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emphistic · 3 months ago

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Cheek to Cheek

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“I think I know a way to make this evening more exciting,” a cool voice cut you off midway. “Mind if we join you?”

You knew that voice. When you turned around, you were met with the face of. . .

“Eileen?”

You weren’t expecting to meet your friend here, but it looked like she also had company herself. Standing behind her was a man you had never seen before; his copper-colored hair tousled, eyes darting all over the place, and hands fidgeting like crazy. You would’ve assumed he was Eileen’s boyfriend, but on second thought, he was the complete opposite of her type.

Before you could get out another word, Eileen turned her full attention on your boyfriend. “Hi, I’m Eileen. Eileen Mifune. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

The blonde spoke with a strangely smooth voice you had never heard her use, even after having been friends for a little over three years. She was always an overly serious, elegantly sharp woman, but right now, it sounded as if she was flirting, or even trying to seduce your boyfriend. The idea wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounds, if you had to be completely honest.

Sukuna turned to face your friend with an indifferent expression on his face. “No, we haven’t.”

Surprised by his curt reply, Eileen looked as if she was waiting for Sukuna to give his name in introduction, but it never came.

For some reason, the tension in the room was slowly rising. And, since you were the mutual friend, you thought it only right if you introduced everyone to each other. “Eileen, this is Sukuna, my friend—boyfriend,” you let out a cough to disguise your slip up. “And, well, Sukuna, you already know her name. But, uhm, shouldn’t you introduce us to—?”

“Oh, him?” Eileen turned around, jutting a thumb at the man behind her. “He’s my cousin, just in case you were getting any other ideas. If he wasn’t, he definitely wouldn’t be my type, F.Y.I. But,” Eileen’s voice took an excessively sweet tone as she turned back to Sukuna, “I know someone who is.”

Eileen placed a hand on Sukuna’s arm and he immediately responded with a grimace, shrugging her off. Your friend had been a natural born flirt from the start; this behavior wasn’t unusual for her. But that didn’t mean it was okay; Sukuna was technically your boyfriend. Fake or not. And besides, it’s not like she knew your guys’ arrangement.

Even after getting blatantly rejected, Eileen brushed it off with a soft laugh, as if she wasn’t affected. And, without missing a beat, she sat herself down at your and Sukuna’s table. To be more specific, she chose to sit right beside Sukuna, who appeared more annoyed than anything.

When Eileen noticed her cousin was still awkwardly standing by, she couldn’t help the scowl that made its way onto her face. “Well? Are you just going to stand there like a stranger?”

The “stranger” decided to sit down, though reluctantly, and ignored all eye contact as he did so. Coincidentally, he chose the seat right next to you. And, after looking at him for a bit, he really looked like he didn’t want to be there, but he had no choice.

Sukuna called the waiter for another round of drinks, and from there, the conversation gradually began to pick up again. Sukuna was a naturally charismatic guy, and though he clearly didn’t like the extra company, he did like having an excuse to talk about himself.

While Sukuna was doing that, you turned to the copper-haired man beside you. “Hey, uhm, you never told us your name.” You quickly introduced yourself as Eileen’s friend, and he decided to do the same.

“Naoki. Eileen already told you, but, yeah, we’re cousins.”

You could see a faint smile forming on Naoki’s lips as he continued on. “That’s a nice name, Naoki. So, how come you and Eileen are here tonight? Out for drinks?”

“Ah, not really. Eileen and I were just walking down the street, and she spotted you through the window. Told me she hadn’t seen you in weeks and wanted to say ‘hi’.”

You couldn’t help but note that Eileen never actually said ‘hi’ to you, or any sort of greeting in general. Since entering the bar, she had been totally ignoring you except for a few short responses here and there, but that was it. The blonde had been completely immersed in conversation with Sukuna ever since, she seemed to laugh at every little thing he said or did.

Though it was a little odd, you didn’t want to start up an argument over it. So you acted as if nothing was amiss, and smiled at Naoki. “I haven’t seen you around here before, do you live far?”

Naoki laughed, “No, just a visitor. I’ll only be here for a week or so. I’ve been checking out possible apartments and homes, y’know. Looking for a place to stay and all that.”

As he spoke, Naoki slowly but surely seemed to gain confidence. Compared to how he was when you first noticed him, you would’ve mistaken him for two different people.

“Oh! So Eileen’s been showing you around the city? That’s nice of her.”

In reply, Naoki nodded. “Say, was I hearing you right when you introduced Sukuna as your . . . boyfriend?” The tips of his ears started to redden as he asked his question, and you couldn’t help but also flush a bit at how unexpected it was.

“. . .That’s right.”

Naoki’s smile seemed to drop after hearing your confirmation, but he composed himself so quickly afterwards that you almost missed it.

There was an awkwardness between you and Naoki for a few moments, but after you changed the subject, the rest of the evening went by pretty fast. You gained a new friend, and Sukuna got to boast all night long. But, while you were busy getting to know Naoki, you missed the way Sukuna’s stare was practically burning two holes in the back of your head.

Although Eileen and him did share some things in common, and their conversation wasn’t as boring as he thought it would be, Sukuna still thought that she was probably the most annoying woman he ever had to sit next to.

Her hand brushed his so many times that he wanted to flip the table over. Every time she tried to subtly scooch closer to him, Sukuna moved backwards. It happened so frequently, that by the end of night, Sukuna was practically sitting on top of you. And if it meant he would be far away from Eileen, you best believe he would sit on you.

And if that wasn’t enough, Sukuna thought Naoki was just as bad (even though they never said even a word to each other). He could tell, from the moment he noticed the copper-haired guy, that Naoki was gonna be nothing but trouble for him. Sukuna knew better than anyone that the reason Naoki was so fidgety was probably because he was sitting next to you.

He’s definitely never touched a woman in his life, Sukuna thought. Was that mean of him to think? Yes. But this is Sukuna we’re talking about, what did you expect?

“So, what did you think of Eileen yesterday?” you asked, plopping yourself down beside Sukuna on the couch.

“She might be the second bane of my existence.” Sukuna passed you the remote.

“Second?” You raised a brow.

Sukuna wrapped an arm around the back of the couch, turning to you with an expressionless face. “You’re the first.”

You scoffed, “Excuse me?”

“Pfft—what did you expect? I mean, I generously pass you the remote and you have the audacity to turn on some fuckass romance movie.”

You gasped, unable to believe your ears. “Pride and Prejudice (2005) is not some fuckass romance movie. You take that back right now.”

“It’s about some stupid girl and some rich guy. It can not be as good as you think it is.”

“You haven’t read or watched it! How would you know?”

Sukuna shrugged. “Whatever. What’s it actually about, then, Miss Know-it-all?”

You seriously could not believe this guy, but before you knew it, you were rambling on with abandon.

“It’s a love story between two people of completely opposite status who have to overcome their prejudices and pride. Elizabeth comes from a less fortunate family than Mr. Darcy, and, because of that, a lot of problems ensue.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “Just ‘cause she’s poor?”

“Yeah, Mr. Darcy’s pretty prideful, huh,” you laughed, referencing the title.

“Sounds like a dick.”

“He’s hot, though, so it kind of makes up for it.”

Shaking his head, Sukuna said, “You have no self respect.”

“Joking, joking. But, ah, yeah. He is kind of a dick. I mean, he interferes with his best friend’s love life. Even when Mr. Bingley was at the peak of his relationship with Jane, Darcy decided to butt in because he felt that Jane didn’t return Bingley’s affection.”

You subconsciously fidgeted with the ends of the blanket draped over your body as you explained the plot of the movie which had yet to unpause.

“Anyways, Darcy convinces Bingley to leave Hertfordshire, and that kind of sends Jane into a spiral.”

“So, she’s depressed. Because of some man who’s basically breaking up with her?”

“Sukuna, you’re a man.”

“. . .”

“Okay, uhm. Where did I leave off? Oh, right. So Elizabeth basically gets invited by her aunt to go on this Northern tour or something, I forgot what it was exactly, but, something like that. One of their “sightseeing destinations” was Pemberley, which is Mr. Darcy’s estate.”

Sukuna leaned closer to you, clearly invested in the story. “Oh shit.”

“I know right? So, originally, Mr. Darcy wasn’t supposed to be at home while Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle were there; he was taking care of business, I believe? But then, he was; he arrived, I guess.”

“Oh shit.”

You nodded, continuing your story.

Putting aside the moments where Sukuna gave his two cents, you noticed he was actually giving you his undivided attention whilst you talked about some book he swore up and down was probably boring as shit. And, as a matter of fact, Sukuna was rarely this quiet. Maybe he just really likes drama, you thought. But you were wrong.

Because your eyes were focused on your lap the whole time you spoiled Pride and Prejudice, you didn’t notice the way Sukuna’s eyes were on you all the while. He found it cute the way you got a subtle twinkle in your eye whenever you talked of something you were passionate about. And the way you looked as if you were reminiscing about whatever it was that occupied your mind.

Yeah, Pride and Prejudice didn’t really tickle his fancy, but you did. So it worked out in the end. You got to ramble about an interest of yours, and Sukuna got a chance to admire his girlfriend with no interruption.

Bringing Sukuna out of his train of thought was your sudden and exaggerated groan. “Ugh, I think I skipped some parts while explaining.”

Sukuna shrugged, “I’ll just see it in the movie, then.”

The hours rolled past as the movie started, but you noticed, from the corner of your eye, that Sukuna was hardly paying any attention to the movie. Rather, he was staring at you. In fact, he didn’t even notice when you looked back at him.

Weird, you thought, we’re at the good part.

Ignoring how badly you wanted to keep watching Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth together, you paused the movie and turned to Sukuna. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Nothing?”

You cocked your head to the side, an expecting look on your face. “You’re a terrible liar . . . by the way. What’s on your mind?”

“. . .If we’re supposed to be a ‘successful couple’, we should probably kiss every now and then, right?”

Well, that was totally unexpected. You thought Sukuna was going to say something about how boring the movie was, how shit the actors were, but you couldn’t have been farther from the truth. For a minute, you were completely stunned, your cheeks warming, and your eyes widening ever so slightly.

Sukuna looked a bit flustered himself, as well. He avoided your eyes—but, not like you noticed; you were looking all over the place, too—and swallowed the lump in his throat, before turning back to stare at the TV and unpause the movie.

“Forget it,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like a sulky child that didn’t get what he wanted, it was cute.

You shook your head, getting out of your trance. And when you regained the ability to move, you quickly snatched the remote from Sukuna’s tight grip and paused the movie once more. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, you thought, will just have to wait.

“Babe, I said, ‘Forget it’.”

Unpause.

“Sukuna, no.”

Pause.

“Sukuna, yes.”

Unpause.

For some strange reason, all of a sudden, a battle of unpausing and pausing Pride and Prejudice (2005) began between you and Sukuna. Sure, you had fought for the remote with your siblings when you were a kid, but this was totally different. Back then, you were fighting to pick the movie. Now, you were fighting to talk about kissing your best friend. While Sukuna was fighting to not talk about kissing his best friend.

It was really silly.

You chased a remote-wielding Sukuna around the apartment for approximately ten minutes before you finally gave up, and stopped to catch your breath. Maybe you shouldn’t have underestimated someone who used to run track in high school, you mentally facepalmed.

“Okay, okay, let’s call a truce,” you raised your hands in surrender. “I—” you wheezed, “I didn’t know you were so invested in Pride and Prejudice that you would run off just to have the movie unpaused.”

Sukuna eyed you warily, still gripping the remote in his hand as if his life depended on it. “Is that supposed to be your attempt at a joke?”

You frowned, “You’re hurting my feelings.”

To your surprise, Sukuna actually looked like he was about to apologize. He opened and closed his mouth, and, overall, seemed like a fish out of water. Geez, he must be taking the boyfriend role very seriously.

