#and I can't stop thinking about how beautiful the second half could sound on the cello

[becca-e-barnes]

Okay… there is something VERY sexy about Bucky cuming in his pants 🤤

No bc there IS something very sexy about it and we all know I love writing this 🙈

Because honestly, I think sex could be a really overwhelming experience for him and I think he'd really want to take his time with it. That kind of physical and emotional vulnerability might not come to him so easily.

I really think the tiniest little things would short circuit his brain and it'd nearly just be another point of concern for him. He can't quite understand why the smell of your perfume makes his heart race, nor can he understand why his cock stirs just from feeling the heat of your body against his.

He knows he won't have much stamina, so to speak. He's dabbled a little in modern porn and he knows he's nothing like those men. He's acutely aware that he can, and has, spent hours jerking his throbbing length, covering his own strong thighs in an embarrassing amount of cum but all it takes is a chaste kiss on the cheek from you to have his dick desperate for more attention.

It's all quite overwhelming but he knows he's safe to feel overwhelmed and that makes such a difference. His comfort is always a priority but sometimes he pushes his body just a little further than he can handle.

Like the first time he's got you on top of him, frantically making out. You're wearing a tiny little pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt and he's desperate to explore now that he's got the chance.

"Baby, please. I need... Oh God, that's good." Words fail him when your lips latch onto his neck, your teeth grazing the exposed skin. The tip of your tongue is sinful, paying close attention to the hollow of his throat while you make the most of the free reign you're being given.

"Is this okay?" You ask softly between kisses, pressing your core against his body. There's a time and a place for you to worry about how incredibly wet you are but this isn't it. There's no room for you to be embarrassed by your need. Not when you're settling on top of a man who's evidently just as into this as you are.

"Yeah... Y-yeah, that's fine." The quiet squeak is just about all Bucky can manage, his hands settling on your hips. He's not moving them, he realises. He's not the one rocking you back and forth over his aching length. You are.

"Holy shit." He groans into the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, pure bliss making every nerve ending tingle pleasantly. He's not even inside you. Lord knows he couldn't handle that but he can't understand how this feels as good as it does without any real replication of the wet heat of your body.

He thinks he's got it under control as he lets your body roll against him. He got enough self restraint. He can handle it. He's got it. Right up until oh no, he really hasn't.

"Babe, you have to s-" He begins but it's too late. Pleasure radiates from the base of his spine, cum splattering against the inside of his pyjama bottoms and all he can do is hold you close and whimper.

His length throbs with each wave of ecstasy and nothing in him wants to lose the heat and pressure of your clothed sex against his. He almost feels pathetic for cumming like this, with minimal stimulation but God, he needs it. When he finally has enough clarity of thought, he registers the feeling of your hands in his hair and his brain starts to process all the filthy little encouragements you've whispered in his ear as he came.

When he comes down, he knows he should probably feel embarrassed but instead, he feels safe. He feels cared for and in a strange way, he feels a little bit more whole, knowing he's finally letting himself be intimate with someone who wants the very best for him.

[flowrmoth]

...and then what happened?

DAILY CLICK FOR PALESTINE

Synopsis: your date last night with another girl got real juicy and ellie couldn't help but ask about it...

AN: okay so... this is my first drabble/oneshot so i'm sorry if it sucks. also idk where this idea came from, i just love the idea of ellie being a flustered mess bcus of you hihi (also english is my second language so yeah)

wc: 1.9k

warnings: mdni!!! sexual themes, not really smut, pining, lowkey loser!ellie/perv!ellie?, ellies just obsessed with u ok?, reader being oblivious, no mentions of Y/N or readers looks! (the photos are just for the aesthetic),

"So yeah, in conclusion, I totally beat Jesses ass. He doesn't know shit about pool." you laughed, getting comfortable on Ellies couch.

It was a relaxing Sunday night. You decided to spend the warm evening hanging out with Ellie, one of your closest friends. You definitely needed a breather after a long week of work. Ellie had informed you that she coped some weed from her dealer, so of course, you said yes to a smoke sesh.

You came prepared, nights like these at her place always meant that you would probably end up sleeping over and watching cheesy movies while covered in buttery popcorn and chocolate.

Now, you were sprawled out on her worn out, brown couch in your pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt. Ellies outfit and position mimicking yours, her long legs stretched out in front of her, eyes glued to the insanely boring Sci-Fi movie she picked out and a joint in hand. You were recalling the events of last Friday when you went out with Dina and Jesse and when you finally beat Jesse at pool.

"Damn, can't believe you beat the master himself. He won't ever live that down." Ellie chuckled, taking a drag from the newly lit spliff she rolled before you came over. She looked over at you with tired eyes and smiled. Fuck, she was never getting over this crush. To be honest, Ellie couldn't fucking stop thinking about you. Every day, every second, you were the only thing on her mind. But of course, she was too afraid to do anything about it, too scared that she would fuck everything up and lose you if she confessed. So she decided to remain quiet and enjoy you from afar, basking in your beauty ever time you would sleep in her bed or smoke her weed.

"Duh, I'm a hundred times better than him." you said with a smirk, looking over at Ellie and taking the joint from her slender fingers.

Fuck.

She just remembered. You had a date last night. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You've been raving about this girl, Sarah or whatever the hell her name was, for weeks. Some girl that was coming to your work and finally asked you out last week. Ellie broke a sweat. She had to know what happened.

Did you kiss?

Did you fuck?

God, she'd hoped not.

"Hey, um, how was your date last night? With Sarah?" she asked sheepishly, trying not to sound to dry and nervously fiddling with her ear. She looked over at you and your eyes widened.

"Oh my god! I can't believe I forgot to tell you! Her name's Sophia, Ellie, you know this." you jumped in your seat from excitement and turned your body to face Ellie. "Yeah, yeah, Sophia. Whatever. How was it?" Ellie rolled her eyes, not really caring for the girl.

You sat criss-cross from her, beaming with happiness. You couldn't wait to tell Ellie about the night. "Okay, so, you know that new restaurant?" you ranted with a big smile, retelling Ellie all about the dinner you had, the drinks you ordered and the pretty flowers your date had brought you, but all Ellie could think about was if you went home with the girl. She focused on the TV while you talked, looking over at you with brief glances, too afraid you might notice the disappointment and jealousy twinkling in her eyes or the way her fingers were gripping the joint so tightly she thought it might rip in half.

That girl hadn't even bought you the right damn flowers, or ordered the right drink. She didn't fucking know anything about you. Ellie knew that your favorite flowers weren't roses, far from it, and who the hell orders tequila for a first date? You were clearly a 'daises and whiskey' kinda girl. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

After the part about the dinner and what not, you finally got to the part about going to Sophias apartment, which Ellie had secretly hoped had not happened. Ellie felt her heart drop and a cold sweat ran from her head right to her stomach. Fuck.

"Then, she asked me if I wanted to smoke, so of course I agreed immediately. I was nervous anyways because she was so hot, you know? Figured it would calm me down." you talked, moving your hands excitedly while Ellie was just nodding along, trying to match your energy as best as she could. She cringed at the word 'hot'.

"Wait, I'm gonna re-enact exactly what happened, 'cus damn, she knew what she was doing!" you laughed, definitely enjoying the replay of last night. Ellies mouth was dry. What the fuck do you mean re-enact what happened?

"And then, she sat on the couch and was all like 'Come here'." you made sure to put on a seductive voice and manspread a bit, while motioning your finger, trying to act out the scene as you remembered. At this point, Ellie was fucked. She prayed the story would be over soon so she could stop imagining you with someone that's not her.

Someone else's hands touching you, caressing you, tracing their fingers around every damn curve of your body that she so badly wanted to feel. It was too much for her.

"Yeah?" Ellie whispered, throwing a questioning look your way. Her hands were getting clammy and the joint was starting to die out.

"Yeah, and then..." you eye her up and down "I kind of like, straddled her. Like this." you chuckled, enjoying the recreation of previous events.

Slowly, you got up from your criss-cross position and started moving towards Ellies side of the couch. Your stare was a dangerous one, one that Ellie has never seen before. Her breath hitched and she swallowed thickly. She could feel the hairs on her neck standing up. Her bangs sticking to her slightly damp forehead.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. You were definitely too high, because what the hell is happening?

Your hazy, drunken stare set onto her panicked one. Your hands made their way to Ellies shoulders, gripping them for support. One of your legs swung over Ellies and settled at the side of her thighs, straddling them.

"Then," you took the joint from her shaky fingers and brought it up to your lips, taking a long drag "she did something like this." with a whisper, your hand cupped Ellies cheeks and squeezed them lightly so her lips would part. As you got closer to her face, you blew the thick smoke into her mouth. Ellies eyes immediately darted to your lips and her own got dry with nervousness. She puffed out the rest of the smoke.

