gesturing toward the speakers.

The fan’s eyes widened. “Wait, your boyfriend is Red Dragon Archfiend? That’s so cool! I’ve been hearing this song everywhere.”

Sohyun couldn’t help but grin, her chest swelling with pride. “Yeah, he’s incredible, isn’t he?”

The fan nodded enthusiastically, and Sohyun quickly finished signing their book before the line continued moving. As the song played on, she felt an overwhelming sense of joy. Doflamingo’s music wasn’t just reaching people—it was resonating with them, just like her stories did.

When the event finally ended and she stepped into the quiet of the greenroom, Sohyun pulled out her phone. She immediately dialed Doflamingo, pacing the small space as the line rang.

“Hey, Soho,” he answered, his voice warm and teasing. “How’s the glamorous life of a literary star?”

“Forget me for a second,” she said, her words tumbling out in excitement. “Your song! Atlas! I just heard it on the radio at my signing event.”

There was a brief pause before he chuckled. “You serious? That’s wild.”

“Wild doesn’t even cover it,” she said, her voice brimming with pride. “The fans were buzzing about it. Doffy people love it.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “But it’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? Are you kidding me?” she countered, leaning against the wall with a smile. “You’re making waves, Doffy. And I couldn’t be prouder.”

His laugh was soft and self-conscious. “Thanks, Soho. But don’t go getting too sappy on me. You know I can’t handle that.”

“Too bad,” she teased. “Because when I get home, I’m throwing a full-blown celebration for you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “But for now, you’ve got a tour to rock. And remember, I’m your biggest fan.”

Her chest tightened with affection, and she leaned her head back against the wall. “And I’m yours,” she said softly.

As they hung up, Sohyun felt lighter than she had all day. She stepped out of the green room with renewed energy, ready to tackle the next stop on her tour. All the while, the memory of Doflamingo’s song playing for the world stayed with her, a quiet reminder of the bond they shared—even when miles apart.

The hotel room was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. Sohyun sat cross-legged on the bed, her laptop perched on her thighs, a cup of tea cooling on the nightstand. She’d spent the day meeting fans, signing books, and answering questions, but now, as she stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, her mind was elsewhere. The book she was supposed to be drafting seemed to blur into the background, and the room felt just a little too empty.

She sighed, closing her laptop and leaning back against the headboard. This was the longest she’d been away from Doflamingo since they’d moved in together, and though she’d thrown herself into her work, she couldn’t help but miss him. Her fingers itched for her phone, but she knew he was probably busy too—writing, gaming, or just being his effortlessly charming self.

Reaching for the remote, she flicked on the TV, scrolling through channels aimlessly until she landed on a late-night music program. A familiar riff caught her attention, sharp and heavy, pulling her out of her thoughts. She sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing in recognition.

“Is that…?” she murmured, her heart skipping a beat.

The screen displayed the title Duel by Red Dragon Archfiend, and her lips parted in surprise. It was Doflamingo’s new song. She hadn’t even known he’d released another track.

The music surged through the room, raw and visceral, the powerful blend of guitars and drums carrying Doflamingo’s unmistakable voice.

“We build the walls, we draw the lines,

In this duel of yours and mine.

Through the chaos, through the fire,

Can we rise above the mire?”

Sohyun felt a chill run down her spine as the lyrics filled the room. His voice was charged with emotion, every word dripping with frustration and resolve. She could hear the depth of his message, the call to resist division and find unity in the chaos.

The chorus hit, a soaring crescendo that made her heart ache with pride.

“We stand alone, but not apart,

Seeking the light, guarding the heart.

The battle’s not to fight and win,

But to break the walls within.”

A smile broke across her face, small at first but growing as the song continued. He’d done it again—poured his soul into his music and created something incredible. She could feel him in every note, his passion, his fire, his unwavering belief in standing up for what was right.

When the song ended, she sat there in stunned silence for a moment, her emotions a swirl of pride, love, and longing. She grabbed her phone and quickly dialed his number, unable to stop herself.

It rang twice before his voice came through, slightly groggy but instantly warm. “Hey, Soho. Everything okay?”

“You didn’t tell me you dropped Duel,” she said, her voice teasing but laced with emotion.

He chuckled softly. “Figured I’d surprise you. Did you hear it?”

“I just did,” she said, her smile widening. “They played it on TV. It’s amazing, Doffy. I’m so proud of you.”

There was a pause, and she could almost hear him grinning on the other end. “Thanks, Soho. That means a lot coming from you.”

“It’s not just me,” she added. “People are going to love it. You’ve got something special, you know that?”

His voice softened. “Maybe. But I’m just glad it made you smile. That’s all that matters.”

Her chest tightened at his words, and she leaned back against the headboard, the longing she’d felt earlier now replaced by a deep, steady warmth. “I miss you,” she admitted quietly.

“I miss you too,” he said, his tone matching hers. “But hey two more days right?” he lied as he entered his hotel.

Sohyun hung up the phone and set it on the nightstand, sighing as she stared at the dark ceiling of her hotel room. The bed felt too big, too cold without Doflamingo beside her. Her chest tightened with the pang of missing him, and as much as she tried to focus on the fact that she’d see him soon, it wasn’t enough. She needed him now.

Without thinking too much about it, she reached for her phone again and dialed his number. It rang only once before he picked up, his deep voice filling her ears.

“Hey, babe, what’s up? Thought you were going to sleep,” he said, his tone laced with concern.

“Hey, baby,” Sohyun began, her voice low and husky, a mix of longing and something darker. “I need you.”

Doflamingo was silent for a moment, but she could hear the shift in his breathing. He knew this tone well—it was the one she used when her desires consumed her when the distance between them became unbearable. He sighed, a little frustrated but mostly amused.

“Well… this was supposed to be a surprise,” he said slowly, “but I’m going to send you an address. Take a taxi there and call me when you get there.”

Sohyun raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “A surprise, huh?”

“Yeah, just trust me. Get over here,” he said with a chuckle.

She didn’t ask any more questions, instead grabbing her bag and heading downstairs. The taxi ride was short but felt like an eternity as her mind raced with possibilities. When they pulled up to the address, she stepped out, staring at the tall, modern hotel in front of her.

“Another hotel?” she muttered to herself as she walked through the automatic doors.

The lobby was sleek and bustling with activity despite the late hour. Sohyun’s sharp eyes scanned the space until they landed on a familiar figure standing near the reception desk, his back to her. Doflamingo was casually leaning against the counter, his tall frame unmistakable even in the crowd. He was wearing his favorite leather jacket, the one she always teased him about, and his hair was slightly tousled as though he hadn’t bothered to fix it properly.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Doffy?” she called out softly, her voice trembling with both surprise and relief.

He didn’t hear her over the chatter and soft music in the background, so she did the only thing that felt right—she ran. Her feet carried her across the lobby, and before she could stop herself, she tackled him in a fierce hug from behind.

Doflamingo stiffened in surprise, spinning around to face his attacker, only to see Sohyun clinging to him. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance. She’d cut her hair shorter since he’d last seen her, and it framed her face perfectly. There was something strikingly powerful about her tonight—her usual graceful poise replaced with a more commanding presence.

“Sohyun?” he asked, blinking. Then his nose caught her scent, rich and intoxicating, flooding him with desire.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” she demanded, though her voice lacked any real anger. She tightened her hold on him, burying her face against his chest.

Doflamingo chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “It was supposed to be a surprise, remember? You weren’t supposed to find out until tomorrow.”

“Well, surprise,” she said, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on her lips.

He grinned down at her, his usual cocky demeanor slipping as the raw adoration he felt for her took over. “I didn’t expect you to tackle me in the middle of the lobby,” he teased, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I missed you,” she admitted, her voice softening.

“I missed you too, babe,” he replied, his voice dipping into a low growl as his grip on her tightened. His eyes darkened as he caught another wave of her scent, and his inner dragon stirred restlessly.

As Sohyun squeezed Doflamingo in the hotel lobby, her senses immediately picked up on something different. His presence felt… amplified. The moment her arms wrapped around him, she was hit by the intensity of his aura—stronger, sharper, more commanding than ever before. It wasn’t just the comforting warmth she was used to; it felt like standing in the eye of a storm, a force of nature barely restrained.

When he turned to face her, she saw it in his eyes, too—a fierceness that seemed to glow beneath his usual mischievous gaze. She blinked, momentarily stunned, before whispering, “Doffy… what’s going on with you?”

He tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Your aura,” she said, stepping back slightly to get a better look at him. Her hands lingered on his chest, feeling the faint vibration of his energy. “It’s stronger. Like… you’ve evolved or something. It wasn’t like this before I left.”

Doflamingo blinked, then chuckled softly. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she said firmly, her alpha instincts kicking in. She could sense the change as clearly as if it were etched into his skin. “You’ve grown, Doflamingo. You’ve leveled up.”

He scratched the back of his head, a little sheepish despite the confidence that always seemed to radiate from him. “Well… I have been working on myself while you were gone. Writing music, pushing my limits. Maybe it’s all starting to pay off.”

Sohyun smiled, her eyes scanning him with a mix of pride and awe. “It’s not just paying off. You’re on a whole new level. I can feel it. It’s like… you’re stepping into your power.”

Her words struck something deep within him. Doflamingo had always been confident in his abilities, but hearing her acknowledge his growth made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t expected.

“I guess it helps when you’ve got someone like you to inspire me,” he said, his voice soft but filled with sincerity.

Sohyun’s heart swelled, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “You’ve been doing this on your own, Doffy. And it’s amazing. I’m proud of you.”

Doflamingo’s grin returned, wider and brighter than ever. “Thanks, babe. But I’m not done yet.”

Sohyun smirked, her alpha confidence meeting his energy. “Good. Because I think you’ve still got more in you.”

Before Sohyun could say another word, Doflamingo leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he growled, “Follow me to my room. I need you now.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she smiled, her alpha confidence shining through as she nodded. “Lead the way.”

Without another word, Doflamingo grabbed her hand and guided her toward the elevators, their connection palpable and undeniable. As the elevator doors closed, Sohyun couldn’t help but marvel at how this man—her mate—always found a way to surprise her, even when she thought she knew everything about him.

