#Coastal allure

[rebfile]

In the realm of Azura Isle, where the sea's embrace met the land, there lived a spirited soul named Violette. Her hair, a cascade of twilight hues, was the isle's whispering legend, each strand a tale of the dusk and dawn entwined.

Violette's days were spent beneath the sun, where the sky met the horizon in an endless kiss. Her bikini, the color of blooming orchids, was adorned with the golden kisses of the island's famed crocus flowers. A single hibiscus flower perched behind her ear, a vibrant contrast to her whimsical locks.

She had a charm that danced with the breeze, and eyes that spoke of a thousand uncharted waters. With a smile that could coax the shyest creature from its shell, Violette was known to all as the isle's heart, the rhythm to which the waves themselves swayed.

Today, she stood at the edge of the water, a symphony of movement, the embodiment of Azura's spirit. With every gaze into the distance, she wove a dream of sails unfurling and adventures untold, her heart a compass to the unknown.

A scene of the beach on Azura Isle.

[adalynnlove]

Welcome to My House

Welcome to My House...

Come on in! I think this qualifies as my get-away-from-it-all-beach-house. Technically in world we can have a huge variety of houses and change them up each week. And to help in doing that I am very pleased to introduce to you a new sponsor of mine: Old Barn Door, owned by Taylorr Firethorn. Come on in! Of course I had to get all dressed up for the occasion. So I put on one of Rene (renebroux)’s…

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 08

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 11.8 k

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note just wanted to shout out a big thank you to everyone who reads and support my story !! your support seriously means the world. thanks for sticking around, and i hope this chapter was worth the wait. dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts !! ♡ (fanart in the header)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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Sunlight sliced through the thin gap in the curtains, painting stripes across your heavy eyelids. It felt warm, comforting—almost like an unspoken apology for the reality it foreshadowed. The plush hotel bed clung to your body, and for a blissful moment, you'd almost forgotten where you were.

Almost.

Until the steady rhythm of breathing beside you brought you back to reality. Satoru's arm was draped casually over your waist, his body moulded tightly against yours.

You wanted to stayed forever like that, suspended in the lazy lull of the morning, the world outside momentarily forgotten. But then, your gaze drifted across the room, landing on the digital clock.

The bright red numbers screamed it was far later in the morning than it had any right to be.

Fuck.

Panic slithered through your veins.

Today was the day of the lecture, the reason you were here in this sun-drenched coastal town, in this hotel, in Satoru's arms. And you were oversleeping.

You propped yourself up, elbow digging into the soft sheets, and turned to the white-haired man beside you. "Satoru." You nudged him, gently at first, then with increasing urgency. "Wake up."

No response.

"Satoru," you repeated, a little louder this time.

Still, nothing. Not even a twitch.

His features remained serene, his breathing steady, as if the world beyond his dreams didn't exist. His white lashes rested softly on his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted. He looked so peaceful. It almost hurt to wake him. But only almost.

With the clock ticking menacingly, reminding you of every second slipping away, gentleness was no longer an option. You drew your leg back and delivered a swift kick to his side. "Satoru!"

With a startled yelp, Satoru rolled off the bed and landed with a thud on the plush carpet below. He was immediately jolted awake by the cold floor against his skin.

"What the—," he sputtered, propping himself up on the edge of the bed, a look of utter confusion crossing his face. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction.

"We overslept!" You throw off the covers and scramble out of bed. "The lecture, Satoru! We're late!"

For a moment, he just stared at you, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Then, realization dawned on him, his eyes widening. "Shit!"

"Yeah, shit." You were already rummaging through your belongings for something suitable to wear. The lecture was in less than thirty minutes, and you had yet to prepare yourselves, let alone rehearse the final points of your presentation.

He sighed. "Maybe we should just skip it."

"Come on, Satoru, we don't have time for this." You tossed a pair of trousers at him, which landed on his head. He yanked them off, looking slightly bemused.

"So you're deciding what I wear now?"

"It matches my outfit." 

As the two of you scrambled to get ready, the room turned into chaos. Clothes were hastily thrown on, shoes mismatched in the rush, all while you tried to rehearse the presentation.

"Satoru, have you seen my laptop?"

"Check under my bag." His voice muffled from the bathroom where he was attempting a speed-shave. "And remember, the key point on slide seventeen is the statistical improvement in patient recovery rates."

Finding your laptop and opening the presentation to quickly recall everything you tossed another question back at him. "What about the potential side effects? How are we addressing those?"

"Slide twenty-two, we're emphasizing ongoing research and monitoring," Satoru called back, emerging from the bathroom with a small cut on his jaw, but otherwise looking more like the composed professor he was supposed to be today.

The flurry of preparations continued unabated as you both sifted through documents, gathered laptops and chargers, and double-checked that the USB with your presentation was safely in your bag.

You turned to see Satoru fumbling with his tie, his hands shaking slightly.

"Let me." You closed the gap between you, the scent of his aftershave sharp and familiar. You unwound the tangled mess he'd made and started afresh, draping the silk fabric neatly around his neck before proceeding to tie it. "How are you holding up today?"

His hands reached up to smooth down your hair. "I'm managing. But you're here. That's all I need."

You looked up briefly to meet his gaze, a smile forming on his lips. "Regarding the Q&A, we shouldn't overlook the upcoming clinical trials," you reminded him while adjusting the knot of his tie to perfection.

Satoru nodded. "Right. And if anyone asks about the implant's durability, you'll take that question. You know the technical specs better than I do."

Once the tie was neatly in place, your hands lingered on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. His gaze was heavy on you, and when you finally met it, his eyes held a tenderness that made your breath catch. 

He looked at you as if you were the only person in the world, as if the very sight of you filled him with an awe he could hardly believe.

His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, a touch so light it was almost a ghost against your skin. Time seemed to pause as you both lost yourselves in each other's eyes.

But just as quickly as the moment had enveloped you, reality came crashing back. With a jolt, you remembered that you were indeed late for the lecture.

"Let's quickly run through the opening of the presentation once more." You broke the stillness and resumed the morning's hurried pace. "I'll begin with an introduction to the progression of neuroimplant technology, followed by your detailed discussion of our research findings."

Satoru shook his head, as if snapping back to reality. "Sounds like a plan." He picked up the room key and led you to the door. "I'll conclude with our study's implications for future research and potential applications."

Just as you were about to hurry out, Satoru's voice halted you. "Wait."

You turned to find him stepping closer. In a seamless motion, he bridged the distance between you, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck. He leaned down, and his lips met yours. The kiss was sudden but tender, a moment of calm amidst the morning's frantic rush.

He pulled away reluctantly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "For luck."

Satoru grabbed his suit jacket in a swift motion before you left the hotel room.

"Sure you'll need it? It's going to be a scorcher today."

He smirked. "I have a feeling I might."

─── ·✧· ───

As you entered the auditorium, the sheer scale of the event stole your breath. 

The room was packed beyond capacity. Every seat taken, attendees sitting on the floor and along the stairs, every face—hundreds of them—turned toward the stage in anticipation.

You squeezed through the crowd, Satoru's hand a steadying presence at your back. You made your way to the front of the room, the eyes of the audience following your every move. The podium felt like a different world, a spotlight that left no room for mistakes.

As you set up your presentation, your gaze inadvertently swept across the faces in the crowd, searching, scanning until it landed on him—Sukuna.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, a smirk playing on his lips. Your stomach twisted.

Satoru, sensing your tension, leaned closer. "Deep breaths. Eyes on me," he whispered. "Forget him. You know this material better than anyone. You're brilliant, and today, everyone else will see that too."

You nodded, drawing a deep breath.

As Satoru began to speak, his voice carried across the room, clear and confident. The initial nerves faded away, replaced by the passion for your subject that always fueled you as you took the stage. The presentation flowed from introduction to in-depth analysis, from new research to potential implications for the future.

The audience was captivated, their attention unwavering as they followed along. The content you had both worked so hard on was being received with the enthusiasm and seriousness it deserved.

By the time the final slide flickered onto the screen, the room erupted into applause. You looked over at Satoru, finding him already looking at you. He smiled.

As the applause died down, the room transitioned into the Q&A session. Hands shot up one after another, questions being fired at you and Satoru with eagerness and curiosity. The exchange was lively, with both of you addressing each question with detail and clarity.

The scheduled time for the session quickly passed, yet the audience's thirst for knowledge seemed unquenchable, with more hands remaining raised, more questions waiting to be asked.

Suddenly, Sukuna raised his arm, his mere presence commanding attention. The room instantly fell silent, all eyes turned to him. He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on you.

"I must admit, your presentation is both ambitious and promising," he began, his voice carrying across the packed auditorium. "However, I can't help but wonder about the long-term risks. How do you propose to overcome the inevitable immune response that will reject the implant? Or is the plan just to pump patients full of immunosuppressants until their bodies give out?"

Oh, he was such a dick.

"And another thing," Sukuna continued, not giving you a chance to respond to his first jab, "how do you plan to maintain the efficacy of the neural interface when the brain's neuroplasticity will likely render it obsolete in a few years? Or hadn't you thought that far ahead?"

Oh, he challenged you. You could clearly see it.

Satoru opened his mouth to respond, but you were quicker. Without hesitation, you stepped forward and cut Satoru off.

"Thank you for your interesting questions," you began, the edge in your voice mirroring his, "it seems you don't understand the scope of our research. As for the immune response, we don't rely on brute force immunosuppression. Instead, we're taking a new approach using biocompatible materials designed to integrate seamlessly with human tissue."

"And as for neuroplasticity," you continued, locking eyes with Sukuna, "our interface is designed to adapt as the brain changes, using algorithms that learn and evolve. We're not talking about a static piece of hardware, but a dynamic system. But perhaps the concept of adaptive technology is new to you?"

It was disrespectful, to say the least.

Bold. Stupid. Risky. All of the above and worse. No student should ever speak in such a dismissive tone to an experienced professor, let alone the head of the university who had specifically invited you to give this lecture, but God, you had had enough of his arrogance.

The room fell silent for a moment.

Then, Sukuna started to laugh—a shrill sound that filled the space. "Thank you," he said, his laughter fading into a smirk. "That was a truly refreshing lecture."

The audience erupted into applause once more.

Satoru strolled over to you, giving you a reassuring smile. In the moments following the lecture, as the last of the attendees began filing out of the auditorium, Satoru turned to you. "You were incredible out there," Satoru began, his voice carrying a warmth that made your heart flutter. "I'm proud of you."

"I couldn't have done it without you."

Satoru stepped closer and reached out, his hands finding your waist, drawing you into him. You tilted your head back, your gaze on his lips as the distance between you dwindling to mere inches. Just as his lips were about to meet yours, a familiar voice interrupted the moment.

"Quite the performance," Sukuna's voice intruded. His eyes, locked on yours, held a predator's gleam. "You have a sharp tongue, woman. I like that. Keeps things... interesting."

Satoru's hand tightened briefly around you before he let go. Satoru then casually shrugged off his suit jacket, wrapping it neatly over his right hand.

"Thanks for having us," you replied as Sukuna made his way over to you.

"I'm sure my colleagues would like you both to—," Sukuna begann but was quickly shut silent when Satoru's jacket-wrapped fist met his face. The sound of the impact echoed through the empty auditorium.

Oh, great. Another lawsuit.

"So much for wanting to 'talk' about it," you said dryly.

Satoru turned to you, a beam of satisfaction in his eyes. "I wrapped my hand in my jacket so I wouldn't get hurt. Didn't want you to have to patch me up again," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

That's nothing to be proud of. Still, you appreciated his thoughtfulness.

Turning back to Sukuna, who was rubbing his jaw, Satoru added, "You should be thankful that I didn't do it in front of your students. Now we're even."

Sukuna's laughter filled the room, a sound of genuine amusement. "You haven't lost your old charm, Toru," he said, rising to his full height. "Still a man for dramatic gestures."

With a step forward, Sukuna enveloped Satoru in a tight hug. "Just like old times, eh?" he said, clapping Satoru on the back.

What was going on here. Was this normal?

Satoru chuckled. "Exactly like old times. But let's not make a habit out of it."

You stood there. Stunned. Speechless.

You had questions, a million of them.

Sukuna took a step back. "Well, I shouldn't keep you. I heard you have a long drive ahead," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. "I do hope you'll consider coming back to give another lecture in the future."

"We'll think about it. And thanks for the hospitality, Sukuna," Satoru said.

"Always a pleasure to have you here. Safe travels back." With that, Sukuna turned and left the podium, leaving you and Satoru alone in the now-empty auditorium.

"Ready to head back?" Satoru then asked, extending his hand towards you.

You took his hand, your fingers intertwined with his. "You have really strange friends, Satoru."

─── ·✧· ───

"Sent another one off yesterday," Maki sighed, the ice clinking in her empty cup. "Feels like I've exhausted every hospital within a thousand-mile radius."

"It'll pay off. You're brilliant, remember? They'd be fools to pass you up."

The city pulsed with life under the lazy afternoon sun. 

You and Maki navigated the crowded sidewalks, the scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries swirling in the warm air. Laughter bubbled up from overflowing cafes, their cheerful chatter a counterpoint to the impatient honks of taxis. 

The cool condensation on your iced coffee cup was a sweet relief against the prickle of sweat forming on your skin. But your conversation carried a weightier theme: Maki's internship applications.

Maki huffed out a mock-dramatic breath. "Well, if all else fails, there's always plan B: becoming a professional medical drama consultant."

"Medical drama consultant? Is that... a thing?"

"Think about it," Maki explained. "I'd be the go-to person for TV shows and movies to ensure their medical scenes are accurate. I'll be the one yelling at the screen, 'That's not how you do CPR!' or 'Nobody wears high heels in the ER!'"

"Yeah, why do they always wear heels on these shows? It makes no sense—" you began, then your phone buzzed, cutting you off. You couldn't stop the smile from spreading across your face as you read the message.

[5:12 PM] Satoru: Got any plans later? I might have something in mind for us.

Maki's eyebrows shot up. "Who's that? Making you smile like an idiot in the middle of the street?"

"Nothing, just—"

But Maki was faster. With a flash of her hand, she snatched your phone. "Let me see."

"No, wait—" you protested, but it was too late.

Maki's jaw dropped as she glimpsed the name at the top of the chat history. "Satoru Gojo?" she breathed, her surprise quickly morphing into something bordering on glee. "The Satoru Gojo?"

Maki's eyes flicked back to the screen, scanning messages with lightning speed. An audible gasp escaped her lips. "And what's this?" she read aloud, her voice barely a whisper, "'I'd rather have you wear nothing'?" Her eyes glittered with mischief. "Oh my god!"

"Maki, it's nothing really." You tried to reach for the phone, but she danced out of reach, her eyes still glued to the screen.

"You and Gojo, huh?" Maki finally looked up from the phone. "Why didn't you tell me? How long has this been going on?"

You sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it any longer. "A while now. But it's complicated."

"Men are always complicated," she said, her fingers already tapping out a reply.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"Texting your man back," she said with a wicked grin.

Before you could stop her, she snapped a photo of the lingerie store you were standing in front of. She hit send, adding a caption that made your heart leap to your throat.

[5:15 PM] You: Thinking of you.

The deed done, Maki handed back your phone with a grin. "There, now he knows what he's missing out on."

Your phone buzzed almost immediately, Satoru's response popping up. Both of you leaned in.

[5:15 PM] Satoru: Don't tease me, you might regret it later. 

[5:15 PM] Satoru: You should come over after your shopping trip and show me.

Maki raised her eyebrows. "Oh, he's good."

"He's an idiot." You locked your phone, shoving it deep into your pocket.

"So, spill it," Maki began, her eyes wide. "How serious is it?"

You sighed. "It's somewhat serious."

Maki's eyes narrowed. "You know what they say about him, right? He's a brilliant surgeon, and an even better heartbreaker. Are you sure he's not just playing his usual game?"

"I just know." The words ringing with a conviction that surprised even yourself. "He might be a bit of a mess, but there's something about him. When I'm with him—" You trailed off, searching for the right words. "He gets me."

Maki's gaze softened, the sharp concern replaced by a familiar, almost sisterly look. "I'm not judging," she said. "Gojo's—well, he's intense," she added with a wry grin that almost made you laugh. "But don't forget who you are in all of this."

Maki squeezed your hand. "You've got this amazing research project, a brilliant career ahead of you—don't let any man, not even Satoru Gojo, mess that up."

Yeah, it was far too late for caution, wasn't it?

Before you could answer, Maki's attention was drawn to a shop across the street. "Ooh, let's check this place out!" She darted off before you could protest, giving you time to answer Satoru.

[5:25 PM] You: 8 pm?

[5:26 PM] Satoru: I'm impatiently waiting for you.

─── ·✧· ───

When you arrived at Satoru's apartment, the door was slightly ajar. Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, calling out his name. You immediately noticed the flavors of thyme and ginger in the air and the soft lo-fi music coming from the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, you found Satoru in a scene you never thought you'd witness. He stood over the stove, tossing vegetables in a pan with practiced ease, humming along to the music playing softly in the background. The sight was so unexpected it stopped you in your tracks.

"You hungry?" he called out.

You moved over to him, and leaned against the kitchen island. "You're—cooking?"

Satoru glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Why does that surprise you so much?"

"I didn't think you knew how to cook."

Satoru and cooking were two concepts you'd never thought to pair together.

"Why not? I'm living alone, what did you think?"

"I don't know, that you live off delivery service."

"Ah, the misconception strikes again." As if to prove his point, he gave the pan in front of him an expert toss, sending its contents flipping neatly in the air before landing back with a satisfying sizzle.

"What are you making?"

"Ah, that would be telling. You'll just have to wait and see," he teased, the button-down shirt straining slightly across his broad shoulders as he reached for a spice jar.  A kitchen towel was slung over one shoulder, like a damn real chef.

The light from the setting sun filtered through the window, casting a warm hue that highlighted the sharp angles of his jawline, the concentration in his eyes as he tasted a sauce, and the small smile that played on his lips when he was satisfied with the flavors.

Your gaze drifted to his forearms, where the veins were subtly pronounced against his pale skin. Your mind wandered to how his skin felt against yours—smooth, yet with a hint of roughness. You imagined the touch of his long, perfect fingers, their gentle caress—

"So, how did your shopping trip go? Found something?" Satoru's voice pulled you from your daydreams, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement as he caught the distant look on your face.

