#maybe it’s because she only attacks once as she says

[the-darklings]

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think. 

He can’t. 

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds. 

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now. 

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake. 

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway. 

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was. 

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her. 

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were. 

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again. 

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs. 

.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest. 

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack. 

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room. 

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl. 

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.” 

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating. 

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.  

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been. 

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

.

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her. 

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her. 

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality. 

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands. 

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well. 

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely. 

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair. 

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly. 

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing. 

You’re the order to my chaos, hero. 

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it? 

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal. 

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home. 

There’s no sleep that night. 

.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move. 

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose. 

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be. 

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right? 

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her. 

Still her. 

Always her. 

. 

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt. 

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away. 

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat. 

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition. 

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet. 

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled. 

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step. 

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against. 

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving. 

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull. 

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink. 

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath. 

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room. 

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him. 

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her. 

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually. 

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again. 

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him. 

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says. 

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been. 

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement. 

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so. 

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

.

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone. 

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way. 

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them. 

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom. 

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere. 

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche. 

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had. 

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth. 

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness. 

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair. 

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all. 

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away. 

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes. 

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close. 

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread. 

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body. 

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

[thegeekproblem]

okay, so there's no way i can actually write this fic, it's maybe too angsty for me? i just know i've been dissociating hard just thinking about it so let's purge the idea of my head. everyone feel free to write this fic, just tag me so i can go and read it. and who knows, maybe i will write it if i feel like i can get my ideas in order.

ANYWAY (timeline? what timeline?)

jason todd, after gotham war, with an implant in his head that makes him feel fear every time his adrenaline spikes, can't live in gotham anymore. once the criminal world in gotham find out about it he's hunted down like an animal, his normal nightmares just wake him up to more nightmares, there's no escape, no place safe. he runs from gotham, from the country. he leaves everything behind to go underground, as far away as he can manage. he returns to the all caste to hide from the world and as a way to at least be safe inside his head he erases all of his memories. everything. there's no bruce, no joker, no sheila, no catherine, no willis.

bruce notices the red hood is gone. he tries to search for him but there's no trace of him, he's just gone. damian says that talia helped him leave but he doesn't know where he is or if he'll ever come back. every once in a while bruce tries to look for him to no avail. barbara has a notification for a face scan world wide, tim has alarms in case he ever returns to gotham. still, jason is gone and life goes back to normal.

years pass and the world is under attack of the untitled and they have no idea how to save it. talia appears telling them the only way it can be saved is working with the all caste, there's a seer inside the caste that has seen what's going to happen and she needs to take them there. talia takes bruce to the chambers of all, even when all she wants to do is see gotham burn.

they arrive and ducra is waiting for them. (ducra knows who bruce is, who he is to jason but it's no longer important, she doesn't tell bruce any of this) ducra takes them to the seer but warns them that he's not completely here, that his mind has lived in the past-present-future and everything that could-would-will happen that he's kinda gone, that he paid the price with his memories so it doesn't matter. bruce doesn't care because he only wants to save the world and has no attachment to this seer.

they go to the chamber of the seer.

it's jason.

god, imagine jason, no memories, frustrated with the world and what it did to him, angry and unable to do anything about it looking at bruce and being like: i'm disappointed. i always wondered what type of person would do this to me? what did i do to make someone hate me this much? but i see you're just a normal human man.

A/N: if i ever get what the plot of this fic is actually about instead of just, you know, jus angst porn, i will write it. i love making jason suffer, but i also love bruce suffering the consequences of his own actions, and amnesia fics are just my jam, i fucking love them! i don't know where everyone else is in this fic, maybe dick and damian go with bruce to the chambers of all while tim and barbara man the fort back in gotham and dick goes all angsty-brother-filled-with-guilt at seeing seer!jason. and maybe jason is still a stubborn pice of shit, he still gets angry even if he doesn't understand why, he still holds grudges even when he no longer has memories. maybe seer!jason knows what's supposed to happen and joins them in gotham. also, imagine seer!jason sacrificing himself for people he doesn't remember because he knows that's what's supposed to happen. also, is there anyway to add jaydick to this fic??? i just love them so much.

[supernova1885a]

I love angst, make my fav characters suffer is basically a tradition.

So I have all this lore that I made up myself while playing based on confusing events and dialogues, so I decided to illustrate a little bit of what the transition from happiness = tragedy would be like in the relationship of these two. I don't know what the hell I saw in that spider but I love them and that's precisely why I'm going to make them suffer, you're welcome.

I MUST CLARIFY that everything I say in this post is not canon or is partially based on the canon of the game. Don't take this as something official, I just want to share a little of my interpretation of both the story and characters. Also that Shamura is a she/her to me, but I will refer to her as they/them in this post.

After Shamura found the others, they moved together to Silk Cradle and worked out what their new life would be from now on. Shamura made very strong bonds with they new family, but especially with Leshy and Narinder, although due to his insistence they spent more time with the latter.

They used to take him with them to their temple and show him the spider webs that decorated the place, as well as teach him to weave and other things. Being the eldest, they had to impart the learning of their siblings as well as help them assume their places as divinities. All with enormous love and affection that grew with the passage of time.

Years later, the five of them grew up and left Silk Cradle to begin to reign in their respective kingdoms. Because Narinder's kingdom was not earthly, he was the last to leave.

Shamura was the one who made and gave their siblings their robes, it was a last gift from them before not seeing them again for a long time. They could not hide their happiness, although along with it there was a slight feeling of sadness, but they knew well that they could not keep them with them for life and had to let them follow their paths.

Of course, there are times when with bad guidance the paths can go awry. Shamura loved their siblings, perhaps too much and that made them very permissive regarding certain actions that they did. Narinder was fed up with his position and decided to go further, breaking the laws of nature, Shamura had a bad feeling but when they realized it was too late. Narinder felt betrayed when they reproached him, because it was thanks to their knowledge that he had done what he did and now they was angry with him.

Maybe it was the tension of the moment that increased with each reprimand from they that caused him to attack them, maybe it was anger or he just didn't know how to control himself. From one moment to the next Shamura fell to the ground, a warm liquid began to stain their face, the screams of their siblings could be heard in the distance and a sharp pain began to overwhelm them. Fear, anger, sadness, pain, they had never felt so many emotions at once, they didn't know whether to cry or scream, whether to get up or stay there, until suddenly everything went completely dark.

Shamura was cared for by their siblings until they was stable, but the pain from their wound was not the only thing that began to bother them. With it came severe headaches, vertigo, dizziness, and memory loss. Despite all that and the harm their beloved brother had caused them, deep down in their damaged heart, they still loved him.

════════════════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════════════════

I haven't worked on this beyond the main concept yet, but I wanted to share it with you guys instead of just leaving it to writing and my imagination! I'm thinking about making a few comics about it, I have a lot of ideas I want to put down here. Thanks for reading!

[maudlxne]

❝ That's also true. Traveling because you have to or for other circumstances makes it less enjoyable. ❞

Not to mention the fact traveling wasn't always safe. Even for civilians and merchants. Between rouge attacks and supply ambushes. It's why merchants often put in applications for protection. Even then traveling could be daunting for another reason. After a certain point, even the trees begin to blur together. There had once been a mission that felt like it had been dragging on for far longer than it had due to such a sensation.

