#straw's stray thoughts

[silverraes]

no okay wait but imagine the sonicnorth trailer kiss as a flashback. like what if it happened before Sonic left. they kissed and then Sonic went to France and then they didn't talk for a year. and now he's back and things are awkward bc North still looks at him like he hung the moon and he doesn't know how to act. what about my sanity then huh

[mewguca]

assorted doodles including oc stuff. hi

[mochie85]

Have Mercy

One Shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: You're a powered being with healing abilities and you try to bring Loki back from the brink of death. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 1832 Warnings: Fluff, heavy kissing, slapping, mentions of death (close call), injury, a very flirty Loki,

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you all started the ambush. Tall sequoias canopied above blocking the setting sun. The air was thick with smoke and heavy from the fighting. You heard multiple teammates calling for healing, but none was louder than Thor. His troubled voice blasted through the comms, “Medic! We need a healer quickly!” His deep command tore you away from the battle you were in and you fought your way over to him. “Priestess, please! Come quick!”

Through fire and volley, you found Thor kneeling on the ground with Loki in his arms. Lifeless. Steve was circling them, trying to shield the brothers from a barrage of attacks.

You knelt on the ground. Your knees hit soft mud as your eyes scanned Loki’s body. His sharp face was paler than usual. Blue-ish tint had started to stain his lips. And your naïve-self hoped it was just because of the cold seeping from the wet ground. “Thor, I’ll take it from here. Go help Steve. I can’t worry about my life when I have to worry about his!”

Thor nodded to you. But before he laid Loki down, he whispered in his ear, “I know you are stronger than this, brother. But I swear on Yggdrasil if you are pretending, I will not hesitate to cleave Stormbreaker into you.” Thor sniffed and placed him down to the ground.

You nodded your head and patted Thor’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” you feigned, as you tried to get a better look at what had happened. You didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that you could feel how thin and fragile Loki’s life string was. A hair, compared to the cord that we all have. Worse, the thick rope that the Asgardian’s life used to be. You didn’t even know if you were skilled enough to weave it stronger.

There was a large gaping hole that tore Loki’s chest plate. His skin had burned and was raw from the impact. You couldn’t see any entry wounds. Nor blood. But the bruising and dent on his chest was not a good sign. A stray missile, perhaps? Maybe jumping in the way to save his brother. They vex each other constantly. But deep down they care for each other like most siblings do.

You straddled his body, holding your two hands out, placing them over his wound. A soft resonance emitted from your palm down to his skin. You kept your hands on him as the pulse of your powers worked their way through his body. You can see tiny mends of his scrapes and scratches. The raw skin around the wound had returned to their usual pallor.  He’s reacting at least. There’s still some life in him- whatever little is left.

You persisted. With every pulse, you can see his wounds healing. Ribs cracking back into place. The blue on his lips retreated ever so slowly. But his lifeline was stubborn. If you could hold out just long enough, his own regenerative powers might kick in.

Grasping at straws, your mind quickly raced with ideas to help speed the process along. You remembered that sometimes, shock was a good way of knocking someone back into the land of the living. “Ugh, don’t get mad at me, okay? I’m only trying to save your life,” you vowed out loud in case he was able to hear you. You quickly pulled your palm back and slapped Loki hard across his cheek.

Small capillaries burst where your hand met his face. Aside from the new hue, Loki had remained the same. Still and quiet. His line fading from your grasp. You panicked at your failed attempt.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know how to tell Thor that you couldn’t save his only brother. Ideas and thoughts ran past your mind all muddled and incoherent. Ways and spells. Teachings and theories you’ve learned on healing and regeneration.

You cupped Loki’s cheek, healing the bruise you had left. Your brows knit together, puzzled as to what to do next. Hopeless in feeling and thought. You didn’t want to look up. You didn’t want to see Thor’s face and have to tell him an awful truth. They had just reunited this past year. It wasn’t fair. And it would be all your fault because you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Loki. Your heart turned solemn as angry tears threatened to drop from your eyes.

By now the fighting had stopped. You didn’t realize how quiet the world had gotten around you. How still the air was from flying projectiles or weapons. The team gathered loosely. Giving you space to try and save Loki’s life, but the look on their faces betrayed the faith they were trying to offer you.

Your thumb brushed Loki’s cheek, wiping away the mud that speckled his face. He would’ve been appalled if he knew where Thor had left him on the ground. You smirked at the thought as your thumb rested on his chin and traced his lips.

His cold lips opened slightly at your touch, and you were struck with an idea.  You grabbed both sides of his leather collars and brought him to sit up towards you. His slack weight was heavier than you anticipated, and it took your remaining strength to sit him upright. You closed your eyes as your lips crashed into his, honing your powers into that desperate kiss.

You had never done this before. You had never needed to do this before. But you were hoping that your breath of life could pass onto him and carry him through till his own powers could take over. You sucked hard on his upper lip, not wanting to break any contact. Your fingers entwined themselves in his hair, desperate to keep him close to you. “Please. Please. Please,” you whispered into his mouth. Tears fell from your eyes and landed on his cheek. Your arms wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let go. Unwilling to accept the truth.

Still, you continued.

You felt a low rumble from his chest. A hopeful sign that it’s working. You just needed to hold on a little bit longer! You opened your lips for a breath of your own. And when you closed your mouth around his, your power pulsated in between you.

You felt his temperature return first. The warmth in his lips, the heat in his breath. You could feel his lifeline winding itself tighter and stronger.

His mouth returned your kiss. Sluggish and tentative. But they held on to your lips, tightly. His hands embraced your hips so delicately you didn’t even know they were there. You naturally leaned into the kiss more. Your power still pulsing through you. One last intake of breath and you passed it along towards Loki.

His grip tightened around you and he pulled you closer onto his lap. His arms snaked around you, holding your head close to his, unwilling to let you go.  You could hear small groans and heavy panting. But you honestly didn’t know whether it came from you or from Loki.

His tongue touched your lips, asking for entry. Catching your breath you opened your mouth once again and Loki gainfully ran his tongue inside against the roof of your mouth.

You didn’t realize that your powers had finished. With nothing left to heal, your powers subsided. But you were so lost in the kiss that you had forgotten where you were and what you were doing. Slowly, you pulled away. But Loki’s kiss followed you unwilling to release you. You bit his bottom lip as a warning, holding his face in between your hands.

“Darling, what an indecent way to ask me out,” Loki grinned from ear to ear. His voice was rough and garbled. He kept his face close to yours, running his nose against your cheek. “I accept!”

The world came crashing back around you. The time. The place. The situation. The shock froze you in place just staring into Loki’s blue-green eyes. “I always thought you harbored affections for me. But now I am certain,” he taunted.

You slapped him.

You couldn’t think of anything else to do. You felt betrayed somehow. Tricked. Even though you knew that he was genuinely in peril. The fact that he was joking about it even now, irked you.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed as he slowly turned his head to face you again. His chin jutted out, trying to contain the smirk that was coming forth. “Is that how you like it?”

You tried to push yourself off of him. You’ve had enough of his antics. You were utterly embarrassed at being caught in this situation. Especially with the team around, surely watching.

He caught your wrists as you pushed on his chest, stopping you. “Do it again,” he commanded. His grin was out in full force now. Dazzling you to the last inch of your nerve.

“Ugh, the thanks I get for saving your life!” pushing him down as you stood yourself up. “Next time I’ll just leave you limp in the mud.” You sneered, walking away with your head held high and your face heated and red. From humiliation or from desire, you didn’t know.

“Well, that’s very hard to do when you’re kissing me like that, my angel,” Loki yelled after you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you angry and flustered. All because of him. Oh, I’m in trouble.

“What do I gotta do to get a kiss like that?” Bucky asked teasingly as you stomped passed him.

“Die!” you growled back at him. The words felt mean as they left your mouth. And you regretted saying them instantly. He was only trying to lighten the situation. But you couldn’t help the shame you had inside you.

“Oh, c’mon doll. I was only teasing.” Bucky raised his arms in defeat and followed you back to the quinjet, laughing.

“Loki!” Thor scolded as he held his hand to his brother, helping him up. “I hope that you were not deceiving us just to try and gain favor with the priestess. I know you’ve been seeking her affections.”

“Brother! I am genuinely hurt! Did you not see me lying there at the last inch of my life?” Loki contended, pointing to the ground where he once laid.

Thor rolled his eyes but smirked, clapping Loki on the shoulder. He was glad to have his brother back once again. “She’s very talented that one. And I do not want to see her get hurt, Lo-. Loki are you listening to me.”

Loki was at a loss for words, watching you. “She gave me my life back, brother. I have felt her lips against mine and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel them again soon.” Loki smiled as he swatted away Thor’s hand on him. His eyes solely on you, plotting how to get you to kiss him again.

➡️ When The Ball Drops (Sequel)

A/N: I know it's been awhile. I do plan on finishing my series' soon. Thanks for staying with me. Life has been hard and you guys get me through it.

🏷️ @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @chrisevansmaindish @capswife @dangertoozmanykids101 @shadycloudcollection @annoyingsweetsstranger @alyeskathewave @xxjust-a-kidxx @tallseaweed @liliacdreamer @stevihj +more in the comments

[sereia4skz]

congrats on 2k!!

can i request a crack/smut fic for reader checking up on kitsune!jeongin but he lets his animalistic instincts get him and trys humping anything he can and this goes on for days and each time reader scolds him for it tired of his behavior but also amused

2k Followers Event | animal urges

pairing: jeongin x reader

synopsis: the young fox won't stop humping things...

warnings: kitsune!jeongin, smut, dry humping, jeongin keep humping everything, everything, public embarrassment

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

AN: this is the same vibes as pomegranate kisses | jeongin x m!reader in a way

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You’re not sure what the final straw was, maybe the first time he humped your pillow. Or the third. Or maybe when he went after your leg while you were refilling his water dish like some desperate stray. 

It’s been four days of this nonsense, at first you thought he was just joking around, but this is getting ridiculous and you’re about to throw him into the pond.

“Jeongin!” you bark, and the kitsune jumps, ears perking up guiltily from where he’s currently rubbing himself against the corner of his bedding. Again.

“Not the furniture,” you deadpan, hands on your hips. “We talked about this.”

He whines. Actually whines, crouching down like a scolded dog with a too-fluffy tail curling over his back. His golden eyes glimmer with pure dramatics.

“It’s not my fault!” he huffs, “You’re always coming in smelling like flowers and moonlight and ugh- I have instincts!”

“Instincts don’t mean you get to violate everything, Jeongin.”

He shifts fully back into his fox form, ears twitching, eyes narrowed, and sulks beneath the stone table, where he promptly humps one of the legs like a beast possessed.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Do I need to call Chan?”

“Don’t bring the naiad into this!” comes his muffled protest. “He tried to bathe me last time!”

You fold your arms. “Maybe he should. You clearly need to cool off.”

“I just- Ugh! It’s the season! My tails get tingly! My soul gets tingly! I can't help it if every soft object looks breedable right now!”

You snort. “That’s not a word we use in this house.”

“Says who?”

“Says the person whose blanket you defiled yesterday.”

Jeongin yips. “You saw that?”

“I stepped in it, Jeongin.”

He goes dead silent.

“…Was it warm?”

“JEONGIN.”

⋆｡°✩

By day five, your eye is twitching.

The Sanctuary’s other residents have started noticing. Minho side-eyes Jeongin whenever the fox starts sniffing around the mossy corners of the common space.

Even Changbin, chaos incarnate, tried to cover Jeongin with a blanket. “He needs to be swaddled,” he said solemnly, like Jeongin was some possessed Victorian child.

You’ve tried giving him space. Extra food. Cold compresses. Nothing’s helped. He’s just too pent-up. And the worst part? He still insists on being sweet and shy when you scold him, like he doesn’t have ten documented humping incidents today alone.

You find him today pressed flat to the floor of his room, panting, one paw twitching in his fox form, a visible blush creeping up his snout. His tails are puffed out in every direction.

“…You good?”

He lifts his head slowly.

“I humped a dream,” he whispers hoarsely. “Thought it was real… but it was just an illusion and-”

“Jeongin!”

“I said I was sorry!”

⋆｡°✩

By the time you enter his quarters again on day seven, you’re armed with a spray bottle.

He tries to mount a throw pillow and gets misted in the face.

He yelps. “What the hell?!”

“You’re not neutered. This is the next best thing.”

“You can’t spray me like I’m a cat!”

“Can’t I?”

He shifts to human form, half-naked and glistening with some kind of self-inflicted sweat, glaring at you with amber-ringed eyes and zero shame.

“This is a hate crime.”

You raise the bottle. “You wanna test me?”

His hands go up. “Okay, okay. I’m trying. Really. Just… there’s too much of you in this room and not enough self-control in my body.”

“That’s your problem.”

“No,” he murmurs, gaze hooded now. “That’s your problem. Because one day you’re gonna walk in here, all soft and pretty like you always are, and I’m just gonna lose it. Right here. Right on the floor. I’ll make you watch.”

You blink. “That was… graphic.”

“I want to be graphic!”

You pause. “…So you’re saying if I lock the door-”

“and sit on my face,” he finishes, hopeful.

You blink again. “I mean… meditate or something.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence. “...But, if you wanted to sit on my face?”

You throw the pillow at him. 

⋆｡°✩

By day eight, you've just about lost it. You've tried letting him work through it on his own, offering a den further apart, he keeps finding his way back somehow. 

You try to be professional. Really. You come in with ointments for his paws, a calm demeanor, and absolutely no intention of letting him mount your leg again. 

But the second you kneel down to check his ankle, something shifts. He makes a soft, breathy sound, almost like a whimper, and then he’s crawling forward, warm, solid, glowing with something not-quite-human behind his eyes.

You stiffen.

“Jeongin,” you warn. “Don’t.”

He growls, low and hungry. “Don’t what?”

His tails brush over your legs, silky-soft and teasing. He’s so close your noses nearly touch. His breath is sweet, like candied herbs and ruined self-control.

“I told you,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t smell this good. It’s dangerous.”

“Then maybe you should stop sniffing me.”

“I’ve tried.” His mouth brushes your jaw. “I even tried humping a tree, you know that? A tree. I thought maybe I’d feel better. I didn’t.”

You lose it, you laugh. You cackle. 

Jeongin looks at you with a wicked smile, all teeth and heat and glowing eyes, and pounces. You don’t have time to scream before he’s on top of you, arms braced on either side, tails curling around your limbs like binding silk.

“You’re gonna let me rut, or I swear to the moon, I’ll start dry-humping the trees again.”

You stare up at him, breath caught in your throat. “…That’s not a real threat.”

“I moaned loud enough last time the dryad heard me.”

“Hyunjin?!”

“He left me a flower crown and said ‘get well soon.’”

You groan. “Fine. You wanna fuck? Then fuck.”

He blinks. “…Wait, really?”

“Yes. But you get one go. And if you hump anything non-living after this, I’m telling Chan.”

“Deal.”

His mouth crashes against yours before you can take it back, hot, hungry, almost grateful, like he’s been holding himself back for days (because he has). His fingers tug clumsily at your shirt, nails catching the fabric, his other hand already buried in the curve of your waist like he needs to anchor himself.

You're flat on your back in his blanket nest before you realize it, pillows scattered, the floor padded with soft pelts and rumpled quilts he’s clearly been making a mess of for days. It smells like him here, spiced honey and heat, and too many hormones for anyone’s good.

“Can I?” he breathes, eyes wild, cheeks flushed. “Can I rut you like I want? Need it,”

You arch a brow. “Define 'need’”

He whimpers. “Clothes off, on all fours, me behind you, I lose my mind halfway through and cry a little.”

You blink. “...You’ve thought about this.”

“So much.”

He makes a desperate sound when you start unbuttoning your pants, and he lunges like you're prey. His mouth leaves open kisses on your belly, your hip, your inner thigh, and then he’s nuzzling between your legs with such reverent intensity it makes you laugh through a moan.

“You’re not even inside me yet, and you’re shaking.”

“I know,” he gasps, nipping at your skin. “I’m gonna blow my load like a virgin if you look at me too much, fuck, you smell so good-”

You barely get the words, “Then do something,” out before he’s sliding into you with a full-body tremble, like he’s been waiting his entire afterlife for it.

