#why use a salt scrub | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

magicalmatcha · 5 days ago

Text

now playing ♪ i want you by mitski

"you're coming back, and it's the end of the world,

we're starting over and i love you darling"

cw: the usual, bad writing

Her proposal shocked him. Blue Salt was a pretentious restaurant for equally pretentious people. A place where everything was plated like art and the waiters judged you with their eyes alone.

And that’s what Yn wasn’t. Pretentious.

She never liked places like this. Thought they were a waste of money and time, said she didn’t trust food that came in “drizzles” instead of servings.

But there she was.

Sitting alone at a window table in her pale blue nurses scrubs, her badge flipped backwards, her hair in that style that pushed it out of her face that she often wore to clinicals. A cup of tea sat in front of her, untouched. She looked exhausted. Not fragile, but stretched thin. The kind of tired that lives in the bones, not the skin.

She didn’t look up when he approached. Just stared out the window like she hadn’t changed locations in the past ten minutes. Like maybe if she kept still enough, he wouldn’t come at all.

Megumi hesitated. Then pulled the chair out across from her.

“You look good,” he said carefully.

She didn’t flinch. Just blinked, slowly. “I don’t.”

“No, you do. You look, grown.”

That earned him a scoff. “Right. Like a real adult. A functioning member of society.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She finally met his eyes. And god, that was worse.

Because they were the same eyes that used to look at him like he hung the moon, only now they looked through him. Like he was a passing thought she wasn’t sure deserved remembering.

“I figured you’d ghost the whole thing,” she said, voice flat. “Didn’t seem like your style to show up for hard conversations.”

“Yn.” His voice was quiet. “You could’ve told me.”

“And you could’ve come back when you said you would.”

The waiter came over, annoyingly chipper, like he hadn’t walked into the middle of a potential emotional crime scene.

“Are we ready to order?”

Megumi didn’t look up. “Just a coffee. Black.” He needed the waiter gone more than he needed caffeine.

Yn, however, leaned back in her chair with the faintest flicker of a smile. Not a happy one, no, it was something far more dangerous.

“I’ll have the saffron scallops with the truffle foam,” she said sweetly, handing the menu back. “And the house rosé. The one that’s imported.”

The waiter beamed. “Excellent choice."

As he walked away, Megumi turned to her slowly, eyebrows raised. “You hate scallops."

“I hate a lot of things,” she replied, still looking out the window. “But I love a free meal.”

Megumi gave a dry laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That why you picked Blue Salt?”

“I picked Blue Salt,” she said, finally meeting his gaze, “because I wanted to feel expensive. Because I knew you’d pay. And because this was never going to be a comfortable conversation, so I figured I might as well be uncomfortable with high thread count napkins.”

He looked at her like she was a stranger. And maybe she was. Five years was enough time for a person to become unrecognizable.

“Do you really hate me that much?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she said, just as quiet. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t know what version of you I’m talking to.”

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

“You want answers? Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy. You left me with nothing. I gave birth to a person. I had to hold her and name her and raise her, and you—” she laughed, but it was sharp, tired, nothing like humor “you were busy posting Spotify links on your story.”

Megumi’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not. But neither was any of it.”

She picked up her water, taking a slow sip, letting the weight of her words settle. Letting him sit in the silence.

“You know I was embarrassed at one point?” she said, almost idly.

Megumi’s head snapped up. “Embarrassed?”

“You hadn’t blown up yet. You weren’t even buzzing.” Her tone was calm, but each word landed like a slap. “What were you averaging back then? 1,000 streams per song? Maybe less? And it didn't seem like you were getting anymore popular. I sat in that apartment with a newborn on my chest, thinking, Damn. I got left for a career at that could have easily been left on SoundCloud .”

She laughed then, low and bitter. “I was the girl who got abandoned for a dream that couldn’t even buy studio time.”

Megumi swallowed hard. He didn’t try to interrupt.

She tilted her head. “And then 2023 rolled around and you had your good year. Unfortunately. So the shame didn’t get to last long.”

There was no venom in her voice, just exhaustion. Like she’d already lived this moment a thousand times in her head and now that it was here, it felt smaller than it should.

He didn’t know what to say. But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t done.

“I struggled, you know?” Her voice was steadier than she expected it to be. “If anyone shouldn’t have been a mother, it was me. The teenage addict whose mom died choking on her own bitterness, and whose dad—” her voice faltered.

She let the silence carry that weight for a beat before continuing, softer now.

“How was that girl ever going to raise a kid? By herself no less. Was she even stable enough to take care of herself? Everyone thought I’d fall apart. Hell, I thought I would too. But then I looked at her, and I figured… if I could get sober, I could do anything. If I could claw my way out of that spiral, I could prove everyone wrong.”

Megumi stared at her, guilt blooming in his chest like something rotting.

“I’m not asking for a medal,” Yn said, her eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down her glass. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll cry into your coffee and call yourself the villain. I’m just saying, I built something from the mess you left behind. And it wasn’t easy.”

She finally looked at him.

“I didn’t need you then. And I sure as hell don’t need you now.”

Megumi swallowed hard. Her words hit with the weight of truth, not laced with venom, not performed for pity. Just honest. Just her.

But he wasn’t ready to let it end like that.

“I know you didn’t need me,” he said, his voice low. “You were always stronger than you gave yourself credit for. I just wish I hadn’t realized that so late.”

Yn gave a dry smile. “Yeah. You and everybody else.”

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he added, almost to himself. “Even when things got good. Especially then.”

She scoffed, pushing her plate slightly away. “You know what’s funny? There was a time I needed to hear that. I would’ve given anything for you to say that to me. I would’ve collapsed into you.” She looked up again, and this time her eyes were clear. Detached. “But that version of me doesn’t exist anymore.”

Megumi gulped. “Does she— what does she think about her fath— about me?”

Yn shrugged, lifting her glass. “She thinks fathers are a false societal construct designed to keep women from filing taxes as single heads of household.”

Megumi’s eyes widened. “Why would she think that?”

“Because that’s what I told her.” Yn quirked an eyebrow, tone dry.

His jaw dropped slightly, and she could almost see him trying to process whether she was joking.

“She’s four, Fushiguro,” Yn added. “She also thinks her penguin plush has a credit score and that Maki invented pop tarts. Love her but she's gullible as hell."

He let out a disbelieving huff. “So she doesn’t… ask about me?”

“Not really,” Yn said, voice cooler now. “Kids don’t miss what they’ve never been given. I never sat her down and said, ‘Here’s what’s missing from your life.’ Why would I? She’s surrounded by people who love her. That’s enough.”

Yn traced the rim of her glass slowly, eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down its side. “Sometimes she comes back from nursery school and asks why her friends have dads and she doesn’t,” she said calmly. “But it’s not grief. It’s just curiosity.”

She looked up, voice steady. “She’s never felt the absence. Just noticed the difference.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “So you just told her I wasn't even real? That’s the story you told her?”

“What would you have preferred?” she snapped. “That I tell a four-year-old that her father left and never came back? That he made promises he didn’t keep? That he gave me a specific date and let it pass like it meant nothing? That he blocked me for no reason after promising he'd love me for as long as he lived?"

He dropped his eyes. She continued.

“You told me you’d come back. You said May 23rd like it was a vow. And I waited, Megumi. For weeks. Months. Even after you blocked me, convinced you would come back. I was eighteen and pregnant, going to classes and living off cup noodles and pity, and I still waited.” Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for letting it.

He looked up then, and there was something awful in his face. Remorse. Grief. Shame. The whole cocktail.

“I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to. Gojo—”

“Gojo didn’t carry your child,” she cut in. “Gojo didn’t bleed for three days straight on the floor of a one-bedroom apartment. Gojo didn’t wake up at 3 a.m. because the baby wouldn’t stop screaming.”

Megumi said nothing.

She leaned back, folding her arms. “You got your big break. You got your fame. That’s great. I hope you think about me every time you win an award.”

“I do,” he said, and there was no bravado in it. Just quiet devastation. “I thought about you when I wrote every song. Especially the ones I didn’t let anyone hear.”

Yn blinked, not expecting that. Not knowing what to do with it.

She didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at him. Really looked at him.

There were flecks of the boy she once loved still there, hidden beneath sharper cheekbones, under the exhaustion pooling beneath his eyes. He looked weathered. The type of tired that went beyond missed sleep. And in some twisted way, that made her angrier. Because he had no right to look like he’d suffered.

“You thought about me?” she repeated, her voice quiet. “What do you want, Megumi? Redemption? Closure?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t forget you.”

“You did.” She tilted her head, expression unreadable. “You just remembered too late.”

Silence bloomed between them, heavier than anything they’d said.

“Yn,” he started again, voice rough, “I don’t want to rewrite the past. I know I can’t. But I’m here now. And if you’d let me, if there’s even the smallest chance, I want to be a part of her life. Of yours.”

He paused, something cracking in his tone. “I’m her father. I’ve already missed four years, I can’t miss another one.”

Yn’s face didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened.

“You’re about to go on tour,” she said flatly. “You say you want to be a present father, and maybe you even mean it, but let’s be honest. That’ll last what? Two weeks? Then you’re gone for months. Then you come back. Long enough to smile for a few photos, maybe learn her new favorite color, until it’s time to disappear again and start another album.”

"You can't be present like you want to Fushiguro because being present means giving up everything you worked on which means all those years? Were for nothing."

“You want to be her father?” she said, eyes sharp. “That’s noble. But being her father isn’t a title, Megumi. It’s consistency. It’s being there when she throws up at 2 a.m., when she can’t find her favorite socks, when she’s scared of the dark for no reason and only wants me. That’s what it means.”

“I can try,” he said, almost breathless. “Even if I’m not perfect—”

“You’ll fail,” she interrupted flatly. “You’ll miss a birthday or a ballet recital or she’ll have a nightmare and cry because you haven’t called in two weeks. And you’ll feel bad, and say sorry, and you’ll write a song about it. And I’ll be the one sitting on the floor with her, picking up the pieces.”

Her voice didn’t waver. It was too tired to.

“Because that’s what I’ve always done.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t sound like another promise he couldn’t keep.

“I don’t want to make it worse.” His voice was low. “I just… I want to try. Even if it’s messy. Even if I’m late. I want her to know I’m not a ghost.”

“You were,” Yn whispered. “For four years, you were nothing but a ghost.”

Megumi opened his mouth, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“You can’t be what you’re asking to be, Megumi. Not unless you give up everything you worked for. And if you do that, then what were the last four years for?” She leaned forward slightly. “All that sacrifice. All that distance. All that silence. For what? To become a mediocre dad with a Spotify plaque and a suitcase?”

Her words weren’t cruel. They were clinical. Precise. Like she’d rehearsed them in her head a thousand times.

“You can’t be two things at once. You can’t belong to the world and to her. So figure out who you’re showing up for.”

She stood from the table, readying herself to leave. "And if you chose it's her? She gets home from daycare at 6pm."

He showed up at 5:50.

Overeager? Possibly. But in his defense, he was given nothing to work with. He knew she was a four-year-old girl named Yume. That was about the extent of it.

What did four-year-olds even like nowadays? He had no clue. He’d dragged Nobara out of bed and into a toy store at 8 a.m. like his life depended on it.

Now he stood in front of the apartment door with a pale pink gift bag dangling from his wrist, stuffed with a glittery sticker book, a bunny-themed coloring set, a fuzzy blanket shaped like a cat, and, Nobara’s idea, a tiara that lit up and played a horrible tinkly version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star when you tapped the heart in the center.

In his other hand was a plastic tub the size of his ego, filled with pastel-colored candy floss that screamed cavities. He was almost certain Yn was going to banish it on sight.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Re-checked the time.

5:52 p.m.

He debated knocking. Debated waiting in the hallway like a weirdo until the clock hit six exactly. But before he could make a decision, the door creaked open on its own. Not wide, just a crack, like it had been left slightly ajar.

He took it as a sign.

Tentative, he stepped forward, knocking gently on the open wood. “Uh… hello?”

The smell of food hit him first, ginger, garlic, maybe salmon, and then the sound of soft humming. A familiar voice, not directed at him. A child’s laugh followed it.

“Mamaaa, I can’t find Tax Fraud’s crown!”

“You took it off her head, baby, now retrace your steps.”

He didn’t even realize he was smiling.

The laughter faded as Yn appeared from around the corner, still in her pale blue scrubs, hair pushed back the same way it had been at lunch. She blinked when she saw him, less surprised, more resigned.

“You’re early,” she said, tone flat.

“You said six.”

“And it’s not six.”

He held up the gift bag helplessly. “I brought offerings.”

Her eyes flicked to the bag. Then to the tub of candy floss.

She sighed. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting her eat that.”

“Knew it,” he muttered under his breath.

She stepped aside. “Shoes off."

He obeyed without question, slipping out of his sneakers.

The sound of a cartoon show flooded his ears and he followed it.

The living room was warm and dimly lit, with the soft glow of late afternoon sun pushing through the curtains. The cartoon played on low volume, a pink, sparkly mess of dancing cats, or maybe singing puppies, he couldn’t really tell.

Yume was on the floor, perched on a throw pillow like it was a throne, legs criss-crossed and socks mismatched. Her penguin plush, Tax Fraud, wore a beaded necklace and a bandage sticker on its head. A glittery crown lay abandoned next to a coloring book that had clearly already been half-filled in.

She didn’t notice him at first.

He hovered awkwardly by the entrance to the room, unsure if he should speak or wait to be invited. He was already intruding. He didn’t want to spook her.

“Yume,” Yn called calmly from behind him, “we have company.”

The little girl looked up then.

Her big eyes blinked at him, curious but unafraid. The TV blared some indecipherable high-pitched jingle in the background, but she muted it with a click of the remote, already displaying better manners than he had at her age.

“You’re the singer,” she said, standing up slowly, her grip on Tax Fraud unwavering.

He nodded. “I am.”

She tilted her head. “You came to our house.”

“I did.”

Her gaze drifted to the gift bag in his hand, then the candy floss. But she didn’t grab for it. Didn’t even step closer. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at Yn.

“What's he holding?”

“Ask him,” Yn said, from the kitchen. “It’s his gift.”

Megumi crouched down, holding the bag out carefully. “It’s for you. Thought maybe you and your penguin could use some new supplies.”

She took the bag gently, almost reverently, peeking inside. Her lips parted in a small gasp.

“I love cats,” she whispered, pulling out the blanket. “And sparkles. And pink.”

“I guessed,” he said.

She looked up at him again. “Thank you, Mister Megumi.”

He smiled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

She turned and trotted off toward the couch, already pulling the sticker book from the bag with practiced glee. Tax Fraud was tucked carefully beside her, his crown now replaced on his head.

Megumi stood slowly, watching her settle in.

“Hey,” Yn said quietly beside him. He turned.

She nodded at the candy floss. “Kitchen counter. If I see it near her toothbrush, I'll rip out your vocal cords. Let's see you try to go on tour then.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender and moved to drop it off. As he set it down, Yuuta emerged from the hallway, giving him a mock salute.

“You survived,” he said under his breath.

“Barely.”

From the couch, Yume called, “You can sit here, Mister Megumi! Tax Fraud says you can share his throw pillow!”

Megumi looked at Yn, who shrugged. “She named it, not me.”

He walked over and lowered himself onto the pillow beside her.

He had no idea what he was doing.

But she leaned against his side like it was nothing, like it was normal, and Tax Fraud gave him a very solemn nod of approval.

Yume had already spread the blanket over her lap, carefully flattening the corners like it was something precious. She peeled a glittery sticker from the new book and stuck it, without hesitation, right on Tax Fraud’s belly.

“Mister Megumi,” she said, peeking up at him with a grin. “Did you know penguins don’t have knees?”

He blinked. “I… didn’t, actually.”

She nodded solemnly. “That’s why he walks funny.”

Megumi bit back a laugh, but the smile came anyway, real this time. “Makes sense.”

From the kitchen, Yn called, “Yume, dinner in ten. You want to go wash up?”

“Okay!” Yume leapt up, the tiara lighting up obnoxiously with every bounce as she scampered toward the bathroom, her penguin tucked under one arm.

Megumi followed her with his eyes. Then, almost to himself, he whispered,

“She’s perfect.”

From across the room, Yn didn’t look back.

“I know.”

extra! extra! read all about it! (no seriously read it)

yume named her penguin tax fraud after maki almost got arrested for it

yn is hating every second of this

maki hid in her room because she really doesn't want to give that $855 back

not proofread and i actually really hate this chapter

< back | next >

Send an ask to be added to the taglist! Also my inbox is always open, TWRY related asks are under 🎤— this won't reach you!

taglist: @shokosbunny @aestheticallyvini @princesa14 @frickpickle @stark-head @lauuriiiz @verisette @chaoticducky @bakarinnie @saltypuffin1040 @w31rd0s7mblur @amberpanda99 @emvss @karvokr @matcha-kitty13 @love-me-satoru @ivydoesit23 @idexmids @oscars-wifeyyy @1l-ynn @oreotunes @2ukika @kunikuzushisbeloved @julieannah @celestialm1nd @crimsonhallucinations @seashellelel @s6rine @bubblegumcat229 @luvrs-isle @goonforgeto @hawkwithsocks @hannagcherry @d4rlinxs @lorikuma @flamey-comet @cassywasy @d4rlinxs @maeviees @agzio180 @loverofannabeth @knkzshx @idknunsadly @poopooindamouf @maeviees @nanamisbitch @l1v1ngzomb1e @aquaberrydolphin @itsagoodluckkiss @arrozyfrijoles23 @megumisluciouslashes @reverrieee @fushigurq

264 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 3 months ago

Text

Saftey Rail: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader (feat: Jack Abbot)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Robby isn’t coping.

Jack sees it at the end of every shift when he finds him on the roof, sitting on the safety rail, smoking a cigarette as he looks out across the city lights.

He’s barely taken any time off since losing the baby. Instead he’s throwing himself into his work, drowning himself in the misery of other people because it’s easier than facing his own heartbreak.

“You gotta stop doing this.” Jack tells the other man as his elbows come to rest on the metal railing. “You gotta go back home to your wife.”

“Allegra isn’t at the apartment.” Robby says taking a drag of the cigarette. “She’s at the beach house in Ohio, she needed to get away and I…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence but Jack understands the notion, he needs to be immersed in the chaos, to not think about his own tragedy.

“Pretending it didn’t happen, doesn’t make it so.” Jack tells him, shaking his head. “It only delays the inevitable. Your wife needs you right now, you are the only other person who understands what she’s going through, who shares her loss-”

“I know.” Robby says forcefully, blowing a stream of smoke out of his mouth. “I do, I just… If I go back there it means saying goodbye, it means letting go of that future I imagined for the three of us and I’m just not ready to do that just yet.”

He chokes back a sob and Jack’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder squeezing lightly. “If you don’t, if you keeping carrying this around with you, it’ll break you, it’ll destroy your marriage, it will take everything good in your life and shatter it.”

“It feels like it already did.” Robby says, using the back of his hand to wipe the salt from underneath his eyes.