Seizing your one in a million chance, you tackled Sukuna down onto the kitchen floor, straddling his thighs, and successfully snatched the remote from his hand. All in the blink of an eye.

“You should never let your guard down, ‘Kuna,” you laughed.

Sukuna, looking unamused, merely scoffed. “I was actually being considerate of your feelings, and you used that to your advantage? What a wicked woman you are.”

“It takes one to know one.”

“Oh,” Sukuna raised a brow, “so I’m a woman, now?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Sukuna shrugged.

“Okay, anyway. We have to talk about it. I mean,” you paused, heat rising to your cheeks, “I’ve been thinking about it, too, y’know. Couples kiss, and—and we’re a couple. If I’m gonna lift this curse, we’re gonna have to sell this act, Sukuna.”

Sukuna covered his eyes with his hand, stifling a laugh as the corners of his mouth tugged into a grin. “Whatever you say, silly girl.”

“Uhm, so, how are we going to do this, exactly?”

“Do what?”

“. . .Kiss. . .”

Sukuna stared back at you. “Who said we were kissing?”

“I mean, we’ve gotta fool these dating gods so they can, like, rid me of this godforsaken curse. And, if we’re a couple, we’re gonna have to kiss like one.”

“So you’re suggesting we . . . ‘practice’?”

“Well, yeah. . . Practice makes perfect.” You folded your hands on your lap, eyes darting around the room endlessly.

A pregnant pause ensued, where neither you nor Sukuna wanted to be the next one to speak up. But, eventually, Sukuna sat up, and shifted you to a more comfortable position sitting on his lap.

“Relax, sweetheart. You’re so tense.”

You bit your lip, whisper-shouting, “How am I supposed to relax?”

“Pfft. It’s almost as if there’s a rock sitting on top of me,” joked Sukuna.

“Okay, if you’re just here to make fun of me, then you can leave—mmph!”

Sukuna grabbed your face in his hands and cut you off with a kiss that managed to make you feel like jelly in his grasp, despite how chaste it was. Yet, you couldn’t help the goofy expression that formed on your face soon afterwards.

“Is that it?” you teased, grinning ear to ear.

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “The fuck is your—”

Now was your turn to cut Sukuna off with another kiss, more ardent than the last. You gripped the collar of his hoodie and pulled his face closer to yours, your noses knocking into each other as you two clumsily locked lips for what felt like hours.

“Simply Platonic Kissing Practice” is what you called this in your head despite the obvious sensation of Sukuna deepening the kiss ever so slightly. You felt a warm, buzzy feeling inside, as if you had just drank some liquor. All feeling was increased immensely, and every time Sukuna’s hands traveled from the back of your neck, to gripping your chin, to traveling down the small of your back, you couldn’t help pressing your body impossibly closer to his.

But yes, this was still “Simply Platonic Kissing Practice” between friends, nevertheless. And, it didn’t matter if it was sloppy, or messy, there would always be other opportunities for you two to get better, to learn each other’s patterns, habits, sweet spots. But those opportunities simply weren’t available right now. Because. . .

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

Sukuna didn’t pull away right after he heard the buzzing of a phone, but his grip on your hips did loosen just a little. You didn’t notice it; it was a miniscule difference; but it happened.

Slightly annoyed, you let go of Sukuna’s hoodie, and wiped your mouth with the back of your palm as you straightened your back. “Is that mine?”

Sukuna swallowed. “Yours.”

You begrudgingly got up from your position on the floor, and huffed as you walked around the apartment, looking for your phone. “It better not be work,” you muttered.

You answered just before the last ring sounded, and forced out a clearly irritated greeting. “Hello?”

A familiar voice came from the other line.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff

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iacon-daily · 5 months ago

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Okay you know what, here’s what every major MTMTE character smells like (that I can think of, and not counting villains atm)

Rodimus - Burnt Orange Crush soda

Thunderclash - Think of any cologne. That’s what he smells like.

Drift - Vinegar covered up with so much incense that it gives you a headache

Ultra Magnus - Pear with hints of “”unscented”” lotion chemicals

Megatron - Gunpowder or lemongrass. I can’t decide.

Ravage - That new toy smell and cardboard

Ratchet - Very light juniper, burnt rubber, and WD-40

First Aid - Sour pink lemonade (On the job, just smells like lemon cleaner)

Velocity - Passionfruit with a bit of mango

Ambulon - Root beer or Dr. Pepper

Chromedome - Orange cleaner

Perceptor - The inside of an empty freezer besides ice cubes

Brainstorm - Sour green apple

Nautica - Berries and cream

Riptide - Silicone

Red Alert - Pine Sol

Blaster - Faint tootsie-Roll

Trailcutter - Fireball whisky

Rewind - Copper and maraschino cherries

Pipes - Vintage toy store / comic book store

Skids - Bratwurst with copious toppings

Anode and Lug - Distant smoke and wet rocks

Roller - Fruit punch caprisun

Cyclonus - Mothballs and cyprus

Tailgate - Overly sweet, stale, strawberry marshmallows

Whirl - Gunpowder and margaritas

Swerve - Gasoline

Ten - Alcohol markers being applied to paper

Nightbeat - Black coffee with hints of mocha

Sunstreaker - Boys locker room, AXE smell included

Bob - Basil

Fortress Maximus - Excessively strong catnip and herbs

Rung - Old. Just. Old. Musty.

Misfire - Every Mountain Dew flavor combined

Fulcrum - Bike shop

Krok - You know that smell when you go to a friend’s place? It’s that.

Crankcase - Smoke and rain

Spinister - Artificial lavender

Grimlock - Hot cooking oil

Nickel - Leather

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #tf mtmte #lost light #not going to be tagging everybody #I put way too much effort into this #rodimus #drift #ratchet #cyclonus #whirl #rung #misfire #krok #fulcrum #swerve

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howtofightwrite · 4 months ago

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I’m not sure if this is off topic for your blog, but out of fear for my search history and the police, I wanted to ask if there is a means of someone producing a homemade bomb or something throwable that generates high levels of heat?

For context, the character I am writing is a lab intern that is secretly studying how to get rid of a parasite (think of something like Venom/Carnage) that can only be injured/destroyed with high levels of heat.

Two thoughts come to mind immediately, thermite and white phosphorous. So, in both cases, we're going to be setting metals on fire.

Thermite is more of a process than a specific chemical composition, which means getting the materials to make thermite explosives isn't that challenging. It involves getting a highly reactive metal, and then getting it to oxidize aggressively. Turns out, if you force aluminum to rust on the spot, it gets a bit warm. In some cases (such as with copper) the reaction is energetic enough to cause molten metal to splatter.

Because we're talking about different chemical mixtures, it's a bit hard to predict the exact tempreture, but most thermite reactions (at least, all of the ones I've ever looked up) will burn in excess of 2000K (3000F.)

Rigging thermite into a more portable form isn't that complicated, and crude pipe bomb-like containers should get the job done. Though, this would likely cause further problems.

The second option is white phosphorous. This burns at a lower temperature (around 800C), but this stuff ignites on contact with oxygen. Something you might be able to find in the air you're breathing. White phosphorous is a bit more tightly controlled, and is used in a wide variety of munitions. (In theory, it's used for tracers, as the phosphorous will ignite and glow while the round is traveling to its destination.) Because it will continue to burn in the wound, white phosphorous wounds are particularly horrific (as you'll see, if you ever visit the Wikipedia page.) However, it is already available as a payload for most military small arms cartridges.

A third option is classic napalm. This stuff tends to burn north of 800C. The actual material is a bit more disturbing than you might realize. Nalpalm isn't just a burning liquid, it's more like a burning goop, that sticks to whatever it hits... and continues to burn. Imagine a Vaseline sprayer (except, the Vaseline is ignited just after it leaves the nozzle.) Producing napalm in a modern chemlab, with a reasonable stockpile of ingredients shouldn't be too difficult, though it's unlikely the stockroom would have enough of the relevant chemicals to make much of the stuff. (Nalpalm flamethrowers go through a lot of fuel, so making the stuff on site might not be a great option.)

Using any of these methods will get a lot of attention on your character. While we tend to overestimate just how much casual searches for this kind of information are likely to land you on a watch list (this used to be more true than it is today), actually using them in the field will get an anti-terrorism taskforce crawling down around your character's ears. (Especially if they're making thermite loaded pipe bombs.)

Now, here's the funny thing about all of this: It's unnecessary.

You've got a monster that is vulnerable to flames. The simplest, and cheapest solution, is probably to go buy one of those orange, plastic, flare guns. This'll set you back less than $40 dollars (plus the cost of the included flares.) Then load up on extra flares, (at this moment, they're around $10 per flare.) (If you already have a 12 gauge shotgun, you can skip the flare gun entirely, and just buy 12ga flare shells.)

Those flares burn at similar temperatures to white phosphorous rounds, and are much, much, less regulated. (Though, if you're wandering out and buying up hundreds of flare shell rounds, that's likely to raise a few eyebrows.) (This is also true of normal emergency flares, similar temperatures, and they burn for much longer.)

This is without even thinking about Dragon's Breath shells, which will burn in the range of some of the hotter thermite reaction ranges. (To be honest, it probably is a thermite reaction, but I'd need to look into them a bit more to verify that.)

So, ultimately, the problem for a monster vulnerable to heat is that there are a lot of ways to throw burning metal at it, and let that cook it for you.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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houserautha · 6 months ago

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These Destined Ends

Part Fifteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: description of injuries/wounds, blood, reader and Feyd go through some shit, I take Dune lore/canon and reality into my own hands

A/N: well you don’t know me, but I know you/and I’ve got a message to give to you

Waves crash on the shore of Caladan.

The silhouette approaches you from the east, cowl billowing in the breeze off the sea. At first you think it must be your father but the figure is much too young, though bearing striking resemblance to Leto. He stops a few feet from you, dressed in a stillsuit. You search his face — handsome, angular, familiar to you in a way that you can't quite explain. Dark curls hang over blue-on-blue eyes that speak of plenty of time on Arrakis.

His mouth is moving, talking to you, but you can't understand anything he's saying. You try to get closer but every step you take he seems to take two backwards, just barely out of reach.

"Who are you?" You plead with him.

The boy regards you carefully. In a flash of movement he's upon you, and it's then that you can finally hear him, yelling —

"Wake up."

When you rouse, your fingers clench reflexively, sand slipping through them. But it is not the familiar sand of Caladan where you had been. No, this sand is coarse and fine and burns you where it comes in contact with your skin. Your mouth is dry, sand gritting between your teeth, mingling with the copper taste of blood. The discomfort becomes too much to bear and you do your best to draw yourself into a sitting position.

Instantly you feel faint, your mind swimming with pain and confusion. There's a deep rumbling beneath you. It takes only a moment for you to gather enough of your senses to determine its cause — you'd seen it before, felt it. Leto took you out on a thopter before and you rescued men from becoming sandworm food.

The horrible image of the worm's massive jaws closing in on the harvest machine flashes through your mind. Panic seizes you, followed by a flood of memories.

The dinner party. The thopter crash.

Feyd.

You scramble, feet trying to find purchase in the sand. Blood thoroughly wets the ground. It drips over your brow. A head injury, then, which explains the excess of blood and your muddled movements. Your body screams out in protest as you wheel in a circle, searching desperately for your husband. The last memory you had was him throwing himself over you as the thopter plummeted into the desert.

If you were still alive, it couldn't have been very long ago. The rumbling under your feet grows more intense, louder, and in the distance you can hear the shifting of sand over the high-pitched whine in your ears. You don't have much time.

A dozen yards from you, you spot the mangled body of the thopter. Was Feyd trapped beneath it? Falling and sliding, you clamor over to the crash site and begin sifting through the rubble. One side of the thopter is engulfed in flames and you're forced to stay away from it. "Feyd! Feyd!"