When she entered his room she smiled. Finally wrapped around his familiar scent and aura she purred with delight so much so she couldn't feel the lust emanating from her mate. In her trance of pleasure, she barely noticed how he ripped her white t-shirt open and grabbed at her breasts or how he growled as he stole another kiss from her lips. She just basked in his closeness until his voice rang out “Take your jacket and pants off now,”

Coming out of her trance she moans as Doffy kisses her neck and gently massage her breasts. Realizing how much they needed each other Sohyun takes her red jacket and pants off.

Unable to control themselves they shift as they kiss, thankfully this was a therianthrope hotel so the beds and furniture were built with their strength in mind.

Sohyun moans as she feels Doflamingo’s hands run all over her body. How he grips her breasts running his hands all over her body. She smirks as she feels his cocks harden under her.

“You look like sex,” Doflamingo moaned in between kisses unfamiliar with his shifted form’s long forked tongue however caused his s sounds to slur to almost a hiss. It made Sohyun purr with delight as her hands rolled over his crimson-scaled body. Eventually, Doflamingo can’t take it anymore and begins stroking his cocks to prep himself. Sohyun smiles and says

“What are you waiting for big guy? Fucking rail me!”

Sohyun’s slitted eyes dilate as she watches Doffy slowly push his smaller cock inside of her pussy. She moans uncontrollably as the bigger one approaches her other hole.

“Fuck Doffy put both in my pussy. Fuck! Give it to me,” she moans before Doffy rams his cocks in her pussy. Sohyun clenches around him as she tries to process her new sensations. Overwhelmed by the pleasure Sohyun moans as she cums all over Doffy’s cocks not long before Doffy follows suit. As their bodies relax from their expedited orgasms they fall into the bed. Sohyun purrs as stares wantonly at Doffy’s cocks. She reaches out slowly to massage the smaller one and watches Doffy squirm as his body jerks in her hands.

“Okay, so this is the sensitive one.”She says happily. “You’ve been cumming so much I wondered which cock was the one that drives you feral with lust.” She adds happily Doflamingo growls as he fights both his lust and fatigue. Seeing this Sohyun relents and lets him go to sleep.

“Sorry big guy,” she coos as the couple cuddle throughout the night.

[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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[itsgodepi]

If I lose my mind | Ch. 12

Series summary: When you're buried under a mountain of problems and can’t seem to catch a break, it might feel like you need a complete reset. But did it really have to come with a one-way ticket to a new dimension? Surely, a couple problem-solving courses would’ve done the trick. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 5,4k Also on AO3

The sun bears down with an almost tangible weight, each ray a fiery tendril pressing against your skin. What began as a blissful oasis—a magnificent sunbed that cradled you in its warm embrace after your swim in the icy water, rocking you to the rhythm of the lapping waves—has betrayed you. The once-soft fabric and plush cushions have gradually transformed into a stifling grill beneath your back. Sweat beads at your temples, and the tingling heat along your shoulders hints at a sunburn brewing just beneath the surface 

With a sigh, you sit up, the teak deck creaking softly beneath you. The Mediterranean stretches endlessly in every direction, a tranquil expanse of sapphire shimmering under the sun’s golden touch. You slip into your sandals, the straps warm against your skin, and head toward the shaded back deck. If you're honest, when Carlos first mentioned his latest "shiny acquisition," you’d pictured a sleek little boat, perfect for a casual day on the water. Nothing could have prepared you for the sprawling luxury of the yacht anchored at the port outside his beach house this morning. 

Just another reminder that you and Carlos aren't —weren't?— exactly in the same tax bracket. 

The shaded area greets you with a rush of cooler air and the sight of Carlos lounging on a plush sofa, still in his swim trunks. His tanned skin glistens with the remnants of saltwater from your earlier swim, his eyes glued to his phone, a half-played chess game abandoned beside him. 

You shake your head, smirking. He and Charles had been bickering all morning over chess strategies like two old men in a park. They’d finally decided to settle it with one last match, and you’d used the chance to escape and catch some sun. Clearly, they’d taken their sweet time. 

Carlos notices your footsteps before you even reach him. His face lights up with that familiar grin, and as you approach, he puts his phone down and extends a hand toward you. His fingers slip around yours effortlessly, his thumb grazing your knuckles in a warm, unhurried motion. It’s oddly comforting, a habit of his that’s grown on you. 

“Did you lose?” you ask, arching a brow at the abandoned game. 

“Never,” he replies, the arrogance in his tone undercut by the grin tugging at his lips. 

“Where’s Charles?” 

“Talking on the phone. His mummy called,” Carlos quips, his tone teasing. 

You roll your eyes, leaning in to flick his forehead with your intertwined hands. “Don’t act like you weren’t calling your mum this morning all like, ‘Mami, que nos vamos con el barco, (Mummy, we’re taking the boat)’” you mimic, your voice climbing to a falsetto. 

Carlos laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained, though he tries to protest, “I don’t talk like that!” 

“Que sí, mamá, que tenemos cuidado (Yes mom, we’ll be careful)” you continue, doubling down on your impersonation, complete with dramatic hand gestures. “Ya me he puesto crema, ¡no traigas más mamá! (I’ve alredy put oon sunscreen, don’t bring more!)” 

His jaw drops at your performance, mock outrage lighting up his expression. “Stop making fun of me!” he exclaims, though his laughter betrays him. His free hand darts out to tickle your side, a sudden and ruthless retaliation. 

“Hey, stop it!” you yelp, struggling to squirm away, but Carlos is far stronger. His previous grip on your hand prevents any real escape, and with his other hand, he mercilessly tickles you until your resistance falters. You trip in your attempt to escape, tumbling onto him. 

“¡Que me tiras! (You’re going to make me fall!)” you gasp, half-laughing, half-protesting as you land awkwardly against him. 

“That’s the plan,” he says smugly, locking his arms around you in a triumphant hug 

“Carlos, I’m all sticky with suncream and sweating!” 

“I don’t care!” he replies, his voice sing-song as he pulls you closer. 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation deflating your protests. The driver’s hold on you is inescapable, his strength far outmatching yours. His next words come as a triumphant whisper against your ear “Por lo menos he conseguido oírte hablar en español (At least I got you to talk in Spanish)” 

“Huh?” You pull back slightly, blinking at him. He has a point —you don’t think you’ve ever had a proper conversation with him in Spanish. It’s not a conscious decision, you are always surrounded by non-Spanish speakers, and when he does approach you alone, he usually defaults to English.  

It’s oddly endearing how pleased he seems with himself though. 

“No tienes que practicar más tu inglés (You don’t have to practise your English no more),” he adds with a grin. “¡Ya sabes más que yo! (Already know more than I do!)” 

“Sure, sure,” you reply, skeptical. You don’t really know what he is talking about, when did you ask him to practice your English? 

“È meglio in italiano?” he switches languages, his grin widening. 

“What did you say?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“C’mon, Charles told me you wanted to practice your Italian before Monza. You can practice with me too.” 

Oh, Charles did mention something like that one of the first times you met him, even talked to you in Italian a couple times. You could never really follow the conversations, only understanding half of what he said because of your Spanish, so he didn’t push any further. 

“I don’t know Italian,” you deflect, shaking your head. 

“Two years in the Ferrari academy, and you didn’t pick up anything?” Carlos teases, his disbelief evident in his tone. His grin is wide, mischievous, and altogether too charming. You try to shrug it off, but his raised eyebrow signals he’s not letting you off the hook “That’s where you met Charles, right?” 

You blink. New information. You really should speak Spanish with him more often if this is the kind of intel you’ll get. 

“I guess,” you say nonchalantly, feigning indifference. Inside, though, you’re already planning to search about it the moment you get back. 

Carlos narrows his eyes, suspicious of your evasiveness. “I guess?” His voice rises in mock exasperation, and then, before you can brace yourself, his hands attack your sides again in a relentless tickling assault. 

“Okay, okay, stop!” you gasp, laughter bubbling uncontrollably from your chest as you twist and squirm, your hands blindly grappling for his wrists. His grip falters just enough for you to catch one hand, then the other, but the struggle only lands you in an even more precarious position: half-seated on top of him. “Fine! Yes, I knew him from there, before he was in Sauber. Happy now?” 

Guess playing those guess the driver based on their teams challenges from tiktok had to come in handy at some point. You got addicted at those. 

Carlos leans back slightly, utterly unfazed, not putting resistance against your hold. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” he teases, his voice as warm and smooth as the sunlit waves lapping against the boat, cradling you from side to side. 

One of his hands settles casually on your hip when you let go, the other remaining loosely trapped in your grip.  

“Whatever,” you mutter, but your tone lacks conviction. You let out a soft huff of air, trying and failing to suppress the smallest of smiles when he throws you a wink, boyish and entirely too charming.  

You still can’t understand how he always manages to turn your interactions into moments like this — moments so tender and charged that they feel almost deliberate, yet completely unspoken. The way your eyes linger on each other, the way you’re so close, sometimes even holding one another. How easily you’ve slipped into this dynamic with the Ferrari driver. 

Why doesn’t this closeness feel strange? You’ve known him for such a short time, and yet it feels natural, like you’ve always been this way. The gentle way your fingers trace patterns along his, the soothing circles his hand draws on your side, a gesture so unconscious it sends a quiet shiver up your spine. 

‘It’s just Carlos’ you tell yourself, as if that’s enough. Carlos, with his disarming warmth, his easy-going nature and unguarded affection. He seems so comfortable with this closeness, so unafraid to seek it out with you — it’s simply who he is. With you.  

And somehow, without a second thought, you let yourself sink into it.  

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, his voice soft enough to blend with the gentle crash of waves. His gaze is unwavering, those warm brown eyes studying your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. 

The wind tousles his hair, leaving it a mess of dark strands framing his face. His bracelet catches the light as your fingers toy absently with the cord, the handmade piece adorned with his initials and the tiny Ferrari badge drawn on little white cubes. It’s a fan gift, of all things, but its presence now, between your hands, feels... 

A pang shoots through your chest, the ache of it almost too much. 