“You still have Allegra.” Jack points out as he tucks his hands back into the pockets of his scrubs. “You still have a woman who loves you, who is alone and hurting right now, trying to grieve without her husband.”

This is Jack Abbot at his best and his worst, forthright and honest, never ever pulling a punch.

“Christ.” Robby says, tilting his head towards Jack. “You really know how to stick the knife in don’t you?”

Jack shrugs his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be there.”

“No.” Robby says, finally climbing off the safety railing and stubbing out his cigarette. “I really fucking shouldn’t.”

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch #noah wyle #robby #robby x reader

344 notes · View notes

sugary-strawberry-shortcake · 20 days ago

Text

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (Yandere Strawhats)

Post - Timeskip

a/n: so grateful for all of you guy‘s support and I will answer my inbox after I finished editing the latest chapter of Blossom Reverse!🥹- poppy💗

They’d been arguing for twenty minutes.

Zoro had crossed his arms and glared.

Sanji was foaming at the mouth.

Usopp dramatically threw himself over the railing and screamed about betrayal.

And through it all, Nami smiled, breezy and unstoppable, while Robin calmly adjusted her gloves and simply said:

“She’s coming with us.”

Luffy had blinked. “But why can’t we come too?”

“Because it’s girl time,” Nami said firmly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m the captain—”

Robin smiled.

“You’re also loud.”

Sanji gripped the railing like it had personally wronged him. “Sweetpeaaaaaa, you’re abandoning me?!”

Sweetpea stood uncertainly, caught in the storm, clinging to the edges of her long skirt and biting her lip.

“I-I can stay—!”

Nami swooped down and picked her up, bridal-style.

“Nope,” she said. “You’re coming.”

Robin chuckled and took her bag. “We won’t be long.”

By the time they reached the outskirts of the quiet port town, Sweetpea was tucked between them, her hands full of a small paper bag of tropical fruit, her cheeks slightly pink from Robin brushing her hair earlier.

They’d found a seaside spa — nothing fancy, just a cozy little place with flower-dyed towels and sea-salt scrubs, hidden behind a curtain of palm trees.

And for once, Sweetpea was away from everyone’s hands tugging at her or voices calling her name every five minutes.

She let out a little sigh as she soaked her feet in the hot spring pool.

Nami noticed.

“You okay?” she asked, brushing a few beads of moisture from her own collarbone.

Sweetpea nodded, cheeks pink. “It’s just… quiet.”

Robin smiled from behind a cooling mask. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Sweetpea nodded again, curling her knees to her chest. “Thank you… for taking me. Really. Everyone’s always…” she trailed off.

“Clingy?” Nami offered with a grin.

Sweetpea looked embarrassed.

Robin gently patted her hand. “They mean well. But sometimes, it’s important to breathe.”

Nami poured another drink. “And talk.”

Sweetpea blinked. “Talk?”

“Girls talk,” Nami said, winking. “You’ve never done that before?”

“I don’t… think so,” Sweetpea admitted. “I mean—maybe? I don’t remember…”

Robin leaned back against the smooth stone. “Then we’ll make up for lost time.”

Sweetpea hugged her knees tighter. “What do you talk about?”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “What don’t we talk about?”

Sweetpea tilted her head. “Like… sewing?”

Robin chuckled.

“Not quite.”

Sweetpea looked between them, wide-eyed. “Oh… is it secret pirate stuff?”

Nami burst out laughing.

Robin smirked. “Not exactly.”

Nami leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Ask us anything. Anything at all. We’ll give you the real answers.”

Sweetpea’s fingers twitched nervously. “I… I don’t even know what to ask…”

Robin’s eyes softened. “Then we’ll give you a few examples.”

Nami grinned wickedly.

“Exactly.”

The breeze was soft against the hot spring’s edge, rustling the palm fronds overhead as Sweetpea swirled her fingers in the water, her cheeks still flushed from the citrus face mask Nami had gently scrubbed on earlier.

She peeked at Robin and Nami, who were lounging beside her — Robin with her legs crossed, perfectly composed as always, and Nami sprawled with her drink, hair wrapped in a towel, like she’d been born in luxury.

“Uhm,” Sweetpea mumbled, drawing her knees closer.

Both women turned their heads slightly, sensing it immediately.

“Mm?” Nami hummed, raising an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I just—” Sweetpea’s voice was soft. “I just wanted to ask something. But maybe it’s weird.”

Robin smiled, brushing a leaf from her shoulder. “You’re with us, Sweetpea. You can ask anything.”

Sweetpea nodded. She bit her lip.

“It’s about… my period.”

Nami blinked. “Oh. Okay. Not weird at all.”

Sweetpea’s face flushed a deeper pink. “Because… I didn’t have it for a really long time after I woke up here, but then it came back and I thought I was dying.”

Robin chuckled gently. “That’s actually very common. Especially with stress, injury, malnourishment…”

Sweetpea squirmed. “Well… I kind of… bled through my skirt, and I didn’t know what it was, and I was on the upper deck and I—uh—Zoro was there.”

Nami’s eyebrows shot up.

Robin looked intrigued.

“And?” Nami prompted.

“He thought I’d been stabbed!” Sweetpea covered her face with both hands. “He yelled and called Chopper and then tried to check my back for wounds—!”

Nami burst out laughing.

Robin covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

Sweetpea peeked through her fingers. “It was so embarrassing…”

“Oh, sweetie,” Nami said, leaning over and patting her arm. “Poor thing. Of course he did. Zoro’s the worst with that stuff.”

“I thought he was going to faint,” Sweetpea mumbled. “Chopper had to explain it to him.”

Robin’s voice was calm but amused. “That’s very Zoro.”

Nami snorted. “He probably apologized to his swords afterward for being unworthy.”

They laughed for a bit, and Sweetpea slowly relaxed again, the tension ebbing from her shoulders.

But then she paused.

“…Can I ask something else?”

Nami and Robin nodded together.

Sweetpea tilted her head. “Have you ever… had a relationship? Like, with a man?”

That stopped the laughter.

Not unkindly — just… stillness.

Robin smiled, the kind of slow, thoughtful smile that held more weight than her silence. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I’ve… cared about people. But I wouldn’t call it romantic.”

Sweetpea blinked. “But you’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s eyes sparkled. “And so are you.”

Nami stretched a little. “Same here. I’ve flirted. Danced. Played the game. But actual love? No. Not my thing.”

“Why not?”

Nami didn’t answer immediately. She twirled her straw around in her drink.

“…Because love makes people stupid,” she said finally. “And men—especially pirate men—make everything harder.”

Robin added, voice soft but precise: “Love demands vulnerability. In our world, that’s often a weakness.”

Sweetpea nodded slowly. “But it’s not like the stories, then? You know… where the guy saves you and you fall in love and then it’s forever?”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember watching those stories?”

Sweetpea hesitated. “No. I just… feel like I did.”

Nami leaned forward, her voice a little firmer now. “Sweetpea, listen. You don’t need any of that to be happy. You don’t need to fall in love. You’re already surrounded by people who love you.”

“Platonically,” Sweetpea added brightly.

Both women froze for a heartbeat.

Robin’s smile didn’t waver. “Yes… for some of us.”

Nami’s voice dipped ever so slightly. “And you shouldn’t be thinking about any of the others that way. Not now. Not ever.”

Sweetpea looked confused. “Why?”

Robin reached over and gently tucked a damp strand of hair behind Sweetpea’s ear.

“Because we’re not ready to share you,” she said.

Sweetpea blinked.

“Oh.”

Sweetpea tilted her head, blinking slowly at Nami and Robin.

“Not… ready to share me?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

Nami’s eyes twitched slightly. She opened her mouth.

Robin answered first, with a laugh like silk.

“You’re still too young for that kind of thing.”

Sweetpea frowned a little. “But I’m not a baby…”

“No, of course not,” Nami said quickly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “You’re our little lady. But there are some things that are best saved for later.”

“Much, much later,” Robin added sweetly.

Sweetpea was still squinting, gears turning slowly in that soft head of hers.

So Nami clapped her hands. “Alright! Let’s get you some dresses.”

“Huh—what?” Sweetpea blinked again.

Robin was already taking her hand. “Yours don’t fit right. Even the ones I adjusted. And you deserve something made just for you.”

Sweetpea giggled, distracted instantly. “Really?”

“Yes,” Nami grinned. “Cute dresses. Soft fabrics. You’re going to melt Sanji’s heart.”

“I always melt Sanji’s heart,” she said innocently.

Robin smirked. “You’re starting to notice.”

“No I’m not,” Sweetpea mumbled, flustered.

⸻

The market was bright and loud, flags fluttering above them, and Nami knew how to hunt. Within minutes she was rifling through linen, silk, even imported marine cotton, tossing options over her arm.

Robin followed behind more slowly, helping Sweetpea hold up options.

“This one’s too long…”

“This one’s too… breezy…”

“This one makes you look like a pastry,” Robin said lightly, holding up a frilly pink thing.

Sweetpea burst out laughing. “I don’t want to look like a pastry!”

“Shame,” Nami teased. “Luffy would definitely bite you.”

Sweetpea’s eyes widened. “He would?!”

Robin just chuckled.

They tried a few shops, and at each one, Sweetpea giggled and twirled, so excited over her reflection, always asking, “Is this really okay? Is it too pretty? Will it get dirty on the ship?”

Then, at the fourth stall, a vendor leaned over the counter and smiled.

“Well now, little miss, this lipstick would suit you just right.”

Sweetpea blinked at the small silver tube being waved under her nose.

“Oh…? I’ve never tried lipstick…”

“It’s real coral tint,” he said smoothly. “Imported. Just a little bit will make your lips shine.”

She reached for it—fascinated.

Robin’s hand came down fast, covering hers.

“She doesn’t wear makeup,” she said gently, but firmly.

Nami stepped forward. “And she’s not buying anything from you.”

The vendor blinked, then raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry—didn’t mean anything.”

Robin’s smile was polite.

But her eyes weren’t.

As they left the stall, Sweetpea looked up at them. “He was just being nice…”

“People aren’t always nice because they mean it,” Nami said, brushing her hair gently behind her ear.

“You’re very easy to trick,” Robin added, with no judgment. “That’s why you need us.”

Sweetpea just nodded, still trusting them completely. “Okay. Thank you for protecting me.”

Robin and Nami smiled at her in unison.

“Always.”

________

The crew had gathered in the dining room of the Sunny — not because of a meal, but because Sweetpea had announced a fashion haul, and none of them dared miss it.

Robin sat with her ankles crossed, calm and elegant, sipping a glass of fruit wine.

Nami had her chin propped in her palm, smirking proudly.

Sanji was kneeling near the small carpet they’d rolled out as a “runway,” already crying from joy.

Zoro sat in the back, arms crossed, pretending not to watch.

Chopper and Usopp were buzzing in their seats.

Luffy was bouncing like a child.

Franky had already set up lights made of literally mirrors and reflective cola can panels.

And then, the door opened.

Sweetpea stepped out.

The first dress was pale blue — soft, ruffled, with a ribbon at the back that trailed like a cloud. She twirled once, hair fluttering with the motion, cheeks flushed from the heat of the attention.

Nami clapped. “That one’s mine.”

Robin nodded. “Knew that color would melt Sanji.”

Sanji had already fainted.

Luffy blinked, looking her over with a thoughtful squint.

“…Combat rating?” he asked. “Mmm… two out of ten.”

Sweetpea stopped mid-twirl. “What?”

He pointed. “You can’t fight in that. Not even a spin kick. Unless it has secret weapons inside?”

She giggled. “Nooo, Luffy! It’s just cute!”

“But… aren’t you always cute?”

The room paused.

Sweetpea froze — a deep, crimson blush blooming up her face. “L-Luffy!”

She gave him a little push, more like a pat, and Luffy just laughed, scratching the back of his head.

⸻

She disappeared behind the curtain, then came out again — this time in a lavender halter dress with a side bow and soft glitter on the trim.

“Four out of ten,” Luffy announced. “You could hide knives in the skirt.”

Robin nodded. “That’s fair.”

Zoro grunted. “If she even needs knives with all of us around.”

“Not the point, moss-head,” Sanji wheezed from the floor. “She doesn’t need to fight. She needs to shine.”

“She always shines,” Chopper squeaked.

The next dress was pink. Fluffy. So much lace it looked like a dream. Sweetpea stepped out shyly, twirling just once.

Everyone froze.

Luffy sat up straighter. “That one’s a zero.”

Sweetpea gasped. “What?!”

“No fighting allowed in that. If someone even looks at you wrong in that, they die.”

Nami smacked his head. “Stop making it weird.”

Sweetpea giggled again. “You’re all so silly…”

Then she stood in the center of the room with all her dresses in a folded pile beside her.

“I love them all,” she said, beaming. “They make me feel like I’m going on a… a…”

Usopp, casually sipping juice, grinned:

“Like you’re going on a date or something?”

Time stopped.

It was like someone had yanked a string on the world’s biggest music box — and the melody screeched.

Sweetpea blinked.

Robin’s glass paused mid-air.

Nami’s nails tapped once against the table.

Sanji’s eye twitched.

Zoro opened one eye and then closed it again, slow as death.

Luffy sat completely still — not smiling anymore.

Chopper let out a nervous laugh. “U-Usopp—”

But Sweetpea didn’t notice.

She was giggling. “Well, I don’t have anyone to date, silly.”

The tension popped like a soap bubble.

Luffy leaned back with a hmph, suddenly smug again.

Sanji wiped his forehead. “Thank god…”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “You won’t need to worry about that anyway.”

Nami added with a nod: “And even if you did want a date…”

Everyone turned to look at her.

She smiled.

“…It would have to be someone we all approve of.”

The boys’ heads snapped toward her in suspicious unison.

Sweetpea just tilted her head. “Okay!”

201 notes · View notes

vunblr · 3 months ago

Text

Tangled (#5)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Eventual teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 7.k.

Previous Chapter

It hurt.

The bite throbbed deep in her arm as a dull ache radiated up to her shoulder, and she was so cold. Once she started shivering, her body didn’t stop. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, heavy and chilled, sapping the little warmth she had left.

“I need...” Her teeth chattered as she spoke, breath puffing in short bursts. “I need to dry myself and change, alright? If not, I’m going to get sick.”

She wasn’t sure if he would understand, or if his mind was still fogged with the taste of her blood, but after a long pause, he gave a slow, reluctant nod and uncurled his fingers from her arm.

“Good,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him, before she pushed herself up and stumbled a little. Her fingers fumbled at her soaked shirt, peeling it off her skin with effort, since the fabric suctioned to her body.

Once she got it off, she quickly wrapped the towel around herself, but the shivering still wouldn’t stop. Her bra was next, the damp fabric was icy against her chest as she struggled to undo it with trembling hands.

She was dimly aware of his gaze following her every move. He didn’t look away.

But right now, she didn’t care. She was too cold, too lightheaded to bother with modesty.

Besides, her mind reasoned through the fog, his kind probably didn’t think much about nudity. Surely used to it, like creatures in the wild, like sirens and mermaids always told in stories, glittering tails, and bare skin, some accessories perhaps.

She told herself that again as she let the fabric drop and quickly scrubbed her skin with the edge of the towel, trying to rub some warmth back into her body.

But he kept watching.

There was a flicker of something in the way his eyes tracked her movements, a slow, deliberate study. His head tilted slightly as if seeing something he didn’t quite understand.

Because he didn’t.

Nudity for his kind -as she had guessed-, wasn’t special. Wasn’t private. It was natural. But in her… she was always covered. Always wrapped in fabrics and strange layers, and her softness was hidden from view. Seeing her now, vulnerable, nipples pert with the cold and her skin marked with his bite, it was different.

He stared longer than he meant to, drinking the sight of her body as if it were something forbidden. Something meant only for his eyes, though he couldn’t name why that thought nested heavy and possessive in his chest.

His tentacles shifted slightly against the stone, a faint echo of his thoughts, but he kept them to himself, restrained. He could still smell her. Her blood, yes, but also her, the scent that had first drawn him close. Now mingled with salt, with the faintest trace of fear and the iron tang of what she had given him. It curled inside him, deep and primal, stirring something that had little to do with hunger and everything to do with something else entirely.

She took a shaky breath, glancing sideways at him.

“Are you... feeling better?” she asked softly, voice hoarse from cold and strain.

His eyes locked on hers for a long moment, and then, finally, he gave a slow nod. She exhaled shakily and turned her attention to the first aid kit, moving clumsily but determined. "Alright," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him, "Let's fix this so I can dress and not drop dead of hypothermia." She grabbed the bottle of alcohol and, without giving herself time to think, poured it over the bite.

"Fuck!"

The sharp curse burst from her lips, echoing in the cave, and for a moment he startled, drawing his brows together in surprise. His head tilted slightly, watching her as she hissed between her teeth, muttering another string of crude words under her breath.

He hadn't expected such fire from her.

Still, he kept silent, observing as she wrapped the wound in gauze with trembling hands, muttering about how she "should’ve known better" and "what the hell was she thinking."

Once done, she finally slipped on a sweater, and her shivering eased just a little as the dry fabric clung to her chilled skin. "Alright," she breathed again. "A little better." But as she reached for her leggings, realizing they were plastered to her skin like a second, icy layer, she cursed again under her breath.

She tried to peel them off with some effort, pulling at the waistband and wriggling her hips to shimmy out of them, but they wouldn’t cooperate. The damp fabric clung stubbornly to her, twisting and resisting every tug.

And all the while, he kept watching.

His gaze had grown sharper, more focused. He was watching her legs with undeniable interest, tilting his head slightly as his eyes followed the movements. She noticed, of course. It was impossible not to, though she pretended to focus on the impossible task of freeing herself from the wet clothes. Still, her cheeks heated slightly.

He had seen legs before, of course. Summer was full of women running along the shore, with their bare limbs glinting under the sun. And when he shifted -when he took on the human shape he loathed- he had a pair of his own. But this was her.

And her legs...

They fascinated him. The smoothness of her skin, the way they parted as she moved. He shouldn’t stare. His kind didn’t stare. But he couldn’t quite stop himself.

By the time she managed to peel the leggings down to her knees and tug them off entirely, she was panting, sitting half-wrapped in the towel, glaring at the offending garment like it was to blame for all her troubles.

"Goddamn leggings," she muttered darkly, tossing them aside.

Only then, noticing the weight of his gaze, did she glance back at him.

“What?” she asked, more breathless than she meant to be.

He blinked, and his tentacles gave a faint shift, but he said nothing.

There was no need to.

The way he was watching her said plenty.

And despite everything -the blood loss, the cold- her heart gave a traitorous little flutter. "Well, for as much of a curious creature as you are," she said, exhaling sharply, "I have to change my underwear, so turn around."

His head tilted slightly, watching her with sharp eyes.

She sighed and gestured firmly at her soaked panties, sensing her cheeks going warm again. "I'm not taking these off in front of you."

That made something flicker in his gaze, a subtle shift of understanding. Of course, his kind had their own way of keeping things private -concealed, protected within their bodies- but for a heartbeat, maybe he had been curious if she would treat it as casually as she had her top.