"I wasn't the one who sent that message, just so you know."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming. "Figured. You're not usually so straightforward with your flirting. So, who knows now?"

"Maki knows."

"Maki Zenin?"

"Yes."

"I see," he hummed, stirring the pot thoughtfully. 

"She won't tell anyone," you added.

"You know, I wouldn't mind if people found out about us," he commented casually, sending a playful glance your way.

You scoffed, pushing yourself away from the counter. "You're seriously too laid-back for your own good, Satoru."

You wandered into the living room, the warm, spicy scent of his cooking clinging to you.

"Still haven't answered my question, love," his voice came from the kitchen.

"And which question would that be?"

"Did you find anything interesting on your shopping trip?"

"Ah, that would be telling. You'll just have to wait and see," you mirrored his words back to him, casting a glance over your shoulder to catch his gaze.

Your attention then shifted to a shelf beside the TV in the living room. Medical textbooks and dusty journals formed a stoic wall, interrupted only by a somewhat abandoned plant gasping for water. But your attention settled on the gleaming basketball trophies nestled between them.

Polished silver and gold surfaces reflected the warm light, each etched with names and dates, whispering stories of past matches. You couldn't resist. Your fingertips glided over their cool smoothness, tracing the inscriptions, a faint metallic tang lingering on your skin.

Meanwhile, Satoru's voice announced from the kitchen, "This will need a bit to simmer properly," followed by the sound of a lid sealing the pot and the soft thud of a towel carelessly tossed aside. 

He appeared behind you, a familiar warmth radiating from his body as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close. The spicy scent of the cooking clung to his shirt, mingling with his own clean, masculine fragrance. His chin rested gently on your head.

Curiosity piqued, you asked, "Which one means the most to you?"

He guided both of you towards a shelf to the right, his hand leading yours to a particularly well-worn trophy, its surface already dulled. "This one is from our last match at university."

You traced the engraved plate at the base of the trophy, listening intently.

"It was against our biggest rivals," he began, his voice laced with a hint of nostalgia. "And honestly, we were the underdogs. First half was brutal, we were falling behind, and morale was low."

He paused, and you could almost hear the silence of that locker room, the taste of despair in the air. "But then, halftime hit. Suguru... he gave that speech. I don't remember the words, but it was something else. Somehow, he always knew exactly what to say."

You glanced up at him, your curiosity piqued by the sudden softness in his voice. You watched as a smile crept across his face. "After that, we just clicked. Everything fell into place, and we played like never before. We caught up, and in the final seconds, Suguru passed me the ball."

You leaned closer. "And?"

"And I took the shot," he said, a laugh bubbling up. "And it went in. Just like that, we won." He sighed, his gaze returning to the trophy. "That's why this one means so much. It was the end of an era for us, a perfect closure before we all went our separate ways."

"But you and Geto stayed close, you even did your residency years together. And Kento's still around."

"I know," he murmured, a shadow flickering across his face. "But things were never quite the same."

Before you could delve deeper, his phone began to ring, slicing through the moment. He reluctantly let go of you and picked up the phone, a slight frown forming as he glanced at the caller ID.

"Sorry, I need to take this," Satoru said, the warmth in his voice replaced by a hint of tension.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just a call I have to answer."

He quickly excused himself, moving towards his study with brisk steps. "Won't be long," he called over his shoulder before slipping through the door and softly closing it behind him.

With Satoru momentarily gone, you wandered through the living room, each step echoing slightly in the spacious area. Eventually, you stepped out onto the balcony, the cool evening air a welcome caress against your skin. The setting sun painted the sky in breathtaking shades of red and orange, a canvas of fiery hues that seemed to set the world ablaze.

After a few minutes bathed in the dying light, you glanced back over your shoulder, expecting to see Satoru returning. But the door remained closed.

Each minute stretched longer than the last, the beauty of the sunset gradually giving way to the twinkling lights of the city below. As you lingered on the balcony, soaking in the last hues of the sunset . Then, a sharp, acrid scent suddenly sliced through the air, pulling your attention away from the serene view.

Wrinkling your nose, you realized it was the unmistakable smell of something burning.

You hurried back into the apartment. At the same time, Satoru emerged from his study and hurried into the kitchen to turn off the stove. You stood behind him, trying to peak over his shoulder on your tiptoes to see what was left of the evening's meal—but the food was beyond saving, a blackened mess at the bottom of the pot.

He let out a heavy sigh, a boyish smile playing on his lips as he turned to you. "So, what type of takeout do you want?"

Leaning back on your heels you tiled your head. "Pizza sounds good."

"Then pizza it is," he declared with a chuckle, already reaching for his phone to place an order. "Sorry for that, the call took longer than I expected."

"Who was it?"

"Just hospital stuff," he mumbled, his eyes flitting away for a moment. "Nothing important."

"Really? Because you seemed a bit stressed—" you prodded gently. But just as you touched on the subject, the pizza place picked up his call, cutting the conversation short.

"Ah, hey, I'd like to place an order," Satoru said, turning slightly away.

You exhaled, frustration rising within you.

You stepped back onto the balcony, the lingering scent of smoke clinging to the air. Leaning against the railing, you watched the people weaving through the streets below. Streetlights flickered to life, painting the streets in a garish orange glow as the evening deepened into night.

His footsteps broke the silence before you felt his arms encircle you. The warmth of his body drove away the chill of the night. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath lightly brushing against your cheek as you both looked out over the cityscape.

"You've got this really huge balcony, but there's practically nothing on it. It's like you just moved in." You turned slightly within his embrace to gaze at the unused space, which indeed seemed unused, almost stark in its emptiness, except for the vast view it offered. "How long have you been living here, anyway?"

"You probably don't want to know." Then, a spark of something new flickered in his tone. "I have an idea."

His sudden shift startled you. "What?" You turned to face him, your back now leaning against the railing but he already wandered off.

He hurried inside, his movements a blur as he vanished into the living room and then the bedroom. Moments later, he reappeared, arms laden with pillows and blankets. He tossed them onto the cold stone floor. In an instant, the balcony was a sea of softness and warmth.

"What's all this for?"

Without skipping a beat, Satoru plopped down onto the blankets, patting the space beside him with a wide grin. "Come here."

You hesitated only for a moment before joining him, the softness of the blankets enveloping you. You leaned back against Satoru, finding a perfect nook between his outstretched legs, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer into his embrace. His lips found the crown of your head in a tender kiss.

Enveloped in the soft embrace of blankets and cushions, with the city's lights below mirroring the starlit sky above, you found yourself sinking deeper into his embrace. The warmth of his body, the rhythmic beat of his heart—it felt like coming home.

Satoru's hand moved then, fingers brushing against your arm, as it seemed the traced the very veins beneath your skin. Surgeon's hands, you thought. Hands trained for precision.

His hand found yours then, carefully intertwining your fingers with his. His hands, large yet so slender, bore the faintest marks—tiny stitch scar here, few freckles there.

"It healed well," you murmured, thumb tracing the mark on his hand where you'd stitched a cut, after he punched that student weeks ago. "Barely a mark left."

His fingers grazed your cheek, then cupped your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Because one of the best surgeons took care of it." He tilted your chin upwards him, his eyes searching yours. His lips were inches from yours, a promise hanging in the air.

Then, the doorbell rang, a harsh, jarring sound that shattered the moment.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "Pizza's here."

He eased away, leaving the warmth of his touch as an imprint on your skin. Moments later, he returned, pizza boxes in hand. As you settled back into the cozy nest of blankets, the scent of melted cheese and herbs filling the air.

Midway through your slice, Satoru's voice broke the silence with a question that felt like a thunderclap on a clear day.

"So, when do I get to meet your mother?"

You nearly choked on your bite. "My mother?" you repeated. "You know she's... well, not exactly the conventional type. She's a bit out there." Understatement of the century, you thought. 

"Can't be any more 'out there' than mine. Besides, she's your mom. I'd like to get to know my future mother-in-law."

"What?"

"Aren't we there yet?"

"Where? What are you talking about?"

"What, is the thought of you marrying me so absurd?"

"Kind of, yes."

"I'll just pretend I didn't hear that," he replied, undeterred.

"Are you serious?"

"I am serious." His tone softened, his eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "I mean, isn't that where this is heading? Us, together, for the long haul?"

Your heart raced.

How could he just blurt something like that out and act like it was nothing?

He dropped the idea of marriage as casually as suggesting a trip to Ikea next weekend—as if marrying him wasn't just a possibility—it was a given—as if being together with him—like forever—like until death do us part—was the most natural thing in the world.

Of course you're getting married, didn't you know?

Like, in his mind, marrying you was as natural and inevitable as the sun rising each day. He wasn't just proposing a future together. He was stating it as a fact, something he'd considered a done deal from the beginning and he'd simply been quietly waiting for you to catch up.

The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

"Or are you planning to dump me once the new semester starts?" he added.

"If you keep saying things like that, then yes."

In response, he closed the gap between you, his presence overwhelming. "Fine, then let me be clear—I absolutely do not want to marry you. In fact, I really can't stand you," he moved closer with each word, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "seriously, marrying you? Sounds like an absolute nightmare."

"Very funny, Dr. Gojo. Can't you ever be serious?"

His blue eyes held yours, the smile on his lips a shade bolder. "Dead serious." 

His lips hovered just inches from yours, a promise of a kiss hanging in the air. "I'm merely contemplating the perfect moment to ask my future Mrs. Gojo to marry me. Or perhaps you'd like to keep your last name?"

"You're impossible," you breathed, the word barely a whisper.

"But that's why you love me, isn't it?"

His words were barely audible, drowned out by the frantic pounding of your heart, his lips so cruelly close. But just as the distance between you was about to disappear, a harsh, jarring sound shattered the moment once again.

Satoru froze, a frown marring his handsome features. He glanced at his phone, the annoyance evident, before pulling away with a resigned sigh. "I'm sorry, I need to take this."

"It's okay, go ahead," you said, despite the disappointment that fluttered in your chest.

Satoru offered a strained smile before stepping away to answer the call. You watched him as he moved to a quieter corner inside his apartment. The ease and warmth that had enveloped you both just seconds ago were replaced by a sudden chill of distance.

As you waited, the unease settled in again, heavier this time. You watched him, he paced the room, seemingly distressed. When Satoru returned, his expression was unreadable, a mask that gave nothing away.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just work stuff," he replied. "Where were we?" He leaned in, attempting to recapture the lost spark, but the interruption had fractured something.

You frowned slightly. "You're hiding something."

He paused, a mere heartbeat away, his gaze lingering on the curve of your lips. "Nothing to worry your pretty head about."

"So there is something," you pressed.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a slow, deep kiss. Satoru's lips were warm and soft, his breath mingling with yours as he deepened the kiss. His fingers traced your jawline, a feather-light caress that belied the urgency in his eyes.

"It's nothing important," he murmured against your lips.

Your heart raced, matching the rhythm of his own. The heat in my stomach flared to life, a familiar, treacherous heat that threatened to drown out your doubts.

Slowly, his tongue slipped past your lips, parted them, and then licked along your lower lip.

"You're really testing me with your secrets," you breathed into his mouth. Yet, you parted your lips further for him to claim.

"You're really testing my patience with your stubbornness," he said before claiming your mouth once more. His hand slid down your neck, tracing the outline of your collarbone before venturing south. His fingertips danced over the fabric of your shirt, sending shivers up your skin.

You clung to him, wanting more of his kiss, feeling yourself falling deeper under his spell. Satoru responded in kind, his hand venturing lower, sliding beneath the fabric of your leggings. "I wouldn't be so stubborn if you would just tell me."

"But stubbornness suits you, sweetheart." His fingers moved further down, pushing aside the already damp fabric of your underwear. "It adds to the thrill." As his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin, a soft moan escaped your lips and the treacherous heat in your stomach flared higher.

"Has anyone ever told you you're impossible?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you never stop talking?" he countered, before sliding a finger inside you, eliciting a moan from your lips. You closed your eyes, biting down on your lip as he added another finger, and then a third. "That's how you like it, right?"

His fingers moved with deliberate slowness. Each teasing touch sent shivers through your body, eliciting moans that escaped your lips uncontrollably. Your hips arched towards him, seeking more of his touch. Satoru smirked, sensing your surrender. "Good girl. Let me hear those pretty little sounds."

This man.

This fucking man, did always know how to play you, how to make you weak, how to make you forget all your good reasons, leaving you desperate for his touch. He was a dangerous addiction, and you craved another hit, consequences be damned.

But can anyone blame you, when fucking Satoru Gojo's fingers were in you?

"You can't just fuck your way out of every argument," you protested, though your voice wavered.

"Oh really?" With a subtle grin, his movements intensified, his fingers delving deeper and faster. You grasped at his shoulders, tugging him closer as the pressure built inside of you. "I might want to try it anyway."

Suddenly, he withdrew, pulling down your leggings to reveal a new pair of lace underwear. "So you did buy something?" he remarked with a playful smirk.

"I never said I didn't."

Satoru's eyes gleamed as he admired the delicate lace accentuating your pretty curves. His fingers traced lightly along the edges, grazing over the fabric that barely concealed the allure of your skin beneath. "You look so fucking hot in that, what a shame I have to get you out of it."

"Then I should just keep it on, don't you think?"

His lips twitched into a half grin. "Just how I like it."

With a swift movement, Satoru pulled you onto his lap. He drew you close as his lips sought yours once more, deepening the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his silvery hair as you pressed your lips against his.

His hands roamed restlessly across the hemline of your shirt. With a quick, eager tug, he pulled the fabric upwards, exposing your chest to the cool night air. A shiver ran through you, goosebumps rising along your arms.

He smiled wickedly, his teeth flashing white against the darkness as he took in the sight of the delicate lace of your matching bra. "You really have good taste."

"I know." Every inch of your skin tingled under the weight of his gaze as you closed the distance between you once more, your lips eagerly seeking his. Satoru pulled you tight against his chest, his lips devouring yours with fervor.

His hands wandered over the intricate pattern of your lace bra, exploring every curve and contour. His touch was both gentle and possessive, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips as you pressed your breasts against his hand, craving more of his touch.

His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your neck. His tongue teased over your collarbone and then down over your breasts as he worshiped every inch of your skin with fervent devotion.

His hand deftly pushed aside the thin lace to reveal your bare skin. His tongue traced circles around the sensitive nipples, causing you to gasp aloud.

"So, where's that attitude now?" he teased.

"Still here," you managed to breathe out.

"Then I'll just have to work harder."

With a sudden surge of energy, he pushed you back, pinning you down onto the soft bedding below. One hand closed around your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to send a thrill through you. The other hand wasted no time and was already between your legs.

Without hesitation, he slid three fingers slow and deep inside you, filling you completely. His grip on your throat tightened with each inch he buried his fingers deeper.

Your breath caught in your throat, a mix of pain and pleasure wracking your senses. Yet, somehow, it felt right, exactly how you needed him to be in that moment. 

"You like that, don't you?"

"Fuck, yes," you moaned as he began to move his fingers within you.

As if reading your mind, Satoru shifted his attention to your nipples again, caressing them hungrily with his tongue. The contrast of the roughness of his grip with the velvety softness of his caresses left you dizzy with excitement, your body responding eagerly to his every move.

Your mouth fell open, unable to contain the moans that escaped freely from your lips. You didn't care if someone could hear you. Someone must definitely hear you, how loud you were. 

With each passing second, your breath grew shallower, your heartbeat faster as you lost yourself entirely to him. With each stroke of his fingers, he coaxed another sigh, another whimper from your throat. Every inch of your skin tingled with heightened sensitivity, urging you forward towards release.

"You have anything to say now? Or did I find a way to shut you up?" he teased.

"You're such a dick sometimes."

With those words, his lips found their way back to your ears, breathing hotly against your skin. "Maybe," he whispered, "but remember how that 'dick' can make you feel."

He suddenly intensified his rhythm, each thrust deeper and more forceful than the last. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him towards you, and you opened your mouth wide beneath his.

"Tell me," he breathed against your lips, "how bad you want to cum?"

You moaned deeply into his mouth. "I don't."

What a lie.

"So stubborn." He broke from your lips to trail feather-light kisses down your jawline and neck. His teeth grazed lightly over the pulse point at your collarbone. You gasped, your body arching toward him. He looked up at you with a wicked grin, knowing full well how close you were now. "Seems like someone's pretty close for not wanting to cum."

"Shut up and finish what you started, Satoru," you demanded.

"You're not the one in command here." His grip on your throat tightened, sending a jolt of excitement through you. For a moment, you struggled against his hold, desperate for oxygen. Then, just as abruptly, he released you, allowing you to catch your breath.

"Now tell me, how bad you want to cum?" With swift movements, he descended lower, planting wet kisses over your chest, his tongue flicking teasingly over your skin.

"You're such a bitch," you gasped, but your defense was wearing thin as you sensed that you couldn't hold it in any longer. "Fuck—Make me cum, Satoru," you begged, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Your heart raced as his fingers increased the pressure. His thumb found your clit, pressing firmly and beginning to rub in slow, deliberate circles. He pushed you closer and closer to the edge, until you rolled your eyes back in your head, screaming out his name in sheer pleasure.

As you lay gasping for breath, your limbs heavy with satisfaction, he moved closer, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. Your mouth fell open, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as his fingers, still buried deep inside you, coaxed out every last bit of your orgasm.

"Good girl," he whispered against your lips, "all messed up and so pretty for me."

"I hate you."

"I'm sure you do." He withdrew his fingers, which were soaked up to his knuckles. Bringing them to his lips, he licked from his knuckles upwards to his fingertips, savoring your taste. "So, what were we arguing about just now?"

"I know exactly what we were arguing about," you said, a sudden surge of energy coursing through you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and rolled over, pinning him beneath you.

His hands found their way to your waist, pressing you down against his already hard bulge. "What's with the sudden power play?"

Your hands slid under his shirt, exploring the contours of his chest, eliciting a shudder from him beneath your touch. "Shut up and take off your shirt."

Without hesitation, he straightened up and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, his lips hovering just before yours as he did so. "Trying to take charge, are we?" His gaze was fixed on your lips, anticipation evident in his eyes.

