#and he reaches for his sword (it is not there. he gave it away)

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞?

Dante shows up post-mission smelling like demon guts and bad decisions, and has the nerve to climb into bed without showering. His partner, clean and cozy, isn’t about to let him off easy, but can’t help teasing him when he tries to act all nonchalant about it.

Pairing: Dante x Fem!Reader Rating: T Genre: Fluff Warnings: Mild language, mentions of demon gore/blood, soft physical intimacy, stubborn man being dramatic

She had done the holy ritual.

The everything shower. Hair washed, skin scrubbed, legs shaved, even the good moisturiser, the kind that made her smell like warm vanilla and felt like silk. She was clean, exfoliated, and glowing.

The sheets were fresh. The room smelled like lavender spray and peace.

She was in bed, finally.

And that’s when the front door opened.

She heard the shuffle of boots being kicked off, the low metallic clink of a sword carelessly leaned against the wall, and a familiar grunt, the sound of a man dragging himself in after a long fight.

She didn’t move. Eyes closed. Not yet. Maybe he’d go to the shower first. Maybe she wouldn’t have to kill him tonight.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Heavy steps.

And then...

“Don’t,” she said, voice sharp as a blade.

Dante froze halfway through pulling off his shirt, blinking in the doorway like a raccoon caught in the fridge light. His skin steamed faintly, probably still supercharged from his Devil Trigger not long ago. His chest glistened with sweat, blood dried in the bend of his elbow, and his hair was sticking up in every direction.

“You didn’t shower,” she accused without opening her eyes.

“I was gonna,” he said, slowly walking in.

“You’re walking toward the bed, not the shower.”

“I just wanted to-”

“Don’t you dare touch these sheets, Dante.”

He groaned, flopping forward dramatically on the edge of the mattress. “Babe, my soul is leaving my body. Just five minutes. I’m still kind of smoking.”

“Exactly! You’re a walking biohazard.”

“You smell amazing,” he mumbled, face buried in a pillow. “Like cake and clouds.”

“Then don’t taint me with your demon stank.”

He cracked one eye open. “Wow. Demon stank? Harsh.”

“Don’t care. I can see the blood on your neck. And is that black goo on your pants?”

“…Might be.”

She shoved him with her foot. “Get off. Go shower, Dante.”

He groaned again, rolling onto his back like a cat trying to get attention. “I can’t. I’m too tired. My limbs are optional.”

“You’re optional,” she snapped.

He pouted.

Actual lower lip pout.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered.

“You used to be nice.”

“I'm not used to sleep with someone who's drenched from head to toe with sticky blood.”

He reached under the covers with his foot and brushed her calf.

She kicked it away.

Another try. A sneaky toe, curling gently against her ankle.

“Dante,” she warned.

He said nothing. Just slowly, silently tangled their feet together, stubborn and smug.

She exhaled like she was carrying the weight of the world. “I hate that you’re warm.”

“Liar,” he said into the sheets.

She muttered something unholy under her breath and turned away from him but didn’t pull her leg back.

He smiled, barely.

Then she added, deadpan, “If I feel even a drop of demon goo, I’m kicking you straight out of this bed.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

He laid there: radiating hellfire, stinking like victory and sin, grinning like he’d won something.

And maybe, just maybe, he had.

Ten minutes later, he was still lying there.

Still smug. Still shirtless. Still sweaty.

Still refusing to move.

She stared at the ceiling, counting backward from ten. Again. And again.

He hadn’t stopped inching closer, either. One arm now sneakily draped across her waist. His leg practically trying to merge with hers under the covers.

“You’re still warm,” she muttered.

“Warm is nice,” he mumbled, nuzzling her shoulder. “You’re all soft and clean. It’s like sleeping with an angel."

“You smell like the wrong side of hell.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, clearly playing dead again. “I’m conserving energy.”

She stared at him for another beat.

Then she got up. Quietly.

Too quietly.

Dante barely cracked an eye open. “Where ya goin’, sweetheart?”

“Nowhere. Just gonna grab some water.”

She walked to the kitchen.

Poured a tall, cold glass from the water tap.

And walked calmly back into the room, like she was ready to exorcise a demon, armed with nothing but cold water and zero patience.

He didn’t suspect a thing. Just gave a lazy little smile as she approached.

“Changed your mind about snuggles, huh?”

She raised the glass.

“Last chance, Sparda.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

Then she poured it straight over his chest.

Cold. Righteous. Glorious.

He shrieked.

It wasn’t a yell, it was a high-pitched, full-body yelp, like a startled 90s anime schoolgirl caught in a love triangle.

“WHAT THE HELL?” he gasped, falling off the bed like he’d been electrocuted.

She stood over him unfazed, holding the empty glass like a queen who just issued judgment.

“You’re going to shower now.”

He sat on the floor, drenched and wide-eyed, water dripping from his chest, hair sticking to his forehead. He pointed at her, betrayed. “You ambushed me!”

“I warned you.”

“That was evil.”

“I learned from the best.”

He groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “Fine. I’m going. You win. Shower of shame, here I come.”

As he sulked toward the bathroom, still grumbling, she called after him sweetly: “And scrub behind your ears!”

He flipped her off without turning around.

She smiled to herself, crawled back into the clean bed, and let out a satisfied sigh.

The bedroom door creaked open with exaggerated drama, and Dante stepped in like the world’s most tragic war hero.

Hair soaked, towel slung low around his hips, a long-suffering frown on his face.

He stood there, dripping water onto the floorboards, steam still clinging to his bare skin, and glared at her like she was the root of all his problems.

“You happy now?” he muttered.

She didn’t even look up from the bed, already tucked beneath the covers. “I am,” she said simply. “You’re clean, the room isn’t suffocated in demon gore, and you’re no longer boiling like a furnace. That’s a win.”

He grumbled something under his breath and stalked toward his side of the bed, dragging his towel off before pulling on a pair of boxers and laying awkwardly on the bed.

But when she rolled over, moving toward him with that familiar softness in her eyes, the one that said “I forgive you, now come cuddle me”, he didn’t move to meet her.

In fact, he shifted away.

She blinked. “…What?”

He threw an arm over his eyes. “Don’t get too close. I still smell bad. You said so.”

She stared at him.

“You’re joking.”

“I reek. Filthy. Practically radioactive,” he deadpanned, voice dry as ash. “Wouldn’t want to offend your delicate nose again.”

“Oh my god, you’re being petty.”

“Me?” he gasped dramatically. “Petty? Nooo.”

She scoffed, then reached for him anyway, sliding across the bed and wrapping an arm around his bare waist. His skin was warm from the shower, still slightly damp, and she could feel the muscles in his back tense beneath her touch.

“Pretty sure you smell like soap and regret now,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I think I can survive.”

He grunted, trying to act unaffected, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“I’m warning you,” he said, still in that fake nonchalant tone, “you cuddle me now, you’re asking for trouble. Might still be contagious.”

“Contagious with what?” she teased, lips ghosting just below his ear. “Sarcasm? Chronic martyr syndrome?”

He tried to hold his expression but the second her fingers slipped beneath the blanket to curl around his stomach and she moved closer, spooning him from behind, Dante broke.

His breath caught. Visibly.

She felt him flinch ever so slightly under her hands, the way his shoulders tightened, not in protest, but in desperate restraint.

“Goddammit,” he mumbled, voice muffled against his forearm.

She grinned.

“What was that?” she asked sweetly, trailing a few soft kisses along his spine. “I didn’t catch that, baby.”

“I said,” he hissed, face burning, “this is unfair.”

She hummed against his back, smug and victorious. “You’re warm again.”

“I just showered.”

“And now you’re mine.”

He groaned in defeat, letting his head drop back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered, reaching back to blindly tug her arm tighter around him. “But if I start overheating again, it’s on you.”

“You can sweat it out on me.”

He shuddered, and not from the heat this time.

“…You’re evil,” he said, voice low and hoarse.

“Learned from the best, didn’t I?”

He didn’t argue. He just sighed again, melted a little more into her hold, and finally let the last of his resistance crumble.

[snow-blower]

angsty robb drabble pls pls pls like hmm the first time you see the king in the north behead a man or smth? and you start avoiding him cs all you can think about is the coldness in his eyes when he 🗡️↘️

Absolutely!! 🫶🫶

Flinch - Robb Stark

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The snow was falling when it had happened.

You were stood at the edge of the camp, donned in a fur cloak and thick wool dress. You had wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as you watched.

Your breath caught when Robb lifted his sword, standing tall and sharp, darkened by the weight of command even as he brought it down again.

Red covered white.

You flinched. Not from the act. No. From him. The look in his eyes, colder than the deepest depths of the North. It was the way he didn't hesitate. Didn't blink.

The head rolled. Bile rose in your throat.

Robb gave his men a nod, turned on his heel, and walked away as though his sword wasn't stained red. It was as if he wasn't the man who passed the sentence or the man who swung the sword.

You didn't follow him when he called for you.

You didn't share his bed that night. Feigned sleep when he found you asleep in your old tent the morning after. The tent you slept in before you married.

Your stomach twisted with guilt and your heart felt heavy.

You heard him shuffle back out of your tent, a wave of frustration following him through the flap.

Three days later he cornered you. You had managed to sneak off, away from the guards, and found yourself at a little stream. You tucked yourself against a nearby tree, slumped against it as you listened to the sounds of the forest around you.

You heard the footsteps and before you knew it he was stood before you. You didn't try to escape. You knew you wouldn't be able to pull it off. So, you shifted. You stood up, brushed the dirt from your skirts, and chewed your bottom lip nervously.

Robb watches you, blue eyes clouded with a storm. It was much alike the one he wore before battle, or when he's about to say something that will tear himself about.

"You've been avoiding me." He states, quiet but firm.

You nod, twisting your fingers nervously into your skirts. There's no point denying it.

"I frightened you." He continues.

Your throat closes. You nod again. "Yes."

You say it so quietly. It nearly gets carried away in the wind.

For a moment it looks like he's about to step forward, reach a hand for your hip or pull you in for a hug. He seems to second guess himself and instead clenches his hands in his leather gloves.

Your gaze drifts over his shoulder. You can see the glint of the stream. But you can barely hear the sound of the running water over your beating heart.

"Gods," he swallows, gaze flicking to the ground almost shamefully. "You cannot even look me in the eye."

You force your gaze back on him then. You look up at him. Really look.

His eyes weren't cold anymore. They didn't have the same hardness in them as they did that day.

No. Now they're filled with pleading. Exhausted. Red-rimmed from the sleepless nights he didn't have you in his arms for.

When you don't speak up, he does.

"You know I had to do it."

"I know that." You snap through gritted teeth. Of course, you knew he had no choice in the matter.

"I know it needed to be done. I know that there was no choice in the matter." You pause and glance at him again, searching for any hint of the man you saw that night.

Robb's gaze meets yours.

He's not there.

"It was the way you did it. Like it didn't affect you at all," you breathe out shakily. "You didn't look the same."

His whole body tenses at that and his jaw clenches. But, it's not anger that causes it. It's hurt. Pure, aching hurt.

"I couldn't. I was supposed to be strong." His voice is hoarse, cracking at the seams.

"If I had let it show — if I had flinched or hesitated — what would that say to the men who trusted me to lead them? To protect them?"

He swallows like the words tasted sour on his tongue.

You see him then. The boy playing dress up as king. The boy who was never truly prepared to play the game of wars.

"It did. Gods, it did affect me, love. I think about it every time my eyes shut. I keep seeing the way you looked at me after."

His gaze is still locked on yours. His lips trembles, and the tears in his eyes match yours.

"I don't want you to ever look at me like that." He steps forward, reaching out to hover a hand over your hip. When you don't flinch, he settles his hand there, pulling you into his arms with a desperation you've never seen on him.

"Don't ever look at me like that. Please." His voice cracks and his shoulders shake with a weak sob.

Your arms wrap around his midsection, tugging him closer as though you were trying to absorb the pain that had been festering beneath the surface for so long.

You don't speak. Not yet. You just curl your fingers into the leather of his armour and hold him close like he needs it. He does need it. He still smells like war when you bury your face into the crook of his neck. Leather, smoke and snow. Yet, for the first time it near grounds you.

"I'm still me." It's whispered once against your hair. Then twice. And then a few more times. Over and over like he's repeating a prayer that he needs the gods to answer. "I promise.

"I know." You finally managed to whisper back. It's all you can manage. But it's enough for now.

[rs-hawk]

Nobleman Minotaur: Part Ten

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Your father wasn't pleased, but he did make the announcement that your husband would be Asterion. Many of the bachelors were angry, calling for answers and sharing their distain. None more than one Athenian, however.

