#i hope u like this set mwah mwah

[bixiaoshi]

Nami & Robin for @taohs

happy belated birthday aki ( ˘ ³˘(◡‿◡˶)

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

[clandestineloki]

strawberry bliss (nsfw)

the part 2 to strawberry sweet ❤️

summary: miguel loves using his strength on you ;)) and this little snippet of you guys watching a replay of his recent game shows just that, with some sweet lil fluff and playful banter :)) and then miguel fucks u so good he hits your factory reset and you go back to being a lil shy babie around him oh no :3

tw: he also finds out you have a daddy kink, mention of shane dawson (derogatory), mention of physical violence (bros a wrestler what did you expect), overstimulation, a bit of breeding kink, heavy praise kink, a bit of humiliation but on the sweet side

A/N: this takes place about a year or so after strawberry sweet, where miguel and reader are in an established relationship and make quippy cute banter with each other

A/N # 2: pls reblog so we can turn more ppl into whores 💖

💕 hope you enjoy! 

===

"BABYY THE COMMERCIALS ARE OVER!"

Miguel runs from the bathroom and meets you in the kitchen, you with the tray of strawberry drinks squealing as he tickles your waist.

"AHH IT'S GONNA SPILL!!!" you scream, and he backs off, smiling as you regain your balance.

You balance the smoothie cups on the tray and move forward, but Miguel blocks your way. 

"M'scuse me, I have a game to watch," you pout up at him, but he doesn't budge.

"Mister, my boyfriend will be very angry if he finds out I'm late to the game >:( "

"Aww, such a shame, pretty girl... can't I just get a little kiss?"

"Let me through!"

"Can't, hermosa, you gotta say the password right up against my lips~ the password is mwah mwah mwah i love you miguel you're so handsome miguel~"

"You're cheesy," you roll your eyes, and he laughs as you set the tray down in front of the bed facing the TV. "I want the old Miguel back, he was cute and he had actual rizz."

He slumps against the couch. "The Miguel that was a total pervert over your old smoothie girl uniform?"

"Oh my gosh, I totally forgot about the uniform!" You giggle. "I hated it. Did you know on my first day they gave me a size too small and they had the audacity to try and gaslight me by saying I got fat?"

"Fucking weirdos," he pulled you into his arms, your back against his chest." Glad I got you out of that mess, mm?"

"It was just one mess into another, Mig, you made me your sugar baby," you tease, and his face scrunches up.

"Bebita, I may be rich but I'm not your sugar daddy. I'm just two years older than you."

"But think about it, I was sixteen when you were eighteen! Like- that's two years but the maturity difference is huge! That's creepy, Miguel. You wanna go to jail?"

"Ay, por dios. We're in our twenties, we met in our twenties. End of discussion. And I've already been to jail. Twice."

"What?!"

"Ay! ay! end of discussion. The match is starting," he pinches your nose then turns to watch the TV just as the host's opening spiel ends. Miguel feels you sit up in his grip when the crowds on the TV cheer as he comes up on screen, flashing a grin to the audience.

"Ew, who's that?" you mumble, cheeks stuffed with popcorn and Miguel snorts, rolling his eyes.

"That's me, your boyfriend, the guy who's gonna absolutely obliterate downgraded Shane Dawson in about..." he snaps his fingers just as his opponent comes out on screen. "Fifty-eight seconds."

"I really don't see the resemblance, Miggy, you're just being a bully."

"Y'know," he pulls you closer, absentmindedly kissing your neck as he feels you squirm in his hold. "I don't get how you let the physical violence slide but I compare some white guy to Shane Dawson and you call me a bully."

Your face heats up a little, and you turn away, mumbling shyly. "C-cause you look really badass when you throw them around like that... "

"Mmm?" he teases, nuzzling his nose in your neck. "I do?"

He feels you freeze up and chuckles, his hands trailing down to your thighs.

"Y-yeah," you whisper... "a bit..."

"Oh, and you like how strong I am, hmm? Is that what it is?"

It's cute how you shake your head and brush his hands away to turn up the volume on the TV, when he just goes right back to kneading your breasts and riling you up.

"Querida, you gotta answer me, y'know I can't understand you when you mumble like that~"

"What was the question?" you mumble, looking up at him with what he knows for sure are the most adorable bunny eyes he's ever fucking seen.

"I said," he nibbles down on your ear with a little growl, "do you get off like a cute little bunny when I show off? Is my baby that kinky~?"

" I-I... maybe..." you twitch as his fingers toy with your nipples. "Miggy, please..."

"Please what baby? Please stop or please give me more?" 

Miguel knows the answer, obviously. It's just that he can't get over the fact that he landed the prettiest girl with the cutest stutter when she's nervous.

"Please..." you whisper.

He chuckles against your ear, leaning in and lowering his voice just the way he knows you like it, especially when he's buried all the way inside you.

"Please what."

The tiniest gasp comes out of your lips. "Please... please f-fuck me... please?" 

Before you can even finish, you're over his shoulder and on the bed as he kisses everywhere on your face, growling at the inconvenience of the fact that he cant hold you still and fondle your chest at the same time.

"M-Miguel..." you whimper, twitching in sensitivity. "You're always teasing me..."

"Oh?" he mocks you, flipping you over on your stomach and gripping your hips, leaning in real slow to drawl darkly in your ear. "I'm the tease here? When you're shaking your little ass all over me? You rile me up like this and expect me not to fuck you the way you deserve? hmm?"

"S-Sorry..." you mumble, and Miguel laughs breathily, having the time of his life making you all shy and embarrassed.

"S'okay, baby, you just gotta make up for it, yeah?"

With a playful swat to your ass, he rips off your shorts and his fingers tease your folds through your panties.

"Miguel..."

"Yes...?" he kisses the arch in your back, smirking when your thighs tremble.

"Please hurry..." you gasp.

"Don't worry baby, you'll be asking me to slow down real soon~" 

===

His favorite sight of all time is you underneath him, with that blissed out look on your face and your chest heaving as he fucks every choked breath out of those pretty lips.

"Fuck, bebita," he whispers. "Creaming all over my fingers like the cute little plaything you are?"

You whimper, closing your thighs shakily, but his free hand just forces your legs apart and he curls his two fingers in you, tickling your pussy and making his hand even wetter.

"Hmm? What did you say?" Miguel mumbles close to your ear, and makes sure that at the precise moment you try to speak he speeds up his fingers, making your words melt away in warm red pleasure as more juices coat his fingers.

"S'too much..."

"Bebita, you asked for this," he whispers darkly. "We're not even halfway done."

You mewl out his name and turn your head to the side. He takes it as an opportunity to bite down on your neck and relish in the high-pitched pleasure drunk squeal that forces out of you as your little pussy sucks in his fingers.

"Shit. I can't take it anymore," he grumbles, his fingers moving even faster as he leans closer, forcing you flat against the bedsheets as you moan and cream all over his fingers like a cute little bunny, just too pleasure-drunk to utter even a word.

"Come for me baby," Miguel almost begs. "Come for me so I can fuck you the way I know you want me too, okay?"

You gasp at his dirty talk, and he laughs at the fact that you never stop getting shy when he says these things.

Or when your little pussy makes those wet noises when you're really really close.

"Fuck you're so cute," Miguel grins, licking the tears falling from your hazy eyes. "So sweet, letting me do whatever I want with you~ Come for me, gatita, you know you want to~"

Your moans make him grin and he thumbs at your sensitive little bud. His teasing sends you over the edge and you gasp and whimper, clinging onto him as he helps you through your third orgasm.

When you come down from it, Miguel is smirking down at you, and licking his fingers clean of your juices, humming lowly as his tongue traces his long fingers sensually.

"Wanna taste it right off your pretty pussy baby," he whispers, making you blush. "But I'll save that for later~"

He really means he'll save it for when you're too fucked out to close your pretty legs around his head.

Miguel kisses your hips as he flips you over again, tracing his rough hands over your ass and thighs, making you shiver and mumble something he almost can't hear.

"Daddy..."

His wandering hands freeze.

He grins.

"What was that?" he teases.

Your breath stutters.

"What- I-"

He leans in dangerously close, pinning you down on the bed with your ass right against his throbbing hard cock.

"What did you just call me?" he drawls, and you whimper.

"I-I called you Daddy," you bury your head in the pillows. "S-Sorry... if it makes you uncomfortable-"

Miguel thrusts his hips forward, sinking halfway into your wet, warm little cunt. The squelching of your little hole is nothing compared to the pure, unadulterated, sinful noise of pleasure that leaves your lips.

"Oh," Miguel groans. "That made me reallyfuckin' uncomfortable alright."

Your thighs shake as he sinks in really really slowly, making sure you feel every inch of him stretch you out.

"Say it again."

You gasp, tears forming in your eyes. "It's embarrassing..."

"Fuck, you really have to do all these things that make you so lovable, huh?" He groans, pulling your wrists and holding your arms behind your back. "Got the cutest little face, the cutest little pussy, and you always got these little kinks that make you so cute~"

He starts moving his hips, making you slur out his name and clench around him.

"My cute little milkshake girl, doing all these cute things for me and no one else," he whispers, and you nod helplessly,

Miguel runs his hands up and down your waist, making you sigh and whimper into the pillows.

"Wanna repeat what you said? No one's around, baby, just you and me. No need to be shy~"

"Daddy..."

"Fuck, you really are such the perfect little cutie, aren't you?" Miguel teases, pounding you harder.

It's music to his ears when you finally get to that stage of it, just uncontrollably whimpering and moaning and making all these noises of pleasure as you let him do whatever he wants to you.

"C'mon, say it again, another time won't hurt~"

"Such a t-tease..." you whine, and he chuckles fondly, pressing a kiss to your sensitive neck.

"Sorry, baby, not my fault you're so fucking adorable," he groans, shuddering when you clench down on him. "Daddy's close, baby, wanna come with me? Feel good together, hmm? Can you even understand me you dumb little baby?"

Miguel coos as you take in high-pitched breaths and gasps. Your tiny fists clench the sheets shakily, and your thighs thump helplessly with every thrust of his hips.

"Come back to me, baby," he whispers as his thrusts get sloppier. "Help me out one list time, kay? Wanna be my good girl?"

"Mhm..."

"Ah," he laughs. "Daddy broke his pretty baby so bad? Sorry, gatita, you just feel too good. Let's come together, okay? I'll get us there, baby~"

You whimper loudly one last time, creaming helplessly around his cock. Miguel pins your back down onto the bed, leaning in and growling right against your ear as his orgasm takes over as well, making sure you take every bit of his cum inside you.

The twitching of your thighs finally slows as Miguel pulls out, turning you onto your back and lightly running his hands up your thighs, waist, and breasts, kneading them softly and eliciting a whine from your lips.

"So sensitive," he pinches your nipple, making you gasp. "But I'll keep my hands to myself... for now."

You blush at those words, nuzzling into his neck as he chuckles at your bashfulness.

"Didn't know my good little girl had a Daddy kink. So cute," he whispers. "Got the sweetest little baby all to myself~."

Miguel brushes his lips against yours, smiling when he tastes a hint of strawberry,

His second favorite sweet thing in the goddamn world.

"Oh, baby~" he coos. "You felt so fucking good. Can we go again, gatita?"

You whimper, twitching helplessly, and blushing at the feeling of his fingers toying with the cum trickling down your thighs.

But you don't say no.

[jamminvroomvroom]

Hey girlll I love your blog so so so much! Congrats on the 4k bc you absolutely deserve it🫶🏼

I just had a little angsty request for Charles lando or Oscar (you can pick any you’re feeling more atm, I eat up anything ab my boys)

I saw this prompt maybe you could use - - "I can be there when you need me!" "But I did, and you weren't."

late night talking.

op x fem norris!reader

in which lando’s little sister has been sneaking around with his teammate, but it’s starting to have its challenges…

hiiiii thank u sm anon! love this request love you MWAH! so appreciative of this request and all of the others and that y’all trust me to bring your ideas to life!! i hope this hits the way you wanted it to! let me know what you think, big love 🤍

songs to set the mood: late night talking by harry styles, i love you by billie eilish, over my head by james marriott, if these walls could talk by 5sos

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort, secret relationship, brothers teammate trope (r is lando’s sister), fingering, morning sex, angsty needy sex, lando being an embarrassing little shit

4.1k words

sex and talking. sex and talking. sex and talking.

that’s what you do, oscar and you.

you watch him all weekend, eyes trailing his lean frame, the way his body moves under papaya fabric. then, when your brother finally leaves you alone, you sneak into oscar’s arms, room, bed, whatever’s closest.

you have your way with one another, nothing untouched, unexplored, and then you talk and talk until your lips hurt from stretched out grins and a satisfying ache sets into your spent limbs. you sneak out when the sun comes up the next day and join lando for breakfast in whatever hotel you’re in that weekend.

rinse, repeat.

you can remember the first time you saw him in real life, way back in early 2023, clear as day. you were in bahrain with your brother for testing, the sun in your eyes, and there he was. awkward, stocky, hands buried deep in his mclaren administered slacks. he was littered with moles, mousey brown hair catching the rays of light, chocolate eyes conveying cool confidence that didn’t at all match up with his uncomfortable stance. you could kiss over those moles like a game of dot to dot, tug on his strands that looked like smooth chocolate frosting, sink into his brown irises until you drowned.

lando had caught you staring, sending his elbow into your ribs, and when you turned to glare at him, cuss him out, you saw a look of warning. his eyes said: don’t you fucking dare.

and you didn’t dare, not for a while at least.

-

“o-osc.” you whine, panting through the waves of eye-watering pleasure.

he’s got you laid out across his massage table, two fingers scissoring into your sodden cunt as his thumb bumps your clit in messy circles.

it’s rare that you sneak away so brazenly like this during a race weekend.

“you gotta be quiet.” oscar shushes you, eyes flitting between your own watery pair and his fingers where they’re working you open.

“trying.” you breathe, slapping your own hand over your mouth when your belly tightens one last time. one wrong move and the entirety of the hospitality suite will know. lando will know. perhaps all of china will know. that’s how good he fucking feels.

you sob into your palm, bucking your hips wildly as you fall apart, spilling all around his relentless fingers. he fucks you through it, grinning coyly as your muffled cries subside.

“c’mere.” oscar lulls, pulling you back towards him. he kisses you deeply, smiling against your lips.

“i should go.” you mumble, pushing his hair back and raking your fingers through his hair.

oscar nods apathetically, reserved all of the sudden. you frown, stealing another quick kiss. you stumble to your feet fixing your underwear and your skirt, and grab your bag from the small sofa.

“we need to be more careful.” his words make your blood run cold.

“more careful?”

you sneak in and out of hotel rooms under the cover of night, you have his name disguised in your phone, you never speak to him in public.

“this was risky.” oscar shrugs. he looks antsy, his entire demeanour changing in a matter of minutes, the ecstasy of watching you writhe all for him worn off.

“this- i- you’re the one who dragged me in here, piastri.” you accuse. ‘piastri’ is reserved for when you’re pissed off, a cagey step back from the affection ‘osc’ that you usually called him. “whatever, i’ve got to go.”

“i’ll see you later?” he poses it as a question, uncertain that you’ll show. he has never been uncertain before, not with you, not with a lot of things. bile rises in your throat, and you scoff.

you can’t reply. the door slams behind you.

-

“where’ve you been?” lando ruffles your hair, a single eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“got bored with watching you look at data so i went for a walk.” you reply nonchalantly, pushing his hand away.

he hums in response, nodding slowly. it’s like he doesn’t quite believe you but he quickly moves on.

“you coming out with us after the race tomorrow?” lando asks.

“depends on who ‘us’ is.” you reply curtly. you don’t wanna look at oscar’s stupid, handsome face for a second longer than you have to. a familiar sadness sinks into your bones.

“couple of the drivers, alex, carlos, oh and oscar might even be swayed.” you grit your teeth, suddenly frustrated. “anyway, since when do you have beef with drivers? little miss sunshine fallen out with someone?” lando sounds confused, accusatory.

you stay silent, walking into the back of the garage, praying someone will come and steal your brother away.

“hey, you gonna tell me what the problem i-?”

“lando, we need you to look at this.” your brother gets cut off by a frantic engineer, your prayers answered, and is quickly lost to the chaos of the garage.

a pair of warm eyes burn into the side of your head. you turn to see oscar watching you, his eyebrows furrowed as if he’s studying you. he’s fidgeting, playing with his fingers, something strange for the man as cool as a cucumber. you look away as quickly as you can, managing to tear your eyes away from him, a lump forming in your throat which you swallow down.

it’s painful, really. sex and talking, it’s not enough, never has been for even a second. oscar piastri, australian f1 driver, number 81, quickly became your oscar, somewhat against your will.

-

somewhere in hungary, about 8 months ago

“are we really doing this, piastri?” you giggle, throwing your head back as his lips work your neck.

“need you.” he groans into your skin, low and needy. you’ve never heard him sound so disheveled, so desperate, a far cry from his usual, monotonous self.

“want you, osc.” you pant when his lips find your sweet spot, the feeling of him so delicious on your body.

“have me.” he whispers, falling into bed with you in his lap.

you lay there basking in stunned silence afterwards, a layer of sweat coating your knackered body. your shoulder is pressed flush with oscar’s, not an inch of space between you while you both stare at the ceiling, sporting matching lazy grins.

“i can’t believe we did that.” oscar mutters, a layer of disbelief in his voice.

“i think we should do it again.” you tease, except you are deadly serious.

“agreed.” he breathes.

“this stays between us, right?” you whisper, shyly.

“always.”

-

always makes your skin crawl now. you’re sick of having him in the dark, of having to avoid him in public for fear of turning into a lovesick fool. it’s embarrassing, really, unrequited love.

you can barely follow qualifying, staring blankly at the empty space in the garage where oscar’s car resides. you manage to catch the radio message through the headset you have on, the one where oscar’s muttering about a stupid mistake that’s just knocked him out. he’s limping back to the pits, licking his wounds.

you feel a pang in your chest, sympathetic and disappointed for him. you wonder what his mistake was, where his mind was. you’ll wait for the right moment, swallow the ache in your heart and your pride, and you’ll comfort him. he gets led away by frustrated engineers immediately, studying lines of data with furrowed eyebrows. you watch from afar, but then your heart sinks to your feet when four words sound through your headphones.

“lando, are you okay?”

will sounds stressed, repeating the four words that make your world stop spinning on its axis. everyone in the garage is staring at the tv screen, breaths held, stomachs tight.

your brothers car sits in tatters, carbon fibre littering the track. you can see the fluorescents of his helmet burrowed in the cockpit, still. your mouth hangs open, one hand clutching your chest, the other covering your quivering lips. you’re numb.

that feeling returns, the one of eyes burning into your weathered features. your wide eyes flit to the australian boy watching you from across the garage, and you beg silently for him to just come to you, pull you close, tell you that lando is okay and that he loves you back.

and lando is okay, his winded voice reassuring you over the radio.

but you stand there alone.

just like always.

-

somewhere in brazil, about 5 months ago

“what’s your favourite colour?” oscar mumbles lazily, lips bumping your cheekbone.

you’re curled up on his lap watching the sunset from his balcony. he was well behind lando after qualifying, and he’d craved a moment alone with you all day.

the air was thick, humid, the hot orange sun sinking far off in the horizon. you turn to face him, his features illuminated by the hazy glow. the sunlight makes his chocolate eyes sparkle warmly, so pretty.

“brown.” you whisper, scanning his face.

he laughs lowly, his chest rumbling.

“brown?” he questions teasingly.

“yep.” you grin, pecking his lips softly.

“why?”

“go look at those pretty eyes of yours in the mirror.” you retort smoothly, threading your fingers through his shower-damp strands.

“you flirting with me?”

“you bet i am.”

you twist back around, facing the view once more, moulding into his body. he kisses over your shoulder, resting his chin. you stay there content until the sun is gone and the stars twinkle.

-

the air in the room is thick, awkwardly silent.

he stands leaning against the desk, opposite where you sit on your bed. the lights are low in your hotel room, the imprint of your body still fresh against the mattress. you’d been crying when he knocked, eyes rimmed red, skin flushed raw.

“you just stood there.” you croak.

“love, i-“

“don’t call me that. please.”

hurt flashes across his features, but like he knows it’s not fair of him to complain, he buries it immediately.

“i just… will you hear me out?” oscar pleads quietly.

you nod feebly.

“it’s impossible. this, us. i wanted to go to you but i- i couldn’t, i didn’t know how that would look and i didn’t want to jeopardise this.”

“but you did.” you whisper. his face shatters, falling fast.

“no, no, i can be there when you need me-“

“but you weren’t!” you cry, your body physically sinking, your shoulders drooping.

“i can fix this, i will.”

“i think we need to stop this, osc. it’s too painful for me. i’ve tried to move past the hurt but after today…” your voice shakes and you crumble, the first tear falling.

“i’m not trying to hurt you.” he crosses the space between you in two rushed steps, collapsing to his knees before you.

“that’s not good enough.” you bite back. “i’m not going to be some guys dirty little secret. i won’t do it anymore oscar.”

“i was trying to protect you… this.” he gestures between you desperately

“i know, oscar. i know! but i never asked you to do that. i can’t love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life.” the words slip from your tongue, abrasive and messy, before your brain can catch up.

you grimace, biting your tongue, but oscar’s reaction couldn’t be further from your own. his watery eyes widen, pink lips pulling into a boyish grin.

“i don’t want to love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life either.” oscar whispers, tentatively taking your hands. you stare down at your slowly intertwining fingers, a familiar warmth oozing through your body. “i wanna love you everywhere.”

“show me.” you murmur through shaky breath.

“i will.” he leans in, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “for as long as you let me, i will.”

“just come here.” your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him into a kiss, one born of frustration, and longing, and a year of late night talking about everything except how much you love each other.

oscar pushes you back onto the bed, crawling over you, starving. you pull him flush against you, leaving no room between your bodies. you crave the feel of his entire weight pressing you into the mattress and as he does, you feel at home. when you pull apart, catching your breaths, he says it properly, for the first time, and the world gets lighter.

“i love you.” oscar cups your jaw, those chocolate eyes boring into yours, the intensity of it knocking you for six. “always.” he adds.

the meaning of the word changes. always doesn’t mean a shameful, taboo secret anymore. life is breathed into the six lettered word; always means you and him, together, finally out of the shadows.

“i love you, osc.” you whisper.

he’s smiling when he kisses you again, unbuttoning your blouse like he’ll die if he doesn’t get the offending item off of your frame. you retaliate by shoving his t-shirt up his back, tugging greedily at it to strip him bare. the material comes off easily and as he sits up to throw it away, you shrug off your blouse and it meets his shirt on the floor. his hands smooth over your curves, brushing the pudge of your belly as he finds the zip of your skirt, ruining the fasten in his state of haste. you barely notice the way he’s ruined the item of clothing, urgently unbuttoning his jeans. your underwear is gone too, nothing separating you but your bra, restless hands on heated skin.

“we need to be quiet.” you breathe. “lando’s next door.” oscar giggles, tinged pink.

“get on top, love.” he drawls, flipping onto his back and taking you with him.

he sits up with you in his lap, nothing anchoring either of you in the middle of the bed. the imprint of your devastated form is gone, replaced by the shape of him. you can feel the head of his cock nudging through your folds, slicking him up so that he can slide nice and deep. he trails his fingers between your legs, thumbing at your clit in deft circles, just the way he knows you like it. you’re mewling in his lap, grinding down on the pad of his thumb; it’s so good but it’s not enough.

“please, osc.” you pant, urging him to let you sink down on his cock. you can see how red it is, feel the way it throbs for you, and the need to be full of him is almost paralysing.

“come on, pretty girl. fill yourself up.” oscar mutters against the shell of your ear.

he kisses down your throat as you slide down on him, dropping your hips firm against his.

“fuck.” you cry, your forehead falling against his shoulder.

“you okay, sweetheart? feel so good for me.” oscar coos, his fingertips digging hard into your hips.

“so good, baby.” your head rolls back, feeling him hit that spot tucked away within your walls.

your breaths mingle, your breasts flush against his chest, and as if he realises that he never stripped you of your pesky bra, he grunts, unclasping the black lace and flinging it somewhere far away. he gently mumbles an awestruck “fuck”, as if he hasn’t seen your tits a million and one times before, and latches onto your nipple. his tongue works in slow circles, matching the pace of your hips working languidly on his cock, and you keen further into his body.

“prettiest girl for me.” oscar grits out, his eyes squeezing shut when you clamp down on him, hard.

you’re both trying so hard to be quiet, overwhelmed by touch and taste, love. you’re growing tired, hurtling towards a desperate release, and oscar can sense it, the feel of your quivering thighs tightening around his hips spurring him on. he grinds up into you, maintaining your pace, but he’s fucking you harder now, the anticipation of your release sending shivers down his spine.

“you gonna cum for me?” oscar grunts, holding your hips down against him. you can’t move, his hold too tight and your body too tired, all you can do is wait for your orgasm to hit like a ton of bricks. you nod frantically.

“yes, oscar, please baby.” you beg for it, and like the true gentleman he is, the calloused pad of his pointer finger finds its home on your clit, sending you into an upwards spiral.

it’s as if you’re levitating when you let go, in a dreamlike state, your teeth sinking hard into his pale shoulder to muffle a surefire whine of his name. he’s rutting into you, prolonging the bliss.

“cum inside of me.” you urge, voice barely above a whisper. well, you’ve certainly never done this before.

oscar’s eyes roll into the back of his head, tears pricking his lash line. a guttural gasp of your name spills from his lips when he lets go, painting your insides warm and white. you stare at the tiny indents your teeth had left on his thick shoulder, his breath hitting the crook of your neck warm and wet as he comes down.

“‘m yours, and i’m here. i’m always gonna be here, i promise.” oscar speaks so quietly that you wonder if you’ve imagined it.

-

“when i made that mistake today, i was thinking about you.”

you’ve been laying there in silence for a while now, tucked under his arm when he speaks. you turn to look at him, perplexed.

“what?”

“i felt so awful about what i said after we, you know. you looked so upset with me, and i don’t blame you.” oscar sighs.

“i just don’t want to feel like a shameful secret, osc.” you tell him quietly, the words heavy on your tongue.

“you won’t, not anymore. ‘m so sorry, sweetheart.” he lulls, kissing over your hairline.

“how do we make this work? and how are we ever gonna explain this to-“

“lando.” oscar cuts you off, shifting uncomfortable. “he’s going to murder me and my entire bloodline.” he chuckles nervously.

“he won’t murder you. he might put you in a gravel trap, though.” you roll onto your side, smiling teasingly up at him and he rolls his eyes.

“i’ll take the heat. you’re worth it.”

-

“promise me.” you pant, his hips grinding into you. you’re curled into his chest, still spooning and barely awake. he’d woken up needy, and you were even needier, the faint glow of early morning sunshine washing over you through a crack in the beige curtains.

“anything.” oscar stutters, his breath warm against the back of your neck. his nose bumps your skin, teeth scraping the shell of your ear.

you stop meeting his thrusts. he whines low, wordlessly pleading for you to resume. he ruts his hips against your ass, chasing friction.

“tell me it’s all gonna be different now.”

“i already told you, i-“ oscar grunts.

“promise me.” you purposely clamp down on him, a hiss sounding from between his gritted teeth.

“promise, i promise, i love you.”

you giggle, rocking your hips again, fucking yourself onto him once more.

“i know.”

“you gonna let me off the hook?” oscar pants in your ear, tugging on your earlobe with his teeth.

“still gotta prove yourself, piastri.” you moan.

he feels deeper like this and he knows it, revelling in the way he’s filled you up so perfectly. he rolls into you slowly, sliding against each and every spot that makes you squirm. you drop your guard, going limp in his arms to let him finish you off.

“you nearly there, sweetheart? you gonna cum for me, love?” his accents thickens in the mornings, husky and intoxicating. you fall apart, then, and he stays buried inside of you, the only sounds in the room your matching heavy breathing.

“i need you to get dressed.” oscar kisses your cheek.

“kicking me out already?” you feign offence, looking at him over your shoulder.

his fingers come to cup your chin, his forehead resting against yours.

“there’s something we gotta do.”

-

you’re wearing your skirt from the day before, the waistband rolled over to make up for the oscar-destroyed zipper. his hoodie that you’ve stolen almost completely covers the short skirt, and your messy hair and poorly removed makeup don’t do much to convince anyone that you’d actually slept in your own room last night.

still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you don’t really comprehend where oscar is leading you, but when the elevator dings, signalling that you’ve reached the restaurant floor, you’re suddenly painfully awake. time seems to move in slow motion, your tummy twisting as you realise what’s about to happen.

ahead of you, tucked into the corner of the restaurant is your brother, jon, and ashley. lando is already draped in team kit, the papaya of his hoodie blaring obnoxiously for once, a warning sign.

“oscar, what-“

“i’m doing this.” he affirms, speeding up his stride.

oh my god oh my god oh my fucking god.

your heart speeds up, dropping to the pit in your belly when lando notices you, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, eyes taking in the bewildering sight before him. his baby sister, disheveled and wide-eyed, and his teammate holding her hand, on a mission.

“what the fuck am i looking at?” lando doesn’t sound angry, per say, more perplexed than anything. there is an edge to his voice that you don’t particularly like, but he hasn’t started swinging yet, you suppose.

“i’m in love with your sister. like, for real. you deserve to know that.” oscar says confidently, somewhat monotonously.

lando opens his mouth, closes it. opens it again, closes it. he repeats the process a few more times, going through the motions of an emotional rollercoaster.

but then, he sighs deeply, a grin of disbelief stretching across his face. jon bangs on the table excitedly, and ash is shaking his head.

“you owe us so much money.” jon laughs, his head tipping back.

“pay up, boss.” ash sticks his hand out expectantly, smirking across the table.

“what… what?” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“i didn’t wanna believe them.” lando shrugs.

“don’t blame you.” oscar chimes in, and you stare between the two mclaren drivers in bewilderment.

“are you okay with this?” you question, staring your brother in the eyes, still a bit disoriented by the entire situation. his face softens, a genuine smile lingering small on his lips.

“if you’re happy, i’ll make my peace with it.” lando’s eyes flit between you and oscar.

all of the sudden, a look of horror crosses his face, and his voice turns stern.

“but,” he inhales shakily. “if i ever, ever, hear again what i think i heard last night,” he glares at oscar, pointing one firm finger at the australian, who stands up a bit straighter. “you’re dead, piastri.”

jon and ash bite back giggles at the empty threat, and you take it upon yourself to put an end to the situation before it gets any more awkward.

“well, on that note!” you sing-song, dragging oscar away.

“and make sure you’re using protection!” lando calls out, panic stricken, big brother mode activated.

“oh my god.” you blush dark pink, speeding up, the elevator in your sights.

“that went well.” oscar quips sarcastically. he looks rather happy with himself.

you kiss him as soon as the metal doors shut.

-

you do go out after the race, but for once it’s not to drink away the memories of a weekend in oscar’s arms. this time, it’s to celebrate the fact that you can love him out loud, and he’ll do the same right back.

you’re dancing in his arms, bright lights in shades of blues and purples streaming over your bodies. oscar holds you close, keeps you wrapped in his arms, despite the shock on the faces of others at the sight of lando norris’s baby sister publicly besotted with his teammate.

when oscar kisses you deep, smiling against your lips that taste like cherry liquor, you know that this last year of your life wasn’t in vain.

you and oscar, you’re built to last.

-

“how did you not see it, mate?” charles beams, crinkles by his eyes from the wide smile he’s sporting. he’s clearly drunk, but lando is too.

it appears he’s clocked the brits sister and her australian suitor on the dance floor.

the monagasque has rocked up to the bar with alex and pierre in tow, the three of them slapping lando on the back as they arrive.

“i guess there were signs.” lando shrugs, dragging his finger over the rim of the crystal glass.

“signs? mate it was obvious.” pierre chuckles, pushing lando’s shoulder.

“wait, you all knew?” lando splutters.

yeah. duh. come on, man.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s funnier.” charles… winks? it’s hard to tell with him.

lando finds you in the crowd, grinning up at oscar like he hung the stars in the sky. the younger mclaren driver returns your look, and it sparks warmth in lando’s chest.

you’re gonna be okay.

-

hehe

-

taglist

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[theother-victoria]

hello, sailor!

SYNOPSIS: all aboard the lady luck and set sail for a new adventure! life on land doesn't satisfy you, so why not take to the seas instead? while working under captain aventurine as the primary nurse onboard, everything you've ever wanted is within your grasp, and yet the mystery surrounding your captain is still there, just short of being solved. just what kind of secrets lie hidden beneath that charming smile and silver tongue?

CHARACTERS: aventurine, topaz, ratio, jade, robin

TAGS: fem coded reader (wearing dresses, makeup, but they/them pronouns still used), mentions of drinking, gambling, harassment toward reader, drowning, numby is a regular piglet in this fic, 23.9k wc (get some snacks and a drink ready for this one), mild angst, some suggestiveness

NOTES: thought my aventurine kissery phase was over then hoyo uploaded the pirate art of him and now its back to square one

special thanks to my pookies @https-sourlimes and @tragedy-of-commons for proofreading this behemoth of a fic! with much love mwah 💋

very late but @lowkeyren hihihi ren!! I got u for secret santa and hope u enjoy this fic!

TAGLIST: @harque, @akutasoda, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz, @mikashisus, @vxnuslogy, @papiliotao, @gl4di0lus

The rolling sea has always beckoned you.

It’s always been there, tucked away in the back of your mind, usually hidden but resurfacing like the corals and lost trinkets at low tide you’d go scavenging for when no one was looking. Conch shells hold the secrets of the ocean that enrapture you for hours on end and you drape yourself in weathered jewelry washed ashore. Dried-up starfish and seashells and multicolored sea glass litter your home, and yet it isn’t enough. These trinkets pile up and gather dust in your home as you chase after what you’re really after- a way out. 

You’ve been surrounded by the sea your entire life, born and raised in this very port town. You grew up hearing stories of lands faraway from your parents and the workers down at the docks. Infamous pirates and honorable seamen alike and their journeys were your bedtime stories as a kid. You never see the same unfamiliar face twice in a place like this and perhaps it’s this ability to come and go as you please that captured your heart from a young age. Appearing and disappearing like an apparition with rumors of your conquests and the freedom a life at sea granted… it was enough to grab your attention as a kid and never let go.

And yet, you’ve never ventured into the open seas. The most you’ve done is swim around at the beach, but you’ve never been able to push further than that. Theoretically, you should’ve been able to leave long before now, but your plans never made it past the first step. You’ve been denied passage aboard ships at every turn for countless reasons, all of them stupider than the last. Eventually, your motivation died down until you resigned yourself to a dull life on land- but the dream never fizzled out completely. Even now, you still stroll along the beach and search for answers. 

Down at the dock, you hear of sailors and pirates alike drunkenly telling tales of sirens and their bewitching songs they waged war against at sea. You wager that the sea’s freedom beckons to you the same way a siren’s song does to them- irresistible, enchanting, and inescapable no matter where you are. 

When work is slow, you find yourself staring out at the sea through the window, just watching as the tides recede and crash onto the shoreline repeatedly. At night, you’d catch yourself at the beach with your feet in the sand and the salty waters lapping at your ankles without any recollection of how you got there. Maybe sleepwalking? But something tells you that’s not the answer. 

But this time, you suddenly find yourself standing in waist-deep water, completely alone and without a sound to be heard. Not even the usual sound of squawking gulls circling overhead can be heard. That’s strange. The harbor is always busy, with goods being transported and people seeking asylum. There’s ships docked and as far as you can tell, it’s as normal of a day as any other. And yet, there’s no life to be seen or heard. No crabs scuttling along the sandy beach, no people strolling along the boardwalk, no shouts of street vendors peddling their wares to passersby. Just you, the sea, and its ever-growing temptation.

You think it’s somewhere around early evening from the position of the sun, but you aren’t sure how long you stare toward the horizon, unblinking. But when you do blink, you see a pirate ship coming into view. She’s quite possibly the most incredible ship you’ve ever seen in your life, with several sails, a sturdy hull, and a flag fluttering proudly atop the mainmast. And she’s heading right toward you. If you swim out further or wait where you are for a while longer, she’ll pass by, giving you the perfect opportunity to sneak onboard. 

You look back one last time before heading further out to sea. You slip below the water. It’s pleasantly warm and you wonder why you’ve never attempted this before.

The siren’s embrace, that is the ocean’s form of freedom, is growing stronger. 

Port towns aren’t known for being the safest, especially those frequented by pirates. Public drunken brawls, looting by particularly greedy pirate crews, lechery, and disturbance of the peace with the occasional count of public indecency, are commonplace almost every night. Usually, you’re able to avoid most of it, but today isn’t your lucky day. 

“Hey, pretty lady! Mind comin’ home-”

Crash!

An empty beer bottle goes flying by, barely missing his head and shattering into bits against the brick wall behind him. He lets out an unusually high-pitched squeak for someone of his size and stares as you storm past, his mouth agape. Another sailor behind him laughs at his plight, to which he spins around and cusses toward his face. You make it out just in time as the first punch is thrown. 

One drunken sailor is more than enough to deal with, you decide. You decide that you’ll take your chances and go past the port as a shortcut back home, even though it’s late. 

It’s silent besides the sloshing of the waves and mostly empty. There’s some burly guards patrolling in front of the more ostentatious pirate ships that spare a glance as you hurry by, but it’s otherwise deserted at this hour. 

Until you approach the end of the harbor where few ships are docked. You hear the faint sounds of a struggle- a punch being thrown, a man’s muffled scream, glass shattering, the wet squelch of a knife sinking into flesh, and the thud of a body hitting the ground. From the shadows, you see two people emerge. A blond man drags someone out by the hair with a knife in hand. Even from here, you can see the dark slick staining the wood. There’s a ship directly in front of him. You assume it belongs- or belonged- to the now-lifeless body being dragged along. The blond looks around, then freezes up upon seeing you. The hand holding the knife tenses at his side and the two of you stay locked in place like that for a bit, daring to see who will make the first move. Shockingly bright neon eyes meet yours and you jolt. You’ve never seen anyone with eyes like his.

But there’s a ship that’s still waiting. You recall that strange dream you had a few nights ago.

… On second thought, perhaps today is your lucky day after all. 

You slowly clap, starting to move forward, and the blond steps back. The knife in his hands, now aimed at you, is a tiny thing. It’s rusted, the blade is most likely dull, and even the butter knife in your kitchen would laugh at it. 

“Congrats on winning. Got any injuries you need patched up?”

No response. You try again. 

“I see those injuries you got from that fight. Those wounds of yours won’t heal overnight. Someone has to be there to ensure they don’t get infected.”

“... You’re a nurse?”

His voice comes out smoother than expected. Amusement and snark drip from the words, thick as honey, like he can’t believe you’re a medical professional. And yet, you can hear the tenseness in his voice and see it in his coiled muscles, ready to spring back into action again. 

You ignore the jab toward you and point toward the winding cobblestone streets that you came from. The sounds of a fight can be heard coming from the town square even out here. 