With his shirt discarded, you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

"So, are you going to tell me now?" You began to rock back and forth against him, grinding your hips into his groin, leaving him gasping for breath beneath you. He let his head fall back, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to the sensation, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

"Didn't we already go over this?" he breathed out, his voice strained with the effort to maintain control amidst the overwhelming pleasure engulfing him.

"You're dodging the question."

Leaning forward, you pressed your body flush against his, trailing soft kisses down his neck, savoring every inch of his heated skin. Your breasts pressed firmly against his chest, and he responded eagerly, his fingers clutching at your curves hungrily.

As you ground deeper against him, your movements became more intense. He let out a raspy moan, unable to hold back his noises any longer. "Please... Please, just keep doing that," he begged, his hands gripping your hips tightly as if trying to anchor you to him.

"Still avoiding my question," you persisted.

"You really can't enjoy a single night without having to start an argument," he countered, drawing his brows together. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath, his body consumed by the intoxicating sensation of your touch. "Ah fuck, right there."

"You're a real pain in the ass," you gasped, though your own moans betrayed the words as his trousers rubbed against your core, the sensation of his hard length pressing against you sending shivers down your spine. Your gaze fixated on his lips, still glistening from your kisses.

The sight of him beneath you was both thrilling and intimidating—his muscles flexed and rippled under your touch, his skin sheened with sweat. Drops of moisture formed at the corners of his eyes. "I told you there's—ah, fuck—nothing to worry about, just let me—ah—handle it," he strained to articulate, his words punctuated with moans.

You weren't sure if you wanted to punch him or admire him for his persistence.

"I swear, you're going to kill me with this," he gasped, his fingers digging into your waist as if anchoring himself to reality amidst the overwhelming sensation. "But damn it, keep doing it anyway."

You trailed your fingers down his chest, marveling at the play of muscles beneath his skin. As you grazed your nails across his chiseled abs, you noticed a subtle tremble in the muscles beneath your fingertips. They rippled and contracted, revealing the urgency that radiated from him.

"Fuck, I can't hold back any longer. Let me fuck you already, or I'll cum in my pants," he groaned.

"Oh, you want to cum?" you tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. "Then tell me, what's going on?"

"God, damn it. Leave it be, and let me fuck you."

You abruptly stopped grinding on him, releasing your hold and leaning back slightly. "No telling me, no fucking me," you declared, standing up and moving away.

"Ha? Wait, what?" Satoru's eyes shot open immediately, frustration evident in his expression as he watched you retrieve your leggings and cover the lace underwear you had worn just for him. 

Popping himself up on his elbows, his heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to control his breathing. "Are you fucking with me?"

"Apparently not." You tossed his shirt onto his chest as you walked past him. "How about a movie?"

─── ·✧· ───

Your hands were under the steady stream of water once again.

The familiar adrenaline rush was there, but less this time. It was already your sixth surgery. Everything went well. No complications. No problems. 

Each time, it felt just a little easier to breathe.

The sterile quiet of the washing room was almost comforting, except for the distant echo of pacing from the hallway outside. You glanced through the small window, seeing Satoru's silhouette through the frosted glass.

He moved restlessly, a phone glued to his ear. Even from this distance, the tension in his shoulders was palpable. Every now and then, he'd run a hand through his hair.

Then, the door swung open with a jarring noise, and Satoru stepped in, filling the small space with his presence. You turned off the tap and dried your hands, watching him closely. 

He moved to the sink beside you, his steps a touch too heavy. The tap screeched under his grip as he wrenched it open, the water spilling in an almost violent rush. The scrub brush trembled in his grip, his knuckles white as bleached bones against the harsh fluorescent lighting.

"Satoru, what's wrong?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw before he forced a smile. It stretched his lips but didn't touch his eyes. "Everything's fine," he said, the words coming out a bit too quickly, a bit too rehearsed. "Just hospital bureaucracy, you know how it is."

You didn't believe him. Not one bit. 

"Really? Because you seemed pretty stressed just now. And we're about to perform a rather complicated surgery in a few minutes."

He turned off the tap, his back to you for a brief moment to dry his hands that felt like an eternity. When he faced you again, the smile plastered on his face was a poor mask. 

"I'm fine, really. But thanks for asking," he replied, his tone softer now. "How are you feeling? Ready for this?"

"You know, it's getting annoying to hear the same lies over and over again."

He cut you off, a little more sharply than intended. "I said it's nothing. Let's focus on the surgery, okay?"

He's in withdrawal.

He's in withdrawal and there's probably something going on that you don't know about.

He's in withdrawal and there's probably something going on that you don't know about and he's not ready to share it yet—to protect you or whatever stupid reason he has.

He's in withdrawal and there's probably something going on that you don't know about and he's not ready to share it yet—to protect you or whatever stupid reason he has.You had to remind yourself of that to keep yourself from stepping up to him and fucking spitting in his face.

Still—

His words cut deep.

As Satoru made to leave the room, he hesitated momentarily beside you, a silent struggle evident in his stance. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Let's talk about this later, okay?" With a gentle kiss on your temple, he made his exit, his presence fading along with the scent of his cologne.

You followed him into the operating room. A knot formed in your stomach, the weight of silence a heavy cloak between you.

But professionalism took over as you both slipped into the practiced rhythm of your teamwork. Each movement was precise, a result of hours of practice and the deep understanding you had developed of each other's methods and thoughts.

The silent communication between you, carried by mere glances and subtle shifts in posture, made the complex procedure flow smoothly. As usual.

For a time, everything progressed as planned.

The humming of the equipment and the occasional soft command from Satoru were the only sounds that broke the concentration in the room.

Then, without warning, the steady rhythm of the operation was shattered. A sudden hemorrhage began in the brain. Blood, crimson and shocking, bloomed on the screen. The calmness of the procedure was replaced by a sudden urgency.

"We have a bleeding," Satoru's voice remained steady, his focus unwavering on the operative field.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This shouldn't happen.

This couldn't happen.

Panic clawed at your throat. 

Breath... where was it?

Each gasp a futile fight for air that never came.

Your hands, slick with sweat inside the gloves, fumbled like a stranger's. 

The room tilted, the harsh ceiling lights blurring into blinding white. 

Do something—why can't I think—was it my fault, my fault, my—

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Satoru's voice cut through like a lifeline, commanding your attention. "Focus on my voice. Just my voice, can you do that for me?"

You met his gentle gaze, the slight furrow in his brow softening as he looked at you. "You're not alone in this, just follow what I'm saying, okay?"

Fuck, get your shit together.

You weren't alone. You had him.

You nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"I need you to apply direct pressure here," he said, pointing with his instrument to the bleeding vessel. Your trembling hands fumbled for a moment before you grasped the sterile gauze, positioning it with painstaking care over the spot Satoru had indicated.

"Good. Hold it there while I cauterize the vessel. We need to stop the bleeding without compromising the surrounding tissue." Satoru took the bipolar forceps and skillfully maneuvered it around the critical area. 

"You're doing great," he said, his voice calm but focused as he worked to seal the bleeding vessel. "Just hold steady."

After a tense few minutes, the bleeding was controlled.

Satoru took a moment to assess the situation, ensuring that the bleeding had indeed stopped and that the patient remained stable. "That should do it. You can release the pressure now."

You slowly released the pressure, your hands betraying a slight tremor. 

You hated it.

Hated how weak and powerless you felt in those moments.

Hated the fear that had momentarily choked you.

"Do you need a moment?" Satoru asked.

You wanted to say yes, to let the tears of relief roll down your cheeks, but something held you back. "No, I'm okay," you replied. But you both knew you weren't.

His gaze held yours, his concern evident. He wasn't fooled by your bravery, seeing the tremor in your gloved hands, the slight tightening of your jaw. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice softer now. "It's okay to step out if you need to catch your breath."

"No," you insisted. "Let's finish this."

Stepping away from the table, you took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering fear. With a determined shrug, you forced a smile. Satoru returned the smile and together, you dove back into the task at hand, closing up the patient with practiced precision.

The rest of the operation proceeded without incident. With each suture placed, with each step that brought the procedure to its close, the unease that had gripped you began to recede, inch by painstaking inch.

Relief washed over both of you as the final sutures were placed, sealing the wound and marking the end of the surgery.

─── ·✧· ───

Later, you found yourself in the observation room, awaiting the results of the CT scan on the patient with the bleeding. You wanted, needed, the scan to be flawless, a clean slate erasing the memory of trembling hands and breathless fear.

A tense silence suffocated the observation room, broken only by the rhythmic hum of machines and Satoru's relentless fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden tabletop. Your eyes glued to the CT machine through the window as you waited for the images to appear.

Satoru's gaze then flickered to you, concern etching lines on his brow. "You look pale," he observed quietly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, the gesture feeling brittle. "Yeah, just the adrenaline, I guess. Long day." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Satoru studied you for a moment, his silence more telling than words. 

He always saw too much.

"I'm starting to think I might not be cut out for this," you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

His reply was immediate. "That's not true. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"I almost panicked back there. If you hadn't—"

"So what," he interrupted gently. "That's perfectly fine. You're still learning. Believe me, I messed up way more when I was starting out."

"Hard to imagine."

"Don't get down on yourself," he said. "You're doing great."

A flicker of doubt sparked in the back of your mind. Were you? 

After a moment, he added softly, "Look, I know I've been asking a lot of you. If you need to take a step back—"

"No," you interrupted, the word sharper than intended. "I don't want to give up."

"Taking a break isn't giving up," he said gently. The concern in his eyes made you want to squirm.

His offer, meant to be supportive, struck a nerve—chipped away at your carefully constructed armor. No, you couldn't accept that. Couldn't face the echoing void it would leave, the fear that without this, there was nothing. You were nothing.

The pressure built—an unseen weight crushing your chest.

So, you did what any rational human being would do in that situation, right?

You pushed back.

"When will you stop shutting me out?"

"Can we not do this now?" There was a weariness in his voice that you hadn't heard before.

"So when, Satoru?" you pressed. "When is the perfect time to tell me what's going on?"

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "This isn't the time or place," he insisted, his voice tight. "We need to focus on the patient."

"You're impossible!" The accusation hung in the air. "How can you stand there, acting like nothing's wrong, when it's so obvious something is?"

He held your gaze, the storm in his eyes mirroring your own. "I know what I'm doing," he said, each word clipped. "But you—what's happening with you right now?"

As if on cue, the door opened, and Geto stepped inside. 

"Heard there was a bit of excitement in surgery," Geto remarked, his breezy tone a stark contrast to the lingering anger in the room. "What happened?"

Satoru tore his gaze from you, reluctantly shifting his focus. "Not sure yet. We had an unexpected bleeding. We're waiting on the pictures to get a better idea."

Geto's eyes flickered to you, a hand coming to rest on the back of your chair. "You look pale. How are you holding up?" he echoed Satoru's earlier observation.

Were you really that pale or what?

"I'm fine, just tired."

Satoru's phone suddenly vibrated, the jarring sound cutting through the already strained silence. He glanced at the display, his expression hardening. "I need to take this."Without another word, he stepped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

He was gone, but the tension lingered, a suffocating presence in the small room. Geto watched Satoru's retreating form, a sigh escaping his lips. He turned to you, settling into the chair Satoru had just vacated.

You couldn't quite meet his gaze. It was clear he sensed the unease that hung in the air.

"Is everything okay between you two?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I don't know." You scrubbed a hand over your face. "I'm stupid, Geto."

"Why that, pretty?"

"It's just... there's something off, and I'm not making it any easier for him to talk about it," you said, the words barely a whisper. "I feel like things are getting worse again."

"Makes sense. He's been cutting down his meds too quickly. It's no surprise he's in heavy withdrawal."

"Cutting down one milligram every two weeks isn't too fast," you said, slightly offended that he questioned your perfect withdrawal plan. "That's standard protocol."

Geto's reply was blunt, cutting through your denial like a knife. "One? He slashed his dose in half. That's reckless, even for him."

"What?"

"Huh?" Geto's brow furrowed, surprised by your reaction.

"What did you say?"

"That he reduced his dosage by half, hasn't he? Like, he went from ten milligrams down to five."

The room felt smaller, the air heavier.

"You didn't know, huh?" Geto's voice was soft now.

Admitting it out loud felt like unraveling a tightly wound string. "I didn't. He mentioned six milligrams—" Your voice trailed off, a sickening feeling spreading through your chest.

Geto's expression softened. "He's good at hiding things."

"And there's something else," you said, sinking deeper into your chair. "Something he's been hiding ever since that we got back from that coastal university."

A slight smile flickered across Geto's face. "Heard you managed to put Sukuna in his place in front of everyone."

"Sukuna's insufferable. I can't believe Satoru ever saw him as anything close to a friend."

"Friends? No, they were more like enemies drawn together by their shared taste for self-destruction rather than real friendship."

"Yeah, I saw as much."

Geto leaned in slightly. "But Sukuna... he was a particularly bad influence on Satoru. It was better for both of them when their paths finally split. After all, Sukuna was the reason for Satoru's addiction."

"What?"

"Sukuna was the one who introduced him to that whole scene. Kept him well-supplied until they both got hooked."

The revelation hit you like a physical blow, the air knocked from your lungs as the pieces fell into place.

"You didn't know that either, huh?" Geto observed.

Silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. 

Finally, Geto spoke again, his tone weary. "Look, it's how he's always been. Walls up before anyone gets too close, pushing people away because—" he paused, a flicker of pain crossing his face, "—because he's convinced that deep down, he's broken. That if anyone truly sees him, they'll run for the hills."

A bitter laugh escaped you. "For someone who warned me to stay away from him, you sure are making it awfully hard to hate him, you know?"

"You two are like a car crash you can't take your eyes off. And honestly? Trying to separate you is pointless. I'm just trying to make it less painful for me to watch, because Satoru—," he trailed off, shaking his head, "—Satoru sure knows how to screw things up."

His words stung, but there was truth in them. 

You both knew Satoru's tendency for self-sabotage.

Geto paused, searching for the right words. "Thing is, back then, Satoru was different. Restless, always trying to prove something. Sukuna saw that vulnerability and played on it. Offered him what he thought was friendship. But it was all just a trap, a slow poison."

He shifted in his seat, "Satoru lost himself to that addiction before he even realized how deep he was in."

He leaned closer, making sure you were listening. "But you? You're good for him, whether you see it or not."

"Hard to believe that right now," you mumbled.

Geto's reply was immediate. "The fact he's opened up to you at all, about this?" He shook his head, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "Hell, you survived meeting his mom. That's unheard of."

"Has Satoru ever actually dated anyone?"

"Not seriously," Geto shrugged. "He's always been too good at sabotage, pushing people away before it gets real."

Your mind lingered on a seemingly offhand comment. "Wait, what's the deal with his mom?"

"Lovely woman, isn't she?"Geto leaned back in his chair, his gaze on you suddenly darkening. He pulled out a cigarette, the click of his lighter cutting through the tense silence.

You raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Smoking here?"

"Ah, come on, don't start," he retorted, a wry smile playing on his lips as he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling toward the ceiling. "Satoru's upbringing was intense, to say the least. Top surgeons, generations of them. The expectations were sky-high."

"What about his father?"

Geto exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Absent. Barely even speaks to his mother now."

Your head spun, piecing together fragments of Satoru's past.

Must feel exhausting.

Must feel suffocating.

Must feel cruelly lonely, growing up in a family devoid of love, chasing a lifelong search for validation in a family that valued success above all else.

Must feel even more cruelly lonely when you can't even talk about it, can't open up to anyone about it. Maybe it was easier for him to give in to his addiction.

Talk about a vicious cycle.

Then suddenly the pictured of the CT scan appeared on the monitor, reminding you that you were still in charge of a patient. Geto leaned in, studying it with practiced eyes. "Looks like Satoru managed to control the bleeding, everything's looking stable."

"Good work, both of you," he added as his gaze flickered back to you.

His praise fell flat. You mustered up a weak smile in response.

As you sat there, a sudden vibration from your phone broke the tense silence. You glanced at the screen, seeing Satoru's name flash across the top. The message was brief, almost curt.

[3:31 PM] Satoru: Had to go somewhere. Don't wait for me. Go home.

A lump formed in your throat. "It's Satoru."

Geto leaned over to glance at your phone screen, his eyebrows knitting together as he took another drag from his cigarette. After a moment, he exhaled deeply, his hand absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.

Standing up, he flicked ash into a nearby trash. "I'll take you home."

You looked up at him. "But, the patient... I should stay."

"I'll ask one of the residents to keep an eye on things."

"But—"

"Don't," Geto cut in gently. "You've done enough for today."

You knew he was right.

With your mind all over the place, it was probably best not to keep an eye on a patient fresh from brain surgery. Not without Satoru. You wanted to do nothing without him.

You nodded, the fight draining out of you. "Okay."

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, under the amber glow of the setting sun, you stood at Satoru's door.

Maybe you were stupid. Maybe you were just in love. Maybe both. 

Anyway, after a moment's hesitation, you pressed the doorbell. Its chime seemed overly loud. The door creaked open, revealing Satoru.

The spark you always adored, the one that danced in his eyes, was dimmed. Fatigue etched itself onto his features, a heavy cloak weighing him down. He appeared genuinely taken aback to see you standing there, a momentary flicker of confusion crossing his face.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

The question wasn't accusatory—it seemed more like he was genuinely confused, as if the concept of someone showing up at his door unannounced was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve in his current state.

"I messaged you," you started, holding up the bag of sushi takeaway as if it were a peace offering. "Thought you could use a decent meal."

"Sorry, I've been..." He trailed off, a hand running through his unkempt hair. "I haven't checked my phone."

Without waiting for further invitation, you pressed the bag of sushi into his hands and pushed past him into the apartment. 

Inside you were greeted by a chaotic mess throughout the living room. Papers spilled across the living room floor like fallen leaves, medical journals and crumpled notes forming chaotic constellations on every surface. The sight stopped you in your tracks. 

"What's all this?"

Satoru closed the door and followed your gaze around the room, as if seeing the mess for the first time.

"Been trying to make sense of what happened today in the OR." He sounded tired, the weight of his concerns evident in the slump of his shoulders. "I feel like I'm missing something—it's driving me mad not knowing."

He moved to clear a corner of the coffee table, the papers scattering under his frantic hands. You watched him, a knot forming in your stomach.

