#so i just have to take care of that first in case it’s not’’

[reiderwriter]

hi Kacie :"> it's me :"> just thinking about ''reader sitting on his face in reverse cowgirl and decides to just unbutton and zip down his pants, turning this to a 69 and somehow both of them make it into a 'who's gonna make the other one finish first' competition'' nothing much how has your afternoon been I hope you'll have a great day xx -kei

A Kei request a day keeps the chances of my going to heaven away 🙏 I <3 smut

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, use of pet names (good boy), sub(ish) Spencer Reid, munch!Spencer, oral (m +f), 69ing, rough sex, face fucking, unprotected oral sex, no plot just sex. Literally no plot.

Masterlist <3

With a cock that perfect and neglected right in front of your face, you could hardly resist the temptation to give it a tiny taste.

It wasn't like it was against the rules of your non-hookups with Spencer. He'd ask for explicit pictures twice a week, which you'd happily send for the chance to be sat on his tongue by 10pm that Friday evening, days on which cases landed notwithstanding.

Hotel rooms were very convenient hook up spots, especially the ones with free condoms and tissues on both the nightstand and by the desk chair.

Not that you ever needed condoms, really. You'd never so much as touched Spencer's cock, let alone had it inside you. He was too much of a giver to take something like that from you. His cock was always hard, always visible through his pants, but he was so focused on your pleasure, he didn't care about his own needs being met.

Spencer's tongue was your personal sex toy. You'd fucked his face multiple times, grabbing his hair and forcing his nose into the bristles of hair at the end of your pelvic bone as you ground your cunt into his wet, hot mouth. You'd laid back contentedly and let him peacefully lick and suck slowly for hours on end, cumming multiple times as he explored your sensitive parts.

You'd sat on a chair, legs spread, and let him lap up your cum on his knees, because there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

More than once, you knew, he'd walked away with cum dampening his pants, having enjoyed your moans and taste so much that he'd lost it before really touching you.

But Spencer Reid was being unfair getting you to sit on his face, to look at his big, thick cock atraining through his pants, straight on, and telling you to sit still and enjoy his tongue when all you wanted was to take him as far down your throat as he could get.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you moaned again as he nipped at your clit, tongue flicking it as you felt a familiar burn of stimulation at your core.

You were going to end up roughly fucking his face if you weren't careful. His tongue just felt too good.

You slid your hands down his stomach a bit, landing on his loose pants as you repositioned your knees.

“Spencer, that's it keep going. Good boy, good boy.”

You gripped his pants tightly, using the little bit of tension to help you arch back, pushing more of your ass onto his face than before.

But your arms, already weak from a rough day at work, slipped again pushing his pants down just one more inch until his cock could finally spring loose. You wanted nothing more than to taste it, reaching forward and looking at it intensely as your mouth watered. You didn't get closer than a breath away, as Spencer immediately stopped when your mouth almost achieved its goal.

“Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Spencer mumbled crawling out from underneath you as he scrambled to get his cock back in his pants.

“Spencer-”

“I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I'll-”

“Spencer, slow down. What?”

You'd seen Spencer flushed with desire before, but the redness of his cheeks was different somehow now. More embarrassment than anything else.

Slowly, you crawled towards him again, trying to look as non-threatening as you could, clad only in hastily pushed aside panties and dishevelled dress. Your hand slowly traced up his thigh, and you kept it there, still for a second watching to see what Spencer would do next.

“Spencer. Why can't I see your cock?” You asked, voice low but light, almost surprising yourself with how breathy and needy you sounded.

“I… I thought you wouldn't want to see…” he trailed off, and you pouted up at him, stroking his thigh as he looked down distractedly at you.

“I want to. Can I have it now?” You asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“Y/N…. It's… I've had complaints in the past, it's not…” he struggled to find the words as your hand brushed over his crotch now tracing the bulge in his pants as his head dropped backwards.

“It's not what? Big? Don't lie to me.”

“That's not it… I get… I get too overwhelmed if you do that, I get too-”

“Too….” You mimicked, dropping a hand into his underwear as his hand fell over yours, unsure whether it was to stop you or to set the pace of your impromptu hand job.

“Rough,” he said, as you firmly gripped his cock, using your other hand to free him from his pants and underwear, knocking his hand away as you ran your palm along the length of his hard cock.

“Rough?” You said, gripping the tip of his cock, teasing it until it shone with precum.

His hand fell back over yours, more firmly this time, as he met his eyes with yours.

“I didn't want to hurt you, but I get so overwhelmed if I use it that I… I get rough, I don't listen well-”

You were practically dripping listening to his explanations for not fucking you, or even letting you see his cock.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes! It's like… Y/N, I'd treat you like a sex toy, not a person, and I want this to be good for you, too, so let's not-”

You cut him off with a rough kiss as you pressed him back into the bed, straddling his thighs as you gently fisted his cock, rubbing up and down slowly.

“I'll make a deal with you, Spencer,” you said, between gasps of air. “I'll sit on your face again, and you let me suck your cock. When you get rough, if you get rough, you'll be able to feel how much I'm enjoying it, okay?”

He nodded between kisses, words forming and melting on his tongue as his hips began thrusting into your hand, his thigh digging into your mound as he thrashed towards a climax.

“Good boy,” you said, kissing him one last time before letting go of his cock and climbing out of his lap.

His body twitched in protest, but his big hands grasped you quickly, pulling you up the bed as you eagerly went with them, losing your panties on the way as you let your dress fall around his face in an all too familiar position.

But this time, you lowered yourself down, too, spitting on his tip quickly as his tongue got to work teasing your clit slowly.

You gave him a few pumps, before lowering yourself more completely on his face, pressing your chest close to his abdomen and taking his cock slowly onto your mouth.

Spencer wasn't small, but you also weren't going to let him be a challenge. You got a few inches down before you decided to come back up again, hands still stroking the base and massaging the rest. You did that a few times before you felt Spencer's body angle up into you again.

Changing his leg position on the bed, Spencer thrust his cock up into your mouth as you forced yourself to breathe. His cock thrust up again, quickly but totally and he left it there for a few seconds before pulling it out again.

The entire time, he hadn't let up his work on your cunt. His to guess flattened out against your clit, roughly stroking that sensitive area with a precision only he knew. A hand clasped around your hips, gripping your ass kept you firmly in place on his face, as his hips bucked into you.

He got faster, wilder, and yes, rougher.

You didn't want to pull off his dick, but moving back was instinctual. He pushed you right back in with a hand on your head, fisted into your hair as he synchronised your movements, pulling your head up as he pulled his cock away from your lips, and pushing it back down when his hips snapped up.

You moaned hysterically when you came apart on his face, feeling your cum trickling down your leg as he continued to use you to get off. His to guess never stopped, even after wave after wave of your juices hit him.

The only sign of his impending orgasm was the tightening of his hands, both of them now coming down on your head, forcing you to the base of his sizable cock as your tongue touched his balls. He came down your throat and immediately releases you, spluttering and coughing as your legs trembled.

Spencer scrambled to get you on your back, pushing you upright and patting your back as you regained your breath.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, I said it wasn't a good ide-”

You pushed your cum stained tongue into his mouth, shutting him up quickly as he tasted himself, and you tasted yourself, and your tastes mingled quickly, as you climbed into his lap again.

“Spencer,” you said, catching your breath once again, collapsing into his arms.

“If I need to beg for your cock, I will. I like it rough. I-” you gasped again, feeling his cock stirring with each word.

“I very much like it when you use me like a sex toy. So… so in the future, please use all of me, and I'll use you, too.”

[legomaster333]

from classmate to boyfriend, jungwon has always been attentive towards you ୨୧ yang jungwon x fem, wc 0.4k

⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏ ⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀ ͏· · ୨୧ · ·

classmate!jungwon who you always find quietly saving you a seat, even if he acts like it’s just a coincidence. he smirks slightly when you thank him, but the pink dusting his ears gives him away.

classmate!jungwon who never stammers but still gets a little flustered when you catch him staring. he always remembers the little things—like how you take your coffee or which pens you prefer for notes.

classmate!jungwon who notices when you're tired and casually pushes a coffee toward you, acting nonchalant but tapping his fingers against his cup as he waits for your reaction. "thought you might need this."

classmate!jungwon who always offers to walk you back to your dorm, his voice steady but warm.

"it’s getting dark," he says, eyes holding yours this time. "i’d feel better if you weren’t alone."

bf!jungwon who always has a hair tie on his wrist, smoothly handing it over when you need one. he even stayed up all night watching tutorials and practicing how to tie hair just so he could do it for you if you ever needed help.

one evening, as you're cooking, he gently gathers your hair and ties it back without a word, his fingers careful and precise. "don’t want it getting in your food," he murmurs, a small, proud smile on his lips.

bf!jungwon who gives you a small bottle of pepper spray one day, his ears turning pink as he says, "just in case. i’d worry too much if you didn’t have it."

bf!jungwon who insists you use his name whenever you order food for pickup because he thinks it’s safer.

"but why yours?"

"because it's safer to use a guy’s name," he shrugs, but the way he fiddles with his sleeve betrays how much he’s thought about it.

bf!jungwon who instinctively pulls you closer in a crowd, his hand easily finding yours like it belongs there, his cheeks slightly pink but his grip firm.

bf!jungwon who melts when you rest your head on his shoulder, tilting his head slightly so he can rest against you too, pretending it’s no big deal but secretly loving every second.

bf!jungwon who gives you his hoodie even when he’s freezing, rolling his eyes playfully but still nudging it toward you. "i’ll be fine, just take it."

bf!jungwon who never lets you doubt how much he cares about you. who makes sure you’re safe, warm, and loved every single day.

"i don’t care what happens, i just need you to be okay."

he has and always will put you first.

© legomaster333, all rights reserved.

letters from author here comes the poll winner! ill post the jake draft i have like tmrw or the day after (or whenever i finish my actual english essay..)

[fangirl-erdariel]

One thing that sometimes bugs me in the comparisons to Tolkien is that - it's not even like Tolkien's works are entirely devoid of sexual violence?? Like. He doesn't go into graphic detail on it, it's not something Tolkien has in central focus. But it most definitely is there. (And hey, Tolkien also doesn't go into detail on non-sexual violence if he doesn't need to)

More specific examples and rambling on the topic under the cut, bc this got long on what is already a long post

It really doesn't take a particularly attentive reader to figure out Wormtongue's intentions and desires regarding Éowyn, for instance; like yeah he never lays a hand on her as far as we know, but the threat of what could have happened if he'd gotten his way is... pretty obvious

And Silmarillion has its share of male characters desiring women (or the political power of those women's families, depending) and attempting (sometimes succeeding) to force them into marriage. I don't feel like getting involved in the debate of whether Aredhel initially not being "wholly unwilling" to marry Eöl and stay in Nan Elmoth disqualifies her from the list or whether the amount of coercion involved is enough to still make it count.

But Lúthien most definitely is kidnapped against her will, and though she escapes before anything happens, Celegorm's intention explicitly was to marry her whether she wanted or not. Upon seeing Lúthien, Morgoth, the evil dark lord "conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart", and I think we all can figure out what that is (and his lines in the Lay of Leithian, talking of Lúthien as "a pretty toy for idle hour" and speaking about kissing and then bruising and crushing pretty flowers... it's not particularly subtle), even if once again he doesn't get to actually do so.

And there's Maeglin, who desires Idril, and who is promised "the possession of Idril" as reward for betraying the location of the hidden realm of Gondolin, "and indeed desire for Idril -- led Maeglin the easier to his treachery"

And in the children of húrin bit there's Aerin of the folk of Hador whom the invader lord Brodda takes as wife against her will. And then of course there's Míriel of Númenor, whom her cousin Pharazôn forcibly marries in order to seize her throne that is rightfully there

All those are just what I can think of off the top of my head; I'm sure there'd be more examples if I cared to go digging through the material, but I can't be bothered

So, like. Yeah. Sure. Tolkien doesn't really ever use the word "rape" for the things that happen (he seems to mainly use that word in the more archaic meaning of large-scale destruction and/or robbery by violent means, rather than in its modern definition). And in Lúthien and Idril's cases, of course ultimately nothing happens, they escape and all. And as noted, Aredhel's case is more debatable since she wasn't "wholly unwilling". But still.

I'm pretty dang sure that Tolkien understood that a woman being married against her will would be subjected to sexual violence, and is assuming that to be the reader's understanding of the situation when those cases come up. Gríma's, Morgoth's, and Maeglin's intentions towards the women they desire are definitely to be understood as violent and with no care towards what the women in question want (and at least in Morgoth's case, judging by Lay of Leithian, even actively delighting in the idea of doing it by force to an unwilling victim)

And just. I don't know. It kind of bugs me when people act like Tolkien's setting and works are unrealistic because they're devoid of sexual violence? Like. Well first of all, as earlier posters in the thread have pointed out, massive amounts of sexual violence aren't necessarily realistic to begin with. But like also it is a thing that does happen in the setting too... I don't even mean this as a like "oh isn't it so fun doesn't this make the books so much more adult" or anything, and I understand people who enjoy Tolkien's books because it doesn't have like explicit rape scenes the way some other authors do. I just like... the fact that people keep claiming that sexual violence pretty much doesn't even exist in Middle-Earth, when it very much does, it's just kind of left as a threat and an implication or spoken of in very vague terms, is kind of baffling? Honestly it kinda gives the impression that the person saying it either hasn't read Tolkien since they were thirteen or doesn't actually spend the time to understand what the text they're reading means beyond the most obvious surface level. Or they're deliberately saying something that isn't true because it serves some point they want to make

Like, just because something is not shown explicitly in graphic detail with pages upon pages of description, doesn't mean it's not there in the story or the setting at all? You're supposed to pick up on implications and read between the lines and understand those as deliberate choices from the author and a part of the story and setting too?

Someone over on Discord asked, "I'm morbidly curious: How BAD is A Song of Ice and Fire in terms of the authenticity George claims it to be?"

My reply was straightforward:

The long and the short of it is that ASOIAF is basically a vehicle for GRRM to present both his rape fetish and his Hobbesian view on human nature and has less historical accuracy than Frozen or most other Disney movies.

That's actually a good way to think of it, now that I've said it--he's Family Unfriendly, they're Family Friendly, but both have the same relationship with History: just Pure Aesthetic with no consideration for how the worldbuilding would work.

[nymphaea-blue]

How would Rafayel be as your lover?

Info : 700+ word count, inspired by Radiant Halo - tender moments, fluff, slight mentions of possessive Rafayel, reader wears makeup.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel as your lover would not hesitate to spend money on you, he has more than enough. He would take you on expensive dates, buy you designer clothes (or design some for you himself) and buy you gifts on a weekly basis because he can, and he is more than happy to spoil you a little.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel as your lover would often help you with your makeup and clothing. He knows how to do makeup, so all you need to do is ask and he will do it with no hesitation. It's an intimate moment, one would think, with how Rafayel always looks at you when he does your makeup and helps you get ready. It's a small, domestic action but he truly cares about your comfort and he wants you to shine as brightly as possible.

“Try not to blink, cutie. We don’t want you to look like you have a blackeye the entire evening, right?” Rafayel teased you as he did your eye makeup. You were used to doing your makeup on your own, but this is a feeling you were slowly growing accustomed to as well. “Okay. Open up your eyes for me, I need to see if your eyeliner is symmetrical.” And you did as he asked, but your face immediately flushed as you noticed how close to your face he was and you couldn’t help but admire him. His face carried his signature smile that you adored and his eyes stared at you with so much love as they looked around your face, so focused on the task but also focused on you as a whole. You didn’t know you were staring until he spoke again. “It looks pretty symmetrical to me, come on, let’s go… Whatcha staring at, hm?” 