“Run a practice in town. Certified and everything if you’re real nitpicky and care about my credentials. Though most sailors that come through the door could care less when they’ve got a pretty lady lookin’ over ‘em and are used to amputations for the most minor of infections.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been snatched up by another pirate crew yet then,” he smugly remarks, voice as smooth as velvet yet concealing a sharp edge.

“Oh, there’ve been attempts alright. Promises of double the booty a normal seaman would receive, the finest quarters second only to the captain, medical supplies taking utmost priority when docking, and many many more. Hah! All nice and cute, but we know that in a few months time, all those promises will have fallen out the window and I’ll be regarded with no less respect than the lowliest seaman onboard.”

He leans back against a wooden post, roughly kicking the man from earlier until his bleeding head is submerged underwater. You spare a glance at the poor soul before looking back at him.

“Got a ship now?”

“... It’s not much, but it’s something to start with.”

He looks behind him and as he does so, the sleeves of his rags shift to reveal the injuries lying beneath. A sharp intake of breath is the only sign you’ve seen them, but his keen ears pick up on it. He tugs his sleeves down and glowers over his shoulder in your direction. 

“You don’t have any medical expertise, do you?” you ask, ignoring his irritation. “Not a good idea to go out conquerin’ the seven seas without a nurse on board. Matter of fact, I doubt you’d even get that far. Probably die off from scurvy or something preventable.”

His silence speaks volumes. You brush past him and set foot onto his stolen ship- little more than a glorified rowboat with a mast and a single sail. It couldn’t even be called a sailboat. 

Still, he won’t go down so easily. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares you down behind his thick bangs obscuring his vision.

“And why should I welcome you aboard?”

“Simple. We both get what we want.”

You reach your hand out to him.

“You get a trained, qualified medical professional to treat your wounds, and I get to escape this rinky-dink, backwater port town. A mutually beneficial deal, don’t you agree?”

He racks his mind for an excuse, anything, really, to turn you down. But he can’t come up with anything. The wounds all over his body really do need treatment that he doesn’t have the expertise for. There’s enough room for two people in the boat and he knows you’re smart enough to have realized that by now. 

It’s fine. I’ll just dump them off at the next port and be on my way. Problem solved. 

With no excuse that can fly under your radar, he pushes his irritation down and forces a smile onto his face. He reaches a hand out and it’s just now you notice his ghostly blue fingertips.

… He’s not entirely human, is he?

“Your name?”

“(Name).”

“Welcome aboard, Nurse (Name).”

You brush your thoughts aside and shake his hand. It’s cold. 

“Pleasure, Captain…?”

“Aventurine.”

You squeeze his hand firmly one last time.

“Pleasure to be working with you, Captain Aventurine.”

Captain, huh? He tries the title on for size in his mind as you get settled in, rolling it around on his tongue. 

I could get used to being called that.

Even though he initially promised himself that he’d kick you out at the next port, that never happens. You pass by several ports, and yet you stay onboard. Perhaps it’s because he finds his first treasure alongside you on an island that many have sailed past countless times. The treasure was hiding under everyone’s noses the entire time, both of you managing to uncover it with a bit of wit and a hefty amount of luck. Aventurine supposes part of himself feels indebted to you, much as he hates the sensation. You found your first treasures together and you’ve admittedly been taking good care of his wounds born from years of enslavement. The healing process is coming along slowly but steadily.

Perhaps he’ll let you stay for a bit longer. Until you get your share of this treasure. He gives credit where credit is due, at least.

“I can’t believe this has been here this whole time,” you say as the treasure chest is finally unearthed. Aventurine sets the shovel down, and on the count of three, you lift it out to go through its contents.  It’s no sizable amount of loot by any means, but it’s not half-bad for your first haul. Some gemstones that are admittedly rather small, jewelry, a few rusted cutlasses that with some elbow grease, could be restored to their former state, and some golden coins from a bygone era.

You hold some gold chains up in front of him, as if seeing what he’d look like with them on. He casts a glance down and shakes his head in disapproval. 

“I know, too gaudy, right?” you ask as you set them back into the chest. He holds up a handful of uncut diamonds, all of varying sizes, and watches as they twinkle in the sunlight. “At least we can pawn ‘em off.”

“I know someone who can fetch us a good price for them. You won’t have to worry about that,” he responds as he lets the diamonds slip back into the chest through his fingers like fat, glistening raindrops. Diamonds are almost worthless on their own, but if he sends them to a jeweler to be cut and polished and perhaps turned into jewelry, then perhaps he can squeeze out a bit of value from them… Or perhaps he should just leave them the way they are, given her hobby for finding true gems in the rough. 

He finds a string of pearls and after a moment for inspection, tosses them over to you.

“Here. Keep these. You’ll look good in ‘em.”

“Then at least keep one or two of those gold chains as well,” you say as you clasp it shut around your neck. Aventurine shakes his head again, laughing snarkily.

“Nah. Not my taste. Not gaudy enough.”

“That’s what I said earli- wait, not gaudy enough?”

He meets your disbelieving expression with an innocent one and a shrug of his shoulders.

“What? A pirate captain’s gotta look the part. The more in-your-face, the better.”

There’s someone already waiting for you when you return to land to pawn off your treasure. According to Aventurine, she owns one of the most prosperous pawn shop chains out there and always fetches a fair price for her customers, so long as they have something equally valuable to give her in return. 

“Just remember to always address her as ‘Lady Bonajade’ and nothing else. She doesn’t take too kindly to those who don’t have manners,” he whispers to you as you weave your way between the crowded streets to the pawn shop’s address. 

“Sounds like an interesting person,” you whisper back. “Should I be scared?”

He scoffs. “Not unless you’re looking to trade something beyond our treasure. Just don’t say anything rash. Let me handle it.”

The pawn shop is tucked away in a corner of town that sees few people. The exterior is surprisingly well-maintained for this part of town and a sign reading “Bonajade Exchange” in elegant violet cursive lettering hangs above the door. You can’t see into the shop’s windows and you can’t hear any activity from inside either. Upon pushing the heavy door open, you’re greeted with the chime above tinkling at your arrival and the scent of heavy perfume cloying your nose. It smells heavily of florals and incense, with a hint of smoke present. The candle flames waver and flicker as the door shuts and you take a moment to look around the shop. The heavy velvet curtains across the windows are drawn, letting only a small sliver of sunlight in. The only other source of lighting is the candles scattered throughout that illuminate the treasures displayed almost carelessly throughout the store. Polished and cut gemstones lie in display cases alongside gold bars and jewelry. Weapons of all sorts are hung along the walls alongside maps and thick, aged atlases on the bookshelves. It’s silent, save for the faint crackling of waxen flames, until an unfamiliar and elegant voice rings out from behind the curtain all the way in the back. 

“Welcome to Bonajade Exchange. Who are you? And what do you seek?”

There’s a moment of silence that follows, as if the speaker has recognized who you are. A candle is lit behind the curtain and you can make out the silhouette of a woman rising to her feet. 

“Oh, it’s you. We meet again, Aventurine.”

There’s a smile in her voice as she brushes the curtain aside and you get your first look at the owner of the shop. A wide-brimmed black hat obscures half of her face with a pale blue eye peeking out at you. She wears a white dress that’s undoubtedly made of silk or some other costly fabric with a dark blue corset. The silver and jade jewelry she wears (is that where she gets her name from?) clink pleasantly against each other alongside her heels, accompanied by a walking stick clicking against the wooden floor as she walks. As she approaches, you can pick up on her perfume of white florals and red wine. 

She comes to a stop and her eyes rake over you both, lingering on you especially. You catch a hint of something in her slitted pupils, like she knows something you don’t.

“I haven’t seen you before. I’m Lady Jade, the owner of this place. Are you a first-time customer to the Bonajade Exchange?”

Her voice is low and almost a whisper that has you hanging onto her every word. It’s as smooth as the silk used for her dress but there’s an almost unnatural hiss to her words, not unlike that of a snake’s. Her voice is also vaguely snake-like too- the way certain words are stretched out, the weirdly sharp pronunciation of consonants clashing with the almost syrupy vowels that tempt you to lower your defenses, the lack of cadence- all make you unconsciously be on guard. Under her chilling gaze, you feel yourself strangely clamming up and it’s all you can do to nod mutely. She hums and leans in closer, examining you head to toe. You feel like an item being offered up for auction yourself right now…

“And who might you be, lovely lady?”

You’re surrounded by ice.

“Nurse (Name)... Lady Bonajade,” you say, hurriedly adding her title at the end after remembering Aventurine’s advice from earlier. She smiles approvingly, a cold and benevolent thing. 

“You’re a good child who knows their manners. Alas, the same couldn’t be said for the man next to you when I first-”

Aventurine coughs. Jade stops talking, but the mirth still lingers in her eyes. A purple snake appears out of seemingly nowhere, winding around her shoulders and up her forearm before rearing its head at you. Its tongue flicks out to taste the air and it leans toward you before she gently pushes its head back. 

“Don’t mind it. It’s too curious for its own good at times,” she says offhandedly. Her baby blue irises drift toward the plain wooden crate sitting behind Aventurine and the beginnings of a smirk tug at the corners of her glossy lips. 

“Have you brought something valuable for me?”

Aventurine beckons you over and after a bit of effort, you pry open the lid to reveal the contents of the treasure you found. Jade strides forward and stops before the crate, examining it with interest.

“Look at that, you’ve finally found your first treasure. Where was it found?”

She raises an eyebrow and a hint of skepticism crosses her expression when Aventurine tells her the spot. 

“That island has been combed through countless times by other pirates. I find your claim hard to believe.”

Atlases and ancient records are brought out and she finally seems to believe him after cross-referencing the embossing on the back of a coin with a legend from that island. Just as you think you’re starting to get a grasp of the situation, a flurry of financial terms fly over your head as they argue over the market value of the items and how much cash you can walk away with today. 

… You’re way out of your comfort zone now. You’re a nurse, not a businessperson, for Aeon’s sake!

An agreement seems to be reached between the two of them. Jade readjusts her gloves and after calling some men over from the back, they begin going through the treasures and separating them into piles. Meanwhile, Aventurine turns his attention back to you.

“Fifty-fifty split.” You make the first move. 

Aventurine scoffs. “Absolutely not. Eighty-twenty at least.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“The captain, of cour-”

“Self-proclaimed,” you retort. “Doesn’t bear much weight with only a crew of two and each of us handling the work of at least five men. Seventy-thirty split since you want to be stingy.”

“Still too little.”

Your eyes narrow in irritation while his smug smirk never wavers.

“Seventy five-twenty five.”

“Fifty five-forty five.”

“Is that really any different from your initial offer of a fifty-fifty split?”

“That’s a five percent increase.”

“Yeah, only five percent.”

Jade chuckles from where she leans against the counter. The treasure has been fully cleared out and taken elsewhere. All that remains is an empty crate on the ground. 

“A five percent increase isn’t as narrow of a margin as you would think it is. Right now, that might not seem like much, but in the future when you start discovering more valuable and rarer treasures…”

She yawns and covers her mouth with a delicate hand. 

“Who knows? You could be looking at a gain of at least a couple thousand.”

Aventurine clicks his tongue and turns back to you. There’s one last offer you have before you give up and walk away. A new life in this town for the time being doesn’t seem too bad… 

“Sixty-forty.”

He stills at your offer. Jade’s eyes are trained on him as she lightly fans herself with a feathered folding fan. Her snake watches the exchange with seemingly keen interest too. 

“... You drive a hard bargain just like Lady Bonajade over here,” he grumbles as he forks over a portion of the credits to you. He leaves part of it on the counter, though.

“You have an innate sense for business,” comments Jade, as you leaf through the wad of bills. “Perhaps you’d like to refine it to its fullest potential?”

“Lady Bonajade, please stop trying to recruit every promising person that walks through your door.”

“It’s not just anyone I set my eyes on. It’s only those with exceptional talent that shine like gems in the rough,” she corrects. Her gaze flicks over to you again.

“Should you ever grow tired of a life at sea and wish to attain everything you desire… you know where to find me. I have branches all over the seven seas. I’ll be patiently waiting.”

Aventurine hurriedly hands you the stack of credits he set aside earlier.

“We’re running low on supplies. I still have business to discuss with her, so why don’t you go and pick them up for me?”

You nod and leave. The door shuts behind you, and Jade’s welcoming demeanor immediately disappears as soon as the shop is plunged into darkness again. Even though the climate is temperate in this stretch of the ocean, the temperature drops considerably. Her snake comes out of hiding and openly hisses at him. This time, she does nothing to reprimand it. 

“I see you’re planning to let a considerable asset go. My best advice for you would be to not.”

Aventurine barks out a laugh and meets her cold tone with one of his own.

“Meddling in my affairs, you damned sea witch-“

“You would do well to learn some manners from them, child,” she all but snaps. “Remember, I don’t give out advice for free. When I do, it’s because I see a great return of my investment in you on the horizon. It would be in your best interest to listen.”

She hisses the last word out and her pet snake does the same. Aventurine’s heart is racing, but he shows no sign of it. 

“A businesswoman through and through,” he remarks dryly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you called them an asset.”

“Oh? As if you see them any better than I do. At least I recognize their value. You, on the other hand, have seen them as a nuisance this whole time.”

She sighs. “Such potential headed straight to ruin under your care. It’s quite a waste. Perhaps I should take them under my wing instead, the same way I did with you… Better yet, why don’t I put them through the same refinement process the way I did with you? It’ll be a valuable learning experience for you both.”

Aventurine bristles, and Jade smirks, knowing she has the upper hand now. He’s reminded that just like that, Jade can take away everything he’s fought for. And shape the rest of your life to what she has envisioned.

“You will have them remain as a crewmate upon your ship. Don’t think I’m unaware of how your wounds are coming along. This is in your best interest as much as it is mine. Understood?”

He numbly nods. Jade hums happily and pats him on the shoulder.

“Good child. I expect even greater things from the two of you combined.”

There’s a knock at the front and the door swings open. The sudden brightness of the sun makes him squint, but he can see you standing there with several boxes behind you and some burly men carrying them.

“Captain, I picked up all our supplies. Is there anything else you need me to handle?”

“No, tell them to take them back to the ship. Wait there. I’m almost finished here.”

You nod and the door closes again. Jade turns to him with a knowing look in her eyes as she pulls away from the counter to head to the back again. 

“Captain,” she repeats with a teasing lilt. 

“Stop that,” he grumbles. She checks the time and barely spares him a glance over her shoulder as she retreats behind the curtain again. 

“The time for conversation has ended. Go now. It isn’t polite to keep your partners waiting for any longer than necessary.”

Just as he’s about to head out the door, he’s stopped by her again.

“Don’t disappoint me now, child.”

The only response she gets is the door slamming shut. 

He finds you waiting by the ship as instructed. You don’t even get the chance to ask him what happened as he pushes past you roughly and hoists the sails. Wordlessly, you weigh the anchor and as you set sail, Aventurine finds himself more thankful than ever for your ability to read the room. 

Yes, he barely tolerates you. He never wanted a second person aboard to begin with. But anything is better than catching Jade’s attention. From personal experience, it takes a very special kind of person to stay one move ahead in her games and he knows you aren’t cut from that cloth. Most people aren’t. You’d maybe hold out for a bit with your hidden wit, but you’d inevitably be offered up as a loan in her many dealings, getting passed around from ship to ship as a highly sought-after medic until you’d work yourself into an early grave. Only then would she lose interest and only because your market value would be at zero. 

His injuries have been healing nicely, but he still needs your care. He makes up his mind to let you stay on his ship for the time being. At least until Jade’s interest in you has died out or until his injuries are completely healed. Whichever one comes first. 

And that initial condition is forgotten about too. Jade’s interest in you never wanes and his scars have faded, but that’s not the reason why he lets you stay. You’re quite the handy person, proving yourself to be skilled in tasks outside of medicine. You surprise him with your skill in carpentry and business, although he already knows about the latter thanks to Jade. He’s a horrible cook, but you manage to save yourselves from starvation with your talent in the kitchen. 

Aventurine begrudgingly admits that you’re also fun to be around as time goes on. You’re quite the charming storyteller with a never-ending trove of stories to share. Many of your nights are shared together under the starry skies with a tankard of rum in hand as he listens to your animated and slightly slurred narration of stories you penned earlier that day, or accounts about your former life in a port town and the… interesting experiences you’ve had. 

“Interesting” is putting things lightly, he decides one night after you described how you chased off some unsavory pirates looking to rob your office of valuable medical supplies with a saw and a kitchen knife. And chased off? More like scared half to death.

He also learns that you’re musically gifted as well. He’s off pawning off your latest treasures while you wander around after gathering necessary supplies as per usual. You had agreed to meet back on the ship but he instead finds you standing in front of a music store, eyeing the instruments they have on display in the window.

“You play?” he asks as he approaches your side.

“Yeah,” you respond without taking your eyes off the window. “Was how I made money before I became a certified nurse. I’d take a gig every night at the local tavern and see how much money a crowd of drunk men was willing to throw at me.”

“And?”

“You’d be surprised. If there’s one thing pirates are good at, it’s getting drunk and throwing their earnings at the first pretty thing they see after months at sea.”

“Do you still want to play?”

You tear your eyes away from the display to meet his gaze for a second, before looking away again.

“... Part of me misses it. Just a bit.”

“...”

You leave the store with a skip in your step and the nicest violin they had for sale in your hands, courtesy of your captain. Music now drifts through the ship and sometimes you’ll perform what you’ve been practicing for him after dinner. He’ll clap along, but you notice he never sings or even hums along… 

You have company now as well. Long after you’ve weighed the anchor, you discover a stowaway onboard in the form of a black cat tearing through your food stockpiles. 

“You thief!” you exclaim as you lift it by the scruff and hold it up to eye level. It’s tiny… is it a kitten or just malnourished? It meows pitifully and licks the finger you extend after cautiously sniffing it, a little sliver of pink peeking out and scraping against your skin.

The poor thing is… kind of… cute.

“Oh? What’s this?” comes an irritatingly familiar voice behind you. You spin around to see the familiar visage of your captain smiling down at the cat in your hands with amusement. “A stowaway, eh?”

“I caught this little thief digging through our rations. Captain, what do you suggest we do?”

He raises his eyebrows in feigned shock. A hand comes up to stroke his chin as he thinks.

“A heinous crime,” he proclaims with drama dripping from his words. “A fitting punishment for a crime is needed.”

“Your verdict?”

“The cat can put itself to good use by staying aboard our ship and hunting down mice. Cats are also a symbol of good luck on ships, you know.”

Without further ado, he swoops in and snatches the cat out of your hands. It purrs loudly as he strokes its cheeks. 

Didn’t take much convincing for him to fold, you think as you scratch its chin. It closes its eyes and its ears twitch. 

“Shouldn’t we give it a name? Captain, any suggestions?”

A big mistake on your part.

“How does the name Doubloon sound?”

“... Doubloon?”

Aventurine sets the cat down and tosses a gold coin out there. The cat immediately goes running after it, green eyes wide and pupils dilated. It pounces on the coin and tussles with it, biting on the metal like its prey.

“Never mind. It’s fitting. Doubloon it is.”

It’s nice, he admits. He has a handy crewmate who is capable of all sorts of tasks and can deal with his antics, surprisingly. He decides to let you stay aboard indefinitely now. And the cat is a nice bonus too. 

Your captain isn’t half-bad company either. He’s still just as annoying as the day you met him, even more so if possible since you’ve gotten to know him. He’s an insufferable flirt, mainly toward you, but also toward others when he wants something. He’ll whisper teasing remarks in your (their) ears, all meant to get under your skin and have you (them) right where he wants. Teasing kisses on your (their) hands and cheeks are commonplace. (Who does he see when he kisses and charms those around him? You or them?) He has a raging gambling addiction, perfectly demonstrated by how he splurged on a poker table and a roulette wheel after only a few discovered treasures. (It doesn’t help how you keep losing every time he challenges you for a round or two.) He never opens up about his past even though you’ve all but spilled your life story to him, from childhood till now. He’ll do as he pleases without warning you beforehand, giving you a scare when he decides to bet his life at a casino or venture deeper than he should into a jungle on a hunch that “there’s more hidden treasure to be found just ahead!”

(You later scold him for his suicidal tendencies while bandaging his wounds with more force than necessary, reminding him that you can hold your own in a fight too! Newly acquired treasure sits just outside the door to the infirmary and he’s beaming all the while, so any hope of changing his mind fizzles out.)

But for all his shortcomings, he makes for a good captain. When confronted by a much larger pirate crew that thinks you’re easy pickings, he first pushes you to safety before diving in headfirst. He distributes treasure fairly and recognizes the value you hold as a medic, always ensuring you have more than enough allotted credits to restock on medicine at every port town. You never find yourself wanting for anything and your days are peaceful. You can sleep in as late as you want and you always have plenty to eat and drink. The ship’s supply of alcohol is always well-stocked with your favorites. You’re richer than ever before and money is of no worry to you now.

The ship also gets several upgrades. After every successful treasure hunt, she gets renovated and upgraded. More masts, an additional sail, a shiny new hull, until there was nothing left of its original structure. Aventurine now commands a true beauty of a ship, one fit for a pirate crew… and perhaps one a bit too big for her measly crew. Most of the ship’s space remains empty. But your quarters are spacious, even bigger than your old room on land. It’s filled with trinkets you’ve collected on your journey and fluffy pillows, and directly connected to the infirmary through a door to make things easy. Even a doctor on land would be envious of the conditions, with plenty of medicine stockpiled and clean from floor to ceiling.

“Shouldn’t we give her a name?” you ask as you set sail the day the last of her original foundation is stripped away. He hums and nods.

“You’re right. Got any ideas?”

“You’re the captain of this ship. You should be the one to decide, not me.”

Aventurine strokes his chin and thinks for a bit.

“How about the Lady Luck?”

“... Seriously? You picked something gambling related?”

He lazily shrugs and grins.

“I’m a gambling man through and through, darling. What else were you expecting from the likes of me?”

A single multicolored eye greets you as he tosses and flicks the poker chip he stole a while ago back and forth. The other eye is obscured by a bejeweled eyepatch and you’re the only one who knows the reason why. 

During your first clash against another pirate crew, Aventurine had shielded you from an attack and potentially saved your life. Unfortunately, he couldn’t move away in time and took a knife to the eye. You had worked tirelessly around the clock that night to save his vision, but you weren’t able to. It’s a regret you carry with you at all times now.

“You’re right,” he agrees. When he notices you staring at his eyepatch, he grins.

“Still thinking about old times? Let bygones be bygones now, (Name),” he jokes as he lifts the eyepatch up, revealing the cloudy  iris that indicates his vision loss. His words don’t have the intended effect though, and you wordlessly trail your finger down the scar cutting cleanly through the center of his brow bone to his cheekbone. He tenses a bit at the contact, but relaxes at your gentle touch after a few moments.

“Do you… ever regret what happened that night?”

“No,” he admits without any hesitation. “I may have lost my vision, but I saved my pretty nurse who stitched me back together and fretted over me afterward, and that’s enough to make a man do anything. And… well… for my eyes, let’s just say I’d rather gouge them out most of the time.”

“I won’t let you,” you state bluntly and it’s the way you say it that makes Aventurine laugh.

“Of course you wouldn’t, sweetheart. You’re my voice of reason.”

“But why? Do you not like them?”

Aventurine struggles to find the words for once and he makes a face like he’s tasted something bitter.

“… Not particularly,” he admits. There’s a scowl on his face. “They’re unnatural. Don’t tell me you’ve met another person with eyes like mine?”

“Well, that’s true, but-”

Venom creeps into his voice and his scowl deepens.

“There’s so many rumors swirling out there now. Haven’t you heard?”

“No,” you answer truthfully. Aventurine hopes you never hear any of the horrible rumors surrounding him.

You sigh and push his bangs out the way of his good eye.

“I think they’re quite pretty, actually.”

It’s supposed to be an innocent compliment. They really are pretty. Like the colors of a winter sunset, but more intense.

But to your surprise, your captain flinches at your touch and it sends a shock wave of guilt through you. He never shies away from your touch, instead always seeking it out like a spoiled house cat.

To make matters worse, he gets up and leaves. But before he does, you glimpse the expression in his eyes- guilty and defensive, like a wounded animal. The door to his quarters slams shut behind him and all you can do is stand there, frozen with shock.

“What pretty eyes. Tell me, do they shine in the dark?”

Aventurine leans against his bedroom door and quietly groans. He knows you meant it as a genuine compliment and that it was wrong of him to react the way he did, but he can’t help but wonder if you’d still think of him the same way if you knew about the story behind his eyes. Would you think of him any less? Aventurine doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it if he ever saw you look at him with hate and disgust. Or even worse, if you’d end up like everyone else, waiting for the day those eyes grew dull and lifeless.

… He’d gouge his eyes out and walk the plank if that ever happens.

He can’t stop himself from spiraling until he hears a knock at his door.

“Captain?”

He quietly laughs. You always did have a knack for showing up at the perfect time.

The door cracks open, and he sees you standing there with a worried and guilty expression. It makes him feel even worse. It’s not your fault. You wouldn’t have known because he never told you, and he was hoping it’d stay that way, but it looks like he won’t be able to take the coward’s way out on this one.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t realize my words would affect you that much.”

“It’s alright. I know you meant it as a compliment. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

You narrow your eyes at him in confusion.

“Then why…?”

Aventurine lets out a resigned sigh and steps out onto the deck again, suddenly finding his quarters stuffy.

“It’s a long story. But would you like to hear?”

“I have plenty of time.”

Sitting side by side on the deck that night, he tells you everything about his past that he’s willing to reveal. Some parts have a clever twist that hides the truth while others have been outright omitted. But it’s the closest version of his backstory that he can share without coming clean, and he’s not ready for that- not yet, at least. 

“I’ve failed in this aspect of being captain,” he admits as silence blankets the air after his story. “I’ve been keeping too many secrets from you.”

“Captain, everyone’s got their own skeletons in their closets. I know and trust you well enough by now to understand that if you’ve been keeping something secret from me, it’s because you’re not ready to share it, and I respect that.”

You sigh and look up at the stars overhead. It’s a perfectly clear night with mild winds and calm seas.

“… It’s just that one day, I do wish you’d open up more. We’ve been with each other since day one and I’ve told you everything there is to know about me. It would be nice to know a bit more about you.”

He swallows nervously.

“And what if doing so makes me a bad person?”

You fix him with that stare that makes his spine tingle uncomfortably. It’s the look you give him whenever you suspect he’s lying during checkups and you’re prying for the real answer.

“… Well, we’re pirates after all. We’re not exactly good people, are we?”

He can’t help the laugh of relief that escapes him.

“Yeah, you’re right. We aren’t.”

Aventurine also likes to… spoil you, to put it lightly. As your finds become more valuable, the amount of credits he spends on you grows. Clothes are a common gift. Thin silks that feel like you’re wearing nothing, plush furs to drape yourself in, heavy down-stuffed winter coats for ventures up north, and frilly dresses that are a better fit for royalty in your eyes are all sent your way. It’s not an uncommon sight to return to the ship and see several men struggling under the weight of all his purchases while you were busy restocking. It gets to a point where you tell him to stop because your closet is overflowing, but he never listens. “It’s the least you deserve,” is what he always says. “Anything for my beloved nurse that has stuck with me through thick and thin!” At least half of the space in your formerly spacious quarters is now occupied by overflow from your closet.

You also get an upgrade to your uniform around this time. Before, it was whatever you had lying around, but now you have a dedicated set of dresses and pinafore aprons, as well as a nurse’s cap to top it all off. 

Cosmetics are also another common gift. He’ll constantly gift you lipsticks with the request to try them all on or expensive perfumes he knows you’ll like. He even gets you an elaborate vanity at one point to store everything. It’s a beautiful, heavy thing made from bronze and requires the strength of four men to carry. There’s a large mirror in the center with ornate molding surrounding it and two smaller ones flanking it. You’ll often see Aventurine leaning against the doorframe through one of them, watching you with a bemused look as you get ready in the morning. 

(That is, until you begin throwing pillows at his head and yelling at him to get out.)

But you begin to notice some strange things about your captain as time goes on. You’ll struggle with a chunk of meat during dinner while his unnaturally sharp teeth will tear through it with ease. They’re especially noticeable whenever he smiles, genuine or not. The large, sharp canines gleam under the sun. At one point, you asked if he purposefully sharpens them, partially as a joke, but also out of genuine curiosity. He had thrown his head back and laughed, but he didn’t answer your question. Sometimes, late at night when he thinks you’re asleep, you’ll peek out from behind the door and see the ghostly fire dancing around his blue fingertips. Aventurine’s outfits get progressively more gaudy and flashy as time goes on, and one thing he adds to his wardrobe rotation are metal nail guards. But even so, you notice his fingernails peeking out from underneath that are better described as claws. Heavy gold chokers and necklaces stacked on top of each other are an obligatory part of his look but on the rare occasion he decides to ditch the weight and opts for a high-collared linen shirt instead, you swear those are scales you see peeking out beneath the slipping collar after a long day. 

But you merely look the other way. As long as Aventurine remains a good captain, you don’t care who- or what- he is. 

It’s around this time you get the third addition to the crew as well. 

You’re docked at a pristine port town, which is a rarity to come by. White houses with blue roofs line the cliff sides. The streets are white too and the stone used to form them has been worn down and smoothed out by years of wear and tear. The warm air smells sweet and salty and vaguely of hay. In the town square, it transforms into something heavier and richer. The flowering trees blooming throughout make the air feel almost thick, while the persistent smell of sunbaked herbs and the local cuisine follow you everywhere from the restaurants and food stalls.

Aventurine is pawning off your latest finds at yet another Bonajade Exchange branch (??? Seriously, how many branches does this pawn shop have?) while you’re enjoying yourself in the town square, having already picked up on supplies and sent them back to the ship. The town comes to life at night. There’s a live band playing on a stage set up a few minutes prior with people dancing and drinks being passed around openly even though you’re in the middle of the town square and not in a tavern. You indulge a little, but eventually decide you’ve had enough for the night after a few too many men were too insistent on buying you a drink even after you’ve declined their offers. 

The rocking motion of the ship would make most people nauseous, especially someone that just had a few drinks, but you’ve long since gotten used to being at sea. Solid ground underfoot feels unfamiliar now and you let out a content sigh once you’re finally back in your quarters. You get settled in for the night as you wait for your captain to return and proudly show off his earnings from a night of gambling, like he always does. A candle is lit, filling your space with warmth and light as you resume reading a book that Aventurine had picked up for you earlier today.

You’re not sure how long you read for, but when you next look up, you’re shocked at how dark it is outside. A quick glance at your candle that’s almost burnt-out on the nightstand tells you it’s been at least a few hours- and yet, no sight or sound of your captain onboard. It’s silent, save for the sloshing of the waves against the hull outside and the crackling of the wick’s flame as it fights for survival. 

Shouldn’t he be back by now?

Curious and concerned, you go searching. Knowing him, he’s either drinking or gambling the night away. With some guidance from the locals, you scout out every tavern and casino in town for him. A quick peek into the windows or door is enough for you- there’s no sign of his blond hair or ostentatious pirate hat anywhere. As an added bonus, catcalls follow you everywhere and it’s enough to make you want to punch your captain in the face when you do see him. 

After a while of running around, you’ve just about had it. You’re exhausted, it’s late, and there’s still no sign of him. Where the hell could he have run off to now?

At your wit’s end now, you look at your surroundings and realize you’ve ended up at a university. You do remember seeing a map of the town the day you docked and recall a university in the northernmost reaches of the town limits. This is probably it. And from the looks of it, it’s not that big. Just a few buildings make up the entire campus.

One thing you notice walking around is a flight of stairs leading up the cliffside to what you assume to be an observatory at the top. It’s not off-limits, so you take your chances and ascend the stairs. It’s a clear night and you’re sure you can get a great view of the town from here. But as you climb, you hear voices drifting down. One of them sounds vaguely like… your captain? 

You pick up the pace. The stairs are steep and uneven in some areas. Some steps are wet from what you presume is rainwater and you almost fall on several occasions. (The things you do for this man! He should be thankful that you’re always there to ensure his sorry ass stays in line.)

You’re not sure what you were expecting once you reached the observatory, but it certainly wasn’t… this. You see your captain alright, but he’s pressed against the railing that’s the only barrier between him and a long fall down to the turbulent waters beneath. A man with violet hair who you’ve never seen before faces him with his back toward you, pressing a gun against Aventurine’s chest. Strangely enough, Aventurine doesn’t look terrified. In fact, he seems to take delight in the precarious balance his life hangs in, even going so far as to press the barrel of the gun closer to his chest with that same taunting grin on his face all the while. His cheeks are flushed, but whether that be from alcohol or… something else is up for debate. You’re already used to his suicidal tendencies, but just seeing his face after the events of today pisses you off even more. 

“Come on, doc. It’ll be worthwhile, I promise. You surely can’t be satisfied in a place like this, am I right?”

“Captain.”

That blissful look on his face vanishes in an instant, replaced by realization and pure fear. The other man turns around and golden eyes meet your ticked-off gaze. You brush the stranger aside and storm over to Aventurine, who looks more terrified of your wrath than any weapon. 

“So this is where you’ve been this entire time. Did you lose track of time or something? Because it’s been hours since you were supposed to return! I was running around town, looking like an idiot trying to find you.”

He holds his hands up like he can defend himself from the onslaught coming his way. You jab your finger at his chest and he pouts as he looks away shamefully. 

“(Name), at least hear me out first!” he whines. When you raise an eyebrow, he points over at the other man, who clicks his tongue and pointedly looks away. 

“I found ourselves a potential third crewmate and was trying to convince him to join! But it doesn’t seem to be working… Care to try your hand?”

“That’s just another way of saying you’re pawning off the hard work to me!” you complain. And yet you humor his demands anyway.

“You are?” 

He hmphs and rolls his eyes. Already, he pisses you off. 

“Dr. Veritas Ratio, teacher and scholar. And you are?”

“Nurse (Name), working aboard the Lady Luck under the command of our Captain Aventurine.”

“... Said captain is on the verge of collapsing from alcohol poisoning behind you.”

It’s true. He’s clinging to the railing for dear life, the drinks from earlier catching up to him and hitting like a sledgehammer, you imagine. 

“Aeons, how much did you drink earlier?” you grumble as you hoist one arm over your shoulder and awkwardly drag him along. He merely hums and buries his nose into your hair, tripping over his two feet as he attempts to walk. 

“Mm… You smell nice, (Name). Like the new perfume I got you… hehe…”

“Answer the question, Captain.”

He opts to press his nose into your hair and inhale.

“Oh, not that much. Just… y’know… a couple tankards of beer.”

Meaning that he’s definitely had at least five of them and counting.

“… I’ve heard everything I needed to hear.”

Thankfully, Dr. Ratio seems to be adept at reading social cues and assists you with helping him down the stairs, albeit slowly and awkwardly. You invite him onto the ship and after taking a look around the medical quarters, he makes himself comfortable at your desk. He seems quite pleased, so you take it as some sort of roundabout compliment as you busy yourself with getting your captain to bed. You flip Aventurine over into the recovery position, who flops around aimlessly like a rag doll. Soon enough, you hear him faintly snoring. When you return, Dr. Ratio has taken one of the books shelved on your desk and began thumbing through it. 

“You have medical knowledge?” you ask once the door behind you is shut. He barely looks up from the book and continues flipping through its pages. 

“I have the title of ‘doctor’ for a reason.”

A doctor. An actual doctor. One step above you, a nurse. He had access to an education far out of your reach, and you had fought tooth and nail for yours. 

You can’t help but feel the first pangs of jealousy sink their claws into you and you avert your eyes, humiliated. What purpose would you have aboard the ship should he join as a doctor? What’s stopping your captain from deciding the man in front of you can do everything you can plus more and throwing you off the ship? Granted, any medical professional, doctor or not, is highly sought-after on pirate ships and you believe your captain is above tossing you aside after you’ve already proven your loyalty to him. But the knowledge that he will always be regarded as one step above you, seen as more valuable, is enough to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“Overthinking things, are we?”

He meets your gaze with a sharp look of his own.

“Don’t give me that look. Only a fool who wallows in their own ignorance would do such a thing.”

You hadn’t realized you were glaring at him until now.

“Sorry,” you half-heartedly apologize, taking a deep breath to relieve the tight ball of anger in your chest. You just met this man; you know it’s not right to be pissed at him over something like this, but you can’t help it. You massage your temples and gesture for him to continue. 

“I am well aware that you are the longtime nurse aboard this ship, and while I have no doubt you’re just as ignorant as the other fools who proclaim themselves to be intelligent and respected in their fields-“

Is he insulting me to my face?!

“- I will acknowledge that you are at least deserving of your title for keeping you and this ship’s captain alive all this time. A commendable feat considering your lack of a higher education. I thus have no intention of stripping you of your role.”

… Well, that’s your biggest concern addressed. Although, was the remark about your lack of education really necessary?

Now no longer worrying about whether or not you’d find yourself back at that place you swore to leave behind, you relax.

“Then what is your intention?”

He huffs and dramatically snaps the book shut.

“I am first and foremost an educator! My mission is to spread knowledge across the world until ignorance is a cured disease. And yet, the board of trustees at the university are doing everything they can to get me to stay. What a pointless endeavor!”

You cast a doubtful glance at him.

“... But you’re a professor. A fresh batch of students is a fresh batch of minds to educate. Isn’t academia where you thrive?”

Dr. Ratio huffs, like he’s having to explain something repeatedly to a child that doesn’t understand. 

“Zero points! How can I possibly be content with my situation, knowing there’s a whole world of ignorance out there just waiting to be fixed? Besides, we don’t get many applicants per year.”

“Would you like a way out then?”

After a beat of silence, he sets your book down and turns to face you fully for the first time that night. You take in his ruby-rimmed golden eyes, the color of the sunset a few hours ago, that hold the weight of a genius’s expectations behind them. 

“Are you offering me a position aboard the ship?”

“That depends. What skills do you have?”

He puffs his chest out proudly.

“I have eight doctorates in the fields of biology, medicine, natural theology, philosophy, physics, mathematics, engineering… oh, and astronomy. You would be hard-pressed to not glean some value.”

That last part catches your attention.

“Astronomy, you say?”

We are in need of a dedicated navigator… Aventurine can’t be at the helm 24/7.

You turn your attention back to Dr. Ratio, who meets your gaze with a tilt of his head and a raised brow.

“Something on your mind?”

“Have you ever tried your hand at being a ship’s navigator?”

He doesn’t look surprised at your question. It’s like he was anticipating it.

“I can’t say I have,” he admits. “But with my knowledge, it should be child’s play.”

“Don’t say that about something you’ve never tried,” you caution. “If you’re really interested, meet me back here at the docks this time tomorrow night. We’ll see how you do.”

The next night, he’s waiting at the docks with several bags lying beside him. Hm, he must’ve packed all his belongings for a life at sea now. Aventurine whistles at him as you lead him aboard.