He groans, high, sweet, and downright filthy, as his hips snap forward, almost feral, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the otherwise soft, fabric-muffled den. His tails twitch with each thrust, wrapping tighter around your calves and arms like velvet ropes. He kisses you sloppily, constantly, like he’s scared you’ll disappear beneath him.

You reach up, fingers tangling in the soft fur at the base of his tail just to see what happens.

He screeches. Actually yowls. His hips stutter. He bites your shoulder and moans like a banshee.

“Oh my gods, don’t do that unless you want fox kits.”

You snort, biting back your own moan as he speeds up, practically humping you now with little finesse, but a lot of enthusiasm. His rhythm’s all over the place, needy, quick, messy, but it doesn’t matter because he’s so into it, eyes wide and glossy, chanting your name like a spell.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he babbles, face buried in your neck, his illusion magic going haywire as little bursts of foxfire pop and sizzle overhead. One tail knocks over a pile of blankets and reveals a stuffed pillow with a suspicious stain on it.

You stare.

“…Is that the-”

“Don’t look at that,” he huffs, thrusting harder to distract you.

You laugh so hard your legs go weak, and Jeongin nearly sobs into your chest from relief and overstimulation.

He finally finishes, with a trembling whimper, his body curling around yours like he never wants to let go. He’s flushed and panting, still moving his hips lazily, like his need hasn't quite worn off.

You brush the hair from his face, letting him catch his breath.

“I’m still telling Chan.”

He moans. “He’s going to boil me.”

You smile and press a kiss to his sweaty temple. “…Worth it?”

He grins. “…I’m gonna hump that pillow again.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @bangchanspineapple @sunfk88 @sillyseob @rougegenshin @yaorzu-blog @babigriin @tricky-ritz

[luveline]

More spencer x hotch's sister? I love her relationship with hotch so much btw! Maybe spencer learns some of what she went through in her past?

“What did you get Haley for your six months?” you ask. 

Aaron shakes his basket of fries. You can smell them from your side of the table, salt and grease from the fryer. He doesn’t need to see you looking, maybe he doesn’t care that you want one or not, he tips half of the basket onto your plate and shrugs. “It was a long time ago, I’m not sure I remember. For our first year together I gave her a promise ring, I think.” 

“I don’t think I can get him a promise ring…” You swirl your drink with your straw. Fizzy bubbles rush to the surface. “A ring might be nice, though. Can he wear jewellery in the field?” 

“One nondescript ring would be fine.” 

“Maybe a necklace.” You stab a few of his given fries on your fork and smile. “I’m very stressed, but he’s been so kind the whole time. He never makes me worry about anything.” 

“Spencer is kind.” Aaron glances to the side as a couple sits in the booth opposite. “Admittedly, I was worried. But you’re happy, so I’m happy.” 

“Six months is a long time for no fights.” 

“Honey, some people don’t fight.” 

You toy with a stray piece of lettuce. “I’m really glad that we don’t, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

“It won’t drop. You think I’d let you date Spencer if I suspected he was secretly evil?” 

“There are a few things wrong with that question…” You wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Okay, it won’t drop. Can we get, um, dessert? Rocky road sundaes?” They’re Aaron’s favourite, so they’re yours, too. 

Despite his assurances, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You think about your conversation with Aaron for the days leading up to your six month anniversary with Spencer, which he aptly names your ‘half anniversary’. He doesn’t plan any surprises —he sends you a PDF with different options for everything. Five different restaurants with different options for courses, moods, and settings. There are notes for each place and why you might like them, and there are activities for each one afterwards based on the location. It’s so thoughtful it makes you feel sick. The other shoe looms, and looms. 

You choose a smaller restaurant just outside of the busy city, with a beautiful outdoor eating area on a stone veranda. It’s lively but not crowded, secluded but not completely private. 

Spencer tucks your seat in, and he kisses your cheek before he takes his own. When he does, he looks across the table at you, and says, “Wow, you’re so pretty.” 

“You think so?” 

“You’re beautiful.” He gives you one of his not so shy, almost cheesy smiles, like he wants to laugh. “Do you want your gift now or later?” 

“Is it rude to say I want it now?” 

“No, it’s not rude. I’ll feel better once I know you like it.” 

He presents you with a box wrapped in dark blue crepe paper and rounded silver star stickers. There’s twine wrapped around it and bowed, too beautiful to want to open. You look between him and the present in awe. “This is real pretty,” you say softly. 

“It’s nicer inside,” he says. 

You unravel the twin carefully, and you take off the paper to reveal a large, flat box. You put the paper in your jacket pocket, folded primly to keep. Spencer waits patiently. 

You press your thumbnail into the box’s seam and push. 

It’s four pieces of jewellery. What catches your eye first is the sapphires, blue crystal with deep dark hearts pressed into the pendant of a necklace, the heart of a bracelet, and the main bodies of their matching earrings. All simple, elegant pieces, and compiled, their impressiveness is amplified. Your breath catches. You don’t need to be an expert in jewellery to immediately assign a ballpark price tag, and it’s a lot. It’s sort of startling. 

But the price doesn’t matter half as much as the sentiment. 

“Do you remember them?” he asks softly. 

Fourth date. Hand in hand, you and Spencer walked through a shopping centre with iced drinks and churros, and you’d paused for a few seconds to ogle the jewellery display. You’d pointed straight at the sapphire bracelet and said, “That’s gorgeous. I think if I save, I can get it for Christmas.” 

“I know it’s not Christmas,” Spencer says, “I’m sorry, I cheated. But I hope you like them.” 

“Spencer, I love them, I love them,” —you reach your hand across the table— “I love you. Thank you.” 

He smiles at you. “Yeah, I love you, too.” 

You can’t stop yourself from getting up to hug him. He bends under your weight and holds your arms, doesn’t wince when you press the entirety of your face to his hair and breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, kissing his forehead twice, “thank you, I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” He takes your face into his hand before you can leave. “You like them?” he asks. 

“I love them.” 

His smile is everything. “I really did cheat, I wrote it down when we got home and you know I can’t forget the things I read,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a kiss. 

Six months later and your heart still skips a beat. Doesn’t matter that he has an eidetic memory, what’s important is that he wrote it down. 

You take another hug, to his delight, and return to your seat. Your presents wait in a bag under the table. Two books, one jewellery box. He goes for the smaller box first. 

“It’s a ring,” you say, too nervous to let him discover it by himself. “I know you don’t often wear them, but I thought maybe it’s because it’s not something you’d get for yourself, and I think it would look good on you.” 

He opens the box with a smile. So pretty, and exuberantly bright. “Oh, wow.” 

“I don’t know if brands mean anything to you, but it’s Vivienne–”

“It’s beautiful,” he interrupts, “I love it. What finger do I wear it on?” 

“Most wear it on their marriage finger, I think, but you obviously don’t have to do that.” 

He slips it onto his ring finger, turns his hand one way and another, and there’s this joy that echoes all the way across the table from his very core. “Thank you. I love it, and now every time I look down I'll remember why you gave it to me.” 

You spend a lot of time apart, what with both of you working. “I thought that, too.” 

He takes the books next. His laugh is soft. “I’m not surprised.” 

“They’re… they’re my personal copies.” 

He startles at that. “They are?” 

“Yeah. Uh,” —you point at the first— “that’s my favourite, and I think it could be your favourite too.” 

“And this one?” he asks gently, slipping the first underneath the second. 

“Aaron gave that one to me. I know what you’re thinking, okay, that I’m giving something to you I should really keep. Maybe it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t know, but I love you.” You lick your lips. “It’s nice to fall in love. And you’ve made it so easy.” 

He stares at you, lips parted. 

You panic. “It was hard, growing up, and I know everyone struggles but it was hard. If it weren’t for my brother… I feel like it sticks to me and you’ve never made me feel that way. You love me for me. I was convinced nobody would ever do that.” 

“I know it was hard,” he says. 

“Really hard, sometimes, but you aren’t. I’m never scared of you.” 

He reaches across the table to touch your hand. “You aren’t supposed to be scared of anyone, angel.”

Warmth blossoms under his touch. You shake off the fog. “It’s not just about all of that, I swear, I really do think you’ll like them. But if I got it all wrong just lie to me, okay?” 

“You didn’t get anything wrong, shut up,” he says. Spencer stands, his turn to hug you, but he goes about it differently. He tips your head back and he kisses you, and his nose is a pressed line in your cheek as he squeezes you to him. “I’d be surprised if anybody who’s ever met you didn’t love you. Okay? Thank you for trusting me with it.” 

It, and not them, not the books. 

He peels away. You beam at one another. 

“Should we eat?” you ask, feeling pleased and shy at once. 

He kisses you again, one quick peck. “Yes, we can eat.”

[acosmicbee]

Stable Hand

Aside from watching Horseland close to 10 years ago and briefly taking riding lessons at my local stable, I was/am not a horse girl so hopefully this is accurate enough

Your position in the castle was very clear, make sure the horses were well kept and stay out of the way. That had been your job since you were old enough to learn how to handle the horses. You lived most of the year in part of the hayloft above the barn, only moving into the stable master's home during the winter.

Mister Riley was the stable master, and had served the royal family for a long time, but he was getting old. That was why you had taken over most of the heavy lifting when it came to stable maintenance. However, never before had you directly taken care of any of the royals' horses.

While they had a stableful of mares and stallions, each royal had their preferred horses that Mister Riley directly took care of. However this morning his cough had gotten worse so you'd promised to take care of everything for him as long as he went to the doctors. 

You'd spent all morning grooming the horses and were in the middle of polishing the crown prince's saddle when he walked in. He looked around as if expecting Mister Riley and seemed confused when he only saw you.

"A child? What are you doing with my saddle?! Where is the stable master?!" He demanded. 

"Greetings to the crown prince. Mister Riley isn't feeling well so I'm taking over his duties today." You explained. "Shall I get your horse ready for you, your highness?"

The prince nodded and you ran to get the bridle and reins. His horse was a little arrogant and spoiled but let you tack it up relatively easily. The prince gave you a once over and a sneer before elegantly climbing atop his horse and riding off into the fields.

It was a bit rude but you weren't expecting much else from a royal. You returned to your duties without giving it much more thought, hoping Mister Riley was okay.

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

According to the doctor, Mister Riley wasn't well enough to work for the next week, which meant you saw a lot more of the crown prince than you wanted to. He would stop by at the same time every day, early afternoon. Each day he would bring a treat for his horse before either leaving or going riding. Each day he kept giving you an extreme side eye that made it uncomfortable to work.

One day while you were mucking out a stall while he watched, he finally talked to you.

"How old are you?" You had just finished replacing the old hay when he sprung the question on you.

"Excuse me?" You asked, wiping your forehead with your sleeve. The stables were hot, but you were used to it.

"I asked how old you are. You seem too young to be employed anywhere." The prince's voice was harsh and very judgemental. You leaned your rake against the stall.

"I'm nine, almost ten, your highness." You answered.

"You're barely younger than Ash! You can't seriously enjoy this." You were a little taken aback at being compared to the youngest prince but kept your composure as he gestured around at the stables and then at you. Sure, your outfit was a little dirty and you had some stray pieces of straw in your hair but you didn't see any problem. It was normal for you.

"I find it plenty enjoyable, your highness. I really like animals and I enjoy being around them all day." The prince didn't seem to believe you, but at least he stopped side eyeing you. You sighed with relief when he left, finally able to finish the rest of your chores in relative peace and quiet.

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

"You always do an amazing job, Y/N. Soon you'll be better at this then I am." Mister Riley said. He was sitting in a chair, watching you work. Even though he claimed to feel better, he was too pale for your liking so you made him sit to the side. 

"I could never, Mister Riley! You taught me everything after all." You answered, brushing out one of the horses' coat. It was starting to get a little cooler as summer came to a close. 

"Are you sure about that? I received a message this morning from the crown prince." You perked up, wondering what the crown prince would reach out to Mister Riley for regarding you. "He said that he wants you to continue taking care of his horse and his riding gear for the foreseeable future." 

As you returned to brushing the horse your mind began to wander. What would make the crown prince so insistent that you work on his horse instead of Mister Riley? He was the more experienced one out of the two of you and had been working with the prince's horse for longer.

You frowned as a feeling in your gut told you that things would only go downhill from here.

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

Since you'd been tasked with caring for the crown prince's horse, you'd started to see him around a lot more. A lot of times he would just sit to the side and watch you work, which had slowly become less unsettling.

He wasn't hostile or rude to you anymore, even if it took him a while to actually warm up. You, begrudgingly, started to find some comfort in his company, even if you'd never admit it. The last thing you needed was for the king and queen to find out the prince was getting distracted from his duties by a stable hand. While the prince might have grown to like you at least a little bit, the king and queen were infamously short tempered.

Something you realized your princess had inherited after she broke the peaceful silence one day.

It had started out a normal day. You had done your chores before starting to personally care for the prince's horse. You were midway through brushing the fine stallion when the prince had shown up with two apples. He placed one of them on the small table you only kept clean for him. The other he bit into as he sat down and watched you work.

The two of you began to talk a little, joking and telling stories. It was almost something you waited for now that Master Riley was unable to come with you to the stable most days. It made you feel less alone.

You'd just finished brushing the horse and the prince had just finished his apple. You were about to go get the bucket of feed when the stable doors slammed open. You dropped the brush, startled at the amount of force used. You could hear some of the horses getting spooked and bucking in their stalls. 

"Gaston! You useless cowardly brute!" You peeked around the corner of the stall in time to watch the princess stride up to the crown prince, fuming. She was holding something in one of her hands that she thrust into his face.

"I know it was you! You broke it and then you came out here to hide!" She hissed. The crown prince seemed apathetic and uninterested until she smacked his spare apple off the table. It hit the wall with a dull thud and instantly his calm demeanor melted away into one of anger.

"I didn't break your stupid hairpin." He spat, glaring down at her. "But you can bet that I will break every single stupid hairpin of yours-!"

"Hairpin?" Suddenly all eyes were on you and you felt yourself blanch.

"Who is that?!" The princess demanded. The prince rolled his eyes but gestured you out of your hiding place.

"This is Y/N. The stable hand." The prince introduced. You bowed in greeting to the princess who brushed you off with an eye roll. Now that you were closer you could see the issue the princess was talking about. A pretty fabric flower that looked to be originally attached with golden thread had fallen off the cloth body of the hairpin, the stitches had likely come loose.

"I could fix it, your highness." You said, gesturing to the hairpin. The princess opened her mouth but the crown prince snatched the hairpin before she could say anything, thrusting it into your hands.

"You have five minutes." The princess eventually said. Her voice was cold and you ran off into the side room to fetch a needle and some thread.

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

A very stressful five minutes later and you emerged from the backroom holding out the repaired hairpin. The princess looked it over before accepting it with a huff.

"What is a child doing as a stable hand anyway?" She eventually bit out. Your face scrunched up in annoyance as you finally grabbed the bucket of feed for the prince's stallion and returned to your duties. Why did everyone have to ask that? Nine was a perfectly reasonable age!

"They help to assist the stable master." The prince answered, heading for the stable doors. The princess followed behind him and you could hear the two bickering until they were out of sight. You shared a look of exasperation with the prince's stallion before you continued feeding the rest of the horses.

What a weird day...

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

Summer had gone and now that fall was slipping away, it was starting to get colder. This was probably your least favorite part of the job. Many years ago, before you ever started caring for the horses, one of the Queen's favorite mares had passed away from delivering a foal at night. All of the stable hands at the time had been sleeping in their assigned servant's quarters in the palace.

Every single stable hand had been executed and ever since then it was mandatory for a person to be in the stable at all times. Because of that, your normal bedroom was in the small hayloft above the main stable.

Typically, Mister Riley was the one who would sleep in the stables in the winter, but this year you refused to let him. His cough had been getting worse and there were some days he couldn't even get out of bed. So for once, you never left your bed in the hayloft. It wasn't the warmest place, even if Mister Riley gave you a plethora of blankets before he let you sleep there.

On top of that, you had to make sure the fireplace in the main stable didn't run out of firewood throughout the night. Both things meant that you had become very sleep deprived as the winter went on. It wouldn't have been as big of a deal if you didn't have to spare energy doing extra things like holding conversations. Unfortunately, even the cold weather didn't scare off your new regulars.