His name was Theseus. He was young, early 20s at most, and undeniably handsome. The smoothness of his jaw made him look younger, as many of the men did grow out their beards, but not him. With his clean shaven face, short, curly dark hair and deep, dark eyes, now pulled into a scowl, he did catch your attention. Your eyes locked as you stood on stage beside your father.

There was something vile that lurked in his dark eyes. It made your skin crawl despite his handsome face. Without uttering a word, you knew that he was the kind of man to take what he wanted, the cost to others be damned. Your eyes flickered to the tent where Asterion was resting. You caught Theseus looking the same way.

After your father made his announcement, your mother kissed your cheek and simply told you she wished for you to be happy. The slight smile you gave her seemed to quell her worries because she turned away. By this point, many of the men had left, but not Theseus. He was still standing at the edge of the makeshift podium your father had made for the royal family to observe from.

"You're going to choose that man eating beast to be King?" he sneered when you locked eyes with him.

There was a lump in your throat. Of course you had known that someone was going to be angry, to question you, but you still hated it. "You don't understand what he had to go through," you finally said, pushing your shoulders back just enough to not let the anger bubbling in your stomach be obvious. The way your chin lifted gave you a regal air. "My choice is mine and mine alone."

He scoffed, sheathing his sword with a loud metallic sound. "I don't know what he had to go through? If that beast hadn't killed Minos, then I would have been in the next group fed to it."

"He is not an it," you snapped, your tone harsh. "And that wasn't his fault. He was only trying to survive. He didn't have a choice."

Theseus smirked, his full, plump lips pulling into a mocking form. "Of course. Animals will typically do anything to ensure their own survival."

That was something you refused to dignify with a response. Instead you turned on your heel, making your way back to the medic tent. Asterion grinned when he saw you, his dark eyes wide with excitement and relief.

"I heard your father making the announcement," he said, reaching out a large hand to curl his large fingers around yours. "You truly meant it. You are going to marry me."

"I am," you whispered, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand before squeezing it back.

"Many will be angry," he said, his eyes searching your face. "A beast on the throne? It could even cause a panic."

"You are a demigod," you said, cupping his cow face with your small hand. The fur tickled your fingers. "I don't care what anyone says. You are not a beast. You are my fiancé."

[aryaryxoxo]

cuatro— [⏮] [masterlist] [⏭]

I'm fucked, aren't I? #soshiro hoshina x lara jean coded!reader

Sure, why not add accidentally losing the love letters you wrote for your VICE CAPTAIN to the list of the dumb shit you did this year...Why did I even write it in the first place, you pondered. You knew why…writing helps you let loose your overflowing feelings for the vice-captain.

But maybe—pray to God. Whoever has the used—to—be—chocolate—now—letter storage tin threw it in the trash you wished DING!

Of course not, I’m fucked—aren’t I?

...

Dear Soshiro Hoshina, I never thought I’d be the type to notice small details, but somehow, I’ve started paying attention to the little things about you, ever since that Honju attack. Like the way your eyes seem to brighten when you talk about the things you care about, or how you move like everything around you is just... natural, like it’s all under your control. I’m not sure when it started, but now, every time you do something like that, it makes me feel... something. I don’t know if it’s just admiration, or something else. Sincerely Ami

...

…

You find yourself standing in front of his office door, a place that once made your heart flutter with excitement whenever you passed by. Now, though, it feels terrifying. Well, there’s no getting out of this… Just grab the handkerchief and go, you tell yourself, trying to muster the courage.

You knock three times, your knuckles grazing the wood gently.

“Come in.” 

At the sound of his voice, steady and low, you take a breath and push the door open.

You’re greeted by the man who once took your breath away—the one who saved you from an Honju before it nearly tore you apart. A memory that has a special place in your heart. But he’s also the man who could very well cost you your job if the truth came out. That’s why I need to keep my distance… no matter how impossible that feels.

“You’re up early,” Soshiro said, setting the morning report down on his desk. His voice was calm, amused even — and when he looked up at her, there was that damn smile. The kind that made her forget how to function like a normal human being.

“Well, you see, Vice Captain, I... um... uhhh—” Why am I awkward? I’m not this awkward. Get it together!

“Yes?” he prompted, one brow slightly raised, clearly entertained.

“I like... getting ready in the morning. Yep. That’s it.” She nodded far too quickly. “Big fan of mornings. Love 'em.”

Totally not true.

She laughed—nervous, high-pitched, and painful—and immediately wanted to slam her face into the nearest filing cabinet.

“Well, good morning to you, early bird,” Soshiro said, reaching into his drawer with that calm demeanor. He held the handkerchief in his hands, but didn’t hand it over immediately.

“I have a question,” Soshiro said. Yup. Here we go. This is it. I’m dead. My funeral will be held at the base gymnasium. Closed casket.

“Why did you ask if you could switch weapons after being recruited?” Soshiro asked.

Y/N’s heart stopped for a second. Shit. I did ask. And I definitely wrote in the letters how I wanted to use a sword real bad. LIE Y/N

“Umm, because, uh... you know, the gun is heavy,” Y/N gulped.

Soshiro looked at her closely, then gave a small nod before finally handing her the handkerchief.

“This is your handkerchief. I washed it—don’t worry.”

He held it out casually. She snatched it from his hand faster than she meant to, nearly smacking his fingers in the process.

“Thank you!” she blurted, holding the handkerchief. She was already halfway to the door when Soshiro’s voice stopped her.

“You’re acting strange,” he said lightly. Soshiro blinked at her reaction, lips twitching as if he were trying not to laugh. "You never been this agitated" Wait, how does he know that?

She turned back around, teeth clenched. “Strange? Me? Pfft. I’m just... well-rested.”

Three hours of sleep and a growing mountain of panic about you finding out and me getting kicked out of the force. Totally fine. Normal. Thriving.

Soshiro looked at the calendar, and a thought popped up in his head. “Oh—is it because—it's okay if you don’t want to reply. If it makes you uncomfortable,” Soshiro said, his voice gentle. Y/N blinked. 

I swear to god this guy wants me dead.

“The end of the month is near,” he added.

Huh? “I’m sorry?” Y/N blinking at him in confusion.

“I meant…” He paused, then gave a small sigh, the smile fading from his face. “I don’t mean to pry. But I am the vice captain—and I’m in charge of your training. Captain Mina mentioned your performance in the field’s been... declining. You’ve been placing last.”

Y/N looked down, and gripped the handkerchief in her hands tighter, as if it could somehow steady her. Her fingers twisted around the fabric, her knuckles white with the pressure.

She couldn’t look at him. Not when her brain was screaming at her: You’re pathetic. You are nothing compared to him. If you weren’t so busy admiring him, maybe you could use that stupid gun efficiently. Maybe you wouldn’t be failing at everything.

She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the sting of her own self-loathing, and forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat.

Well, might as well confess up 

Y/N muttered to herself, her nerves getting the best of her. Taking a deep breath. “Sir—”

But before she could continue, Soshiro cut in, his voice casual, almost teasing. “I can personally train you, you know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N blinked. Wait, what?

 She wasn’t sure if he meant that as a joke, but her heart skipped a beat. 

“W-What?” she stammered. “No, I—what does that even mean?” She wanted to look anywhere but at him, but somehow, her eyes kept gravitating back to that damn, confident smirk.

Soshiro leaned forward slightly, his tone still light but now laced with a hint of something more serious. “It means I can help you get back to where you need to be. No more placing last.”

"But sir, with all due respect... aren’t you an expert with swords, not guns?" Y/N asked, brows furrowing as she tried to make sense of his offer.

Soshiro didn’t answer right away. He studied her, arms loosely crossed, his expression unreadable as always. His gaze moved from head to toe, pausing briefly on her left hand. Tiny scar on my palm.

After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice calm and measured.

“Yes,” he replied. "My specialty is the sword. But more importantly, I know how to teach. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve got sharp reflexes and fast footwork. That instinct could carry you far."

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to show her nerves.

"You're struggling with precision, that's clear. But there are ways to train that—habits, drills, techniques." His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of challenge in them. "And I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that can help you hit your mark every single time."

Y/N’s stomach twisted. Was he serious? He didn’t have to do this... but the idea of training with him sent her mind spinning in a completely different direction.

“Is there anything in return?” Y/N asked, skepticism lacing her voice, eyeing him cautiously.

Soshiro shrugged, not missing a beat. “No. I’m just a good vice captain.”

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes at his smugness, but... she couldn’t help but laugh instead. The sound felt lighter than it had in days, and it came out more genuine than she intended.

Soshiro looked at her. His heart beat a little faster for a second, as though the sound of her laughter had caught him off guard.

Something in him twisted—something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. He found himself almost... wanting to hear more of it. But his gaze flicked over to the tin can sitting on the table behind her. His eyes narrowed for a split second.

Dear Soshiro Hoshina, My friends say I have a weird laugh, do you think I have a weird laugh? Wait, I’m stupid, you don’t know me.  Sincerely, Ami

Y/N stopped laughing, and followed his gaze, and her heart dropped when she saw where he was looking. SHIT. The tin.

How had she not noticed it there? It sat innocently on the table behind her, but now, with Soshiro’s eyes fixed on it, she could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

He’s piecing it together. He’s going to figure it out.

Okay, think, Y/N, think Her mind is scrambling. She needed a distraction. She needed to do anything!

Without missing a beat, she cleared her throat and mustered every ounce of confidence she could summon. “I’ve heard someone gave a love letter, you know? That’s, uh, giving teenager, right?” She forced a nonchalant smile, but it felt like her face might crack from the tension. “I didn’t even know love letters still existed. I thought they only existed in romance movies.”

She chuckled, hoping it didn’t sound as fake as it felt. Please buy it. Please, please buy it.

Soshiro raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. Y/N's brain short-circuited from the pressure. And before she could stop herself, words just happened.

“I could help you find out who gave you the love letters! Since you want to help me with training, I will help you”

Why did I keep digging my own grave?

...

...

cuatro— [⏮] [masterlist] [⏭]

a/n — well this just got a whole lot more interesting HAHAHHA

taglist — @vaida-talks-about-everything , @madiexuberant @kokoiinuts

Warnings — grammatical errors; timeline is weird, pls ignore it. I’m new to the fandom, hence there are chance of misrepresentation, my apologizes.

[theotherrookie]

Crosshair grumbled as she reached into her jacket, only to find all her spare clips were gone and had been replaced with carrots. Erica held them up for her to see before dumping them in the void.

"No more shooting." the elf stated, before making her way to the edge, ready to jump off, "First one down?"

Willow put her sword away, turning her back to Crosshair as she got ready to follow the others.

"A word of advice. You don't want to find out what we did to Ratchet. Understood?"

Crosshair flinched, then gave a nod. "...Yes, ma'am."

Willow took note of the answer, then pulled her mask up on her way to join the others.

"This isn't supposed to be fun." But it kind of was. Rook balanced herself with a quick flap of her wings, still chasing after Frosty. Her hope was to drive him closer to the others so they could deal with him.

That was before she watched the way Bill had decided to deal with the icicles. It might not have done much, but she couldn't help worrying for him. It was way too early into the fight to get wounded.

But at least Travis' plan worked out well. Frosty slipped and fell pretty hard on his knee, even as he was forcing himself to ignore the pain. Five and the events that had transpired told him he couldn't let these monsters have their way.

"You're right, it's too warm." But he would keep fighting the best he could. Frosty raised his arms as large ice spikes raised from the ground to block the path.

He wanted to go after Rook, but he knew Five wanted to deal with her personally. So he kept on tossing snowballs to buy them time.

Lucien did his best to shield Russell in return while he got ready. "You're prettier. But I think Travis has the right idea. Let's focus on his legs, then work our way up."

Five allowed himself a smirk as he managed to keep up with Leofric. He had to give credit where it was due, he was severely outmatched there. Veronica wasn't making it any easier and he was losing ground quickly.

But a poison user was supposed to play dirty. While the toxic breath wouldn't make either of them sick, it could provide him with some cover to ensure he'd be driven towards the entrance of his hideout instead.

"I'm surprised you can still smell anything after our last encounter." he replied.

Veronica scoffed, "Believe me, you could raise the dead."

Erica waved a hand in front of her face, then pulled her hood down. Everything was still a bit fuzzy at the edges of her vision, but she could deal with that.

"You'd think people would use this stuff more sparingly with how expensive it is." Erica said, eyeing a case that most likely contained more of Crosshair's arsenal, "This is very unnecessary."

