#rain master's hat

[benevolenterrancy]

no rest for the wicked

(part of a larger project i'm working on, but i liked how this one looked on its own)

[irldrfan]

yet another rain code meme

[martinas-hat]

heterosexuals ❤️

(reupload because i forgot martina's tattoo)

[numbuh424]

now how are you gonna put a megane dogboy in your game and expect me to be normal about it???

[shadowdemon-gd]

If you like anything here, we should be mutuals (this took way too long to make)

[lilydysstuff]

A kiss in the rain 🌑🦑🌧️

(Im too lazy to colour some parts black bc it's so late here and I have to go upstairs 😭)

Edit: I've finally had some time to put some black colour to some parts jsjsks ( I also added more lightings to it)

[rosenbergi]

Interesting how at least some detectives can use their Forensic Fortes at any time. Makes you wonder if they use them for daily life stuff.

I think so! I feel like Desuhiko and Fubuki in particular would be very fast and loose with how they use their Forensic Fortes, for example Fubuki seems like the type to rewind time for something silly like forgetting her keys.

But aside from that, I get the impression Pucci and Aphex don’t have an off switch on theirs? It makes me think they’re always using them without thinking about it, but that’s just speculation.

[flowersdiceandlove]

Been thinking about how it was a drought that started the downfall of Xianle. About how when Xie Lian descended he used the Rain Master's hat to make it rain where the drought hit the worse--Lang-er Bay--and how he kept doing so even after the fighting started. About how Xie Lian insisted on doing so even when it drained so much power to run around like that and no one even knew he was doing it. He kept trying to make it rain, but a hat can only hold so much water. It could only make a light trickle for a short time before he needed to run to get more water to bring. Thinking about his own downfall, the chain of events and how he couldn't keep making it rain after some time, stretched too thin.

Thinking about how, after his banishment, Xie Lian chose Lang-er Bay to lie in to give the people one last chance. How on the last day it started raining. Heavy. A downpour so heavy that that man with the rice couldn't even see Xie Lian in the road until he sat up and tripped over him. How that man gave Xie Lian his bamboo hat, the same type of hat that Xie Lian used to bring rain to this very place, to shield him from the rain.

Something something Xie Lian's downfall started with a drought, and was brought back from the brink by the rain in the same place it all started.

Feel free to expatiate on this. I'd love to hear your thoughts

[red-ruth]

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED AT COTA

30 minutes before race start, it rains. The track’s wet. The majority of the grid is on wet weather tyres. The track then dries. Marc realises they’ve got the wrong tyre choice. You can see, him, sitting on the bike, face up, hat off, waiting for raindrops and There Aren’t Any.  

He tells his mechanics he might leave the grid, he knows he's got a second, dry bike waiting.   At the 4 minute marker, he gets off the bike. Pecco notices. At exactly three minutes before race start, right as the title sequence starts, Marc dips and books it to pitlane. Pecco clocks what he’s doing in half a second. Alex thinks he’s forgotten his earbuds??? (LOCK IN ALEX) And soon the majority of the front three rows + some soon follow. They cut from the intro (which never got finished btw 🙁) to Chaos. Mechanics are everywhere. The riders engage in a 200 meter sprint to grab their second bikes and make it down the pitlane (keep in mind, the warm up lap is still going to start in like 2 minutes)  Maverick Vinalez appears to have unrelated mechanical problems and is running around bikeless. Marc nearly runs over some grid girls. A honda is on pole position. And so they red flag. Restart. And funnily enough the race ended there don’t really remember what happened after that.

  BUT, if you don’t know what happened with the rules, what Marc was plotting and why he’s now master of the dark arts, here’s a comprehensive explanation as to why this all went down...

  The rules state that if you leave the grid before the start of the race, you have to start from pit lane. If more than 10 riders leave the grid before the start of the race, the quick start* procedure is enacted.  

Quick Start: The riders that are in pitlane start the sighting lap from pitlane. When they reach the grid a single mechanic from their team will be standing in their qualifying grid position (unless the grid positions had been changed by race direction WAS NOT THE CASE) The mechanics will then leave. Riders start the warm up lap, and the race start proceeds as normal.  

If 10 or less riders had been in the pitlane, ergo, quick start procedure is NOT enacted. They would have started the sighting lap from pitlane, lined up on the grid in their positions, done the warm up lap, race start as normal etc EXCEPT they have to then take a ride through penalty once the race starts, likely within the first three laps. A ride through penalty is when a rider has to come through the pitlane during the race, taking 20/30 seconds out of their lap time.  

According to Marc, at 7 minutes he asked if the dry bike is set up, and he says he might leave the grid. Also according to him, he knew this rule with the quick start procedure, and he knew if enough riders leave, he would not take a penalty and still be on the right tyres. So why did he bolt at the three minute mark, and not as soon as he realised he needed to change? He was off his bike for a whole minute, waiting. My guess is that the closer to race start he got, the more chaos he’d create and put pressure on riders and race direction.

Remember, nearly a minute before the riders were supposed to start the warm up lap, there were still personnel on the grid, grabbing bikes, there was whatever the fuck was going on with Vinalez, mechanics in the pitlane getting new bikes ready, race direction caught with their damn pants down, they could notttt have safely started with all that going on.  

So Marc needed the grid to follow him, + the chaos essentially, or else the quick start procedure is not enacted and he still gets that penalty. And so what if Marc/no other riders left the grid? Well the race goes ahead as normal, but they'd almost certainly do a pit stop during the race to change to the dry bike anyway. A pit stop takes more time than a ride through because you have to pull in and swap bikes. Its more of a penalty to do a pit stop than the actual penalty for leaving the grid.

I know Marc is acting all confident that so many riders would follow him and the quick start procedure would be enacted, however, he is a lying liar. He probably knew that either option is still better than staying on the grid. That’s probably what made him leave. It actually points out a big flaw in the regulations that it’s beneficial to create more chaos than it is to just do a pit stop in these sort of circumstances where a pit stop to change bikes is inevitable.   Here’s the thing, according to Simon Patterson, MORE THAN 10 riders did not leave the grid. Exactly 10 did Marc Marquez, Fabio Di Giannantonio, Alex Marquez, Pedro Acosta, Franco Morbidelli, Pecco Bagnaia, Joan Mir, Jack Miller, Maverick Vinalez and Fermin Aldeguer Either this is a misunderstanding from race direction who thought the rules state “AT 10 riders in pitlane” rather than “more than 10 riders in pitlane”, ORRRR they DID know that there were not enough riders but because of the amount of personnel in pitlane, on the grid and the general chaos generated by a certain someone leaving it LITERALLY last minute, they decided to enact the rule regardless, which lines up the official statement from Race Director Mike Webb

“We called for a delay and then a quick start procedure for safety reasons. Given the amount of riders, bikes and pit staff on the grid and in the pitlane area, it was impossible to start the warm up lap.” 

HOWEVER, there is a chance that Johan Zarco is the 11th bike which made the red flag come out. If you watch the replay, you can see Johan Zarco come off the bike in the background of a shot.

Johann Zarco very clearly off his bike

The next shot is of the red flag. So either, the stewards saw Zarco appear to intend to leave the grid and immediately red flagged knowing he would be the necessary 11th rider. In which case the statement from race direction is an explanation of the regulation itself, not providing reasoning as to why they disregarded it.     But given that the shot of the red flag is so soon after Zarco gets off it could be his action is simply him reacting to the red flag and Simon Patterson is still correct, the red flag was put out before the necessary amount of riders actually left the grid.     Either way, the regulations are now going to be revisited. Marc is on a level of mind games undiscovered by man. I love this sport.

[gourmand-cookie]

could i get a platonic shadow milk cookie with kid y/n? just like including one of his stage plays, dressing reader up n such, id think that would be a little cute

cant wait to see where youd take this 🐊

Funny friends that make you laugh

title taken from Glass Animals - Youth! hoo boy, im tuckered out so if there's any typos that's why, also, Y/N's fit is a mix of the MyCookie Sweet Lies and Deceptive Whispers set :3

You were Shadow Milk Cookie's little white lie.