You've about given up hope when you notice a slender white hand poking out from the wrecked machine. Feyd lays beneath a fallen beam of metal, face even paler than usual and blood dribbling from his nose. "You're-You're alive," he breathes.

You open your mouth to reply but find your throat too dry to form words. Tears spring to your eyes. Desperately you push on the beam but the best you can do is shift it slightly, provoking a moan of pain from Feyd. His lids flutter.

"Go," he orders you weakly.

You vehemently shake your head. I'm not leaving you. Not again.

Blood spurts from your fingers as you claw at the metal, nails ripping from their beds. You're frenzied in your movements, the rumbling turning into a dull groaning sound. The crash invited the sandworm to your location, and you had to free Feyd before it came upon you both.

You scan your surroundings. Plucking a piece of warped metal from the wreckage, you slide it under the bar trapping Feyd and push with all of your might — like a fulcrum, one side of the bar lifts ever so slightly. Triumph surges through you but is quickly dashed. Feyd's torso is ripped from under one breast across his stomach and to the hip on the other side, a ghastly wound that's bubbling with ink-colored blood. There's no way he can move on his own.

You send a silent apology to Feyd as you're forced to lower the bar back down. The ringing in your ears has intensified but you can make out the word "Go" from his lips. Sweat coats your face, beneath your dress. You have to find someway to drag Feyd out of the wreckage while simultaneously lifting the bar that's fallen across him. Every second ticks by accompanied by the rattling of the incoming worm.

Using more strength than you should have, you heave a large portion of metal onto the end of your makeshift lever. It lifts again, but you know you have a limited amount of time before the weight of the beam sends it crashing back down.

You forgo any rationality as you grab Feyd's ankles and begin to drag him out, his face morphing into one of immense pain. His limp weight is even more difficult to pull than when he's conscious. Teeth gritting, muscles straining, you manage to yank him mostly free before the bar falls down — crunching on top of his arm.

Feyd howls out in pain.

Guilt fills you but you force it down, working to reset the lever so that you might finally free him. His black blood stains the sand as you slide your hands under his arms and begin to pull him back from the wreckage, summoning all of your strength in order to do so. There's no distance that seems far enough away from the crash, but you don't know how much further you can go.

The blood from the gash on your head drips onto Feyd's face. Exhaustion wears on you.

Then, without warning, the ground begins to give under you and Feyd slips from your grasp. You clamor to catch hold of him — snatching him by his maimed hand. A renewed burst of strength guides you into yanking him up and over the receding sand and several feet away. Shock paralyzes you as you watch the ginormous jaws of the worm open up and swallow the thopter whole, the entirety of the desert that you had only just seconds ago been occupying.

Ripples of aftershock course through the ground. You don't know if you can manage to pull Feyd any further. Does one worm inspire others to follow it?

The thought nags at you as your mind slips again into a state of unconsciousness, darkness enveloping your vision.

When you wake again, you find your body badly baked from the duel Arrakis suns. Every inch of your skin is red, inflamed, skin peeling in some places. Pain spirals through you.

You want to cry but the lack of water in your system has sufficiently dried you out. Your entire body, inside and out, feels like sandpaper.

Feyd lays next to you where you had dragged him, seemingly unconscious. Blood surrounds him. The sight of it seizes you with horror and you shakily lift a hand to test his pulse. It's faint, but it's there, as fragile as a hummingbird.

You know it's stupid to remove any clothing, but you can't think of any other option. The skin beneath your dress protests against the glare of the sun. How long had you been unconscious? How many days had passed? You lay out your tattered dress, adorn only in your sheer shift, and battle your rising nausea to roll Feyd onto it.

It's not easy to move him in your weakened state and it takes several attempts, but finally you deposit him beneath a sandy dune, offering a modicum of shade. It's a welcome reprieve from the suns, though the heat oppresses you from all sides. Thoroughly fatigued, you collapse onto the sand beside Feyd and nestle into his side.

His heart pounds softly beneath your ear.

Had it truly only been a short while ago that you were in the palace?

Trembling, you wipe sweat from your brow and press your fingers to Feyd's cracked, sunburnt lips and then your own.

At least, you think, if you die, you will die with him by your side.

It's impossible to discern reality from dreams. You vaguely remember fending off curious lizards and something resembling a small mouse. Giant birds sense you and Feyd's deteriorating health and circle, waiting to feast.

At one point a tanned, bearded face swims before your eyes, joined by several other similar looking faces. You think you remember them arguing and pointing fingers before finally lifting you onto a stretcher-type apparatus.

"Get...Feyd..." you mumble.

The third time you wake, your mind is much more clear. The blisters across your skin have settled somewhat and your throat no longer feels seared by the sun. You blink. Above your head is smooth rock, the air decidedly wet and damp. A foul odor pervades your nose.

"She's awake!" A feminine voices startles you, drawing your attention sideways. The room appears to be carved out of the rock, rounded and only a few feet in length. There's an opening in the cave that serves as a door, which promptly spits out a Fremen woman.

"Lady Y/N," she says, eyes bright. "Can you hear me?"

How did she know your name?

You test your voice, finding that it is usable, if not lilting and croaking. "Where is he? Where is Feyd-Rautha?"

The Fremen woman at your bedside frowns slightly. She takes your hand. "How do you feel?"

Your body stiffens and you jerk upright. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, saturated by years of etiquette lessons, you're aware that you must look deranged, wild. But you don't care. You grab the woman's shoulders.

"Where is Feyd? Where is he? Tell me he's alive."

The woman fends off your hands and pushes you back down onto the bed. "Lady Y/N, you must rest. You risk opening your stitches."

"Where is Feyd? Is he alive? I must see him this instance," you chatter, reeling with desperation. The woman is able to keep you seated in your weakened state, though you exert all of your strength into combating her.

"ENOUGH. LEAVE US."

The Voice pierces the space. The Fremen woman immediately releases you and disappears from your vision. A shadow drapes over you as a tall, slender figure swathed in chains and orange fabric arrives at your bedside. Now you really doubt your sanity — word-like runes are imprinted on her face, her skin pale despite the blue color of her eyes.

Eyes that you have seen before.

"Mother?" You weakly say. Perhaps this was just another dream, like the boy who greatly resembled your father. The heat had split open your skull like an egg and spilled out your mind like a runny yolk.

"Hello, Y/N." The woman removes her hood, revealing a cap of burnished hair. "I know you have a lot of questions. But you must lay down."

"You're alive? But —"

Jessica sits down beside you, a phantom, as regal and elegant as ever. "Yes. And so is Feyd-Rautha, thanks to you. He's very fragile."

"Can I see him?"

Her mouth quirks like she's torn between displeasure at this request and amusement. "We have him in a coma in order for his body to heal."

"We?"

"The Fremen," Jessica says with a wistful smile. "They found you and Stilgar recognized me in you. Otherwise they would've taken your water and disposed of Feyd-Rautha. It took quite a bit of convincing on my part for them to take him."

Your head pounds. "I-I don't understand. I thought Rabban killed everyone? How are you alive? Is Father alive?"

"No," Jessica says softly. There’s a trace of sadness beneath the surface of her cool demeanor. "I managed to escape. Bene Gesserits, as you know, as revered to the Fremen so my status was the only thing that kept me alive. As does yours as the mother of the Lisan al-Gaib."

A wave of numbness washes over you. "He...survived?"

"Ah, so you’re aware."

You close your eyes, throat bobbing. You don't know if you feel grateful or not. "Of course I am. I felt it there, that spark of life."

The one that Feyd placed in your womb. Even now, even as you had fought to ignore it before, you feel it nestled in your uterine lining, impossible to ignore. Your baby.

"It is a boy."

"I know," you tell her fiercely.

You might not be a Bene Gesserit but you already know the child better than you know yourself. Nausea rolls over you, though not from your tiny son. You had half of the hope that the crash would've snuffed out the life inside you. As much as your heart longs for him to thrive, you grieve over his burdened existence.

You can feel Jessica examining you closely, even though you keep your eyes shut as if doing so would block out the world. "It's still early," you say, though there's no doubt in your mind that your mother already knows.

"Yes."

"What happens next?"

In way of reply, Jessica presents you a small cup of water and a slate of what looks like dried meat. Spice dominates any other flavor but you gulp both down greedily, not realizing how hungry you actually were.

"Rest now," Jessica says, rising to her feet. Her hand goes to your abdomen. "You must heal for the sake of your son."

Disgust rears its head, ugly and twisted. You are just barely over a month pregnant and already your health is only for the sake of the baby, not yourself. Finally you have become the vessel that everyone has been waiting for. You blink back tears as your mother departs and, to your reluctance, slide back into a restless slumber.

Your healing is quick, most of it spent feigning sleep as several Fremen come to pray at your bedside. You practice walking on your blistered feet and gaining strength, all while coming to terms with your new life.

Jessica was alive and well. Your father was not. She had become something called a Sayyadina and held considerable sway over the Fremen. You did your best to acclimate to life in the sietch and the stares of the Fremen — both in reverence to you and in distrust.

All you cared about was seeing Feyd, however, but they refused you entrance to the room where they kept him. It outraged you when you discovered he was considered a prisoner, but Jessica addressed the matter calmly.

"He's a Harkonnen," she had reminded you, "their sworn enemy. You must speak to them to alleviate their fears."

And so you find yourself before the sietch, Fremen gathered below you. You waver slightly. They still gaze at you with obvious suspicion, despite whatever lies Jessica had been plying them with. They were right to be distrustful of you, though, a fact that you can not deny. The scar Rabban had inflicted upon them was not easy to be healed. Still, worry wears at the edges of your mind as Jessica indicates for you to start.

“I will not waste breath introducing myself to you,” you begin, “you know who I am and I understand your caution, your weariness of me and my husband. We were exiled by the Baron after an attempt on his life.”

A murmur rises at this, and even Jessica looks at you strangely. You hadn’t told her everything yet.

You forge ahead, “We may be Harkonnen in name but we seek vengeance against them, much as I suspect you do. Although we wear the face of your enemies I implore you to think of us as allies — we have the same wish to defeat the Harkonnens, the Emperor and his vindictive rule.” You pause to let your words sink in. Trying to gauge the reactions of the Fremen is almost impossible with their stoic nature, but you think that they might be more tolerant.

Jessica signals to you with her hands to keep going, a thorn of annoyance in your side. She coached you for the next part of your speech and you do not agree with it. But you are desperate to keep Feyd alive, and you, so you will spread the lies of the Bene Gesserits.

“I cannot express in words how grateful I am for your generosity and kindness in taking us in after the crash —” as you were trained by your mother, your hand flutters up to your lower abdomen, “—in my womb I carry the Messiah, the one destined to bring life back to Arrakis, and by keeping me safe you have also preserved the health of the Lisan al-Gaib.”

This time the mourners are much louder, almost protesting, and the crowd shifts. “It’s true? You are pregnant with the prophesied child?”

The man who comes forward looks familiar to you. You suspect he was one of the Fremen who found you in the desert. The way the others look to him makes you believe that he is some sort of representative, a leader. You regard him with as much conviction as you can muster.

“I am. The one the Bene Gesserits have promised to deliver Arrakis from its perpetual drought. My child, the child sired by Feyd-Rautha — as it was prophesied — will bring life back to Dune.”

Dune. The word carries an important weight to these people, the name for the planet from long ago. Jessica had told you to mention it, and clearly it had the effect that she wanted.

“The Holy Mother,” the man replies, tremulous. He drops to his knees. “Lisan al-Gaib!”

“Get up, Stilgar,” a feminine voice hisses. A woman parts from the crowd next, gazing at you with burning defiance. “How do we know this is true? That any of this is true?”

