#it's an even more ridiculous deep cut AND it makes more sense

[kingofdoma]

saw deadpool and wolverine

enjoyed it a lot

still ticked that apparently peter is supposed to be PETE WISDOM

WHY PETE WISDOM

PETER CORBEAU WAS RIGHT THERE

[karinasbaby]

sim jaeyun — sense.

P. spiderman!jake x fem!reader (17+) | W. unprotected sex, sir kink, somewhat hard dom jake, tying up, pet names, making out, jake is desperate and needy, breeding kink, creampie, cursing, other filthy shit | WC. around 3k im assuming | A,N. wanted to write smth for spiderman jake so here we are ! pls read a,note at the end !

in which.. jake gets affected by an unknown aphrodisiac potion in the middle of a fight.

limping towards your apartment building at two am wasn’t the ideal situation jake was hoping to find himself just a few hours ago.

yet here he is. right hand pressed against the bleeding gash on the side of his waist while his left hand loosely wrapped around his red mask. an unfavourable situation really. seeing the friendly neighbourhood spiderman walking funnily down the streets of queens.

crimson red leaking between his fingertips and bleeding through his suit, multiple small cuts adorned his legs and angles, ripping apart the high-tech suit that was crafted by mr.stark for him only, weeks of hard work wasted down the drain in the matter of a few villains.

yet none of those tragedies were processed inside of jake’s foggy mind. as ridiculous as it sounded, he felt all the blood rushing from his body to the middle of his legs. adding more to his lightheartedness overall.

he couldn’t figure out what the fuck the stupid robber threw at him in that filthy glass bottle of his. the glass shattering right next to jake’s jaw letting the liquid seep into his suit and before he could even realise it, he had ingested way too much of the unknown liquid mid fight due to his stupid habit of licking his lips and heavy breathing.

tongue pressing against the dampened fabric that was soaked with what he assumed was a potion of some sort because it fucked him up entirely.

he was rock fucking hard. in the middle of the street. with multiple injuries. at two am.

to say that he was sexually frustrated would be an understatement. his body was aching in every way possible. his senses heightening further than they normally should be, hearing his heartbeat drumming loudly in his ear drums as he dragged himself closer and closer to the brick wall of his favourite building.

he almost moaned when he lifted his head upwards to face the windows of the apartment, throbbing, tortorous pain pulsing all throughout his veins and body. he could barely remember all the scenes from the unnecessary assault, from the stinging kicks to his abdomen to the tenderness he felt in his knuckles due to his calculated punches that had the guy knocked out on the floor after hours.

knowing your tendency of asking him countless questions from his fights and encounters with criminals, he tried to prepare himself to relief all your confusion. key word: tried. because he felt his legs beginning to shake under him. breaths turning heavier with each passing second.

he inhaled a deep breath to ground himself just for the next few minutes. eyes focusing on the sight of your window still open, you were still waiting for him. jake’s fingers loosened in relief before he lifted his right arm upwards to shoot a long, thin web. connected himself from the ground to the side of the brick wall.

the translucent web kept his weak figure balanced against the pull of the gravity, feet lightly pressed under the rough ridges and corners before he finally pressed his knee against your window sill.

jake’s half lidded eyes desperately searched for your presence, widening in complete delight when he spotted your figure laying on the bed. one hand wrapped around your favourite novel while the other adjusted the volume of your headphones. your fingers instinctively pressing against the negatively symbolised button before a blur caught your attention. the sight making your heart drop.

your gaze quickly met jake’s exhausted one. “jaeyun?” you whispered in surprise, taking in the appearance of his battered body. shit, how did he get hurt so bad when he left not even an hour ago?

before you could realise it your feet carried you away from your mattress and towards your lover who was now holding onto his stomach in pain. eyes closed and head lowered to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat at the pure anguish his body was going through.

he felt each nerve pulsing with white hot heat. ache circulating his body stemming from the cuts and punches along with his confusing boner that made his head spin in need.

“i’ll go get the first aid kit.” taking off your headphones, you rushed towards the door of your bedroom before disappearing. unaware of the way jake was desperately reaching forward to just stop you. to tell you that his cuts didn’t matter at the moment. and that if he didn’t have you under him in the next few minutes his mind might erupt.

his body ran on his impulse at this current second. head pushing away all his pain and burn from his small cuts and bruises (in comparison to his previous injuries) to focus on his leaking cock that pulsed between his unusually tight boxers.

he felt ridiculously hot and warm. it was uncomfortable to stay in his suit when his body ached to hold yours, he was struggling. so much.

“sit down on the bed, baby.” you walked back inside the room carrying the small box in your hands, attention caught on the ointment that was in the middle of the box surrounded by the multiple bandages that you mentally counted in your head, they seemed like a good amount.

“how did this even ha—?” your words got cut off when jake wrapped his arms around your waist and harshly pulled you against him, the sudden movement causing the first aid kit to fall out of your hands and clatter quietly on your carpet, “get on the bed right now.” jake practically whined into your ear, breath hot against your skin as his desperation was evident in every word.

you were confused, bewildered to say the least. how was he even able to move with such horrendous injuries that were probably excruciatingly painful for him right now? “baby wha—“ “please, baby. i’m begging you. please strip and get on the bed.” he groaned, hands loosening around you as they pushed you gently against the bed.

“but jake your inju—“ rip!

a punch of pieces of fabric just fell onto the ground as jake harshly ripped your clothes off. you didn’t even have the time to process what happened before he buried his face into your chest, hands cupping your breasts that were decorated in his favourite dark red lacey bra. he adored the sight of his favourite lingerie on you, but at this current second he loathed every fabric that was on both of your bodies.

“fuck— baby, i need you so bad. i-i don’t know what’s going on, i got hit with this random liquid by this stupid fucking— oh my god—“ he cut himself off when he felt you leaning closer to him, the slight brush of his dripping cock against your thigh made him almost cum in his suit. “i need you so fucking bad.” he whined before pressing his lips desperately against your lips, relief washing down his body when you reciprocated and stopped asking questions.

truth was you were more than confused at the moment. but with the way your lover was a few seconds away from getting on his knees to beg you so you allow him to fuck you was… an experience indeed.

you really loved seeing this side of jake. functioning on nothing but pure desire and need.

he quickly pushed you towards the bed, falling right after you on top of your soft mattress before he connected your lips again, sucking on your tongue needily while he humped your thighs. his breaths were heavy, soft whimpers of your name and how much he needed you left his pretty plump lips while you felt your panties growing wetter by the second.

you brushed your fingers through his fluffy hair while he tried to kiss you and hump you while simultaneously trying to remove his suit. the frustrated fucks and shits leaving his mouth when he would pull away to get a quick breath before kissing you again.

once his suit was off he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. pushing his body on top of yours, burning skin on skin as he felt countless beads of sweat roll down his body. his body was completely on fire. a depraved urge to fuck you till sunrise centered itself in his head. and before he knew it he was ripping your panties in half and spreading your legs wide open.

you moaned in pleasure when his dripping cock settled on top of your cunt, the precum running down his base almost like he had already came. he cursed under his breath before he used his strength to move you around to his liking.

“you know i’m not the type to do this, but today i just can’t baby. i’ll make it up to you.” he rushed out as he lifted your wrists up above your head, you confusedly look at him before he shot multiple webs around your wrists and the bed. trapping you under him entirely.

your heart dropped to your stomach as jake was the complete opposite of whoever was on top of you right now. he never truly fucked you, he made love to you every chance he got. wrapping himself around you and gently pleasuring you because your pleasure was his. he was so tender and loving. a drastic contrast from the man that used to kiss your wrists when you were coming down from your high to the man that just tied your wrists by using his web fluid. and you can’t say you weren’t excited.

he settled onto his knees, taking in the breathtaking sight of you sprawled out on the bed in front of him, legs spread widely with your cunt dripping. your hole practically begging him to fill you up. he slapped his cock against your soaked folds a few times. riling you up further as you squealed under him at the jolts of shock rushing throughout your body from your clit.

“look at you baby… you looking so beautiful. so pretty for me.” he breathed out dazedly, a soft smile carving its way onto his lips as your pretty eyes glossed over while your bottom lip got trapped between your teeth, “gonna be a good girl for me tonight, hm?” he teased as he brushed his pulsing length between your folds, dipping the tip just in slightly before pulling away and enjoying your mewls of his name.

“yes— yes, yes! i’ll always be your good girl, please.” you choked out, the need for him pulsing throughout your body. “please what?” he paused his movements as his eyes pierced into yours. “please, sir.”

“such a good girl for me.” he chuckled when he pushed his length in, you gasped as he thrusted in deeply, brushing against all of your sweet spots in one go. you were seeing stars at the way he filled you up, his thick length always stretching your walls out just right. he was perfect.

“fuck— baby, you feel so fucking good.” he moaned, his pace becoming completely out of control as he felt his need and desire becoming more intense, his emotions stirring with his thoughts while the only thing he knew his body needed was to release. to fill and stuff you full of his cum and hopefully the effects of the potion will come off.

you moaned his name so sweetly for him, hands struggling against the webs as he spread your legs wider against your bed, his eyes entranced on the way his length disappeared inside of your soaked cunt before it came out glistening, multiple threads of wetness connecting you both as the wet sounds began to echo in your room. “sir— i’m so s-so close.” you mewled out as he continued to pound into you.

at your words jake switched his position, from balancing himself on his knees on your mattress to hovering above you, placing your legs back atop his shoulder as he sank in deeper this time.

broken moans of his name left your mouth as his tip kept abusing your sweetest spots over and over again. eyes rolling to the back of your head when jake slipped his hand between the two of you and used his thumb to rub tantalising circles on your swollen clit, coaxing your orgasm out.

“wanna cum for me baby? cum all over my cock like a good girl?” teasing you, he leaned down to leave bite marks over every inch of skin he could access, his body jolting with electricity and excitement when you arched your back against him, jaw going slack as the coil in your abdomen tightened more and more.

jake felt his mind reeling when you finally tightened unbelievably around him to the point pulling out almost felt painful. he relished in the way your body convulsed while he switched from rubbing your clit to landing slaps against it. each wet slap resonating in the room accompanied by your desperate moans while you creamed around his cock so prettily.

he felt like he was floating through a cloud of euphoria at the view of you shaking beneath him, because of him. his hips continued to pound into you, dick pulsing in need inside of you as his own climax was right around the corner.

you desperately pulled at the webs, twitching under jaeyun as he continued to fuck you through and overstimulate you from your orgasm, your body felt like it was lit ablaze as he pleased you while he chased his own release. “feels good baby?” he asked as lowered himself this time to kiss along your chest, smiling against your skin when you nodded with a soft “mhm”. unable to produce any coherent response.

jake’s other hand came up to rip your bra off, swiftly and with ease the thin fabric landed on the floor next to the other garments while one of jaeyun’s hand came up to massage your breast as his lips wrapped around the other.

you threw your head back when his tongue and fingers played and pulled at your sensitive nipples teasingly. the sensation of him fucking himself so deep inside of you while he toyed with your breasts shocks of pleasure travel across your spine. every nerve ending blasting with ecstasy as jake overstimulated you.

“shit— baby i’m so close.” he moaned against your chest, swollen lips wrapped around your nipples while he absentmindedly thrusted his hips sloppily, his body running on his impulse to get him off as soon as possible, his own abdomen tightened in pleasure as he could taste his orgasm on the tip of his tongue

“please fill me up, please sir. i need you so much.” you moaned out in need, craving the feeling of his warm cum spilling inside of you. “yeah? how bad do you need me?” he breathed, littering kisses down the middle of your breasts as his mind spun continuously. “so fucking bad. i need you to breed me and stuff me full with your cum, sir. please please give it to me.” he groaned as your words seemed to push him right down the edge.

his body jerked above you while his cock twitched, spilling out rope after rope deep inside of you. you both moaned in euphoria at the feeling, so fulfilling and satisfying for both of you as jake began to grind against you, riding out his release before falling on top of your body.

the two of you were catching your breaths, basking in the blissful aftermath when you realised jake was unusually silent. “jake…?” no response.

“jake i swear to god if you fell asleep and left me in these fuckass webs i will chop—“ and then you heard him snoring.

.. on the brighter side atleast he’s no longer affected by a sex potion.

a,note. this is not proof read or edited and will 100% be rewritten when i have the time cuz i hate how it turned out its so fawking rushed like this came out from 30 mins but pls take this as i try my best to write my full heeseung fic im trying my best thank you !! ♡

[logaenhowlett]

I THINK THEY CALL THIS LOVE - L.H.

Summary: A flat tire, a blinding snowstorm, and a mix-up leads you to Logan's cabin. Things happen after another, and before you know it, Christmas means being snowed in with a complete stranger.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: 6.0k of pure fluff, Mutual pining (even Logan isn’t immune to cupid’s arrow), Sickeningly sweet slow burn, Major ‘just kiss already’ energy, How the Grinch Stole Christmas reference (pretend it exists in the 80s)

A/N: Can this happen to me please? And yes, it's inspired by The Holiday. Title creds to Elliot James Reay. Enjoy and happy holidays everyone, may your dreams be blessed with this beautiful man!

MASTERLIST

Nestled amidst snow-kissed pine trees, our cozy cabin offers a serene escape. Simply a perfect winter retreat overlooking breathtaking valleys and stunning mountain ranges, where you can unwind or explore our charming town just a short drive away.

Light cascades over his features, the glow harsh and bright as he squints at your phone, reading the brief description. Gusts of wind whip past as you wait expectantly, shifting your weight from one foot to another to keep warm.

"You got the wrong place," he says, peering out from behind the partially opened door.

Mouth agape, cold breaths misting in the chilly night air, you stare at him in disbelief. "This is the address they gave me," you reply desperately. It's a pointless attempt, you're not sure why you even bother trying. Clearly, you've ended up in the wrong place and arguing with this stranger won't change that.

"Well, they made a mistake, alright?" Brows creasing in mild annoyance, he leans forward, "S'my house. I live here.” The words hang in the air, heavy and final, punctuated by the squelch of your boots slightly sinking into the snow.

With a defeated sigh, you shuffle away from his front porch, the biting wind nipping at your exposed skin. Gloved fingers stiff from the cold, you fumble with the near-frozen handle of your car, the metallic hinges protesting as you wrench it open with a grunt. The thought of finding someplace to at least spend the night fills you with dread. Surely, scrambling at the last minute is bound to leave very few and certainly overpriced options.

Glancing back, you trace his figure silhouetted against the amber glow radiating from behind. "You wouldn't happen to know if there's a motel around, would you?" you ask, blinking tiredly against the glare.

"Closest one's 'bout an hour away." His expression remains unreadable, though, a flicker of something - perhaps sympathy - crosses his face. Just as you're sliding into the driver's seat, his voice cuts across the distance. "Hey - wait," he calls out, emerging from his house.

The collar of his flannel flaps from the breeze, and glimpses of the dark curls on his chest peek through the unbuttoned top. You wonder how the hell he's not shivering as he trudges through the snow, hands merely shoved deep into his pockets. He stops near your window, breath fogging up the glass as he looks at you hesitantly. "S'not safe to drive right now," he murmurs, weighing his next words, "Look, why don't you stay here tonight and figure somethin' out tomorrow?"

His offer takes you by surprise. The memory of his earlier dismissiveness stings, making the shift more jarring. Incoherent murmurs tumble from your throat, eyes widening at the thought of spending the night at this stranger's house. A ridiculously attractive stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Sensing your unease, he sighs softly. "I get it, you don't know me. But, you're not gonna find anythin' this late anyway," he shrugs, taking a small step backwards, "S'up to you, just sayin'."

The rhythmic tapping of your fingers against the steering wheel echoes within the car. Doubt creeps into your mind as you study him, and eventually, the faint, encouraging smile he returns draws a shaky exhale. With a slight nod, you kill the engine.

Logan - as you learn shortly after - is a rather simple man. The interior of his cabin is minimal, almost sterile in nature and devoid of any personal touches. Yet, the warmth of the fireplace bathes the space in a cozy, inviting light. Scattered beer bottles and a couple of well-worn paperbacks lay on the coffee table, along with a radio humming a smooth jazz tune. A vague scent of pine lingers in the air, mingling with the smokiness of the aged wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling. Shockingly, there isn't a single festive ornament in sight unlike the heavily decorated neighbourhoods you drove through to get here. And honestly, the longer you spend in his company, the more questions arise.

"Quiet night in, huh?" you note, trailing after him.

"Usually how it goes," he replies with a huff, the muscles of his back straining against his flannel as he wheels your suitcase towards the single door at the end of the hallway.

"Oh. I can sleep on the couch, you don’t need to–"

Despite your protests, Logan gestures inside, stepping back for you to enter. "Take the bed, I'll be out there." And there's absolutely no room for a debate; the set of his jaw and the determined glint in his eyes make that painstakingly clear. Still, he can't contain his amusement as you open your mouth again. "Don't fight me on this, alright?" he adds, fixing you with a pointed gaze.

You hold eye contact for a few seconds, the intensity slowly melting your resistance. Reluctantly, you nod and he flicks a switch, a soothing glow casts over the room. The bed, with its crisp white sheets and a pleasantly startling number of pillows, seems so comfy you almost sigh in relief. "If you need anythin', just ask," he continues, hand hovering over the knob.

The door creaks behind him as you call out his name. Pausing his motion, he turns around, eyeing you with patient curiosity. Now, in proper lighting, you spot the flecks of green in his eyes, the perfectly tousled waves of his hair, and the incredibly soft beard you suddenly want to stroke. "Thank you," you rasp, your voice inexplicably thick with surprise.

Logan nods once with a tight-lipped smile. "My pleasure," he whispers, bidding you good night. A beat of silence passes, then the muffled sound of his footsteps receding down the hallway. Grumbling in confusion, you slide under the covers, the blanket enveloping you in a much-needed embrace.

Today was a bad day.

A truly awful, no-good, very bad day. Last night, when you'd impulsively booked this getaway, the possibility of handling flat tires and battling harsh weather only to end up at the wrong place, all because of some mix-up never crossed your mind. It seemed like the perfect escape, a chance to relax and enjoy the Christmas cheer, a well-deserved break from the months of stress and the endless workdays. Unfortunately, luck - the heartless bastard - had other plans. Logan, however, managed to salvage your spirits, at least a little, with his unexpected goodwill.

So maybe, today was a slightly less bad day.

The smoke alarm is moments from a full-blown wail. Logan curses under his breath, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. He'd only wanted to make a simple stack of pancakes, yet the kitchen remains a travesty and the once-promising batter now a charred mess on the griddle.

It's all unchartered territory, having someone over, much less a complete stranger. Save for the rare visit from his lumberjack buddies, which involves more beer than conversation, or the neighbourly kindness of Diane, the elderly woman who regularly presses homemade meals into his hands in exchange for mending broken fences or leaky pipes, he's never had any real company. And so, he doesn't exactly know what compelled him to wake up earlier than usual and rummage through the sparsely stocked shelves to whip up something decent.

Tossing a quick, and almost furtive glance down the hallway, the steady cadence of your breathing filters through the bedroom walls. Logan shakes his head, resignation twisting his lips. Unimpressed with his terrible attempt, he scrapes the burnt food into the trash.