It’s not... real. None of this is real. 

“Nothing, I’m…” you smile, the tremble on your lips so easily noticeable and so difficult to hide. “It’s just..., you know, this, and I’m...” you bite down on your tongue, physically restraining the words from escaping. 

Forcing yourself to just shut up.  

You take a breath in, trying to push down the thoughts that so easily started poisoning the moment. Your eyebrows draw together and you keep your eyes down, letting go of the cord of his bracelet like it’s burning. 

It’s fake. Everything. 

I’m scared, you want to say, I’m so fucking scared of this —of all of it. Thirty-six days of living this surreal, impossible life, of being thrust into a world of fast cars, flashing cameras, and unimaginable luxury. Of private boats and breathtaking views, of thinking how nice you fit into the arms of this amazing man. And the quiet horror of realizing how easily you could lose yourself in it.  

“Carlos,” you begin, the words spilling out before you can stop them. But what are you supposed to say? That this isn’t real? The boat, this life, him? You glance at his expectant face, the furrowed brows, the quiet weight in his gaze. He’ll think you’ve lost it, that you’re going crazy under the weight of it all. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m… you’re— none of this is—”  

The sudden creak of the driving cabin door cuts through your faltering confession, and your head jerks up to see Charles stepping out, his phone clutched in one hand. He doesn’t notice you at first, his thumb furiously swiping at the screen.  

He stops just short of the two of you, his gaze flicking up to you, then Carlos, and finally settling back on you. Something lingers in that glance, his green eyes catching the fading sunlight in a way that makes your stomach tighten. 

“Think we should head back,” Charles mutters, his voice clipped, as though reluctant to interrupt. “Some weirdo’s been taking photos.” 

Guess Charles wasn’t talking to his mum after all. Instead, it was someone from the Ferrari media team, calling to warn him about the photos of you that had been slowly making their way onto social media since this morning. They had just received a fresh batch of unseen ones just a couple minutes ago: a series of candid shots of the three of you, lounging on the boat, laughing, completely at ease, unaware of the long lenses pointed at you from the distance. 

Both teams scramble to get the photos pulled, sending messages, making calls, trying to keep the damage contained. But it doesn’t take long for them to see the light. And, as expected, the reactions are far from kind. 

_______ 

“You should stop looking at that” Charles advices, his voice even softer than usual as he sets the pile of plates and cutlery down onto the table on the back patio. 

The faint scent of saltwater from the sea mixes with the cool evening air, and the setting sun casts a warm golden glow on everything around you. He moves with practiced ease, placing everything in its place. 

You pull your legs from the chair and sit up, stretching as you glance back into the house. Phone left over the table, still displaying the article you found about your ‘escapade’. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Inside, the lights are all on, and the shadows of indistinguishable figures move about the kitchen, the soft clatter of utensils filtering through the open window. 

“Are they already making dinner? Sorry, you need help?” 

The Monegasque stops you with a swift gesture of his hand, starting to place everything on the table by himself. His hair is damp and unruly from his recent shower, the blue shirt he's wearing showing traces of the droplets that must have been falling just minutes ago. He looks so effortlessly nice. 

“Don’t worry, Carlos’ mom warned us not to bother you” 

“Is that so?” you chuckle softly, a hint of relief creeping in. But you don’t stop yourself from reaching for the forks and knives, setting them in their places on the table —seven seats in total. Carlos’ sister and her husband are joining you tonight. "You should’ve told me anyway..." 

"I don’t think she’d let you help even if you wanted to. She even sent the cook home for the night" he calms you, finishing his task and resting his arms on the backrest of the seat opposite to you  

“What is she making?” 

Charles hesitates, his gaze darting back to the kitchen before turning to you again. His mouth opens and closes with stray syllables that don’t really make any dish you have ever heard before. “Some kind of fish, I think? They’ve said the name a couple times but I didn't get it” he shrugs lightly, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips. "It smells good though. That’s all I can say" 

“It does smell nice” you give him, a grin of your own pulling at your lips. You sit down again as ordered, taking your still light up phone from the table and turning off the screen. 

She should respect herself is the last thing you manage to read on it, one of the nicest comment of the hundreds hanging on the comment section of the page. You sigh. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks a few meters away filling in the silence that falls right after. 

“Try not to worry about it too much, okay?” he almost whispers, his hand moves through his hair, shaking it out of place “I know it’s hard, but... some people are just assholes, no use in reading the shit they put out there” 

A sigh slips from your lips as you lean your elbows over the glass table and glance away, the weight of your thoughts pressing on your chest. "A lot has come up about Monaco too..." 

While you can hardly stomach the repulsive comments surrounding the supposed relationship between you Charles, or Carlos, or both of them? Some even asking themselves how your closeness with Lewis might fit into the mix. The constant invasion of privacy, the sense that you’re being watched every second of every day, has been weighting on you lately. 

They know where you've been. Where you ate. What you wore. They even managed to snap a picture of that tiny clay hedgehog Charles bought you back at the artisan market —a detail so small, yet so personal, and now it’s making the rounds in social media. It’s all out there now, for anyone to dissect, to judge, to speculate. 

One thing is people knowing your hotel back in the middle of a Grand Prix, and another thing entirely is being followed back to Charles’ building entrance. There’s even photos of you carrying the suitcase inside the Sainz’s villa just couple days ago. 

The thought of going back to Monaco after this trip to Mallorca feels suffocating. You’re not sure if you can face it. Not after everything. You feel so exposed, like there’s nowhere safe anymore. 

Charles’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. "No, I don’t even look at those things anymore," he confesses, the finality in his voice talking of a decision he took long ago. The driver has spent years on the spotlight, for good a not so much "Look, I know we talked about this before, but I really don’t care what anyone says." 

His words linger in the quite night, his eyes never leaving yours. "I enjoy this. Being here, with you. Spending more time together outside of racing and being normal, you know?" His smile softens, but there's something deeper in his expression, something you can’t quite put your finger on. "And I loved showing you around Monaco, having you at home. So really, why would I care about what some loser has to say about it? This... this is just me and you. Us." 

Oh, that’s...  

What? 

A rush of warmth blooms across your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest, leaving you breathless for a moment. Your heart flutters, faster than it should, that’s so nice, so comforting in a way you didn’t expect. And the way he’s looking at you, the intensity in his gaze expressing a million things more than he can manage to put into words.  

But where is all this coming from? He’s never said anything remotely close to this before. Sure, he’s talked about how great it was spending time with you, how much fun the last few days were, but this? 

“I...” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your mind struggles to catch up. You look up at him, heart racing and nerves threatening to unravel you entirely. What are you even supposed to say? His words, his tone, the way his eyes seem to search yours with such quiet urgency. It all feels so much deeper than just this conversation “I had a lot of fun too, Charles”  

As soon as the words slip from your lips, you realize with a sinking feeling that you’ve said the wrong thing. The change in the air is almost tangible, as if the moment itself has shifted, taking on a new weight you can’t shake off. Charles’s smile is still there, but it’s different now. It’s more distant, reserved. 

You open your mouth instinctively, your mind scrambling for something to say, something to undo the sudden tension. But the words don’t come. They’re caught somewhere, stuck behind the pressure building inside you. 

But nothing comes. The words stay lodged in your throat, swallowed by hesitation, and all you can do is watch as he turns and walks away. 

“Toma, dale a la cría más jamón, hombre (Here, give the girl some more jamón, boy)” Carlos Senior voice breaks through the chatter, abrupt yet kindly, leaning over the table to take one of the dishes of cut meat scattered around the table and giving it to his son. 

You try to wave it off, an awkward smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, no, no, por favor,” you stammer, already chewing on a bite of the rich, salty meat. But before you can protest further, Carlos takes the plate from his father’s hand and places it in front of you. A bit of heat rises to your cheeks, “Sorry, it’s been a while since I last got to eat it and-” 

“No, love, eat some more! There’s cheese here as well, do you want some?” Reyes, Carlos’ mother, swiftly diverts the talk, not waiting for an answer before picking another one of the dishes and sending it down the table towards you.  

“Tendríamos pedir más y así se llevan los chicos (We should buy some more, so the kids can take them home)” she suggests to her husband, taking her glass in one hand and turning to the other guest at the table “Charles, do you like it too? And the cheese? We’ll prepare some for you to take back” 

You laugh under your breath, trying not to look overwhelmed. The plates seem to multiply around you, the family circling you both in a flurry of food. You catch Charles’ eye across the table, his dimples flashing in an innocent smile. He’s probably not understanding half of the conversation, the rapid-fire Spanish swirling around him too much to keep up with.  

Your mind drifts briefly to Nick, he's definitely not going to be happy about this. From the delicate codfish Reyes had spent hours preparing, to the fragrant cake Carlos' sister brought over, you’ve already eaten more than you intended. This time you’re truly not sure if you’ll fit on the car.  

Well, the trainer had actually seemed quite willing to ease up on the strictness of the diet when you brought up your conversation with Daniel a few weeks ago. He even programmed a new plan just a couple of days later. For some reason and despite their differences, Nick was oddly pleased that Daniel had discussed the topic with you, even admitted he wasn’t really comfortable with such a rigid calorie count either.  

So then, why was it programmed in the first place? 

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?” Carlos' sister leans forward, finishing her piece of cheese as she watches the scene unfold around them, her eyes scanning the quiet evening. 

“We were going to Palma, to see the market, but now that they know we’re all here...” her brother reclines lazily on the chair, a sigh flowing out his lips “I don’t know, maybe take a trip to Menorca?” 

Carlos glances over at you and Charles, his eyes scanning for a response. You nod encouragingly, the idea appealing. It'll throw the paparazzies off for a while, the island not that far from you, but enough to be off the radar for a bit. 

His father also supports the idea, instantly taking out his phone to show Carlos a restaurant they visited a few years back as a suggestion for lunch “Your mother loved this one, it had a terrace over the sea and all. And there was this plate of roasted lamb...” 

Carlos and his sister both chuckle at the enthusiasm in the man’s voice, exchanging a look with their mother. It’s probably not the first time they’ve heard this story, and judging by the way their father dives into every single detail of it —even in English—, the last time won’t be anytime soon either. 