“You have good reason to doubt anything I say, Chani.”

Her expression twitches slightly but she does not reveal any other emotion. Jessica warned you that she might rebel against you — and now can use her predictable suspension against her.

“It means nothing that you know my name,” she challenges you. “We’re supposed to expect an unborn child to save us?”

You summon the same regality your mother imparts upon others, lifting your chin slightly. “I met your father, Kynes, and he spoke to me of his own plans to rebuild Arrakis. He was a great man. As you know, my father, too, was stolen from me by the Emperor and his puppet, the Baron.” You let your upper lip curl back in a sneer at this, then settle your features in determination. “Until my son grows to fulfill the prophecy, my husband and I will strive to join you in battle against our shared enemies.”

You had met Kynes, but he had not shared his plans with you, that was another imbedded lie told to you by Jessica. This, again, seemed to have the desired effect with the gathered crowd. The man, Stilgar, still gazes up at you with unabashed devotion and respect. Chani’s mouth screws up in anger but she does not grace you with a reply, choosing instead to slip back into the crowd.

Opening your mouth to continue, to sway the ones not entirely convinced by your facade, you promptly shut it at the interruption of a guttural yell that makes your stomach twist. Feyd.

The show was over. You all but jump from your elevated position, frantic. “That’s Feyd. Where is he? He’s in pain. Bring me to him.”

You’re ordering anyone you come in contact with, begging them to take you. He yells again and this time you take off, behest to your mother, who tries to chase after you. You follow the sounds of his yells as they turn from pain into fury, scrambling through the unfamiliar layout of the sietch. Sweat stands out on your brow from the concentrated effort of it all but finally you find him in a room similar to the one you had been in.

Several things stand out to you all at once, a dizzying kaleidoscope of information — Feyd stands in the center of the room, shirtless, a large bandage wrapped around his middle that’s blossoming with blood. He is more gaunt than you have ever seen him, cheekbones standing out in his face; his dark eyes possess an unholy anger.

That you recognize, and it relieves you slightly.

Feyd advances on one of the Fremen in the room. “Where is she? Where is my wife?”

The collateral damage of his tantrum is evident around the room: the bed knocked aside, what you assume to be medical equipment overturned. To their credit, the Fremen healers hold their own against him, regarding him brazenly.

“Feyd,” you breathe out, stepping into the room. It would not promote good relations between you and the Fremen if they attack one another.

His gaze dart to you and it’s as if a wire has been severed. His shoulders relax instantly, the anger leaving him as quickly as a candle being blown out by an invisible force. Feyd crosses the room in only a few strides before embracing you tightly, burying his face in your hair.

“I thought you dead,” he rasps.

Your heart clenches. “I wouldn’t leave you even in death,” you whisper fervently to him. “Nothing can keep me from you.”

Feyd withdraws slightly, searching your face as you might suddenly disappear, committing it all to memory. “Are you alright?” His fingers ghost over the wound on your forehead.

“I am,” you say. “Feyd, I have to tell you —”

“The prisoner, er,” the healer falters after a pointed glare from you, “the patient needs to lie back down. He was about to receive his dose of medicine when he woke from his coma. And his movement has reopened his wound.”

Feyd snarls at this. “I’m fine.”

“Listen to them,” you instruct him. The bandage around his middle has become saturated with blood. For his sake, you guide Feyd back to the bed. His gaze remains firmly on you as the Fremen work to change his bandage and disinfect the wound.

“Drink,” the Fremen say.

Your eyes widen slightly as he’s handed a vial of liquid. “What is that?”

“It is a small dosage of sandworm bile,” one of the healers says distractedly, “the Sayyadina said that it was necessary for him to survive. To balance out the poison in his system and to sustain his life.”

“The only thing worse than the taste are the…dreams it gives me,” Feyd says. His brows furrow. “That’s what woke me.”

“Dreams?” You sit down on the edge of the bed with him.

Feyd considers replying then but thinks better of it, glaring at the healers. “Leave me to be with my wife. You are done here.”

You want to reprimand him for treating the healers as such but they oblige anyway. He waits until they’re gone before he says, unbelievably fragile, “I dreamt of many things. Unspeakable things.”

“Like what?” You lace your fingers in his.

Pain spasms on his face. “I do not wish to impart them upon you.” All you have to do is read his expression to know that he’s imploring you not to press, so you don’t despite your concerns. “What did you wish to tell me, jewel?”

Panic flashes through you as quick and efficient as a knife between your ribs. It’s clear that Feyd still needs time to rest and recover, and if you tell him of the pregnancy then he would do exactly the opposite. You allow a small smile to grace your mouth instead, and ease him gently back down. “Just that I’m relieved you’re okay.”

Part 16

Tags:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen @psychoffin @lauratang @austinswhitewolf

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #fanfic #writing #these destined ends

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minkydinks · 1 year ago

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SandWings

It's finally time, people!!!

SandWings have been on the agenda for a while and I'm so happy to finally have them done. Here's as much info as I can give right now.

General

SandWings are medium-sized bipedal dragons that inhabit the desert, badlands, and other transitional biomes of Pyrrhia. They come in a variety of muted desert-y colors, but the most common include: Yellow, brown, red, dusty orange, and some black.

SandWings, unlike most other tribes, are built for running long distances rather than flying. While their wings are still perfectly good for travel, it's far more efficient to travel on foot, since they are the fastest tribe on the ground.

Their wings are smaller in comparison to their body than most other tribes as well, so they largely rely on desert thermals to keep them aloft. In places with minimal air currents, or with excess cold, SandWings have trouble gaining lift.

SandWings have light armoring along the scales of their back, although these armor-plated scales are not quite as tough as you would expect. These armored scales are thicker than the rest as to protect them from the harsh sun; although they do double as a nice additional protector from other SandWings' venomous tails. Otherwise, they're not great for protection.

Their armored appearance bears heavy resemblance to MudWings, and it is believed that MudWings and SandWings are quite closely related; albeit MudWings are much more on the heavyweight-end.

A SandWing's horns can be of any shape and array, although most commonly, SandWing horns protrude forward like bull horns; especially female SandWings, where they're used to vie for the throne. These horns are utilized at high-speed to ram into targets, and to duel with rival SandWings. Being hit by a SandWing horns-first at top-speed is near equivalent to being impaled by a motorcycle on the freeway.

SandWings are also adorned with frills along their head, neck, & chest. Male SandWings have additional frills along their lower jaw & lower torso.

These frills are continuously-growing, meaning that SandWings typically cut, style, & shave them at their discretion. Some SandWings prefer their frills long, like Princess Blister. Other SandWings cut them quite short to keep them out of the way during battles, like Six-Claws. Short frills became standard for SandWings during the War of SandWing Succession, as they became a distraction or a detriment otherwise. It was rare for a SandWing not to have short frills during the 20-year conflict, if they were battlers and not factory-workers.

SandWings are notorious for their potent venom. This venom is created and stored in sacs inside the barb at the tip of their tails.

While adult SandWings are perfectly capable of killing another dragon with a lethal dose, SandWing dragonets are far more deadly. Not strictly because of the venom, but because they lack the control needed to limit how much venom they inject. A sting from a newly-hatched SandWing is more likely to kill you than a sting from an adult, who can decide how much they want their sting to hurt.

Culture

SandWing culture is nothing mysterious; they have some of the most well-known festivals and armaments in the continent.

SandWings, having so much land to themselves, utilize much of it for factories and plants. They are one of the most technologically advanced tribes, with steampunk-esque mechanisms and structures throughout their kingdom.

Their metals of choice include copper, tin, and bronze; much of it mined within the desert itself. However, with the SkyWings' alliance, SandWings on Burn's side of the war have been able to import metals and other materials from the mountains to create stronger weapons & armors. Similarly, Blister & Blaze's forces have been able to do this as well, albeit with fewer materials overall and less armored dragons total.

Weapons and armory aren't the only things SandWings create with their metallurgy though. SandWings, having deep respect for their veterans and a cultural motto that you will always survive to fight, also create advanced prosthetics.

Prosthetic legs & arms are the most common, but you might also catch a SandWing with a prosthetic wing or tail. Some SandWings get horn replacements if their horns break off in battle and become less effective at fighting with.

Prosthetic wings are by far the rarest to find, since they are the most expensive to make & obtain, and don't actually perform quite as well as a normal wing. Most dragons with prosthetic wings use them to show off their worthiness in battle, how they survived and were heavily rewarded for their supreme skill and efforts.

Each prosthetic, weapon, and piece of armor comes branded with several labels: The name of the factory it was made in, the name & seal of the queen/princess it was made under, and its serial number. These labels would allow each rival sister to check their dragons' true alliance. SandWings with the seal of a rival sister would be killed, as it would then be apparent who they went to for their supplies.

After the end of the War of SandWing succession, the seals for Burn, Blister, and Blaze were retired in favor of Queen Thorn's own seal. As a result, armor with the royal SandWing sisters' seals were considered limited collector's items, and have increased dramatically in their value.

Prior to the death of Queen Oasis, these seals were not a generic serial label, but a gift from the Queen, almost like being knighted. To have armor with the Seal of the Queen was considered a great honor, but times have changed.

RGAAAAH I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE THIS If you have any questions or ideas you want me to fill in on, please shoot me an ask or something bc I would love to answer !!

#wof #wings of fire #wof tribe redesign #sandwing #dragon

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fruitcoops · 4 months ago

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Please, Please, Please

Cubs beach day in Nice and prompt C4: "Sunscreen" for day 2 of @oknutzy-week-2024! Characters belong to @lumosinlove (except Colette)!

“You,” Logan began, rubbing his hand faster until an aggressive thwap-thwap-thwap punctuated his words. “Are not going to be embarrassing me here, ouais?”

“Okay—Jesus, Lo—yes, alright, I got it.”

Logan pulled back and examined his handiwork. Functional. For now. Down the beach, Leo already looked half-asleep in the sun, and Finn’s longing glances toward him were not even slightly hidden. The breeze ushered a cloud further along; the sudden sunburst made Finn squint.

Logan huffed and squirted another dollop of sunscreen onto his palm, aiming for Finn’s shoulder this time.

“Oh my god, Tremz.”

“You’re going to burn!” he insisted. Finn squirmed away, but he had never been able to shake Logan. Not on the ice, and certainly not on a pebbled beach he’d been traversing since literal infancy. He smoothed out a stray arc of white over Finn’s spine and watched goosebumps flare on his arm. “What would you do without me, eh? Crisp? Like toast?”

“You sound like your grandmother.”

“If I bring back a lobster boyfriend, she’ll think I don’t know how to take care of you!” Logan wiped the excess on Finn’s waist and nodded, satisfied. “Bon.”

Finn quirked a grin at him. “Am I free to go?”

He was so sweet in the sun. So sparkly, copper and amber and caramel catching in his hair where the salt air had starched soft waves. Logan came close and pressed a kiss to each of his summer-warm cheeks. “I love your freckles too much to let them roast.”

“Hmm.” Finn turned his head slightly to the side, pushing his smile into Logan’s cheek. “Just my freckles?”

“And maybe you, a little,” he conceded.

Finn’s hands were pleasantly cool when he ran them along Logan’s sides in a long up-and-down. “A little?”

“Maybe a little more.”

“Enough to bring me home.”

Logan scrunched his nose at him. “I had to bring you, or the hot blond wouldn’t come.”

Finn slapped the sunscreen bottle from his hands with Logan’s favorite wordless sound of affronted disapproval—nearly a squawk, mostly a whine, almost his name. He snatched the bottle just before it hit the coarse sand and took off at a jog, dodging driftwood and clumps of drying seaweed.