﹒　⁺ Rafayel as your lover would paint you many, many times. Most of the pieces are in his home, those are the ones that are more detailed or show your precious moments spent together, he loves to look at them and cherish how you look. A few rare paintings of you would be in galleries for others to watch, especially during his big exhibitions. Those ones are just mere representations of you, still painted with love but a mist of secrets as well, you aren't shown in full detail but everyone knows it's you. None of the pieces showcasing you ever get sold, no matter how much they want to pay for it. He wouldn't be able to deal with it if someone could just stare at you all day, you are just his after all.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel as your lover would protect you. He hired you as his bodyguard but with time, he finds himself doing that job more often. No matter how small it is, if you get uncomfortable or are in danger he will be by your side - no questions asked. He would fight for you, if he had to. Those hands aren’t just for art after all, they are perfect for holding you after a rough moment as well, and they can deliver punches too if someone dares to even try to get their hands on you without your permission.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel as your lover would have a whole room cleared for you in his home, just in case you would like to move in. Of course, if you are comfortable you are more than welcome to sleep in his room, the bed is big enough anyways and if not - then after a while of being dramatic he can sleep on the couch… or in the bathtub, for some reason.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel as your lover would be such a gentleman. He always opens the doors for you, no matter if you are entering a restaurant or just sitting down in the passenger seat of his luxurious car. He will gently take off your coat and hang it on the back of your chair, alongside your purse which he will happily carry later if your shoulder starts hurting. Whenever he wants to ask you for a dance, he will offer you a hand first with a polite “May I?”. Whenever you are out during a more serious occasion, he has everything you might need in his car or nearby - a change of shoes, bandaids, your makeup essentials, as well as a matching coat or something to cover you up if you get cold. He might not always act seriously and his demeanor can be playful, but when it comes to love, he does it right and it’s clear with the way he acts around you as if you are the most precious thing in the world, because to him - you are.

[killerplink]

Y'all, I have a bad case of Nightwing brain rot lmao, so here's more of this hottie 🤭 (I have more lined up bc my brain is that horny)

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 2,8k

Plot: After a brutal night on patrol, Dick comes home sore, bruised, and aching for relief. You take it upon yourself to help him unwind.

CW: 18+, smut, established relationship, deep throating, cum swallowing, masturbation, finger fucking, a bit of fluff ✨

Dick stumbles through the front door sometime after midnight, looking like he's been through hell and back, and he might as well have been. Gotham never lacks crime, never gives him a break, and he's always out there fighting it, night after night, no matter how much it wears him down.

The suit is scuffed, his lip is split, and you know he's sore just from the way he moves—stiff, tense, muscles wound tight from the night's work. But no matter how brutal the night gets, his favorite part of every day is always the same—coming home to you.

"Dick, my love, you look like shit," you murmur, but there's no bite in it, just worry, just love.

He chuckles, breathless, kicking off his boots. "Feel like it, too."

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours softly, but you notice the way he winces slightly, just the faintest hint of pain behind his expression. His hand presses against the couch for support, his body still heavy with exhaustion and soreness. But even as he winces, his kiss is tender, a stark contrast to the tension in his muscles.

He doesn't let it stop him, though—he deepens the kiss, his tongue slowly slipping into your mouth, desperate to feel something other than pain, something that can make him forget about the night's brutality.

You reach up, cupping his face gently, your thumb brushing across his jaw. His skin is warm and smooth, feeling soft under your touch. You kiss him back slowly, savoring the taste of him, the way his lips move against yours despite the ache in his body.

The tension in him fades with your touch, his breath soft as he exhales. You let your fingers trace along his face, grounding him, showing him without words that you're here, that you're not going anywhere.

A hot shower helps, washing away the blood and grime, easing some of the ache. When he steps out, towel slung low on his hips, you're already waiting, first-aid kit open, ready to tend to the bruises and scrapes he can't just sleep off.

"Sit, baby."

He obeys, spreading his legs slightly as he settles onto the couch. You step between them, your fingers gentle as you dab at the cut above his brow, then move lower, tending to the scrape along his ribs.

His hands—large, warm, still calloused from the night's work—find your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin. There's nothing overtly sexual about it, not at first, just quiet affection, just him touching you because he needs to, grounding himself in the warmth of your body.

You don't miss the way his eyes soften, the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing that matters. Like you're the only reason he comes home. Your touch is careful, practiced, but he still hisses when you press an alcohol wipe to his skin.

"Sorry," you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soothing him the way you always do.

And maybe it's the way he melts under you, or maybe it's just the way he looks—hair damp, muscles flexing under your touch, towel still hanging precariously off his hips—but fuck, you want him.

Want to make him forget about the pain, the bruises, the tension still lingering in his body.

So you press another soft kiss to his jaw, then lower, lips grazing his throat, his muscular chest. His breath stutters as you sink to your knees between his legs, fingers trailing over his stomach, teasing along the waistband of his towel.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice already strained, already knowing.

You tilt your head, blinking up at him with the most innocent expression you can muster, though your hands are anything but. One tug, and the towel falls open, his cock already half-hard, lying heavy against his thigh.

Pretty, just like the rest of him.

Because fuck, even his dick is beautiful—long, thick, flushed a deep shade of pink at the tip, veins running along his shaft, curving just slightly in a way that always hits just right inside you.

He's gorgeous everywhere, even here, even like this, leaking precum and twitching under your touch, aching to be inside you, to stretch your needy cunt open and fill you up just the way you love.

You hum, dragging your fingers up his length, tracing the veins, teasing the flushed, leaking tip with your thumb. He throbs under your touch, jaw clenching as his breath hitches.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock, tasting the first bead of precum. "Let me take care of you, baby."

And then you part your lips and take him in.

His head drops back against the couch with a low groan, fingers threading into your hair as you sink down, slow and deliberate, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him deeper. The stretch of him on your tongue is perfect, thick and heavy, and you moan around him just because you can't help it.

His cock is so big in your mouth, your lips stretched wide around him, your jaw already aching as you push yourself further down his length. He's barely even halfway in, but you don't stop—you need this, need to make him fall apart for you.

"F-fuck, that mouth—"

His grip in your hair tightens, not pushing, just holding, like he needs the anchor, like the pleasure is already threatening to pull him under. You work him slow at first, sucking, licking, teasing your tongue along the underside of his dick just to feel the way he shudders.

But you don't hold back for long—you can't. Not when he sounds so good, not when he's gripping the couch like he's barely holding on.

So you take a breath, relax your throat, and sink down.

His gasp is sharp, raw, his hips jerking just slightly as his cock slides deep, deeper, past your tongue, past your gag reflex, until your nose is flush against his pelvis. Your throat clenches around him, and his entire body shakes.

"Holy fuck—"

The thought barely registers in his head before you swallow, your throat tightening around his cock, sucking him down like you need it, like you're fucking starving for him.

"Jesus," he rasps, breath shuddering, "fuck, baby—"

Your nails dig into his thigh as you bob your head, deep-throating him over and over, your throat stretched perfectly around him. He's never felt anything like it—so fucking hot and wet and tight, your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock just right.

You're gonna fucking ruin him.

His jaw clenches, his abs tightening as he fights the urge to just fuck your throat, to chase the heat of it, to feel you struggle and choke around his dick. But you're already pushing yourself, already moaning like you love it, like you need this just as much as he does.

And fuck, that's what kills him the most—the way you enjoy this, the way you look at him, your eyes all hazy and desperate as you take him deeper, your throat convulsing around his cock.

Then you pull back just enough to take a breath, spit trailing from your lips to his length as you stroke him, looking up at him with those eyes, so fucked-out, so eager.

"You taste so fucking good," you murmur, tongue flicking over the head of his cock, licking up his precum. "Even your dick is perfect."

He laughs, breathless, wrecked. "Jesus, baby—"

Then you're back on him, sucking hard, letting him feel just how much you love this—love him. You moan around his dick, the vibrations making him curse, making his grip tighten in your hair.

And fuck, you need something too. Your free hand dips between your thighs, pushing your panties to the side, rubbing slow circles against your clit before sinking two fingers into your soaked cunt.

It's not enough—not even close. Your fingers are too short, too small, and they'll never stretch you like his do, never reach as deep as his cock does, but it's something, something to take the edge off as you swallow him down, your lips stretched wide around his cock.

Dick notices immediately. His eyes—half-lidded, dark with lust—flick down to where your hand moves between your legs.

"Are you—" his breath shudders out of him as you suck him deeper. "Fuck—touching yourself?"

You nod, moaning around his cock, your fingers fucking into your soaked cunt, the slick sound obscene as you work yourself open.

"That's—" his voice breaks on a groan as you take him deeper, nose pressing to his pelvis. "That's so fucking hot, baby—"

His cock throbs on your tongue, his abs tightening as you work him harder, faster, chasing his release as you fuck yourself with your fingers, already so close—

Then his grip in your hair tightens, tugging just enough to pull you back. And he fucking growls, fingers tangling in your hair. "Baby, I'm gonna—"

You don't give him a choice.

You take him back down, sucking him deep, moaning as you work your fingers faster inside yourself, already on the edge. He curses, hips jerking as he loses it, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling down your throat as his entire body tenses.

You swallow everything, moaning around him, letting him feel just how much you love this—love him. His cum coats your tongue, salty, thick, filling your mouth before you swallow it all, dragging your lips off his cock with a filthy, wet pop.

And that's it—that's it—the taste of him, the wrecked, desperate look in his eyes as you lick your lips, the way his cum still lingers on your tongue.

You whimper, fucking yourself faster, harder, hips grinding against your own fingers until you snap—a ragged, breathless cry tearing from your lips as the pleasure hits hard. Your swollen clit pulses, heat rushing through your body in waves, your cunt clenching down on your fingers, desperate for something more, something bigger, something his.

Your fingers work you through it, slick dripping down your thighs, soaking your hand as you shudder and moan, your body trembling, overstimulated and aching for him even as your orgasm ravages you.

And fuck, the way he watches you—eyes dark, lips parted, his still-sensitive cock twitching at the sight of you falling apart just from sucking him off. His jaw tightens, breath caught in his throat as his gaze locks onto the way your fingers rub slow, teasing circles over your oversensitive clit, how your soaked fingers slip from your fluttering hole, still dripping, still needy.

"Jesus, baby," he rasps, voice thick with heat and awe, his hands cupping your face, aching to touch you. "You're so fucking beautiful like this."

He knows that was good, knows it wasn't enough, knows you're still throbbing for him. And fuck, you need him to fix it.

Dick groans, pulling you up into his lap, his lips crashing onto yours in a deep, filthy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. He licks into your mouth, hot and messy, his tongue sliding against yours, teasing, claiming, making you whimper into him.

His hands are already between your thighs, fingers slipping through your wetness, making you shudder. He groans against your lips, dragging his fingers through the slick dripping from your cunt, teasing your entrance before sliding up to your throbbing clit, his touch possessive, relentless. He circles it slowly, too slowly, smirking against your mouth when you whine, hips jerking forward, needy for more.

"Already so wet for me," he murmurs, voice thick with lust, fingers pressing against your clit just right, making you tremble. "Such a messy little thing, aren't you, baby?"

And fuck, you are—soaked and desperate, aching for every touch, every filthy little thing he's about to do to you.

Before you can recover, before the last wave of pleasure even fades, his fingers sink inside you—two at first, long and perfect, stretching you open in a way your own never could. A sharp gasp catches in your throat, your cunt clenching down on him instinctively, still sensitive, still reeling, but fuck, you love it.

"One more, baby," he murmurs, voice low, wrecked, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as his fingers fuck into you, slick and messy, teasing the spot inside that makes you sob. "Give me another, yeah? Let me feel you squeeze my fingers this time."

His voice is so desperate, so needy, like he needs this more than air, like he's begging you to cum for him again—just once more.

And fuck, how could you ever tell him no?

Your thighs are still shaking, muscles twitching from your last orgasm, but you spread them wider, letting him see just how messy you are, just how needy he's made you. His fingers are still inside you, knuckles deep, fucking soaked—and when you clench down around them, whining, his breath shudders.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, eyes dark, heavy-lidded, watching you like you're the only thing in the world.

And when you rock your hips down, sinking onto his fingers with a broken gasp, he just lets you—fuck, he even helps you.

His other hand grips your hip, fingers digging in just enough to hold you steady, and every time you slide down, he curls his fingers just right—dragging against that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back, makes your stomach tighten, pulse with the need to cum again.

"Yeah? That's what you needed?"

His voice is all heat, all filth, dripping with praise and greed, and fuck, you can only nod.

"More," you whisper, voice shaky, wrecked.

And he gives it to you.

He spreads his fingers, stretching you just a little wider, just enough to make your hips stutter, to make you whimper. The lewd, wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out fill the room, mixing with your ragged moans, and fuck, you're close.

"You wanna cum for me, pretty girl?"

He's watching you fall apart, his cock twitching where it rests against his stomach, aching, throbbing, but he doesn't stop. He just fucks his fingers up into you harder, faster, matching the desperate way you ride them, chasing your high.

You're soaked, dripping, his hand shiny with it, and he loves it—loves how sloppy, how shameless you are for him.

Your walls clench down, pulsing around him as you gasp, moan, your whole body trembling as the orgasm crashes over you.

And fuck, the way he groans, the way he grinds his dick against your thigh, so wrecked, so desperate, tells you—he's just as fucking gone for you.

He grinds his still-hard cock against your soaked folds, feeling just how needy you still are, how your clit twitches when he rubs against it. He slides just the tip in—just to tease, just to hear you whimper—and he smirks against your mouth when you try to sink down onto him.

"Easy, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing yours, his voice low, wrecked, teasing. "You're still shaking."

And fuck, you are—still sensitive, still throbbing, still fluttering from the way he just fucked you open on his fingers. But it's not enough. Your cunt is aching for him, soaking for him, and when he nudges the head of his cock against your entrance, you whine, desperate.

"Please," you breathe, your lips brushing his, sticky, wet, still tasting like him.

But he's in no rush.

He slides the tip in, just enough to stretch you, just enough for your pussy to cling to him, and fuck, the way your slick coats his cock, mixing with his precum, makes his jaw clench.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, watching as he pulls back, just to see the way your arousal sticks to him, the way your cunt flutters around nothing, needy.

Then he does it again. Slipping just the tip in. Pulling back. Watching your slick drag across his cock.

It's torture. It's heaven. And fuck, it's so messy.

You kiss him hard, hot, sloppy, licking into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, moaning when he grinds the head of his cock against your aching clit.

"You want it that bad?" he murmurs against your lips, teasing, wrecked, cocky.

And God, you do. You whimper, grinding down, your clit rubbing against the head of his cock, so desperate, so fucking needy for him to just—

"That was—" he breathes, but the words seem to escape him.

"Hot as fuck?" you murmur against his lips.

He laughs, still breathless, still wrecked. "Yeah. That."

And you know he's already planning how to return the favor as he finally slides deep inside your aching pussy.

[fanzou]

Here's an idea? The OP guys. Sanji, Zoro, Law, (separately, of course) with a reader who has a crush on them, and they KNOW IT. (But nobody else does) So he just messes with her and gets her to blush, as his was of saying that he likes her too.🤭

Big, Fat, Crush

✗ Pairing(s): Zoro Roronoa x Fem!Reader, Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader, Law Trafalgar x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: What do they do knowing you have a crush on them?

✗ CW: Reader is wearing a dress in Zoro's first half, Teasing... and it's RUTHLESS, Law makes reader cry but he makes up for it, it gets a little suggestive at the of Sanji's part [Let me know if I missed any]

✗ Total WC: Zoro’s Ver. (1.8K), Law’s Ver. (2.3K), Sanji’s Ver. (1.3K)

✗ A/N: Wow. If you couldn't tell I loved writing this. I didn't intend for it to get so long but here it is! Enjoy love.