The conversation drifts to other places worth visiting before they leave the island. The family has had this house for years, and while they know Mallorca like the back of their hands, they’ve explored the other islands multiple times as well. 

After a while, Carlos’ hand fall onto your knee to gain your attention “Like the plan?” 

“Menorca? Yeah, at least for tomorrow” you whisper back, your eyes meeting his. They’re the ones who know how to navigate the chaos of fame, so you better follow along with their advice. 

The Ferrari driver nods, his hand giving your knee a reassuring squeeze before leaving it to rest there, calm and steady. The warmth of his touch lingers as the evening stretches on. Yeah, he’s getting too smooth at it, you think —but you don’t mind. 

_____ 

Turns out the Sainz family has an excellent taste, from the restaurants they recommend to the activities Carlos is roped into taking you on. Menorca, it turns out, is even more enchanting than the glossy postcards or travel blogs ever hinted at, with its tranquil waters and the shimmering sun. You spend most of the trip in a blissful haze, thankfully managing to avoid too many encounters with paparazzi or curious fans. 

That conversation with Charles from the first evening? It’s not mentioned again, by either of you. The air between you settling back into that familiarity slowly but surely. Still, it lingers in the back of your mind, and you make a mental note to talk things through with him once you’re away from all of this. 

The days on the islands vanish like grains of sand through your fingers, blurring into an endless string of sunsets and laughter. You try to memorize every detail —the way the sunlight catches on Carlos’ grin, the sound of Charles’ rare and genuine laugh, the warm feeling being with them bring you. But no matter how tightly you cling, the end still comes. 

Your escapade to the Balearic Islands has come to an end, and now you’re heading to Monaco for the last couple of days you’ll get to spend with Charles. 

When the time to finally part ways at the airport comes, Carlos holds you tightly. His hug is firm, his arms wrapping around you as if they alone could keep you from leaving. He sways you gently from side to side, reluctant to let go. 

“So, you’re coming back every break, aren’t you?” his words, though light, strike a chord deep in your chest. 

You want to respond, to reassure him, but the truth lodges in your throat. Because this, whatever it is, probably won’t happen ever again. You won’t get to spend your holidays with the two drivers, won’t be able to talk to them again, to see them, to hug them. This dream, or whatever this temporarily insanity of yours is, will come to an end at some point. Right? 

But even as you nod and give him a wry smile, the question haunts you: do you want it to end? 

The thought keeps circling your mind over the following days and weeks, as you try to convince yourself of the only sane solution. You have to go back, to your apartment, to your work, to your life –How? You’ll have to figure that one out too. Nevertheless, this feeling reaches its breaking two weeks later, at the afterparty of the Belgian Grand Prix, cradled in his arms once again, this time under the crisp chill of his victory night as you lose yourself in his eyes. 

Do you really want this to end? 

“Thanks again for coming,” Carlos murmurs, looking down at you in a hug that you both refuse parting from. “I know you’ve been a little anxious about parties and going out lately” 

You lean back slightly to look at him, the warmth of his presence anchoring you “I couldn’t miss it.” 

“Who knows when I’ll win again, right?” he teases, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

“Oh, shut it!” you laugh, swatting his chest. The sound of your voice bounces off the quiet entrance, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. 

“What? You’re the one who said it first!” 

“Me?! When?” your incredulous glare only makes his grin wider “It’s you who heard that, always thinking the worst of me” 

“If that helps you sleep at night”  

You push at him in mock indignation, stepping back from the hug to create some distance, but your heel catches on the uneven ground. The world tilts alarmingly, but before gravity can do its worst, his hands are there—firm and steady—gripping your waist and pulling you back upright in one seamless motion “Nope, we’re not having none of that tonight” 

“What? can’t a woman fall down with dignity now?” you spurt back, regaining your footing. Your feet hurt with these heels, you thought rich people parties were supposed to be more of sitting down fun, some wine and expensive food. Instead got that undanceable music 

“With dignity?” he chuckles, low and warm, letting you adjust yourself but keeping his hold on you. You don’t know if it's in fear you’ll fall again or simply a need to keep you close “Someone just had a little too many daquiris” 

You look at him then, big eyes on display and your lower lip pushed out, like a child caught red-handed and whine “They were so good, Carlos, so sweet!” 

“I knew you’d like then,” Carlos’ smirk softens, glad you enjoyed the drink he recommended “When I tried the cherry one, I immediately thought of you.” 

“Oh, that’s why it tasted like a lollypop!” The revelation feels groundbreaking in your slightly woozy state. His sweets words somehow flying pass you. You point at him accusingly then, wobbling a bit in your heels. “But don’t change the topic, I’m not drunk no more, I swear!” 

“No? You’re not?” 

“Perfectly fine now. Just the heels, I promise” you nod, you haven’t drink that much and he know it. He is just teasing “I’m, like, tipsy. Fun tipsy.” 

“Fun tipsy, you say?” Carlos repeats in a chuckle, voice almost a whisper, and his gaze lingers. The noise of the party behind you fades to a distant hum. He looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression makes your chest tighten and your stomach flip in equal measure. 

You don’t notice when his hands begin to slide, one moving up from your waist to rest just below your neck. His thumb brushes along your jawline, tentative but deliberate. The gentle warmth of his palm against your cheek is intoxicating, and before you know it, you’re leaning into the touch, your body betraying you. 

“Then...” the man’s eyes glimmer, catching the golden glow of the patio lights. His voice is laced with hesitance, searching yours for a question he suddenly feels too shy to ask “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” 

The question lingers between you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, all you can do is nod, barely aware of the small, trembling movement. The distance between you vanishes as he leans in, his hand cradling your cheek with a gentleness that makes your breath hitch. 

When Carlos’ lips finally meet yours, it’s like the world stops spinning. The first touch is soft, testing, as though he’s afraid to break the moment. You respond almost instinctively, leaning into him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. The kiss deepens, his lips pressing against yours with a growing confidence. 

His other hand finds its way back to your waist, anchoring you to him, steady and unyielding. Your hand clutching his shirt while the other drifts up to his shoulder. The warmth of him seeps into your fingertips, your skin, until you feel like you might melt into him entirely. 

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. His fingers graze along your jawline, tracing a path as if trying to memorize every inch of you in this fleeting moment. You’re hyper-aware of everything —his touch, the way his breath mingles with yours, the slight tug of his lips as he smiles into the kiss. 

When he pulls away, it’s agonizingly slow, his lips lingering against yours as if reluctant to part. His forehead comes to rest lightly against yours. 

 “That was really nice” Carlos murmurs, his voice hushed, almost reverent. 

“Yeah, it was” you agree, your voice barely a whisper. You lean back, looking up at him with a smile that betrays the fluttering in your chest and can’t help but chuckle “A bit unexpected maybe, but—” 

"Unexpected?" he asks with a relaxed laugh, his fingers drawing invisible circles on your waist, his touch light but steady. "You can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted to do that." 

Before you can respond, he leans in for a quick, soft kiss, his lips brushing yours one last time, lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more. 

“Like two hours?” you guess, playfully, as you play with the buttons of his dark shirt, and he shakes his head in denial 

The sound of a car approaching cuts through the moment—the unmistakable hum of your Uber arriving. Carlos glances over his shoulder at the car, then back at you, his expression softening “Guess it’s time for you to go, I’ll tell you about it another day” 

The Ferrari driver pulls back and reaches for your hand, guiding you down the stairs and toward the car. You pause at the door, feeling a little reluctant to part ways, but before you can say anything, Carlos steps close again. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you in for a brief but sweet kiss, one that leaves you with a small smile on your lips. 

"Send me a message when you get there, alright?" he murmurs, his lips still close to yours. 

"Yeah, I will," you reply, a little breathless, before stepping back and getting into the car. 

"Goodnight, Carlos" 

“Buenas noches, cielo” 

Author's note: Thank you all so much for reading, any kind of interaction is greatly appreciated! I know it's been way too long

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin @kyuupidwrites @raevyng @lazybot @gills-lounge @hiraethrhapsody @jjkclub @darleneslane @therealcap @aespie

[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.

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

a little ficlet on my little ford au because im officially extremely obsessed w it rn and i neeeeed you guys to see just how much angst potential this has

@shmisky because you asked to see the dialogue hope you enjoy it ebdhrdudh <3

~~

Ford shifts in his make shift shelter. The gusts of salt water air blowing on his face is predictably stronger with the size he is now, but it's far more tolerable than when he was on deck. Right here, he can hear Stan's steady heartbeat behind him. Slow. Rhythmic.

Serene.

Then Stan sighs, and Ford feels his chest rise and fall against his back, the expansion and deflation. Ford looks up curiously, eyes landing on the unhappy downward twitch of Stan's lips.

"Stanley?" He calls out, hoping his voice reaches his brother's ears. Of course when indoors, Stan can hear him clearly, but with the rippling waves, the occassional creaks of the old boat and the few squaking seagulls that fly ahead freely, who knows if Stan could hear him now? He raises his voice to call out again. "Stanley, what's wrong?"

He's greeted with a long beat of silence, so much so he almost concluded that Stan hasn't heard him. He cups his hands over his mouth, ready to speak again when Stan finally clicks his tongue.

"Guess I'm responsible for you again, huh?" Stan remarks, bitterness in every word. "The portal, then with you livin' in the shack before that whole weird-ma-somethin', now this."

He gestures to his breast pocket, where Ford is currently tucked away in. The said small man feels his face heat, an anchor dropping from his chest and lodging deep to the depths of his stomach. Ford swallows, his tongue in his throat, because, well, ouch.

"I suppose you could say I'm your little problem, eh?" He croaks out weakly with a nervous smile, looking up at his brother. Stan is looking ahead at the waves, attention nowhere near Ford, and Ford feels even smaller to be talked to without having Stan's eyes on him. But knowing if Stan looks down, he'd feel as microscopic as the germs that stick to the soles of Stan's feet.

"I guess," Stan says, not refuting or denying anything, and the pit grows deeper. "Sure as hell isn't fun, you know?"