Now you were busy juggling the crown prince and princess as well as more duties than ever. On top of that, the youngest prince, Ash, had won a brand new stallion at a horse race that needed to be trained.

You found yourself rushing around a lot. You barely had time to sit down and eat lunch or breakfast. Most of the time you were too tired for dinner and would just collapse into bed. You ended up living off the pieces of fruit or leftover lunch the royals would 'subtly' leave for you.

You'd fall into bed every evening only to force yourself awake a couple of hours later to run outside to lug in more firewood. The exhaustion was mounting and mounting by the day.

Then, everything had gone wrong during the first snow of the season.

You were shivering as you worked, despite the heat of the fireplace on your back. You brushed the horse in front of you, spacing out until the stable door opened and closed. You shook your head, dropping the brush and rubbing your arms.

"Stable hand!" It was the princess. She usually only visited you around late morning, before the crown prince came. Was it that late already?

You peeked out of the stall, stumbling over to where she stood by the stable doors. She was wearing a fur lined shawl that looked really warm. You yawned, your mind drifting. Maybe you should buy a shawl... a nice warm one... Hm warm...

"You don't look good." She said, removing a stylish glove to lay her hand against her forehead. Her palm felt like ice and made you flinch back for a second before leaning into it. Her cool fingers dulled a nagging pain that reverberated through your skull. You could hardly hear her gasp as black spots filled your vision.

Maybe... maybe a quick nap would be alright...

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

"They aren't going to die if you look away." A voice said from the doorway. Gaston, the normally arrogant and prideful crown prince, looked up from your bedside. He had resigned himself to sitting beside you until you woke again.

Your bout of sickness and sudden fainting had scared his sister, Adela, into a foul mood. She was probably off somewhere, torturing her handmaids or guards. He had to be there for you, you had no one else. He had to be a good big brother to you.

Standing in the doorway, holding a few books, was the youngest prince. Prince Ash, who was only a bit older than you, stared down his older brother. He sighed, entering the room, eyeing your sleeping form warily.

"Why are you so hung up over a commoner anyway?" He murmured, setting his books down on your bedside. Before Gaston could answer he interrupted. "Go. Eat something and take a bath. You stink. I'll take up your post."

The two had a silent stare down between each other which Gaston lost. He practically darted from the room, probably hoping to return quickly. It seemed rather silly to Ash, to be so concerned over someone who wasn't even related to you. Maybe you had cast a spell over his older siblings.

At least it made things more interesting...

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

Ash could hear you murmuring before your eyes opened. You were still with fever, despite the cool towel resting on your forehead. You murmured a little to yourself, none of it making much sense.

"Don't try and get up." He ordered when he saw you moving. It seemed you'd finally registered his presence there, staring at him with wide, hazy eyes.

"Who... are you?" You slowly asked. Your voice was a little rough and nasally sounding from your sickness. Ash found himself thinking that it was probably a soothing and soft voice when you were well. Looking into your eyes, so open and trusting, he could see what his siblings had fallen in love with about you.

"I am your big brother, Ash." He answered, setting aside his book. He reached for the towel on your forehead, rewetting it in the cool basin of water nearby before replacing it. 

If you hadn't been so sick, if your mind hadn't been so fuzzy, you would've questioned it. Instead you just felt a rush of happiness that someone cared enough about you to take care of you. You started to drift off again, feeling safe and warm.

"Thank you... big brother."

Ash grinned, gently taking your hand. A new baby sibling would definitely make things more interesting. The only remaining hurdle was his parents, the ruthless king and queen. But even the mighty could fall far when faced with something so... lovely.

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

Queen Adrianna and King Fergus were known to be strict rulers. Those who broke the laws were evaluated and then punished. There was no such thing as 'mercy' to them. That was how it always had been.

To their children, Gaston, Adela and Ash, they had always shown a softer side. They tried their best to make up for their unavailability through special one-on-one time and hand picked gifts. Despite their busy schedules, they still knew all of their children very well. That's why it was so easy to pick up on a sudden shift in behavior in all three children.

Their carefree, bickering children had gone quiet. They were more jumpy now and on the edge of their seats. They would disappear for hours on end and each time they returned they would whisper to one another. Gaston was always quiet. Adela was always angry. Ash was always smirking. 

Eventually, they both decided that they needed to see what was going on. Hopefully, whatever their children were hiding, because of course they knew they were hiding something, was safe. 

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

His children were a lot less stealthy then they thought they were, King Fergus decided. He'd narrowed down where they'd been running away to, a guest room in the west wing. The west wing was hardly ever used during the winter as it was purely for guest suites. 

Currently, all three of them were with their mother for a mandatory lunch together. She was tasked with distracting them for at least 15 minutes so he could see exactly what was up. 

It was behind an unassuming door that he discovered you. A child, eyes hazy with fever, laying delicately among the fine sheets. It was clear you were someone precious to his children, though he had no idea who you were. 

Your eyes seemed to accept him as just another part of the room. It wasn't until he removed the cooling cloth from your forehead did you realize it wasn't some hallucination from a fever dream. He placed a gentle hand on your forehead, frowning as he felt how high your fever was.

While he loved his children, they weren't always the smartest. If they had just told him he could've called a physician for you. Who knows how long you'd been sick for already?

You let out a groan when he picked you up. He could tell you were shivering under the too big clothes you were wearing. In fact, he recognized them as an old pair of nightclothes Ash had outgrown.

While the guest suites had nice beds, they were made for the summer in particular. There was only a small fireplace and no heavy blankets.

Fergus had to admit that when you gently gripped onto his shirt, looking up at him with those hazy eyes, he fell in love with you. You just seemed to be the sweetest little child he'd ever met. He loved his children, but none of them had ever been this sweet. Adela had her mother's temper and was always picking fights. Gaston could be arrogant and prideful. Ash preferred solitude and hardly ever left the palace library. 

None of them had ever sought him for comfort like you did now.

He heard the door to the room open, but instead of one of his children, Adrianna walked in. She instantly came over, looking over your shivering figure. 

"A child?" She asked. "They don't seem to be doing too well."

"My thoughts exactly. I was going to move them to the east wing and call for a physician. We need to talk to the children about this though." Fergus said. Adrianna sighed, shaking her head fondly.

"Those kids... I'll wait for them here. You go bring them somewhere they'll actually recover."

Fergus nodded, carrying you away towards the east wing. The family wing.

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

Adrianna sighed as she gently ran a hand down your face. Fergus was outside, talking to the children while they all awaited the physician. 

Every time her cool fingers brushed against your forehead you let out the cutest little noises. You were barely awake now that you were thoroughly warm. She smiled as she brushed some hair away from your face.

She could see why they had all become so enamored with you. There was just something about you, an enticing pull. Once the physician got here, maybe it wouldn't be too bad to suggest you staying with them for the foreseeable future...

˚˖°.𓃗⊹ ࣪ ˖

Consciousness came back to you in waves. You would wake up enough for someone to help you drink water or carry you to the restroom before you would drift off again. Despite that, you remembered flashes of things, here and there.

You remembered fingers playing with your hair. You remembered soothing words as someone replaced the cool towel on your forehead. You remembered being carried in sturdy arms. You remembered someone reading to you. You remembered someone gently feeding you some soup.

Your body felt like lead when you finally woke up. Your mind was still a little fuzzy, but you felt better by a lot. The room you were in was unfamiliar, clearly not your little alcove above the stable. 

The stables! You shot up, accidentally causing a coughing fit as you clutched your chest. It hurt to sit up and it hurt to cough. Just how long had you been sick for? And where exactly were you? You set the cool towel, which had fallen into your lap, into the bowl of water on the nightstand.

You stumbled as your feet hit the floor. When was the last time you had walked anywhere? Looking around the room, it seemed whoever had been caring for you would return soon. There was a fire gently crackling in the fireplace and a book was gently laid on a comfortable looking chair. 

You stumbled over to the window, drawing back the thick velvet curtain. Outside you could see the last bit of sunset, or the start of sunrise, as the sky was mostly dark. A sudden rush of black spots in your vision had you feeling sick and lightheaded. You leaned on the windowsill as your legs gave out, your forehead pressed into the cool glass as you tried to breathe.

You couldn't make yourself move when the door opened, or when you heard a sharp gasp. Instead you let the person gently pull you into their arms and carry you back to the bed. Your vision was flickering in and out of focus as your breathing became labored.

"You should've stayed in bed." A familiar voice scolded. The cool towel was placed back on your forehead.

"Your highness?" You whispered. Your throat felt like sandpaper when you talked.

"Shush. Just call me Gaston. Or, better yet, don't talk at all." He says, taking the chair at your bedside. 

"What-?"

"You're awake!" You could barely make out the princess, standing in the doorway along with a maid holding a tea tray. "Gaston you idiot! Why didn't you tell me they were awake?!"

"Obviously because they just woke up Adela. Be a dear and fetch mother and father, yes?"

"Why don't you do it? You got to be with them the longest!" It was clear the two were about to start arguing again.

"Both of you are idiots." A new voice stated. The youngest prince, Ash, has pushed past the princess with the king and queen appearing behind him in the doorway. 

"Whats going on?" You whispered. You were overwhelmed and very confused. Why was the entire royal family looking at you like you were some kind of precious jewel? Where was Mister Riley? Who was looking after the horses? "I- I need to-!"

"Oh no dear. You don't need to do anything." The queen said, a gentle smile on her face. She motioned for the maid to set the tray on the bedside before she was dismissed. "Ash, Gaston, Adela. Could you three go get the bowl of broth I asked for from the kitchens? I think me and your father should talk to them really quick."

It took some grumbling before she convinced the siblings to leave. The quiet that followed might've been peaceful if you weren't so anxious and disoriented.

"Lionel Riley, the stable master, has decided to officially retire due to his declining health. Although, he had a lot of good things to say about you and your work... despite your age." The king started, though his face fell when he mentioned how old you were.

"Yes. I don't think the horses have ever looked better. Don't worry about them, we brought in some outside help while waiting for your recovery." The queen assured you. "Although that does beg the question of how exactly you did end up here. Especially with how young you are."

You could only manage a shrug, weakly explaining in as few words as possible. You had no parents, just Mister Riley. He always said he found you, abandoned, when you were a toddler. When he asked around, no one had known your parents, so he'd kept you.

"We thought as much. However, with his retirement we've been discussion alternative placements for you. That is why we'd like to offer you a more... formal role in the palace. Ah, don't speak. Just listen." The queen said. "Instead of being in the stables all day, you could join us, here, as another member of our family."

You stopped breathing. Your eyes were wide as your mind tried to grapple with what was being offered to you. You, the stable hand who just wanted to enjoy your days with the horses, was being offered royalty? 

"You don't need to say anything. Just nod 'yes'. That's all we need, sweetheart." The king said, smiling at you warmly. "All you need to do is nod yes and you'll be taken care of, provided for, for the rest of your life. You'll have siblings who adore you, parents who love you. Everything you've ever wanted will be right at the tip of your fingers. Just nod yes."

You made a small noise, your eyes darting around. You never nodded, you never said yes, but you saw the way their eyes lit up as they took that as a yes.

They liked to remind you that you were the one that agreed, even if you never did. You were the one that agreed to their love, to their possessiveness and over protectiveness. It was all you, it was all your fault. It was all your own choice. You locked your own cage. You sealed your own fate. Now, you were paying the price.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods III

series masterlist - part IV

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You are forced to leave all previous tasks behind and focus solely on the Emperors. They will have it no other way.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of domestic violence, dead parents, forced proximity, power imbalances, period-typical sexism, eventually dub-con, possessive behavior, toxic relationships

Word Count: 3k

The walk back to your shared room was miserable. Initially you thought it was the events of the past few hours catching up to you but your condition had only worsened by the time you reached your room. Fear and hopelessness had been replaced by the most pounding of headaches and you could hardly stay upright.

The walls seemed to warp and swell beneath your hands as you leaned on them for support. Head swimming, you pushed open the door and staggered to your bed. The straw seemed more uncomfortable than usual but you were grateful for a flat surface to lie upon.

The room smelt clean but even that made you nauseous. Alba, your friend, sat upon her own bed and wore nearly identical clothing to yours. She was handier with a needle and thread than you and so hers were better kept. Alba was, altogether, a more skilled worker than you. Many were! You did not feel as though you stood out. So why had this happened to you rather than someone else?

Her fingers worried the lightly frayed edges, dark eyes gazing at you with increasing concern.

"I heard what happened," she said, coming to stand beside you. "Did they do this?"

"No," you groaned, "this is a sickness, the one that has had half the slaves and workers out."

Alba stepped back. You could hardly blame her. It had taken the lives of several of the elderly slaves and it was a chore to endure. Lady Lucilla had been struck down by it and forced to remain here at the palace to recover rather than endure the journey home.

"I need to pack," you hissed, heaving yourself into an upright position. "I can't handle this right now."

The floor felt cool on the bottom of your feet. You slid from your lumpy bed and pressed as much of your skin against it as you could. It was a small relief.

The main symptoms were nausea, vertigo and headaches. You had at least two of the three. Fine one moment and almost incapacitated the next. That was to be expected when the majority of people lived in such close quarters. Even the masters were not immune.

Tomorrow you would know the full extent of it. Some had speedy recoveries, others suffered for at least a week.

"I do not have the time," you said aloud.

"Time for what?" Alba asked. "Pack for what?"

You let your head fall back onto the bed, stray pieces of straw poking your skull and getting tangled in your hair. A garbled laugh managed to claw it's way up your throat. "I am rising in the world, Alba. I am to serve the emperors directly."

You could not bring yourself to look up to see her face. What would you see? Pity? Sadness? Jealousy, even? Just because you were not happy did not mean that there were not others who would claw your face off to be in your position.

A hand ghosted over your hair. "I'll let the kitchen master know that you are ill. Try to rest."

The door opened and shut with the softest of sounds. Alba probably thought that she would never see you again. She and the other two would have to sleep elsewhere tonight and you would likely be gone come morning.

Truth be told, you did not have much to pack. Three garments identical to the one you were wearing. You picked the two cleanest and left the other. If what Caracalla had said was true then you would no longer need them. Several leather ties littered the floor beside you and you scooped those up, dropping them on top of your folded garments. They were handy for keeping your hair from your face.

Finally, your prized possession. To retrieve it you had to stuff your hand into your straw mattress, fumbling about until your fingers closed around something solid. You pulled it out with effort and clasped it gently to your chest.

It was a carved wooden figure of a wolf, head tilted back as if howling at the moon. The most intricate features were worn away and, truthfully, if you did not already know it was a wolf then you would not have been able to tell. It had been made by your grandfather, a man who you had never known, and passed to your mother. Eventually it had made it’s way to you.

It was perhaps the only thing that had evaded your father's destructive path. Your childhood home had been small and nothing else had avoided his open hands or fists. Including you and your mother.

In your mind they were both dead, though you had only seen your mother's battered body. After that you had left, using the cover of night to conceal yourself. It had served you well up until recently. There was nowhere you could go to avoid the will of man.

There was little point in hiding the wolf, really. It did not seem the sort of thing that would appeal to anyone else. Still, night after night, you found yourself sliding it into the spiky bedding and nodding off on top of it. Your own little secret. Yours and your mothers.

You tucked it between your tunics, out of sight once more. You could not leave it behind.

Sweat formed on your brow and you swiped it away with the back of your hand. The emperors expected you ready and waiting tomorrow morning. That now seemed unlikely but you would not know for certain until then. With a groan, you eased yourself back up onto your bed.

You wondered exactly how angry they would be if you were unable to be there the next morning. You allowed yourself to entertain the thought for exactly one minute and then shoved it away. There was no use in thinking such things now and it certainly wouldn't aid your recovery.

All you could do was sleep. Once again, faced with your complete lack of options, you allowed yourself the illusion of choice and let your eyes fall shut.

The room was still pitch black when you awoke. It did not alarm you at first. Your headache was still present but seemed to have lessened. Your aching limbs were sprawled across your straw mattress, almost as if they were trying to get away from your body.

Blinking slowly, you glanced about and tried to think about what had awoken you. The scuffle of feet, the sound of the door opening and closing? One of your friends likely had come back to fetch something they needed.