ZORO RORONOA

“You want me to get you any more sake, Zoro?”

“Yeah sure, thanks.”

The bar is crowded, but not so much that it was unbearable. You and Zoro found yourselves at the little table across from each other in the very back of the room catching up and debriefing about today’s events. But the day wasn’t so very eventful, otherwise he’d probably be drunk by this point to alleviate and level himself. He liked to really enjoy the end of his day like this. It was a good day.

You were tipsy, but he on the other hand, always held his alcohol well.

“What do you wanna do tomorrow before we leave the island?” You ask him, he liked the silence between you two, even in a rowdy bar, but he didn’t hate when you talked to him either. You asked all the right questions, you weren’t obnoxiously dumb like the rest of the crew, even when you were under the influence.

“Not too sure yet. I didn’t get the time to check out what they had with your excessive clothes shopping.” He says so nonchalantly, taking a sip of the drink you got him.

You pout with your brows furrowed, cute, “I did not buy that many clothes!”

“It probably felt that way ‘cause I was carryin’ the bags all damn day.” He grinned at you, a mischievous one.

You roll your eyes at him, but then giggle into your own drink, “You’re insufferable.”

He doesn’t miss the way you blush at his harmless teasing.

He never does.

-

So…

You end up a little more drunk than anticipated.

And you can’t for the life of you remember what you did last night. Your head was pounding, like, real life pounding through your skull almost like it was angry for you being so reckless just a few hours ago.

But to your relief, your back on the ship, clothes from last night still on and somewhat in tact— a little wrinkled, and your dress was ridden up a bit more than you were comfortable with. You pull it down immediately in embarrassment. Hopefully Zoro didn’t see that. Anyway, you scope out the girl’s quarters to see that Nami and Robin weren’t anywhere to be seen, and there was none of the usual liveliness in the ship that you knew and loved, no running footsteps, bangs, booms, nothing. Assuming that the green-haired man probably took you back to the ship in your drunken state and took his own personal stroll into the small town at the island, you relaxed.

But you were probably gonna get an earful from the crew since Zoro had a tendency to get lost.

Your shame settles in, and you mentally curse at yourself for being so reckless when the team counted on you for being the more careful one of the two. But something about his energy was so comforting, and you felt so safe around him. The fact that he safely took you back to the ship was living proof of that and you got a little flustered at the thought.

How did he carry you back? Bridal? On top his shoulder? Were you faced forwards or back? Maybe not even carried at all, just arm slung around his shoulder— Whatever the case, the thought of the close proximity made you nervous to think about.

To your astonishment you hear a knock on the door to the shared room. “Come in!” You say, your head immediately punishing you for it.

To your surprise, Zoro opens the door, and comes in. He closes the door before he faces you. “You feelin’ alright? You kinda got a little ahead of yourself.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I have the worst head ache of all time.” Your head is in your hands and your hair looks ten times more disheveled than it did when you woke up. You fight the feeling of discomfort and look up at him through messy stands of hair, “What, you’re not going back to enjoy your time with out me? I wouldn’t be so offended.”

He thinks to himself for a moment,

“I was waiting for you to get up.” His arms are crossed onto his chest now. His words are so effortless when he makes your heart jump.

“Zoro, it’s gonna take me a long time to get ready, how ‘bout you just go on ahead?”

You push away the hair covering your face to get a good look at his; his expression is borderline unreadable. It looks foreign on him.

It was all-knowing, it was up to no good. And you can only imagine what that meant.

“I’ll wait.”

-

So, Zoro waited the hour and a half for you to get ready, even though it meant that most of the day was already wasted. He insisted on taking you with him to the town you guys went to only yesterday, stating that it was simply because the crew wouldn’t let him hear the end of it had you both separated. It’s funny though, because you could swear that he was moving a bit differently than he was just yesterday. Whether good or bad, it was off-putting nonetheless. You’ve never seen him act this way.

After dabbling in his fair share of store-visiting to try to tie with yours (Spoiler: he did not.), it was already sunset, and he wanted to go to the bar, but you insisted that you didn’t want a repeat of last night. In his surprising obedience, he listened. You did, however, both meet in the middle for a late night food-grab and settled on a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. You and Zoro quickly ordered and waited for the delicious meals that you knew you both were going to absolutely demolish.

You finally relaxed your form into the seat, taking advantage of the comfort you felt after walking around all day. You hardly exchanged a few words since you got into the restaurant, presumably because of how much time you spent together all day, so it was a surprise when Zoro opened his mouth to finally speak.

“Y’know, you talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

You halt in your comfort, God, you thought he was gonna forget about this already. Zoro teased you a lot but since you got on this island, it’s easily become relentless. And whatever your shenanigans were about last night were ground for it now.

In an effort to move away from the topic, “Hmm… yeah, don’t we all? Amirite? I’ve heard you say some crazy stuff when you were black-out drunk!” You laughed, lightly slapping the table to emphasize how “funny” it was. He seemed unfazed though, if anything, a little more confident in the words he would utter. His head was resting on his on the palm of his hand now, and that same smirk from earlier returned.

“Guessing none of them were love declarations, huh?”

Time stopped, save for your heart dropping down to your asshole.

Your eyes were wide, and you were praying to God that you misinterpreted the insinuation of what he just said.

“W-What do you mean?” He seemed so fascinated by the situation unraveling between the two of you, his grin never faltering. It was shocking, Zoro never really talked this much about nonsense, if you could call it that.

He chuckles at your shock almost sadistically, “You tried kissing my face the entire night and kept telling me how handsome I was, and how much you lo—”

“STOP!” Your hand not so subtly smacks his mouth shut, and the staff gives you both a weird look.

Great, now I’m making it everyone’s business!

You slowly remove your hand and try to avert your gaze elsewhere, while still fending for yourself. “I’m j-just a loving drunk... I-I guess…” The embarrassment is getting to be too much now, and whatever what you say at this point is just going to look like a lie, a big fat lie. And you wanna crawl into the nearest hole and die there. How can you even face the crew anymore? How can you look at him in the eye? Where’s the nearest exit so you can just run far, far away from him?! It seems like you’re plotting for the rest of how your life is gonna be from this point on, until he puts an end to your thoughts.

“C’mon woman. Get real. Why don’t you just face up to it? I see the way you look at me all the time. Drunk or not.” Zoro is leaned all the way back in his chair when you look up, his arms are crossed just how they were this morning. And you just want to melt into your chair at this point. Get away from anything and every thing that exists. Especially Zoro, if it wasn’t obvious. “God, you're naive, naive as hell.”

Embarrassment subsided for a moment, you sit there with your brows furrowed, now trying to piece together his new and probably much more embarrassing revelation. “…What? Why do you say that?”

He scoffs at you, “Y’Really gonna make me say it?”

What?

Zoro was never the articulate type and you respected that, but if there was an instance where you really hated his lack of speech; It was now.

For a split second, he looks a little conflicted on what he was going to say next. Like he was fighting the next words to come out of his mouth, his arms twitch a bit and he lets out a little sigh, shaking his head in what looks like defeat. But before you can say anymore; he gets out of his comfortable position, leans toward you and over the small table, grabs your shirt and…

Kisses you.

It was short, but Zoro thought he was going to die inside trying to build up the courage to say I love you instead. And this, this was so much better.

He would’ve mistook you for a tomato across from him when you sit back from his attack on your lips. He’s a little flustered himself, he does well to mask it, but it was worth your reaction. And since it was late at night the restaurant was almost dead at that point, with you both once again, sitting in the very back. So he wasn’t too crazy about who was watching.

“I’m… I… Um…” you’re trying so hard to get your words together. What the hell just happened. “I…”

Before you can say anything, you eat your words again. The server comes with your long anticipated dinner. He chooses to disregard the absolute mess you look, and some of your lipstick on Zoro’s mouth— and puts your food down onto the table.

“Enjoy you two lovebirds! My, what a beautiful couple you both make!”

LAW TRAFALGAR

The Polar Tang was full of energy today. In the dining hall, the crew sat down and talked the night away.

Penguin and Shachi were laughing it up and finding comfort in their drinks, you and Ikkaku talked about personal affairs over the amazing meal you shared, then Bepo joined in and you three all got a little too into some dumb gossip amongst another pair in the crew.

Safe to say everyone was having the night of their life. Something the Heart Pirates couldn’t do a lot.

All except your captain.

Always buried in his books and studies, Law claims that he wish he could have time to spend with you all, blasé blasé bla, but there was always an excuse that was thrown in your faces. Always. You respected his time and effort, it was something that not a lot of people could do.

So that’s why after your conversation with your friends was drawn to an end and they either resorted to drinking with the rest of the crew or just enjoying more talk, you decided to slip away for a moment. You didn’t know what possessed you to do this, (you did, you just wanted an excuse) but you fix up another plate and swiftly make your way towards your captains room. The food was delicious so, why not? What’s the harm?

The closer you got to his door is the more an anxiety rose in your chest, and your hands were getting a little shaky. There was nothing to be nervous about!

Just maybe seeing his handsome face focused so strongly on a certain text, the way his rough, calloused hand grips the pen so gently, or your favorite part— his parted and unbuttoned shirt, where you can see a window of his chest, not a lot but just enough to leave some imagination to how the rest of his tattooed body might look... And you stop yourself for a second, physically and mentally.

I’m being such a pervert right now.

You resume your slow and anything but steady walk to his quarters and you finally meet face to face with the door.

You pull your first up to knock after taking a very deep breath, but before your skin could touch the surface his voice is already urging you to step inside. And so you obey.

Once inside you immediately start to scan the sight before you, and it wasn’t much different from the one you had in your imagination. Of course this meant that you were a bit flustered coming to him, but you manage, “‘Just wanted to drop off some food for you, in case you couldn’t join us tonight.” You say with a little softness in your tone.

“Thank you. You can put it down on my desk.”

And you obey, again. Walking up to his desk full of papers and books/ You realize that it was a little messy and not clean enough to set the plate just anywhere, and his hands scramble through the paper to find a place for you to set the plate down until you finally do. Then, another thought emerges from your fantasy world.

“Do you need help organizing your desk, cap? I have some time and I don’t really feel like going to sleep anyways.”

He smiles softly at you and calls your name in a way that you wish you could hear over and over and over again, and he thanks you once more, “You’ve done enough for me tonight. I appreciate it.” You hide your disappointment in his words, but nod and make your way to the door anyway.

You exchanged your good night’s and make your way to your room. And when you fall back on your bed, you take your pillow and scream into it like a crazed schoolgirl in love.

-

The next morning comes, and you can guarantee that the crew has already started on breakfast. You rub your eyes and start to get cleaned up and fetch a new pair of clothes for the day.

Once you’re all freshen up, you make your way to the dining hall, surprised to hear no ruffling and noise. Maybe everyone was suffering the consequences of last nights drinking challenges, you thought. But even so, it wouldn’t be this quiet.

Your met with Law’s figure in the dining hall and he’s making tea for himself. He notices you, “You’re up really early.”

“Did you even get a wink of sleep?” You say in concern.

He’s silent for a few seconds, and he makes his way to the table to enjoy his freshly brewed drink. “I couldn’t.” Or more like he wouldn't.

You sigh, yup, that was your captain. You thought for a second, thinking about what you could do in order for him to feel better about his own consequences from a lack of sleep. But you know he would just decline most of your suggestions. Instead, you plop yourself in the seat across from him. You both sit in a comfortable silence while you waited for your coffee to be made, and you take a second to scan his tired features.

He does well to hide it in his mannerism, but his face betrays him. You can tell he's deathly tired, and if he let's his eyes close for more than a second you're sure he'd plop right onto the table.

“Take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer.”

You blink, and you blink again. “O-Oh, sorry…” he’s not offended, if anything his face is smug. You’re quick to defend yourself with a little scoff, “Can’t a woman be worried for her captain? You don’t look the best anyway.” You quickly cover your mouth, seriously, how dumb did you have to be?

But he only laughs at your remark, he shakes his head and his smug expression does not leave his face. “It’s a little hard to not point out when you do it all the time.”

“I do not!”

“Do too.”

“I don’t!”

“Don’t what?” Shachi comes into the room completely oblivious to what you guys were bickering childishly about. He’s rubbing his eyes, “Why are you both up so early? Especially you,” he points at you, “You drank a lot.”

You roll your eyes, you hardly drank. And now you were a little embarrassed at his public revelation, (though it was a secret to nobody but Law,) and your face grows a little red.

The rest of the crew gets up one by one and soon enough breakfast is served. You barely pick up your head anymore out of shame of your earlier dispute, if you could even call it that, with your captain. Bepo is talking about something he encountered a while back while on an adventure with Law, usually you’d be invested, but you were far too in your zone.

And so you get up and make your way to your room, the gloominess practically radiating off of you. Your absence is barely noticed due to the focus everyone had on Bepo’s story.

Law notices, though.

He excuses himself and Bepo gets a little upset, but he understands and respects his captain, so he resumes his dramatic story that keeps everyone on the edge of their seat. You, on the other hand, were now face flat on your pillow mumbling self-deprecating comments to yourself after the terrible situation you were just in.

That was so embarrassing. My captain hates me. It’s so obvious. Why do I do this to myself. Why did I think that was okay. I’m going to escape. (You were under water) This is dumb. I’m du—

*Knock Knock*

You lift your head up even though you didn’t want to, “No.” is all you could manage.

“It’s your captain.”

As much as you wanted to tell him to piss off and let yourself drown in the shame you felt, you couldn’t. Because at the end of the day, it was as your captain proclaimed, though you wanted it to be much more, there was nothing you could do. Nothing, especially after today's consequences.

After a bit of hesitance and a lot of hurt in your voice, you tell him, “You can come inside.”

He cracks the door open a smidge to further observe your well-kept room and there you were, lying on your stomach with your arms crossed, face laying against them and your eyes away from his. It wasn’t the most appropriate sight for your captain to walk in on, but you two were close enough for him to get comfortable enough to let the door open and let himself all the way into your room.

He walks towards you and pulls a chair over, turns it around and manspreads against it to take his seat-- and you really wanted to take in the sight completely, but even that wasn’t enough to get your mood back up and running.

“You left.”

“Why do you care?” You turn your head the opposite way facing the wall beside you. Law doesn’t say anything for quite some time and you can almost bet on your tears slipping soon. He was making this so much more worse than it had to be.

He calls your name, and you just wanna melt into the soft fabric beneath you. “Look at me.”

You disobey.

After your reluctance to his order, he draws out a sigh. You always were the most stubborn of the crew. So with this, he thinks long and hard on his next words or actions, and finally lands on one possible outcome.

“You leave me no choice.”

“Wha— Law!” He turns you around by your waist and forces you up with just one hand. Then, before you know it, your body is slung across his broad shoulder while he finds his bicep tight around your thighs. You were facing backwards while he carried you. “Now you’re calling me by name, no captain anymore?" he laughs, "I think I’ve gone too soft on you.”

“What are you doing!?” You say, trying to get out of his grasp, but even with all of your strength, he was no match for you. “Someone will see!”

“No they won’t. I’m taking you to my room.” He opens the door in one swift motion and kicks it in another.

“And you’re not explaining why!” You hit his back in defiance. You were halfway through the corridor to meet his room already, so you just give up.

He takes no time in entering his room, finally putting you down and ordering you to sit on a spare seat in the grand environment. You were insanely nervous at this point, taken aback by his sudden action and the intimacy of it all. He’s peering down at you with a seriousness in his gaze that makes you put your head down in the worst shame you’ve felt since you’ve woken up.

You always thought that maybe, you might have had a chance with him one day. All that was thrown out the window now.