❝ Plenty are probably ready to set down roots of their own now. Maybe as we get older . . . such things like travel have less of an allure as well. ❞

It really wasn't too much of a surprise that there had been an increase in weddings and new families after the war. Many had realized how easily life could be taken away and chose to spend what precious time they had with people they loved. Even with there being peace the life of any ninja wasn't guaranteed. Most tend to live fast and die young. Some even before they had a chance to grow out of their teens . . . which was still a sickening feeling.

She took her town teacup into her hands. Raising it up to take a sip when he spoke. Once again finding herself surprised by his response. How he took into consideration her words and pointed her in a direction. She paused slightly, setting down the cup before it even reached her lips in favor of meeting his visible onyx hue.

❝ Uzushio . . . I will have to remember that. Thank you . . . Sasuke. I would like to visit at least once in my life. I - I think you're a kind person. You didn't have to give me tips on where to go. Yet I'm really happy you did . . . ❞

Perhaps it is a presumptuous thought based off of what limited contact they have had today. This was merely idle conversation and the response could have meant little to him. Yet he kept surprising her at every turn. It would be a lie to say she didn't have some assumptions about who Sasuke was as a person going into this. Yet the man before her her completely re-written most of that. Everyone makes assumptions after all. Only fools let those rule as absolute fact instead of discovering the truth for themselves.

❝ You say you hardly speak - yet I find you a wonderful conversationalist so far. Oh - w - well I guess you've mostly been listening to me prattle. ❞

It was almost strange how comfortable she was right now. Perhaps letting her guard down too early or perhaps not. She's always been a person who wore her fragile heart on her sleeve and followed it blindly.

" Most shinobi have, " he said, " I would imagine travelling for work kills the wanderlust in most. "

That and the pesky fact that once one has seen one village, they all start to look the same. Save for the design of the architecture and the smaller facets of culture. A shinobi career dulls the enjoyment of smaller, finer things; far too focused on potential squabbles and ambushes.

At some point, their drinks made it to the table and Sasuke already clasped his tea up between his fingers, sipping gingerly to it as he listened to the Hyuuga.

" Lotus flowers... " he travels back into his mind of where he might've seen some, " they are native to the Kawa no Kuni. "

Sasuke thought some more, " there's more aquatic life around near the remnants of Uzushio that curve along the peninsula up towards Kiri. " He speaks these locations to her as if she ever had a planned to go. It might be helpful, he thinks.

" If - you were serious about going," he tagged on.

[feelingtheaster99]

Oh man Emily generally rolls pretty well I don’t know why she all of a sudden seems so nervous

[darkdragon768]

I feel like crying.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

So hybrid bulls and cows are actually separate species in MY fantasy world, not male and female.

So you work on a farm specializing in male cows and bulls, the only woman that’s allowed there due to… how the hybrids behave around any females.

You milk them… but not in the normal way. As the only woman on the farm, you’re the only one they’ll allow to milk their cocks. They produce a special semen that’s a milk alternative, and very yummy!

The cow’s are fine enough, following you around and nuzzling into you, wanting cuddles and extra attention when you’re milking them… they behave so well, blushing and mooing softly, gently moving their hips against your hand as you milk their cocks dry.

The bulls however… are a different story. They’re very territorial and protective over the cow hybrids, who they’ve formed a friendship with. They don’t like most people, and tend to be loners that only come around when it’s milking time.

But your pay is upgraded when the farm owners notice that the bulls have started warming up to you, even starting to treat you like a heifer, keeping you safe and guarding you from the other employees.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone but you when the bulls started being a bit… too handsy with you. They viewed you as a heifer now… but you were so small compared to any female cow they’d ever seen. A runt, stunted, maybe…

But you had that chubby tummy and plush hips, those plump breasts that would look so pretty full of milk…

Within a month of starting work, you find yourself being bent over by one of the bulls, the cows mooing in distress and trying to comfort you as a fat cock enters your cunt.

“D-don’t be rough with her! She’s little!” one of the cows protests, stroking your hair and cooing softly to you. The bull huffs, hot air hitting the back of your neck as he fucks into you.

“Being as gentle as possible… little thing, couldn’t take me being rough even if I wanted to be…”

Your cunt was stuffed full with cum, several bulls mounting you until you were a blubbering mess. Once the bulls were done, you were surrounded by cows, getting kisses and snuggles… but they wanted to mate as well…

They pressed down on your belly, cum pooling between your legs as they cooed and gently fucked their own seed into you. By the end of the work day, you were spent, curled up in the hay with several cow hybrids as the bulls guarded the door.

You were payed handsomely for your efforts, and offered an even bigger paycheck to let them mount you at least once a week to let out their sexual frustrations.

They became more territorial around you, but when you weren’t in the picture, the bulls were much calmer and didn’t attack anyone that brought out food or came to give them check ups.

And when you became pregnant… well… let’s just say you were tucked away in the barn, living there with the cows and bulls as your belly grew heavy and swollen.

The cows tended to you, making sure you received all the human comforts you wanted along with their endless affections, and the bulls kept you safe.

———————

A/N: omg… ask me more about this concept because… I’m in love

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @chubbumblebee @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden

[menodoramoon]

She can't help but give a half-humored smile. Almost fair, they had said. Understandable. It was always somewhat uneven. Though, she knows what they mean. Perhaps she had all the magical defenses, but he could kill her easily. She could not come close without corrupted intervention.

The inside of her wrist begins to sting again, pangs of dread echoing in Menodora's heartbeat.

She can see the way he shifts as he touches to the wound on his shoulder. The one she had left there. Her loss of control haunts her now, the way that she had let go of her restraint enough to threaten him. Would she have done the same to anyone else who brought those harsh -- maybe -- truths upon her? Her feelings had been hurt but shouldn't be enough to want to cause harm to anyone. To kill or maim or injure. What kind of Countess was she to do something like that, to someone she at one point had sworn, as a person of Mjaunie, to protect.

Once upon a time, she had sworn to them that she would be a different sort of person.

It felt like that grief was mine, Moon doesn't say, because to replay those memories wouldn't be worth it. It brings them back to that cycle and she doesn't want that. Of harm to each other -- her oblivious nature which irks him, his vicious tongue. How had the two of them ever been friends with these key differences in who they are as people?

She'd looked up to him. They'd been under her power, even if she hadn't realized it at the time. The civilized monster of Mjaunie, aiding the lords and ladies by leveraging their understanding of history and politics. He was a good Monster, she was told. When he turned on her, it felt like a personal betrayal. But it's not so easy, is it?

He rejects her offer to pay for the damages, and while she opens her mouth to protest, she can sense it's far from a mere formality. The refusal is not a performative action, asking Menodora to come back and insist. Tófi was never that way anyhow.

Simply, Menodora nods, accepting. If they were to ask, she'd acquiesce immediately. But for now, she would leave it alone.

Moon's face burns with a subtle shame as she tries to steady her previously rage-filled breathing. As she tries to settle her elevated heart rate. She is angry and angst-ridden but it's not fair for her to feel so hurt when she had quite literally stabbed Tófi for stating things that, while having strung, were true. At least to the degree that Tófi believed them to be true.

"I'm not asking for an apology," Menodora says, meaning it. She flexes her fingers, where her daggers had begun to burn the inside of her fingers. Or at least gave the illusion of such a thing.

He steps towards her as that anguish takes over and she can't help but flinch slightly, taking a half step back. They made no move to hurt her, yet that didn't mean they couldn't. They had done so with their tone and harsh words. She is still reeling, but it's her own mistrust that betrays her. And for that, Menodora is deeply frustrated.