Her brow furrowed, noticing that flicker. "Oh, come on, you know what I mean. You have the same idea of modesty, don’t tell me you don’t."

His lips pressed together in a thin line. A little twitch of a tentacle gave him away. He had been curious at first, but now he looked like a kid caught with his hand in the jar.

"For God’s sake," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temple before fixing him with a sharp look. "You're not going to see my- that. So either turn around or close your eyes. I don’t care which. Just... respect, okay?"

He huffed through his nose, a sound that might have been a sigh. Then, rolling his eyes in a way that feigned complete nonchalance -though she wasn’t fooled for a second- he turned his back to her. His shoulders shifted with the effort, and his tentacles dragged slightly behind him in a slow, reluctant sweep.

"Yeah, thought so," she muttered to herself, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips despite everything.

He was quiet, not peeking, though she noticed the way some of his limbs twitched, betraying that sharp attention he couldn’t quite suppress.

She worked quickly, fumbling with cold fingers to get her soaked underwear off and dry herself as best she could with what little she had left. The wetness was clinging to her skin, and she gritted her teeth as she pulled on something dry, shivering all the while.

Finally done, she hugged herself and sat down on the driest patch of rock she could find. "Alright," she called, her voice quieter, more tired. "You can turn around now."

He turned smoothly, fixing her with an expression that was just shy of smug, though she could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

She looked properly at him, taking in the mess of torn flesh and deep purples that still marred his skin, but at least now he didn’t look dead. Not like before. His eyes followed her closely, sharp as ever despite the sluggish way his tentacles curled against the rock.

"I’m going home," she muttered, shivering as she hugged herself tighter. "I need... a hot shower and... and lie down."

He blinked at her, and the weight of her words sank in his brain as he noticed again how exhausted she looked, the way her lips trembled from cold. Right. Humans only threw themselves into the sea in summer, and even then, briefly. She was in no state to be standing, much less after what she gave him.

His gaze dropped to her arm, where his teeth had torn her skin, marking her. He swallowed hard, and the shame knotted heavy in his chest. Maybe he had taken more than he should, no, definitely more. His jaw clenched, and without a word, he reached out a hand toward her, palm up, curling slightly his fingers as if unsure if she’d accept the gesture.

"Thank you," he said, in a low and rough voice.

She looked at his hand for a moment, then reached out and took it, he noticed her grip weak, but warm despite the cold seeping into her bones. "I’m glad you’re fine," she murmured, and she meant it.

He gave a small nod, though something flickered in his eyes, something unreadable. He didn’t let go immediately, and his fingers stayed around hers as if trying to say something he couldn’t put into words.

She squeezed lightly before pulling back, swaying a little on her feet. A million questions were buzzing in her head -what had happened, who had hurt him, what kind of enemies could do that to something like him- but this wasn’t the time. She was half convinced she’d pass out right there if she pushed herself to stay longer.

He knew it too. Watching her stand there, weak and trembling, made something tighten painfully inside him. She had offered herself to him when his own kind had only wanted to see him dead. And now she could barely stand because of that. Because of him.

"I’ll be back," she said softly.

His eyes met hers, dark and deep. "Rest," he murmured, in a low rumble.

----

The first two days after she left him in that cave, Bucky barely stirred. He slept, as his body devoted all energy to repairing itself, mending his muscles, scarring the jagged wounds, and regrowing the piece of tentacle. The frozen fish she had brought wasn’t the same as the living, thrashing prey he normally hunted, but sustained him.

By the third day, he could move -slowly, carefully- and though his limbs ached, the worst of his condition was behind him. His skin had sealed itself shut, though angry scars marred now his sides and his arms. He traced them absently. He didn’t mind them. Scars spoke of survival. Of strength. A warning to anyone foolish enough to try again.

Still, she did not come.

Five sunrises and sunsets passed without a trace of her, neither at his cave nor her usual spot near the shore. His eyes scanned the waves every time he surfaced, but her figure never appeared.

The longer he waited, the more restless he became.

Was she angry? Had she regretted offering herself to heal him? Afraid of what she had done? -what he had done- Or worse, had he taken too much from her? And now…

The last thought pierced deep in his chest like a shard of ice. His claws dug into the stone as he remembered her weak, trembling form.

By the sixth day, the question haunted enough at him to make him decide. He had to see for himself. When the moon climbed high in the sky and bathed the waves in silver, he slid into the water and swam, silent and swift, cutting through the dark sea like a blade.

Reaching the cliffs where her lair stood far above, Bucky hesitated for a breath, then he braced himself.

His skin tingled first, like thousands of tiny needles pricking over every inch of his body. His spine arched in a weird angle as the transformation followed its course. He clenched his teeth, and a low snarl ripped out of his throat as his muscles pulled and twisted, and his bones reshaped and grew.

His lower half, powerful and fluid as the sea itself, writhed violently, tentacles snapping and curling in agony as they shrank, fused, and tore themselves into a new form. Flesh molded into legs, the sensation was like molten heat in his veins, like razors under his skin. His lungs strained as they adjusted, and a sharp burn flared in his chest.

By the time he stood in the shallow water near the rocks, the moonlight illuminated his pale, wet human form. His legs trembled under him, not used to hold his weight, and he cursed low under his breath, leaning against the cliff wall for support.

It had been too long since he walked on two feet. He hated it.

The jagged rocks bit into his bare soles as he stepped forward, slow and awkward, but he didn’t stop.

He took the narrow, winding road she always used, the one he had watched her walk countless times from the water, seeing her figure become small against the towering cliffs. Now, every step was a struggle. His legs, still weak and unsteady, burned as he forced himself up the steep path.

When he finally reached the top, his breath was ragged, and his chest heaved with the effort. Her den -house, he reminded himself- was farther inland than he had realized, nestled between wind-battered trees and rock.

His naked skin prickled under the cold night air, and for the first time in years, he truly felt what it was to be cold. The chill seeped into the bones of this fragile form and he cursed as he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself, tightening his jaw as he pushed forward.

When he finally stood before her door, he stared at it for a long moment, suddenly unsure. His hand, pale and scarred, reached for the handle, but when he fumbled to turn it, it didn't give in. Locked.

He growled low with frustration. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled and pushed at it again, as though it would suddenly yield to his desperation. But it didn’t. With a hissed curse, he stepped back and looked around, circling the building with a hunter’s eye. Every window was shut tight, covered with wood panels. No way in. No gaps.

The wind whipped around him, and his teeth clenched against the biting air as he made his way back to the door. He stood there, staring, then lifted his fist and banged against it. Once. Twice. Harder the third time.

Nothing.

His brow furrowed, and his heart pounded harder now, but not from the climb. He leaned in, pressing his palm flat against the wood, and then knocked again, slower. Please.

Still nothing.

“Hey,” he called out, voice rough and lower than he expected. He swallowed and tried again, stronger.

“Hey!”

Still no answer.

He hesitated, then called her name, soft at first, as if unsure it would be right to say it here. He knocked one more time, then leaned his forehead against the door, closing his eyes.

Maybe she was afraid. Of course she should be, he thought bitterly, as he leaned heavier against the door. Who in their right mind would open to a stranger pounding at their home in the dead of night? And yet, a part of him still hoped.

Then the faint shuffle of movement inside. His head jerked up. A sliver of light glowed under the door. Something stirred.

A sharp click of a lock being drawn back made his muscles tense, but he stayed rooted. The little spy door creaked open just enough for a pair of familiar eyes to peek out, wide and cautious.

They stared at each other. For a heartbeat, neither moved, only silence between them as if both were unsure this was even real.

She blinked fast, as if trying to clear her vision as if he might vanish if she looked too long. But he didn’t. He just stood there, pale and silent and very real.

With a rasp of metal, she unfastened the remaining locks and opened the door with a creak that seemed too loud in the quiet night.

Her nightgown hung loosely from her shoulders, soft and rumpled from sleep, socks drooping around her ankles in old slippers. Her hair was a mess, but her eyes, wide with surprise, roamed over him slowly, taking in every detail she could.

The salt clung to his skin, and streaks of sand still stuck to his legs, calves to thighs, like he had dragged himself straight from the shore without even bothering to shake it off. He looked like something that should be part of the sea but now stood shivering on her doorstep, with dark and tired eyes.

She didn’t even hesitate, just stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. "Come in," she said softly, like her throat was too sore to be louder.

He moved past her, and the warmth of the house wrapped around him. She quickly shut the door behind them, wincing as a cough broke from her chest, deep and rattling.

He turned immediately, so close now, like he couldn’t bear to put distance between them. His body, tall and broad even in its human shape, nearly caged her against the door as he stared down at her, searching her face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, in a hoarse voice, forcing her gaze to stay on his face and not slide down to- well, other human attributes he clearly hadn’t thought to cover before coming.

"You didn’t come," he murmured, in a low tone, almost childlike in its simplicity. His eyes were heavy with something like worry, something that twisted in her chest. "Me- I thought I hurt you bad," he added, almost apologetic, as if unsure if the words were even right.

Oh.

Her heart ached, just a little. He had come all this way, dragging himself in a form that clearly still pained him, because he thought he was the reason she was gone.

She coughed again, sharp and cutting, leaning back against the door to steady herself. "I'm just sick," she said, trying to make her voice sound stronger than it felt. "I have-" she hesitated, knowing asthma meant nothing to him. "My lungs aren’t in good shape. And that dive... it didn’t do me any favors."

His eyes stayed locked on her, wide, dark, and so worried. All that cold sharpness she was used to seeing in him, was gone. He looked... lost.

"Normal people would just get a cold," she mumbled, trying to lighten it, but she could see that wasn’t helping. "I just feel worse, but I’ll be fine." Something in him seemed to crumble a little at her words, and she felt bad for it. "Let me..." she rasped, pushing herself upright. "Let me get you a blanket, alright? You’re freezing."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to protest, to say no, to be proud or stubborn, but his body betrayed him with a violent shudder as if all his strength was finally giving out now that he was inside, now that he was with her. With a small exhale that sounded almost like surrender, he stepped aside, giving her space.

She shuffled carefully toward the couch, holding onto the backrest for support, and grabbed one of the afghans draped over it, thick, soft, and worn from use. With a tired gesture, she motioned him over with her hand, a silent come here that he obeyed without question.

As he moved, still shivering slightly, she wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and, with a gentle but firm push on his chest, made him sit. He blinked up at her, surprised by how easily she handled him. She knelt in front of him, tucking the edges of the blanket closer around his body to keep him warm, and brushing her fingers against his chilled skin.

Only when he settled back against the cushions, adjusting to the warmth entering his body, did he notice the small, uneven squares stitched together in the fabric. His fingers ran lightly over the seams, following the path of color changes and shapes.

"You made?" he asked quietly, eyes wide with a kind of awe that made her blink in surprise.

"Yeah," she exhaled, sitting on the carpet, wrapping her arms loosely around herself as another wave of chills ran through her frame. "What I do on the shore... usually they're pieces of things. I finish them here, later. For me, or to sell."

His gaze lingered on the patchwork, gently rubbing a corner between his thumb and forefinger, as though the stitches themselves were something rare. "Pretty," he said after a pause, a faint, soft smile curving his lips, almost shy as if he wasn’t used to giving praise.

She smiled faintly, watching him, but his mind was already wandering. To sell, she had said. So she was a maker, a weaver of things. That much he had known, from all those hours watching her at the shore, seeing her hands moving fast with hooks and yarn. But now he understood that it was how she earned her living too.

His eyes drifted away from the blanket, scanning the room as if seeing it properly for the first time. Little pieces of her were everywhere; the curtains had a lace edging, delicate and clearly handmade. There were small woven mats on the floor, some with shells and stones embroidered in. Trinkets and small crocheted baskets on shelves, filled with things he didn't understand.

Her lair, he thought, amused for a moment at the word. A soft, safe place she had built for herself. And now he was sitting right in the middle of it, wrapped in her warmth. He wondered, idly, if she had more of these blankets in her nest. If she slept under them, bundled in soft, colorful things.

She stood up, grabbed another blanket, and wrapped herself in it, sinking onto the couch beside him with a sigh.

"You surprised me," she murmured after a moment, glancing sideways at him. "There were stories... but I didn’t know you could shift."

He just nodded, not offering more. His eyes flicked toward her, watching her face as she spoke, but his mouth stayed in a tight line.

"So you came because I didn’t show up," she continued softly, turning to face him more fully, "and thought something bad happened?"

He shifted uncomfortably, slightly hunching his shoulders, and gave a short, curt nod.

A small smile tugged at her lips, gentle and warm. "That was very nice of you. Thank you."

Nice.

The word caught him off guard. He had been called many things over the years, but nice had never been one of them. He didn’t quite know what to do with that word. His jaw worked, sharp teeth clicking softly in his mouth, an old habit when he didn’t know how to respond.

She noticed, but didn’t push. Instead, she shifted the conversation with a little grin. "Tell you what," she said, nudging his arm lightly. "If we don’t fix your situation, you’re going to be sick too. Why don't you get a bath, and I’ll find you some clothes to wear?"

He furrowed his brow, clearly confused. "Bath? I came... wet."

"Oh no, darling," she said, her smile widening just a bit, teasing but kind. "I mean a hot bath. Or a shower. To clean, and warm up your body. No offense, but you’re leaving sand everywhere."

His frown deepened, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Shower?"

She raised a brow, tilting her head. So he could shape-shift but clearly hadn’t spent enough time as a human to pick up on basic things -or, he did it a long time ago when certain things didn’t exist yet-. "A water spray to wash your body," she explained patiently. "It’s nice, you’ll see. Like rain, but hot."

"Don’t like rain," he grumbled, and his expression soured at the thought.

She let out a low laugh, shaking her head. "You’ll like this!" Pushing herself up with effort, she extended a hand toward him, waiting. "Come on. I’ll show you how it works."

He stared at her hand for a long moment before reaching out with a quiet huff of breath through his nose.

She led him gently by the hand, still wrapped in the blanket, toward the bathroom. "Alright," she said, flicking on the light with a soft click that made him blink. "This the bathroom."

He looked around curiously, eyeing the strange room with its bright tiles and mirror.

“And this is the shower.” She opened the curtain and turned the handles, causing the water to rush out from above. He startled at the sound alone, tensing his body, and the second the water burst to life and sprayed downward, he jumped back with a sharp hiss, all wide eye and defensive.

"Hey, hey! it's okay." she soothed quickly, holding her hands up. "It's just water. See?" She reached in and let her fingers run under the stream. "It comes out warm. Or, well, you can make it warm."

He didn't move closer, but he didn't back away either. His eyes narrowed, still suspicious, and then he sniffed the air cautiously.

"Look," she added gently, reaching for the handles, "This controls how hot or cold it is. This one," she twisted slightly the one at the left “gives you hot water, and this one is the cold water."

Tentatively, he reached out, grazing the stream with his long fingers. His eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed thoughtfully. "Hot," he muttered, a little pleased as if this was something he could appreciate.

"Exactly." She picked up the soap and handed it to him. "This is to clean yourself. You rub it on your skin while the water runs, then rinse it off."

He turned the soap in his hand like it was a strange rock, sniffed it, and made a face. "Smells weird."

"Yeah, but it works. Trust me."

She turned to the shelf and picked up a bottle. "And this is shampoo. You use it for your hair. You rub it in and rinse it out. And this-" she lifted a second bottle "is the conditioner. For after the shampoo. Makes your hair soft."

He looked at her, then at the bottles, and back to her again, clearly overwhelmed. "Too much," he grunted, frowning.

"You'll figure it out," she said, softer this time, trying to sound reassuring. "Just... do your best."

His fingers tightened slightly around the soap before he looked at her again.

"You stay?"

Her lips parted, caught off guard. "Well… it's usually a private thing," she explained, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space was.

He tilted his head slightly as if considering that. Then, his gaze flicked toward the shampoo bottle. "Help," he said simply, though the way his eyes glinted suggested he knew he was pushing his luck.

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Ok, I’ll stay here sitting on the toilet, if you need company," she relented. "But I am not washing your hair there, it's not proper."

Like a creature like him would give a damn about propriety.

"If you can’t figure it out, I can help you later in the kitchen sink. But-"

Before she could finish, he shrugged off the blanket and stepped into the shower, completely unbothered.

Her brain took half a second too long to catch up, and in that half-second, her gaze dropped and…

Oh my god

Heat rushed to her face as she promptly yanked the curtain closed between them.

There was a sharp hiss of irritation and she saw his hand tugging the curtain.

"No! Don’t pull that or you’ll splash water everywhere!" she called, catching the fabric before it slid open. "Just… do what I said, alright? I'm going to get you some clothes, and I’ll be back in a second."

There was a pause, then a small grunt in response.

She remembered a box of old clothes -possibly Arthur’s or the last tenant- in the upper section of the bedroom’s closet. It had been tucked away but now seemed like the perfect moment to rummage through it.

Kneeling, she flipped the lid open and sifted through the contents. Most of it was outdated or too stiff from being folded away so long, but eventually, she pulled out a red henley and a pair of black sweatpants. They smelled a little musty, the way fabric does when left untouched for too long, but she grabbed a bottle of fabric refresher, giving them a quick spritz to make them more tolerable.

She didn’t bother looking for underwear. Somehow, she had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t want to wear any.

With the clothes in hand, she returned to the bathroom, settling back onto the closed toilet seat. “Alright,” she called over the sound of the water. “I’m right here. When you’re done, just shut off the handles and wait for me to hand you a towel.”

A grunt of acknowledgment.

She sat there, listening to the water run, idly picking at the fabric of her sleeve. After a while, his voice broke the quiet.

"Done."

She had a split second to react before she heard the curtain shift.

Thinking fast, she grabbed the towel, snapped it open, and held it up just as the curtain was yanked aside. The thick fabric stretched between her hands, covering him from the ribs down, effectively shielding his modesty.

He blinked at her, slightly surprised.

"Here," she said, firmly but without meeting his gaze. "Wrap this around yourself, then go to the bedroom. You'll find clothes there."

She turned on her heel before he could say anything else, slipping out of the bathroom and pulling the door shut behind her.

Let him figure it out from there.

----

He did as she instructed, stepping into the dimly lit room where the clothes lay atop a large, soft surface. It was covered in layered fabrics -those stitched squares she seemed to favor- and… in something else.

Her scent. It was stronger here than anywhere else.

Her nest.

The thought sent a subtle ripple of interest through his body, especially as he realized no other scent clung to it. No lingering trace of another human, no competing claim. Just hers.

But the clothes… those were different.

As he picked up the garments, an unfamiliar perfume clung to the fabric. Faint but there, something aged and stale, like it had been tucked away for too long. Beneath that, a lingering scent of an adult male, distant but undeniable.

Something in him bristled at the intrusion. His teeth clicked together in irritation, but he forced himself to put the clothes on. The scent was old and faded, and if he wore them long enough, his own smell would replace it, overwriting whatever trace of the other male that could linger on it.

He fumbled briefly with the fabric, getting a feel for it, but he wasn’t stupid, he figured out how to wear them well enough. The material was strange against his skin, it felt confining in ways he wasn’t used to, but it would do.