Nice was beautiful in the summer. There was a reason he had brought Finn here, years ago. Finn hadn’t known a lick of French and Logan had hardly known what to do with himself watching the autumn reds of Harvard against a backdrop of blue and purple, but it was perfect. Still was. He knew just where to step to make the dock silent as he slowed and made his way to the far end, matching the steady rock of the current as it broke on the sand below.

“Bonjour.”

“ ‘Jour.”

A lazy smile spread over Leo’s lips when Logan knelt to straddle him, knees sinking into the soft towel they had brought down from his grandmother’s house. She utterly adored Leo, with his cherub curls and his good manners and (most delightfully) the ability to speak French. They hadn’t stopped chatting in nearly a week. Logan could listen to it forever.

Leo stretched, torso arching, arms overhead, ankles popping behind Logan—and relaxed, one wildflower-blue eye peering up. “You’ve got a halo,” he murmured. “Mon ange.”

Logan sighed through his nose and let his weight rest heavy across Leo’s waist. His breaths were measured with the comfort of a beach day. The sun had been kissing him golden since the first hot day in June; a week lounging on the coast of France practically made him glow.

“Le mien.” He drew a line down the center of Leo’s chest, where tiny freckles peeked through if you knew where to look. Mine.

Leo’s smile widened until his eyes crinkled. “You sound different here.”

“Mm?”

“C’est, um…” He raised a hand with great effort, tapping his fingers together like a crab claw. “Taffy. Smoother. Fancy.”

“You don’t sound like anybody here,” Logan laughed, relishing the judder of Leo’s belly beneath him. “But, my grandmère loves you anyway.”

“Yeah, she does,” Leo said, prodding him in the chest. “We talk all day long and she doesn’t say I sound funny once. You, on the other hand…”

“Ah! Un petit caneton! Ouais-ouais-ouais, coin-coin-coin-coin,” Logan mimicked.

Leo’s laughter nearly unseated him; he had hardly caught his breath when a shadow cooled Logan’s shoulder, and he leaned blindly into Finn’s thigh. “Are you being bullied into proper skincare, too?” Finn asked.

Leo tilted his head back with a hum. “We’re discussing how Madame Colette likes me better, thinks my French sounds exotique, and calls her only grandson a duck because he speaks like un canadien.”

Finn tapped the bill of Logan’s hat, knocking it off his head. “So you’re Frenching without me and not manhandling Leo into sunscreen? Preferential treatment, much?”

Logan blinked up at him with all the emptyheaded innocence he could muster. “C’est quoi? Je ne parle pas l’anglais, j’regrette.”

Finn’s lips pursed—his ears reddened. “He’s so sorry,” Leo translated before Finn could open his mouth. His hands slid up Logan’s thighs, high enough to edge on indecent but steady enough that Logan really didn’t care. “He just came here to swim and hang out with his hot boyfriend. Doesn’t know a thing about sunscreen, do you, baby?”

A gentle flick to the forehead was a small price to pay for propping his chin on Finn’s knee. “Here in France,” he said, laying on a thick false accent. “We don’t…’ow do you say…burn? I have never ‘eard of zees sun-screen you speak of.”

Finn looked at him for a long moment, then down at Leo. Chocolate-brown eyes fell on Logan again and he batted his lashes. It drove Finn fucking crazy when he did that, less in the sexy way and more in the don’t you give me those eyes you menace way. Logan employed it often for petty crimes like leaving one chip in the bag and putting it back in the pantry, just to watch Finn’s head explode for his own amusement.

Finally, Finn clucked his tongue. “I’m getting on the plane home without you. Good luck finding a redhead in France.”

Logan caught him around the calf with both arms when he began stepping back. Finn pulled, but he stood no chance when a featherlight kiss found the base of his thigh. “You’ll love me in the morning,” Logan countered. “When you aren’t stuck inside with aloe all over.”

“I happen to like staying inside and doing puzzles with Madame Colette.”

“Grandmère will keep trying to teach you French,” he threatened.

Finn narrowed his eyes, though he had long since stopped trying to free his leg. “Maybe this time I’ll learn, and then we can make fun of you together.”

“You won’t get to see the surprise,” Leo singsonged.

Logan frowned down at him, confused. “What surprise?”

Leo took his lower lip between his teeth and looked up at Finn, plucking at the hem of Logan’s swim trunks. “Remember when Lo and I went into town for bread yesterday?”

“…yes,” Finn said slowly.

“He got a really tiny swimsuit.” Logan watched Finn’s eyes widen. “And if you burn, you won’t get to see it.”

“It’s green,” Logan offered helpfully.

The corner of Finn’s jaw worked. “That’s a hard bargain,” he said at last. He beckoned Logan up with one finger and took the sunscreen back from him, setting it down by Leo. There was a curious, analytical look in his eye that made Logan want to know everything and nothing all at once. “I’ll think on it.”

“Can I help you make up your mind?” he teased.

“Yeah, actually,” Finn said, brightening. “You can.”

Logan’s pulse kicked. One week here with them had left him feeling like he’d been soaked in honey, and it only seemed to get better. He had barely been nineteen when he first brought Finn along. This future had not even been in his best daydreams. “Quoi, rouge?”

“You can cool off.”

The sudden shove to his chest caught him by surprise—the clash of the ocean around him silenced Leo’s bark of laughter in a blur of bubbles and blue. He could see Finn’s wobbly outline sketched out by the sun. Where the water drew him down to smooth gray pebbles, they drew him up, and he kicked off the bottom with the world waiting above.

#logan tremblay #leo knut #finn ohara #oknutzy #coast to coast #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fluff #beach day #oknutzy week 2024 #sunscreen

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astrolovecosmos · 10 months ago

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The Planets & Random or Obscure Associations

~Sun~

Creativity, vitality, head of state, the father, games, yellow and orange clothing, articles of value, jewelry, gold, brass, power, diamonds, citrine, topaz, jasper, amber, rhodochrosite, mistletoe, almonds, citrus, succulents, sunflowers, fevers, heart, back, spine, grapes, walnuts, rice, chamomile, frankincense, juniper, saffron, marigold, rosemary, rue, palaces, towers, luxury.

~Moon~

Eternal, cycles, silver, aluminum, pearls, moonstone, opal, selenite, chest, glands, lymphatic system, nervous system, emotions, mother, ancestors, nurture, rebirth, tides, baths, ocean, brew, boat, sap, willow trees, succulents, pale color plants, white flowers, cucumber, cabbage, lettuce, melons, shellfish, pumpkins, lakes, fountains, ports, fishponds, pools, springs, sewers, dairies, toys, reflection, blankets, objects of comfort.

~Mercury~

Communication, journal, pen/pencil, any writing tools, wings, phosphorous, mercury, agate, tiger's eye, brain, nervous system, eyes, respiration, thyroid, speech, hearing, intellect, vehicles, money, bills, paper, books, pictures, parties or social gatherings, scientific instruments, butterflies, messages, mail, hazel, mulberry, myrtle, seeds, aniseed, dill, fennel, lavender, liquorice, marjoram, parsley, valerian, hazelnuts, beans, mushrooms, pomegranates, carrots, celery, libraries, schools, markets, fairs, public spaces, tennis or badminton court, studies, banks, bowling greens, offices, blue, white, or light colored flowers.

~Venus~

Love, relating, lust, high-quality fabrics, copper, bronze, sodium, malachite, tourmaline, emerald, rose quartz, kunzite, sapphire, pastels, throat, kidneys, lumber region, art, music, aesthetics, social life, fashion, jewelry, wine, pleasure, alder tree, fruit trees, paint, ash tree, birch, pomegranates, early flowering, daisy, mint, marshmallow, meadowsweet, mugwort, plantain, tansy, roses, thyme, vervain, yarrow, potatoes, strawberries, wheat, sugar, nectarines, ballrooms, bedrooms, dining room, gardens, fountains, wardrobes, theaters, looking and feeling good.

~Mars~

Lust, conquest, desire, flaming sword, red things, fights, iron, brass, bloodstone, carnelian, cinnabar, pyrite, magnetite, ruby, garnet, hematite, muscles, reproductive organs, blood, kidneys, immunity, heat, action, arms, pepper, sharp instruments, cutlery, attacks, scissors, weapons, physical intimacy, bites, stings, scalds, burns, accidents, hawthorn, pine, thorns, cactus, aloes, anemone, arnica, belladonna, garlic, ginger, hops, mustard seed, nettles, wormwood, chives, onions, leeks, radish, rhubarb, tobacco, labs, furnaces, distilleries, bakehouses, ovens, smiths, butchers, fields, anger, passion, self-focus.

~Jupiter~

Expansion, optimism, religion, religious sites, tin, seduction, turquoise, chrysocolla, topaz, citrine, jasper, liver, pancreas, pituitary gland, sciatic nerve, excess, abundance, prophecy, philosophy, knowledge, universities, foreign travel, luggage, honey, oil, silk, fruit, distinct clothing, merchandise, horses, domestic birds, gambling, indulgence, entertainment, oak, dandelion, sage, endive, chervil, asparagus, figs, churches, temples, palaces, altars, courts, mansions, woods, orchards, winery, cornucopia, connecting with the soul.

~Saturn~

Limits, boundaries, father time, lord of death, shadows, lead, iron, steel, calcium, asbestos, sulphur, diamond, onyx, calcite, skeleton, spleen, skin, teeth, nails, joints, structure, crystallization, old age, blockage, anything dark, wool, heavy materials, agriculture, wheelbarrows, spades, farm houses and buildings, cold, laws, aspen, blackthorn, buckthorn, cypress, elm, toxic plants, hemlock, henbane, belladonna, hellebore, barley, beetroot, safflower, parsnips, spinach, deserts, woods, valleys, caves, church yards, ruins, coalpits, sinks, wells, mud, institutions.

~Uranus~

Eccentrics, mavericks, invention, genius, revolution, change, trends, disruptive science or tech, uranium, magnesium, lapis lazuli, sapphire, aquamarine, azurite, chalcedony, electricity, neon lights, plaid, nervous and circulatory system, pineal gland, chaos, violence, upheaval, astrology, steam engines, coal, machinery, coins, baths, fishponds, dangerous places, computers, magnets, quantum physics, research, welfare, humanity, hypnotherapy, railways, banks, gas, psychiatric hospitals, offices, hospitals, dispensaries, fortified places, chemicals, mingled/mingling, spirit and matter.

~Neptune~

Illusions, veils, diffuse, deception, water, oceans, mysticism, enlightenment, artistic pursuit and understanding, zinc, potassium, amethyst, fluorite, jade, sugilite, coral, aquamarine, pineal gland, lymphatic and nervous system, spine, mental processes, addiction, psychoses, disease, photography, music, substances, gas, religion, poetry, mimicry, chameleon, anesthetic, telepathy, empathy, dancing, psychic gifts, places near water, hospitals, places of healing, jeweler, painters, brewers, musicians, visionary.

~Pluto~

Power, influence, darkness, new life, what's hidden underneath, seeds, volcanoes, deep earth or ocean, bury, explosions, eruptions, abduction, plutonium, smoky quartz, obsidian, jet, pearl, deep reds, reproductive organs, the unconscious, nuclear, transformation, death, birth, rebirth, underworld, riches, earthquakes, big business, murder, detection, detective, invisibility, sneak, enforced change, hidden places, underground, drains, sewers, radioactive places, the occult, black magic, sacrifice, renew.