You groaned and shifted, attempting to get back to sleep. A warm had closed around your ankle and you shrieked, jerking your head up from the mattress.

"Shhh, poor, sick girl," came a voice from the foot of your bed.

"Emperor Caracalla?" you whispered into the dark. Even as you said it, part of you thought it was impossible. A hallucination caused by your fever. The emperors never came to the lower parts of the palace, they had no need. How could Caracalla be here now, in your room, in the dark?

"I wanted to know why you did not come."

The room was too dark to see properly despite your eyes trying to adjust. It was him. His hand was still firmly on your ankle. You were not sure whether it was you or him radiating that feverish warmth.

"I am sick, Emperor, and it is not yet morning," you tried to slip your ankle from his grasp, "you shouldn't be -"

Caracalla finally let go of you but only to ease himself further onto the bed, curling himself around your legs. You dare not breathe, hands opening and closing beside you. There was nothing you could do. This was not just any man, this was the Emperor. There was probably several Praetorian guards outside your door right now. You had never been safer or in more danger in your life.

"I know what it is to be sick," his voice was raspy, hands wandering over your lower legs, "and now, so do you. We understand each other. We can trust each other."

Your sickness was not the same as the one that plagued Caracalla, that much you knew. Some disease of the mind infected him, leaving him at times vulnerable and then violent. You should have felt scared; instead you felt pity.

Trepidation still had a tight grip on your insides. The Emperor had gone so far as to seek you out in the middle of one of his episodes. Every time you dared to dream that you could go back to being another faceless servant you were struck by reality.

"Emperor Caracalla," you murmured, gently wrapping your hands around his upper arms, "I only do not wish to make you sick. I helped you stay safe before, remember?"

"Yes," he answered, staring up at you in the dark. His skin was cool beneath your touch. It was much cooler in this part of the palace. You did not know what things triggered Caracalla's illness, what made it worsen and then seemingly get better. You did not want to find out.

"I want to make you safe again," you said, urging him up and off the bed. He seemed to be wearing the same clothes as when you had last seen him. "Come with me, Emperor."

Caracalla did not respond but he did as you asked. It was an effort to get yourself to the door. When you opened it you were greeted by six Praetorians, more than you expected. You tried not to feel overly self conscious in your night clothes.

The looked at you with the same curious look everyone had been giving you for the last few days. As if they were wondering what it was about you that had earned the attention of the emperors and why you weren't dead yet.

"Please," you begged, "can you deliver the Emperor safely back to his rooms? See that he gets ready for bed?"

There was a beat of silence and you wondered if you would have to drag yourself up the stairs and see to Caracalla yourself. You had no power over them and they had no obligation to take requests from you.

"Please, I just don't want to get him sick."

The one closest gave you a tight nod. None of them said anything but they helped Caracalla out from behind you. The hallway was well lit and he squinted in the torchlight, looking lost and confused. Guilt swarmed you and you debated forcing yourself up the stairs. It seemed as though he got worse at night. The man standing before you did not look like an Emperor but a boy. It was difficult to remember all the blood and terror he caused and relished in.

"Emperor Caracalla," you tried to smile, "I'll be there tomorrow but we both need rest."

He only nodded, face flickering through a variety of expressions as if not sure which one to settle on. One of the guards cleared his throat and that seemed to bring Caracalla out of whatever stupor he was in. He turned and went with them, glancing over his shoulder as he went until he disappeared from sight.

You let the door fall shut and crawled back into bed. If you were not so exhausted you would have felt angry with yourself. Yes, Caracalla was sick, but slaves and workers fell sick all the time. It was true that you had been oblivious to the full extent of Caracalla's issues. These nightly episodes were not something most people knew about. But you had seen the worse types of injuries and illnesses in your few years at the palace and yet - you felt sorry for him.

Swiping a hand over your face, you squeezed your eyes closed and tried not to think too much about how gently he had touched you or how vulnerable he had looked. You no longer understood yourself.

The next morning arrived quickly. Apart from an aching in your joints, you felt fine. Last night felt like a dream brought on by the fever. All your nights recently felt that way. You gathered your meager possessions and left your room for the last time.

There was a guard waiting outside your door to escort you to the emperors.

"Have they been waiting long?" you said, alarmed.

He only shook his head and angled his body to allow you in front of him. You glanced uncertainly over your shoulder.

"I'll tell you where to go," he barked.

You pressed your lips together and nodded. It made you uncomfortable to have him at your back. It felt as though he did not trust that you would not run away if he took his eyes off of you.

Weary, you followed his directions. Like before, the décor and furnishings got finer and finer the closer you got to the emperors. Apart from the servants quarters every part of the imperial palace was richly decorated but it was something different entirely in the emperor's quarters.

Even the doors were bigger and more ornate. Dusted with gold paint and displaying the finest carvings. Again, you felt small and insignificant. The Praetorians pushed the doors open and you walked in, hands twisted tightly in your tunics.

The room was heavily perfumed but the scent wasn't unbearable. It helped clear your thoughts as you walked in, helped you focus on what was before you now rather than what you had been forced to leave behind. Bitterness and anger would do you no good here.

Geta stood alone behind a desk. It was covered in papers and small trinkets. Trinkets that probably cost more than you had earned in your entire life. He played idly with a rounded crystal, eyes flickering up as you entered the room.

The Praetorians marched out after he acknowledged them, leaving just you and him alone. They obviously felt no concern over leaving you alone with the emperor. It made you feel pathetic.

"I thought you were sick," he said slowly.

"I was."

"I suppose I am fortunate to have you standing before me now," he leered.

You did not respond.

"I heard that my brother visited you last night," he continued. "He is still asleep now. Seems that you wore him out."

You cringed at the implication. "I comforted him. That is all."

"You say that like it is a small task," he said bluntly.

You opened your mouth and closed it again. His words verged on a compliment but not quite.

"I am happy to be of service," you finally said.

"I am sure that you are," he laughed. "There are clothes for you over there. Take off those rags and change."

Geta was suddenly in front of you, ripping your belongings from your arms and tossing them onto the floor. It would have been fine but your carving clattered across the marble, drawing his attention immediately. You almost went scrambling after it, horrified and embarrassed.

"What is this?" he spat, face twisting as he bent down to pick it up.

"A carving," you admitted. "It's mine. I did not steal it, I brought it with me."

Geta held it up to the light as though that would help him make better sense of it. "Your father made this?"

"No," you answered with enough venom that Geta glanced over at you. "No, Emperor. My grandfather made it and my mother gave it to me."

You winced at the careful way he examined you. It felt as though he was able to infer everything about you just from your responses. The wooden carving looked laughable in his pale hands; a stark contrast to the rich colours and jewellery he was adorned with.

He seemed almost amused. That was better than anger, at least. His expression was strangely open as he examined your treasure, twisting it every which way in his hands. It looked ridiculously fragile when he held it.

"You like carvings, then?" he said slowly. You sagged with relief as he held it out to you, cupping your hands so that he could drop it into them.

"I like this one," you said. You bent down and picked up one of your tunics, placing the carving into the centre of it and then wrapping it carefully.

"I am fond of them myself," he offered, watching you carefully.

Your eyes snapped to his, surprised at his omission. Geta seemed surprised himself and he turned back to his desk.

"I ordered you to change!" he snapped, storming back to his desk.

Again, he busied himself with his paper and trinkets but something seemed performative about his actions.

At first you had thought that you could learn and adapt to the emperors. With how unpredictable their moods were it now seemed impossible. Their differences and similarities were also difficult to keep track of. What one found amusing made the other irritable.

Hopes of surviving seemed dim but you would try nonetheless. Your mother tried until she couldn’t and you would do the same.

Clutching your belongings to your chest, you headed in the direction he indicated. There were several togas and stolas laid out. You had never worn anything with such color before. Nothing quite so soft either. You glanced up to see if Geta was looking. His gaze was fixed on his desk. You squirmed out of your toga and into your new clothes, trying not to feel as though you were shedding your previous life.

Geta met your eyes when you yanked the toga over your head. Of course he had looked the entire time. It had been naive to think he wouldn't. He was regularly surrounded by concubines and simpering senators that obeyed his every whim. The emperor felt as though looking upon your body was his right. Maybe it was.

His throat worked as though he about to offer some cruel quip or comment. You braced yourself for what would surely be a crushing blow. It was not that you were especially insecure about your body but privacy was a luxury you had gotten somewhat used to. Now it was just another thing that had been stolen from you.

He tilted his chin up. "Pour me wine."

"Of course, Emperor," you bent your head and did as you were told.

Authors Note: please please leave notes, reblogs & comments if you enjoyed!! I appreciate every single one of you♥️

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Shimmer

20/12: Stockings and Sex Toys - modern!Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.2k~ | Warnings: use of sex toys, edging, slight degradation

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

A/N: did a twist on stockings cos why not

He can feel his jaw get tight with frustration just watching her. Prancing around in fucking stockings no less. The sheer, lacy ones he'd bought her for valentine's day.

Granted, she looked amazing in them. And she probably knew it. But it was getting all the wrong attention at the little Christmas party his mother had decided to throw, with half of fucking Westeros in attendance.

Well, little was the word she had described, anyway.

Every male eye was on her. And it was infuriating.

But no gaze on her made him more angry, than his brother, Aegon's. Simply because he was not afraid to make his opinions known. It was like every sordid thought made its way from his brain to his lips with no filter whatsoever.

Aemond sat at the bar, his fingers wrapped tightly around the tumbler of whiskey, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it. His gaze never strayed far from her. She was radiant, laughing at something Helaena had said, her voice like a melody over the low hum of the Christmas party, all violin music, laughter and the popping of expensive champagne. If he weren't so on edge, the space was so aglow, he'd be tempted to fall asleep. The lacy edge of the stockings he’d bought her peeked out when she shifted her weight, just enough to set every man in the room on edge.

The tight pencil skirt hugged her curves perfectly, paired with a soft, form-fitting top that dipped just low enough to be enticing. It was a simple outfit, but she made it look extraordinary, effortlessly captivating.

And everyone else noticed.

Aegon, perched lazily on the barstool beside him, was anything but subtle. He leaned back with a smirk, his eyes trailing her shamelessly.

“Gods,” Aegon said, his voice low but dripping with amusement. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s putting on a show.”

“Watch your mouth, Aegon.”

Aegon chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m just saying. She knows what she’s doing. You see how she crosses her legs when she sits? Makes the lace peek out just enough—”

“If you value your teeth, you’ll shut up now.”

But Aegon wasn’t done. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this. Watching every man in this room wish they could trade places with you. Even Uncle Daemon can’t keep his eyes off her.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered briefly toward Daemon, who was, indeed, glancing in her direction with a sly smirk, though pretending not to over the rim of his glass. That was the last straw.

Without a word, Aemond stood, his drink forgotten on the bar. He crossed the room in long strides, his eyes locked on her as she stood near the fireplace, chatting with none other than Cregan Stark, who was equally giving her eyes.

She looked up as he approached, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Hey, you—” she started, but Aemond didn’t let her finish.

He slipped a possessive arm around her waist, pulling her close. His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, “you’re coming with me.”

He didn't speak as he guided her up the grand staircase, one hand splayed on her lower back. She could feel the tension radiating off him, his eye dark with desire and anger alike. When they reached the guest room, she clasped her hands behind her back, feigning innocence as Aemond pushed the door shut.

“Sit.”

She plopped onto the bed, looking up at him with a playful, knowing smirk.

“You're upset,” she teased, crossing her legs, allowing the lace of her stockings to peek through again. She saw the flicker of his eye to her exposed skin. “Is it my outfit?”

“Don't play dumb.”

She leaned back on her palms, “or what?”

She saw the tight muscle in his jaw tick. He fumbled at the sleek black tie around his neck, yanking it off as if were personally strangling him, suddenly feeling his neck get hot. A few buttons followed, and then, with his expression still firm and hard on her, his attention directed to his sleeves, pulling them up his forearms and curling it onto itself, as if he were preparing to get his hands dirty.

Her eyes widened slightly, but her smirk remained, "don't look so mad, baby."

"Oh, I'm not mad."

"What then?" she asked lightly.

Aemond didn’t respond with words. Instead, he reached for the overnight bag he’d left in the corner of the room earlier. Her eyebrows arched in surprise as he unzipped it, pulling out a sleek, black vibrator.

Her teasing demeanour faltered for a moment, replaced by curiosity and a flicker of excitement. “You brought that with you?” 

“I knew I’d need it,” he said. He stepped toward her, the toy in hand, his movements deliberate.

Before she could respond, he knelt between her legs, his hands trailing up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher. She gasped as his fingers hooked into the delicate lace of her matching underwear, tugging them down just enough to give him access. His lips followed, kissing along the inside of her thigh, making her squirm.

“Aemond…” she breathed, but he silenced her with a look.

“Lay back,” he commanded, and she obeyed, her heart racing as she stretched out on the bed.

He flicked the toy on, the soft hum filling the room and annoyingly, automatically on the lowest setting. He brought it to her inner thigh first, teasing, making her squirm under his touch. Her smirk returned, though her breath hitched.

“Still feeling cocky?” he asked, his voice low as he moved the vibrator closer to her centre, clicking a setting up, hovering just above where she needed him most.

She bit her lip, her hands gripping the sheets. “Maybe a little,” she managed, though her voice wavered.

“Good,” he said, finally pressing the toy against her. She arched her back with a gasp, her teasing demeanor melting away as pleasure overtook her.

Aemond’s smirk deepened as he moved the vibrator in slow, deliberate circles, keeping her on the edge without giving her the release she so desperately craved. Every time her breathing quickened, every time her hips bucked against him, he pulled back just enough to keep her teetering on the brink.

“You’re cruel,” she gasped, her voice a mix of frustration and need. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her body writhing beneath his touch. “Aemond, please…”

He tilted his head, his eye dark and predatory. “Please what?” he asked, his tone mocking. He slid the toy lower, letting it graze her most sensitive spot before pulling it away again. “I thought you liked teasing. Or maybe not when it's the other way around?”

She let out a soft whimper, her back arching as she tried to chase the sensation.

He dragged the toy down her thigh before bringing it back up, the vibrations steady but maddeningly light. “I could let you come. But I’m enjoying this far too much. Look at you,” he murmured, his gaze raking over her body. “Squirming. Begging. All because of me.”

But even Aemond had his limits. Watching her like this, hearing her beg, feeling the way she trembled beneath his touch, it was driving him mad.

When her pleas grew more desperate, her body arching into him, he finally relented, tossing the toy aside. “You want me to fuck you?” he asked, his voice low, rough.

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes locked on his. “Now. Fuck the party.”

He suppressed the urge to grin. Fuck the party, indeed.

Aemond didn’t need to be told twice. With a growl, he captured her lips in a searing kiss, his hands already working to free himself as he finally gave in, pressing against her hot and waiting centre, eager to take him.

She tugged at her stockings, the lace now slightly askew, but he caught her hands, pinning them above her head with one of his.

“Leave them on.”

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[silverraes]

so you're telling me Charlie bit Babe and then they fucked nasty and Babe woke up with food cravings and we also find out that Charlie has weirdly strong genes or whatever? that mama is pregananant for all I know and care.

[thetrasha]

Hey, Tasha!

I'm the anon who requested the ideal types and the Corazon fluff (I have made many more requests than I usually do on other blogs so now I don't even know what to say to get you to identify me anymore lol)

Well since it looks like I'll keep making requests, I feel it necessary to apologize if my English is weird sometimes. I'm actually just an alien trying to learn human languages 👽 and that's also the reason why my requests are usually so vague 😔🤚

Anyway, my ask today is: What do you think about the Straw Hats' love languages?