"Let's take a break," you suggested, settling down on the floor in front of the couch. You began to clear more space on the coffee table, making space for the sushi.

Looking up at him, you saw that he just stared at you, as if unsure if he was even allowed to sit at his own table next to you. "Come on, Satoru, sit down."

He sank down opposite you, papers rustling beneath him. Your chopsticks snapped with a harsh crack, the sound jarring in the strained silence. "The CT scans came back clear," you began, "the bleeding was fully stopped. No further complications."

"Good to hear," he said with a snap of his chopsticks.

"What do you think went wrong?"

He paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "Hard to say. Everything was textbook until it wasn't. Maybe it was some anatomical abnormality we missed, or perhaps it was just one of those unpredictable factors that remind us we're not as in control as we think."

"Isn't that how it always is? Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. You taught me that."

He sighed. "That's just something we teach young doctors, so they'll not lose their minds. In the end, we can't control shit. It's just an illusion we comfort ourselves with to keep from drowning in our own insignificance."

"Is that how you see things?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. "I don't know... I'm talking nonsense," his voice trailed off, "I just feel like today was one of those days that reminds you how fragile everything is. How quickly things can change, despite our best efforts. Makes you wonder... what's the point?"

"There is no point, neither in life nor in death." His eyes widened slightly as you continued. "But you can either cry about the whole meaninglessness of the world or try to find meaning in it, to do something that gives meaning to life."

"Is that how you see things?" He reached for a sushi roll, fingers hovering for a moment, then lowered the chopsticks back onto the table. "Doesn't that drive you insane?"

"Perhaps, but still more sane than you."

He huffed, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Fair point."

Silence enveloped you as you simply gazed at each other.

His eyes, that captivating shade of blue, held yours with unwavering intensity—demanding nothing and offering everything—a silent conversation where words were unnecessary.

It felt like drowning—looking in his eyes felt like drowning—strangely, yet in the best way possible.

No fear. No need for rescue.

This man.

God, this man is it.

Even with all his stupidity and flaws.

A flicker of warmth spread through you as you traced the faint stubble on his chin, the scar at his temple—imperfections that made him all the more beautiful in your eyes. Every detail seemed newly etched, like you were seeing him for the first time.

In that stretched thin slice of eternity, a thought pierced through your mind, terrifying in its clarity. If his love were a sharp blade aimed at your heart, you'd gladly embrace its piercing edge, for what is love if not the sweetest pain?

His breath caught, a tiny hitch, and his eyes softened, the sharp edges melting away. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, tentative at first, then widening. 

You couldn't help but mirror him.

Then without warning his voice, low and rough like velvet rasping against stone, shattered the silence.

"I love you."

Ha?

"And I got sued."

Haaaa?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: first, a huge THANK YOU to everyone reading and supporting my story! it seriously means the world. hope you loved this chapter, and i can't wait to hear what you think!

also, i'm considering writing the next chapter from satoru's pov to delve deeper into his rather messed up head, so that should be fun. hopefully, it'll finally make sense why he does… well, everything.

quick note about the reader's doubts, i know it might feel sudden so i want to clarify that a bit more. essentially, she grew up with a highly skilled surgeon as a father, so death wasn't something she dwelled on much and she never really questions herself until things happen.

but with this new approach to surgery, where there's no blueprint and every procedure is high stakes, doubts start creeping in. not to say that satoru is a terrible surgeon, he is indeed the best in his field, but you get it, right?

there is more potential for some unexpected things to happen during surgery and also the reader is unlike in her past along side satoru responsible for the outcome and not merely assisting. plus, the overall stress that comes with being around pain-in-the-ass satoru gojo.

speaking of satoru, i wanted to add that he never really learned how to communicate or articulate love in any form of relationship, neither to his family nor to a potential partner. so he's very clumsy with it, despite being quite sure about his feelings towards the reader. i think that adds a fun touch to the story but also makes the reader lose her mind.

regarding his upbringing, which was pretty much filled with emotional neglect and high expectations, it left him feeling pretty much unlovable unless he excelled at everything he does.

this eventually led to his addiction, which started innocently with ritalin to focus during exams, as mentioned in chapter nine, to meet the high demands of his family but at the same time he used it also to numb deeper pain. and eventually everything spiraled out. a vicious cycle indeed.

so yeah, there's a LOT going on under the surface! i'm excited to explore it more, i just love troubled humans omg. what do you think so far? does his character make sense (or am I totally crazy here)?

okay that was much text. thanks again for reading! love you all! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

[k-hippie]

A BRAND NEW SIMS 3 WORLD : SHETLAND HARBOUR

And here we are ... At last :D

10 years ago, Rope crafted a remarkable world, inspired by Starlight Shores, and generously given away to the community : Brightwater.

We embraced this gift, transforming and reshaping it, creating an island to eliminate distant terrain, and thus, Shetland Harbour was born ...

While many creators have fashioned stunning Sims 3 worlds with a Northern charm—like Saaqartoq, Greymont Bay, Lillebror, or Plymouth Isles—ours, stands a little apart.

Shetland Harbour is a unique blend : a touch of Aurora Skies, a hint of Moonlight Falls, and a dash of the unfortunate Barnacle Bay, all interwoven with our own vision of course. It is a vast yet easily navigable world, balanced between lightness and richness, featuring nearly all the Rabbit Holes the game offers.

Our aim was to craft a cohesive and vibrant world, one that feels alive and contemporary, with harmonious architecture and a spirit that invites exploration and delight :)

Welcome to Shetland Harbour, a picturesque coastal town nestled between rolling green hills and a fantastic bay … It is a beautiful medium/large-sized world, a community nestled on its own secluded island, accessible only by ferry. The town is known for its charming cobblestone streets, a vibrant fish market, and a rich history dating back centuries, dotted with quaint cottages, a bustling coast, and a grand lighthouse standing guard at the harbor’s entrance ...

This hidden gem is a haven for sheep, but don't let that fool you – Shetland Harbour is far from a sleepy place. With its rich maritime history, the town offers a unique blend of tradition and vibrant local culture.

Designed to capture the essence of a northern European island, Shetland Harbour offers a self-contained community with 100 lots in total : 65 residential lots + 35 community lots. Each Lot ( except the Old Renovated Factory ) is fully furnished.

In addition, there are multiple sheep ( all by Murfeel ) fields here and there – the latter being especially dear to the local culture, a close-knit community, where the ocean's presence is always felt and the simplicity of rural life is celebrated.

Shetland Harbour combines a lively downtown with peaceful suburbs and serene neighborhoods, featuring quaint cottages, charming gardens, and scenic paths through lush greenery.

The town's historic churches, like Old Church, Albert Church or Lux Chapel, are steeped in tales of ancient rituals and ghostly apparitions ... Albert Church, built on a Druidic site, is haunted by druid spirits, while Lux Chapel is known for the ghost of a sailor, seen on stormy nights ...

The mysterious stone circle inside the Graveyard, Ghost Place, adds to the island's mystical allure. Rumored to be a portal to another realm, it activates during celestial alignments, with visitors reporting strange occurrences. Town elders speak of a prophecy foretelling the return of ancient spirits and the awakening of the island's mystical powers. Signs include a rare star alignment, the stone circle's awakening, and three chosen individuals with the island's ancient bloodline ...

• Harbor Bay : The central feature of Shetland Harbour is its expansive bay. The bay is a natural harbor with calm, crystal-clear waters, making it ideal for fishing and sailing. It is surrounded by gently sloping hills and cliffs that provide stunning vistas of the sea. The marina is bustling with fishing boats, sailboats, and yachts sometimes … It’s the hub of maritime activity, with a fish market ( aka Grocery Store ), boat repairs, and a sailing club ( aka Business and Journalism Center )

• Lighthouse District : Right beside the Harbour, stands the Lighthouse Point, this district features historical homes and buildings, including a Norman cottage, a strange Diner and higher into the Hills, a fantastic museum dedicated to the town’s maritime history and a recent Hospital ready to welcome all the citizens of Shetland Harbour :)

• Beaches : The Coastline is dotted with sandy beaches, perfect for beachcombing, picnics, and bonfires. These areas are popular spots for locals and tourists alike. And you may want building some Coastal Houses for your Sims which is possible almost all alongside the sea ;)

• Old Town : The heart of Shetland Harbour is the Old Town, characterized by cobblestone streets, historic buildings, and a charming town square. Shetland Harbour's downtown area is a kinda picturesque pedestrian square, and quaint paths perfect for leisurely strolls …The Old Town includes the Town Hall, the Old Toad, the Talking Dog, a Fish and Chips, and even a Geek Store, all of them under the shadow of one of the oldest shop of the Island : the Elixirium ...

• Rolling Hills : Surrounding the town are rolling green hills covered in wildflowers and dotted with grazing sheep. These hills are perfect for hiking and offer panoramic views of the town and the bay. Beware of the fog !

• Forests and Woodlands : To the north of the town are more dense forests and woodlands with waterfalls upstream of the river which separates part of the island. These areas are home to various wildlife and provide a natural retreat for the residents. There are several well-maintained trails for hiking and exploring :)

Come and explore Shetland Harbour all your content ... Whether you're building your dream home, running a local business, or simply soaking in the serene atmosphere, this unique town promises endless possibilities and a truly captivating experience ...

Download Shetland Harbour today and start your new adventure!

\o/

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

IMPORTANT : Before downloading Shetland Harbour !!!

Shetland Harbour contains custom content. As much as we try to include them into the world building process, we learned with time the necessity of providing a list those items. No worries, we used the same cc creators as usual and added 2 or 3 more. Such as the grey/dark roof we made, based on the terracotta roof of the game and the Wood walls you'll find on different lots, the same as the ones of Oaksoak Hollow ... Or more important, the boats used in the world and of course ... The sheeps ! All you need should be included and/or available down here ;)

1) the ANTS & CC :)

ANTS stand for Absolute Necessary Things & Stuff to enjoy Shetland Harbour :)

Download ANTS and CC ( both are needed to have all the right textures, the right look and feel of Shetland Harbour )

You will need too some of our Rabbit Holes

Not mandatory but nice : our 88 Patterns mostly brick, masonry, concrete and wood ;) A bit of fabric & paper too ...

ATTENTION : if you have played with one of our Worlds, you might see duplicate files. We try to use the same objects as much as possible. Of course, you don't have to install twice. Skip whatever you already have. We use Blams objects for some Sims 3 objects ... so if you already have those objects from any other means, just skip ;)

CREDITS & THANKS due to all the following creators :

ATS, Noir and Dark Sims, pitheinfinite, Brunnis-2, Blams, CycloneSue, HydrangeaChainsaw, Leroy157, Lisen801, Murfeele, Nilxis, PotatoBalladSims, Qahne, TheJim07, Mammut ( from BlackSimsZoo ) BlueCoco, BuffSumm, JomSims, Ladesire, Mutske

2) the Saved Games

They are in the same page than Shetland Harbour itself. You have the choice between Unpopulated and Half-populated. Whatever you choose, we always strongly advice with a save game ;) But as far we know, once we delivered a World, it is entirely up to you to begin a new adventure and make your own challenges with your own Sims :D

Download a save game

3) the Lots ( both residential & community )

Quite a bursting town, Shetland Harbour has 100 lots : 65 residential and 35 community and very important : many small sheep fields ( visitors not allowed com lots )

Download ALL the lots

Some lots are Maxis ones we modified, some lots are our own creations, and for the others, they come mostly from MTS ;) And we are very grateful to those creators who always offer a special flavor to our Worlds :)

CarlDillynson - Bellakenobi - Bast - MySimRealty - stonee206 - Norn - Cutbacks - Ferguson Avenue - SimplySimlish - hazelnutter100 - PolarBearSims - RubyRed2021 - CircusWolf - Moihi - Lasciel

Well, it is time for discovery now and you are ready for sure ! We wish you all the best, all the fun with your new life in Shetland Harbour !

Download Shetland Harbour World

PS : Shetland Harbour is a medium/large sized world of 88MB, and has been tested 1 week long on both Mac and Pc ;)

xoxo - blackgryffin

[malehypnofantasy]

They packed the hall thinking it's yet another bodybuilding expo. Little did they know, the organizer of this expo actually collaborated with an exclusive holiday services catered for the ultra-rich that wanted to play along in the pristine private coastal resort with their muscle toys. They don't want the slutty, desperate, money-hungry bodybuilders to play, and the organizer managed to curate some of the more orthodox and traditional straight-laced bodybuilders that suit their ultra-rich clientele preference. As the light and sound of the intro started, all the attendees quickly dropped their head, unable to resist the hypnotic allure of serving the people that will soon own them

[zapreportsblog]

Hello, I have a request. Can you write about Shanks meeting his soulmate while walking on an island? He is very popular and many women are in love with him, but this time he encounters a woman who is almost not for him. She is very beautiful and a good fighter. I honestly wonder how Shanks will impress her, maybe he will offer to sail together🙃

❝fire for you❞

✭ pairing : shanks x reader

✭ fandom : one piece

✭ summary : soulmates come in many shapes in forms, the thought of having one intrigues everyone even those who don’t believe in them. shanks is no different, he knows that he is a well desired man, he has the looks, the power and the name after all. But despite all that he is leaving his heart open for only one woman.

✭ authors note : I’ve gotten inspiration from two songs when I wrote this

✭ one piece masterlist

The Red Hair Pirates were renowned throughout the Grand Line, led by none other than their charismatic and popular captain, Shanks. It wasn't just his reputation as a fearsome pirate that drew attention; it was his charm, his red hair, and the twinkle in his eye that captured the hearts of women far and wide. But Shanks, despite his charismatic demeanor, had a principle he never wavered from—he was waiting for his soulmate.

One night, as the crew celebrated on their ship, anchored near a lively coastal town, Shanks found himself in the midst of a sea of admirers. Women from the town had come aboard, eager for a chance to be near the infamous captain. Among them, a local woman sat on his lap, her eyes filled with desire and her voice laden with seduction.

"Why won't you go to bed with me, Shanks?" she pouted, leaning in close to him. Her scent was alluring, her beauty undeniable, but Shanks had his heart set on a different path.

Shanks chuckled, his deep laugh filling the air as he gently removed her from his lap. "Because," he replied, his red hair gleaming in the lantern light, "I know I have a soulmate out there."

The woman, however, misunderstood his words. She thought he was referring to a partner already in his life, not realizing that Shanks was waiting for the one destined to be his soulmate. Frustrated and feeling rejected, she slapped him across the face, her anger evident in her eyes.

“You dog!”

With a good-natured smile, Shanks didn't retaliate. Instead, he watched her storm off, knowing that such encounters were all too common in his life. Many women couldn't accept that his heart was set on someone they couldn't replace.

Returning to the festivities, Shanks continued to enjoy the party with his crew, the memory of the encounter fading amidst laughter, music, and the clinking of tankards. It was just another night in the life of the Red Hair Pirates' captain, who remained steadfast in his search for the one person who held the key to his heart—his soulmate.

As the Red Hair Pirates docked on another island to replenish their wine supply, they were met with a familiar scene. Shanks had a reputation that seemed to precede him, and women on every island they visited couldn't resist the magnetic pull of his charisma. They clamored for his attention, showering him with adoration.

Shanks, ever the friendly captain, entertained their advances with a grin and a friendly word or two. He had always been sociable and approachable, enjoying the company of those who crossed his path.

However, this island was different. It was as if the women were under a spell, drawn to Shanks like moths to a flame. They swarmed around him, their infatuation evident in their eyes and actions.

But just as Shanks found himself immersed in this sea of admirers, a voice rose above the clamor. A woman, who had approached the group of admirers, seemed to possess a presence that commanded attention.

"Back off, you buffoons! One pirate comes to this island, and suddenly you forget you have husbands and partners!" she declared, her voice carrying authority and irritation.

In an instant, the crowd of women parted like the sea, making way for this enigmatic newcomer. Shanks, though accustomed to female attention, was taken aback by her presence. He couldn't see her at first, hidden behind the swarm of women, but her voice had cut through the noise.

And then, he saw her.

Her captivating eyes drew him in, like a sailor bewitched by a siren's song. Her luscious, inviting hair begged to be touched, and Shanks clenched his chest, feeling his heart race at the sight of her. Her skin had a lovely, alluring shade that only added to her allure, and she was dressed in a dark purple kimono with a lavender rope cinched at her waist. A sword at her hip hinted at a fierce determination within her.

Amidst the women who bowed or averted their eyes, asking for forgiveness, this woman stood tall and unyielding. Her presence exuded authority, as if she were the ruler of this island.

Shanks couldn't help but be captivated by her beauty and strength. He took a step forward, his curiosity piqued as he asked, "Who are you?"

Still clenching his shirt where his heart was pounding, he felt compelled to learn more about this intriguing woman. She met his gaze with a confidence that left him utterly spellbound.

"My name is (Y/n) (L/n)," she declared proudly, her eyes never leaving his. "I am the future leader of this here Death Island. Now why have you come to my island.”

Shanks did his best to snap out of the mesmerized state he found himself in. He straightened up, letting his tall and well-built physique speak for him. This was no time to appear vulnerable, especially in front of his crew.

He introduced himself with a firm tone, "My name is Shanks, Captain of the Red Hair Pirates. I've come to restore my wine supply, if you have any on your island that is."

(Y/n) nodded thoughtfully and called over a woman from the crowd. The woman was married to the island's bartender, and she was the one who might have information about the wine supply. She listened as (Y/n) explained the situation, and the woman frowned, shaking her head.

"The supply ship hasn't come in yet," she replied, her voice tinged with disappointment. The prospect of restocking their wine was slim at the moment.

Shanks, ever adaptable, swiftly responded, "Would it be alright for my men and me to rest here until the supply ship comes?"

(Y/n) considered his request for a moment before agreeing, "As long as you cause no trouble to my people, then I mean you no harm."

With that, (Y/n) turned and walked away, leaving Shanks in a state of awe. His thoughts were consumed by the mysterious woman who had captured his attention. She was different, not like the others who had flocked to him in the past. Something about her felt unique, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she might be the one he had been waiting for—the soulmate he had always believed in.

As the Red Hair Pirates docked on the island, Shanks had a determined look in his eyes. He instructed his crew to prepare for a temporary stay, even though one of his crewmates had a different suggestion.