Dressed in milky pale robes and boots, the only splash of blue being that of your hat and broach that was a smaller replica of the older cookie's soul jam, armed with a lance that was just the same size as you.

Cute as a button, you fit the part well.

Tags: Child!Reader, Shadow Milk Cookie & Reader, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Accidental Kid Acquisition, Platonic Relationships, Canon Divergent, Silly, Hurt/Comfort, Taking Creative Liberties, Mentioned Black Sapphire Cookie, Mentioned Candy Apple Cookie, Complicated Relationships, Shadow Milk Cookie and his innocently evil godchild friend

Your origins were never really known. One day, you just popped up in the Spire of Deceit and you had been there ever since.

In all technicalities, you were Shadow Milk's first minion, if you could even count as one.

He didn't know what to do with you back then, fresh off of corruption, high off of tapping into the darkened magic of the moon.

Oh but you were a lovely audience member who oo'ed and ahh'ed at everything he'd done, clapping happily at the sight of cookies dancing to his tune, so he let you stay.

You were Shadow Milk Cookie's little white lie.

Dressed in milky pale robes and boots, the only splash of blue being that of your hat and broach that was a smaller replica of the older cookie's soul jam, armed with a lance that was just the same size as you.

Cute as a button, you fit the part well.

So his disappearance left you wondering what role you had to play.

You didn't grow like Black Sapphire, nor were you prone to chaos like Candy Apple, the other two disciples that were left with you, running out the spire to do whatever task their master had left them to do.

At least you had the other residents to keep you company, the painters loved your paintings, the weavers wrapped you up in soft unseen sheets and the show never ended, not knowing the reason why.

Unbeknownst to you, it was a given. You were their ringleader after all.

Almost immortal, not that any would dare to see if it was a lie or not, they lived in the belly of the beast that shifts and purrs at the whims of the young cookie.

Even Candy Apple Cookie would blanch at the thought of raining her hammer down on you, why would she? You were one of the only ones who enjoyed her efforts.

Least of all, Black Sapphire Cookie, don't you know? His microphone was a gift to his master, attuned to his being and it's eyes were always watching you with a protective gaze.

You were more than what you thought you were.

It became more apparent when you woke up one night to twist the Spire here and there, you rarely change the labyrinth yourself and the residents noticed the new behavior, rumors abound already.

"Do my eyes deceive me, folks?" Black Sapphire Cookie announced to us, smile lax as always but his eyes shined with anticipation, "It looks to me as if we're preparing for guests."

"We are." You stated simply, focused on your task in raising the highest tower you could coax out of this place.

"Is Master Shadow Milk Cookie coming home?!" Candy Apple sprung up to your side, voice crackling just as she fell into excited squeals when this time, you nodded eagerly.

(And when the Beast settled into the Spire, he was welcomed first and foremost by a spectacle lead by you.

He couldn't be more proud.)

A hand ruffled into your icing messily, the familiar laughter was no longer a hollow echo through the halls but a tangible thing that rung in your ears.

"Look at you! Dough still as soft as ever, little one. Did you miss little ol me~?" The teasing made you pout but you would rather have it than nothing at all.

"Your shows are better. Are we gonna do a play?" Shadow Milk laughed, delightfully mischievous as he floated circles around you, tapping your nose.

"But of course! We've got new actors coming along. I'm calling this The Liar, The Thief and The Tower! Marvelous tower by the way, you've set the stage nicely, my deceitling! That's going to be center stage."

You beamed as the blue cookie picked you up into a twirl, giggling with the cackling master, the Spire shaking with his laughter.

(And when the Thief fell from the very tower you made, you cheered and clapped at the sight of a new friend to play with.)

Yes, Black Sapphire breaking the fourth wall is real and fun, I love him.

Also the thought of Reader being the one who made the tower Pure Vanilla fell from was too funny for me, I had to add it in.

[professorsnape394]

DAY 13: Unexpected Encounters

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Journey

Summary: Snape is interrupted by a beautiful stranger on the journey to back to Hogwarts.

A/N:��Feel like we're long over due for a cute lil fluffy piece, so here ya go :-) Comment if you're interested in a possible part 2 to this one?

Warnings:  None.

Word Count: 1977

Credits to Gif Creator.

The journey to Hogwarts was one of the few things that brought peace to Severus’ life. As a child, it meant finally escaping the wrath of his abusive father. As a teen, it meant getting to see his best friend after months spent apart. And as an adult, it meant escaping the loneliness of Spinner’s End where memories of his childhood still haunted him. Severus often spent the majority of the ride reading, occasionally turning his attention out the window to appreciate the scenic views of the Scottish Highlands; it was his last moment of peace before another year at Hogwarts spent surrounded by insufferable children and prying colleagues.

It was known by this point in his career that he liked to keep to himself on the train journey, and pretty much any other time, so the other professors granted him his privacy and left him to occupy a carriage alone. Which is why he was shocked to be interrupted such a short time into the journey.

The doors to the cabin shot open, rattling riskily in the frame. They parted to reveal an attractive young woman; dripping wet and gasping breathlessly.

“Oh, thank God.” She exhaled, shuffling her single suitcase through the doors, quickly abandoning it in the middle of the carriage, sparing no thought for Severus’ personal space.

“I’ve never seen a train so busy before. This is the first free carriage I’ve found today.”

“Did it never cross your mind that maybe there is a reason for that?” Severus droned, not bothering to look up from his book.

Ignoring his underhanded comment, Y/N immediately plonked herself down opposite him.

Barely a beat had passed before she started shedding herself of the sodden layers that had been protecting her from the adverse weather conditions outside. Hat, scarfs, jumpers and a thick woollen coat were quickly discarded to the space next to her. As she fumbled about with her gloves, Severus took the opportunity to evaluate her properly.

Despite seeming breathless, presumably from running late for the train, her pearly white smile had not yet faltered.

The rain had drowned her hair; soft waves becoming strings of tight curls, dripping puddles onto her previously dry shirt. Her pale cheeks flushed red from the harshness of the cold air. But what ultimately drew Severus in the most was her sparkling pale blue eyes, dazzling him with their glimmering curiosity as she too scrutinised him.

He arched a single brow in her direction, shaking himself from the daze she had induced in him.  

“Y/N.” She held her hand out for him to take.

 “Sorry?”

“That’s my name; Y/N.”

Severus’ eyes darted between the woman and the pages of his book, debating whether to engage. With a sigh he folded shut his book, but did not bother to accept her hand.

“A pleasure to meet you.” He sneered sarcastically.

“Ah, so you must be Severus.” She grinned. “The potion’s master I believe, I was always good potions in school.”

Snape’s interest piqued.

“How do you know who I am?”

“A family member told me.”

“The same one you are off to visit?”

“And how do you know I am visiting anyone?” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“The size of your suitcase; you don’t plan on staying long.”

“Maybe I’m just a new professor who knows how to pack light.”

“You are not a professor.” He stated matter-of-factly, practically scoffing at the insinuation.

“I’m offended. I could be a professor if I wanted to.”

“You’re too young.” Severus looked her up and down; none of his colleagues looked like her.

“And what age were you when you first started teaching?” She challenged, folding her arms across her chest.  

Snape smirked. “You know a lot about me, when I know so little of you.”

“I do my research.” She smirked

“So, are you going to tell me?” He quickly side-tracked the conversation.

“Tell you what?”

“Who you’re visiting.”

“No.”

Severus shot her a questioning glance.

“Once I tell you, you’ll look at me differently.” Y/N explained.

“And how am I looking at you now?”

“…Curiously.”

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’m curious who you could possibly be visiting who would not also be accompanying you on the train.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, but I do not wish to rush the process.”

Severus sighed, sensing this was not an issue the woman would be moved on.