Her words were caught in her throat, but she had to say something. Anything. Just to make you stay in this position longer.

"And, um... And then what?" Great fucking question, Ellie. Her voice came out small and hushed. She swore she tried not to sound too tense, but with your fucking perfect thighs sitting on her own, your perfect face so close to hers, your perfect perfume, that she would sometimes steal to from your purse and quickly spray on her wrist, was invading her space completely. She was awestruck, but still tried to play it cool like this wasn't the best thing that has happened to her. Her hands automatically moved to your plush thighs, giving them a light squeeze.

You let out a laugh and whispered, putting out the spliff in the ashtray next to you "And then, um, I don't know. She did this thing, on my neck, that felt so good, but I don't know how to do it." this was actually one of your first sexual/romantic experiences with someone, so it was still new and you still didn't really know what you were doing. You just thought you were sharing a great experience with a great friend.

"Y-yeah? What thing?" Ellie tried to egg you on with a nervous chuckle. This was too good to be true for it to be over so soon. She didn't dare move her hand from your legs, not even an inch. She could bet that her face looked like a fucking tomato right now from how hard she was blushing, but she didn't care when the prettiest girl she had ever seen was in her fucking lap.

"Something likes this..." you bow your head to meet your lips with Ellies neck. Your mouth hadn't even grazed her pulse point, but you could already feel it quickening. You press your lips to her sweet spot, just for a moment, before opening your mouth and sucking in her skin lightly. Her skin tasted so sweet, so soft, with a hint of her signature wood-y perfume and natural scent.

Ellie rolled her eyes so hard she thought she was seeing heaven. She was trying so hard not to let out a stifled moan that was threatening to escape her throat. That will definitely leave a hickey. You let her neck go, kissing the newly bruised spot once or twice, now moving your mouth to her jaw and peppering kisses along the way. Your hand eventually found its way to the back of Ellies head, tangling your fingers in her auburn locks.

Ellie couldn't help but squeeze your thighs, giving you encouragement to continue, her long fingers digging into your soft flesh. She tried so hard to not slide her hands up your thighs and under your pajama shorts. She felt every fucking inch of you underneath her. Your legs squeezing hers, your chests so unbelievably close, one of your hands resting on her shoulder while the other one was working its way through her messy hair. She was so aware of your pelvis pressing into hers, she prayed that you couldn't feel her every goddamn pulse.

You finished off your performance with a quick, delicate kiss at the corner of her lips as you slid away your hands from her body, leaving her all sweaty and worked up. You climbed off of her and went back to your side of the couch, completely unaware of the fucking effect you have on Ellie.

Ellie almost whimpered when she felt your heat leave her, suddenly feeling cold and empty without your body on hers. Like a missing puzzle piece. She shifted upwards and cleared her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears with her shaky palms, rubbing them on her grey shorts. She didn't dare look at you, fearing that you would see her wide eyes and red cheeks.

"Sorry, I hope that wasn't that bad." you glance at Ellie and say with an unknowing smile, acting like nothing happened. Like the greatest thing that Ellie has ever witnessed didn't just occur. You returned to your phone, probably texting the girl whose kisses you just acted out.

Ellie felt sick. Sick with want and sick with the fact that that wasn't real. What just happened wasn't real, but holy fuck, did she enjoy it.

"Yeah, no, that was, uh, good. Wow. Can't believe s-she did all that." she tried to stutter out with closed eyes and clenched fists, getting up from the couch.

"Right? I know!" you returned. "I'm just gonna go to- Yeah, be right back." Ellie said quickly while making her way to the bathroom, almost tripping on her own feet in the process.

She swiftly got in and went straight to the sink. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, not the mention the beads of sweat on her forehead and the damp spot that formed beneath her black boxers. Fuck, she was so embarrassed that only a fucking kiss on the neck got her so worked up. She turned on the tap and splashed her face with cold water, looking at herself in the mirror.

Fuck, Ellie was so in love with you.

[luveline]

your spencer writing is so beautiful jadey! i was wondering if we could get some hurt comfort where reader really struggles after a case and he comforts her? <3

thank you ♡

Grief for other people can vary in strength. Ever present, occasionally numbing, tonight's case has left you neck deep in it, and the feeling needs to come out. Tears slink down your face in lazy rivers. You keep thinking you'll stop crying. Then you remember her hand, soft with newness and curled in death, and it starts again. 

It hurts to cry. You don't attempt to stop; you don't think about it, or the team, or the heat at your side, you just think about the girl's hand. It's not fair. It's too much. 

"It's okay," Spencer says. You know it's him without looking, his voice a familiar gentleness that reaches your ears despite the roaring-quiet nothing and your sniffles. 

You turn your face away from him to hide. 

He puts his hand on your thigh amicably, his tone encouraging as he continues, "If you don't calm down you'll throw up. What can I do?" 

You suck in a shaky breath, an attempt to regulate feelings too big for one body, "Sorry, it's– I'm fine. I'll be fine," you wobble. You can't finish the second fine, a cry crushing it down. 

Another hand touches you, fingers on your wrist and weaving down. He covers the back of your hand with his palm. It's not like Spencer, but it's not like you to cry like this. 

Spencer doesn't tell you to stop crying or try to shush you. He'd told you once that he tries not to stop people when they're talking, because he knows what it feels like to be shut up. I wish people… I wish people would have more patience, I think. Sometimes I can't get things out the way others want me to, and I get that things are time sensitive, but. I don't know. If I have time to listen, I'll listen. 

Listen to you cry, listen to your staggering breaths as you catch them. Patient, Spencer pulls your hand to his lap and draws letters into your wrist. You can't make out what he's writing, but you can feel the bumps and curves of Os and Ks. Maybe he's telling you it's okay, maybe he's writing out a recipe. Whatever it is, it calms you down. 

"Do you want some water?" he asks as you still. He sounds pitying, sure, but he understands. His thumb rubs down to the middle of your hand. 

"Yeah. Please." 

He passes you a plastic bottle of water with the seal already broken. You have the wherewithal, then, to see where you are. The conference room is dark, and your teammates have given you the chance to cry alone, though they'd sent Spencer in to keep you company, it seems. You can see Morgan waiting out by the door like your bodyguard, and you're sure you can hear Hotch shouting. Or, not shouting, he doesn't yell much, but his voice is loud and terse. He cannot be argued with. 

"I'm sorry you got the short straw." 

Spencer puts an arm behind your back. "Actually, I had to fight Emily to be the one who gets to sit with you. And I can't fight, so it was more like begging." 

He rubs your back. You forget that he's a man, sometimes, but you can feel the ridges of his arm, smell the woody scent of his deodorant as it stretches around you in a half hug. His awkwardness with women doesn't extend to his friends at any rate, and he hugs you with surety. 

"You're one of my favourite people. I'm sorry you didn't know that. Holding your hand when you cry isn't a short straw," he says. 

You lean into his shoulder. He murmurs a quiet, "Come here," as you do, his jaw pressed tight to your forehead. 

"I'm so sorry," you say. To him and to someone else. 

"It's okay. It's not your fault. You can't save everyone." He sounds near choking up with his last sentence. It's a grim and undeniable truth. No matter how hard any of you try, there will be impossible cases with twisting riddles for motivation and terror that fills every corner. There will be young girls who die, because there will always be someone waiting to hurt them. 

"I tried–" You bite your cheek until it screams at you to stop. 

"I know. There was nothing else we could do." 

You turn into him completely, wrapping your arms around his waist in a vice. Spencer doesn't baulk, circling your shoulders, his breath tickling your ear where you squish your face against the collar of his sweater. The fabric bites your skin, a wicked heat returning to line your lashes. 

Your back shakes under Spencer's hand.

"I know," he repeats, rubbing your back. "It's okay, Y/N, I promise. He can't hurt anyone else, ever again." 

It doesn't make the crime any better. It won't bring back the girl you lost. And it can't erase the agony of knowing you failed her. 

Spencer starts to talk. Simple facts, explaining grief. When we cry, it releases oxytocin. You feel better afterwards because of the chemical effects. 

When you eventually do calm down, head pounding and chest aching, Spencer helps you clean the tear stains from your cheeks with a pocket pack of tissues, and you know it isn't the oxytocin that made you feel better, just a really caring man. 

"Thank you for dealing with me. I know this wasn't even the worst thing we've seen, but I–" You clear your throat, determined not to cry anymore tears until you're back home. "I couldn't stop seeing her hand. I can't remember my hand being that small anymore." 

Spencer gives you a smile. It's far from happy, a flat line with the slightest curve at the corners. "Some things are hard to forget. And we shouldn't forget them. But we have to keep going so we can balance it out. Or at least that's what I think." 

You hug him quickly. "Thanks, Spence." 

His hand twitches against the small of your back. 