"You know we could just go to another island for wine, right?" the crewmate suggested, clearly perplexed by Shanks' stubbornness.

Shanks, however, was already far too infatuated with the island's leader, (Y/n). He couldn't bear the thought of leaving this island, not when she was here. He looked toward the shore, where (Y/n) was now weaving fisher baskets with her people, including the woman who had married the island's fishermen.

With a smile, Shanks responded to his crewmate, "We could buy them, yes. But she wouldn't be there."

Benn Beckman, one of Shanks' closest friends and crewmates, couldn't help but comment on Shanks' behavior. He chuckled and said, "You're whipped for a lass who barely paid you the time of day."

The rest of the crew joined in the laughter, but Shanks didn't mind. He shook his head with a smile, his gaze still fixed on (Y/n) as she worked on the shores of her island.

"That's my soulmate, I swear by it," Shanks declared, his unwavering belief in their connection shining through his words. He couldn't explain it, but there was something about (Y/n) that had captured his heart, and he was willing to stay on this island as long as it took to win her over.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow across the island, the people of Death Island had prepared a grand welcome party for Shanks and his crew. The festivities were in full swing, with the aroma of delicious food and the sounds of laughter filling the air.

Tables were laden with a variety of dishes, showcasing the island's culinary delights. Fresh seafood, exotic fruits, and flavorful spices combined to create a feast fit for a pirate crew. The crew members, many of whom had never experienced such a welcoming reception, were delighted by the abundance of food and drink.

While some of the island's inhabitants had gathered to entertain the crew with lively music and dancing, others were busy preparing drinks. The island's specialty was a variety of fruity juices, crafted from the bountiful fruits of the surrounding forest trees. These concoctions were refreshing and sweet, perfect for the tropical atmosphere.

Shanks and his crew mingled with the locals, enjoying the warm hospitality of Death Island. It was a night filled with laughter, camaraderie, and the joy of new friendships. The crew felt a deep appreciation for the island's people, who had welcomed them with open arms despite their initial intentions.

As the night continued, Shanks couldn't help but steal glances at (Y/n), who moved gracefully through the crowd, she was making sure everything was in order before sitting down at another table. Her presence added an air of enchantment to the already magical evening, and Shanks couldn't wait to learn more about the woman who had captured his heart.

Shanks couldn't help but wander his eyes back over to (y/n) taking note that she wasn’t too far from his table, her presence as enchanting as ever. She had changed into a new kimono, this one dark blue with intricate star patterns adorning it. The sight of her in that kimono, surrounded by a group of imposing and formidable men, piqued Shanks' curiosity.

He turned to one of the village women, who had been keeping Shanks' crew company along with her friends. With a friendly smile, he asked, "Who are those men surrounding (Y/n)?"

The woman's expression became more serious as she began to explain. "Those are the Death family," she said. "Their great leader is Abaddon (L/n), and the three formidable men you see are his sons: Hades, Cain, and Anubis."

Shanks raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the names. "And who is (Y/n) to them?" he inquired.

The woman's explanation delved deeper into the mysteries of the (L/n) family. "She is their daughter and the youngest of the family," she revealed. "While her father and brothers' names all carry the meaning of death, (Y/n)'s name is Nerium Oleander, named after a type of flower. It's a beautiful flower, but it's known to be poisonous. In many ways, her name is a reflection of her uniqueness—both enchanting and dangerous."

Shanks couldn't help but be captivated by this new layer of mystery surrounding (Y/n). He had been drawn to her from the moment he saw her, but now he realized there was much more to her story than he had initially thought. As he watched her from a distance, he couldn't help but wonder what other secrets lay hidden behind her enchanting facade.

All of a sudden Cain (L/n) stood tall, his presence commanding the attention of the entire crowd. The musicians halted their tunes, and the dancers froze in place as everyone turned their gaze toward him. With a voice that carried authority, he addressed the gathering.

"Tonight is an important night," Cain declared, his words resonating through the silence. "Not only do we have the honor of hosting visitors, but it is also the night of our blood moon ceremony. However, tonight holds an even more significant purpose. It is the night when my beloved sister, (Y/n), will find her future husband."

The crowd erupted into cheers, excitement and anticipation filling the air. Shanks, seated nearby, leaned over to the woman beside him and whispered, "What does he mean by 'blood moon ceremony'?"

The woman, with a knowing look, responded in a hushed tone, "The blood moon is a secret ceremony celebrated on this island. It marks the coming of age for young men and women of the village. However, for the Death family, it holds a unique tradition. They choose this night to arrange marriages for their young, and it's a tradition that has continued for generations."

But Shanks only caught the first part of her explanation, and without hesitation, he impulsively offered himself up as a potential candidate. His words came out before he fully comprehended the situation. "I'll do it. I'll be (Y/n)'s husband."

The woman's eyes widened, and she hurriedly tried to finish her sentence, but her words fell on deaf ears as Shanks had already made his declaration. She completed her sentence, which was crucial, "...but you must fight her for her hand."

Shanks turned his head back to the woman with a puzzled expression. He had unwittingly committed to a challenge he hadn't fully understood, and the consequences were about to become clear.

Laughter filled the air as the villagers found Shanks' spontaneous declaration amusing. His crew, loyal and protective, quickly came to his defense, shouting, "Don't laugh at our captain!"

Cain (L/n), who had been laughing heartily, suddenly raised a hand, commanding silence among the villagers. He looked at Shanks with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "I am not laughing at the man," Cain explained, "but at his bravery. Tell me, pirate, do you understand what you've just committed yourself to?"

Shanks scratched his head, still somewhat bewildered by the situation. "Marrying your sister?"

This response triggered another round of laughter from the villagers, even (Y/n) couldn't help but giggle behind her hand. Hades, with his tall, lean frame, stood up, his menacing grin stretching from ear to ear. He draped an arm over Cain's shoulder and spoke in a sinister tone, "You've just signed your own death wish."

Abaddon (L/n), the imposing figure among them all, silenced his sons with a stern glance. He walked up to Shanks, his towering eight-foot-tall stature casting a daunting shadow over the pirate captain. Abaddon's voice was deep and commanding as he said, "If that's truly what you desire, then so be it. Prepare him."

Shanks felt a chill run down his spine as he realized the gravity of the challenge he had just accepted. He had unwittingly committed himself to a test of strength and bravery, and there was no turning back now. With determination in his eyes, he nodded and prepared himself for what lay ahead, hoping to prove himself worthy of (Y/n)'s hand in marriage.

Shanks found himself surrounded by the villagers, who were in the process of dressing him in white clothing that symbolized the significance of the upcoming challenge. As they adjusted his attire, the village men offered him words of encouragement and admiration.

"You're a brave one, Captain," one of them said, patting him on the shoulder.

Another chimed in, "I could never challenge the Death family for (Y/n), no matter how beautiful she is."

Shanks, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves, couldn't help but inquire, "I'm getting married, alright. Don't I have to do some sort of challenge or something?"

The men shared hearty laughter at his question. "You'll see in a few," one of them replied cryptically, clapping Shanks on the back. They wished him luck as he was prepared for the challenge that awaited him.

Shanks' crew was led to a grand arena on Death Island, where the preparations for the challenge were underway. As they entered the area, they were met with a surreal sight. Children from the village were running about, their faces concealed by skull masks made from real human and animal skulls. Their gleeful laughter filled the air as they chanted in unison, "The bloodshed begins! The bloodshed begins!"

The eerie atmosphere was unsettling, and the crew exchanged uncertain glances. It was clear that this was no ordinary ceremony, and the crew couldn't help but wonder what kind of challenge awaited their captain in this macabre setting.

Shanks stood at the center of a vast, volcanic fighting pit, the dark ash staining his face with a symbolic marking that indicated his role as the challenger. The anticipation in the air was palpable as the villagers and Shanks' crew gathered to witness the event. The eerie ambiance from earlier had intensified, making the atmosphere even more ominous.

Shanks glanced around, taking in the surroundings of the desolate arena, before he couldn't help but inquire, "So, who am I challenging for her hand?"

Just as he spoke, a figure emerged from the opposite side of the arena. It was (Y/n), dressed in a striking black kimono, her sword at her side. By her side stood a man who had accompanied her. He respectfully said to her, "Thank you, Princess. I'm glad I could be of service."

In a gruesome turn of events, (Y/n) thanked the man by her side and swiftly slit his throat, causing blood to gush from the wound. The same maid who had assisted Shanks in his marking held a bowl beneath the man's neck, collecting the hot blood as it flowed. The lifeless body was promptly taken away by the guards, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

The maid spread the warm blood across (Y/n)'s face, marking her as a participant in the challenge. The crowd watched in anticipation, knowing that this was a critical moment in the ritual.

Once again, Cain (L/n) stepped forward, silencing the cheering villagers. He addressed the crowd with an air of authority, introducing the two participants. He teased Shanks as he spoke, making the audience laugh, but his tone soon turned serious.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," Cain began, his voice carrying through the arena. "On the left-hand side, we have Shanks, a brave yet foolish man. But as I've said, he is indeed brave. On the other side, we have my darling sister, (Y/n). Here, we gather for either the death or union of this pair."

Shanks was taken aback and asked in disbelief, "Wait, what?"

Cain chuckled, teasingly continuing, "You've accepted the challenge for my sister's hand in marriage, my soon-to-be brother-in-law. That was indeed a brave decision. But you were foolish to think it would be that simple. You failed to account for what would come next."

(Y/n) responded with an eerie calmness, her voice devoid of emotion, "When you accepted the challenge, you agreed to challenge me for my hand in marriage. That is how it works here, within the Death Family. You now have a 0.05 percent chance of survival. I only give you that percentage because you are a captain of a crew. If you were a regular village boy, your chances would have been a mere 0.01 percent."

Instantly the villagers begin chanting;

Purify mind and body, hold hands tightly

淨化心身 緊握手心

The vitality returns to its original position and enlightenment returns to the body

元氣歸位 捷悟返身

Purify mind and body, hold hands tightly

淨化心身 緊握手心

The vitality returns to its original position and enlightenment returns to the body

元氣歸位 捷悟返身

Purify mind and body, hold hands tightly

淨化心身 緊握手心

The vitality returns to its original position and enlightenment returns to the body

元氣歸位 捷悟返身

Purify mind and body, hold hands tightly

淨化心身 緊握手心

The vitality returns to its original position and enlightenment returns to the body

元氣歸位 捷悟返身

Purify mind and body

淨化心身

“Now then let the blood moon ceremony begin!”

With startling speed, (Y/n) charged towards Shanks, catching him off guard. He barely had time to react before the clash began. His instincts kicked in, and he tried to block her initial strike with his arms, but the force behind her blows was astonishing.

The crowd cheered wildly, their bloodlust awakened by the sight of the fierce battle unfolding before them. A child in a skull mask enthusiastically chanted, "Let there be blood!"

(Y/n) was relentless, her movements fluid and precise. She expertly evaded Shanks' attempts to counter her attacks. Her sword danced through the air, creating a deadly dance of steel and precision. She struck with ferocity, each blow aimed to disarm or incapacitate her opponent rather than to kill.

Shanks struggled to keep up with her speed and agility. He parried her strikes as best he could, but her skill was undeniable. The fight continued, a thrilling spectacle for the onlookers, as (Y/n) maintained her dominance over the Red-Haired Pirate Captain.

(Y/n) continued her relentless assault on Shanks, her blows precise and powerful. She seemed impervious to his attempts to strike back, effortlessly dodging or blocking every hit he aimed at her. The once-confident pirate captain was now sporting bruises and cuts, his face showing the effects of her relentless barrage.

The crowd watched in awe as she dominated the battle, clearly displaying her superior skill and strength. The villagers whispered among themselves, impressed by her abilities. Even Shanks' crew, who had witnessed their captain's prowess in countless battles, couldn't believe what they were seeing.

Cain, who was overseeing the fight, spoke with a knowing tone. "He has no chance against her, after all, we've trained her to be the best."

Hades, standing beside his brother, was more cautious in his assessment. "You never know, brother," he replied, his eyes never leaving the intense battle unfolding before them.

As (y/n) stood over Shanks, her sword pointed at his neck, she prepared to deal the final blow. Shanks lay defeated on the floor, his once vibrant and powerful presence now reduced to blackened bruises and a broken spirit. But just as (y/n) was about to strike, he uttered something under his breath, causing her to pause.

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and a hint of hesitation.

Shanks repeated himself, his words barely audible. (Y/n) turned her gaze towards her father, seeking guidance in this unexpected turn of events. Their eyes locked, and in that silent exchange, a wealth of understanding passed between them. Her father's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realization dawning upon his face.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, her father jumped down into the arena, his eyes fixed on Shanks. "Show me the mark," he demanded, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and hope.

Weakly, Shanks pulled his white shirt to the side, revealing a stunning mark on his chest. The mark was a flower, elegantly designed, with the letters LD intricately woven into its petals. A sense of awe washed over the crowd as they beheld the mark, realizing its significance.

A wide grin spread across her father's face as he stopped the ongoing fight. "My subjects," he began, his voice carrying a tone of importance, "this is a moment of great significance. Shanks, the captain of the Red Hair Pirates, bears the mark of Lady Death. He is marked as her soulmate and thus worthy of being my daughter's husband."

The crowd erupted in a chorus of "awws" and gasps, their surprise mingled with a sense of awe. The revelation of the mark had brought a profound change to the atmosphere, transforming the battle arena into a place of unexpected love and destiny.

(Y/n) lowered her sword, her heart racing with a mix of emotions. She looked into Shanks' eyes, seeing the truth reflected in their depths. The path before her suddenly shifted, and with it, a newfound understanding of her own destiny.

And so, in that arena, amidst the cheers and gasps of the crowd, a new chapter in their lives began. The mark had brought them together, and together they would face the challenges and adventures that awaited them, bound by a love that was written in the stars.

[snowangie]

the right side of rock bottom.

a rafe cameron x fem!oc series

summary : nailea boo seeks refuge from the chaos of constant family travels in the tranquil outer banks, only to find herself entangled with rafe cameron. a charismatic yet troubled figure, rafe is captivated by nailea’s mysterious allure. rafe, relentless in his pursuit and explicit in his desires, becomes fixated on making nailea his own, while nailea navigates the intricate dance of desire and restraint. in this tale of love and resilience, set against the backdrop of the outer banks, the pogues and looks, unaware of the brewing storm, find their worlds colliding. the tale weaves through the unpredictable currents of outer banks life, exploring the intertwined destinies of nailea, rafe, and the residents of this coastal haven.

series warnings: swearing, smut, violence, death, mentions of torture, mentions of sexual harassment, weapons, trauma, mental illnesses

genre: angst, romance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, drama, violence, hurt/comfort, smut

auth. note: this series will be quite lengthy, following the actual outer banks storyline from the first season to the third. im so down bad for rafe cameron and i know u guys are too. im gonna keep his psycho ass as it is in this series because its hot asf it probably concerning to think that but idc fr. please don’t forget to interact with me in the replies or pm me and if u have any ideas for this series, any specific scene you would like to see in the coming chapters, don’t hesitate to share. hihi i love u guys and i hope u enjoy. muahhh

chapter one: baby pink convertible

The golden sunlight bathed the Outer Banks beach, casting a warm glow as Nailea Boo emerged from the crystal-clear waves, her raven-black hair clinging to her like a silken veil. Clad in a striking bikini that accentuated her curves, she epitomized the allure of an enigmatic coastal goddess. Not too far away, the Pogues—John B, JJ, Pope, and Kiara—observed her from afar, a silent conversation of curiosity passing between them.

Unbeknownst to the onlookers, Nailea wrestled with an undercurrent of anxiety that accompanied her every step. The crystal-clear waves mirrored the conflicting currents within her. She had perfected the art of the cold demeanor, a shield crafted from years of navigating a world that demanded toughness. Yet, beneath the poised exterior, anxiety churned like the unpredictable tide.

As she emerged from the waves, clad in a striking bikini that accentuated her curves, Nailea felt the weight of scrutinizing gazes. The Pogues, distant observers of her beachside ritual, couldn’t fathom the delicate balance she maintained. Each step was a careful dance between projecting strength and concealing vulnerability.

Meanwhile, on the same beach, the Kooks strolled along the shore. Rafe, Sarah, and Topper, the latter holding Sarah's hand, spotted Nailea. Rafe, ever the provocateur, couldn't resist making his presence known. “Damn, would you look at that,” he remarked, loud enough for Nailea to hear.

The Kooks exchanged glances as Nailea, unperturbed, rolled her eyes at the crude comment. Ignoring the unwelcome attention, she gracefully slipped into her clothes with an air of nonchalance, the fabric became a second skin, shielding her not only from the prying eyes but also from the relentless whispers of doubt that echoed in her mind.

Rafe, however, continued with his brazen demeanor. “Hey, sweetheart, you're gonna make this beach a whole lot prettier. What's your name?” he called out, breaking through the rhythmic sound of the waves

Nailea shot him a withering glance but remained composed. “Not interested,” she replied, her voice carrying a mixture of disinterest and disdain. Brushing off the sand from her clothes, she walked past the Kooks, not sparing them a second glance. Yet, within the fortress of her mind, a voice echoed louder—a whisper that questioned her every move, analyzing whether she had played her part convincingly enough.

As she walked past the Kooks, her mind echoed with the internal dialogue of anxiety. Her car awaited her, a symbol of sophistication and control. To the surprise of both the Pogues and the Kooks, Nailea sauntered toward a sleek baby pink convertible, the epitome of her sophistication. With an effortless poise, she slid into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life. Little did anyone know that behind the wheel, Nailea gripped it tightly, her knuckles betraying the tension within. The car roared, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake as Nailea skillfully navigated her way off the beach.

The Pogues exchanged intrigued glances, while the Kooks were left in the sand, a mix of bewilderment and newfound curiosity etched on their faces. Nailea Boo had made a memorable entrance, leaving an indelible mark on the shores of the Outer Banks.

As Nailea smoothly glided away in her baby pink convertible, the lingering echoes of Rafe's comment hung in the salty air. The Pogues huddled together, their eyes still fixed on the vanishing speck on the horizon. John B, the de facto leader, broke the silence with a raised eyebrow.

“Who the hell is that?” JJ asked, squinting against the sunlight.