And it's time to swallow your pride. You take a deep breath, and build a whole lot of courage, and:

“I’m sorry, for saying that about you in the dining hall. And getting smart with you. And calling you by your first na—”

“You’re really stubborn, did you know that?”

And there it is, you feel the tears build up once again, and it hurts. Because the firmness in his voice is always the same. So demanding and... so difficult for you.

“And I don’t know why I’m attracted to you. I don’t understand why I tolerate the things you do.”

You start crying now, because you don’t know what else to do. You don’t know the sincerity of his words, and you hold yourself in the chair that you sat on, trying your best to look away from him.

He walks towards you and gets on his knees in front of you, It was a little bit of a blow to his own pride, and it wasn’t something he would do for anyone else at all. But you were different. You’re still crying and you weakly try pushing him away and looking to the side and the new guilt starts to form itself inside of him, but he insists that he stays where he is. He’s whispers an I’m sorry before his hands find solace on your jaw while both of his thumbs wipe your tears away. You look down at him with the most beautiful eyes he’s seen, your gaze softens at him and your crying calms down a little bit seeing that he wasn't so serious anymore, but instead his expression was a little desperate.

-- He’s still got a lot to make up for, and he knows now was not the time to press you on anything else— there was nothing to press anyways. You were perfect, in every aspect of the word. He just enjoyed the idea of teasing you, not anyone else, but he took it too far.

When he was sure that you were more comfortable in his arms, he pulled you down and pushed the chair away. He takes you in his embrace and whispers his apologies into your ear so genuinely.

“This wasn’t the way I thought this would go.” He lets the thousandth sigh out of his mouth today. You look into his eyes with a questioning expression, “I mean that, I fucked it up.”

It was your turn to feel guilty again, but you were tired of words.

You just take his face in your hands just as he did not so long ago, and you both look at each other for a moment. His eyes look to your lips for a second, and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he was just as eager as you, maybe he was. His lips inch towards yours and they take no time in meeting.

It’s slow, soft, sensual. And it takes a while for your mouths to part. When they do, all you can do is stare at each other.

You finally breathe, “Okay,” you face turns to the side to escape his beautiful one.

“Maybe all of that was pretty worth it.”

SANJI VINSMOKE

You’ve been avoiding Sanji all week.

And he can’t decide if he should talk to you about it or not, he’s leaning more towards the latter, just because he’s too into the nervousness that suddenly appears on your face when you’re in close proximity. Then; you’re scrambling to the nearest door and half-assing an excuse about where you need to be or what you need to do.

He personally loves when it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner and he gets to not only cook your favorite meals and you can’t escape him, otherwise the crew would immediately worry for your absence. He also enjoys how embarrassed you get when you can feel him staring at you. Alas, he can’t stand the inability to talk to you and be in your unwanted presence anymore, he needed to make his move on you quick.

You see, earlier this week a battle occurred between you, Sanji, and an enemy that threatened the Thousand Sunny.

You and Sanji had both agreed to guard the ship while the rest of the crew had prepared their own duties on the foreign land, he insisted that there would be no good food supply and there was already enough stocked up from the last. It was a no-good devil fruit user, who wielded the ability to make its opponent confess a super big secret, to then throw them off completely, and defeat them. It was like a weak spot-- psychological warfare more so. And… he got you.

Can you guess what your secret was?

For certain, the devil fruit did its magic. And Sanji was surely taken aback, but adamant on defending the ship and more importantly, you, he did his part and tried with all his might to fight the bad guy off and made a mental note to immediately come find you afterwards.

You were close to passing out from shock after the bewildering confession, but when you came to, the blonde sat right beside you in a shit-eating grin, “So… you’re crushin’ on me, princess?” And you wanted to pass out again, but instead you just run for the ship and locking yourself in your room, ignoring his pleas to come back and talk about it.

Ever since that day, the atmosphere between you two had been a bit awkward. Conversations weren't as light and smooth, you tried finishing your food as fast as possible and managing a quick thank you before making a bee line to the girls room, and most importantly— everyone took notice of how distant you got from Sanji.

Usopp fell victim to the awkward encounters more often than the rest, and it was safe to say they were getting on his last nerve now. "Whatever you did, you should apologize, man!" He pats his back as a sign of encouragement. And for a second it almost felt like you and him were a married couple having problems, it brought a smile to his face.

Not to worry, he had a plan.

-

You joined Robin in a comfortable silence below the deck, praying to the heavens you wouldn’t hear from the blonde cook while the sun set so beautifully. Your original ploy was to just act like it never happened, but anytime you saw him it was like re-imagining the entire scenario over and over again.

Your head is hanging off the chair while you doze off and Robin is reading her book— appreciating your silence, the weather was just a little windy and the sky had a nice orange and red gradient to it. The waves were crashing against the boat but it wasn’t overbearing, it was just fine.

You asked Robin to read her book out loud, even though you weren’t following the storyline, you found comfort in her melodic voice and how softly she read it and sure enough she would be lulling you to sleep soon.

But before you could finally reach sleep like you intended, there’s a presence you can sense, and Robin puts her beautiful voice to a halt. You don’t want to open your eyes but it almost seems like you have to.

And you immediately regretted it.

Above you was Sanji. “Hi.”

“Sanji!” He moves a little back from you, and you straighten your posture, wide awake. “I was just leaving actually, I have to clean the girls room! I lost a bet a while back. So… I’m gonna go do that.”

“I don’t think that bet ever happened but, I’m not entirely opposed to you doing that for us.” Robin says smugly. You loved her but the betrayal on your face spoke volumes in that moment.

You’re already defeated and you’re trying to muster up another shitty excuse, “We can’t delay this anymore than we have.” He takes your hand and you can only burn eyes at the skinship. You’re lightheaded again, just like that day you confessed.

And he drags you into the kitchen with him before you can defy him a hundred times over, he locks the door to slow down your escape, and if anyone came in on the two of you.

He finally turns around to look at you with the most frustrated expression littered all over his face.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He asks you in desperation, and you kinda wanted to slap him out of your own mixed emotions, because it was pretty obvious as to why. He catches on shortly after, “Okay, scratch that. Why is it necessarily a bad thing that you have feelings for me?”

“Please Sanji, let’s just forget about i—”

“How do I forget something like that? Why are we holding this off? Are we just never gonna talk about it?” You sense some repressed anger boiling up inside of him, and to tell the truth you’ve never seen him speak to any woman like this, so raw and nothing to hold back. “Listen, the cat’s out the bag, right? What’s the point in hiding it if we both feel this way about each other?”

…

…

…

“You… felt the same way… and you’re just now telling me this?” You walk towards him, he looks away in shame.

“It’s not about how you feel towards me, I’m just not worthy of you. I don’t deserve you.” You push him out of sheer frustration, and he just lets you.

Sanji assumes you’ll just use him as your personal punching bag at this point with the amount of self-deprecating thoughts he’s already throwing at himself in his head, but all of them were replaced once you took him by the shoulders and pulled him into a powerful kiss. He was in shock, but he quickly melted into it, grabbing you by both sides of your face, and you pull away.

“All you did was tease me and taunt me and put me over the edge these past few days, for what? Just to reveal that you wanted me too?” You scoff, but your lips betray you. You lean back into the kiss and it’s so much more passionate than before. His hands find comfort in your hips.

After the kiss got a little too passionate, and Sanji already making his move on your neck, you all but gave into him. So willingly.

“You locked the door, right?” You ask.

He grins into the quick kiss, excited by your insinuation, “Yeah.”

meanwhile, on the deck

Chopper quickly becomes your replacement for Robin, although not as quiet, she does equally enjoy her time with you both.

Choppers stomach gives him away, “Robin, I’m hungry. Do you know if Sanji’s making dinner soon?”

Robin smirks, and pats Chopper on the head.

“He’s busy with something right now, I think it would be best if we didn’t bother him, either.”

[boofeine]

So interesting on how seventeen gets jealous.

Hehe, able to do a drabble for mingyu jealous based on it?❤️😬🫶🏽

(sorry for taking so long... again 😅)

WARNINGS: mdni, angst,,, unrevised work !!!

"I'm gonna take a shower" Mingyu says while you finish to let your shoes by the door and lock it as you both enter your apartment.

That's not an uncommon saying or action from him, but you know when you just know something is off? That was the case. He sounded dry for some reason and didn't even spare a glance as the first thing he does it's walk to the shower.

You're letting your things by the kitchen corner, taking some things out of your purse when you hear the water running. You feel uneasy and contemplate if you should dare join him or just wait to talk when he comes out.

'Fuck it' you think, walking to the bathroom door, jeans already being undone and shirt getting lose. You knock and no response.

"Gyu? Can i come in?" You speak through the door, waiting a few seconds before opening the frame "Gyu?" you ask again, slipping your head inside. The room is starting to get foggy, but you are still able to see the outline of his naked torso as the water runs down from his neck to his chest, enough to gather you courage to come in.

You finish taking your clothes off and join him. He slowly opens his eyes, meeting down on your small form as you smile foundly but whimsy.

"Hi" You murmur.

"Hi" He answers, dry again. Opening you space to take the water instead. He leads you and changes your positions with a hand on your hips. Even looking as something wrong happened, he stills the sweetest to you.

When you wet yourself enough, you look back, and he has shampoo on his hair. You change positions again, and he starts to clean it off. You tiptoe, getting closer to reach his long hair hair too, helping him out. Your hands are soft and caring as you caress his hair. Mingyu is just looking at you, the same way you are looking at him, but he has a sad look and pouty lips.

You pull him, soap on your hands as you start to spread on him, his shoulders first, and then down his chest and belly.

"When you're gonna tell me what's wrong" You say while on it.

He helps you, spreading the soap on his arms as he thinks what to say. After a while, he shoots "I saw that guy hitting on you earlier". Your lips form a thin line. Somehow, you want to smile, but he hasn't finished yet. "And still, you stay most of the night of his group of friends".

It's true, you think. Now that he said that to you, you can understand where it comes from. Yes, the guy did hit on you, but you said no, and also add that you are taken. His group of friends are your friend's friends, and the only people (that you slightly know) that were dancing, and you wanted to dance, so you stuck to them.

"You should've tell me" you said, getting a bit sad too. The sudden silence gets you itchy and you can see Mingyu swallowing dry.

"You looked so happy. I wouldn't bother your fun." He adds, confessing it. And some of it makes him embarrassed and bothered that you were having so much fun without him. But he won't tell you that.

"You don't bother me, Mingyu" You reply seriously, stopping on your tracks to look back on him. "I wanted to dance, and they were the people I knew" you add "I want you to tell me when you're uncomfortable" you say lastly, and you suddenly want to cry because you're afraid he didn't have fun like you did, and you feel bad for have not done anything.

"Okay" he says smally and low.

Silence again.

"Turn around" you said, as you start to clean his back down to his hips, but also to hide how a few tears fall down. You clean than off and finish "I'm sorry" You add when he starts to turn back to face you again.

"Please, don't be!" He answers way too fast that startles you, cutting your words "Please don't ever apologize for having fun. I am sorry" he says, and you nod because he's right, but still, he can't just put aside what he feels either, you think that just what jealousy is.

You tiptoe again, caging him on your arms instead as he touches you for the first time, sliding his hands to your hips and resting on your lower back that let shivers down your skin. Your faces are close, nose slightly touching.

"I love you" You say, your hot breath on his lips making his mouth open in an almost gasp.

"I love you too" He adds before finally kissing you, raw and needy like he was craving it.

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ A FLAME BLOOMS, LIKE A FEVER

02z WHEN YOURE SICK

pairings: enha (02z) × reader genre: fluff wc: 0.55k warnings: use of petnames notes: I accidentally bought kids panadol when I was sick and it was so fire I think it was called calpol but it was so good yo | LIBRARY

JAY — acts of service!!

Don't expect to move a finger, you're hungry? He'll cook. You need something from another room? He'll get it. You need to go downstairs? He'll carry you.

“Jay you can't do everything for me, honey.” You'd croak out, coughing. And Jay would already be standing with a glass of warm honey water for you to soothe the ache in your throat.

He takes your words as a challenge. He absolutely can do everything for you. Just you wait and see.

You're pulling your jumper over your arms, feeling too hot, and Jay runs, practically sprints to your side.

“Arms up love,” you don't have the energy to argue with him, and if you did, you're sure you'd lose anyways, letting him pull the material over your head in one swift motion.

You can expect that jumper to be freshly washed and neatly folded in your closet the next time you get up. Maybe even with a couple of sprays of his cologne to make it smell just like him.

JAKE — bribes you with kisses

Is a mother. He knows you're going to be sick even before you are. It's like an instinct. He'll warn you, telling you not to go out with wet hair or to take a jacket when you go out. You don't listen, of course, and Jake nags you endlessly.

Still, he takes care of you meticulously, spoon feeding you home cooked meals he's spent hours making.

“Jakey, I'm really not hungry.” You'd say, but he was having absolutely none of it.

“I know, baby, but you have to eat.” he'd coo before the idea comes to him, “One bite and i'l give you a kiss, hmm?”

Ever greedy for kisses, you'd agree, not realising Jake would probably end up the same as you a week later. He doesn't mind, though, just wanting you to get better.

Despite your hair being absolutely soaked with sweat, Jake still traces his fingertips across your head, massaging it. Only feeling relieved when you finally fall asleep.

SUNGHOON — medicines galore

At first, he tries to fix everything with wet paper towels and some panadol, but when that doesn't work, Sunghoon goes above and beyond.

“I got some headache medicines from the pharmacy, a few flavours of cough drops in case you don't like them all, I got these cute tissues, some herbal medicine and apparently chewing on ginger helps too.” He'd only have been gone for half an hour, not wanting to leave you alone for too long, and he'd come back with enough medicine to last you both a lifetime.

One you take the medicine, he watches you like a hawk, monitoring your condition, checking for any side effects. And if the medicine doesn't seem effective within a few hours, you practically have to beg Sunghoon not to buy more.

“Hoon, it's not going to work that quickly.” You have to tug him from walking away with all your strength.

“But you're sick.” He looks at you, frowning, with pouted lips and puppy eyes. You know just how much he hates seeing you in pain, with those low energy levels, and the missing spark in your eyes. It makes your heart swell.

“Hmm, they say the best medicine is—”

Sunghoon leaps out of your hold, ecstatic, “What, what is it?”

“Cuddles.”

taglist : @nanawrlds @flaminghotyourmom @mystverse @chenlezip @lotties-readings @jenobubbles

[4rticbolt]

Card DECLINED |Master-List|

Monster Trio+Law x !Fem!Reader, crack, fluff, modern-au, poor core (real), cashier is going THROUGH IT, !Early-relationship! , Ugh I thought this was so adorable, might be my favorite so far

They take you on a date and there card declines in-front of you...

Lemme know if I should do a fic for one of em' :)! (And spelling mistakes)

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

Luffy

100% bought it all on fast food, he holds a Guinness World Record for the most amount of food eaten, period.

Would be confused at first, and wouldn't get it till you finally told him somethings wrong with his card. He about shoved it in there 100x times...

"HAH!? Why's it not working!''

"Wait huh seriously? Aww man..."

He'd definitely apologize and laugh it off. But he'd silent judge his card for failing him now as he attempted to finally buy you something. He ould definitely go and text Nami to Venmo him some quick money for you--in which she'd automatically decline.

(Much like his card)

Your bf would grumble, but he'd be quick to mask it with his short attention span.

He ended up dragging you into another random store after finding a whopping 5 bucks on the ground, sopping wet and crumpled from the rain... But somehow the cashier accepted it out of pity and he'd managed to buy you a little doodad in exchange--coming up behind you with a surprise in hand.

He giddily spun you around gleaming with excitement as he pecked you on the cheek.