“Looks like you’ve made up your mind already, doc. Told you so.”

If looks could kill, Aventurine would be at the bottom of the sea right now. 

Once out on the deck, you hand him a sailing chart. Without a hitch, he dives right in. His spyglass is aimed at the sky as he examines the stars and their positions. With your help in hoisting the sails and Aventurine in steering the ship toward the right direction, you’re on track to your next destination.

“Not bad,” you praise. “You’ll need to learn how to steer the ship and how to hoist the sails, but you can learn that in due time.”

“That settles it then, I suppose,” comes Aventurine’s voice from behind. The soft glow of a tea candle flickering within a lantern fills the space as he steps into view.

“Welcome aboard, Ratio.”

He proves to be quite a skilled navigator, and you’re thankful you managed to snatch him up before any other pirate crew could. Even without a sailing chart or in stormy weather, he still manages to ensure you don’t veer off course. It’s truly remarkable, really, as even sailing from north to south is hardly a challenge for him.

He settles into the empty room next door to your quarters. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, with several more stacked on his desk and bed. It perpetually smells like clean linens and chalk from the stash he burns through every week solving whatever problem piques his interest, written out on the rolling blackboard by the windows- or through hurling them at your captain with terrifying strength and speed. Sometimes, you’ll stop and stare at the board for a bit, only to give up after realizing you can’t understand a lick of it. It’s usually something physics or math related. If he’s in the room as well, he’ll try explaining it to you, but it all ends up flying over your head anyway. 

Soon enough, he lets you call him by his first name without the title out in front- a privilege not even your captain has. When not found on the deck, he can either be found reading and solving problems in his quarters, or hovering by your side.

“Rum mixed with… lime juice?”

You’re in the kitchen, surrounded by supplies. A new shipment of rum and citruses sits in the corner and you’re going through them, preparing the crew’s rations of alcohol.

You nod and toss the rinds over your shoulder into the garbage.

“Stagnant water on ships is a gold mine for diseases and pests. Alcohol is usually a safer alternative, and while the captain and I painstakingly ensure the water onboard is safe to drink…”

You shrug and take an experimental sip of the mixture. The strong burn of alcohol all but scorches your throat on the way down, but it’s a sensation you’ve long grown accustomed to, even liking it by now. The addition of lime makes you purse your lips and raise your brows approvingly. It would be even better with some sugar but alas, it’s a very costly material to transport, even by Aventurine’s standards.

“I suppose there are some vices that just can’t be shaken, like a pirate’s love for alcohol. The lime also prevents scurvy. I bet they don’t teach you this in med school, do they?”

Veritas begrudgingly shakes his head.

“We’re taught about the dangers of scurvy and waterborne disease obviously, but never resort to such… crude solutions.”

You laugh and push a glass toward him.

“Well, this is your life now, and you chose it. Better get used to how things are done around here.”

“I’m not saying I have anything against your methods, as crude as they may be,” he scoffs as he eyes the drink in front of him. You think you see a hint of nervousness in his eyes and smirk. Perhaps it’s Aventurine’s influence rubbing off onto you, but you spot a perfect opportunity to tease him.

“Drink up. Cheers,” you say, raising your glass in a toast. “It’s not half-bad, I promise.”

He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a hesitant sip before sputtering dramatically, face scrunched up in an amusing expression of disgust. You all but cackle at his reaction and down half your glass in one fell swoop.

“Liar,” is all he can manage out as he chugs water to chase away the burn of the drink.

“You’ll be singing the same tune I am in just a few months’ time. Just wait and see, I guarantee it.”

“Or that’s just your alcoholic tendencies speaking.”

“Never claimed I wasn’t one,” you respond with an eye roll as you finish the last bit of your drink. He looks at you with an expression of faux disgust as you leave, then looks down at his drink again as soon as the door closes. With a sudden burst of effort, he downs all of it. Veritas feels like he’s about to start breathing fire, but he holds it in for a few seconds before shakily exhaling.

“… It’s passable, I suppose. Five points.”

It’s some time after this that you welcome your fourth member aboard.

You’re docked at the only port to a mining town that, to your eyes, is on the verge of becoming a ghost town. It’s not winter yet, so the town hasn’t completely frozen over and snowed in (which is common this far north) but it’s still so bitingly cold. Supposedly, this is the warmest it gets year-round, but you still find yourself shivering underneath all your layers as you pace back and forth to prevent your limbs from turning into icicles. Even Aventurine, who likes to drink and gamble the day away after docking, keeps things on land as short as possible before running back to the ship to warm up. (Not like there are any taverns or casinos in a place this miserable anyway.)

You’re only here because there’s a severe storm blocking your way and this was the only port that you could dock at. All others, including the one you had left, were too far away to even consider rerouting to. Aventurine is absolutely miserable at the situation and you’re no better. Veritas is probably the worst of you three, being even more snippy than usual and holing up in his quarters. 

One thing you notice is the lack of trees. According to the locals, severe runoff from mining activities has led to trees spontaneously igniting from the industrial chemicals in the soil, leaving only burnt sticks behind. It’s quite sad, you think. The people here can’t even appreciate nature’s beauty. 

Another thing you noticed as soon as you docked are the heavy respirators the residents wear. There are newer models on the market that are lighter, smaller, and just plain better, but the ones you see look like metal helmets from times of war rather than medical devices. They’re old, archaic and clunky. They cover the entire face and you can hear every labored inhale and exhale through the little grate in front of the mouthpiece. 

It’s also so, so gray and dreary. A thick smog blankets the town thanks to the smokestack belching chemicals into the air. There’s a persistent acrid stench sticking to your clothes and skin and hair that no matter how hard you scrub, just won’t go away. Your throat feels scratchy and you’re always coughing and soon enough, you’re forced to don the same respirator everyone else does. You’re uncomfortably hot under the full face of metal and your neck is sore from its weight, while the vision in your left eye is always tinged red because of the glass used for the lens. You only wear it when you have to leave the ship, which is almost never. Aventurine laughed at how stupid you looked at first but before long, he was subjected to the same miserable fate as you.

“I can’t wait till we finally leave this place.”

“Tell me about it.”

On the day before you’re scheduled to finally depart, you decide to explore a bit further than you usually do. You hitch a ride with a resident past the outskirts of the town to the residential area. The pollution out here is significantly less, but still dangerously high by all standards. There’s actually vegetation out here! (Sparse blades of grass that haven’t been cut in ages and come up to your kneecaps. The soil is strangely wet and sticky and you wince after seeing the clumps of mud sticking to your shoes, even more so after recalling the extensive soil pollution plaguing the town.) Rows of identical concrete blocks are stacked alongside each other, meant to be bare-bones apartments. Faded slogans are painted onto the sides of them (“peace to the world!” is a common one you see) and there are small playgrounds out in front situated here and there.

It’s where you also find a girl around your age. She sits with her back to you as she hunches over something. It’s the bits of white hair peeking out from under the respirator that get your attention. You nudge the resident you’re walking alongside and look over at her.

“Who’s she?”

“Ah, that’s little Jelena. Though, she prefers to be called Topaz these days. Don’t ask me why.”

“What’s she working on?”

“Who knows? Beats me. All I know is she’s always mumbling something about leaving this place. Utter foolishness, if you ask me. Once you’re here, you’re never getting out.”

You stay put in your tracks examining her. She doesn’t seem to have noticed you, continuing with whatever she’s working on. The resident looks at you strangely but after a rushed and awkward wave goodbye, leaves.

“... Miss Topaz?”

She jolts and looks over her shoulder at you. Her respirator obscures her face but her posture is guarded and defensive. You can’t blame her.

“Who’re you? And how do you know my name?”

“A resident passing by told me.”

She takes a quick glance at you from head to toe.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

You laugh, hoping to dispel the tension and take a step forward. She looks a bit nervous, but hasn’t left yet. Good.

“What gave it away?”

“Nobody here has clothes that nice and clean. Or hair that shiny and well-maintained.”

She tugs on her own rags and choppy hair for emphasis. Sensing an opportunity, you sit down next to her and take your scarf off, wrapping it around her. Topaz jolts but stills when she feels how soft the material is. With a sudden effort, she yanks the respirator off her head and tosses it aside carelessly to bury her face further into the scarf.. The underlayer of her hair is a shockingly bright red. You match her actions and toss yours aside too. The acrid smell of polluted air hits your nose but you maintain a pleasant smile even though you want to scrunch your nose up and start coughing.  

“Keep it,” you say, patting her shoulders. She rolls the scarf fringe around between her fingers, marveling at how thick the yarn is and how it doesn’t fray immediately. “I have more clothes than I know what to do with.”

Topaz lets the scarf fall from her fingers and looks up at you behind untrimmed bangs.  

“... Who are you?”

She’s curious now. An enigmatic smile graces your face. 

“Would you like to know?”

A nod. 

“Nurse (Name), serving the Lady Luck, a vessel operated under the command of our pirate captain Aventurine.”

“... Pirates?”

Your gaze drifts to her workbook. There’s still questions in her eyes but she turns toward you a bit more to give you a better glance at what she’s working on, sensing your curiosity. A chart filled with lots of numbers and scribbled calculations all around it. 

“What’re you working on?”

“Accounting. I’m studying hard to get out of here. Everyone says I shouldn’t bother and just settle down with a husband already, but I have my sights set on something far greater than what this life can give me.”

You sympathetically hum and nod. There’s a loud squeak and something falls into your lap out of nowhere. It’s a… piglet?? Tiny for one as well. It squeals and flails around a bit in your lap until Topaz swoops in and lifts it up.

“Numby! Stop that!”

It squeals some more as Topaz continues lecturing it. You watch the exchange with a mix of confusion and concern for Topaz’s life.

“Is this… your pet?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. This is Numby. They’re not just my pet though! They can accurately sense where riches are located and over the years, have even learned how to perform jobs related to security, debt collection, and actuarial sciences!”

The expression on your face must speak for yourself because she laughs and tosses you a gold coin. Numby squeals and flails in her arms, trying to go after it, but Topaz doesn’t budge. 

“Don’t believe me? Toss this coin out there and watch Numby go after it.”

You catch the coin deftly. Topaz covers Numby’s eyes and hands you a pocket knife. You raise an eyebrow.

“Go bury it. Give Numby a challenge. Not like it really is one, but make them jump over a hurdle or two.”

“You can use weapons?”

“Course I can.”

She looks up at the perpetually gray sky and the plumes of pollution being spewed out. 

“There’s not a lot of people here, but life is hard and sometimes people try to take out their frustrations on those around them. Crime is a lot more rampant than you’d expect in a place like this, and unless you want to be robbed completely defenseless, it’s a given to always have something on you.”

You feel like your lucky stars have aligned and all the Aeons themselves are smiling down on you. By Aventurine’s luck, this girl is everything you need all in one package! You feel like this is hardly real. 

“What weapons can you use?”

She shrugs. “Knives, mostly. They’re the most accessible around here. But I have experience with guns too. Swords as well. Nabbed them off the drunken sailors a while back to protect myself and Numby against some idiots who had the really bright idea to turn them into bacon.”

… You feel like you’re ascending right now. Everything is aligning exactly the way you need them to. 

“Stolen a few times before, eh? Looks like you’ve already got experience in piracy.”

She scowls at you and you take that as your cue to bury the coin. You choose a location that’s a few apartment blocks down from hers. The knife sinks easily into the sticky, polluted soil as you dig a little hole before burying the coin. You avoid getting any dirt on your hands, not wanting to even think about what the contamination could and would do to your skin…

“Finished,” you call out as you make your way back to her. Topaz lifts her hand from Numby’s eyes and with a slap to the rear, sends the piglet running. They run faster than you expected them to with their stubby legs and soon disappear from sight.

“They’ll be waiting for us where the treasure is. But in the meanwhile, we can walk and talk.”

The two of you begin walking side by side, this time with less tension in the air.

“What a drag it is being pressured to settle for less,” you empathize, shifting the conversation back to the earlier topic. “What do you want to be?”

“A businesswoman of sorts, climbing up the ladder until I’m sitting at the top. Then no one can tell me what to do.” Even as she walks, she still continues to work, her pencil flying across the page as she performs calculations faster than you can keep up with. 

You raise your eyebrows and let out an “ohhhhhhh” in response. A golden opportunity has presented itself. 

“Well, what do you want in life then?”

“... I suppose it’s to solve problems. There’s many of them that exist in this world and I like solving them. It makes me feel nice, knowing I’m doing something to improve people’s lives.”

“Why not a teacher or something similar then? You’re quite good at math, after all.”

She shakes her head. “Not enough jobs in education around here. The nearest school is in the neighboring town, which is over half an hour away. The nearest university is several hours away in the city. There’s no demand for education in these parts, so there’s no supply of jobs and the current positions are occupied by people who’d rather die than resign.”

She flips to the next page and dives right in. 

“But companies are always hiring, right? I heard from the sailors down at the dock that there’s a few that are rapidly growing and are in need of people. So that’s why I want to become a businesswoman. Because it’s the fastest way to achieve what I want- happiness. And that’s how a job should be.”

You drum your fingers along your arm excitedly and lean forward with a conspiratorial look on your face. Drawn in by your expression, Topaz can’t help but lean in a bit too. 

“What if I said that although I can’t land you a job at a big company, I can guarantee you riches and a chance to explore the world? You can also finally escape those annoying aunties who keep pestering you about marriage and sending men your way who you can’t even bear to look at,” you whisper, temptation and promise dripping from every word. 

Her pencil stills, she comes to a halt, and she looks at you fully for the first time. Her eyes are a brilliant purple with flecks of blue and yellow. Despite the harsh conditions surrounding her, they still retain plenty of life. Quite different from Aventurine, you think. Makes you wonder what he went through to have the life sucked out of his eyes. 

But soon enough, there’s a scowl back on her face and she begins walking again. 

“Money is a means, not an end. I may be poor, but I’m not studying out of greed. Work should make you happy. If that’s all there is to offer, then I won’t be happy and I can’t have that happening.”

“How does solving long-buried mysteries sound? It should scratch that problem-solving itch of yours.”

She hesitates and you can tell she’s starting to seriously consider your offer. You just have to keep pushing and choosing your words carefully. 

“I don’t see how piracy helps anyone though,” she says stubbornly and you mentally sigh. She really wants to know what she’s getting herself into, huh? But that’s already two of her three needs you’ve got checked off and you already have a counterargument prepared for this. 

“We only search for and discover buried treasure that no one has laid claim to and is free game for all interested pirates,” you calmly respond. “None of that town-looting business you might hear about from the sailors down at the dock. And should you wish to donate your share of money earned to philanthropic organizations or invest it elsewhere… you’re more than welcome to. We won’t stop you.”

From the look on her face, victory has already been secured. And yet, she looks uncertain. Unsure.

“But… Why me? Why little Jelena from this run-down mining town when there are so many smart, talented people out there waiting to be discovered?”

There’s a loud squeal up ahead and Numby is jumping up and down in front of the spot you had buried the coin. Topaz unearths it with the knife and pulls out the dirt-stained coin. So she was right. Even better. 

You reach your hand out to her, just like how you did when you made your offer to Aventurine and Veritas.

“Why, it’s simple. We both get what we want. You get a ticket out of here and a hefty share of our riches, while we get a capable bookkeeper who prevents our captain from gambling away too much money, plus a master gunner who’ll defend the ship from foes.”

Your hand remains extended. She stares at it, then at you disbelievingly.

“I…”

You wave the gold coin you plucked out of her gloved hands without her noticing and wave it in front of her face. 

“Every investment has its risks, right? I suppose it’s natural to want to pick the one that has the least risk involved when you’re putting down something as important and uncertain as your future as collateral. But you’re still young with plenty of time left and dreams unfulfilled. If you play it safe, you won’t be able to make a killing later on in life. My days are freer now. All of us are. And I know that freedom to do as you please is what’ll bring you that happiness you so desire.”

Silence greets you. You swallow nervously. (You hope she didn’t see it.) You’re no businessperson, but you know an opportunity when you see it. And this is one you absolutely cannot let slip through your fingers. You’re gripping the coin as tight as you can and your hands are cold and clammy beneath your gloves. 

Her shoulders begin to shake. Your hand twitches and you think you’ve somehow upset her until she begins to laugh heartily. It’s loud and free, echoing off the walls of the apartment blocks. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve heard in this whole town. 

“Wow, talk about a win-win situation! Just the way I like to go about doing business. Nurse (Name), I’ll be under your care going forward!”

She whistles for Numby, who comes running over, oinking. 

“... You’re not bringing anything else with you? We don’t have to leave immediately, you know. We still got a whole day before we leave.”

Topaz shakes her head and lifts Numby onto her shoulders. 

“Nothing worth bringing along. Besides, what’s a better way to signify a fresh start in life by leaving everything behind?”

“Not saying goodbye either?”

Her enthusiastic demeanor fades to something more solemn and her pace slows.

“... No one here supports my dreams. If they didn’t support me from the very start, they don’t deserve to see me at my proudest.”

You hitch a ride back to the docks with another resident. On the way back, Topaz nudges you in the side.

“Are you sure you aren’t a businessperson? That was a very solid offer you drafted and presented to me back there. I couldn’t have done much better myself. You’ve even got the silver tongue for success as well. Perhaps an ambassador of sorts, at the very least?”

You laugh and brush aside her compliments.

“I’m truly flattered, but I really am just a nurse onboard… oh. Right.”

“... Is something the matter?”

“It’s just… I never told our Captain that a fourth member might be joining us. Ah… he’s in for quite the surprise when we get back to the docks.”

In my defense, it’s not like I could’ve told him anyway while I was so far away from our ship… 

Her face falls. Wait, you can’t have this happening already! Not when you just convinced her to join!

“I’ll vouch for you,” you quickly reassure. “He may be annoying and difficult to work with, but he’s not unreasonable. Besides, I’ve been a crewmate for the longest. If there’s anyone he’s going to listen to, it’s me.”

You find Aventurine lounging around in his quarters when you return. He gets up to welcome you back with an eager grin and an embrace, but pauses when he sees Topaz and Numby behind you.

“Oh? Who’s this?”

You plant yourself between them.

“Topaz, meet Captain Aventurine. You’ll be working under him from this day forward.”

As per his usual nature, he merely laughs and extends his hand. Topaz firmly grasps and shakes it. 

“A new recruit,” he chuckles. “Welcome aboard the Lady Luck then. We could always use some more helping hands around here. (Name), why don’t you go show her around the ship?”

But there’s a look in his eyes that follows you into the late hours of the night, through showing her the layout of the ship and introducing her to Veritas who looked as if he couldn’t care less, and the extravagant dinner to celebrate her arrival.

You and I need to talk.

It’s only after everyone has gone to sleep that Aventurine seeks you out. Topaz is sleeping soundly in your bed and you’re leaning against the doorframe outside, waiting for him. When he does appear, the usual carefree smirk is gone, instead replaced by a more serious expression.

“Really? A new crewmate without my-”

You violently shush him.

“She’s sleeping!” you hiss. He rolls his eyes but listens all the same.

“... I’m not saying I’m doubting your ability to seek out talented people,” he begins, voice a whisper this time. “But what if she betrays us? And we’ve been just fine so far with the three of us. What can she do that we can’t?”

You roll your eyes.

“Aventurine-”

“Kakavasha.”

“What?”

His intense gaze doesn’t waver. Ghost fire sprouts from his fingertips and dances wildly around him. A wisp lands on your hand. It’s warm, pleasantly so. 

“Kakavasha. That’s my real name. Call me that, but only when we’re alone.”

“... Really? You decide to finally open up in the middle of an argument?” you grumble. “There’s a time and place for everything, y’know…”

He blinks at you innocently and you resist the urge to push him overboard. Instead, you settle for coughing and swatting the wisp of ghost fire away from you.

“... As I was saying, Captain Kakavasha, she won’t betray us.”

“A bold statement to make with such confidence. How can you say for certain?”

“Kakavasha, this girl came from nothing. You saw the state of town she grew up in. No friends, no connections, no way out. But we gave her the escape she’s been looking for. She won’t sell us out, not while she’s indebted to us.”

You hear a sudden noise behind the door and freeze. It’s silent for several more agonizing moments until you finally relax. She probably just shifted around in her sleep. You really hope she didn’t wake up or hear any of that…

“But if she decides to leave of her own accord to chase her dream further, then who are we to stop her? Of course, even if she tries to turn us in, the authorities won’t be able to catch us,” you joke, trying to ease his fears. 

Aventurine hums. He doesn’t look moved.

“So? What can she do that we can’t?”

… But he doesn’t press the prior topic any further so you assume it’s ok for now.

You beam and hold out the workbook you swiped off her earlier. 

“Captain, we’ll have a dedicated accountant on board now! Just look at this. I saw her complete this entire page in no more than five minutes! Not only is she fast, but she’s accurate! Here, check for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Aventurine takes it and examines it with an air of disinterest surrounding him. He glances at it for a few seconds before tossing it back.

“Yeah, it’s all correct.”

“But that’s not all!” you continue. “Her little pet that’s always following her? Apparently, they’re skilled in security, debt collection, and actuarial sciences!”

The silence that follows your statement speaks for itself.

“... Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you drunk right now, (Name)?”

“Hey!” you exclaim indignantly, before remembering that Topaz is still asleep. “I am not! I’ll admit, I was just quoting her claims but her pet is really good at detecting treasure. I buried a gold coin and they found it with no trouble. Kakavasha, imagine how useful they would be.”

“Pigs are a symbol of good luck aboard a ship…” he mumbles to himself and it’s a sign you’re a step closer to convincing him.

“... Should we introduce her to Jade?” you ask. Aventurine looks at you like you’re insane. Then, as if considering your offer, looks at your door as if seeing through it to the girl sleeping in your bed.

“I know you’re good at math and business too, but wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else equally as skilled on board? With a bit of refinement from Jade, she’ll be just as qualified as any other licensed professional out there,” you plead.

He shakes his head. “If you want me to be the bookkeeper as well, I can do that no problem. If you’re adamant about her joining, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Your pain in the ass, sweetheart.”

“Shut up and don’t call me that, especially right now,” you growl. He merely hums and smiles, his expression strangely cat-like. He wants to make things difficult for you? Fine. Time to bring out the big guns then.

“She’s skilled with weapons.”

“...”

“...”

“How skilled? And with what types?”

Checkmate. 

“Knives, mostly. But she has experience with guns and swords too.”

You can practically see the gears turning in his head and hear his thoughts. He must be thinking about the weapons piled away in the armory with no one skilled enough to use them. With Topaz on board, they’d be put to good use for once- and after enough training from her, there was nothing the crew would fear.

“... Of course, I still have to personally see what she’s capable of.”

He glances at the clock hanging above his dresser mirror. 

“I’ll see to it tomorrow morning. Tell her to meet me on the deck first thing after waking up. I’ll be testing her aim and accuracy, among other factors.”

You’re woken up the next morning by the sound of gunshots. Several of them. Thinking you’re under attack, you scramble to your feet and stumble onto the deck only to see Topaz shooting some bottles lined up on the railing- and she’s hitting every one of them. 

Aventurine takes in the sight of you in your pajamas and unbrushed hair. A snort escapes him. 

“Good morning, my lovely nurse. Did you sleep well?”

… The nerve of this man. Then again, he did warn you the night before, so it’s not like you can blame him for your own forgetfulness. 

He stops you before you can storm off though, beckoning Topaz over.

“Congratulations,” he says while clapping. “Thanks to my beloved’s recommendation and your mastery over weapons, I hereby welcome you aboard the ship as our master gunner, Topaz.”

She excitedly shakes his hand before enveloping you in a bone-crushingly tight hug.

“Thank you! I promise I won’t let you down. I’ll pay you back double- no, triple the amount of investment you’ve put in me. And I always deliver on my promises!”

Your thoughts are a whirlwind as you watch her run down to where your quarters are.

… But I never saw it as you owing me?

Aventurine’s light laughter pulls you out of your thoughts. You scowl at him as he stops before you, gently combing out the tangles in your bedhead with his fingers.

“Stop referring to me by those pet names. People are going to get the wrong idea about us.”

“Oh? I wouldn’t mind that one bit.”

“Veritas has already been giving me strange looks whenever he sees us two together. Add Jele- Topaz into the mix and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“Handle what? Sweetheart, it’s just the four of us out on the open sea!”

He spins you around in his arms and you let yourself be dragged along.

“That’s exactly what I mean! And don’t ‘sweetheart’ me!”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“You-!”

Topaz settles into the room across the hall from yours. While the space is initially barren, it quickly gets filled up thanks to you. She raids your overflowing wardrobe and takes whatever interests her periodically and half the time, you don’t even realize what she stole thanks to your captain constantly spoiling you. Cosmetics are another common victim of her theft, but it’s more noticeable, especially if it’s a perfume. Books that you’ve finished are piled up in her room and she’ll often come to you with questions about your thoughts after she’s finished reading one. Numby has their own little bed at the foot of hers and you’ll frequently see them chasing Doubloon around the deck. 

It seems that Topaz is good at everything and anything she sets her mind to, because she becomes frighteningly skilled with weapons in a short period of time. Every day, she holds lessons teaching you all how to use an array of weapons, and she’s quite the skilled teacher too. But when class isn’t in session, she can often be found out on the main deck during a sunny day, humming a tune to herself as she cleans out the many pricey pistols and rifles you’ve plundered over the course of your journeys. Or by your side, but that’s a given by now. 

She also gets… seasick. Rather easily too. It’s her one fatal weakness. She gets used to it over time, but if the seas are rougher than usual, it’s guaranteed that you’ll find her hurling into the ocean, face pale and hair sticking to her forehead. And sometimes, it’ll still happen even when the seas are calm! It gets to the point where she’s so fed up she goes to Aventurine himself and demands answers. But he merely tips his head back and laughs.

“That’s the Lady Luck for you! She’s a fickle one like her namesake. Sometimes, she’ll try and drown you just for spite. She keeps even me on my toes at all times and I’m her captain. Isn’t that right?”

Aventurine pats the shiny wooden helm. As if responding to him, she creaks and rolls precariously even though the waves are calm. 

The four of you now are a complete crew. Incredibly small by all means, but a crew that operates smoothly like a well-oiled machine and one to be feared. 

As there’s so few of you on board, all of you have to double down, or even triple down, on roles. Veritas is simultaneously the boatswain and navigator, while Topaz is master gunner and master at arms while also being the bookkeeper. You’re “the ship’s beloved nurse”, as so lovingly referred to by Aventurine, while also being the quartermaster. Smaller roles such as cooking and carpentry are handled on a day by day basis and whoever’s available at the moment- although it usually ends up being you after Numby ran amok in the kitchen and almost burnt the ship down.

Guess being second in command is the bare minimum you deserve after being with him the longest among everyone on board. Although, there’s no real sense of hierarchy when there’s only four of you in total… 

Unlike other pirate captains out there, he wasn’t a rich man or a legitimate captain or even a high-ranking officer on a private vessel before becoming captain. Rather, there’s almost nothing known about him and it’s what makes others regard him with suspicion. How can a man who started off with nothing sail the seas with such ease, outshining even those who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths? 

But it’s all forgotten about in the face of his achievements- always going where no man has dared gone before and finding treasures beyond a pirate’s wildest imagination, as well as discovering several legendary treasures that have been lost for generations. Sea monsters that have been terrorizing ships for years meet their watery demise by your hand with Topaz leading the fray. Even the harshest of seas and weathering three days and nights with little sleep and food isn’t enough to shake your spirits. Mythical beasts meet death one after another and it’s around after the third creature slayed- a kraken whose single tentacle was longer than your ship measured from prow to stern, strong enough to crush her hull into splinters with ease- that you know you’ve made a name for yourselves. Whispers follow you everywhere you go on land and you’ll always hear dramatized retellings of your battles and treasures discovered while passing by taverns. 

The bounty on your heads also increases with each treasure you discover. It wasn’t until the four of you banded together that wanted posters started being put out. The amounts offered started off small at first, but after more and more valuable treasures were discovered, the number of zeros at the end keeps increasing until it’s the staggering number it is today. It becomes a point of pride, seeing how quickly the amount offered spikes with each town you stop at and you’ll have a good laugh over it, especially if the authorities think they’re fast enough to arrest you. You’ll take your sweet time fleeing as officials scurry after you like drunken idiots with two left feet- and giving them a fair share of trouble too. By the time they catch up with you at the port, you’re already long gone with a stash of stolen weapons and alcohol onboard- and a horrifyingly long tab under their name at the local tavern.

All the while having a crew of only three under Aventurine’s command. Truly a once-in-a-lifetime kind of pirate captain.

As word spreads from port to port about his unbelievable luck in finding treasure, his reputation grows and so does the number of people looking to join his crew. At every port, he welcomes anyone wishing to join with open arms. But not everyone is worthy of joining. You secretly put every applicant through a series of tests to see if they’re qualified including, but not limited to: seeing what skills they have to offer that you don’t possess already, if they can handle Ratio’s admittedly hardass personality at times, if they can satisfactorily perform the jobs of upwards of three people, as well as their motives among others. 

And of course, dealing with Aventurine. He’s in a category of his own. 

As expected, none of them last more than an hour. Shame. More hands on deck would always be appreciated.

All of this leads to your reputation as a small but tight-knit crew that would defend each other to the death. Regardless of the size or might of the ship that dares to challenge you, you always emerge victorious. Whether it be down to dumb luck or the collective desire to protect home, no one makes it out alive after encountering you. It’s enough to tell other pirate crews to steer clear, especially after you had considerably roughed up other crews more than twice your size. After the first few encounters that resulted in many dead pirates, you all decide to raise a red flag. It warns others that your crew will refuse to spare the lives of any opponent that comes your way. You’ve actually seen ships turn and head the other way after seeing yours. Now, whether that be from the red flag or upon recognizing the Lady Luck, you’re not sure, but it means less work for you either way, so you aren’t keen on prying too deep. 

Surprisingly, Aventurine doesn’t like to settle things with a duel unless he has to. Rather, his preferred method is with a game. He’ll invite the captain of the other ship below deck for a game of poker or blackjack rather than clashing swords and guns. The wager? The same as usual- the lives of the crew and the supplies on board. The loser and his crew would have to walk the plank and all treasures aboard would be handed over to the winning party. It’s not often it happens, but it’s still a nerve-wracking experience each time. Topaz had nearly passed out from anxiousness the first time he’d bet her life alongside yours and Ratio’s not long after she’d joined, while Ratio had lifted Aventurine up by the collar and nearly thrown him overboard. It was only thanks to your intervention and pleading that your captain hadn’t met his end that day.

… Safe to say, many a pirate crew have lost their lives and treasure this way. 

Like the crew that was idiotic enough to challenge Aventurine’s luck and consequently met their end just a few minutes ago. 

You watch as the captain of the ship anchored across from yours goes overboard with a resounding splash. His crew had already jumped before him. 

“That’s the last of ‘em,” says Topaz as she confirms with the spyglass. “Ratio and Cap’n are going through and seeing what treasure they had. But what would we do about their ship?”

“Leave it. We don’t have any cannons on board to blast it to smithereens and it's not worth adding another vessel to our fleet.”

Veritas and Aventurine push several treasure chests across the gangplank. Once the last of them are on your ship, Veritas lifts the gangplank and weighs the anchor and soon, you’re off again. 

“Let’s see what we have in here,” says Aventurine as you all stroll over curiously. He pops the lids off the chests and collective “oohs” and “aahs” fill the air as you marvel at the sparkling treasure filled to the brim inside. Aventurine lets out an appreciative whistle and lets a handful of multicolored gemstones slip through his fingers. 

“Have at it. Go and take your pick.”

Veritas snatches up the sailing charts while Topaz lays claim to the abundance of weapons. Her eyes are sparkling as she looks at the weapons in much need of some love and a deep-cleaning, and you can already tell what she’ll be up to for the next week or so. Meanwhile, you go through the chests with slim hope they’ll contain some medical supplies. To your disappointment, but not surprise, you find none. You instead settle on some pearl jewelry that catches your eye. 

“You guys barely took anything,” comments Aventurine as he peers into the chests again. “They’re still practically full.”

“That’s because gold and jewelry can only get us so far,” you remind him as he steps behind you to fasten the string of pearls around your neck. The cold metal of his nail guards and warmth of his fingertips lightly brushing over the nape of your neck make you shudder. From the faint chuckle that escapes him, your action didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Credits are where it’s really at,” adds Topaz as she gets to sharpening and polishing a sword. Aventurine rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“Of course the budding businesswoman would say that.”

He barely ducks out of the way in time to avoid Numby being chucked toward his head. 

Heavy wind and rain batters the Lady Luck later that night. But it’s cozy and warm beneath the deck in your dining room. Mismatched dishes and cups cover the round table the four of you are seated around, the food having long since been polished off. Numby is in a food coma by Topaz’s feet and Doubloon purrs contentedly in your lap. Veritas had gone off to bed earlier and Topaz is mumbling incoherently to herself, having drank more than she usually does in one sitting. With Aventurine’s help, you help Topaz to her feet and tuck her into bed while Numby sleepily trots after you. 

The two of you are back in the kitchen, silently doing the dishes and cleaning the space. When you’re finished, you bid him goodnight until you feel his hand latch onto your sleeve.

“What is it?”

“... Stay. Please.”

“... Captain, did you have too much to drink at dinner earlier?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbles. “Not even tipsy.”

The pink flush on his cheeks makes you doubt his words, but you let him lead you toward his quarters. The space is warm and extravagantly decorated. Atlases and maps are piled atop the heavy wooden desk in the corner with several candles burning throughout that fill the room with light. His wardrobe is even more packed than yours, overflowing to the point where you can barely make out the original floor beneath the heaps and piles of clothing. You carefully step over what you believe is a pile of silken robes on the way to his bed, where you lay him to sleep amongst the many fluffy pillows and heavy blankets covering the mattress. 

He stops you again as you’re about to leave.

“Don’t.”

“Captain, you have to go to sleep soon.”

“I’m not tired,” he argues childishly. “I have something I need to tell you.”

The uncharacteristic seriousness of his voice has you straightening up. You cast a glance at the door to ensure it’s locked as he sits up and drapes a luxurious fur over your shoulders. He pats the empty space next to him and after a moment of hesitation over the implications of getting into bed with your captain, you join him. 

“Truth be told, I haven’t been able to sleep lately,” he laments. “I’ve been plagued by nightmares…”

It’s only now you notice the dark circle under his exposed eye and a pang of guilt strikes your heart. You cautiously remove the bejeweled eyepatch and expose his blind eye- a privilege granted to only you- and frown at the sight.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“A while now,” he grumbles. You click your tongue and your frown deepens.

“Why didn’t you come to me about this earlier?”

Aventurine rolls his eyes. 

“Please. It’s nothing worth worrying your pretty head over.”

The remark has the opposite effect he intended. You glare at him and angrily tug on his ear.

“Captain, I think you’ve forgotten this, but it’s our duty to ensure you’re fit to sail even if you do piss us off to no extent at times. I’m responsible for ensuring you’re in good health, Topaz is responsible for making sure we can defend ourselves, while Ratio is in charge of making sure we don’t veer off course. We are all your responsibility just as much as you are ours.” 

He sighs and looks away. Figures. He should’ve known better than to expect you’d let his neglectfulness slip by the wayside. Meanwhile, you roll your neck and irritatedly sigh. 

“You mentioned nightmares. Do you want to talk about them?”

He keeps avoiding eye contact. With a resigned sigh, you lean against him languidly, head resting on his shoulder. Aventurine stiffens, clearly not used to touch, but relaxes after a few seconds. A hand comes to grasp yours. 

“... They always start off the same way,” he begins. “We’re lost at sea somehow and there’s always foul weather. Amidst the lighting, a ghost ship is illuminated.”

He swallows. 

“We then investigate that ship to discover that her hull is filled to the brim with gold and treasures alike, but no captain or crew on board.”

Aventurine begins fiddling with the poker chip he always carries on him. 

“And this is where things can change. Sometimes, I’ll turn and see that she’s hung you all before my eyes. Other times you’ll all have gone overboard, drowned by a rogue wave snatching everyone up except for me. Sometimes she’ll even steal my sight. Either way, they all end the same way. I’m cursed to be her captain forever, sailing the seas without an end in sight. A captain that didn’t go down with his ship and left without a crew.”

He lets out a dry, humorless laugh and tucks the chip back into his pocket. You swallow dryly.

“Do you think it has anything to do with…?”

You look down at his hands, then back up at him. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

“... How much do you know?”

It sounds more like a threat than a question- but a weak one at that. You scoff and take his hands in yours, taking care to remove the nail guards one by one as well.

“What do you mean by that? Kakavasha, you know by now I couldn’t care less about who you are. And honestly, I’m kind of offended that you think I would,” you sigh as you remove his hat and the teal bandana wrapped around his head. “All this time together and I was under the impression you held me in higher regard than that.”

“Cut the theatrics,” he grumbles. You toss his hat and bandana off to the side and pull the blankets snugly over you both. 

“But a ghost ship, hm?” you say, eyeing the stack of open books on his desk. “That’s never a good sign. Surely we’re not sailing towards our imminent deaths, right?”

He draws you closer as you roll over onto your stomach and gaze up at him with sleepy eyes. He feels his heart somersault at the proximity and your warmth seeping into the sheets. It’s an unfamiliar feeling he’s not quite comfortable with yet and tries to play it off with a laugh.

“I’d sure hope not.”

But it’s the first time he’s met your gaze this entire night. You meet his eyes unflinchingly, as you always do, with a lazy smile as you shift onto your side. 

“... There’s no storm that Veritas can’t lead us out of,” you quietly reassure. “No monster that Jelena can’t kill. No injury that I can’t heal.”

A hand sneaks out from beneath the covers to grasp his.

“And no captain better fit to lead us through the storm than you. So chin up, ok? We’ll make it out together on the other side surrounded by calm seas just fine.”

Aventurine shakily exhales. There’s still more on his mind but… forget it. They’re not worth worrying you over.

“... If you say so, sweetheart.”

“‘Course I do. Because I believe in your abilities.”

He stares at you disbelievingly before bursting out into laughter.

“You really are something, you know? Something so incredible I could practically kiss you right now.”

“Then do it.”

Your gaze is steadfast like it’s always been ever since joining. Not once have you ever flinched away from witnessing every aspect about him, both pretty and ugly. Every reckless, stupid, horrible decision he’s ever made was an attempt to chase you off the ship so you wouldn’t see him for who he really is. But for some reason, whether it be your persistence or having figured out his motives, you’ve stuck around. 

He’s a coward of a man at heart, but you’ve surely seen through his grandeur by now. You may pretend to be a mere nurse, but Aventurine knows that’s far from the case. You surely have to know his biggest, darkest secret by now, yes?

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll tell Ratio that you’re the one who’s been leaving obscene doodles on his chalkboard and Topaz that you’re the reason for Numby’s sudden weight gain.”

“Seems like my hand has been forced,” he chuckles. “Fine. You win this round, my beloved nurse.”