A restless energy thrums beneath his skin, his mind consumed by a nervous current since he'd made the impulsive offer last night. Moving through the cabin like a man possessed, he rearranges the perfectly stacked firewood, dusts the already pristine surfaces, and even opens the refrigerator for the fourth time only to stare blankly at its contents, having gained nothing but a momentary distraction. He's sure the carpet is dented from the sheer number of times he's paced the same worn track, each turn drawing him closer to the bedroom, then away again.

The quietness is deafening for a couple of hours until the soft thumping of your footsteps quirks his ears. Logan stops fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers, then straightens his posture to lean against the kitchen counter.

The fading smell of something wrinkles your nose. "I didn't sleep through a forest fire or anything, right?" you mumble, rubbing your eyes tiredly with the back of your hand.

His eyes involuntarily flick towards the stove, and for a fleeting moment, a sheepish smile touches his lips. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says a little too quickly, "Sleep well?" The steam from his coffee curls upwards as he takes a slow sip.

"I did, and thank you for letting me stay. You didn't have to do that." He nods in response, trying to downplay the gesture.

A charged silence stretches between you, crackling with unspoken thoughts and lingering awkwardness. There's a brief and almost hesitant exchange of glances before you speak at the same time.

"I should get going then–"

"There's a diner nearby–"

Stopping abruptly, a slightly embarrassed chuckle escapes your lips, mirroring the faint grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth. The shared laughter dissipates some of the tension and the atmosphere becomes almost comfortable. Only a second passes before Logan tries again, the words tumbling out a little faster than he intends. "There's a diner nearby if you're hungry."

He doesn't know why he just said that - the thought hadn't been consciously formed at all. Though he feels this strange pull, this unexpected urge to prolong the conversation, a subtle plea for you to stay. He eyes you with barely concealed anticipation, awaiting your reaction with bated breath.

"Okay, I have to ask. What's with the severe lack of Christmas decor?"

Logan watches you swirl the last of your milkshake, the metal spoon clinking against the glass. The diner's fluorescent lights, while unforgiving to most, seem to soften as they trace the delicate curve of your jawline, highlighting the pale flush of your cheeks courtesy of the winter air. Leaning back against the worn leather of the booth, a small smile spreads across his face as he considers your question. His gaze sweeps over the room, noting the strings of twinkling lights haphazardly draped around the tables, the paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling and a rather lopsided Christmas tree tucked next to the jukebox.

"S'not really my thing," he admits, a faint shrug lifting his broad shoulders.

"Not even a little?" you tease, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, his smile widening just a fraction. "Never had a reason," he says with an almost offhand casualness. But the flicker of curiosity, or perhaps even the touch of concern, in your expression doesn't escape him. Logan catches the way your lips press together for a moment, a subtle sign of contemplation as you piece together the sparse details you'd gathered about him. Clearing his throat, he shifts slightly in his seat. "Why'd you pick this town?" he tries, changing the subject.

"It was the cheapest option. Or at least, in comparison."

He chuckles as you groan, "So this was all a spontaneous decision."

"Hey, it's my turn to ask!" you interject, raising a hand in mock protest.

"Wasn't a question," he retorts playfully.

Nearly two hours slip by with this back-and-forth, lighthearted volley of exchanges. The diner empties out slowly, the hectic energy subsiding into a quieter hum as the two of you settle into a pleasant rhythm, taking turns to ask questions. Most of them are silly, designed to elicit a laugh or a quick anecdote - but the tone shifts here and there, venturing into deeper waters. The laughter doesn't disappear entirely, but it's interspersed with moments of thoughtful silence and understanding.

"So, what do you actually do? You know, besides running this bed and breakfast thing?"

Shaking his head, Logan rolls his eyes at your joke. "Work down at the lumberyard just like the next guy 'round here," he says with a vague gesture. "And what do you actually do?" His voice mimicking the same teasing tone you'd used.

The slight downturn of your smile takes him aback. "Journalist." It comes out strained, almost clipped. "I cover a bit of everything - well, whatever my boss throws at me anyway." The last part is delivered with a small, forced chuckle and he can't help but notice the change in your demeanour, the way your shoulders stiffen or how your jaw tightens. And despite not being the cause of it, regret fills him immediately, a sharp pang of guilt that settles in his stomach.

"Sounds... rough."

"Exactly why I needed a break."

Logan understands, with a surprising clarity, that pity is the last thing you want. And so, he steers away from anything of that sort, discarding the sympathetic expression that involuntarily surfaces. "Too bad your plans went to shit, huh?" he offers bluntly, his eyes, however, soften in the slightest.

Something akin to gratefulness shines in your smile, "Tell me about it."

The diffused light of the morning sun seeps through the frosted panes of the bedroom window. You stir awake, still incredibly tired as the remnants of a restless night hover like a persistent fog. Logan's bed had generously provided warm company for hours as you scoured for new accommodations in the area. Of course, with the holiday season, the internet had proven a frustrating dead end, most places booked solid during this time of year. Sleeping in your car was starting to feel like the only option until you stumbled upon a listing for a small lodge on the outskirts of town that had become vacant due to a last-minute cancellation.

The relief had been immense, a great wave washing over you as you secured the reservation. But now, as you slowly surface from sleep, the memory of that frantic search lingers, a dull ache pressing behind your eyes. Stretching out your stiff limbs, you squint at the alarm clock on the bedside table, wincing slightly at the early hour. And despite exhaustion weighing you down, a sense of purpose pushes you out of bed.

The wheels of your suitcase rumble against the wooden floorboards as you emerge from the hallway. Logan stands by the large window, his back a dark silhouette against the stark white landscape beyond. His gaze locks onto yours instantly, a look of sympathy - tinged with wry amusement - softens his features. "Hate to break it to you, but–" he begins, gesturing outside with a tilt of his head.

"Wha– oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me!"

A thick layer of fresh snow blankets the ground. The pine trees, a deep green last night, now laden with a heavy dusting, branches drooping under the weight. The scene is undeniably perfect, picturesque even. But the beauty is utterly lost on you in that moment. Everything is covered with a pristine white expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. And there's simply no way in hell you can step out without sinking knee-deep, much less move your car even an inch.

"Happened overnight," his voice calm against your rising irritation. "Weather guy said it'll last a few days." Logan senses your distress, the dejected slump of your posture drawing genuine concern. "Listen, don't worry 'bout stayin' here. I don't mind at all, okay?" His reassurance eases your worries by a fraction, the sincerity and sheer honesty in his tone dispelling any hesitation creeping in. "'m serious," he adds gently.

"Thank you... so much, Logan. Really," you manage, the words catching in your throat.

And you are. Deeply, and truly grateful. Your carefully laid plans once again derailed by something beyond your control. Yet, it could have been so much worse. Thanks to Logan's unwavering support, his willingness to welcome a stranger, you're not completely shelterless while the snowstorm continues. The idyllic Christmas getaway you envisioned withers into a distant mirage. But in this moment, surrounded by the warmth of his presence, this feels more than enough.

Hours pass as you drift into a well-deserved nap on the couch, the hushed murmur of the wind outside lulling you into a peaceful slumber. The quiet doesn't last. A sudden bang echoes through the cabin, jolting you awake. "The fuck–" you murmur, disoriented as you stand up. Frowning at the interruption, you pad towards the noise, and eventually, stop dead in your tracks. "Holy shit."

Snow dusts his hair and shoulders, clinging to the rough fabric of his denim jacket. Logan, cheeks flushed red from the cold, wrestles a decent-sized fir tree through the back door. And judging by his grunts, it's evidently too wide for the opening. "Good, you're up. Hold the door, would ya?" he grumbles, muscles flexing against its considerable weight as he inches it further and further inside.

Shock momentarily freezes you in place, but his request snaps you out of your stupor. Rushing forward, you push the door with all your strength, the hinges groaning as you force it open at an awkward angle. With a final, mighty heave and a muttered curse, he manages to carry it fully indoors.

"What... is this?" you ask bewildered. A flurry of snowflakes and pine needles spread onto the floor, the crisp scent of nature filling the space. It's a wild and untamed thing, the sight of it so random and yet, somewhat festive.

"S'clearly a tree."

He doesn't cower from your glare. "Yes, I know it's a tree. What's it doing in your living room?"

Logan pauses briefly, and you can’t quite decipher if the deepening flush on his cheeks is solely from the lingering chill or something else entirely. He avoids your direct gaze for a second. "Figured since you're stuck here, might as well decorate a little." A studied nonchalance masks his attitude as if lugging a six-foot tree into his cabin during a raging blizzard is the most normal thing in the world.

Stunned doesn't even begin to capture the whirlwind of emotions churning within. Logan had already opened his home to you, and now, he's gone to the trouble of dragging this laughably enormous tree inside, all in an effort to cheer you up. Something spreads through your chest in an almost overwhelming capacity and the air suddenly feels intimate. And expressing the full extent of your appreciation feels too vulnerable, so you deflect instead. "Thought it wasn't really your thing."

"Yeah well, 'm runnin' a bed and breakfast as you said. Gotta keep my only guest happy, right?" His smile nearly melts you. The effect immediate and surprisingly potent. One that speaks of pure kindness and his quiet, unassuming warmth. One that makes the absurdity of a giant tree propped in the middle of his living room not only reasonable, but somehow perfectly right.

"I'll make sure to leave a four-star rating."

"Four?"

"I know you burnt something yesterday."

The evening comes quickly and time flies, surprisingly so, as you and Logan get to decorating. The lack of traditional ornaments proves to be only a minor obstacle because with a little creativity, colourful ribbons from old packages become tinsel, pinecones transform into rustic baubles, and even a string of spare light bulbs is carefully wrapped around the branches.

A natural rhythm falls into place as you work. You talk about random things: childhood memories, neighbours, and his startling lack of Christmas movie knowledge - a revelation that elicits a gasp of mock horror. There are moments when you stand close, brushing fingertips as you reach for the same thing. A shared look lasts a fraction too long, a breath catches in quiet air before one of you shyly steps aside. And strangely, despite the unusual circumstances that brought you together, despite the fact that you're practically strangers, it feels easy.

Fuck.

The shovel bites into the heavy snow with a satisfying crunch, lifting a thick slab that Logan heaves to the side of Diane's driveway. Earlier, her voice, tinged with desperation, had come through the answering machine, asking if he could possibly clear the mess in exchange for a warm dinner. He'd readily agreed, a gesture so typical in weather like this. But, in the course of the call, he'd let slip that he wasn't alone. And Diane, ever the hospitable and nosy soul, immediately insisted that you join in too.

He keeps a steady and even pace, breath puffing out in small white clouds in the fresh afternoon air. The muscles in his arms and back strain beneath his jacket as he clears a path through the deep drifts. You stand nearby - supposedly helping - bundled in your warmest clothes.

He's about to tease you for your lack of contribution, the words practically forming on his lips, when something cold and wet hits the back of his neck. Whirling around sharply with a surprised expression, he finds you grinning. The evidence is clear: melting remains of a snowball cling to your gloved hands, while a few snowflakes adorn your hair, creating a delicate halo of white around your face. With a few quick swipes, the snow is brushed away, his gaze not straying from yours.

"Now that was a mistake, darlin'."

Before he can retaliate, you turn and bolt. It's a comical attempt at an escape, a sort of waddling run rather than a sprint. Within seconds, he gains distance and tackles you gently, sending you both tumbling into a soft pile of snow. Laughter bubbles up and then fades, leaving Logan staring down at you. Inches apart, noses almost touching. A strange energy hangs in the air, pulling him imperceptibly closer.

"You kids'll catch a cold playing in that!"

He huffs a laugh, the sound a little breathless, a little unsteady, before pushing himself up. "Don't worry Diane, 'm takin' real good care of her," he yells back, extending a hand towards you.

"I'm sure you are," she mutters to herself knowingly. "C'mon in, dinner's ready!"

The kitchen table groans under the weight of the food: a glistening roast chicken sits proudly in the center, surrounded by steaming bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, green beans and thick slices of homemade bread. Diane bustles around the table, refilling your plates, urging you to try the gravy, her face beaming with satisfaction.

She shifts her attention to you, asking about your life, your hobbies, your family. Logan catches himself staring more than once, a faint blush rising as he diverts his gaze to the food. But the pull is undeniable; his eyes keep returning, hooked as if by an invisible thread.

Dinner passes in a warm haze of hearty conversation and fond memories. "Is this your son?" you ask, carrying the dishes to the sink. A framed photograph rests on the bookshelf near the doorway. Light falls onto the glass, reflecting a gentle glow on the smiling faces within.

"Yes, my Charlie. Real sweetheart that boy, calls every week to check in. He works down in the city, busy as can be. I haven't seen him in... it must be nearly two years now." The lines around her eyes crinkle slightly as she dusts the picture. "But Logan's been a blessing, I tell you. Always there for me."

"Don't go spreadin' that 'round. Can't have people thinkin' I give out special treatment," he retorts playfully, leaning against the counter.

"Oh, I think everyone can see who you're sweet on."

Logan shifts slightly, his smile faltering at the comment. A redness creeps up his neck, betraying his composure as he steals a glance at your stunned expression. Clearing his throat a little rougher than normal, he turns abruptly to the front door. "Gonna get some firewood."

A gust of wind, sharp and sudden as a physical blow, smacks against him the moment he steps outside. He gathers a few logs, the rough bark scraping against his fingers, but his mind remains stubbornly elsewhere. As he retraces his steps to the front porch, the gentle lilt of Diane's voice filters through the walls: "Could you get the door, honey?"

The door swings inwards, and his breath hitches immediately. Suspended just inches above, dangling from a slender crimson ribbon, hangs a sprig of mistletoe, its pale berries gleaming. Your gaze follows his, an embarrassed chuckle slipping out. From somewhere behind, Diane hums, a sound that resonates with blatant intention. The weight of the firewood in his arms increases tenfold as he meets your eyes. He can’t quite decipher the expression in them – amusement, a hint of nervousness, and something else he can’t quite place. "You don't... have to–" he mumbles.

Then, your attention dips down to his lips, a fleeting glance that sends a jolt of electricity through his body, momentarily stilling his heartbeat. He feels frozen, every muscle taut, the firewood heavy and forgotten. But at the very last second, you turn your head and press a kiss to his cheek instead.

The cherry of his cigar burns a steady ember. He leans against the rough-hewn logs of his cabin wall, the wood pressing into his back. The ghost of your lips on his cheek persists, a phantom touch that caresses his skin long after you’ve moved away. Logan draws deeply on the cigar, the smoke winding upwards in wisps, obscuring the stars above. He's only known you for a few days. So how could this feeling, this unsettling, foreign tinge of exhilaration, possibly exist?

"Hey."

The single word, soft yet distinct in the quiet night, floats like a whispered secret. Darkness traces the lines of your face, casting delicate shadows that accentuate your features. "Hey."

"Aren't you cold?"

"Run pretty warm," he replies, smoke escaping his mouth as he takes another drag. "Sorry ‘bout Diane. She can get a little–"

"No. That's alright." With a slight, almost languid wave of your hand, you brush aside his apology. "She's quite fond of you," you whisper, accompanied by a subtle upturn of your lips.

Logan huffs lightly as the silence returns. The moonlight, filtered through the branches overhead, creates dappled patterns of light and shadow across the ground. “So,” he begins, his gaze locking onto yours, “this... everythin' you hoped for?”

"No." Your response is immediate. A small, genuine smile blossoms on your face at his reaction, sending a wave of unexpected warmth surging through his chest - a warmth that has nothing to do with the slowly burning cigar held loosely between his fingers. "It's better."

He fights hard to school his expression, to maintain a neutral facade, not wanting to reveal how much your simple happiness affects him. A furrow appears between your brows, and your lips part slightly as if you’re about to speak, then hesitate. "What're you thinkin'?" he asks gently.

"Work. I don't wanna go back," you confess. The heavy sigh that follows speaks volumes. "It's just... not what I thought it would be. It's not what I want anymore." The dejection in your voice is palpable, a sadness that makes him ache to reach out and offer comfort.

Logan sees the weariness etched on your face, the way your gaze drifts towards the dark silhouette of the distant mountains as if seeking solace in the vast landscape. "Then what's keepin' you there?" he wonders aloud, an instinctive pull bringing him a step closer.

You pause almost abruptly, the flow of conversation halting as if it hit an invisible wall. The soft vulnerability that had been present just moments before vanishes, replaced by a guardedness that makes him instantly regret his question. "I should get some rest."

“Wait–”

“Good night, Logan,” you mumble, the door clicking shut behind you.

Hi, Mr. Grinch!

Cindy Lou?! What are you doing up there?

I came to see you. No one should be alone on Christmas.

The scene plays along as you and Logan sit beside each other on the couch. He’d suggested the movie, feigning a sudden interest in Christmas classics. But you knew the real reason. The insistent buzz of work emails had been plaguing your phone all day, and he’d seen the way your eyes kept flicking down to the screen, the shadow of worry that clouded your features. This was his quiet way of offering respite - a gentle distraction.

The light from the television flashes across his profile, illuminating the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. He seems completely absorbed by the movie, but a stillness in his posture tells you he’s not as engrossed as he pretends to be.

A wave of drowsiness washes over you, your eyelids fluttering closed and then snapping open again in a futile attempt to stay awake. But the warmth of the fire, the muted hum of the movie, and Logan's comforting presence prove too much to resist. Your head lolls to the side, almost of its own accord, finding a soft landing against his shoulder.

The sharp clatter of pots and pans colliding rouses you from sleep. Then, a savory blend of garlic, herbs, and something undeniably rich and tomatoey, wafts through the air. As you round the corner to investigate, your jaw drops.

There, stands Logan, putting the final touches on a scene that looks straight out of a romcom. A small, round table has been pulled away from the wall and positioned near the window. Candlelight dances on the polished wood surface, reflecting in the delicate glassware he’d clearly unearthed from some hidden corner of the cabin. Two steaming bowls of pasta sit on either side.

His head lifts as you appear, some kind of hopeful affection shimmering in his eyes much like the flames themselves. He quickly steps back from the table, as if caught in the act of some grand romantic gesture. The glow from your makeshift yet charmingly decorated Christmas tree in the living room spills into the kitchen. It’s all so carefully arranged, so thoughtfully put together, that it takes your breath away.

"What's all this?"

"Nothin' special... just thought it'd be nice. Christmas Eve n' all."

"I'm... impressed," you stammer nervously, but the sentiment feels inadequate on your tongue.

Logan ducks his head rather shyly - a small almost boyish action that flushes his rugged features. He then moves with a newfound purpose, reaching for the back of the chair closest to you and pulling it out in a smooth motion. And in that moment, there’s no world where you’d say no. The thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

The meal had been delicious, but it was the shared conversation, the easy laughter that truly filled you. "Maybe I'll have to bump you up to five stars."

"Hm, that so?"

"I said maybe."