#zodiac #astrology #planets #sun #moon #mars #venus #mercury #jupiter #saturn #uranus #neptune #pluto

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queserasora · 1 month ago

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ZORO X FEM READER | NSFW / Soft Smut ™ WORD COUNT: 7.9k CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, nudity (duh), unprotected sexual intercourse (just don’t do it folks, only works in fiction), biting, scratching, kissing, lots of angst and sexual tension, if you’re looking for light and fluffy this isn’t it, excessive mentions of the moon (so if you’re anti moon gtfo), groping, nipple play, zoro talking too damn much and being a little nasty, for ZORO this is pretty TAME because he is like….enamored, so just let him be, allow this moment of softness because it doesn’t come often, so, SOFT ZORO, and like this is zoro being soft so if you don’t think it’s soft enough…idk what to tell you, it’s zoro, i proof read it twice so if you find a typo ignore it, if you tell me there is a typo you need to suck my dick first, thx

NEW MOON

A dreamer has no home in Mock Town.

Dreams were for children. Quaint little stories made of glittering sand sprinkled into their eyes, blinding them to the harsh truth of the world. The sting would force their eyelids shut, and they’d drift off into lands made of fantasy and fluffy clouds, carrying them off to somewhere peaceful; somewhere they would never be hurt, a haven safe from pain.

They’d lay in their bed woven from lies while the moon spills its light through the window.

It had been a long time since there was any moon watching over you. You slept in darkness, holding the lies you told close to your chest. A romantic heart held prisoner in a chest constructed by cynical chains. You spoke like a realist, even when it split your tongue in half. The taste of copper grounded you to your reality, and you swallowed it down, finding it a fitting exchange.

Your blood for the chance to avoid their scorn. It was the price you paid to live in anonymity.

Loneliness went down easily when you drank it with whiskey. You had learned this years ago, so you consume it daily; a necessary evil. It is smooth on your tongue as you watch them from your corner of the establishment. The back of their heads are unfamiliar as they sit at the bar. You think you imagine it, the way your heart seizes at the sound of his voice. A gruffness so rugged it cuts into your skin, spilling everything you held inside. You scoop it up immediately as you throw the rest of your drink back into your throat. The burn in your chest is antiseptic.

Dreams had nowhere to run in Mock Town. This is where dreams came to die.

It is a mantra you repeat, with every blow they deal on the loud captain and his swordsman. It is a mantra you clamp down on with aching teeth, when their navigator begs them to fight. Your fingers twitch around the etched glass in your hand. You grip it so tightly it cracks, like fault lines across the illusion you had been hiding behind. When they leave the bar, everything shatters.

You wake up, at last, from the nightmare you had built yourself only to plunge into a different colored one.

They’ll never come back. It is a lie you feed yourself, cram it into your mouth and down into your stomach, until everything overflows. Until you believe it. You pick up the fallen pieces left in their wake and start gluing them back together, before your heart can escape again. But he does come back, and a hammer swings into you when his fist flies into Bellamy’s face.

You chase after him as he takes his prize, your oversized kusarigama attached to your back. The chain links clink as you run, its sound chasing your steps. His name is stiff on your tongue but you cast it out, a coin entering a fountain–one last desperate wish. Luffy finds your proposal comical, and so is the weapon on your back. He smiles until the corner of his eyes crinkle, a smile so radiant you swear you’ve only felt the same warmth under the sun.

“Please!” your voice pleads, hands grasping at invisible strings. “I want to see the sky island too!”

His hum is contemplative. You feel time stop. You don’t breathe, you can’t, until he answers you at last: “Sure!” His laugh is infectious and odd. “You seem pretty strong, Kusari.” It isn’t your name. It never has been, but it sounds right when he says it.

It still sounds right when he introduces you to everyone; feels right in your bones. The swordsman’s eyes connect with yours–his gravity too large for you to avoid its pull. Inside you, the ocean’s tide begins to change. A smile graces your lips, congenial and friendly. One that was practiced and rehearsed, like every lie you told. Pretending was a curse you had been tasked with. It was easy and it was necessary. The method that always kept you safe.

Zoro shakes his head at everyone’s enthusiasm. Luffy’s impulsiveness was something he was used to, but disagreed with, time and time again. You were a risk he would have never taken. There were too many dubious variables, your background as a bounty hunter made you skilled and dangerous. His doubts on your genuineness are cast aside by excitement of a new adventure. Zoro lived on the edge of his swords, betting his life at every hurdle, his destiny always held firmly by his own capable hands. Sky island or you, it didn’t matter what the peril was. If it was in his way, he’d cut it down without mercy.

It would be a shame, he thinks–an afterthought polluting his resolve–if he would have to make you his enemy. Your weapon intrigues him, at least that’s his reasoning. There would be no other behind his curiosity. You had a face he could forget, if he really wanted to try.

He’d just have to want it badly enough.

WAXING CRESCENT

A persistent irritation, like a rash from a poisonous leaf, plagued him. You were too familiar, too quickly ingrained in his routine. Your sense of humor reminded him of Robin. Your mouth was always twisted, in a cynical kind of smile–but only with him. It annoyed him. You had no riddles for Sanji or Luffy or Usopp, but when you’d speak to Zoro–he was constantly baffled.

What was your insistence on befuddling him? He figures ignoring you would do the trick but your presence is unforgivable; a sin, like a nick on his blades, a scar on his back, a sake poured on dirt. He wanted to obfuscate your existence, like a dark cloud in a night sky, hiding the moon from sight.

Robin and you quickly become a pair, synchronized jokes, and synchronized looks. You team up and prepare riddle after riddle that Zoro can’t seem to solve. He contemplates leaving you two with Nami to your devices but there are so many unknowns in the jungle his conscience doesn’t allow it. His worries become unfounded when he watches you wield your weapon with ease. There was no sign of hesitation when you acted on Chopper and Nami’s behalf–placing their safety as a priority. His shoulders relax, but doubt still circles–a fin in the water–reminding him that it was still too early to tell if you were friend or foe.

Friend or foe, he can’t deny it.

Your face was one he could forget, if he really wanted to. The problem was, he was starting to believe he didn’t want to. In the brief free moments, his eyes would search for it–like a dry tongue seeking water. The softness of your cheeks beguiled him, made him wonder, like a fool, if they were soft as they looked. But your smile was a blade whose sharpness he knew too well. He couldn’t allow himself to be cut. It was a shame he could never live down.

FIRST QUARTER

An adventure on Sky Island had been one you never even had dreamed of. An island in the sky was something only children thought of. It had been a long time since you basked in innocence.

The thrill of surviving by the skin of your teeth still thrummed through your body. You giggled, a drink in your hand as you enjoyed the kitchen to yourself. The crew had gone to explore Water 7 and while you were happy to be part of the team–it was still something you were getting used to. Working by yourself, for yourself, had been something you’d done for years and were good at. Now, there were others; people you had started caring about.

He finds you in the kitchen, and immediately is envious of the glass in your hand. Not because the dark amber contents swirling around two blocks of ice is alluring. Not because of the way condensation clings to the glass, a sign of deliciously cold temperature enough to soothe most kinds of thirsts. He is envious of the glass, how you cradle it possessively when Zoro steps closer. He is envious of the rim, how your tongue flicks out to lap at a stray drop, sliding down–how it is graced by your lips when you bring it up for a drink.

“Looks good,” he says with strain. Tension pulls at his neck, making it difficult to talk. “Is there more of that?”

You gesture at the table, where you had left the bottle of whiskey. He intends to move, truly, as he is mere steps away from your body but your eyes are bright and mystifying. They jumble his thoughts and it takes a quirk of your brow to kickstart his brain once more.

As the moon commands, the tides obey, and a series of events unfolds that can’t be stopped. There’s so much to think of, you almost forget how much Zoro ails you. You forget how you think of him at night while you try to find a comfortable spot to sleep in. You forget the way his eyes pierce you during dinner, how they steal your breath. You forget the strange moments his hand brushes against yours when you pass him by, and the strange way he says your name as if it was a kiss given in secret.

You forget until Sanji is irate, top lip curled in anger. His words bounce off you, and you frown with a small shake of your head. You shake it, not because you find the accusation incredulous–you and Zoro had fought the best you could to protect the money–but because it feels as if you should care more. Zoro–usually calm, composed, quick to avoid drama–always flies at the handle at Sanji’s provocation. This time it’s no different. He comes, not to his own defense, but yours. The cloud over your mind lifts, and there’s a light beaming into your chest. Your mouth twists into a grimace.

You try to keep the light out by bringing a hand to your chest. Beams slip right through the cracks of your fingers.

Your hand is still over your chest when Robin goes missing. You seek her out, desperate for an ally to make you forget–to remind you of the dangers of letting others in. There was an unspoken understanding between you two; a darkness shared and understood. You understand this even when you find out about Robin’s possible betrayal. In your heart, you try to reason, in your mind you find enough to doubt. When Zoro speaks up, like the devil on your shoulder, and makes it clear he isn't holding his breath when it comes to Robin, coldness sets in. People were complicated. You had learned that lesson with blood in your mouth. You wonder if Zoro has learned this as well–or was he the darkness too? Did he find it hard to trust? Had he been forced to cement walls around himself?

You begin to sink in, hiding behind your usual facade. Lies slip out of your mouth, one after the other, snakes with two and three heads. It was better this way, fabricating a self so different from your true source that nobody could ever hurt you. Desire could only lead to disappointment. Whatever embers he had left behind on the back of your hand, you try to smother it out, covering it with your free hand.

WAXING GIBBOUS

Raucous laughter meets shadows and light.

Luffy could never pass up a party, and after saving Robin there was so much to celebrate. The taste of sake on his tongue was familiar; a pleasant burning whose limits he knew all too well. This was something he could control, a phenomenon that did not incite fear or anxiety.

He could not say the same about the phenomenon of your skin under the light of the moon. A throat so dry he feels choking seizes his words, so he drinks and drinks and drinks. Relief never comes, sentences he repeats in his head as he circles around you fester in the pit of his stomach. You are so happy–elated even, that Robin is back. You haven’t left her side, cracking joke after joke.

It’s sickening how much it irritates him that you refuse to be alone. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nami clinging to your hand, offering you another drink. If it’s not Nami, it’s Luffy trying to shove more food at you–food you gently refuse. If it’s not Luffy, it’s the stupid cook, hearts shooting out of his eyes as he touches your hand.

Your hand–the one he hasn’t touched.

He bites down so hard he thinks he’s cracked a tooth, so he spits at the ground, expecting blood. He sees nothing, and chooses to believe that this means nothing. The sake is rotten, and he is tired, so so tired. Zoro doesn’t pray, he has never prayed in his whole life but he considers it that night when he closes his eyes. So he hopes instead. He hopes he’ll be over it in the morning and you’ll be nothing–a long forgotten moonbeam in a distant night sky.

He wakes up, and realizes quickly that you are still not nothing.

He swings his swords repeatedly, motions that he is familiar with. He focuses on the strain of his muscles, the ache slowly setting in. He focuses on the sweat on the back of his neck, the one dripping down his rippling muscles. He focuses as much as he can, but your gaze on him is fastidious.

He senses you watching him, a strange lecherous feeling that twists his stomach. He refuses to meet your gaze and bites down again. If his teeth cracked then so be it.

You are shameless, he thinks, as he swallows his drink. Your dark eyes are unwavering, focused on his neck. Zoro swallows, heart beating in his chest like a wild animal. His foot is under the table, tapping away as he tries to keep the rest of him still. Nami is arguing with Luffy, and Zoro shakes his head slightly, trying to wake up from the spell you have casted on him. He should laugh with the others, he should ignore Sanji’s pointed stare, he should ignore the cold sweat on his forehead and the sudden dip at the pit of his stomach when you lick your lips.

When you finally drag your eyes away from his neck, in a way that looks like it pained you, Zoro takes a sharp breath. He thinks you have set him free from this twisted prison but you ensnare him again when you meet his eyes. Zoro brings his glass to his mouth once more, and swallows the remains of the whiskey.

It burns his chest on the way down, but there is a fire more heated and consuming at the bottom of his stomach. One that builds higher and higher when you smile at him.