Hello anon (✿◡‿◡)

Well, if you want an identifying trait, you can choose any emoji you like and I'll create a tag for you :D Love to see so many anons return to me time and time again, means I'm doing something right LOL (and I love those requests! So don't worry about sending them in frequently, it's fine and I appreciate it)

Your English is literally perfect, so don't apologise!! Well, it's not like I can be an authority on this either😭 My first language is German, I'm just a bilingual goblin but I hide it pretty well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hope you like this one and take care~~ ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Love Languages

STRAW HAT EDITION

LUFFY

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Physical Touch

Luffy loves to wrap himself around your frame like a human scarf. His rubber arms aid him in circling themselves around you multiple times – he just feels so needed when he holds you, and it eases his worries. He’s lost great many things, but he’d never actually want to miss you from his life; that’d be the final blow. He’s so happy that you’re there to reciprocate his hugs, kisses, random cuddles and play off of his silly antics. You’re his safe haven, which means he’s more likely to touch you more enthusiastically; you can feel that grin of his approaching before his arms snap around you, his voice screaming your name soon following suit…

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Gift Giving

Now he’s by no means the type to shower you with lavish gifts, but Luffy’s definitely the type to hand you some random shell he’s found at the beach or a cool charm he’s bought at the local market just because he’d think you’d enjoy these things. He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but those small things do add up over time and your collection of knick-knacks is thus ever-growing. In his mind, he wants to share his life with you, so attaching every positive emotion and unforgettable memory to a little trinket is what sharing is all about. One day, you’ll lay in his arms and reminisce in memories – just because you’re holding a really smooth rock he’s found on Amazon Lily…

Luffy would melt if your primary love language was Physical Touch.

He needs someone who reciprocates his touch just as enthusiastically, someone who’d make him feel secure in his empathetic nature. It will lay his greatest anxieties about abandonment to rest.

ZORO

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Acts of Service

Zoro always aims to take some weight off your shoulders. You’re his one and only, but he has trouble voicing his thoughts since he’s a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. He doesn’t want to make empty promises; he’s a go-getter so he’s just going to do anything he feels would benefit you. Whether it’s as simply as turning off your alarm clock or as complex and emotionally charged as protecting you in battle – he doesn’t care. In fact, he would lay down his own life to preserve yours if it came down to it. Once Zoro swears loyalty to someone, he’s in it for life and nothing could ever stray him away from his chosen path.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Quality Time

If it wouldn’t be for the entire crew nagging him and forcing him into a community, Zoro would be solitary in nature. He’s autonomous and self-sufficient, always ready to defend his independence and his great ambitions, but he’d throw that instinct away if his friends or partner as much as asked for his presence. Despite his rougher side, he’s incredibly honourable – he is there when he is needed. He believes that your relationship has such a strong foundation because you both keep reinforcing that bond with that undivided attention you give to one another. The gestures aren’t big and excessive, but they’re steady and secure. Everything he does reminds you of the essence of him.

Zoro would melt if your primary love language was Words of Affirmation.

He needs someone who recognises his efforts and put things into words that he’s often too repressed to say. Hearing that you’re proud of him and grateful for his time will feed his soul for weeks.

USOPP

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Gift Giving

Usopp engages in many endeavours that make him a bit of a MacGyver. His creations may not look like much, but they are incredible pieces of engineering. He often just lounges about in his workshop to think about what to tinker on next… and that’s how you slowly start creeping up in his mind. You’ve become so important to him and he doesn’t have the means to treat you how he thinks you should be treated, which is exactly why you’ll have Usopp gifting you little crafts he’s made that make your life a little easier.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Many people don’t believe him when he’s trying to genuinely express himself, but you had never once doubted him. That alone encourages him so much yet you also appreciate his compliments and words of encouragement? Usopp would seek you out all the time, just to hear your opinion on various things that pertain to him, always offering his own commentary in return, too. Overall, he’s quite good at communicating and finds a healthy way to show you his love in your relationship. Every time, without fail!

Usopp would melt if your primary love language was Quality Time.

Usopp’s always been made to feel like a brazen liar while trying to cope with the loss of two parents. Deep down, his need for community and deep connection is fuelled by the idea that nobody could ever possibly want to be with him. He, who is neither brave nor great but just… Usopp. Your undivided attention on him would startle him. You really want to be with him? He… cannot comprehend it, but he’s grateful.

SANJI

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Praise and kindness really make Sanji’s whole week – and it means so much more if he can dish it out freely without having someone question his motive for that comment or act suspicious towards him for a mere compliment. As a hopeless romantic, he craves to voice his thoughts and thus makes about three to four love declarations every day, but you don’t even mind. You entertain him with a smile and then you brush a hand through his blond locks, looking at him with a shine in your eyes that makes him blush…

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Acts of Service

Sanji naturally takes care of others even if it comes from a place of self-pity and insecurity – it is still hard-coded into him to look after his loved ones and make they day-to-day life a little brighter by making everything run a bit more smoothly, but he takes it up an entire notch with you. You are his love, so… you get nothing less than the royal treatment. He’s there at your beck and call to pay you back for the incredible experiences you’ve given him. He’s hopelessly and madly in love with you, so he’s doing it all. From opening doors for you all the way to helping you out in big ways, like swooping in to defend your honour in front of a villain (enemy pirate – he’s dramatic, okay…), Sanji’s willing to do it all.

Sanji would melt if your primary love language was Acts of Service.

He needs someone who would have the same innate desire to watch him enjoy his day and take some of his pain away. He’d actually cry if he was the one getting pampered.

FRANKY

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Franky truly sees you for who you are and would become your personal hype man if that’s what you wanted and needed from him. He’d ecstatically comment on everything he likes about you and listen to anything you’d say, promptly declaring that you’re super great and that he counts himself lucky to have been able to woo you. This man would swell with pride if anyone asked him whether he was your boyfriend. First of all, he’s happy that anyone noticed. He’s big on PDA, so anything he deems subtle may be quite obvious to most other people, but second of all, he intuitively views you as his equal and wants to include you in every conversation, especially if you’re more reserved than him. Franky would encourage you to commit to it all – wear whatever you want, you’d look super good either way, eat that slice of cake, you want it, don’t you? and, most importantly, of course you’d be welcome in his workshop, he’s been dying to show you this cool thing anyway!

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Quality Time

For someone who lives in the fast lane of life, his intellect guarantees a plethora of knowledge and a natural curiosity for the inner workings of the world. He prefers to share his quiet moment with you and dedicate his time to you, uninterrupted and unbothered. Those date nights are usually filled with excitement and leave you laughing for the rest of the night. He’s the life of the party, but you’re his world.

Franky would melt if your primary love language was Gift Giving.

Franky would be happy with anything you give; after all, you used your super awesome brain to associate this cute object with his likeness, so it’s automatically a sweet gesture in his book, ...but those rare, deeply thoughtful moments count the most. They’re tokens of your love and he’d be a fool if he denied that his mechanical heart was overheating at that. He gets emotional.

BROOK

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Quality Time

Brook, more than anything else, wants to make memories that last a lifetime or two. Your one on one time is absolutely sacred to him – romance is something he’d never thought he’d get to experience ever again; after so much has been taken from him, he truthfully believed that anything he had left was his soul and nobody would want to spend their limited time on this Earth with something as grotesque as him… but you do. You don’t believe that your time is wasted on him at all, so he eventually musters up the courage to take whatever he can get. Brook is so, so close to you, always ready to make time for you, always ready to take you somewhere special and make the experience worthwhile… He’s an artist and his visions for the time you share are as bright and vibrant as his soul; there’s never a moment where you don’t forget the doom and gloom everybody has to deal with sometimes.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Physical Touch

Even though there’s not much softness to him anymore, he loves trailing his fingers over your warm skin and he’s also quite cheeky and lovingly squeezes any of your supple flesh he can find, just to hear you utter a sound of surprise and let your eyes wander towards him. Brook is unbelievably happy to know you don’t mind that he doesn’t have any tissue to cushion the snuggles he loved to hand out unexpectedly. You just roll with it… and it makes him feel so alive and normal.

Brook would melt if your primary love language was Physical Touch.

He would actually let out ugly sobs if you decided to exchange physical contact with him frequently. It fuels the fire that sings for you every day, it is euphoria, it is a renaissance – no, a revelation! Brook wouldn’t have ever thought that someone like you, someone so clearly out of his league, would love him so, so much, but he laps your attention up, always smiling down at you.

JINBE

PRIMARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Acts of Service

He knows just how hard life can be; he’s had a lot of life experience and has seen the good, the bad and the ugly. Life has its ups and downs and everybody has their individual background, but he’s always wanted to help you grow past your burdens. He’s a great listener, gives great advice and is just generally helpful, so this is definitely how he’d approach your love life, too.

SECONDARY LOVE LANGUAGE: Words of Affirmation

Jinbe is a natural at empathising with others and affirming their greatest strength. With you, it comes so easily that you don’t even realise that this is him expressing his love sometimes and instead just another part of his personality, but the depth of his words sometimes truly strike you. They’re always profound. It’s not a compliment said in passing just to cheer you up, he wants you to recognise you for who you are and choose the path that’s best for you. Also, he often straightforwardly tells you that he loves you. As someone who doesn’t offer much PDA, Jinbe makes up for it with words that don’t just whisper his affections. He’s proudly declaring those words for anyone to hear.

Jinbe would melt if your primary love language was Quality Time.

He knows that spending time all by yourself is a rather rare occurrence when you’re at sea, but he appreciates your efforts to make it happen so much. It makes him feel wanted and desired in a way he’s never been before and he just has to smile at you whenever you dive deep into his own personal story, wanting to learn more about him – it delights him and he knows that you remember everything, he sees that sparkle in your eyes.

[vandme12]

could you do a ronin x reader where ronin enters our house just to find us babysitting or finds us taking care of our little brother? :33

Fun fact, The Brother's name is my friend's oc's child name

It starts with a knock at your window.

A sharp, familiar tap-tap-tap—the kind that means trouble if you ignore it. Because when Ronin wants your attention, he gets it. You slide the window open, already bracing yourself for whatever chaos he’s bringing tonight.

And there he is. Your very own devil, crouched on the fire escape like a stray cat with a taste for blood. Black hoodie pulled over his horns—today’s are sleek and curved like a ram’s—and his grin is all teeth.

"Hey, darling," Ronin drawls, voice low and syrupy. "Miss me?"

You open your mouth—to flirt, to threaten, to drag him inside—but a loud clatter from the living room reminds you why you really don’t have time for this.

Ronin hears it too. His head tilts, eyes gleaming sharp and black in the moonlight. "You got company?"

"...I'm babysitting."

His expression freezes for half a second—then breaks into a slow, wicked smile. "Babysitting? You?" He snickers, swinging one leg through the window. "Oh, I gotta see this."

"Ronin—no—" But it’s too late. He’s already inside.

You barely shut the window before he’s prowling through your apartment like he owns the place—touching things he shouldn’t, like the nosy little menace he is. And you can’t even stop him because your hands are full of juice boxes and Goldfish crackers.

"Is this for the kid?" he teases, plucking a juice box from your grip and stabbing the straw in with unnecessary force. "Thought you liked your snacks a little more… sinful, sweetheart."

"Behave," you hiss, swatting his hand away. "He’s eight. And if you traumatize him, I’m putting you in time-out."

Ronin laughs—actually laughs. A dark, heady sound that shouldn’t be allowed to feel as good as it does. "? You should’ve told me sooner."

You’re about to shove him—gently, mostly—when a small, curious voice cuts through the air.

"Who’s that?"

Your little brother stands in the doorway, blinking wide-eyed at the devil in your kitchen. He’s wearing pajamas with little rocket ships on them, one sock half-off, and his hair’s sticking up in about five different directions.

Before you can come up with an explanation, Ronin moves.

He crouches down to your brother’s eye level, all smooth confidence and mischief. "Hey, kid. I’m Ronin."

Your brother stares. And stares. His little mouth drops open.

"Are you… are you a supervillain?"

Ronin practically glows. "Depends—do I look like one?"

Your brother nods so fast it’s a miracle his head doesn’t fly off. "Yeah. You look like you fight superheroes and stuff."

"Smart kid," Ronin hums, glancing up at you with a wicked glint. "I like him already."

"Don’t encourage him," you mutter, though you’re pretty sure it’s too late for that.

Ronin turns his full attention back to your brother, like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world. "So, kid—what’s your name?"

"Ryo," your brother says proudly. "I’m eight. And I can do a kickflip on my skateboard."

"No shit?" Ronin whistles low, clearly impressed. "That’s cooler than anything your sibling’s ever done."

You shoot him a glare, but Ryo beams, puffing his chest out. "Yeah! I’m gonna be a stuntman when I grow up."

"Big dreams." Ronin leans in conspiratorially. "Y’know, when I was your age, I wanted to be the devil."

Ryo’s eyes go huge. "And did you do it? Did you become the devil?"

Ronin grins—slow and sharp, like a knife sliding free. "What do you think?"

Your brother takes a long, thoughtful look at his horns, his fangs, and the way he carries himself like he owns the world—and nods. "Yeah. You totally did."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "This is my life now."

It’s not that bad, though. Against all odds, Ronin’s… good with Ryo.

He watches the kid show off his Pokémon cards like they’re priceless treasures, asks just the right questions about his skateboard tricks, and even teaches him how to shuffle a deck of cards one-handed. (You’re suspicious of how easily he knows that particular skill.)

At some point, Ryo tugs on your sleeve. "Is he your boyfriend?"

You freeze.

Ronin, naturally, does not. "What, your sibling didn’t tell you? We’re totally dating."

Ryo gasps, looking at you like you’ve been keeping the world’s greatest secret. "Why didn’t you say so?! He’s so cool!"

You bury your face in your hands. "I hate both of you."

Ronin just leans against the counter, smug as hell. "Nah, babe. You love us."

Eventually, bedtime rolls around. After reading three stories (because apparently Ronin doesn’t believe in boundaries) and promising to teach Ryo how to "break out of boring places" next time, you finally tuck him in.

When you slip back into the living room, Ronin’s lounging on the couch—legs sprawled out, arms draped over the back like he owns it. Which, to be fair, is very on-brand.

"You liked him," you say, flopping down beside him.

Ronin makes a vague sound of protest. "What, the kid? Eh, he’s fine."

"You were nice, Ronin."

He makes a face like you’ve personally offended him. "Nice is a stretch, darling."

"You let him climb on your back."

"I’m a goddamn jungle gym now?" He huffs—but there’s no real bite to it. If anything, he’s still a little too pleased with himself. "Tch. Don’t get used to it. I only tolerate brats ‘cause they’re related to you."

Warmth bubbles up in your chest, unexpected and maybe a little dangerous. But you can’t stop yourself from leaning closer, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "Thanks for that."

Ronin stills for a heartbeat—then, in true Ronin fashion, flips the script entirely.

"You know," he murmurs, voice dropping low and dark, "if I get boyfriend privileges now… you owe me for babysitting duty."

You roll your eyes, pushing him back when he tries to bite your neck. "God, you’re the worst."

"Aw, darling," he purrs, pulling you into his lap like you weigh nothing at all. "You wouldn’t have it any other way."

And honestly? He’s right.

[ralphmacchiato223]

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ♥️

☄︎♡⍣❀

☄︎♡⍣❀

∙ You are his first everything, first girlfriend, first kiss, etc..

∙ Johnny will know everything about everyone, people think he doesn’t listen so they say whatever they want and he always reports everything they said back to you

∙ gives the NASTIEST side eyes known to man and will shit talk everyone. (except the gang ofc)

∙ he looks so majestic when he wakes up and his morning voice is so omfg.

∙ JOHNNY ISN’T INNOCENT!! HES NOT A BABY!! He’s literally 16 and he killed someone!! Please stop babying him!

∙ In saying that, when ur dating him he’s so 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 and probably the 2nd most 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓮𝓼𝓽. no 1 is obviously being Dallas.

∙ He’s always hungry?? he could eat a whole four course meal and STILL want more food after it

∙ he would do ANYTHING for you. like you do not know how much this man truly loves you. he’s literally head over heels in love with you and would never want to let you go

∙ since he’s a bit jumpy, he’s a light sleeper. even the sound of a door creaking the tiniest bit will wake him up. he falls asleep pretty quickly tho

∙ when he sleeps, he also snores quietly and it’s absolutely adorable.

∙ he’s always touching you in some way, either holding your hand, your waist or on your shoulders just in a way to show you he trusts you and he’s comfortable and all!!

∙ normally sleeps at your house, but if your home isn’t that great then you two sleep at the lot together

∙ he absolutely ADORES giving you hugs from behind, he loves the thought of coming from behind you and just resting his head on your shoulder while holding you. he also loves when you do that to him.