"I... I know," Stanford says, sighing too. He tucks himself in the pocket even deeper.

"Stanley... are you, upset with me? For doing this?"

"Pfft, no." Stan responds quickly and Ford almost breaks his neck with how quick he whips his head to look up at him.

"Wait, you're not?"

"No, I'm not, Sixer."

"Then, um," Ford scratches the back of his neck, feeling the drying air on his skin. "What exactly is wrong...?"

Stan's arm moves, and he leans onto the railing, precariously leaning just a little so that Ford wouldn't threaten to fall into the deep, inky blue depths of the rippling sea. Trying to appear casual, despite his precision and carefulness. He's always been like that with Ford, and once upon a time even Stanford himself mistook that careless facade to be something more than just a faux cover up of his brother's big heart. The one that always bled too much for Ford.

"I'm not pissed you wanted to tag along, Ford," Stan says, finally looking down at Ford and Ford feels his heart jump. Stan's own heartbeat quickens a bit with rising frustration that Ford is almost tempted to call his bluff out. But he keeps his mouth shut, because assuming too much about Stan's intentions is how he got himself here in the first place. From Thirty years ago. Forty years ago.

"I'm pissed you did this after I told you I wanted to experience stuff for myself for once."

"I just—"

"I thought about coming back for you, you know? And really give it a chance, and you—" Stan sighs, clutching the railing with a hard grip. "Of course you just gotta take me wanting to ask you myself away from me, huh?"

The argument Ford was about to hastily spit out to defend himself dies, and he sinks lower in Stan's breast pocket. His heartbeats sound a little less serene now. More like an all encompassing timebomb of when all of this will eventually blow up in Ford's face, the only one Ford can't defuse.

"I'm sorry, Stanley."

"Yeah, well," Stan straightens up, looks out on sea again. "Little too late for that, huh?"

[we-stan-the-stans-27]

Dead Asleep AU?

Okay, so I kind of wanted to write another part/version of that sleeping beauty AU from the other week. But this time, Stanley is the one who gets too suffer! HAHAH!

So, here is part two. Also, I posted both parts up on my Ao3 account and I'll link it here if you want to save it for later or whatever.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62066953/chapters/158737552#main

And of course, I'm going to @sixerstanley again! Because this was their idea. Now. Let's get into being evil. Heheh.

(I had most of this done on the tenth, but then I basically died and couldn't finish. So, enjoy. That live stream was like crack or something. Idk guys.) (P.P.S. Gonna post this on its own now because I don't think anyone saw it when I reposted it attached to the old post. Rightfully so. That shit was long as hell.)

Truth be told all of Stan Pines favorite and happiest memories took place on a boat. It didn't matter if it was on some crappy litter scattered beach.

It was theirs and nothing could soil those memories. Back then all that mattered was the hot burning sand, maybe the stings of glass cuts across a sole, and tumbling along getting hurt, hand in hand.

Sure, it took forty damn years to get back there, but he's anything if not stubborn. And it paid off.

What's that saying? 'Most gamblers call it quits right before striking it big?'

Good thing he never stopped betting with higher and higher stakes then, right?

The future is much brighter because of it. The deck of the ship has a sharp bite to it now. From one extreme to the next. A hot infected wound, now soothed by a cold compress.

The arctic Ocean.

There isn't a lot in the area for fishing, but there is still plenty of wildlife to watch from the top deck if your patient.

Late at night the sky lights up with the northern lights, or 'Aurora Borealis' if you speak blabbering scientist. It's beautiful and a new flavor of Ford's favorite activity, Stargazing.

Out at sea there is no better place for it without any light pollution. Just them, the universe, and the expansive inky blackness below.

Sitting out on the deck, fish watching with a pair of binoculars, the world is practically blinding this time of the afternoon. The white overcast clouds mixed with the occasional chunk of ice covered in snow lights up the world like being inside a light bulb.

That's not what pulls Stanley's attention from the endless water he's been looking at all morning though. Finally, he sees something!

Off the starboard side from where they've been anchored a group of Narwhals is swimming by, long tusks poking out of the water and interrupting the sleek outline of the waves.

"Sixer, get the hell up here!" He knows his brother won't be nearly as excited about seeing this marvel as he is, but Stan still wants to share it with him anyway.

Just because Ford saw a million different impossible things through the portal doesn't mean whales aren't interesting too. Sure, not what they're hanging out waiting for, but who cares?

When Stanley can't hear Ford immediately running up the stairs, no big surprise if stuck in a book, he stomps on the floor of the deck without looking away from the water. Grinning like an idiot.

"Stanford Pines, get up here! I'm having a heart attack!" Okay, yeah. It's not funny. But that never fails to get him top side no matter what he's in the middle of.

'Boy who cried wolf' Yack! Yack! Whatever. If it works, why fix it?

There are at least ten different Narwhals intermittently breaching for air but the sight is incredibly short lived before they dive again on another breath hold, disappearing from sight below the grey waves.

"Awe, too slow! You missed it!" His booming voice is the only sound on the ship and it makes Stan finally drop the glasses and get up out of his chair with a crack from both knees.

He stomps, again, and then listens with a little more attention to the ship.

There is the lapping of the waves against the side, the slight breeze blowing the fresh smell of sea salt over the vessel, but otherwise its quiet.

Hmm. He could stay up here, maybe even pretend to fall over and really scare his brother. Except the last time he did that Ford almost threw him overboard into the freezing cold water.

Still. It is a little weird that Ford didn't at least yell a few foreign curse words up through the ship.

"Alright, fine. You want to prank me back? I'll bite." It comes out in a mutter and Stan makes his way across the deck after one more glance around at the water.

Through the wheel house, down the steep steps, and around the corner into the room dubbed 'the office' only in the name on the door. It's a glorified science lab that Stan gets to store a shelf of books inside of.

Pushing open the door is a little challenging, like something is blocking it but after a minute of shoving he's able to get enough room to squeeze through to get a look around.

Yep. This is 100% a prank.

The thing blocking the door? Ford, leaning back and looking pretty limp. Stan has got to hand it to him, this is a really convincing look.

"Nice try genius, laying around on the floor isn't going to convince me. Come on, up we go." It takes a lot more work than it should to move Ford from the floor up into the single chair in here.

The only real dead bodies Stan has ever seen have been bloody from being murdered or covered in vomit thanks to overdosing on something. Lots of blood, bruises, stomach acid and empty eyes stained with their last moments.

Ford's open, blank ones, do cause a little bit of alarm, but. It's how damn cold his body is that brings the first real taste of concern to the forefront of his mind.

"I thought I told you to turn on the space heater periodically. You have bad enough circulation as is, you idiot." Ford is very cold, and limp just like a dead body, and his eyes-

To humor Ford, and to reassure himself, Stan does a big show of rolling his eyes and then putting two fingers to Ford's wrist. You can't hide having a pulse, genius.

"................................................................................................................"

Okay. Maybe you can hide a pulse on one arm, if you cut off circulation. Whatever, big whoop?

Stan shifts over to check the other wrist and lets out a tisk of annoyance before raising those same fingers up to Ford's neck.

Same result.

Huh.

Now that's a neat trick.

Ford is doing a really good job pretending not to breathe too.

A really really good job.

That's bad.

"Alright Sixer, good one. I've learned my lesson here, you can undo whatever witchcraft you used to manage this." His confidence that this is a joke is cracking with every second Ford doesn't hop up and start lecturing him.

That's what should be happening. Another long rant about how pretending to be injured or sick isn't funny, not a good way to get attention, and unnecessary.

Yeah. Stan knows all that.

Ford does come topside, eventually, whenever he yells. It's just-

Sometimes Ford gets a little too caught up in his work and needs to be reminded the rest of the world exists. Extremes are the easiest way to do that.

And, yeah. Stanley can admit in the safety of his own head that he enjoys the fretting Ford does, despite knowing it’s a false alarm. It's been a long time since someone cared about him enough for something like that.

Or maybe those memories are what decided not to come back. Eh, his life seems pretty sad. Makes sense.

What doesn't, however, is why Ford is doing this for so long.

Plain and simple, he wouldn't.

But, that would mean something so terrible that his mind still won't accept it.

Because Ford can't be dead. That's not possible. They had this conversation.

Before leaving Gravity Falls, they had a really long and difficult talk about health issues. Ford came up with game plans for emergencies, Stanley had to own up to his numerous health issues, and how does Stanley know with complete certainty his brother can't be dead?

Bill said so.

Ford isn't supposed to die until he's ninety-two of a heart attack.

Now, Stan doesn't trust that demon on much. Or anything. Except this.

Because Bill liked Ford to an uncomfortable degree, otherwise he'd be dead right now. Or, would have at some point during the apocalypse.

So. The devil must have been telling the truth on this one thing, right?

Ford had seemed pretty sure that he wasn't going to be the one needing healthcare at sea, solidifying the belief in Stan's own mind. If Ford wasn't worried, why should he? He's a genius!

But-

What if Bill did lie? Tricking them into a false sense of security only for Ford to drop dead one day. Honestly? That does sound more his style.

Except, it can't be today.

It just can't.

Because if Ford is dead-

That's not a possibility Stanley Pines has ever considered for so much as a millisecond.

Not when Ford went through the portal.

Not for thirty years during the rebuilding process.

Not even prior to rescuing him from Bill and saving the world.

Because he can't imagine a world without Stanford Pines.

Sure, he's been gone before. Missing, but he came back from the portal and they eventually fixed things. They're okay now.

That was six weeks ago.

And, yeah, they still fight, but that's normal. Expected, living so closely after so long apart.

Stan has found himself frozen standing next to the chair simply staring down at Ford waiting for-

The joke to end? The camera crew to jump out? Ford himself to come in from the other room telling him this is a dummy or clone?

That spurs him back into action, rushing out of the room. "You aren't funny, Stanford Filbrick Pines! When I find you, I'm going to give you the worst wedgie in the multiverse!"

There are really only four places Ford could be hiding, given his size. Their bedroom underneath the bunk beds, the bathroom, the tiny kitchen pantry, or the engine room.

The kitchen pantry is bare, as expected. It’s a pretty shitty hiding spot.