Once dressed, he went to the other room, finding her seated, coughing into her sleeve.

When she looked at him, two things stood out immediately.

One: Arthur’s clothes were definitely too small for him, stretching across his broad frame, and clinging in places she absolutely shouldn’t be staring at.

And two: his wet hair was a dripping mess, with strands clinging to his face, and the ends soaking into the too-tight henley, leaving a growing trail of water on the floor.

She huffed and grabbed a clean kitchen towel, stepping closer to drape it over his shoulders. He stilled at the touch but let her.

“That’s to keep you from getting everything wet,” she muttered, smoothing it down. “Did you even wash your hair?”

He looked at her, then simply said, “No.”

A pause. Then, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You do.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Technically, she had told him she’d help if he couldn’t figure it out. And since he was now standing in her kitchen, dripping on her floor, looking at her expectantly… she only had herself to blame.

“Alright, big guy…” She exhaled, gesturing toward the kitchen. “C’mon.”

He followed her as she led him to the sink, watching as she adjusted the faucet.

“It’s really long,” she remarked, barely brushing her fingers on his hair. “Doesn’t it get in the way? Feel heavy?”

He hadn’t thought much about it. It had been a long time since he last cut it, always with sharp shells, never bothering to care about evenness. It had simply been a necessity. But now, out of the water, yes, he could feel its weight. “Heavy.” He conceded.

She nodded. “I could trim it for you after we wash it if you want.”

His muscles tensed, just for a second. The thought of her holding something sharp near his neck sent a flicker of warning down his spine. He had lived a long time surrounded by danger, and he knew better than to let someone close with a blade.

But she had saved him. Given him her essence, cared for him when she had no reason to. If she wanted him dead, she could just have left him rot in that cave.

So, after a moment, he nodded.

She smiled, just a little, rolling up her sleeves. “Alright. Close your eyes,” she instructed as she guided him into place. “It might sting.”

He obeyed, and the next thing he felt was the warm rush of water over his scalp, and her fingers threading softly through his hair, untangling the knots with careful, patient movements.

----

She patted his shoulder when she finished rinsing the last of the suds from his hair. "Alright. Go sit," she instructed, nodding toward one of the chairs.

He did as she said, shaking off excess water before lowering himself onto the seat, with the damp strands clinging to his skin. He watched as she moved around the small space, opening a drawer, then a cabinet, before disappearing for a moment.

A cough echoed from the other room.

His jaw clenched. Right. She had gotten sick for helping him, and here he was, sitting there comfortably, being served like she was some kind of thrall.

When she returned, with brush and comb in one hand, and scissors in the other, he frowned and lifted one of his hands. "Rest."

She blinked at him. "What?"

He gestured vaguely. "You are sick. Rest."

A small, amused breath left her lips, though she tried to smother it. "I feel better," she reassured. "And cutting a little hair isn't going to kill me."

He didn't look convinced, and his sharp gaze flickered between her and the items in her hands.

She sighed, shifting her grip on the scissors. "How about this? Once I'm done, we can sit on the couch. And talk. Properly."

His brow furrowed. It felt like a bribe, one he wasn’t sure why she was offering. But she had already moved in front of him, kneeling slightly to meet his gaze. She held up the scissors, clicking them open and shut. "These are scissors. They cut through things, cloth, paper, hair. See?" She snapped them once more before setting them aside.

Then, she ran her fingers through his damp strands, gently working through some stubborn tangles. He stiffened slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away. She picked up the brush next, starting at the ends and working her way up in slow, careful strokes. "The brush gets rid of knots," she explained. "Makes it easier to manage the hair."

His lids drooped slightly as she continued, finding the rhythmic pull of the bristles oddly soothing.

Once she had smoothed out most of it, she switched to the comb, working through smaller sections. "This one makes sure everything's neat before I cut," she said absently, more focused on her task than his reaction.

He hummed low in his throat. This was... new. Different from his usual crude attempts at grooming.

She set the scissors down for a moment and ran her fingers through his now untangled hair. "How much do you want to cut?"

He considered, then lifted a hand to his shoulder.

"That’s a nice length," she commented.

Something warm bloomed in his chest at her approval, but he made an uninterested shrug.

She started cutting then, slow and methodically, with the snip of the scissors as the only sound in the room.

With each careful comb-through, and each precise trim, he felt a strange sense of weightlessness. His eyes grew heavier, as the gentle pull of her hands and the repetitive motions slowly lulled him. Before he realized it, his head had dipped slightly forward, and the sleep finally took over him.

She hesitated when she noticed, stilling the scissors in her hand. For a long moment, she just watched him.

The slight furrow of his brow had smoothed out. The corners of his eyes held the faintest wrinkles, softened by the rest, rather than tension. And the freckles, the small constellation near his ear.

Her gaze drifted lower, to the shape of his lips.

Handsome. So, so handsome.

She exhaled slowly, shaking herself out of it. Carefully, she made the last few cuts, finishing her work with a light touch to sweep away stray strands. Then, just as gently, she placed her hand on his arm.

He stirred at the contact, blinking groggily. His body felt oddly down by something unfamiliar, comfort. The notion hit him promptly. He had fallen asleep.

His breath hitched as he straightened, rolling his neck to ease the dull ache from the angle he had held his head. He had never allowed himself to such a vulnerable position before others, not on land, not in the depths of the sea. Yet, with her hands in his hair, smoothing, cutting, working with deliberate care, he had let his guard slip.

"All done," she murmured. pulling him from his thoughts. "If you want to see how it turned out, go check the mirror."

He sat there for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushed himself to his feet and padded toward the bathroom.

She watched him go, still brushing a few stray strands of his hair off her hands.

He hesitated just inside the doorway, eyeing the mirror with suspicion. It was strange, this human thing, a glass that reflected, capturing an image too perfectly. Some whispered that mirrors could steal a soul, trapping it within their depths.

The thought nagged his mind, but, she had one in her home, in a place she used daily. If it were so dangerous, why would she keep it so casually? And when he’d caught a glimpse earlier, nothing strange had happened. No shift in the air, no pull on his spirit.

Still, something in him resisted.

From behind, he could feel her waiting, watching, likely assuming he hadn’t understood her instruction. She had no idea of the war waging inside his head.

He exhaled sharply, steeling his resolve, then gave her a short nod before stepping inside.

He stared.

The face in the mirror wasn’t the shifting, distorted thing he had seen in water, nor the dull, vague glint of himself reflected in metal. This was clear. He could study himself the way he studied others.

His gaze traced his own features, the sharp cut of his jaw, the lines of his mouth. He bared his teeth slightly, then ran his tongue over one incisor.

His dark hair -shorter now- felt lighter when he moved his head. He cast it to the side, tilting his neck, watching the way the tendons shifted beneath his skin. He traced them with his middle finger. Would she find this appealing? Did it look… manly? He frowned, lips pressing together.

The mere thought irritated him. He shouldn’t care.

But he did.

Because that afternoon on the beach, before everything spiraled, before he had almost drowned in pain, she had let him sense her. Sensed him. And then, she even saved him with her own life force, offering herself freely. That had done something to him, crept under his skin like the tide creeping over the sand: slow, relentless, and impossible to ignore.

And now? Now, he found himself standing before this strange human glass, inspecting himself through her eyes, wondering if she would approve.

He tilted his head the other way, observing the length of his now-trimmed hair, and again, the sharp angles of his face, considering this unsettling, foreign feeling, this desire to be seen. To be… liked?

Then, her voice called out from the other room.

“Everything fine there?”

He blinked, startled, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. One last glance at his reflection, then he turned away, stepping back into the warm light of her home.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love @misspendragonsworld @thewriters64 @escapefromrealitylol @hi172826 @wintrsoldrluvr @reddesires @ruexj283 @buckvoidsyy @littlesuniee @kimberly-stocks @pandaxnienke

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #merman! Bucky #cecaelia! Bucky #cecaelia #bucky x curvy!reader #Mer! Bucky

376 notes · View notes

xxsabitoxx · 1 year ago

Text

Okkotsu Yuta NSFW A-Z

Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)

Warnings: if it isn’t abundantly clear, this is smut :)

A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, I’m going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men - here is scheduled post number 13 :)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Yuta’s aftercare is perfect in every possible way. This man puts so much effort into making sure you are comfortable, clean, and happy after sex. He’ll usually always run you a bath, even if you are exhausted. He’ll carry you into the bathroom and get in the tub with you. He takes the time to fill it with epsom salts and calming aroma scents like lavender and eucalyptus. He’ll massage your body wherever you say you’re a bit tender and he’ll make sure to scrub you clean. Yuta feels energized after sex so it’s not surprising that he has so much energy to take care of you. He’ll make sure to dry you off thoroughly and help you dress in the softest of pajamas. He’ll dry and brush your hair for you, get you water and even pain relievers if he thinks you’ll need them.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Yuta is totally infatuated with your chest. He adores everything about it, big, small, flat, doesn’t matter, he’ll spend hours sucking on your chest. Yuta loves to spoon with you, his hands under your shirt and cupping your chest happily, he isn’t even doing it to initiate something with you, he just adores the warmth and softness they offer him. When he’s fucking you, he loves watching your hands scramble to hold your chest because he’s rutting into you too damn hard and causing your whole body to recoil because of it. Which, of course, only makes him work harder.

Yuta is quite shy at first, finding it hard to pinpoint a part of his body that he favors. But, over time, Yuta finds he has a lot of confidence in his arms. Specifically his forearms, because of the way they bulge when he uses his strength to keep you in place. Or maybe when he’s fucking you in front of a mirror and can see the way his arms look wrapped around your waist.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s filthy, in every way possible. Yuta loves seeing you ruined and fucked out, but he also loves seeing you covered in the sticky mess that his cum makes. Honestly, he’ll cum anywhere you want him to. Even then he can’t make the promise that it’ll end up where you want it, he could aim for your chest but end up on your face, he could aim for coming inside and accidentally pull out and spill his load on your sex. It depends how lost he is in the moment.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Yuta really likes when you degrade him and call him mean names. He doesn’t even have an explanation for why it turns him on the way it does but he loves it. That and the fact that he finds you so unbelievably hot when you’re mad at him… which is really rare cause he doesn’t do many things to piss you off. But fighting is inevitable in relationships, and for the two of you it usually ends in marathon sex so he can’t say he doesn’t like arguing either. He tries not to piss you off on purpose… unless he’s really horny and in the mood to get fucked stupid.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yuta doesn’t have a ton of experience but you’d never guess it. He’s had maybe two or three partners max and only one instance of a one night stand. Still, he’ll get texts from blocked numbers begging for him back because nobody can fuck them like he did. He’ll show you the messages when they come in and let you handle them how you please, he has all he needs right in front of him so he couldn’t care less about texts like that. Needless to say, Yuta not only knows how to make someone feel good, but how to leave a lasting impression.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, and if you find that boring clearly you’ve been doing it wrong. Yuta adores missionary, I mean he enjoys fucking you in just about every position but there is something so intimate about missionary that drives him up the wall. He loves how close you are, how he can feel your body moving against his, how his weight is making you wheeze and squirm and just produce the prettiest noises he’s ever heard. He loves how he can still kiss you, bite you, and suck hickeys on your neck even when you beg him not to. He loves how he can hear you so perfectly, watching your face contort as you try and hide your cute noises. It’s perfect.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Yuta can be a bit humorous during sex, cracking a few smiles at you and sly comments. It just feels weird for him to be completely serious when with you, even if he’s mad or worked up. Yuta will never fail to pull a smile onto your face as he says something so sweet it nearly makes your teeth ache. He’s such a love bug, especially when he’s being intimate with you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Yuta has a love-hate relationship with his hair down there. He likes to keep it short and neat but sometimes life gets away from him and his hair grows out more than he would like it to. You, for one, don’t care about his hair down there but Yuta can get a bit shy if you’re getting intimate and he hasn’t had time to clean up his groin lmao

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If you couldn’t tell by his favorite position and his humor, Yuta is very romantic during sex. But romantic in a shy way when you’re first getting into things, as he lets loose, so do his words. You swear Yuta is telling you he loves you every time his hips connect with yours… it’s because he is. He’s nearly lovesick for you as he ruts his hips into you, doesn’t matter if he just saw you this morning, that man misses you and he will make sure you know it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Yuta’s frequency can vary depending on his mood and work schedule. Before meeting you, he would get himself off once a week minimum. Most weeks he’d jerk off a healthy two-three times. Now, the only time he’ll jerk off is if he’s away from you for too long or if he really needs to do stuff and he can’t get it to go down on its own. Yuta also isn’t shy about using toys to get himself off – that means vibrators, pocket pussies, butt plugs oops-

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Master/Slave kink, I will not go into detail on this one I just… I just think he’d like it if you ordered him around and called him a good boy. He’s heavy on dom/sub but he’s easily a switch and enjoys being in either position. Yuta has a mild breeding kink, one that only comes out when he’s really upset… like if you get injured. I’d also say Yuta is into somnophilia because there have been times he returned from a mission and you’re already passed out but he’s worked up. You’ve discussed it before so it’s completely consensual and he finds it so cute when you start making noises in your sleep as he buries his fingers inside to prep you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Yuta loves fucking you on just about any surface but he’s grown quite fond of bathtub sex. Something about the steam filling the room, the hot water, the intimacy of the moment, the urge to be careful in order to not make a mess of the room. There are so many factors that go into fucking in the bathtub that Yuta almost views it as a challenge, which is part of the enjoyment. Yuta is also an avid lover of car sex, for similar reasons to fucking in the bath, he likes the risks that come with it. He finds the possibilities of getting caught or trying not to make an absolute mess to be very fun… plus watching you try and keep quiet is amusing for him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He’s a sucker for non-sexual intimacy just as he’s a sucker for sexual intimacy. Yuta has absolutely popped a hard-on because you cuddled into him while sitting on the couch. He’s mildly embarrassed about the fact that some of the most innocent touches get him worked up, but he just can’t help how in love he is with you. Yuta is also very obsessed with lingerie, he’ll never expect you to wear it for him or always be wearing cute undergarments. But it’s a real treat for him when you decide to “dress up” in that sense. You may notice him being a tad more handsy with you when you tease him with a lacy waistband peeking above your pants.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hateful, mean, spiteful sex. Anything along the lines of hooking up just to put someone in their place if that makes sense? He can certainly be rough, but it’s out of love and adoration for you. He’s never liked the idea of hook-ups or one night stands, he’s much more into emotions and really caring about someone when sleeping with them.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Yuta is all about your pleasure so it’s not surprising that he has a preference for giving oral. Not to say he doesn't love receiving it, he definitely adores it, but going down on you is almost like a guilty pleasure for him. He’ll go down on you to relieve his own stress, spending hours between your thighs until he is satisfied with how many times you’ve come. His skills came naturally, somehow knowing exactly what to do when he got down there. If you were his first? You’d never guess it, Yuta is very skilled with his tongue… something else that’ll make him blush if you mention it. He’s still shy somehow.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Yuta can and will adjust his pace to your liking, but naturally the man is pretty eager and can start off faster than intended. He learned over time that it is much more gratifying to work his way up to the rougher and faster paces, especially since you’ll start to whine and beg for him to go faster or be rougher. The way you plead with him drives him absolutely wild. When he’s sleepy, worn out from a day's work and still needs to satisfy his cravings of you, Yuta’s hips take a much more languid and sensual roll. He’ll press his lips to your ear so you can hear his breathing struggle as he whispers his love and adoration for you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yeah but also no… he’s conflicted mostly because he can never keep a quickie… quick. Even car sex can span on for twenty minutes if he’s not mindful. He just gets so lost in you and your body, how is he supposed to speed things up when he feels he has all the time in the world?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’ll experiment with you for sure but he will shamelessly research what you want to try before even bringing it into the bedroom. He does this because he wants to make sure it’s safe and something he will also enjoy. But he also does this to make sure he does it properly for you, buys the right things, has the right idea on the concept. He wants you to enjoy it properly of course.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Bless you honestly, this man can go all fucking night and even past the sunrise if he really wants to. He’ll wear you out and make sure you need to call out of work the next day because he swears he’s not done with you yet. Yuta is an avid lover of marathon sex and he has the stamina to keep up with it. Usually he can go as long as ten minutes per round once he gets inside of you but he will not hold himself back from coming, so he’s not usually one to stick out the full ten minutes unless he’s just trying to tease you. He knows going longer can sometimes become painful.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yuta loves toys, both on you and himself. He thinks they are incredibly fun to use in bed with you and just by himself. He’s not opposed to any toys really, he’ll buy/use whatever he feels like or whatever you express interest in wanting. Nothing is really off limits in that sense.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Yuta can tease you but he’s not really unfair. He’ll edge you unintentionally and make up for it seconds later. He’ll praise you until you’re squirming, roll his hips a little slower to hear you whine, but he’s never dragging on his teasing. He’d rather see you crying from pleasure than desperation cause he’s holding back.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Yuta. Whimpers. Yuta. Whines.

You can’t tell me anything different. Yuta will not restrain his noises… mostly because he’s incapable of doing so. He’ll moan and curse, babble on and on about how good you feel, thank you over and over for letting him have you. He’s learned to not be embarrassed by his noises because he realized how much they seem to turn you on. He takes it as a compliment now.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

One of Yuta’s biggest guilty pleasures is cock-warming. He loves being close to you, cuddling you tightly as you both try and sleep. So why not take it a step further and just… slip inside. His only issue is that he can never promise it’ll remain cock-warming. His hips or yours turn restless at some point and you’ll easily get carried away. But, on nights where you’re both able to control yourselves, Yuta will knock out within seconds of slipping inside of you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

When soft, Yuta is sitting at 5.2 inches. Once hard, Yuta is 6.3 inches and curves upwards. He’s got a good girth to him, the kind that requires some getting used to but doesn’t hurt if he prepares you correctly. He’s got a pretty cock, which you’ve mentioned before just to see his face turn a shade of scarlet as you kept reassuring him that you meant it. He’s paler with a pretty flushed pink tip and some light veins running along his shaft.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Man he could fuck you every day of the week, all hours of the day, if he had the time. His sex drive is unbelievably high, this boy was touch starved and now he can’t get enough.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He will not fall asleep until he assures that you have been properly taken care of. Yuta also feels pretty energized after sex so he may not come right back to bed after he’s sure you’re comfy. Depending on the time of day, he’s actually gone for a run after or cleaned the house before accompanying you in bed again. You like to tease him and call him an overachiever for doing more cardio after all the cardio he just did. Typically though, if you fuck before bed, he’ll be asleep within thirty minutes or so.

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot.

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless.

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity.

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside.

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?”

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.”

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.”

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?”

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly.

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?”

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too.

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?”

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force.

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.”

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.”

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!”

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil.

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.”

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board.

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting.

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door.

You both freeze.

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you.

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?”

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?”

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s.

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly.

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.”

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.”

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.”

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out.

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.”

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you.

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur.

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.”

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?”

“For you or for me?”

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?”

It doesn’t really.