“I do not believe that a person’s parentage dictates who they are. Whatever I think of you now will not change once I discover who your relation is.”

“You say that now, but it’s not something you can control. It happens to everyone when they find out who I am.” The look in her eyes told him this was an issue that really bothered her.

Snape leaned back in his chair, eying the woman inquisitively. He found himself wanting to know everything about her, but was too nervous to ask anything at all.

Y/N broke eye contact first, hunching herself over to get access to her suitcase.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, watching an array of multi-coloured fabrics spill out of the trunk; his eyes caught on a particularly lacy garment before he averted his gaze, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I’m looking forrrr… this!” She brandished a small tin box at him.

“And that is?”

“Cookies.” She grinned. “I never go on a long journey without baking myself a batch; their delicious, and a great conversation starter.”

She thrust the container out to him.

“I believe we have already started our conversation.”

“But their delicious.” She repeated, exaggerating her words. Severus’ eyes dropped to her peachy lips.

Sighing, he gave in and accepted the box from her.

“What are they?”

“Oatmeal and raisin.”

“You do not seem like an oatmeal and raisin type of girl.”

“And you do not seem like a triple chocolate chunk kind of guy. So be grateful I had some ingredients that I needed to get rid of. And I might have eaten all the chocolate myself before I had the chance to bake them.” She blushed.

Severus couldn’t help himself from smirking. The embarrassed look on her face refreshing to him after pinning her as an overconfident know-it-all. Plus, she looked adorable.

Her eyes widened at him.

“Are you smiling?” She gawked.

“I’ve been known to do that occasionally.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.”

“Then you do not know everything, Miss …?” He waited for her to fill in the blank, she only shook her head in response.

“Why are you smiling.”

Severus thought for a moment if he wanted to expose himself for thinking she was adorable. It was too soon to show all of his cards so willingly, but he didn’t want to lie to the woman, so…

“Oatmeal and Raisin are my favourite cookies.” He admitted, finally plucking one from the box.

“Then the universe was on your side, Severus Snape. It’s destiny.”

Severus was beginning to think she wasn’t entirely wrong about that.

~

Chucking the half-eaten box of cookies to her, Y/N showed no intention of closing her suitcase and removing it from the middle of the floor. It had quickly become chaos in their carriage and it was slowly starting to get on Severus’ nerves.

“Does this chaos come naturally to you or is it a learned skill?” He quipped.

Y/N’s jaw dropped at his audacity.

“Is my mess bothering you, Severus?”

“It bothered me when you first barged your way in here. Now, it’s borderline unbearable to look at.” His eyes flicked back to the piece of black lingerie sticking out the side of her case.

The young woman bent over once more, tucking all of her garment away and finally zipped the case shut. She neatly folded her piles of scarfs and coat, placing the cookie tin squarely on top.

“Happy now?”

“I’d be more inclined to say yes, if 90% of the floor wasn’t still occupied by your suitcase. There are compartments for them, you know?”

“I know.”

“So, you’re actively choosing to be a nuisance?”

She blushed again, this time avoiding complete eye contact with him.

“I can’t reach, okay? And even if I could it’s far too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

Severus grunted, satisfied with her excuse.

He stood to his full height, grabbing the handle of her case with ease.

“What are you doing?”

“Clearing some space.”

“You’re helping me?” She said, shocked, watching him lift her suitcase into the overhead compartment.

“I’m putting my mind at ease. I cannot sit for much longer in such cramped confines.”

“Strong as well as smart.” She teased. “You’re not at all the man I imagined.”

“Don’t speak too soon. Your opinion will surely change when we arrive at Hogwarts.”

“Why would it change?”

“Because I am not the man you think I am.”

“But you are the man you have shown me to be.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

“I’m very sure. You are more this man, than the man I have heard stories about. You have entertained me this entire journey when you simply could have chosen to ignore me. You gain nothing by helping me.”

“You’re wrong.” He raised the last quarter of his cookie to her, before popping it into his mouth with a smirk.

“I don’t care who you show me you are when we get to Hogwarts Severus. It will not change my opinion of you.”

“What is your opinion of me.” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I like you. You’re a good man, behind all of those scowls and sneers.”

Severus wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He had never illicit this reaction from a stranger before, in fact most people didn’t even bother to introduce themselves now adays. His reputation often proceeded him, in the worst possible way.

“Tell me who you’re visiting.” He ventured again.

“No.”

“Why not.”

“I told you; I don’t want- “

“You don’t want me to look at you differently. But how can you still say that after everything you have just said to me.”

“Because it is not me that you’re forming an opinion of. My last name carries more weight than my personality could ever compete with.”

Severus didn’t push the subject anymore, after all, he would find out shortly. The train wasn’t far off its final destination, and Snape found himself wanting to savour what little time they had left together before they seemingly became two entirely different people.

They chatted about a wide variety of subjects ranging from Potions, to the views outside, to what else Y/N loved to bake. Talking to her was easy, like playing a game of tennis; one person set up the serve for the other to rebuttal with perceived ease, each of them trying their best to throw the other off their game, challenging them both the new heights they might never have otherwise reached.

When they pulled into the station Severus helped Y/N out with her case, allowing her to pile back on her layers of protection from the cold. They stepped off the train in line with each other, unsure of how to begin to part ways.

“There you are!” Minerva McGonagall’s familiar voice screeched through the crowds of excitable students. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you; your grandfather wanted me to escort you to the castle. Let’s go Miss Dumbledore.”

Y/N stared into Severus eyes, looking truly defeated. Severus nodded simply in understanding.

“Will I see you again?” She dared to ask.

“I hope so, Miss Dumbledore.” Severus smiled. “I enjoyed getting to know the real you.”

Y/N beamed up at the Potion’s Master, shaking his hand goodbye.

Severus watched on as she disappeared through crowds of children and the steam of the train’s engine.

He really hoped he would see her again.

.

.

.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil @entirelymesmerising @mikariell95 @snapefiction @a-queen-and-her-throne @amazingzou @peridot-pineapple @snapesno1thighrider @kittenlittle24 @forfaehou @caseydoodles98

[pascaloverx]

MINE

SNEAK PEEK

Summary: You are a journalist working for a modest newspaper, and for several years, you have been in a relationship with Friedrich Harding—a man of inherited wealth who is now embarking on a new venture in real estate renovations. One day, you are assigned to cover the story of a man known as Count Orlok, just as Friedrich is hired to renovate the Count's mansion.

Author's Note: This fanfic takes place in the Nosferatu universe but with several changes. First, it is set in the modern world. Second, instead of the reader being involved with Thomas Hutter, she is with Friedrich Harding. I’m not sure if I will continue the fanfic, so if you enjoy it, please interact and leave a comment. If not, my apologies.

AO3 LINK one

PREVIEW

A heavy rain reminds you of the night you lost your parents in a terrible car accident. Rainy nights bring back the loneliness that settled in your heart since their passing. You remember begging, on the night after their death, for someone—anyone—to come and keep you company. Someone you would have by your side, no matter what. At times, you recall kneeling by your bed, feeling the wind grow stronger and stronger. Since then, from time to time, a creature visits you in your dreams. You never see it entirely, but you hear it murmur, growling as it whispers your name, appearing only as a shadow behind the curtain.

"Darling!" Friedrich calls from the first floor of the house you share. You stand on the balcony of the master bedroom on the second floor.

"I have incredible news," he says, rushing up the stairs excitedly.

"My love, be careful! The last time you climbed these stairs in such a hurry, you spent two months in a cast," you say, moving toward him. But he is so thrilled that he lifts you off the ground, spinning you in the air.

"I've secured a once-in-a-lifetime work opportunity. This could change everything!" he exclaims, pressing several kisses to your face. You smile, happy for him, while waiting for the right moment to share your own news.

"I'm so happy for you that I almost feel bad for saying this now, but—I’ve been offered the chance to interview a Count. The catch is, it's outside the country. I told my boss I needed to discuss it with you first," you say as he gently sets you down.