He chuckles, holding your gaze for a beat longer before rising suddenly. Static bursts into the room as he fiddles with the radio, a brief, crackling intrusion before giving way to fragmented voices and snippets of music. He continues turning the dial until a slow melody emerges. Spinning around, Logan extends a hand towards you, his palm facing upwards in a clear invitation. "C'mon, trust me," he whispers.

Hesitantly, you grasp his fingers - his touch gentle and firm. As you draw closer, the scent of woodsmoke and his cologne crowd your lungs. The movement feels surprisingly natural as if you’ve danced a hundred times before.

"This is... the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

At your words, Logan’s hand tightens on your waist. The subtle change in his posture, the slight tilt of his head, the way his focus lies solely on you, steal any semblance of logic in your mind, replacing it with a dizzying rush of anticipation.

"Yeah? You deserve it," he murmurs back, his voice low and husky. "I like seein' you happy."

You make me happy. The words tremble on the tip of your tongue, daring to break free. The distance between your lips is almost nonexistent, a hair’s breadth separating you from the building tension. Time seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity as you both lean in, the promise of a kiss hanging heavy in the air. You can almost taste him, a sweet ache swelling in your chest.

But the jarring tone of an emergency broadcast shatters the moment. “The severe snowstorm warning previously in effect for this region has now been lifted. A true Christmas miracle! Tomorrow will bring clear skies and–”

As you walk side-by-side along a beaten-down path through the mountains, the crisp breeze nipping at your cheeks, he steals glances at you, drinking in the sight of your joy. The moon paints the world in silver, mirroring the pure happiness that had been shining in your eyes. Logan had spent the day showing you around town: the local bakery, the family-owned bookstore. You’d even braved the icy air for a short walk along the frozen lake, nearly slipping until his quick reflexes caught you just in time.

He stops as the path opens up onto a breathtaking vista. The town below sprawls out like a miniature constellation, each house a tiny spark of light against the dark canvas of the valley. Strings of colourful lights crisscross the streets, weaving a tapestry of festive cheer. Logan watches you, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. He can see the awe etched on your face as you absorb all the details.

"What'd you think?"

"It's... beautiful," you exhale.

"Thought you'd like it." He shifts closer, subtle yet deliberate as his chest brushes lightly against your shoulder. A wildfire courses through his veins, temptation burning away his doubts. He’d wanted to kiss you - countless times. The impulse had been a constant undercurrent for days, a silent hum beneath the surface of every conversation, every shared look. Leaning in, breath warm against your ear, he whispers your name. "Tell me 'm not crazy. Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."

"Cause darlin', 'm runnin' out of reasons why I shouldn't," he murmurs.

And then, you turn. The sweetness of your lips becomes almost intoxicating and unlike anything he ever imagined. Logan's hand trails up your side, mapping the curve of your waist. With a soft sigh, he dips his head further, deepening the kiss. All the pent-up tension comes crashing down as you pull away. It's a rush, a torrent that sweeps through him, rendering him breathless and nearly disoriented.

His thumb caresses your cheek, a silent plea that echoes the longing in his tone. "Don't... don't leave."

"Logan... I can't." His heart sinks. It’s not a dramatic plummet, but a slow, agonizing descent. Regret stings your eyes as his hand falls away.

"Why not? You're not happy workin' that job. Stay here, you'll find somethin'," he tries desperately.

"Stop. Please," you whisper, choked with emotion. "Let's just go back."

Heartache keeps Logan tossing and turning all night. Sleep had offered no escape, only a relentless replay of yesterday's conversation. His eyes burn, gritty and heavy as he pushes himself up on his elbows. But a strange unease stirs in his gut. He can't sense your presence. The air feels empty, lacking your familiar warmth and energy.

Panic flares in his mind. Did he push you away? Did you leave in the middle of the night? A cold dread grips his heart. He throws the blanket off, feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a thud.

Nausea rolls over him. A hollow ache in the pit of his stomach inches through his entire body. His hands tremble as he rakes them through his hair, breath catching in his throat. He’s about to give in to the rising despair, the crushing weight of believing you’re gone when a faint scent drifts in through the slightly open window. Relief knocks him hard, so intense his knees almost buckle.

"Fuck, I thought–" he starts, heading towards you.

"I quit."

Logan freezes, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"I quit my job." The corners of your mouth curve into a smile, and his heart leaps at the sight. "Running out of reasons why I shouldn't," you chuckle softly, fingers lacing together at the nape of his neck, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "But next year, we're getting real decorations," you add playfully, and he grins.

"I'll buy some today, sweetheart."

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Characters Headcanons

The Crew's Love Language ft. You

Captain Curly

Words of Affirmation

The captain is well-known for having his vocabulary overflowing with encouraging and uplifting words, a stellar reputation for giving good pep talks

Deep inside, he always loved hearing words of praise from the people he cared about the most. He always valued the affirmations from them, a foolproof method to make him smile and feel loved

For him, words are like fire, and people can either use them to warm someone up or burn a whole damn city

He never raises his voice at you when it comes to negative emotions, never when he's angry, frustrated, or panicked

He, however, is so enthusiastic when congratulating you or when he's excited about the topic you're both talking about

Your heart (and belly) can't help but feel very warm with the way he uses his words with his deep tone. If a kid asked you how a space superhero would sound, you'd bring Curly forward

With his effort to stay optimistic, you always make sure to tell him an encouraging word or sweet strands of praise whenever you see him and after he does something

"Captain, remember to stay hydrated, you're doing great, sir."

"You always know how to put the crew at ease, Cap. Appreciate it"

"You're so reliable, gosh, thank you!"

Every praise and affirmation you throw his way makes him blush and stutter, a polar opposite to his status

You make it a duty to compliment him sincerely. The hunk of a man ends up having a red face every time he receives your sweet words to the point that the crew teases him for it

"Cap, what's red and stutters?"

"I swear, Jimm--"

"Oh, oh! I know!"

"Come on, Daisuke, not you to--"

"You, after talkin' to Y/N."

The captain, co-pilot, and intern stared at Swansea’s retreating back after he butted into a conversation that the mechanic would find ridiculous even being a part of

You also made sure to never—I MEAN NEVER—use words against him, especially with secrets or information that he exclusively told you about (probably the reason why you and Jimmy ended the Captain's birthday party with knives at each other's throats)

Mechanic Swansea

Acts of Service

The old man was raised in a household where serving your family is the ultimate display of love

His father scoffed after reaching the last part of young Swansea's greeting in the Christmas card he gave him:

"I love you? Boy, you can't even make a decent cut on that firewood from a while ago"

"I love you's" are just empty words for him. When you really want to reach into his head and hammer some sense of what you feel about him, you gotta show it

However, unlike his father, he doesn't need a grand display of actions to know and notice. He actually prefers the little things you do:

Remembering his coffee preference and making it every morning

Giving him a massage in the area his hands seem to knead frequently

Putting his socks on before work

Giving him a pedicure (after leveraging that he'd eat you in bed for the whole night)

He also holds himself up to the same standard, always doing chores around the house whenever you're busy:

No stocks of pads and tampons? He'll make sure he gets the right brand you always get

Your favorite furniture that you inherited needs varnishin'? He's on it.

Your daughter's birthday is coming up, but you're too ill to make the cake? He ain't a baker, but he'd be damned if he won't at least try

"Daddd, is this... is this meat... on my birthday cake?"

"S'called 'cake of love' for a reason, darlin'. You don't question its ingredients. It's made of love"

What makes your heart flutter is not having to tell him all the things that need to be done. He knows what's lacking and what you need

When there are times you have to vocalize your concerns, he'll simply nod, and after a moment, it's done

Co-pilot Jimmy

Physical Touch

*Sighs* Need I say more?

Jimmy is the type who’s not comfortable with PDA, but he can't seem to keep his hands off of you when he feels threatened, (especially when Curly is having a casual conversation with you)

You can't blame the guy; he doesn't even understand how you fell for him somehow, but he's not complaining, and he most definitely will not let you go (possessive boi is a touchy boi)

His touches are not always sensual, and it actually surprises you how gentle he is when holding you

Whenever you're busy, he'd pass by to squeeze your waist or brush a touch on your lower back

When you're both around each other but are doing different tasks, he'd make sure to have a part of you touching him:

A hand on the thigh

A leg over your thighs

His head on your chest or shoulder or thighs (the boy's got magnets on your thighs, what can I say?)

And his personal favorite: having you sit between his legs with your back pressed against his chest.

One time, a frustrated Curly called you. It's been a week since Jimmy left for his job-training, and you weren't aware that someone was also getting through a torturous week like you and Jimmy

The captain was at the other end of his friend's damp mood

"I don't know what you do to him, Y/N. He's a completely different person when he's with you"

"Hmm, how bout massaging his hand, cap. It improves his mood, and it always works"

"..."

"Hello? Curly?"

"...Y/N, are you trying to get me killed? It works because you're the one doing it!"

Intern Daisuke

Quality Time and Giving Gifts

The boy loves spending time with you. He doesn't need to plan for what to do during those times you'd be together because he always finds ways to make you enjoy it so much that you have to keep a wristwatch to check how much time has passed

He's known to be a yapper but not the type of yapper that tires you

The man has a lot of questions for you to the point that you're concerned that he knows more information about yourself than you

Pointing out things he notices you do, like looking slightly at the right when you're lying or knowing how many moles are in your face and neck

It doesn't creep you out though, you picked up that he's very observant when he's interested and that flatters you that he take mental notes of these small things just by being around him

Whenever he knows that you won't be seeing him for a while, he makes sure that you know what he'll be doing and where he'll go

Basically the main reason when the crew - especially Swansea - would look for him, they'll go straight to you

"Hey kid, where's that boy again?"

"Toilet, Swansea. He said it's a raging diarr--"

"Yeah yeah, toilet's fine. geez."

Daisuke also buys you trinkets he finds that remind him of you—from crocheted baby mushrooms to obscure plastic eyeball keychains

"I understood the frog keychain last week, but... a turd plushie?"

"Cause I feel shitty when we're apart"

"Valid"

His gifts are very specific and you even cried one time in a store trying to outgift him, spoiler, you can't. He never makes you feel bad about it, he always claimed that he takes pride at being the Leslie Knope of the real world (iykyk)

Nurse Anya

Quality Time

She strongly believes that spending time with someone is the core of a relationship

She definitely isn’t the person to be clingy - nope, she's a queen with self-worth. If you don't want to spend time with her, don't expect her to chase you

The more you spend time with her, though, the more she opens up. For her, trust is something earned over time, and you made the effort to build that trust brick by brick

After falling for her harder, your trips to the medbay became more frequent with "accidental injuries"

"Hey, miss Anya."

"Hey y/n, kindly be careful. Don’t want you to have your 4th visit this week."

"Heh, what can I say? I hate breaking the streak. Gotta keep you on your toes."

"Y/N, it’s still Wednesday."

"Good time to give you your once-a-week training, right?"

Once she’s comfortable with you, her affection shows in the little things:

Putting your vitamins and supplements on accessible places because she knows you forget taking them

Giving you random psychology tests after finding our that you loved them

Or being comfortable enough to nap on your shoulders (you earned that trust on the hundred and tenth day)

You don't even have to talk while being together; as long as both of you are around each other, her shoulders relax, and her face is at peace

[lady-ashfade]

so this one i stole again lol from your list. “Please go on a date with me.”

basically percy notices the reader and tries to impress her by doing crazy ridiculous things but she’s not interested because she thinks his ego is too big. finally she comes around when she sees he got hurt doing something for her to notice him. i hope that makes sense.

Falling for you- Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

-£ words: 900 words

-£ Warnings: Short story, Simp Percy, cute crushes, reader being a bit mean to him, percy get it hurt, fluffy fic

-£ taglist: @kazurami14 @anonymouslyawesome25 @american-idiot21

the son of poseidon was persistent.

no matter how many times you told him off, or set him running with his head running, or you leaving him alone. he always kept coming back. Percy was often knocking his opponent down in training hoping you’d see him. he did everything to try and get your attention.

his back legs curled around a tree branch where you normally took your daily stroll, he was hanging down with a huge smile on his face and his cheeks glowing red. “percy.” you greeted with a uninterested tone. he just kept that annoying big smile, “lovely day isn’t it?” the only thing you did was roll your eyes and continue to walk down the dirt path. “And you’re ruining it.”

when he first arrived at camp, he already had some sort of glory after defeating a minotaur. he just kept finding his way in danger and saving the day, time after time. but his stupid smirk or smile told you he was too full of himself. he’d making the lake waves move, or make them a shape of something. no matter what, he was showing off.

and boy did you hate it.

somehow he find his way to you and that annoyed you, it was just too much. honestly you didn’t even realize he was trying to get your attention and just thought he was showing off to everyone. and certainly you didn’t know he had a crush on you. all you noticed was his ego.

but he noticed everything about you.

the way you walked, if you held your head up high or at the ground. how pretty your face shined when the sun shined on it, and how your smile shined even brighter. he was constantly chasing after you, he was craving to get your attention. most of the time he just did what popped up in his head which for someone like him, and you, was always dangerous and over the top. he lacked self control.

how someone could be so beautiful he couldn’t understand. even when you fought, he was entranced. you could be the worst fighter and he’d stare at you like the stars in the sky. his heart belonged to you.

but this time, he had gone to far.

“you’re a idiot,” you push his head under the water as you clothes get wetter by the second of sitting in the water. the bruising on his skin and the cuts going along with it only made your heart ache worse. his stunt didn’t go so well this time, hints his fracture wrist. he took a deep breath as he came back up even though he could breath under the water. he just wasn’t thinking straight.

sitting yourself back down on the sand you click your tongue. he had challenged you to a fight with that same attitude, the same smirk, the same slick tone. he got a little to distracted near the edge. he walked backwards with his sword held pointed at you, “look at us spending time together, we should do this more often.” he really should have watched his steps because his foot finally slipped and he took a tumble down onto the rocks. you watch him slide down, his grunts of pain and the way his body sounded made you cringe

lucky he landing on the shore line and only a few feet away from the water. which is were you two stay now catching your breath and thinking to yourself. why did you care if he was actually hurt or not? not like he would die or stay injured because he always got back up. why did his smile finally get to you back then?

and why was your stomach sick.

as you thought to yourself percy watched again like he always found himself doing. he loved the look on your face when you were deep in thought. and now that your face was wet and hair hanging down he couldn’t stop himself from falling deeper for you.

“please go on a date with me.” his words cut you out of thought.

your eyes grow bigger and look at him shocked and startled. you couldn’t believe your ears. he just asked you out on a date…percy jackson asked you out. the cocky, dumb, arrogant demigod was talking to you. Why, you hate his guts and always made fun of him. he jumped up from the water and you saw his teeth pinch the inside of his mouth anxiously.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “it just came out. I’ve been trying to ask you out for weeks but i couldn’t work up the courage to ask you out, I’m not good at this type of thing.” percy jackson lacking courage? that made you laugh. you looked up at him, the sun shining behind him as his hand now extended to you offering to help you up. any other time you would have smacked it away and cursed at him to leave you alone.

“I know you probably think I’m a total idiot which is true but, I really like you. If you really don’t want anything to do with me then I respect your wishes.”

but now you realize that you actually enjoyed his company. he made camp fun and exciting. and boy, was he handsome now that you really look at him. “alright, beach boy.” you grabbed ahold of his hand as he pulls you up. your body pressed into his and knocked him back a bit but his arm grabbed ahold of your waist to steady you.

inches away from his face your lips curled in a small smirk, “You got yourself a deal.”

[manikas-whims]

LADS men when you start dating someone, who later on mistreats you

got this idea and wanted to get it out of my system ♡

ZAYNE

❄️ He isn't thrilled by the revelation at all but he won't say it outright because its not his place to tell you who to date or not.

❄️ However, his dislike does show with the way his brows knit together, the flare of his nostrils with every sharp intake of breath or how his lips turn down just slightest every time you bring up this person’s name.

❄️ Every single praise for this person will arouse a sense of self-doubt in him. After all, it's better you date someone like them. Their evol will never put you in danger like Zayne's can. And they would never skip meetings due to their schedule. (Ofc if you could hear his thoughts, you'd immediately shun them from Zayne's mind.)

❄️ If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then best believe he'll freeze hell itself if he has to in order to track this person down.

“How dare you do this to Y/N!?” Zayne’s voice is harsh, cold radiating off his arms in dangerous yet controlled wisps.

And it takes you hugging him from behind, your head resting on his back, tears from your eyes soaking into the fabric of his coat, to stop him.

“Zayne, stop. You don't need to hurt yourself.” You mumble into the fabric of his coat, your arms slipping down to entwine your fingers with his chilling ones. You can already see the hint of a fresh scar developing on the back of his hand, and you won't be able to live with yourself if you see him getting hurt because of you dating a horrible person.

The prickly sensation begins dissipating from his hands and despite the scars, the softness returns into his skin. He turns around, drawing you into a hug with one arm. You can still see his chest rising and falling due to how much he'd been exerting himself.

“Fine.” He lets out a deep breath and finally flashes you the rare warm smile he only keeps for you. “Let’s go.”

And the two of you leave together.

XAVIER

⭐ Not that you're supposed to stay in this “will they? won't they?” situationship with your apartment neighbor forever but Xavier is just so jealous. His eyes darken, and his mood becomes sullen at the mere mention of this person.

⭐ Every time you try praising them, Xavier is going to interrupt and nitpick on how "they're always late on dates", "don't even check up on you at work", "give off a shady vibe",...the more he shit-talks about this person, the more ridiculous his words get.

⭐ He definitely gets a little touchy. After all, seeing you with someone else makes him feel as if he isn't as close to you. He makes sure this person sees his hand casually around your waist. And petty as it may seem, he's also deliberately gonna leave his hoodie and his other stuff at your place to remind you of himself.

⭐ If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then no amount of prayers will spare this person to see the light of another day.

Xavier happens to see this person trying to approach you once more outside the apartment complex with words that barely sound like an apology. Swift as ever, he steps in front of you.

“You got some nerve showing up here after what you did to Y/N.” He says to them, an edge in his usually gentle voice.

He is as silent and deadly as you've seen him in the throes of battle, cutting down the Wanderers without a hint of mercy in his strikes. And you gulp down the tension in the air.

You know what he's capable of. You can't let him unleash the power of his evol simply because of your ex-partner maltreating you.

You bring your hand out and place it upon his heart, just like you'd done on your first encounter with him. Only this time it's not to resonate your evol with his but to push him back.

You force a smile on your face despite the messy state of your emotions. “Xav, let's grab a bite. I'm craving hotpot.”

His eyes are unflinching, and for a moment you wonder if even the bait of some tasty meat will fail to lure him. But then, a moment later he scoffs at the person and looks down at you, his gaze softening as he does so. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

He wraps his fingers around your hand– the same one that's still resting upon his chest– and pulls you along.

RAFAYEL

🌊 He's jealous but even more than that, he's disappointed in your choice. You can do way better than this. Actually, in his opinion, you are way out of this person's league, and deserve nothing but perfection when it comes to a partner.

🌊 He's quite vocal about his dislike, openly saying how suspicious he finds this person and how if you wanna indulge in wasting your precious time, you'd rather waste it on him.