Pope, ever the thoughtful one, chimed in, “New around here, for sure. But why does it feel like we just stepped into a whole different league?”

Kiara, her eyebrows knit in curiosity, observed, “Could just be a touron but I could’ve sworn I’ve seen her car a few days ago with the moving trucks.”

John B nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on the spot where Nailea's convertible had disappeared. “We need to find out who she is.”

Meanwhile, not too far away, the Kooks were left in the wake of Nailea's departure. Rafe's confident smirk remained, but Sarah shot him a disapproving look.

“Really, Rafe? That was so tacky,” Sarah remarked, her eyes narrowing.

Rafe merely shrugged, unapologetic. “Just being honest. She's a total fucking knockout.”

Topper, Sarah's boyfriend, chimed in, “She's definitely got some kind of presence. Did you see the way she handled that? Ignored us like it was nothing.”

Sarah, despite her initial irritation, couldn't help but be intrigued. “Weirdly bold. I wonder what her deal is.”

Back with the Pogues, the discussion continued as they dissected the mysterious newcomer.

“I mean, did you see her car? Who drives a pink fucking convertible around here?” JJ mused, scratching his head.

Pope, ever the voice of reason, offered, “Maybe she's just passing through. But something tells me she's here to stay, at least for a while.”

As the conversations unfolded, Nailea's departure had left an indelible mark on the dynamics of the Outer Banks. Both the Pogues and the Kooks found themselves captivated by the enigmatic stranger who had effortlessly commanded attention and defied expectations.

Nailea, reclining in the plush leather seat of her baby pink convertible, couldn't shake the lingering taste of annoyance that clung to her after the encounter on the beach. The waves of anxiety retreated, only to linger beneath the surface, ready to rise again with each new encounter. Her eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, reflected a mix of indifference and disdain. The Pogues and Kooks, to her discerning gaze, seemed like mere pawns on the chessboard of her life in the Outer Banks.

The "baby pink convertible" symbolizes her, embodying sophistication, elegance, and a hint of rebelliousness. Just like the convertible stands out in the coastal landscape, Nailea is an mysterious foreign figure, distinct from the usual dynamics of the Outer Banks. The choice of a convertible reflects her ability to navigate smoothly through the intricate social landscape, while the color pink adds a touch of femininity and complexity that mirrors her naturally.

As the waves receded behind her and the beach dwindled in the rearview mirror, Nailea couldn't help but roll her eyes at the audacity of the boy who had tried to stake a claim on her attention. “Boys,” she muttered under her breath, the word carrying a blend of dismissal and amusement. To Nailea, they were like moths drawn to the flame, oblivious to the fact that they had no chance of catching it.

Arriving at her now-permanent residence, a grand beach house that exuded sophistication, Nailea exhaled a sigh of relief. The crisp sea breeze ruffled her midnight-blue hair as she strolled into the house, her annoyance dissipating with each step. The modern luxury of the interior contrasted sharply with the rawness of the Outer Banks, a juxtaposition that mirrored Nailea's own complexity.

At dinner, Nailea recounted the beach encounter to her sister, Jennie, and her brother-in-law, Tommy. They sat around a polished mahogany table, clinking wine glasses in a semblance of celebration.

“You won't believe what happened, Jennie,” Nailea began, her voice carrying a blend of exasperation and amusement.

Jennie, her older sister, chuckled knowingly. “Do tell, Nai. Did you bewitch the local boys already?”

Tommy, a man with an easy smile and a genuine affection for Nailea, joined in. “Let me guess, they fell head over heels for you?”

Nailea smirked, recounting the scene with theatrical flair. “This one guy, a big asshole, had the audacity to announce to the world that I made the beach a whole lot prettier. Please.”

Jennie laughed, raising her glass. “Well, you do have a way of leaving an impression.”

Tommy chimed in, “The Pogues and Kooks are in for a ride if they think they can compete with you, Nailea.”

Nailea, sipping her wine, smirked in agreement. “They have no idea what they're dealing with.”

The trio shared a moment of laughter, a shared understanding that the coastal drama unfolding outside their beach house was just the beginning of Nailea's reign in the Outer Banks. Little did the Pogues and Kooks know, they were playing a part in a narrative where Nailea Boo held all the cards, and the stakes were higher than they could imagine.

Under the golden hues of the Outer Banks sunset, Nailea strolled through the neighborhood at Figure Eight, an air of elegance accompanying her every step. Her sleek white cat, Winter, in a pet stroller—a stark contrast to the coastal simplicity. The feline, adorned with a silver collar, gazed out with curious green eyes as Nailea moved with the grace of a city girl navigating unfamiliar terrain.

As Nailea approached a familiar stretch of houses, she found herself just around the block from the Camerons. It was here that her path intersected with Sarah Cameron, who was out for an evening stroll of her own.

Sarah, a vision of Kook elegance, her eyes lit up at the sight of Winter in the pet stroller. “Oh, wow, your cat is adorable!” she exclaimed, a genuine smile breaking through her initial surprise.

Nailea, her eyes momentarily softening as she looked at her beloved cat, replied with a reserved acknowledgment. “Thank you. Her name's Winter.”

Sarah, finding common ground, continued the conversation. “I'm Sarah, by the way. Sarah Cameron.”

“Nailea Boo. You can call me Nai, if you want to,” she replied with a nod, her gaze cool and calculating.

Unexpectedly, the conversation flowed. The soft side of Nailea emerged as she spoke fondly of Winter, her icy exterior momentarily melting. Sarah, intrigued by Nailea's New York origins, shared tales of the privileged Kook lifestyle and the exclusive private school they attended.

As they continued their walk, Sarah extended an invitation, her eyes assessing Nailea's reaction. “There's a beach party tonight. You should come. It'll be fun.”

Nailea, maintaining her guarded demeanor, contemplated the offer. “I'll think about it,” she replied, a hint of mystery in her tone.

Sarah, seemingly unfazed by Nailea's reserved nature, smiled. “Cool. It's at the beach, obviously. Just in case you decide to show up.”

As they parted ways, Sarah couldn't shake the feeling of being both intrigued and threatened by Nailea. The New Yorker's elegance and poise posed a potential challenge to Sarah's status as the Kook princess. Still, an unspoken understanding lingered between them, a connection forged in the simplicity of a beachside conversation and the shared appreciation for a feline companion named Winter.

Sarah, choosing not to divulge their encounter to her Kook friends, felt a mix of curiosity and caution. Little did she know that Nailea's presence would continue to disrupt the carefully crafted dynamics of the Outer Banks, setting the stage for a night filled with unexpected twists at the beach party.

Nailea's arrival at the beach party sent ripples through the crowd, capturing the attention of both the Pogues and the Kooks. The pulsating beat of the music seemed to synchronize with the anticipation in the air. Nailea, clad in a skin-tight black maxi dress that accentuated her curves, moved with an otherworldly grace, her pale skin glowing in the ambient light. Her hair, in a high ponytail, cascaded down like a midnight waterfall, and her face, adorned only with a glittering lipgloss, radiated a quiet confidence.

As she ventured into the heart of the party, the chatter around her died down, replaced by hushed whispers and intrigued glances. The typical Outer Banks attire took a backseat as Nailea's unique style commanded attention. The Pogues, in their casual beachwear, exchanged wide-eyed glances, while the Kooks, draped in preppy elegance, observed her with a mix of fascination and uncertainty.

Nailea, aware of the attention she garnered, remained impervious to the external reactions. Instead, she sought solace in the rhythmic pulse of the music and the cool breeze that carried the scent of the ocean. Each step she took was deliberate, a dance of control amidst the chaos.

Sarah, standing amidst the Kooks, spotted Nailea amidst the shifting crowd. With a warm smile, she called out, “Nai!” Nailea turned, her expression momentarily softening as she acknowledged Sarah's call.

The Kooks exchanged surprised glances as Sarah approached Nailea, a subtle curiosity painting their expressions. Sarah, with an air of familiarity, introduced Nailea to the group. “Guys, this is Nailea. Nai, meet the Kooks.”

Rafe, ever the provocateur, decided to make his move. With confident strides, he approached Nailea, a crooked smile playing on his lips. The crowd parted as he reached her, his eyes locking onto hers with a boldness that rarely faced resistance.

He felt a twinge of jealousy at the seemingly instant connection between Sarah and Nailea, decided to step forward. “The mystery girl’s got a name,” Rafe drawled, his tone a blend of arrogance and charm. An attempt to join the conversation. “Hey there, Nailea. I'm Rafe Cameron, Sarah's charming brother.”

As he approached, Nailea's eyes, like two pools of mystery, met his with an unwavering gaze. The crowd hushed, sensing the collision of two forces—Rafe's brazen charisma and Nailea's enigmatic allure.

Nailea, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, regarded him with a cool gaze. “I'm well aware.”

Rafe, smirked, undeterred by Nailea's disinterest, continued, “You can call me Rafe, but I’d love it if you’d scream it out for me instead,”

Nailea rolled her eyes at that as she replied, “Rafe, huh? Noted.”

Rafe, interpreting her response as a challenge, decided to add a personal touch. “Actually, how about I call you Nai? You know, like my sister does.”

Nailea's annoyance flickered briefly again across her face. “Nai is reserved for those I permit to use it.”

Rafe, seemingly oblivious to Nailea's subtle defiance, continued his attempts at charm. “Fair enough, Nai. You’re not like the usual crowd around here. So, what brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

Nailea, her patience wearing thin, replied, “Just taking a break from the chaos of the world. Thought the Outer Banks might offer some serenity.”

Rafe, accustomed to effortless conquests, found himself intrigued by the challenge Nailea presented. He reveled in the attention, leaning in slightly. “Serenity, huh? I can assure you, things tend to get a bit wilder when I’m around.”

Nailea’s gaze remained unwavering. “I suppose we’ll see.”

The Kooks, including Topper and the others, observed the interaction with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Sarah, caught between amusement and the realization of the brewing tension, exchanged glances with the Kooks.

Meanwhile, the Pogues, stationed at a distance, watched the unfolding scene with raised eyebrows and exchanged glances. John B, the de facto leader of the Pogues, muttered, “Looks like the Outer Banks is in for a storm.”

As Rafe persisted in his attempts to engage Nailea, the atmosphere became charged with a subtle competition. Nailea, the shining new diamond in the Outer Banks, found herself at the center of attention, a target for Rafe's bold advances and the curiosity of onlooking groups.

As the night wore on at the beach party, the atmosphere became charged with the ebb and flow of conversations, laughter, and the distant crash of waves. Rafe, emboldened by the attention Nailea garnered, decided to take his flirtatious banter to the next level.

Leaning in with a cocky grin, Rafe remarked, "You know, Nai, I can imagine you being quite...pleasing in certain situations." His tone carried a not-so-subtle hint of innuendo, his words intended to provoke a reaction.

Nailea, however, remained unfazed, her expression as cool as the ocean breeze. She met his gaze with a steady, almost indifferent look, and without missing a beat, replied, "Your imagination seems to have quite the vivid spectrum, Rafe."

The Kooks, who overheard the exchange, exchanged glances. Sarah, noticing the tension, shot a disapproving look at her brother, silently signaling him to tone it down.

Undeterred, Rafe persisted with a smug grin. "Come on, Nai, don't tell me you're not the least bit curious."

Nailea, her patience wearing thin once again, simply raised an eyebrow. "Nope."

The Pogues and Kooks observed the dynamic between Rafe and Nailea, sensing a clash of personalities that transcended the usual beach party banter. Nailea, with her poised demeanor, became a fortress against Rafe's advances, navigating the social currents of the Outer Banks with a deliberate grace.

As the night progressed, Rafe's attempts at flirting with Nailea became increasingly audacious. Undeterred by her composed demeanor, he continued to pepper their conversation with suggestive remarks, seemingly determined to break through her unyielding facade.

Rafe, with a smirk that hinted at mischief, leaned in once again. "You know, Nai, there's a lot more to this town than just the scenic views. I could show you some hidden gems." His words carried an obvious undertone, implying a desire for something beyond the ordinary.

Nailea, with an arched eyebrow, responded with a measured tone, "Hidden gems, Rafe? I'm afraid I've already explored more intriguing places than you can offer."

Undeterred by her cool rebuttal, Rafe persisted. "You might be surprised, Nai. The Outer Banks can be quite... a ride.” His eyes bore into hers, a hint of mischief playing in their depths.

As Rafe continued his audacious flirtations, Nailea couldn't deny the magnetic allure he exuded. Inwardly, she admitted to herself that Rafe was undeniably hot, possessing a raw and rugged appeal that resonated with a primal attraction. His features, his confident demeanor—it was impossible to ignore the undeniable charisma that radiated from him.

However, a conflict raged within Nailea. While acknowledging Rafe's physical attractiveness, his typical boyish behavior and brazen attempts to charm her clashed with her desire for genuine connection and respect. She found herself caught in the crossfire of conflicting emotions—the pull of physical attraction and the push against his persistent advances.

As Rafe spoke about wanting to give her the time of her life in bed, Nailea's internal conflict intensified. She maintained her stoic exterior, a façade concealing the tumultuous thoughts beneath. The provocative proposition echoed in her mind, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting feelings.

On one hand, the allure of Rafe's physicality was undeniable, an instinctive response that threatened to override her calculated composure. Yet, on the other hand, his explicit comments and relentless pursuit grated against her desire for genuine connection, leaving her grappling with a sense of inner turmoil.

Nailea, determined to assert control over the narrative of her interactions in the Outer Banks, silently navigated the storm of conflicting emotions. She maintained her poised exterior while internally grappling with the complexity of desire and the need for mutual understanding.

Nailea, maintaining her poise, shot back with a retort that cut through the suggestive tension. “Surprises, Rafe, are subjective. What might thrill some could be mundane for others.”

The Kooks, including Sarah and Topper, observed the exchange with a mix of amusement and concern. Sarah shot Rafe a disapproving look, silently urging him to rein in his audacious remarks. Meanwhile, the Pogues, stationed at a distance, exchanged intrigued glances, recognizing the unfolding drama between the Outer Banks' biggest womanizer and its newest enigma.

Rafe, undeterred by the silent warnings around him, decided to up the ante. “Nai,” he whispered, his tone laden with suggestion, “I bet I could make your night more memorable than any other you've had here.”

Nailea's eyes flickered with a momentary annoyance, but she remained composed. “Your idea of memorable might not align with mine. I prefer to curate my own experiences.”

Rafe, emboldened by the atmosphere of the beach party, leaned in even closer, his words now a provocative whisper. “Nai, you're playing hard to get. I like a challenge. Let's make tonight unforgettable.”

Nailea's gaze remained steady, but a subtle tightening of her jaw hinted at the building irritation. “No thanks.”

Undeterred, Rafe pressed on with his relentless pursuit. “Come on, Nai, live a little. I promise you won't regret it.” His words lingered in the air, charged with a daring invitation.

As Rafe continued his suggestive banter, Nailea couldn't escape the subtle physical reactions her body betrayed. A warmth that crept up her skin, a quickening pulse—signs of an involuntary response to the allure of his words and his magnetic presence.

Internally, Nailea scolded herself for the physiological responses that seemed to betray her composed exterior. She chided the involuntary flush in her cheeks and the faint flutter in her stomach, reminding herself of the boundaries she had set and the desire for genuine connection over mere physical attraction.

While maintaining her outward poise, Nailea's internal monologue chastised the subtle betrayals her body exhibited. ‘Control,’ she reminded herself sternly. ‘Don't let his words and charm blur the lines you've drawn.’

The conflict within her intensified—the tug of attraction warring against her insistence on respect and understanding. Nailea found herself in a silent battle, both with Rafe's suggestive advances and her own body's response, as she navigated the intricate dance of desire and restraint in the vibrant chaos of the beach party.

Amidst the pulsating beats of the music and the lively chatter around them, Nailea confronted the internal conflict head-on. The tug-of-war between physical attraction and the need for emotional connection echoed in her mind, a private struggle unfolding beneath the surface of her composed demeanor.

As the night unfolded, Nailea's internal dialogue became a steady mantra, a reminder to maintain control and not succumb to the allure of the moment. The beach party continued, the unresolved tension creating an invisible thread that connected her to Rafe in a complex dance—one where desire and restraint battled for supremacy in the enigmatic landscape of the Outer Banks.

As Rafe persisted with his explicit innuendos, the crowd around them seemed to ebb and flow, the rhythmic beats of the music providing an unpredictable backdrop to their verbal exchange. The Kooks and Pogues, now more openly watching the drama unfold, exchanged speculative glances.

Sarah, growing increasingly uncomfortable with her brother's relentless advances, intervened. “Rafe, maybe it's time to ease up a bit.”

Rafe, however, was not one to back down easily. With a cheeky grin, he retorted, “Just trying to show Nai a good time, sis. She seems like she could use it.”

Nailea, seemingly unmoved by Rafe's persistence, decided to have the final word. “Rafe, a good time is also subjective. Your version and mine might not align. I suggest you redirect your efforts elsewhere.”

The tension between them lingered, creating a palpable energy in the air. Rafe, seemingly oblivious to the line he was treading, continued his flirtatious banter, intent on unraveling the mystery that was Nailea Boo. As the beach party unfolded, the enigmatic dance between the Outer Banks' most renowned womanizer and its new diamond continued, leaving those who witnessed it with a sense of anticipation about the uncharted territories that lay ahead.

The beach party continued, the music creating a lively backdrop to the unfolding drama. The Pogues and Kooks, each with their distinct reactions, witnessed the power play unfold—a clash of personalities that hinted at the intricate dynamics to come in the coastal haven. Nailea's stoic response to Rafe's flirtations only added to her mystique, leaving those who witnessed the exchange with a sense of anticipation about what lay beneath the surface of the mysterious newcomer in the Outer Banks.

[whorety-k]

Ebony Coasts [Part 2]

I couldn't resist the allure of part two with our favorite raven man so please accept my continued rambles.

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

“No dawn, no day / I’m always in this twilight /In the shadow of your heart.”