"And ineffective." Willow added. She got up to once again retrieve Russell's knife, which she would return cleaned. There was a rag nearby, or perhaps it was Crosshair's jacket, that would do for the task.

Crosshair didn’t get to complain about it, as she was too busy swatting the mage beans off her face. "Cut it out!"

"This is the best spell ever!" Erica cheered.

"Shut up, Tracer." Crosshair was consequently whacked again by a killer mitten, "I got attacked by a bunch of cat maniacs. This job sucks!"

Willow pocketed Russell's knife, then reached into the bag to grab some candy for herself, "We may join the others once we're done with the namecalling."

"I can't do it until I get close. That stupid mask is in the way." Rook explained. Sure, she could have cooked Five's face right off, but that really wasn't her style.

Besides, this matter could only be settled by their respective blades. Until she drilled it in Five's skull that she was the better hunter, he would never give up. But before doing so, she had to ensure Frosty wouldn't cause them trouble.

The one positive side in all this was that Five was too busy avoiding Leofric and Veronica to run his mouth more than necessary. Fighting a real knight wasn't in his plans, let alone the two opponents who he knew would be immune to his toxins.

Five took a large horizontal swing with his sword to try and give himself some space. He would gladly trade them in for some of Frosty's, though the ice mage wasn't ready to try anything remotely complex.

With everybody ganging up on him, Frosty was doing his best to keep his distance by swinging at Rook, who replied by narrowly missing a swipe with her claws. When he then saw Bill's tentacles lunging at him, he tossed the icicles in the air and sent them flying at him and Travis, before freezing the ground around him for a quick retreat.

"Come on, even even I know that trick." Rook took to the chase, skating after Frosty with ease. Before he could question whether they had watched the same movies, he was struck in the shoulder by Russell's baseball, "Good shot!"

"Shit!" Frosty stumbled, but quickly saved it before turning around and start tossing snowballs.

Lucien sighed at the scene, "I should have brought some beans along."

He then put on his mask and charged into the fight, Lewis at the ready. He made sure to look in Five's direction, a silent promise that there would be some for him once he was done with the ice kid.

Five didn't think Lucien represented much of a threat, but there were starting to be just a few too many people around for his liking.

"Remember the plan, Frosty!" he shouted, before he unleashed his toxic breath on Leofric.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Papal procession after I missed their Resurrection. Didn't even realize I was filming and dropped my phone in utter shock. Completely missed the Copia cosplayer but he kissed my hand (politely ignoring the seawater still dripping from my outfit) and lingered for a few moments. His cornette fell off a few seconds later so he whirled around and said "Tah-Dah!"

I was able to take a photo with him later on that gave off Awkward Prom Couple vibes and even though I can never show it...oh, it is very near and dear to my heart.

[dollcher]

choso kamo ♥︎ playing with your gamer boyfriend.

mdni ୨୧. choso is pathetic. reader calls choso 'puppy.' unprotected sex.

choso was hunched in his gaming chair, pressing away at the computer keys, eyes trained to the screen. his lips were jutted out in a cute pout, concentrating as the character on his screen slashed its swords at its opponent. and after one last mighty swish, they landed a final blow to their opposition and choso whooped at his victory – and admittedly while you thought it to be rather childish, you couldn't help smile at his boyish reaction.

"hah! take that, yuji!," he hollered into his headset and spun around in his chair, cheering to himself. you faintly heard yuji's voice on the other end, likely groaning about his loss to his brother.

you were sprawled on the bed, staring at your boyfriend with a look of amusement as you heard him tell his brother that he wanted to play another round. while normally you weren't one to impede on his down time, there was something that was slowly beginning to gnaw inside of you – and that was frustration.

nearly three hours had gone by since he had come back home and for almost the last two he had been stuck playing this game with yuji. when he had come home, he hadn't greeted you with anything more than a quick 'hi' and a peck to your lips before he dashed to his computer. truth be told, you weren't entirely annoyed at first since you had been in the kitchen preparing yourself a nice cup of hot cocoa and were planning on watching the new episode of the show you were currently watching. so you presumed that after an hour or so, he would have stopped and then gave you the attention you craved.

but as the clock ticked on, it seemed that your boyfriend was glued to his seat and the computer screen. you let out a small huff in exasperation, which to your surprise, choso had heard even through his headset. he turned to face you and he peered at you with those godforsaken puppy-dog eyes of his and whispered, "i'm sorry, baby. one last game okay?"

oh, why'd he have to be so cute?

you nodded and he turned back around, starting a new game with yuji. you sighed to yourself, tracing aimless shapes on the duvet beneath you. your mind began to wander, thinking about his soft lips on yours, trailing down to your jaw and your neck, to your breasts and stomach, and then landing right where you needed him most...

just then, an idea popped into your head!

you slowly sauntered over to his desk, gazing down at him with desire pooling in your eyes that reached down to your core. you could swear your panties must have already formed a little stain – from simply thinking about him too, no less. your thirst for him only grew tenfold as he bit his lip, fully absorbed in his game, and the veins on his hands had become prominent as he smashed down on the keys in front of him. you had to suppress yourself from letting a moan slip past your lips as you imagined his large fingers pumping in and out of you, coating it with your arousal.

he hadn't acknowledged you next to him yet, his eyes never leaving the screen. you hoped that what you were about to do next would get him to at least look your way. you climbed to sit on his lap, arms draping over his neck, legs dangling on each side of his own. for a moment, you just sat there, squirming a little bit to make yourself comfortable. once you were completely still, he planted a soft kiss to your cheek and said, "hi baby," under his breath.

you clung to him like a baby as you inhaled the remnants of his cologne on the back of his neck, eliciting a quiet moan out of you. unbeknownst to you, choso had heard that and he had to fight the blush that was beginning to tinge his cheeks.

you began littering his face with little pecks and muttering a few 'i miss you's in between each one. he smiled fondly, thinking how adorable it was that you seemed so clingy in this moment. "let me finish this game, princess," he whispered sweetly into your ears.

"i wasn't talking to you, idiot," he grumbled into his microphone.

that wasn't going to stop you, though. you continued to kiss him until you reached his neck. you nipped and then licked at his sweet spot a couple of times, hoping to get a reaction out of him. while he hadn't said anything, you could tell it was working because you could feel his growing erection from underneath you, rubbing lightly against your clothed pussy.

you stripped yourself off the t-shirt you were wearing, leaving you in just your lacey bra and panties. choso's eyes roamed over your body, swallowing thickly as he gazed at your breasts that were perked up so cutely beneath the bra. he had to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to silence himself as you so sensually, so teasingly began to grind yourself on him, the tent in his pants only growing bigger.

"baby, what are you doing?," he said, covering his microphone so that yuji wouldn't hear.

"what ever do you mean?," you asked, batting your eyelashes at him innocently. "i'm not doing anything," you drawled out as your hands slipped underneath his sweater all the way up to his nipples, grazing them softly.

choso let out a tiny whimper, back straightening as he leaned forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. "stop that," he scolded you quietly but you could tell he didn't really mean it. so that meant you could play with him a bit more – until he reached his breaking point.

your hands grabbed the waistband of his pants and boxers, pulling them down to let his cock spring free. it looked so pretty – throbbing pink tip with little beads of precum dripping down already. it seemed you weren't the only one seeking attention. your thumb lazily rubbed the tip of his cock, smearing the precum all over it. choso's face was tainted a bright pink hue, and he was biting so hard on his lip you were worried the poor boy would start bleeding.

you wrapped your fingers delicately around his cock, giving it a few agonisingly slow strokes as you left open mouth kisses on his cheeks. he shuddered under your touch, his hips unwittingly thrusting up every time your hands reached the base of his cock. the sight of his flushed face and his pulsing dick in your hands was driving you mad and you needed to feel him inside of you now.

pulling your panties to the side and lowering yourself onto his thick, long dick drew out a loud, salacious whine out of you. one that had his cock twitching inside your hot, gummy walls. "oh my gosh," he mouthed silently, his eyes rolling back a little as he tried to bottom out in you – the sweet, pathetic boy.

arms wrapped around his neck and breasts pressing flush against his chest, your hips rolled against his, revelling in the feeling of his dick stretching you out and lightly rubbing against your clit. your hands reached for his hair, tugging on them to keep you supported in his lap. you removed the headphones from one of his ears and whispered seductively, "i need you, puppy."

that was all he needed to throw his headphones away – not before telling yuji to log off – and grip your waist to ram himself up into you. the angle was so new to you but his cock was hitting you right where you needed, so deliciously, drawing out almost pornographic-like whines and moans out of you.

"is this what you wanted, hm?," he asked, peering up at you through hooded eyelids, pupils blown with lust, a line of drool trickling from the sides of his lips. you just nodded in response, mind too hazy to be thinking straight and about anything else except for your boyfriend's hands on your ass and his cock sliding in and out of you at a divine pace.

to the best of your abilities, you were bouncing up and down, trying to match his pace. the ever attentive boyfriend, he had noticed and had reluctantly slowed down so that you could move along with him. the squelching wet sounds your pussy made every time he thrust up into you was making it extremely difficult for him to hold back however. yet he did his best – he only ever wanted to please you and do exactly what you wanted.

you peered down at him, drinking in the fucked out expression of his – his eyelids fluttering, his mouth slightly agape, his stare never tearing away from your breasts bobbing in front of him. it made your walls clench around him tighter, cute moans and whimpers spilling out of your mouth.

as his groans and mewls grew louder, you thought of one last way to toy with your boy.

your hips had suddenly come to a halt, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. his movements had come to a stop too, his doe eyes looking at you pleadingly, lips turned into an adorable pout. "mm~ why are you stopping?," he whined. "please don't stop." you could tell from his eyes alone that he was begging for you to continue – in all honesty, he could move if he wanted to. but he always needed your approval first.

he had burrowed his face in between your breasts, giving you little, sloppy kisses. he kept repeating the word 'please' after every kiss, his eyes fixated on you. "c'mon baby please," he begged. "don't stop."

you cupped his face in your hands, looking at him coyly as you mused, "have you been a good puppy?" you brushed the few stray strands of hair that had fallen in front of his face, allowing you to goggle at the beauty of your poor, needy boy.

he nodded his head frantically, hands snaking its way up your back to hold you in a manner so tender that it had your heart flutter momentarily. tears were pricking at his lash line as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, trying to gain any sort of pleasure it could. he was whimpering so cutely that you could not keep up with the torture any longer. you leaned in and purred in his ear as you began to move your hips again, "tell me that you are."

"i'm a good puppy," he whimpered, thrusting into you sloppily and eagerly, the grip on your ass tighter than before which was sure to leave marks until tomorrow. "i'm your good puppy, right?", he asked so sweetly that you had to stifle a little giggle.

"yes you are," you mewled, grabbing a chunk of his hair and pulling it harshly as his cock slammed into you. your juices were coating him so tastefully, even his happy trail glistening with the slick of your arousal.

it didn't take long until you were rubbing your fingers on your clit and choso knew that that meant you were close. he ripped your hand away from your pussy only to replace it with his thumb that skilfully drew circles the way you liked it – you had taught him well, of course. "fuck~ 'm gonna cum," you whined, holding onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

"me too! fuck!," he groaned, his hips rutting into you faster, thumb continuing to rub on your clit.

"c-cum inside me, puppy," you whimpered, "please."

who was he to deny his beautiful girlfriend what she wanted?

after just a few more thrusts, he was shooting hot ropes of cum inside your velvety, syrupy walls. your own orgasm soon washed over you, your legs shaking as you rode out your high and walls squeezing every last drop he had to offer.

your body slumped over choso's, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves. after a few moments, he asked you, "what was that about?"

"i was... feeling needy," you admitted, burying your face in his neck to hide your pink tainted cheeks.

he chuckled at your response, patting down your hair gently. he placed his hands on your hips, caressing your sides as he said in a low voice, "i'm sorry for neglecting you."

before you could even have a chance to reply, he rose to his feet, carrying you in his arms. he shimmied off his pants that had bunched up by his feet and brought you over to the bed, laying you down softly. his frame remained above you, his cock still hard inside you and as his fingers grazed over your thighs, he whispered, "let me make it up to you."

© dollcher. do not copy, repost, or translate any works.

[sweet-and-sour-bites]

https://www.tumblr.com/sweet-and-sour-bites/763257255073349632/can-i-have-burning-spice-cookie-x-reader-who-is-a?source=share

Different anon here....saw this and loved it and one line gave me an idea for a request....can you do burning spice x ticklish scardycat reader? Like reader was very scared of him at first and burning spice took em in as a 'you are so adorably pathetic, unable to even defend yourself because of your fear and you bend at tickling? Someone that weak needs to he protected...that's it, you're mine now' and then just throws them over their shoulder lmao...