691 notes · View notes

ii11y · 3 months ago

Text

tethered in red - dazai x reader

bound by a deepening obsession, the story follows a mission gone wrong—an ambush laced with betrayal, bloodshed, and the terrifying possibility of loss. as the world around you burns, dazai holds you like it’s the last time—loving you with a desperation only born from death. its raw. its unhinged. its the kind of love that destroys and saves at the same time.

warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic violence,injury, blood, obsessive love, breakdowns, nsfw, angst, betrayal, possessiveness, mentions of death.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

the cigarette between chuuyas fingers burned low, the ash hanging off the end like a whisper away from collapse. you were sitting on a rooftop just outside the port mafias southern compound, the wind stirring strands of your hair across your face, the dying sun bleeding out behind the yokohama skyline.

your back ached. your ribs were still sore from last week’s assignment. but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.

it was him.

dazai sat beside you on the ledge, one leg dangling, the other pulled to his chest, his chin resting atop it. his eyes were fixed on the city, but you knew he wasn’t seeing it. he was far away. somewhere in the dark, fucked-up parts of his mind that not even you were allowed to follow.

chuuya flicked the ash off his cigarette, exhaling a long drag. “he’s been like that since yesterday,” he muttered, nodding toward dazai. “ever since Mori called you in.”

your stomach twisted. you knew the pattern. the summons. the silence. dazai always shut down right before something bad.

you reached for him anyway.

“osamu.”

his eyes didn’t move. but he answered.

“hmm?”

“is something wrong?"

a pause.

and then, softly, “no.”

⸻

the elevator to moris private chambers always felt like a descent into the underworld. your stomach dropped as the lift sank below the normal levels, into the depths where sunlight and mercy couldn’t reach.

the hallway outside his office was cold. clean. the kind of sterile that hospitals tried to mimic but never quite captured. like a morgue pretending to be a sanctuary.

you knocked once.

the door opened itself.

inside, mori sat behind his desk, tea steaming gently beside an untouched chessboard. elise stood nearby in her doll-like form, eyes unblinking, mouth curled into a cruel half-smile. the air tasted faintly of antiseptic and copper—like blood scrubbed just a little too late.

“come in,” mori said, gesturing.

dazai walked ahead of you. his shoulders were tight, his hands buried in his pockets. you followed in silence, every instinct screaming at you to turn around.

“you’re both here because i trust you,” mori said, steepling his fingers. “there’s a traitor. a former associate named yanagi. he’s been leaking intel to the government. we believe he’ll be at a decommissioned shipyard tonight. the location is secure, minimal risk.”

you frowned. “then why us?”

mori smiled, and it made your skin crawl.

“because i want to be absolutely certain he doesn’t walk away.”

that was the first red flag.

the second came when dazai asked, “you said minimal risk. you're sure?”

mori didn’t blink.

“positive.”

but dazai didn’t believe him.

you could see it in the way his fingers flexed. in the flicker in his eyes. in the silence that followed.

“fine,” dazai said at last, before adding on coldly, “but if anything happens to her, ill ensure you regret it."

moris smile never changed.

"oh. i'd expect nothing less.”

⸻

the docks were drowning in mist. the air was wet, thick with salt and steel. you and dazai moved like shadows through the decaying ruins of what used to be a shipping port — cranes long dead, containers left to rust like forgotten coffins.

something felt wrong.

the silence was too complete.

your heart thudded in your chest as you scanned the area. “we are being watched,” you whispered.

dazai didn’t answer.

then the fog shifted.

masked figures on the rooftops. behind the crates. lurking in the shadows.

too many.

far too many.

it was a setup.

you didn’t have time to shout before the first bullet shattered a pipe beside your head, spraying steam and fire. dazai tackled you to the ground as a barrage of gunfire tore through the air.

then came the knives.

the screaming.

the blood.

⸻

the world erupted into hell.

bullets split the fog, hot lead searing through steel and air. your body moved on instinct—rolling behind a rusted crate, your breathing ragged, ribs screaming. dazai was already on his feet, two guns drawn, eyes wild like a cornered wolf. not a strategist. not a trickster. a killer

you counted eight, then ten.

too many.

this wasn’t a takedown.

It was an execution.

your fingers shook as you reloaded. “they knew we were coming,” you hissed, throat raw.

“no,” Dazai spat, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “mori knew.”

that truth tasted worse than blood.

the first wave came fast—black masks, gleaming knives, footfalls like thunder on wet steel. dazai moved like water, bullets slicing through skulls, a knife in his off-hand spinning a man’s body into the air like a ragdoll. blood sprayed across your cheek—warm, thick, coppery.

you didnt have time to think.

you stabbed upward into a chest, felt the rib crack. pulled free. kicked. shot. the violence was mindless, primal. you didn’t know who you were killing anymore. only that it was you or them.

and then it happened.

a blade slid into your side.

you gasped—eyes wide—as warmth flooded your ribs.

you turned, instinct firing too slow, too late.

the masked man grinned behind blood-stained teeth—his knife lifting again.

but dazai screamed.

the kind of scream that tears through your spine and nestles in your bones.

it was raw. animalistic. like something in him snapped.

he was on the man in seconds. tackled him. pinned him. punched him. over..

and over.

blood coated dazai’s knuckles like war paint. the man’s skull caved in before he was even dead.

and dazai didn’t stop.

you reached out, voice trembling. “osamu—stop—”

but his eyes were gone.

gone.

lost in a place no one could reach.

you had to grab his wrist to pull him back to the surface.

he blinked.

breathed.

his chest heaved like he’d been drowning.

and then he saw you. really saw you.

the blood at your waist.

the pain in your eyes.

his hands were shaking.

“oh god,” he whispered, “you’re bleeding—you’re bleeding—”

you collapsed into him, darkness curling at the edges of your vision.

⸻

you came to in the back of a black sedan, the engine roaring like a beast through the night.

rain lashed against the windshield in violent slashes, the sky sobbing above Yokohama.

dazai was holding you, cradling you.

one hand pressed against your side, the other brushing your damp hair back from your face.

he was covered in blood.

yours. theirs. his own.

you blinked, throat dry. “…are we dead?”

chuuya barked a laugh from the front seat. “not yet. almost wrecked my car picking your dumbasses up, though.”

you tried to sit up. dazai stopped you with a gentle but firm hand.

“don’t move,” he whispered. his voice was wrecked. hoarse. strained. “you’re still bleeding.”

you looked at him.

really looked.

his eyes were wild. his pupils too wide, his jaw clenched tight.

you reached for his face. “you saved me.”

his hands tightened on you like he was scared you’d vanish. “no. i failed you. i let him send us into that trap. i didn’t see it. i should’ve known.”

your vision blurred again—not from pain this time, but the sheer weight of his guilt.

“it’s not your fault,” you murmured.

but he didn’t answer.

just held you tighter.

⸻

The Safehouse — 3:02 a.m.

the room was warm.

quiet.

the chaos was gone, but it lived inside your skin now.

the safehouse was nothing more than an old warehouse in the outskirts of the city—converted into a loft with makeshift walls, one bloodstained couch, a mattress on the floor, and a single bulb casting soft yellow light.

you lay on that mattress, wrapped in clean bandages, sweat still clinging to your skin from the fever. your side ached like hell.

dazai sat beside you, shirtless, arms slicked in dried blood and fresh bruises. he hadn’t left your side in hours.

“why are you still here?” you whispered.

his head tilted, eyes tired. “where else would I go?”

you looked at each other

and in that silence, something broke.

he leaned down—slow, unsure at first—until his forehead pressed against yours.

“i thought i lost you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it cracked. “i thought you were dying in my arms and i couldn’t do anything.”

his lips brushed your brow. your temple. your nose.

“i wanted to kill them all. i did. and it wasn’t enough.”

your hand rose to cup his jaw. “i'm still here.”

his eyes closed.

and when they opened—something unhinged glowed behind them.

“you don’t understand,” he murmured, “i need you. if you ever die, i die with you.”

you shivered.

not from fear.

but from knowing he meant it.

⸻

dazai hadn’t stopped touching you since the moment chuuya dropped you off. he hadn’t let you stand, hadn’t let you breathe without his hand ghosting your skin like he needed confirmation that you were still real.

his fingers trembled where they rested on your hip, just above the edge of the bandage that wrapped your ribs. he looked down at you like you were a dying star, burning too hot—too bright—and about to vanish.

you saw it in his eyes.

that brittle kind of love that turns to ruin if it’s not touched back.

you shifted, your palm brushing over his bare chest. "osamu,” you whispered. “im here.”

that’s all it took.

he kissed you.

not gently.

this wasn’t a kiss, it was a collapse.

a collision of everything unsaid—all the times he didn’t say he loved you because he thought he’d lose you anyway. his lips bruised yours, frantic and deep, his body already pressing you down into the mattress like he needed you to anchor him to earth.

his voice was hoarse against your mouth. “i need you. i need you right now.”

You nodded silently.

that was all the permission he needed.

⸻

nsfw

touch like prayer.

dazai stripped you slowly, even though his hands were shaking. he pulled your shirt over your head like he was peeling back armor, revealing battle wounds he blamed himself for.

his fingers ghosted along your side, where the gauze clung tight. his lips followed, kissing everything except the wound. reverent. careful. like if he touched it, it would kill him.

“i almost lost you,” he murmured, breath hot against your ribs. “and I haven’t even—god, i haven’t loved you enough yet.”

you cupped his face. “then love me.”

and oh. he did.

he kissed your neck like it was sacred. bit lightly beneath your ear, then soothed it with his tongue. he pressed his mouth to your shoulder, down your collarbone, until your skin was flushed and trembling beneath his touch.

and then—your back.

he guided you onto your stomach with a tenderness that broke you.

his mouth followed the line of your spine.

one kiss at a time.

vertebrae by vertebrae.

a trail of heat and worship.

“you don’t understand,” he whispered, voice shaking, “you are the only thing in this world that makes me want to stay.”

and when he pushed inside you—it wasn’t slow.

it was urgent.

raw. desperate.

his breath hitched in your ear, hands digging into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.you gasped, body arching into him, feeling everything.

the stretch. the fullness. the emotion.

he moved like he was memorizing you.

“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned. “perfect. i don’t deserve this— i don’t deserve you.”

your hand reached back to find him, to tangle in his hair, to ground him.

“'samu” you whispered. “please. i need all of you.”

he lost it.

thrust harder. deeper.

your breath caught with every snap of his hips, every low, desperate moan he pressed against your skin. he worshipped every inch of you—your back, your neck, the shell of your ear—like he was imprinting himself onto your body.

abd you—you burned.

your body sang for him, trembled beneath him, opened to him like he was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.

when the first wave hit, it shattered you.

you sobbed his name, nails clawing at the sheets, as your orgasm ripped through you—hot, sharp, endless.

but he didn’t stop.

he couldn’t.

bot when he was this close to losing everything.

he flipped you gently, kissed the tears from your cheeks, slid back inside while you were still sensitive and trembling.

round two was even worse.

even deeper. slower. but devastating.

he looked into your eyes the whole time.

watched you come undone again.

held you while you cried into his mouth.

and still—he didn’t stop.

your legs shook. your throat was raw from moaning his name. yoy couldn’t think anymore—couldn’t speak. you just felt.

he finally came with a gasp like a man dying.

your name on his tongue like a last prayer.

he held you after. breathless. sweating. shaking.

his voice cracked against your neck. “youre mine. i don’t care if it’s selfish—i need you to be mine.”

you nodded.

“always.”

and in the silence that followed—he kissed you again.

softer this time.

but no less desperate.

⸻

thank u for reading!! if u made it this far lmk what u thought as this is the first fic ive ever wrote 🙏🙏

#bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd #light angst #eventual smut

156 notes · View notes

girlactionfigure · 3 months ago

Text

There’s a Jewish holiday coming up in two days, It’s called Passover.

And for those who aren’t familiar, I want to share what this time of year really means to Jews — and especially to me — and to all religious and Orthodox Jews around the world who observe it.

See, from the outside, a lot of people think Jewish holidays are just about food, family, wine, gatherings — like a big dinner party.

But Passover is different.

Passover is hard work. Passover is a lot of preparation. Passover is soul-searching.

For weeks before it even begins, our entire lives shift. We (by we, I of course mean our wives…) clean our homes like absolute crazy people. And not for spring cleaning. Not for guests. Not because company is coming over — but for something called chametz.

Chametz is any food made from grain — wheat, barley, oats, spelt, or rye — that has come into contact with water and risen. Bread. Pasta. Cake. Cookies. Even tiny crumbs.

And on Passover, Chametz is completely forbidden.

We scrub down our kitchens. We check every pocket of every coat. We vacuum cars. We clean toys. We search by candlelight the night before Passover to make sure not a single crumb is left in our homes.

Why?

Because chametz represents more than just bread. It represents ego. Arrogance. Laziness. The things that puff us up and hold us back.

And when Passover comes in, we want a fresh start. A clean sheet. A home, and a heart, without chametz.

And then comes the heart of Passover: The Seder.

Seder means “order.”

It’s not a meal you rush through. It’s not about eating and moving on.

It’s a night where we sit, usually for hours, surrounded by family, by friends, and most importantly, by our children.

Because the entire purpose of the Seder is to tell our story to our little children.

The story of the Jewish people. The story of Egypt. Of slavery. Of exile. Of pain. Of miracles. Of redemption.

We read from a book called the Haggadah — which literally means “the telling.”

We dip vegetables in salt water to remember our tears.

We eat bitter herbs to remember the bitterness of slavery.

We eat matzah — flat, dry bread — to remember how quickly we had to run to freedom, with no time to wait for the dough to rise.

We drink four cups of wine to celebrate the four expressions of freedom promised to us by G-d.

And we sing.

We sing songs our ancestors sang. Songs they whispered in hiding. Songs they cried in exile. Songs of hope. Songs of faith. Songs that say — we are still here.

That’s what Passover is.

It’s not just a Jewish holiday.

It’s our origin story. It’s our identity. It’s everything we’ve survived — and everything we still hope for.

And at the center of it all is this powerful line we repeat every year at the Seder:

“In every generation, a person is obligated to see themselves as if they personally left Egypt.”

It’s not just history. It’s personal.

We all have our Egypt. We all have our struggles. We all have things we’re trying to break free from.

And Passover reminds us — freedom is possible. Miracles happen. And our story is still being written.

And every year — in every Jewish home where there is a Seder — no matter where that home is in the world…

It always ends the same way.

After hours of storytelling, of singing, of laughing, of crying, of remembering who we are and where we come from… comes this moment.

Everyone rises. Everyone’s voice comes together — loud, raw, emotional, sometimes through tears — and we scream at the top of our lungs:

“L’shana Haba’a B’Yerushalayim!”

“Next year in Jerusalem!”

“Next year in Jerusalem, Amen!”

#Pesach #Passover #Judaism #Jewish

149 notes · View notes

starfxkrinc · 4 months ago

Text

ode to eaters - devoured

for those who don't know, ode to eaters is my bones and all au set in the 80s following eater!reader and human!jj as they traverse the south to escape rafe cameron. i haven't touched her in a while despite this au being very dear to me. dedicated to it's #1 fan @nemesyaaa

no matter how far you got, rafe was close behind. you could smell him--that tinny metallic smell of sweat and cocaine. you could scrub your skin raw, bury your face in jj's clothes, huff gasoline until you were dizzy. it was still there, drifting in the wind.

he was close, of course he was. rafe would stop at nothing to bring you back and reduce you to that half feral animal you were when jj found you. so you had to keep moving, the carolinas were far behind you, now you were somewhere in shreveport finding your way deeper in the bayous until you were alone.

somewhat. the old shack you and jj found was too alive. despite it's abandoned appearance the food was fresh, cabinets dusted. someone was living here.

"what other choice we got? need a few days for me to work on the truck, ain't no point in jacking a new one, not right now. it's too hot." that's how jj justified himself, and you couldn't argue. plus you were exhausted, so was he. the craters under his eyes were so black they were purple, and it gave his blue eyes a haunted look.

you wonder if that's how you look to him.

so you stayed, even though you were starving. and you began to pace over jj's sleeping form like a wild animal. too often he woke up to you on top of him, nosing at his pulse as you drooled. whoever said humans don't crave flesh was a liar. because the only way you could sate yourself these days was by sucking on his pulse point until it throbbed.

pretty soon you'd start gnawing at your own arm.

it'd never been this bad before, you used to be able to just be a person, but so many years alone has made you insatiable. being able to eat whenever, wherever spoiled you.

the worst of it came after two weeks of stagnation. jj can only work so fast by stealing parts, and deep in your gut you knew rafe was close.

and there was somebody else.

not an eater, like you and rafe. a veg.....only not. a veg who eats.

like jj.

and he stunk to high heavens. something rich and fatty, coated in damp soil. rafe has someone with him. and he's even closer.

when you told jj you could tell it freaked him out, he got antsy, started leaving for longer stretches of time even though you told him not to.

"you want us to get the fuck outta here? well i need to work, do somethin'. you just gotta trust i won't leave you."

every day you watched him walk out that door, and you tried not to let the smell of him get muddled up with everyone else. salt, weed, something warm and spicy tangled underneath.

as long as you could smell him you calmed, well enough to sleep through the day until he came back.

then you woke up and it was gone. your nose clogged up with that fatty-oily smell. someone was in the house.

someone was in the room.

you couldn't so much as scream before he was on you, drenched in sweat so bad his wifebeater clung to his tan skin, greasy dark hair curtaining his face. all you could see was the glint of a gold tooth.

"shit, i see why rafe's drug me across the mason-dixon lookin for you. you're a pretty thing aintcha?"

clawing and kicking you did your best to fight him off but he was too big. he dug his nails into your throat as he tied you up with one hand, and leaned in close "lucky i don't feel like steppin on no toes, baby boy's been real strict about finding his favorite toy."

his voice was muffled from the adrenaline coursing through you, but you knew that accent. it was the same one you heard from rooms away when rafe kept you barricaded in his sister's old room. it was similar to the one jj had--thick, sitting just in the back of his throat.

he was too close, your hands were tied. and you were so. fucking. hungry.

you latched onto his nose, feeling the cartilage crumble between your teeth as hot, tangy blood filled your mouth.

he screamed, "fuckin' bitch! fuck rafe, i'm getting my share now."

this was how you were gonna die. hogtied chewing on his nose like a pig's ear. you laughed, high and maniacal as he cut your shorts off. his blood poured into your open mouth as he choked your harder. jj was gonna find you, a bloody, fucked open mess. you laughed harder.

then it was back, that sea salty smell. and you saw him out the corner of your eye, jaw set and eyes crazed.

yeah, whoever said humans don't crave flesh was a massive liar.

because it only took a second, and the man on top of you didn't even see it coming when jj slammed the hunting knife into his neck. you were drenched in even more blood when he yanked it out, grabbing him by his ponytail onto the floor.

you sat up gasping, watching as the jj slammed the knife into him over and over until his head was barely hanging onto the rest of his body. he was so covered in blood his blonde hair was tinted red, and all you could see of his face were his eyes.

finally he stopped, panting and shaking as he turned to you and nodded towards the mutilated corpse under him.