'I should have some ibuprofen somewhere in the kitchen,' they say as they rest their hand on her shoulder. Funny, she thinks. The same one with the phantom scars. But that's not something she'll bring up. It was merely a dream.

Has the darkness spread further up her arms? She feels a slight despair as the stains remind her exactly what she's traded to get them here.

Yes, her and Tófi's friendship, but any semblance of her sense of self as well. Every time she thinks she could be a better person, she's dragged back to the memory of that day.

Isn't that so self-pitying? Tófi wouldn't approve, and neither would mother, she expects.

Still, it hurts. It leaves a slight burning in her fingertips, unrelated to the knives. And pricks under the skin, like it was magic wanting to spill out the same way light does.

It's not shadow magic, something she could control if she only dedicated herself. It's something deeper, a flow of magic that feels unnatural within her body.

"I suppose I attacked you more literally," Menodora murmurs. They don't apologize. It doesn't evade her notice. They'd always been that way, the implication of a thing that was not meant.

Even now, they're concerned for her. She nods, a bit unsteadily. Instead of the half-sob, she's now wracked with an aching headache. Was it the feeling of being weighed down by that old magic, or simply an over-excited over-exertion.

Menodora glances around, looking for something to steady herself. It's only Tófi that she can learn on at this moment. So, she swallows her pride and does so, trying to relax her body and lean slightly into the hand that rests on her shoulder. Trying not to sway slightly. She feels ill and unwell and guilty. Not so bad as to see stars or small, dancing lights, or to see the edge of consciousness, but she feels the need to close her eyes.

She won't. Not yet.

"And what, dear Torvald," She murmurs, wincing slightly at the pinging headache that was forming, "makes such a biting performance necessary?"

She's not exactly looking for an answer, but it's an interesting consideration.

"I'm feeling… a little dizzy, Tófi," she says. finally bringing a hand to press against her temple. "Would you mind terribly if I rested for a moment so long as I promise not to set any more of your possessions ablaze…?"

@ofseptarsis

genfødte sandheder || Tófi & Moon

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Wife!Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Lucifer gets a little too brazen with Alastor's darling wife. Guess the Ruler of Hell would just have to learn a lesson about who you belong to.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, jealous!alastor, soft comforting shower sex, knotting, alastor has a tail, consent, making out, soft kisses, biting, marking kink, alstor laps up the readers blood because he bites a liiiitle too hard, creampie, banter between alastor and lucifer, as well as banter between the reader and angel

☒ Word Count: 1,972

Alastor was quite the jealous type. 

You were his wife in life and death. To say he was protective of you was an understatement. So, it only made sense that Alastor would lose his composure when the ruler of hell himself arrived at the Hazbin Hotel. 

Lucifer was a rather charming man, but you were spoken for. So when he grasped your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your palm, your hand yanked away in the blink of an eye. You could have sworn you heard a crackling growl escape your husband's lips as he watched Lucifer offer you a lustful gaze- and that was simply unacceptable. 

"I see you've met my wife!" Alastor let out a forced chuckle as he looped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You let out a sigh of relief. All thanks to your husband's rescue. Lucifer gave Alastor a pointed look before he blurted out, "You're joking... right?" He scoffed. 

Your face scrunched up in anger at Lucifer's rude remark. "Oh, he's as serious as a heart attack." You spat, snaking your own arm around Alastor's back. You squeezed his waist, a habit of yours that let your dear husband know when you were livid. 

"But- look at you! You're gorgeous, sweetheart, and he's just... freaky." You were about to snap back before your husband's maniacal laughter tore through the room. "Ha Ha! That's rich coming from the short stack!" Alastor quipped, grip tensing around your waist. Lucifer's chest puffed up in defense before he let out an airy laugh. 

"Aha! The height I lack up here, I surely make up for below the belt! Maybe I can show your wife sometime." Lucifer shot you a playful wink, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. Alastor tensed beside you before he let out another forced laugh, ducking low to get in Lucifer's face. "Ha Ha! Fuck you." Your husband spat, voice missing its usual radio static tone. 

Before the situation could escalate further, Charlie intervened. Pushing her father away from the tense atmosphere while mouthing a sympathetic "Sorry!" your way. The aura in the room was stiff. You could certainly cut the tension with a butter knife. "Damn, smiles! Looks like lil' Luci himself has got eyes for your girl!" Angel stated before taking a swig of his cocktail. 

You turned your head in Angel's direction. Shooting him a warning glare. The last thing you wanted was for Angel to get caught in the crossfire of your husband's anger. Alastor remained quiet before he slowly began walking toward the staircase. You could tell he was seething with how his ears twitched atop his head. Your husband flickered up the steps without a word, making you worry. 

"Damn it, Angel! You knew he was pissed enough as is, no need to poke the bear!" You sighed, rubbing your temples as you made your way over to the bar. Husk poured you a drink, shaking his head in agreement. "Dont'cha mean poke the deer?" Angel chuckled, patting your back in a lighthearted manner. Husk cursed under his breath at Angel's remark. 

"Cut that shit out, or he'll put you on his next fuckin' broadcast," Husk grumbled, cleaning a glass with a worn-down rag. You sipped your drink before rubbing your temples once more, shaking your head in annoyance. "I should probably go check in on him..." You spoke to yourself before turning on your heel, waving a small goodbye to your two good buddies. 

"She's in for a loooong night!" Angel giggled, causing Husk to flick his forehead as a warning to "Shut the fuck up."

You took a breath before carefully opening your shared bedroom door. "Darling?" You called out, descending further into the space as you scanned the room for your husband. You peacefully made steps toward your private bathroom, having heard the shower running from beyond the door. To your luck, the door was left unlocked, making it easy for you to slip inside. 

The bathroom was full of steam as your eyes trailed to the red tufts of hair reflecting through the clear glass shower door. Alastor heard you come in, but he still remained silent. Trying his best to cool off. He hated losing his composure more than anything. Carefully, you began ridding yourself of your garments, leaving your clothes in a pile beside Alastor's. You slid the glass door open, stepping into the shower with your husband. 

Alastor's ears were pinned against his head as he stood underneath the shower head, allowing the water to cascade down his face. His back was toward you. Your husband's hands were placed in front of him on the cold tiles. Keeping him stabilized. "Al, my love? Is it alright if I touch you?" You whispered softly from where you stood behind him. A moment passed before he nodded in agreement, still remaining silent. 

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him. Allowing your hands to caress his midsection all the way up his chest. You rested your head in between his shoulder blades, pressing your chest flush against his back. Alastor let out a deep sigh, your touch bringing him much-needed comfort. "That impudent man.." Your husband muttered, ears twitching in annoyance as he did so. You rubbed circles into his chest, placing gentle kisses against his back. 

"He's a jerk, Al. I'm all yours, forever and always," Your lips curled into a smile toward the end of your sentence as you felt his tail wagging, brushing against your lower tummy. Your husband's shoulders eased up from your words. He let out a breath before turning on his heel. Alastor's hands immediately cupped your face, doubling over to capture your lips with his. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands rubbing your husband's sides lovingly as your mouths molded perfectly against one another. 