Of course hun! Love this idea.

☁️Burning Spice Cookie x Scaredy cat Gn!Reader

The sandy wasteland stretches on and on before your eyes. The air is dry and makes your throat cry out for a fresh cup of sweet juice. Though you hate to cross such a deserted wasteland, you must. Sent by Dark Cacao himself to warn Golden Cheese Cookie of the arrival of the Beasts.

Your feet ache as you cross from the snowy ice land to the sandy plains to reach her. You dare not stop in fear of what could happen, though. Just as you begin to lose yourself to your thoughts, a loud noise startles you. Up ahead, you see a large cloud of dust and sand. Though scared and trembling from the thought of trouble that is just over yonder, you brace yourself and run towards it.

Reaching the area in a few minutes, you walk through a chasm of fallen rocks. Looking around, you notice the gashes and burn marks littering the ground and cliffs. Suddenly, something is flung just before you into the wall to your right. Stepping back, you brandish your sword at the new hole in the wall.

*Cough* *Cough* "Goodness me, what and utter brute." Your eyes widen as you see Golden Cheese Cookie herself stumble out of the hole.

"Your majesty!" You rush over to her and help her to her feet as best as you can. Though you only reach about waist height for her, you know it's better to have some support than none. She's looks down at you confused and worried.

"Young one, what are you doing here?! You shouldn't be here! You need to leave at once!" You shake your head.

"I am a messenger sent by Dark Cacao. He needed me to warn you of a Beast coming to claim your soul jam for himself." You saw her grimace.

"Unfortunately, it is too late. He is already here."

"So, you think I'm the thief, little cookie?" Your eyes widen at the sound of a deep and rough voice from above. Looking up, you see a large cookie that just screams danger. With a golden smirk, he leaps from his perch and drops down just aways away from you and Golden Cheese Cookie. The dust around him settles, and you find yourself staring at each other. Him, filled with curiosity and excitement. You, terrified and worried.

"You carry a sword, will you fight against me too?" He points the tip of his weapon at you, but Golden Cheese Cookie pushes you behind her.

"Don't you dare! She's but a messenger, not a soldier." She glares at the large cookie with a fierce look that could send you running home. For a moment, the Beast looks over at her the back at you before smirking and raising his weapon.

"She should've thought about that before coming here." Without a second to waste, he charges at the two of you. Golden Cheese Cookie pushes you away from the fight and parrys his attack.

"Run! Get out of here now! Warn Dark Cacao!" With that, you high tail it away from the fight in hopes of making back to your king. That Beast was right; you're no soldier. The sword you have is simply to deter others from attacking. You don't know how to fight.

The sounds of the battle draw further from you as you run. You'd say over twenty minutes have passed since you left, and you now find yourself in the ruins of an old palace. What can you say, you can't fight but you can sure run. Slowing down you take a breath and pull out a sheet of paper.

"Your Majesty, I find myself sending you this letter on behalf of Golden Cheese Cookie. She is currently fighting the Beast Cookie that is out for her soul jam. I am running from the fight in her orders. Please send immediate assistance to the Golden Cheese desert asap. With regards, (Y/n) Cookie."

With the letter written, you bring out a small blackberry bird and tie it to its foot. "Hurry, give this letter the his majesty Dark Cacao. Waste no time. Go!" At your words, the little bird flys off in a hurry. You sigh in exhaustion and slid against one of the old crumbled pillars.

"Oh little cookie~ Come out, come out wherever you are~"

You shoot up quickly and run over to a more hidden pile of rubble. How? How did here reach you so soon?! Shouldn't he be fighting Golden Cheese Cookie?! Unless......oh no. She must be badly hurt for him to be here without worrying about her. Oh, you hope the king will be here soon.

"Oh come now, no need to be scared. I won't hurt you. Much. Hahaha!" You close your eyes and cover your mouth to prevent any sound. Sliding down to the ground, you begin to shake in fear. Dammit! You know everyone else was busy in the kingdom, but why did they have to send you?! You can't fight!

You're too scared too.

All becomes silent, and with what little courage you have, you open your eyes. Oh fuck. You feel a shiver go down you spine as you see a large shadow block what light was on you. Slowly looking up you see the large beast stand above you, looking down at you with a sharp, golden grin. "Found you~"

"Ahhh!" Fear course through you as you dodge his attack. Without much haste, you run deeper into the ruins. You hear the loud steps of that brute not too far behind you. Risking it, you look behind you and see him gaining on you. That is until your world fumbles and you fall.

You feel a pain course through your leg as you hit the ground. You take a peak at it as you see a gaping would with jam running out. You let your head fall and curl in on yourself. "Why? Why me? Why was I sent here? I can't fight, I can't." You wallow in your self-pity as Buring Spice stalks towards you. Standing over you, he lets his eyes wonder over your form.

Normally, seeing a cookie wallow would bore or anger him. However, he must admit, you are quite the looker. Soft dough and a soft heart. You cower from him, which is odly...satisfying. He takes the end of his weapon and puts it under your chin, moving your head to look at him. You look up at the beast with tears in your eyes and fear in your heart. He smirks down at you and bends over.

"Mhm, how about a deal, scaredy cat?" You give a little nod, not trusting your voice. "You'll come with me as a sort of...pet or spoil of war, and I won't turn that so called queen to crumbs." Your eyes widen at his words. Either way, you're at his mercy, but hopefully, you can bide time for Golden Cheese Cookie and his majesty. At least then you can help in some way.

"I'll go with you." Your voice comes out just a little above a whisper. Cracking from the running, crying, and heat. He smirks and pulls you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

"Haha, wise choice, scaredy cat! Ha, I think I shall call you just that. After all, with how much you tremble and cower, it is but a fitting name." You don't say anything as you try to make resting on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes a little more comfortable. He begins to walk out of the ruins, and you feel yourself sawy to motion, causing you to feel a little sick. Stupid motion sickness. You really are a miserable fool. You can't fight, you're always scared, and now, motion sickness to top it all off.

Burning Spice notices this and stops walking. He pulls you from his shoulder and holds you with one arm. You look up at his with confusion. "This seems to be better. Don't want you throwing up your guts now, do we?" You nod, a little embarrassed, and the two of you continue on.

Good grief, what have you gotten yourself into. From a simple cowardly messenger to a Beast Cookies' pet. Damn, you feel as if your body is shot with how anxious you are. You can only hope Dark Cacao will save you in time. You do wonder though, what will become of you, as Buring Spice Cookies' little pet.

[imagine-horizons]

Sweeter than sugar warnings: none, just cute fluff - the Polar Tang has landed in a town, and Law suddenly has a sweet craving, no established relationship pairing: Law x f!reader (gender neutral, no pronouns or specific physical characteristics, but just in case)

——————

You felt a hand ghost across the small of your back that made you look up - gold tinted eyes gazed down at you, peeking through the shadows casted by his white leopard hat.

“Captain,” you greeted happily.

“You wandered away from Bepo,” Law noted. “Be careful with the crowds.”

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly. The Heart Pirates had landed in a small town for some much needed reprieve from the violent waters. Supplies needed to be replenished, but it was also nice to explore and mingle amongst the locals, for some reminisce of a normal life.

You wandered yourself to the heart of the town, where a festival was taking place. Local hawkers yelled out their sales and specials, enticing passerbys with free samples and unique inventory. Children were weaving in and out between the crowds, while music could be heard from all corners of the town centre. Your eyes sparkled at the excitement and your curiosity led you away from the First Mate - Bepo had told you to stay close. But it was not missed by the Surgeon of Death as he silently followed you. He kept his distance, not wanting youto feel suffocated - he respected the space of his crew, knowing that the small confines of the submarine left no breathing room. But he didn’t feel easy leaving you by yourself.

It wasn’t until he felt an unsettling presence, and his eyes scanned the crowd to see that you did not go unnoticed by a few lurkers in the crowd. Law’s hand gripped tighter on his sword, as he felt something stir inside of him and he closed the distance between them. His hand automatically reached out to gently brush against your back and he dipped his head closer to you.

“Y/N-ya.” His deep baritone voice and breath warmed your ear, and you looked up.

“Captain, do you think we can buy snacks for the crew?” You asked thoughtfully, pointing towards some candied packages, and pastries.

“Just the necessities,” he chided gently, and a slight pout appeared on your face.

“Bepo ate my stash,” you complained. A slight smirk ghosted the corner of his lips, and he sighed.

“Fine. Just don’t go crazy.” Your eyes lit up even more than he thought they would, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He followed you to a pastry stall, as you began listing off the things you wanted to the vendor.

“Would you like a sample? The filling is made from a native fruit in our region! Not too sweet,” the vendor said, handing them a tray of small samples. You took one excitedly, but Law gave a slight shake of his head politely turning it down.

“This is so good!” You gasped, and before Law could stop you, you added a few dozen more to your order. As you reached into your pouch for payment, Law wordlessly reached over and gave the vendor payment. “Captain…!” You said in surprise.

“You went overboard - but just this time,” he grumbled. “I’m taking a cut out of your next share if you do it again.” But he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that as you smiled sweetly at him.

As you walked away, you were finishing off a free pastry the vendor kindly gave you - Law noticed some pastry flakes and sugar just on your cheek. He wasn’t sure what over came him but his next actions would have sent his crew into hysteria if they saw.

Leaning down, he used one hand to gently cup your face. His tongue slipped out to lick up the crumbs and sugar that dusted your cheek, his lips ghosting across your smooth skin. There was a subtle sweetness that didn’t come from the pastry, and he knew he would want a taste of it again all too soon.

“Captain!” You squeaked, your face bright red as you almost dropped everything you were holding. A definite smirk was on his face as he leaned back.

“It’s not bad,” he murmured, and his eyes flickered to your soft supple lips that still had remnants of the pastry. As he drew closer to you , you squeezed your eyes shut, not sure what to do , your heart pounding out of your chest.

“CAPTAIN! DID YOU BUY PASTRIES?”

Law quickly pulled away from you and his eyes resumed its stern look as he stared at Bepo , Shachi and Penguin. When they got closer, they saw your flustered expression. “Are you okay y/n? Did our Captain say something?” Shachi asked curiously.

“Or do something naughty? You look red,” Penguin chimed in.

“You guys are too assuming I would do something scandalous,” Law scoffed. “Why is that?”

“Because y/n is cute,” Shachi and Penguin said at the same time. A vein twitched on the side of Law’s temple. “You would take advantage of them - you’re not exactly as stoic and stiff as you make yourself to be.”

“How many pastries did you get?” Bepo frowned, completely ignoring the ongoing conversation. “How did you pay for this?”

“Um I didn’t ,” you said shyly but grateful for a shift in the topic.

“Who did?” Bepo asked in shock. There was a moment of silence and they all stared at Law incredulously , as he tugged his hat further down his head.

“No way,” Penguin gawked.

“Captain would never with us -“ Shachi choked.

“Is the Captain going to give y/n a bigger allowance than me?” Bepo fretted.

“Shut up you guys - we’re leaving,” Law snapped, as he pushed past them. “Bepo - carry y/n ’s things.”

“Aye aye Captain!” Bepo saluted.

As they followed their brooding captain back to the yellow sub, Shachi and Penguin tried to keep up with Law.

“You got it bad for y/n, don’t ya?” Shachi teased.

“So you DID do something naughty to y/n!” Penguin poked at him.

“Is our captain a pervert?”

Law groaned and immediately barked out : “Room!” Followed by “Shambles!” The two Heart Pirates disappeared with the blue glow, only to be replaced with a random rock.

He was not gonna hear the end of this. But as the Polar Tang was about to submerge, you passed by Law on the way into the submarine. He was too busy barking at Shachi and Penguin to get inside, when he felt you gently tug on his black coat. You pulled him down, and quickly kissed him on the cheek, your own cheeks flushed, and you could barely meet his gaze.

“…. For the pastries,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

Law smirked and gently ruffled up your hair.

“Go inside,” he murmured softly. And as you left, the only thing he could think about was how soft your lips were and what they would taste like the next time he got a moment alone with you .

[floatyflowers]

Dark Male Maleficent X Aurora's Mother! Reader PART TWO

Requested by: Seven People

<<<Part One

The years passed blissfully within the enchanted Moors. Aurora grew under the watchful eyes of both you and Maleficent, her laughter ringing through the meadows as she played among the creatures of the fae realm.