The rain continues pouring outside, but it’s still warm and dry beneath the deck. And if one kiss leads to something that lasts until the candles burn out, then… 

That’s a secret for you to keep then, yes?

It’s not the sun that wakes you the next morning. Rather, it’s the weight of a blond man sprawled out on top of you that does. 

“Kakavasha… get off me. You’re heavy and I can’t breathe.”

“Mmm… no. You’re comfy.”

His arms tighten around your waist as you flail around and try to shake him off. 

“Captain, your duties and crew await you! Let go of me!”

After some more incessant squirming and an accidental kick to his stomach, he finally relents. You shake him off and get ready for the day, trying to not think about what transpired last night as you change and do your makeup. The mere thought of it is enough to make your face heat up several degrees… 

When you’re finished, you peek into his room on the way to the main deck out of curiosity, only to see he’s still in the same spot you left him in. When he sees you glaring at him disapprovingly from the doorway, he perks up.

“Help me get ready?”

“Captain, you are a grown ass man.”

“Pretty please?”

He hurries to his feet and scurries over, before sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around your waist. He fixates you with those big, watery dual-colored eyes and you just can’t bring yourself to say no even though you know he’s playing you like a fiddle

“... Fine. But just this once. And not a word to Ratio and Topaz, got it?”

“Understood, my dear nurse!”

You start by all but tossing his clothes toward him, then turning and facing the other way resolutely as he gets dressed.

“Won’t you help your poor captain out here?”

A loud “oof!” escapes him as you toss his long coat over your shoulder. The weight of it, gold embellishments and gems and all, knocks him flat on his back and onto his bed again. He takes his sweet time getting dressed after that, grumbling all the while until he’s done. 

The wealth of accessories he wears are next. Aventurine slips on the pair of golden anchor earrings that are as heavy as one as you layer his necklaces the way he likes them. He preens like a bird under your attention and you have to fight back the comment likening him to a peacock that brews on the tip of your tongue. 

You re-wrap the bandana around his head before placing his hat on slightly tilted- just the way he likes it. Almost done. Just one last touch before he’s ready. You pull out a tin of salve and dab it onto the scar over his eye. Aventurine scrunches his nose up in distaste at the strong herbal smell, but lets you do as you please. You pat it dry and secure his eyepatch, nodding in satisfaction at your handiwork. 

“Perfect. There’s our captain, ready to command and conquer the seas.”

“I think you meant to say my captain, especially after last night. Weren’t you the one-”

You shut him up with a zealous kiss to the lips that has him sighing in bliss when you pull away, a dazed expression on his face and a pretty shade of pink on his lips that matches the one on yours. 

For such an eccentric man, he sure can be predictable when you have him dancing in the palm of your hand. 

The skies are cloudier and darker than you’d like them to be when you step out onto the deck. It’s also quite windy too. Veritas is lowering one of the sails while Topaz is on lookout duty. Upon seeing the two of you hand in hand, the former scoffs and rolls his eyes while the latter whistles obnoxiously.

“Good morning to you two lovebirds! I take it you had some fun last night?”

You chuck a pastry you had nabbed from the kitchen at Topaz to shut her up. She catches it deftly with one hand while Numby jumps up and down around her, pleading for a bite, but at least it worked. Meanwhile, Veritas is glaring at you with disgust in his eyes.

“What?” you ask innocently.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.”

Oh. Oops.

“You’re just complaining because you’re jealous, doc,” interjects Aventurine with an arm thrown around your shoulder. The purple-haired man scowls angrily and turns on his heel, storming away angrily while grumbling something about the too-thin walls on the ship.

“And wipe that lipstick mark off your mouth,” he snaps at Aventurine. His face flushes guiltily while you snicker behind your hand. 

Topaz lifts the spyglass away with a worried look on her face.

“Cap’n, there’s a storm brewing up ahead. A pretty intense one from the looks of it and because the winds are reaching us out here already.”

Normally, he’d laugh such concerns off and lazily give the order to circle around it. But this time, he wordlessly takes the spyglass from her and looks out toward the horizon where dark storm clouds are gathering and swirling.

“... Turn around.”

You think you’ve misheard him and so does everyone else.

“What?”

“Turn the ship around,” he quickly orders as he places the spyglass back into Topaz’s hands and hurries over to the helm. “If we go now at full sail, we should be able to outrun it until it dies out.”

Ratio and Topaz share confused looks but do as he says, obediently hoisting all the sails as Aventurine spins the wheel. The Lady Luck slowly turns around and soon she’s sailing ahead at full speed. Even so, the storm clouds aren’t getting any smaller. 

There’s a level of urgency etched into Aventurine’s face that you haven’t seen before as he pushes the Lady Luck to her limits. His hands grip the wheel so tightly you think that any more and the wood would crack. It’s as if he’s trying to outrun something, especially with how often he looks back over his shoulder at the encroaching clouds blanketing the sky in pitch-black darkness. 

Even sailing at near-top speeds, you still aren’t able to outrun the storm. Heavy clouds that bring with them an oppressive humidity and electrical charge to the air roll in rapidly, surrounding you on all four sides. There’s a strange buzz in the air and your hair begins to stand on end. There’s a small patch of clear sky in front of you that’s your only escape, and it’s rapidly shrinking. 

Come on, just a little faster… just a little more…!

Her prow just barely breaks free of the storm when a sudden flash of lightning temporarily blinds you all. When you open your eyes again, it’s so dark you can only see a few paces in front of you. Not a single shred of light escapes the thick storm clouds rolling overhead that have finally completely moved in, and you realize the sky is tinged a sickly green when lightning flashes. The air is heavy and humid and mere seconds later, heavy, fat raindrops fall from the clouds, splattering angrily against the deck. The temperature plummets and the raindrops condense into giant hailstones, harshly stinging your skin as they pelt you and the deck with harsh cracks. The slippery surface of the deck and angry seas tossing the ship around as if she weighs nothing make it so that you’re constantly sliding into walls and hitting things. 

You’re surrounded by the storm with no way out in sight.

Ratio lowers the sails as fast as he can and jumps down the second he’s done. Mere milliseconds later, the boom swings about violently toward the spot he was just at. A moment sooner and he would’ve surely died upon impact.

You regroup by Aventurine’s side, who’s staring at the churning waters with barely-concealed horror. Towering, white-capped waves crash mercilessly against her hull and spill onto the deck. The salty spray of the ocean shoots up as high as the masts and stings your eyes. The continuous gusts of winds threaten to rip the sails off the masts and howl against your ears. The Lady Luck rolls violently amidst the choppy waves and your stomach twists into knots at every drop. Poor Topaz is already throwing up over the side of the ship and Ratio is starting to look a little green. 

“So this is it then,” he murmurs under his breath, so quietly you think only your ears heard it. Before you can respond, he gets ahold of himself and gives the order to tie down everything that isn’t secured and for all hands on deck. Veritas and Topaz stumble off first, making quick work of the ship, but you linger by his side a bit longer.

“This is no natural storm, is it?”

“... No,” he responds, his voice clipped as he fights to keep the Lady Luck buoyant. “It isn’t.”

You’re emerging from your quarters when you think you hear a melodic voice drifting over the choppy waves, singing an unknown yet enchanting tune. For all your time spent in taverns and performing in them, you’ve never heard anyone with a voice even close to the one you’re hearing right now. The voice is clear and high-pitched and whoever’s singing hits every note perfectly. You feel yourself go limp and you begin seeking out the voice, even getting up on shaky legs before Veritas yanks you back down. With the last of his strength, he shoves wax into your ears before he too falls victim to the song. Topaz, with her ears safely covered, takes the initiative and with your help, manages to subdue him enough for you to plug his ears. Not an easy task for a man of his size and build actively struggling against your hold. 

You’re practically deaf now. All you can hear is the loudest of the waves crashing against the ship’s hull and the thunder booming directly overhead. Topaz roughly shakes you and you manage to make out what she’s saying even with the heavy rain obscuring your vision.

“What about our captain?!”

Ice courses through your veins. She’s right. You were so caught up in saving yourselves that you’ve left your captain completely defenseless. Oh no.

But when you look around, you see your captain still at the helm, seemingly immune to the siren’s song drifting through the air. He fights the ocean at every turn and spins the wheel to and fro as heavy waves tip her from side to side. He eventually manages to stabilize the ship for long enough to where you can get back up on your feet after being thrown around like a rag doll. Long enough for you to lock the rest of the ship up. 

You cling to anything you can get your hands on as you slowly make your back to the deck, but it’s surprisingly difficult. Your whole body hurts from being thrown around, your arms are sore from holding onto anything for dear life, and your balance is off. Your feet keep slipping and sliding and when you make your way to the deck, you see why: the Lady Luck’s prow is pointed directly up and you already know what’s going to happen next.

“Hold fast!” shouts Aventurine. In the instant before the ice-cold waters sweep over you, Ratio grabs you and Topaz around the waist and hunkers down in the corner of the deck, gripping the railing with all his strength while you latch your arms around his waist. You manage to squeeze your eyes shut and inhale before the force of the rushing waters hits you. Even with your iron-clad grip around him, the bone-chilling cold temperature of the ocean plunges you head-first into shock and your grip loosens up ever so slightly- just enough for you to be swept away. Your limp body is harshly thrown against a corner- something cracks upon impact and needle-sharp pain shoots up your spine- before another wave lifts you up and over the railing, plunging you into the endless, swirling depths. 

“Cap’n! (Name)’s gone overboard!”

The water sloshing around on the deck comes up to his knees now. Aventurine looks down at his legs, then toward the churning seas, then back at his legs. Without any hesitation, he tosses his coat aside and jumps overboard to the astonishment of Topaz and Ratio.

“Captain!”

“You damned gambler! Have you gone insane?!”

Everything sounds muffled and distant as you sink further down and down. Your lungs are burning and your vision is beginning to darken as you gaze up at the hull of the Lady Luck that’s growing smaller. 

Is this… it? And just when I think I’ve finally found the life I’ve been searching for… 

You think you see something dart by- a fish? No, it’s too big for one. The tail is a shiny lilac but the top half is that of a woman. Silvery hair flows out behind her as she stares at you curiously and you realize it’s a mermaid as she swims away. You gasp out of shock, only to regret it instantly when you begin gasping frantically for air after you accidentally inhale some water. You desperately claw and fight your way to the surface but it’s no use; your legs feel like lead and soon your arms follow. 

Right as your consciousness fades and the world goes black, you see a familiar face swimming toward you. Blond hair, multicolored eyes…

Captain? What’re you doing here?

There’s an uncharacteristic regretful look on his face as he gets closer. He says something- you can’t hear it- before he pulls you in gently and kisses you so softly you barely feel the brush of his lips against yours. 

A shimmering teal tail, the same kind as the mermaid you saw earlier, is the last thing you see. 

You feel something warm and heavy nestled against your side. Two of them, actually.

It feels like you’ve been asleep for a very, very long time. It’s a struggle to open your eyes as if they’ve been sealed shut and your body feels stiff. It’s all too easy to fall back asleep, but… 

Upon opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the sight of Numby and Doubloon curled up against you. The former squeals and the latter meows anxiously now that you’re awake. You gently pet their heads.

“... Good morning to you two as well.”

Your voice comes out so hoarse and scratchy you almost get secondhand embarrassment from hearing it. Upon closer examination, you realize you’re in Aventurine’s quarters but there’s no sight of him. You do, however, see Topaz passing by in the door left ajar. She gasps loudly at seeing you moving around and almost drops whatever she’s holding to rush inside.

“You’re awake! Good, we were all so worried, especially Aventurine.”

“Ugh… quiet down a bit please. How long was I out for?”

“Almost a day and a half.”

You slowly shift into an upright sitting position, wincing when you feel a sharp stabbing pain in your chest. Topaz is immediately at your side, helping you up and covering you with furs and blankets when your teeth start chattering uncontrollably. Looks like the chill of the waters penetrated deep into your bones. 

“Easy now. You got some nasty injuries when you went overboard, such as a few fractured ribs. Ratio had to be the one to patch you up after Cap’n brought you aboard and-” her words are punctuated with a light-hearted chuckle “-I’ve never seen him so anxious for a person to wake up. Don’t tell him I said that though.”

She leaves and you lift up the handheld mirror on the nightstand, getting the first good look of yourself since almost drowning. You look relatively the same, save for the bruises all over your exposed skin and the sling your left arm is in. 

“You’re very lucky that you only got off with some fractured ribs, a broken arm, and a bunch of bruises. You very well could’ve died out there,” says Topaz as she walks back into the room with a warm drink in hand. “Ratio’s words, not mine. Although, he’s right.”

You accept the drink and after realizing what it is, gulp it down eagerly. Hot rum with honey, lemon, and cinnamon. A favorite of yours and a classic remedy whenever someone on the ship falls ill. Topaz makes it the best though. 

You stare down at the now-empty cup in your hands, its residual heat warming up your cold hands. It takes a while for your memory to be jogged, but you suddenly remember Aventurine going overboard too.

“Wait, Aventurine, where is-”

“In the bathroom waiting for you. He’s been quite moody ever since returning.”

You think back to when he saved you at death’s doorstep and you loudly gasp when you recall the last thing you saw. Your thoughts must’ve been written all over your face because Topaz merely sighs and takes the empty cup from your hands.

“... I’ll let him explain everything.”

She helps you to your feet and leaves you be. You hesitantly knock on the door and are instantaneously greeted with a “come in” from the other side. 

You see why Aventurine has been confined to the bathroom. The first thing you see is a long teal-colored tail shimmering and swaying lazily side to side in the dim candlelight; far too big for the tiny confines of the bathtub your captain is currently soaking in. The fins are long and slightly translucent at the ends as they smack against the floor upon seeing you enter. You stay frozen in place, eyes trailing up from his fins toward his face. The scales that you swear you’d see peeking out underneath his collar sometimes are on full display now. Patches of them are littered across his chest, arms and face. His hands are webbed now and so are his ears tinged green at the tips and peeking out beneath the mess of blond hair. The sharp fins along his forearms slice cleanly through the water as he shifts around and the gills on his neck flare upon seeing you. 

He stays frozen in place, watching. And waiting for your reaction. For what feels like eternity, none of you speak or even dare to breathe until you finally make the first move. You shakily laugh and exhale- he jolts at the sound- and you sink to your knees besides him, albeit with some difficulty. When you finally do speak, it’s with a gentle voice as you’re eyeing his tail resting in your lap.

“So that explains it all. And here I was wondering if I was hallucinating seeing you with scales.”

Aventurine lets out a laugh of sheer relief. His shoulders droop and he slouches against the edge of the bathtub, all tension seemingly dissipating from his body. He seems to take notice of your injuries after he’s relaxed. A webbed finger reaches out to lightly trace your arm in a sling and he frowns at the sight.

“... I’m sorry.”

You blink, astonished.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and that’s all he has to say. 

“It’s just some broken bones,” you lightly respond. “Inconvenient, sure, but nothing I can’t recover from. Besides, you saved me from certain death.”

“It’s not just about that. I narrowly avoided the nightmare I saw in my dreams, but at what cost?”

He goes quiet and refuses to elaborate. You decide it’s for the better to change the topic.

“So… care to tell me about your tail?”

Aventurine sighs. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret from you forever, but he’s still a bit hesitant to tell you.

“Exposure to waist-deep water gives me legs and vice versa thanks to a deal I made with Jade a long time ago. In exchange for getting to experience life as a human, I would have to bring promising people to her door and continuously supply her with valuables.”

“Jade is a… sea witch?”

Aventurine snorts and scoffs. 

“What, did she not seem enough of a conniving witch the first time you met her?”

“Fair enough,” you concede. “But what made you want to experience life on land?”

“It wasn’t a choice.”

“Oh.”

Your eyes land on the tattoo on the side of his neck that’s on full display now. You dare not say what it spells out loud. He scratches at the spot, conveniently covering it with his hand, and silence fills the space for a bit. 

“What happened after the storm passed?”

You break the silence first. He seems relieved at the distraction and begins playing with the pearl bracelet fastened around your wrist. 

“The storm passed almost as soon as I rescued you. I brought you back to the surface, where-”

“Wait, does that mean Veritas and Topaz know you’re-”

He sighs and nods. You falter a bit.

“... How did they react?”

Aventurine thinks back for a bit. 

“I think they were just surprised. I don’t think they’ve fully processed it either.”

He laughs and shrugs.

“I can’t blame them. Their captain and a feared creature among sailors are one and the same.”

He sighs and looks at the closed bathroom door.

“They’ve been giving me a wide berth since then…” 

“I’m sure they’ll come around. They just need some more time,” you reassure. “But what happened after that?” you ask, pressing for more information. His tail curls around your waist and swiftly pulls you closer to the bathtub- he’s surprisingly strong in this form, you quickly realize as you squirm around only for him to not budge one bit. You rest your tired head against your arms and gaze at him with half-lidded eyes that he meets unflinchingly with a gaze of his own and a lazy smile. 

“Once you’re feeling better, go thank Ratio for his prompt medical care. As soon as I resurfaced, he practically yanked you out of my arms and started treating you. You inhaled quite a bit of water and Ratio had to get you to cough it all out. A bit gross, seeing it unfold in front of my eyes.”

“... You saw it all?” you ask, horrified and disgusted.

His lazy smile turns impish and he flicks some water toward you.

“Ah, you should’ve seen yourself,” he muses out loud. “Flopping around on the deck like a fish out of water and soaked to the point where you looked like Doubloon during bath time. It made for quite the sight- wait, don’t leave!”

He reaches out to you desperately and his tail tightens even more around your waist. You shoot him a withering glare before settling back down again. 

“The storm calmed down soon after I saved you,” he continues. “The Lady Luck sustained some damage to the sails and she sprung a few leaks in the hull, but nothing that Ratio and Topaz weren’t able to repair. Later, you woke up and here we are.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Really, that’s it,” he repeats. 

“What a coincidence it stops after narrowly escaping death,” you grumble. He rolls his eyes.

“No kidding,” he scoffs. 

Aventurine plucks a glimmering scale off and holds it out like a peace offering to you. It shifts between colors in the candlelight, going from pink to green to gold with a holographic sheen covering it. He notices the confused expression you wear and lightly laughs.

“What? Didn’t you know, mermaid scales are exceedingly valuable?”

You hold it closer, entranced by its dancing colors.

“I thought most of the ones on the market are frauds though?”

“That they are. But a real, genuine scale… those are only offered to the richest of the rich at a closed auction.”

“Yet here I am with one in my hand, free of charge.”

Aventurine laughs and plucks off another one for you. A look of hesitation crosses your face.

“... Doesn’t that hurt?”

“A little,” he admits. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, they grow back.”

His words do nothing to budge the frown on your face and Aventurine makes a mental note to claim a scale fell off from natural causes the next time he gifts you one.

“How long do they take to grow back then?”

“... A long time,” he confesses after a beat of silence. 

“... I see why they’re so expensive now.”

You glance down at the two shining scales in your palm. Perhaps you’ll make jewelry out of them- an earring to match with your captain doesn’t sound half-bad…

But your curiosity is piqued now. Mermaids are the stuff of legends and you have one sitting in front of you. A few questions couldn’t hurt, right?

“What else can you do?”

His tail flicks back and forth excitedly. Anything to impress you!

“We can cry pearls and other valuable jewels. Want to see?”

“Wait, don’t make yourself cry-”

Too late. Fat tears slide down his cheeks, condensing into something round and shiny before landing with a soft clink in his hands. Perfect pearls and tumbled sea glass pile up in his palms and you spot some shiny green stones- aventurine stones. He holds them out to you with an expectant look in his eyes. Your captain looks less of a fearsome mythical creature and more like an… eager puppy. You can’t possibly say no to such a face so with a resigned sigh, you accept his offering. 

“... Thank you, but please don’t make this a common occurrence in the future. I don’t want to see you cry.”

He pouts, fins drooping. Boo. There goes a courting attempt out the window. 

Like a puppy, you think as you watch him sulk in the bathtub. You poke at one of Ratio’s rubber ducks Aventurine had stolen from him bobbing along the water’s surface.

“You aren’t horrified?” he asks once he grows bored of staring at the duck. 

“Why would I be?”

“Don’t give me that. You know exactly what I mean.”

His tail swishes side to side agitatedly and his ears simultaneously flatten against his head and fold downwards. 

“Do you realize what I could do to you right now?” he asks in a low tone. “I could pull you under my song, strip you of your defenses, outwit you at every turn despite how clever you are…”

You’re leaning in unknowingly. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth and he leans in closer, twirling a strand of your hair around a clawed finger. 

“I’ll infiltrate your mind and charm you into doing things you’d never think of doing,” he continues, voice even lower and softer now. “I could tell you to walk the plank and you would do it, no questions asked. I could drag you beneath the depths with me and no one would even notice you’re gone. Ah, but you’re already under my spell, aren’t you?”

“... What?”

“Exactly. I could even do… this!”

With a sudden yank, he pulls you into the tub with him. Water splashes over the edge onto the floor and you scream. Even so, he holds tight and winds his tail tightly around you, nuzzling his cheek against yours and nipping your cheeks. They’re love bites more than anything else, but you shudder at the thought of how different the situation could be had he not been so head over heels for you. 

You also shudder as the cold water soaks through your clothes and sends a chill up your spine. 

“Let me go. The water’s cold.”

Aventurine merely holds onto you even tighter. Tucked into the crook of his neck like this, you can see his gills rapidly opening and closing out of contentment and the self-satisfied smile stretching wide across his face. He seems content to stay in this position for ages, leaning in to bury his nose into your hair and press kisses to your cheek repeatedly, but it’s only until you start shivering that he reluctantly lets go. 

Before you step out the tub, he holds his left hand out. You hesitantly extend your right hand out until he gently bats it away and gestures for your left hand instead. It’s bundled in a sling but you manage to make it work somehow. 

“There we go,” he says once your palm is pressed against his. “Now, close your eyes.”

You do as he says and thick, syrupy words flow like honey from his mouth. The words practically stick together as his voice rises and falls melodically in some unknown language. It sounds soothing, in the way a mother’s voice would lull a child to sleep. 

“There,” he whispers after a peck to your forehead. “All done. You can open your eyes now.”

“What was that?”

“... A prayer,” he admits. “A prayer for your continued health and safety.”

There’s a funny feeling in your stomach and you fight back the stupid smile creeping onto your face. 

“You shouldn’t have. But thank you.”

You curl your good arm around him and with a sharp heave, lift him up. His long tail snakes around your waist and you almost fall over from the weight.

“Stop that! You’re heavy!”

“How heartless of you.”

You dunk him back into the bathtub unceremoniously. His tail splits down the middle and scales begin falling off rapidly in patches. The fins shrivel and dissolve and pearly-smooth legs soon emerge. With a start, you try to look away but he merely scoffs and languidly stretches out in your arms.

“What? It’s nothing you haven’t already seen.”

Now fully dressed, Aventurine emerges onto the deck with you in hand. Topaz is playing fetch with Numby and Doubloon while Ratio is at the helm. The two pets, upon seeing you, dash over to you and run in circles around you with Numby oinking and Doubloon meowing excitedly. Topaz all but topples you over in an excited hug while your navigator scolds her, reminding the woman of your frail condition. 

“How are you feeling?” asks Veritas as he comes to a stop before you. You hum and beam at him.

“Never felt better thanks to your immediate care.”

He brushes your compliments off with a scoff and a wave of his hand, all accompanied by his usual eye roll. 

“Think nothing of it. It was merely my duty.”

Topaz leans against you from behind while Ratio coughs and steps back from you a bit. They eye your captain with the respect and admiration they always have, but now there’s a hint of skepticism underlying it all. 

“Gambler, we deserve an explanation for what happened back there,” demands Veritas. Aventurine sighs and shakes his head. 

“I know, but that’ll happen in due time. For now, let’s just… keep moving forward.”

He takes the helm. Ratio hoists the sails and Topaz climbs up to the crow’s nest to keep lookout. Things are never going to be quite the same as before now, but that’s alright in your eyes. Everyone boarded the Lady Luck for their own reasons and their captain secretly being a mermaid in disguise doesn’t change any of that. You boarded the ship to carve out a life for yourself you would’ve never had back on land. Ratio boarded to spread knowledge. Topaz boarded to bring change into the world. Your captain has already helped those dreams come true. Nothing the legends say will do anything to sway your opinion on him. 

There will come a day when the Lady Luck will complete her last voyage, Aventurine will have to return to the seas, and the crew will be disbanded, but that day isn’t today. It won’t be when he comes clean to the crew either. Rather, it’ll be in the far future when no amount of repairs can keep the Lady Luck from falling apart and you’re no longer able to handle the challenges of life at sea. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. 

The seas are calm. It’s clear out with a strong breeze that cools you off amidst the sun’s sweltering rays. Ratio is repairing a tear in one of the sails that escaped his earlier attention while Topaz hums a tune she picked up from you atop the crow’s nest, scouting the surrounding waters. You meet Aventurine’s gaze out the corner of your eye. Wordlessly, he pulls you into his side with one arm as you look out upon the ocean. 

“Have you accomplished your goal of conquering the seven seas?” you tease. He scoffs and smirks.

“Oh, I did that a long time ago already. But there’s one last desire I have yet to fulfill.”

“And what might that be?”

He gazes down at you silently, yet the silence between you speaks volumes. A raised eyebrow and a head tilt. A cheeky wink and a kiss to your forehead. An exasperated sigh from your two crewmates as you pull away from returning the kiss.

There’s always one question you ask when heading to a new destination, and this time is no different. Gazing into his multicolored eye, you can’t imagine yourself anywhere else other than here, now and forever. 

“So where to next, Captain?”

enjoyed my work? the taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[foreveia]

snow one like you ⤨ miya atsumu

⨭ genre; college!au, frat!au, enemies to lovers!trope (sort of)

⨭ pairing; miya atsumu x f!reader

⨭ word count; 16.4k

⨭ descriptions; you're convinced that miya atsumu is the world's biggest fuckboy asshole, and yet, when the iota nu alpha (ina)'s exec board and your sorority's exec board go on winter break together, you come to prove that there really is a thin line between hate and something else.

⨭ warnings; alcohol, profanity, sexual innuendos, LOTS of dick jokes

⨭ a/n; i have been FIENDING to write frat boy! & fuckboy!atsumu bro so here's the 'tsumu redemption story lmfao i am very proud of coming up w greek letter versions of the hq teams. hope u love seeing a fuckboy conversion story as much as i do mwah :)

song i listened to writing this: 'tsunami' by niki

one.

Winter break should have been perfect. 

Here’s what should have happened: (1) you, your sorority’s executive board, and an obsessive amount of luggage for a two week break all pile into Mao’s sexy black Jeep; (2) drive six and a half hours up to the cute, girly AirBnB you rented for this; (3) sleep in until 1 PM every day and wake up in the softest sheets ever; (4) spend the whole winter break snowboarding down black diamonds and drinking mimosas in the hot tub. You even treated yourself to a shopping spree in preparation for it; four sets of pink bikinis and matching silk pajamas for the girls had put a significant dent in your bank balance but who cares because it was meant for your perfect winter break.

It could’ve been perfect. It should’ve been perfect. 

But here you are instead, the day after finals on what could have been a lovely end to the first half of your junior year but instead is the start of an imminently torturous two weeks, standing at the curb of your university apartment building, shivering your absolute fucking ass off in just a hoodie because Aran’s rental car was delayed an hour for pick up. All your favorite winter wear is already packed into the massive duffel bag by your feet, stuffed to the absolute brim with just one of your new bikinis (since apparently, you had to do bonding activities now), plain pajama sets (the girls worried the others would feel left out), and everything you could ever need to commit a murder and get away with it. 

Your planned victim? Atsumu Miya, the official worst human being on Earth.

This belief is confirmed by the blue 2012 Hyundai you’ve been waiting on finally rolling up, and the back door popping open to reveal Atsumu, sprawled across the three seats as if he owns the place. He looks as if he plans on you feeding him grapes and massaging his feet during the ride there; you want to punch him in the jaw. His eyes flick up, lazily scanning you from head to toe with a smirk that could infuriate a saint.

“Awh, look who’s here to grace us with her presence,” he drawls, not bothering to move an inch. “So princess, ready to fall in love with me yet?”

You grit your teeth, forcing a smile that’s more a baring of teeth. Mentally, you scratch out human—because he’s actually closer to a demon. 

“In your fantasies,” you scoff, heaving your duffel bag into the trunk with more force than necessary. The trunk is a struggle to close because it’s already overflowing with way more baggage than is needed for a winter break trip.

He chuckles, an irritating sound that grates on your last nerve. “Oh, I have plenty of those, babe. You’re just usually not wearin’ clothes in ‘em.” 

Yep, it’s confirmed. You’re going to kill Atsumu. 

Unfortunately, Yui Michimiya, the sorority president and apparently shotgun, rolls down the window before you get the opportunity to strangle him right then and there. “Y/N, get in the car, we have to go! Mao and them are already on their way there.” 

You sputter. “I’m stuck in the back with him? Are you kidding?”

“Aran is driving the first three hours, and then I’m switching with him. We don’t have time for this.”

“What, so I not only have to share my winter break with the fucking foxes, but now I’m backseat? Why didn’t you just let me go with the other girls, Yui?” you whine. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t care. This is practically a matter of life or death (albeit not yours—for Atsumu). 

Yui’s eyes dart between you and Atsumu, her lips pressed into a thin line as she navigates the tension with the ease of a seasoned diplomat. “Look, I know you two have your... differences, but we’ve got a schedule to keep. It’s a long drive, and we can’t afford to start late. You two both need to just suck it up, okay? It’s just a few hours.”

You glance at Atsumu, who’s now sporting a grin that suggests he’s already won whatever game he thinks you’re playing. The prospect of spending hours confined in a car with him makes your skin crawl, but with a resigned sigh, you grab the rest of your gear and slide into the backseat. The door slams shut, sealing your fate. You’re already sad for your future self.

Atsumu shifts, making a show of spreading out even more, his smirk never faltering. “Are ya feelin’ cozy, sweetheart?” he teases, nudging you with his knees as his legs open so far he’s past the empty center console.

“Your tiny dick does not need that much room. Now get your legs away from mine before I chop them off and throw them in the woods behind our cabin.”

“Wow, princess, didn’t think 8 inches was tiny in your book. Or should I say size queen?”

This is officially the worst winter break of your life.

When Chizuru, the sorority secretary, had first proposed the idea of sharing your annual break retreat with a fraternity executive board, you thought she was joking. And then when Mao, the internal vice president, said it was a lovely plan so that both parties could have bigger facilities and more funds, you begged for it to be any other fraternity. And then finally, when Yui officially confirmed that your retreat would be a joint trip with Iota Nu Alpha (INA)’s five executive members, you actually lost your mind. 

Because Iota Nu Alpha, while being a generally very respectable fraternity with a decent national establishment and well-regarded chapter on your campus, contains a particular flaw: a certain external vice president who is the actual devil and goes by the earthling name of Atsumu Miya. 

The truth is that you’re not a very violent person—you don’t even knowingly kill bugs, much less go on mental tangents fantasizing about someone’s downfall. Before freshman year of college, you wouldn’t have ever believed that you’d be on the verge of homicidal rage just from the sound of someone’s voice. 

But Atsumu truly is a special case because he has an innate talent for bringing out the worst in you. Every smirk, every condescending comment, every casual brush of his arm against yours feels like a deliberate provocation, and it has ever since you first met him in a frat basement during your freshman year. Deciding he was nothing but bad news, you had tried to distance yourself from him, but somehow, he continues to be pulled back in everywhere: from being chemistry lab partners in your freshman spring to being paired during the Greek life matchups to being forced to take him to your sophomore sorority formal because your initial date ghosted last minute, for some reason, the universe hates you and you literally cannot escape him. 

Atsumu Miya spends half his time flirting with you and the other half pissing you off; he’s a thorn in your side that simply will not budge. He’s evidently already made it his mission to ruin your break before it’s even started, so that’s just reason #13092 of why he is in fact the bane of your existence.

The car pulls away from the curb, and Aran, INA’s secretary, adjusts the rearview mirror to glance back at the two of you. “Let’s try to keep it civil, alright? We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

Atsumu snickers and you roll your eyes, keeping your gaze trained on what’s outside the window. The cityscape blurs past, a mix of buildings and holiday lights from tourist spots in the area.

If you had been in Mao’s car right now, accompanied by her and two tolerable members of the fraternity, you’d probably be excited, chattering on and on about all the fun you were going to have. But now, the only thing you can think about is how to survive the next few hours—and then the next two weeks—without throttling the blonde asshole sitting next to you. 

“Y’know, princess,” Atsumu says after a few minutes of blessed quiet, “Ain’t it funny how ya swore in freshman year you’re never speakin’ to me again? And yet here we are.”

You don’t bother looking at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, hilarious. It’s the comedy of the century how you’ve become an inescapable part of my college life. What’s next? Are you planning to haunt my dreams too?”

Atsumu’s grin widens, undeterred by your sarcasm. “Are ya sayin’ you wanna sleep with me? Awh, at least buy me dinner first.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean, as ya wish. Or I can fuck you, I don’t mind changin’ up positions.”

You glare at him, but the intensity of your anger is somewhat mitigated by the fact that you’re squished in the backseat, your knees almost touching his. Yui and Aran exchange a glance in the front, clearly relieved that the bickering hasn’t escalated to physical violence—yet.

You think they shouldn’t be relieved yet. With the way Atsumu is currently simpering at you, it won’t be long before you act on your deep urge to punch him.

two.

The first few hours of the drive pass. You try to ignore Atsumu as much as possible, staring out the window and counting the trees as they whip by; still, he keeps saying stupid things and making you acknowledge them because they’re just that stupid. He just has the miraculous ability to pull you out of your head and whenever he speaks, he becomes all you can think about (because you’re so enraged by his audacity). Occasionally, you catch snippets of Yui and Aran’s conversation, but their voices are low, and you’re too wrapped up in your own thoughts and debates to pay much attention.

And then you notice the snow outside. You’re far enough outside of Tokyo now where the weather has begun to change; it is so incredibly beautiful to see the snowflakes flying down gently as the car flies past the snow-dusted neighborhoods and you can’t help but press your forehead against the cool glass, fascinated. You haven’t seen snowfall this hard in so long, and you are enthralled by it. It’s like the universe itself is trying to soften your mood, scattering diamonds across the landscape to distract you from the simmering tension inside the car. Even Atsumu seems momentarily quiet, his usual remarks on pause as he gazes out his own window.

The serene moment, however, is shattered when Aran suddenly pipes up, “We’re going to make a quick stop in Sendai. Need to stretch our legs and maybe grab some snacks. Anyone need anything specific?”

“Head from the princess.”

“A break from Atsumu.”

Yui snaps, evidently reaching her limit. “Okay, that’s enough. Everyone out.”

The car pulls into a convenience store parking lot, and the group disbands for a brief respite from the confined space: Aran goes to refill the tank, Atsumu and Yui head inside the store, and you trail behind in the lot. You step out, taking in the crisp, cold air, feeling it sting your lungs—a welcome pain compared to the annoyance of dealing with Atsumu. Still, you’ve made it this far; you refuse to allow his presence to deter you from enjoying the snow. 

The break is brief, and soon everyone is piling back into the car, arms laden with snacks and drinks. Atsumu tosses you a pack of peach gummies with a smug look. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Thanks?” you say, but it comes out more like a question; you’re struck by the gesture but even more so by the fact that he in fact had gotten your favorite candy. “How’d you know I liked these?”

“Oh, I just got them ‘cause they’re peaches. And I like your ass.”

Ah, there he goes, opening his big mouth and ruining everything. 

His smirk widens, and he shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Y’know, if yer cold, they say body heat is the best way to stay warm. Maybe we should try—”

You shove him away. “Keep your theories to yourself. I’m not interested.” You’re frowning again, staring outside the window with a refreshed intensity. 

It’s infuriating how he does nice things as if he cares about you when he’s really just the world’s biggest fuckboy. He is pretty and he knows it, so it’s not some random mistake that he spends half his time charming girls into dropping their panties. In a fraternity already known for being Man Sluts™, he really does stand out as the biggest one of all because everywhere Miya Atsumu goes, broken hearts inevitably follow.

He grins as if your hostility is just another game for him to win—because he’s an instigator, he doesn’t let up. “C’mon, we’re stuck together anyway. Might as well get close, babe.” His tone is mocking, and you can feel his eyes on you even with your gaze fixed firmly out the window.

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? ‘Cause ya know ya like it?”

“Because I have a name, Atsumu,” you snap, plugging in your earbuds and turning up your music loud enough to drown out everything and everyone (and especially Atsumu) around you.

Yui and Aran sigh. They had been the only ones to agree to take you two, and even their patience is wearing thin. The rest of the drive to the AirBnB continues in a similarly miserable pattern—moments of near silence punctuated by Atsumu’s insufferable comments and your equally sharp retorts. By the time you arrive, everyone’s a little cranky except Atsumu, as obnoxiously cheery as ever.

The sole saving grace is that the cabin is just as charming as you’d hoped.

With the INA’s additional funds, the AirBnB is significantly nicer than any you’ve stayed at before. Nestled in a small clearing, it’s a picturesque retreat with smoke gently curling from the chimney and warm lights glowing from the windows: altogether, it’s a two-story, wood-paneled beauty that looks like it was plucked straight from a Christmas postcard. The surrounding forest is peaceful, there’s a gorgeously still lake just past the trees, and the snow-covered opening glistens under the setting sun as the car finally comes to a slow in the stone-lined parking space. 

You step out of the car, stretching your legs and taking a deep breath; the thin snow sinks under your sneakers as you retrieve your duffel bag from the trunk. Atsumu, of course, makes a show of grabbing his own luggage with exaggerated effort, smirking at you as he hefts a comically oversized yellow suitcase over his shoulder.

“Need any help, princess?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

“I got it, thanks,” you reply curtly, not bothering to mask your irritation. You start towards the cabin, eager to claim your room and escape the tension of the car ride.

Inside is even cozier than it looked from the outside. The living room has a large stone fireplace, plush leather couches, and a comforting red-brick aesthetic; the kitchen is spacious and modern, with a large island perfect for group meals. The centerpiece of the house is the tall Christmas tree in the center, already adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments; there are no gifts under the tree yet, however, because Chizuru has made one of the ongoing activities for the trip to sneakily buy or make everyone else a gift. They’ll show up, little by little, over the break, but you imagine by the time Christmas actually rolls around, it’ll be overflowing.

Mao and Kita, the two other drivers, have both arrived with their cohorts, so the cabin is officially full of life. Both the fraternity e-board and sorority e-board are exploring the amenities; you know from the listing that there’s a game room and hot tub somewhere, so you’re sure they’re seeking those out.

You, however, are focused on something else. You’re too busy looking for the room Chizuru has assigned you, praying to every god you know that you aren’t placed near the human embodiment of a rash. 