∙ he loves laying his head on your chest whilst your brushing your fingers through his hair, he falls asleep really easily when your doing this

∙ nobody knew when he had a crush on you except for Dallas, he only told him because he knew Dallas could keep a secret

∙ HATED dogs. a major cat lover. if he saw a stray cat randomly he would go up to it and pet it- if the cat let him. overtime the cat got used to him and started following him around

∙ whenever you two go to the diner, you guys always do the couple thing majig with the milkshake and two straws.

∙ Johnny is an amazing listener. he loves to hear you yap about the most random, things ever

∙ he loves baking and cooking with you, even if you don’t do it regularly he loves to join you in on it and he always enjoys it

∙ at the drive in, he always pretends to yawn and just puts his arm around your shoulder, smirking and acting all nonchalant.

[sky-is-the-limit]

«Dear Diary,»

Part 1.

P: Luffy x F!Reader x Zoro

Summary: When the Captain’s crush is crushing on someone else, things can get messy...

CW: Jealous Luffy, Angsty Luffy, Pervert Luffy, Stalker Luffy, (my boy's going through it, okay?) M!Masturbation, non-consensual voyeurism, primal play undertones, NSFW content.

WC: 2411 words.

Notes: this is only the first part, like an introduction to the main thing from Luffy's POV. Who knows what might happen in the second.. or who might join the fun, wink wink.

He remembered the first morning you stumbled aboard the Going Merry, the salt breeze catching your hair while a satchel hung from your shoulder, your eyes wide as you took in the brightly painted sails and the creaking wooden deck.

Luffy's grin had stretched so wide it almost looked painful. His straw hat nearly flew off as he rushed over full of elbows, noise and too much excitement to contain.

"You came!" Luffy had yelled, bouncing on his feet as he smacked your back hard enough to make you stumble.

Whenever the crew split up for errands like gathering resources on the next island or scouting the coastline, Luffy would always insist you go with him.

He'd volley questions your way as you ducked beneath vines or wandered narrow paths between houses, his pace quick and always eager to stay beside you.

When Sanji would lay out plate after plate of meat and vegetables at dinner, Luffy would just plop down beside you without hesitation, even though three empty seats begged from the other side of the long table.

His elbow nudged yours unconsciously whenever you paused to sketch in your diary and leaning closer, he whispered,

"What are you drawing now?"

You shot him that familiar glare that said, 'eyes off' and with a sheepish grin, he turned back to his own meal.

That diary was your sanctuary.

Bound in dark leather, its pages held intricate sketches of crumbling fortresses, breathtaking landscapes and sometimes the faint outlines of your crewmates resting.

One morning, you caught sight of Luffy's shadow hovering over your bunk, his straw hat tipped back and his gaze locked onto the diary's cover as you were about to open it.

Without thinking, you slammed your hand down with such force that the wood planks beneath you trembled.

"Don't you dare." You hissed.

The words came out sharper than you meant and for a heartbeat, you watched his smile falter.

After that, he never asked again.

To Luffy, that book became a line drawn in red ink.. off-limits.

Whenever you laughed at his cheesy jokes or brushed a stray lock behind your ear, the flutter in his chest made no sense.

Luffy was a pirate, not a poet or a natural flirt like his blonde crewmate and to him, love felt as foreign as a calm sea in the heart of a storm.

Still, when night fell and the lanterns guttered low while the world outside grew quiet, his hand would drift beneath his pants, fingers wrapping around his swollen cock, slick and throbbing with need.

His thumb rubbed over the sensitive slit at the tip, dragging thick, sticky pre come across it, warming it nicely.

Luffy bit his lip, breath hitching as his palm clenched tight, jerking hard and fast whilst the rough wood of the bed creaked under him.

His mind swirled with thoughts of you.

Soft skin, the perfect curves of your body, the way you bit your lip whenever he caught you concentrating..

Soon, heat pooled deep in his balls, burning with desperate need as his hips jerked off the bed, grinding against the sheet while chasing the tightening coil in his stomach.

A strangled groan tore from his throat and his body convulsed violently.

Hot ropes spilt over his fingers, soaking his palm before dripping onto the floor and sweat slicked his skin while his chest heaved, heart pounding loud enough to echo in his ears.

He couldn't be bothered to stand for a towel, so instead he brought his aftermath to his mouth, licking and swallowing the shame with the salty taste of himself lingering on his tongue.

The straw hat fell asleep almost instantly, a slight smile curling his lips at the thought of morning and the promise of another day with you.

Luffy always kept you close.

Either pulling you into the crew's madness, bringing you along on every errand or doing silly gimmicks just to hear your laugh as if he discovered an artist's most precious melody.

From the start, though, his efforts felt like words tossed into the wind. Heard by no one, felt by no one. You weren't looking at him. Not really.

Your eyes were always on the swordsman.

The way you looked at Zoro made Luffy's insides twist.

You stared when you thought no one noticed.

When he cleaned his swords, jaw set and muscles shifting under his shirt, when he trained shirtless on deck, sun tracing every carved line on his body or when he drank, lips curling around the rim of the glass, drops of alcohol glinting at the corners of his mouth..

That smile of yours would flicker shyly and inviting whenever the green haired man glanced up. Maybe Zoro never noticed.

Luffy always did.

At first, Zoro was cold. Distant. Like a wall no one could climb. Luffy got it. His first mate didn't warm up easily, especially not to someone new, no matter how genuine or bright they were.

So for months, he swallowed that gnawing feeling and called it nothing.

Just a friendship between his best friend and the woman occupying his every thought, slow and stubborn in the making. Just that.

After a couple months, though, something shifted.

Luffy saw it before anyone else, only because he never stopped obsessively watching you.

Zoro's gaze started softening when it met yours.

He began scanning every room for you, taking the seat at your side.. the seat Luffy had quietly claimed in his mind since day one. He even shared his best alcohol with you, the bottles Nami had risked smuggling in just for him.

And when you told your dry, biting one liners over dinner? It was Zoro's laugh that cracked through the silence first.

Sure, you were no stranger to the crew's attention but the swordsman's laughter brought out a new expression on your face, a longing Luffy had never glimpsed before.

That look was impossible to miss and in a flash, your brave captain was drowning in hopelessness for the first time in his life.

It was new kind of frustration took hold of Luffy whenever he watched the two of you interact.

He found himself lurking nearby whenever Zoro started helping you train, his hands steadying your movements, fingers lingering a moment too long on your waist as your faces were close enough to catch the faintest breath with whispers meant only for you two.

You blushed like a shy schoolgirl, biting your lip and steadying yourself by running your fingers down Zoro's flexed biceps, as if starving enough to bite.

That was something you never did with Luffy. Never. It was driving him to insanity.

It hit him like cannon fire that the one who spoke the least, the man impossible to read, the one who hadn't even bothered to greet you when you first joined the crew had everything Luffy wanted in the palm of his hand without doing anything to earn it.

Meanwhile Luffy, the one who carried you on his back, saved your life, trusted you with every fibre of his being to join his crew, shared all his stories, pulled you into every adventure alongside him and treated you like one of his most important treasures, was being treated like a child.

A silly, annoying puppy trailing after you and never taken seriously.

He wasn't a child.

He was a man.

The captain of the damn ship. Your captain.

He was jealous and that unfamiliar feeling seized him. Not of his closest friend but because he wanted you in a way that was even worrying him.

That ache was untamed, fierce and confusing, impossible to swallow whole. Still, it was real, burning deep inside him.

Night after night, the crew's footsteps faded one by one until silence settled over the ship.

Luffy stayed awake, leaving his door cracked open just an inch. He settled into the shadows, eyes locked on the faint glow slipping beneath Zoro's door down the hall.

Without needing to watch, Luffy knew your routine.

You'd slip from your room in an oversized shirt loose over bare skin and shorts nowhere to be seen. The moment he realized was when your hand lifted to knock softly on that door the first time and his breath caught at the sight.

Zoro always let you in without hesitation, the latch clicking shut behind you. Then, you disappeared into the quiet night for hours.

You always returned to your room just as dawn began bleeding into the sky, the sun painting it a bruised dark blue.

How did he know? Because Luffy waited.

Sat in the silence of his room, heart thudding loud enough to drown out his thoughts, watching for the slightest sound of you leaving that room.

Curiosity broke through on the fourth night.

Luffy moved without thinking, slipping from bed, his bare feet ghosting over the cold planks.

He pressed himself to Zoro's door, drawn in by the warmth radiating from behind it.

Then came the sounds..

Shy, trembling moans that wrapped around his ribs and tightened, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Zoro's gravelly voice followed, murmuring words Luffy couldn't quite make out but each syllable made your sighs return louder than before.

The reaction was immediate.

His body answered before his mind could stop it as his cock strained hard as stone, throbbing behind his pants and heat tore through him dizzying, leaving his lungs scrambling for air.

He grabbed himself without thinking, palm grinding down over the bulge, pressing back into the wall with a ragged breath. His free hand clenched at his side, blood pounding with every drag of his fingers.

It was wrong. He knew it.

Every instinct clawed at him, warning him to turn away, that this was a violation of your trust, the bond he shared with Zoro. Even of who he was supposed to be as a leader.

Yet the desire was louder. It fucking curled desperately beneath his skin, growing faster than the shame could chase it.

That night marked the start of Luffy's darkest indulgence.

/ / /

He hadn't meant to go in that day.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he stepped over the threshold of your room, eyes flicking straight to the bed.

He did it often when you weren't around.

When he could find you on deck or in the kitchen, his heart would start pacing, knowing that the coast was clear and so he'd go into your room like instinct.

Sometimes, he'd lay in your bed, face pressed into the pillow where your scent lingered. Sweet, soft, salty from the sea. It didn't just cling to the sheets. It clung to him.

There were times he'd catch a glimpse of your underwear in the laundry basket. Lace, barely there, just a scrap of black or red.

He'd stare at it like it held answers.

Run a single fingertip across the delicate fabric, his breath pattern frenzied. He always wanted to steal a pair. Just one but he never did. Praised himself even for showing restraint.

This time, though.. this time was different.

The diary was open on the bed.

The forbidden fruit.

The one unbreakable rule you'd made months ago. Don't touch it. The first time he saw you angry. The only time. It never left his mind.

Now it was just lying there, inviting, the leather stretched open like it was waiting for him to caress its skin and Luffy was well familiar with off-limits temptations.

He stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides.

Every part of him screamed to look away, to leave the room. You were his crew. His friend. The girl who made him feel like the world was spinning differently whenever you were near. It was wrong.

Yet his body moved anyway. He didn't even register it but he was already sitting on the bed, thumbing through the pages.

The beginning was innocent enough, a couple drawings of the crew.

Usopp sporting a crooked grin, Robin standing with arms folded, Franky frozen mid-action and then a detailed map of a nearby cove, freshly charted.

Just as his hand moved to shut the book, the sketches shifted beneath his gaze.

Zoro.

Pages of him. His face. His body. The curves of his back, shirtless. The lines of his muscles drawn with care. Him sleeping. Him training. His smirk. His hands. One sketch showed him with a faceless woman under him, tracing her curves... You.

Then the words began.

Luffy's eyes scanned quickly with need clear in each short sigh.

'First time we kissed was under the moonlight. I was shaking but he wasn't, obviously. His mouth tasted like the sake he stole earlier from the bar. He pulled my shirt off so slow like he was unwrapping something he'd been waiting on forever.

And then… fuck. The way we fit together? It's like I was made for him. The way he touches me? Rough when I need it. Sweet when I'm falling apart.'

Turning page after page, Luffy felt his pulse quickening in his chest.

'Last night was.. intense. He fucked me against the wall this time. Still can't believe how good it feels when he grabs my hips like that and just uses me as he pleases. My thighs are still sore. He's getting meaner when he sees me teasing him in front of the crew which means I'll be doing it more often.'

Jealousy twisted in his gut ugly and fast. He was about to stop reading but then..

The raven haired pirate turned another page and froze.

His name.

'Luffy's been watching me again. I can feel it. Those eyes, always on me.. Sanji and Usopp even joked about it the other day.. said our Captain has a little crush.

I laughed cause it's not just a little. He touches me differently. His hand always brushes my ass when he walks past like he's doing it on purpose. His eyes are always on my tits when I lean forward and god!! the way he stares sometimes… like he's unashamedly proud of me catching him.'

Luffy swallowed hard, shutting his eyes before daring to read on. He was caught and there was no way of escaping this time.

'That one time I caught him in my room holding my panties? I pretended I didn't but I knew exactly what he was doing. I always know. I even started placing them a certain way in the basket. He never puts them back right. Ha.'

What scared him most was losing you. Would you shut him out forever? Walk away from the crew because of him? Never let anyone in again for good?

The more he crossed your boundaries, the clearer the answers became though.

'His door is always cracked open. I see it. Every night I sneak out to Zoro's, I know Luffy's watching. I can feel it as if he wants me to know that he's doing that.. His eyes on my legs, my thighs..which is why I stopped wearing anything underneath. Zoro appreciates the easy access anyway. It's kind of fucked up but… I kinda like it. Is that weird?'

He continued reading like it was a spell that forced him.

'Sometimes, when Zoro's fucking me so good, I picture Luffy in the corner of the room. Just watching. Jerking off maybe.. or sitting there all wide eyed, innocent and hard, not even understanding what he's feeling.'

Luffy's mouth fell open. His palm pressed against the growing bulge in his pants.

'I can't help but wonder… if our sweet, clueless Captain would tell Zoro how to fuck me. Order him around. 'Harder, slower, make her scream.' Would he join us? Would he come in my mouth while Zoro's inside me?'

He dropped the diary like it burned him, chest heaving.

You were as twisted as he was. Just as filthy.

You were fucking Zoro but fantasising about him.

And it was too much for Luffy to handle.

Without hesitation, his hand plunged between his legs, clutching his swollen cock through the fabric.

Whether it was pride or madness driving him, he didn't care. He gave in completely.

His cock was already hard and leaking, the friction against his palm turning unbearable as he pulled it free, the air striking the flushed head like a slap.

There was no thought of sitting.

Just him, looming over your bed, eyes locked on the sketch of Zoro between your legs next to what he had just read and imagined you spread out beneath him instead with your shirt hitched up, breasts swollen and aching to be sucked, your soaked pussy open and inviting.

Luffy drove his hand in frantic, merciless strokes, biting his lip hard to keep the sounds inside.

His wrist clenched tightly at the base, the head of his cock gleaming wet and angry red as the muscles in his thighs clenched with aching balls heavy with need.

The room blurred around him as his mind painted the scene.. your mouth open, saliva dripping down to slick your breasts while Zoro pounded into you hard and without mercy.

Luffy stood before you, slapping his cock against your eager tongue before stuffing your mouth.. or maybe jerking himself in the corner just like this, pre-come leaking from the tip as he waited his turn to ruin you.

A groan escaped him as his eyes fluttered shut and his hips bucked forward.

Release hit violently with thick ribbons spurting across the open pages, staining the sketch of Zoro's hands on your thighs.

His hand trembled as he milked himself through the aftershocks, breath ragged, seed still dripping from his slit onto the satin sheets.

Luffy blinked, panting, the blur of orgasm slowly clearing his mind to deal with reality.

And then he saw it. The mess he created in your room, on your bed.. on your most sacred possession.

Wet white drops glistening on the diary pages like someone spilt white paint on it.

"Shit-" Panic set in.

His trousers still open, cock softening in his palm, the mess spreading, impossible to undo.

Then the door clicked.

There was no time to move, no space to hide, not even a second to wipe himself clean.

He turned.

And there you were.

Frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, gaze dragging from the diary to his hand, to the red flush still staining his cheeks and chest.

He opened his mouth. "I..." He began, voice barely there.

Luffy expected you to scream, to curse at him, to storm out and never look back, gone the moment you touched land again.

Instead, you stepped inside and the door clicked shut as your back pressed against it.

Not a single word escaped your lips.

Instantly, the shame and guilt that clenched his chest vanished when he saw you standing there like that.

Your shirt hung open, unbuttoned to reveal the curve of your bra, sweat-damp hair clinging messily to your face and your skirt hitched up as if you'd hurried to hide your state before anyone else could see.