"The renovation I'm about to start is also abroad," Friedrich murmurs, cradling your face tenderly. "It seems fate has already decided for us, doesn't it?"

"And what if we are sent to different countries?" you ask, worry creeping into your voice at the thought of being apart for so long.

Friedrich smiles, his gaze warm and reassuring. "I would travel the whole world just to see you," he says before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

For a brief moment, everything feels perfect—until a voice, deep and distinct, murmurs in the distance: "Come to me, sweet creature, come to me." The words slither through the air like an unseen presence pressing against your skin.

You tense, glancing around. "Darling, did you hear that?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Friedrich chuckles softly, leaning closer. "I can only hear my heart pounding for you," he murmurs near your ear. His breath is warm, grounding—but the sensation of another presence remains. The whispering fades, yet something unseen lingers, watching, waiting.

"You are a fool," you say, shaking off the unease as you playfully swat his arm. It is only then that you truly notice his attire—an old-fashioned ensemble, carefully tailored, complete with a hat that makes him look like he stepped out of another era. Your brows furrow. "And what exactly is this outfit?"

He turns slightly, adjusting the fabric with an air of pride. "The client wants us to dress like this when we visit his estate for the renovation," he explains, flashing a charming grin.

"You are quite the sight for sore eyes," you say, stepping closer and pulling him into a lingering kiss.

Friedrich laughs softly. "It’s amusing, really, that we’re both going to work for a Count." He pauses for a moment, as if trying to recall something. "Actually, my client has the strangest name… sounds like a clock, wait—"

"Orlok?" you interject, the name slipping from your lips before you even realize it.

Friedrich snaps his fingers. "Yes! That’s it—Count Orlok. Strange name, isn't it?"

A cold shiver runs through you. The name feels eerily familiar, as if it had been whispered to you in a dream. You glance toward the window, where the heavy rain distorts the world beyond. For a fleeting moment, you swear you see a shadow shifting behind the curtain—tall, gaunt, and unnervingly still. Friedrich, unaware of your unease, chuckles. "I suppose it adds to the mystery. Who knows what kind of man he is?"

You try to force a smile, though your mind lingers on the voice from earlier. "Come to me, sweet creature, come to me."

"The strangest thing is that we are both going to work for him," you say, shivering slightly as Friedrich's lips trail along your neck.

"All I hear is that I'll be with my beloved—traveling, working, and stealing every possible moment together," he murmurs before capturing your lips in another kiss.

In one swift motion, he lifts you into his arms, making you laugh softly before carrying you to the bedroom. Later, as you lie entwined in Friedrich's arms, sleep slowly claims you. But in the depths of your slumber, something else stirs.

"In the darkness, we meet again, my sweet creature," a voice—inhuman, neither fully man nor beast—echoes through the void.

"Who are you?" you ask, but your breath falters. The air is thick, heavy, suffocating, as if your lungs refuse to obey.

A shadow, faceless and towering, lifts its clawed hands toward you. Every instinct screams at you to run, to scream—but instead, you step forward, drawn by something far beyond fear.

"Come to me," it commands, and before you can resist, its grip closes around your throat. The claws nearly pierce your skin, and a sharp pain spreads across your neck as you feel the warm trickle of blood.

Then, the creature moves closer, its presence overwhelming. Cold lips press against your skin, and an unnatural stillness fills the air. A shiver runs through your spine as you feel sharp teeth sinking into your flesh, puncturing the delicate skin of your throat. The sensation is excruciatingly real—so vivid that you can feel the slow pull as your blood is drained.

A wave of agony crashes over you, unbearable and all-consuming. The pain burns through your veins, twisting deep into your core until— you jolt awake, gasping. Your hand flies to your neck, your pulse racing beneath your trembling fingers. The pain lingers, phantom yet undeniable. The room is dark, silent except for Friedrich’s steady breathing beside you.

[chibinasuu]

Steady as She Goes | Jinbe & Reader

Part of the Thousand Sunny Slice-of-Life Series

Find the other parts with the rest of the Straw Hats here

Summary: You and Jinbe share a quiet moment at the helm in the calm after the storm Word count: 965  Tags: one-shot, pure fluff, domestic bliss onboard the sunny, platonic straw hat pirates x reader, no use of y/n, GN but written with F!Reader in mind

“Zoro! Sanji! Reef the mainsail!” Nami shouted above the howling winds, “Jinbe, head forty-five degrees starboard! We’ll be out of this soon!”

The crew moved in a practiced manner, almost on autopilot. This was not the first, and definitely not the worst storm they’ve ever experienced in the Grand Line. 

Salty sprays of seawater mixed with the pouring rain soon had you drenched as your fingers deftly worked to secure the rigging, tugging on the ropes to make sure they were fastened correctly. 

“Huge waves incoming! Brace yourselves!” Someone shouted, the cacophony of wind, thunder, and rain so loud that you could barely register the command. 

You tried to readjust your grip on the ropes, hoping to get a stronger hold, but before you could do that, the Sunny crashed onto an oncoming wave, bringing a flood of salt water onto the deck. The strong impact lifted your body a few inches off the ground, and you felt your heart drop as the rope was brutally torn away from your grasp. 

The slippery floor didn’t help as you tried to regain your footing, and another lurch of the ship sent you sliding across the deck. You closed your eyes, bracing for impact, but it never came. Instead, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you to your feet. 

You open your eyes to find Jinbe — one arm supporting you, whilst his other hand wrangled the helm in an effort to keep it steady. 

“Is the rigging secured?!” Jinbe roared.

You could only nod, your body still shaking from the shock. 

Jinbe gave your back a firm pat then barked loudly, “Then get inside! Now!”

You half-crawled, half-stumbled your way into the dining room, where you found Chopper and Robin.

Dozens of hands were sprouting from various surfaces, working to secure loose items in the room.

Chopper fussed over you when you staggered through the door, “You’re bleeding! Let me grab the first aid kit!”

In the heat of things, you didn’t realize the friction from the coarse ropes had caused ribbons of blood to flow from your palms. You sat quietly as Chopper bandaged your hands, trying to be as gentle and careful as possible amid the violent rocking of the ship. 

After a while, the movement of the ship gradually slowed to a gentle sway as the Thousand Sunny escaped from the storm safely, thanks to Nami’s expert directions and Jinbe’s masterful steering.

The Straw Hats were all slumped on the chairs of the dining table, huddled with towels, clearly exhausted from their brush with the harsh weather. Well, everyone except Jinbe, who insisted on remaining at the helm to readjust the ship’s course and monitor its bearing amid the shifting winds. Sanji poured steaming cups of tea for the crew to warm up their bodies, and you offered to take one to your helmsman. 

You found Jinbe at the helm, hands fixed on the wheel and eyes on the horizon.

“Hi, Jinbe.” You said, alerting him of your presence. 

Jinbe smiled gently at you, “How are your hands?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Chopper patched them up nicely.” You offered him the tea, “Thanks for saving me earlier. I would’ve hurt more than my hands if it wasn’t for you.”

He took the cup, taking a sip before saying, “I apologize for raising my voice at you.”

You shook your head, “I know you were just looking out for me. It was me who made a mistake.”

He chuckled, “Mistakes happen, kid. And sometimes it wasn’t even your fault – just bad luck.”

Jinbe gulped down his tea, put down his empty cup, and repositioned his hands back on the wheel. You both stood in silence, eyes on the open sea. You turned toward Jinbe and observed his unmoving stance, firm and steady. After a while of him staying still as a rock, you wondered aloud, “Does it ever get boring? Manning the helm when the weather is calm like this?”

Jinbe guffawed at your frank question, “Once you’ve been sailing as long as I do, kid, boring is good. You’ll learn to appreciate the quiet moments.” He gestured for you to come closer, “Wanna take her for a spin?”

You excitedly nodded, never really having a chance to take the helm before. 