When you find your room, you drop your bag at your feet and sigh peacefully. It’s a single on the short end of the hallway, with a queen-sized bed and a lovely balcony that overlooks the snowy forest. There’s only one other room on this end, and what are the chances of that being—

“Oi, princess, I guess we’re neighbors!” Atsumu whoops, walking towards you from down the hall, waving dramatically and now lugging two suitcases, his obnoxious yellow one and an identical one in gray.

Apparently a hundred percent. The world does in fact hate you, and you’re sure now that this is definitely going to be the worst winter break you’ve ever had.

three.

It turns out that not only is Atsumu loud when you’re awake, but he’s loud when you’re trying to sleep too. 

The walls of the cabin are remarkably thin for the whole aesthetic being wood-planks and brick, so much of your first night is spent with your pillow pressed over your head, trying desperately to drown out the loud conversations echoing from next door. The Miya twins are sharing the double room next to you, and despite your best attempts to muffle them, apparently Atsumu speaks at the volume of a F9 fighter jet, because you can hear every time he laughs. 

When you see the clock tick past 1 AM and they still haven’t stopped talking, you are done.

You give up on the idea of them shutting up on their own, and you need sleep—you’re an absolute terror without it. So you do the only thing you can think to do: get up out of bed, march yourself over there, bang on the door and demand them to please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. 

You bang on the door with more force than you intended, each knock echoing down the hallway (you’re thankful the other rooms are on the opposite end). After a few seconds that feel like forever, the noise inside finally ceases, and the door swings open.

There stands Osamu, wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxers with a simultaneously perplexed and annoyed expression on his face. He looks like he’s been pulled from the midst of the most intense discussion of his life—his hair disheveled, a hint of confusion flickering across his features as he registers who’s on the other side of the door.

“What’s so important thatcha gotta bang down our door at one in the mornin’?” he asks, his tone more curious than irritated.

Despite the cold creeping in around your slippers, you feel a flush spread across your cheeks—and it’s unfortunately not from the chill. It’s hard not to notice his well-defined muscles and the way his boxers sit so nicely on his hips; all the INA boys are sculpted like art and it’s part of why they’re such a popular fraternity on campus. Still, regardless of how hot he may be, your exhaustion and frustration are quick to overshadow any hint of attraction.

“So you do know it’s one AM! In case you two didn’t know, most normal people are trying to sleep at this hour,” you snap, trying not to look at how the dim hallway light casts shadows across his abs. It’s honestly a shame that this is the bane of your existence and his grayscale clone you’re talking about. “Including me, and I can’t do that with the Miyas recreating a live studio audience next door.”

Osamu’s expression softens a bit, actually looking slightly apologetic, and he leans against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that. Guess we got carried away.”

Behind him, you catch a glimpse of Atsumu, just as minimally clad, who has now paused in the midst of grabbing a snack from their cluttered table. He truly is cursed to be a demon trapped inside a beautiful body.

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between you and his brother, licking his lips before he teases, “Ya know, princess, you could always join us. M’bed’s got room for two.”

Osamu glances back at his twin, rolling his eyes slightly before returning his attention to you. “Bro, seriously?” He sighs, but you can see the hint of a smirk playing on his lips as well.

“No thanks,” you mutter, crossing your arms and standing your ground, determined not to let Atsumu’s pointed commentary distract you from your mission. “Don’t need your help cuddling me to sleep. Just shut up, please.”

Atsumu strides over to the door to stand next to his brother, grinning as he eyes you up and down. “C’mon, babe. We’re just havin’ a bit of fun. What’s a few more minutes, ey? Besides, you look cute in yer bunny slippers.”

“I hate you. And I told you to stop calling me stupid nicknames,” you huff. In your initial moment of rage, you forgot you’re standing there in just your fluffy slippers and polka-dot pajama set. “Just be quiet so I can sleep.”

Osamu chuckles, clearly amused, but still he takes a step back and drags Atsumu with him. “Alright, alright, we’ll keep it down, promise. Ain’t our intention to keep a pretty girl like you up all night—unless, of course, that’s what you’re aimin’ for.”

The joke sends a wave of heat across your face, but you manage a quick, “Shut up,” before turning on your heel and heading back to your room. As you walk away, you hear the soft thud of the door closing and the remnants of their now blessedly muffled voices.

Back in your own room, you climb back into bed, pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling, willing your heartbeat to calm down. “Stupid Miyas,” you mutter to yourself, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

The next morning, Mao is the first to point out your dark circles. 

It had been a struggle to wake up this morning, given how you had hardly slept; when your phone, blasting a cheery Ohayo, Ohayo! alarm, obnoxiously alerted you to start the day, you almost threw it across the room. You are bleary-eyed and extremely grumpy, so when she gasps at your appearance over breakfast, you are quick to react.

“I look exhausted because I am, Mao,” you snark back, rubbing at your temples in an attempt to ward off the impending headache. It doesn’t work. “Thanks to the Miya twins and their late-night comedy show, I barely got any sleep.”

You feel bad for snapping at your best friend—after all, she had only been concerned. But thankfully, she doesn’t seem to take any offense to your tone; she just sympathetically nods and slides a steaming cup of coffee your way. “Well, hopefully, today will be less noisy. Maybe the activities will tire them out.” 

You doubt it, but you’ll take whatever peace you can get.

 ***

The morning actually passes relatively uneventfully because Aran and Chizuru, as the secretaries, have put together a tight itinerary that’s meant to keep you all moving. From a group hike to tubing to a stop at the holiday market to ending the night with board games, they have everything fleshed out.

But somehow, Atsumu still manages to find every opportunity to get under your skin. From bumping into you “accidentally” during the hike to stealing your pink tube right at the top of the slide to buying the stall’s last Mt. Iwate snow globe you had been eyeing, by the end of the day, you are practically stomping into the cabin. You are seething for an opportunity to execute revenge.

Said opportunity makes itself present when the group gathers around the large dining table for Pictionary after dinner. Chizuru draws names from a hat to decide teams, and you end up paired with Osamu—you can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at your partner. Osamu is focused and competitive, just like you, and despite his contribution to the teasing and noise last night, you know he’s just as enthusiastic about beating his brother as you are.

The game starts off lightheartedly, with everyone laughing and shouting guesses as each pair takes turns drawing. When it’s Osamu’s turn, he pulls a card and starts sketching quickly; he draws a round shape with spiky hair and you squint, confused.

“Um… a pineapple… a sun?” you guess tentatively, but Osamu shakes his head and continues, his hand moving frantically to add more details—a few lines here, a few there. “A duck?”

Osamu keeps drawing and you keep futilely guessing, until finally, he adds two distinctive eyebrows and a stupid grin that you’d recognize anywhere. The lightbulb finally clicks on in your mind; really, you can’t believe it took you this long.

You blurt out, “An asshole!” 

The room falls silent for a beat before everyone (excluding Atsumu, of course) erupts into boisterous laughter. Even Kita is smiling—and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him express real emotion. Osamu’s face positively lights up, and he gives you an enthusiastic high five.

Atsumu, though momentarily stunned, quickly retorts, “Oi! I’m right here, ya know!”

Chizuru, being game coordinator, tries to maintain some semblance of order. She coughs into her hand, trying not to laugh, as she says, “Technically, she’s not wrong based on the drawing, but let’s stick to the actual prompts, please.”

Osamu all but wipes a tear from his eye. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up the little card that says in all caps, [ YELLOW ].

“The fuck? How’s me even relate to that?” Atsumu scoffs. 

Osamu shrugs mock-innocently, but the shit-eating grin on his face gives him away. “I dunno, jus’ came to mind. Maybe it’s yer hair.”

Yui giggles beside Atsumu, who is glaring daggers at his twin. “Well, at least you’re… memorable,” she says, patting her partner on the shoulder.

“Yeah, memorable for being an ass,” you retort, trying to suppress your own laughter.

The game moves on, even as the laughter continues; despite Atsumu’s ongoing and constant attempts to throw you off, you and Osamu manage to rack up a respectable number of points. And you do so again and again, even when Atsumu declares a team rematch in the form of Codenames and Uno; the camaraderie with Osamu comes shockingly naturally and by the time you have finished playing rematches with all the available games in the rec room, you are practically in sync. 

Osamu is easy to work with. You two work together to get on Atsumu’s nerves and you can tell the blonde is boiling. He competes with Osamu at an intensity you haven’t even seen before from him—you chalk it up to sibling rivalry, though you wouldn’t know for sure.

Then, when your team is declared as the official overall second place (after Kita and Aran—who would’ve guessed), Osamu scoops you up into a brief hug; your feet come six inches off the ground and you gasp at the unexpected embrace. A blush spreads across your cheeks when he settles you down because Yui and Chizuru are squealing so loud you think the rest of the sorority can probably hear it from Tokyo, 543.5 kilometers away. You don’t even have it in you to make eye contact with the bemused younger Miya twin, so you keep your eyes steadfast on the ground. His arm is residually slung around your shoulders; he leans much of his weight against you when he does.

You’re okay with it though. Osamu’s arms are just as toned and yummy as they look.

four.

Over the next week, you find yourself getting to know the gray-haired Miya more and more. He makes breakfast for everyone in the mornings without fail, and you’re an early bird, so more often than not, you two end up alone in the kitchen before the light has fully woken up the cabin.

Osamu is thoughtful, considerate—he’s so naturally comforting and sincere, down to his smallest movements. He listens more than he talks. He makes people feel heard. He takes care of the people around him. He doesn’t flirt with you or provoke you or leave you breathless. He is nice. 

You think that you like him. 

One morning, Osamu is telling you a story about learning to cook because at twelve years old Atsumu almost burnt down the kitchen while trying to make eggs, when Atsumu (further proof he really is a demon because he was summoned on cue, Beetlejuice-style) groggily stumbles into the room in the humble pursuit of coffee.

He blinks, registering what he’s seeing, his eyes flickering between you and his twin confusedly. “Why’re ya here?” he asks, sounding almost accusatory. “Why’re you canoodlin’ at seven in the mornin’?”

You snort. “We are not canoodling,” you mock, resting your head in your palm, leaning on the kitchen island. “Osamu’s just telling me about the time you almost burned down your house.”

Atsumu’s head snaps at an insane speed to look at his brother, a boyish look of embarrassment and betrayal all over his face. “‘Samu, what’re ya spillin’ that for?” he whines. This action makes you smile even more: the mental picture of little Atsumu setting off smoke alarms while Osamu calmly puts out the flames behind him only becomes more vivid when you imagine Atsumu pouting and in tears. It mitigates his irritating personality, even if just by a bit. 

Osamu, noticing his twin’s flustered state, gives a nonchalant shrug. “Just sharin’ some childhood memories,” he replies smoothly, a glint of mischief in his eyes that you don’t catch.

Atsumu narrows his eyes at his brother but doesn’t say anything, instead turning his attention to the coffee pot. As Osamu adds more and more silly details and your conversation continues, Atsumu’s demeanor… shifts. The embarrassment fades, replaced by a subtle, tightening jawline, his eyes darting between you and his brother; he looks irritated. Is he really that mad at having his childhood mishaps dragged into the light? 

The thought of him as a kid is actually kinda cute, though you suspect that if you told him this, Atsumu’s ego would inflate so large he’d float into outer space.

“Really, ‘Tsumu, it was like you were tryna to summon a fire spirit with that stove,” Osamu teases, slicing fresh strawberries with a chef’s finesse. He shoots you a playful wink. “Had’ta save our house from becoming a pile of ash. Ma’ almost killed us both!”

Atsumu huffs, pouring himself a cup of coffee, the steam swirling between you. “Cut it out, ‘Samu. Don’t need ya makin’ her think I was a total menace as a kid,” he shoots back, his tone playful yet strained.

You laugh at their banter. “Well, you’re still one now, so I don’t know,” you smirk, leaning towards Atsumu. “Maybe Osamu’s just the better brother.”

Atsumu shoots a playful glare at his brother, but when his gaze falls back on you, it lingers just a bit longer than necessary. “Just in the kitchen,” he mutters, but there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. He grabs an extra mug from the cabinet, setting both it and a little container of cream cups and sugar packets down in front of you before pouring you a fresh cup. “The usual?”

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly; it doesn’t quite click that Atsumu knows your coffee order by heart. “It’s nice you guys always had each other growing up, huh? I mean, you’re lucky you’ve got Osamu around to keep you out of trouble,” you tease. 

As Atsumu locates some cinnamon sticks and mixes your coffee, his expression hardens. “Yea, lucky me,” he says, his tone dry. He slides the cup toward you with a careful nudge. “‘Samu’s the saint and the hero, always has been.”

Osamu chuckles from his spot by the counter. “Oi, you ain’t gotta sell yerself short, ‘Tsumu. You got your moments... they’re just hidden very, very deep,” His voice is light, but you sense an underlying seriousness that suggests he’s proud of his twin more than he lets on.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee, eyes trained on watching you stir yours. “Can’t ya ‘ave told some of those magical stories to her then? Had to keep it on ma failures?” 

You eye him over the mug, playful. “I mean… you tell me plenty about your moments. I like hearing about your weaknesses.”

A sly smirk creeps onto Osamu’s face. “Oh, don’t cha worry your pretty head. I’ve got lotsa stories ‘bout ‘Tsumu,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder, the touch light but enough to make you aware of his presence.

Glancing up at Osamu in your surprise, you happen to miss the way Atsumu’s jaw clenches, his grip on his coffee cup tightening until his knuckles turn white. You happen to miss the way his frown settles deeper on his face. Above all, you happen to miss the way his glare at Osamu darkens with annoyance, with something that burns with more than just sibling rivalry, and the way Osamu grins right back. 

five.

“I think I like Osamu.”

Mao squints at you from her spot at the foot of your bed, peering up momentarily from her debate on which pair of pants to wear. “Girl what? Wrong Miya.”

“I knew you were gonna say that!” you groan into your hands. You had called your best friend over for the primary purpose of helping you pick out your outfit for the activities today (a walk through Morioka and hitting up a food market for dinner), but honestly, you’re starting to regret it. It really would’ve been easier to have just spun a wheel or something, because Mao has not been helpful in anything besides causing you more agony. “You watch too many k-dramas. I hate Atsumu!”

“Bitch, please,” Mao scoffs. Like a true friend, she does not tolerate any of your bullshit and says things as they are, blunt and completely honest. And like a truer fake friend, she’s been #TeamAtsumu since day one because she’s convinced that the Universe constantly bringing you together is the real life equivalent of Our Beloved Summer (but in college). “Hate is such a strong word. You don’t hate him. What you guys have is sexual tension.”

You want to let out a visceral scream. “That is not true. He’s just…”

“‘Stupidly pretty and gets on your nerves’, yeah yeah, I know,” Mao finishes your sentence with a shit-eating grin. “Have you ever considered just riding his dick to get the feelings out?”

Glaring at her does nothing besides make her smile grow even bigger. 

“I’m not going to ride his dick because even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to find it. Y’know he keeps saying he packs eight? As if he would have both an eight-pack and eight inches. The universe wouldn’t do that. Atsumu’s gotta be nerfed somehow, right?” you ramble, half annoyed and half trying to stop imagining him naked. 

“I can see the rated X thoughts in your head, lovebug.”

“Whatever. How did we even get to this? The point is that Osamu’s nice to me. Super respectful. Why wouldn’t I like him?” 

Mao shrugs. “Yeah, he’s a sweetie. But like… I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for you.”

“You suck. Who do you think you are?” you glower.

“I’m your fucking twin flame, give me my respect,” she snorts, not getting a reply because you both know she’s right. She then holds up two pairs of jeans—one dark-wash, one light-wash, but otherwise virtually identical—and stares them down like her life depends on it. “But anyway. Just don’t think you’re meant for a nice guy, y’know? In fact, I think Atsumu makes you better.”

You gape at her, in utter disbelief she could even say those words out loud. “Be so fuckin’ serious. Better? He, like, thrives off my rage.”

“Right, and you thrive off competition,” she replies boredly, tossing the light-wash pair over her shoulder and standing to wiggle the other on. “I’m telling you, Atsumu gets under your skin in a way no one else can–”

“You’re getting real close,” you interrupt, earning yourself a pointed look.

“Shut up. As I was saying, Atsumu gets under your skin, challenges you, and that lights a fire under your ass. Makes you wanna prove him wrong, prove yourself right. And that’s what makes you better. Makes you both better.”

“It’s like you want me to be miserable.”

She snorts. “Of course not. I’m just saying, for someone so hellbent on hating Atsumu, you sure spend a lot of time talking about him. I mean, really, do you even hear yourself?” She spins around, both to show you the fit and to mock you with little hand gestures. “‘I hate Atsumu, Atsumu this, Atsumu that, Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu.’ It’s like you have a little shrine dedicated to him in your mind.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, even though you know her words have at least some truth in them. “I don’t care about him.”

What a lie. It’s a lie and both of you know it, because Mao squints at you, hands on her hips. “Look, all I’m saying is, you can try to sell me on Osamu all you want—he’s nice, he’s sweet, he respects you, blah blah blah. But are you sure it’s him you actually like?”

You freeze, her question slicing through your defenses like a knife. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turns to face you, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised like she’s ready to dismantle you piece by piece. “I mean, are you into Osamu? Or do you just like the idea of him because it’s easier than dealing with whatever weird, messy thing you’ve got going on with his brother?”

You blink at her, completely thrown off balance. “That’s—that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she fires back, her tone casual but sharp. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re running from something.”

“I—” You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your tongue. You’re not sure what to say because, annoyingly, she’s not entirely wrong. She never really is.

You’re truly blessed in this world because you and Mao were random suitemates who coincidentally rushed the same sorority freshman year and have been inseparable ever since. She’s the IVP to your EVP, the peanut butter to your jelly, the Starfire to your Raven, and your real mothafuckin’ OG because she’s been there for you through literally everything. Right now, however, it means she has the ability to brutally call you out like she can read your mind with X-Ray vision, straight down to your thinly veiled thoughts about Atsumu’s abs.

Mao gives you a knowing look, pulling her phone from her pocket to check the time, a helpful reminder that you in fact do have things to do today besides sit around and mope.

She dusts off her outfit one last time, before heading towards the door. “Look, think about it. You clearly don’t not care about him. And c’mon, lovebug. All these ‘random’ run-ins since then? Not so random when you think about it. The Chem partners, maybe. But you two at formal? Matching during blind dating two years in a row? The universe isn’t subtle, babe.”

You are hating this call out. It’s such an accurate read that you feel annoyed that she’s able to just put it in the world like this when you have spent the last two years trying to choke it down. The truth in Mao’s words sting; you can’t even argue because every random encounter with Atsumu feels less like coincidence and more like the cosmos relishing in your anguish.

“Why did it have to be him?” you mutter, more to yourself than to Mao. “Why’d the universe pick him of all people?”

Mao snorts. “Because he’s an idiot, just like you. You’re probably the only two people in the world who could pull off two and a half years of weird, messed up pining.”

You roll your eyes, but finally, you allow yourself a small smile; Mao really is the only one who can simultaneously call you out for everything you’ve been trying to ignore but also make you feel seen in ways that no one else can. It’s the brutal honesty, the tough love that she delivers without sugarcoating it, that makes you value her words even when they sting.

“Fine, maybe you have a point,” you admit begrudgingly, much to her thrill—which you promptly kill by waggling your finger in her face. “I do care about him. But Osamu’s really sweet to me and… I dunno. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“And that’s all I’m asking for, babygirl. If you do actually like Osamu, I’ll support you—I mean, he’s hot and makes fire pancakes,” Mao shrugs nonchalantly. “But when you end up with Atsumu, I’m gonna tell you I told you so.”

You scowl at her. “I said I’d think about it. That does not mean I’m going to suddenly start confessing my undying love for Atsumu.”

“I don’t expect that!” Mao says, faux innocence dripping from her voice. “Because I already know you will next time you drunk make-out with him at a kickback.”

She’s instantly hit in the head with a pillow (the first thing throwable you could reach), cackling boisterously like she’s told the funniest joke in the world. That’s it. It’s official. As of this moment, you are officially confirming it: it’s time to find a new best friend. 

six.

It’s the perfect night to unwind.

It’s been a long enough day of playing tourist. The rest of the fraternity and sorority boards finished several cases of beer and a handle of Tito’s over dinner, so they’ve long retreated into their rooms; you’re the sole person still lingering awake. All things considered, you’ve been high-strung all week (worsened now—thanks Mao!), so even if you were to try, you probably couldn’t sleep anyway. So you opt for the best relaxation method you’ve got at the moment: breaking in the good ‘ol hot tub.

It’s a decent size and takes up almost all of the back veranda, sans a small patio space—under the open sky, the air is chilly and you can see the snow-covered landscape extending for what feels like miles. The setting is so calm, so beautiful and something right now feels so immaculately undisturbed, it really is the perfect night. You have donned your favorite bikini, turned on the jets, and set the water to the hottest setting; your eyes are fluttering shut in an attempt to find some peace. The sound of the water bubbles and cracks around you, and you can feel your muscles start to ease.

This is exactly what you wanted from your winter break: a chance to loosen up.

But good things aren’t meant to last, and especially not when the very premise of this vacation is to make sure you can never catch a break, because the tranquility is quickly disrupted by the sounds of footsteps crunching across the wood-paneled porch. You pry open your eyes to find Atsumu approaching the hot tub, a huge smirk spread across his face. He’s wearing dark blue board shorts and carries a towel slung casually over his shoulder; without waiting for an invitation, he dips a toe into the water, then with a satisfied nod, slips in across from you.

The universe hates you, clearly. 

“Fancy seein’ ya here, princess,” he teases, the warm water swirling around as he settles in.

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the flutter in your chest that starts up again seeing him. “Can’t you find someone else to bother?”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. Just thought it’d be nice to join ya. The night’s too pretty to spend alone,” he says, flashing a stunning grin that you suspect has melted many hearts before yours. A pompous, arrogant fuckboy to his core.

“Well, you’ve seen the night, you can leave now.”

Atsumu chuckles, unfazed. “Nah, I think I’ma stay. Matter-a-fact, why don’t I get reeeaaall close…” he trails off, inching closer to your side.

You splash him with your hand in prompt retaliation. He laughs, dodging the splash as if he’d anticipated it all along—probably because Atsumu thrives on your attention and revels in your irritation. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“One of my most charmin’ qualities, ey?” he smirks.

“No.” 

“Well you’re still here, so… at least a part of ya definitely likes it,” he says, his eyebrows doing an absurd dance that pulls an involuntary smile from you. “See? Yer even smilin’! I got the great and stoic princess to smile! I can die happy now.”

As much as Atsumu infuriates you, your lips truly do betray you: you suppose he can be funny… sometimes. “Then please, do us all a favor and die.”

“Awh, but then who’ll keep ya company?” he simpers, sickeningly sweet. 

“I’ll call Osamu down here to join me.”

Atsumu’s face falls. “Ya kiddin’? ‘Samu’ll bore ya half to death. He ain’t hold a candle to my glitterin’ personality.”

You snort. “We have plenty of conversations in the mornings when you’re not even awake.”

“Right, right. Ya mean your conversations ‘bout me?” Atsumu says challengingly. 

The argument you were about to make fades away as it hits you—he’s kind of right. Most of your chats with Osamu do end up circling back to him. This realization irks you because it suggests one of two things: your growing interest in Osamu is just a misplaced fixation on his brother, or you do think about Atsumu far more than you’d care to admit.

Either and both implications are terrible.

You scowl, “Shut up. I don’t need you to spice things up.”

His eyes light up, and you prepare yourself because he’s clearly just come up with a terrible idea. “Oi, wanna really make things interesting?”

“What?”

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Atsumu suggests, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Are you kidding? No.” 

“C’mon,” he pouts exaggeratedly, his lower lip comically jut out. “We’ll have fun. Unless you’re scared or somethin’.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to play your dumbass game.” 

“Scared, you’re definitely scared,” he taunts, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head, clearly settling in for the long haul. “Afraid I’ll make ya fall for me? Afraid ya can’t handle it?”

You glare at him. He’s obviously provoking you, but God, is it frustratingly difficult not to rise to the bait when he’s giving you that smug, self-serving look. “Ugh, fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

Atsumu’s grin widens; he looks so infuriatingly triumphant. “Great. So truth or dare, princess?”

Considering your choices, you pause for a moment before sighing. “Truth.”

You expect something insincere or flirty, maybe a dumb innuendo he’s definitely practiced before on countless other girls. You’re prepared to be pissed off by whatever he’s got to say, because Atsumu is a man of many talents, the best of which is making you mad.

Then he just asks, “What’s yer secret talent?”

“A secret talent?” you echo; you’re caught off-guard by the lack of underlying implications. 

“Yea, somethin’ you can do that ya haven’t told anyone ‘bout,” Atsumu clarifies, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

You contemplate momentarily, before you let out a slow, deep sigh. At the end of the day, it’s an innocent enough question; you suppose that since you know so many embarrassing stories about Atsumu (again, courtesy of Osamu), it’s only fair you tell him something embarrassing about you.

“If you make fun of me, I will actually kill you,” you mutter, though the threat carries no real weight when your face is as flushed as it is. “But um… I know a bunch of magic tricks. Like cards and stuff.”

“Honest?” Atsumu’s eyes practically pop out of their sockets—it seems a bit overdramatic, but he prods further, as if genuinely fascinated by this tidbit of information you’ve just shared with him. “Why’d ya learn? Will ya show me?”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “I um… I wanted to be a magician when I was little. I even tried to convince my parents to get me a bunny, but they said it’d be cruel to just keep it in my hat,” you admit, your voice small under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. He bursts into laughter at this revelation, and you find yourself oddly proud of it. “And I dunno. Maybe? If you get me a deck of cards, I guess I could—but no one else can know, okay? You gotta keep it a secret just for us.”

Atsumu’s face widens until he positively beams. “Deal! I’ll get ya a deck of cards,” he declares, already plotting where to find one. “Neva woulda expected that from you, princess. That’s amazin’! Can’t wait to see what ya got.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t even fake annoyance when Atsumu’s excitement is so damn contagious. By no means had you expected him to react like that, but it does make the game more bearable and you more at ease. “Fine, but remember, not a word to anyone.”

“Cross ma heart,” he replies, drawing an exaggerated ‘X’ over his chest with his finger. He leans back, his face alight with glee at his newfound secret. “Alright, alright, yer turn. Ask me.”

“Well, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Pouting, you think carefully about your question before shrugging half-heartedly. “I don’t really know what to ask you. If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Pussy,” Atsumu says wistfully, his eyes dreamy. 

You shoot him a look. “You must like getting splashed.”

“Only if it’s by your pretty p–” His sentence cuts off because you in fact have begun to thrash around in the water, kicking wild waves in his direction. Atsumu raises his arms in mock surrender, laughing even as he wipes the water from his face. “Alright, alright, just messin’ with ya, swear! For real though. If I hadta pick just one thing, it’d just be ‘Samu’s onigiri. He’s got magic in ‘is hands, honest.”

Catching your breath, you can’t help but chuckle, your arms crossed as you float in the shallows of the tub. “That’s surprisingly wholesome of you, admitting Osamu’s the better cook. You're proud deep down, huh?”

He shrugs, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yea, sadly gotta give ‘Samu that one. But don’t go spreadin’ that ‘round, don’t want him gettin’ a big head.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you promise, mocking his same theatrical ‘X’, feeling the tension ease slightly between you two. Squaring your shoulders, you nod. “Alright, your turn. Dare.”

The word barely leaves your mouth before Atsumu’s expression brightens. He leans closer, his voice dropping to say conspiratorially, “Call me a nickname ‘til the game ends.”

You snort. “I already do, dumbass. I’m princess, you’re dumbass. That’s just the way it goes.”

“No!” Atsumu whines, scooting closer to your side of the tub. “Call me something cute. Like honey or pumpkin or–”

“I’ll call you babe and that’s the most you’ll get,” you interrupt warningly, and obediently, he stops talking, nodding away like an oversized bobble head with a stupidly cute smile on his face—honestly, his simplemindedness is impressive.

“So, babe–” you pause to wince at the nickname, unfamiliar and strange but not necessarily bad on your tongue. “–truth or dare?”

He licks his lips before he answers, which involuntarily draws your gaze to them; you shift your stare up to his warm brown eyes instead.

Under the sky, Atsumu’s eyes seem to collect the very stars above. And when he’s looking at you like that, you have a flash in your chest, and you think that either A) you’re having a heart attack, or the much worse option, B) you definitely don’t not care about him.

seven.

You and Atsumu have managed to play this stupid game for hours.

And you know this for two reasons: first because you two have already made it two-and-a-half times around the cycle of 1) getting out of the tub with pruney toes, 2) settling on the patio couches, and 3) complaining of cold and getting back in the tub.

Second: you’ve exhausted all small-talk options and resigned into the deep shit—deep shit being increasingly stupid stories and dumb dares. You’ve sprinted to the end of the yard and admitted your deep fear of squirrels, Atsumu has belted Perfect by One Direction and confessed that he once replaced Osamu’s protein powder with flour, and neither of you can remember the last time you’ve laughed so hard. It’s strange: by the time you’re asking Atsumu his next truth, your cheeks hurt from smiling and conversation comes more than easily.

“Okay, okay, what’s the dumbest thing that you’ve ever done to impress someone?” you ask, nudging his side a little with your foot.

You’re nestled into the opposite ends of the same couch, the firepit fully ablaze beside you (Atsumu struggled for twenty minutes to get it alight). The couch isn’t quite long enough for you both to extend fully even while sitting up, so your legs have ended up slotted between his and your heel is now resting comfortably on his thigh; he’s fiddling mindlessly with your anklet as he grumbles, “As if ‘Samu ain’t already told ya all my stories.” 

But he pauses momentarily to think anyway. When he’s apparently decided on what to tell you, he averts his gaze from yours with sheepish eyes. “One year, for my ma’s birthday, I wanted ta get this real pretty flower from the top of a tree cause ‘Samu made her a fancy schmancy breakfast. Ended up fallin’ and breakin’ my arm, didn’t even get the flower either. Ma told me it was okay, but I bawled the whole way home from the ER cause I wanted her to have a nice gift.”

“You’re joking! Over a flower?” you gasp out, even as Atsumu’s face scrunches up, halfway between embarrassment and amusement—your stomach hurts with every breath you take, but you can’t stop your laughter. 

“Oi, it was a real nice flower!” he defends, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the bashful story. “‘Nd ‘Samu was actin’ all high-n-mighty with his eggs benedict or whatever. I had to do something.”

The image of a young Atsumu, just as determined and headstrong even back then, a boy who would climb a tree for his mother, who would risk everything to make her smile, who cried because he wanted to do something nice for her, warms you more than the hot tub ever could. 

“Well, babe, if it makes you feel better, I think the effort was sweet,” you pause, savoring the pink on his cheeks at both the pet name and your response. “Stupid, but really sweet.”

“Shaddup, it’s yer turn. Truth or dare?” he asks, still pouting.

Midway through your consideration on what to pick, you get distracted by the way the firelight crackles and casts flickering shadows across Atsumu’s face. His eyes are always beautiful, but right now, they glow like pools of honey and amber. His hair is fluffy and tousled and damp from the tub and he’s wearing just his swimsuit, sans the towel thrown hazardously around his shoulders. You swear to yourself to never tell him, but you want to commit this image of him to memory forever, pretty and human and yours alone.

Atsumu smirks, the rosy tint on his cheeks deepening as he catches you staring. “What’s the matter? See somethin’ ya like?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful mischief as he leans in a little closer, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Yer gonna drool starin’ like that.”

“Fuck off, I was not staring,” you lie blatantly, flushed at his calling you out. “I was just thinking about what to say.”

“Cause I stole your breath away?”

You glare at him. “About whether to say truth or dare, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me dumbass! Call me babe,” he whines. “‘nd ya still ain’t picked.”

“Fine, truth.”

“Then admit the truth that you can’t resist me.”

“Oh my god,” you huff, crossing your arms across your chest; truly, he ruins his natural beauty by opening his mouth. “Ask me a question I can answer, please.”

Atsumu chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Fine, fine. I’ll letcha keep your pride,” he grins, his eyes twinkling in the firelight as he contemplates the perfect question to unravel you a bit more. “Fine. Why d’ya hate me so much anyway?”

You blink, caught completely off guard by Atsumu’s question. Of all the things he could have asked, this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Why do I hate you so much?” you echo, stalling for time, though your voice wavers ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in slightly, the firelight casting shadows across his face. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression—something serious, something that makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “C’mon, princess, spill it. You’ve called me an idiot, a dumbass, and everythin’ in between. Gotta be somethin’ behind it, right?”

He’s teasing, but his voice is softer now, his usual bravado dimmed. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a game anymore.

Your first instinct is to brush him off, to joke, to deflect—because isn’t that what the two of you always do? But this time, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, you hesitate.

“I…” You glance down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your towel, anything to avoid the weight of his gaze. “I mean… hate is a strong word.”

He leans back slightly, but the intensity in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Yeah? Then what’s all the name-callin’ and eye-rollin’ about?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Because you’re annoying! You’re cocky, you’re loud, and you always find a way to get under my skin.” You pause, lowering your hands to glance at him, and there’s an odd mix of frustration and amusement in your tone as you continue. “But... somehow, you make everything fun. Even when I don’t want to have fun.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And I dunno…” You swallow, the words sticking in your throat. “It’s just that you’re... you’re so…” You trail off, waving your hands in a vague gesture, struggling to articulate what you mean without outright admitting that he’s charming, or handsome, or kind in ways you’re only just starting to notice.

Atsumu, of course, seizes the opportunity. “So irresistible?” he offers with a grin, though his voice is quiet, almost cautious.

You shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “So infuriating,” you snap, but the small, wobbly smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The fire crackles softly beside you, filling the silence, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look away from him. His usual cocky grin has softened into something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not think about. 

Atsumu tilts his head, watching you with an expression that feels far too tender for your liking, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Y’know, princess… I think you might like me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous, and you force out a scoff, shaking your head as you pull your legs away from his and sit up straighter, putting some much-needed distance between you. “You’re delusional, babe,” you mutter, ignoring the way your heart stumbles over itself.

But as you turn your gaze to the fire and refuse to meet his eyes, you already know you’re lying—to him, and to yourself.

eight.

A year ago, on the night of your sophomore formal, your date ghosted you last-minute with only a “can’t make it” text to explain.

You freaked out, panic-scrolled through your contacts list for who still didn’t have a date, and, after a few additional minutes of hyperventilating and really talking yourself into it, spam-called Atsumu. You hadn’t expected him to actually say yes.

He showed up at your door just in time, dressed in his nicest suit and his blonde hair combed neatly, armed with your favorite flowers just-because. And you’d told him then that he didn’t have to do this for you, that this didn’t make you two friends, that this didn’t mean anything at all—neither the dance to him nor him to you. 

But he had just smiled, that crooked, heartbreaking smile of his, and said, “Sure, sure, princess. Ain’t like I had anythin’ better to do, right?” And when he took your hand to lead you out, his touch was gentle, careful, as if he was afraid you might break if he held on too tight. At the end of the night, you had kissed him on the cheek to say thank you, and when you pulled away, he had that softness in his eyes, a mix of bravery and hope and something else you couldn’t quite place. It’s a look that’s haunted you since last winter, something that lingers in every new guy you kiss in nasty frat houses or meet on Hinge, because no one else quite looks at you like that.

And that’s terrifying. Because last night, he looked at you the exact same way, fiddling with your anklet and admitting his most vulnerable secrets, undoing your own understanding of him and his character and upending all the reasons you hate him. 

***

The next day, you are actively avoiding thinking about Atsumu, and as the afternoon fades into a soft, early evening, you find yourself in the kitchen helping Osamu prepare for dinner. Everyone’s already returned from the day trip to Morioka and are now spread throughout the cabin, recovering before eating and the planned game night after. 

The quietude of the tasks are meditative, the rhythmic peeling of potatoes matching the gentle bubbling of the curry on the stove. Osamu moves around with an effortless grace, his movements methodical and precise and deliberate; he operates so seamlessly that his presence is both comforting and slightly unnerving. Despite only being here for a little over a week, it’s like he already knows the kitchen by heart, so much so that you find yourself wondering if perhaps he is too perfect, too polished.

The room is filled with the smells of cooking and the occasional clink of utensils against bowls, a domestic symphony that should be comforting.

But it’s just… not.

“Ya need any help with those?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts and you vehemently shake your head.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve got this,” you reply, though your hands continue their steady work and he ends up reaching over and taking one from the pile anyway. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, noting the way his brows furrow slightly as he focuses on his task.

The conversation flows easily enough. It meanders on safe topics, the kind that fill the air but leave little impact; you talk about college, the upcoming events for the week, and the movies Chizuru picked for the night. It’s not particularly energetic or enthusiastic, especially now that you’re acutely avoiding mentioning Atsumu (all while cursing the blonde for pointing out last night the uncomfortable fact that, yes, in fact your conversations with Osamu are always easier when Atsumu’s the topic), but it is continuous and ongoing and maybe that will do. 

“Ever thought about opening your own restaurant?” you ask, clinging to a thread of conversation that might spark more interest.

Osamu’s reaction is a simple mild chuckle, a sound that lacks any real depth.

“‘Tsumu thinks I should too,” he responds without looking up from his knifework. “Maybe one day, when things settle down a bit.”

You nod, but the response doesn’t satisfy you. It’s sensible, reasonable—just like everything about Osamu. But where’s the challenge, the playful banter that Atsumu always brought into even the simplest interactions? The thought of Atsumu’s teasing, his infectious laughter, and the way he could turn even a mundane moment into a playful challenge makes you ache with a sudden intensity. 

You miss him.

The realization comes unbidden, a silent whisper amid the clatter of the kitchen. It’s a missing piece that makes Osamu’s perfect attentiveness seem somehow incomplete. You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the evening air seeping through the slightly ajar kitchen window.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You help with cooking the rice, taste test with laughter and light conversation, but beneath it all is a current of dissonance. It’s not long before you’re wiping your hands on your apron and excusing yourself to get changed before dinner, and quietly slip upstairs.  

They say ignorance is bliss, and last night is proof. The conversation you just had with Osamu is nothing out of the ordinary, not at all different from the mornings you’ve spent together over the last week. And even now, it’s not that you don’t like Osamu, because you do. He’s good, he’s kind. He’s the kind of guy your parents would be proud of you for being with, a sort of stable and calm and reliable that’s everything you ever wanted. That’s everything you thought you ever wanted.

Somehow right now, it feels slightly hollow. 

As you step into your room, you let out a long sigh. Glancing at your phone, you briefly entertain the idea of texting Atsumu. You want to scream at him for ruining your developing feelings for his twin, blame him for destroying the tiny hint of stability you had for the week. But you don’t do that, mostly because that would be stupid to blame him for, but also because you think that if you see him right now, you might make a stupid decision you’ll end up regretting. 

nine.

Thanks to Chizuru’s insistence (it’s Christmas Eve, you have to!), you are convinced into joining tonight’s games of trivia and Jeopardy despite your misanthropy. Curse her and her supreme begging skills. You had been hoping to avoid the twins as much as humanly possible. 