🌊 He complains how you've changed. How you don't hang-out with him as much and pay less visits to his studio. Seeing you with someone else makes the ache in his heart more agonizing than ever. Rafayel wonders what you see in them? Do they cherish you more than him?

🌊 If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then he won't hesitate from raising the tides of the Whitesand Bay in order to drown them.

You frantically chase after Rafayel as he corners this person. You've never seen this magnitude of fury in his beautiful eyes.

Rafayel grabs them by the front of their shirt, his voice scalding as he smirks in annoyance, “So you've finally shown your true colors to Y/N, huh?”

You can feel the temperature rising just a little, the atmosphere around feeling a lot warmer than before. Your nose catches the whiff of something burning and you realize there's smoke emanating from that person's collar.

It's scary.

Seeing someone who holds even a paintbrush so tenderly act like this. And no, you're not afraid of him for you know Rafayel will never hurt you. You're afraid for this person. You're afraid of what Rafayel is capable of becoming if you let him go on like this.

Cautiously, you wrap your hand around his wrist and free this person from his hold. The fabric of their shirt appears to be slightly charred but there's no harm done otherwise.

“Come on, Rafayel, ” You tug his wrist to pull him to you. “We shouldn't bother with the likes of them.”

He fixes his gaze on the person one last time. “Count yourself lucky Y/N is here! Or else..”

He pries his hand out of your grasp and pats your head. His smile returns, as does the warmth in his eyes and he puts an arm around your waist. “So, where are we going?”

SYLUS VERSION [HERE]

» MASTERLIST «

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 6)

part 1 TW: Stockholm Syndrome, predator/prey dynamics, obsession, Simon is a walking red flag. MDNI

Overwhelmed. That’s the only word that fit. With everything that happened in the past few weeks, she couldn’t take it anymore.

On the other side of the door, Simon’s heavy breathing broke the silence. She froze when his voice followed.

“Baby. Open the door.” His tone was soft, coaxing, and that somehow made her even more uneasy.

Why her? Why did he choose her, of all people? She was ordinary—just a regular person trying to get by—but Simon looked at her like she was something sacred, a goddess in his eyes. And the most unsettling part? A small part of her was starting to like it.

It all started after that night. The night she woke from a nightmare, trembling, and Simon had been there to hold her, his soothing voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket. He made her feel safe. After that, the nightmares came less often, their sharp edges dulled.

But the dreams that replaced them were... strange. In them, a monster loomed—huge and terrifying—but it didn’t try to hurt her. Instead, it scooped her up, cradled her on its lap, and shielded her from anyone who dared come near. She knew what those dreams meant. She just didn’t want to admit it.

Even without the dreams, Simon’s behavior was enough to confuse her. Yes, he had stalked her. Yes, he had kidnapped her. She had every reason to hate him.

And yet, he was kind to her in ways no one else had ever been. He bought her this house—an entire house just for her. He cooked her meals, brought her gifts he thought she’d like, and treated her with a tenderness she hadn’t experienced before.

She remembered mentioning to a colleague, in passing, how much she loved to read. Simon must have overheard, because now, her shelves started filling up with books—every romance novel he could find, even the ridiculous ones he teasingly called “alien porn.” They sat neatly arranged on her bookshelf now, a reminder of how carefully he paid attention.

It didn’t make sense. Everything he did was twisted yet undeniably thoughtful, and the contradiction was tearing her apart.

Now, standing frozen behind the door, she felt like she might shatter. She knew if she opened it, Simon would find a way to break down the walls she’d built around herself. He always did.

“Love, please.” His voice cracked, raw with desperation.

But she didn’t move. Instead, she turned and did what she should have done long ago. She crossed the room to the window, easing it open as quietly as she could. The cool night air rushed in, and she looked down. The drop wasn’t far. Thanks to her military training, she could handle it with ease.

For too long, she had stayed, trapped under Simon’s watchful eye. Every exit had been monitored; every step shadowed. But now? Now she didn’t care.

She swung her leg over the windowsill, heart pounding. This was her chance. She was done waiting, done letting fear or doubt hold her back.

She would run. And if those people try to kill her—they’d have to work hard for it. Because she wasn’t going down without a fight.

As she climbed over the window, Simon’s knocking grew louder and more urgent. Her breath quickened. Time was running out.

Carefully, she lowered herself down, her fingers trembling against the cold surface of the house. The distance to the ground wasn’t far, but the darkness made every step feel precarious. Finally, she jumped, her landing muffled by the soft grass—except for the metallic clang that followed.

She froze, heart hammering in her chest. Her foot had struck a metal box hidden in the shadows, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet night.

She knew Simon had heard it. Of course he did. The house was isolated, far from any other homes, and the nighttime silence made every noise echo.

Panic surged through her veins, and she took off, sprinting toward the forest at the edge of the property. If she could just make it deep enough into the woods, it would be harder for him to follow.

But she wasn’t naive. Simon was a Lieutenant—highly trained and annoyingly skilled. He wouldn’t just give up.

Still, she ran.

The forest swallowed her whole, the darkness growing thicker with every step. Branches scraped against her arms, leaves crunched beneath her feet, and the cool night air burned her lungs. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Behind her, the slam of the front door reverberated through the night. She flinched but didn’t dare look back. She didn’t need to. The heavy thud of Simon’s boots on the ground told her everything she needed to know. He was coming.

She pushed herself harder, weaving through the trees, her breaths ragged and uneven. The forest was a maze of shadows, and she stumbled more than once, her adrenaline-fueled legs barely keeping her upright.

Somewhere behind her, Simon’s voice rang out, deep and commanding. “Stop running, love. You’re only making it worse.”

His tone was calm, but it still sent a chill down her spine. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was focus on moving forward.

Her military training kicked in as she tried to think strategically. She zigzagged between trees, hoping to throw him off, her mind racing for ways to gain the upper hand. She needed to create distance, to find a hiding spot, something—anything.

But Simon was relentless. His footsteps grew louder, more deliberate. She could feel him closing in, his presence like a predator’s shadow creeping closer.

Desperation clawed at her chest as she darted through a cluster of bushes, the branches tearing at her clothes and skin. Her ankle twisted slightly as she hit uneven ground, but she forced herself to keep going, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain.

She wasn’t fast enough.

A sudden weight tackled her from behind, sending them both crashing to the ground. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and before she could scramble away, his arms wrapped around her.

“Got you,” Simon whispered next to her ear, his voice low and breathless.

She thrashed against him, clawing at his grip, but he held her steady, pinning her to the ground with ease. His strength was overwhelming, and she realized with a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Unhand me, you stupid—let me go!” she spat, struggling fiercely against his grip, her voice laced with fury and desperation.

Simon? He just chuckled—a low, almost amused sound—as he scooped her up effortlessly from the ground. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he pinned her firmly against a nearby tree. Leaning in close, his breath warm against her ear, he whispered a single word, dripping with finality: “Never.”

She beat her fists against his chest, each strike fueled by frustration she felt. “Let me go, Simon! You can’t just—” Her voice cracked with the force of her screams, raw and trembling with anger.

Her legs kicked in protest, her body writhing against his unyielding hold. She threw every ounce of her strength into the struggle, but it was like hitting a brick wall—solid, immovable.

“Simon, I swear—” she started again, but her words were cut off abruptly as his lips crashed down on hers.

The kiss was firm, commanding, silencing her protests in an instant. Her body froze, caught between fury and shock, as his grip held her steady. The sheer audacity of it left her breathless, her screams muffled against his mouth.

For a moment, she was too stunned to move, her mind reeling at what was happening.

Her fists, still pressed against his chest, faltered. The fight seeped out of her, leaving her hands trembling where they rested. His kiss was firm, deliberate, but not cruel, and despite everything—despite him—a flicker of warmth spread through her chest.

Before she could stop herself, she found her lips responding, moving instinctively against his. It was slow at first, hesitant, as if her mind was still catching up to what her body was doing.

Her heart thundered in her chest, a chaotic mix of emotions she couldn’t untangle. She hated him. She was sure she hated him. But in that moment, the fire behind her defiance wavered, replaced by a confusing pull she couldn’t deny.

Simon felt the shift, the way her resistance melted ever so slightly, and his grip softened just a fraction. One hand slid from her waist to cradle the back of her head, deepening the kiss with a careful intensity, as if coaxing her to let go of her walls completely.

Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to remember what he had done, who he was. But her body betrayed her, drawn into the heat of the moment, into the way his touch made her feel both trapped and safe all at once.

Simon pulled back just enough to let her breathe, his lips barely an inch from hers, his warm breath mingling with her own. His piercing gaze locked onto hers, and a slow, smug grin spread across his face.

“Cute,” he murmured, brushing a soft kiss against the tip of her nose.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“This little escape of yours,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. Her glare only seemed to amuse him further as a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “I don’t know what you were planning, but all you’ve managed to do…” His grin widened, a dark edge creeping into his tone, “…is turn me on.”

To prove his point, he rolled his hips against hers—slow and deliberate, the movement leaving no room for misunderstanding. Her breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as heat flushed her face. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came, her throat betraying her completely.

Simon’s smile turned into something more wicked, his voice dropping to a low, velvety purr. “I love the chase, sweetheart. Nothing gets my blood pumping quite like hunting my prey.” His lips brushed her ear, the words dripping with dark satisfaction. “So thank you… for these delicious little moments.”

She swallowed hard, her pulse racing as his words lingered in the air. For a moment, she said nothing, her mind scrambling for a response. Then, with a surge of defiance, she lifted her chin and glared at him.

“You’re sick,” she spat, her hands pressing against his chest, though his grip didn’t falter. “Do you think this is some kind of game? Do you think I’m just going to—”

Her words faltered when he smirked, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken. Anger flared brighter in her chest, and she forced herself to finish. “I’m not your prey, Simon. And I’ll never be yours.”

The fire in her voice was real, but deep down, she hated how her body betrayed her, every nerve alight with the intensity of the moment. She prayed he wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see through her defiance to the chaos simmering just beneath the surface.

Simon’s smirk widened at her words, his eyes narrowing in a way that made her stomach twist. He leaned in closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, his voice dropping to a whisper as he spoke.

“You say that now,” he murmured, brushing his lips lightly against her own, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. “But your body’s already telling me a different story, sweetheart.”

She clenched her jaw, determined not to let him get under her skin any more than he already had. “Get off me,” she hissed, shoving harder against his chest.

Simon chuckled softly, his hold tightening around her waist. “No, sweetheart,” he said with a hint of amusement, his voice smooth and almost affectionate. “We’re going back home.”

Her eyes narrowed in frustration. “I don’t want to go back with you,” she snapped, trying to wiggle out of his arms, but his grip was too strong.

“Oh, I think you do,” he replied, his tone playful as he began walking toward the house. “It’s getting late, and you look exhausted.”

Her face flushed with indignation. “I’m not exhausted. You’re insane if you think—”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, cutting her off, his steps steady as he carried her effortlessly through the darkened woods. “I’m sure. But I’m the one carrying you, so I think you’ll be just fine.”

She grumbled, the irritation bubbling in her chest, but a part of her couldn’t deny how safe and warm his arms felt around her. She hated that he knew how to calm her nerves without even trying, how his steady rhythm and the feel of his body against hers made it harder to keep up the act.

“I swear, Simon…” she muttered, her voice half-hearted, her arms crossed tightly around his neck, trying to keep her grumpy facade.

Simon just chuckled, his lips brushing her temple as he held her closer. “I know, sweetheart. You’ll get over it,” he said softly, but there was a tenderness in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She rolled her eyes, but secretly, it was hard to ignore the way her heart fluttered at his gentle words. Despite everything, despite the anger and confusion swirling in her chest, there was a strange comfort in being in his arms. And she hated it.

“Let me down,” she muttered, but her tone was far less convincing than before.

He didn’t respond at first, just kept walking toward the house with that infuriating calmness, the moonlight casting soft shadows over his features. When they reached the porch, he finally slowed down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before pushing open the door.

“You’ll get your chance to fight me another day,” His voice gentle but still teasing. “But for now, I think we both deserve a little rest.”

She sighed, crossing her arms, but deep down, she couldn’t help but feel a small, secret smile tug at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t ready to admit it, but a part of her kind of liked this—liked how he held her, how he made her feel like maybe she wasn’t alone in all of this, even if it was twisted and messed up.

For now, though, she stayed silent, letting him carry her inside, secretly wishing this game of theirs didn’t have to end.

PART 7

------------------------------------------

surprise mf! technically, it is past midnight where i live, so here is the new part like i promised. i had so much time to write for the past few days, but i don't know when I'll be able to update again.

alsooo, they kissed ???? why are we not talking about thisss ???

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn

[tearsofastraeax]

a/n: (un)intentionally turning this into an ode to price, but who can blame me??! anyways, enjoy and yesssss, simon will suffer, you just wait :)

cw: angst, angst and some more angst

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

you shouldn’t have come here.

how the hell could he? 

your emotions felt like an inferno inside you, one that consumed you whole. it left behind nothing but a path of destruction; from every cell of your being, right to your heart. disbelief had turned to confusion, had turned to a pitiful sadness, had turned to hot burning anger. the cocktail of emotions stirring you on in your path. 

where you were going you didn’t even know. nor did you know how far you had walked. your surroundings nothing but a blur of colours. 

the never-ending cycle of scenario after scenario, thought after thought, made your mind spin. 

a gruff laugh took you by surprise and strong arms wrapped around your waist. the soft summer breeze ebbed through your apartment. simon’s face pressed into your neck, so lovingly, so possessively. “so beautiful.” back then you had giggled, twisting around in his arms till you could look at him. your eyes getting lost in the endless depths of his. “i will keep you forever, luv”

now you were left with nothing but a cruel laugh that bubbled up in your throat. the sound that escaped a guttural, angry mess. 

slowly your feet stopped moving in their tracks. exhaustion covering you like a heavy blanket. your breath heavy and strangled, as it escaped into the frozen air in tiny clouds. 

for the first time since that fight - it felt so long ago now, decades, millennia - tears prickled your eyes. falling in fat drops down your cheeks and leaving burning paths behind. 

your mind was spinning out of control, faster and faster. so much so that the approaching footsteps didn’t even register as a threat anymore. 

a deep, rumbling voice cut through the noise. 

your body went rigid, immediately turning to the source. you must have looked like a rabid animal, expression wild, eyes bloodshot.

“darlin'?” price's gentle voice disrupted the war in your mind. 

you couldn't help the nasty snarl spreading over your features. what did he think he was doing here? following you? feeling sorry for you? now that his dear friend had ripped you to shreds in front of a whole crowd of people? 

at the cruel reminder, a punishingly cold shame washed over you, the nasty feeling making your insides churn. 

"go away, john." your angry words were broken up by the overbearing violence of a sob that rang through your whole body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. 

you couldn't stand him seeing you like this. not after everything he already had to witness. none of them had cared enough to stop simon from this in the first place. so why would he suddenly develop sympathy for you? why would he care now?

"not much for taking orders, doll. but i’ll stand far enough back that you don’t feel like decking me", he teased, a soft smile pulling on his lips. 

at first it didn't even register, though slowly but surely your eyes met his. the flicker of something more than endless sorrow spiking in your heart, bubbling up your throat and escaping as a honest to god laugh through your lips. 

"that smile suits you much better, darling."

carefully, as if he was approaching a wild animal, price slowly stepped towards your cowering form. his hands slightly raised, as to appear as nonthreatening as he could be, this bear of a man, a captain in the fucking military. if you had a better sense of humour right then, you'd probably have laughed at the pure ridiculousness of it all. but you didn't. instead, your lips pulled down into a frown, and your eyes took price in warily. 

"let's get you home, yea?" a cautious little smile played around price's lips as he regarded you. it almost felt like he saw right past your guarded edges, and somehow, that made it worse.

"why?"

your voice carried so much venom, you were surprised the man didn't just turn around and leave you alone in the dark. 

"why the fuck are you even here?" the tone of your voice rose and rose, till you found yourself screaming at price. tears prickled your eyes, and your throat felt rough from all the emotions of the night. 

"simon doesn't know what's good for him if it punched him in the face. doesn't mean you deserve this." 

his serious eyes looked right into your soul, reaching in and seeing the deepest darkest depths. inside you were battling with yourself, unsure if you could handle someone so close to him comforting you. someone that shouldn't even be in your corner right now. 

"let me at least take you home, darling. afterwards you never have to see me again, if that’s what you want." 

you couldn't even begin to untangle the weight behind those words. this lifeline wasn't meant to be there, it wasn't meant for you. 

but you'd be damned if you wouldn't take it. 

ever so slowly and carefully price reached out his hand in invitation.

and for the first time, you reached back.

taglist: @rafaelacallinybbay @fruitymoonbeams-blog @jdeclerc @valuyhh

[radio-fmm]

One piece men react to your new haircut

ft. Law, Zoro and Sanji

fluff + gn reader with long hair

Masterlist

LAW

“Y/n-ya” Laws muffled voice ringed in your ears from outside your dorm, a tad softer tone coloring his words than he would usually use, a tone that always accompanied your name after it

He was met with silence

You had skipped breakfast, first red flag, and when you didn’t showed up for the monthly meeting at his office he knew something was up, he just didn’t know exactly what could be

“Go away” the doctors eyebrows curled in confusion, you sounded upset 

“Can you open the door please?”

“No”

Laws mind ran wild trying to think of a reason for your behavior changing one day to another, hiding away in your dorm

“Shambles”

The tall man appears in front of your door as he finds you underneath your bedsheets curled in a ball. Obviously what his mind zeroed in to immediately was that you may be feeling unwell, but as the tiniest softest sob left your mouth he realized it was a different kind of unwell he had not anticipated 

Feeling extremely unprepared, he sits at the end of your bed, immediately making you squirm and hide further in your bed

“Don’t look at me, I'm horrendous!” The captain cannot stop the snickers that scapes his mouth at your statement 

“Don’t be ridiculous” In a swift move Law removes the sheets, revealing your face hiding behind your hands

He noticed right away what you were referring to as apparently ‘horrendous’. Your locks were cut short too way above your shoulders, at the height of the frame of your face. He admires the new style, a smile tugging at his lips before he removes your hands from your regretful face, your eyes scan his expression in total terror

“I thought I could do it myself” a whisper could be heard louder than the words leaving you as you melt at Laws sweet touch “I look so bad”

Law runs his finger through your soft short strands before stroking your cheek “You look just fine y/n-ya… it quite suits you” 

Your face turns from his grasp but your Captain is quick to catch you “You’re gorgeous any day, any time, with long or short hair” Doe eyes met his as if you were relieved at his praise

“Promise?”

“Promise”

Your short hair was quick to become Laws favorite look on you

ZORO

“Don’t move” Zoro's tongue peeks at the side of his lips as he finds the perfect angle to cut your soft long strands of hair

“If you cut me in half…”

“Quit complaining I haven’t even started” He watches as your hands show him what length to cut for the third time, the swordsman takes a deep breath. A swift move from his strong arms followed by the sound of a cut near your ears is the last thing that fills your senses before a weight is lifted from your shoulders. Your eyes peek at the floor, a sea of your now old hair beneath you

“Perfect” you hear Zoro mutter, you run your hand through your hair, a grimace appearing on your face

"It's not straight” you sigh, defeated 

“What are you talking about?” Zoro appears in your field of vision and scans the way your hair sits at the sides of your frame, before you can even complain about it, another cut is heard disrupting the peace of The Sunny. 