[bandgie]

That Seungmin ficccc 😍, if you can/ are comfortable with it can you do a mini part two when he does use y/n in her sleep, and slightly gaslights her into thinking it is a dream. Only if your comfy with that type of stuff. Amazing writing tho, have a good day!! 💙☺️

a/n: hi anon yes! thank you so much (fic anon is referring to here)

warnings: MDNI 18+, NONCON SOMNO, intoxication (fem!&male!), just read the ask man

1.1k words

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Truthfully, Seungmin just liked watching you sleep. It was just relaxing to him. How gently your chest would rise, how still you would be deep in slumber. You looked peaceful, content, pretty.

Just like now, though Seungmin's intentions are far less endearing. Both of you had drank a decent amount last night due to the baseball game on. No, you didn't know a whole bunch about the sport, but you'd never pass the opportunity to have a drink or two.

He's kneeling at your bed, watching your face. He's making sure there's no sign of you waking up, no twitch in your eyebrow to indicate that you're still somewhat awake. Seungmin deems you sound asleep once he blows on your face and you give no reaction.

Standing to his feet, Seungmin makes his way to the foot of the bed. He carefully places a knee on the bed, feeling how the cushion dips under his weight. He pauses for a few seconds before continuing, crawling over your lower half.

You're laying flat on your back, head turned to the side with your hands limp besides your head. Your nude legs are slightly parted, a simple underwear covering your cunt. Seungmin can see the mound, the sight making his mouth water.

He manages to get on his knees. Seungmin wastes no time in pulling his boxers down, pulling out his flaccid cock. 

This is wrong. This is dirty. Yet, he can't find it in himself to stop as he pulls your panties to the side. 

Fuck, you're so pretty. Your pussy lips tucked nicely, clearly not aroused in the slightest. Mindlessly, Seungmin pumps himself with his other hand. No amount of cameras could compare to the beauty of your physical body. So warm, so soft, so pliant. 

Seungmin carefully hovers over you just enough so the tip of his cock can rub against your clit. He quietly moans at the feeling of your hot cunt, daring to dip his dick just a little deeper.

Then you move, a quick jolt in your leg. 

He freezes, holding his breath as he patiently waits for you to stop moving. 

Idiot, he thinks. Of course she'll wake up.No, no. Not if you're careful.

Seungmin pulls his cock away from your cunt and replaces it with his thumb. Maybe his dick is too much, he might just as to settle with using his hand. 

He rubs your nub in gentle circles, round and round until he starts doing it to himself. 

What are you doing!? He screams at himself internally. Stop before you get caught! You won't get caught. The other voice soothes him. If you just do it slowly, she'll stay asleep.

The internal battle in Seungmin's mind persists. It seems as though he has a winner though, because his thumb had grown gold and dipped a little further. 

He can feel your entrance, how it slightly twitches. Seungmin has one hand rubbing your pussy and the other hand rubbing his cock. It's so easy for him to get lost in the feeling of your warm cunt and his building pleasure. He doesn't even seem to notice how much harder he's begun to rub circles and how you've started to stir awake. 

"Ughhh," you groan tiredly. It takes a long time for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Your head slightly pounds from your abrupt wakefulness. You have to blink a few times before you make out the figure over you. 

"Seung?"

Oh shit. He stops. A million excuses run through his mind when he locks eyes with you. What should he say? What should he do? He can hear that same voice in his head saying 'I told you so' while the other is desperately trying to come up with lies.

"Sleeping," he finally manages to say. "It's just a dream. Shh~, go back to sleep."

You would normally question your dream Seungmin further, but the sleepy paradise you were in calls to your attention more. You nod drowsily, "Mmm, k." You lay your head comfortably on the pillow, relaxing your legs to let dream Seungmin continue.

"Feels good," you hum.

To say that Seungmin is shocked would be an understatement. He can't bother to move as he watches you fall back asleep. It looks as though you're smiling, as if happy he's there violating you. Maybe you are happy, you did say it felt good after all.

As a test, Seungmin places his tip back into your pussy, waiting to see you move.

You don't.

There's no patience in him while he humps you. His length sinks low enough to collect your slick before bringing it back up to your clit. Everything's gotten slippery, making it all the easier for Seungmin to glide his cock against you.

He uses one hand to apply pressure on his dick. He softly groans at the feeling. Seungmin's hips move at a quick pace, a complete 180 from how gentle he was previously being. This time, he wants to hear you, he wants to see how your body reacts to him.

Putting it in may be a bit too much. There's no way he could find his way out of that one. Even then, Seungmin is more than content to use with you like this.

You've started to move just a bit more. Hips jolting upwards and mewls leaving your tired lips. Your reactions get Seungmin riled up. The last remaining underwear you have is getting soaked in both of your arousals. It's soon to be soaked with his cum from how close he's getting.

Seungmin voices a sequence of moans before finishing on your cunt. The ropes of cum color you pussy a pretty milky white, your panties sharing the same hue. He uses his cock to spread the orgasm even more, watching how your pussy twitches from the stimulation.

It's not enough for Seungmin to get his cum on your clit no, he needs to put in you too.

With a slender finger, he collects droplets of cum before it vanishes deep into your cunt. He prods at your opening before sliding his finger in. 

Seungmin gasps at the feel of your pussy, how much it's convulsing. He feels bad for leaving it neglected. You wanted something to clench on so desperately, you're taking just one of his fingers so eagerly.

He thrusts the cum deep inside you, wiggling his digit within your walls. 

You whine when he pulls away, slipping your stick underwear back on. Seungmin shoves his half-hard dick into his boxers before getting off the bed. He makes sure to cover you with your sheets, he doesn't want you getting sick.

He does, however, leave you confused in the morning. You're sitting in crusted underwear from what you can only assume is your own cum. And a weird, vivid memory of Seungmin.

a/n: hope you liked it! and happy thanksgiving lmaoo

[aethes-bookshelf]

empty eyes, emptier words || astarion/tav/halsin

I've been stuck in BG3 hell since the game first came out. I'm still in there. I don't think I'll be coming out anytime soon, so have this piece of angst. If everything goes well, maybe I'll deliver on some devil fucking (ft. Haarlep & Raphael). But that's a big IF.

For now, take this. I wrote it in class. I was supposed to be paying attention, but I made this instead. Bon appétit.

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, tav straight up fucking dies

Pairing: astarion/tav/halsin

Wordcount: 1.4k

Summary: Orin knew exactly who to take to hit those troublesome True Souls the hardest. Their leader was the obvious choice - a chicken can only run so far if you take its head. Tav would make a beautiful sacrifice for Bhaal.

And if anyone came to try and get them back? All the better. Blood will flow either way. And what a sight it'll be.

[I made some changes to Orin's dagger. Now, whoever gets killed with it can't be resurrected. Or can they?]

ao3 link || part 2

Orin turned around at the first sound of footsteps. She brandished her dagger, her Netherstone embedded in the cold metal of the weapon. She was standing on the sacrificial altar at the center of the temple. Beneath her laid Tav, arms and legs bound. They were unconscious, fresh and old wounds littering their body. The little clothing they wore stuck to their skin, wet with blood. The smell of it hit Astarion like a club to the head. He hated how his mouth instantly watered, hunger rearing its ugly head.

‘I don’t smell Gortash’s rot on you,’ Orin said, crouching by Tav’s body. She dragged her blade across their skin. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface. Tav didn’t even flinch. They were barely breathing.

‘Did it think it could trick me? Did it think it could save?’ Orin taunted, her dagger stopping right over Tav’s heart. Astarion could hear its faint beating.

The heat of Karlach’s anger burned the air around her. ‘I hope you’re not about to do what I think you are. For your sake.’ Her massive ax sliced through the pungent air, tail swishing behind her.

Halsin didn’t speak, but his eyes glowed bright gold. His hands were clenched at his sides, anger barely restrained.

Astarion unsheathed his own daggers, their weight a fleeting comfort. ‘You lay one more finger on them, I’ll rip your throat out,’ he said. A growl ripped itself out of his throat.

‘Your teeth aren’t sharp enough to pierce my throat,’ said Orin. The tip of her dagger sank into Tav’s chest. ‘Not enough to slice my flesh, taste my blood.’ She drew back her hand, dagger rising into the air. A speck of blood followed its tip.

Astarion clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. His upper lip drew back; he bared his fangs on instinct.

‘Even if you kill them, all you’ll achieve is pissing us off,’ said Karlach. Her words were confident, but her voice betrayed her; she was afraid. ‘We’ll just bring them back so they can spit on your fucking corpse after I split you in half, you crazy bitch.’

None of them liked the way Orin laughed at those words. ‘“Bring them back”? Not here. Not with Bhall’s blessing.’ She grinned, showing all of her teeth. ‘They’ll be the first sacrifice of the night. Then I’ll spill your blood and guts on their flayed skin.’ A shiver ran through Orin as she brought her dagger down.