Atsumu, sitting opposite you, kicks your foot. “Are ya good, princess?” he whispers when you look at him and raise your eyebrow. Aran, leading tonight, is saying something about Jeopardy rules, but it goes unheard, because the blonde in front of you continues, “Penny for your thoughts please.”

“You don’t have a penny,” you whisper back. “Pay me for my thoughts, dumbass.”

“What kinda guy d’ya take me for?” Atsumu mock-scoffs back. “A prostitute?”

Despite all the thoughts swirling in your mind, his stupid grin distracts you from them and you end up rolling your eyes, feeling the hint of a smile pull at your lips. “Maybe. You’re already kinda a fuckboy.”

“Don’tcha worry then, ‘cause you’re still ma favorite client,” he grins back. 

And you let yourself smile too.

***

The sorority ends up winning because Mao is a history major and there are no noticeable questions about agriculture or Sigmund Freud or business management or the average expenditure of calories (Kita, Suna, Osamu, and Atsumu respectively—the boys lowkey all study odd shit now that you think about it) that could allow the frat board to gain an upper hand. For the first time ever, you thank Mao for reciting her textbooks out loud to study, because now all of you are forced to have a comprehensive knowledge of war dates and Confucious.

The prize for winning, however, is a Certificate of Extraordinary Intelligence in Useless Facts, so Mao has officially launched herself into a very long declaration that history is not useless, so you don’t know if there was really a winner in the end.

It’s not in the itinerary for the night, but when Yui looks out the window and points out the clear sky, everyone is quick to agree to step outside for a “breath of fresh air.” Everyone meaning everyone but Kita, who is off to pack because he’s leaving at midnight to go stay with his family nearby. Though it would be Kita to have family in the little northern sector of Iwate: you could just see him living in a town of 50 one day, leading the calm, remote village life. You’ve never been close to the president of INA, but you guess he probably deserves to live a simple farm life because the foxes absolutely owe it to him for keeping the organization together.

The crisp night wind nips at your cheeks as you leave the cabin’s warmth, but after sitting around the table for so long you feel only invigorated by the chill; it really is the perfect night because the whole sky is just a tapestry of twinkling stars. The porch light casts a gentle glow, and the snow glistens under the moonlight, gorgeous and serene.

Without warning, Atsumu scoops up a handful of snow and lobs it at Osamu, who dodges just in time, causing the snowball to hit the cabin door with a soft thud. The playful challenge is met with enthusiasm, and within moments, everyone is gathering ammunition.

You’re bending down to scoop up your own snow when suddenly the shock of the cold against your warm skin causes you to let out a yelp. You spin around, eyes blazing, to find Atsumu standing there with a triumphant smirk on his face; his hand still holds some of the evidence, though most of it has been so rudely shoved down your back. 

“You jerk!” you yell, shrieking and jumping up and down, trying to shake the ice from the back of your sweater. Your tone is of annoyance, but it’s hard to stay truly mad when the whole scene is so ridiculously fun.

Atsumu is already backing away, a wild, teasing grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the moonlit night. “C’mon, princess, don’t tell me ya can’t handle a lil’ snow!” he taunts, his laughter echoing around the snowy clearing.

As if you’d let Atsumu just get away with that. So naturally, you scoop up as much snow as you can in your cold, red hands and take off sprinting after him, screaming, “Oh, you’re dead!”

The thrill of the pursuit drives away any lingering annoyance from last night; you barely even register the way your heart pounds with adrenaline and cheeks flush from the cold. The laughter of the others fades into the background as your focus narrows down to the gleeful figure darting just ahead of you.

Atsumu is fast, sure, but your determination is faster, and the freshly fallen snow slows him down just enough for you to gain ground. With a determined yell, you launch your armful of snow at his back, hitting him squarely between the shoulder blades; the impact makes him stumble forward with a playful groan. “Alright, alright, I give!” he laughs when he spins to face you, raising his hands in mock defeat.

Just as you think you’ve won, just as you start laughing triumphantly and let your guard down, he’s charging back at you. You try to sidestep, but the slippery ground betrays you, and you both end up tumbling into a soft snowdrift. The world whirls into a blur of white and laughter as you wrestle in the snow, trying to pin each other down. Atsumu manages to get the upper hand briefly, pinning your wrists gently above your head with a victorious grin. His breath comes in visible puffs in the cold air, his face inches from yours, eyes sparkling with mischief and something warmer.

“You’re such a child!” you shout, breathless from both the cold and the exertion.

“You love it,” he retorts, a smug grin plastered across his face despite the snow sticking to his hair and clothes.

You roll and wrangle and as you do, Atsumu manages to push more snow down the back of your shirt, making you squeal and squirm. “Atsumu!” you shriek, half-annoyed, half-panting, mostly all laughing. Your hands are freezing, but you keep trying to shove snow into his face in retaliation until you finally manage to squish his face with a clump of snow. The rest of the group watches, cheering at your antics, thoroughly entertained by the display, but their voices go unregistered to both of you as you both fall back, exhausted and satisfied and covered in snow, looking up at the starry sky. 

As the laughter subsides and the rapid heartbeat begins to slow, you and Atsumu lie sprawled in the snow, the cold forgotten for a moment. The serene silence that falls over both of you is a rare kind of peace, something that feels close to perfect. You can see Atsumu’s chest rise and fall with each breath, his eyes reflecting the twinkling stars above, and there’s something unspoken in the way he looks at you—something that makes you feel softer, lighter, like you’re floating on air. 

You want to say something sarcastic. You want to throw more snow into his face and tell him he looks stupid. You want to be mean to him and you want him to flirt with you so you can tell him to fuck off. He’s the bane of your existence. He riles you up and makes you angrier than most other people ever could. It’s so much easier to argue with him. It’s so much easier to hate him. 

But you don’t. So you just lie there and take it in.

ten.

The moment gets stolen by a voice. 

“Oi, lovebirds, everyone’s headin’ in! You two plannin’ on makin’ snow angels all night, or do ya wanna join the rest of us by the fire?” Osamu calls out.

Atsumu glares in the voice’s direction, his brow creasing. The peaceful moment shatters like thin ice underfoot, and you can practically hear the crack because it’s visible in how his gaze shifts from the stars above to his brother and the tension in his grip that wasn’t there before. “Can’t ya see we’re havin’ a moment here?” he snaps back, the words almost biting through the frigid air.

Osamu, unbothered by the snap, just chuckles and strolls over, offering a hand to help you up. “Yeah, yeah, yer playin’ in the snow like a couple of kids. Let’s get inside, yer gonna catch cold.” His concern is sincere, his tone sweet. You accept the hand with a smile; when you stand fully up, Osamu wraps his arm around your shoulders and leans in close enough to mumble, “Yui told me that ya get sick easy. Got worried, hope ya ain’t too mad at me for snatchin’ ya away.”

His close presence is warmth cutting through your chill and you subconsciously lean into him. “Oh, thank you,” you say softly; he sounds so genuine. “You’re really considerate. It’s just At-”

You turn around to find Atsumu pushing himself up, brushing snow from his hair. He had been watching your quiet exchange with close eyes, and now that you really look at him again, his expression is briefly unfamiliar. It’s just for a brief second—a moment so quick it was gone in an instant—but you could have sworn it was a gaze tighter, darker, than you have ever seen from him before and it makes you shiver. It’s quick to be replaced by his usual grin when he notices your concerned expression, though, as if he’s trying to placate you. As if he doesn’t want you to know how he’s feeling. 

The snowball fight had been playful, a rare truce in your usual war of words with Atsumu, and now he seems reluctant to let that end. Still, his tone is light, or at least lighter than before, laced with a hint of forced cheerfulness, when he assures you, “S’okay, princess. Let’s get inside.”

But the sharpness in his eyes betrays his words. And as if to keep pushing him, to keep jamming his finger straight into the bruise, Osamu’s arm slips downwards to hover around your waist—it’s so delicate that you wouldn’t have noticed the shift in position if not for the way his hold ever so slightly tightens to pull you closer. 

Atsumu’s smile fades into something heavier and his hands clench into tight fists by his side and there’s a look that crosses his features, something filled with irritation; there’s a palpable tension between the two brothers that makes you nervous. Still, Osamu just smiles like he’s completely oblivious, cheerily saying, “Yeah, don’tcha worry, ‘Sumu. Just tryna keep our princess warm.”

Our princess. The words are loaded. Osamu isn’t just being kind; he’s provoking him. He’s pushing his brother, trying to see just how far Atsumu’ll let him go, trying to drive a reaction out of him. 

There’s an undeniable undercurrent of something more in the air. 

Atsumu, witnessing this, locks his jaw, his good-natured facade struggling to mask the surge of emotions that seem to whirl behind his eyes. And yet, he stops. He doesn’t say anything, even though it seemed as though he would, even though when you met his eyes there was that terrifying darkness from before. Atsumu just turns on his heel and starts marching back towards the cabin.

And for some reason you can’t quite comprehend, you feel your heart sink.

eleven.

It’s significantly quieter that night. 

Atsumu hadn’t shown up to dinner, nor did he join everyone to watch Elf in the living room. Chizuru and Aran had expressed concern, offering to go upstairs and check on him, but Osamu had assured them all that Atsumu was fine and just worn out from the day and that had seemed to placate them. You tried to trust his word too, but even as the film plays and Osamu drapes his arm onto the couch behind you and Yui nudges you and wiggles her brow at the closeness and you try to convince yourself that you’re fine, you can’t help the awful feeling of dread you have in the pit of your stomach. 

It doesn’t go away even when the movie ends and you retreat upstairs to shower and get to bed; it doesn’t go away even when you settle into the softness of your sheets and turn out the lights; it doesn’t go away even when the only illumination in the room comes from your phone as you stalk your Instagram homepage trying to distract your mind. You almost want to hear Atsumu’s overwhelmingly loud and obnoxious laughter from the next room; you want to know that he’s okay, and you don’t really even understand why. You’ve spent the last two years being an Atsumu Hater™ and here you are anyway, your heart racing. 

But just as you’re about to surrender to the warmth of your blankets, your ears pick up the muffled but unmistakable timbre of raised voices from the room next door.

The Miya twins.

You sit up in bed, heart pounding. You can’t make out the words through the wall, but the low rumble of Osamu’s voice and the sharper, heated tone of Atsumu’s are unmistakable. You hesitate for a moment, caught between pressing your ear against the wall to catch more of the conversation or trying to ignore it altogether. But then Atsumu’s voice cuts through clearly, loud and raw with frustration:

“Why’re ya doin’ this, Samu? Seriously, what the hell?”

You freeze.

There’s a pause. Osamu’s voice comes next, calmer but with a sharp edge that makes the air in your room feel heavy. “Doin’ what, exactly? Bein’ nice? Spendin’ time with her? ‘Cause last I checked, you’re the one who’s been actin’ like she don’t exist unless it’s to get under her skin.”

You hear the sound of something—maybe a chair or a bed frame—scraping against the floor. Atsumu’s voice comes back, even louder. “Don’t gimme that crap! You know what I’m talkin’ about! You’ve been all over her this whole week, like you’re tryin’ to... to—”

“To what, Tsumu?” Osamu cuts in, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch even from the other side of the wall. “To do what you won’t? You’ve had two years to say somethin’, to do anythin’, but all you’ve done is act like a damn idiot around her. And now you’re mad at me ‘cause I actually treat her like a person?”

Your chest tightens. You press your hands against your mouth to stifle the sharp inhale that escapes you. Are they... talking about you?

There’s a heavy silence. For a moment, you think maybe it’s over, but then Atsumu speaks again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “It’s not like that...”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Osamu snaps. “If it’s not like that, then why are you so pissed off, huh? If you don’t care about her, why’s it eatin’ at ya every time I so much as look at her?”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now, though it’s tinged with something more serious. “Admit it, Tsumu. You like her. Hell, you’ve probably liked her for years, but you’re too chicken to do anything about it. So don’t come at me like I’m the bad guy when all I’m doin’ is fillin’ the space you left wide open.”

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re surprised they can’t hear it through the wall.

“I—” Atsumu starts, but his voice falters. He sounds... small. Defeated. “I don’t—”

“Yeah? Then prove it,” Osamu interrupts. “If you really don’t care, I’ll back off. But if you do? If you actually want a chance with her? Then grow up and ask her out before it’s too late.”

Another beat of silence stretches between them, so tense and thick it feels like the walls of your room might crack under the weight of it. Then there’s the sound of footsteps—heavy, frustrated—and the slam of a door.

Your mind is racing. You sit there frozen for what feels like hours, trying to piece together what you’ve just heard, what it all means, and why your heart feels like it might break free of your chest.

You glance at the door to your room, wondering if Atsumu’s stormed off to his, or if—

A knock. A soft, hesitant knock at your door.

Your breath catches.

twelve.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time, but you don’t move. You press your face into the pillow, hold your breath, and will your heartbeat to calm down. He waits for a moment, long enough that you can almost picture him standing just outside your door, shifting on his feet and second-guessing himself.

Finally, there’s a sigh, barely audible through the door. The sound makes your chest ache.

But then the floor creaks softly as he steps away, and the silence that follows feels louder than anything he could have said.

You stay like that for a long time, staring into the darkness of your room as the words from the argument next door replay in your head on an endless loop. You don’t know how to feel, or even what to feel, but one thing is certain—you’re not going to get any sleep tonight.

***

The next morning, the sound of laughter and the warm scent of cinnamon pull you from your restless slumber. It’s Christmas morning.

You drag yourself out of bed, trying to shake the unease still settled in your chest, and join everyone downstairs. The living room is alive with energy—Chizuru and Yui are wearing matching pajamas and passing out mugs of hot cocoa, Aran is fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker to get a holiday playlist going, and Osamu is helping himself to the tray of cookies on the coffee table, ignoring Chizuru’s scolding about “ruining the aesthetic before everyone’s here.”

But even with all the warmth and chatter, the absence is glaring.

Atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

You try not to let it bother you. He’s probably just sleeping in. Or avoiding you after last night. You’re not sure which thought twists your stomach more.

The morning rolls on, and soon everyone gathers for the gift exchange. Laughter fills the air as ribbons are untied, wrapping paper is torn apart, and heartfelt thank-yous are exchanged. Yui squeals over the skincare set Kita picked out for her, and Aran grins ear-to-ear at the custom jersey Chizuru ordered. Even Osamu looks pleased with the knife set you picked out for him, ruffling your hair as he thanks you.

But as the last gifts are unwrapped, you realize something’s missing.

Everyone else has given you something, no matter how small—a book from Chizuru, earrings from Yui, a scarf from Suna—but Atsumu’s name is noticeably absent.

You don’t say anything, but you feel the knot of disappointment settle in your chest. Maybe it’s silly to care so much. Maybe it’s selfish. But after the week you’ve had, after all the bickering, the teasing, and everything you heard last night, you thought...

You thought he’d at least try.

***

The rest of the day passes in a blur of food and laughter, but you can’t shake the hollow feeling that lingers in the back of your mind. That night, you retreat to your room early, needing the quiet to sort through your thoughts.

You’re not expecting the knock.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing whether you’ll even respond. You hesitate, wondering if you should ignore it again like last night. But then it comes again, more insistent.

“Hey,” Atsumu’s voice calls softly through the door. “You awake?”

You don’t answer, but you also don’t move.

A pause. Then: “I know you’re probably mad at me or somethin’, but... I wanna show ya somethin’. Come on, get up. Please.”

There’s something in his voice that makes your stomach flip—nervousness, maybe, or the slightest tinge of vulnerability.

When you still don’t reply, he tries again. “There’s... there’s somethin’ I wanna say, but it’ll be easier if ya just come with me. I’ll be out back. Meet me at the hot tub if you wanna.”

His footsteps retreat, leaving you alone in the quiet.

For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the door and debating whether to follow him or let the silence stay.

But curiosity—and maybe something else—wins out. You pull yourself from the bed, slide on your slippers, and head downstairs.

thirteen.

The night air is crisp, biting against your skin as you step out onto the pool deck. The stars above are sharp pinpricks in the deep velvet sky, their light barely competing with the soft glow of the string lights strung along the edge of the fence.

Your heart pounds as you glance around, unsure of what you’re expecting. And then you see him.

Atsumu is sitting by the edge of the hot tub, his legs dipped into the warm water, hands fidgeting in his lap. The tension in his shoulders eases the moment his eyes meet yours, and he lights up in a way that makes your chest ache. He stands quickly, his movements awkward but eager, like he’s been waiting for hours just for this moment.

“You came,” he says softly, his voice carrying over the gentle hum of the water.

You nod, stepping closer, unsure what to say. There’s a nervous energy between you now, not the usual teasing or bickering, but something fragile and unspoken. 

He gestures toward the edge of the hot tub. You hesitate for only a moment before moving to sit beside him, the warmth of the bubbling water chasing away the chill in the air. Neither of you speak at first, the silence thick but not uncomfortable.

When you glance at him, you notice his hands are no longer fidgeting. Instead, they rest on his knees, tense, like he’s holding himself back.

The quiet stretches on, and you don’t know whether it’s you or him who breaks it first. But then he moves—slowly, carefully—and cups your face with his hands.

You can’t breathe. You can’t even comprehend anything but his large, warm hands gentle around your face. His thumbs brush softly against your cheeks, and his eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you—steady and unguarded—says it all.

And in that moment, you’re reminded of everything.

The way he looked at you during truth or dare, his gaze flickering with something almost too heavy to hold. The way he showed up for you, always, even when you tried to convince you both that it didn’t mean anything. The way he looked at you that very first night you met him, in the dim, crowded, musty basement of the frat house, when your heart had betrayed you by skipping a beat the very moment his golden eyes landed on you. He has never looked more beautiful; he has never seemed more human. 

You love him. Oh god. 

You love him.

Atsumu hesitates, leaning in slightly but stopping just short, his breath warm against your skin. He pauses, like he’s waiting for your permission, or maybe just bracing himself for the possibility that you’ll pull away.

Against all odds, you kiss him first.

The moment your lips meet, he lets out a small, almost startled sound before kissing you back. His hands slide to the sides of your neck, steady and sure, while his lips move against yours like he’s been imagining this for years. He holds you like he’s terrified that this isn’t real, like if he lets go then you’ll disappear. Your fingers knot in his t-shirt, his hand gets lost in your hair, you are breathless in every way but you don’t care because if he wanted to steal the air straight from your lungs you would let him. 

When you finally part, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, both of you quiet as the world seems to settle into a kind of peace. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression so tender and full of awe that you wonder if he’s committing this moment to memory. And then he grins—a smile so wide and full of boyish delight that it makes your heart skip a beat.

“So you do like me,” he teases, his voice warm, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You snort. “Nah, I change my mind. I hate you.”

He rolls his eyes because he knows you’re bluffing, and just kisses you again.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the quiet intimacy of the night. But then you remember something, a question that’s been gnawing at the back of your mind all day.

“Atsumu?”

“Hmm?” he hums, still holding you close, his fingers absently tracing small circles against your skin.

“Why didn’t you get me a Christmas gift?”

He freezes for a moment, blinking at you like he’s just remembered something. “Oh, crap.”

“What?” you ask, laughing at the sudden panic in his face.

“That’s what I came here for,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, before quickly standing and rummaging through the pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small, folded cloth pouch, holding it carefully in his hands like it’s something precious.

“I’ve had this for years,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as he sits back down beside you. “And I didn’t know if I should give it to ya. Or if it was even the right time. But... I guess it is now.”

He opens the pouch and carefully empties its contents into his hand.

You stare, halting as you take in what’s inside:

A small square of paper with the element “Au” drawn on it, the edges worn like it’s been folded and unfolded a thousand times. “From freshman year chem,” he explains softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You were the only one who laughed when I joked that it stood for Atsumu instead of gold.”

A torn scrap of notebook paper with your name written on it in messy handwriting. “Greek match,” he says, chuckling quietly. “I wrote it down when they paired us up. Figured it’d be my one excuse to talk to ya.”

A dried, pressed petal from a rose. “Semi-formal,” he murmurs. “You were wearin’ that red dress, and I was an idiot who thought bringin’ roses was a good idea. You said they were beautiful, but you... you were somethin’ else entirely.”

There’s other little things, little bits and pieces from the two years you’ve known each other, little reminders that you can barely remember a time where he wasn’t in your life. Atsumu has been a part of your routine since the day he met you. You lived eighteen years without knowing him, but you can’t imagine living without him anymore. 

And then, as if you weren’t touched enough, he passes you another small wrapped item. You gently peel back the paper to find the Mt. Iwate snow globe he had bought before you could last week. 

As you cradle the snow globe in your hands, the memory of that day comes rushing back—Atsumu’s smug grin as he held up the very item you’d been planning to buy, the gleam of satisfaction in his golden eyes when you’d glared at him. You’d been so furious, so determined to outmatch him for the rest of the trip, but now, holding the snow globe in your hands, all you can feel is an overwhelming warmth.

“You…” Your voice falters as you run your thumb over the cool glass, watching the tiny flakes swirl around the miniature Mt. Iwate. “You bought this for me?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Felt bad for bein’ an ass that day. But ya stormed off before I could give it to ya, and then… I guess I kept it, hopin’ one day it’d mean more.”

You blink at him, at the boy sitting beside you, nervously scratching the back of his neck. The boy who had spent two years teasing and frustrating you, yet somehow still managed to worm his way into your heart. The boy who’d quietly kept a snow globe and a collection of mementos, waiting for the right moment to share them with you.

“Atsumu…” Your voice is soft, almost fragile, as you set the snow globe down and turn to face him fully. “This is—” You pause, searching for the right words. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his gaze dropping to the water, then back to you. “But I wanted to. You’re… important to me, y’know? And I don’t always show it the right way, but—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you interrupt, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “I get it. I do.”

His eyes search yours, his expression caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. For a moment, the two of you just sit there, the night air heavy with unsaid things. Then you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his, and his breath catches audibly.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” you tease lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your voice wavers with the weight of everything unspoken.

“Yeah?” His grin is lopsided, nervous, but the spark of playfulness in his eyes is unmistakable. “Don’t get used to me bein’ this sweet, though. Still gotta keep you on your toes.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, your fingers still tangled with his. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

For a while, you sit in companionable silence, the bubbling of the hot tub and the distant chirping of crickets filling the air. You watch as the snow globe sits on the edge of the tub, the flakes settling gently at the base. Somehow, it feels like everything—your bickering, his teasing, the hesitant steps toward this moment—has led to this: an unspoken understanding that this, whatever it is between you, is real.

Finally, Atsumu breaks the silence. “So… was that the right gift?” He nudges your shoulder lightly, his tone casual but his eyes searching.

You pretend to think, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Hmm… It’s alright, I guess.”

His jaw drops in mock offense, his free hand flying to his chest. “Alright? Do you know how much thought I put into that?”

You grin, squeezing his hand. “It’s perfect, Atsumu.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, he just looks at you, his golden eyes warm and steady. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Because you’re kinda perfect to me, too.”

And just like that, he has you all over again—breathless, flustered, and hopelessly in love. You lean up and kiss him, slow and soft, and when you pull back, his boyish grin is so bright it almost hurts to look at.

“Alright, enough mushy stuff,” you say, standing up and stretching, though your heart is still racing. “I’m freezing, and I need to head back inside before I turn into an icicle.”

Atsumu groans dramatically but follows your lead, climbing out of the hot tub and grabbing the snow globe for you. He drapes his hoodie around your shoulders as you head back toward the cabin, the warmth of it—and him—chasing away the cold.

As you walk, side by side, you realize something: revenge had been the last thing on your mind tonight. Because somehow, Atsumu had managed to do what he always did—get under your skin and make himself impossible to hate. And for once, you weren’t going to fight it.

Tomorrow, you might bicker again. He might steal your favorite mug, or you might prank him during breakfast. But tonight, under the glow of the stars and the string lights, you let yourself fall a little deeper, knowing he’d be there to catch you.

⨭ closing; i love this one sm honestly. i lowkey even drew out the room plan of the cabin in case ur curious, which looks like this:

btw all the sorority girls mentioned are actually the girls' karasuno team lol; i'm trying rly hard to keep these stories all in the same universe but there are so few girls in the hq universe and even less in high school </3 wld it be confusing if i started reusing kiyoko and yachi as y/n's besties it wld be so much easier on me :')

vote down below or maybe offer some suggestions for other ways to work around the lack of girl besties/roommates/etc (ie. maybe age change!older/younger sisters??)

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ix)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, groups of people that believe in the paranormal

A/N: im sorry i disappeared i am employed now and also i am depressed. anyway pls lemme know what u guys think i love reading comments and screaming and everything you have to say MWAH. next one is a big one boys

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up to a weary, bone-deep sense of dread.

Not the kind of dread that means a sniper is lurking outside his window. No, this is a very specific kind of dread that sets in suddenly, altogether at once.

He knows exactly what it means. 

You are about to ruin his day.

His eyes flicker open, adjusting to the light filtering through his windows. 

The floor is quiet. Too quiet, almost. 

Alpine is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking idly. But he finds her staring at him already with mild judgment, as if she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door. 

It was routine. He’d come to expect it. Like it, even, the way someone likes mundane sounds such as the buzz of the microwave heating up their lunch everyday. 

Except there’s a sudden, loud slam against his window.

Alpine launches off the windowsill, scrambling away with a hiss. 

Bucky is out of bed before his brain catches up. Years of instinct launch him into motion as he grips the knife under his pillow, pivots toward the sound– 

And sees you.

Hovering. Three stories up.

Waving.

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window. 

He glares at you, barely awake, trying to process the absolute absurdity of this moment.

You tap your wrist like a watch, mouthing, "Video shoot."

Bucky turns around and launches a pillow at the window, furiously mouthing back, “I hope you fall.”

You grin.

His furiousness turns to raging annoyance at best. Which, in turn, makes him angry again. 

Just as he’s about to throw something heavier, FRIDAY dims the window until you fade from view. He doesn’t know who FRIDAY is protecting. 

Bucky collapses back onto his mattress.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs. 

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

You tilt your head. "Do you even like the taste?"

Bucky slowly stares at the coffee like it personally wronged him, because no, he’s coming to realise that didn’t really like it. 

“…No,” he allows slowly. 

“Then why are you drinking it?”

His grip tightens around the cup. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he doesn’t look at you.

“Bought it,” he grumbles. ‘M gonna drink it.” 

“Sunken cost fallacy, right there,” you hum. “You bought it, so now you have to suffer through it. That’s a weird thing you do, y'know.”

Bucky exhales sharply, already done with this conversation. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee,” you agree, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “And you just can’t let yourself pick something else. You a glutton for punishment?”

He scowls, taking another sip of the stupid beverage he didnt expect to be having a crisis over in the evening. 

"Whole world of warm drinks out there, Barnes. You ever tried chai? A matcha? You could be a matcha guy."

"No."

"You could be drinking hot chocolate. I think you'd like that. Marshmallows and everything.”

Bucky grips his cup harder.

"Hell, even warm lemonade would be a better choice."

Bucky scrunches his nose at the thought of warm lemonade and chugs his coffee out of spite.

You shake your head. “Whatever. Drink your hot bean water then.”

Silence stretches. The car hums down the highway. The weight of whatever he’s been avoiding lingers in the air between you.

Only five minutes later does it occur to him to ask.

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a wide smile. “To make you some friends.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I have friends.”

“You have Sam. And Steve.”

“Sam and Steve are enough.”

“Sam and Steve are legally obligated to be your friends.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “That’s not how friendship works.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this another haunted house? ‘Cause if it is, I'm staying in the car."

"No haunted house."

"Then what?"

You drum your fingers on the wheel. "We're going to check out the fastest-growing paranormal club in the city."

Bucky exhales through his nose, mentally preparing himself. 

"What’s the scam?" he deadpans.

"No scam." You pause. "Well, maybe a little scam. But I’m choosing to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity."

Bucky glances at you. “What kind of scam?”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself today, y’know? Maybe you’ll even be a treasured member of this club.” 

Bucky leans all the way back in his seat, shutting his eyes before he has an aneurysm. 

The location is exactly as sketchy as Bucky expected.

Which, to be clear, is very. 

A run-down community center at the edge of the city, sandwiched between a failing laundromat and a storage facility that definitely has bodies in it. 

The parking lot has three cars, two of which are missing doors. The third is a white van with no plates.

Bucky stares at it. “I’m staying in the car.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can get your organs harvested. I’m not in the mood for that today.”

“We are not getting our organs harvested.” 

“We are about to walk into a situation that requires a white van with no plates.”

You tap the steering wheel. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“Oh? What fuckin’ details should I be focusing on?”

You refuse to make eye contact. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”

A sign by the door says:

WELCOME, SEEKERS OF THE TRUTH.

Bucky points at it. “What the fuck is that?”

“They’re just seekers, Buck.” You unbuckle. “They’re seeking. Let them seek.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“They have over five hundred members in their Facebook group.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his face. “The Boogeyman fan club has eight thousand, so what?”

“Okay, but to be fair-- Boogeyman’s hot.”

Bucky stares at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

“Do you want me to respond to that?”

“Only if you agree.”

Bucky inhales slowly, counting to ten.

Still, he gets out of the car. Because he always does.

The guy at the door looks exactly like someone who would be enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Whatever it was. 

Late twenties, cargo pants, black t-shirt, and… a cape. He stands in the doorway like he’s personally responsible for deciding who gets to know the truth.

Bucky is already exhausted.

You, however, are delighted.

“Hi!” you chirp, walking up to him. “We’re The Gra-”

Instead, the guy squints. “Hold on. I know you. You’re from TV.”

“Uh, yeah, he is-” you glance at Bucky, who glares at you for throwing him under the bus, but it’s not like you had been set up for interviews just yet or had any major public saves like the Battle of Earth. You operated on a scale similar to Spiderman until now. The Avengers were really just your first big corporate job. 

“No, I recognise you,” he looks pointedly at Bucky, before narrowing his eyes. “You got no reason to be out here-”

A few years ago Bucky’s shoulders would have tensed immediately, already bracing for the inevitable Winter Soldier comment.  

“Hey now,” you force a smile onto your face. 

“--showing your face in public,” the guy continues, gearing up. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, because he’s dealt with enough of public vitriol to really have it faze him anymore.

You prepare to take a step in front of him, body stiff. “Now let’s not get-”

“After breaking her heart like that? Shame on you.”

Bucky blinks. You also blink, steps halting.

“I’m sorry, whose heart?” he asks, looking between you and the guy.

The guy snaps his fingers.  "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”  

“And yet,” you say, eyes twinkling with evil delight, “you still had time to emotionally devastate a woman named Lulu on national television.”

Bucky turns to you, betrayed. “Who the fuck is Lulu?”

The guy shakes his head in disappointment. “Shame on you, man.”

You clap the guy on the shoulder. “You’re so right- what’s your name? Troy? You’re so right, Troy. Bucky here thinks just because he has a pretty face and a rockin’ bod, he can break hearts without consequences.”

“What the fuck is a Love Island?” Bucky asks in despair. 

“Ashamed of what gave you your fame?” You click your roof to the top of your mouth. “People would do anything for the opportunity to be shirtless on a beach for three months-”

“Someone tell me what the fuck a Love Island is.” Bucky drags a palm across his face.

“It’s not you? Oh.” Troy deflates, glancing at you instead. “Are you the one from Love Island then?”

“I wish.” You pull your lips into a straight line. “Some people just aren’t grateful for the chance they’re given.”

“Oh wait. I recognise you, you're from that ghost show.” He brightens up again, wagging his finger at you. “My niece loves you.”

You nudge Bucky in excitement at the news, as if you hadn’t induced fifteen years worth of self-hatred into him twenty seconds ago. “Tell your niece she's got great taste.”

He nods briefly. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“We heard this is the fastest-growing paranormal group in the city. Just wanted to check it out.”

The guy perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! The Ghost’s energy is real strong tonight. Dennis said he’s been slamming Monster Energy all day, so the vibes are there, man.”

Bucky’s expression does not change. “Who is Dennis?”

“Our medium.”

You nod sagely. “Of course.”

“He’s got a newsletter. You wanna subscribe?”

“Gee, I sure do,” Bucky says dryly.

You elbow him. “We wanted to join the club first.”

“Alright,” he chirps. “I’m sure Dennis won't mind. Meeting starts in ten minutes. You can grab your cloaks by the door and head on in.”

Bucky stops. “Cloaks?”

“Yeah, it's imperative to the Ghost that we dress the same.”

“Absolutely fucking-” 

“Don't worry about him, he's only upset that he didn't get to bring his own cloak,” you interject immediately. “It came free with his coffin and some sunscreen.”

Bucky steps on your foot. You give him a small kick.

“Alright, well, you can have ours. It’s usually five bucks each but I’ll let it slide if you sign something for my niece,” Troy says. “If you're filming, please keep the flash off.”

“You got it, boss,” you salute.

The guy shrugs. “Meeting starts in ten. You can drink from the chalice and head on in.”

Bucky immediately locks onto that second part. “The what?”

The guy pulls out a black goblet filled with dark red liquid.

Bucky immediately takes a step back.

The guy holds it out. “It’s the Ghost’s essence. Dennis prepares it before every meeting.”

Bucky and you stare at it.

You lean in, sniffing inconspicuously. “What ingredients are in the Ghost’s… essence?” 

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Dennis just goes into a room, talks to the Ghost for a bit, and comes back with this. It’s different every time.”

Bucky’s stare is flat. “Oh yeah. That’s normal.”

“Here, try.”

Bucky does not move. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowns. “You haven’t even tasted it-”

“I’m allergic,” Bucky repeats. “Real bad. Death and everything.”

You nod solemnly. “I already had some.”

The guy blinks. “You did?”

“Yep, just couldn't help myself. Found some around here and I felt the Ghost really call to me.” You beam rather convincingly. 

“I think it’s calling to you again, you should try some more,” Bucky tells you.

“Nope. Had plenty. Gotta save some for the others,” you say loudly, kicking his foot again. “It was great, though. Ghost tastes great- I mean, got great taste.”

“Well in that case, here’s your cloak and you can head on in,” he smiles at you before turning to Bucky. “You’ll have to pay, though.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. “I’m in the fuckin’ show too.”

“So you are from Lo-”

“I was not on Love Island,” he declares definitely.

“Right,” he drags, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Five bucks.”

Bucky stares at him. Troy smiles right back.

Bucky grumbles, relenting as he reaches out into his pocket to shell out five dollars.

Bucky had taken the mandatory black cloak with all the enthusiasm of someone being handed a parking ticket.

You, on the other hand, are already swirling yours around your shoulders like you’re about to perform a monologue.

“Personally, I’m not too fond of the silhouette, but it’s fine for a last-minute fit, I guess.” You adjust the hood, pulling it low over your eyes before striking a pose. “Do you think I look cute?”

Bucky blinks. He wasn’t expecting the question. His brain short-circuits almost immediately. 

You tilt your head, waiting.

He cannot figure out what to say, so he simply lets out a grunt. It’s extremely embarrassing. 

"I'll take that as a yes."  

Bucky makes a face. 

Instead, he moves to something else entirely. Flips his cloak over his shoulders, tying it into a perfect, military-precise knot in two seconds flat. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, that was fast.”

“It’s a knot. Not rocket science.”

You step in closer, reaching out to tug lightly at the strings of his cloak. “Did you go full Boy Scout at some point? Or was that just, like, a super useful skill in your assassin era?”

Bucky does not move. “Are you done?”

You grin. “Nope. I like being all up in your space. You’re even hotter up close.” 

He immediately steps back.

“Coward.”

“Don’t want you ruining my knot.” Bucky tugs it tighter, then glares down at your very haphazardly tied cloak. “Jesus. That’s a disaster.”

"I was going for a more casual look."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Give it.”

“Oh, so now you want to touch me?”

Bucky freezes for half a second, until you laugh and then it turns into a half-hearted glare. 

Then, without reacting, he reaches out and untangles your mess of a knot with infuriating ease.

You watch him carefully as he ties it. He’s surprisingly gentle, fingers working quickly.

“You’re being very careful.”

“You’ll find a way to strangle yourself otherwise.”

“Is this your version of caring?”

Bucky ignores you.

“Oh, it is.”

“Just- shut up. Five minutes. I’ll pay you.”

Bucky steps back, hands off. The knot is perfect. He gives it a quick tug to test it, then nods.

You stare at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You grin, pulling the hood over your head. “I just think it’s adorable that you want me to live.”

Bucky mutters something unintelligible under his breath and gestures toward the meeting hall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The room is set up like a middle school talent show.

Rows of metal chairs, some folding, some clearly stolen from a diner, all arranged in a rows in front of a small, elevated stage. The stage itself is haphazardly draped with black fabric, trying to give the illusion of magic but mostly looking like a supermarket Halloween clearance aisle.

There is, for some fucking reason, a fog machine in the corner, already hissing out an unnecessary amount of smoke. The whole room smells faintly of lavender essential oils and burnt plastic.

"I gotta say, I expected more," you hum, adjusting your cloak as you scan the room.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe some candles? You’d think they’d at least have, like, a bowl of blood or something.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “Not everything has to fuckin’ theatrical all the time. Just ‘cause you’re floating around 23 hours of the day, scaring the shit out of everyone.” 

You grin. “Oh, so you do think my theatrics are effective.”

Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. “That is not what I said.”

"No, no, I heard it," you smirk, nudging his shoulder as you lean in slightly. "You're saying that my supernatural entrance at your window was extremely well-executed."

Bucky glares at you. “I am saying nothing.”

"You're saying I have a flair for the dramatic. That my execution is flawless. That you-"

Bucky reaches over and yanks your hood over your face.

"Mmph-" You flail immediately, dragging it back. "Rude."

Bucky hides a smile to himself but doesn’t say anything.

You narrow your eyes. “You know, you should consider a little showmanship yourself.”

"No."

"I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely at him, ignoring him. "You've got the sexy ex-assassin, current caveman aesthetic locked down. I’m imagining a trench coat. Maybe a few monologues in the rain. You’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I have to do to get you to shut up?”

“Put your tulips on my tulips-”

He gets up and moves one seat over, away from you and the heat blossoming on his face. 

You follow right behind him with a grin, satisfied.

Mercifully, something your attention is drawn to the people entering the room before you notice his face flushing. 

The crowd is a mix of true believers and people who are clearly just here for the novelty of it. Some attendees look fully committed, hoods drawn, faces solemn. Others are whispering and pulling out their phones, probably posting about this on some platform.

You, however, are too busy fiddling with your cloak.

"This fabric is trash," you mutter, pulling at it. "What is this, polyester? It’s so staticky."

"That’s the real issue here," Bucky mutters.

"It is when I keep getting shocked," you say, rubbing your wrist where the fabric clings.

Bucky watches you for half a second too long when you tug at it with annoyance, brows pulled together.

Maybe he should’ve been honest earlier when you asked how he thought you looked. 

Instead, he clears his throat and looks away.

More people take seats. 

The atmosphere changes suddenly when a man in his late thirties walks up to the podium. 