It was clear where you'd been. Who was just claiming your skin moments ago, tasting every inch and curve.

Then something shifted on his face. The look of a man caught turned into something else.

You could've run like prey bolting for safety but you didn't. You stood still, chest rising fast and eyes locked on his. Daring him.

And there it was, that smile. Menacingly stretching across his lips.

He realised then.. he wasn't the one caught.

You were.

Then, slowly, Luffy stepped forward.

[markleessodalite]

When He Realized He Loves You: NCT Dream

headcanon: what makes the dreamies understand how deep their feelings are for you?

warnings: none :D

word count: 0.9k

Mark:

He woke up thinking about you.

Its not like Mark has a lot of time on his hands to be thinking about anything other than his craft, so it wouldn’t be fair to say that you’re on his mind 24/7.

But when he first wakes up in the morning after a long week, sun shining through his window onto his messy sheets, the warmth under them too tantalizing to want to get up, his first coherent thought is how amazing it would be to have you enveloped in this warmth with him.

And that thought knocked him right out of his groggy state. How was he supposed to focus on his work now?

Renjun:

 He started seeing you everywhere. Not literally, of course, even though he wouldn’t mind that either.

He just started seeing you in all the things he noticed throughout the day.

When he looked out the window at the sunset, he wondered if you would like to watch it sometime, or if you preferred sunrises. When he saw a cute stray cat while on a walk, he immediately whipped his phone out to send you a pic. When he saw that your favorite soda just released a new strawberry flavor, he bought you an entire case and dropped it off at your place.

Every little thing reminded him of you, until he eventually realized he thinks about you way more often than a normal friend probably would.

Jeno:

He got a little too moody. Specifically when he had to see you with another guy.

Poor Jeno, the introverted loverboy he is. Leave it to him to friendzone himself by never confessing to you how he feels, relegating himself to just watching you date various guys, all various levels of horrible, and helping you pick up the pieces after.

But the last of these guys was the straw that broke the camel's back for Jeno, and he didn’t care to hide his jealousy in front of you or your new man.

Jeno always understood he felt some type of something for you. But when seeing you with another guy made him feel like a bull trapped in a rodeo with a red flag waved in its face, he realized it was maybe more than a little crush.

Haechan:

He told his mom about you.

Like a true mama’s boy, Hyuck loves to update his mom about all the big things and little things happening to him everyday.

He told her about the funny conversation he had with a girl at his friend’s party. A few weeks later, he told her about how that girl introduced him to a new game he can’t stop playing. A few weeks after that, his mom noticed a new bracelet he was wearing, and he explained that you made it for him.

Now Hyuck may be a smart guy, but when it comes to realizing he’s in love he’s a bit slow on the uptake– it took his mom pointing out that you seem to be the main character in all of his stories, for him to finally see that he wanted you to be the main character in his life too.

Jaemin:

His life started making sense.

Jaemin has always been the kind of person to just do what seems fun, or seems wise, or just what seems like an interesting thing to do.

He didn’t apply a ton of reason to the decisions he made, which led to a life buzzing with noise and discombobulation.

Talking to you was another one of these thoughtless whims, and at first, your friendship blurred right into the buzz of his life.

But at some point, he started putting more thought into his choices– thoughts of what you would choose, or what you would think of the choices he made. He consulted you more and more for your input, and with every word you divulged, the blurring became clearer, the buzzing got quieter.

He realized he wanted to have this clarity for the rest of his life, he needs you for the rest of his life.

Chenle:

Everyone else realized it for him.

All Chenle thought was that he had made a new friend, something that comes so naturally to him.

He didn’t think anything was weird about him wanting to talk to you, or you being the first person he shared good news with, or you being the person he wanted to confide in when he felt upset.

Sure, there were times where he talked to you more often than even some of his own family members, but you were one of his best friends! Of course you would be on his mind a lot, right?

It wasn’t until those around him pointed out his specific smile that only appears when you’re around, or his adoring gazes that linger just a bit too long to mean nothing, that he finally realized the thing that everybody else already knew.

Jisung:

He found it harder to talk to you.

Oh, sweet sweet Jisung.

He was already shy with you at first, but as you two grew closer in your friendship, it became so easy for him to talk to you. Eventually he’d want to talk to you every single day, all day long, sometimes until his voice felt hoarse because he’s not used to talking that much with anyone.

Then, on one particular day, it felt particularly difficult for him to get the particular words he wanted out to you. Maybe he was just tired, he thought.

Until it started happening every time he talked to you. He was too busy worrying about not embarrassing himself (even though he’d embarrassed himself plenty of times during your friendship already), and it wasn’t until he questioned why he was worried that he realized he wanted more than just a friendship with you.

[halfvalid]

through the night

ABOUT

| 18+ | smut | explicit |

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

description: zoro comes to the reader's room during the night. sex ensues.

tags: smut, female reader, oral (receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, kissing (a lot of it), soft zoro, first time together, confessions (kinda), fluff, no use of "y/n", banter, pwp (lowkey).

author's note: consent is sexy and so is zoro

i have up to now only watched 2 episodes of OPLA and have never consumed any other type of one piece media. expect him to be ooc. also it's my first smut fic help

It was nighttime on the Going Merry, and the dull kiss of the setting horizon drifted lazily through the single window in your room. You were lying on your bed, leaning against the headboard as you flipped through a book you’d picked up the last time the ship had been docked. It wasn’t too interesting, but it was something to pass the time with, so you stifled a yawn and flipped to the next page.

There was a knock at your door, and you glanced up, watching as the shoddy metal hinges slowly creaked open. Zoro was standing in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out nearly all the light coming in from the hall. He was still dressed in his daywear, which reminded you that you needed to change—the loose shirt and trousers you wore were, although clean, nothing near sleepwear.

“Zoro?” you asked, watching as he started into the room. You clicked your tongue before he could step another foot inside, though— “If you’re going to come in, take your shoes off.”

Zoro scoffed but obeyed, pausing by the mouth of the room to slide his heavy boots off. He tread lightly to where you lay, climbing up to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” Zoro answered. You moved aside to allow him some more room, centering yourself on the bed. Zoro didn’t move, though.

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s possible?”

He looked unimpressed, propping his arms under his head and leaning back so his head was splayed against your thighs. His three matching earrings glinted in the light. “Luffy and Nami are being loud. Your room’s the farthest away.”

“Your elbow is digging into my gut,” you said, turning back towards your book. Zoro rolled his eyes, but readjusted his position, pulling his arms down to instead lay folded atop his stomach. “Are you just going to nap there?”

Zoro shrugged, and you had to stifle a giggle, the sensation vaguely ticklish. He’d never been a man of many words, so you lowered your book again and went back to reading. The light in the room was dim, though; after a few minutes, the glow from the light at your bedside no longer sufficed, and you were too tired to strain your eyes to squint at the page. You could, of course, just turn on the cabin lights—but Zoro was asleep by now, and you hadn’t even liked the book that much anyway.

You set it on your nightstand, gazing down at the slumbering man in your lap. Despite the glare he so often sported, Zoro looked near-angelic in his sleep, his face all smooth planes and straight lines. Those dark eyes of his were hidden like this, black lashes splayed across his cheeks as shadows emphasized the hollows of his bone structure.

He really was beautiful, an ever-comforting presence within the Straw Hats that your eyes had always strayed to. There was a certain kind of fondness you held for him that none of the other crew members could quite compare to, although if you voiced those thoughts Luffy would probably end up giving you a lighthearted scolding. You could already imagine the teasing from the other members of the crew—Usopp and Sanji particularly—making fun of your little crush, which is why you kept your lips firmly sealed. A secret was a secret, and this was yours to keep.

You finally tore your eyes away, focusing instead on getting out of the position you’d gotten stuck in. Somewhere in the back of your mind you liked the idea of Zoro sleeping in your lap, but the clothes you wore were getting increasingly uncomfortable. You carefully slipped out from under him, cradling his head so as to support him as you gently lowered him to the mattress. Thankfully, he didn’t rouse, and you slipped to the other side of the room to open up your wardrobe, satisfied knowing you weren’t disturbing him.

You made deft work, first brushing through your hair and rinsing your face with some clean water before focusing your attention on changing your clothes. You removed your trousers, instead donning a pair of shorts. You were halfway through peeling off your blouse to replace it with a softer, silk one, when Zoro coughed from behind you.

You froze, daring to glance behind you whilst still topless. Zoro had awoken, eyes having lost all trace of sleep as he slowly sat up, staring at your figure across the room. He coughed again as soon as your eyes met, dropping his gaze. “Sorry,” he said very carefully, voice hoarse and grating.

“No, it’s okay,” you managed out, but you were still frozen. Your thoughts were on the dark look that’d been in his eyes the split-second before he’d looked away—surprised but sharp, cutting like just his gaze could pierce through your soul. Gooseflesh had prickled up along your arms.

“I’ll just… go,” Zoro muttered, already having gotten up as he started shuffling towards the door. You jolted into action, nearly dropping the shirt still in your hands as you turned towards him.

“No, you can—” your words softened, seeing his gaze flicker rapidly around your figure before finally landing on some spot by your cheek. “You can stay.” You paused, hoping your words weren’t too direct. “If you want.”

“You should put your shirt on,” Zoro said, almost choking on his words, like they were too big to fit in his mouth.

Your gaze dropped down before a steady blush started climbing up the sides of your face. “Right,” you started, but it was like you’d lost control of your hands. The shirt still hung limply from your grip.

“Or you could…” Zoro paused, lips parted as he sucked in a soft breath. Carefully, he moved back towards your bed, the only sound in the room a soft thump as he sat back on it. “Not.”

You swallowed. You could barely feel the lax of grip as your fingers released the shirt, letting it fall to the floor in one pathetic heap. You took a tentative step towards Zoro, and then another, until you were right in front of him. The soft night breeze through the window caused chills to erupt down your spine. Or maybe that was Zoro’s expression—nearly studious in his attentivity, eyes grazing across your chest and torso like he was taking in information for a new, particularly high-paying bounty.

“Zoro,” you started. He finally glanced up at your face, and you shuddered, biting down hard on your tongue. “I, um—hi.”

“Hey,” he said carefully, like he was testing the word on his tongue. Your gaze flickered down to his lips. He seemed to notice, but he didn’t say anything; rather, he raised one of his hands, pressing it against your side until his fingers tightened against your waist, a present, ever-pulsing rush of warmth. “I think my chest is bigger than yours.”

You flushed, a quick rush of crimson gracing your cheeks as you turned away. Zoro’s grip on your waist tightened, and a low laugh escaped the bottom of his throat. “That was mean,” you whined. Zoro’s other hand came up to your face, fingers pressing against the underside of your chin. He carefully angled your face down, so you couldn’t look anywhere but straight at him.

“It worked to calm you down, though,” he said easily. You were about to protest against the fact that you had been calm in the first place, but then Zoro was kissing you.

Zoro was a lot less aggressive than you’d originally expected, but as you sunk deeper into the kiss, it started to make sense. Zoro was all clean lines when he fought, practiced and perfect—no space for sloppy lines or scribbles. The way he kissed was similar; he applied pressure, but not too much pressure, and his thumb traced firm circles into the skin of your waist.

He angled your head with the hand firmly propped against your jaw, so you didn’t have to do a lot of the work—just press against his lips and move against the gentle rhythm he’d set. His teeth scraped carefully against your lower lip, and he tugged, letting a soft gasp out from your throat.

Zoro took the opportunity to pry your lips apart with his tongue, the fingers splayed against your chin coaxing your jaw open until he could slide his tongue against yours. You let out a soft whimper, hands scrambling to his shoulders and running along the muscles of his back. Of course you’d known he was well-built, but the firmness of his body forced another squeak out of you—one he was more than willing to swallow up.

Eventually, Zoro’s hand dropped from your jaw, skimming along your body line before coming to rest on the underside of one of your breasts. You gasped as he started to massage the skin with his thumb, accidentally biting down on his lower lip in the process. He groaned, the sound low as his rhythm sped up, the hand cupping your waist dropping down to your hip.

And then he was hoisting you up and onto his lap. “Oh my God,” you muttered, causing him to break away, eyes glinting with amusement.

“What?”

A heady rush had blossomed along your cheeks again. “Nothing. You.” Somewhere in the back of your head, you wondered how strong Zoro had to be to lift you off the ground so easily with only one arm—granted, it hadn’t been that far of a lift, but still. “Kiss me again.”

Zoro laughed but obeyed, his hand still working at your breast as the other dropped to your thigh. Your fingers interlaced with his short hair, tangling within the moss-green locks as his tongue ran along the ivories of your teeth. His teeth scraped against your lip as he moved away, lips instead following the line of your jaw and moving down to your neck.

You dropped your arm from his hair, hand pressing flat against his upper back. Zoro’s muscles flexed as he chased down your throat, and you sighed as he pressed gentle kisses along the line of your vein.

“Been—wanting to do this for a while,” Zoro panted between kisses, placing a final one kiss at the junction of your collarbone before glancing tentatively back up at you. You met his mouth in another kiss, a smile you hadn’t felt rising bright along your cheekbones.

“Me too,” you whispered, and a look of relief flashed across his face before he was ducking his head again to press more kisses along your neck. You let out a laugh—you could feel the rumble of his lips against the sound as it left your throat. Carefully, you ran your finger along his earrings, soft clinks filling the room at the action. “What was that? Did you think I didn’t?”

“Dunno,” Zoro muttered, and you laughed again before he nipped at your skin, teeth scratching in a gentle bite. At your chest, his hand squeezed your nipple, and you gasped.

“That was mean.”

“Mhm.” Zoro didn’t seem appeased, his kisses turning sloppier—open-mouthed, full of bite. He never pressed down hard enough to hurt, but your mouth was full of soft gasps and whines, and your hand had come down to clench against his bicep. God, his arms. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

You nudged him, meaning only for it to be a slight press. But Zoro let the action guide him, falling onto his back with you pressed against him, flat against the bed. He stilled, both hands dropping to your hips as he gaze lifted to drink you in.

You were certain you were a mess—blushing, lips probably swollen, bruise blossoms that would purple by morning scattered all along your neck. But the way he looked at you made it seem like you were all dolled up—like you were outfitted in a flowing gown, eyes sparkling and hair perfect instead of the mess it most undoubtedly was.

“You’re pretty,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. Actually, you were certain you weren’t supposed to hear it, because before you could respond, he was pulling you across him, fluidly rolling you onto your back. His forearm pressed against the mattress beside your head, caging you in. Zoro seemed to like this angle, moving down your neck to your chest with more gentle kisses.

You were content to let him take what he wanted, eyes not moving from his face as you watched his lips brush over your breast. His tongue was hot against your skin, and you sucked in a tight breath as he swirled it along your nipple. Zoro steadied you with a firm grasp, hand pressing against your side before pushing up to attend to the breast that his mouth wasn’t. You squirmed, a soft pool of warmth sitting in your lower belly as he worked. A tight knot had formed somewhere inside, and you let out a breathy gasp.

Zoro’s gaze traced lower, hand leaving your breast in favor of skidding down your figure to rest at the hand of your shorts. He paused, eyes flickering upwards to meet yours. Hastily, you nodded, and his fingers dipped below the cloth, head lowering to press another kiss by your hip bone. Your hands clenched against the bed sheets as his fingers skimmed the rim of your shorts, coaxing them down inch by inch before they finally slid down to your knees. You kicked them off insistently, and Zoro laughed, one hand coming to stroke your thigh as if to make you stop moving.

Even though you’d partly expected it, you hadn’t been ready for the soft kiss he pressed against your inner thigh. His hand hooked around the side of your panties, dragging them down as he kissed up your skin, and you took in a sharp breath that he wholly and entirely ignored. His movements became more insistent as you squirmed, open-mouth and biting, tongue darting out from between his lips to languidly swipe up your thigh. Finally he reached the junction of your thigh and core, mouth pressing a feather-light kiss that dragged an entirely shameful sound out from your throat.

Zoro pushed your panties all the way off your hips, letting them sit by your knees even as you squirmed to kick them off. “Shh,” he murmured, and you stopped, heart pounding as the sound sunk deep into your bloodstream. The tight knot in your lower belly had only grown tighter, and your breath caught in your throat as you watched Zoro, his eyes flickering all around your exposed core.