The blade sank into Tav’s chest with a sickening squelch. They gasped, body going rigid for just a second. Then they went limp.

Astarion’s scream rang through the still air as Karlach charged the altar.

* * *

Astarion knelt down by the bodies laying on the stairs and started rifling through their pockets.

‘What the hell are you doing, Fangs?’ asked Karlach. Tears were evaporating off of her face, her infernal engine still hot with her battle rage. The ashes of a used scroll of revivify were cooling at her feet. The spell's energy had already ran out and Tav was still limp, their body slowly going rigid.

‘I’m looting, can’t you tell?’ Astarion’s voice was snappy, but even. ‘Tav’s usually the one to take everything that’s not nailed down but they obviously can’t do it this time, can they?’

He leaned down over a pile of smoking bones and burned blood that used to be a man once. ‘They always find something for us in these piles of trash, I thought it’d be… nice to do the same for them for once.’ He managed to fish out a rusted dagger from underneath the pile.

‘Astarion,’ said Karlach, voice breaking.

‘Besides, their favorite tea ran out a few days ago, so we’re gonna need stuff to sell.’ He leaned over the pile of Orin’s gore next. ‘Tav spent most of our money on some new armor for you and Gale, and that tea’s expensive, you know?’ He took Orin’s dagger. His hands were shaking.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach tried again. The low hiss of evaporating tears got louder.

‘They deserve to drink something good when they come back, no?’ Astarion stood up straight. His grip on Orin’s dagger was so tight his chuckles went paper-white.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach’s voice was low and thick with tears, ‘I don’t think they’re coming ba—’

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ Astarion was quick to turn around and point the dagger at Karlach’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ For the first time since they arrived at the temple, his voice broke. ‘Of course they’re coming back. Why do we keep that creepy skeleton around if not to bring us back in times like these?’

His eyes watered. ‘They’re coming back. They have to. They must. Even if that means I’ll have to drag them out of the Hells myself.’

Astarion’s eyes wandered to Tav’s broken corpse. They were still laying on the altar, the stone of it slick with their drying blood. He couldn’t see their face; Halsin’s shoulders were obstructing the view. Astarion could swear the druid was shaking too.

‘Halsin, they’re coming back, right? They’re coming back!’ If Astarion’s heart still beat, it’d be fluttering with rising panic.

Halsin’s voice was low and quiet. He kept stroking Tav’s matted hair as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure they will, my friend.’

Those words punched all air out of Astarion’s lungs. Fury replaced it.

‘Shut up!’ he screamed; his voice echoed in the empty temple. ‘We were supposed to have decades together. Decades! They can’t leave yet. They promised!’ His knees buckled. With every word he spoke, he sank lower and lower, until his knees hit the cold stone beneath him. ‘They promised we’d… We were supposed to find a way for me to be in the sun again,’ his voice faded into silence.

Astarion couldn’t speak anymore. His chest clenched and his eyes burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and kill, and tear. He wanted to bring Orin back just so he could send her to her blasted god all over again. He wanted to hear Tav laugh at one of his stupid jokes.

His throat was clenched so tight not even sobs could escape it. He was vaguely aware Halsin’s shoulders were openly shaking with his grief, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort the druid. That would mean looking at Tav’s empty eyes. That would make this entire nightmare real. So very, terribly real.

Astarion’s grip on Orin’s dagger loosened; the weapon fell with a loud cling, its Netherstone slipping out of it. The stone shone dimly in the light of the torches.

All of it for these stones. All this death, pain and misery for these three pieces of one whole. Tav died for it.

Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. All of it. All of it!

Astarion’s mind was reeling; jumping from pain to denial to anger to desperation. He didn’t know what to do. Tav would know, he thought, and a fresh wave of tears fell.

Karlach laid a hand on his shoulder. She’d cooled down enough for her touch to be only slightly painful on his corpse-cold skin. ‘We have to go, Fangs. Halsin.’ Her grip on Astarion tightened when he shook his head. ‘We have to go,’ she repeated, harsher this time. Barely restrained emotion shook her voice. ‘If they even can come back, we need to get them back to camp as soon as possible.’

Halsin took a deep breath and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Karlach’s right,’ he said and stood up. Tav was limp as he cradled them close to his chest. To his heart. ‘If we stay here too long, we’ll certainly lose them for good.’ The druid squared his shoulders and turned to face the other two.

Astarion went rigid at the sight of Tav’s hand, limply hanging off the side of their body. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at their face.

‘Astarion,’ Halsin’s voice was soft, ‘I understand your pain. They are in my heart as they are in yours. But we mustn't waste time lest we lose them forever. If there is a chance to save them, we must act now.’

Astarion swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The chill of death had never been more present in his bones. He nodded, silent, and picked up Orin’s dagger and Netherstone.

‘Let’s go,’ said Karlach, new-found determination on her face. ‘We still have to buy their favorite tea after this, right? How’d you put it, Fangs? “They deserve to drink something good after this”?’

Astarion nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to break if he spoke. There was an empty, far-away look in his eyes.

As they left the temple of Bhaal, the sweet stench of blood followed them out.

[megistusdiary]

Werewolf Dehya in a rut 🤭

werewolf transfem!dehya in a rut

i deadass just lost my 5050 for xianyun on my side account to tighnari and then nahida to dehya on my main. BUT, i did say if i lost, i wanted it to be dehya. so...win?

i think dehya wants me to write about her (im delusional) i need a giant, pretty gf wtf 🙁

i should be studying for my giant exam, but i am tired 😇

transfem!dehya x sub!fem (anatomy/pronouns) reader

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, werewolf dehya in rut, cunnilingus, penetration (reader receiving), obligatory doggy style (i am hilarious, yes?), breeding kink, scratching with nails, overstim, knots (sorry i had to), biting, tiny bit of aftercare at the end ♡

dehya's nails have sunk themselves rather deep into your hips. despite the sharpness poking into your skin, you can barely even register it at this point.

your head is pressed onto the pillow, cheek smushed against the fabric as you pant and whine for her.

she spreads your thighs wider for herself, lapping at your pussy intently. her tongue is pressed so firmly against you, as if she was trying to lick up every single droplet of wetness she could. dehya's tongue felt so warm, almost burning hot against your clit.

she can feel your thighs tremble in her grasp, and she moves a hand from your hips to caress your thighs gently. well, as gently as she can manage.

your feet kick against the bed when the stimulation sends you over the edge, and you sigh with relief. your relaxation is cut short when she continues to suck at your clit, and you try to pull yourself up only to be shoved down with a heavy hand to your back.

"no. sit fucking still." she snaps, her voice awfully low and your breath goes shaky.

she goes quiet for a moment before she chuckles softly, leaning in to kiss your clit. "you like it when i boss you around, huh?" dehya asks you, finally leaning up to position herself behind you.

any other time, you would've stopped to poke fun at her for choosing doggy-style of all things. her hand comes to press your back down into a beautiful arch for her, and she sighs, holding the base of her cock and swiping it up and down your cunt.

when she presses in, your legs instinctively kick against the bed at the stretch, and she coos at you. sweat beads up on her forehead at how tightly you squeeze around her. it's taking all of the restraint she has to go slowly for you.

your slight whimpers of discomfort have her leaning down over you, bare chest pressing into your back. "i know, i know, baby." she coos into your ear. a hand comes up to smooth over your cheek gently before leaning back up, holding your hips again.

the second you tell her she can move, she fucks you like her life depends on it. you can feel every vein of her inside of you, pressing deeper and stretching you out.

your hands weakly claw at the bedsheets, whining her name softly as she sighs, head tipping back in ecstasy. "so good for me, sweet girl." she grunts, her balls slapping against your skin as she pulls your hips back against her.

when she pulls her cock out, she almost cums at the sound of your pathetic, desperate little whine. of course, she pushes back in, only aiming for your g-spot. she's rewarded by breathy moans and whines, begging her to keep going, yet your body tries to squirm away from the sensations.

not long after, she's pushing you over the edge once again, your body shaking under her. once again, she keeps going. "i'm sorry, sweetheart...sorry, can't- gotta keep going- gotta fuck you full, baby, yeah?" she mumbles, her cock pushing in and out faster, harder now as your body jostles with each thrust.

dehya leans down again, this time kissing your shoulder. " mine...you're all mine." she opens her lips, teasing your skin with the points of her sharp teeth. when they sink into your skin, you practically keen, mewling into the bed, half in pain and half in pleasure.

she bites hard, teeth coming back with drips of your blood for her to lick off with her tongue. dehya keeps fucking you harder, gripping you impossibly tighter, surely leaving bruises you'd feel later.