Warnings: Ocean mentions / potential thalassophobia, the dull horrors of an average day at the workplace

Word Count: 2k

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7 (NSFW)]

Submitting your report had been a frustrating endeavor with what felt like a million following questions. How many perpetrators? “What age were they?” “Why were you out alone?” “Why were there no tracks?” If you weren’t someone who so fiercely kept their word, you would have wondered if the paperwork of telling the world about the existence of mermaids was better than the droning interrogation by your supervisors. Thankfully, the excuse of nightfall and the surprising lack of CCTV around the marine protected area allowed you to actually get away with the lies you were feeding into your statements. Your submission to make that area of the beach quarantined off from the surrounding sands was approved, which you celebrated eagerly. Your reputation and knowledge definitely helped the push.

Your patience, however, could be better. You tried to return to Corvus’s beach the very next night, determined to let him know that he wasn’t going to be bothered by your agency any longer (and perhaps fully convince yourself that he was, in fact, real). You nearly missed the cave during your search; Corvus must have put more effort into concealing his newest home, as the entrance was thoroughly hidden amongst new coastal vegetation that wasn’t present the night before. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he was nowhere to be seen, his den left empty aside from the sloshing of water as you searched for him. Still, you were determined to gain the merman’s favor. The items you had taken from him as ‘evidence’ had unfortunately already been disposed of, so you had to resort to doing the next best thing. You left a proud silver pearl from your own trinket stash on one of the shelf-like rock formations deeper within the cavern. Seeing no other reason to stick around or snoop any longer, you headed home.

When your supervisor slaps down a manila folder detailing Corvus’s beach under the watch of you and your team, you could have hollered. You instead thank her politely before she returns to her own tasks, figuring an outburst wouldn’t have a great place in the quiet office. A quick read through the included documents and permits informs you that your team is now directly responsible for observation and maintenance of the shoreline, detailing the duties specific to you and each other member. Nothing appears to be too invasive toward your mysterious new friend– if you can call him that. 

The first week out is spent surveying. It’s a task you’re intimately familiar with at this point in your career: taking notes on the flora and fauna of the area and their current condition, measuring certain formations’ levels of erosion and wear. It’s easy to fall into a flow state and forget yourself, not finding much of note as you converse with your coworkers and strategically leave out the depth of a certain familiar structure.

On the third day of the survey, you find that you’re the only one of your team to show up. A frustrated huff leaves your lips as you withdraw your phone in haste, tapping away inquiring messages and finding out that everyone but you has a convenient case of the common cold. You roll your eyes as you pocket the device. Surveying can be incredibly boring work– you really, truly know– but it’s important for record keeping. With your hands tucked into your jacket, a pack full of equipment, and your trusty waders to keep you dry, you set off along a safe path down the cliffside. 

You reach the coastline without a hitch and set off to get started on today’s work. Time flies by as you check off each necessary task. The sun is nearly setting by the time you get around to making a routine documentation of the native succulents, when a piercing sensation of unease stops you cold. A look left or right reveals nothing of note, nothing out of place. You suppress the shiver down your spine as you kneel down and withdraw a metal pen from your backpack. Halfway through noting the species name of the invasive aizoaceae, the distinct prickle at the back of your neck becomes too much. You groan as you stand, brushing off your knees and turning around. 

A mixture of a gasp and shriek leaves your throat when you come face to face with a familiar figure standing directly at your back, startling him almost as much as he startled you. 

“Corvus–,” you choke out, placing a hand on your chest as you catch your breath. 

The merman gives you an apologetic look. His baritone voice clears the tension in the air. “My apologies; I did not intend to alarm you."

You take a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh to calm yourself, looking up at the giant before you. You offer a pacifistic hand his way as you speak, “Apology accepted, but please stop doing that. I don’t want to die of a heart attack anytime soon.”

Corvus looks at your hand with marked confusion, much the same way he did the previous week. Mirroring his previous action, he tentatively places his much larger hand over your own. “It would be unpleasant to have to dispose of your body,” the merman utters.

You give Corvus an incredulous look before it clicks that he’s making a joke. You chuckle at his words, squeezing one of the digits of his hand before placing your hands in your pockets. 

The peaceful staring contests between the two of you are starting to feel strangely comfortable as he observes you. In the waning sunlight, you get a far better look at his form than you could have in his cavern. Although still so starkly black and white, you’re able to see the muted grays and silvers speckled within his fins and scales. Looking at his fins, you notice that there’s actually quite a few more of them than you had originally observed. The dorsal fin at his back separates into a second caudal fin that wraps around the base of his tail. Two fins that would be pectoral fins on a regular fish lay at his sides just above the transition from skin to scale. Ventral fins trail below his hips at his front, obfuscating any anatomy you would have rudely just stared at. Corvus Corax has more similarities to a black betta fish than any other marine animal you could think of. 

“You gifted me a pearl.”

The sound of the merman’s voice causes you to look back up at him.

“Was there a purpose for it?” he asks, leaning down to be closer to your level. The movement only serves to reinforce just how large he is compared to you, at least twice your size.

You momentarily gather your words. “I wanted to make up for the things I took from you earlier,” you reply, “I know it doesn’t make up for the entire thing but–”

“Thank you,” Corvus interrupts, the ghost of a grin on his face. The expression is so subtle in the abyss of his almond eyes that it’s nearly invisible, but the upturn of his normally ever-frowning lips is hard to miss.

You feel your cheeks warm at the genuine show of gratitude from the giant, excitement palpitating in your chest. You reflect that smile back at him. “I’m in charge of conservation at your beach now,” you shift topics with ease, enjoying the merman’s presence as he seems to slowly open up to you, “You’ll be seeing me around a lot more often.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ll be able to leave you a few more presents from time to time.”

The way the large mer faintly perks up like an excited dog at your promise melts your heart in an instant, and you hide your disappointment when Corvus tempers himself, taking on the more solemn posture characteristic of him. “I will be grateful for each of them,” the merman responds with grace, “but perhaps refrain from using pearls in the future.”

A sinking feeling fills you. It had taken you two entire hours to decide on what you were going to give Corvus for your official ‘sorry for stealing your hoard’ offering, and it distressed you to think that he didn’t like it as much as you had thought he would. You decide to apologize. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are pearls not your thing?”

Corvus emanates a low chuckle, the first of that specific sound you had heard come from the man. It reminded you of a low drum. His answer comes warmly, “The pearl was lovely. I am rather fond of them.”

You quirk your head at him, perplexed. “Oh… okay?” Your voice raises with confusion, a silent question laced within your remark.

Corvus’s face twists with brief intensity as he struggles to determine what to say. He exhales as he looks down at his tail fin. The look on his face can only be described as bashful, and for once it isn’t you struggling to respond. He keeps his face angled away from you when he eventually explains, “I find it difficult to deny a marriage proposal from someone so well-meaning.”

If your cheeks had only been warm before, they could make the sun itself shy away now. You gawk at him like a fish (a surprising twist of events, as the human in the situation), stammering as embarrassment quickly floods through your nervous system. 

Both of you share the awkward moment unable to figure out a suitable response, Corvus cringing at his words and you hastily trying to apologize. 

“I am grateful for your interest,” Corvus finally says in an attempt to ease the tension, “but I am not one to make such decisions hastily, so please allow me to ponder it.”

Words finally claw their way out of your throat. “I wasn’t trying to propose!” you accidentally bellow, making Corvus jump. You wrangle your emotions in, exerting visible force, before you continue. Your voice levels out, “...I just wanted to give you something back. They threw everything I took from you away already, so I couldn’t retrieve anything.”

Corvus’s expression is unreadable as he turns his head to fully look at you, mouth slightly agape. His lips seal and he nods, seeming relieved and… something else? “That greatly simplifies things,” is his short response.

You place your hands at the side of your head, grumbling, “Is there anything else I need to know about gifting you so I don’t accidentally, I don’t know, curse your family and insult your bloodline?”

The attempt at humor eases the giant in front of you and earns another soft chuckle. When he makes to lay upon his chest, the pink of the setting sun reflects off of the scant silver scales along his body. He settles upon his elbows, one clawed hand resting upon the other. A Corvus-sized trail in the wet sand behind him comes into view before you decide to sit down beside him, crossing your legs and resting your elbows on your knees. Corvus examines how your legs move with curiosity, shifting his tail into a more comfortable loose curl. It protects you from any of the more ambitious waves that travel up the beach. 

“Any genuine token from you will be received positively,” the merman states.

You nod appreciatively to him, then turn your attention back to your previous task. As the sun dips below the horizon, you take the tranquil moment to finish up your survey notes, jotting down the remaining information about the invasive flora. Corvus’s eyes focus on your work, and he shifts closer to observe it. You complete your statement and shut your notebook with a dull thump, placing it at your side and clicking your writing utensil shut. When you shift to grab your backpack from behind you, your gaze lands on the jet merman. Even with his stony exterior, you can see how plainly his ebony eyes transfix upon the silver pen.

“...No.”

“Pardon?”

“You can’t have my pen.”

Corvus pouts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm absolutely whipped for this man and already thinking about making this a slow burn series for the month of May.

Also if anyone has any feedback, please to tell!! I enjoy everything from constructive criticism to incoherent keyboard mashing and your tags keep me inspired.

Until next time, my loves <3

[Part 3]

[themakeupbrush]

Miss International Philippines 2023 National Costume

SWAKI (Tuyom /Uni/Sea Urchin) This national costume embodies the mesmerizing allure of the sea urchin/uni, a culinary treasure cherished by the Philippines and Japan. Hand-sewn sequins, reminiscent of Yayoi Kusama's iconic polka dots, create a breathtaking masterpiece that captures a shared passion for gastronomy and coastal way of life.

[thinkrp]

✨ explore bennington bay ✨

springing up in the gold rush era, remington and sable grove on sit on either side of bennington bay, on the coast of georgia. remington to the north is a vibrant city full of noise and lights, a bustling place of ambition and promise. busy streets and a lively nightlife offer a myriad of possibilities and entertainment, from convenient all-night coffee shops to bars and clubs. whilst, in contrast, sable grove is your all-american white-picket town, full of gentle suburban charm, its streets lined with neat homes and small locally-owned businesses. the town offers an escape from the urban hustle of its neighboring city, leafy and quaint in its allure. the residents of the town are proud of the close-knit spirit and safe community that they call home.

the rivalry between the sleepy coastal town and the bustling city is intense, bitter, and deeply engrained between the inhabitants of both sable grove and remington. the local games and matches that occur between the rival school sports teams are often heated affairs, and disputes between the “city slickers” and “townies” can range from jovial, joking arguments to fights that result in the participants cooling off for the night in matching jail cells. the rivalry is decades old, originating from the founding of both settlements in the 1800s and losing none of its fervor over the centuries.

[rebfile]

On the shores of a turquoise sea, where the waves lapped like a lullaby against the shore, there was a girl named Isla with a spirit as wild as the ocean itself. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of liquid amber, kissed by the sun and teased by the salt-laden zephyrs.

Isla's soul thrived amongst the call of the seagulls and the rustle of palm leaves. Her swimsuit, a tapestry of lush florals on a canvas of seafoam green, fluttered in the breeze, its ties and frills dancing to the rhythm of her movement. A pair of delicate earrings, shaped like the shards of a sunset, dangled from her ears, a hint of the fire that burned within her heart.

Today, Isla was more than a mere visitor to the beach; she was its enchantress, her silhouette a part of the coastal poetry, her presence the brushstroke of nature's own masterpiece. With every step, she wove a story of freedom, her eyes reflecting the vastness of the sea, a wanderer's gaze, forever seeking the line where the sky embraces the water.

[growingexjocks]

The Secret Bulk - Chase Stokes: Ch 1

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

Chase Stokes and Austin North find a way to relax during their off-season for shooting Outerbanks.

Chase Stokes is a striking figure, his presence radiating an undeniable charisma that's as infectious as it is intriguing. He's tall, standing at a considerable 6 feet 1 inch, with a physique that is enviably toned yet not overly muscular, maintaining just the right balance between athleticism and naturalism. His body is a testament to consistent exercise and a disciplined lifestyle, and it is clear he is no stranger to the gym.

His skin, a sun-kissed bronze, is a canvas of well-defined muscles, each ripple and contour speaking volumes of the strength he possesses. His shoulders are broad, leading down to strong, muscular arms, the kind that are capable of lifting heavy weights, or, in the context of his character, John B, hauling treasure from sunken ships. His chest, firm and sculpted, is adorned with a smattering of dark hair, subtly accentuating the masculinity that he embodies.

Stokes' abdominal muscles are a sight to behold. Each one is chiseled to perfection, forming an enviable six-pack that glistens under the sun when he peels off his shirt, revealing a stomach that many would liken to a washboard. His waist tapers down gracefully, leading to lean hips and strong, muscular legs, completing a package that is as aesthetically pleasing as it is symbolically powerful.

As John B in the Netflix series "Outer Banks," Stokes brings an incredible amount of depth and intensity to his performance. He is the heartthrob, the rebel, the dreamer, the leader - all rolled into one. His character is a charismatic and adventurous teenager, living in the coastal town of North Carolina, leading his friends on a quest for a legendary treasure linked to his father's disappearance.

In scenes where he takes off his shirt, the camera lingers on his physique, taking in the contours of his well-sculpted body. The lighting often plays with the angles, casting shadows that emphasize his muscular definition, making each scene a visual feast. As the salty sea breeze tousles his hair, and the sun gleams off his tanned skin, there's an undeniable allure to his character. He exudes a raw, primal energy that's both intoxicating and captivating.

Stokes' portrayal of John B is not just about the physical, though. His performance is layered with a depth of emotion and a palpable sense of longing that brings an element of relatability to his character. His expressive eyes, a striking shade of blue, convey more than words ever could, whether it's the spark of adventure, the pain of loss, or the warmth of love.

Every scene with him is a dance of duality - the rugged physicality of his character, juxtaposed with the emotional vulnerability he brings to his role. Chase Stokes, as John B, is the embodiment of a modern-day treasure hunter - bold, brave, and undeniably attractive. His muscular physique is just the icing on the cake of his multifaceted performance, adding a layer of visual appeal that enhances his character's charisma and makes each scene he's in all the more captivating.

Chase Stokes, fresh off the success of "Outer Banks", found himself in a unique position. The show had catapulted him to fame, filling his bank account with more zeros than he could count. But with the world hitting the pause button due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and a hiatus between seasons one and two, he was at a loose end.

In the midst of his newfound prosperity, Stokes maintained a grounded perspective. He was a man who loved the thrill of life - the parties, the social scene, the adrenaline rush. He was a connoisseur of experiences, and with time on his hands and money in his pocket, he found himself longing for something more.

As fate would have it, his good friend, Austin North, was sailing in the same boat. Like Stokes, North was a young actor riding the wave of success, a wave that had momentarily receded due to the global pandemic.

After much deliberation, the duo decided to enroll in the local college. They chose to study business, a decision that was less about job security - their acting careers had already taken care of that - and more about gaining a deeper understanding of the entertainment industry. They saw it as a way to equip themselves with the knowledge and skills necessary to navigate the intricate maze of Hollywood.

Male Celebrity WG Short Stories Collection -

The Secret Bulk (Chase Stokes) - Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

More WG Stories by me - Tumblr, Wattpad

[harrystylesslutt]

A serene escape

Part 1 of seaside serendipity

warnings: just fluff for now

The quaint coastal town of Seaside Haven was your personal paradise. Its narrow cobbled streets, lined with charming cottages and the alluring scent of the ocean breeze, made it the perfect summer escape. The café by the beach, "Seashells & Coffee," was your haven of tranquility. It was here that you had spent several summers working, basking in the warmth of the locals and the cool embrace of the sea.

The sun rose lazily over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold as you stepped into the café. The day held the promise of new adventures, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. The morning rush hadn't begun yet, giving you a moment to prepare the cafe for the day ahead.

As you arranged freshly baked pastries in the display case, you couldn't help but glance out the window, captivated by the waves crashing against the shore. Lost in thought, you nearly jumped when a soft voice interrupted your reverie.

"Excuse me, is this place open?"

You turned to find a tall, curly-haired stranger standing at the entrance. His emerald eyes sparkled with curiosity, and the smile on his lips was enough to make your heart skip a beat. He had an aura of mystery and charm that immediately intrigued you.

"Yes, we're open!" you replied with your normal cheerful tone, despite the unexpected flutters in your stomach. "Welcome to Seashells & Coffee."

He stepped inside, and you noticed a hint of sea salt in his dark, tousled hair. "Thank you," he said, a faint British accent adding to his allure. "This place has such a lovely vibe."

"Thank you," you repeated, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink under his warm gaze. "Would you like a seat by the window? It offers the best view."

"That sounds perfect," he said, a playful yet reserved glint in his eyes.

You led him to a cozy corner by the window, where he took a seat with a small smile. As you handed him a menu, your fingers brushed against his, causing an electrifying sensation to run through your veins. You quickly withdrew your hand, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"I'm Harry, by the way," he introduced himself, his smile never fading.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm YN," you replied, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn't like you never got any good looking customers, you did, but you've always managed to keep your cool since most of them had a cold vibe surrounding them. There was just something about this stranger that made you intrigued to know more, was it his manners? the way he held eye contact? or the way his eyes kept subtly glancing down at your lips?

Over the next few hours, few customers went in and out, all of them seeming to be in too much of a hurry to sit down on one of the pink leather couches. You could feel the eyes of the stranger on you every now and then, there was some kind of tension knowing you and him were the only two people in the shop. However he did not miss trying to make his presence noticeable, since he was making his way back and forth from where you were working, getting new pastries to try while leaving little appreciation comments every now and then.

As the afternoon sun bathed the café in golden light, Harry was on one of his missions to get a new pastry, you somehow managed to end up engrossed in a conversation with him. He was well-traveled and had an air of wisdom beyond his years. He shared stories of his adventures, and you told him about the town's history and hidden gems, since he showed you a strong interest towards the hidden tales of the town. The more you talked, the more you felt an unspoken connection between you two, as if you had known each other for much longer than just a few hours.

After paying his bill, Harry leaned closer, his eyes locked with yours. "Thank you YN, I couldn't think of a better way to start my vacation; you really do know the art of pastries well” He chuckled.

You blushed at his compliment, feeling the undeniable chemistry between you. "Thank you Harry, although I am a bit thrown off by your hatred for strawberries, I don't think it's acceptable really.”