"Shisihi, look what I got youuu! It's awesome"

(It was a crooked hot-wheels, but you ended up putting it on your shelf to cherish it)

Zoro

Sake was his downfall. Alcohol as we all know is incredibly expensive so it wasn't even a surprise, you expected it to eventually happen with how much he loved his booze...

Moreover you'd think it was a turn off with all his bottles but he'd always been a responsible drinker, and he barely got drunk...maybe a few times if he'd finally eased up in your arms.

Though when he swiped his card, it hadn't gone through. He'd pause and play it off a first, trying again, but when the cashier finally told him their were insufficient funds he'd go beet red.

"I don't know what you're talking about, it's gotta be your stupid machine..."

Not slick, at. all.

He'd act dense abt it, though deep down he knew he royally fucked up, so much for a romantic date...

When you finally offered to pay, he stubbornly grumbled as you had placed some spare cash on the counter.

"Oi, You didn't have to do that..."

He wouldn't immediately say thank you, but he'd been quietly grateful you were smart to bring 'just in case' cash... which he'd also said wasn't necceasry... but look what happened.

You tended to be right in these scenarios.

Eventually, a few days later he'd begrudgingly said thank you and handed you some floppy but colorful flowers as he had randomly stopped by your house to work.

Coincidently getting lost, but he'd never admit it.

The offering was rather chaotic as you'd just gotten out of the shower, but it only made him more flustered.

"Didn't uh, mean to interrupt, just wanted to drop these off. And thank you for the other day."

Sanji

I physically cannot see this man's card declining, so he had probably used the wrong card...

But even if he did I could see him full on freaking out, like telling the cashier to run it again and crossing his arms as his fingers anxiously tapped on his arm. He almost went to call his bank until he realized it wasn't his main card and his embarrassed meter went through the roof.

He went pink, but as you offered to pay he immediately shut it down. Sanji would never let you pay for anything, he wanted to take care of you and spoil you like no other--so forget asking. Even if you weren't that far along in dating.

He'd rather search the floor for pennies than letting you pay.

Though if you did somehow manage to pay, he'd pay you back beyonddd extra. Like I'm talking about full on flowers and little chocolates or anything romantic you could imagine...

Even if you thought it was rude to accept, he'd quickly assure you it was okay and that 'he wanted to' so it didn't matter if it was 'payback' or not. He'd came over to hand out and he'd gently grab your hand kissing it as he spoke with gentle words.

"My love, just take it please, it'd mean the world to me."

Law

Law's card wouldn't normally decline, but one of his transactions for his action figure(s) had finally come through and he didn't realized it till he'd taken you out for lunch.

The waiter had handed him back his card and he deadpanned for a moment--before telling them to try it again--but hopelessly it didn't make a difference. And to make things better the waiter outright said he was broke and needed a different form of payment.

Law would loathe the moment, feeling second-hand embarrassment for miles as he brooded wishing it happened anywhere else no mattering the time.

He'd be in embarrassed, growing quiet with a darkened expression as he averted his gaze. And it only intensified when you happily handed the waiter your card, assuring him it wasn't the end of the world... and that you were just happy to be here with him.

He had gone increasingly quiet, and you couldn't help but laugh as he covered his face with the tilt of his infamous hat.

"L-Let's just go."

This man would NEVER let it happen again, and he'd carefully watch his guilty spending habits with a sour expression. The thought of that moment practically kept him up at night.

Law didn't pay you back, but he'd taken a little time off work to spend more quality time with you as that seemed to make you happy. And your doctor-in-training wanted nothing more than to see your smile.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Tiny Bit of Angst I idiot4idiot I First Kiss I 1.8k I SFW

“We're out of Mountain Dew,” Eddie yells into the living room.

“There's another case in the garage, I think,” Steve yells back, “I'll go look.”

Eddie slams the fridge shut. “No, don't get up, I've got it.”

“Quit being sweet on me!”

He's teasing, it's nothing, but Eddie's pulse jumps anyway, horrified that he's being obvious again. “I'm not sweet on you! I'm repaying my life debt!” Not the whole truth but not a lie either. Satisfied that he's dodged a bullet, he jogs to the garage, grabs the 12 pack from the moderately-wealthy-person's-modest-second-garage-fridge and drops it off at the ultra-wealthy-person's-expensive-and-shiny-main-fridge. He brings two back to the living room, gets ready to leap over the back of the couch so they can resume the movie, before he realizes Steve is MIA.

“You taking a shit?” He yells out.

Steve doesn't answer, which he supposes is answer enough. He resumes his roll over the back of the sofa, cracks his can open, chugs, and waits for Steve to return.

The TV is still paused on Kurt Russell’s rugged face. What a man. Eddie idly wonders what Steve would look like with a beard. He could sketch it out and then hide the evidence in one of his old D&D manuals.

Speaking of Steve…

“Yo, did you fall in?!” No response. “Hello?”

Okay, now it's getting weird. A chill runs down his neck.

Steve is fine. There's nothing to worry about. It's just weird he hasn't responded yet; the downstairs bathroom is ten feet away.

He jumps up, just to check for himself that Steve is okay. Which he is, because everything is fine.

The bathroom is empty…

“Okay, this isn't funny, asshole! You know I have trauma!”

No response to that either. What the fuck.

“Steve,” he yells up the stairs next, “seriously, dude, where are you?”

He takes them two at a time, because there's no good reason for Steve not to be yelling back. He pictures him being chewed on by a last remaining Demogorgon and preemptively starts planning his own sacrifice. Because if Steve is dead on Eddie's watch, killed while Eddie had his head in the garage fridge, he doesn't deserve that second chance at life.

“Hello?” He croaks down the hall. All of the doors are ajar, but that's not unusual. They're forever in and out of the various rooms; Steve into Eddie's, Eddie into Steve's, the both of them into his parents' empty room because they have the better bathroom.

Still nothing from Steve. It's getting ridiculous. He's not being eaten by a monster either, too quiet for that, so what the hell is going on?

He marches into Steve's room and finds it empty too. He almost continues on to Steve's en suite but he stops, notices the comforter on Steve's bed is missing, which is weird. A clue, maybe? He glances around, a look underneath, a peek around the side of the bed, but it's nowhere to be found.

He goes to call Steve's name again but then he hears something, like a sniffle.

The closet doors are shut but between them is a chunk of Steve's blanket, a tiny corner sticking out at the bottom.

Eddie tiptoes over and listens.

Yup. Another sniffle.

He parts the doors gently.

Steve throws the blanket over his head before Eddie can see him, only getting a quick peek at his knees before they disappear.

“Uhh, wha’cha doin’ in the closet, Stevie?”

He thought he'd said it soft enough to not scare him but when he immediately bursts into loudy, snotty tears underneath his blanket, Eddie can only assume he's fucked up anyway.

He crouches down. “Hey, I'm sorry, don't freak out, it's just me. C'mon, man, talk to me, what's going on? You're scaring me.”

“I'm fine,” Steve croaks.

“Yeah…clearly.”

The lump that is Steve groans and then falls over, landing on a pile of old shoes, which he doesn't seem to notice or care.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Okay. Now that Eddie knows Steve is upset about something, he thinks back to what they were doing before they paused the movie. Which was nothing.

“You said you'd seen The Thing before.”

Steve sniffs. “I have. At Mike's fifteenth birthday.”

“Okay. So why are you freaking out about it now?”

“Why the fuck- Uhh. Yeah. The movie. Scared me real bad.”

Eddie frowns at The Lump. So it's not the movie. Something happened when Eddie got up. Think, think, think!

“The life debt thing?”

Steve doesn't respond. He does curl into a smaller ball, which seems like an answer in itself. What it means, he has no idea. Why would that leave Steve a sobbing mess? It's not like he can undo Steve saving his life! Of course he owes Steve everything!

“Please talk to me,” he begs softly. “I'm not good at this. I'm not Robin.”

He gets a scoff. “Robin is also not good at this.”

True. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she comes equipped to handle emotional outbursts. She's more of a ‘pat, pat, there, there' kinda gal.

“Would you tell her what was wrong?”

“Yes,” Steve admits after a short pause.

“Would you like me to go get her?”

“No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But you don't have to stay in here with me. You can finish the movie if you want. I'll be okay.”

“Steve,” he pats what he hopes is Steve's shoulder, “I might not be good at this emotional vulnerability shit but even I know you don't leave your friends crying on the floor of their closet.”

Since he's touching Steve, he can feel the short, hitching breaths he's taking, trying so hard not to be heard.

“I'm fine. I'll be fine,” Steve tries to convince him, “I just need a bit to get over myself. Like a week or…six.”

“Over what?”

He sniffles some more. “Nothing.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, dude.” To prove his point he shuffles fully into the closet and pulls the doors shut behind him. “There. Our closet breakdown.”

Steve groans, tries giving Eddie a little kick but his feet are trapped inside the comforter, so it feels more like a nudge.

“I'll be over here by this pile of old basketball jerseys when you feel like talking. Number twenty-one? Is that lucky?”

“This is so stupid,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, you're in charge of this rodeo, just tell me what's wrong and we can mosey on out of here.”

“You sound like Wayne when you say shit like that.”

“Well, he did half raise me. Tell me what's wrong.”

“No.”

“So you don't trust me?” He says just to be an asshole, to get some kind of reaction. “We're not that good of friends I guess.”

That gets him a reaction alright, just not the one he wants. Instead of getting pissed, Steve somehow curls even tighter, near silent sobs emanating from The Lump.

All of this had had a sort of surreal, humorous quality before, finding Steve having a nervous breakdown on the floor like a toddler told to go to bed, but it's getting less cute now.

Eddie gets up and lays the opposite way, head down near Steve's. He wants to bundle Steve up and rock him like a baby, but it doesn't seem like Steve wants that. “If I'm really hurting you…if this is my fault and you want me to go, I'll go, but I don't want to. I want to fix this. What do you want me to do?”

He's quiet. Not actively crying at least. After a long stretch, he mumbles, “Is that what you've been doing this whole time? Trying to fix things? Doing what you think I want because you think you owe me?”

Okay, now they're getting somewhere.

“I do owe you, Stevie, but that's not why… That's not why.”

“Then why?”

He swallows. “Because you deserve more than you get.” There. That's fine. That's platonic and still vulnerable and absolutely true.

“And that's it?”

What the fuck does he say to that? ‘No, actually, I want to treat you like the god damned royalty that you are, not in the fake high school sense, but in the way that knights willingly followed Kings onto the battlefield?’

“What do you mean?” He asks instead, like the coward he is.

“I mean… You close all the curtains in the house when you notice I've got a migraine. You learned to play my favorite songs even though you think they're mediocre. You corral the kids when they get out of hand and start being mean to me. You invite me to family dinner at Wayne and Gail’s. We live together and make breakfast together and spend all of our time together and I guess that's just because we're friends. That's what friends do. We're just friends.” He's worked himself into a fit again.

Eddie can do nothing but stare at the blanket lump and try not to panic. Either Steve has been onto him for months and has finally had enough or…

“Stevie? Why are you crying in the closet?”

“Don't make me say it.”

He chokes on his own sob, months of being good, keeping it tucked away and out of sight, welling up in his chest and in his eyes.

He finds the end of the blanket and pulls until he can crawl underneath too, finding Steve with his head turned away, like he's still trying to hide. Eddie slides both hands onto the sides of his face and turns him away from the floor. He blinks at Eddie, looking every bit like a tragic Prince in a fairytale. Or a baby cow.

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking, “tell me why you're sad.”

Steve studies Eddie, eye roaming over the tear tracks Eddie can't stop, over his trembling lip, the blush that must be painting his cheeks. He's going out on a real limb here, betting it all, but Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long.

“I thought you were sweet on me.”

Eddie coughs out a relieved a laugh. “I am, baby. I'm so sweet on you.”

Steve's face could outshine the fourth of July. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You think I'd crawl back into the closet for just anyone?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, head falling to land on Eddie's shoulder.

“Hey,” he nudges softly, “whaddya say we come out of the closet together?”

“Why do I like you so much?”

“Aww, you sweet on me, Stevie?”

Instead of answering, he throws back the blanket, bringing fresh air, and then Steve basically knocks Eddie into the door, spilling them out onto the floor of his room. He crawls on top of Eddie, pinning him down with all of his jock glory.

"I am so sweet on you."

And then he kisses Eddie. Kisses him like he's been thinking about it just as long as Eddie has, which is a real bitch of a realization. Months they could've been doing this.

He's got two handfuls of jean covered ass when Steve pulls back far enough to whisper, “We have to make up something else to tell Robin. She can't know it happened like this, I'll never live it down.”

"Let me touch your dick and I'll tell her whatever you want. You fought off a bear in the backyard and I was overcome with desire."

"Deal."

[annabelle--cane]

(ao3)

The best part is, it’s not even a lie.

The words drop from her mouth like rotten dates as she kneels on the ground outside that hideous portal, and she doesn’t even have to lie.

“He was protecting me, that Archivist thing tried to, to drink up my memories, and he tackled it, I think, and both of them must have fallen--and I passed out.”

Alice doesn’t break down. It’s written over every inch of her face that she wants to, and Celia can feel it in her body’s tension when she’s pulled in close, but she just about holds it together. Not stoic and steely, but on the move. Not giving into despair. She keeps up a good natter as they start their return-trip.

“This wormhole or whatever, it’s come up in loads of cases going back years, right? And Gwen says that Lena’s been, well, a lot more hands-on then she looks, so she must know something about it, must be able to help. You can, just, go back home and rest, try to sleep off some of the panic with your kid, and I’ll go track down Lena. We can get started on fixing this.”

Celia nods, waiting on the train platform. If Sam comes back then the universe would be back out of balance, she’d have to start all over again. Pick someone new to spend months with and slowly gain their trust to the point where they ignore all her secrets and convince themself it was their idea to go to the Hilltop.

No, she stops her mind mid-thought. No, it was Sam’s idea. She was always careful to wait until he said the word, let him take the lead, she never pushed. Even earlier today, he brought up going to Oxford, he ignored the danger, he insisted on it being just the two of them, he almost made her physically restrain him before she finally backed down. And she told him that it was dangerous. Said not to thank her.

It’s not a lie. She didn’t do it. She didn’t kill him.

Her memory isn’t clear, as soon as her story started projecting out of her it had been like she was back in her Hell again. Like she was losing everything that meant anything to her again. Her name, her mind, her memories, everything about who she was, right back to year dot again. Her greatest fear--no, her greatest Fear made manifest once again, returning to that neverending torment of being eternally unmade over and over every time she managed to pull together any scrap of self. She can’t remember who she was before, but she knows damn well who she is today, and she actually likes being Celia. In that moment, she knew that she would do anything to avoid being sent back to that place. She could not let it happen.

Then, as she’d been rescued from her Hell the first time, she was saved once again. She heard more than saw Sam leap at the creature. And then she woke up and Alice was there. Perfect. She didn’t even have to make the call. Everything she wanted, all with her hands still clean.

They tremble as she takes her seat in the carriage.

She darts a glance at her companion, and Alice’s eyes are glued to the window like she’s scanning for someone, just making sure there’s no one rushing after them.

Celia likes Alice. Sam had liked Alice, too, even if the relationship had been vexed. And Sam had liked Celia enough to save her and doom himself in the process despite knowing her motives. He might not even mind.

He certainly can’t mind from where he is.

Loathing herself with every word, and letting that hatred play openly over her face, Celia says, “This all feels like my fault.”

Alice snaps around towards her with vicious purpose. “Don’t say that.”