"gonna fill you up, baby, okay?" she still manages to ask, and your delirious pleas for her send her over the edge. "it's- it's gonna hurt a little, sweetheart, stay still." she pushes her hips up into yours, shoving her knot inside of you, watching your pussy struggle to take it.

she groans when she finally cums, her knot keeping it all inside, save for the tiny bit that escapes as you lay limply beneath her. you're both drenched in sweat, and the extreme heat of her body isn't helping.

she maneuvers you both to lay on your side, smoothing a hand down your arm. "such a good girl for me...just gotta be patient now, 'kay? gotta keep you full..." she murmurs as you slowly fall asleep in her arms.

[revasserium]

Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I’m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

[nr1chaedickrider]

the love that had been simmering all summer.

Sana can't stop thinking about that cute customer - you can't stop thinking about that cute coffee shop owner.

happy late sana day <3, just some fluff, listen to this while reading!

men dni

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You wake up, your rather annoying and distracting alarm clock ringing in the background as you are slightly blinded by the morning sun. You rub your eyes with your hands, then slowly roll over and look at your phone to turn off your alarm.

'9 AM' is written large on your phone. You sit up and look around your room, unpacked boxes are in the corner, your sheets are half on the floor.

You sigh and get up to take a shower.

Your clothes fall to the floor as you take them off. You turn on the water and stand under it. It's cold first, but slowly turns to a pleasant warmth.

You look into your empty fridge as you dry your hair. Your plan was actually to make breakfast - but you couldn't do it without coffee or any food. So you scroll through your phone to look for a café near you.

'Café Milano', a rather new café just a few minutes away from you.

You get dressed and close the door behind you.

-

A small bell rings as you open the door of the café, after a few seconds you notice the pleasant and calm music coming from a record in the background. You look around and close the door behind you, its a rather small café, plants and vintage posters hanging on the walls, a corner with a bookshelf, many tables to sit together or alone.

"Good morning!" a woman greets you with a huge smile, her voice full of energy even though the morning has only just begun. She has a brown apron tied around her white shirt and is leaning against the counter, her brown, rather longer hair is tied back in a ponytail.

"Good morning" you reply, perhaps you took too much time answering - because she giggles like a little girl, but somehow it makes you smile as you walk up to her.

"Do I look so beautiful that you have to look at me like that?" she asks playfully. You laugh, "maybe?".

You look at the menu hanging above the counter.

"What can you recommend if you've just moved here and want to try something new?" you ask and she thinks about it.

"That's a good question. Well, I can recommend the marocchino, a rather sweet espresso with a little Nutella, and maybe one of our home-baked croissants?" she replies, you have no idea what a marocchino is, or what's inside of the home-baked croissants, but you agree anyway.

"Sounds great," she smiles.

"Sit down and I'll bring it to you" you nod and sit down at a single seat, after 5 minutes your coffee and croissant arrive, "Enjoy your meal" she says and goes back to the counter as a few other customers come in.

As you start to eat, you realize how good the coffee actually tastes, just like the croissant. A perfect breakfast for your first morning in Milano.

"It was really good," you say as you go to her to pay. "You should advertise this café a lot more," you add. She smiles again, that warm smile that makes you study her features even more.

"There are lots of other delicious things, maybe you should try the other things sometime" she replies with a wink as you pay for your food. "Maybe" you say, pocketing your money, but before you leave you turn back to her.

"What's your name?"

"Sana, Minatozaki Sana," you're the one with the big smile this time.

"Y/n." you say and walk out of the café, Sana looking after you as the door opens and closes with a ding.

-

"I didn't know you could fall in love so easily," Jihyo says as she leans against the wall and lights her cigarette and takes a drag.

Sana sighs, "I'm not in love! But..."

"But?" asks Jihyo, looking to Sana and offering her a puff, but she declines with a quick shake of her head and a smile. Her hands are in the pocket of her apron.

"She's just so pretty"

"She's so pretty," you say as you shape the clay in front of you.

"In love?" asks Chaeyoung and you start laughing.

"Like I'm falling in love that fast"

"Well from what I've heard, you definitely like her..." you look at Chaeyoung and playfully hit her shoulder with your hand full of clay residue, making her scream. You both continue to work silently on your pieces and you think about who you want to portray the face of with the clay.

Wait, this is your chance.

-

Weeks go by as you always make a daily visit to Sana's café, she always has your marocchino and croissant ready when you come in. You have her number, she knows that you always go to university after the café.

But one question was always in the back of her mind - "Can I use you as my muse for my project?"

"What?" she asks in shock as she cleans the floor with a broom after every customer has left.

"What?" you ask back, only then realizing how stupid it actually sounds to ask the woman you might be interested in to be your muse for your project.

"Just forget it..." you laugh a little and head for the exit.

But you don't get any further as she takes your wrist in her hand and stops you from going.

"I'd like to do it - I'll finish this and then we can go, okay?" you look at her and she smiles, you nod.

After 10 minutes Sana was done cleaning, she hangs up her apron and locks the door as you walk out. The walk to the university isn't far, so you don't even really talk. The darkness gives a pleasant feeling to the whole thing.

"This is the studio," you say as you tie an apron around your waist this time, Sana sits down on one of the stools as you get the clay.

"If you want to take a break just say so, but maybe try to keep a neutral face the whole time I'm working, okay?" she nods and looks at you as you start working on the clay with different tools. Every now and then you look at her and she always looks at you, which makes you blush.

After an hour, you've already done most of it.

"Okay, I think that's enough for today," you smile and take the clay face to a shelf to put it down, Sana gets up and walks over to you, as you turn around she stands right in front of you and you feel the warmth in your cheeks again.

Nobody says anything, you look into her eyes, she looks into yours, then her eyes wander to your lips and back to your eyes again.

She takes your hand, "Watch out, it's full of wet clay-," but she doesn't even let you finish as she pulls you closer to her, her lips landing on yours.

You're shocked at first, but then you start kissing her back. Her soft, slightly moist lips with a slightly artificial taste of her lip gloss only makes you want to kiss her more and more. You hold her by her waist and walk over to the table and push her against it, your hands touching her all over.

She slowly pulls back, your lips parting with a light thread of saliva, but it's only now that you realize the position you're in.

Your one leg is between her two legs, your knee pressing lightly against her core. Her shirt has ridden up dangerously high and her belly is partly full of clay - a dreamlike sight, actually. You look at her face again and she smiles.

"Maybe you can show me what your fingers can do?" she offers with a smile, which you return.

"Sounds great."

[appocalipse]

summary: during a stupid party, your friend JJ gets into a fight with your ex-boyfriend (that so happens to be a Kook) to "defend your honor". you, of course, don't like it in the least. | 1k

Long after everyone has left, JJ finds you outside, sitting on the edge of the worn, wooden dock with your legs dangling over the calm sea. You must hear him coming and know that it's just him, because you don't turn around even when he steps onto the wood planks, dragging his feet a little just to be sure.

You haven't said a word since leaving the party an hour ago, and it's killing JJ.

Tentatively, he drops down beside you. You still don't look at him.

"You're angry," he states the obvious, his eyes scanning you.

The wind tousles your hair and you smooth it out of your face, huffing a quiet little breath through your nose. "How observant."

"I'm sorry." He means it, too. He understands that what he did may have escalated things, and if there's one thing he hates, it's being the cause of a problem. But when he sees people being little shits and putting their stupid hands where they don't belong, like that piece of garbage asshole had...

"Oh, are you? For what?"

JJ is brought back to the present, his train of thought pausing as he turns to face you. Your arms are locked tightly together, defensively, and you stare out at the ocean, blinking once, slowly. Waiting.

Lips parting slowly, JJ racks his brain for a witty response, but he can't for the life of him figure it out. "Well, I would be, if you'd tell me what I did."

Your fingers curl around the edge of the dock. "Unbelievable."

"What?!"

"You seriously can't figure it out?" When you finally face him, JJ's taken aback by the flurry of emotions he finds in your eyes: anger, confusion, sadness, frustration. It makes his heart clench and ache like an old wound. "He's a fucking Kook, JJ, he could have had the cops called on you, or worse."

"I-"

"Your record's already bad enough, okay? Why don't you ever think about what could happen? He could have pressed charges!" Your voice has gone almost shrill. "Worse, he could have really hurt you. Then what? How do you think I'd feel?"

For a moment, the air rings with the last vibrations of your voice before it's engulfed by the quiet drone of nature once more. You sound angry, a little scared, but underneath it all, there's worry.

JJ reaches out a hand, resting it tentatively on your forearm, but you tear your eyes away and stand. "Don't-"

But it's too late.

He gets to his feet, too. "Come on. Seriously, do you really think I'd just let someone do that? Touch you like that?"