The curse had long been lifted, and Maleficent had kept his word, Aurora was his daughter in every way but blood, and you, his queen, ruled beside him with love and respect.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of violet and gold, the air grew heavy with tension. As it whispered of an approaching force.  

Maleficent’s grip on his staff tightened, his emerald eyes narrowing. "Stefan."  

Your heart clenched. The name alone was a ghost of a past you’d buried.  

King Stefan's army amassed at the borders of the Moors, their banners fluttering in the wind. At their helm rode Stefan himself, clad in armor, his expression unreadable.  

"Return what is mine," his voice boomed across the field, "my wife and my daughter."  

Maleficent’s wings arose a silent challenge.

"You forfeited any claim to them the moment you deceived us both."  

You stepped forward, your voice steady despite the conflict you are feeling.

"Aurora is happy here. She is loved. Can you say the same about your relationship with her as a father, Stefan? Or were the throne and your pride always worth more than her?"  

"You are my wife!"

"The woman who was once your wife is now married to me, and Aurora is my daughter."

Stefan’s face twisted in fury, his grip tightening on his sword.

"You stole them from me!"  

Maleficent’s lips curled into a cold smirk. "No, Stefan. You drove them away. You abandoned them. I merely gave them what you never could, love and safety."  

Stefan’s sword glinted in the dying light as he took a threatening step forward. Maleficent didn’t flinch, but his voice dropped low, a command meant only for you.

"Go. Take Aurora inside."

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against his arm. "Maleficent-"

"Now." His tone left no room for argument.

Aurora reached for your hand, her eyes wide. "Mother…"

With one last glance at the man who had once been your husband, now a stranger clad in armor and rage, you pulled Aurora back toward the heart of the Moors, the enchanted trees closing protectively behind you.

---

The sounds of battle echoed through the night, steel against magic, shouts swallowed by the roar of the forest itself.

You sat with Aurora in the great hall of the fae palace, her head resting against your shoulder as you both waited, listening.

Hours passed.

Then silence.

The doors creaked open, and there he stood.

Maleficent.

His cloak was torn, his hands stained with blood, some his own, some not. His horns gleamed darkly under the torchlight, his breathing ragged. But his eyes, those emerald eyes, found yours instantly.

Without a word, he crossed the room and sank to his knees before you.

Then, with a shuddering exhale, he let his forehead rest against your lap, his body trembling with exhaustion.

Your fingers immediately carded through his hair, brushing away the dirt and sweat. Aurora, wide-eyed but unafraid, reached out to touch his shoulder.

"You’re hurt," you whispered.

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound rough against your skirts. "Not as much as he is."

Aurora swallowed.

"Is he…?"

"Gone," Maleficent replies. "Banished. He won’t return."

However, you knew that 'Banished' means killed, Maleficent just doesn't want to frighten Aurora.

You bent over him, pressing your lips to the crown of his head. "Good."

For a long moment, the three of you stayed like that, a tangle of relief and lingering adrenaline, the warmth of the hearth chasing away the night’s chill.

Then Maleficent lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his voice raw.

"I told you I would protect what's mine."

And as Aurora curled into his side, as your hands cradled his face, you knew no power in this world or any other could break what you had built.

Not again.

[miryum]

Don't Pity Me, My Princess (Azriel x Reader)

With Azriel as your personal knight, it's getting harder and harder for both of you to ignore your feelings.

Warnings: whole lotta angst. Talk of children and childbirth because royalty need heirs, you know? Az doesn’t have his shadows (even though it was so hard to write him without them) but is still called Shadowsinger. Azriel's mother was abused and there's like, one sentence about it

Word Count: 5k

Azriel had lived at the palace since he was a young boy. His mother had knocked on the servant’s quarters one dark night, begging for someone to take her son. She could handle an abusive husband, but she couldn’t bear her baby boy to suffer the same fate as she did. An old maid took pity on the new mother and agreed to house, clothe, and educate the child. Just before the new mother left, she kissed Azriel’s cheek and whispered his name. “You’ll do good things, my dear. I am so sorry.”

Coincidentally, a couple months later, the Queen gave birth to an infant girl. Princess Y/n was heralded with parades and celebrations, the new heir apparent. Meanwhile, in the servant’s quarters, a baby with a thick head of black hair and small little wings was just learning how to lift his head, staring up at the maids and butlers who saved his life.

Azriel grew up preparing for the life of a knight. He remembered growing up watching the knights train as he played with his own wooden sword. He remembered beating his still-developing wings to try and see over the wooden barrier of the jousting arena. He remembered when the knights first caught sight of him, trying to hack away at a dummy. They teased him at first, but then, just like his entire life, they took pity on him. The next week, Azriel began training as a squire.

It was a long time before he earned his leathers and then his siphons, but the Shadowsinger became a name that was both respected and feared throughout the kingdom. The King sent him on missions all over the continent and Azriel always returned successful. He would fight in the jousts and consistently win. He had maidens and ladies swooning over him, but they weren’t who he yearned for.

That’s why he volunteered, almost a bit too hastily, when the King asked for extra protection over his daughter, Princess Y/n. 

Azriel’s mind was filled with you, almost every moment of every day. It couldn’t be healthy, that he was aware of, but having grown up next to you, even if from the shadows, he had forged a deep connection to you.

When he was young, he had hardly noticed the little princess completing her studies. He couldn’t remember a time when he saw her in the halls or at the training ring — which is where he most frequented. But one day, a year or two after he had turned a teen, Azriel had fought in his first joust. In any joust, it was customary for a knight to be sponsored by a lady of the court. A lady usually had a favourite knight she regularly sponsored, so Azriel’s stomach was in a pit when it was time to trot by for potential sponsorship. Who would ever cheer for the newest, youngest knight? Azriel sure could beat a village boy in combat, but he was still the smallest and scrawniest of all of the palace’s knights — if you could even call him that. He could recall his anxiety as if it was yesterday. The way the crowd was cheering, the way his horse’s hooves kicked up dirt underneath, and the way he began to sweat as he tried to sit straight. 

And then, as he passed the royal box, you stood. Azriel almost kept his horse trotting by, sure it was a mistake, but when he saw you extract your blue handkerchief, he pulled on the reins. By some fortuity or fortune, your handkerchief was the same colour as his siphon. He had just earned his first one the week prior. Through his metal visor, he stared, wide-eyed, as you reached down and tucked your handkerchief into the folds of his armour. The rest of the court was watching too, but Azriel didn’t see them. He could only focus on the way his heart sped up when you whispered, “good luck.” 

You were an utter vision. Azriel was sure that you had chosen him to be your champion because of the closeness in your ages, but your support, even if it was just a piece of cloth you had embroidered, meant the world. He hadn’t won his first joust, or his second, but you kept sponsoring him. Azriel became accustomed to stopping under the royal box and bowing to you before heading to his starting position. Sometimes, especially if it was an important event, you would have a new handkerchief for him, or even some whispered encouragement, but Azriel didn’t need those things as long as he could keep making eye contact with you. And then he started winning. He could still hear your excited screams as his javelin hit his opponent straight on, which gained Azriel the championship. It wasn’t unusual for members of the court to get invested in the jousting, but others found it humorous that you were jumping from your seat to see better. However, you were only a teenager, and they knew you would soon be able to control your emotions. 

You had not-so-patiently waited for Azriel to bring his horse back around to the royal box after doing a lap of the stadium. People had thrown flowers and kisses and Azriel had shed his helmet, his cheeks hot from both the exertion and attention. When he saw you, he bowed deeply and handed a flower that someone had thrown to him. It was a small red rose. Your gloved fingers brushed his as you took the flower. His black hair hung over his face as he ducked his head. You made a mental note to have the barber stop by the barracks. “My Princess,” he muttered, head still bowed. “Thank you for choosing me as your champion, all those months ago.”

“Well, Sir Azriel, it certainly paid off, didn’t it?” you replied, smiling down at him. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” You nodded to one of your handkerchiefs that was tucked in the chink of his armour, right above his breast. 

That was the past. And now, Azriel had the glorious opportunity to stand in front of the King and Queen, multiple siphons displayed proudly as he suggested his own name for the position of your bodyguard. Your childhood knight was retiring, something everyone thought was best as his wit, speed, and strength declined. That opened up the position. The King and Queen had called for the Shadowsinger’s opinion and he gave it, however biased he was with his feelings. “Your Majesties, I believe that the best thing for this kingdom and your daughter would be if I offered my services.” 

“And why is that, Shadowsinger? Wouldn’t you rather be sent on missions and participate in protecting our kingdom?”

“With all due respect, my King, the princess is the face of the kingdom,” Azriel said, a knee pressing against the floor of the throne room. It hurt, yes, but he could handle it if it meant sparing you the pain. “The people love her, but that also means many hate her. There are too many dangers, especially with other kingdoms threatening to encroach on our borders. I would be able to protect the princess, and you and the Queen, more efficiently if I was her personal guard.”

The two monarchs exchanged a look before the Queen nodded. “Very well, then. You’ll assume the position effective immediately. You shall accompany Princess Y/n to events and daily excursions. You’ll be briefed more extensively later this week.”

Azriel nodded and stood. He thanked the King and Queen and hurried out, trying to conceal his budding smile.

“Do you remember all the signals?” you called from your dressing room. 

Azriel was standing outside, content to just listen to your voice, but he replied, “yes, my princess.”

“And you’re wearing your dress uniform?”

“Yes, my princess.”

“Are all the other guards as well?”

“Yes, my princess.”

The door then opened and you peeked out. “And are you sick of me asking you senseless questions?” you asked, an apologetic smile on your lips.

“Never, my princess,” Azriel answered softly, eyes holding yours. “Are you almost ready?”

You ducked back into your dressing room, voice floating out again. “Almost. I believe we just need some more hairpins, yes?” Your maid responded in an affirmative and a couple minutes later, the door opened once more. There you stood in a cobalt gown that cascaded down to the floor, hair all done up, and jewellery proudly displayed on your knuckles and upon your collarbone. It didn’t escape Azriel that your dress was the same colour as his siphons.

Azriel had spent years serving under the King and Queen, honing his emotions to be the stoic force he needed to be. But, with you in front of him, he found his resolve cracking. His eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Do I look that horrible, sir?” you teased.

The guard immediately shook his head. “No, my princess. Quite the opposite, in fact. You…” his jaw tensed. “Those princes and dukes will be tripping over their feet.”

As much as Azriel would love to pretend that you were his and he would be the only one accompanying you tonight, he knew that this ball was for a very specific reason, and one he did not like. Your parents needed you wed, and it couldn’t be to him.

Nobility and court members alike knew to avoid Azriel when he was watching you. You were on your fifth dance with the fifth man and Azriel made sure to walk around the dance floor as you moved, always being as close as possible.

The moment Azriel had known he was to be your new personal knight, he had created a series of hand signals for you to use covertly. He was always on the lookout for your well-being and thankfully, there had only been a few times when you had needed to use the hand signals.

Months prior, your parents had held an anniversary ball for their marriage. You were a bit younger, more naive, and Azriel had only been your personal knight for just under a year. He had loved every moment of it, but he couldn’t help but feel a budding sense of anticipatory fear as he saw you twirl around the dance floor carelessly. You had one of your younger cousins in your arms and was spinning them around to their delight. While Azriel wanted to imagine a smaller child in the stead of your cousin, perhaps one with dark hair and your eyes and little wings that replicated his own, he was more focused on the older man that was watching you.

A measly Count from further South, the man looked twice your age and three times as intoxicated. He stayed on the outskirts of the celebration, but the Shadowsinger was not one to miss something.

When the Count approached you after your dance with your cousin, Azriel didn’t intervene. He couldn’t act only on a suspicion that the Count was malicious. And he wouldn’t act without your express approval.

But then he saw you twist the ring on your pointer finger.

When Azriel had first become your bodyguard, you were unsure if you could remember all the signals he had wanted you to memorise. A deeper fear, admittedly, was that he wouldn’t be watching and then unintentionally leave you to your own devices. Azriel was determined, however, to never waive your trust. He immediately came marching in, whispering something meaningless into your ear under the guise of matters only you, the princess, could attend to, and swept you away. A dirty look was thrown to the Count and Azriel made sure never to let you near him again. In fact, the Count was barred from any and all future events.

Meanwhile, you had finished your dance with the nameless suitor and Azriel already had an arm stretched out for you. You took it gratefully, needing a respite from all the men giving you unabashed stares. “I really do hate this,” you said to him as he guided you away. “I don’t see why they’re even letting me choose my husband if he will be from this very specific pool of men. At this point, it would be easier to simply betroth me to whomever they see fit.”