Instantly you run to the bathroom mirror, it’s not perfect per se´, but he got the exact length you wanted to. You were a short hair kind of a person your whole life, but when you had started to sail through the sea, embarking alongside the future king of the pirates, it was hard to keep up a neat cut like the one you liked, so you resorted to a more easy way out. Another sigh escapes you, a different one this time, this one is a content one. You smile as you pose before the mirror, which reflects another figure outside the bathroom watching you intently

“Thank you Zoro” you offer him the softest and most thankful smile through your reflection, the swordsman shrugs, trying not to make a big deal out of it, truth was he was more than glad to help you, in anything you may need, it made him feel important. His eyes take on the new view of your appearance once more, his heart thrumbing in his ears and a blush sitting on his cheeks, he didn't know how you managed to look even more breathtaking 

“No problem” 

You wink at him at you may have broke him, the swordsman stays frozen in place as you run to show Nami and Robin your new look 

SANJI

The cook stays in a trance as he watches you braid your long beautiful locks in a fish braid before bed, as you tie it you watch your reflection for a while, a hesitant look appearing making your nose scrunch, the antic making his heart jump in his chest. Sanji bites his tongue, wanting to comment on this action, curious as to what could possibly be bothering you, because last time he checked, your reflection was nothing to frown about. 

"What's wrong, my love?" He asks ever so gently, you stay silent before walking to your shared bed, sighing as you lay beside him

“I want to cut my hair, it’s really hard work keeping it off my face, and it takes ages to wash and style” another frown sits on your lips as your eyes advert from his face

The reality was that you were planning on cutting your hair for a while now, but the thought of Sanji disliking your new look haunted you, but you were not gonna admit that to him

One of his delicate hands reach for your braid, then travel upwards to cup your face, he smiles in pure adoration pulling at your heart strings in the most intimate melody

“I know whatever you do to your hair is gonna look smashing” a dark red creeps from your neck and warms up your face at the blonde’s touch

After Sanji’s sweet reassurance, you missed no time and that morning reached for the scissors in your drawer and just went for it. As half your braid fell to the floor you felt the biggest weight being lift from your shoulders, your locks dancing free with the ocean’s breeze

The cook walked outside the kitchen in the middle of his breakfast prep for a smoke, but his cigarette hit the floor the instant he spotted you leaning on the railing of The Sunny, he was left stunted, heart eyes following your beautiful silhouette as he rushed your way

“Stunning” his hands immediately landing on your strands, brushing them slowly and lovingly

“You were right” you smiled at him content written all over your face

“Of course I was darling, I know an angel when I see one”

Luffy’s whines of annoyance could be heard all over the ship when he found his plate empty in the kitchen and Sanji nowhere to be found, he just had to stay to admire you all morning, it was a must 

[mistressmxggot]

Chapter 3- ✰ A Wolf has no Mercy ✰

"𝗥𝗶𝗰𝘁𝘂𝘀 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗱, 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀.

"𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗱. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝗠𝗶𝘀𝘀 𝗠𝗲𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗮'𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲. 𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿?"

𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲 ��𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲. 𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱, 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗯𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗰𝗶𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲. 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸. 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗱."

Tags: Brothels, drinking, noncon drugging, kidnapping, noncon touching, noncon suggestive content, threats, mention of abuse

~"Ambessa fucking Medarda."

You felt lightheaded. This was utterly ridiculous. Why you? She'd seen you for all of two minutes! You began to nervously laugh.

"Wait. So you're telling me that she wants to see...me? What for?"

Malik's smile widened. "I couldn't even fucking tell you. She said she wanted to see you, alone, in a private room. She dropped a gold bar infront of me and I think came in my pants." He laughed, his pupils dilated.

He looked like a kid on Christmas who just got a new toy he's wanted for years. You looked like wet rat caught in a mouse trap. Your shoulders slumped.

"Malik I-"

He cut you off. "You're going to do this. She payed for you, entertain her." He looked alot more stern than before.

You gulped, hands playing with your garner belts. He was babbling to Babette, but you couldn't hear a word. This didn't make sense to you. Why not just ask for a lap dance or private pole dance? It scared you to think about what she wanted to do with you. You weren't a prostitute. You didn't want to have sex with some Noxian war criminal. The thought of having sex with another woman made your cheeks flush. Your eyebrows furrowed.

"I thought you hated topside. Why are you making me do this?"

Malik scoffed. "I hate them, not their money."

He turned back to Babette. You gulped again.

"I'm not doing it. I dont want to have sex with her."

Malik slowly turned to you, glaring. He approached you, roughly grabbing your arm.

"Yes you are. You're doing this whether you like it or not. Now go get fucking ready."

You snatched your arm away from him. He growled.

"Here, I have girl here to help you get ready. Make sure you look good enough. I'm going to The Last Drop. If I hear anything about you refusing her, I promise you won't like me."

He turned away from you, pushing threw the curtains. You swallowed, your whole body tense. Babette got up from her chair, coming over to you.

"I know you're scared. It'll be fine. Howl has told me about her. I promise you she won't be as bad as you think. She's just a woman that know what she wants. I mean she's a very wealthy general, and you know how wealthy people are."

Your eyes became watery. She did know what she wanted, and that made it all the more scarier. Babette held your hand in between hers, giving you a sympathetic look.

"You'll be fine darling. Just breathe. You'll get through the night."

You snickered at her.

"I mean will I?"

She gave you a sad smile.

A blonde woman walked into her office. She smiled warmly at you.

"I'm here to help you get ready. I have an outfit and private room for you."

You took deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You know how angry Malik could get. You didnt want to deal with him. You didn't want to know what he would do to you.

You followed the blonde woman out of Babette's office. She led you down the very long hallway, making you more nervous than you already were. The two of you entered a small room. It was filled with beauty products. Makeup, perfume, hygiene items, and a beautiful dress.

"Please come sit down."

She snapped you out of your thoughts. You sat into a cushioned chair. She started with your hair. She added mousse and something to make it shine apparently. She completely changed and removed your makeup. Deciding on something way more simple than your full face, she added lots of highlighter all over. She gave you blush, a little concealer, lipgloss, and white eyeshadow on your lids. You put on body butter and flowery perfume.

This entire night didn't feel real. She was dressing and painting you like a doll. This was so gross. The silk dress you wore was of course white, with see-through lace accents. It hugged your body nicely. The blonde girl said absolutely no necklaces or bracelets. You turned your nose up at that. Weird. You checked yourself out in the mirror. Beautiful yes, it was just odd. All white outfit, all white makeup, and your body was very much on display.

So she was one of those. You had to look pure and innocent or whatever. Ick.

"You should see Ms Medarda now."

Oh. Your stomach knotted. Whew. Well here goes nothing. The walk to the room she was in seemed to take forever to get to. It could be because you were taking steps that were tiny. Your helper had since left, after telling you where to go. God you didn't want to do this. She was scary and huge. You felt tiny and pathetic. The hallway felt like a long tunnel of doom, your torturous demise waiting for you at the end. The closer you got, the more your mind and body screamed to turn around.

God you hated Malik for this. You never had to do anything like this. You would dance on that stage and ignore the lustful looks around you. Now you had to come face to face with those predatory eyes. Your heart pounded. Your hands were sweaty. You were there, the doorway covered with this purple curtains.

You seriously couldn't do this, but you had to. You stepped forward then immediately pulled back.

It'll be fine, you'll get through the night.

You remembered Babette's words. She said Ambessa had been here before. She'd been with other clients. She isn't looking for anything different from you. Just entertain her, as Malik said.

Taking one last final breath, probably literally, you reached for the curtains.

God help me.

You pushed them away, slowly stepping inside. She sat on a large, deep red sofa. Her arm rested lazily on the back of the couch, the side of her pressed against it. Her opposite hand held a glass of wine, the slow swivel of the liquid coming to a stop. She lifted her head, hazel eyes focusing on you.

Your entire being felt like jelly. She softly smiled at you as she set her glass down onto the wooden table infront of her. Your hands nervously fiddled with eachother. You knew you had to look so meek right now. You stood there unmoving. She raised her eyebrows, smile slightly falling.

Say something.

"Ms Medarda."

You wanted it to sound firm and seductive, instead you sounded like she had you hanging from the ceiling by your neck. Her face was filled with amusement.

"Sit."

She gestured to the other side of the sofa with her hand. You adjusted your feet, eyes darting around. You began to make your way over to her. Her eyes tracked you, focusing. This was horrible. The air in the room felt suffocating. You gently sat on the couch, eyes avoiding hers for as long as you could. A pregnant pause passed between you two.

"You should know It's considered Ill-mannered to not look your guests in the eyes, especially a guest of interest."

Your head snapped up, your eyes immediately meeting hers.

"I-I I'm very sorry Ms Medarda. I-"

She shushed you, laughing. You stopped talking. You sounded like a babbling idiot.

"Tell me about yourself little lamb."

You were taken aback. Your eyes darted back and forth. What should you tell her about? Your hobbies and favorite color? Malik? The fact he's forcing you to do this? The abuse he subjects you to? The story of your parents? That you hated topside and her entire presence made you extremely uncomfortable?

The sound of a glass sliding over to you brought you out of your thoughts. Her face studied you, her eyebrows now raised and her smile gone. You looked at the glass infront of you.

It took everything in you to smile at her.

"Oh well, I like dancing."

"I can see that."

You blushed. She gestured towards the glass.

"Try it."

You grimaced. This had to be time where she got you drunk and started pressing up on you. Picking up the glass, you took a drink. Your eyes widened. It was delicious. It was fruity, but still strong. You gulped more down, hopefully not looking to greedy. Ambessa's lips parted, head tilting back.

"Thank you. It's amazing." You smiled at her.

She slowly blinked. There was a look in her eyes that you couldn't quite recognize.

"I had it..."

She paused.

"Hm, crafted for you."

What did she want? It felt like she should be meaner to you. Your body had slightly relaxed. She was just looking at you. You cleared your throat.

"So... um I also like art. I paint and draw."

You didn't know if that sounded stupid and childish. Topside had to like art right?

"I wonder how long.."

She seemed to be talking to the room rather than you. You finished your drink, placing it onto the table.

"Oh well I've always liked art. I've been drawing since a child, but I've just recently started painting."

Warmth spread through your body. That liquor was damn good. Your head and body both felt light.

"Y'know I-" You swallowed, letting out a small cough.

Her eyes widened in amused surprise. Your brain felt fuzzy. Blinking, you focused back onto Ambessa.

"I'm sorry I was going to-"

Your breathing picked up. You rubbed your eyes. Why did you feel like this? Your body felt weak.

Did she have two heads?! You rubbed at your eyes again. What's happening?!

You looked back to the empty glass. Hitting the table as you abruptly stood up, her glass of wine spilled. Her eyes stayed on you, a smirk on her face.

"What was- what was- that drink-" Your knees became weak.

You stumbled around, vision getting blury. Her muscular arms held you as you collapsed into her lap.

"Please..."

"Hush child."

Her muffled voice fell onto your ears. Her face gazed down at you. Whimpering, your vision faded to black.

Ambessa looked down at your sleeping form. She sure made her decision. Laying you gently back down onto the couch, she stepped out the room. She went to where Rictus had been waiting around the corner for her. She motioned him to the hallway. Rictus followed behind her as they headed back to you. You looked so beautiful sleeping. Picking you up bridal style, he carried you out to Ambessa. She stood waiting for him, occasionally glaring at the watching eyes. No one dared to look at her for too long. She turned, walking towards the exit, with Rictus following close behind. Babette stepped outside her office. She slightly gasped at the sight. This was wrong. So very, very wrong. She had to say something.

"Ms Medarda! With all respect..."

She gulped.

"She's a good girl. A good, resilient girl." Babette sputtered.

Ambessa continued out of the exit, ignoring the comment. Rictus slowed, addressing Babette and the watching clients.

"Nothing occurred. There was nothing of Ms Medarda's presence. Are we clear?"

Babette stood still, eyebrows pushed together in worry.

"Nothing occurred." She repeated.

Rictus stared at Babette for a moment. He soon turned back to follow Ambessa. You laid in Rictus' arms, temple resting on his bicep. Your arms laying lifelessly in your lap as you slept a dreamless sleep. The brothel workers continued their work and Babette returned to her office. She shook her head, stubbing out her almost burnt out cigarette. Babette reluctantly continued her paperwork. Nothing occurred.

Darkness faded in and out. Ambessa. She... what happened again? Your vision came and went. You exhaled as feathery touches ran down your arms. Someone was whispering to you, but you couldn't make out what was being said. Wet kisses started at your ear. They trailed down your neck, ending at the top of your chest. Warm hands ran over your breasts. You gasped as you felt your nipples being pinched. Your mouth fell open.

"Malik?"

Your voice came out weak. Malik had never treated you this way. He was aggressive. Thankfully he never went too far. The kisses started again on your stomach, moving further down. Sticky heat moved through your core. Tingles shot through your thighs. It started slow. It washed over your body, causing your back to arch. More muffled words were said, fuzzy colors surrounded you. Darkness overcame you once more.~

You. Always. Masterlist

Here we go yall 😭 This story has seriously been the only thing in my mind. I hope I somewhat captured Ambessa, lowkey the hardest part lol.

Taglist: @maaaaaaaaaaari

Lmk to be added.

[moonmaiden1996]

Bound by Fate

Shank's inhales some Devil Fruit Pollen unleashing some primal urges deep within him and revealing a potent and alluring scent pulling you directly into his path.

Chapter Two

Shanks had always believed he was in control—of his crew, his ship, his destiny. A man as powerful as he was couldn’t afford to lose himself, not to anything, especially not to something as ridiculous as Devil Fruit blossom. Yet, there he was, his mind consumed by the effects of a pollen he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

It started with a strange, floral scent, subtle but maddening, swirling in the air of the marketplace. The merchant’s stand had been covered in bright red flowers, their pollen drifting through the wind. The fool of a merchant. Greedy and stupid. The plants that grew Devil Fruits were rare, especially since when an eater dies, their fruit reappears somewhere in the world. It didn’t mean that the flowers didn't appear, and when they did, stupid merchants would not hesitate to cut them down and sell them to the highest bidder. The flower and leaves could be dried and mashed up to make all sorts of powders, tinctures, and oils for a skilled physician, at least, but for an idiot with a pestle and mortar it was dangerous. Even for a Yonko like himself

When that pollen hit his face, he knew the trouble it would cause he was at least thankful the small gust didn't hit anyone else.

The change was slow at first. A warmth spread through his chest, making his pulse race, though he chalked it up to the tropical heat. But then came the scent—your scent. Faint at first, like a whisper on the breeze, but with each passing day, it grew stronger, more intoxicating. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It called to him, pulling him in a direction he didn’t fully understand.

Days passed, and the more he fought it, the stronger the urge became. Beckman and Hongo are watching over him constantly.  Every breath he took was painful. Every breath seemed to be filled with you, and a painful reminder that you were not there somewhere beyond his reach, waiting to be found. And Shanks, despite his easygoing nature, couldn’t ignore it any longer. The need was burning when he gave Snake his new destination and Beckman his orders.

xxx

The festival on the island of Tansora was in full swing when the Red Force docked. Music filled the air, laughter echoing through the streets. Shanks, with his usual grin and swagger, led his crew into town, but beneath his confident exterior, that strange hunger gnawed at him.

Despite the dizzying array of smell and sound and copious amounts of ale and rum being passed around it was not hard to find you, winding himself through the winding passages and hoards of writhing bodies. Your scent was not easily overpowered.

You were on stage, dancing with a grace that made the crowd sway in rhythm. But it wasn’t just your movements that captivated him—it was the power you radiated. You didn’t know it, but your very presence was laced with Haki. It was subtle, woven into every turn and every motion of your dance, commanding attention and respect without you needing to speak a word.

Shanks’ heart raced, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, and for a moment, he felt as if the world had narrowed to just you and him. He watched, entranced, the pull growing stronger, primal.

"Captain," Benn Beckman’s voice cut through the haze. "You good? you haven't had a drop of rum since we left the ship."

Shanks tore his eyes away from you, blinking as if waking from a dream. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was rougher than usual. "I’m fine. Pass me a tankard, let's celebrate, we just have one small thing to do." Shanks roared, followed by his crew, clattering of cups sloshing the amber coloured liquid. But not once did his eyes leave your performance.

He wasn’t fine. Not at all.

xxx

When your music finished, you slipped off the stage and away from the crowd, seeking a moment of quiet in the alley behind the festival grounds. The air was hot, stifling, a thin sheen of sweat glimmered in the night. Your heart was still pounding from the dance, the energy of the evening lingering in your body like an aftershock. But there was something else, too—an uneasy feeling that you couldn’t shake, like you were being watched. The cold air felt good on your calling skin as you settled against the rough slates of the building that surrounded the square. Closing your eyes, you took a few steady pants of breath to steady your racing heart. The sound of shuffling stirred you from your moment's respite. 

That’s when you saw him.

A man stood in the shadows, leaning casually against the wall, an arm crossed over his chest. He was tall, with messy red hair that framed his face in a wild, untamed way. His grin was cocky, but there was something in his eyes that set you on edge—something dark and intense. a black cloak blocked most of his form, but you didn't need to see it. He was tall and strong built. No man could be up to any good, lurking on the fringes of the festival. Not when whatever pleasure they wanted could be filled in the main square. 

"Didn’t mean to scare you," he said, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "You’re quite the dancer. I didn't expect that, aren't I a lucky man." he smiled. 

You narrowed your eyes, taking a step back. "Who are you?"

He straightened up, walking toward you with a swagger. "Shanks," he said simply, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

When you didn’t respond, he let out a soft chuckle. "You really don’t know, do you? I thought it would work on you too, hm."

"Know what?" You snapped, your body tensing as the unease grew. There was something about him, something in the way he looked at you, like he knew more than he was letting on.

Shanks’ grin faded slightly, replaced by something more serious. "There’s a connection between us," he said, his voice low. "I don’t know how or why, but I can feel it. And I know you can too."

Your heart skipped a beat. His words sent a chill down your spine. The closer he got the more impressive his form seemed, thick muscles strained against his skin, bronzed by hours outside in the hot sun, a body that had left the tale-tell signs of a fighter, the three jagged scars that drew down across his right eye and a missing left arm. Not that would hinder him, he did seem like he would need another arm to do some serious damage.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you said, keeping your voice steady. "And I don’t care. Whatever you think is happening here, it’s not."

Shanks stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, but there was a softness in his gaze, a sweetness beneath the authority. "I wish it was that simple," he murmured, his voice almost tender. His fingers twitching as his reached his hand out before pulling in back to his check settling in back to his side, but you did miss the clench of his hand and his fingernails pressing in to the callous flesh on his palm ‘’I haven’t been able to think about anything but you. The scent of you, the pull of you... it’s driving me mad."