Your shared embrace lasted a few beats longer before your husband pulled back, half-lidded crimson eyes gazing down at you. "Indeedy, my doe. You're all mine! I suppose I'll have to make it evident to the short stack... and anyone else who dares to court you." His voice dipped low; as did his wandering hands. Alastor's pointed nails dug into the back of your thighs as he hoisted you up. On instinct, your legs wrapped around his slender waist. 

A pleasant gasp escaped you as you felt your husband's hard length brush against your core. Alastor let out a deep growl against the nape of your neck as he nipped at the sensitive flesh there. "Alastor..." You whined. Tipping your head back so your husband could have better access. A shiver ran down your spine when your back collided with the cool tile walls. Alastor bit a little too harshly between the juncture of your throat and shoulder. 

A bit of blood trickled down your collarbone, but your husband was quick to lap it up. A deep groan from him sent a rush of heat down to your core. "Divine, my little doe. Absolutely delectable," Alastor mumbled against your sternum before one of his hands slipped between your bodies. He rubbed the flushed tip of his cock between your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick. "May I, my darling?" Alastor whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he waited patiently for your approval.

"Yes, please..." You sighed, burying your hands into his soaked two-toned locks. Your husband slowly pushed himself past the tight ring of your pussy. Capturing your lips at the same time, drinking up all of your moans as he stretched you open. Your eyes rolled back into your head when Alastor bottomed out inside you. Slowly, you caressed his sensitive ears. Pride pooled in your chest when your husband twitched wildly inside you from the gesture. 

Your lips pulled back from his when Alastor began thrusting into you. His movements were sharp but shallow, not wanting to pull back more than he had to from the warmth of your pussy. Your husband's head fell forward, forehead resting flush against your shoulder. Alastor groaned against your damp skin as your walls clenched tightly around his throbbing cock. All you could do was moan in pleasure as your husband fucked into you perfectly. 

"Mine, all mine..." Alastor huffed out before suckling at the base of your neck. You could feel your husband's knot begin to swell inside you as your own release approached rapidly. Apsentmindly, Alastor's thumb dipped between your bodies. He rubbed at your clit expertly as he jackhammered up into you. Your legs tightened around his waist as the coil within your tummy was only moments from snapping. "I'm yours, all yours..." 

Your words sent Alastor over the edge. He moaned loudly into your neck as his hips stilled, emptying his load deep inside you. The feeling of your husband cumming inside you was enough to trigger your own orgasm. Alastor hissed as he felt your pussy gush around his cock, squeezing him like a vise. After a few moments, you felt Alastor's knot begin to deflate. Allowing his now softening cock to slip out of your inviting heat. "You truly are just darling. How did I get so lucky?" Alastor chuckled as he lifted his head to gaze into your eyes. 

A bashful smile crossed your features as Alastor slowly lowered your thighs from off his waist. Being sure to hold your hips, stabilizing your trembling legs. "Oh, hush! I'm the lucky one." You giggled, untangling your hands from his hair. Allowing your palms to cup his face, pulling him down for a chaste kiss. Alastor kept his eyes open as you kissed, admiring your lovely visage. After a moment, you pulled back, nuzzling your nose into his. "Now, let's get washed up before heading back out there, yeah?" 

Alastor and you emerged from the room a little while later. Meeting up with the group from where they gathered in the foyer. Charlie cheerfully waved you and your husband over, and you didn't miss the way Lucifer scowled at Alastor. "We were wondering where you lovebirds wandered off to," Vaggie stated, scooting over on the couch to allow you both to sit. Swiftly, Alastor sat on the sofa before pulling you into his lap. A smile etched into your face as your husband's arms looped around your frame, large palms caressing the tops of your thighs. 

You heard Lucifer grumble under his breath from the public display of affection. Your friends, on the other hand, had their jaws on the floor. Alastor rarely showed his physical admiration toward you in front of them. So, to say they were shocked was an understatement. "Told ya they snuck away to fuck! Look at her neck, haha- Husk! You owe me that hundred bucks," Angel blurted out. Laughing his ass off. Heat rushed to your face from your friend's crass words. Alastor, on the other hand, glared at Lucifer. His smile stretched from ear to ear as the ruler of hell fumed. 

"Angel-! Husk-?! You made a bet on whether or not Alastor and I would... ah, you fuckers!" Embarrassment flooded your entire being, hands darting up to cover your face. Alastor let out a loud chuckle from your adorable reaction. "No, toots. We're not the fuckers! You're the one who got fucked, aha!" You quickly got up from your spot atop Alastor's lap, storming over to Angel. "Husk, you're next!" You shouted, chasing Angel around the lobby. "Leave me out of this! That dumbass wouldn't shut up until I accepted the bet." Husk grumbled, not entertaining the bullshit. 

All the while, Alastor was giving Lucifer a sharp look with that shit-eating grin still illuminating his features. "As you can see, there's no need for you to show my wife your little chum below the belt. My darling is more than satisfied in my care!"

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Heylo my maggotsies... I'm sorry to do this but I have a thing that I really, really need to do (thank you Ash for helping me realise that) but I'm terrified to. so well. I'm going to make one of the posts (Neil reblogged me a couple of days ago so I feel pretty safe making one now since he only lurks by once in two weeks so this is as good a time as it gets to make a post and not expect many notes, yes I'm an overthinker and I'm actually scared of this getting notes).

Sigh. Here goes.

...I'm scared of even typing it.

Nope okay I can do this let's go.

If this post gets 1k notes, I'll look up jobs in design and film making that don't need a college degree.

2k notes, I'll sign up for an Alliance Francaise course so I can have another language on my CV, and I'll find a course that teaches me how to use design software.

5k, I'll look up distance learning alternatives, because just talking about physical college yesterday made me spend the whole morning and afternoon today in and out of nightmares screaming. Fuck.

10k, I'll tell my mum that I can't do the offline college. She's been talking to me about it, but I've been dodging because I'm not well-off and I really need to be earning and idk how to do that without college and I feel so guilty.

15k, I'll officially back out from the college (does that count as dropping out, if it hasn't begun? maybe half. i am a college and a half dropout, my 11th grade self would hate me and my 10th grade self would refuse to believe it).

I don't know what I'll do then. I don't know how to live as trans here in India, I don't know how to earn enough to be able to help my family, I don't know what I'm good at and I'm so fucking terrified. But. I spoke to @random-doctor-on-the-internet last night (I love you Ash you're such a fucking amazing human) and they made me realise that well maybe landing in a hospital with steroids to relieve an allergy attack because of exam stress isn't normal and so.

Well. Here I am. I know I can't do it, but I'm scared to risk everything, it's just not something people do here, dropping out. But also (TW s**cide statistics mentioned below the cut)... And so I've just. Got to do it, got to save myself and say no to college (cue say no to school, kids joke). Somehow be brave enough. And yeah.

To quote a financial express article: "In an alarming situation, a total of 7,62,648 suicides were reported in India between 2018 to 2022, Of this student suicides account for 7.6% at 59,239". Maybe if more people did say fuck you to the system here, that wouldn't be the case. That number could have been 59,240 (aside from everyone who wasn't counted and hushed up), that could have been me, and I don't want to put myself in that situation again. You know? Yeah.

[raynewolferune]

Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist Pt1

Update 5/16/2024: Congrats guys, gals, and others! You have planted the seeds and they have grown. Today I wrote another 46 pages on this story (the first section was only 9 pages ya'll). I'm working on splitting it up into smaller sections so I can post it now because tumblr said no to doing it as one piece. I'll be using the tag #Meta Jazz Arkham Intern Therapist if you want to follow it.