“You know my feelings on that, my princess,” Azriel replied. “And I’m sure your parents feel the same. They wish for you to have some sort of semblance of choice and happiness.” Even if it is not with me, the man who would worship you.

You sighed and looked down at your feet. “I know, good sir. But it’s tiring, as I’m sure you can realise. I’d much rather be in my room, engaging in the arts or taking a nap.”

Azriel couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh, one that drew your lips up into a brilliant smile. “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure you would.” He paused and then looked down at you. You looked so perfect on his arm and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep you there. “Here’s a proposition: if you survive the rest of this evening, I will dance with you.”

Your eyes immediately light up and Azriel swore the stars themselves burned brighter, pledging their allegiance to you. God, you were like ambrosia in his veins and how he wished for it to keep flowing. “Really?” you gasped. Azriel had been very conservative in his dances, even though, unbeknownst to you, he would dance on forever if you asked. But whenever he held you in his arms, it was too intoxicating. Too dangerous. He was still the Shadowsinger, even if he was sworn to protect you. The hands he held you with had been the notorious cause for so much pain. The thought of telling you about his past missions… It scared him more than imaginable. Those memories were ones best kept locked away within the shadows. He didn’t want you to think of the people he’s hurt – of the suffering he had caused – when you looked at him.

So all he did was nod back, smiling the soft look only you could bring out.

The night slowly wore on, the candles flickering over the walls, bidding the departing guests farewell. And still you stayed. Even as the moonlight rose above the windows and the maids and butlers slowly began cleaning up, you stayed. Only the musicians remained as Azriel led you to the middle of the floor. There was an unspoken trust between you and the musicians, knowing they wouldn’t tell your parents (who had already gone to bed) about your singular, last dance with your knight.

Easily, you placed your hand on his shoulder and Azriel’s palm flexed on the small of your back. The way your dress swished softly was a small distraction from the thoughts swirling in Azriel’s mind. He drew your joined hands closer to his chest as he thought back to how you danced with those other men. As if you knew he needed comfort, you stepped closer to Azriel, resting your head on his chest and eyes closing with exhaustion. His arms automatically wrapped around you, holding you tightly – almost protectively – as he let his cheek rest on your hair. His eyes softened and he murmured, “tired, my princess?” 

“Over a multitude of things,” you replied. 

Azriel tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “A multitude of things?”

“I almost wish I didn’t have to marry,” you admitted. “It’s not as easy as it seems in the stories. I need to take alliances into consideration and the happiness of my people. Along with wealth, resources, and good blood. My feelings hardly add into the equation, even though I want them too.” You then shook your head and changed the subject, a teasing smile on your lips. “Has anyone complimented your wings before?”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“No,” he responded, a bit hoarsely. “No one has.”

You hummed and shook your head. “They should.” Your eyes trailed down to your intertwined hands before giving his palm a small squeeze. His burn scars marred his skin, contractures stretching over his hands and arms and small keloids by his wrists and creeping up to his elbows. Azriel winced slightly at the pressure of your hand on his scarred skin, memories of the pain flooding back. He tried to hide it, not wanting to ruin the moment, but a flicker of discomfort crossed his features. You instantly lifted your hand slightly to give him reprieve. Azriel wished for the contact back, but he knew he was the one to blame for the lack of touch. He was the one to make you flinch away.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, trying to bring the conversation back to his wings. "You’re the first.”

“I’m privileged then,” you murmured as he spun as the music lilted. “Though it truly is a pity.”

As you spun around, Azriel's wings extended instinctively, the iridescent membranes catching the moonlight. He held you close, ensuring your balance, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to revel in the beauty of his own wings. They were a part of him, and something he couldn’t imagine living without. He watched you longingly as you twirled in his arms. His eyes followed the movement of your gown as you twirl. When he had you pressed close to him once again, he replied quietly, “is it really a pity, my princess?”

“They should’ve been complimented — all of you should’ve been complimented a thousand times before now,” you corrected yourself quickly, thumb sweeping over his hand where yours was placed on top of his. “You don’t see how amazing you are because you hide behind your scars and memories. But you’re the best knight I’ve had.”

The words carved him open deeper than any blade, striking into the insecurities he held. The sincerity in your voice and the gentle touch of your thumb on his hand made something in his chest ache. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. The idea of all of him being complimented, rather than just specific parts or aspects, such as his fighting ability, was a foreign concept. He glanced down at you, eyes filled with sereness. “All of me?” he asked quietly, his voice rough.

You nodded with a caring, hopeful smile on your face. Maybe he would finally see how sensational he was.

Eventually, you came to a stop, standing in the middle of the room. The musicians finished their song and quietly packed up, leaving. Yet, you and Azriel were still in each other’s arms. Azriel continued to hold you, savoring the moment. He relished being able to hold you like this, without anyone else around. 

“Do you truly pity me?” he wondered.

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered out. “I would never be able to pity the man who devoted his life to me. I would never be able to pity the man who devotes himself to me. And I don’t think I have it in me to pity the man whom I truly care for.”

For a brief moment, he stood rigid, unused to such easy affection. Then, his wings unfurled slightly, wrapping around you both like a cocoon, shielding you from the world outside. “As I you, my princess,” he allowed himself to say, scared that if anything more were to come from his mouth, it would be a declaration of unwanted love.

“Will you ever call me anything else?” you couldn’t help but tease, looking up at him.

Azriel smiled back down at you, hazel eyes warm with love. “No, my princess.” The night was silent, but Azriel didn’t want to be. His lips parted to tell you something, but when your eyes darted down to them, he found himself asking, “have I yet praised your dress?”

“You have,” you laughed. “But it’s kind of you to do it again. I wanted to match you, you know?” You reached down and pulled your dress to the side to reveal a glittering sheen of fabric under the thick cobalt fabric.

Azriel’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Beautiful, princess,” he admired sincerely once again. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” He repeated the words you had said to him all those years ago.

“I’ll always wear your colours,” you replied. “You’re my knight, after all. Ever since I was young.” Your hand slid up his chest and wrapped around his neck, thumb brushing against his skin and along the hair by the nape of his neck.

The Shadowsinger couldn’t contain his shiver. “Must you, my princess?” he breathed out, voice rough.

“Must I what?”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut and his head dipped down, nose brushing against your forehead. “Must you marry some duke or prince?”

It took you a while to respond and Azriel’s heart only beat faster each second that passed. “No,” you admitted quietly. “But my parents would like it. They won’t have me marry a commoner, but… I could very well marry a knight.”

“Princess…” Every part of his soul seems to be reaching out, grasping for you. His grip tightened slightly, holding you against him as if he feared you would be ripped. His hands trembled slightly as they remained on your waist. There was a vulnerability in his eyes – a desperate need for confirmation that the words you said were real. “Do not give me hope if you plan on tearing it away. It is too cruel of you.”

“So it’s true,” you muttered. “You have feelings for me?”

“I am not brave like you,” he instead said. “I’ve been your loyal knight for years, my princess. But I couldn’t bear to make myself a liability to your heart. I couldn’t do that to you. I care what others think of me, as much as I hate it. They cannot pity me, I cannot have it so.”

You shook your head sadly. “Sir, they do not feel sorry for you. No one does, especially not me. You’ve protected me for so long, you’ve more than earned your place here by my side. This isn’t some fanciful notion born of youthful indiscretion. You and I both know that. This is a mature, considered love that, hopefully, you feel too.” Your voice cracked as you continued and tears shone in your eyes. Oh, how Azriel hated to be the one to cause you such pain. “My love for you, as you are, flaws and all, is why I adore you so deeply.”

The man couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What did one say when the love of their life confessed feelings?

You couldn’t see the way he gazed down at you, almost lovingly. You stubbornly kept your cheek on his chest, trying to minimise the way your cheeks heated up. Why wasn’t he saying anything? But you were already so far in, so you couldn’t help but whisper, “you would do most anything for me, correct, good sir?”

“Within a heartbeat.”

“Do you mind if I demand something from you?” you asked.

Azriel chuckled softly at your question, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. He tilted his head curiously as his fingers traced small circles on your lower back. “What did you have in mind, my princess?” he asked, his voice low. “I'm curious now... What could possibly entice you enough to make a deal with the devil himself?” 

“Oh, the devil himself?” you repeated, shaking your head as you laughed softly. Somehow, he always managed to make you feel better, no matter the embarrassment that coursed through you. “Is that what you truly think of yourself?” You smiled up at him, not answering his question as you tried to find the courage to do so. Finally, you whispered out, “a kiss.”

Azriel's breath caught in his throat at your whispered confession. For a moment, he was stunned into silence, hardly believing what he heard. He could feel his heart skip a beat, like a leaf in the wind. You looked so small in his strong arms, so hopeful. “Is that all you would ask for?” he finally managed to ask. His wings twitched a bit.

You gave him a weak smile. “Yeah. That’s what I would demand.”

He stared down at you, taking in every detail of your face - the slight parting of your lips, the wide-eyed gaze, the flush creeping up your neck. He could feel the tension between you, thick and electric, like the air before a storm. His hand slid up your back, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. Gently, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Just a kiss,” he repeated, his voice a low rasp. “Nothing more?” 

“Ignorant knight,” you whispered out once, laughing.

“Is that still what you want?” he asked again desperately. His heart hammered in his chest so hard it made him dizzy. His eyes traced over your face over and over again. 

“Oh, Shadowsinger,” you muttered, shaking your head in amusement. You reached up and cupped his face in your palms. “Why won’t you kiss me?” You reached up on your tiptoes before slowly connecting your lips. 

Azriel had been struck by lightning. Every nerve ending in his body came alive, sending sparks of pleasure through him. He stood frozen for a heartbeat, scarcely able to believe what was happening. Then, with a low groan, he melted into the kiss. His hand came to cup your face tenderly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. He poured all his pent-up longing and affection into it, trying to convey without words just how much you mean to him.

From the sheer intensity of it, your knees weakened under you, but Azriel quickly wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you securely against his chest. You tilted your head and it felt like a dream. But he didn’t need to wake up because you were real. You were there, loving him fully and kissing him sweetly.

Azriel laid in bed, body and wings curled around the smaller form. His eyes blinked slowly, gazing down reverently at the infant. The baby had small wings that were almost exact to Azriel’s own. They had made the birth difficult and Azriel had been about ready to break down the door when he heard your screams. He hadn’t been allowed in the room, even though you had begged for him. Your cries had brought him to his knees and replaced the nightmares about his past missions with ones of your sobs.

Nevertheless, you had accomplished the horrible feat and Azriel had rushed into the room. He had first checked up on you, hands and anxieties flying about, kisses being placed on the skin that he could reach. Then he saw his little son, whom he now held in his arms. 

You had recuperated over the months, but it never got old to Azriel to hold his child. It never got old to hold you either. The moment he had gotten his child in his arms, so unbelievably worried about doing harm to him as he had done harm to so many others in his past, Azriel had asked for another. 

You had almost thrown him out of the room.

That first night, Azriel had held both you and child close to his bare chest, for the midwives had said that skin-to-skin contact was best. For the next few weeks, Azriel hardly put on a shirt (which you didn’t complain about), so it got normal to see the ex-knight pressing his son against his chest as he walked around the castle, as if giving the newborn a tour. The baby’s head fit perfectly in Azriel’s palm and more often than not, he would look up at his father with wide eyes that were so much like his mother’s, reaching out to grab at Azriel’s chin or wings.

The Shadowsinger had yet to be thrust into the life of King, for your parents hadn’t passed on, but for that he was grateful. It gave him more time to spend with his wife and child.

There was the creak of a floorboard and Azriel looked up to see you entering your shared bedroom. A smile instantly broke out on his face. “There’s my wife,” he murmured, reaching out with his hand that was adorned by the perfect ring. Its twin sat on your own finger. “My princess.” The words had such a sweeter connotation now.

“Husband,” you replied, having yet to get used to that word. You took his hand, and with a smile of your own, crawled into bed next to your son. “How are my two favorite Shadowsingers doing?”

“Oh, he shall not need that title,” Azriel hummed. “It’s much too dangerous for our little boy.”

“And what would you rather propose?”

Azriel gazed down at the small child, a hand ghosting over the boy’s thick patch of dark hair. “That’s for him to decide,” he finally said. “He will be able to make his own name and title and we will love him whichever path he chooses.”

After some blissful moments passed, you allowed some words to tumble from your mouth. “Are you happy, my love?”

“Of course.” He looked up at you, concerned eyes snapping away from the babe. “Why do you ask? Do you doubt my love for you?”