Looking underneath the bed is tricky, but he isn't under there either.

The bathroom shower is clear too and he leaves the lights on, doors open, as he yanks the tiny half-sized door to peer into the almost crawlspace-sized room-

Empty.

For good measure Stanley does a second, and third, lap of the ship from the deck all the way back through leaving no chance for his brother to be sneaking around hiding.

In the end he still lands back in the office, leaning against the wall, looking at his brother's freezing cold and lifeless body.

Dead, body-

Nope, nope, nope! Ford can't be dead, he can't be.

Instead of looking at 'Ford' Stan looks around the room at anything else in search of answers. There's a stack of books and some science doohickey on the desk, but that's not all.

When first entering the room, Ford was laying on the floor back against the door. The chair was sideways, almost like he'd fallen out of it.

Down on the floor is a small collection of scattered papers.

It certainly looks like-

"Nope. Not happening." I'm not going to entertain it, not going to think about it. Ford is cold and being an idiot.

Stan busies himself with gathering up the scattered papers off the floor and organizing them on the desk and-

Ford's phone.

Before leaving port they'd both gone out and bought one at the behest of Dipper and Mabel. For taking pictures, calling, texting, and use of the internet.

They have this thing called a 'hot spot' that allows them to use the internet on their laptop for video calls and such. Ford usually sets that up and Stan gets the call going.

Neither of them knows the full process, so they have to work together.

Finding it discarded on the floor fits with the scene Ford has laid out trying to play dead. It's all very convincing, really.

But all that panic and worry remains buried deep, because what else is there?

Losing Ford would probably give him a heart attack, for real, right about now.

So. It's pretty concerning to see the phone open, wasting the battery, to their text chain.

It looks like Ford tried sending him a text up above deck.

'Stanley, I require medical assistance, follow protocol 32-C. Thank you. -Stanford Pines'

Except the text never went through, that red bubble with the exclamation mark 'Not delivered' is obvious enough for even Stanley to see.

Okay. There isn't any ignoring that.

Why? Ford was right here, why didn't he yell or come upstairs, or knock on the ceiling for fucks sake?

Except it does look like Ford might have tried to leave the room-

Real, honest panic claws its way up into the center of his chest from where he's kneeling on the floor looking at the text that didn't go through.

Maybe it was never a heart attack, could've been a stroke-

This text is pretty long and lacking spelling mistakes though, like all the other messages Ford has ever written.

His last words.

"Stanford..." It comes out broken and he ignored the complaints of the floor in the rush to get up, still clutching the phone, and across the room to his brother.

Idiot! Stupid, God damn idiot!

Instead of helping him for one fucking second you decided to play hide and seek!

Nope, we aren't going to cry. Not now, nope. Doesn't matter that there isn't anyone around to-

Nope!

Pulling Ford down onto the floor to assess him is easy with how limp he is and Stan makes quick work of pulling off his gloves in search of-

Something.

There still isn't a pulse, but the skin along each wrist and the neck feels colder than it did earlier. Stan's hands are shaking like he's going through withdrawals, trembling.

Focus.

Despite what his brother might think, he did in fact take the time to review the procedures stored in their extensive first aid kits. Not because any of them are helpful here though.

Ford put that together with Stan exclusively in mind.

What to do in the case of a heart attack, stroke, aneurysms, seizures, and all the small things too. Stuff for stitches, concussions, burns, and there is one small pamphlet on amputations.

The reason he took the time to review them was to put together his own plans, just in case.

If this is a heart attack he can't use to stupid paddles on Ford because of his metal plate. Besides, who knows what kind of effects that might have if it is a stroke-

He's already dead-

"Shut up! Just, shut up. He isn't, not until I say so!" The yell echoes back inside the claustrophobic room. The boat has never felt so painfully small-

CPR it is then.

Thirty-two C is essentially an undefined chest pain. Aspirin, monitoring, and high tailing it to the closest port.

Hard to do any of that when Ford can't breathe, much less swallow. And, you know, being three hours from the closest dock doesn't help either.

Stan has wasted too much time fussing and being useless as is. He knows how to do this. Where the hands go, the rhythm needed and the right amount of pressure to apply. How often to force Ford to take air.

This gives his hands something useful to do, his mind something to focus on instead of pure white-hot panic.

Because that's what he feels.

There is only one thing he could never protect Ford from, himself.

Sickness, and eventually death fall into that same category because the body does those things without considering what you want. Old age would come for his brother someday, regardless of how anyone feels about it.

Stanley had always assumed- no, made damn sure -that he wouldn't outlive his brother.

Because he can't be the one to carry on. That is a world he wants no part in.

He realizes, a while into doing compressions, that he should have consulted a clock before starting to try and keep track of how long he's been doing this.

Whatever, like it really matters.

Stanley continues anyway, long past when his arms started to burn and past hearing two different ribs crack.

What makes him stop is when he physically can't catch his own air enough to continue.

He is, understandably, a mess.

Snot smeared between both faces, tears across the front of Ford's shirt and cheeks, and Stanley himself can't breathe, chest tight and wracked with sobs.

Even if Ford did have a heartbeat Stanley knows he wouldn't be able to feel it because of how badly his hands are trembling and how fast blood is rushing in his own ears.

Six god damn weeks. Is that really all we got? All that time, all those mistakes? So much wasted all because I couldn't control myself for five fucking seconds!

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Stanford." It comes out choked, barely real words around his chests arguing efforts to sound like a dying animal and take in enough oxygen to avoid meeting his own end.

The pile of regrets is immeasurable, but not so much about the past.

They've done that song and dance, so those aren't the thoughts that tear into him now.

So many things missed that still need to be made up for.

Christmas. New Years. Drunk nights out. Their birthday for fucks sake!

Now they'll never get to share that, ever again. Forever Seventeen.

Just-

Being together again.

Joking together.

Together!

Not apart.

Haven't they had enough of that? Wasn't four cursed decades of loneliness plenty?

Guess time has a funny sense of humor.

Or the world just hates him specifically.

Stanley Pines isn't allowed to be happy, hopefully everyone got the memo!

He can't remember ever crying so hard or for nearly as long ever in his whole life. Countless nights spent breaking down in the basement, slumped over the desk in the upstairs office, or camped out in some slum across the back seat of the car are nothing in comparison.

Lying across Ford's chest feels unnatural. It's too cold, too still-

Wrong.

It's like someone just broke one of the fundamental laws of physics here in their office and Stanley can't handle it.

When he finally manages to pull away a crazed laugh bubbles up and out into the room without permission.

There is nothing funny about this, but it seems to have a mind of its own, running away with his vocal cords.

What the hell else is he supposed to do? His whole world just died. Ford might as well of snuffed out the sun, causing the whole universe to go out with it. All that's left are stars.

Memories.

That's not fair. None of this is, and he knows that life ain't fair. Why would it be now? Of course it wouldn't, but-

"Why?! Why now, huh?! You couldn't of waited ten fucking minutes? At least let me be here with you? I could of done something useful for once! But no, I always have to fail! It's the only thing I'm good at!"

The humor vanishes, the hysterics of it washed away by anger and grief.

He ends up sitting back on his ass with knees drawn up with both arms wrapped around them, just like when they were kids.

What is he supposed to do?

Ford's dead. Stanford is dead. Sixer is dead. My twin brother is dead-

Repeating the same thought doesn't make him feel any better. If anything, it makes the shaking ten times worse. Unsteady hands, trembling shoulders-

He's shivering all over, goosebumps caused by something other than the cold.

"God, i really am a failure. Can't argue with me now, huh? You died, fifteen feet away from me and-" He can't look at Ford like this anymore, so he brings up a hand to cover his face while trying to regulate his own awful breathing.

Who cares? Why does it matter? Why bother calming down if Ford's dead?

As much as he'd like to give up, because it would be incredibly easy to do so, Stan knows he can't. Not now.

Okay. Deep even breathes.

In. One, two, three, four, five.

Out. One, two, three, four five.

It takes several tries to manage getting past two, but it gets a little easier to stop feeling so light headed the more he focuses on it

He can't give up, because like it or not-

Why not?

Because of the kids? Because of Soos? How exactly would they feel to find out both of us were brought into port dead by the coast guard? Two funerals to attend.

Although they would probably do them together-

That's a nice thought.

Nope, we aren't encouraging that!

"Alright, come on. Get it together. You know what to do..." That doesn't make it easier.

Back up. First onto both knees, then both feet.

Unlike moving Ford into the chair, dragging him around, Stanley takes more care lifting Ford up over one shoulder to carry him from the office across the boat into the bedroom.

Laying him out on the bottom bunk, tucked into the blankets, it looks like he's just sleeping.

Despite barely doing anything Stanley is exhausted already. Arms sore, his back is going to be killing him tomorrow from picking up all that dead weight, so he settles on the edge of the mattress. Just for a minute.

There was once a day when the gun would, metaphorically, already be in his hand.

The world hadn't exactly been kind to him. Not growing up. Not on the road. Not even fully in Gravity Falls. Sure, it was home, but the basement was its own form of torture and suffering.

All of that was supposed to stay off the boat.

Land was pain, the ocean was perfect.

Or at least he'd thought so. If death was going to come for them, taking them into the ranks of lives lost at sea, they were supposed to go down together.

It's tempting. More tempting than ever before.

"I'm sorry." He can't turn and look at Ford, but the presence of his body is comforting in a weird way. Just don't think about how-

"I know you keep telling me I don't need to be, and that we're all good, but I really am. I'm the reason we lost so much time, so maybe it’s just that I have to live with that until my heart gives out." These are the kinds of things he'd never say if Ford was really here.

Or in front of anyone, but what's the harm now? Might as well get it out now before heading back.

From there Ford will be carted off to the closest morgue, body probably cremated, leaving Stanley to bring the ash remains home.

"Maybe I was a damn fool to think I could have it all. Should have known it was too good to be true. I can't-" He has to stop to take several deep full breaths before pushing on.

"I can't do this. Thirty years, forty, all alone. Ruined, and now-"

Things were good, fantastic, for fucks sake!

Having someone to cook and clean with. To get annoyed at when they hog the bathroom. Pointless arguments, bickering, but always getting over it.