Later that night, when he’s prowling the newly constructed Thousand Sunny like a restless large feline, Zoro has to remind himself why he even set out from his hometown. He reminds himself that he has to become the strongest swordsman, as he fights the urge to slide his hands down his stomach, to reach further down for the arousal that bothers him. His forehead pressed against the cold wood of the training room, he tries to reason with his breathing. He thinks about the new bounties announced, the thrill of new adventures. There is no room for deviation in his goals. He knows this. There is a set path to follow–the one the moon has been guiding him to all along.

Turning to you would just lead him to darkness. Zoro refused to be swallowed up by it, no matter how alluring the flash of its teeth were.

FULL MOON

A life for a life.

He thought nothing of it at first. He thought it necessary. At first he had lived selfishly, seeking to keep a promise given a long time ago. Somewhere along the way, his Captain’s dream had become as important as his. Somewhere along the way, he had friends he cared about, friends he wanted to protect. His strength alone had not been enough, and so for this sin: he offers his life.

If there was anyone who could protect the rest, it would be Luffy.

He tries to hold on to this hope as pain cuts into him. It rips at his skin, making tatters at what keeps him together. Blood splurts, hot and searing. A pain that burns so deep he thinks it’s in his soul. He clenches his teeth, willing for them to crack and splinter off, if it means keeping quiet. A man should not cry when his mind has been set up. His eyes are open but he sees nothing–not in particular, except his own blood clouding his vision.

He tries to focus on other things, when a pain so blinding and deep makes him want to drop to his knees. He thinks of Nami and Usopp, and hopes they’ll be okay. He wonders if Chopper will grow happier. He wants to believe Sanji will get stronger, enough to continue protecting everyone. That stupid, idiotic cook who had tried to offer his own life in his place. Zoro grimaces, a pained groan almost leaving his mouth so he bites down on his tongue–metal taking over his taste buds.

He had no regrets. He never had any but as his vision becomes blurry there’s a face that fills his eyes. A different kind of pain booms in his chest, until it fills everything, until it pushes out the air from his lungs. He takes a ragged breath, and feels fear for the first time in a long time. He fears regret. He fears never seeing her face again. He fears never knowing.

He should have held her. He should have kissed her. Just like he always wanted to.

He curses the sound of your voice, the same that cuts through the pain, and reminds him to hold on. He curses the softness of your skin–the back of your hand, the only sensation he knows of you. He curses how he craves to know more even in the face of this endless pain.

He curses you over and over again, until it is done, until all he knows is the pain you leave behind.

Sanji annoys him. Zoro tries to not lash out. His body feels heavy but he feigns it. He tries to keep it together for as long as he can. He has to make sure they’re all okay. Once he is convinced that it was all worth it, once he sees your face wearing an expression he doesn’t want to think about, he allows himself to rest. It takes all the energy he has left to leave you–to walk away from you without touching you, to not run his fingers through your hair, to press your body against his.

As consciousness fades, he wonders how much longer he can hold back. Would he regret it later? If he died? Would he regret never telling you? His inner voice becomes slurred, incoherent, distant until darkness takes him under.

Robin tries to tell you, even though Sanji tried to stop her. She tries to tell you the truth about Zoro but you dismiss her. You insist it is none of your business. Your voice is calm, flat even, as you fold laundry in an attempt to hide your trembling hands. In your mind, you’re screaming. In your mind, you want to run and grab him by the neck. In your mind, you want to understand what possessed him.

But in your heart you know why. In your heart, you know that Zoro wouldn’t have had it any other way, so you try to pretend you don’t know. It was the least you could do to pay him back for what he had given you all.

You know he will be fine. You know he will recover. He just needs time. You want to give it to him, and you do, as you try to stay busy. Still, your feet are treacherous. They keep taking you back to him. You watch him sleeping, a sickness weighing you down. Your eyes feel full, a heart so heavy you think you might collapse under its weight. Heavy feet root you to the spot by his bed. Trembling fingers reach out, so hesitant they can only touch lightly. You softly brush fingertips across his forehead; your silent prayer for him to wake up soon. The sight of his battered body makes you sigh, and your tear filled eyes rest on his hand. Those hands that had protected everyone time and time again. They seemed so strong every time he wielded his swords. Not once did you think they could look this frail. You reach out to touch the bandages, and gently squeeze his wrapped index finger.

Just as gently, you reach down and kiss his temple.

“Wake up, idiot,” you whisper, lips brushing against his clammy skin. “I miss you.”

Your confession feels like a knife you pushed into your own chest. You move quickly, almost run out of the room. Blood gushes, and you hold up a hand, trying to push it back in; the feelings, the words, that kiss.

When he wakes, it takes a moment to feel like he is awake at all. It isn’t until the straw hats leave Thriller Bark that he feels more like himself. Per Luffy, there’s a celebratory dinner. Brooks–someone Zoro was still getting used to–had taken it upon himself to be the night’s entertainment. Fish-Man Island was the next destination and Zoro’s excitement was slowly overtaken by hazy thoughts of you. The more he drank, the more he thought he should finally tell you. The more he watched everyone laugh, eat, sing, drink—the more he thought he should just accept it.

He should accept the pull you had on him. He should accept the command, the order of things; like the moon and tide.

He follows this pull up to the crow’s nest, newly remodeled by Franky. There’s little time for Zoro to admire the modifications. He is too busy trying to find a way to breathe again after the sight of you left him breathless. You’re bent over the telescope, gazing at the sky–he figures maybe the moon, maybe the stars. He’s not sure. All he’s sure of is that his heart might burst if it beats any faster. All he is sure of is that if he doesn’t find a way to silence it, you might hear it past the bones, and flesh entrapping it.

A fluttering of anxiety fills him with dread. A strange feeling he isn’t familiar with. It feels as if it was imperative he touches you; as if he didn’t, only death would follow, as if he didn’t hold you, the world–his or everyone’s–would end. It was such a dramatic, sickening feeling he wanted to rip his own heart out. If that was the solution, he’d do it but he had a feeling at the pit of his stomach that even that wouldn’t work.

He tries to quiet his breathing, not wanting to disturb you, too mesmerized by the sight of your round and plump ass. There’s fire over his skin, blistering and searing the hairs on his arms. He clears his throat, alerting you to his presence.

You turn around, embarrassed that you didn’t feel him entering the room. It’s a fleeting emotion, quickly overtaken by something much more complicated; heavier, infinitely more deadly. It is sickening, really, how insanely attractive he is. You swallow with difficulty, suddenly annoyed that you didn’t bring a drink with you; anything to whet your appetite if it meant keeping your hands off Zoro.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to buy time for your mind to kick into gear. The cogs in your brain are sluggish. You blame the alcohol, and not the fire in your belly. You want to tell him you’re glad that he’s awake. You want to tell him how scary it was, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear that. “I’m sorry I drank all your sake while you slept,” you tell him instead, your mouth stretching into a crooked smile. “I figured someone should.”

He scoffs, matching your grin.

“That’s a poor excuse. You’re such a liar,” he tells you, and you take a sharp breath. You’re not sure if he meant it–that you were a liar–or if he just said it in passing. You blame the alcohol for your confusing thoughts, and you blame it again when you don’t notice the way he has quickly breached the distance between you two.

The moon is full and bright, hanging high in the inky night sky. Its light is bright and it shoots through the window, spilling over the floor. Zoro is mesmerized by the way it glistens on your brown skin. You look so small against the window, with your back to the moon, it makes him want to crush you against his chest. His mind is hazy, his tongue heavy. He blames the sake. He blames the sake and the moon. He blames them as his hand reaches out to brush a curl out of your face. He tucks it behind an ear, his eyes memorizing the roundness of your cheek, the shell of your ear. He blames the moonlight on your skin, when he cups your cheek to see if he can trap it there, between your skin and his calluses.

He blames the night sky, the smell of the sea when he reaches down to softly brush his lips against yours.

You can’t breathe when his nose brushes against yours. You still can’t breathe when he pulls back, enough to look down at you. His eyes stare into yours and you still can’t find your breath. You think you’ll die now, by Zoro’s mouth, by his hand on your cheek. Your heart pounding against your frail ribs reminds you that you’re still alive. It is a resounding call to arms. You think you should pick up your weapons, but the fire in his eyes burns your resolve to ash.

His heart is on fire. Zoro knows that is a ridiculous thought. He knows that’s not even correct or possible, but the longer he looks at you, the more he feels it to be true. He hears it in the distance; the sound of war—drums, and screaming, blades scratching against each other, sinew tearing, blood gushing; throbbing in his ears and in his veins.

The sound echoes in his body, a rush of adrenaline lighting small fires throughout his being. This moment feels infinite, as if he is frozen in time. A want so desperate pools inside him until it ignites.

He comes tumbling down when he kisses you again. A ravenous mouth open and seeking against yours. His large hands hold your face, as he brushes his tongue against yours with the sole purpose of consuming; conquering. Your tongue is warm and soft, slippery, a sensation he can’t get enough of. He hums when you give in, when you let him suck on it without inhibitions. His breathing is harsh through his nose, and it becomes quicker when you place your hands over his, when you move them down his arms onto his chest.

You grasp on to his shirt, as you return his kisses. His teeth are unforgiving. They bite down on your bottom lip, on the corners of your mouth. He is insistent on discovering everything about it. He runs his tongue against your bottom lip, his forehead pressed against yours. He wonders as he sucks on it, how many times have you bitten down on it, how many words have you swallowed in place to offer lies instead. He’s never told you how often he sees right through you. He sees it even now, as you struggle for control.

“Don’t fight it,” he breathes against your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Not now. Not tonight.” He kisses your closed eyes; one at a time. He kisses your cheeks, lips blistering hot. You feel him brush his mouth against your jawline. “Don’t think. Not until tomorrow,” he asks you against your neck, trailing kisses down the column of it. You think about this offer, consider rejecting, but when his teeth snags against the soft flesh on the hollow of your neck you forget everything. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he follows your collarbone to one shoulder. He bites down with enough force to make you cry–one that turns into a soft moan.

It is enough. That is the sound that snaps his resolve. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to make this moment last, as if he would never have it again, but you are something he was never prepared to fight against. When you moaned, with your nails digging into his back he was left with no choice. He had to have you, tonight, at all costs.

His hands are as unforgiving as his mouth. They rip into your clothes, ignoring your protests. The sound of tearing fabric is accompanied by the sound of your gasps. His breathing is harsh against your ears, causing a wetness between your legs you try to take no responsibility over. It is the sight of his chest, wide and thick when he rips his own shirt that makes your mouth water. Your hands reach out immediately, just as you always dreamed of. You run your palms over his muscles, memorizing every dip and sharp angle, as you press your open mouth to his neck. You suck on a spot, determined to leave a mark–any. It was desperation. One that was fed by fear. You feared this moment not lasting. You feared never again touching his skin, kissing him, holding him.

His own desperation was evident by his greedy hands. They way he seized your hips, to press his erection against you. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, and he digs his fingers into the supple flesh. He’s kissing you again, a clash of tongue of teeth; sloppy, and messy, a wetness on your chin he licks up before sucking on the spot. Zoro’s eyes take in the sight of the floor, as you kiss his chest. He moans when you bite down over a nipple, and he pulls on your hair.

“Stop that,” he hisses, pushing you back towards the benches. “Or I’ll fuck you on the floor.” It doesn’t sound unappealing to your ears, so you try to bite his other nipple but he is faster than you. He picks you up by the ass, forcing you to shout in surprise. Zoro carries you to the bench, and he sits down after placing you back on the ground.

You look down at him, and his naked chest. His pants are still on and you feel extremely exposed. Zoro had, in his efficacy, ripped every single article of clothing you had on. Leaving you naked, and heated. You scoff.