"No, but-"

"I don't care if he's a Kook. I don't care if he has fifty guys with him. If someone touches you or says shit, I'm gonna put 'em on their asses. It doesn't matter who it is." JJ steps forward, and when you don't step back, his expression softens. He lifts his hands, cradling your face so gently, like it's something fragile and beautiful, and his calloused thumbs brush lightly over your cheekbones.

"Don't touch me," you mutter half-heartedly, even as you lean into his touch.

"You want me to stop?" JJ's gaze falls to your lips, and you know he's not talking about just the touching. You both know there's always been something else simmering below the surface, between you, and now it's threatening to spill over.

"Your cheek's bleeding," you whisper instead of answering, lifting a hand to brush your thumb over the shallow cut on his face.

"He missed."

"Barely."

JJ cracks a crooked smile, his nose crinkling as he leans in, stopping just short of kissing you, waiting for you.

A second ticks by. Two.

"So, we're good, right?" he murmurs. "No more mad?"

Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar, comforting scent, leaning closer until your foreheads are almost touching. "If you get arrested, I'm not bailing you out."

His eyes glitter in amusement as you open yours again. "That's a yes."

"I hate you."

His thumb smooths softly along your cheekbone again, then his nose gently brushes against yours. "No, you don't."

You can feel his warmth, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He's so close.

"No, I don't," you concede, letting out a defeated sigh. "I was just...really worried."

"Hey, I wasn't about to lose to a Kook prick like him. Not with your honor at stake." His tone has fallen softer now, warm.

You crack a smile. "My honor?"

JJ presses a little closer, and your heart flips. "Mhmm, and besides. I've always got your back."

You reach up, resting your hands over his. "I know."

Your gaze flits down to his mouth, and his tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip before his mouth draws into a mischievous little smirk. "So..."

"So..." You raise your eyes to his. "Are you.."

JJ leans forward, but stops just before his lips can brush over yours. "Am I...?"

Your heart thuds against your ribcage, and you tilt your chin up slightly. "Going to kiss m-"

Your words die off in a soft, contented hum as JJ's lips meet yours in a slow, sweet kiss. He's gentle, his hands holding you like he can't believe you're real, like you'll slip right through his fingers any minute now and he has to make the most of this, because it'll never happen again.

You kiss him back, trying to tell him without words that you're right here and not going anywhere.

When JJ pulls back, it's only enough to break the kiss, and he doesn't go far. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath coming in a contented exhale, and he laughs, low and sweet, his fingers curling against the sides of your face.

"Well, damn, if that's what happens when I get in fights with Kooks..."

You can't help but smile. "Don't you dare."

[kalims]

— LEONA KINGSCHOLAR | 나를 소중히

or, a morning with leona.

나를 소중히 (cherish me)

as someone who didn't stay in places with searing, hot weather you can say that the environment of savanaclaw is pretty warm compared to the average ramshackle cold.

if you had told your past self that you were spending the night in savanaclaw they probably would've laughed at you and cursed out the gods—promising you that they would never, ever do it.

well you do understand them. the way you were treated when you arrived is pretty extreme. you did forgive but you never forgot, was it childish of you to hold a grudge? probably. did they deserve it? absolutely. can you blame yourself though? out of all the dorms they were the one you had the most rough impression of.

you were absolutely sure they were gonna 'teach you a lesson' the first time you arrived and they thought you were too puny for them.

besides the past that was kind of horrifying first time you dealt with it. you do agree that you would've never spent another second in here if it weren't for your lover: leona.

albeit a little rough around the edges he's pretty sweet though your friends think otherwise. they think you're both insane and patient for 'dealing' with a person like him and just like any good partner you got offended on his behalf.

I mean how could they judge so fast when they didn't even know him?

well to be fair you doubt everyone else would be lucky enough to leona opening up like you.

day by day you end up spending an awful lot of time around savanaclaw— around leona to be exact. during your time together he taught you the beauty around the savanah, although not verbally he did.

it made you dislike the dorm a little less. (but of course that's progress! atleast you're talking with the residents that threatened you before with less,, vigor,)

you did see the resolve of the students, admirable really but it was no excuse to torment the weak. using their strength as an excuse to bully those they deem inferior might as well land them a punch from you.

even though they were practically his own. you doubt leona would stop you, and if he thought the same thing like them you wouldn't landed the same punhc at him.

you once joked about it and leona said he'll really take that tooth if you dared.

while you were laughing your ass off at the thought of him doing that for no reason at all leona found your laugh contagious, as he can't help closing his eyes and smiling at the sound of laughter in his room. he'd never thought it would be filled with anything other than silence.

in a way he looked forward to simply chatting in his room together, even though you were usually the one talking.

the mornings in savanaclaw were of course—hot.

by the casual demeanor the students display you can tell they're used to this kind of weather, literally no wonder there's a lot of big and muscled guys here. you, are by no means pleased at all. honestly kind of irritated by the amount of sweat you,, sweat in the morning. when the sun is just starting to heat up.

honestly nothing woke you up but the warmth.

blearily and half conscious your eyes adjust to the surroundings, taking in the mellow color of sunlight. it's a little earlier than usual so it's a little cold—given how the sun hasn't come up yet.

you take a few moments of silence. staring at nothing in particular, you could practically hear the gears in your head start as you register your consciousness.

you shift. yeah the light was nice and all but it's not letting you sleep with it practically in your face.

so you roll to the right, groaning at the fact that you had to disrupt your sleep and knowing yourself? now that you moved you'd be having a hard time falling asleep again. then again it's monday and class starts in a few hours.

ugh.. fuck I hate mondays, you swear you blinked and the weekend was over already. whoever thought two days of rest was enough you would pluck their eyes out.

you were all about hating the world till you rolled around and was met in sight of leona's peacefully slumbering place. you were right, whenever he wasn't frowning he was really handsome. then you thought; how could you hate the world when it's right here? right next to you?

engrossed with your sappy thoughts you release a long, fond sigh. even asleep leona seeks out to comfort you, evident in the way an arm snakes around your lower torso and snuggling into you.

you swear you hear a pleased hum from him.

weirdly you think about how lucky you are.

"do you know how hard it is to sleep when someone's staring at you?"

leona drawls out. startling you when his eyelids peel open, staring at you casually but you can still see the sleep in his eyes. he takes his other arm and pushes back his hair with a groan. most likely iffed that you had interrupted his sleep.

despite his sour look you grin at him.

leona never hated that face more, cause it looks like you'd follow him to the ends of the world, that grin is the determination that keeps you going and don't get him started about your eyes. he hates the fondness in it because it makes his heart race.

and he hates you for staying, and loving him.

"sorry," you say but your face says anything but an apology.

"stop looking at me like that,"

"sorry," you say again. wearing a similar face, definitely less sincere than the last.

you continue to look at him like that.

grumpily leona turns the opposite of you and no matter how many times you whined out a, "hey!" he merely shakes you off and continues to ignore you.

he went even as far as to peel off the arm you stuck to him.

you sigh. "ugh.. you're so mean," and deflate. perhaps making it seem like you're actually upset is a decent strategy?

you were no stranger to leona. you knew him, and he knew you. his favorite time of the day to nap, the spot he goes to hide away, the things people don’t bother to know. in a way you feel like he is your soulmate, in this life you’ve known him for less than two years but it feels like you’ve known him since forever.

rolling your eyes you throw your body over his,, and the startled grunt he releases is the highlight of your day. leona stares at you ‘venemously’, it it were any other person he would’ve started strangling them but it’s you.

it’s always you, leona thinks.

“i said i’m sorry,” you say, pecking him on the lips. leona ignores the volts it spreads in his body, tingling but all the more addicting. it sends a jolt to his heart that can never seem to stop after.

for once leona thinks that it’s not too early for this. in fact, there’s never a time where he doesn’t want this affection you’re showering him in, nor the casual teasing and joking around the two of you. because it’s like your mind and hearts are connected.

that’s right. you’re his soulmate and he is yours.

"whatever. you're annoying," leona spat and you nudge him with a laugh.

laughter echoes around the room.

as he said, your laughs are contagious. it's like a plague. something he'd wanna get away from but it's like singing in his ears, a melody that takes away his breath and relives him the joy. he hears it and he's already struggling to hold a smile at your own.

which is uncharacteristic and he hates it.

it's not that he's stuck with you, you're stuck with him.

note. I read this one story in quotev and idk why but it really inspired me, the writing was so good. it was realistic on a degree 😭 and addresses the problem of growing up

yeah never thought I'd enjoy a haikyuu fanfic cause I've left the fandom for years

[agentmarvel]

angry sex with gaz AWOOGA

ohhhhhh my god let's fuckin' GO!

nsfw under the cut - gender unspecified

MDNI - 18+ (MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. PLS STOP TESTING ME, Y'ALL)

It is DIFFICULT to piss Gaz off. He's so chill about 90% of things when it comes to you. Forgot the dishes? No biggie, he'll dry if you wash. Dinner isn't quite ready? No sweat; hand him his apron, and he'll help cut veggies. Laundry is piling up? Don't worry, he'll throw a load in after his shower.