Jinbe guided your hands and placed them in the proper position on the wheel. He pointed at the middle needle of the log pose, “That’s the one we’re following right now.” 

“Now, just keep her steady.” He instructed you, “Feel the winds. It will try to pull us off course, and when that happens, you will need to guide Sunny to stay on the right track.”

You turned the wheel experimentally but didn’t feel the ship shift its direction. You were about to turn it further when Jinbe’s hand stopped you, “Patience. Sunny is a big ship, it takes a little time for her to listen to your commands.”

True to his word, a few seconds later, the Sunny slowly altered its heading according to your will, turning slightly away from where the Log Pose’s needle was pointing. You glowed in delight at your successful attempt, before turning the wheel in the opposite direction to return the ship to its original course. 

Jinbe laughed, “You’ll make a fine helmsman!”

You relinquished the helm back to Jinbe and stood beside him, basking in the orange glow of the setting sun and reveling in the calm after the storm. 

No words were spoken between the two of you after that, but the silence was a comfortable one.

Under Jinbe’s guidance, the Thousand Sunny sailed over the waves, inching forward toward your next destination. You couldn’t quiet your heartbeat as it pounded in anticipation of what adventure your crew would find next.

Find the other parts with the rest of the Straw Hats here

[deontoillogical]

Heaven Official's Blessing seems to be about the nativity of Xie Lian at first. It seems to be about situations where there is no right answer and a decision on who to save must be made. Xie Lian is in fact embarrassed about his former idealism, his goals to save the common man, his youthful optimism.

Spoilers ahead:

When we learn what his preceptor asked him 800 years before, about the two dying humans in the desert. If you were a god, and you could give either one of them a cup of water saving their life but leaving the other to die, who would you choose?

It's a type of trolley problem, a distilled hypothetical meant only to enlighten its audience to the methods of their personal ethical frameworks.

For example, Mu Qing, the practical one, the utilitarian, asked about the qualities that might allow him to decide who is more worth saving.

Feng Xin, the honorable one, the deontologist, answered that they should discuss it among themselves.

On the other hand, Xie Lian was an idealist. Give them two cups of water. Reject the premise of scarcity. I am a god. Why can't I save both?

After the prince faced so many versions of this problem in the present... from the Banyue people to the Wind Master and his brother... and so many trials in the past... from the fall of his own people, to the fall of Yong-an's king at his own hand... we are told there are situations where someone must suffer. We are told that Xie Lian was naive. Xie Lian believes it himself, as the idealists he had taken under his wing (Banyue and Lang Qianqiu) crack in the face of a harsher reality.

His idealism failed him time and time again.

Except, as we learn the history of Wuyong and its fallen prince, the text also starts to reveal that there were two cups to begin with. One had always been artificially taken away.

Would Banyue need to betray her own people if they did not hoard the oasis? Would the country of Banyue need to fall so harshly if they hadn't intended to take out their enemy as soon as they met their defeat? (Problematic caricature of a "savage" culture aside)

Would Wind Master's brother need to change his fate if White No-Face hadn't made the creature who destroyed his life to begin with?

Would Xianle have fallen to Yong'an if the financial aid hadn't been skimmed by every official along the way? If the poor had the opportunity to pray and Xie Lian could have found them sooner? If the refugees weren't treated worse than dogs? If more than just the richest refugees were allowed to stay in the capital city? If other gods had helped Xie Lian carry water to Yong'an? If White No-Face hadn't artificially stuck his hand into the disaster and created the plague that sealed Xianle's fate? Every step of the way there was someone hoarding the water, both metaphorically and very literally. There was no way to save everyone, but a bit more reprieve could have stopped the civil war before it even started.

This is in parallel to Wuyong that fell not because its prince was naive, but because every other god refused to give their aid with no benefit to themselves. There was plenty of power to save the people, to forge the bridge and keep it steady. Every other god refused to use it.

But in simple acts of selflessness, you can bring back the water. Ironically, the motif that represents this aspect of the narrative is in the blockage of the rain. What kept Xie Lian sain just a bit longer if not an umbrella given to him by some random mortal soul? One passed to the boy devoted to him, that ultimately blocked the rain of blood once more upon their first meeting since Xie Lian's 3rd ascension.

The same style of hat that created the rains--the gift of water gifted out of the rain master's kindness--protected Xie Lian from the downpour in his lowest moment. As he sat in the storm waiting for the moment that he would unleash plague, finally admitting defeat of any hope for the humanity of the common man, a stranger stumbles over him. He cusses him out. Why wouldn't he? He was splayed out on the street, an inconvenient obstacle. A pathetic piece of performance art left to suffer the piercing of his own blade for almost three days straight. Only his enemy to relieve him from such pain. So there he was. In the way.

But as the stranger carried on, he stopped. He turned back. He handed his own straw hat to the poor figure in the streets. Humans are selfish. And humans are also selfless. Humans are human. And luck would have it, a human was human to him right before it was too late.

It's something White No-Face never realized, with his heart hardened by the betrayal of his own people. He saw the common man he slaved for for 5 years turn against him. He still persisted. He built their bridge to heaven as they turned from him. And just as their world was about to end, he suspended that bridge on his will power alone. If only they didn't swarm him. If only they could just trust him, and listen.

They died. His faith in people died with them. And everything that he existed for turned out to be fruitless. So, he broke.

And if Xie Lian didn't break as well, then it meant that everything he'd done for the past 1200 years, 2000 years was meaningless. If he couldn't show Xie Lian the world didn't deserve him, then maybe the prince of Wuyong just wasn't good enough for the world. Xie Lian had to be wrong. Because in turning against his people, White No-Face turned against himself.

But what he didn't realize is it was never the common man's fault for not believing in the gods. It was the gods' fault for hoarding the water. He blamed humanity, when the problem was the system.

He tried to break Xie Lian by taking away all of the water, but in taking away the water he proved that there was always more to begin with. In being the reason Xie Lian failed, he proved that Xie Lian never had to fail.

The problem was never with the people, who just wanted to survive. It's with those who hoarded the water. It's with those who believed there to be no other choice, and those who forced that choice in their greed.

White No-Face was wrong. The state preceptor was wrong. Disillusioned Xie Lian was wrong. Reject the premise. Reject the lies they sell you. Reject the illusion of scarcity.

Xie Lian was naive, but in his nativity he had stumbled upon the truth. There were always two cups of water. There were always two cups of water.

He should never have been embarrassed about his idealism, because in the end he was right. And in the end, he realizes he was right. He had always been right.

There were always two cups of water. And because of that he's finally able to save the common man.

[artsarasp]

Did you do the vampire sy wip yet? :0

Really curious about that one!

- O

I did not! The vampire SY wip is something I started to write at 2 AM when I was unable to sleep and after bothering @drivebypainter for a prompt!

It's supposed to be pre-canon, Vampire SY is off doing his own thing and accidentally turns poor SJ into a vampire, WHOOPS- I guess I adopted an angry teen now??

Have a peek featuring SY being like "I have a conscience!" when actually he's just a little in denial and a picky eater.

Shen Yuan forgot a long time ago what it was like to not be hungry. The feeling of being completely full was as foreign as the warmth of the sun on his skin since his reincarnation.  He adjusted his large straw hat as he walked. The thick rain was dripping from a few holes in it and his clothes were soaked through but it didn't bother him. Most physical sensations didn't bother him anymore. Except hunger, of course.  He couldn't blame anyone for it, honestly! (Well, Maybe he could blame Great Master Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for being an unimaginative piece of shi-) Being a knockoff Vampire in the prologue sections of a bad novel was already a challenge but his morally Imposed hunger strike was a torture of his own making.  Shen Yuan could have gone full evil vampire on any poor soul he encountered but that would have just drawn a HUGE target on his back for cultivators to aim at! He also couldn't help but feel horrible at the thought of just killing innocent people! You’d think being reborn as a bloodsucking demon would dampen the whole empathy thing, but no! He had modern sensibilities and a conscience! So he tried not to eat most of the time. Unless he really had to.  Or unless he had a perfect victim at hand. Wu Yanzi was just that. Scum.  Shen Yuan stepped off the beaten path and into the thick vegetation. He could hear his future victim talking with someone. His pace quickened immediately.  Wu Yanzi was a criminal and a murderer. Shen Yuan had no intention of playing hero as much as he would have loved to play the part of the righteous cultivator if things had been different right now he just wanted to eat something without feeling guilty about it.  “You useless thing!” The sharp sound of a slap stopped Shen Yuan in his tracks.  “Is this why I took you as a disciple? What a fucking waste. “ His prey said.