“So you get to keep your pants on?” you ask him, pointing with a frown. Zoro laughs at you, as he reaches into his trousers with one hand. He pulls out his hardened cock, and strokes it gently. There’s a lump in your throat, one with no name, so you swallow it quickly. The sight of his pink tip is enticing. He smears the precum over his slit with his thumb. You think it a shame, and almost tell him so but he’s speaking trying to get your attention.

“Pay attention,” he tells you with a raised brow, his hand settled now at the base of his cock. You raise a brow to match his. Zoro smiles, and pats his lap with his free hand. “Come here,” he commands you to move towards him, heart hammering away at the prospect. You had thought of this moment before. You had no shame admitting it now. You had thought often of how it would feel to have Zoro inside you, so deep you could feel like dying. It seems Zoro had other plans when you approach him as he spins you around by the hips. “This way. Your back to me.”

You swallow and sit on his lap, feeling his cock pressed against your ass. He kisses your shoulder, your neck as his hands roam over your thighs. There’s a slick coating your folds. You’re more aware of it the more he touches your skin. His breath is hot against your ear when he speaks again: “I’m going to spread your legs,” he tells you, and follows through quickly on his statement, spreading them by grabbing your thighs. You gasp, cool air touching your heated core. Zoro runs his tongue along the shell of your ear. He nips the top of it, teeth sharp and digging hard enough to leave an imprint. You feel yourself getting wetter.

“You’re wet,” he breathes out–a heated whisper, almost trembling. His fingers rifle through your folds, slickness covering his fingertips. Zoro presses his mouth against your ear, his eyes closing at the pleasure. It feels so silky and soft in his fingers. He craves more. “I’m going to make you cum,” he tells you, slipping one finger in slowly, one knuckle at a time. “I’m going to make you cum over and over again. I want to touch you everywhere, deep inside.” He slips in another finger when you moan, curving them in search of that spongy spot. His desire builds the wetter you get, the more you moan and whimper in his hold. His cock is hard, and it leaks again against your back. You feel it there sticking to your skin. “I want you,” he growls against your shoulder, as he picks up the pace, scissoring his fingers inside your squelching pussy. “I want you so badly. This isn’t enough.” His teeth sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder. You cry out, as he clamps down harder, leaving a mark on your skin. He kisses the blooming bruise, hand moving desperately as you clench around his fingers. The soft pad of his palm beats against your clit, his calluses eliciting a pleasure you never knew could be possible every time they brush over your sensitive nub.

He leans over you, his broad chest making you feel vulnerable and small. Your thighs are aching as he continues to push his fingers in and out of you. “Maybe another one,” he grunts in between pants, peering over your shoulder. He watches himself insert a third finger into your soaking pussy. You cry out, at the sensation of being stretched. He is watching himself work, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Sweat clings to his temple, and runs down his cheek. You’re doing your best to hold back, the fear of being heard keeps you from giving in entirely but the sight of him so enthralled with the way he’s beating into your pussy makes you want to fold. “Do you like it?” he asks you, panting against your ear. You whimper and bite down on your lip, almost drawing blood. “You’re so wet and so tight. I think you do,” he insists, licking your ear, and sucking on your earlobe quickly after. “But why are you holding back?” His mouth is flushed against your ear, his breath humid. “Are you scared they’ll hear you?”

Zoro chuckles lightly against your ear, picking up speed until it becomes a brutalizing pace. The sounds in crow’s nests are lewd enough to make you blush. You hear the wet sound of your pussy, the way you keep whimpering and gasping. Your body is shaking.

“Come on, babe,” he asks you in almost a whine. You gasp, and moan, surprised at the visceral reaction your body had to the sound of his soft voice. “Let me hear you. The real you. Or do I have to fuck you harder?”

The moon continues to hang high in the sky as he works his fingers inside you. Its beams scatter in the room, casting shadows over the side of your face, and over your breasts. He wishes he could see more than he does. He wishes he could memorize the sight of you, falling apart to his touch, and never forget it. The scent of your shampoo haunts him, so he scissors his fingers inside you in a desperate attempt to even the odds.

He kneads one breast with his free hand, squeezing its nipple between index and thumb. When you cry out, he gasps loudly against your ear, surprised at how much that turned him on. He wants to hear it again, again, and again; so he repeats the motion, twisting and pulling until you’re moaning and whimpering in his embrace. Your skin looks so soft under the moonlight. He brushes his lips over your neck and shoulders trying to taste you. It isn’t enough so he tries again, chasing the essence that makes you who you are. He nips at the flesh of your back as you bend over, a particular strong jolt of pleasure forcing your tummy to contract. No matter how many times he digs his teeth into your skin, until you’re covered in crescent shaped marks, he can’t seem to get his fill of you. You feel so good around his fingers, your arousal dripping down his wrist and his forearm.

Your orgasm catches him unaware, and he slows down his fingers, surprised at the loudness of your voice. He finds himself laughing against the hair above your ear, pleasure making him shiver. His fingers slow down slightly before he pulls them out entirely. “About time,” he whispers before he has you flip over to face him. He adjusts you on his lap, until you’re grinding your soaked pussy on his cock. “But we’re not done. I need more.” He brings your face to him, a hand on the back of your neck. The kiss is forced, mouth pressed tightly against yours. You whimper softly under its weight. Whatever tenderness that kiss held evaporates when his attention moves downwards to your breasts.

He sucks on your breasts, as he grips your hips. His fingers hold you so tightly you’re compelled to move them against his length. He leaves bites over the swell of your breasts, and the fire inside you continues to burn. You had stopped trying to hold it in, your moans cast into the shield of darkness like stars on the inky sky. Zoro seizes them with his mouth, teeth bearing down on them. He pins them to his body like decoration and seizes to find more, conquer another every time he nips at your sensitive nipples. You hold on to Zoro, desperation forcing you to dig your nails into his back. Every time he kisses your breasts you feel like melting, disappearing into the heat of his mouth.

Your hands reach out to his face, trembling. Your hips move still, the heat of Zoro’s hands keeping them steady. His eyes on your face send a shiver down your spine. Your breath feels so out of reach, as if you’ll never catch up to it, to place it back in your lungs. You trace over the angle of his cheekbones, try to memorize the sharpness of his jawline by going over it with one index finger. Although pleasure continues to build, you’re distracted by the sight of his ears. His earrings trap the light of the moon, and they blink repeatedly, little stars hanging from his earlobe; a mesmerizing sight that makes you want to make a wish. If you wished with all your heart, would it come true? If you wished for a dream, would it be fulfilled?

Your breath hitches, eyes glued to his swinging earrings. Their beautiful golden color is made all the more striking against his tanned skin. You touch them, fingers playing with them. Zoro takes your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist, the pool of your palm. He moves your hand to his chest, and presses it there. The feel of his heartbeat steals your breath. You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness, but Zoro is kissing you, taking your bottom lip into his mouth gently. You hold his face between your hands when he pulls away, feeling like you’re holding on to water. His hands are back on your hips. He lifts you up, as the fingers of one hand drifts to his earrings again. You brush your fingers against them, and they make a soft tinkling sound–a quick little song–as he buries his cock inside you.

It is better than you could have ever imagined. He fills you in an instant, provoking moan after moan to flood your mouth. Soft, and steady, you tell yourself, pressing your forehead against his. He lets you lead at first, his fingers tapping repeatedly against your hips. He’s counting, for who knows what, timing an entrance.

Zoro thinks he's finally lost his damn mind. He was determined to savor this moment—like an expensive whiskey, consumed in small sips, swirled around the tongue before swallowing, but you’re so wet, your arousal coats his belly, and sinks into his pants. You’re hot inside, fiery, and smooth. Every swirl of your hips reminds him of how desperately he wants to ram into you, again and again. He thinks about you clenching around his fingers as you moan against his mouth. He sets his jaw, trying to tighten his grip around his willpower but your pussy is even tighter. His breathing is ragged, he shakes his head, trying to cast off the sudden heat in his eyes making him see red.

But he can’t help it. He can’t fight it any longer.

“Okay,” he says against your neck as you continue to bounce on his cock at a slow pace. His hands are on your hips, they grip tighter. It should have been your warning but you’re so caught up in the feel of him, eyes shut as your face is turned to the ceiling, that you don’t realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry but I need to do it my way now.” He holds you still, and starts thrusting up into your pussy at a maddening speed. You cry out at the sudden change of pace, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. He hisses, but he doesn’t let up, selfishly chasing the high of your tight pussy.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, eyes shut tightly, as pleasure courses through your body.

Zoro laughs against your pulse. He sucks on it even as laughter rumbles in his chest. When he comes up for air he asks you: “Who’s that? Don’t know him.”

You laugh but it turns shrill, morphing into a cry of pleasure. Zoro feels you clench around him, faster and faster. He moans, and bites your chin. He picks up the speed, angles his hips with his eyes on your face, determined not to miss a single thing. When you cum, fall apart around him, he watches you with his mouth open–barely staving off his own orgasm. You fall into him, and he holds you, your body twitching in his embrace.

“No,” he says, pushing your back on the bench. You look up, eyes fluttering close, your body feeling heavy and sore. “A little bit more. I need just a bit more.” You shake your head, weakly pressing a hand to his chest. Zoro takes your hand, wraps the arm attached to it around his neck. “Don’t act weak with me. I know how strong you are. So just take it. You can take it.” He takes one of your legs and places it on top of the backrest of the benches, your ankle bumping into the wall. Zoro stares down at you, and you’re caught again–by the heat of his gaze. Dark green lashes fluttering under the moonlight, his swinging earrings blinking at you, his mouth parted, a flush on his cheeks. It all looks so divine, you think this a sight belonging to the gates of Heaven. You think you’re close to dying.

And death comes calling when he enters you again. You have nothing left inside you to fight it. You moan time and time again, with every brutish slam of his hips against yours. His balls sound loud and impossibly perverse every time they slap against your ass. There are bruises forming, you’re sure, but you don’t care. You hold on to him, wrap your arms tightly around him but he pushes you down, determined to watch your expression. You cling to his hips instead, the ones that keep pummeling into you, harshly, his cock ramming into your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He thinks the sight of your face, twisted in a mixture of pain and pleasure is the sharpest knife he has ever been cut open by.

Zoro staves off a cry of pleasure by diving in for a kiss, desperately sucking your tongue into his mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth. From his mouth, he hears stupid promises but his mind can’t believe it even through the haze of lust. He tries to take them back but he whispers into your ear again, soft and sweet things he wouldn’t dare speak in the light of the sun. You know he’s only saying this because he is not thinking straight, because like you, he is consumed by this burning lust. You know when a new moon comes, when this has waxed and waned, that he would forget the words uttered in a moment of madness.

He loves the way you feel, the way it’s so easy to kiss you. He loves the way your voice catches on his skin, slipping into the little cracks to stay forever. He hates it too. Hates how he thinks he’ll carry you always. Even in the light. Even in the dark. He thinks he should take it all back, the kisses, the words. He thinks this even buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around his length again. He thinks this even as he gasps and moans, cuming with you.

His body shudders as he spills inside you. You feel it start to ooze out of you, but you ignore it, just like you ignore the sudden flush of your face.

Zoro crumples over you, and covers you in kisses. Your hands are shaking as you seize his shoulders, trying to find the sense to speak about what just happened but he is gone the moment you grasp him. There are towels nearby, and he drapes one between your legs. He lowers himself over you, trapping your body between his arms. His mouth is still relentless, kissing your bruised lips over and over again. You see the moon caught in his earrings again, and you reach out for it.

Someone once told you, a dream was a wish you made on a star. Your fingers dance along his earrings. The gold blinks back at you–twinkling stars hanging from his ear. You wish, on all three, for the same dream.

You wish that maybe when the new moon comes, the pull it had on you two would bring you together time and time again.

#zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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