He does, however, have a possessive streak. The only time he really gets angry when it comes to you is when he takes you out for a nice evening and the local meatheads can't seem to take a fucking hint. You're not feeding into it, not egging anything on - hell, he isn't even sure if you're aware of it most of the time.

It starts with a hand on the back of your neck or an arm around your waist that sits a little lower than is decent, low, teasing murmurs, a hand inching beneath the hem of your shirt...

Then it morphs into kisses, far more than the usual sweet peck. Kyle makes direct eye contact with whoever is looking just a little too intently when he slips his tongue into your mouth.

You always know; he's shit at hiding it. But you'll play dumb because you know what happens the second you get home.

Speaking of, he's all too eager to get you outta there after he's had his fill of fun with it.

Hand on your thigh all the way home, grumbling about how the other guy is lucky Gaz didn't tear his throat out where he stood. He doesn't care what you wear when he takes you out - you look stunning in everything you wear, and he can fight if anyone has anything to say.

At home, all bets are off. You don't even get to lock the door behind you before he's crowding you up against the wall, leaving little love bites with a grunt of "mine" between each one.

Don't even make it to the bedroom. Living room floor is perfectly fine with him.

MATING PRESS. He wants to look at you the entire time he's rearranging your guts, appreciative of the fact that you chose him. Any person in the world, and you chose him.

Oh, he's definitely mouthy about it, too - "Just don't get it, do they? Maybe if I put a pretty rock on your finger, they'll take the fuckin' hint." - "Couldn't fuck you half as good, could they?" - "Fuckin' beauty, aren't ya?"

He'd outright admit that he wouldn't think twice about killing someone if they ever tried to touch you. There's no reason for it to sound as hot as it does, but everything sounds sexy coming from his mouth.

He's vicious with you. He leaves marks that your clothes can't quite cover, makes sure you'll be sore the next morning, has you nearly in tears with how hard he's fucking you (but it's so good, you're begging him not to stop).

It happens every time he takes you out, so who can fault you for putting in extra effort to make yourself look even hotter the next time?

[vvagustd]

by your side - roronoa zoro

[opla!zoro x fem!reader]

synopsis - you stood by zoro's side as he recovered

genre! angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

warning! foul language, mentions of death, SLIGHT OPLA SPOILERS

just a short zoro story, wanted to write for him but just didn't know what to

link to request page

Not once did you leave his side.

Zeff told you someone needed to stay with Zoro to keep him grounded to the earth, and it was pretty much wordlessly decided it would be you. Sanji had stayed after Zeff fixed up Zoro's wounds, cooking meals for the crew and making sure you ate, which you didn't. Everytime sanji made a new meal he'd take your old plate full of untouched food and replace it, encouraging you to eat, maybe get someone else to take your spot and watch over Zoro.

You hated the fact you couldn't tell if he was getting better or not. You hated that you sat, hour after hour, telling him stories from your childhood and watching his chest rise and fall. You tightly gripped his hand as silently sobbed, your tears falling onto your interlocked fingers. “Please wake up Zoro, please." You pleaded. "I can't let you leave without knowing how much you mean to me, how much I love you.“ You let out a long, shaky breath. "If you die, I'm gonna fucking kill you Zoro." You half laughed-half sobbed.

A few moments later, Usopp knocked on the door before opening it slightly. "Usopp? What's up?" You asked, wiping your eyes. "Would you maybe switch out for me and Luffy? I think it's time for you to get some fresh air."

Your grip tightened on his hand. "Oh uh.. yeah.“ You said, standing up and giving Zoro's hand one last squeeze, that last bit of encouragement, before smiling at Usopp and walking out to the deck.

"Hey, Nami!" You smiled and waved, catching up to her. Her mind seemed to be preoccupied, looking out at the vast expanse of ocean. "It sure is beautiful at this time of day, so calm and peaceful, yet so empty." She took a deep, salty breath of the air. "Right, it must get lonely for solo travelers. That's why we're here, right Nami? Righttt??"

"Oh my god, stop, you sound just like Luffy." She laughed, you joining in with her. Cutting your laughter short, Usopp bursts through the door and up the stairs, his urgency frightening you. "Y/n, Zoro's awake! He's asking for you!" You just about stopped listening at Zoro's name, running with Usopp as fast as your legs could take you to his room.

"Y/n..?“ His demeanor melted the second he saw you, his face turning into something of a smile. You threw yourself into his arms, his face buried into your neck. "Jesus Zoro, you scared me.. you're such an idiot.“ You sobbed holding onto him tight. "I heard everything to talked to be about in my sleep, your childhood stories, even..“

"Even?" You asked, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. "Even everything you felt about me.“ You felt your face heat up with sudden embarrassment. "That's when I realized, I couldn't leave without letting you know how much I love you." You stood in between his legs as he leaned down to kiss you, his soft lips melding to yours, soft groans leaving his lips as you gently tugged on his hair.

"Does this mean she's off limits?" Sanji asked from the doorway, earning an elbow from Nami and a middle finger from Zoro.

"I don't know, am I off limits Zoro?" You pulled away, looking into his eyes. "Definitely.“ He muttered, chasing your lips.

-------- ♡

link to request page

[itsphoenix0724]

Dancing With Shadows (Azriel x Reader)~Chapter 2

Warnings: SMUT, shower sex, oral (fem receiving)

Word Count: 2.1k

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is entirely self-indulgent, I can't even help myself

Azriel always loved plane rides, the feeling of soaring above the earth was exhilarating. He thinks back to a funny dream he had as a kid, you had cracked up when he told you about his childhood delusions of having bat wings and flying through freezing mountain ranges. The memory of the golden sound of your laughter warms something deep in his soul. As much as he loves planes, Az is more than ready to get off this one because he knows what’s waiting for him at your apartment. You had tried to insist on picking him up from the airport, but his flight was getting in at 4 am your time so he opted to take his time getting his bag and stop for a shitty airport breakfast. After spending a mind-boggling five minutes contemplating the sheer size of an American large fountain drink and collecting his bag he calls a cab at a respectable 6:30. It’s a half an hour's drive from the airport to your apartment and he and the taxi driver chat about why he’s in the city. 

“Ya know, there’s a pretty good bakery about 15 minutes away from your girl’s apartment. I could drop you there instead, and you could walk the rest of the way.” He raises an eyebrow at Azriel who can practically see your face light up at the sight of doughnuts in his mind. 

“That would be great thanks.” Az nods, and the driver lets him out of the cab a few minutes later. He tips him handsomely before shutting the door and walking into the bakery. It’s a quaint shop with a pink sign reading “Alis’s” in cursive letters hanging in the window. Azriel thinks you might’ve mentioned this place a couple of times. He smiles at the old lady who bags his pastries and blushes at his accent. He also does his best to ignore the way she sends a pitying glance at his hands. You know about his hands, obviously, and hadn’t shown him an ounce of pity. Support but never pity. It was just one of the many things he loved about you. 

God–love. 

The word rocks through him like a tidal wave. He’s known for a while, he hasn’t said it to you yet, but with finally having you in person he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer. Plugging your address into the GPS on his phone he starts the walk to your apartment. He thanks whoever may be looking down on him when he passes a flower stand and buys the biggest bouquet of roses the merchant has to offer. 

Eventually, he reaches your front door. 

He wasn’t nervous at all until this moment, hands suddenly sweating around the flower stems and a bag of doughnuts. Dropping his duffle on the ground he gathers all his courage and knocks on your front door. It gets thrown open faster than he can knock a second time and he has you in his arms before he can blink.   

Azriel might think it’s weird that the first thing he notices about you is how good you smell, like clean laundry and chamomile tea, but he’s too focused on the feeling of you in his arms to care. You’re actually real, actually here in front of him. It feels odd to see you in person instead of on his phone screen. He maps each little detail of your face that’s been hidden from him over cameras.  

“You’re beautiful,” it’s the only thing he can seem to get out of his mouth at the moment and he delights in the way pink floods your cheeks. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” comes your sheepish reply, a star-splitting smile stretching across your cheeks. You thank him for the flowers, dashing off somewhere to find a vase. He’s wracked through with an odd sensation looking at the things he knows. He’s seen your apartment multiple times before, he knows almost every intimate detail. He knows the shelves of your bookshelf are organized based on genre, starting with your favorites. He knows which room is your bedroom, your bathroom, your office, and what is in your snack cabinet. Az thinks he could probably navigate this apartment with a blindfold tied around his eyes. 

He’s just never been here before. 