[michimichim]

Cherry Gloss Saints • Sana (twice)

disclaimer: this fic features messy, imperfect humans doing messy, imperfect things 👉🏽👈🏽 please don’t try any of this at home unless you’re a fictional chaos gremlin (we see you, bb).

contains: power imbalances, stalking, obsession, questionable choices, religion and enough sexual tension to make a nun blush.

Sana was in too deep for her own good. She never learned when to stop, and well, now she's utterly fucked. Why did she fucking decide to this, God, she's stupid. She’d binged every true crime documentary, podcast as a teen. So how the hell did she get here?

She knew better, of course. But since when has that ever stopped her? Sana had never met a rule she wouldn’t sweet-talk her way around. She’d mastered the art of harmless sin. 

At 16, she’d ‘borrowed’ her step mother’s heels and pearls to wear to a hookup, returning them before Sunday service. At 20, she’d convinced a professor to pass her after she’d skipped every exam-‘I just miss home,’ she’d sniffed with practiced innocence. 

Now, she was following a stranger into god-knows-what because the thrill buzzed louder than common sense. The woman next door with her navy blue hat and beautiful lips, the kind Sana could kiss all day, the kind of woman her father would call ‘wholesome’, ‘perfect’. The kind Sana could bring home, all perfect smiles and pretty eyes.

She had it all planned out. She’d depict you with a sugar-coated smile, stitch you back together before anyone noticed the seams. She’d done it before. With boys and girls who bought her luxuries, with teachers who let her skip exams, with anyone who looked at her like she was something sweet to devour. But you? You made her want to bite first. And well, if luck was on her side, she’d score an orgasm or two in the process. 

And oh my goodness, did you deliver far more than she ever dared to dream.

It all began when she approached you as you watered your plants, sunlight catching the curve of your lips when you turned. There was a twinkle in your eyes, inflicted by the sun but softened by the hat on your head, and when she introduced herself with a voice so light, fingers twisting a lock of her chestnut hair, your lips would curl into a grin so warm it stalled her breath. All she saw was you: the way your tongue darted to wet your lips mid-laugh. Innocent. Disarming.

Too disarming, you were.

Hours later, alone in her room, she’d curse herself for it–how your kindness had gotten into her, clinging. A slight shame gnawed at her as your smile haunted every flickering thought, prompting her fingers to dive deeper than any pornhub algorithm (“lesbian fingering,” page six, thumb hovering on incognito), she’d bite back moans, imagining your mouth licking every inch of her body. 

Sometimes her fantasies rewrote you. Your sweetness sharpened into hunger, your laughter melted into a groan against her thigh. In her mind, your hands weren’t watering plants; they were pinning her down in the backseat of your car, nails digging into her hips as she writhed beneath you.

Oh, how obsessed she was. 

Just one taste of you, was that too much to ask?

Daddy always called her his ‘miracle,’ but Sana knew the truth: she was his stain. A living reminder of the secretary he’d fucked during Mom’s medical visits, the one he’d later atoned for with rosary beads and Rotary Club donations. Her rebellions were just echoes of his sins, louder, messier, but no less hollow.

When she’d crashed the family car after midnight margaritas, he’d blamed the rain and bought her a bmw. When she’d kissed Karina behind the diner, he’d called it a phase. You’d be no different. Really. Another secret he’d spin into something innocent. ‘Sana’s just being neighborly!’ he’d say, while she rehearsed the story she’d tell him: Neighborly. Sure. If neighborly meant your hand between her thighs.

She couldn’t help it. 

And resisting was pointless. Her hips swayed, her breath hitched with every cell in her body screaming fuck caution as she walks up to your car. ‘I’m such a cliché,’ she thought, biting back a giggle. A walking, wet-pantied cliché. But what was the alternative? A quiet night in, replaying your smile until it went stale? No, thanks. She’d take the knife’s edge of maybe over the hollow ache of what if.

The car door creaked open. A rush of cold air hits your skin, but your blood roars hotter as Sana slid into the passenger seat. She was a vision in pink: a pink cardigan over her shoulders. Underneath, a silk camisole, cream, with lace trim peeked out, with the prettiest jean skirt that hugged her hips like they’d been sewn on. 

“Hi,” she breathed, sugar-sweet when she settles in the car. The gold bracelet on her wrist jingles. A gift from Daddy Dearest, no doubt. You’d watched her twirl it absently while swiping through a dating app last week while sitting on the front steps of the house. (She only swiped on profiles of women with your eyes, your hands and your smile.)

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, that practiced gesture she’d used when you met a little over a week ago. Cute. Predictable. You’d seen her rehearsing it, pink lips parted just so. Amateur, you’d thought. 

But then again, you’d always had a weakness for the ones who smiled like saints and fucked like sinners. Girls who hid switchblades behind hymn books. Like the professor’s daughter who’d leave her lipstick on your neck for her mother to see. Like the grad student who’d sent you roses stained with her wife’s lipstick. Sana was no different, a pretty little grenade waiting to blow.

So you’d played along, watering can trembling in your grip like some blushing virgin. 

“Hi,” You mirrored her, softer, a whisper fraying at the edges. You play your part perfectly: gaze darting away, fingers tightening on the wheel, even as you think of the thousand ways to have her moan against your mouth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch her biting her lip.

You just look so hot. Her secret. The kind she could tuck into her diary between pressed roses and verses. She imagined her father’s horror if he knew what she wanted to do to you, how shocked he’d be if he knew how her mind works at times. But that was the point as well, wasn’t it? To want something he couldn’t scrub clean.

“You look…” Her voice faltered, and your ears perked, turning to peer at her. “You look really good.’"

You glance down at your outfit - frayed sweater cuffs, white socks in brown slippers - suddenly aware of how domestic you must look. But her gaze lingers on your collarbone, the strip of skin between your sweater and shorts, and you kind of feel absurdly naked.

She leans in.

Strawberry gloss. Mint toothpaste. The scent hits you first before her fingers graze the bridge of your glasses. Her nail, painted shell-pink taps the frame upward. A shiver skitters down your spine as her thumb almost brushes your cheekbone. Almost.

“There,” she murmurs, pulse fluttering visibly at her throat. “Better.”

You don’t move. Don’t breathe. Let her marinate in the silence, in the way your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. She wants you flustered? Fine. You’ll play the blushing novice for a little while longer. But your ribs ache with the effort of stay still, of not grabbing her wrist, not pinning it to the headrest while you do the dirtiest things to her body.

She leans further across the center console. The damp gleam on her lower lip catches the streetlight bleeding through the windshield. Her knee bumps the gearshift as she angles closer. You track the hitch in her breathing by the way her pearl necklace trembles against her throat. She wants to eat you right up. The knowledge thrums in your gut.

“I like your glasses,” she says, tilting her head. A strand of hair slips free, catching on her mouth. She doesn’t swipe it away. “Makes you look… serious.”

You smell like library books and the peppermint gum you’d offered her a week ago. A week ago, when the sight of those hands pruning roses had made Sana drip through her thong during Bible study.

Those same hand drifts to adjust the rearview mirror (an excuse to glance at her bare thigh, the slit of her skirt riding higher as she twists toward you).

“Thanks.” Your voice cracks. Perfect.