He wears a deep purple cloak, slightly different from the ones given at the door. His hair is combed neatly back, his expression calm and composed.

He raises a hand. The murmurs in the room die down almost immediately.

You lean toward Bucky slightly. "Okay, so we have our medium."

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his jaw shifts slightly.

The man smiles. "Welcome, seekers of truth."

A few people nod reverently.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

On stage, Dennis continues.

"Tonight is special," he says smoothly. "The Ghost’s energy is stronger than ever."

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky leans in again. "If I start screaming, do you think they'll kick me out?"

"Fuck around and find out, babygirl."

Instead of responding, he reaches over and yanks the knot he had tied securely for you loose. 

You glare at it. Then at him.

"If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could have just asked," you whisper. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

 "I hate you."

"You don't."

"I’ve never hated anyone more."

"You don't," you say, tapping his knee lightly. "You like my company, even if it causes you physical pain. That’s why it sucks even worse for you."

Bucky makes a sound that is a little too like a growl. 

The speaker, oblivious, raises his hands again.

Then, with a slow, practiced movement, he turns back toward the stage.

The room settles. The tension shifts.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

Not because it’s weird, exactly- he’s been in weirder places. But because he knows a performance when he sees one.

Dennis moves deliberately. Every step, every gesture, designed for impact.

And then, in a voice as smooth as a radio host’s, he speaks.

"The Ghost moves among us tonight," he says, pacing slowly across the stage. "I felt it earlier. A shift in the air. A whisper."

Bucky leans toward you.

"Did the Ghost also tell him to crank the fog machine to maximum?"

You bite back a grin. "It adds ambiance."

"It adds a fucking fire hazard."

You both glance toward the corner of the room, where the mist machine continues pumping out thick, curling fog.

It’s a lot, and smells faintly chemical and like no fog Bucky has ever smelt before. It spills along the floor, reaching all the way to the back row of seats.

Dennis stops, tilting his head.

"The energy here is special," he murmurs. "Do you feel it?"

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky does not murmur.

Instead, he tunes in, watching the room, the way people react. Watching the way Dennis pauses just long enough to let silence work in his favour.

It's polished. Which means it’s bullshit.

You’re half-listening, half-scanning the room. Not just in the way you usually soak in information, but in a subtler way. Like you’re looking for something.

Bucky notices. He wonders if he should ask. 

Dennis closes his eyes briefly, as if receiving a message.

"Some of you are new," he says suddenly, his voice shifting slightly. "Some of you have never been here before. You’ve been drawn here. Led here. Perhaps by curiosity, or fate, or something deeper. Whatever the reason, you are here now."

And then Dennis gestures to the audience.

A few nods in the audience. Someone exhales softly, like they’re already halfway into a trance.

Dennis begins to pace. Slow, measured steps, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s channeling something.

"The spirit has whispered to me once again." His voice lowers. "I have seen visions."

A murmur spreads through the audience.

Dennis stops. Closes his eyes for effect.

"Dark visions. Visions of the Great Ghost of Nickasta’s past."

Dennis opens his eyes, gaze sweeping the room. "Tonight, we will consult with- is someone filming?"

Every head snaps around, straight toward you and Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t move.

You blink. Then, very slowly, you look down at the camera in your hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You raise your hand slightly, like a student in class. “We're new. The Graveyard Shift here to witness the-”

You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a folded-up flyer, squinting at it in the dark.

"-transformative power of communicating with ghosts."

You fold it back up and look at him expectantly.

Dennis’ smile tightens. "Recording is not encouraged." 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dennis stares at him. With just a touch too much hesitation, he says “It disturbs the Ghost from reaching full power.”

Bucky’s head cranes.

"Keep that thing on," he tells you as if you had any plans of shutting it off, before raising his voice. "Why not? Don't you wanna get your message out there? Help people?"

Dennis' clasped hands remain tight.

"It is not my message," he says smoothly. "It is the Ghost’s. I am merely a vessel."

Bucky’s lips press together. "Great. Free publicity for the Ghost."

"Yeah, we're doing pretty well on YouTube," you add, twirling the camera slightly in your hands. "Could be doing better on Instagram, but this guy refuses to go live."

Bucky glares. “It’s not gonna happen. Let it go.”

Dennis’ jaw tightens slightly. His gaze does another quick sweep of the room.

Then, finally- 

"No." He plasters on a tight smile. "You may continue. But know this-some things cannot be captured by a device so primitive as a camera."

"I’ll take that risk." Bucky leans back in his chair, smug, before adding under his breath to you, "He’s definitely scamming."

You snort. "Give him a chance."

"I gave him five bucks."

"And you got a very hot cloak out of it, which your shoulders look incredible in."

Bucky glares ahead.

"What visions were you having?" someone in the crowd shouts, following it up with a strange laugh. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

Dennis claps his hands together, a smooth pivot away from the interruption.

"Ah, yes, the visions!" he announces, voice swelling with importance. "The Ghost has revealed to me a story of great suffering! Of betrayal! Of a spirit trapped! A mighty beast who could not be contained!"

A few people in the crowd gasp, others burst into tiny giggles. Bucky wonders if others were here for the shits and laughs too. 

"How big?" someone in the crowd shouts.

Dennis' eyes light up. He lifts his arms wide, stretching as far as he can.

"He was... huge!" he exclaims, pacing the stage, cloak billowing slightly behind him. "Larger than life itself! And he was trapped, my friends."

A few people gasp softly.

Dennis cries out, "Trapped in chains by the very people who claimed to ‘love’ him!"

Bucky’s face remains blank.

"His mighty beast was strong, yes, but he was misunderstood. He wanted to be free, to live among the people in peace. But no! They took him, they made him fight, and then they... they trapped him!"

Dennis throws himself against the table, inhaling deeply like he’s just been hit by divine revelation. "They made him climb a tall tower!"

He wonders if it actually hurt the guy, all the throwing himself around that he was doing. 

"They paraded him for all to see, mocking him!"

Bucky's eyes close briefly, as if in pain. "Okay."

Mist grows stronger around the room, almost like he’s stuck in a room with a bunch of vapers.

His nose scrunches up immediately, eyes stinging lightly as he blinks.

“What the hell is that smell,” he blows the air in front of him.

“Chemical, with undernotes of sweetness,” you note. “Is that what the Ghost smells like or is it a creative interpretation?”

“It's gonna give me a migraine.”

“Breathe through your mouth, then,” you say, raising the camera up and zooming into Dennis doing… whatever.

Bucky just shrugs the stupid cloak off his shoulders and ties it around his face in a makeshift balaclava.

“I feel it,” Dennis announces, throwing his hands in the air. “It is here.”

“What is?” the crowd cries.

“My migraine,” Bucky answers.

You shove at his knee with yours.

Someone stumbles to their feet. “The beast... the spirit... it’s... it's all so beautiful!”

People around him burst into giggles.

“I can feel it, it’s... inside me!” someone in the front laughs loud enough to drown out the music.

“Yes! Yes! The Ghost is in all of you!” Dennis shouts, pointing. “We are all like the beast, misunderstood and bound by chains, but we must rise above it all--"

“I am rising,” the same cloak guy from earlier chuckles, knocking the chair behind him to the ground as he stands up. “I see the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you comment, looking around to see everyone with their hands up in the air.

Bucky's arms stay firmly crossed over his chest as he sits slumped in his miserable little chair, staring at the crowd around him around him.

“Everyone's doing something,” you observe through all the loud laughter.

“I can see that,” he says, noticing that your knee continues to brush against his after you shoved at him before coming to a rest. His throat constricts in a way that makes talking a little more difficult.

He pulls the stupid cloth tighter around his face because whatever the smell was, it clearly was giving him a physical reaction.

“I’m having FOMO.”  

“By all means, do not let them make you feel that way,” Bucky grumbles, in what he thought was a tone dropping with sarcasm.

“You're right,” you say, dumping the camera on him before standing up with your hands in the air.

Great. Now he was responsible for this thing too.

“They tried to tear him down from his tower,” Dennis shouts.

“Who?” you shout back like it’s a fucking improv show.

“The Witch! The righteous witch, walking along her path of gold!”

“What?” you stop immediately. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s the pink lady from Wizard of Oz,” Bucky says casually.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“His great beast is King Kong. Tower, beast, misunderstood, made to fight,” Bucky replies. “Nick and Asta are characters from The Thin Man.”

You lean toward him. "What?"

“He’s bastardizing movies from the 20s.”

You squint toward Dennis, who is still in full Shakespearan mode.

"Can you feel the injustice, my children?" Dennis exclaims. "Can you see the Ghost at work?"

You grin. "Are you telling me you sat through movies in the ‘20s?"

"I was alive in the ‘20s, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?"

Dennis continues, "We are all on a journey, a journey just like those travelers in the great dust storm- oh yes, yes, the spirit shows me! We must keep pushing forward, even when the sand storm rages!"

Bucky grimaces immediately. "Grapes of Wrath."

"What?" 

"Saw it when it was released. Thought it was boring as fuck."

You try to stifle a laugh. "You look so young, sometimes I forget you were childhood friends with Adam and Eve."

Bucky glares at you. 

Dennis throws his arms out. "Another! Another in the room with us! This mechanical Titan with a heart of gold! They saw him as just a machine, but no, no! He was so much more! The spirit showed me! He was a reflection of the true power within us all-"

"Metropolis," he mutters. “Thea von Harbou's novel."

“Bucky, you fucking nerd.” You tap his shoulder, grinning. “Look at you, busting scams and quoting movies made during the dawn of time. Do you know how hot you are?”

“What?”

“I said, are you single? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, when the mist pumps into the room.

“I’m the friend.”

“Got that,” he replies, focusing on literally anything else.

Dennis continues without missing a beat. "But wait! Not all of you have followed the spirit’s true path!"

The room goes quiet. Dennis' eyes scan the crowd before he points suddenly.

"You! Yes, you!"

For a second, Bucky thinks he’s pointing at him.

"You betrayed the spirit, didn’t you? You-"

You poke Bucky. "Did you betray the spirit?"

"Only when I felt like it," he mutters.

However, the man in the row ahead of you suddenly lets out a panicked noise.

"I- I needed to go to the bathroom so bad!" he cries. "The line to the club was so long, and the bouncers weren’t letting anyone in, so I just cut ahead-"

Dennis gasps. A few others in the room let out soft, horrified whispers, as if the man had committed a felony. 

"No!" Dennis shouts, pointing like he’s passing divine judgment.

The poor guy visibly withers in his seat.

"You have broken the trust of the divine!" Dennis booms. "You must atone!"

The man trembles. "W-what should I do?"

Bucky mutters under his breath. "Is everyone here on drugs?"

Dennis softens slightly, his voice taking on a careful, patronizing tone.

"The spirit demands retribution," he says. "But the Ghost is merciful. And today, so very generous. For a small donation, you will have the chance to cleanse yourself from the darkness."

Bucky watches the guy scramble for his wallet. "Is he selling forgiveness?"

The man hands over thirty bucks.

"This is literally how the Church split,” he mumbles.

You suppress a laugh. "Did it affect your Sunday plans?"

Bucky shoots you a dry look. "I was born in 1917. The Church split four hundred years before that."

"Oh, right." You nod seriously. "I just assumed you were there when Martin Luther nailed his stuff to the door."

Bucky exhales, pressing the heel of his palm into his temples.

The fog thickens.

Dennis' voice rises. "Everyone quiet! The Ghost is speaking!"

You turn to Bucky. "The Ghost is speaking, Buck."

Bucky groans. "You mean till now he’s been freestyling?"

Dennis throws his hands up toward the ceiling. "I feel it! It is here!"

Bucky’s nose twitches. The smell is stronger now, almost becoming hard to see through-- 

A split second later, you both realize.

Your eyes widen. "Is that--"

"Nitrous oxide," Bucky confirms, standing up.

"Pumping laughing gas into the room, are you fucking kidding me?" you curse. “We need to air this place out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky turns sharply, scanning the room. He watches as shoulders slump, as people laugh for no reason. A guy near the front sways slightly, blinking like he’s forgotten where he is.

Someone else lets out a dazed giggle.

Bucky’s focus zeroes in on the mist machine, still hissing. There are small metal canisters stacked neatly beside it, refilling the room.

Bucky crosses the room in four steps.

Dennis barely has time to turn and register the movement before Bucky grabs one of the small pressurized canisters, gripping it in one hand.

"Hey! What are you-"

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead throwing it straight through the window.

The glass explodes outward, scattering onto the pavement outside.

A rush of cold air floods in.

The sound shocks the room, pulling some people out of their haze. Others are still too fogged up to react.

Dennis' face twists in outrage. "What the fuck?!”

"Show’s over," he mutters, chucking the second one too.

It slams into the glass and tumbles outside, hissing as it empties into the night.

Dennis looks like he might actually explode. "You’re ruining-"

"You can talk to the great Ghost through your one phone call in jail," Bucky interrupts, brushing glass off his sleeve.

Dennis lets out a furious noise, grabbing the stupid silver chalice from the table beside him and hurls it directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky barely tilts his head to the side but finds that there’s really no need.

The chalice stops midair. Hangs there. Slowly floats back to the table, settling back into place.

Dennis' rage turns into something closer to panic.

"Let’s not get pissy now," you remark, voice syrupy sweet.

"Fuck you," Dennis snarls.

And then, in an act of desperation, he grabs a knife from the altar.

It’s cheap plastic. It’s definitely a prop. This guy was fuckin’ nuts.

Still, he lifts it like he’s going to lunge at Bucky.

Except his own cloak yanks tight around his arms.

Dennis lets out a choked sound as it wraps, pulling his limbs against his sides.

The curtain behind him rips off its hooks, swirling around him.

In seconds, he’s bound to the chair behind him, like some kind of villain in a medieval play.

The room stares.

You smile, pleasantly.

"Enough," you say, voice cooler than it should be.

Dennis glares daggers at you.

Bucky glances at you, mouth twitching slightly. 

Only then do you notice silence has fallen. 

You look at the crowd, only to find them watching you.

Someone in the back lets out a horrified whisper. 

"The spirit is here."

The crowd erupts.

"Where?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"The Ghost!" someone screams. "It's you!"

You blink. "Oh, me?"

They nod fervently.

A few drop to their knees.

You process this for a moment. Then grin like you just won the lottery.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course it’s me." You lift your arms slightly. "Hey, y’all." 

The crowd gasps. 

“Guide us.”

Bucky groans. "Some fuckin’ role model you’ve got there."

You pretend not to hear him. Instead, you do what you’ve seen Wanda do a million times, even though it really did nothing for you. 

You lift your hands slightly. Let your feet rise just a little off the floor. 

The room erupts in gasps.

"Fuck’s sake," Bucky mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

You clear your throat. "Yes, it is I. Spirit of Stick Blasta."

"Nickasta," Bucky corrects.

"Nickasta," you confirm. "I have traveled a long time to be here."

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty millennia."

Bucky watches as you fake-peek through your half-closed eyes.

"I have some wisdom to share," you announce.

The crowd leans forward.

Bucky leans back.

"First!" you bellow. "Do not listen to anyone who stands on stage and says they've got a spirit moving through them. They're lying."

"But you’re doing that," Bucky heckles.

"Except me. I’m legit," you add quickly.

Bucky watches as you subtly flip him off with one of your raised hands.

"Second!" you continue. "Do not pay people for forgiveness."

You pause. "Unless that person’s name is Prosecutor and you’re bored of how long the case is being-"

"Next one," Bucky interrupts loudly.

You wave a hand dismissively.

"Third…" You falter. "I don’t know. Does anyone have suggestions?"

The crowd stares.

Bucky facepalms.

"Right. No suggestions." You clap your hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

The room is silent.

Then, someone whispers, "What… what do we do now?”

You land lightly on the floor again, brushing nonexistent dust off your cloak.

"For realsies, though, I suggest you get any money you paid this guy back. And then sue him into oblivion.” 

Dennis makes furious muffled noises from under the curtain still binding him.

You glance at him.

With zero effort, Dennis gets dragged backward, vanishing backstage.

The crowd stares.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone out," Bucky orders.

The crowd obeys instantly.

Still dazed, still giggling from the leftover gas, they shuffle toward the exits.

Bucky looks at you. "Are you fine?"

You ignore him. 

Instead, you call after the crowd, "And call someone to pick you up!"

They nod vaguely.

"I already called the paramedics, they'll be here in a minute!" you shout. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky’s expression tightens.

"Are you fine?" he repeats.

You wave it off. "Oh yeah. It takes way more substances to get me high. All this was covered under the Leviathan Weapon of Mass Destruction starter kit.  What about you?"

"Me too." Bucky shrugs. After a pause, he clears his throat. "You didn’t have to tie him up."

"He was annoying,” you say flippantly. 

"I wasn’t actually in danger."

"I know."

"It was probably grape juice."

"I know."

"I didn’t need help."

"I know."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What’s your play here?"

"My play?" You scoff. "I know this emo lone wolf thing is something you’ve been cultivating carefully for years, but sometimes, people can do things for you and have it not be a play."

Bucky stares. "Like what?"

"Like I don’t know-- trying to protect you even if you don’t need it." You turn on your heel, hopping down from the stage. "Or like checking to see if you’re still breathing when you’re lying face down on the table."

Bucky does not respond, feeling his fingers get all fidgety. 

 “C’mon,” you tell him, halfway out the door. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back and starts behind you.

“We’ve got all the footage. So that should be good." You turn to eye him. "But you know what’ll really help our case? You keeping that cloak on.” 

Bucky groans, yanking at the fabric that hung across his neck like a bath towel. "I’m gonna set this thing on fire."

"You won’t. You are the cloak now.""

"I will."

“You’re still wearing it. I think you actually like it.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. "I’m leaving."

"In the cloak?"

"Shut up."

"I think it makes you look distinguished."

Bucky storms toward the exit.

You follow, grinning the whole way.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it's the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don't post there at all except for fics </3

Next part

[sageispunk]

are you ever gonna post the method man fics 😩

what's it gonna be? (18+)

pairing: Silas P. Silas x black!reader

↳ When two friends finally get a night alone...

wordcount: 2.5k+

warnings: this is all smut fr, fwb to lovers, daddy kink!!!, P in V sex, reader is referred to as "girl" "ma" "mama" "boo", squirting, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, dom! reader for a sec, light choking, hint at/mention of weed use, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, nipple play...lmk if i missed any!!

A/N: ask and you shall receive!! (sorry for the wait though, i've had this sitting unfinished for a min cause i didn't know if anyone actually wanted it LMAO) i hope u like it anon and anyone else, lmk how u feel in the comments!! pls like + reblog as well MWAH 🫶🏾

“Damn girl…” 

Silas groaned below you, with his big hands gripping your hips as you moved up and down his length. The two of you locked desperate eyes, communicating nothing but everything at the same time.

You needed this as much as he did, especially once that familiar green haze behind your eyes set in. You were on your feet, using the strength in your legs and knees to increase your pace on him. With each bounce you could feel him deep inside your belly, touching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed. 

You also couldn't figure out how his tall self managed to squeeze into your twin XL dorm bed, but you weren’t in any position to question it either. The room was dark, only illuminated by the dim screen of your television on the dresser, in addition to the red LED lights on the wall above you. Whichever tv show began when your movie went off went unnoticed, their conversations drowned out by the breathy pants escaping your lips. 

The lewd sounds filling up the room had you both in heaven. Beautiful brown bodies under that rouge coloring– moaning, grunting, smacking, and squishing. Like one of those early 2000s classic Ebony films–just nasty. You could only hope no one could hear from outside your door. 

You moved your hips up and down, taking him all the way down to the base each time, biting your lip with a debauched look on your face. You watched as Silas moaned, loud and needy and uncaring, his eyes rolling back into his head. Your confidence shot up through the roof, leading you to take a little more control. You held his jaw with your dominant hand, bringing your lips up to his earlobe and letting your mouth run off whatever popped into your head, not leaving a second to second guess yourself. 

“Does it feel good when I do it like that?”

With your soft, teasing voice in his ears, you squeezed your inner walls, slowing yourself a bit and ignoring that growing burn in your thighs. “You betta stop it, girl..” His voice came out grunted, rough. His fingers dug into your hips as he struggled to hold onto his nut, a deep moan vibrating through his chest. 

“What about when I do it like that? Hmm?”

You felt him nodding against your skin before his hips stuttered, kissing your spot perfectly for only  a split second. Your body jerked up, momentarily frozen around him as your vision went white. “Silas, FUCK, I’m–!!!”

“Yeahhh, let it out baby..” He murmured, a goofy, cocky grin spreading across his face. Even then, you could still tell that he was struggling to hold on, with your pussy pulsing,  nearly suffocating him like a goddamn boa constrictor. 

Silas kept his eyes on you, his focus wandering up and down, and back and forth, his mind too overwhelmed with pleasure to fixate on only one part of you. He loved your thighs–every time you’d wear this particular pair of biker shorts that defined each of your curves, he would have to mentally go elsewhere just to keep from bursting out his jeans.

Your breasts also held a special place in his heart, especially in those times where he’d seek you out for comfort, resting against the soft, cushiony headrest that your chest provided. Similarly, the softness of your tummy was something he could never turn down, he’d be touching on it every time you showed a little extra skin in a crop top or a backless dress.

As you slowed down to a stop on top of him, he let his hands wander. His left hand traveled up your side, slowly, taking in your beautiful map of scars and stretch marks on the way. Once his thick fingers reached your breasts, they traced around your mocha areolas before latching onto your hardened nipples. Silas rubbed and pinched lightly, alternating between teasing each as he watched the euphoric haze grow across your face. 

“Silas…” You still were sensitive from your sudden orgasm, slightly trembling from the aftershocks as he touched you. Nevertheless, that warmth and excitement began to flood your core once again, that hunger taking over your every thought. His hard dick throbbing eight inches deep inside your core didn't help either. But you needed more, you craved to see him, feel him come undone inside of you. 

You gasped as his right hand made its way to your throat, keeping your gaze steadily on his. The grip of his fingers on your skin had you feeling weak, and under his spell. And his voice, all deep and rough and dripping with desire.

“I gotchu mama, just tell me what you need..” Your eyes scanned over his face, taking in the glaze of sweat on his forehead, above his furrowed eyebrows, as well as the slight pout in his plump bottom lip. You wanted to bite it so bad. “Tell daddy what you need, baby, I gotta hear you.”

Silas repeating the nickname you accidentally gave him the first time you’d hooked up made your tummy flutter. You couldn’t believe it yourself when the word flew out your mouth, while you blurredly watched him take you from behind, standing upright in front of the mirror in some frat party bathroom. From then he never let you forget it. He always made sure to remind you of his special status, without fail making you cum harder than anyone else ever had, every single time. 

“Cum in me, Si...please.” 

The plea fell from your lips as you lazily swirled your hips in his lap, enjoying the way his curved length rubbed deliciously against all your inner spots. Like you were made to fit one another. Your hands held onto his right arm as he continued to choke you, only slightly tightening his grip around your throat. The growing lack of air made you tense around his dick, whining and moaning out as he spoke. “You know if I cum in this pussy, that means it's mine, right?” 

Hearing those words with that thick New York accent while he was so deep in your belly nearly made you cum again. Leaning in, you nodded your response with your gaze fixed directly on his brown eyes.

A look of understanding flashed across Silas’ face for a second, before he released your throat, hand settling on the nape of your neck to bring you in closer. Your plush lips met his own as he swallowed down your moans, exploring your mouth with his hungry tongue.

You opened up, letting him take control of the nastiest kissing you’ve ever participated in–tongues dancing, spit swapping, lip sucking until both of your mouths were glistening. Sinful. 

Silas’ free hand squeezed your hip, grounding you on top of him as he began to slowly grind up into you. Your mouths separated but your faces remained close as he held the back of your neck. Silas watched your face contort while he deepened his stroke inside you, letting you feel every single inch in your stomach.

The only thing you could focus on was his mouth, and how much you wanted that bottom lip back in your mouth. Fuzziness took over your brain, your eyes tearing up from the agonizingly slow but deep pace he was set on. 

The moment was intimate, much more than it had been previously, closer and slower than all those other times Silas had you broken you down. For the past few weeks, you resorted to quickies on the bathroom counter if you were at a party, in either of your cars parked somewhere dark, you’d even let him finger you under the table in the library while you were supposed to be “studying”. And now, with your roommate gone for the weekend, you were finally able to have a nice, passionate moment in a bed. 

In a way, the rushed, adrenaline-filled aspect of all your previous entanglements in those less intimate settings kept you from taking a deeper look at your relationship with Silas. You were friends, albeit much, much closer than “normal” friends should be. You met in a shared biology lecture, after Silas showed up late–and high as hell–and the only seat left open was to your right. You eventually agreed to become study partners, and you didn’t mind when some of those late night study sessions in Silas’ dorm turned into heated smoke sessions, which further turned into nasty intoxicated confessions from you both. 

Silas propped his feet up, lifting his hips before flipping you both over. He placed his hands on the backs of your knees, pushing back and kneeling down to lick a slow, wide stripe up your glossy cunt. You cried out from the new stimulation, squirming in his grasp.

“You taste so mothafuckin’ good, girl..” He moaned against your pussy in appreciation, slurping up your juices and rhythmically sucking on your clit with those pretty ass lips of his. You were entranced, eyes stuck on the scene in front of you, wondering what good you had done in this world to deserve all the bliss flowing through your system.

You watched as he pulled back from your pussy, chin glistening in your essence. He spread your sticky lips apart with two big fingers, hungrily watching you clench and pulse around nothing. The ravenous look in his eyes as he stared at your pussy turned you on like no other. They met yours again, and he licked and bit on his lip, letting you know that he was craving more, just as you were.

Your eyes and mouth fell wide open when Silas let a string of warm spit fall directly onto your clit, both the sensation and the view filling you with an immense amount of pleasure. You could feel the electricity flowing from your pussy to your toes, and back up through your spine, a complete shock to your system.

He let your legs fall to the side, big, warm hands on your face as he leaned in, kissing you once more. The sounds of you both groaning into each other's mouths as you tasted yourself on his lips echoed throughout the room. Your hips grinded up against his, needing to feel his length on and in you again. He pulled away first, one of his hands coming down to pin your knee out to the side, setting you still in place. “You want me to cum in this pussy?” 

You nodded, almost too eagerly. There was nothing else on your mind but the vision of him leaking out of you, vanilla cream dripping down your lips, the perfect match for your coffee complexion.

“Use ya words, boo.” 

You reached up, manicured hands pulling his face to just a couple inches from your own. He watched, expectantly, eyes moving from your eyes to your lips and back up again. You could feel him now, twitching and leaking against your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him most. “Cum in your pussy, Daddy.” 

With a curse under his breath, he sheathed himself inside of you in a quick movement, pausing once he filled you to the base. His eyebrows were furrowed as he stared into your eyes, mouth hung open like he’d never felt the warm, tight hug of your cunt around him before. His breath faltered, warm breath against your lips and vulnerability written across his face.

Your own breath was caught in your chest when he slid back, and then forced out when he pushed inside, gliding through your slick walls with ease. A wail escaped your lips as he punished your pussy, or at least that’s what it felt like he was doing. Reminding you of who he was. And reminding you of who you were. 

Your eyes clamped shut, toes curling and spine arching up off the bed more and more each time he touched your precious g-spot. Another orgasm began to build within your core, your body tightening up underneath him as you fiercely dug your teeth into your bottom lip.

Curses flew from your lips, broken and jumbled together, barely making any sense. You released his face, blindly allowing your hands to find his shoulders for support. Silas leaned down, moaning and groaning in your ear, filling you up with his dick before taking it all away, over and over and over again. 

“Daddyyy…fuck!!!” 

“Tell me it’s mine, baby, c’mon ma, I’m so fuckin’ close…” 

Your bodies were sticky with sweat and all your juices, creating the nastiest smacking sound each time he plunged inside. “It’s yours, I swear to god, it’s all yours baby, ohmyfuckinggoddd…”  You rambled off, barely even able to hear your own words. Your brain was much more focused on the ecstacy spreading through your entire body, making you tingle from your head to your toes. “I’m gonna cum, daddy, please don’t stop!!” 

“Give it to me, baby, c’mon, gimme that shit!” He kept the pace strong, not letting up until you fell apart on his dick one final time, this time with your juices spraying and splashing between your bodies. Your tightness mixed with the sudden wetness of your squirt sent him over the edge, causing him to yell out as he finally released deep inside you. 

“Fuuuck!!” His hips twitched and stuttered as he emptied himself out, not daring to pull out while you were still grasping onto him from underneath.

You whimpered, your body trembling, shaking like a leaf as your nails dug into his shoulders, deep enough to leave a few red crescent-shaped marks. The feeling of his nut filling you gave you the warmest feeling in your tummy, satisfaction spreading through your mind, body, and soul.

The two of you rested for a moment, the sounds of your heavy breathing became your only focus. The audience laughter from the television was more noticeable now, but neither of you could care less. Silas let more of his weight fall on you, cradling you from above while you calmed down your breathing. You turned your face, tucking yourself into his neck and leaving a few soft kisses on the damp skin in appreciation. 

Silas softly chuckled when you teased him with your tongue against his collarbone, knowing you both were too tuckered out for another round just yet. He pulled out of you, slowly, hissing at the overstimulation on his sensitive length. Sitting back on his knees in between your legs, he watched in admiration as seed spilled from your swollen lips, giving him a perfect view of the most beautiful painting he’s ever laid his eyes on–better than anything he’s seen in the MET. 

Observing his mark on you–in you–was gratifying, a surge of endearment and devotion growing within his own core. “C’mere..” 

You obeyed, lazily allowing him to reposition you on top of his chest, your faces just centimeters apart. 

“Tell me somethin’ real quick...you meant it?” 

That vulnerable look was back, although he did try to hide it by avoiding eye contact, instead focusing on your slightly puffy lips, swollen from all the kissing and biting and sucking. You knew what he was talking about, and you knew it was more than just dirty sex talk–something had been growing between the two of you and it was undeniable at this point. 

“Every word.”

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[recaltera]

pretty when you beg

pairing: enzo vogrincic x fem reader

🏷 smut (minors dni) teasing, underwear kink(?), oral (f rec), overstim, orgasm countdown, orgasm control, hard dom enzo and kinda mean enzo if u squint, spitting

a/n: (IMPORTANT!!) hiii this is my first fic ever i hope u like it :D if u wanna i can also translate into spanish so more people can read it. please let me know what u think and if u have any requests let me know in the ask box thingy, i write for everyone in lsdln’s cast. tyvm !! have a good day/night mwah ♡

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ꙳⭒ ༒ ✧⋆

deep breaths was all that could be heard, his lips trailing down from your neck to your abdomen. leaving a trail of wet kisses on his way to your clothed cunt.

he kept teasing you tonight, you went out to celebrate your three months together and instead of being all romantic and lovey-dovey, he was whispering the dirtiest things into your ears. but to be honest, you weren’t complaining at all, that’s one of the many things you loved about him, how dirty he could get, even in the most innocent occasions.

— going to fuck you so good tonight, angel.

all you could do was blush and giggle it off.

so here he was kissing your clit through your black laced panties you wore just for him tonight over and over again. it felt so good, yet it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

— enzo, please

he used his thumb to rub over your lips, something he did when he wanted you to open your mouth for him, wether it meant he wanted you to suck him off, or just make you suck in his fingers. however, this time he leaned over to spit in your mouth. and you gladly opened up and swallowed for him.

— shut the fuck up.

you kept bucking your hips into his face, but to no avail cause he ended up pinning you to the mattress, with his slender, pretty fingers sprawled out on your stomach. the fingers you oh so wanted somewhere else. the fingers you had spent HOURS thinking about.

as he was busy making out with your clothed pussy, kissing and sucking here and there, making the lace panties wet with his saliva. you were getting desperate to feel something, anything. you took his fingers into your own hands and guided them where you needed him the most.

— nuh uh, i want you to cum because of my mouth tonight.

you groaned when he finally took your panties off and kissed your inner thighs… slowly. still teasing you.

— fuck please, please, give me something.

and so he did, he kissed your now bare clit and started sucking on it like a desperate, starved man. the sounds he made while eating u out were like music to your ears.

he kept alternating between licks and flicks to your bud until you came, kissing your clit over and over to ride out your high. just to get off the bed and look for your favorite vibrator. he put it on a medium speed and pressed it lightly over your clit making you moan a little too loud from the overstimulation.

— s’too much enzo, no. no. no. no, stop it.

but he knew you didn’t want him to stop, if you did actually want that you would have used your safe word. he knew how fucking greedy you were. how no matter how many times he made you cum, if he wanted you to cum again then that’s what you’d do. you’d do anything to please him. anything for him.

he pressed it harder and started dragging it along your folds only stopping once the toy was on your clit again. he loved seeing your fucked out face, and how just by playing with the bundle of nerves he could get you to look like a mess; legs sprawled out and open for him, cunt red and glistening with your own juices and his spit. it was quite the sight if you asked him.

once you had relaxed and let him have his way with you for a couple of minutes, he used his index finger to put the toy on the highest setting. making the vibrations buzz around your whole body. making you shake because of the pleasure he was providing you.

he knew you were close, he already knew every part of your body, what you liked and what you didn’t. how to make u cum, how to get you on your knees for him, and how you reacted when you were about to hit your orgasm, so without moving the toy away from you, he leaned down, sticking his tongue inside of u going in and out at a fast pace. making you close your legs around his head for that extra feeling. you were so close to the edge, literally about to let go when he says;

— you cant cum until i say so.

he proceeded to begin with his 10 second countdown he loved to do when he wanted you to beg and cry for him. he loved hearing how desperate you were to cum for him. how pretty you looked with tears in your eyes.

“10… 9…”

— m’so close please

you could literally feel the tears in your eyes.

“8… 7… 6…”

— i don’t think i’ll last, please let me cum

“5… 4… 3…“

— please please please

“2…“

— fuck enzo

“1…”

— cum baby, make a mess for me, hm?

you came, you came so fucking hard letting him guide you through it.

— good job, angel. hope you are aware of the fact that we are not finished yet. or is my little doll too dumb to think right now?

he said with a pout on his lips, faking sympathy at your fucked out state. and you would be lying if you said you didn’t want whatever the fuck it was this beautiful man standing in front of you wanted to give you.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ꙳⭒ ༒ ✧⋆

[evilslushy]

i really like ur ff ! it was so good . could u maybe write about hotboxing hamzahs car by the beach or something like that ?

HotBox Challenge ᯓᡣ𐭩

Hamzah x f!reader

Warning: a little suggestive! MDNI :)

(A/N): barely proofread this… but this is my first ever request outside of people I know!! I hope you like this anon,, I know I didn’t exactly let them hotbox the car but I hope you forgive me for that <3 MWAH (i luv ur request btw, truly challenged my writing #unique)

w: 1.4k

You shivered. Droplets of water dripping down your neck, leaving prints of a darker color on the fabric of Hamzah's dark green jacket. You licked your lips, savoring the salty coating on them as you rolled the windows up to block the breeze from blowing on you. You guys weren’t planning to get this wet but one thing led to another leading back to Hamzah (accidentally) aggressively pushing you into the beach. It wasn’t fully his fault, you kind of started it when nudged him for saying something you didn’t like.

Sighing, you pouted as you looked at the driver’s seat beside you. Your boyfriend’s guilt gnawed at him, pushing him toward a nearby supermarket for god knows what. “Hamzah, it’s fine!” You told him right before he sat you down on the passenger seat. “Just stay here for a second.” He cut you off, taking off his dark green jacket and putting it over you.

It’s been a few minutes since and he hasn’t been back, you wonder what he’s even looking for. Regardless, you hug yourself tighter—seeking warmth within yourself. Humming a song as you waited for his imminent arrival.

Your humming must’ve been loud enough to block out the sound of Hamzah’s footsteps. A knock on the window snapping you out your own trace, turning to be greeted by your boyfriend’s half smile; ushering you to unlock the doors. You smile back, shaking your head left and right. Hamzah’s smile dropped, a muffled: “babe, open. Please.” Heard by his window.

Obviously you weren’t actually planning to serve him hypothermia on a silver platter. Leaning over to push the lock open for him. Hamzah immediately opened the door to set a plastic bag on his seat, his hand rummaging through it to give you whatever took him so long to grab.

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a packet from the bag. A packet containing a small item—something you'd typically find inside a box with several others alike. Hamzah held it out to you with a sheepish grin, as if it were some kind of treasure he’d unearthed from a hidden aisle. “Self heating pads” he informs, “I didn’t realize it was this small when I bought them… if this isn’t enough I got a box.” His murmurs go unheard when you take it away from his hand, ripping it out of its plastic wrap—revealing a piece of fabric, seamed on its sides—so it’ll start warming up.

“Your jacket was warm enough, you didn’t have to.”

“I don’t know, I kinda just freaked out. It’s cold out. You might catch a cold.” He placed the plastic bag that contained the box of heating pads towards your lap. Sitting down and closing the car door behind him.

You didn’t know if it was because someone else was in the car now, or maybe the heating pads work like magic. Your body warmed up by the second, eyes shifting from the heating pad between your palms to the ocean waves crashing down—the only visible reflection on them being the bright full moon. So bright you could see the shoreline racing upwards as the waves came to an end, pulling backwards—the wet sand now richer in color.

Hamzah’s hands shifted around, from his thighs to the steering wheel. Lips twisting to refrain from asking what he wanted to ask. And if there’s anyone that can feel his awkwardness more than you… it would be Martin. Though regardless of that. You turned to look at him, Hamzah side-eyeing you with the same twist on his lip—slowly turning into a weak smile. “You look like you want to say something…” you softly noted.

Hamzah tilting his head, finally facing your gaze. He simply shook his head. Making you lay back against your seat with a sigh. You knew that look on his face. “Light it.” You mumble.

You guys were supposed to share a joint by the beach until he pushed you, then you got stuck in the car to warm up. You didn’t know that in his mind the joint was the main part of this rushed ‘date.’

Your excited boyfriend is not wasting any second to pull the joint out and light it. Chuckling at his urgency, you comment: “damn, I didn’t know you were that excited about it.”

Hamzah closed his eyes as the smoke filled his lung, sighing it out while resting his head back on the headrest. “Long week.” Was all he said in response. Passing you the joint without looking. “Tell me about it.” You held it between your thumb and index, bringing it closer to your lips. “Long year at this point.” Finally taking a drag.

Your boyfriend hummed in agreement.

You shifted the joint between your fingers, the motion fluid, almost like a second nature—you moved it between your index and middle finger—making it more convenient for both of you. Your hand hovered near Hamzah’s lips. As you brought it closer, your fingers brushed softly against his lips—just a brief touch, but enough to send a quiet jolt through you. His lips parted slightly as he took a slow drag, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours for a moment. When he was done, he tapped your hand, the gesture almost careless, but the way his fingers lingered on yours said more than the action itself.

The sudden sensualness in the air must’ve been pent up. Maybe it was the fact that you haven’t kissed him today at all, or your body was still in need of additional warmth. Or maybe… you were making excuses because no one can resist your boyfriend; especially post hair-wash day when his curls are that defined.