You stared at him, your pulse racing. "You are drunk or insane," you said, though your voice wavered. ‘’and I don't have time for either"

"I didn’t want this," he admitted, ignoring you words, his expression pained. "But it’s not about what I want anymore. It’s about what we are. You are mine."

You took a step back, shaking your head. "So you're definitely drunk and insane then," your voice wobbled as you skirted back, but every move you made back forward, he moved forward, his eyes forever moving, devouring you. 

Shanks sighed, his usual cocky smile slipping for a moment, replaced by something darker, more conflicted. "I know it’s a lot to take in, but I can’t fight it anymore. I need you with me."

Your stomach twisted. You have been an entertainer long enough to know how to deal with the pervy patrons that crowd round every corner after a performance, and you have lived in Tonsona long enough to know a pirate when you see one. Grabby and rude, pushing their intimation on anything they thought they could get away with, This however was different, this pirate presence seemed to dominate the space, he was by no means a giant but there was something oddly menacing about this one. And you really did not have the energy to deal with this, a overfriendly pirate too drunk and stupid to make a real pass at you.

"I’m not going anywhere with you," you said, your voice firm. ‘’Go back to the festival.’’

Shanks’ eyes flashed with frustration, but he didn’t push. Instead, he took a deep breath as if steadying himself. "I didn’t want it to come to this," he said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "But I don’t have a choice."

Before you could react, there was movement behind you—strong hands grabbing your arms, pulling you back. You struggled, but it was no use. The men holding you were skilled, their grips firm yet careful, as if they didn’t want to hurt you.

"Let me go!" you shouted, panic rising in your chest.

Benn Beckman appeared beside Shanks, his expression calm but unreadable. "We need to take her, Captain," he said quietly. "It’s the only way."

Shanks clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. "I know," he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing. "But that doesn’t mean I like it."

‘’Hongo will make sure she isn't harmed.’’ Benn's gruff voice soothing his captain as he marched him toward the dock, back to you as you were pulled along with them.  

You fought against the hands of the crew, but they were unyielding, your heart pounding in your chest, but they were too strong. They lifted you off your feet, carrying you toward the docks where the Red Force awaited. No matter how much you twisted and struggled, they did not budge. Their eyes are determined and hard.

You screamed, your voice filled with fury and desperation. "You don’t have to do this!"

Shanks winced, his face tight with guilt. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. With his back to you, you could barely hear him. "But I need you with me. I can’t let you go."

Despite the firm set of his jaw and the confidence in his stance, there was pain in his eyes, a battle raging within him. He hated himself for this, for taking you against your will, but the primal need inside him—the need for his—overpowered his conscience. He couldn’t walk away, not now.

"Let me go!" you shouted, panic rising in your chest.

Your eyes darted between Shanks and Beckman, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a wave. You were trapped.

"Why are you doing this?" you demanded, fear creeping into your voice, tears welling up in your eyes as you tugged hopelessly at the hands that caged you.

Shank's didn’t turn to you, only glanced at you over his shoulder, the pleading of his tone making you freeze in the hands of your captives. "Because I need you. We need each other. You’ll understand soon enough, but you have to trust me."

You swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at you to run, to escape. But the way he looked at you, with a mix of desperation and longing, kept you rooted in place.

"I won’t be your captive," you shot back defiantly but quietly.

"You’re not a captive," Shanks replied, his voice softening. "You’ll be mine."

Even as you fought against the ropes that bound you, you could not quell a deepening feeling in the pit of your stomach to submit, to give in. A feeling that you pushed down with every fiber of your body even though every cell in your body screamed for you to not fight.

xxxxx

Once aboard the Red Force, they brought you to a cabin, locking the door behind you. You paced the small room, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. but you didn't miss the soft creak of the ship, and it swayed into motion. You were sailing. On a ship. Abducted by a crew and what you can only assume was their deranged captain. Your best hope was they were going to sell you, the worse… you shivered, it doesn't bear thinking about it.  

After what seemed an eternity, the door creaked open, and Shanks stepped inside. His cocky grin was gone, replaced by a sombre expression in this light. You could see him clearly now. The red locks framed his face, and chocolate eyes stared out at you from a canvas of gold skin. His feature was well weathered but handsome as he leaned against the doorframe, his arm crossed.

"I didn’t want it to go like this," he said quietly, his voice soft. "I didn’t want to force you."

You glared at him, your anger flaring. "Then why did you? Why kidnap me?"

Shanks ran a hand through his hair, and down his face, his stubble made him look tired, frustration etched into his features. "Because if I didn’t, I’d lose myself." His eyes met yours, raw and unguarded. "That damn pollen, it’s turned me into something I never wanted to be.’’ he muttered more to himself than to you. ‘’But now, I need you more than anything. And I hate myself for it but for now you need to stay."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. You could see the conflict in him—the cocky, confident pirate who always had control now fighting against something far deeper, something primal and unavoidable.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me," Shanks continued, his voice quiet. "But I promise you this—I’ll keep you safe. Always."

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to fight back, to demand your freedom. But another part of you—it wasn't sure. 

‘’What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your anger giving way to confusion.

"To make you mine," Shanks said simply, his gaze unwavering. "I can’t fight it, and neither should you. Whatever this is between us,  it is not something I have the power to ignore."

Your breath caught in your throat. The intensity of his gaze burned into you, but you couldn’t let yourself be swayed by his words. You took a step back, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Let me go!" you shouted again, this time more forcefully.

"Can’t do that," he replied, though his tone was almost apologetic. "Not until we figure this out. Until I know you’re safe. I’m not just a pirate; I’m a Yonko. I won’t let anyone hurt you."

 "What’s wrong with you? I don’t need you to protect me! I don’t need anything from you!"

"You’re wrong," Shanks said, his voice steady, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. "You need me. You will see in time."

Your eyes narrowed, but you couldn’t deny the flicker of uncertainty in your gut. Shanks straightened, his confident demeanour slowly returning as he gave you a small, apologetic smile. "For what it’s worth," he said softly, "I’ll make this right. One way or another. You never know you might like life as a pirate. You strike me as the cutthroat type. Now get some rest."

And with that, he turned and left, leaving you alone in the cabin as the Red Force sailed away into the night, carrying you toward an uncertain future.

I have wanted to write One Piece Fanfic for ages, and this has been stuck in my mind for the longest time. Might write a second part and more pollen fiction for the other members of the Straw Hats. Please like, leave a comment or make a review.

[stervrucht]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday 🧠 🪱

Thank you for the tag @just-my-latest-hyperfixation 🧡

Today I’m thinking about this ridiculous story of a friend of mine, who, after she thought she’d been ghosted, proceeded to hold a cremation by burning the guy’s picture, only to receive a text right after.

“Where are we going, Eddie?”

Dustin’s tone is starting to grate on his nerves and Eddie needs to take a deep breath to calm his voice before responding. 

“I told you, a small detour.”

“Through the woods? What about the guitar lessons?”

“Yes, through the woods," Eddie snaps. 

He doesn’t even have to look to his side to know Dustin is pouting. Despite that, the little guy still follows him, ducking underneath the brush as they make their way to Skull Rock. 

He didn’t tell Dustin—doesn’t think there’s an adequate way to explain that this was what he did whenever he was dealing with a serious bout of heartbreak. That—because Steve Harrington hadn’t been answering his phone and clearly dumped Eddie without the courage to say so to his face—Eddie now needed to initiate the Cremation Stage. 

Yeah, you heard that right.

It first happened three years ago, after Stacy Morgan landed on him during a game of spin-the-bottle and cried after kissing him. That one kinda stung. 

After a bit of dumb back and forth, he and Gareth decided to cut her picture from the yearbook and held a stupid little funeral—speeches and all. After they were done and said their goodbyes, they burned the picture. It made him feel better. So much so, that it became a dumb little habit.

One he hadn’t executed that often, really.

Which is why it sucks so much he is off to Skull Rock, the place he first kissed Steve Harrington against the expectations of everyone ever, to burn his stupid picture.

When they finally reach Skull Rock, Eddie digs through his pockets and pulls out his Zippo and Steve’s picture. Dustin leans over his shoulder, knees digging into the back of Eddie’s arm as he leans over to watch.

“Why do you have a picture of Steve?”

“Because.” Eddie strikes the Zippo, trying to make it catch flame, but the old thing is protesting.

“Because why?”

The stupid thing still won’t catch. Eddie strikes his thumb over the wheel with a little more aggression—pulls his lips into a thin line, frustration pulling at his gut. “Because I need to burn it.”

“Why?”

Eddie throws his hands. “Because I have to okay! Because—”

Because Steve’s finally realized Eddie was a mistake. And Eddie knew the day would come. He was just pushing his head in the sand like a fucking ostrich, hoping he could enjoy what little time Steve was willing to give him. He just hoped Steve would have had the guts to actually say so to his face.

He can’t tell Dustin any of that though. 

Finally, the Zippo produces flame and Eddie holds the corner of Steve’s yearbook picture near it. It takes a few seconds, but soon enough the picture engulfs into flames and Eddie has to drop it between the twigs and dried leaves. He allows it to burn for a few seconds until the leaves around it start to smolder. He quickly kills the flame with his shoes and once he removes his feet, only ash is left of what was once an image of Senior Steve.

Eddie pulls himself into a standing position and slips the Zippo back into his pocket.

“All done.”

“Dude, that was so weird.”

“No, it wasn’t. And don’t tell Steve about this.” 

Dustin raises an eyebrow at him but probably senses it’s best to not push it.

“Can we go play guitar now?”

“Yeah, man, whatever. Let’s go.”

A little while later, Eddie sits in Dustin’s bedroom, his guitar in his lap as he shows Dustin some chords to Metallica. The little dude learns fast, last week's chords already dexterously mastered. A little more and he’ll be playing his first full song. Now, just to get a feeling for it, he makes Dustin play the same five chords as base while Eddie plays the more complex parts of the song. 

He’s actually starting to get into it when the doorbell to the Henderson residence rings.

“Really, now?” Dustin lets out a frustrated sigh and puts his guitar down on his bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie hums and continues picking at the snares. Mumbles along to the song until he hears Dustin return to the room.

“Oh, hey Eddie.”

Eddie looks up. That didn’t sound like Dustin. That sounded like—

“Steve.” Eddie is staring at Steve standing in Dustin’s doorframe. Can’t do anything else than stare because an hour ago, he cremated Steve. 

And now he’s here.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Steve lets out a little laugh. And it’s not the ‘oh shit I ran into my ex’ kind. It’s the genuine kind. The fond kind.

Dustin pushes himself past Steve into his bedroom. “I told you, I’d give it back to you on Monday,” he complains.

Steve rolls his eyes, watching with amusement as Dustin digs through his closet.

“W—where have you been?” Eddie hardly dares to ask. He tries to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“Ugh, my parents man. They took me on some campus visits to fancy universities. Didn’t give me any warning either. It sucked balls.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, not great. How have you been holding up with this asshat the past few days.” Steve looks back to where Dustin is now clearing the lower levels of his closet. 

“I heard that!” he calls back. 

“I…I’ve been doing just dandy.” Eddie shoots Steve a little smile, and yes, that’s definitely fondness in Steve’s face. God, he’s such an idiot.

A total overreaction. 

When Dustin rears his head from the closet, proudly holding a cassette tape, Eddie thinks he needs to make sure Dustin takes this little Skull Rock detour to the grave. 

---

No pressure tags for @sleepy-steve @spectrum-spectre @runninriot @wheneverfeasible @eddiethebrave

[drak3n]

THE LOST LOVE

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: two lovers who went seperate ways years ago… one of the cases we love most!

ꨄ. CONTENT WARNINGS: exes to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, age gap (reader was in college & toji in his thirties when they met), dad!toji, breakup, implied divorce, insecurities, smut, unprotected sex

bold italic quotes = letter excerpts

PROLOGUE. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i like to think that meeting each other was like a breath of fresh air. for both of us. wouldn’t you agree?”

wake up. go to work. get home. eat. sleep. repeat.

toji’s life was a vicious cycle, one of a middle age man with no goals in life. it was funny to him how people would actually call that a life.

the only times he truly felt like he was alive was when he was seated on the bleachers watching a good old horse race. or a boat race. or whatever it was that he had bet money on.

no one understood him.

toji knew that life rarely gifted him anything. he was no lucky man. in the many years of betting and gambling, he seldomly won. and the money he had won those few times was enough to cover the ticket and perhaps a nice dinner.

and although knowing he was probably going to leave empty-handed, he did it for the thrill. it made him feel youthful again. like he hadn’t wasted his years on useless things that aged him faster than he had hoped to. like he was still the same old teenager he had been years ago.

it wasn’t until one fated day that he found out that there were other things that could bring him back to his youth, other than doing useless crap that only burned a hole in his pocket.

said thing being you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“the way we met wasn’t really romantic. it wasn’t like a scene out of a movie or a novel. looking back, it was quite comedic, even. i’m sure you felt the same way.”

there were a lot of terrible things that came with being a busy person, one of which you were facing right now. standing in front of a ridiculously long line at the grocery store.

you ran out of basic ingredients for cooking, it was a saturday evening, and you really did not want to order takeout again for a third time this week.

standing in front of you was a group of drunken kids — by kids you meant they were around your age, maybe in college like you — but they were different. they seemed carefree. they used their time to have fun and laugh instead of constantly grumping and punishing you with more work than you had.

you wished you could be like them, too. at least sometimes.

what made you get out of your train of thoughts was the sound of an item being placed on the conveyor belt, the rattling sounding too familiar for your liking. another person who hated cooking, so it seemed. and another person who barely had enough change to get a cup of instant noodles.

it was a man — you heard from the occasional sighs and grunts leaving his lips, and the way his cologne wafted over to invade your senses.

why did you suddenly have the urge to turn around and bond with this random stranger? perhaps hit him up with something like ‘heck, youngsters these days, right?’

absolutely not. that would be goofy as hell. and judging by how slowly the like progressed, you were likely going to stand here for at least ten more minutes. you would rather die than make a fool of yourself and then proceed to stand here for even longer afterwards.

oddly enough, the huffing stranger beat you to it. your breath hitched in your throat at the gruff voice sounding.

“s’cuse me, little lady.”

a bulky arm shot forward from behind you, making you step aside to grant him access to the side of the conveyor. you cleared your throat, turning around with an apologetic smile— and damn was he hot.

he looked quite a bit older than you, and he looked quite… distraught. sleepless, deep green eyes, unruly jet black hair that looked like he hadn’t gotten cut in a while, and a stubble gracing his jaw and chin.

you hated romanticizing people who weren’t feeling their best. so, you quickly snapped out of it.

“sorry for hogging the conveyor.” you chuckled, trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere as everyone else in the line was quite angry. the man gave you a halfhearted smile, scar on the right side of his mouth stretching. you wondered how he’d gotten that scar.

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” he waved your apology off, slightly motioning at the impatient woman huffing and puffing behind him. “someone’s just very fuckin’ annoying.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. then, your eyes wandered to the conveyor, staring up to meet his again. “you can get in front of me, sir.” you offered kindly, already moving to make some space in front of you, “don’t have to wait even longer for a single item.”

the surprise in his eyes was a dead giveaway that no one had been polite or nice to him in a long time. before he could make it obvious, he shook his head, uttering, “s’fine. thanks.”

but you insisted, for some reason. it wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, cup of ramen placed in front of your groceries, and the seething woman now standing right behind you, that you were happily smiling.

the man walked off after paying for his noodles when the line finally progressed what felt like years later, not even sparing you a glance. you were barely able to contain your disappointment as you bagged your groceries and shuffled outside of the store, ready to take the train back home with full hands.

just to see the man from the line in the grocery store thumbing at the instant noodle cup’s lid, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

his hands wordlessly approached yours to take your bags of groceries, not even frowning at the heaviness of them, as he let out a puff of cigarette smoke.

“i’ll drop ya off, little lady.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“our love was fierce. characterized by sleepless nights, stolen breaths and undying passion.”

ragged breaths filled the air of your small bedroom. it was dark, perhaps around nighttime, and the air was thick with sweat, arousals and the sinful smell of sex.

a lazy kiss was exchanged between you two with swollen, trembling lips as you settled down in each other’s arms. your eyes were shut as toji moved a little to light a cigarette.

your fingertips traced over his bare, built chest, post-orgasmic glow making his handsome face look even prettier. you were convinced he was the prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life.

“are you staying for dinner?” you asked, voice hoarse and quiet from how he had formerly railed you into your mattress. toji wasn’t a gentle lover. the word soft was very foreign to him. but you didn’t mind that. you didn’t mind him squeezing your hand too tightly whenever he held it. he didn’t know any better.

he exhaled the cigarette smoke away from you, large palm settling on the tender, bruised flesh on your hips. his thick, rough fingers traced over the softness of your skin that he had grabbed and kneaded mere minutes ago while manhandling you.

“sorry, baby,” he mumbled into your hair as you already knew what was coming, “gotta go. i’ll stay over next time, promise.”

you wanted him to stay, you really did, but with a sigh, you watched as he got dressed and left — not without pulling you into another kiss. missing the way his eyes twisted with a hint of guilt as he shut the door to your apartment behind himself.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“you weren’t a man of many words. you didn’t like talking too much about yourself. but you’d always listen to whatever i’d say. and whenever i wasn’t up to talk, we’d relish in each other’s silence. it was calming.”

“how many girlfriends have you had before me?”

the silence surrounding the air on your balcony after your question made you reconsider if it was a smart thing to ask.

it wasn’t. since when was it okay to talk about exes? you remembered it as one of the most off-putting conversation topics to ever come up with.

toji’s bare arms were propped up against the metal railing, gaze wandering from the unspectacular sight below him that consisted of old, run down buildings and sketchy streets, to you.

he knew it was too late to tell you the truth. he pressed his scarred lips together in regret, before opening his mouth to respond to your question.

“many.”

he saw the way your nose scrunched up at the ugly word — he wished it had been the truth. much better than hurting you with a fucking lie. made him wonder how you’d react to the truth.

“c’mere.” when you didn’t make a move to approach toji, he pulled you into him, dwarfing your body in his form. “you’re not mad, are you?”

“how could i ever be mad at you?”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“there was just one thing i wish you had just told me from the beginning. you know, i actually knew the entire time. i was just waiting for you to tell me.”

“dad, the show’s about to start.”

toji was now a couple of years older, about to celebrate his fourth decade of living in a few weeks. he wouldn’t admit that he was getting older. he had just plucked another gray hair from his scalp this morning, but no one had to know that.

sock-clad feet padded from the kitchen to the living room, bowl of salted popcorn in his hand as he placed it in front of his college-aged kid. toji was in awe at how the brat was becoming more of a carbon copy of himself the more years passed.

the only difference being his spiky, wild hair and blue eyes he had gotten from his mother.

“we’re not watching a match today?” toji sounded rather bored as he leaned back on the couch with a can of soda in his hand, legs finding the surface of the living room table as the younger man munched on sweets.

megumi shook his head, eyes focused on the screen that was still playing some shampoo commercial. “have you ever heard of TATMYLB?” the green-eyed man beside him narrowed his eyes at the obnoxiously long abbreviation, .