You shook your head, smiling. Your voice was quiet, worried about stepping over a line. But if almost two years of marriage had taught you anything about Azriel, it was that he never held secrets from you. “No, never. I just remember how, before we were wed, you were certain that everybody pitied you. I was wondering, do you still think they do?” 

“No,” your husband replied, eyes soft as he looked over at you. “Why would they? My entire world is here with me now. I hardly need anything else.”

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first ACOTAR fic so I hope I did Azriel justice. 😊 I wanna thank @pellucid-constellations for writing amazing Azriel fics and getting me into ACOTAR in the first place and just being amazing. (Also @illyrianbitch for posting today and giving me the excitement to post for Az) 😁

[zorosangell]

Heyyy❤️❤️❤️ . Idk if ur busy w anything but could I maybe request a cute little boy challenging zoro for the reader in a dumb competition and zoro takes it seriously (bc thats just him) or whatever else you would like . Ive binged all your work and its safe to say ur probably one of the best writers on the app. Thank youu<33

⛥ﾟ・。 daises and posies

synopsis: a kid with the hots for you begins to challenge zoro, insulting his pride as a swordsman and capabilities as a partner until the mosshead finally snaps... leaving you as the only thing standing between all-out war

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro would totally have beef with a child, reader's a sweetheart, the kid is a little fart but lowkey kind of adorable

"Zoro, stop!" you exclaimed, eyes wide and frantic as you helplessly tried to hold him back, your feet dragging against the ground at his sheer strength. "He didn't mean it! He's just a kid!"

"Kid, my ass!" Zoro scoffed, brows cinched in a sharp scowl as he began to draw his sword, lunging forward. "He's about to get a grown beating!"

"Says the guy that got his butt kicked by Mihawk!"

"WHY YOU—!"

"ZORO!"

"I was there!" the young boy taunted, standing just out of Kitetsu's reach with a shit-eating smirk. "I was on the Baratie when you got your butt handed to you."

Enamored, his gaze shifted to you, hearts practically forming in his irises as he let out a dreamy sigh.

"It was the day I saw this heavenly angel for the first time..."

Confused—and slightly uncomfortable—you let out an awkward chuckle, still maintaining your hold on your furious boyfriend.

"Kid, weren't you, like, seven?"

"And three quarters."

Your brows flattened.

'Gods...'

"But I knew that you were my dream girl! You looked so pretty! Your hair was blowing in the wind, and your dress was a pretty blue!"

The boy's gaze slowly shifted to Zoro, expression turning sour.

"But this bozo was too busy losing to notice..."

"BOZO?!"

"Zoro!"

"I don't give a crap how old the kid is! He's pickin' a fight with me!"

While perusing the marketplace with your swordsman, you came across a fruit stall, where a rather oddly-mannered boy ran the register.

He instantly recognized you—though you could not do the same—and began flying off the handle with pick-up lines and and flirtations, hoping to woo you into a dinner date.

Flattered, you gave him thanks, but also politely declined.

You explained that your boyfriend didn't particularly enjoy sharing, and the mosshead introduced himself in his usual gruff way.

But the moment the boy realized Zoro was your boyfriend, things instantly went left.

He began a long-winded tirade about how Zoro was weak, and nowhere near strong enough to provide the protection an "angel" like you required.

Safe to say... that did not go over well with the swordsman.

"Since you got such a problem with me, kid, then how about we settle this right here! Steel on steel!"

"Sounds good to me!" the boy agreed, brows furrowed as he drew a wooden sword. "Try not to shatter yours this time!"

Zoro's eye twitched, a rather scary looking smile cracking across his face as he drew Enma.

"Ohhh, I am gonna put you in the ground."

"Zoro!" you hissed, snatching away the glowing, purple weapon and shoving it back in its sheath. "His weapon is a toy! You are not using haki to fight a child!"

"He started it!"

"And I'm finishing it! This whole entire thing is ridiculous!"

Stepping forward, you crouched down to the boy's level, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"As flattered as I am that you're willing to take on a billion-berry man for me, I'm afraid this isn't going to work out," you started, pointing between the both of you. "I'm not into younger guys, and as much as I hate to admit it, I kind of enjoy looking at my boyfriend's face."

A cocky grin rose to Zoro's lips, but you were quick to furrow your brow.

You hadn't forgotten what he tried to do a few second ago, and he would be dealt with next.

"So, it is with a heavy heart that I send you on your way..." you smirked, grabbing the boy's shoulders and turning him to face the spice stall. "...and toward the girl that has been staring at you all day."

A flush bloomed across his face as he met the gaze of a young girl behind the register, her large, brown eyes widening as she realized she had been caught.

"R-really?" the boy stumbled, suddenly incredibly nervous.

"Mhmm," you nodded, encouragingly. "And if you're half as romantic with her as you were with me, you'll sweep her off her feet in no time."

Glancing down at the ground, you snatched up a few wildflowers, carefully placing them in his open palm before pressing it closed.

"Just be yourself. And the rest will come naturally."

A glimmer of excitement sparkled in his eyes at the sight of the daises and posies, his mouth breaking out in an adorable, toothless grin.

"You're right! Thanks a bunch, lady!"

Quickly, he threw his arms around your neck, pulling you into a tight hug before letting go and making a beeline for the spice stall.

"Hey, girl! Did it hurt?! When you fell?!"

"Me?! What are you talking about?! Fell from where?!"

"Heaven!"

At the cheesy line, you let out a warm chuckle, unable to fight the smile rising to your lips.

'That kid's goin' places...'

"Tch. Kid's a menance," Zoro glared, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's head to the Sunny before he comes back."

"Oh, don't think you're out of the dog house," you scoffed, grabbing his ear as you began the trek back to the ship. "I'm not over the fact that you were about to fight a nine year-old with a haki-imbued sword."

"Ow! Shit! (y/n)! That fuckin' hurts!"

"Serves you right! You're lucky I love you or I'd kick you into next week!"

[s-lverwing]

DEATH KINK

pairing. emperor caracalla x empress!reader.

summary. Devotion between you and Caracalla is measured in blood.

word count. 1.5k (short one :3)

warnings. dark themes. blood. toxic relationships. slaves and concubines? weird relationship dynamics i guess. character death ? ig (not reader or caracalla dw). english isn’t my first language.

a/n. i don’t remember the scene very clearly so you have to bear with me. wrote this in like two hours so it’s not edited no nothing we die like the twins. please if you enjoyed this leave a comment, reblog, whatever u want 🐛.

It was no surprise that you, the recently crowned Empress, would draw every single gaze whenever you walked into a room; draped in the empire’s most expensive silks, your skin gleamed beneath the weight of Rome’s all gold—rings encircled your fingers, necklaces coiled around your throat and chest. Even when you entered the triclinium, side by side with the Emperors.

As always, you were seated close to Caracalla, always beside Caracalla, but never within his brother’s reach. There, you were often seen as a prize —though inaccessible— and a curse.

The scent of sweat and blood thickened the air as the clash of steel echoed through the hall. You weren’t even paying attention. Caracalla shifted in his throne, restless, predatory, his lips twitching with dark amusement. And maybe Geta did the same.

Then came the gladiators.

“Swords,” Caracalla groaned, his voice slurred. Childlike in its craving. His eyes, hazy with intoxication, shone with a dangerous hunger. “I want swords.”

He let out a mocking laugh, his ringed fingers caressing your leg with a pressure that could only mean he was far from consciousness; his touch heavy and unsteady. Like he was most likely trying not to slip away. The intoxication mixed with his own disease blurred his senses, yet his grip remained intense.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. His need was so raw, so unrestrained. “A fight to the death! No quarter to be offered, or given” you raised your voice as a sadistic thrill dancing in your chest. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the unpredictability of his madness seeping into your bones.

You loved him to death.

It was almost amusing to see how they all believed—how they fantasized—that you, a noble-born girl, now a woman, could ever hope to civilize a creature so deranged and unhinged as Caracalla. Kicked and left alone at such a young age, rotten to the core and probably to his mind too. Citizens whispered among themselves, imagining that love, care, tenderness, could redeem the blood-stained mind of Caracalla. How sweet was their foolishness. Their faces—so full of hope, of pity, such a beautiful lady trapped in such destiny—always crumbled in disbelief every time you spoke, every syllable that escaped your lips reminding them of your control over a man who could burn an empire with but a whim.

They fantasized about you being his tamer, as though you could tame what was never meant to be tamed, and cure what had long been beyond healing. The truth was bittersweet. For what they all failed to understand, or what they would never understand, is that you weren’t a healer of broken things. How could you explain that your heart warmed at the sight of him relishing in violence? His madness now belonged to you, woven into your very soul. And love? Love could never soften the edges of such brutal spirit—it could only feed the fire.

You adapted. You survived. You thrived in the shadows of his cruelty, and the power it gave you. You learned to enjoy and yearn for the taste of blood, the sound of a life taken with a mere word from your lips. You reveled in the control, the pleasure, the satisfaction. It almost wasn’t a mad thing under your eyes. It was an act of love. Even Macrinus, so quick to label you as bloodthirsty, so eager to brand you as a woman gone mad and turned dangerous, could never understand and always shows himself surprised.

The fight started and you had to roll your eyes at Hano’s words. It felt like an intrusion, a stain. It ruined everything for you.

While everyone was enjoying the fight, one of Caracalla’s discarded concubines—a slave you’d thought long forgotten—had dared to reach for the emperor’s knee, his delicate fingers grazing his upper leg with insolent familiarity. Caracalla did not pull away. Instead, his body softened, inviting the touch with ease, indulgent in a way that twisted something sharp and venomous inside your chest.

Jealousy came to you like a big black wave, something sharp and unyielding; carved from the same iron as the swords that painted Rome’s conquered territories red. It lodged itself beneath your skin, festering, until it became as familiar as brething—a constant ache you could neither purge nor embrace fully. It wasn’t simply desire or the hunger for possession. It was something wretched: the need to be the only one Caracalla turned to when the sickness in his mind became too loud to bear. To be the only one he desires and needs every single time. It often felt like a wound that never healed — and it never would.

He was pure chaos wrapped in imperial red—a creature of untamed anger, both cruel and relentless—but he was yours. Not because he loved you in the way poets sang of, nor in ways little girls dreamed of, but because you understood the shadows that devoured him, ones that fed on you both. Your bond was forged in the smothering heat of violence, in whispered commands that condemned lives, in glances exchanged over bloody arenas where human lives were torn apart for sport. It was a language you both spoke so effortlessly, the language of violence.

While Caracalla never promised fidelity, never whispered of devotion. He understood long ago he didn’t need to. Your understanding went beyond mortal vows, or words. You stills remember the first execution that had twisted your stomach, nausea clawing at your throat as the blade struck flesh, severing a life at your own whispered command. It was a slave; a gift from his twin brother Geta. The only thing she had done wrong was to stare for a second longer in Caracalla’s way. He’d found you later, hands still stained with blood, and kissed you like he was trying to consume your bare soul. And you had let him, because surrendering to him just felt right. Dreamy even.

By the second time it happened, for you it was a lot easier. By the third, you no longer turned away. And then Caracalla simply no longer lusted for carnal pleasure outside your marriage. You learned to savor it—the thrill of power, the satisfaction of everyone’s disapproving glances, the realization that you, too, could be merciless. Whispers said that bloodlust, it seemed, could be contagious.

And Caracalla needed you, as you seemed to be made from the same shattered pieces he was. You were forged in the same merciless burning fire, twin flames consuming everything in their path.

“Careful” You whispered as your hand shot out with precise cruelty, striking the boy’s wrist hard enough to sting, though he didn’t knew the true punishment would come later. Your lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile when you saw the concubine’s startled expression, quickly masked by a defiant laugh. Good, you thought. Let him believe he had won something. Let him feel safe.

Later, when the games were done, when the blood-soaked marbled floors had cooled, you went to Caracalla—not to beg, but to demand. You crawled into his lap, as you have done many times, let him bury his hands in your hair, and whisper what you wanted like it was a sacred invocation. Gods’ spoke through you. He easily obliged, giving it to you, not only because of love, but also because your voice was the only one which could still the storm in his head, the way you could channel his fury into something he deemed purposeful.

“Him.” Your voice cut through the cinnamon scent filled air. You didn’t even bother looking at the concubine—his fate was already sealed. Instead, your eyes remained fixed on the faces around you, enjoying the flickers of recognition and fear that bloomed like flowers. A sardonic smile tugged at your lips, as an unspoken reminder of who actually held their lives…

Caracalla was always watching you, always listening, always poised between affection and destruction. The small crowd of concubines and imperial guards, and maybe the citizens too, might have believed Rome’s fate rested in his hands, but you knew better. His power was tempered and magnified by your will.