Her laugh pools in the closed space of the car. Cherry-chapstick breath ghosts your cheek when she says: “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.”

You turn, leather seat creaking, until your faces hover inches apart. You make sure she sees the flicker in your eyes, the coiled hunger you’ve buried under folded sweaters and polite hellos. Watch her breath hitch, her pupils swallowing hazel and her grip tightening on the gearstick, knuckles blooming white.There. The first fracture in her performance.

“Nervous?” You echo, soft. Your pinky brushes her hand. “Or patient?”

Silence.

Her tongue darts out. Gloss smears. You count the freckles on her nose (three), the hitch in her exhale (four), before she gives a shaky laugh. “Wow. You’re-”

A truck horn blares. She startles, knee jerking up and knocking her purse off the seat. A sleek pink vape clatters to the floorboards, rolling beneath the gas pedal. S.M. glints in silver script on the device. You’ve seen her palm it quick while outside, tuck it behind her back when her dad’s security detail lingers too close.

Her hand flies to catch the object rolling toward your foot, but you’re faster. You reach down, shoulder pressing into her thigh as you stretch under the steering column. Slowly. Your fingers close around the device, still warm. Your pinky graze her on the return, letting her feel the drag of your sleeve against her calf.

You flip the vape in your palm, thumb tracing the initials. Her breath hitches when you press it into her hand, nicotine-sticky. “Wouldn’t want Daddy to find this in your Birkin, hm?”

For a fractured second, her composure wavers, pink lips parted, throat working around a swallow. Then she tilts her chin up, all practiced poise. She pouts, clutching the vape to her chest. She leans closer, knee bumping the gearshift. She floods your space. “It’s just… It’s just stress relief. You wouldn’t tell, would you?” 

You don’t blink. Don’t rescue her. Let the silence stretch between you.

Sana tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The gold bracelet slips down her wrist.

You say nothing. Watch her squirm.

She licks her lips. Gloss long gone. She leans in, close enough now that you can see the faint scar on her chin from a childhood horseback riding lesson she’ll never mention. Close enough to count the flecks of gold in her blown-wide pupils.

“You won’t…” Her hand drifts to your thigh, fingertips skating the hem of your shorts. A tremor runs through her. Subtle, but you feel it in the uneven press of her nails. “You won’t tell, right? Please.”

There it is. The undercurrent beneath the sugar, that bit of fear. You let your smile bloom slow, left side tugging higher than the right. The same smile you used when she first approached you.

Her palm flattens against your skin.

“Sana.” You say her name like a sigh, like a secret. Her lashes dip. “Look at me.”

She does. Blinking too fast.

You cover her hand with yours, not pressing, just… there. A sick way to remind her of whose pulse is racing. “Breathe.”

Your other hand slides up her neck, thumb pressing the hinge of her jaw until her head lolls faintly to the side like a puppet with cut strings. She resists, just for a heartbeat, before melting into your palm. You guide her forehead to the hollow beneath your ear, where your pulse thrums steady against her fluttering breaths.

“Shhh.” You stroke the soft hairs at her nape, the way you’d soothe a skittish cat, as she fists your sweater. “I’ve got you.”

She inhales sharply, nose nudging your throat. You let her hide there, let her pretend this is about the vape and not the way she’s been eyefucking you since she’s stepped into this car. Because she’s never been held her this way, not even when she’d skinned her knees when she was eight.

“Only I know, hmm?” She stills. Not the performative freeze from earlier. This is like prey instinct, the hitch in her throat vibrating against your palm. You continue stroking at her hair slowly, and she exhales, shaky, into your collarbone. “Yes,” she whispers against your pulse.

“Good.” You press harder at the base of her skull and she arches into it, face burrowing into your neck. Her nose drags along your jugular, lips parting but not kissing, not yet. Just breathe. Just the sound of her swallowing.

“Sana.” You say it like a sigh, like a dare.

Her teeth graze your skin. Not biting. Just testing. You dig your nails lightly into her scalp and she whimpers, high and thin, thighs shifting audibly against the leather seat.

When you tilt her face up, her lips glisten, lashes fluttering like moth wings, tears cling to them (yes the pretty, practiced ones, with salt-edged.) You kiss the damp streak on her cheek. Slowly. It tastes like the iron tang of bitten-through lies.

You don’t kiss her yet.

Not when her breath hitches. Not when her fingers claw at your sweater. You wait until the whine in her throat fractures into a sob, until her hips jerk forward, until her facade of control crumbles into dust.

Then—then—you close the distance.

Slow.

San’s mouth is pliant, sweetened chapstick dissolving under the swipe of your tongue. She sighs, hands fumbling for purchase on your shoulders, but you keep the kiss soft. Maddeningly soft. Let her feel the drag of your lips, the tease of your teeth, the way you pull back just enough to make her chase.

“More,” she whines against your chin, but you cradle her jaw, thumb pressing her bottom lip down.

“Shhh.” You kiss the corner of her mouth. Then her cheek. Then the frantic pulse beneath her ear. “We’ve got time.”

You kiss her again - kiss strawberry and mint, fresh and a little too sweet, like sucking candy slow on the tongue. 

You let Sana drag you closer, let her palms slide down to cup the hot curve of your neck. And then feel them slide further down, fingertips skating the hard nubs of your breasts to the edge of your shorts. The console digs into her ribs as she leans further, knees planted on her seat, body arced over the divide like a bridge. You let her trace the crease of your thigh, let her feel the moan in your breath.

“Let me…” She nips your earlobe, voice syrupy with faux innocence. Her pinky grazes the elastic band. “Let me come over there. Just for a minute.”

She means your lap.

You hum, and when you dip forward to suck a bruise into the hinge of her jaw, she shakes, fingers scrambling at your waistband. You make sure she feels the click of your teeth, the wet drag of your tongue. Her moan stutters when you murmur: “Ask nicely,” against her throat, your palm covers hers, pressing it harder into your thigh.

“Please,” she pants, the word mangled.

You pull back just enough to catch her gaze. Her pupils are blown, lower lip glistening with spit. “Please…?”

Her throat bobs. You watch her recalibrate, princess to penitent.

“Can I—” She licks her lips. “Can I sit on your lap, Y/N?”

You tilt your head and smooth a hand around her thigh, fingers skate the trembling inner seam of her leg, over the crease behind her knee, higher until your thumbnail grazes the panties clinging to her ass. “Why?”

Sana muffles a cry into your sweater, hips canting back in a silent plea. Cotton stretches taut over her cheeks. 

Her breath hitches. “To… to be closer.”

“Closer to what?”

A beat. Her lashes flutter. Not coy, but frantic. “You.”

You guide her hand higher, to the seam of your shorts and press it against the damp heat of the cotton. “Ask properly.”

She swallows. “Please, let me sit on your lap. Please.”

As you loosen your grip, she sneakily resumes her lazy path up your inner thigh, nails catching on the cotton inseam. Her thumb presses there, against your cunt just once and your knee jerks reflexively.

“Fuck.” 

She moans, cheek smushed to your shoulder, smug. “C’mon. I’ll sit so still.” Her palm cups you through your shorts, “Promise.”

Your pulse kicks and her fingertip drags up the seam, just lightly. The cotton clings, completely soaked through. You arch just a fraction and she giggles, withdrawing.

“You’re so hot,” she breathes, hooking her pinky under the waistband. The elastic snaps against your hip. “Look at you, baby. Look.”

You look. Black shorts rucked slightly down your hips, tilting and chasing her retreating hand, her laughter spilling into the hollow of your throat, warm and sticky. She teases you by slipping a finger beneath your underwear. Not inside. Not yet. Just… there, tracing your slit. A moan claws up your throat.

“Oh wow,” she gasps, voice syrup-sweet. Her knuckle grinds against your clit. “All this from watching me beg?”

Her breath is a hot, wet little thing against your skin as her fingers tease and play with your cunt. It’s too precise, too slow, the pressure just shy of what you need. “You’re fucking relentless,” you hiss, fist yanking her hair.