She doesn’t even have to lie. Every tear of anguish that rolls down her cheeks is completely heartfelt. “I’m the one who mentioned this place to begin with, and he sacrificed himself to protect me, if I hadn’t--”

“No,” intercuts Alice, taking both of Celia’s hands in hers. “No, I’m not having any of that from you. You’ve just lost someone--” she swallows thickly-- “We’ve both just lost someone. Not necessarily for good, mind you, but. Yeah. And Sam, he…” Her mask almost falters, her role almost giving way to her true center, but she stands her ground. “He made his own choices, alright? I know from plenty of personal experience, you can never make that man do something he doesn’t want, no matter how much you try to shield him. It’s not your fault.”

Celia’s entire insides burn up as she lets the deceptive reassurance melt into her deceptive heart. Everything about her is a facile fiction built from the ground up over the last few years, so she tries desperately to plaster this in to who she is. She tries to make the not-lie real. She listens to this woman who cares about her tell her that it’s not really her fault, and like the worm she is she curls up into herself in sobs, letting Alice pull her in for comfort. Alice strokes down her hair and it feels like hot iron on her scalp.

It’s not a lie. She didn’t do it. She didn’t kill him.

Plenty of people have managed to survive the instant starvation.

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ]

Authors Note: My first Rio fic! Make sure to check the content warnings before reading further in case the content inside does not suit your taste! Otherwise please enjoy!

Some quick fun facts that literally none of you asked for but I added a lot of plot to a darksmutfic:

• I’m a former history major so some of this is based off of knowledge of what I know about time periods I studied and found special interest in

• Johnnie Ray was a popular artist in the fifties so I slipped him in for story ambience

• Only by 1955 did Americans, in half of their homes, have television sets. Up until then it was considered a bit of luxury with limited channels and times you could watch. You’d get static otherwise. Most homes had radios as their everyday media consumption.

• John Daly and the News was an actual television show broadcasted between 1953 — 1960 and is now what we know today as ABC World News Tonight

• Reader hinting that she and Rio shouldn’t talk so openly against how things are handled after the war is me referencing how the Second Red Scare [ Mcarthyism ] began to take an effect on the United States and how people ran their lives. Some actors, for example, would get blacklisted for the rest of their lives if they were accused of communism / socialism and found guilty even with denied claims from said actor.

Masterlist

PART TWO — in progress

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!reader

Summary: Rio Vidal broke the rules of her own nature only two times in her long existence — once when she allowed her and Agatha’s son to live long enough to love his mother and the second and last by finding you and taking a life for every year she allowed you to live. Centuries later this still held true . . . Only now Agatha was dead and she was angry. It was time you stop running from her.

Content Warnings: Dark — be warned in advance and take care of yourselves! This has flashbacks that occurs between 1943-1953 but details about World War II itself are very vague. Some mild period-typical gender norms in terms of roles and clothing during flashbacks. Mentions of abuse / abusive marriages, angst, death, manipulation, threats of violence, stalking, choking, misuse of magic ( Rio ), housewife R ( and encouraged by Rio 😭 ), kidnapping, somnophilia, non-con, cunnilngus ( r!receiving ), face grinding ( Rio!receiving )

Word Count: TBA

Rio rarely found it in her to feel anything other than passive nonchalance when she came for them. A hand held out expectantly, a knowing expression that made no room for desperate pleas, and she took another soul away from this plane she stalked for her souls.

Children were the worst to come for and made that choice even more difficult for Rio. Death did not care who it struck or why — she was only able to ensure the balance of the universe stayed intact by orders greater than her.

She loved Agatha and Nicholas though . . . Enough that she stayed away from her lover for the amount of time she had promised their son could adventure the Earth as short as it may be.

She loved Agatha enough to take him while she slept with him curled tight in her arms where he was the absolute safest he could be. Nicholas was all Agatha with his curly hair and serious eyes, but Rio liked to believe there was part of her in him as she took his hand and took him to her home.

Agatha evaded her incredibly well after Nicky’s death, doing her best to leave no traces and not stay in one place for too long.

Rio decided that Agatha wouldn’t be able to forgive her — if not forever then at least for now. So she stopped trying and allowed Agatha to grieve and slowly move on in her own impossible way.

Rio met you in 1945 during a high stress time for the world. It was wonderfully busy in that she was everywhere more than usual. A war just ended and wars made Rio’s life both miserable and fulfilled with the amount of workload she took on.

You were an unfortunate case and barely hanging onto your single thread of life. She could see it glowing from your chest, flickering in and out . . . As if it would be snuffed at any second should the wind blow right.

Her instincts told her it was your time but everything about the surroundings were telling her that nobody else agreed.

But why? She’s seen it millions of times in different cultures and centuries. A life had a time limit and she knew when that time ended even if they didn’t — or didn’t agree with it.

Rio’s entire instinct told her to take this soul and move onto the next so she could keep the balance moving and not disrupt the will of the universe that held them all together.

But she didn’t. She waited unseen in a corner and watched you as nurses came in to check on you, refilling your untouched water pitcher and cleaning you up. You still barely hung on, her eyes keeping locked onto the thrumming flow of life that beckoned her.

She finally stepped forward to get a closer look at you, tilting her chin down through her hood and taking note of every small detail that put you in her ledger for collection.

You were a battered woman more than anything, and she let her fingers drift over you to get a feel of your energy.

Her hand ripped back to her side at what she felt within you. You remained nearly lifeless and unconscious in the bed but your soul was very, very angry. It was a black pool of oily rage and despair that Rio was usually able to cleanse once she took them but . . .

She took your lifeline in her palm, feeling the warmth seep into her cold skin as it stuttered more as she grasped it.

She pressed a thumb into it as though it were something physical and willed a demand — live. I shall not take you today.

For a moment she wasn’t sure how her magic would treat your soul once they interacted. But more stuttering was soon filtered out like a street lamp, giving way to a soft and steady glow.

Rio smiled and released your lifeline, allowing it to lazily float back toward you where it retook its place reaching for her out of your chest.

Rio might be Death and she may hesitate to break rules on most days — but you were the exception she was going to see through and hope she didn’t regret later.

1943-1952

Rio left you soon after. She had to take a soul in your place and had others that needed her attention besides.

But she frequently returned to you with a pull she could not ignore. Your recovery was slow and painful, and she watched invisibly as you cried to your mother and father about your husband — the man you claimed was the one who caused your near death.

It filled her with something raw and visceral when she followed you back home to him. A drunk man who had no boundaries and no respect for the life he was given — nor yours.

She decided to wait a couple of years for the world to cool down from the anguish that it was trying to recover from. But she watched as you suffered with him and tried to keep your distance in order to avoid pain.

In 1952 Rio decides to play dress up. She comes to your beautifully decorated home and sickeningly pretty flowered garden in an outfit that women are scolded for daring to try on.

Slacks and a blouse with her hair styled for the time even if it wasn’t in her taste. She was going to play a partial role — but she had a plan and will see it through.

Rio knocked on your door so that there would be no question of a visitor, hands sliding into her pockets not long after as she waited.

She was not kept long.

The door opened and there you were pretty and smiling — even if Rio knew what the depths of your soul actually contained.

“Oh,” you said by greeting, hand going to your chest. “Hello there. Hi.”

“Hello,” Rio greeted back politely. “I moved in a few houses down and have gone about introducing myself to the neighbors. I want to build a community around me.”

You pursed your lips in surprise. “I didn’t know we had a house for sale,” you mused aloud, but waved your hand, “Oh, but who cares? Welcome to Westview.”

“My name is Rio, Rio Vidal,” Death greeted, sliding a hand out for you to take. If you were caught off guard by the invitation, you did not show it. You grasped her hand and shook it and relayed your name back even though she knew it well.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you said, still smiling. You gestured and stepped aside in your entry way, showing Rio the bright yellow walls and decorated room behind you, “Would you like to come in? I’ve been trying a hand at making a cake and I’m unfortunately not doing so good.”

Rio took the invitation and entered your home, laughing breathily at your statement. “A woman who can’t bake? Not a sight I see often.”

You shut the door behind you both and grew shy under the observation. “I was never great at it,” you admit as you started through the entry way and leading her through the living room. It was quiet.

“No husband?” she questioned aloud, noting the empty recliner diagonal to the newest television set that money could buy. Expensive taste for even a well earning home.

“One,” you called back when you reappeared from the entrance to the kitchen. “He works all day at the plant in Eastview. He just got promoted.”

“Eastview,” Rio murmured. “Isn’t that a bit of a drive?”

You smiled weakly. “Sure, but it’s good income. He works hard and keeps us fed. Come, I’ll prepare lemonade.”

Rio allowed herself to be guided into the kitchen that smelled like a bakery. Black and white checkered floors, green cabinets and brand new red chairs and a table set. If not good at baking you at least had good style.

You were pulling out a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and she wandered close to you. “It smells good.”

You glanced up at her from your pouring, “You came right as I was putting my third attempt in the oven. Hopefully it doesn’t burn this time. I admittedly bought store-made icing.”

Rio grinned, “My lips are sealed.”

You chuckled as you pushed her a glass of lemonade and took your own in two hands, clutching it close. “So . . . You have no husband of your own?”

Rio leaned against the mint-colored counter and twirled her glass. “Afraid not. Lost him to the war in ‘43.”

You frowned as an expression of sympathy started to cross your features, “Two years before that deadly disaster ended, too. I’m truly sorry he didn’t make it home.”

Trap set and bait laying with prey lured, Rio continued with a faux tremble in her hands, “They don’t tell you what to prepare for if they don’t come home. Don’t give you much in return for the price they pay for the country. How fair is that?”

Your lips thinned slightly. “No, I’d rather say the bets we place are never worth it.” A pause, full of hesitance. “But we shouldn’t talk so queerly about such things.”

Rio curled her fingers inward toward herself despite her grip on her glass. She was probing for information mostly — where she could poke holes and find weakness. The end of the war left a fear of things they didn’t understand . . . And politics became a large aspect of society as soon as the world began picking itself back up.

Rio reveled in the chaos and enjoyed — with no shame to be found — watching humans try and control their societies in endless cycles of vitriol and greed masked by different ideologies they claimed were better than the last.

It kept her in a job.

“Of course,” she finally said with a hint of emotion. “My apologies. I’m afraid my heart has been hardened by experience.”

You softened slightly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Of course. I can’t imagine the suffering you’ve endured — I just — I’m sure the country is thankful.”

Rio bit down a response that would get a rise out of you. She wanted to see that anger she felt in your soul when she initially came for you that day.

She couldn’t feel it just from standing here and pretending to be a sad widower of a war. It was difficult to get a feel on you in general right now — unless she pushed her magic and coerced them out of you.

A brief quiet fell over the two that mostly consisted of sipping lemonades and listening to Johnnie Raye’s alluring voice sing through the radio that was situated near the entryway of the kitchen on the counter.

“So,” Rio drew out and set down her glass. Hardly touched — just enough to make you believe she dare partake in such things, “Little ones?”

You smiled again but a sad gleam overtook the look this time. “No, no children.”

You didn’t go into detail and Rio decided that this topic was one she could let go until later either by finding out through her own means or getting to know you in this fashion.

“Well it looks like we could both use a friend at least,” the brunette said as her gaze turned to stare out the window for a brief moment. “The world can be entirely too lonely for women these days and I’m inclined to find ways to fight it.”

You perked up slightly at her veiled offer and bit your lip. “I’d love to be your friend.”

2024

Your neck was aching in a way that it hasn’t for a very long time. A subtle throb just below your hairline that felt deep inside of your muscles.

You told yourself it was just an ache — the magic she had worked on you was disintegrated and nothing more than a reminder of a past long dead.

But the ache did not relent when you woke up the next morning, or the next after that.

You began to wonder if the witch you paid to remove all the magic in your body was a fraud a week after the ache started.

You simply ignored it and went about your daily life even as it throbbed dully beneath your skin like a timer set to go off at any given point.

It started giving you headaches and then the nausea set in after that.

Pointedly, you continued to do absolutely nothing for it. Anxiety was shoved into a small lockbox and the key was dropped into the dark depths of your brain to be forgotten as you sealed the blinds for the night and went about prepping dinner.

Onions splayed out on a cutting board next to other ingredients ready to be prepped. A dinner for one but a pleasant distraction to keep your hands busy. You propped your phone up against the wall to listen to a podcast while you began peeling the onions.

Flowers for your parents graves and a visit to your nieces’ retirement home, you reminded yourself through the busy chatter of the podcast and stripping of the outer layer of the onion.

A shattered vase?

You stopped peeling and stopped breathing. You listened, drowning out the sound of your phone and focusing on background noise that may come next.

You quietly set down the onion and curl your fingers around the hilt of the knife you had set aside. You tucked it close to your side as you stepped silently to the entry way of your kitchen to look out into your living room.

Indeed your vase was shattered off of the display case where it had previously been sitting. An antique but not one you were invested in, really. The carpet was wet from the water that kept the flowers fed and the flowers themselves were scattered in the shards.

As you approached the mess and kneeled down to set about starting to clean it up, you tossed the knife to the side for now and got the shards out of the way first.

You ignored the alarms in your head. The warning signs that were so large and so close that they were nearly impossible to ignore.

You released a shaky breath and threw away the shards in the kitchen. You gathered yourself momentarily and repeated your mantra, “She isn’t coming back, you’ve gotten away,” enough to almost believe it.

You return to the living room to take care of the ruined flowers and clean up any leftover petals and leaves.

Even when you gathered the crumbled flowers and found a perfectly intact green rose aligned in the middle of them.

The thorn cut your thumb open and left a wound that bleed for two days.

Five more days continued on after that slower than the thick molasses that your grandmother used to make when you would visit her home as a child.

You visit your parents in Westview once you’re sure activity of magic has disappeared. You knew the Scarlet Witch had contained the once lovely and beautiful town and used it to create something for herself she was believed she had the right to.

It’s been months — hell a year even. The news claimed that Maximoff had disappeared without a trace and left no one worse for wear after defeating an unknown threat.

The graveyard was not maintained in the hostage situation. Overgrown and some older stones beginning to degrade from age and lack of care, dead and wilted flowers not cleared or replaced with new ones by thoughtful visitors.

You trudged through it all and for once you could not ignore the agony in your neck. It was allowing the pain of the physical or the pain of your heart — and you didn’t think you had it in you to feel anything but the inclosed walls you built for yourself.

You kneel onto your knees once you reach the matching headstones. Moss was starting to grow on the edges and inside the grooves — but you let it stay. You started pulling out the decayed flowers from the in-ground flower holder, tossing them aside and dusting off the area.

“Still so attached to the past,” a husky voice mused in no one direction. Your head jerked up and you began to look around, palm resting on your father’s headstone for support. A cheerless — but darkly amused — laugh. “You tend to it like a garden or a herd of sheep. Maintaining its needs and working on it like it’s keeping you afloat.”

You used your free hand to rub your forehead. You couldn’t see anything — the voice was clear as day and that is what had you spinning.

“Angel with stone wings, angel with no reach,” the sultry lilt continued. Your eyes locked onto the damp statue of an angel feet away, eyes echoing endless depths of nothingness.

You forced your eyes back to the graves. Your hands were shaking as you continued to clear them, hands aggressively tugging the weeds from around the stone.

“Oh sure, ignore me. That’s worked out for you just as much as burning your leash off has.”

“This is a figment,” you responded out loud.

Large, aged oak trees swayed angrily around you in turn and howling winds scraped against your skin. You needed to make sure of it — ground yourself before you lost yourself in the delusion.

Your knuckles slammed into hard stone, pressing until they turned white and stung from the impact. Your breathing was heavy and your ribcage felt like it was being grabbed from the top of your spine and pulled backwards.

“You really thought that your little magic trick could defy the sigil of Death, angel?” You could imagine her face. Mocking, smirking with full teeth and eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

She wasn’t here.

And then it felt like you had a rope thrown around your throat so tight that you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. The force of it sent you sailing onto your back, feet kicking, gasps sounding out into empty air.