"y'hungry?"

#🌙.txt #jj maybank prompt #ode to eaters

154 notes · View notes

twola · 20 days ago

Text

Firewater - Chapter 1

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

A heist does not go as planned, and you and Arthur are at each other's throats. A/N: A bit of a different direction with this one - expect short chapters, awkward situations, and hilarity out of this one. And updates, more regularly :) taglist: @v3lv3tf0x

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Next

ARIZONA, MAY 1897

“Y’know, if you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

A large plume of smoke is your response—thick, lazy, and defiant as it floats skyward. Arthur leans back against a rough-hewn boulder like he’s got all the time in the world, even with the sting of failure hanging heavy in the heat. His hat is pushed low, casting a shadow across the narrowed set of his eyes. The desert sun hangs heavy in the sky, not a cloud to give a modicum of shade, not a single bit of respite. It's hot, hot and dusty, and a lizard scutters past his boot to hide under the red rock boulder he leans against.

“Considerin’ half the time you opened your mouth you ain’t doin’ nothin’ but naggin’ me, ain’t worth it,” he retorts, voice cool as a mountain stream but just as cutting.

You don’t even think before you chuck a stale piece of bread at his damn head. It was all the food you salvaged after the botched heist, and even that’s been half-crushed in your saddlebag. He knocks it away with a practiced flick of his wrist, but his cigarette falls from between his lips and drops into the dirt.

Arthur scowls, jaw tightening as he crouches to pick it up. It’s dead, ruined. His hand stays near his boot for a second longer than necessary, like he’s weighing whether he should throw something right back.

“You are worse than a goddamn child,” he growls.

As if to prove his point, your boot stomps against the cracked earth with a sharp slap. Dust kicks up around your feet, and the sun— that merciless bastard that it is—beats down on your neck, sweat already drying into a salted layer.

“Oh, I’m the child? You were the one who ran in there like some hero outta one of those dime novels, guns blazin’ with no damn plan!”

“I had a plan,” he snaps.

“Your plan got us chased out by six bounty hunters, two guard dogs, and a woman swingin’ a broom like she meant it.”

“She did mean it.” He pauses, mouth twitching at the memory. “Caught me right in the jaw.”

“Good. Maybe she knocked some sense into you.”

Arthur pushes off the boulder, looming now, brushing his hands on his pants like he’s trying to scrub the conversation clean. “You didn’t exactly pull your weight neither. Hid behind them crates like a scared cat.”

You step forward, the distance between you shrinks to something dangerous. “I was covering your dumb ass, Morgan. I told you to wait for my signal.”

“And I told you I don’t take orders from—” he cuts off, teeth grinding.

“From me?” Your laugh is sharp, brittle. “Right, God forbid you take direction from someone with a brain between her ears.”

Arthur gets closer still. “You think you’re so much smarter than everybody else, huh? All them fancy words and smug looks, like you’re above it all. But you’re just like the rest of us. Mean and stupid.”

His breath is hot and whiskey-laced, as he leans in, brushing your cheek. “And reckless,” he adds with a sneer. “Don’t forget that.”

“Better reckless than cowardly.” You spit back at him, standing as firm and tall as you can when all six feet of him towers over your petite frame.

There’s a pause. His blue eyes go cold, a line drawn in the sand with your words.

You don’t mean it. Not really. But it’s out there now, and neither of you are ready to back down.

His voice drops low, warning. “You wanna say that again?”

“Why?” you scoff. “You gonna shoot me? Or just sulk at me until I drop dead?”

“I don’t shoot women,” he growls.

“That’s funny,” you snap. “You sure as hell don’t seem to have any problem talking to me like one of the boys.”

“You wish you were one of the boys.”

“No, I don't want to be treated like an idiot. Most of them boys are idiots. Like that would have gone any better with Marion.” You hiss Bill’s birth name with ridicule. Deservingly so.

Another step forward. Your chest brushes his now, breath and heartbeat tangled into something hot and furious and entirely unsustainable.

“You get treated how you act,” he says, quieter now. “You wanna act all tough? Fine, I’ll treat you like that.”

“Good,” you whisper, eyes blazing. “Then we understand each other.”

Silence. Except it isn’t really silence. It’s heavy with the cicadas screaming in the grass. With the crackle of heat in the rocks. With the sound of your breaths coming fast, too close together.

He looks at your mouth. You look at his.

There is a danger in the air, a stillness that settles in before a rattlesnake bites. That’s all he is - poison and bluster. You want to slap him, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting that much of a rise out of you.

You scowl and turn on your heel, striding over toward your horse. Your boots angrily kick up dust under your skirts as you mount that spry little roan gelding. You pat his black mane and coo gently in his ear as you settle yourself in the saddle.

You scowl when you get yourself situated and look back at Arthur, who remains exactly where you left him.

“You get to explain to Dutch why we ain’t got nothin’ outta this.” You snipe, eyes narrowing before your spurs dig into your gelding’s side, and he rears before bolting across the hard desert ground.

#twolafic #firewater #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic

138 notes · View notes

bvidzsoo · 6 months ago

Text

Is Santa the new Cupid?

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x gender neutral reader

❆ Warning: none, no usage of Y/N ❆ Word count: 5.9k ❆ Rating: sfw ❆ Genre: holiday themed, office romance, mutual pinning, brother's best friend, fluff ❆ Summary: With the holiday's rolling around, everyone is in a festive spirit. You're not a huge fan of Christmas, but your brother is, so, he organises a Secret Santa themed party at work. What you don't expect, however, is for him to scheme to try and bring you together with your work crush.

A/N: ~Ho, ho, ho, @hee0soo your Secret Santa is here! ^^ I hope this story is to your liking and that you will enjoy it! As for everyone else, hello, my lovelies! This is a little event I partook in, and I'd like to thank @cromernet for hosting it, being in this server has been nothing but a pleasure! <3 To those who celebrate it, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and to those who don't, a well earned rest and an overall joyful time! I hope everyone will enjoy this little piece, and if I don't write anything in the upcoming days, then I wish you a Happy New Year, and I shall see you in the next year! Thank you for being here and for supporting me, for all the feedback and kindness, you make writing a little more pleasant! I'll let you go on and read now, I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is always appreciated! <33 divider

The holidays had always been a mess. No matter where you looked, people were stressing about getting the perfect gifts, the most glamorous outfits, the best seasoning for their food, and the most colourful decorations they could get their hands on. The sight was enough to send you into another spiral of why you thought this whole fussing about a celebration—that not everyone celebrates, by the way—was so unnecessary and only damaging your health, raising your cortisol levels. But alas, this is how the world worked, and you couldn’t go against it. Your flat was minimally decorated, and you were still debating whether you’d get a Christmas tree this year or not. There was no point in throwing out money if you weren’t wholeheartedly in tune with the whole holiday…that is unless your nosy brother decides to take over your flat like last year and turn it into a whole Christmas fest. You swear you were finding glitter even a month later in places like your salt shaker and the medical cabinet in your bathroom. Seonghwa loved everything shiny, so when his lovely sibling refused to abide by his wishes, he put his persuasive skills to use and coerced you into the most blinding corset you could have ever found. Which brings us to the current time, with you hiding out in your brother’s office and furiously scrubbing at the stained red glitter. Nothing was working, your co-worker’s red wine would be forever embedded into your pricey piece of clothing.

You didn’t blame him, it was an unfortunate accident. The waiter was walking by with a tray filled with cheese when your co-worker had thrust his hand backwards, calling for a disaster. Which happened mere seconds later when the beverage sloshed all over your chest and the top of the sweetheart neckline of your corset. You sighed as you gave it one last try, perhaps if you put more passion into it then you might be able to make the stain fade a little bit. The fabric of the corset was a bright red and the dark stain was rather visible despite the glittery studs that covered it. You had told Seonghwa that the outfit was a bit too much for an office Christmas party, but he only told you to suck it up and wear it unless you didn’t want to be on theme. Which you were, thanks to your brother, except that seemingly everyone else had gone for more casual or silly outfits, and here were you…wearing a sexy sparkly—now ruined—corset, and some black wide-legged pants that hid the stilettos which matched the colour of your top. With a frustrated groan, you flopped into the chair placed in front of your brother’s desk and closed your eyes, accepting your fate.

You would’ve further ruined the fabric at this point if you kept on scrubbing the way you were, and that would be a waste of Seonghwa’s money…since he was the one to get you this outfit. He was rather pushy this year, it was suspicious, but you didn’t question it. Your brother had always been a bit weird, particular about the things he liked, and a perfectionist in everything he did…but at least he spoiled you well, so you couldn’t really complain. The cacophony of the ongoing party from beyond the door reminded you that you couldn’t hide out in your brother’s office anymore, so you took a deep breath and told yourself that everyone would understand how the stain got there without ridiculing you. Your co-worker already felt terrible for being so clumsy, and you weren’t even mad at him. The door which you had left ajar was suddenly flung open, and your eyes widened when you saw who had walked inside. Great, just what you needed…your work crush to see you in this state of despair when today was supposed to be filled with jolliness. You quickly stood and dusted off your pants out of habit, trying to keep yourself calm and collected…which was something you often failed to do in Kim Hongjoong’s presence.

He wore something similar, suspiciously, and for a millisecond you wondered if this was Seonghwa’s work, who wasn’t just your brother, but also Hongjoong’s best friend. When you say work crush…you mean the longest crush you’ve had on anyone since you’ve been hopelessly pinning on Hongjoong since like…high school. Embarrassing, but you were a few years younger, and Hongjoong was too cool to notice you or regard you as anyone else than his best friend’s younger sibling. Hongjoong’s cat-like eyes widened as the two of you stared at each other wordlessly, and you realized his blazer looked an awful lot like your corset. It was the same shade and had the same sparkly studs, the shoulders were puffed out, and it was cropped, stopping right above Hongjoong’s waist. He had always been stylish, and he loved going all out at events like this one. His long black pants reached below his ankles, and the huge black bow tied around his waist truly elevated the whole look. His satin white shirt was spotless, unlike your stained corset. You wished you had something to cover it with…you supposed perfectionism ran in the family, after all.

“Hi.” Hongjoong broke your wordless staring contest, and you gulped down your nerves, trying to smile at him. You’ve been working together for two years, for God’s sake, you couldn’t freeze anytime Hongjoong even as much as looked at you.

“Hi.” You greeted back lamely, and you were thankful that your voice wasn’t squeaky at least. Hongjoong’s eyes took a quick sweep of your body, and you fought against yourself to keep at bay the blush blooming over your cheeks.

“Is everything okay?” Hongjoong, the ever-considerate guy he was, asked with a concerned look on his face, “I saw you storm off and…I thought maybe something happened.”

How could you not have a crush on this man when he acted like this?

“Oh, I’m alright, don’t worry.” Except that you weren’t exactly, and you knew he could see it on your face, so, you sighed defeated, “Well, okay, Mingi spilt his wine on me and now my corset is stained…and I hate it because everyone can see it.”

You were pouting as you looked down at the darker spot on your corset, and maybe you became a bit sulkier when Hongjoong just chuckled. He looked adorable with his lips curling upward, fighting the urge to outwardly laugh in your face. That was nice of him, you were glad he was nice enough to not make fun of you…not that Hongjoong would make fun of anyone, he was the first one to shut down even the hint of bullying if he came across it.

“Sounds like it’s the end of the world,” Hongjoong teased you, and you rolled your eyes in exchange, “Did you bring a blazer?”

“No,” You shook your head, flopping back down on the chair, “Only a huge fur coat, and I can’t wear that in here…especially since it’s white and people like Mingi exist.”

That made Hongjoong laugh as he nodded, his eyebrows furrowing in thought, “Well, I also suppose you didn’t bring a backup outfit?”

“No, Hongjoong,” You sighed, “Not everyone is as well prepared as you are.”

He hummed knowingly, his office having a wardrobe dedicated to outfits Hongjoong brought in for emergency meetings or occasions. He was well prepared, and most importantly, always well dressed. He had been like that since high school, wearing the edgiest outfits he could find, painting his nails, and experimenting with his hairstyles. Something he hadn’t stopped doing ever since, hence his two-coloured hair at the moment. His middle part was perfect, the left side of his hair bleached blonde while the right side remained a raven black. It looked good on him, too good, and it brought back memories of when he had tried it out for the first time in his final year of college. Just remembering it made you almost blush again, the image of screaming about it into a pillow after running into Hongjoong was still too vivid in your mind.

“Allow me to help you out then, stay here.” Before you could question Hongjoong, he was already out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a racing heart. What could he possibly have in mind? You had always seen him as a creative person—I mean, he really was considering the fact he was in charge of the graphic design department—and he had never shied away from a little challenge. Except that, he wasn’t facing a challenge right now, and you wondered what he had in mind since it brought that excited glint in his eyes, it happened whenever he thought of something brilliant. Because honestly, all of Hongjoong’s ideas were brilliant. You couldn’t help but admire him for being always ahead of the deadlines and thinking up new innovative ways that made you the best on the market. He was a great asset to your brother’s company, everyone valued and respected Hongjoong for all the dedication and hard work he put into his craft.

You were startled out of your thoughts as Hongjoong returned, holding a satin shirt on a green hanger. He had a grin on his lips as you stood, watching him approach you, ultimately making your heart hammer in your chest.

“So, you can borrow this for the evening.” Hongjoong said with a smile, taking the shirt off the hanger as he came to stand in front of you, “It’ll cover up the stain, and won’t make you feel too warm either.”

“Oh, I…that’s so kind of you, but I can’t accept it—”

“Nonsense,” Hongjoong chuckled, brushing you off without hesitation, “Do you want me to help you wear it?”

That would’ve been really embarrassing, so you quickly shook your head and took the shirt from his hands, your fingers accidentally brushing. Your cheeks were burning, and you avoided looking Hongjoong in the eyes as you carefully wore his shirt, trying to keep your screaming thoughts at bay. This felt like a daydream taken straight out of your teenage years. The seventeen-year-old you would be fainting right now if they were to know this would happen years later, even if Hongjoong wasn’t your boyfriend. The fabric was soft and didn’t feel suffocating, and you tried to ignore Hongjoong’s expensive cologne that seemed to cling to it. It had a hint of sweetness in it, but it was rather masculine and woody otherwise. And despite your family being gifted by the gods of height, you didn’t inherit that gene, which made you smaller than even Hongjoong, who wasn’t the tallest of people. The sleeves of the shirt covered your fingers, only your sparkly red nails visible—which was another scheme pulled by Seonghwa. You rarely did your nails red, let alone sparkly.

“Thank you, Hongjoong.” You said quietly, trying not to chew on your bottom lip since it would ruin your lipgloss, making your teeth tinted. And then, as if your heart wasn’t about to malfunction already, Hongjoong stepped closer to adjust the collar of his shirt. You froze and peeked up at him through your eyelashes, watching as a soft smile appeared on his lips. A few black strands fell into his eyes, and you could tell he had used a bit of dark eyeshadow to sharpen his eyes more, giving it depth. His skin was perfect and his pretty lips were red from the cherry lip balm he’s been using since forever.

“There, now it’s perfect,” Hongjoong muttered more to himself, still smoothing down the collar as he started helping you button up the shirt since you had forgotten you were supposed to do that in the first place. Your fingers trembled slightly from the adrenaline rush in your system, and you bit your bottom lip when your knuckles brushed against Hongjoong’s as your hands met while doing the buttons. Hongjoong huffed in amusement, then grabbed your arms to look at the sleeves. You watched him as you let him do as he wished, and he rolled up the sleeve twice so that it would fit you nicely. He looked gorgeous from up close, especially when he was in his element, doing what he liked the most. Sometimes you wondered why he hadn’t become a stylist, his vision was so beautiful, and you had seen the sketches he had made recently. You just knew his brand would be successful all around the world, his designs delicate and modest, but elegant and full of glamour. Now that the shirt was all done, all you had to do was put the hem inside your pants so that you didn’t look like you had just gotten out of bed and borrowed your boyfriend’s clothes.

You blushed even harder at the thought of Hongjoong being your boyfriend, and you were alarmed to find him already looking at you when you peeked at him. Hongjoong’s ears were redder than before, and he had a sheepish smile on his face. His cheeks were dusted a light pink too, and you wondered if his heart was racing as much as yours. You cleared your throat to thank him for his help when there was a loud knock on the open door, making you both jump. Hongjoong whirled around and awkwardly put some distance between you and himself as Seonghwa’s otherwise round eyes were now sharp and narrowed, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Would you look at that! The two who were missing from the party, fraternizing in my office…” Seonghwa’s tone had a hint of teasing in it as he raised an eyebrow, his eyes slipping from you to his best friend. Hongjoong laughed awkwardly and rubbed his nape, throwing you a glance before he looked back at Seonghwa.

“I was just—”

“Is that Hongjoong’s shirt?” Seonghwa didn’t let his best friend speak as he pointed at you, now both eyebrows raised in surprise. You nodded, ready to explain yourself, but Seonghwa clearly didn’t care, “Did I miss something? Either way, it looks lovely on you, dear, even if it’s a bit too…roomy?”

“Seonghwa—”

Clearly, when your brother had set his mind onto something, he just wouldn’t listen to anyone, “I’m all for offering my office up to those in need, but maybe you should use Hongjoong’s the next time you want to cosy up. In fact—I might even give you, dear, an office. You’ve earned it after the year we had.”

You narrowed your eyes at your brother, opening your mouth to speak up, but he raised his hand, “Come on now, I’m about to make my speech and you’ll have to swap your presents.”

Right, the presents…for the person you had randomly picked out of a small vase. And that person was…Hongjoong, as cliché as that sounds. You cleared your throat as Seonghwa turned his back to you and Hongjoong, who gave you a curt nod and followed after his best friend in order to give you privacy so you could fix the shirt. You took a deep breath and stuffed the fabric into your pants, glad that you had worn a belt since it cut the outfit in half nicely.

The company was packed with employees, everyone looking excited as Seonghwa made his way towards the fake podium he had giddily asked Hongjoong to make for him. He had a microphone and everything to make it more enjoyable for him, all placed in front of the massive Christmas tree that had been a hassle to get inside the office, but also to decorate. Your brother’s company wasn’t huge, and that was exactly why it worked so well. Everyone was eager to move forward and make something bigger than them, so the community was tight-knit and hard-working. You were on the sales team, not quite in the leader position yet, but you were getting there. You enjoyed what you did and that was all that mattered, plus, the paycheck was pretty nice. And anytime you didn’t like something, you could always bug the CEO until he finally gave in to you…those were the perks of involving your family with your business, much to Seonghwa’s dismay at times.