He ran a finger along the side of your slit, and you shuddered, watching as he experimentally traced it across your folds. He lowered his head to your hips, pressing a kiss onto your clit. You were barely able to suppress the buck of your hips as Zoro’s hand came to rest on your thigh, pinning you down as his other hand worked along your core.

His finger found your vagina, carefully sinking between your folds as his tongue worked languid circles around your clit. You let out a moan, voice stuttering against your throat as his finger slipped deeper inside you. It only took him a few moments to push another one in, the soft scrape of his cut fingernails eliciting sparks that drew another breathy moan out of you.

“Isn’t it a little—unfair that I’m the only one not wearing anything?” you managed out between breaths, and Zoro stopped his motions, head lifting and eyes glancing up at you from under his lashes. One of his eyebrows arched in question, and his lips were glossy with your fluids, causing your core to squeeze around his fingers. Somehow, he didn’t even seem to notice the motion.

“Oh, that’s what you want to focus on right now?” he murmured, all low and throaty. He always spoke low-pitched, vocal chords all brash and grating from the back of his throat, but his voice hummed even deeper now, although that didn’t seem humanly possible. Your muscles clenched again, and Zoro’s gaze dipped down to where his fingers were still pushed inside of you. He fluidly pressed in deeper, fingers curling inside your body before pulling out and working back in. Your retort was lost as you moaned again, the tight feeling of your gut slowly unwinding as he moved back and forth inside of you.

His mouth lowered to lick at your clit again, and you cried out, barely suppressing a scream as his fingers dug, more insistent, inside of you. He pressed one final kiss against your clit, and then sat back, eyes fixed on working at your core instead. His fingers pumped in and out, steady and fluid. Your breaths came out breathy and broken, climbing closer and closer to your climax until he finally reached the summit inside of you.

“Come,” Zoro whispered, the hand not taking care of you running reassuringly along your thigh. You came suddenly, hips stuttering from where’d they’d lifted off the mattress, a cry ripping out of your throat. Zoro slowly slipped his fingers out of you, rubbing soothing circles into your inner thigh as you ran out your climax. Your breaths evened out, becoming less deep, less frantic; Zoro watched all the while, a glossy shine over his eyes and the faintest of smiles pressed along his lips.

You tilted your gaze down to his face, catching him just as he started to move again. The fingers drenched in your fluids came up to his mouth, and he licked them clean. Your stomach dropped, somehow already turning you on despite having come just mere seconds beforehand.

“My turn,” Zoro said softly, sitting up to start unbuttoning his shirt. You hoisted yourself up, hands skimming along the sheets beside him, uncertain of whether he wanted you to touch. You glimpsed a stiff tent in his pants as he sat up, and swallowed hard, eyeing the pull with apprehension.

“Do you want me to—” you tried gesturing down to his hips, but he caught your hand swiftly, pressing it against the buttons of his shirt. “What do you want?”

“Sex,” Zoro said. Nothing else. You held back the choke that dared to escape your throat, and a sheepish grin crossed his face. It was lopsided, nearly a smirk, if not for the genuine warmth glimmering at his eyes. “Sorry. That was vague.”

“It’s okay,” you assured, stifling a laugh. Your hands worked fastidiously at his buttons. It took far longer than you felt it should’ve, fingers all clumsy as you tugged them through their holes, unlooping them from where it fixed the cloth together. Soon enough, though, Zoro was stripping the last of the fabric off, tossing it carelessly across the room before pulling you into another kiss.

He was sloppier now that you’d come, more comfortable in his element—you could taste the tang of yourself on his lips, and you let out a sigh, hands moving down his figure to work at his belt. He had to stop kissing you to tug at his pants, pushing them down his legs before finally kicking them off fully.

You ducked your head to press a kiss at his navel, eyes tracing the length that jutted out from his hips. Your breath caught, gaze fixed to a pale vein running up the line of his length. “Up,” Zoro murmured, and you glanced up. Zoro pressed a long kiss to your mouth, one hand skimming around your butt to pull you up by the headboard. He ran a hand over your core, as if to ascertain you were relaxed enough for him.

“Do you have anything for it?” he murmured, lips sending chills down your back as he pressed a soft kiss at your jaw.

“I’m on the pill, yeah,” you huffed out, arms winding around his torso. Zoro hummed his response, fingers running up and down your thigh as he adjusted, hips sliding against yours to meet your core.

You sucked in a breath, but he was gentle with it, pushing in slowly, hand running along your lower back and coaxing you still. The sensation sparked tingles all over your body; up your spine, along your hips, down your legs like Zoro was electricity himself. You let out a little sigh as he pushed up to his hilt into you, hips stuttering against his as you both paused for breath. He brushed a ghost of a kiss along your lips. “Okay?” Zoro murmured.

“Perfect,” you answered, arms clutching tighter around him, fingers digging into his back. You hoped it wasn’t too sharp, but considering how big Zoro was, it was likely he barely felt the pressure—the crescents of your fingernails were probably just pinpricks to him.

Zoro started moving, then, his actions soft and fluid at first, fingers pressing reassuring circles into your waist and hips. He was nearly tender with it, motions languid and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Your breaths came out easy, soft and just barely edging towards gasps.

He started thrusting with more insistence soon, though; Zoro’s hips bucked against yours, and your grip tightened along his shoulder blades as he pushed in and out of you. Soft gasps and whines left your throat, in stark contrast to the heavy groans and grunts that barely stuttered past Zoro’s lips.

“Like that,” you said, barely able to let out words of encouragement as he hit your sweet spot, buried deep inside of you. You let out a throaty moan as he moved faster and faster, thrusts becoming harder and more aggressive. You knocked your head back, one of your hands reaching to grab Zoro’s from where it propped him up by your head. He welcomed the invitation quickly, fingers interlacing with yours, coaxing your palm open into a kiss of your hands. His thrusts worked harder than ever, and you stopped chasing the friction, letting your hips buck up against his as he shoved into you.

A low groan erupted from his throat as he hit your spot again, mouth coming down to bite into your shoulder as he suppressed the cry that tore from his mouth. You swallowed, gasping hard for breath as you felt him come inside you, your walls clenching tight around him before you also felt the familiar burst of pressure. You let out a gasping moan, mind buzzing with sparks and tingles. Vaguely, you felt Zoro’s hand against your hip, moving up and down in calming strokes.

It took a moment for you both to recover, coming down from the blissful high after long seconds ticked by. Zoro removed his mouth from your shoulder, carefully prying his jaw off from your skin. He scrutinized the marks he’d left—crescents of teeth, undoubtedly—before lowering his head again to press an apologetic kiss to the bite. You laughed in surprise.

“I can be a gentleman,” Zoro protested lightly, though his words didn’t hold much of a fight as he carefully slid out of you. He did it slowly, inch by inch, leaving a hollow sensation in his wake when he eventually parted from you. “You okay?”

“Lovely,” you answered honestly, eyes grazing up his chest before meeting his. “You?”

“I’m good,” Zoro answered, a vague smile on his lips. It was soft, tender; maybe not as big as ones you’d seen when he was laughing with the crew, but special nonetheless. He studied you for a moment, and you took the opportunity to trace his face with your eyes. His pupils were blown, slowly receding back into small dots of shadow, and his lips were kissed red, swollen over and glossy with your saliva. “Want me to draw a bath?”

“No,” you said, content just to watch him like this. “We can clean up in the morning, it’s getting late.” You hesitated, suddenly uncertain, teeth tugging at your lower lip. “Unless… you want to go?”

Zoro snorted. “No, I think I like it here,” he decided. He sat up, reaching to pull the blankets over your figure so the gooseflesh you hadn’t even noticed on your skin would subside. “Too tired to move, anyway. Might stay here forever.”

“Dramatic ass,” you mumbled, wrapping a hand around his wrist and tugging him closer to you. Zoro obeyed, sliding beside you, one arm moving to wrap around your waist. “Go to sleep, you big dummy.”

Zoro’s breath was light against the shell of your ear. “That was unwarranted.”

“Sleep,” you insisted, and Zoro huffed, reaching the arm that wasn’t around you to the nightstand. He flicked the lantern off, then turned back towards you, finally settling down. His lips pressed a soft kiss along your shoulder, and you smiled, your hand reaching down to meet where his was splayed along your belly.

“Good night,” you whispered.

“Night,” he mumbled back, the end of the word tapering off into a soft, tired breath. You could feel his chest move, up and down in a steady, soft rhythm. You buried your head into the crook of his arm, letting out a contented sigh before finally closing your eyes to drift off to sleep.

© halfvalid 2023

[clarkeysbedchem]

dazed and confused

part two

arthur hill x fem reader

summary: you are infatuated with your brother best friend, and you know he won’t overstep that boundary. or will he?

warning: kinda suggestive, just making out

masterlist | main masterlist

Arthur’s final show of his tour was electric. The walls of Brixton Academy vibrated with sound and applause as the lights sliced through the air shining over the crowd that moved like one pulsing body. You stood tucked beside the stage, barely hearing your own thoughts over the roar, but your eyes never once left him.

Arthur looked good, annoyingly good. He was in his element, microphone in hand, hair damp with sweat, and a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he moved with the music. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and you were being anything but subtle about it.

Liv nudged your side, “You’re drooling a little.”

“What?” You questioned, just about managing to turn your attention from Arthur to see Flo looking at you with a raised brow and Sabina smirking over her drink, “I’m not-”

“You absolutely are,” Sabina teased, “You’ve not taken your eyes off the stage since he started preforming.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the burn creeping up your neck, “Shut up.”

But you didn’t deny it. What’s the use? You were fairly certain everyone knew how infatuated you were with Arthur.

You had been since the first time you visited George when he moved in with Arthur two years ago. You knew you could never act on these feeling nestled beneath your ribcage, because how could you? He’s George’s best friend, and you will always just be George’s little sister.

After the show, the group spilled into a private bar nearby. Laughter echoed as drinks clinked, celebrating Arthur’s UK tour ending. George, oblivious, was off downing in slurred conversation with Chris, ArthurTV and Bach, while you leaned into your third, or maybe it was your fourth, vodka soda.

You were tipsy, warm, and bored when Arthur found you at the bar alone.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, shoulders brushing close as he reached past you to grab a straw.

You turned to him, your body melting instantly, “Of course I did.”

He smiled, the kind that made your heart flutter and threaten to burst right out of your body, “I saw you, right up front.”

“You looked good.”

Arthur blinked, slightly taken aback by your words, “Yeah?”

You nodded, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, voice a little quieter now, “You always look good, Arthur.” Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept going, emboldened by the alcohol flooding your system, “I’ve always had a little crush on you, yknow?”

His eyes searched yours. You thought you saw something flicker through them, surprise, interest, maybe even desire.

Before he had the opportunity to reply, you gave a nervous laugh stepping back from the bar, “I’m just gonna, before I embarrass myself even more.”

You slipped off to the dance floor finding Liv and Sabina in the crowd letting the music wrap around you as you threw yourself into movement. The two girls rallied around you, sensing your spiralling fluster, and spent the rest of the night shielding you with dancing and drink.

But you could feel it.

Arthur’s gaze settled on you from across the room, never faltering. Every time you turned to look, he was there watching with a drink in his hand and unreadable expression etched across his face.

The next time you saw him; it was movie night at the boys’ flat. Movie nights had been a recurring thing since you made your move to London and it was something that you looked forward toevery time, but this time you couldn’t deny the an uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

You opened the door to the flat, calling out for the boys, being greeted by an overly enthusuastic George and a fed-up Chris as you made your way to the living room.

Arthur was sprawled on the sofa already, sweatpants hanging low on his hips and shirt bunched slightly, arms resting on the back of the sofa like he owned the room. Chris sat beside him in a hoodie and pyjama pants, flipping through Netflix.

“Y/n,” Arthur said casually, like nothing had happened.

You refused to meet his eyes as you greeted him, “Arthur.”

As the movie played, you sank tucked between George and the arm of the sofa, trying to pretend your body wasn’t buzzing with tension. Arthur, however, kept glancing your way when Chris and George weren’t looking, letting his hand brush yours when he passed snacks, letting his fingers linger on your wrist when handed you a blanket.

There was something cocky in his presence now, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

And you hated how much you were falling for it.

By midnight, each of you started to drift off. A tired silence filling the living room which led to George and Chris disappearing into their bedrooms, their doors clicking softly behind them.

Then a thick tension settled, and you were left alone. Just you and Arthur.

The flicker of the quiet movie and dim lamp danced across the room, casting warm shadows over Arthur’s half-tired, lazy frame. You sat rooted to the couch, every part of your body alert, overly aware of Arthur’s fingertips brushing your shoulder lightly as his arm stretched over the sofa.

His eyes flickered toward you every few seconds. An unspoken pull between you growing more overwhelming as the seconds ticked by.

You pushed yourself up, clearing your throat, “I’m gonna grab a water.”

“Wait,” Arthur’s voice came out more urgent than he wanted, “I’ll come with.”

You swallowed giving him a nod.

The kitchen light was soft, a shadow of the lamp from the living room leaving it dim enough to feel secretive. You leaned against the counter, a glass in hand, sipping slowly ignoring Arthur’s presence beside you.

“You sober this time?” he asked, his voice teasing but with something heavier laced in it.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmured, “I can finally do this.”

You barely had time to process his words before his hands were on your waist, spinning you around and lifting you onto the counter. Your glass clattering somewhere behind you, abandoned.

“Arthur,”

But he was already kissing you. Mouth hot and urgent against yours, hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear not to touch you. You gasped into him, fingers tangling in the drawstrings of his hoodie for balance. He didn’t back off. If anything, it only encouraged him.

“Thought about this every fucking day since the first time I saw you,” he murmured against your lips, “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this, about you.”

Your legs opened instinctively as he stepped between them, the counter cold beneath your skin, as he pressed his body into you, the heat engulfing you. You moaned softly into his mouth, and he let out a soft chuckle bringing a hand to cup your jaw softly.

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” he warned, his hand curling around the back of your neck, “Can’t have the boys walking in on this, can we?”

You bit your lip, breath shaky as you nodded, staring up at him through hooded eyes.

Arthur smirked, “Good girl.”

His hands roamed over your body, mapping it slowly and deliberately. One flush over your thigh, squeezing just above your knee as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. The other tracing your waist under your hoodie, fingertips teasing skin just above the waistband of your pyjama shorts making you shiver.

“You’re so responsive,” he muttered, pressing hot kisses down your neck, a soft mewl passing your lips, “You like when I talk to you like this?”

You nodded instantly, “Yeah…”

He chuckled against your skin, teeth nipping at your collarbone, “Course you do.”

You melted into him, head falling back against the cupboard, letting him take his time with you. Every touch was a tease, every pause a quiet torment. His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face to his. You felt dizzy under his stare, lips swollen, breath shaking.

“You gonna keep pretending this is nothing?” he asked, voice low, “Or are you gonna run away again?”

You whimpered, pressing your thighs tighter around his hips, “m’not pretending.”

“Then say it.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, “Say you want me.”

You hesitated, eyes dropping down to your lap.

He gently squeezed your jaw, coaxing, “c’mon, baby.”

“I want you,” you breathed, meeting his burning gaze, “I want you so bad.”

A low fuck escaped his lips, and then he kissed you again - deeper, hungrier, claiming. You clung to him, fingers curling into his hoodie as he ground against you once, making you gasp.

But then he stopped, pulling away as he breathed heavy, running his hand down his jaw drinking in your desperate state.

You blinked up at him with a pout on your lips, “What?”

He smirked again, cocking his head, “I’m not fucking you on your brother’s kitchen counter, y/n. Not the first time.”

Your cheeks puffed out in frustration as your body burned in need, “Then why start at all?”

His hands gripped your thighs again, holding you still, “Because I needed to know you wanted me. And now I do.”

He leaned in one last time, kissing you softer now, lips lingering against yours, hands moving to gently hold the sides of your head.

“When it happens,” he whispered, “it’s gonna be me and you properly. Not just some secret rush in the dark.”

And with that, he stepped back, leaving you breathless on the counter. Dazed and confused, wanting more, “Goodnight, y/n.”

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