She giggles against your pulse, dragging her tongue along the vein. Your hips jerk forward of their own accord, grinding against the drag of her fingers. The sound you make isn’t human.

Even when she withdraws her fingers to lick them clean, it’s obscene, her chin tipped up, eyes locked on yours. Cherry gloss smeared. Pupils blown. Her finger glistens as she looks at you with wide joyful eyes, plush lips sucking on her digit.  “So bossy!” 

Your heel dig in the leather underneath, teetering precariously as she refuses to let you steady yourself. “Sana,” you groan, but her name dissolves into a moan when her teeth graze your collarbone.

“Mmm?” Her breath gusts over your collarbone, going back to circling your clit with infuriating precision. Her thumb flicks once, hard, over your clit, and you jerk against her. “There—fuck, there-” But she pulls back, tracing your soaked folds instead, teasing your entrance while you curse until with regular and slow motions, she stimulates you just right. Again and again and again, until your body bows tight and lighting shoots through, from your spine to your legs to the tip of your toes.

You sigh in relief, fist still tangled in her soft hair, head falling back against the headrest. She watches you blissed out, devours it, eyes black as the tinted windows until you grab her hair to crash her mouth to yours. You taste yourself on her tongue, all musk and sweetness clinging to her tongue like cheap perfume, and you groan. “Come here. Now.” You’re clawing at her before she’s even fully in your lap.

She scrambles over the console, knees knocking the steering wheel. Ungraceful. Needy. The leather seats creak in protest as she straddles you, the car rocking faintly under her frantic movements. You let her grind down once-hard-before gripping her hips. Still.

“Stop moving,” you murmur, thumb stroking the divot of her waist.

She obeys, a choked whimper escaping her throat as you deny the friction she craves.

You skim her camisole up and tug the lace of her bra down to expose her tits but leave the underwire in place.

Your lips close around her nipple, and you suck. Sana gasps, hands falling to cup the back of your neck. Her skin flushes pink under your mouth, then deepens to red as you work harder, your tongue relentless.

When your teeth nibble on her skin, her hands tighten into fists, nails digging into your skin, and she gasps. You make sure she feels small sparks of pain ripple through her, and moan as your tongue flicks over sensitive skin. You suck again, harder than before, and Sana keens. It’s almost too much, and when you pull back, the wet pop meets the small moans escaping her pretty mouth. A bruise blooms on her breast, mottled purple at the edges, and you press two fingers to it, watching her writhe.

You give it a strong lap with all of your tongue over it, making her melt from the hotness of the wet muscle. You give it a few more licks, holding her by the ribs, feeling her bones underneath your fingers, before going to toy around with her pink bud, sucking and reaching around to trap her arms against the small of her back as she bucks against you, the slick schlick of her cunt against your thigh loud in the cramped space, her panties soaked through, ruining bot her her panties and the fabric of your shorts.

Sana’s breathing becomes heavier, small noises strained, chest heaving with a deep inhalation, and she lets it all out in a shuddery breath. With wet kisses you keep on sucking and gnawing slightly against the nub, nibbling, encouraged by Sana as she throws her head back and let out a loud elated whine. Her nipple feels numb, and she bites down on her raw lip at the sensation. “I’m so sore,” she moans, stirring and twisting in your lap.

You chuckle, and let go of her arms to slide your hands underneath her panties, caressing her ass cheeks and Sana shivers, thighs clamping around your leg.

“Don’t stop,” she whines, raw as a scraped knee.

“Oh, I’m not done with you, sweetheart.” You reach for the seat lever, dragging her to sit on your face as the backrest reclines. “Let’s see how quiet you can be.”

You yank her soaked panties to the side, the fabric tearing slightly as Sana gasps. Not in protest, but relief. “There you are,” you moan, though your voice cracks with hunger. The first lick tears a gasp from her - not the performative moan from her pornhub research, but something raw and startled - your tongue spearing her cunt like you’ll carve your name into her folds. 

She grinds down, but you grip her hips, forcing her still. And her body stills, conditioned to obey, even as her cunt weeps. “Uh-uh. You take what I give you.”

She buries her hands in your hair, nails sliding against your scalp, as she rocks her hips, desperate as you edge closer to her clit, then retreat, smirking at her frustrated sob. Still, you lap at her eagerly, relishing in her taste and the fact that the tops of her thighs are sticky. Your hands wander, up her ass and past her skirt, sliding the fabric sliding down her thighs to keep it from falling over your face.

At some point Sana closes her eyes, she drifts, marveling at the way your tongue enters her cunt and drags along her clit like you already know her body by heart. Like you already know what it takes to have her clutch at her pearls.

Like the breath blooming against her folds before your mouth presses tenderly on her, and your tongue moves warm and wet to her. Sana flexes her thigh, chest convulsing with a gasping inhale, short, quivering; you have no regard about nuzzling your face in her pussy, lips spreading soft and slick, parted to tongue and suck, and lick finding her hole and caressing it gently. 

Sana claws at the roof above her head, fighting against the impulse to clamp shut her legs. “Oh-” she gasps. Another deliberate stroke around the quivering, tightening edge of her entrance, then your tongue pushes back in, wet and roughly lapping at her delicate walls. Sana startles with a cry, mouth opening. Wet, hot, wet, wet she feels, circling her thighs to hold off her squirming.

You groan at her taste - salt and something else, something entirely her. Every slurp, every schlick echoes in the car, louder than her choked sobs. 

At times you tease her, “They’ll hear you,” you’d taunt, nipping her clit. Three words that flood her with equal parts terror and euphoria. Let them hear. Let them know. For once, the stain wouldn’t be hidden. 

She doesn’t care, does she? She’d let the whole world watch her come if it was by your hands. 

God, she’s filthy like this.

You claim her pussy so tenderly that you can’t help mewling yourself, half-stifled moans as your tongue drags around and deep, slithering, curling up to caress spasming-fluttering walls, among slick that drips and smears against your tongue. You hum, low, eyes closed unfettered even as headlights flash outside the window.; the vibration travels right into Sana’s lower belly, and her knees jolt, tottering, laced with weakness.

Your fingers move up, reaching for Sana’s nipples to grant them with the attention while you keep on abusing her cunt with your tongue. You pinch at the bud, rolling them between your thumb and pointer, having her yelp a sharp sound of pain and pleasure. You fondle at them until they become swollen, until all Sana can do is whimper and take it like a good girl.

Your tongue glides back and it’s a wave of tension, her whole body so taut on adrenaline that when you do slip your tongue out, all air leaves Sana at once. “You taste so good,” She can barely hear your words, they’re muffled, almost soft, as you kiss the base of her clit, tongue pressing, and Sana feels the movement of it licking up to the tip like a dig into her belly on the edge of pain until she’s cumming with a soundless gasp, spasming and moaning, juices dripping into your collar.

When she slides down, her body still trembling, a breathless giggle escapes her lips. A bit delirious, in love and lightheaded from the way you’ve made her cum like rent was due. Her hand drifts toward your face, and you let it. White-painted nails ghost along your skin, featherlight. She pushes your glasses up the bridge of your nose, thumb lingering on your cheekbone. A small gesture, almost chaste. Should be chaste. But her gaze darkens as her fingers slip beneath your sweater.

She savors this. How your crooked smile fucks with every coherent thoughts. How you make her feel sixteen again, stealing kisses in your car, pulse racing at the thought of getting caught.

A slyness curls her mouth.

“Come to church with us tomorrow,” she says, thumb brushing the blister on her knee. Her voice softens, saccharine. “Daddy’s preaching about… lust, I think. You could sit beside me. Hold my hand during the prayers…”

frannie's note: thank you for reading my disaster gays! 💘 this was born from a 3 am brainrot about hot religious girls who bite. i thrive on your comments so tell me which line made you clutch your pearls. ✧･ﾟ