“kid. i don’t understand your language,” he grunted, “i’m headin’ out if it’s another high school rom com.” said boy only snorted as he pointed at the tv that happened to be playing a trailer of what was going to be playing next.

“reading today… TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE’s 26th letter!” toji kissed his teeth. of course it was going to be some sappy ass show. why was it so popular anyway?

he raised from the couch, scratching his belly lazily under his sweater as he pointed to the door with his thumb. “gonna check the mail,” he uttered, “we haven’t emptied our mailbox in days.”

megumi hummed, too immersed in what today’s live episode was going to be about. just as toji approached the door, curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself listening.

“unfortunately, she won’t be joining us today, but we have received a beautifully written letter by her! what a lucky man to have been loved like this.” the host spoke gleefully as the audience erupted into cheers and applause.

“our writer is a 29 year old lady from tokyo, a journalist for a very popular newspaper, which explains her splendid writing,” the co-host added, “she has met a man she refers to as her LOST LOVE nine whole years ago.”

toji set his keys down on the shoerack and walked back to the living room. megumi took notice of his dad walking back and smirked. “caught your attention, old man?” he only scowled at his son and placed his hands on the back of the couch.

the stage was beautifully built, and one could tell how much budged was spent on it all. it was a hell lot of pink, too much for toji’s liking — then again, any amount of pink was too much for his liking. the hosts were dolled up to the max, host dressed in a baby pink, frilly dress with her hair done up while the co-host was dressed in a pink suit.

“adding on to that… we have not received an answer or a reaction from the recipient.” a glum round of oh’s echoed across the studio, which made toji snort. “which doesn’t have to mean anything, of course! perhaps he’s just terrible at checking his mail.”

megumi stopped mid-chew as he side-eyed his father, who shot him a look. “old man, you don’t think—” megumi might have been young, but he had a very good memory of his father’s past lovers. especially that one woman who had changed him forever. you.

although he had never met you, he could tell it was you who had a huge impact on his father. and he figured that toji never opened up about having had a son.

“don’t be silly, bud,” toji laughed, reaching over to steal a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his son’s lap. he didn’t even like popcorn, why the hell was he eating it? it had to be the most annoying snack in the world with how the shell of the kernels always got stuck in one’s gums or throat.

you must have moved on years ago. it’s been almost a decade, for fuck’s sake. perhaps you were married already. had kids. he hated how the thought made his jaw clench. it was none of his business anymore, after all.

“mistakes. we all make them. so far, we have had a lot of letters speaking about wrongdoings,” the host clapped her hands together, “but how about keeping secrets? crucial ones?”

of course they were going to drag it on. what a bunch of clowns the audience was for eating it up. he totally wasn’t, not with the way he was clutching the couch cushions in anticipation.

he just wanted to know it wasn’t you, so he could move on in peace. because if you have moved on, then he shall do the same.

the audience was then asked to talk about their experiences with secrets in a relationship, before they started guessing what the person might have done.

eventually, an elderly woman received the mic and laughed. “it wasn’t another woman, so,” she paused, “i’d say hiding a child.”

the two hosts opened their mouths before knowingly looking at the audience, and toji cleared his throat. by now, megumi was fully facing his father, a look of disbelief on his face. before he could speak, toji raised a palm.

“i said don’t be silly,” he warned megumi, “it’s not me. jesus.” megumi shook his head before raising his palm to invite his father to a handshake, challenging him to a bet, “fifty bucks if it’s you, then.”

toji could never say no to bets. maybe he should have checked his mailbox first, though.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

the show was halfway through, currently on a commercial break as you found yourself in the kitchen to prepare yourself a cup of instant noodles. the sight of the cup still brought you back to day you had met toji.

before you could open the lid of the cup, you were halted by the sound of your doorbell ringing. leaving behind the sounds of your kettle whistling, you approached tye door to look through the—

your hand immediately flew to the handle to fling the door open. to stare right at the man you hadn’t seen in over seven years.

there was a lot both of you wanted to say. he wanted to apologize for having disappeared out of nowhere, for having abandoned you when things had been going so well between both of you; while you wanted to slap him, cuss him out and scream at him.

alas, all that came out was a choked sob on your behalf. a sound forced out of your throat, displaying the despair you had felt out of the lack of closure.

toji watched with wide eyes as you broke down in front of him. he wanted to make you happy. or get yelled at. anything but you crying. fuck, he was terrible at this.

toji was only ever good at leaving. that’s what he had done back then when his family no longer served him; that’s what megumi’s mother had spat at him before she left.

screw the past. screw all of his fears. he had waited far too long to come clean. you didn’t deserve this at all.

“i’m sorry.” he breathed, taking a step closer, now partially surrounded by the warmth of your place that hadn’t changed in the slightest. “i hid him from you because—”

you shook your head, trembling hands raising to wipe at your reddened eyes, “i don’t give a damn, toji.” he shut his mouth, because respectfully, you had all the right to be angry.

what he didn’t expect was for you to chuckle through tears. “stop looking at me like that,” you pointed at his lips, “that stupid pout of yours…” he had a habit of pursing his lips whenever he was distressed. you hadn’t forgotten about it.

when you stepped aside to welcome toji inside, he was baffled. “‘course you didn’t read the letter,” you sneered, which made him look down grimly, “if you had, you’d know that i could never be mad at you.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

you didn’t ask toji to, but he told you everything. how he had just gotten divorced when he met you, and who had fought for split custody the entire time. who couldn’t have you over at his place because of the child’s room he had.

it wasn’t like he was ashamed to have had megumi. he considered him one of the very few good things in his life. but, he couldn’t risk scaring you off. not when he had found someone as perfect for him as you.

and when things got serious, he did what he knew best. which was to bolt.

it wasn’t a surprise to him that you already knew. he had the wrong idea of you by thinking you’d push him away just because he had a son. now he knew that you could have been the best stepmother megumi could have asked for.

if he hadn’t blown it all.

“so he’s in college now?” you were smiling as you were both situated on your couch. toji feld oddly calm looking at you. you hadn’t changed much.

“this was us at his high school graduation,” he couldn’t help but smile too as he showed you his phone wallpaper. the thought that you could have been on that picture too made your smile fade for a second before you found yourself melting at how proudly he glanced down at his son in his crinkled button-down shirt, one arm lazily slung over the boy who looked at the camera with an irritated, forced smile.

you wondered if megumi would have liked you and already accepted you as his stepmother if toji hadn’t left. wondered if you two would have been married by now—

thoughts like those were useless now.

it happened so fast. like the force of two magnets attracting each other, it felt like you were pulled towards each other. a mumbled ‘i missed you’ left your lips before they planted themselves on his, both of you getting lost in the sensation of the other’s lips.

toji’s lips tasted like salt and popcorn, whereas yours tasted of the peace of candy you had popped into your mouth while waiting for the water to boil.

ah… right. the water. the kettle had stopped whistling a while ago. but both of you were busy sucking each other’s faces to notice that.

you were sat prettily on toji’s lap, hands running across his muscles hidden by his clothes. the only sign of him having aged were the tiny wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. other than that, he still looked like the 31 year-old toji you had met in the line of the grocery store.

he was the same man you had given your heart to. and you were eager to do it all again.

your clothing was shedded in a matter of minutes, hastily and in a rush. it felt like you were being intimate with each other for the first time all over again with wide eyes and shaky hands.

toji pressed you into his chest as he slid inside of you, and it seemed like the world stopped for a while. toji didn’t do soft, he wasn’t gentle. but you could swear you saw nothing but softness and adoration in his eyes in this very moment.

once he started thrusting up into you, your hands straddled his face, fingers digging into his skin as if afraid to let go. toji saw and felt the fear in your eyes, and he took both of your hands to place soft kisses on them.

“‘m not leaving again,” he grunted, relishing in the tightness and warmth he was buried inside of, “promise.”

you whimpered, nodding as you pulled him into yet another sensual, messy kiss while you worked each other through your releases. out of all the times you and toji had sex, this had to be the rawest, most intimate time.

it wasn’t fucking. it was love-making. the kind you’d never expect from a man like toji.

he stayed inside of you after both of you came, buff arms trapping you as you listened to his slowing heartbeat as both of you trembled. neither of you wanted to move, if you could, you’d stay like this forever.

toji’s lips against your temple pulled you back from your daze, and you reached for your underwear to avoid a mess, sighing softly when he pulled out of you. “shower?” he asked, to which you nodded lazily.

before he could lift and throw you over his shoulder, you placed a kiss on his collarbone.

“let’s eat instant noodles and rewatch the episode after that. since you haven’t read the letter—”

oh, toji was never going to hear the end of this.

but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Overprotective!Yandere X GN!Reader

Women in the office gawked at Theo as he walked by, shamelessly refusing to peel their eyes from the Adonis who walked among them. With dark wavy hair that framed his beauty mark speckled face and droopy emerald eyes always set into a warm smile, he was model material, yet refused to believe it. Theo was kind to everyone he spoke to, but no one could gain his full attention, and affection. That was reserved for his one and only best friend ❤️

❤️ Theo who was Reader's best friend since kindergarten

💀 Every life path Reader took, Theo took as well. They were his best friend, he just happened to have the same interests as Reader!

❤️ Besides, he didn't go to the same college as them and got into the same company in the same sales department just because he was good at numbers like Reader... he also needed to protect them!

💀 Reader was always a hard worker, they would often forget to eat meals while working overtime and would only sleep two hours a night if Theo wasn't there to gently keep them on track

❤️ And despite everyone referring to Reader as a cynical workaholic, Theo knew deep down that they were far too trusting

💀 Remember that girl in grade four who confessed to Reader at recess? Reader turned her down far too kindly! They made her think it was actually okay to be friends! Thank goodness Theo was there to threaten the kid to stay away protect his best friend from that weirdo

❤️ People often mistook the pair of besties for a couple, and that was just ridiculous!

💀 Yeah, the idea of Reader calling Theo their husband, kissing Reader's forehead each and every night, and instead of just tucking them into bed joining them in their shared bed made his heart clench in a funny way... they were just friends!

❤️ Just friends that were also roommates. The economy is terrible right now, just because they make enough money to live alone, didn't it make more sense to live together and save money?

💀 And Theo enjoyed cooking nutritional meals for his best friend! No instant ramen for Reader while Theo's around!

❤️ No, it wasn't jealousy whenever someone started hitting on Reader, he was just worried for them!

"Don't you think Jackson's a bit... creepy?" Theo asked his buddy while prepping dinner one night. Reader glanced up from their work laptop only briefly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Ah, I don't mean to sound rude! I'm sorry.. I just overheard him saying something pretty gross about Mrs. Kim.."

Jackson had asked Reader to grab a drink with him sometime just the other day, and he seemed like a genuinely kind dude. But Reader trusted Theo with their life, and wouldn't question anything he ever said, believing their best friend was simply incapable of lying. Reader grunted and went back to work, and Theo knew by that sound his bestie wasn't going out with Jackson anytime soon.

💀 Theo who could never admit to anyone, not even himself, that his relationship with Reader wasn't a healthy "friendship"

❤️ Convincing himself that his actions were completely normal things for friends to do was almost a full time job

💀 Sometimes he watched Reader sleep, admiring how their eyelashes fluttered as they dreamt ensuring that they were actually sleeping and not sneaking onto their computer

❤️ And breaking down into full blown hysterics when Reader doesn't text him back is just because he's so worried for them

💀 Reader always saw the error in their ways though, apologizing profusely when they finally came home from grocery shopping and seeing the results of forgetting to charge their phone

❤️ It was an especially hard day when Theo had to cut off his own mother. She said Theo was codependent on Reader! Reader doesn't know this though, they just heard that Theo's mother was criticizing their friendship

Reader was stopped at the front door, Theo draping his large frame over his best friend, his large eyes watering. "Please don't leave, (Reader)."

They sighed, wriggling an arm free to mess with Theo's hair. "The fridge is almost empty, dude."

"But it's raining outside!" Theo raised is voice unintentionally as he began to panic, spiraling into an anxiety attack. "What if you get sick? Please just stay home, I can order take out. Let's go shopping tomorrow!"

"Theo.."

"Please!" A sob choked out of the man as he seemingly lost his strength, collapsing against Reader as he stained their jacket with his tears. "I just want to keep you safe!"

Reader gave in, as they always did, guilt stabbing at their heart until they could calm Theo down and convince him they weren't leaving.

Even if Reader never fell in love with Theo, the man would be content just to be by Reader's side, forever being their one and only best friend. As long as he could continue protecting them, from bad dates conspiring to ruin Reader's life, from management that continuously accepted Reader's overtime volunteering, and from Reader's own silly bad choices... Theo was happy.

[welcomingdisaster]

fly!

ao3

He sits in the tub, and Maglor washes his hair. The water stings slightly against the bruises and scrapes on his skin. The teeth of the comb run gently along his scalp. He sifts gently through each piece of tangled hair, cut short due to the damage, starts at the end and works upwards. Steam rises from the water. Maedhros blows at it lightly and watches it disperse, hiccup up, towards the wood ceiling. Remembers he can reach out and touch the water, running his fingers over the surface. His skin wrinkles, finger-tips pruning. Maglor hums. Maedhros wishes he would sing, but he does not. 

“I am sorry,” he says, “I can see this bothers you. We will be done soon. You can go back to sleep.” 

It does not bother Maedhros in the slightest. He likes to be in bed, but in truth does not wish to return there, not now. It does not enter his mind that he could voice the thought, that he has any power at all over what happens to him; all he feels is a bone-deep sense of loss, of longing. Wants to be kept, to feel his hands in his hair, to watch the steam rise, to feel the heat. He wants to break open his bones and pour the water inside them, so that he might carry the warmth everywhere with him. 

Then he remembers that one of his bones is broken open, and he laughs. Imagines pulling off the bandages and submerging the stump, so that it he might be filled with rose-scented bathwater, and laughs more, high and trilling, his head bumping against Maglor’s hands. 

“What is matter?” Maglor asks. “Oh—do you cry, no, are you laughing?” 

Maedhros is. 

“What are you laughing at?” Maglor asks, and that question is concrete enough for to break through the ice around Maedhros’ head, his mind.

“He cut it,” he says, “he cut through the bone. It’s hollow inside. If it weren’t cracked you could fill it with water and it’d hold. But now it’d just trickle out.” 

“Oh,” Maglor says, “oh, no, no. Of course not, Russo, I wouldn’t let water get into the wound. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Maedhros catches steam in his mouth and pushes it deep into his lungs. Blows it out, watching it spin out. It’s like the twisted reptilian things down below, which Maglor doesn’t know about. They used to be halves of one soul, he and Maglor. Now there’s a chasm between them and it’s full of hollow bones and creatures of the darkness. 

“We’re almost done,” Maglor says, “can you lift your foot?” 

Maedhros can, but he doesn’t. 

Then Maglor helps him out of the bath, catching him under the armpits to pull him up. That hurts. Everything hurts. He doesn’t mind. Doesn’t even mind the way it makes him feel like a rag doll, hanging in his brother’s hands. He could probably try harder to be elven, try harder to be alive. He doesn’t remember when he’d stopped trying. 

He watches from somewhere outside of them, as Maglor swaddles him in the towel and dries his skin. They look ridiculous, Maglor pulling each part of him into position, all long limp limbs, like he’s a dead animal, a skinned thrall. It is taking all of Maedhros to remember Maglor isn’t planning to cut him open. 

“Heart on a platter,” he says, “stuff it with— stuff it with anything. The little brown herbs they eat.” 

“Wake up,” Maglor says, “wake up, you’re home, you’re well.” 

He knows. It’s not that he doesn’t know. Words spill from him, as they have for years, and he has forgotten they sound like anything at all. “I know,” he says, “I wish you would sing instead.” 

So Maglor does. 

* * * 

“Come back,” Father calls, “pick up the torch. Are you a boy, or a lord?” 

* * * 

He is in bed, the mattress smelling very slightly of straw, and the pillow of down. Fingon is asleep in front of him, curled up on his side, not touching him. He doesn’t track when Fingon comes and goes. He is like the birds, Fingon. 

His hair is braided in many thin braids, tight against his scalp. Maedhros wonders how they had braided out on the ice, their fingers numb with cold. Finrod, his hair thin and light, might have done well enough. But Fingon’s hair is thick and curly and Maedhros can’t imagine him being able to plait in gloves. Maybe he cut it short. 

He reaches out with his left hand and picks up the edge of one braid. A golden bead runs all the way down it, to Fingon’s scalp, propelled by gravity. Fingon doesn’t stir. 

Maedhros pulls. 

Fingon bats at his hand, turning away. “Ow,” he says, “ow, quit that.” But quickly enough he’s asleep again, elbow thrown over his face, and Maedhros is still holding his braid. 

He yanks again. 

Fingon wakes fully. His amber eyes glow slightly in the dark. “Do not pull my hair,” he says, catching Maedhros by the wrist. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Maedhros doesn’t answer. Fingon sighs and turns away, wrapping the blanket over his head to protect himself. Maedhros pulls at the back of his tunic. Fingon sleeps through that, so Maedhros digs his nails into the bared skin underneath. 

Fingon yelps. Sits up, blinking at Maedhros with barely-contained anger. “What is it?” 

Maedhros says nothing. 

“Do you wish for me to sleep here?” Fingon asks. 

“Yes,” Maedhros says, “I wish it.” He cannot stand it, being left along in the room. It is worse than anything else they could do to him, he thinks. 

“Very well,” Fingon says, “is there something you need of me?” 

Maedhros is silent. 

Fingon breathes deeply through his nose. “Yesterday,” he says, “has left me very weary. Tell me if you need something. Otherwise let me rest.” 

Maedhros cannot remember what happened yesterday. He feels adrift in time entirely, a bead loose from the string. 

“Kill me,” Maedhros breathes. He doesn’t truly feel it, at least not right now. He doesn’t know why he says it. “I need you to kill me.” 

“No.” Fingon says. 

“Then sleep with me,” Maedhros says. “Bed me.” 

“No.” Fingon says again. “I might get you wine, or bread, or some salve for your cuts. I might get you the waste-pot. I might open the window. These are the things I might do.”

 Maedhros thinks about it. “Wine,” he says. 

Fingon stands, swaying slightly. He’s limping. Maedhros feels he ought to know why. But then he’s alone in the room, and time folds oddly, and then he’s sitting up, and drinking wine, cold on his tongue and a little over-sour. Fingon is sitting against headboard, his eyes half-shut. Maedhros watches him fall back asleep like that, sitting up, one hand still raised against the cup. Maedhros listens to his breathing and feels himself seep out of the edges of his skin, thinks he must be dying. 

* * * 

He is awake. Someone with long dark hair sits on the edge of his bed. Breathes. 

“Maglor,” he says. 

His father’s face turns to look at him, eyebrows knitted together, mouth set. There is a bruise, greenish, on his cheekbone. 

“I hate you,” Maedhros says, “I am glad you died.” 

“I will go and fetch him,” Curufin says mildly. 