It was domestic in a way he'd always wanted but never allowed himself. Always afraid anyone who got close would leave.

In a way, Ford did. Not intentionally, but he did walk right back out the door just like everyone else. Who knows, maybe it would have happened sooner or later anyway.

"I-I know I wasn't great to live with. I'm a pain in the ass screw-up and I guess that's all I'll ever be." Failing to notice something was seriously wrong sooner, not hearing any noises his brother might have made, not getting that text-

Overshadows saving the world. It doesn't matter if the sun keeps rising if his brother isn't here to see it.

He doesn't really know what's considered 'normal behavior' around a corpse. It might be incredibly weird of him to decide to sit up against the wall at the head of the bunk and get Ford situated laying back against his chest, repositioning the blankets.

Stan finds he doesn't care either way. If his brother is dead, the love of his life, he's going to sit with him for a little while before his body gets all stiff and gross and corpsey.

It'll take about two hours, give or take, before then.

Other than the bed being cold it’s not hard to pretend things are okay. Stan's own breathing moves Ford with each inhale and exhale in the otherwise quiet room.

They're both to old to be cuddling, but who's around to judge him? The next closest human is miles away and Ford...

He doesn't really get a say anymore.

Stan lets out a sad and exhausted chuckle, shaking his head and tucking his face down into Ford's hair while keeping both arms tight across his brother’s chest.

It smells of sweat, sea salt, and something chemically that makes his nose burn a little. He needs a shower, gross bastard.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you, Sixer. No fucking clue how much I love you."

Never, ever, would Stan dare be so open in front of anyone, much less his equally emotionally constipated brother. But it’s not like he's going to be able to say all this stuff in front of people.

Not when he heads back to Gravity Falls, tail between his legs. Much less at the funeral.

"I mean, you had to know. One person doesn't dedicate a lifetime to fixing a mistake like that if they don't give a shit. But, well, you know."

He's a corpse Stan, he doesn't know anything. Not anymore.

"It was never the boat. I didn't care that you wanted to go to school. I didn't care about taking the journal. I didn't even care about you being a pretentious asshole. Okay, maybe I did care about that last one a little." It's the first genuine laugh Stan's let out since finding Ford.

"It was the separation I had a problem with. We could have been enlisted in the military for all I cared, as long as we did it together. Talk about codependent, am I right?"

His arms are tired from doing compressions so instead of continuing to hug Ford in a vice grip he settles for holding one of his hands instead.

Cuddling, weird but not outside of things they've done before. Usually after or because of nightmares.

Hugging is practically a daily occurrence at this point, sometimes multiple times depending on the itinerary Ford's always got in his stupid head.

But this, holding hands, isn't something they've done since they were kids.

Hopefully, Filbrick found a special space in hell for yelling at them until they stopped. He was right, socially, of course. But Stan can't help holding a grudge regardless. As if Ford needed more negative press about his perfect hands.

They're cold but Stan pointedly ignores that in favor of savoring the moment.

"It was good we spent time apart, in its own stupid way. Not because either of us had a good time or anything, but we finally grew up. Eventually. Just took the world ending for you to get your ego checked." It's nice having Ford lying back against his chest, their hands intertwined over Ford's cold one under the blanket.

It's sad, and temporary, but better than nothing at all.

You take what you get and you don't throw a fit.

"But hey, it wasn't all bad." Looking around the room the proof is right here. "We did it, eventually. We had some fun, stole some treasure. Never did get any babes though, but-"

The wall closest to the door is covered in a large cork board covered in pictures from the camera Soos gifted them as a housewarming present before leaving port. Original pictures of them back in Jersey pinned at the top with their adventures detailed in the ones below, picking up decades later.

He sighs, bringing up his free hand to straighten out Ford's hair. It's always a rat’s nest. "I was never as worried about that part as I probably should have been, because I-"

Dead or not, is this really the kind of thing he should be saying out loud?

The things he's saying aren't really for Ford, they're for Stanley's own benefit anyway. "Well, heh. You see, about that...I, uh. Really only had interest in getting one babe on board." He squeezes Ford's hand for emphasis, like he's listening.

But even Stan can't help bursting out into laughter at his awful joke, managing to avoid letting out more than a couple tears. "Oh god, that's terrible. I'm terrible, I know. But, you never had to worry about that. You being here is more then I could've asked for. No sense betting it on the bonus word and getting left at a dock when things where good as is."

There. It's out there, in the room, shared with someone who can never tell his worst secret. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

"As it was, I guess. Still can't believe you're gone and our adventure is over before it really got started." It's a somber thought, but he leaves it at that.

What else is there to say?

Time passes, only marked by the slight darkening of the clouds outside the boat and the ticking of Stanley's watch.

He keeps saying 'five more minutes' but that started up about two hours ago. It's been nearly three since settling into bed. His back hurts from staying in the same position, fingers cramped, but he still doesn't want to get up.

That means letting go. He isn't ready for that.

Probably never will be either.

It must be the cold keeping Ford from getting all stiff like dead people should because he's still just as limp and relaxed as when he first died. That thought makes him wince.

"Alright. As fun as this is, I should probably get up and bring us back to port before it gets dark." He says it like Ford will be able to encourage him to do so, like the corpse is going to hold him accountable.

Except, it can't.

Stan finds the willpower to get up and off the bed anyway, leaving Ford tucked in, and heading out into the hallway that is the kitchen and dining room.

Next step is getting back to port, calling the local authorities, and explaining what the hell happened. That won't be fun. None of this is.

He only gets as far as the kitchen before having to sit down.

Who is he kidding? This is impossible. How the hell is he supposed to do any of this?

No matter how hard he tries to cling to the fact that he has other family, because Stanley knows full well how much the kids and Soos care for him, that doesn't make the suddenly unbearable weight on both shoulders any lighter.

The boat is suffocating, cold, and it’s only going to get worse.

When Ford had gone through the portal it was easy enough to rationalize his feelings of hopelessness away using pure denial. Can't be sure Ford is dead if you can't see him.

And yeah, he'd been right, though on all accounts he shouldn't have been.

Stan can't do that here because Ford is very clearly dead and gone.

All those years he'd already been through the first several stages of grief periodically. Denial, anger, and bargaining but had always gotten stuck in the second to last step. Depression.

If people can get past that one, they usually reach acceptance and from there, it’s all about finding a way to live with it.

I can't do that.

How on earth am I supposed to after everything? So many mistakes, miscommunications, lost time, and for what? For it to end here?

What the hell am I supposed to do? Pack it up, return to Gravity Falls, and drink myself to death?

That's probably what he would have done if Ford hadn't been able to make it home. If he'd actually been dead for thirty years and all that effort was for nothing.

It doesn't take much to make up his mind. It’s only a matter of when, not a matter of if.

The painful silence of the ship is interrupted by his watch beeping at him several times, indicating it’s time for his blood pressure medications.

This watch is considerably uglier than his gold one, but its water proof and has some fancy alarm and timer settings.

Ford set it up to remind him.

He all but collapses in on himself with tears escaping easier than before in the office.

This was all he ever wanted, for someone to give a damn about him and now the only person who ever did is gone!

No more bickering about who used all the hot water. Complaining about who's turn it is to handle the laundry. Doing dishes together.

No more laughing, cracking jokes, or arguing over what to have for dinner.

"I can't do this, I'm not strong enough for that." His voice is choked, barely above a whisper.

His own feet bring him to the first aid kit fastened to the wall above the toilet in the bathroom. It's where any medications they might need are kept from ibuprofen to some other more questionable alien junk of Ford's.

Nutrition pills are not a substitute for real food, even when you’re sick of fish Stanford.

Down on the bottom shelf right next to the Aspirin and Tylenol is where his stupid medication is to take-

Except currently there is a small and simple letter propped up on the shelf blocking the several bottles there with 'For Stanley Pines' on the front in neat and actually legible cursive handwriting.

He looks around the bathroom, almost comically, because he really has lost it.

Maybe he actually had his own medical problem while trying to do chest compressions and now he's a ghost or something?

Because this looks like Ford left him a letter right inside their medicine cabinet.

Except he's dead in the other room.

After picking up the letter, and taking his stupid meds, Stan goes back to the bedroom to double-check that the corpse hasn't managed to go anywhere in the last ten minutes.

Nope. Still there.

Okay.... Well, might as well read it then?

He closes the bedroom door first and goes about straightening up the million open doors and all the unnecessary lights left on this whole time, settling against one of the kitchen counters and tearing the envelope open with his pocket knife.

'To Stanley,

If you are reading this letter then you must be in the throes of panic at the moment. As I know well, it’s not very fun to have a brother who continues to terrify you with health scares. I have tried discussing this with you several times, but clearly, you don't fully understand.

Perhaps this spook, over a supposed 'blocked blood vessel', will set the record straight. I do not find your jokes about 'keeling over' to be amusing. Waking me up purposefully drooping one half of your body also isn't funny.

It is for these many reasons I've devised a plan to scare you, briefly. The serum I gave myself to cause the presentation of symptoms should have no permanent or ill health effects. However, it does eventually result in a loss of consciousness, so you will need to administer the antidote.

It is tapped to the roof of our fridge and kept at the appropriate cool temperature until it is ready to be used, with the dosage already measured out in a previously prepared needle. Any vein will do, though it may take some time to circulate and take-"

Stanley doesn't bother finishing the stupid list of instructions Ford may have left him filling out the rest of the letter. In fact, he can't even bring himself to be mad right this second about Ford torturing him like this.

He's alive. That's all that matters.

It’s a rush of slamming open doors, making a mess of the top shelf of the fridge, before Stan is able to find the supposed needle right where the letter said it would be. Back to the bedroom he yanks on the light, tearing off the blanket.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it-"

Or at least he hopes this is real and not some hallucination caused by grief. Seems a little too good to be true, but he'd be willing to gamble on giving Ford sulfuric acid if he left a note saying so right about now.

Sure enough, by the time Stanley is able to yank Ford's closer sleeve up he can see a big X drawn with a sharpie over the vein along the interior of the arm where you'd have blood taken. Or shoot up heroin.