“Ah there it is, you let me off too easily earlier, I knew you were secretly judging my impeccable taste” He replied. You found yourself cheekily laughing at his teasing words “If anything it is anything but impeccable. The fact that you won't try any strawberry pastries is cruel! You know that you’d find a newly found love for them but you’re in denial so it’s fine it'll take you a while to cave in” Your playful banter goes on for a while until Harry really has to go but not before suggesting subtly his next visit, and that alone leaves u with flutters in your stomach.

------

The next day, as the sun painted the sky in a soft pastel palette, you found yourself eagerly anticipating Harry's return to Seashells & Coffee. The memory of your long conversation from the previous day had lingered in your mind, leaving you with a sense of excitement and nervousness about seeing him again.

Just as the clock struck ten, the familiar chime of the doorbell signaled his arrival. Harry stepped in with that same charming smile that made your heart skip a beat. It was as if he brought the sunshine with him, brightening the entire café with his presence.

"Good morning, YN," he greeted, his eyes locking onto yours as if you were the only one in the room.

"Morning, Harry," you replied with a warm smile, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

He took a seat by the window once more, and you couldn't help but notice the small details that made him uniquely Harry—the way his curls fell just right, the subtle crinkles near his eyes when he smiled, and the way he fidgeted with the menu, pretending to be undecided.

"You're back for another adventure at Seashells & Coffee?" you asked playfully, remembering his words from yesterday.

Harry chuckled. "Absolutely. It's the best place to be."

As the day went on, your playful banter continued. You brought back your criticism towards his peculiar dislike for strawberries, which amused you to no end. "You're missing out on the best summer treat, Harry," you teased, holding up a plump, ripe strawberry between your fingers.

"I know, I know," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I told you,It's just one of those things I can't seem to enjoy."

Determined to change his mind, you decided to take matters into your own hands. During a short break, you disappeared into the kitchen, whipping up a special strawberry dessert just for him. You carefully crafted a delicious strawberry shortcake with layers of sponge, fresh strawberries, and a dollop of whipped cream on top.

Returning to his table, you placed the dessert before him with a flourish. "Now, this is the ultimate test. Give it a try."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on his lips. "You're on."

He took a hesitant bite, and you watched nervously, hoping that your creation would win him over. His eyes widened in surprise, and a smile broke out on his face.

"Wow, this is amazing," he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine delight. "You might have just done the impossible and changed my opinion on strawberries."

You couldn't help but beam with pride at his reaction. "I told you they're delicious! It's like a burst of summer in every bite."

As the day continued, you and Harry spent more time together, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other's company. The bond between you grew stronger with every shared moment. You felt a sense of comfort and ease around him, as if you had found someone who truly understood you.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the coastal town, Harry hesitated before speaking. "Would you like to take a walk on the beach with me?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his invitation, and you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd love to."

Closing the shop, you strolled along the shoreline, the waves gently caressing the sand beneath your feet. The sound of the ocean served as a soothing backdrop to your conversation. As you and Harry walked along the beach, the cool ocean breeze caressed your skin, creating a sense of serenity around you. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and the distant cries of seagulls added to the tranquil atmosphere.

Harry's curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn't help but ask about the peculiar events that had occurred in the town. "You mentioned yesterday that this place has a magical charm and stories waiting to be written. Are there any particular stories or events that stand out?"

You smiled, appreciating his interest in the town's history. "Oh, definitely! Seaside Haven has a rich history filled with mysteries and legends. One of the most famous stories is about an old lighthouse that sits atop the cliffs."

Intrigued, Harry leaned in, eager to hear more. "Tell me about it."

"Legend has it that the lighthouse was built centuries ago by a lonesome sailor," you began, the tales of old coming to life in your words. "He fell deeply in love with a local woman, but their love was forbidden by her overprotective family. Heartbroken and desperate, he built the lighthouse as a beacon of hope, hoping it would guide him back to her."

Harry's eyes sparkled with fascination. "Did it work?"

"Well," you continued with a playful grin, "that's the mystery. Some say that on clear, moonlit nights, you can see a ghostly figure of a man gazing out to sea from the top of the lighthouse. Locals call him the 'Lover's Light.'"

"That's both beautiful and haunting," Harry mused, captivated by the romantic lore.

As you walked further, you shared more stories—the shipwrecks that dotted the coastline, the hidden caves said to be treasure troves, and the annual beach bonfire festival that brought the entire town together. Harry listened with genuine interest, asking questions and adding his own insights.

He paused for a moment, gazing out at the vast ocean before turning back to you. "It's incredible how stories and history shape a place. It's like every corner of this town has a tale to tell."

"It truly does," you agreed, feeling a deep connection forming between you two as you shared these tales. "And it's those stories that make this town so special, giving it a sense of magic and wonder."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the sky, you both continued your leisurely stroll along the beach. The stories of the town, the sound of the waves, and the connection between you and Harry created an enchanting moment—one that would forever be etched in the sands of your summer paradise.

-------

Harry walked back to his rented cottage, his mind swirling with thoughts of YN. The way she spoke about the town's history with such passion, the playful glint in her eyes when she teased him about strawberries, and the warmth of her smile—it all left an indelible impression on him. He couldn't deny how drawn he felt to her, but he also knew that he was just passing through this picturesque town for a different reason. .

"Keep it together, Harry," he mumbled to himself as he entered the cozy living room. He settled down on the worn-out couch, trying to focus on the laptop in front of him. But every time he tried to concentrate on his work, thoughts of YN crept back into his mind.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts. "You can't get distracted now," he reminded himself sternly, his fingers tapping on the keyboard. He had come to Seaside Haven for a specific goal, he reminded himself.

As he typed, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of suspicion lingering in the back of his mind. It was as if fate had led him to YN, and he couldn't understand why he was so taken by her. He had met plenty of people during his travels, but there was something about her that felt different—like she held a key to a world of wonder he had yet to discover.

Pushing the thoughts away, Harry focused on his work once more. He typed away, the soft tapping of the keys echoing in the quiet room. But try as he might, his mind kept wandering back to YN the enchanting girl he had met at the café.

"Get a grip, Harry," he scolded himself, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the best of him. After all, he was just a visitor with a mission in Seaside Haven, and he didn't know how long he would stay.

With a determined sigh, he finally managed to immerse himself in his writing. But even as the words flowed from his fingers, he couldn't shake off the image of YN's smile and the feeling of her hand in his. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep him captivated, weaving its magic around him and YN.

Harry found it useless to try to keep himself concentrated while she clouded his mind, so he gives up, saving the document on his laptop and closing all the tabs for his research . He closed the lid, feeling a mix of confusion and fascination. "You're being silly," he whispered to himself, trying to dispel the enchantment that surrounded him.

But as he lay in bed that night, the image of YN stayed with him, her presence lingering like a sweet summer breeze. And in that moment, he knew that Seaside Haven had more in store for him than he had ever anticipated. Perhaps it wasn't just a town for a summer escape, with a good story—it could be the place where he found something he never knew he was looking for.

To be continued...

[politicalprof]

In which I "write" an editorial on Trump for the New York Times:

I asked ChatGPT to "write an editorial in the style of the New York Times explaining why people in a diner in Columbia, Missouri like Donald Trump." This is its nearly-instantaneous reply.

ChatGPT:

Title: The Trump Appeal in Columbia, Missouri: Unpacking the Allure in the Heartland

In the heartland of Columbia, Missouri, where amber waves of grain stretch as far as the eye can see and the pulse of America beats strong, there exists a palpable affinity for Donald Trump that might seem perplexing to some coastal observers. As the clatter of plates and the aroma of coffee fill the air in the local diners, one cannot help but wonder: What is it about Trump that resonates so deeply in this part of the country?

Understanding the Trump appeal in Columbia requires peeling back the layers of socio-economic, cultural, and political dynamics that define the region. This landlocked state, often overshadowed by the coastal metropolises, has been experiencing its own unique set of challenges and opportunities. It is in this context that Trump's message found fertile ground.

First and foremost, the people of Columbia, like many others in the heartland, appreciate Trump's no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is approach. Trump's communication style, characterized by directness and simplicity, resonates with a demographic that values plain-speaking and authenticity. In a region where hard work and straightforwardness are cherished virtues, Trump's unfiltered rhetoric strikes a chord.

Moreover, the economic policies pursued during Trump's tenure left a positive mark on the local economy. The emphasis on deregulation and tax cuts played well with small business owners and farmers, the backbone of Columbia's community. For many, the Trump era symbolized an effort to unshackle businesses from bureaucratic constraints and stimulate economic growth from the bottom up.

Columbia's demographics also play a role in the Trump support phenomenon. This college town is not a monolithic entity; it comprises a diverse tapestry of residents, including conservative-leaning individuals who may feel marginalized in the more liberal academic environment. Trump's unapologetic conservatism appealed to these voters, who saw in him a champion of values they held dear.

Furthermore, Trump's promise to challenge the establishment resonated with those who felt left behind by the currents of change. In Columbia, as in many parts of Middle America, there is a sense that the political elite in Washington is out of touch with the everyday struggles of ordinary citizens. Trump's outsider status and pledge to "drain the swamp" garnered him support among those who sought a break from the status quo.

However, it's crucial to recognize that not everyone in Columbia supports Trump, and opinions on his presidency are as diverse as the city itself. The diner conversations may include both avid supporters and passionate critics, fostering a vibrant discourse that reflects the democratic spirit of the nation.

In conclusion, the Trump appeal in Columbia, Missouri, emerges from a complex interplay of economic factors, cultural values, and a desire for political change. As the nation grapples with its political divisions, understanding the reasons behind Trump's popularity in places like Columbia is essential for fostering empathy and constructive dialogue. Only by appreciating the diverse perspectives that shape our democracy can we hope to bridge the gaps that sometimes seem insurmountable.

[ambazaar]

The Bitter Taste of Hibiscus 🌺: Part 2

Shanks x oc

Synopsis: Tessa, due to a complicated past, has an opinion about pirates. An opinion that's become a bit muddled since he came to the village for the first time. It's all inconvenient, really. Falling in love.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Use, Facial-Related Injuries, Fluff (may be subject to change)

A/N: I've barely read or seen ANY of the manga or anime so pls don't murder me about inaccuracies. I'm in love with OPLA Shanks and needed to get my frustrations out in writing. So have a fun, angsty short story filled with fluffy goodness. Will be updating as I can.

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Shortly after the Red Force settled into port, Tessa left Makino to tend to her business with the pirates. She wouldn't be caught in the middle, not with her heart racing as fast as it was and sleep coating her eyelids so heavily. She thought to look for her street urchin, but realized halfway to his nook beneath the docks that he most likely would have snuck aboard the ship by now. He'd have bolted to see Shanks the moment he woke, having been counting the days until his return, of that Tessa had no doubt. The young woman sighed, unsure of what to do. 

Makino's voice rang in the back of Tessa's mind, warning her of regrets once more. But it was too early in the day to think of regrets. So, she turned back toward town, careful to avoid the main docks, and began the long trek from the beach to the cottage on the outskirts of the village. 

It was a small thing, Tessa's cottage, with a charming and rustic allure. The vibrant blue of the wooden planks that adorned its exterior had long faded from the coastal sun. The once bright yellow door, now tinged with a soft gray hue, hadn't welcomed visitors aside from Makino or Luffy in years. Inside, its worn walls were decorated with flattened bouquets of flowers that Tessa had picked during her hikes through the hills and paintings by her mother that were older than she was. She hung seashells with discarded fishing wire in an intricate path connecting the only two windows, which cascaded together in blissful chimes whenever a soft breeze caught the milky, lace curtains.

A large, peculiar-shaped piece of driftwood sat above the hearth, a gift from Luffy just one year prior. Not long after the Red Hair Pirates came and left Windmill Village for the first time, he'd found the driftwood on the beach and attempted to shape it to look more like the dragon figurehead of Shanks' ship. Tessa couldn't perceive the resemblance, but she never had the heart to tell him. So, above the hearth it stayed.

Inside the cottage was cold, as she had no need to light a fire last night, having spent the entire evening at Party's with Makino. Tessa reached for the dingy, red shawl hanging beside the hearth, wrapping it around her shoulders, and went to work on starting a small fire. Moments later, she swung a kettle over the open flames and nestled into the large quilt she'd spent most of the spring working on, which draped over an old wicker chair in the corner of the open room. The salty air of the sea drifted through the windows with the cool breeze, mingling with a scent almost like cranberries as Tessa poured the boiling water from the kettle through loose hibiscus petals. It was a tart drink, but one that served better to wake her than most things. She let it rest for a moment and sat back in the chair, turning her head toward the window.

Her gaze immediately fell to the pirate ship.

Despite the feelings Tessa held for their captain, she still remained uncertain of the Red Hair Pirates. She rarely spoke to any of them, usually just in passing and never for very long, despite the fact that they'd been coming and going from Windmill Village for over a year now. They'd established a mutually beneficial relationship with the islanders over that time, so much so that greeting the pirates at port became almost a tradition for some of the villagers. But not for Tessa. It was not completely lost on her that a band of respectful sailors was possible. But a band of respectable pirates? She'd never heard of such a thing.

The first time she found herself face to face with one of them, she'd been on her way to Party's to help Makino when she collided right into Benn Beckman, the first mate. He laughed it off and advised that she should watch her step. She couldn't recall what came over her that day, but his audacity sparked a fire in her chest.

"Well excuse me, sir!" She said, her voice already loud enough for everyone near to turn their heads. "I've never been made to 'watch my step' before you lot came, bounding about like you own the place. And usually when you knock into a lady, you apologize, not laugh in her face!"

The pirate laughed again, louder and much heartier than before. The pale of her face flushed pink, the anger coursing through her overshadowing any fear that might occur from the consequences of her outburst. But to Tessa's astonishment, he simply bowed, placing a large hand over his heart, and asked for her forgiveness. She didn't know what to say or do. When he met her gaze again, a genuine smile crossed his features and she stood there, completely bewildered. 

That's when she heard him for the first time, calling the first mate from beneath the canopy of Party's. "You starting trouble with the locals already, Benn?" He asked. 

"No more than usual, Cap'n." As Benn passed her on the dock, Tessa's eyes rose to the man that he'd referred to as 'captain'.

He was certainly tall, much taller than Makino who stood just beside him, with vibrant red hair and a grayish cape draped across his shoulders, and on his head sat a peculiar straw hat. Peculiar because it adorned the head of a pirate captain: the most fearsome sort of man one could come across. This man, with his straw hat and charming features, didn't look dangerous. In fact, as he watched her enter the bar, she found her gaze fixated on him, not in fear but in curiosity. Specifically his eyes. Dark as pools of ink under the shade of his hat, Tessa wondered in that moment the kind of stories they held within. But, as she arrived at Makino's side, she lastly took note of the three long scars that decorated the left side of his face and steeled herself at the last second, despite the man's warm smile.

"Apologies for my first mate, miss," he said to her. "A life on the seas sometimes causes a man to forget his manners."

Something inside Tessa tensed. Makino sensed it, immediately turning to look at her friend, and saw the hard expression on her face. "I'm sure manners isn't the only thing," Tessa retorted.

Though puzzled, Shanks chuckled and smiled wider in response. Heat rose immediately through Tessa's face, which irritated her more. She finally met Makino's worried stare and said, her words heavily soaked in resentment, "Since when do we do business with pirates?" She surveyed Shanks up and down, taking in the intrigued look on his face, and practically sprinted across to the other dining hut. 

Tessa looked back on that memory and cringed. She'd been so angry with Makino for helping them that day. She couldn't believe that in only a year her opinions on pirates would become so muddled. All because of Shanks and his crew. It was hard to believe there were others like them, at least for Tessa. Her own experiences with pirates had left a bitterness in her heart that cast a dark prejudice on them. So, in the beginning, she'd hated Shanks. She hated that Luffy admired him so much. She hated that the village placed their trust in him so quickly. But most of all she hated that, despite all her animosity and resentment, she'd still fallen in love with him.

She'd known it only a few months later when the pirates had returned from another trek across the seas and their captain called cheers for both her and Makino after they'd spent a whole afternoon making sure his crew was fed. She'd known it when she watched him help a young girl collect her basket of apples that had fallen to the ground, her tears shifting to laughter as he gave her words of assurance. She'd known it when he'd placed his hand over hers that night at Party's, though she hadn't been able to even look at him since. For all he knew, Tessa still hated him. But for the first time in a year, she no longer felt content keeping it that way. 

There was a sudden rapping at the door, which jolted Tessa from a sleep she hadn't known she had fallen into. Luffy was standing in front of her before she could wipe the haze from her eyes. "TESSA," the boy shouted, despite the fact she was already quite awake. 

"Yes, Luffy. What can I do for-" 

The woman's voice caught in her throat as she finally looked upon the boy's face. Her hand instinctively flew to his cheek, her thumb hovering anxiously over the tender stitches just below his right eye. "What on Earth happened?" 

"Tessa, you're not going to believe this! Look!" Luffy bounced away from her touch and stood just in front of the fireplace, the flames mere embers now; how long had she been asleep? Her eyes wouldn't leave the fresh wound on his face. 

"Luffy, please. Tell me what happened!" She urged him, but alas the boy ignored her. 

He raised his arm high above his head, and with a triumphant yell, swiftly thrust it forward. Tessa's breath was forcefully expelled from her lungs, leaving her feeling dizzy, as she observed the boy's arm unnaturally extending across the room, knocking her front door wide open and causing it to dislodge from the top hinge. Luffy instantly recoiled, overwhelmed by immediate regret, and looked to Tessa with sheepish guilt. "I can fix that," He said, lunging forward.  

Tessa's eyes were transfixed on the boy. She observed as Luffy attempted to hoist the door back into place, but found it unable to stay by itself, and had no choice but to let it fall once again. This time, the weight proved too much for the weakened second hinge, causing the door to collapse to the ground. Overwhelmed by an immense sense of remorse, Luffy avoided Tessa's wide-eyed expression at all costs. Fortunately for him, he wouldn't have to explain.

She'd heard many stories about Devil Fruits throughout her life and the unnatural gifts they offered, but also the curse they bestowed upon whoever consumed one. A multitude of emotions swirled within Tessa's mind, yet one sensation eclipsed them all—an abrupt and profound anger that surged from the depths of her stomach, fixating on a certain captain with vibrant red hair.

I'm going to bloody kill him.

---

Part 3