Your hands flail upward in animalistic instinct, clawing at your neck.

Nothing was there. Nothing was there. You opened your mouth more, to breath, to scream, to —

The pressure left as quickly as it was there. You turned over and dug your fingernails into the damp ground, getting into your knees and breathing in as much air as your lungs would allow.

A billow of green and black took up your line of sight as your vision began to clear. It decreased its length toward you with lazy speed and only stopped when you were inches from the fabric.

The figure crouched and a cold hand took your jaw to tilt your head up. Your stomach became a pit of liquid when you saw exactly who it was above you — and she was no figment.

“Hello, angel. Thank you for walking into my trap. I didn’t want to have to hunt you down.”

1953

You slam on Rio’s front door despite the crudeness of it. It was cold and your tears were freezing over on your cheeks. You were numb and you needed . . . Comfort. Something. Anything.

The door opened almost immediately to your best friend. She had a lazy smile that quickly fell once she saw you.

“Angel,” she offered a soft crow, “what happened? It’s dark out and you should be at home right now."

Your throat bobbed and you manage to cup your mouth before a loud, ugly sob can escape and wake the entire neighborhood. "Oh, God, Rio."

Now her eyes flickered with alarm. Dark swirls of it as she stepped forward and immedately wrapped two arms around your shoulders and tucked you close. "Let’s get you inside. Come on.”

Her voice soothed you as she guided you into her home and you remained unaware of the malice that crossed her features as she glanced outside at the street for any sign of threat before closing the door.

She sat you on her couch in front of her television. She was watching John Daly discussing the news on the black and white set with his stoic professionalism.

“Do you want a glass of water? Ginger ale?” Rio questioned and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You glanced upward at her. Your fingers twisted into your dress and you crossed your ankles, pressing them into the couch as you sat up straight and stiff.

“Yes please, if it’s no trouble,” you murmured.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was.” You ignored the odd quip, having gotten used to Rio’s strange ways by now. Most of your neighbors wives’ — when you met for the monthly update while husbands drank and played cars — found her to be much to odd for comfort.

You didn’t mind. She wasn’t nosy like the other women were and didn’t have the tendency to berate you about how you iced your cookies or strung your laundry on the line when laundry day came. She took little interest in petty gossip and didn’t prod for details about why no children came to fruition within your marriage.

Perhaps that is what drew you to the long-haired widow while the others felt repelled by her.

Your brain was lost in this forest of thick fog and thoughtless wander so deep that you jumped when a cold glass was brushed against the back of your clenched hands.

Rio said nothing about it; she simply waited until she was satisfied that your water was safely in hand before sitting down in the chair next to the television. She reached over and twisted the dial until it flickered off.

“What happened?” she asked plainly, picking something off of her finely fitted pants. Waisted pants today that ended at her ankles, fitting her loosely. Some days she wore styles that mothers would roll in their graves over — a man’s wear.

Today she decided on a more fashionable approach in women’s attire, it seemed. The pants were dark blue in color with a cream long sleeved shirt tucked in.

You tried to focus on her question, but answering it meant you had to tell her in the first place. In doing that — in doing that you would be left in a situation where you could break down completely.

“Hey.”

She was next to you as if by magic. Her hand rested on your knee lightly. Her hand was cold. Anytime you were together she always seemed to be cold . . .

Your mind started melting into itself again but a finger directed your chin to meet Rio’s intense gaze. It was a gentle gesture, but also a command. One of her eyebrows was raised questioningly.

“Angel,” she says, a low noise in her throat, “I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Your fingers curled as tight as the glass would allow, as tight as your grip could be. “My husband,” you started, a stuttering whisper fading after it. You couldn’t bear to finish.

Her features remained unchanged, but her head tilted. She let her finger brush away from your chin as she moved that hand over yours on the glass.

“What about him?” she asked.

“He’s — the factory owner called, you see. Told me I had to get to the hospital as quickly as I could.”

It was a terrible, bloody mess. They didn’t let you back into the room to see him because of the severity and instead had her wait until the doctor could come and speak with her privately.

You weren’t in tears at all — the nurses had commented. You were being very brave. You must be so scared.

You could only nod at them, smile shakily maybe.

You did cry when they asked you to sit down to tell you that he did not survive their attempt at surgery. It was a machine incident, they said. It broke down during use and your husband was the one on the line during the process.

You sobbed like a stricken wife, now widowed and left by herself. The nurses came to comfort you, offer tissues and take you somewhere quiet.

You weren’t devastated.

You were so relieved.

You felt like you would go home that night and not have to worry about if doing the dishes would be what set him off.

You could make a meal and not sit in a silence that you feared ended in another bruise to cover up for a few weeks.

Your husband was never good at cleaning up his messes. That’s what you were there for. That’s what his lack of complaints at the extra makeup in your grocery bags meant.

“He’s dead,” you choked out loud for the first time. “He had an accident . . . And . . .”

“Hm, I see.” Rio did something else and tucked you close into her side. She started stroking your hair and you took on the comfort even if you weren’t used to it. “It saddens me to see you so upset.”

Over him, she didn’t add. She didn’t need to with her tone.

“It’s just . . . Oh, you may find me very crass if I tell you what’s been heavy on my heart.”

Rio grasped your chin firmly and quickly, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her lips were thinned and she said with a steady, stern tone, “I could never think you crass. We are both outcasts in our own way in this world we’ve been born into. Whatever you tell me will change what I think of you — would you like me to swear it?” She paused. “On your God?”

You pulled back briefly, but her hand went with your tug. She had a tight grasp on your chin and wasn’t letting go, determined to keep your attention.

“My God?” you echoed, visible confusion coating your features.

She didn’t give you a response. Perhaps she felt as though she had been clear enough even if you felt entirely puzzled.

She tapped your cheek with her index finger. “Admit to me your heart’s truths, angel.”

The sick feeling in your stomach — the way you liked how she spoke to you, touched you . . .

Her touch suddenly felt like the hottest flames and you snapped out of the foggy daze. You were too close, she was too near. Everything about this broke the law of nature.

“I’m glad he’s dead.” Your mouth snapped shut and she allowed you to jerk away from her grasp to the other end of the couch. You hadn’t . . .

Why did you say that.

Rio’s lips were painted black today. An unusual color to decide on and very much not within the fashion of today. Your catalogues and magazines always pointed at which colors to lean into and which to avoid. Black lipstick was hard to find and it was often discouraged; it was seen as unappealing and unapproachable.

Rio wore it like she owned it and you hated that you seemed to tingle and grow hot in ways your husband was unable to do.

She tapped her chin with her nails, lips quirking into a small smirk. “Oh, my my. A wife who grieves not for the loss of her dear husband — her protector in life and guardian . . . But perhaps the comfortable lifestyle he provides?”

Your lips trembled. “How dare you,” you whispered, flushing from the neck up from the shame. She was right. She was right and you hated it. “That’s so mean to . . .”

“Stop with the act, angel.” Rio leaned back into the cushions, one leg crossing over the other. “Own how you feel for once. Take that relief and dig deep — see what else you’ll feel.”

The water glass had grown slippery in your palms. Either from how sweaty you got or from the melting ice. You were glad for the cold it provided, to keep you from floating away.

You sipped at it in quiet and refused to talk to her. Childish, perhaps. But what you couldn’t do right now was face what she was shoving in front of you: that you feared for your comforts as creaturely as they may be. You were raised to be a housewife and your parents didn’t know how to encourage much else.

You weren’t an educated woman — and didn’t have the money to become one.

“You’re depressing me,” Rio stated, slapping her hands on her knees. You jumped. Her head tilted low and she regarded you with something that should have sent you running, “I’ll keep you safe and pampered, angel. Sell your home, move into mine. I have three extra rooms. I could use a woman’s touch.”

“You’re a woman.”

A feline grin was your first reply. Then, “A working one.”

You supposed you could have realized that in the time she’s been around. No husband, widowed — how else would she have managed on her own without?

“It would . . . Isn’t it rather odd to have two women together? Especially one as a housewife?”

“We’re widowed, angel,” Rio reminded her as she removed the empty glass from your hand and set it on the coffee table. “Gossip will see a sad woman who need comfort from another woman who knows what it feels like. You will be truly devastated, simply unable to recover normally.”

You licked your lips and glanced around. It was darker in certain corners and the living room lacked color. “. . . Everything has a fine coat of dust,” you mumbled.

Rio laughed, standing and pulling you with her. She leaned forward and for a moment you held your breath, scared . . . Perhaps maybe filled with anticipation, as she did. Soft lips brushed your cheek.

“It’s a very good thing I just found myself a housewife to fix that.”

2024

The ache was gone — you could come to understand that as feeble awareness started to come to you in bloated masses.

Your body felt heavy and as though it had been pressed through your mother’s clothes wringer. Should you open your eyes? Would that even matter right now if all you could do was lay there and try not to vomit?

A sudden wave of pleasure that seemed to hurt coursed through you, and you let out a garbled moan as your body lifted and your hand frantically reached down to find the cause.

A soft, breathy chuckle greeted you against your wet pussy as your hand messily gripped hair and pushed the figure against you instead of pulling away.

“Mph.” Rio. It was Rio — she was — you ground your face down as her tongue delved deeper rather than pulling out of you to speak to you. You kept your eyes screwed shut — not wanting to see her but chasing that high she was making you seek out.

Her sharp nails gripped your bare ass and squeezed, nose rubbing purposefully into your clit as she used your body like an old instrument she pulled out of the closet.

It had been so fucking long and yet she knew you so goddamn well. Like it hasn’t been damn near seventy years and she hasn’t collared you with her magic and trapped you again.

With more force and anger driving you, you rode her face harder, knowing Death needn’t breath and how too entirely much she enjoyed the goddamn desperation she could soak up from you.

It flipped like a switch. One moment you’re angry and chasing something that you don’t want and the next you’re clawing at the brink of your orgasm like it was being veered over the edge of a cliff for years.

You cursed and kicked, but Rio saw the entire thing through. Only when your shivers eased and grip loosened did she come up for uneeded air, smug and eyes twinkling.

“Welcome home, angel.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you breathed, shoving her away with a shaky foot and sitting up on your thighs.

Then she was behind you, leaning over your shoulder with a weighted hand on the back of your neck. “I am going to enjoy seeing you try.”

Rio and reader will return in Part Two

PART TWO

[lostinlovingrevery]

Van's Valentines - Heartbreaker

70s DOFP! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: My first Valentines-themed fic! It came out more angsty than planned... All my Valentines fics are gonna be themed around these cute lil Valentine cards that I found through Pinterest!

Plot: He has moved in and out of your life for the last two years, you love him, but you're not sure if you can let him in again...

Warnings: Angst, but a happy ending! Logans a menace, reader is described as a waitress, with some backstory

Word Count: 2168

“Hey pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of his voice. Trouble. 

Logan Howlett. The menace of your life. The sole reason you have not been able to move on with yourself, to find someone else that you could fall madly in love with. He was the devil incarnate. A son of a bitch who’s made you cry more than you care to admit. 

You met him a little over two years ago. He walked into your small family restaurant. A little restaurant your grandfather started when he was about your age. You were just a waitress when Logan showed up. Handsome man who sauntered into the building with arrogance and snug jeans. He (unfortunately) charmed you off your feet. 

The next month you were in bliss. Until he decided to leave.

He told you it wasn’t you. It was him. That he wasn’t a homebody, that he needed to go out there. See the world. Sticking around just wasn’t him. You didn’t have a choice but to accept that and move on. You may have shed a few tears, missing the warmth of him in your bed, the sound of his voice when he came in to visit you at work, the way he made you feel like the only girl in the world that mattered. Nevertheless, you moved on. It was only a month you were together anyway, right? You had college and work to focus on. There’s other fish in the sea.

Then he came back.

Then he would leave again.

And he would come back again.

Every single time you accepted him into your arms like a fool, he would kiss you and you’d melt under his warm and timber voice, calling you baby, and sweetheart. Then you’d watch him leave again, tears falling down you cheeks as you inevitably began to wonder, why won’t he stay?

Even so, you never let him see the tears. You didn’t want him to know the power he held over you. Even if you both knew that you should’ve stopped opening your arms to him by the third time he showed up. It effectively ruined your love life. You couldn’t date any man without comparing the poor schmuck to Logan in more ways than one. Your heart felt wrong when you finally kissed the jock from your old high school you had a huge crush on during your high school years. You turned down the cute and very sweet new guy with pretty blue eyes who moved in town purely because you knew Logan was going to show up again- and you were right. 

Your grandfather told you once that your soul knew when it met it’s other half. He would tell you that there was strings that tied two people together and no matter how far you strayed from each other- you’ll meet again. You wondered often if that was the case with Logan...Now you're not too sure.

Now it’s been over two years since Logan came in and out of your life. The restaurant you worked in was now yours after the loss of your dear grandfather. The man who’s raised you and made you the person you were today. You dropped out of college when he died, taking over his legacy to the small town you were born in. You took pride in the restaurant, and everyone knew your name and respected you. It didn’t mean that you sometimes didn’t daydream about seeing the world, like Logan does.

It was Valentines day, and you were finishing putting up the pretty heart decorations, stringing along the ceiling and counters. Amongst many other little decorations that you had placed on various counter tops. The local radio station playing various cheesy love songs over the speaker. Despite having your heart broken by him more times than you care to remember. You were still a big romantic, and Valentines was your favorite holiday. Even if you believed you would be spending it alone. 

You didn’t turn around immediately to the sound of his voice. Your mind filled with irritation. 

Why did he have to show up today of all days? At this point you believed he must get off on causing you heartbreak.

You brushed your hands together, adjusted your apron, letting out a hard sigh and turned around, curses prepared on your tongue as you were about to finally tell him to get out of your life for good. Only it died back on your tongue as you saw him.

“Logan?” You blinked in surprise.

He was standing there, looking nicer than you’ve ever seen him. He always looked good, not one to make a fashion statement yet somehow sported the best looks you could see on a man. A clean button up shirt, tucked into smooth dark blue jeans- of course his classic belt with the almost comedically large designed buckle; It was the shape of a heart. His usual worn brown leather jacket that he would drape over you when he’d walk you back home, or when you sat on the back of his pickup and the sun would set, leaving a chill in the air. His hair was slicked back, his usual scruffy beard and mutton chops trimmed and cleaned up. He was sporting sunglasses that he took off, tucking into his shirt, as you took him in- as well as the gifts he was holding.  

He was holding a huge bouquet of red roses in one arm. The other was a big heart shaped box that you presumed held chocolates. 

He smiled- not his usual cocky smirk, it was something soft and genuine. Like the smile you seen your grandfather give your grandmother. He stepped forward. 

“Happy Valentines day baby.” He says, handing you the bouquet, which was so big you needed both arms to cradle it carefully. The aroma of the roses wafted to your nose, and you closed your eyes, taking a big sniff. “I thought you’d like em.”

“I…” You opened your mouth and shut them, looking back up at him with wide eyes, still slightly shocked. You looked into his eyes, the eyes that always made your knees weak.

“Had to get my girl something special for her favorite holiday, hm?” He smiled. 

You looked down at the roses,your heart fluttering at the sound of him calling you his girl. For a moment, you forgot about your irritation, your constant heartbreak. The fact that you thought about him all the time, wondering if he was okay. You have filled yourself with jealousy, jealousy of his lifestyle, jealousy of the girls who probably captured his attention somewhere else. Your heart sank. What are you doing? You’re letting him do it again! 

“Thank you.” You say, your tone firm. “I can’t take these though.”

He blinked in surprise, his smile dropping. “They’re for you.” He states, looking down at them. 

You sighed, moving to set them down on the counter, careful so that the roses don’t get crushed. “We can’t keep doing this Logan.”

“Doing what?”