Original Note: I'm going to go ahead and apologize for how OOC Bane is in this. It originally was Joker but I couldn't see Jazz tolerating his proximity for more than a single millisecond so Bane it is.

~*~*~

The hardest thing about being a Meta in Gotham was responding appropriately during a Rouge's attack, Jazz mused to herself. Or perhaps that was just the hardest part about being a Meta intern at Arkham while studying psychology at Gotham University. Or maybe it was just her, she considered watching the guards and Dr. Rylie whom she'd been shadowing for the past 2 weeks wide eyed, pale, and shaking as theybstared at Bane behind her. It must just be her, Jazz decided, newbie guard Kyle Jennings was definitely a Meta after all. She should probably give him some tips on hiding his enhanced strength considering how often he broke mugs, door handles, and other delicate items used in daily life.

"Weapons down or I'll snap her skinny little neck." Bane growled out, shaking her slightly for emphasis. She very much doubted that. Liminials were built different than the standard Meta, stronger, faster, better endurance, and senses even if they could mostly appear to be standard humans on the outside.  As such, their bones and muscles were much were much denser than regular humans or even Meta humans. Technically, she could be considered "invulnerable" much like the Kryptonians are.

"Back up! Let him through!" Dr. Rylie  shouted at the guards. "She's my student! Let him through!" His voice was higher pitched than she could recall hearing it before.

Ah. That was panic.

Jazz sighed involuntarily and glanced over her shoulder at Bane. Why the man had grabbed the only person close to his own height nearby was a mystery to her - no, nevermind, he clearly meant to use her as a shield - but it made looking him in the eye more difficult than necessary.

"Mr. Bane, remove your hands from my person, please." Jazz stated calmly, channeling what Danny called her inner mom as she spoke. "I will give you to one to comply."

Bane looked stunned for a moment then laughed.

"Five."

The laughing continued. Jazz could sense a stir of uncertainty through her colleagues as they looked on.

"Four."

"Did you really think that would work?" Bane snorted out, arms tensing more around her.

"Three." She continued, indifferent to his words from her experiences raising her brother. Once the count down starts you mustn't respond to anything the kids do or say until they comply or the count is done.

"What cab you even do if I don't?" Bane asked darkly breathing directly in her ear. She kept her face expressionless despite the urge to express disgust.

"Two."

"Jasmine..."  Kyle whispered halfway across the hall from her looking on with a pained and horrified expression. Gun tilting towards the floor. Sloppy.

"One." She finished and Bane gave a derisive snort.

Then she was moving. Hauling the enormous man up and over her shoulder using the arm that had been wrapped around her neck. Bane hit the cold tile hard enough that the tiles, subfloor, structural supports, and part of the concrete foundation buckled beneath him. His shoulder popped out of joint, his wrist cracked - a hairline fracture by the sound of it -  and his breath was punched out of him from the force of impact. She released his arm as soon as his was embedded in the tiles and moved forward. Kneeling over him, support most of her weight on her left foot resting on the broken ground, her right knees pressed firmly across his throat without supporting any of her weight. The position put more strain on her muscles than she would've liked but at least Bane couldn't risk fighting back without crushing his own neck in the process. He could hardly throw her while flat on his back with a mangled arm.

"Now," Jazz began, looking directly into the behemoth's pained eyes. "Do you know what you've done wrong?" She asked like she would have done with Danny as a child.

"Yes, Ma'am." Bane choked out. Jazz heard movement and murmuring behind her. She didn't turn to look.

"What did you do wrong?" She asked. It was important to make sure children correctly understood why they were in trouble after all. There was a long pause as Bane appeared to cast around for the exact right answer as if he feared getting it wrong. A bad habit Danny still uses as well, Jazz thought to herself.

"I tried to hold you hostage," He choked out in a rush, words tumbling over one another as he tried to get them all out. "I scared you coworkers and it was very disrespectful."

So he'd gone for the grab-bag response. It wasn't wrong per sey but it did indicate a past history of abuse. The type of answer given by someone who expected to be harmed or ignored if they gave the "wrong" answer. Danny tended to use that method also and their parents had always been negligent at best.

"And are you going to do it again?" She asked giving him a Look as she did. Bane's eyes widened and he tried to frantically shake his head as much as possible with the pressure on his neck.

"No, Ma'am." He promised fervently.

"Alright then," Jazz said giving him a warm smile. She gestured vaguely towards the guards without turning to look at them. "Kyle here is going to take you to see the nurse and then back to your room then. I'm sure you'll behave for him?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll behave." Bane said. Jazz stood slowly asking sure not to put any additional pressure on his neck as she did. Kyle came and stood next to her as the giant of a man slowly pulled himself to his feet then led him away with 5 other guards.

Jazz heaved a sigh. Well, time to find out whether or not she could play all that off as normal, non-Meta human behavior.

[inkskinned]

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

[luveline]

May I pretty please request an emergency medicine doctor!reader x Hotch blurb? I’d love to see both of them in careers that are difficult, yet despite that they still manage to be together because they understand each other so much. Maybe something with the rest of the team as well if it’s possible 🫶🏼🥹

Emily used to think Hotch would never be happy again. She’d drive him home after work, pick him up in the mornings, and she’d think about how miserable he was, the kind of misery that hooks you in its grip, has you turning to wine or whiskey just to keep breathing. 

She thought for sure he’d buckle. When Hayley died, he’d have to. How could you not? But he kept going and proved she should’ve had more faith in him, becoming the father Jack deserves, and, surprisingly, your partner. 

“You’re squeezing me too tight,” you mumble, just loud enough for Emily and the others to hear you where Hotch hugs you a few feet from the dinner table. “Why are you trying to break my back?” 

“I haven’t seen you in three weeks.” 

“Eighteen days is not three weeks.” 

“It might as well be.” Hotch peels away from you to give you a once over. Emily’s half jealousy and half fondness, seeing him love someone so obviously. “Are you hungry? I ordered for you.” 

“Super hungry. Do I smell like antiseptic?” 

“No, just soap.” 

“Well, that’s not much better.” 

Hotch puts his arm behind your back and guides you to the table. The team squeeze out hellos between mouthfuls and you take your place at Hotch’s side behind a steaming plate. You’re as ravenous as the rest of them after your long shift; Morgan can hardly get a word out of you for the first ten minutes, though he tries, and you attempt to be polite. Emily nudges him until he gets the hint to stop. 

“Here,” Hotch says, putting a heaping of his food onto your plate with a large spoon. 

“Stop.” You attack his spoon with a fork. 

“It’s fine, you like it more than I do.” 

“Don’t care. You need your energy. I’m going to make you carry me up the stairs home.” 

He’s unintimidated. “Ah.” 

“Ah,” you echo. “You sound so doubtful.” 

Hotch looks like he might try to keep flirting with you, but he gives in quickly, betraying how much he’s missed you with a hand slipping under the table. Emily sees his fingers curl over your knee, averting her gaze with a feigned sip of coke. 

She can deduce the silent question you ask one another about anyways. 

“We’ll have dessert,” you say. We won’t skip out early. “What are you having, Dr. Reid?” 

Hotch orders you three different things, which you eat fast. 

“They’re not feeding you at the hospital?” Rossi asks. 

“Three emergency transfers in twelve hours,” you explain, slouching now into Hotch’s side, one slow inch at a time. “I didn’t have time for much.” 