You took your place behind your tallest co-workers, who were huddled together and watching something on Yunho’s phone. The waiter walked towards you and handed you a glass of champagne to toast with once your brother was done with his speech, and you couldn’t help but grin when Hongjoong came to stand next to you. He returned your grin, and when you looked away, he continued to stare at you with adoration, thinking to himself how cute you looked wearing his shirt. Hongjoong quickly shook his head to clear his thoughts and focus on his best friend, who was standing on the podium made by him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Thank you, everyone, for attending this little party. I am more than elated to announce that we have come close to another end of year where I can confidently say our company’s been doing better than ever. I am proud and happy to have a team so dedicated as you guys, and I hope the next year holds even greater things for us. Maybe the next party will be held on a private island, at the company’s expense, of course.” People chuckled around you, everyone was well aware you weren’t doing that well yet, but that was the goal. Mingi noticed you stood behind him and gave you a pout, making you pat his shoulder as Yunho glanced between you and Hongjoong, then grinned, “We’ve had our ups and downs this year, perhaps have faced even more challenges than before, but with everyone’s help, we pushed through and made the biggest profit of the company so far. I truly am so proud of each one of you, because, without you, I wouldn’t be standing here, able to live the dreams I’ve had since I was a kid. Before I end my speech, I’d like to especially thank Kim Hongjoong for bringing in our biggest partner, and for having great ideas that pushed our company towards success. When we were teenagers, everything that we have today was just a far-fetched dream, and now…we have it, Hongjoong, we did it, brother. I think it’s time we celebrate as we should.”

Everyone cheered as you watched your brother get teary-eyed, looking at Hongjoong with deep respect and love on his face. Hongjoong raised his glass of champagne and tipped it in Seonghwa’s direction, his composure collected, but you could see he had gotten a bit teary-eyed too. You smiled fondly as you watched your brother run his fingers through his long hair, a habit when he was nervous, and then he raised his glass, prompting the others to do so as well.

“Let us celebrate now, but please don’t mess up the electricity wiring like last year, I still have no idea how that happened…” Everyone looked amused as Seonghwa shook his head, then tipped his champagne back, and you followed as you took an experimental sip. It was a bit bitter and too bubbly, but you took a larger gulp out of respect for Seonghwa, “And now, let us open the presents! I hope nobody forgot whose Secret Santa they were!”

Right, the dreaded moment had come. You handed your glass of champagne to Yunho when you noticed he was already finished with his, and he gave you a wink as he quickly downed your champagne too. Now that the moment everyone had been waiting for came, you all migrated towards the big round table that was littered with gifts inside wrapping paper and small winter-themed bags. Yours was a smaller package with a blue font and white snowflakes on it, placed right in the middle of the table. You waited until you made it closer to the table, then leaned over to grab it with sweaty hands. You were nervous, but you were more scared that Hongjoong would hate his present. You truly hoped he didn’t, but then again, even if he did, you’d never be able to tell…Hongjoong had a great poker face. You turned around and looked for him, only to find him already approaching you. Surely, he wasn’t…wait, you quickly looked towards your brother, who was already watching you with an amused smirk. God, this is why you didn’t like telling Seonghwa anything about your crushes…he had always meddled, even back in high school.

You wanted the earth to eat you up as Hongjoong smiled at you sweetly, looking a bit embarrassed as he came to stand in front of you, “So, uh, we meet again.”

God, he could be so awkward at times, you chuckled embarrassed, “Right, as if we weren’t standing next to each other a second ago.”

But you weren’t better either, Mingi and Yunho, who had also somehow picked each other, snorted as they passed by you and Hongjoong, having overheard your conversation. Gosh, this was so embarrassing, you wanted to flip Seonghwa off and then drag him to his office and lecture him. You were pretty sure this wasn’t done by accident, there was no way on earth both Hongjoong and you had picked each other randomly.

“So, I know you don’t like the whole holiday season that much, but uhm, Merry Christmas.” Hongjoong handed you his gift with both hands, his eyes twinkling with excitement, and suddenly you didn’t hate the thought of gift-giving and receiving that much. You took your gift and handed him his.

“Merry Christmas, Hongjoong, and thank you for the gift too.” It felt awkward standing like that there, facing each other like two strangers, so you took your courage in your hands and stepped forward to hug him. Hongjoong’s eyes widened once he realised your intention, but he opened his arms as you came to hold his torso, making sure you wouldn’t dirty his blazer with your makeup despite it being transfer-proof. You could feel your heart hammer against your chest, and you hoped Hongjoong couldn’t feel it as he embraced you, holding you close as suddenly slow music started playing through the speakers. You knew it was Seonghwa’s doing because you could practically feel his eyes on you, but you ignored your annoying brother and focused on Hongjoong’s warmth instead. But to your surprise, he started slowly swaying the two of you to the rhythm of the song, humming next to your ear. You were both still holding your gifts, and the distance between your bodies made it a little awkward, but you weren’t about to say anything. Hongjoong has never held you like this before, you felt like you were soaring through the sky right now as you tried not to inhale loudly, hoping his scent would never leave your nostrils.

“We might as well dance since we are already embracing…” Hongjoong muttered and you hummed, stepping closer so that you could hold each other better. Your face was beat red and your stomach was doing back flips, but you were smiling so widely your cheeks hurt. You couldn’t be too sure that Hongjoong liked you back, there were small moments when he had tried getting closer or did something that was beyond a friendly gesture, but you didn’t want to face heartbreak in case this was just a one-sided crush…which it most probably was. You didn’t really think he’d finally notice you after all those years you had known each other, you also didn’t think you were much his type. He had always dated people who were like him, creative and basically in love with life, happy to be alive and ready to discover everything. You were more of the quiet type, content with living a comfortable life and never going out of your way to do too much. You liked your space and security, planning ahead and having a vision that would help you stay aligned with your purpose and wishes. Hongjoong wasn’t as organised and he went with the flow, unafraid and unapologetic. And despite the two of you being so different, you couldn’t help but find him the most interesting person you had ever come across.

After an hour or so of dancing and enjoying your time with your co-workers, you were ready to take a breather. It was too cold outside and you were too overheated to go out, you couldn’t risk catching a cold right around the holidays, so you went back to the round table and took a seat, reaching for a clean cup to pour some peach juice for yourself. You didn’t get the chance to open your gift from Hongjoong yet, so, you grabbed it off the table again and looked through it, your eyes widening when you realised what Hongjoong had gotten for you. You had a bunny at home, a sweet little white thing called Star because it was supposed to be Seonghwa’s initially, but he had discovered he was allergic to her, so he had to give her away. Seonghwa and you had always loved bunnies, so your brother knew she was in safe hands with you. And Hongjoong, the always thoughtful person, had bought various treats for your little Star. But that wasn’t everything, a pink princess costume was packed neatly inside the bag as well, making you grin from ear to ear. Star would look lovely in that, Seonghwa will absolutely love it too once you send him pictures.

But that wasn’t all as you reached inside to grab the small jewellery box, your mouth felt a little bit dry. You paused and looked around, wanting to make sure no one was watching you, but secretly you were also looking for Hongjoong. He was on the dance floor, entertaining Yunho and Mingi who were spinning him around. Hongjoong’s cheeks were red and he kept laughing, the contagious sound reached your ears and made you smile as something warm spread through your chest. Gosh, sometimes you really wish you didn’t have a crush on the most adorable man in the whole world. Glancing back down at your last gift, you braced yourself and opened it up, only for your jaw to drop open. There, in the dainty box, sat a rose gold necklace with a diamond pendant. It wasn’t the fact that Hongjoong had gifted you a diamond necklace that made your heart race, but the fact that you’ve always wanted one in this style. Maybe some would consider you shallow, but you have always liked diamonds. They were gorgeous in the light, and if the stone wasn’t too big, it looked gorgeous. You gulped, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions because you had been mentioning the fact that you’d want to buy yourself a diamond necklace once you could afford it ever since you were just a little kid. To be fair, you had always thought Seonghwa would be the one to surprise you and gift you this, but coming from Hongjoong…you tried to gulp down the lump in your throat.

This wasn’t helping with your one-sided crush, because now all you wanted to do was run up to Hongjoong and kiss him while you cried. The fact that he had even paid enough attention to remember your biggest wish managed to knock you breathless, you needed a second to gather yourself. Your hands shook slightly as you raised it to your eyes, taking in the pendant, and admiring its beauty. It was perfect. The same size and shape you had always envisioned, it was modest and gorgeous. You released a shuddering breath just as you realised someone was approaching you, and your eyes were a little watery as you looked up. Seonghwa had a soft smile on his lips as he walked up to you, and then crouched down in front of you.

“Hey,” He greeted you softly, looking down at the necklace in your hands. He didn’t even seem surprised, he looked pleased as he hummed, looking back up at you, “You opened your presents, I see. I bet you love it, don’t you?”

“It’s a diamond necklace, Hwa,” You whispered, eyes widening slightly, “From Hongjoong. This is…crazy. I know I’ve been mentioning it for ages, but I didn’t think that he…”

Seonghwa raised his eyebrows at you as you trailed off, seemingly lost for words, “That he was listening? Hongjoong has always paid attention to you, dear.”

Really? Was that true? Seonghwa wouldn’t lie to you, you felt your heart race all of a sudden. Seonghwa reached out and took the necklace from your hands, walking around you once he stood up. He pulled your hair to the side and clipped the necklace in place, making you reach up to touch the pendant. It was the perfect length too, why was Hongjoong so perfect when he couldn’t even be yours? You sniffed and willed your tears to go away, pouting a little as Seonghwa walked around to come face-to-face with you again. He grinned and grabbed your hands, pulling you up.

“Don’t cry, you’ll ruin your pretty makeup,” He teased you with a wink and you groaned, bottling your feelings up for later, when you were alone and in the safety of your apartment, where only Star could witness your crying session, “I know it’s not technically Christmas yet and that we’ll see each other back home in less than three days for the annual feast, but I got you a present too.”

See, there was no denying that Seonghwa and you were siblings. You grinned and reached inside your pants pocket, grabbing the Spa Coupon you had gotten for him.

“You deserve to relax, you’ve done a lot for the company.” Seonghwa patted your head, messing up your hair a little bit in true brother fashion, “And you can’t use your phone while you’re there, dear, that’s not how you relax.”

Seonghwa handed over the small ticket, and you stared at it for a second before you burst out laughing. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you, but then his face turned incredulous before he started laughing too once you handed him your gift for him. Seonghwa had bought you a Spa Coupon too, from the same place you had bought his too. You laughed as you waved your coupons at each other, already knowing you’d get a scolding from your mother for not being a bit more creative with your gifts.

“Wait, don’t tell me you got one for mom too…” Seonghwa trailed off, his eyes widening slightly.

“Let me guess, you got one for dad too?” You raised an eyebrow and Seonghwa nodded innocently, prompting you to shake your head as you both snickered.

“Well, seems like we’ll be spending some quality time as a family over the break.” Seonghwa grinned, pocketing his coupon, and then he placed his hands behind his back, looking somewhere behind you.

“Ugh, great, now mom won’t get off my back about me finding a boyfriend somehow finally.” You grimaced, not keen on going home only to listen to your mother’s nagging. She never stopped asking, never stopped trying to set you up on blind dates. It was annoying because she never did that for Seonghwa…at least you had a crush, he couldn’t even bother with that.

“Speaking of boyfriends…” Seonghwa wriggled his eyebrows and you groaned, ready to deny whatever he was about to say, but it wasn’t what you were expecting, “Did you notice you were sitting under a mistletoe?”

“What?” You muttered, looking up confused. Now how the hell did that get there? If you reckon correctly, it wasn’t there like half an hour ago, you had come to the table to grab a drink and it wasn’t there, so how—Seonghwa. The answer was always Seonghwa, “I swear to God, Hwa, you’re my brother. What are you plotting? I refuse to peck even as much as your cheek.”

“I won’t even get a hug?” Seonghwa fake pouted, his eyes glinting wickedly. Nothing good came when Seonghwa had that look in his eyes, you gulped nervously.

“No, now—”

“Fine.” Seonghwa sighed exaggeratedly, “Hate me all you want, but I’m the best brother in the world. If you won’t show me some love, I know exactly who else you could cheer up right now—Hongjoong, can you come over for a little bit?!”

Your eyes widened and you whacked Seonghwa in the chest, turning around frantically. Oh no, Hongjoong was already approaching with a skip in his step, unassuming of what he was walking up to. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was deliciously brushed back, his blazer gone and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“Yeah? You need something?” He called as he walked around the table and Seonghwa stepped aside, making your eyes widen.

“Sure, come here for a second,” Seonghwa said nonchalantly, and by the time you opened your mouth to tell Hongjoong not to fall for Seonghwa’s trap, it was too late. Seonghwa stepped aside and lightly pushed Hongjoong towards you, making both of you panic as you grabbed Hongjoong’s arm so he wouldn’t accidentally fall.

“What—”

“Attention, everyone!” Seonghwa called loudly, shouting over the music, and you were terrified. Hongjoong looked rather confused and looked at you for an answer that you couldn’t formulate at the moment, “We have our first couple under the mistletoe for the night! Now, kiss!”

Everyone was watching the two of you now, and you wanted to strangle Seonghwa as he smirked at you pleased, throwing him a wink when Hongjoong gave your brother a flabbergasted look. He slowly looked up, then back at you, and you started sweating.

“Uhm, we don’t have to, obviously. This tradition is silly, I don’t—”

But it was too late, the whole office was chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

Hongjoong had turned red in the face, it went down even to his neck. He gulped and chuckled awkwardly, and you felt horrible. Of course, he wouldn’t want to kiss you, this was terrible and you felt humiliated. Just as you were about to excuse yourself and run off, Hongjoong cleared his throat.

“Well, this isn’t how I wished for our first kiss to happen, but…” He motioned around himself, at all the people staring at you expectantly, “May I kiss you?”

“You—I’m sorry, but—you want to kiss me?” You sputtered out, feeling a bit lightheaded.

“I’ve wanted to for ages.” Hongjoong chuckled and scratched the back of his head. He was blushing and so were you, your heart thudding in your chest as Hongjoong licked his lips, waiting for your answer.

“Yes, okay, yeah, kiss me, Hongjoong.” Damn Seonghwa and everyone else for cheering upon hearing your words, but maybe it was worth it as Hongjoong giggled while leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips were soft and tasted like cherry, and you felt like pudding as your lips locked in an innocent peck that lasted for a second too long. You felt like a teenager all over again, and if seventeen years old you could catch a glimpse into the future and see this exact moment, she’d definitely pass out.

“So, do you want to go on a date tomorrow?”

“God, yes, Hongjoong, please.”

Yeah, seventeen-year-old you would not survive this.

❆ Masterlist ❆

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaa

@aaa-sia @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@anastasiamin860 @yunhogrippers @vcutparis @tunaasan @blvckarabixnvoid

@yusalterego @arigakittyo @slowee00 @jaerisdiction @hey-syia

@vnessalau @oddracha @chatsgotmytongue @potatos-on-clouds @yunhowooyo

@watermelon2319 @yoongzsmile28 @klllerwaifu @apriecotte @hwasbbyg

@kyeos4ng @samiiy20 @woosanhobros @aswho1estuff @khjoongie98

@ateez-main-yapper @kang-ulzzang @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @ginger-mingi @redzie02

@unholywriters @autieofthevalley @roomsofangel @peachyy-joonie @baeksofty

@tunafishyfishylike @syubseokie @jycas @fandom-freak-geek @intaksfav

@itswaffleberry @e3ellie @skz1-4-3 @hoe4yunho @kyeomooniee

@winklehwa @eyesonlyformingi @khjssss @torieisawesome99 @amrose8

@faeriehwa @hongjoongsprincess @iceteainsummer @lac3ybow @aurorajoye

@londonbridges01 @hyukssunflower @hwashua-luv @halloweenbyphoebebridgers

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

239 notes · View notes

ohcaptains · 1 year ago

Text

JJ has a girlfriend that’s got expensive taste. and it’s not even as if you’re rich or anything. you just have a part time job that allows you to buy shit. sprays, lotions, oils, scrubs, perfumes…you always smell good and feel soft.

JJ got a look at your bathroom and thought he’d walked into a bath and body works. stood there for literally half an hour, just going through all your stuff. opening bottles and sniffing them. even put a little on himself and rubbed it in. made a face as if, yeah, that shit is nice.

came out smelling like lavender and sea salt.

when he walks back to your room, you look up from your phone and make a face. “there you are, thought you’d fallen in.”

JJ just gets back into bed with you, and burrows his face in your neck, looking at whatever you’re scrolling through. it’s a few seconds later that you lean back to look at him.

“did you?” you start, before frowning and sniffing his head.

“did you use my hair spray?”

JJ frowns, “…no.”

“then why do you smell like spring on the sea front?”

“is that what it’s called?”

you hit his arm, “jay that shit cost me $30!”

“what!” he exclaims. “for that tiny bottle?” he shakes his head and goes back to laying on you. “you shoulda told me you wanted that, babe, i’d have just robbed it for you.”

#just something i had to get off my chest #that boy deffo saves his money up to buy u a fancy dinner i’m #jj maybank #outer banks #outer banks imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank drabble

737 notes · View notes

gav-san · 28 days ago

Text

“No Takebacks" 2

Masterlist here

No Takebacks Masterlist

One Piece Masterlist Here

This Ship smells like Regret

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

You weren’t a pirate.

You weren’t a Marine.

You were informed.

Elegant and smiling, wrapped in silk and secrets, you drifted through ports like a rumor—too poised to threaten, too lovely to suspect, and far too useful to eliminate. You sold information the way others sold spices or silk, with clients ranging from the Revolution to the Celestial Dragons.

And you had rules.

One: Never sell to the stupid.

Two: Never sit on a surface you haven’t personally scrubbed.

Which is why, standing aboard the Red Force—watching a barefoot pirate scratch his back with a dead fish tail—you were already planning your exit.

“Don’t panic,” Shanks said from beside you, all charm and sea-salt grins. “That fish was already dead.”

You inhaled slowly. “I’m not panicking. I’m internally disassociating.”

He laughed like it was the best joke he’d heard all day. “That’s just how life at sea is, sweetheart.”

“No,” you said flatly. “That’s how you are. The sea is salty, unpredictable, and full of monsters. You are barefoot, sticky with rum, and just called a rash ‘character growth.’”

He blinked, mock-offended. “I clean up.”

“When?”

A pause. “…Emotionally?”

Your eyes narrowed as you tugged on a pair of gloves before daring to sit. “There’s a ring of salt-sweat on your collar so defined it could be carbon dated. You have sand in your pockets. And I know for a fact you haven’t owned soap since the Battle of Edd War.”

“That’s impressive intel.”

“I know everything, Captain. Including the fact Yasopp has used the same towel since before his son was born.”

“…Okay, that’s just scary.”

”Please refrain for speaking of crew linens before breakfast.” Lucky Roux chimed as he passes, “I still have to cook today.”

“That’s disturbing,” you corrected. “Do you know what mildew does to linen? It does worse to food.”

There was a long pause.

“…Would you like a napkin to sit on?”

You deeply reconsidered accepting free passage across the sea.

You weren’t unreasonable. Just selective. And reasonably speaking, there was no good reason to join the Red Force.

In the beginning, you’d told yourself you were just a guest. Shanks’ attention was hard to miss, but you didn’t comment. You appreciated a handsome man as much as the next lady of lethal diplomacy—but the man lived like a charmingly drunk disaster.