* * * 

He is on the floor and it is dark. In his mind he is watching himself from the outside, not on the floor but before (or now, is it now? He has no way of telling what has passed and what has not) on the bed, and there are many of them in the room with him and he’s biting them, clawing at their skin, and he can taste blood in his mouth, not just his tongue, hair in his hands, feathers coming out of somewhere on the bed, fluttering in the draft from the window, calm yourself, calm yourself, calm yourself, do not— many faces, flashing white eyes, don’t know who, don’t know where, get off, get off, get off—stop, you hurt him, stop—hand over his wrist, crack of the bed below him, the leg of the bed, crack of the oak, get off—

Now he takes his hands to his mouth. Takes his hand to his mouth. Sucks out the bits of skin and blood caught under his fingernails. Doesn’t know when he’s going to eat again. If he is.  

* * * 

Fingon is holding his head, pressing his head against his own breast. Maedhros hears the beating of his heart, faster and more panicked than he’d admit to. His hair is loose and that is how Maedhros knows time has passed, because Fingon keeps his braids in for weeks. It falls like a cloud over and around Maedhros, so long now. Dark curls. 

He’s holding Maedhros tight and he’s saying, “you’re alright, now, pretty babe, you’re well.” He’s saying, “I have you,” and “all is well,” and “no harm done, hush now,” and he’s running his fingers over Maedhros’ ears, and Maedhros weeps and presses against him. 

Then Fingon is on top of him, holding his wrist in one hand and the back of his head with the other, kissing again and again the top of his head. Maedhros wraps his right arm around his waist and shakes and shakes. 

“Is Maglor coming?” he asks, after the worst of it has passed. 

“He cannot come right now,” Fingon says, “he is not here.” 

Maedhros frowns. “Did I hurt him?” 

“No,” Fingon says, smiling tightly, “not for a long time, beloved.” 

* * * 

“I cannot recall,” Maedhros says, watching Maglor stoke the fire, “I cannot recall if you are dead.” 

“I am not,” Maglor says. “Father is.” 

Father frowns. “I am not either,” he says, out of the fireplace, “I am made of flames and thus I cannot die.” 

“Father is dead,” Maedhros echoes. That seems right. “Maglor.” 

“Yes?” Maglor straightens up. He walks to the table. The table is small, wound, carved of wood. It doesn’t look like anything they had before. Maglor pours wine and waters it down, mixes in honey. 

“You must tell me if you have died,” Maedhros says, “it is cruel if you do not tell me.” 

“He is a poet,” Father says, “he must be cruel.” 

“I have not died,” Maglor says, “come, put your hand on my life-vein and feel my heart beat.” 

Maedhros stands up. He is surprised that he can; that he walks now, stumbles a few steps from the chair to little bench by the fire. That he takes Maglor’s hand. Pushes his fingers against his skin. Feels his heart. Boom. Boom. Boom. 

“You must tell me everyone who is dead,” Maedhros says. 

Maglor sighs. “Father,” he says, “Grandfather…” 

But their father speaks over him. “Maglor,” he says, “Celegorm. My brother’s awful sons, they have fallen beneath the ice and drowned…” 

* * * 

“Where is Maglor?” Maedhros asks. “Maglor, Maglor—” 

“Oh, stars above,” Amras groans. His face is covered in blood, the left half of it distorted and ugly and old, the right fair and young and clean. He is his own twin image. “Down, in the cellar, licking his wounds. That Sindar bitch near sliced open his ribcage.” 

“Maglor,” Maedhros calls, “Maglor, Maglor, Maglor.” 

“He is not here,” Father says, “he is dead. He fell beneath the grinding ice and drowned.” 

“I was never on the grinding ice,” Maglor says, sitting next to him in bed. “That’s the host of Fingolfin, remember?” He is smiling and he is young. There is no blood nor dirt on him. “You are at Lake Mithrim, you are well. Eat some eggs.” 

“You are in Doriath, and three of your brothers are dead.” 

“Which three?” Maedhros asks. 

“You can eat any eggs you want,” Maglor says. 

* * * 

He knows it is Maglor standing over his bed, and snaps his outstretched fingers anyways, out of habit. Crack. Maglor howls in pain and Maedhros is happy with himself, then sorrowful. 

* * * 

“Who was it that had his head broken open?” Maedhros asks. They’re sitting outside, on the grass. He keeps catching blades of it in his fingers and ripping it up. Satisfying burst of the stems, damp brown dirt bared underneath. Worms, scurrying insects. “On the stairs. Brain spilled out.” 

Maglor shuts his eyes like the question pains him. Next to him Fingon calmly sips his wine. They’re outside eating. Beautiful morning. 

“Grandfather,” Maglor says. 

“Burst into flame,” Maedhros says. “Stabbed, bleeding underneath the chainmail, bubbled through underneath, blood on the lips. Then fire.” 

“Father,” Maglor says. 

“Hung out like a pelt to dry in the sun,” Maedhros says, “‘ere Fingon took pity and shot him through with his arrows.” 

“That did not happen,” Maglor says, “he did not kill you.” 

“I wish he had,” Maedhros says. 

Fingon moves suddenly, yanks up his sleeve and sticks out his arm. “Bite me,” he says. 

Maedhros hesitates, looking at him. Maglor gapes. “What?” 

“Plainly he means to hurt you, by making you list such things,” Fingon says, “and he means to hurt me, it seems, through his return to the cliffs. It would be easier, Maedhros, if you just.” 

Maedhros bites him. Draws blood. Fingon sits, blank-faced, and sips his wine. Maglor weeps. 

* * * 

“When will you die?” Maedhros asks. He’s in bed, his head on Fingon’s lap. Fingon is stroking his hair. 

“I already did,” Fingon says, “don’t you remember? They caught me up in their whips and they burned me, and you couldn’t do anything. You failed me.” 

“Oh,” Maedhros says. For some time they are silent. Fingon kisses his hair, lips cold as the winter wind. “I do not wish to be alive, if you are not.” 

“Well, too bad,” Fingon says. 

* * * 

The mud is cool under his hands. Roots of trees. Wood caught under his fingernails, wood splinters. Warm air, cool mud. Sweat. 

“Do not leave,” his father says, far below the dirt. But it is too late, he has gone. 

“How might I help you?” a voice asks him. “What do you need?” He wishes to claw, to bite. 

“Maglor,” he breathes, “Maglor, Maglor.” 

“No,” the voice says. 

His heart beats hard against his ears. He thinks. “Wine,” he says. 

* * * 

Fingon wraps his arms around Maedhros’ waist from behind and kisses the back of his neck. Maedhros reaches for him, feels for his warmth in the darkness. A loose feather on the mattress flutters with his exhale. 

“Are you alive?” Maedhros asks. 

“What do you think?” 

Maedhros hesitates. “No?” 

“Yes,” Fingon says. “I live.” 

“Oh,” Maedhros says. His hand finds Fingon’s wrist. “Please do not die. It would be cruel of you to die.” 

(“He is Fingolfin’s son,” his father says, from the corner of the room, “he must be cold and cruel.”) 

Fingon draws him closer. Kisses his shoulder. “Do not fret for me, pretty babe,” he says, “I will live forever.” 

* * * 

“You’re home,” Maglor says, running his fingers through Maedhros’ hair, tucking it behind his ears, “you are well. We have the gems.” 

“I know,” Maedhros says, “I know.” 

* * * 

“If you had killed me, that day,” Maedhros says, “we would have fallen against the forces of darkness. Your father would never be king; or perhaps he would be, after all my brothers were dead, but not for long. We would never have been wed.” 

Out of the portrait Fingon looks down at him, his amber eyes angry. The artist had rendered the crown on his head oddly, like it is lit by a different light source. 

“It is good,” Maedhros says, “I am glad you did not kill me.” 

Fingon scoffs. “We have fallen against the darkness regardless,” he says. “There was never hope.” 

* * * 

He sits in the bathtub and Maglor trims his fingernails, one after the other, with a little paring knife. Maedhros likes the attention. Likes Maglor’s calm grey eyes on him, his focused attention. There is a perfect little circle bruise in the flesh of his forearm. 

“Did I bite you?” Maedhros asks. 

“Yes,” Maglor says, “it is alright. It was a while ago.” 

“I do not remember,” Maedhros says, “I do not know why I do not remember.” 

“Sometimes you cannot,” Maglor says, “all is well. Do you know where you are?” 

The steam rises from the water. Maedhros blows on it, watches it hiccup at the sudden displacement of air. “Yes,” he says, “I know.” 

“How does that feel?” Maglor asks, tracing his nails with the pads of his fingers, “is that good?” 

Maedhros feels it. Dips it below the water. “Good,” he says, “short. I will not bite it to the blood.” 

Maglor beams at him. The water shrivels his fingers.  

“I never want to be anywhere else,” Maedhros says, “I do not want to go.” 

* * * 

“Who was it, that was skinned and withered in the sun?” 

“No one. That was not anybody.” 

“I am quite sure it was someone. I just need the name.” 

“No one, Russo.” 

“What about the elf that jumped into the flames?” 

“That did not happen. You are coming up with dead elves again.” 

* * * 

They are drinking, the three of them. Outside it is winter, though it has not been some while below. Flakes of dry, crumbly snow stick to the window and melt. Icicles hang over the window, catching the moonlight. Maedhros likes to be in the warmth, likes the flickering yellowish light of the candles, the… 

“Living souls,” he says, sipping spiced wine, mixed with brandy, “trapped in the flames. Father…” 

“Shh,” Fingon says, “shh, you are speaking aloud.” 

“Let him, if he wants to,” Maglor says. 

Maedhros doesn’t know what he wants. He drinks. There is one harp in the room and two players; they get in each other’s way, Fingon starting a melody and Maglor wanting to play it differently. Maedhros likes to watch them together; it feels rare, these days. Here they are, each perching on one side of the harp-stool, meant for only one player, bumping elbows against each other, spilling wine and laughing. Maglor’s hair is down; Fingon catches a lock of it in his hand, wraps it around his fingers, yanks. Maglor shrieks with laugher and shoves him. Somehow someone pulls a harp-string, clear notes ringing out over the chaos. 

It is like watching the birds, Maedhros thinks, it is like watching the birds squabbling and preening in the rock caverns below. He doesn’t know how drunk they are. Doesn’t know how drunk he is. 

“You would be a starling,” he says, “you’d be a thrush.” 

He holds out his arms and nudges Fingon with his mind, and then Fingon is on top of him, arms wrapping about his neck, kissing his cheeks. He smells of alcohol and pipe-smoke and herb oils. Maglor’s next to them, laughing, drinking, eating roasted nuts. Maedhros drifts off like that, Fingon solid and warm on top of him, Maglor’s weight on the mattress. 

When he wakes it is dark, and Fingon is sitting by the vanity, painting his eyes. When he reaches for Maglor he is not there. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, thick, hairy. He can voices a room over, a woman’s and a man’s. 

Mother and father, he thinks at first. But that is not so. Mother, certainly, and grandfather, Mahtan, his low voice rolling as the flames of the forge. 

* * * 

Steam rises from the surface of the water. His hair is so long now it falls deep into the bathwater, swirls about like seaweed. Maedhros catches the steam on his tongue, feels the comb bump against the scars on his scalp. 

“Your hair is growing in nicely,” Maglor says. “Even where you tore out the roots. It will be thick and good in no time at all.” 

Maedhros reaches to touch it. “I wish you’d sing instead, Maglor,” he says. 

“I’m not Maglor,” Maglor says. “Look at me. Do you know where you are?” 

Maedhros turns and looks at his brother’s face, his long dark hair, his stormy grey eyes, the freckles scattered over his nose. “Yes,” he says, “yes, I know.” 

Maglor leans over him, and kisses his forehead. “I know it can be hard,” he says. “You’re doing well.” 

“Are you dead?” Maedhros asks him. 

“Maglor, you mean?” 

“Yes,” Maedhros says, “is Maglor dead?” 

“No one can say that,” Maglor says, “no one can say he’s dead.” 

“Did it hurt?” Maedhros asks. “What happened?” 

“At first,” Maglor says, “after that no one can say if it kept hurting. Can you give me your hand? I would cut your nails.” 

Maedhros can, but does not. 

* * * 

“Come with me,” Father says, “fly. Are you a boy, to fear a little fire?” 

* * * 

Maglor comes to lay down next to him. Next to them, him and Fingon, still sleeping on the other side. His fingers are bandaged up, his eyebrows set with pain. He reaches for Maedhros, and draws him forward, to rest against his chest. Strokes his hair. 

Maedhros lets him. He knows now he is holding a viper, a biting fox, an unloveable thing. Let him do as he wishes. 

“You are in the worst of it now,” Maglor says, “you are weary, and horribly hurt. It will only grow better from here.” 

“I wish you’d sing instead,” Maedhros says. 

[zaczenemiji]

Just Keep Swimming (And Complaining)

Tabito Karasu x Reader

Synopsis: Karasu faces his fear of swimming with the help of his ever-loving girlfriend.

Word Count: 1.3k

MASTERLIST | Part 2

Tabito stood at the edge, arms crossed, glaring at the water as though it had personally insulted him.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he muttered.

“Because you love me,” you replied cheerfully, tugging gently on his wrist. “And because I’m right. You never know when you might need to swim. Not knowing how to could literally kill you one day.”

“I don’t plan on swimming in the middle of nowhere,” he argued, but there was a faint waver in his tone—just enough to tell you he’d already lost the battle.

“Life doesn’t ask for permission, Tabito,” you said, stepping into the pool first and turning to look at him with a patient smile. “Come on, it’s just water. You trust me, don’t you?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might storm off. But then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he muttered something about how you were the only person he’d ever let drag him into something so ridiculous.

Slowly, reluctantly, he stepped into the water.

“Alright,” you said, standing chest-deep in the water, your arms outstretched. “First, we’re going to work on floating. I’ll hold you up, so don’t freak out.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Floating? What am I, a piece of driftwood?”

“It’s not that complicated,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Trust me.”

“I’d trust you a lot more if this wasn’t so—” He cut himself off with a sigh, his sharp tongue softening in the face of your expectant gaze. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

You guided him to lie back, your hands steadying him as his body stiffened like a board.

“Relax,” you said, your voice calm and soothing. “The water will hold you up, but only if you let it. Don’t fight it.”

“I don’t do relaxed,” he muttered, but his breathing slowed as your hands gently supported his back and shoulders.

The closeness made your cheeks warm, but you pushed the thought aside. “Pretend this is just another chemical reaction,” you teased. “A balance of forces. You have to trust the process.”

“I hate how that makes sense,” he muttered, but he let out a slow breath, his body softening slightly.

“See?” you said with a smile. “You’re doing it.”

The next few days were filled with progress and complaints in equal measure.

“Stop kicking like that,” you said, watching as Karasu flailed awkwardly in the shallow end.

“This feels wrong,” he snapped, his frustration evident.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said, wading closer. “Here, let me show you.”

You stood behind him, your hands lightly guiding his legs into the proper motion. His sharp intake of breath didn’t escape your notice, and you smirked. “Relax, babe. I’m not going to let you drown.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, but he followed your instructions, his movements becoming smoother under your guidance.

“That’s better,” you said, stepping back slightly to give him space. “Now try again.”

He kicked his legs properly this time, propelling himself forward with surprising efficiency.

“See? You’re a natural,” you teased.

“I’m just good at everything,” he shot back, but the faint smirk on his face betrayed his pride.

By the fourth day, Karasu was starting to get the hang of it. You worked on teaching him how to tread water, standing close enough to catch him if he faltered.

“Keep your arms moving like this,” you said, demonstrating the circular motion. “And your legs need to kick just enough to keep you up. Don’t panic if you feel like you’re sinking.”

He mimicked your movements, his gaze flickering to you every few seconds as if to make sure you were still there.

“You’re doing fine,” you said, moving closer as his balance wavered. “I’ve got you, okay? Just keep going.”

His hands brushed against your arms as he steadied himself, the contact sending a spark of warmth through you. “If this were anyone else,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t have even tried this.”

By the end of the week, Karasu was swimming laps across the pool surprisingly. He still muttered complaints here and there, but his confidence had grown noticeably.

As he climbed out of the water one evening, shaking droplets from his dark hair, he turned to you with a rare, genuine smile. “I guess this wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

“High praise coming from you,” you teased, tossing him a towel.

He caught it with a smirk, draping it around his shoulders. “If I ever survive a shipwreck, it’ll be because of you.”

“And if you don’t survive,” you said with mock seriousness, “I’ll be very disappointed.”

Karasu laughed—a low, warm sound that made your heart flutter. He reached out, pulling you closer with a damp arm around your shoulders.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “Anyone else, and I’d have walked away on day one.”

“And you’re lucky I love you,” you replied, leaning into him. “Because anyone else would’ve given up on teaching you.”

He laughed again, pressing a light kiss to your temple. “Thanks,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, more serious. “For making me do this. For always looking out for me.”

You smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist, “Always, Tabito. You can count on me.”

The two of you sat side by side on the edge of the pool, feet lazily swaying in the water. Karasu leaned back on his hands, sharp blue eyes fixed on the ripples your toes created.

“You know,” you said casually, leaning closer to bump his shoulder, “Now that you can swim, we should totally plan a trip to the beach.”

Karasu’s head snapped toward you, an incredulous expression plastered across his face, “The beach? Are you out of your mind?”

You laughed at his reaction, unable to help yourself, “What? It’ll be fun! Sand, sun, waves… you showing off your new swimming skills.”

He scoffed, sitting upright and giving you a pointed glare, “The only thing I’d be showing off is my patience running out. Sand everywhere, loud kids, screaming seagulls? Sounds like a nightmare.”

Karasu remained stubbornly unmoved as you continued your campaign for a beach trip. The two of you were now walking home and despite your best efforts, he’d shot down every single reason you gave.

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him. “You can’t avoid water forever. Besides…” You grinned, your tone turning playfully smug.

“If we went to the beach, I’d finally get to wear a real bathing suit. You know, not the conservative ones we use for school.”

Karasu blinked, his steps faltering for the briefest second, “…A real bathing suit?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, the grin on your face widening.

“Yeah. Something cute, maybe even… revealing. Not that I’d wear anything too flashy, but still…” You trailed off, shrugging casually. “Guess you’ll never get to see that, though.”

His eyes narrowed, clearly trying to assess whether you were serious. “You’re bluffing,” he said, though his tone had lost some of its usual confidence.

“Am I?” you shot back, enjoying how his resolve was visibly wavering. “Guess we’ll never know.”

For a moment, Karasu stayed silent, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh so exaggerated it might as well have been a theatrical performance, he finally relented.

“Fine,” he said, as if you’d just forced him into a life-or-death situation. “I’ll go to your stupid beach. But only because I know you’ll be insufferable if I don’t.”

“Uh-huh,” you said with a triumphant grin. “And definitely not because of what I might wear, right?”

He scoffed, looking away to hide the faint pink dusting his cheeks, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You laughed, linking your arm with his as the two of you continued walking, “You’re such a terrible liar, babe.”

He muttered something under his breath, but the way his fingers brushed against yours told you everything you needed to know.

The beach trip was officially on.

The beach trip… yay or nay? Comment to be tagged on (possibly) future Karasu oneshots