His hand hesitated for a split second, just enough to make your heart skip. Then, with a subtle shift, his fingers grazed yours again—only this time, they lingered longer, almost deliberately. Slowly, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, gently but firmly guiding it away, as if it took everything in him not to harshly pull you closer. He leaned in, his presence warm against your aura, his lips meeting yours in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips hugging yours perfectly, that aroma of weed stuck to be tasted between you both. You pulled away, a bit knocked out of breath from the kiss. Hamzah chased your lips for a second before noticing that you were stopping to take it in, foggy smoke escaping his lips. “What about the joint?” You took the time to tease.

“Fuck the joint.” He could almost go unheard, not wasting any time to crash his lip against yours again. This time a little harsher, hungrier. You wanted to fight back, argue that you guys need to finish this joint that cost Hamzah money. Except it seemed like a lost cause to argue with him.

The way he was kissing you bubbled a giggle in your chest, slowly breaking away to let it out. Hamzah looking at you, a puzzled love dazed gaze falling from his eyes. His lips plumper than before, a pink hue reaching the top of his ears.

“Hamzah.” You say in between your giggles. “What… what?” He asked, a breathless laugh to mirror your expression. Smiling, your hands go up to cup his face. “I think this is our worst attempt in hotbox-ing a car.”

“Isn’t it better to do it later with Martin and Mandy?” He didn’t waste any time, kissing you after. You kissed back, your smile felt against his lips. You liked when he gets like this—it was rare but once you bent him up enough (not kissing him good morning) he can’t stop.

Your fingers curled the hair on the back of his head, opening your mouth slightly, Hamzah softly entering his tongue—groaning at the warmth of your mouth. Again, you pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting you both. You turn your head, turning off the joint by putting it in an open water bottle snuggled in the cup holder.

Hamzah looked at you when you turned back, expecting you to continue on. But you slipped your hands away from him, sitting back in your seat.

“Go back home, I need to change.”

Hamzah snarked, “leaving me hanging is not cool.”

“Your clothes are now wet too!”

“I don’t care!”

“Shut up. Home. Now.” Your tone was demanding but your smile held a shortsighted smile. Feeling a bit guilty for leaving him hanging, you kissed his cheek. “Sorry, baby. Promise I won’t leave you hanging when we’re at home.”

He reversed the car to pull out of the parking lot, a shy smile on his face. Humming to show his understanding.

Hotbox challenge: failed.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

hiii! i hope ur doing well, if you wanna can u do a luke castellan x gn!reader fic, maybe jealous luke??

𝒥ℯ𝒶𝓁ℴ𝓊𝓈𝓎

A/n: i love jealous bfs anon mwah

Warnings: jealousy, luke gets in a fight, mentions of blood, overprotective luke in here as well, Luke is the god of daddy issues, abandonment issues

You knew Luke was a jealous person- he just managed to hide it very, very well. Usually, you calmed his rage and sadness by reassuring him that he was the only one you wanted.

But this jerk would not stop talking to you. It’s been 40 minutes, and no matter what Luke did he would not stop, and Luke suddenly entered that rage that where he had no clue what he was doing as he stepped forward.

Throwing his cup down, pushing past the partygoers, and making his way towards you. His jaw clenched as he set his eyes on the man, how much he just wanted to squeeze the fucking life out of him. He wanted to see the man suffer.

You noticed Luke, and you were going to stop him, but there was no stopping Luke when it came to you. He landed a punch on the man, the man groaned.

“What the fuck, man? What’s wrong with y-?” The campers came over and formed a circle, none of them dared to try and stop Luke, knowing that if they tried they would probably get punched.

“Luke!” You yelled, desperately trying to pull him off the man. Luke continued landing blows on the man’s face, it was bloody, and you finally managed to get Luke to stop after a little.

“Jesus, Fucking..”

Of course the man’s wounds had healed, he was a child of Hades, Luke soon recognized.

The man went to attack Luke now, but you just grabbed Luke’s hand, pulling on it. You both darted out of the party, seeing Chiron making his way there to see what all the noise was.

“Luke, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You asked him, breathless as you hid behind your cabin.

“He was flirting with you! You both were talking for like 40 minutes!”

“He wasn’t flirting with me.” You shook your head rapidly. You noticed him gripping onto his bloodied and bruised hand.

“I know he was, I know how guys like him think.” His raised voice faltered as you softly grabbed his wrist, examining his wounds.

“Oh, Luke.” You mumbled.

“I’m fine.” He grabbed his hand away, and you just looked at him again.

“Even if he was flirting with me, why would you do that?”

He stayed silent for a moment. Tears welled in his eyes, begging to be let out.

“Because, what if you left with him?” He admitted it quietly, you sighed and shook your head, your hand reached up to his face, and you ran a thumb over his scar. His other hand reached up to grab your hand.

His abandonment issues. Most of it is rooted in his dad, leaving Luke when he needed him the most. He’s terrified at the thought of losing you too.

“I would never. I’ve told you this so many times, Luke, I love you and only you. I would never want to leave with anyone other than you. Okay? So, next time, just talk about it with me. Don’t go punching people.” You whispered the words quietly.

He laughed and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to.”

“I’ll apologize to him. But I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Let’s go clean up that, okay?”

[stunie]

Zevie it is I, the maid cafe anon once again coming to you to request more cute(or lewd, it’s your choice like fr) maid cafe content.

Maybe they show up when it’s like a day for a different costume(OH MY GOD A PLAYBOY BUNNY OUTFIT DAY??? A CUTSIE ANIMAL ONESIE DAY??? CHEONGSAM DAY??? MAGICAL GIRL DAY???????) or literally ANYTHING, whatever inspires you.

The only characters I’ll specifically ask for are kiryu, suo, and Kaji if possible!!!!!

ANYWAYS REMEMBER TO TAKE IT EASY AND HAVE A SNACK AND REST MWAH MWAH -🐌

WELCOMMEEE !! u r now snail anon and no longer maid cafe anon !! i hope u and the others r comfy here ໒꒰ྀི ˃ ∩∩ ˂ ꒱ྀི১ <3 i made this sfw <: also pls im gonna share my snack with you (it’s a mango roll cake!)

hayato suo, kiryu mitsuki, & kaji ren x maid cafe!f!reader

sfw. ft. costumes (animal onesies), you call them ‘master’

HAYATO SUO gives you an all-too-warm smile when you’re shyly handing him a menu, tensing when his fingers briefly brush over the paws of your onesie.

“a kitten? how cute,” he teases, hand coming to cheerfully rub at the top of your head. it was only your second week since you’ve started your job here, and yet he’s made it very clear that he’d be paying you a visit every single shift.

a part of you wishes he had never found your cafe’s instagram, where they uploaded each week’s theme on sundays without fail. you can only imagine how ecstatic suo must’ve been when he saw what was scheduled for today— because he was stepping through the door only fifteen minutes into the start of your shift.

“c-can i get you anything else, master..?” you stammer, eyebrows deeply furrowed in embarrassment as you hug the extra menus to your chest. he’s only chuckling at your nerves, back of his hand coming to mask his laugh as you give him your best attempt at a glare. “you’re not supposed to laugh,” you whisper through your teeth, “stop being like that..!”

“oh, sorry,” your shoulders relax a bit when his laughter dies down, and he’s smiling back at you all over again. “then i’ll just have you stay beside me until i’m done with my tea. that won’t be a problem, right?”

KIRYU MITSUKI’s mouth parts open in surprise when you come to serve him his food, cute little bear ears sticking out from the hood as you set down his plate in front of him.

“this is your omelette, master!”

“oh, thank you,” his voice comes out soft, but he’s tugging you by the little bear tail at the back of your outfit as soon as you turn to check on your next table, “but don’t leave just yet.”

your head turns back, gaze shifting back and forth between his hand and his face. “..is something wrong?”

he doesn’t respond.

you sigh when he still doesn’t let go of your tail, not even looking at you as his free hand comes to click at his screen. “wait just a couple more seconds…” he says, scrolling through his apps. “ah..! here it is. okay~”

some of the other visitors are turning their heads to look at you as soon as they hear his chair abruptly scooting backwards, body leaning back a bit to angle his phone’s camera towards you with a content hum.

“k-kiryu!” you huff under your breath when you realize exactly what he’s doing, “that’s so embarrassing..!”

he only chuckles in response. “but you look so cute,” he coos, “smile nice and big for me, okay?”

KAJI REN’s lollipop falls out of his mouth as soon as he sees you dressed up in a bunny onesie, one ear flopping over your face when you do a little bow to greet him and the two standing behind him.

“oh, it’s kaji’s girl working today! what a nice surprise, huh kaji?” you hear enomoto’s voice loud and clear, followed by a loud ‘tch’ from your boyfriend.

those two— enomoto and kusumi— didn’t say a single word about this. he was wondering just exactly what they were snickering about so loudly earlier before they were suddenly at his side to ask if they could stop by your cafe before heading home.

something about a deal on coffee? he can’t believe he actually fell for that.

“oh, kaji!” you gleam, lips tugging into a huge smile. “oops— i meant master. your table is over here. follow me.”

he’s clenching his jaw in place of his lollipop, eyes narrowed into a deep scowl in his attempt to dissipate the blush rising to his cheeks. you looked cute, big ears flopping up and down with each step you take, and you’re practically drowning in the excess fabric.

did they not have your size?

“oh,” enomoto interrupts his train of thought, and he turns to see him and kusumi are suddenly checking their phones, the weather app- specifically. “we gotta leave, actually. we’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

and they’re gone just like that.

[brairslair]

i loved your recent hc post !!! could i request a nsfw of one piece men when they beg during sex?? need that ASAP !!! thank u >.<

i need this asap too i think

18+ ONLY (minors go away !)

MONSTER TRIO x FEM!READER

a/n: sorry for the wait! had a bit of a hard time figuring out what to put for luffy, but i hope you like what i came up with! thanks anon <3

don’t forget to like, reblog, follow, and comment if you would like to support my work! mwah 💓

“let me make it up to you?”

Luffy:

so we already know he’s talkative

in and out of the bedroom

and he has no problem being vocal

butttt he’s also a man who’s used to getting what he wants

the first time he’s ever felt the need to beg for anything is with you

it would sorta just slip out mindlessly when he was really needy, words reaching your ears before he could even register what he was saying

it feels strange and foreign in his mouth at first

but i feel like it would grow on him pretty quickly

it would make him giddy that doing something as simple as essentially just talking, (one of his many skills), he could make you blush and press your thighs together

so then he’d start doing it more often

“please, please, please, can I feel your mouth”

“need it so bad”

“please let me touch you, i’ve been so patient-”

and then he’d start getting bolder and do it outside of the bedroom too

partly because he loves seeing you get all riled up and flustered

cause he’s a little shit

but also because he just thinks you’re so goddamn hot and literally wants to touch you all the time

you could be helping with chores, or eating dinner, or talking to your crew mates, does not matter

he will persevere and find a way

he has no shame

some events are more subtle and sweet

ex: “can i kiss you? pretty please?”

but some events are harder to miss

he’ll wrap his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzle his face into your neck, and whisper his needy pleas into your ear

he’ll tell you everything he’s gonna do to you as soon as he gets you alone, pleading for you to let him drag you away to somewhere more private

his smile is as wide as ever as he watches the way you shiver

it’s still seemingly innocent to any onlookers, but definitely not innocent to either of you

“can we please go now? you look so pretty, and i just wanna be inside you so bad- please can we?”

it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by the crew when you both bolt out of the room

Zoro:

the closest you’ll get to zoro begging is if ur riding him and he’s pussydrunk honestly

because he doesn’t even realize he’s talking in the heat of it all

he just feels so good, and you look like an angel, and his lips start moving without a thought behind it

“just like that, don’t stop-“

“fuck- harder”

“oh shit, do that again“

and his voice sounds absolutely wrecked

but he still never says please

unless you make him

zoro will do anything to please you, and you know that

so you can use it to your advantage

he wants to touch you? better ask nicely

and he will, begrudgingly, follow through on the request

only for you

let me set the scene alright

the two of you are making up and making out after a petty argument, the adrenaline making you both a little more desperate than usual

his hand inches farther and farther down your body, about to slip past the barrier of your panties

you stop him

“ah ah ah- i’m still a little mad at you.”

it’s all teasing, both of you know that, but it still has the same effect

because zoro would honestly do anything you asked him, even if thats begging for forgiveness

so with a huff, he asks nicely, even though his cheeks are hot and his ears are pink with embarrassment

“i’m sorry baby, really”

“let me make it up to you? show you how sorry i am?”

he’ll whisper into your neck to hide his face

“can i touch you? please-“

and honestly thats more than enough for you to to lose your resolve

but know that he will deny his actions if the situation ever gets brought up again

Sanji:

sanji will beg you for anything at any time

for your attention, kisses, alone time

it’s just in his nature, and he’s not ashamed about it either

he’ll even get on his knees if necessary

and he loves when it’s necessary

on his knees between your legs, hearing you pant and watching your hips twitch makes him lose his mind

he’ll punctuate each word with kisses along your thighs and hips

“please let me taste you, princess”

“just wanna bury myself between your thighs- can i please?”

“let me worship you, ma chérie. need to see your beautiful face when you come undone on my tongue”

his voice always gets whiny, and scratchy, and so desperate for you that it almost seems painful

because he whimpers

and his heart eyes don’t play

so he begs all the time, for a multitude of reasons

but mostly, he knows that begging you almost always gets him exactly what he wants

he’ll beg when he’s been hungry for you all day

“please, my love, please touch me”

“faster, faster, faster-”

he’ll beg when he’s fucking into you so good you can hardly breathe

“one more, okay? i promise, just one more- i’m so close-”

“cum for me, darling. need to feel it, please please please-”

and he’ll definitely beg when you’ve been edging him for what feels like hours

“please can i cum? i’ve been so good, please-”

“don’t stop again, please mon coeur, ill do anything”

he’s absolutely whipped for you to say the least

asks are open!

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— after sickness, after health + sae itoshi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — your ex husband is a menace. married or not, you'll always belong to him.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, smut, angst, divorce, custody battles, you have kids, cheating (with sae lol), manipulation, possesion, slight yandere if you squint, dub-con, tummy bulges, hold the moan, spit!kink, drunk sex, unprotected sex, toxic relationships, previously established relationships, mentions of arguments, ex husband + pro player!sae, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 1.5K.

⭑ notes — hello... i was not meant to write this but,, i fear i cannot escape the bllk brain rot lmao !! sorry if he's ooc or too mean but i hope u like it ily guys mwah <3 - m.list ✩

oooo ex husband!sae is so annoying, jarring, he’s horrible.

the divorce is somewhat amicable. both of you pretend it is. you were young and in love but now you’re growing out of affectionate shoes that are too small for you now. it hurts. but you pretend.

ex husband!sae takes what’s his and you take what’s yours. sae doesn’t want what you have and what he gave you — being the big bread winner he was, you keep the house and the cars, the expensive wedding gifts his parents sent from abroad. pity presents, he calls them. he doesn’t want you to be out on your own.

the only thing you and ex husband!sae fight over are the kids — it’s a long and drawn out battle. very messy with tears on your end begging him to call it even and take the deal your lawyer offers up so that the public stops tearing you down. he likes that you’ve called him against the wishes of your lawyers, you’re coming to him as his ex-wife — pleading with him in that way that makes his lips quirk up in a cruel smile because it’s been so long since ex husband!sae heard you beg for him like that.

maybe the custody battle was only to drag you through the mud, make you hurt a little bit so you remember ex husband!sae for the rest of your life. the time you spend with kids is split down the middle.

ex husband!sae hears it from one of your little girls on the way back from their ballet class that mommy is seeing someone new. your other daughter likes him a lot, says he gets them ice cream on the weekends where you have them. and sure enough, your ex doesn’t like that, a weird and sick sense of possession curling around his heart and lungs because you’re not supposed to have been able to move on from sae. you’re only supposed to be happy with him.

ex husband!sae who invites himself over to dinner with your girls on the night he knows that your new boy toy will be there. a sense of pride washes over him as he takes in your expression when you open the front door to him; your eyes wide, pretty lips parted in a delicate ‘o’ — you look as though you might cry, asking him if he’s here for the girls and blinking quick when he says he wants to join the four of you for dinner. he watches the curve of your ass as you lead him inside, wanting to rip that little apron right off of you and make you his again in front of your boyfriend.

the kitchen is cramped with both men politely arguing over how to make the girls’ favourite dinner while they watch bluey out in the living room — paying no mind to the tension building down the hall. your boyfriend seems uncomfortable with how comfortable ex husband!sae is in your space. he knows where the spices are, how you like to wash the dishes as you go along, the way you set the dinner table. your stress runs high as sae flits through your home, after all he did live here once too.

your boyfriend puts his hand on your shoulder. sae smiles when you shrug him off.

the polite yet snide comments continue when your girls are seated for their meals. ex husband!sae makes it known that your current partner has no place at the table, that he could never have you because you’re too loyal to the routine and life that you know. you turn to the fancy bottle of red wine sae bought with him as stress relief.

you’re slightly tipsy when ex husband!sae puts your children to bed — he stops on the creaky stairs because he can hear you drunkenly argue with your boyfriend about tonight’s events and he can’t help but feel as if he’s won. your boyfriend doesn’t think that sae should be around, that he’s bad for you, for the girls too for picking fights in front of them. and like the loyal little thing you are, you defend your ex-husband because he’s a good father and he takes care of you. he always has.

sae only steps in when he sees you getting upset, crumbling under the weight of the evening, the stress of being a single mother with someone who doesn’t understand it the way your ex does. no one else should have the power to make you cry like the midfielder does. that’s sae’s job. the steps of the stairs groan under the weight of his footsteps as sae trudges down them — intervening when you flinch away from your boyfriend who’s raised his voice at you in an attempt to get you to see that ex husband!sae is bad for you.

you screw your eyes shut and clench your fists, not intoxicated enough to fail to gently remind your current partner. “please don’t yell at me.”

you sound so hurt by the argument and that only serves to piss sae off.

“i can take care of her from here,” ex husband!sae brushes past your boyfriend to pull your swaying frame into his chest — sweeping in like your knight in shining armour and ushering the man out of his house with a sick smirk. “i think you should leave.” your boyfriend says he’ll text you later on, no doubt, with the intention to smooth things over while he still feels threatened by your pro-football player ex. but you don’t find the time to respond when later does eventually come around.

because later that night, you give into your urges and succumb to familiarity where ex husband!sae has your knees pressed into your shoulders and your hot cunt wrapped around his shaft — milking him so good like you always have. like you’re meant to be. the midfielder shudders above you, listening out for the squelching symphony your sex sings for him as he fucks you nice and slow. sae fills you up until you can feel his cock in your lungs, dragging his milky pre along your walls as if it’s his signature on your body.

the older itoshi brother would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you, your body, your kisses. the way you dreamily echo his name like it’s a prayer every time he angles his cock to hit your sweet spots. you find his hands within the messy sheets, the slickness of your heat making it easier for sae to grind himself into you. he feels lightheaded with ecstasy, his grunts turning to deep rooted moans as he swoops down to kiss you with tongue — a poor attempt to silence your squeals since your girls are sleeping just down the hall.

the bed that you used to share betrays you, crying from underneath the languid push and pull of your bodies working together for orgasm. ex husband!sae is torn between capturing your teary face in the now and reminiscing all the times he’d fucked you or made love to you against these very sheets. the thought of your new boyfriend doing the same makes him hotter, makes him move faster — slurring and spitting his praises into your eager mouth as his balls clap against the curve of your ass and the crude mix of precum and your juices tie sae itoshi to you.

licking into his mouth, you lift a hand to curl into sae’s roots and tug hard in the way that he likes. “sae,” you mewl, breathless and bambi eyed. “feel s’fuckin’ good. hah! d-don’t stop, m-missed you!”

“don’t tell me what to do, ‘couldn’t stop even if you begged for it.” sweat beads on ex husband!sae’s forehead and he closes his eyes, hips stuttering even though they piston into yours. he can’t tell if you actually miss him or if it’s the sex that’s making you feel this way — and quite frankly, he’s in the same boat. he hooks your thighs over his shoulders and presses the entirety of his body over yours, putting all of his energy in to deep, long strokes that make you choke on your words and gush sweet and clear streams around the base of his throbbing cock.

“you feel me here, love?” your ex husband!sae, asks, magenta hair flopping over his eyes — his hips flush against your puffy clit as your juices pearl along side it. he gives you a rough thrust, fucking you like it’s your wedding night all over again and he hasn’t made the last few months of your life a living hell. like he loves you. “c’mon baby, pay attention. can’t believe you’re so shameless, letting me have you like this again. do you feel me?” sae presses down on your tummy where his thick dick bulges, the sensation making the whites of your eyes visible as they roll back into your skull.

you nod, delirious with desire, pussy trapping your ex husband inside of you. “y-yes, sae! f-feel you!”

“good, because i belong here, sweetheart,” ex husband!sae coos, an evil spark haunting his aquamarine eyes. “i’m the only one who ever gets to fuck you here. because no matter what happens — you’ll always be mine and i’ll always be yours.”

[sundayiminlove]

sleep, pretty darling [ dallas winston x f!reader ]

synopsis : you're overworking yourself with studying in preparation for exams, and dally isn't havin' it. contains : academic overachiever reader, whipped dallas winston, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, notes : first writing post on here, kinda (very) nervous!! think i'm gonna make a point to write for each greaser in effort to shoehorn my way into outsiders tumblr?? yeah??? okay, GREAT. 99% chance i post something different for dal tho. just a messy, silly little drabble. ironically wrote after not sleeping for 32 hours. i'm sorry if he's a lil ooc y'all, this is my first dal fic in give or take a year!!! he'll get there, i promise! mwah mwah hope u enjoy warnings : not proofread, we die like dally

i.

PALE BLUE EYES slant sideways, casting a brief look at you.

Your nose is scrunched in concentration over the comically large textbook laid open in your lap. You're hunched over, tracing under each printed word with your finger, thumbing down when you stop to take a note.

Dallas is preemptively annoyed. He's been leaning expectantly against the doorframe circa ten seconds ago, and you're yet to notice him. He takes one last dramatic drag from his cigarette before begrudgingly discarding it on the outsole of his shoe. The creases on on your nose tighten as you catch a whiff of the wafting smoke. Though a vehement anti-smoker yourself, you've spent enough time around the gang to guarantee your lungs at least a permanent char. Despite this, you always just have to make a big song and dance of your distaste for them, and Dally does nothing to curb the quirk of his lips into a slight grin.

You have him, hook line and sinker.

"(Y/N)," he speaks at last. His tone is firm yet without underlying aggression; one exclusively for your ears.

You perk up.

Dallas' fingers splay against his lips as if holding a phantom cigarette. "What're you doin' over here so late, huh? Was out lookin' for you."

He watches as your gaze darts to the window. Nightfall has long since kissed the apex of Tulsa, yet you hadn't a clue. You'd been there for hours, crunching equations and fruitlessly jotting down formulas. The encroaching weight of finals week had rendered both your circadian rhythm and measure of passing time nugatory.

"Borrowin' one of Darry's old textbooks," you explain, the corners of your mouth tugging into a frown. "Not exactly a monastery but it beats that old Soc-infested library, long as Two stays gone, that is."

He crosses the Curtis' living room in four smooth strides, plopping down next to you on the couch. The flimsy cushion sinks beneath him, forcing you closer to him, and for once, Dally's grateful for the pathetic old thing's lack of structural integrity.

He lifts the textbook, ignoring your whimper of protest and sets it on the coffee table. He spins the silver band on his knuckle, averting his gaze downwards. "You know, sweetheart," he pauses, choosing his words. Dally wears his worry uniquely, sparingly. "I'm not particularly likin' all of these.. these books, and.." he trails off, thumb tracing your newly-formed eyebag as if he could swipe it clean. "When's the last time you got any sleep?"

Things are different. You're his girl now. And not just his pretty skirt for the night and until 7am after; no, this is serious. You're his girlfriend. His lover. It's foreign. It's enthralling.

No one had told poor Dallas that falling for you would unwind a deep vortex in his brain that noticed the trivial things, like how suspiciously little you blinked or how the vibrant pink in your cheeks had drained.

You lean into his touch with an exasperated sigh. "Dally, c'mon, don't you start this. I know it's nothin' to you, but it's finals week!" you huff. "I'll catch up on the sleep, swear it! I just, I got so much left to do here, and,"

Your defense falls on deaf ears. This has been it for weeks now; and the you-sized hole burning in his chest is only getting deeper. Dally's arms encircle your waist as he taps gently on the small of your back. "Don't give me that," he sighs. "God, baby, you're worryin' me, alright? Don't like seeing my girl so..." he fans his hand outwards.

As you tense and start to fly into another excuse, he shakes his head, mind already made. He's sparing no more of your attention. "You're comin' back to Buck's with me, alright?" His timbre leaves no room for argument, but you squirm regardless. His grip on you tightens. "And I'm making sure you get some goddamn rest."

You pout, looking over at your textbook as if it would personify and save you. "But," you start, only to be hastily shushed.

"But nothin', doll. C'mon, up ya go,"

With that, he scoops you up, one arm hooking around your legs. Your series of half-hearted protests are nullified as he secures you into Buck's old truck, movements careful yet hasty. You inevitably surrender, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean back into the torn leather.

BUCK MERRIL'S HOUSE is as quiet as Buck Merril's house is capable of being. You've never been to Buck Merril's house, so you don't find it very quiet at all.

Running his hands over the blanket, Dallas spreads it out on the floor, smoothening out the crinkles and corners. They reform almost immediately and he sighs heavily, airing it out on the pummeled mattress in defeat. If he would have know he'd be conducting a full-scale kidnapping for the sake of your rest, he might have better prepared. Might have.

So, here's the thing, right?"

There have been girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been quite a few girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been zero girls in Dallas Winston's bed that he didn't bring into it with meaningless sex on the horizons.

You're no snob and he knows this, but now, it's the principle. Dallas Winston may sleep on a mattress deficient of ample springs and no top sheet, but Dallas Winston's girl should never. In spite his hazy, rose-colored, Y/N-centric world created under this roof, he knows he has to step it up.

As soon as he hears the faucet cut off, he's off his feet. He flings himself onto the mattress, hitching one leg up as he awaits the slow creek of the door.

And there you stand.

Dallas wonders what karmic debt is being paid off for him to deserve to see you like this. His lips part as he drinks in the sight of you like a man dying of thirst. You, in his lightly wrinkled grey tee that scarcely conceals your bare thighs. Your face glistens with renew, a few stray droplets racing down your forehead and cheeks. Even trammeled by exhaustion, you knock the wind right out of him.

You wear the moonlight beautifully. It traces each feature so delicately as you sit beside him on the bed. "I'm—," you start, but pause to let a little yawn. He practically melts beside you.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a tough time, darlin'," you continue, situating under the blanket. "You were right, I'm proper beat."

He smirks, propping his head up to look down on you. "As always," he notes, tucking a fly-away hair behind your ears. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab, to which he winces in mock affliction. "Some nerve," he hums, thumb tracing your cheek.

You look at him, lips parting gently. This isn't Dallas Winston; that infamous, no-good hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. This is your Dally, someone you alone have the absolute pleasure of knowing.

"That's it," he whispers as you surrender to his side, nuzzling his neck. Your eyes are heavy, faltering by the second, yet your grip on him is unyielding. He's never felt a thing like this before, and he's quickly becoming putty in your careful arms. He's content to lay awake all night, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as slumber claims you.

His gangly fingers trace idly on your back, and he knows. He will never be the same.

[lasciviouspoison]

can i?

full length toji fic for da one time! i’m rlly proud of this one y’all, so i hope u can enjoy! tw: afab!reader, toji x chubby!reader, virgin reader, dirty talk, breeding/mentions of breeding, mentions of after care. basically porn with a mini plot, lol. per usual, all of my works are written with a black archetype in mind, but all can read!! mwah! 💋

you’ve been in a relationship with toji for a few months now and you really like him! he smells good all the time and he takes such good care of you. like seriously, he rarely lets you life a finger around the house and treats you like a princess. he does everything right and is so patient with you that you can’t help but wonder why he’s with you. especially since the two of you have never had sex.

and while you would love nothing more than to take that step with toji, there’s just one problem; you’re a virgin.

he knows this though and he’s never pushed the topic of sex onto you, knowing that you’ll bring it up whenever you’re ready. however, toji doesn’t know that you’ve been ready since like two months of y’all being together.

you know (or can assume) that toji has fucked many women. i mean, look at him. he’s a staggering 6’2, completely ripped, tatted from head to toe, and the epitome of a masculine man. not to mention he’s wealthy and extremely in tune with his and your emotions. put all of this together and he’s the perfect guy!

so how could someone like you, an inexperienced virgin be worthy of being with, never mind fucking, a guy like toji, who could probably fuck you good with his eyes closed and a hand behind his back.

it’s because of thoughts like these you find yourself sitting next to him on the couch, trying to force yourself to watch the movie you begged and begged him to rent with nothing but sex on the brain.

your legs are swung over his spread out lap while his hands rest on your calves. ur little head is spinning with ideas on how to initiate sex that it feels like he’s burning you.

unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice that all that pent up frustration has caused you to unconsciously squirm around in your seat. he noticed it awhile ago. the constant shifting and rubbing your feet together, he figured that something was definitely up.

“what’s wrong baby? why you keep movin’ round so much?” you look him square in the eyes and almost cum. he’s so fucking gorgeous it’s like your body forgot how to work.

“nothin! i’m fine!” you say with a forced smile and quickly turn ur head back to the screen.

just before you can let out the breath you were unknowingly holding, you feel a rough hand grip your chin and you’re met with toji’s face.

“why you lyin to me baby? there’s definitely somethin wrong. tell me” his voice is laced with concern and you feel like such a dickhead. why can’t you just tell him what you want?

after playing with your fingers for a second, you give a little sigh, “i’ve been thinking about it for a while toji, and i, i think i’m ready.”

he tilts his head to the side and looks at you with confusion, “ready for what?”

you lick your lips and look down. you hoped he would get it as soon as you spoke but randomly saying you’re ready probably didn’t make as much sense as you thought it would.

“i’m ready to… to have sex with you. so long as you want to though!”

he stares at you blankly for a few seconds and you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to. panic sets in and your beginning to rise off the couch until he pushes your legs back down to sit.

“say it again baby” he says with a smile.

he can tell that your body is screaming ‘please don’t make me do this’, but he can’t resist. he wants, no, needs to hear his pretty baby tell him how much she needs him.

“i want… i want you to have sex with me toji” you say as lowly as you can and once the words leave your mouth, toji’s moving as fast as he can to cover your body with his.

“well why you ain’t say that to begin with princess? i’ll take care of ya.” he says with that fucking smile you love so much, scar contorting in a way that makes him look less tough.

his lips find yours while his hands make their way under your shirt. he’s slowly raking them up and down your torso, savoring this precious moment.

eventually, he pushes your shirt up above your tits, he’s thanking god that you decided to go bra-less in your newly shared apartment. he separates his mouth from yours and slowly licks your lips. a small chuckle leaves his mouth upon seeing your expression, you already look fucked out.

“don’t look at me like that baby, i might fuck ya too hard”. his words cause your body to tremble, giving him the utmost satisfaction.

he kisses you slowly down your neck until he gets to your tits, making sure to look you dead in the eye when he licks the first bud. your eyes roll into the back of your head and your back arches. if your this sensitive now, he can only imagine how you’ll act with him deep in your cunt.

he goes back and fourth, suckling on one and using his forefinger and thumb to play with the other. it’s driving you crazy and your thighs are non stop rubbing together.

“toji please. please just fuck me already.” your voice comes out much whinier than expected. it makes his chest swell with pride.

“gotta prep you first sugar. don’t wanna have you pushin my hips away.” he says as he sits back on his heels, hands gripping the waistband of your sleep shorts.

he slowly pulls them down and god is he pissed with you. how the fuck could you keep this pretty pussy away from him for this long? it looks like his own personal heaven.

“oh baby, ya got the prettiest lil pussy on you huh? look at ‘er, bet she wants me reeeaaalll bad, yeah?” he’s slowly stroking the inside of your thigh. he can feel the tensing of your muscle and it almost makes him laugh. just a couple words and touches and his baby is already begging for him.

he swipes down your slit and you choke on a breath. he looks up from your pussy to your face as he finally touches your clit for the first time. he watches as your face scrunches almost immediately, pretty lips forming into the perfect pout.

he brings his fingers down to your entrance and pushes in, basking in the feeling of your pussy opening up for him with no resistance. “see baby. see how easy my fingers slid in? awww, why’re you cryin?”

your eyes are teary and you can’t stop moving. his fingers fill you up so good that you could cum right now. your so sensitive it hurts and he’s the only one to blame.

“‘m sensitive toji. please just put it in. ‘m beggin you”. you say between sniffles. toji has fucked women before, but none have been as responsive to his touch as you. so, none of them will ever be able to say that toji fushiguro fucked them better than he’s going to fuck you.

after a few more pumps, he pulls his finger out of you and you shudder. before reaching for the neckline of his shirt, he puts his finger into his mouth and tastes your juices. he groans at how good you taste. he’s in genuine disbelief that pussy could have him like this before he’s even been in it.

he finally finishes and pulls off his shirt, exposing his tatted chest and arms. you could drool with how pretty he looks right now. he hurriedly throws of his sweats and positions himself back into his spot.

he grips his dick and rubs it up and down your slit, causing a moan to erupt through the both of you. he does this a few more times before tapping your clit and finally positioning himself at your entrance.

he moves his upper body closer to yours, wanting to be able to see every expression your about to make when he pushes in. he gives you a quick kiss before finally pushing in the tip.

you gasp loudly and he emits a quick “shit” before continuing inside of you. you try to close your legs but both of his hands are quick to push your thighs back, opening you up even wider for him.

you sniffle, “you almost in toji? can’t take much more!” you felt so full, it was insane. your head was so dizzy from just the pure pressure of his dick. he was so heavy inside you, and with that curve to the left, he was hitting all the right spots.

“jus about halfway baby. want me to stop?” toji couldn’t discern whether his dick was that big or if your pussy was that little. either way, it didn’t bother him, just let him know that he’ll have a lot of fun training your cunt to take all of him.

“yes please. just want you to move” your words are already slurred. he thinks your so beautiful like this.

without saying a word, he kisses your temple and starts rocking his hips back and fourth. your body immediately reacts and your hands go to push his hips away. he takes a hand off your thigh and grips both of your hands. he sucks his teeth lightly and grins “told ya so”.

on the other hand, your too lost in pleasure to care about him being right. the only thing on your mind right now is dick. toji’s dick and how it’s sliding in and out of you at such a delicious pace.

your trembling like a leaf in the wind and toji feels like this position might be too much for you to handle.

he calls out to you, but you’re too delirious to hear him. he taps your cheek and it finally feels like the ringing in your ears has stopped. “this too much for ya sweet thing? wanna try this a different way?”

you immediately shake your head yes. while toji having control was great and seemingly normal, it was too much to have to tell him when to stop and continue when you felt this good.

pulling out of you gently, toji sat upright on the couch and sat you on his thighs, each of your legs on either side of his body.

“g’nna let ya ride me. just do what feels good okay?” he was treating you so sweetly, you couldn’t help but worry about him being satisfied too.

“but what about you toji? want you to feel good too”. if you asked toji if he thought his dick could get any harder prior to this, he would’ve said no. however, you continue to prove him wrong.

he put his head into the side of your neck and kissed you softly, “watching you feel good makes me feel good princess. do what you want, i just wanna watch”.

you shook your head and raised yourself up on your knees. you grabbed toji and lined him up with your entrance. you felt his arms snake around your waist and you began to sit on him, eyes flitting from his to his dick.

still, taking toji was no easy feat. although you got about a third of the way, the rest was still too painful for you to take.

sensing you were beginning to feel disappointed in yourself, toji brought you in for a kiss. “keep your eyes on me okay, i’ll make sure you take it all.”

with wide eyes you watched as one of his arms circled around to play with your clit, while the other slightly bounced you up and down. you did as toji said, and never took your eyes off of his beautiful face, well, not until you felt yourself hit his legs once again.

you couldn’t believe you took all of him, considering his girth and your inexperience, but you did it. feeling his arms wrap around you once again, toji brought you close to his body. “told ya you could take it. so proud of you”.

his praise set you off in a way that was new to the both of you. not only did you squeeze him tighter than you already where, but your hips immediately began to grind against his, clit rubbing on the happy trail you asked toji to grow out once upon a time.

your moans grew louder and your movements grew faster and sloppier. between bouncing and grinding, toji knew he was in for a treat when it would come to him teaching you how to ride him correctly. it’s what made him lick his teeth and angle his head down to your tit to suck and play with.

“m’close toji. can feel it in my tummy” your voice was so whiny, you weren’t even sure if it was you speaking.

with toji now keened in with your approaching orgasm, he planted his feet to the wooden floor and gripped your waist, pressing your hips into his to help you grind harder on his pelvis. “let it go f’r me baby. wanna feel you come for the first time. wanna see how pretty that face looks when you come on my cock”.

you could only nod, feeling your body grow tired from the uncoordinated movements. “toji, can you keep talkin’?”

oh how could he tell you no?! he was so happy to hear you ask him to do something, something you liked! “‘course i can baby. ‘s so sweet that such a innocent girl like you wants to hear nasty things. wants ‘er daddy to tell her how badly he wants her. how i wanna fuck you till you cry. gonna train you to take all of me so easily that i can fuck ya anywhere. turn ya into my own personal slut. fill you up, turn ya into a mommy. would you like that baby? your pussy surely does- oh! there ya go baby, that’s it! cum on this cock baby” he finishes with a laugh.

you’re cumming. you’re cumming so hard you see stars. your body feels like it’s burning and all you want is for toji to fulfill everything he said and then some. if fucking toji feels like this, then you never wanna stop.

he can feel you shaking and forces your hips to a stop. he lets you circle around his cock while you ride out your high, trying his best to not fuck into you from below. he’s gritting his teeth with how badly he wants to ruin you, but he’ll save that for another day.

you finally look up at him with low eyes and a fucked out expression, “wanna feel you cum too toji. please? can i?”

not trusting his voice, toji shakes his head and gently gives it to you from below. he’s holding you to his chest tightly, groaning lowly in your ear.

it doesn’t take much for toji to reach his high. with a screwed up face and a tight jaw, toji cums in you for the very first time and feels like he just fell in love with you all over again.

his head falls onto the back of the couch and he’s taking deep breaths to calm himself down. he feels you move off of his chest and swipe some hair from his forehead.

he looks down at you and smiles, “i love you yn”

it’s the first time he’s said it and you couldn’t be happier. you instantly brighten up, “i love you toji”.

he kisses you a final time before carrying the two of you to the bathroom to run you a warm bath and dote on you. he feels his chest swell with love in realizing that you’ve given him the final piece of yourself, and how much he’ll cherish it.