And his crew had no concept of boundaries.

“You do realize you’ve been aboard for three days,” Shanks drawled one afternoon, leaning on the deck rail. “And you haven’t smiled at me once.”

“I’ve smiled plenty,” you replied smoothly, your skirts swaying in the breeze. “Just not at you.”

Benn Beckman smothered a laugh behind his cigar. Lucky Roux offered you another pastry. Yasopp was conspicuously absent—likely bathing in saltwater under your pointed suggestion.

“You’re mean,” Shanks said, still smiling, like your indifference didn’t bruise him. “Is it the arm thing? Because I swear I’m very capable with one.”

You offered him a polite, perfect smile—the kind that could make an executioner rethink his career. “It’s not the arm. It’s the smell.”

That one did sting. “I showered yesterday.”

“Captain,” you said sweetly, “rum is not soap. Nor is standing in the rain while shouting about being King of the Pirates.”

Benn wheezed beside him.

Shanks swept his cape back with exaggerated flair. “I’ve got charm! Adventure! A ship destined for legend!”

“And mildew,” you added kindly. “Lots of mildew.”

He stepped closer, tilting his head. “Join us. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You looked up at him with feigned innocence. “Captain Shanks. I have books. Blankets that aren’t damp. And sanitary standards. What could you possibly offer me?”

There was a beat.

“Free drinks. Endless ocean. Occasional gods trying to kill us. Freedom.”

You sighed, adjusted your gloves, and eyed the small rowboat waiting just off the side.

“No,” you said simply. “Because you’re a rum-drunk degenerate, and your crew never showers.”

A chorus of half-hearted boos rose behind him—except Benn, who looked like he might propose to you for saying what he couldn’t.

Shanks grinned despite himself, even as you stepped down into the boat. “You’ll miss me, sweetheart.”

“Doubtful,” you chirped. “But I’ll send you soap.”

Later, alone in his cabin, Shanks found a delicate bar of rose-scented soap tucked inside his coat. Tied with a ribbon.

The note read:

“For the mildew problem. —Yours Never.”

He carried it for months. Didn’t even open it.

Which entirely missed the point.

#red haired shanks #shanks #one piece shanks x reader #shanks x reader #cleanliness is king #benn beckman #beckmann wouldn’t be stinky

132 notes · View notes

drarrily-we-row-along · 6 months ago

Text

Roasted Marshmallows

"C'mon," Harry urged, pushing Draco through the door of a cottage that looked like it had seen better days. "It's freezing out here."

Draco allowed himself to be shoved through the door but paused the moment they were through to survey the absolute mess that had been left. "You've got to be joking." This day had gone from bad, to worse, to even worse.

"Look," Harry said as he shut the door behind him, "I know it's not ideal-"

"Not ideal?" Draco all but shrieked, he could feel his blood pressure rising, he was trying to remain calm, honestly he was. "It's horrible!" he exclaimed. "My mother's been attacked and is in Mungos as we speak, my apartment was ransacked with who knows how much damage done, it's three days from Christmas and I haven't gotten any of my shopping done, and now I'm here in this horrible little safe house until the bloody DMLE can catch whoever it is that's been trying to kill me!"

Harry winced, looking around uncertainly.

Draco deflated, "and I know none of this is your fault. I know you're trying to help me. I know you had to call in a few favors to be the auror assigned to watch me. And I appreciate that, I really do, but-"

"Listen," Harry said, his warm hands cupping Draco's shoulders, "I know the past 12 hours have been a lot. Why don't you take a bath? I brought some of that lavender bath salt that you like, I'll put on some music for you, and by the time you come out everything will be right as rain out here."

He pulled Harry in, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his head against Harry's neck, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, love," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Draco's temple.

---------

When Draco emerged from the bath, feeling practically like a new person, he found that Harry hadn't been kidding. The whole cottage had been set to right, the couches had been uprighted and repaired, the floors cleaned, walls scrubbed, a fire burned merrily in the fireplace.

The smell of homemade food drifted through the cottage, something warm and hearty by the smell of it and Draco followed the scent to the kitchen where Harry was pulling something out of the oven. "Hey, you," he said over his shoulder as he set the pan on the top of the stove. "I made us a shepherds pie."

His eyes started to sting and before he could fully process what was happening, Draco was crying.

"Hey," Harry said, immediately dropping the spoon he was using to start serving their dinner. "Hey," he pulled Draco into his arms, "Don't cry." His lips brushed over Draco's forehead, "don't cry love. Everything's going to be alright."

"You made shepherd's pie."

"Sorry!" he said quickly, "I can make something else. We don't-"

Draco couldn't help it, he just started to cry harder. "Stop. It's not that I don't want to eat your shepherd's pie. I'm just," he shrugged, "I don't deserve you."

"Don't be silly," Harry said, rubbing Draco's back and directing him to a chair. In a matter of moments there was a glass of red wine in front of him along with a healthy helping of shepherd's pie. Then Harry was sitting down beside him and bumping his knee against Draco's. "Eat," he said softly.

So Draco did.

Once they finished dinner, Harry shooed Draco from the kitchen, telling him that his book was on the table by the sofa. It wasn't long before the other man also emerged from the kitchen, carrying two mugs with what Draco felt quite certain was homemade hot cocoa.

He set them down but before Draco could reach for one, Harry handed him a roasting stick and held out a bag of marshmallows. "Whoever was here last left the bag in the cupboard," he said. "I thought they might be just the thing we needed to go with our hot chocolate on a day like today."

"Thank you," Draco whispered, too overwhelmed by all of the emotions that he'd been feeling to say much else.

"Don't mention it," Harry said, bumping his shoulder against Draco's as they moved to sit in front of the fire and toast their marshmallows.

He swallowed, "I meant it, what I said earlier."

Harry raised an eyebrow uncertainly.

"I really don't deserve you."

"Darling," Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You've had a terribly traumatic day. Making you some dinner and cleaning up the cottage was the absolute least I could do."

"But-"

"No, I mean it," Harry said, waving him off. "I have genuinely done the exact same thing for other people that are in the Ministry's safe houses."

"Oh," he said, brow furrowing.

"But," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows at Draco, "What I have planned for you after hot chocolate is exclusively for you."

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. His day may not have started out terribly well, but it looked like it was going to end markedly better.

#The author is not dead- she's just happy #sorry it's been a thousand years since I've posted anything #I just got a hankering to fill some Christmas prompts for Drarry #enjoy #Drarry #Christmas #Love #Fluff #fluffcember 2024 #fluffcember day 1

179 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 11 months ago

Text

Can I Be Yours? - Nightblooms II

Aemond returns to the pleasure house after the battle of Rook's Rest // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death, ambiguous ending

Words: 3k

Each day she arrives at the market shortly after sunrise. She has the coin to pay for the usual cheap cuts of meat, for fats and vegetables to make into something edible, but there is nothing to buy; most of the vendors have sold the last of their wares. Summer is at an end, there are less crops coming from the Reach and the sea is still cut off with no end in sight to the blockade.

King’s Landing has never been a place where she feels at ease but as the season shifts and the war goes on, families are starving and people are getting desperate, fighting over what they can get their hands on. They’ve all been reduced to dogs, clawing at each other over scraps while carts of livestock and fresh produce trundle through the streets towards the Red Keep, guarded by men in Hightower green.

She manages to buy some crabs and vegetables she’ll have to cut the mould from. They have a store of grain in the kitchens to make flatbread, though they have to use less and less each day, anticipating when they’ll be able to find more.

She eats less of her share so the younger girls won’t have to go hungry. Besides, she hasn’t had much of an appetite for days.

She had spent hours trying to rinse herself clean of the King and his companions after they’d had their way with her– after Aemond had left her to their mercy. That night she scrubbed at her skin with salt, then a cloth, then a bristled brush. That feeling was still there, like sweat sticking to her skin, like her body was not her own. She heard their voices and their cold laughter with the rush of water past her ears. She scrubbed harder and harder until she tinted the water pink with her blood.

One morning, one of the girls returns to the pleasure house, unsuccessful in finding a cure for her babe’s fever, but startled by something else.

The Hightower army has returned from a battle, dragging the head of a dragon on a cart through the city.

“It’s monstrous,” the girl says, trying to measure the scale of the head with her arms. “It had black blood, and gods, the smell, like charred meat!”

Sylvi hovers over her shoulder. “Slain by your favourite, I wonder?”

Favourite? Clearly she was not so favoured by Prince Aemond.

Men are led by their desires. That’s why, even as the city is starving, they find the money to come here and seek their pleasure. They are fickle, easily satiated and have no loyalties but to themselves, to their own preservation.

Sylvi huffs when she does not react to her teasing. “Seven above, do try to look less miserable, girl.”

She’s been trying for days, but she can’t force a pleasant demeanour when she feels so hollow.

The returning soldiers come to the Street of Silk that night, newly paid and come to bask in their victory. Her gown is a deep shade of blue and Sylvi has given her some of her jewellery, sapphire earrings and a heavy gold necklace that feels like a collar, to cover the bruises on her neck left by the King.

She catches the eye of a soldier in the main chamber. He takes her by the waist and drags her onto his thigh.

He moves clumsily, trying to drag her core against his leg or the bulge in his breeches, she cannot tell and she does not care.

Look less miserable, it’s only a motion of the body.

Look less miserable, men want a woman who is warm, who smiles.

Look less miserable, but has he noticed her fallen face and the empty look in her eyes? Likely not.

Her body feels numb again.

“Look at me,” the man demands.

She turns her head towards him but her eyes are down, elsewhere completely. She pictures candlelight, a veil around the edges of a bed so the bodies around her are like shadows. She feels a weight on her chest and stomach, limbs intertwined with hers, long, loose hair spilling over her bare skin. A voice is just out of reach.

Look at me, look at me, look at me–

“My Prince!”

Her senses come back to her as quickly as a match takes to flame. Her head darts to where the soldier is looking, to the man standing before them, dark leathers, silver hair, an eyepatch over his face and a sword hanging from his hip.

Aemond tilts his head, his one eye intent on her.

“Apologies, Prince Regent,” the soldier says, and shoves her off his lap so he can stand.

She stumbles but holds her ground. Her eyes are on the floor but imagining his face frowning in displeasure, the sight of his scar, the lines of his muscles under his skin. She cannot bear to truly look upon him, but he’s watching her.

Why come now? Why her, when she has already proved worthless to him?

“Come,” Aemond says without reaching for her, without waiting for her to match his gaze. She follows, if only to escape the wanton soldier.

Aemond takes her to the same chamber, standing at the foot of the same bed where they used to lay together.

She stands before him with her eyes lowered.

He towers over her and lifts her chin to match his gaze with a gloved hand. The leather against her skin is unnatural, cold, disturbing her very being like ripples through a peaceful surface of water. The sight of him only brings her pain, as does the separation from him. Fear and admiration twist together and writhe in her gut.

He reaches to remove the necklace first, letting it fall to the floor. “An ugly thing,” he mutters, “do not wear this again, I find it distracting.” It bares her bruises. He traces his gloved fingers over the flushes of red and purple in her skin.

Next he undoes her dress, another gown designed to fall away from one clasp. She does not remove the rest to bare herself, so he tugs the gown away himself, pulling her forward by her wrists to make her step away from where it pools on the floor.

Without any further preamble he surges into her, cupping her jaw with his hands and kissing her passionately. He demands reception with his lips, tongue and teeth, but she will not give it to him. She remains as steadfast as she can.

He pauses, kissing her again, then again.

“What’s the matter?” His voice is subtle and as soft as the edge of a knife. Gently, he takes a hold of her neck. It is tender, but not quite a comfort. Her pulse beats furiously against his fingers. “You are angry with me, is that it?”

Has he thought of her these last few days? Does he blame himself for the bruises on her neck?

She says nothing.

“I’ll not fuck an unwilling whore.”

“No,” it falls from her lips like a breath.

Aemond tuts and tilts his head. “No?”

She parts her lips but she cannot speak.

His one-eyed stare darkens. He will take her silence for defiance, and that is not what he pays for.

If all he seeks is carnal desire she will grant him this. She tears away the layers of him, his gloves, the buckles on his jerkin, her fingers fumbling in her determination.

Aemond grunts as she pushes the sleeves from his shoulders, the leather landing with a heavy thud on the floor. His face is perplexed but he does not resist.

She tugs at the strings of his undershirt and pulls it over his head. When his chest is bare she puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls herself in, crashing her lips into his. Everything becomes a single feeling, a fire in her chest, hurt and rage and— she’s not naive enough to call it love, but it’s an urge that spurns her to be close to him. Their teeth clash. She loses her focus and her lips graze over his cheek. She finds him again, drawing her tongue against his, dragging her teeth over his lip–

“Fuck!” Aemond hisses, snatching himself away from her. He dabs his fingertips to his lip, checking for blood that isn’t there.

His eye is wide but gleaming, excited at the challenge.

Her heart leaps when Aemond grasps her jaw. He drags her chin up, fingertips pressing into the bone. “I find your insolence tiresome,” he snarls.

The edge of his nose brushes against hers. She feels his breath, how his chest rises and falls against her body, how his heart beats as frantically as hers.

She shakes her head. “I am yours, my Prince.”

He lays her on the bed, pushing her thighs apart and holding them down as he kneels.

He sighs at the sight of her.

Each drag of his tongue is divine, circling and pressing at the places he has come to know will please her the most. She tries to chase the friction with her hips but he holds her firmly in place.

She reaches for his hair, slipping the eyepatch from his face so she can see all of him. He looks up at her as she does, his lips glistening with her arousal while his sapphire consumes the golden light of the candles.

Between the movements of his mouth he mutters to himself, words she has heard before but does not know the meaning to. His voice is heavy and breathless and she adores it.

Her peak comes suddenly, a wave of warmth and weightlessness that lingers after Aemond has drawn his mouth away from her.

He’s just out of her reach, standing over the bed and slowly pulling on the strings of his breeches.

She brings herself to sit, only to be thrown down again and roughly turned onto her front.

“Aemond?”

His hands pull her up by her hips. His thumb glides in circles over her entrance and she stutters into compliance. There’s a ruffle of fabric before he replaces his digit with the head of his cock. He teases her as he rocks back and forth. The pleasure is sparse, a delicious kind of torture. She grips at the linens and sinks her teeth into her lip.

On one motion of his hips, Aemond slips inside of her. She sighs at the stretch of it. He stills for a moment to let her adjust, pushing himself to the hilt and slowly drawing back. She feels how his fingertips dig into her flesh, marks that will stay for days. She can picture the look in his eye, his resolve melting away.

She props herself up on her hands, turning over her shoulder. He meets her, pressing his nose against her cheek, teasing his lips over her skin.

“Do you still find me insolent?” she whispers.

Aemond hums.

He draws back, only to snap his hips harshly into her rear. It knocks the breath from her lungs and he holds his arm around her to hold her close to him, his palm pressing into her stomach as he fucks her roughly and without reprieve.

This is the Prince she has only ever seen glimpses of. She’s heard the workings of his mind and his regrets, but she’s never seen him unleash himself, a dragonrider, a warrior, now a demanding lover.

Each kiss of his cock at her sweet spot aches and drives her towards bliss. She grasps at his hand, leaning her head into his. His sweat drips onto her brow. His moans fall upon the shell of her ear.

She feels another peak edging closer when Aemond pushes her torso down against the bed. He keeps his hands on her shoulders. Her own moans are muffled against the mattress and she cannot move. She can only take what she is given, fast fucking and brutal precision.

He comes with a unrestrained groan, spilling himself deep within her cunt. His weight falls against her back and he nestles his face into her neck, whispering some appraisal in an ancient language, gently fucking his seed deeper.

She whines as she catches her breath, letting herself settle with him on top of her. They stay like this for a time. Before he finally moves, Aemond presses a delicate kiss to her brow.

They lay amongst linen and silk, his head on her chest, his arms wrapped around her ribs, moving with her as she breathes.

He tells her of Rook’s Rest, of his plan to attack during the daylight and bait their enemy into sending a dragon, then he would lead Vhagar into an ambush. He had not expected Aegon to join the battle, and when the smoke cleared, only Aemond and Vhagar remained unscathed.

“Perhaps I should have been more forgiving, but he got in my way.”

What did you do? She wonders, but cannot bring herself to give a voice to her question.

That soldier had named Aemond as Regent. Not the title he wants, but it is a brutal reminder that only one life stands between him and the throne he pursues.

“And even when he is… incapacitated, my victory is named as his. It was meant to be mine.”

The dragon head was his doing after all.

Tears run freely down her cheeks, not that he will see.

He takes a breath and waits. She’s done this enough times by now to know he’s waiting for her to say something. He needs her to say something.

What loyalty has your brother ever shown you? He knows you were better suited to war, at least now he will not overestimate himself.

She does not wish to think of Aegon.

“You left me,” she utters.

Aemond tilts his head towards her. She meets his eye. When he sees the tears on her face his own expression softens.

“You left me to entertain those men. You didn’t even look back.”

Aemond swallows thickly, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue. “I had to.”

“Had to?”

“You would not understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You are a Prince. To you, I am nothing but a body to be used.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You do not need to say it. It is the nature of the world we live in.”

He shifts himself to lay beside her, face-to-face. His thumb strokes over her cheek and at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve only ever admired you,” he says. “You came to me when I felt alone.”

Back when they were children, when she was innocent enough to think the gods favoured those who were kind, merciful, good.

“You looked lost. I was the same the first time…” the first time Sylvi brought her into a room with a strange man. When she sees girls of the same age, she wants to take them into her arms and shield them from strangers, from the people who promise to care for them and do not. “I knew how it felt to be used and then discarded, like none of it mattered. But it did. It mattered to me.”

Aemond’s eye shimmers like glass.

“I needed you, do you understand that? I needed your protection,” she says.

He blinks and a tear falls from his eye.

“You taunt me with this,” she says, wiping it away with her thumb.

He holds her hand against his jaw. “I’m not trying to taunt you,” he pleads. “You are the only one, the only one I can speak my mind to.”

She has seen his pride, his remorse, his shame, but she has never seen fear in Aemond. She does now. He clasps onto her hand like she’ll fade away.

“I try. I know my place in my family. I know what they need of me. I try, but I am not always strong enough.”

Jaehaerys, the little Prince who lost his head. He has a sister and a mother grieving his loss, what of them?

What of Aegon?

“I’ll protect you,” he says, kissing the heel of her palm, the inside of her wrist.

How will he do that? Before morning he will leave a purse of gold in her hand and return to his Keep. While he plots his war and demands taxes and tithes from the people of the Crownlands, she will endure in a city that is slowly starving to death.

And when the war of dragons comes to the skies over King’s Landing? Will he pick her out from the masses atop Vhagar? Will he find a way to spare her from the fire and the bloodshed?

It does not bear thinking about. She holds him and tries to forget anything other than this feeling, his weight and warmth, his hair between her fingertips, the points in his bones, his legs intertwined with hers. Everything about him that is cold and cruel. Everything about him that is quietly beautiful.

I've kinda given up on taglists <3

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc

400 notes · View notes