“That’s not healthy,” Hotch murmurs in concern. 

“I’m sure I can ask any of your friends about your eating habits and find a similar schedule,” you brush him off, raising your gaze to Emily, then Morgan, then Rossi and Reid. Everyone smiles the same way. Hotch is caught, and his laugh jostles your shoulder. 

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘do as I say, and not as I do?’” he asks. 

God, Emily thinks with a huff of a laugh she can’t contain, get a room. 

“He likes that one,” Spencer says. 

“I don’t doubt it.” You lift your lips to his jaw and press a peck to the line of it. One, then two. “Maybe that’s why we've lasted as long as we have. Mutual disregard for our wellbeing.” 

“And a great deal of care for each other,” Rossi says, nodding sagely. “This is why my marriages never last.” 

“Is that why?” Spencer asks. 

“You’ve gotten to be quite the lark.”

“Lark,” Hotch whispers to you. Emily, sitting at his other side, might be the only one who hears, the others distracted by Spencer and Rossi’s ensuing squabble.

“Scoundrel,” you agree. 

“How’s your head now?” 

“It’s gonna be a hundred percent better if you give me that,” you say, pointing hopefully at his full drink. 

He doesn’t hesitate to press it into your hand. Emily would never suspect you hadn’t seen one another for weeks; you move and he follows. You rub your cheek against his shoulder. He touches his nose to your hair, his eyes shuttering closed for one stolen, blissful second. “Missed you,” he says under his breath. 

Emily looks away with a smile. Hotch isn’t hopelessly miserable anymore. 

[itneverendshere]

thinking of how rafe wouldn’t want you to work while pregnant

that man would be so stressed, since day one!! and bartender!reader would noooot give him a break, still covering bartending shifts even tho she was the manager bc she simply enjoyed doing it every once in a while. and he's like ?????? will you sit your ass down PLEASE. but you're not listening, if there's ONE thing the pregnancy hormones gave you was extra attitude. somethin' along these lines:

rafe could feel his jaw clenching as he watched you across the room, rolling your eyes for the third time in the past five minutes. you were doing it on purpose now, deliberately ignoring him while standing behind the bar, mixing drinks like you weren’t six months pregnant.

the bartender had called in sick, and you, the manager, jumped in and covered for him. rafe crossed his arms, leaning against the counter, and tried not to look too annoyed, but fuck if it wasn’t hard.

you still had that spark in you, that independence that drew him in from the start, but now? now it just made him worry.

worry like he never thought he could.

“you’re really gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that?” he called out, his voice carrying over the chatter around the country club.

most people were too busy with their drinks and golf gossip to notice you two bickering, but anyone paying attention could see that familiar dynamic. you doing whatever you damn well pleased, him trying to keep his cool, which he never really could when it came to you putting yourself at risk.

you glanced at him over your shoulder, hands moving like second nature as you garnished a drink. “’m fine, baby” you told him, voice just as breezy as ever, like the huge bump pressing against your shirt was nothing more than an accessory. “it’s just a couple hours.”

there was that old habit of yours—acting like everything was fine when you clearly weren’t. or maybe you were, but that wasn’t the point.

the point was, you shouldn’t have to be there.

“you say that, but i know you’re gonna be hurting later,” he muttered, pushing off the counter and walking around to your side of the bar.

his hand landed gently on your waist, thumb brushing the small of your back like he always did when he wanted to get you to stop for just a second.

“c’mon, baby. just take a break, you don’t need to be on your feet like this.”

it wasn’t that you didn’t want help—you’d worked through that over the past couple years—but that stubborn streak was still there.

“’m not some porcelain doll,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes again, “’m not gonna drop dead because i’m pregnant.”

he felt his stomach drop when those words left your mouth. "jesus christ, woman," he muttered, his eyes widening in exasperation. "don’t say that shit.”

“alright, my bad,” you gave in, “didn’t mean it like that.”

rafe sighed, his hand still resting on you. he hated when you talked like that, like you had to remind him how capable you were. of course he knew. 

"promise me you're taking a leave starting tomorrow," he practically begged you despite attempting to sound firm, but that undertone of worry had been his constant companion ever since you'd found out you were pregnant. 

"next week," you sang back, not even looking up from the drink you were finishing. 

you were still in work mode, determined to keep things running smoothly despite the fact you should’ve been at home, resting.

"tomorrow," he insisted, leaning in closer, his voice softening but no less serious.

you turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "next week, or you’re not getting sex for the next three months. now get outta my bar.”

rafe blinked, his jaw going slack as he stared at you, completely blindsided. 

“what—"

“go on,” you gestured toward the other side of the counter with a flick of your hand, “out.”

his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, like a fish. he was processing, but slowly.

"but… baby," he whined, his voice dipping into a tone that could only be described as kicked puppy. “just—wanna make sure you’re okay. that you’re safe, and you’re not overdoing it. you can’t kick me out, i need to be around you.”

you gave him that look, the one that told him he was pushing his luck. "rafe, i swear to god—”

he let out a long, dramatic sigh, but started to back off, lifting his hands in surrender.

"alright, alright, ‘m going," he grunted, dragging his feet toward the exit like a kid being told to go to bed. but before he did go, he turned back one more time, his eyes pleading. "i’ll be outside if you need me."

"of course you will," you muttered, shaking your head with a half-smile. you knew he wasn’t going far, probably just far enough to hover and peek through the windows, pretending to give you space but unable to help himself.

"i love you, stop spiraling," you called out after him.

he paused, turning back to look at you, his expression softening.  

“love you too.”

[cosmopretty]

Paige Bueckers X Fem

synopsis: After a bad game Paige comes home and needs a way to get her anger out and it always helps by fucking you

warnings: smut, nsfw

Tonight was a big night for Paige she had home game, sadly you couldn't make it because you were helping one of your friends go through her breakup. Paige said she understood I mean you went to almost every one of her games she called you "Her good luck charm" because she felt like you were one of the reasons she could win. It wasn't real, it was her talent and hard work that helped UConn win, but regardless she gave you credit.

Instead of watching the game on the TV like you said you would, your friend wanted to watch The Titanic, rolling your eyes you agreed. By the time Paige comes home your friend was long gone, back to her dorm.

Laying down on the bed you flinch hearing the dorm slam shut, getting up you walk over to Paige only to see her with her hand in her hands on the counter. Confused you walk up to her slowly "Paige? Honey are you okay?" you ask her quietly not wanting to upset her further.

She pushes her self off the counter and stands to her full height, her six foot tall frame towering over you "I lost the fucking game, missed the last shot. It was all my fault" she says almost yelling at you.

"Oh Paige- you know-" Before you can finish your sentence she interrupted you "You wanna help me feel better?" she asks you walking closer to you, her hand coming down to hold your hip.

She squeezes the flesh "Of course Paige" you answer her almost immediately.

The tall girl smirks "Then go lay down on our bed naked and wait for me" she says leaning down to kiss the side of your neck before abruptly letting go of you.

Walking away from your you start to take you shirt off as you walk away, your back to her.

Once you get back into your room you strip of the the rest of your clothes. This wasn't the first time Paige came home angry just to fuck the shit out of you.

Before you can even sit down Paige storms in pushing you down on the bed and climbing on top of you. She flips you both over so she’s straddling your waist.

Immediately your body submits to her even if you didn't want to. She knew how to push your buttons and make you hers. After all you were her girl.