Your brows creased angrily, a small scoff escaping you. “What? Are you serious? This!” Your voice pitched higher, and he blinked in surprise at your sudden outburst. “You show up, acting like you actually care about me and then leave!” Your hand flew in the air, motioning to him. He shook his head at your comment. You never showed him any anger when he came back, always happy, open arms, and a sweet kiss. A lovesick expression on your face as he’d tell you new stories of his adventures, completely forgetting of how he made you felt when he left. 

“I do care about you.” His voice was low, as his eyes looked down at you in an expression that looked confused. “How could you think I don’t?” 

You blinked in disbelief. How could he care about you? He shows up into your life, he treats you like you’re so important, that he could even….but he leaves. He always leaves. He never looks back. It didn’t matter if you begged him to stay a few more days, for one more kiss. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to move on with your life.

Shaking your head. “You should go Logan. Find some other girl to break the heart of.” You say, bitterness in your tone. There was a shakiness in your voice you attempted to hide. “The flowers are beautiful but I can’t…” You looked away from him, crossing your arms around you. You felt sick to your stomach. You didn’t want him to go.

He stepped closer. “You’re telling me to go?”

You nodded, not looking at him. A beat passed, and a hand came up, cupping your chin and making you look up at him. Your eyes were wet with unshed tears that you attempted to blink away- refusing to let him see the emotion on your face. 

The way he looked down at you almost made you burst into tears right then. A soft smile came across his face. 

“I’m sorry baby.” He says softly. His hand cupped your cheek, bringing his other hand to cup your face completely. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s my fault. I just couldn’t deal with how you made me feel.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m a huge asshole. I know.” He says softly. “I ain’t got no right. You don’t deserve it.” He continues. “I left that first time cause I knew that I…” He trailed off, looking at you with pressed lips. Like he was afraid to say what he wanted to say. 

“What?” You ask, your heart starting to beat faster. “Logan….”

“I kept coming back because I couldn’t get you out of my head. It was selfish I know.” His thumb rubbed softly across your cheek. Your hands, shakily reached up to rest on his hips. “Every time I left I couldn’t stop thinking about some asshole taking you. Someone who didn’t know how to make you laugh, or make you feel good like I know how.” He leaned forward, his forehead pressed to yours. “I missed you every single goddamn time. Thought about you every night. It drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.” 

You let out a small scoff, a small shake of your head. “Look who’s talking..” You mutter. He grinned. 

“I want you.” He says. “It took me some time to accept that. It terrifies me because there’s still some things you don’t know about me. I know it’s shitty. Don’t make me go away. No more running. You and me. We can make it work.” 

You blinked in surprise. “R-really? Logan I-”

“Be my Valentine?” He grinned. A small snort escaped you at the cheesiness of him. 

“Seriously?” You asked. You were still in disbelief. The way he just changed from your outburst. Was he serious? Or was he playing you like a fiddle again?

“Whatever you want. I could take you away from here, go on those adventures you always wanted to go on. I’ll take you New York, to Vegas, hell- I’ll even take you to my hometown in Canada.” He takes a breath. “If you want, after…We’ll come back here. Settle down. Anything you want. I’ll do it.” 

The determination of his face took you aback. Logan was always passionate yes, but he was casual about his passion, he’d pushed away whenever you brought up your relationship, what you meant to each other. Then later at night, in the heat of passion, he’d whisper sweet things in your ear- things he felt about you. You were never sure if it was true or he just said it, simply lost in the moment. You never knew what he was thinking or feeling. He wouldn’t tell you.

“I’ll be here for you. Just let me.” 

You thought back to the times he was here. They were some of your happiest memories. He did always know how to make you laugh. He knew what made you feel good. He knew what to say when you were stressed. He knew your deepest secrets. 

He was there when you lost your grandfather, somehow showing up that day after you found him. He stayed with you throughout the process. At the time, you thought he’d leave almost immediately. You were grieving, were in no mood for flings or flirting but he held your hand the entire way. It was actually the longest he ever stayed. Nearly 3 months. He held you when you cried. Supported you when you quit college. Even lent a hand at the restaurant. You couldn’t even be mad when he told you he had to leave. You were happy to just have someone who was there for you. 

Your grandfather always liked him. 

“Okay.” You smiled, leaning into him. You couldn’t believe yourself. Moments ago you were ready to cuss him out, tell him to get out of your life. Within minutes he made you fold. “We’ll make it work.”

He really was the devil.

[loca4moony]

Loving schemes

Hi! This is my first time posting here. I want to thank the sweet @ellecdc not only because she was so lovely to encourage me to share when I was (maybe still are) shy and nervous about it, but also because I was inspired by her, her writing and her gorgeous portrait of Barty 🤍.

Barty Crouch Jr x reader | 560 words

The one with Barty feeling down and reader comforting him.

Masterlist <3

Mornings at Hogwarts were never quiet, much less if Barty was by your side and, let's be honest, when wasn't he?

To an outsider, you were having a normal breakfast. Barty made your and his drinks while you stuffed a shared plate for both of you to eat from.

But none of you were outsiders, that's why Evan looked around protectively, Dorcas tried oh so hard to make your boyfriend utter a single sentence instead of the occasional nod, and Regulus and Pandora kept brainstorming as quietly as they could the reason behind all of this.

You touched Barty’s thigh hoping he would look at you. He tensed. One, two, three you counted until he finally relaxed. He looked at your hand, never your face. Something was definitely wrong.

“Barty, baby, can we skip classes today? I feel a little under the weather” You tried.

Mhm is all you got as an answer, but he took your hand in his and started walking back to his dorm.

Once you got there, he took off your shoes and grabbed comfy clothes for both of you.

Before he could begin with his, as he liked to call it, ‘treasure caring 101’, you stroked his arm and said - in the most calming voice you could muster - “Can we lay down first? I want to cuddle” while pulling him to lay on top of you.

After a minute of scratching his head, he finally whispered “Why are you doing this?” “Because I love you Barty. I'll always be here for you, as long as you'll have me.” With that he looked at your face with something that could not be described as nothing but awe.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked, continuing when he nodded the affirmative “The very first thing I loved about you is how ‘too much’ you are. You know… talk, help, smile, read so much.”

You could tell that he was in shock. “How did you know I'm feeling insecure about that?” “Well,” you joked “maybe you won't believe me but some people think I'm a witch” you whisper as if you were telling him a secret.

Although he gave you the faintest smile, it was enough to make your heart jump in your chest. In return, you gave him a bone-crushing hug. He never felt more loved in his life.

You laid like that for what could have been twenty seconds or twenty years. “Not everything is fixed though…” he said with his usual mischief in his voice.

“What happened?” You asked, finally feeling like you could breathe again.

“Well…you told me that you didn't feel well and I know it was just a scheme to get me into bed with you”

“And help you and be there for you,” you interrupted “but okay”

“So you lied to take advantage of me and I think I need something in return. For the trouble, you know. And for the pain it might have caused me. I think I deserve a kiss” he said as if he didn't only have to ask for you to kiss him for hours on end.

“Mmm…” you pretended to think “how about three? Just in case you know, I wouldn't want to leave you wounded.”

“I think that's fair”

And let's just say you kissed him a lot more than three times that morning.

Thank you so much for reading <3

[tragedyofdevotion]

The thing with Rin is that he will be genuinely nice to someone he loves.

Of course, in the initial stages of getting to know him, he will be an asshole to you. But he will be nicer and nicer to you once you become close enough to become friends, not outwardly kind and gentle, but care about you and your wellbeing enough to be considerate, like walking you home when it is late or worrying about you when you are sick.

But then as soon as he realize that he is in love with you, he enters the denial stage where he will treat you worse than his worst rivals. Ignoring you when you approach, glaring at you like you killed his family when you try talking to him. Because how dare you! How dare you make him feel genuine happiness, not the egoistical satisfaction he feels when he outwit his opponent and scored a goal, but genuine, pure and sincere joy, with butterflies and caterpillars and all other insects dancing in his stomach and thoracic cavity and everywhere his blood travels.

But after sometime, he gives up, he gives up and admit to himself that he is in love with you and no amount of pushing you away can stop him from loving you. So, he surrenders himself to the warm bubbly feeling he has. And after that, you have a cute tsundere puppy who is eager for your praise, your approval and will do everything to see you smile.

One the other hand, Sae... Sae is someone who knows what he wants. And with his magnetic lure, it is not that difficult for him to get what he wants.

And unlike how it is with Rin, you are the one falling in love with him, and you fall hard. He doesn't even have to try, actually. It is just the small upturn of one corner of his mouth as he looks at you with those enchanting eyes and you are done. It is game over.

And Sae knows that, Sae knows how much of a hold he has over you. It is like selling your soul to the demon, but the demon in this case is a very successful egoist soccer player, and all you get in return is a meager of his attention when he wants to give it to you. But what you offer up to him is your soul, your heart, your body and every breathe you take.

This is not to say that Sae treats you badly. I mean he has feelings for you. That is why he wanted you in the first place. And he respect you to a degree and he views you as his equal. But to him, soccer is, and will always be the first. You are not one of the priorities for him. And it may not be very obvious but after a long time, it shows. It shows and it hurts you because you are hopelessly, obsessively in love with him and what he can give you is not enough.

For example, if you were in a relationship with Rin: Rin would come home after a long tiring day of training to you.

But Sae: he come home after training to give his body the rest for another day of training but he wants you there at home because you are his.

This is why a toxic love triangle with the two of them is very very interesting.

You, being helplessly in love with Sae, while at the same time, being the person Rin seeks approval from.

To the massive feeling you have fun for Sae, what he gives you back is not enough, and it makes you starved and thirsty for any ounce of attention Sae would give you. But when he can't give you that, you are cracked, like the soul without any hydration.

And it is Rin's duty to water you back to health with his worried frown and a kind but crude remark. And as soon as you are back to health, you ran back to Sae, because that is what you are, a dog, a pet, with a leash and a collar that you willing put on your neck.

[ghostsandfools]

Okay guys. Okay. OKAY.

I just went back and watched a couple of the astral related episodes that have released in the past few months and I have a LOT to say.

I don’t think we realize how messed up the astrals truly are. Like, they seem to have noble goals and all, but oh my goodness.

Okay, lets walk through Lunar’s entire life story real quick:

The first episode of TSAMS came out on March 24, 2022. That was a little less than three years ago now. Let’s just keep that in mind.

When Lunar was created, his entire purpose was to serve Eclipse. I’ll be honest, I’m not too familiar with early TSAMS. I joined the fandom a bit late. But Lunar underwent constant emotional and sometimes physical abuse from Eclipse. He was constantly belittled, made to feel worthless, and in the end, Eclipse killed him in front of somebody he cared about. His entire purpose was to serve Eclipse, and suddenly that purpose had been taken away from him.

Lunar was remade in space, granting him the ability to use star power. Gemini then came down to Earth to evaluate if he was a threat and train him in the ways of star power. In the very first episode they appear in, Castor asks Earth to “please leave Lunar alone and stop talking to him.” Earth obviously refuses, but this interaction is still interesting. It’s strange that their first instinct was to try isolating him from his closest family.

Castor and Pollux began training Lunar and eventually becoming closer with him. Lunar was freaked out at first, and it seems like he didn’t really enjoy his training at first, but eventually it kind of took over his life. Star power was his entire purpose. And when he began to develop feelings for Gemini, it only became a bigger part of his life. His personality and goals for the future revolved completely around star power. It was his new purpose in life.

Lunar messes up a couple of times and begins to fear what will happen if he lets his power get out of control. First he attacks Bloodmoon, then kills Eclipse. Killing Eclipse was the especially interesting event here. Afterwards, Gemini makes it very clear to him how much he’s fucked up. They tell him his life could be on the line, that the other astrals want him DEAD, and they seem to be withholding their affection. They don’t spend as much time with him, saying they’re busy with his court case. Killing someone is a bad thing to do, so it makes sense for Gemini to distance themself, but I think we should remember this.

And then, it just stops. Taurus tells him that if he can’t move on from his trauma with Eclipse, he can’t continue to train.

This is detrimental to him. He doesn’t know what to do without a purpose. Eclipse abused him, but he also gave him something to do. He gave him someone to be. His entire identity was serving Eclipse. And now, he thought he had moved on from that. He had a new purpose now, to serve Gemini, to train as an astral and make everyone proud. And now he’s suddenly being told that he can’t anymore? That if he doesn’t get over his trauma (which is exceptionally difficult to do) he won’t be able to train anymore?

And so he makes a mistake. Another very big mistake. He pursues negative star power, he hurts Earth, he’s temporarily shunned by his family. It’s a big mess, he goes to jail, he’s put on trial.

And do you know what Libra does to punish him? She finds him guilty and takes away his star power.

So… This whole time. This entire time, they could’ve taken his powers away. And yet, they didn’t. Why is that? Why is it that they let someone like him, who has been shown to lose control, keep these powers?

Alright. Let’s take a look at the astrals. Let’s take a look at what they’re really doing here, because I think it’s interesting.

I’ve talked about this before, but the astrals operate like a cult.

Lunar is traumatized. He is emotionally broken and he has no idea what to do with his life. He’s just experienced death and lost his purpose in life, and now he has no idea what to do. And all of the sudden, the astrals appear.

Cults will often prey on people who are going through a rough time, as they’re much easier to manipulate and control. Not only that, but when they did appear on Earth, as I mentioned earlier, Castor asked Earth to “stop talking to Lunar” so they could evaluate if he was a threat. Cults will often isolate their victims away from their family and friends. Obviously they didn’t go through with this step, Lunar kept in contact with his family during his training, but it’s clear the astrals will use isolation as a way to control people. Remember when Nebula tried to befriend Earth and Taurus immediately scolded her for stepping out of line?

Next, they trained Lunar. They told him he’d have to leave behind this life on Earth, that he had a bigger purpose now. He wasn’t just an Earthling anymore, he was special. He could become somebody noteworthy if he trained hard enough. And they got closer to him, went on a vacation with him, spent time with him. Eventually they even pursued a romantic relationship with him.

But during this time, it was clear that they weren’t being completely honest with him. If he asked to many questions they’d say “you aren’t far enough into your training to know that yet.” They’d withhold information from him, yet another method often used by cults. They kept him enticed with the promise of something more. If he could get his emotions under control, if he was just a bit stronger, maybe Gemini would like him then. Maybe then they could be fully honest with him. Maybe then he’d be truly worthy.

They stayed committed to him. When he was in trouble, they went to court for him. They trained him diligently, stood up for him, they were always by his side. They cared for him.

And then, of course, disaster struck. They stopped training him. Lunar felt lost, he made a mistake, he had everything taken away from him. He lost his family, his friends, his partner. His entire life fell apart.

But think about why this all happened. They could’ve taken his power away. They could’ve come down to Earth, taken his powers away immediately, and been done with it all. None of this needed to happen.

I don’t think Lunar was justified when he killed Eclipse, and I don’t think it was okay for him to attack Earth either. Trauma isn’t an excuse to hurt people. But Lunar hasn’t had a break within the last two years.

First it was Eclipse, then the astrals, Bloodmoon, Nexus. He was abused every day for years, he died, he was brought back and began spiraling into depression, and then he was indoctrinated into a cult. Now he’s messing around with dark star power and getting himself into trouble.

And even now, he’s trying to be better. He’s been torturing himself, putting himself in that machine Moon made where he listens to his loved ones berate and verbally abuse him. Why? So he can impress Gemini. So he can have a purpose again.

TSAMS is the kind of show that’s meant to go on for a long time. The action has to happen FAST! But because of all the fast paced action, Lunar has been in multiple traumatic situations with no real breaks for two straight years now, and i think it’s messed up. He’s made a lot of mistakes, but he’s trying his best. I feel bad for him.