Without a word, he reached for you, tracing the curve of your jaw as though in reverence—maybe to ask for forgiveness. His lips brushed your forehead. This was his acknowledgment, his devotion in the only way he knew how. You were bound by something the Gods themselves wouldn’t dare name.

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto his guard. The command that followed was calm, almost indifferent—“His head.”

And when the concubine’s lifeless body was dragged through the dirt at her feet, Caracalla’s dark eyes gleamed with understanding. As he pulled you close, their breath mingled like a shared secret, and you knew you were his. But not because you had tamed him—as no one could. But because you had matched his cruelty with your own, answered his violence with your own form of devotion.

You would eternally consume each other—because love, in its purest yet darkest form, was conquest.

a/n 2: hi again i just love a reader who would match caracalla’s freak 🫦🫦🫦

[eiralunaire]

The scent of flowers mingled with the warm breeze of the royal garden, a sweet and subtle perfume that permeated the air with its deceptive tranquility. Damian Wayne stood a few steps away from the princess, his posture straight as a stone wall, observing every corner with a calculating gaze. His senses were alert; even in such an idyllic space, danger was never entirely absent.

“Damian,” the princess’s voice interrupted his vigil, as soft as silk, but with the assurance of someone who did not accept “no” for an answer.

Damian did not answer immediately, but he turned his head slightly in her direction. He knew what would come next.

“Kneel,” she requested, holding a small white flower between her delicate fingers.

He suppressed a sigh. It was not an order. The princess rarely gave him orders, but her requests were impossible to refuse. Not out of obligation, but because she… was her.

Without a word, Damian dropped to one knee in the grass, bending his head just enough for her to reach his hair. He felt the princess's fingers brushing back a few stray locks, gently placing the flower among the dark strands.

It was a childish gesture, a childhood prank she refused to let go of. And yet, Damian didn't stop it. He couldn't.

The warm brush of lips on the top of his head took him by surprise, as always. Brief, light… but enough to make his heart skip an uneasy beat in his chest. He mustn't react. He mustn't allow himself to feel anything at such a simple touch.

He was no ordinary man, nor did he have the right to yearn for things beyond his duty. His life was devoted to the protection of the princess, his loyalty unwavering, his existence reduced to being her guardian.

And yet, as the princess walked away with a satisfied smile, Damian reached up to her hair, barely brushing the small flower that now rested among her locks.

Damian stood up with the same precision with which he would draw his sword: without hesitation, without hesitation. The princess had already returned to her flower gathering, moving through the bushes and vines with a natural grace, as if the world around her existed only for her to explore.

He must not be distracted. He must not let his guard down. But her hand remained at his side, her fingers barely brushing the handle of his sword… and the phantom sensation of that flower in her hair.

“Why do you always have such a serious expression, Damian?” the princess asked suddenly without turning, as if she had read his thoughts.

It took him a moment to answer.

“It is my duty to be alert for any threat, Your Highness.”

She sighed and turned to him with a flower in her hand. One more.

“Even here? In our own garden, surrounded by castle walls, with guards at every corner.” Even here you worry?

Damian held her gaze. It wasn't the first time they'd talked about this, but it wouldn't be the last, either.

"Especially here," he said, with the certainty of someone who'd lived through too many betrayals.

The princess watched him for a moment longer, as if trying to find a crack in his armor. Then, with the same gentleness with which she gathered her flowers, she came closer again. Damian already knew what was coming, but he still felt a pang of something he couldn't name when she reached out and touched his hair again.

"So, if you're always so tense, I'll have to remind you that there are beautiful things even in the midst of danger," she said with a soft smile.

Damian felt the light pressure of another flower placed next to the first. And then, as if it were a sacred ritual, the brush of her lips on the top of his head.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. But something in his chest twisted, something that had nothing to do with obligation or loyalty. Something that shouldn't be there.

And yet, when the princess walked away again, he let his fingers brush through her hair once more, making sure the flowers were still there.

Just for an instant. Just to make sure.

[jackiepackiee]

Can I request for a Telemachus x fem reader fluff? Like after the Ithaca saga they just cuddle and rest together after the fight :))

an- just a short one shot, request if yall want anymore!

“My love?” The same gentle voice you’ve heard time and time before called out. Out in the hall, echoing from the tall ceilings and pillars. Beating the breeze of the cold night.

Followed by a knock at your bedroom door the most tame thing you’d heard all night.

Only minutes before all you had been able to hear were blood curdling screams that ripped through throats so hard they took away their ability to speak. Cries of pain and fear from men who terrorized the palace.

Then silence.

Drops of blood so loud they could be heard as it poured from dead men’s wounds onto the still stone.

For minutes you had no idea who was dying. Who would be able to recognize their lovers scream of death when all you’ve heard is sweet nothings? You really didn’t have any idea if Telemachus was returned from his diplomatic mission.

But now, he was back.

You jumped out from under your blanket and raced to the door, taking away the barricades of chairs you put up when you first heard the fighting and swinging it open.

Telemachus stood there, arms at his side as he waited patiently.

He looked… accomplished.

Eyes filled with an undeniable relief. Never as tense as he once was around the bastards who overtook his home.

Sure, he was tired. Covered in the blood of enemies slain, sword no longer on his person. One could only imagine what that weapon had done.

It was simply him, standing there after completing something as heroic as protecting his family.

You couldn’t help but choke on your words. “Are you hurt?” Finally spilled from your lips. You pulled yourself back, unable to embrace him in a hug as you wished to. Not wanting to hurt him anymore if he was injured, seeing the red across his body.

All he did was shake his head, chest deflating from its position as a sigh left his lips.

“It’s over, I’m okay.” Before he could assure you anymore, you threw your arms around his shoulders.

He was stiff at first, feeling the blood soak from his clothes to clean skin. But soon he hugged you back, hands grabbing your waist and holding you in his chest. Fingers wrapping around your smooth dress with a gentle possession.

“My father is back.” He whispered into your hair, words foreign on his tongue.

As quickly as he spoke you pulled back, eyes meeting his with a strange glow. “That’s… Tele that’s wonderful!”

Unable to contain either of your smiles, he kissed your forehead. “I’ll have you meet him soon. After tonight.” Brushing your cheek with his thumb, he pulled away from you.

When he pulled away you reached back.

“It’s okay, I just need to change.” He huffed, a slight laugh at your behavior.

However his laugh was quickly snuffed out as you pulled him by his wrist into your room. Walking over to the basket of clothes you had and pulling out one of his chitons he had left.

A smile reached his eyes, but not his mouth. Not able to recognize the feeling of comfort he never had.

He didn’t blush as he usually did when you touched him. Even as your gentle fingers moved his clothes down his shoulders and off his body, he didn’t flinch. Eyes watching your every movement as you worked to remove the tattered fabric. Skin ghosting over his with such care.

Not until you put on his fresh new clothes did he move. He pulled you closer, pressing his lips against yours.

Not shyly, or with the passion he sometimes gave.

No, only a kiss that belonged in the moment. Comforting to prove that this was actually real.

“You must be exhausted.” You spoke when he pulled away, brushing his hair out of his face. Not at all startled by his kiss.

Without room protest, you pulled him to lay together in bed. Blankets resting over your hips as he tugged them over the two of you.

He hesitated before letting his neck let go of its tension and head rest against your pillow. Arms reaching to rest on your hips.

“My love, you deserve an explanation.” His thumb ran circles on your skin.

“No.” You retorted. “I don’t wanna know, not right now. Now is for us.” Nodding, you nuzzled into his chest and took in his warmth.

He tensed, but his body couldn’t deny the lovely feeling of having you close.

“Aren’t you scared of me?” He whispered, not able to meet your eyes.

“Scared?” You questioned. “You saved everyone here from those men.” You kissed his jaw before letting your head rest fully in his chest.

Arms wrapping around his body, feeling his muscles relax and his heartbeat moved in a steady rhythm.

He let his face rest against your head, nuzzling his cheek into you as his grip became more confident in holding you.

“For you? I’d do it 1000 times over.”

[arixella]

Relief in the Aftermath

╰┈➤ pairing: Zoro x reader

a/n: none

summary: After a brutal battle, Zoro, deeply worried about your safety, is relieved to find you unharmed, and the two share a quiet moment of unspoken understanding and care.

wc: 750

contains: fluff, angst if you squint

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the aftermath of the battle. The once-thriving town now lay in ruins, the air still thick with the scent of smoke and the echoes of clashing steel. The Straw Hat Pirates had emerged victorious, but the cost had been high. Though they had defeated their enemies, the scars of the fight remained—both on the land and on the hearts of those who had fought.

Zoro, ever the stoic swordsman, stood near the wreckage of a building, wiping the blood from his blades with an almost mechanical precision. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set in a firm line. The exhaustion from the battle was there, but it was not what weighed heavily on him. It was the knot in his stomach, the gnawing worry that refused to leave.

He had seen you fight with every ounce of your strength, charging headfirst into the chaos alongside him and the others. You had always been strong, capable, and fearless. But the battle had been brutal, and he couldn’t shake the image of you being struck down, falling into the dust. He had never told you, but he always worried about you in the heat of battle, even if he hid it behind his gruff exterior.

Now, with the dust beginning to settle, Zoro’s gaze kept darting to the group of Straw Hats, looking for you. His heart rate picked up, and the anxiety he’d been holding onto all day slowly gnawed at him.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Zoro muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. He could feel the tension building in his chest, and it only grew stronger when he saw Luffy and Nami talking to each other, but there was no sign of you.

Finally, as if answering his silent plea, you appeared from around a corner, your figure walking slowly but steadily. Your clothes were torn, your face was bruised, and your body was covered in cuts, but to Zoro’s relief, you were standing. You were alive.

For a moment, you locked eyes with him from across the battlefield, and everything else seemed to blur away. The relief that washed over him was so overwhelming that his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure why it hit him so hard, but all the fear that had been clenching his chest since the moment you’d disappeared from his line of sight during the fight was suddenly gone.

You gave him a small, exhausted smile. “Hey,” you greeted, your voice hoarse but still warm. “You’re looking as miserable as always.”

Zoro’s lips twitched in the slightest hint of a smirk. He tried to play it cool, but his tone was softer than usual, more urgent. “What the hell took you so long?”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “What are you talking about? I was just helping the others.”

“I was looking for you,” Zoro admitted, his voice gruff. “You disappeared in the middle of the fight. I thought—” He cut himself off, realizing how vulnerable that sounded.

You blinked, eyes softening as you took in his uncharacteristic tone. “You were worried about me?” you asked, your voice teasing but with an undertone of something more.

Zoro let out a huff of frustration, not knowing how to respond to that without sounding even more like a fool. “Shut up, I wasn’t worried,” he grumbled, turning his gaze away from you. His hand tightened around the hilts of his swords, his usual defense mechanism.

You took a step closer to him, ignoring the dull ache in your body as you moved. Despite the bruises and cuts, there was something warm in the way you looked at him—something that told Zoro, without words, that you’d felt the same fear. You had fought for him, just as he had fought for you.

Reaching out, you placed a hand gently on his arm. His body went rigid under your touch, and for a moment, you both stood there in a kind of quiet understanding.

“I’m fine, Zoro,” you said softly. “See? I’m right here. Nothing happened to me.”

Zoro swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He finally met your eyes again, and this time, the roughness in his gaze softened just enough to show the depth of his relief.

“I’m glad…” His voice was low, barely audible. “Don’t do that again.”

You smiled, the kind of smile that reached your eyes, and his heart fluttered in a way he hated to admit. “I’ll try not to. But you know me… I don’t like staying out of the action.”

“Don’t care,” Zoro muttered, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. He let out a quiet sigh, his usual sharp demeanor cracking just enough for you to see the truth behind his words. “I’d rather have you safe.”

You felt the warmth in his words seep through you, and despite the exhaustion of the battle, you felt your heart skip a beat. This was Zoro, the one who would protect his crew with his life. And maybe, just maybe, he cared for you in a way he didn’t show to anyone else.

“I’ll make sure to stay safe,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. “But only if you promise to stop being such a dumbass and take care of yourself, too.”

Zoro grunted, but this time there was no edge to it. “Tch, fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. Despite the chaos of the day, the two of you stood there, in the middle of the ruined town, finding a moment of peace in each other’s presence. And for once, Zoro allowed himself to truly breathe, knowing that, at least for now, you were okay.

The weight on his shoulders didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.