How long does he have to give the antidote? Could it be too late? That letter was probably supposed to be opened hours ago.

Whatever.

No time like the present.

He's done this plenty of times on himself, so it’s not hard.

Using one of Ford's ties out of the closet (a ridiculous thing to bring on a boat) he's able to create a tourniquet without having to go back to the bathroom.

The cap gets removed with his teeth and once the vein is visible, he carefully presses the needle in under the skin before pushing down the plunger and injecting whatever the weird black medication is.

Only after putting the needle aside does he run off to get dressings and gauze to patch up the injection sight and stop the bleeding. The same amount you'd expect from a live body.

A weird sense of euphoria takes hold in the time it takes to secure the gauze over the injection site with some medical tape.

And a little bit of hope.

Rightfully, he should be beyond pissed. What the hell was Ford thinking in the first place? Okay, yeah. They suck at talking, and he hadn't been the most open to Ford's previous complaints about his 'death jokes' and such.

Dark humor. But he hadn't expected Ford to do something this extreme in retaliation.

Talk about a prank war getting out of hand.

This is worse than when they got into a closet territory war in high school and it had ended with them both getting yelled at, and grounded, when some itching powder accidentally ended up in the wrong laundry.

Later he can be upset, but right now Ford will probably be waking up in enough pain over his own stupid choices. Being given CPR is a rather violent experience, his chest is going to hurt considerably for a long while.

That's revenge enough, and-

Okay, maybe you could consider this lesson learned.

Stanley is left to wait, with bated breath, for Ford to wake up.

It's pretty safe for Ford to say that this whole experience turned out to be a lot more traumatizing than it should have been.

Maybe he was a bit of a dick, planning on scaring Stanley a little, but that's all. Just a tiny scare to get his brother to stop being so-

Difficult, let's go with that.

Pain in the ass would be more accurate

Regardless, absolutely nothing had gone to plan and it had very nearly ended in the worst possible way. Him dead, and Stanley heart broken.

What was supposed to happen was pretty simple.

Starting with sending the text, which Stanley would get above deck. Meanwhile, below deck, Ford would cast the spell meant to slow his pulse to an unsteady rate on top of accelerating his breathing. Mimicking something close to a heart attack.

Just for a little scare, with no real consequences.

Then Stanley would come downstairs, freak out, but follow the procedure.

Which is when he would have found the letter, stopping the whole scene before everything got so out of hand. Easy.

But, no.

The text hadn't gone through, because their signal was spotty at best out here.

No problem, because the spell does technically leave a window before putting you into stasis.

Or, it’s supposed to.

Thirty-two and a half seconds isn't nearly enough time to do anything useful, as Ford found out the hard way.

The results were him being left waiting on the floor for Stanley to find him and being left fully aware of every second without being able to do anything to stop it.

Having chest compressions done when your heart is fine, just old, is not fun. Very not fun. One of the more painful experiences he can admit to participating in.

This whole thing, in fact, is up there with one of the top five worst moments in his life.

All because Stanley wouldn't listen!

No, it's because you’re an idiot who seems to only know how to hurt your own brother-

Shut up!

That's not helping anything.

The slow-to-restart heart rate, which never fully stopped, is more painful because of the time left lying around. Not a surprising response to his apparent death, but-

Two broken ribs, and some pretty bad bruising, but otherwise physically he'll be fine.

Just as soon as every vein stops burning from the antidote.

Truly that's a just punishment for the time he's left waiting after feeling the injection up until he's able to breathe and move again.

There is a lot that he could unpack here, but that would involve facing everything that he just caused. Which is terrible.

Better to focus on the one damn good thing to come out of this whole mess.

Stanley loves him.

Not only in the 'brotherly love' kind of way, but it certainly sounded like it had been implied romantically, hadn't it?

The spell or the cold he'd been experiencing couldn't have made up a hallucination like that.

It's logical if you think about it.

Stanley was under the impression he was dead, so why not own up to all kinds of gross and sappy crap? Taking time to mourn everything that was, could have, and is.

Brother, best friend, and-

Lover is a rather big leap to make from some simple implications on their own, but-

Was it two or three hours of straight-up cuddling and holding hands?

That might be as much evidence as Stanley would ever willingly provide without being physically tortured out of it.

Knowing that his own feelings are returned is actually worse than being trapped inside your own skin, because what the hell is he supposed to do with this information?

If they can't talk about Stanley no longer making jokes, how is he supposed to bring this up in a way that doesn't make his brother jump off the boat to drown?

Ford can't help but let out a quiet pained groan with the first gasp of air, taking away the option of saying something first thing.

It's better than screaming, which is what he feels like doing from the pain.

Not the first time an experiment resulted in such poor results, it'll be fine.

"Stanley," is the first thing Ford forces himself to say just as soon as it’s not going to come out sounding too pained. As if either of them needs to feel worse at the moment.

Stan hadn't so much as gotten up off the bed after dressing the injection. He brought up a hand to steady Ford when he tried to sit up too fast. "Woah, take it easy there, Sixer. The world's not going anywhere."

Now is not the time for jokes, Stanley. This isn't funny.

His brother’s ability to compartmentalize traumatic events and the emotions associated with them is astounding. Must be a shared trait.

Trying to talk is like swallowing tacks but he managed to make a motion towards the water bottle they kept hanging from a hook above the bedside table halfway between their bunks.

Relief was about all Stanley could feel getting up only enough to grab the water bottle for Ford before settling back next to him on the bed.

He's still cold, but very much alive.

It's visible in the tense set of Ford's shoulders when he's awake, the crease and possibly only wrinkle on his whole stupid perfect face between his brow from worrying or fretting over something, and the strong grasp around the bottle when taking a drink.

It's almost enough to make him cry again, except Ford is awake now, so he keeps a better lid on those feelings by shoving them back in a closet. Hugging Ford as soon as he's had a drink also allows for a good expression of his worries while actively hiding any stupid emotions (or tears) his face could be doing against his will.

No matter how much it physically hurts (maybe at least one of those ribs is broken, rather than cracked) Ford wholeheatedly returns it while trying to lubricate his mouth and throat enough to say something, anything, useful.

"Did it work at least? Do you understand now how physically upsetting it is to have you faking health scares? That pure terror is what I feel every single time, regardless of if you’re kidding. It's not funny." His voice is still ruined and dry with an edge of ache, but audible.

Stan lets out a dry chuckle, but it's forced and tight. "Yeah, yeah. Alright, you got me. But for the record, I knew it was a sham. I could smell it from a mile away!"

Both eyes are also a little dry from the extensive time spent open up until Stan closed them, which gives a good excuse for why he blinks at Stan like an idiot.

What, does he think I'm stupid?

Sure, Stanley seemed fooled for a while, but the last several hours of panic and grieving-

He doesn't know.

Oh.

Well, that's. A perfectly rational assumption given that's what the letter said, the spell was supposed to end in unconsciousness in a form of slowed metabolism and heart rate in a form of intense hibernation.

"I was awake." The reaction is immediate feeling the hand on either shoulder tighten momentarily with several emotions passing over Stanley's face too fast to read.

Panic is all he catches before its smothered with the rest.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well, that is almost worse than Ford being dead, because what the hell is he supposed to do now?

They're three hours from port, without anyone around, and no internet connection.

Ford could easily kill him and no one would ever know the difference.

Because that is certainly what's about to happen. He knows, he heard, he saw for fucks sake.

If it wasn't for the physical and literal beating Ford would have already had him in a headlock on the floor.

Watching Stanley physically, and not so subtly, recoil is heartwrenching and Ford won't stand for seeing any more pain on his brother’s face.

There has been enough of that in one lifetime, and tonight.

"Hey, I'm not upset." He has to physically stop Stanley from getting up off the bed by grabbing one shoulder and the closer hand tightly, pulling him back to sit again.

This might be the absolute most embarrassing moment of his whole life.

Worse than the teasing they got as a pair over Ford's kissing bot in high school, which previously held the top spot.

Maybe I should just throw myself overboard to get away from this conversation.

Sure, I'm not dead, but living with 'being let down easy' and then everything spiraling into the most awkward friend zone of all time is much worse.

Death would be kinder.

Stan's whole face flushes bright red but otherwise his expression remains mostly neutral and steeled waiting for whatever comes next. Though its still tempting to run.

Very, very tempting.

This is terrifying, but not nearly as scary as thinking Stanley was going to do something drastic while left to his own devices. In comparison, this is easy.

If you ignore the fact nothing has ever been easy for them.

"I'm, you could say that- I understand." What the fuck was that? He tries again, pushing on because that didn't make any sense. "I mean, I've visited more dimensions then I can count, I'm certainly not- I've grown out of my own reservations, so you could say. But, obviously, I never thought..." He does another lame motion with their linked hands, hoping Stan will read his mind and end this painful moment.

Okay, now this is definitely a hallucination triggered by some sort of mental lapse or stroke.

Ford being dead absolutely did get to him.

Enough to make up a whole letter and shoot up a corpse with some random chemical and now some sick hallucination.

That seems more likely than what Ford is trying to imply or suggest.

But the hand in his, with six fingers enveloping Stan's five, certainly feels real.

And there is the small, helpful, argument-nagging details coming from the back of his head that Ford never actually pissed himself or anything like most dead people do.

Stanley must have picked up the habit of laughing when he's nervous over the last several decades because, from Ford's perspective, nothing about this conversation is funny.

It's very serious and raw, so why the hell is he laughing so hard?

At least he isn't pulling away. That's good?

"For fucks sake, Stanley, can you take anything seriously for one whole minute? Why the hell do I even fancy you? You’re an ass!"

"Fancy me, what are you, a British nark?" Jesus, Stanley can barely breathe trying to calm down but doesn't let Ford pull his hand away an inch.

"I'm going to kill you, just as soon as I can breathe without my whole chest convulsing, I'm going to-"

"Oh, I'll show you being unable to breathe alright." He does not know where the boldness comes from exactly, probably the high from the recent near-death experience, but either way he snatches Ford by the shoulder with his free hand to pull him over into a proper kiss.

He ignores how it tastes of stale water and snot.

[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.