"You're my good luck charm and you weren't there, maybe if you were we could have won" She says her hand moving down to your core, rubbing her fingers through your folds.

Before you can even think to reply to her words she shoves two of her long veiny fingers inside of you. Without giving you time to adjust she starts pumping them in and out of you roughly.

Your legs try and squeeze shut but her hand stays between them fucking you. Staring up at Paige as you whine "Fuck P-Paige" you whimper.

The feeling of her fingers abusing your walls so roughly made your stomach tighten, you knew you weren't going to last long. Her voice snaps you out of your thoughts "Come on and cum for me baby" she encourages you her thumb coming to rub your clit.

The sensations of her attack on your clit and fingers pumping into you caused your stomach to tighten so hard you came crashing down on her fingers "FUCK PAIGE" you moan loudly your cum coating her fingers, dripping down.

She smirks sliding her fingers out of your hole before pushing them between her lips, sucking your juices off. Her eyes lock on yours as you watch her suck your cum off of her fingers "Your so hot Paige" you admit accidentally out loud.

The blonde smirks pulting her fingers out of her mouth "I know" she says getting off of the bed and stripping of her clothes. Once she's fully naked she stares at you while she starts harnessing the strap to her hips. You knew you were in for it, she wasn't stopping until she was done, it didn't matter how many times you came.

Paige climbs back on top of your rubbing the strap though your folds collecting your slick

"How bout you ride me baby? Show me you're a good girl and maybe I'll be nice" she tells you flipping you both over so you're straddling her waist. Her back leans against the headboard as her hands hold your waist squeezing the flesh "Go on baby give me a show" she commands pushing you up to hover over her strap.

You slowly push yourself down the strap before falling all the way down, your jaw falling slack as the long strap pushes through your hole into your gummy walls.

She smirks moving your hips with her big hands pushing you up and down on her strap “Such a pretty girl” she whispers her head dipping down into your neck.

Her mouth leaves warm open mouthed kisses down your neck as her strap pushes through your gummy walls. You moan your head dipping back “God P- Paige fuck-“ you whine as she starts sucking on your sweet spot.

“You gonna cum baby” She asks you kissing behind your ear as her hands help speed you up.

Your hands squeeze her shoulders as you nod feeling your stomach tighten “Yes please let me cum P” you beg her. Your hips grind down harder on her strap as it hits your G spot.

Her blue eyes bore into yours “Okay princess go on cum for me” she demands her hands squeezing the soft skin of your hips. Her hips jerk up thrust the strap deeper inside you as she helps you cum.

“F-fuck fuck” You moan pulling Paige into a kiss as you feel your stomach snap and let go, cumming all over her strap.

Paiges lips muffle your moans as she helps you ride out your high. She pulls away from the kiss and embarrassing string of saliva between you both.

You stare at her out of breath the strap still inside you “Your so pretty, all fucked out for me” Paige whispers one of her hands moving up your body to push some hair behind your ear.

“Too bad I’m gonna ruin you” She mumbles flipping you over onto your back faster than you can even think.

You stare at her confused about to say something before she interrupts you “Don’t look at me like that baby, ready for round two?” She asks smirking.

A/N: THE BITCH IS BACKK!!!!

DID YOU MISS ME? I MISSED YALL

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ monster trio & kissing

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤmonkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, sanji vinsmoke

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, gn! reader, sfw, fluff?, what constitutes as fluff idk girl, established relationship w/ zoro and sanji, luffy is a secret third thing i guess?, stray 'kms' threat in sanji's part

from vyon. big up to alex turner and no. 1 party anthem; luffy's is marginally longer because he's my most specialiest boy and he deserves special treatment and i struggled way too hard with characterising sanji in a relationship aside from all the embarrassing simping stuff, he's just amazingly pathetic, i don't wna talk about it, the main star here is luffy

like a lot of other things, kissing comes easy to luffy. though he's never had any couples around him as he grew up, he's been on enough adventures to catch a number of couples share a few quick pecks here and there. sabo's once mentioned kissing as well— a sort of distant memory that comes back when your lips first land on his cheek on your supposed first date. it might be sabo's fault, or his parents, that luffy believes kissing to be bleugh before he's tried it. though in sabo's defence, there wasn't a child in the world that would want to see their parents kissing. still, it isn't as bad as sabo made it out to be, luffy thinks as his wide–eyed gaze follows you back onto the sunny. there's something in the shape of your lips sunburnt onto his cheek, crisp just underneath the scar he'd gotten as a child.

the old scar is a smudge between a burning hypersensitivity and a cold unfeeling stretch of skin; your lips brush against the scar and it tingles itself into simultaneous death and rebirth. burning, melting— luffy presses a hand against his cheek and feels full. then his lips pull into a grin and the burn of your lips spreads out, pushing through every fold of skin as his hand reaches out for the sunny and he flings himself into the air, allowing the feeling to crawl through sinew.

luffy is no stranger to touching— he does it in painstaking excess, but there's a childhood teaching in him that kissing is not the same as touching. he stares at nami for a while, wondering if the instinct to feel her is the same as it is for you; she gets annoyed by his unwavering stare and swats at his head. he decides it's a no.

kissing is meant to be con... consumption? conservative— constellation? no, it's one of those 'c' words that he doesn't really remember, but he knows that he's supposed to ask you if you want him to kiss you. he doesn't understand the idea of waiting for permission but he'd really hate it if you were grossed out, like ace once told him would happen if kissing happened unconventionally(?) (that's not right he thinks), so he asks you one day.

as simple as he gets, luffy comes up to you and asks. "do you want me to kiss you?"

you splutter in shock and you hear movements on the deck still. luffy thinks he'd maybe forgotten something that the people in foosa village taught him but he waits for you to answer anyways. it doesn't come because sanji is aiming a kick at his head and shouting at him about the delicate intricacies of romance and courting. through all the dizzying flips of colour as he jumped away from sanji's attack, a kaleidoscope of the things he loves the most (the sea, his ship, his crew) in his eyes, he sees the hesitant embarrassment that colours your cheeks in. the burn that you've placed in him sparking up a fuse between the two of you at the slip of his tongue against gums and he laughs, swinging away and crash landing on whatever usopp was building out of sticks.

you return to him at a more private time, slip up next to him wordlessly— he doesn't say anything so you fear that he'd forgotten.

"do you still mean it?" your shoulder knocks against his.

"mean what?"

you turn to look at him, your eyes flickering down. "when you asked if i wanted you to kiss me."

that gets his attention, his head turns to you with a flexibility only he has— his eyes blinking at you carefully. "i did, did you make up your mind?" his lips pulled up into a grin, "you want me to kiss you now?"

you wish he had a less abrasive way of asking, but the answer is the same regardless. you nod and luffy takes.

you're not sure what you're expecting at this point. you know how luffy is about psychical touch, he's no stranger to it— everything he's ever known, he's ran his hands over. the amount of times you've been knocked down to his reckless habit of flinging himself into your back, you expect the same thing here.

luffy inspects you for a moment, the corners of his lips pulling down before twitching into a pout, "it's not gonna hurt, silly, why'd you look like that?" he shifts his body to face yours, his knees knocking against yours as he pushes his face closer.

then, his lips stretch outwards— his damn devil fruit— and it's so comical how his puckered lips pulled towards you to press gently against your cheek that you're laughing when it snaps back into place. luffy laughs along with you for a moment. a gooey comfort strained inside of you, your hands pressed against his cheeks— you find a simple joy in pulling his face, and then you find a better joy in leaning yourself closer to press your lips against his.

you're giving so luffy takes. he shifts onto his knees for better leverage to lean into you— the movements are stiff and careless. he's less kissing you and more just pushing his face into yours but you can feel the strain of his smile against your lips so no matter. being luffy, he pushes and he pushes greedily until your hands move from his face to the deck to keep yourself from falling.

it's so stupid how, even though this sucks, you want to make an occupation of kissing him.

it becomes a habit for him to kiss you no matter how far away you are by taking advantage of his devil fruit. eventually, he does get better; you realise why after a pointed comment from robin that hints to the fact that he'd asked her for kissing tips.

zoro is all lingering touch, heated spaces, and fizzling affection. it's not often that he gives you the pleasure of being skin close with him— not that you mind. he's eye candy enough, grunting and sweating in a handstand with barbells methodically placed on his feet and boxes of miscellaneous supplies for added weight. he's never been the type to need the world in his life; everything he's done has always been to prove a sick something to himself, to his strength.

his devotion is similar. there's no place for prying eyes in your relationship when there's you, the fulfilling adoration, and zoro. sometimes, there is also his swords and other times, there is an overwhelming luffy (who knows no boundaries).

he's always more forgiving with you, but he draws the line at excessive pda and you respect that boundary. fleeting contact has never been zoro's strong suit, he's an all or nothing soldier so when it comes to kissing, he likes the ready privacy that allows him to indulge. so he ignores the pointed staring, how you've made yourself comfortable on the benches in the crow's nest; your body sprawled out following the curve of the seats as your face turns red from how you have your head hanging off the cushioned planks.

he grunted, turning his head back down to the floor before he loses his balance.

you start counting, "one, two, three." he's well past those measly numbers but he lets you do as you please. "four, five, one, three, sixty–five, twelve, two, negative five, twenty, fourteen, nine—"

he folds his legs down against his chest, letting the weights fall to the floor with a thud. "alright," he straightened up, "you've made your point." an unimpressed look crosses his face.

your lips curled up into a grin and then you pull yourself up, throwing his towel at him. he takes the hit to the face and presses his hand over the fabric to wipe away the sweat and falls next to you, sliding his body down for his head to lay on your thigh.

"ewwww," your face scrunched up, "you're sticking to me." his hair is clinging to his forehead, interrupted strokes of green paint against his temple.

"shut it."

a laugh is quiet on your lips as zoro falls into the comfort of the moment, his eye closing. you trace over his face and then you crane yourself down, ignoring the ache in your spine and neck, your lips fall onto his forehead, "one." you counted. then onto the space between his furrowed brows, "two," his nose, "three". over his eye, "four." you pull back just in time to feel his lashes scratch over your lips.

a heavy judgement in his eye, stern and serious— he curls an arm up to press against your nape and pulls you down. there's a weight that's tethering you to the moment in the curves of his arm and a light–headedness that makes the stillness burst at the seams as zoro ignites everything alive. it's a slow and careful thing, how his head rises to meets yours and then how it tilts so he can slide his lips onto yours.

his arm drags across your neck until you feel moisture in the contour of his calloused hand, fingers pushes into your hair as zoro leans back from your lips, humming. "five." he says, a whisper of a smirk on his lips. a flicker of tender violence in how he fists your hair at its base and pulls your head back to give himself access to your neck. all or nothing, you're reminded, he drags this kind of simple affection into long, several moments.

he continues counting, picking up where you left off until you both hear luffy calling for zoro to help him fish and your relationship mellows back down, protected in loud secrecy.

there's always a strange line to tread when it comes to sharing intimacy with sanji. he's the quickest to melt when it's passing pecks, a second touch of your chapped lips against his cheek.

it depends on the atmosphere of the moment. just as quick as you can puppeteer him to pliant stuttering, sanji is more than capable of wearing you down to your barest core with his appreciative methodical gestures.

what everyone else is most familiar with are the fast moments of sanji softening when you offhandedly touch him. a simple smile on your lips as he gracefully sets your plate down in front of you, ease in the way your head turns to face him and you give his cheek a grateful peck, a quick kiss against his lips when you're splitting ways upon docking on a new island. it's enough of a spectacle that luffy makes the same laughing racket when you kiss sanji casually to see him twirl with new founded energy and hearts in his eyes; that zoro has a trademarked insult ready on his lips whenever it happens; that nami owns a jar that sanji has to put money into whenever he starts his weird dance.

it's almost easy to forget how sanji reciprocates. love has always been a second language to him— it's burrowed in his every unhurried moment when cooking, it's a burn that drove an abscess in him when he was younger, it's straightened postures and the clean lines of his stature for every perverted thought that plagues him. his every move carries an echo, a drumming confession that rings i love you, i love you, i love you until the words are bleeding raw into each other and you feel undeserving in his passion that stinks of cigarette smoke.

the disturbance of the lit end against a clear canvas of blue skies, his arms folded over the handrails of the sunny, the strokes of grey smoke that taints the pristine clouds that rest languidly; a rigid lock on his features until you're brought to his attention with your shoes clicking against the deck. his face shifts into something more delicate— full of feeling that's different from his usual excitable manner.

"bad for you," you begin with a light–hearted scold, plucking the cigarette away from his lips. he turns to you, his back against the handrails.

his restless hands search for touch and find an answering comfort on your skin, turning up and down over the shape of your hips until his thumbs dig into the waistband of your bottoms. "don't," he pleads, "you know it kills me when you're disappointed."

your lips turn upwards, "should i cry?"

"please." his voice wavers between a weak warning and aching desperation as his head falls onto your shoulder, pulling you closer.

the smell of smoke is cauterised into his skin— you don't mind it and you don't mind him smoking, but you think it's funny to act like you do if it has sanji like this. his hair scratches against your skin, tickling an itch he'd placed in you long ago and you thread your straying hand into the strands as his fingers press demandingly into your hips. following your motion, sanji turns his head to look up at you.

a furrow in his brows and a plea in his eyes.

"you know i'm teasing," you lean down, pressing a kiss against his lips as an attempt to appease him, "but you know i'll have to kill myself if chopper comes and redirects his disappointment at me again." you sigh, weary at just the topic. "i mean seriously, he looks at me like i'm the one shoving cigarettes into your mouth and forcing you to inhale."

sanji tries to focus on your words but your lips have left him cold when you pull away; suddenly, being skin to skin isn't enough and he's trying to placate the greed that is curdling inside of him. it works for the better half of a second, his thumbs pull out of your waistband and his arms wrapped around you, one around your waist and the other dressed against your back.

he ducks his head down and settles his craving.

sanji is gentle all around, careful to make even his affections palatable. he starts slow, testing waters that he's skinny dipped in previously and when he finds no rejection, he moves in deeper. he's a lifelong hunger that can never hope to be satiated when close to you, unwavering in a promise that has wedding bells ringing deep in your bones.

there's a new memory of a life he wishes for you, brought to life and fed by the taste of you. for now, he has to pull away as the ship rocks into a tempestuous sea and panicked feet disrupt the echo of the bells. nami starts to shout orders. he pulls away. his heart stutters in time with the unpredictable storm. sanji trips over his feet on his way to pull up the sails and he starts twirling when it makes you laugh.