Then he’s wracked with new things. The intimate details that he’s craved so desperately since knowing you. Like what your candles smell like, the rumpled blankets on the couch, and the slippers you haphazardly kicked under the coffee table. This is the first time he’s set foot in your apartment but he feels like he’s home. 

Azriel toes off his shoes gently as you return with a vase full of roses, you stare at each other for another beat. Like distant planets so used to admiring from afar now pulled into each other's orbit. You seem to remember yourself after staring at him a moment longer, still frozen in time in your doorway. 

“You brought me doughnuts,” your stomach growls and Azriel laughs as he hands you the bag for inspection. You seem satisfied with his choices, tongue swiping across your bottom lip as you consider the options. 

“Can I come in?” Azriel asks with a tilt of his head, amusement sparkling in his hazel eyes. You’re knocked out of your stupor once more as heavy red rises to the tips of your ears. 

“Of course,” you mutter shyly and reach down to grab his duffle bag. He bats your hand away without a second thought, hauling the heavy bag over his shoulder. He had to bring some computer equipment with him, unfortunately not quite off the hook from work completely. 

“Where should I put this?” he questions, looking around the apartment. 

“Oh, you can just put it in the bedroom,” You start to direct him there but Azriel is already down the hallway and throwing open your bedroom door. You wander down the hall behind him, adoring the way he appears in your space. “I made us a dinner reservation tonight by the way. Italian.” Azriel lets out a satisfied hum before taking you in his arms again, tucking you safely into the warmth of his chest and resting his chin on your forehead. 

“What else do you have planned for the week?” He mumbles the question into your hair line and you’re so overwhelmed with butterflies that you forget to answer. You’re simply stuck staring at his beauty that he has to jostle you to let the words loose. 

“Well, I figured I’d take you to all the major tourist attractions, and some of my favorite hidden gems, then whatever else you want to do.” You reply with a noncommittal shrug and Azriel locks his gaze onto your eyes and then tracks down to your lips. Heat lights up your spine like a detonating cord trailing its sparking path to dynamite. 

“Can I kiss you now? Please?” He mumbles to you, lips almost brushing as he speaks. Your nod comes almost embarrassingly quickly, but Azriel doesn’t care as he hauls his mouth to yours. His kiss is electric, a drug you’re immediately addicted to and you never want to stop. His hands are roaming your body mapping every inch of you because he knows that this week could never be enough of you. You break apart, laughing giddily into each other's mouths before delving back in, eager for one more taste, before you drag him back out into the kitchen to enjoy your doughnuts. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Yes Rhys, I’m alright. Everything’s more than alright.” Azriel is reclined on your bed relishing in feeling of being in your space. The two of you had spent the afternoon lazing around, finally holding each other as Azriel worked on some things for his job. He watched the sunset through the gauzy curtains as Rhys’s voice droned over the receiver of his phone. “Yeah the flight was alright,” Rhys asks another question but Azriel’s ears are perked when he hears your shower turn on, a quick glance at his alarm clock tells him that you have two hours before your reservation. “Hey Rhys, I’ve got to call you back.” He can distantly hear Rhys’s protests as he disconnects the call, and pads on nearly silent feet to your bathroom. 

Azriel’s never been a religious man, but he thanks every god he can think of when the door handle turns easily under his grip. 

He hopes you don’t kick him to the curb for crashing your shower, but the thought of finally seeing your body, in person and bare for him, is more than Az can bear. Throwing his shirt over his head and kicking off his shorts and boxers in one go he steps into the shower. Naturally, you jump at first, your eyes fly open and you almost launch your shampoo bottle at your perceived assailant. Once you realize it’s Azriel all of your anxiety turns molten in the pit of your stomach. You shamelessly eye him, eyes tracking a burning trail from his face down to his toes, paying particular interest to the area between his legs. 

“See something you like?” Az’s voice rumbles. You nod, eyes drooping into a seductive half-lid. 

“I don’t remember giving you permission to invade my shower.” You tease stepping further into his space, every breath causing your chest to bump his. 

“I can go if you don’t want me here,” Azriel replies, moving to leave, but your hand circles hard around his wrist to prevent him from pulling back the curtain. “That’s what I thought.” His voice is smug, eyes as satisfied as a wolf with fresh prey as he surveys your naked form, watching the water run over your every dip and curve. Azriel gently pushes you against the shower wall, lips moving to bite your fluttering pulse. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, nails leaving a satisfying bite that sends jolts down his spine. Your tongue laps up the water collecting around his collar bones, and Azriel’s moan of appreciation reverberates off the porcelain. 

You pant his name as every hard part of him makes contact with every soft part of you, and Az cups one hand along your jaw as he finally puts his mouth on yours.

“Let me make you fall apart for me,” He begs, hips canting against yours. Your head tips back against the tile, the combination of Azriel and the heat making you delightfully dizzy. “Let me devour you as I promised.” He slowly kneels on the shower floor, the hot water beating into his side, plastering his ink-dark hair to his forehead. Your hands chase it away, revealing hazel eyes burning with desire. He slowly draws one of your legs over his shoulders, you should be afraid of slipping but Azriel’s hold is sturdy, hands confident as he supports your weight. 

If you know one thing about Azriel it’s that he always keeps his promises. 

He licks a trail up your center, leaving golden fire in his wake. He feasts on you, relishing in the way your moans echo loud enough that your entire apartment is sure to hear. Azriel cannot wait to properly take you apart in bed later, but he’ll allow himself this taste for now. He toys with you, playfully flicking and sucking at the apex of your thighs as your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging and pulling as he has his way with you. His tongue slips down and your vision turns white as it thrusts in and out of you, curling to reach the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You fall apart soon after that, the heavens and the earth colliding in a vulgar symphony as your thighs shake around his head. Azriel gently eases your leg down before standing and claiming your mouth, you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. You try to reach for him but he stops you. You shoot him a confused look his thumb swiping up to soothe the crease between your brows. 

“The first time I come with you will be inside you,” he vows “and sadly I do not have the time to prep you for that.” heat flashes through you at his words, and amusement and lust sparkle back at him in your eyes. “After dinner my love I promise.” You nod, and lather shampoo in your hands to start to wash his hair, Az’s head tipping back with a groan as your fingers scratch at his scalp. You wash, rubbing out the creases of muscles and holding each other under the running water. Azriel finishes first, leaving you frustrated in your shower with a searing kiss and the echoes of promises to come after your reservation

[sanemisstalker]

Idk why but like I really wanna die in somebody’s arms- it’s like such a beautiful but sad way to die?

(**kny spoilers**)

kinda like how Mitsuri died in Obanai’s arms bc that was such a heartbreaking moment but it also was kinda sweet at the same time? Idek anymore 😭 ty for your time btw <3

Broooo-

I hate to be that guy and point to your username, but I think dying in Giyu's arms would be the worst emotionally. I think it'd be actually devastating.

CW// Death / Implied Major Character Death/ Implied Suicide/ Angst

A part of me reasons that Sanemi could handle it about as well as he handles anything else. Poorly, but he'd continue like he always does. That's all he can do because he thinks anything else is a show of extreme cowardice and he doesn't deserve to feel that way.

But when you're in his arms, dying, more color is dissapearing, and he's fighting to see your face past the tears- he's wailing and screaming, and trying to command you to come back. That normally works. Maybe he's gotten scary enough to scare death, but no. He'll never be enough to fend off the inevitable.

I don't think Shinobu would be much different. She has an astonishing amount of hate in her heart. Enough to patch up the wound long enough for her to pretend it isn't there anymore.

You'd be lying in her arms, and all of it would be beating against her head. Every word you ever said, every piece of medical knowledge she had, and for her to be the only one able to know just how incapable she was of saving you- She'd start begging a higher power, probably, begging you to be strong in her stead- save yourself because she's not strong enough.

Rengoku wouldn't cry until you fully slipped away, doing all he could to muster his voice flat- you needed comfort, obviously. He knew it wouldn't heal the wounds, nothing could, but he was still denying that to keep his smile wide.

You wouldn't be in his arms but on his lap, his hand sweeping hair from your fading eyes. I think He'd sit there for a while. For too long, just trying to prevent tears, because you wouldn't make a move to wipe them.

Tengen would hurt, bad. You're in his arms, and he's rocking you, and he's having a panic attack- He'd deny it the hardest. For the longest.

There's a notable difference, Tengen understood, between the weight of a breathing person, and a dead body. He knew that difference the second you slumped against his shoulder, and his knees hit the ground. He'd try to wake you up, tell you to stop the act, it isn't funny, because God, what else could he do but joke in a half witted prayer to hear your laugh.

Giyu....

Fuck me , man. I don't think he's emotionally strong enough to handle anymore loss. He's already disliked by his peers, by himself, god, and everyone who breathed. You were the only person willing to talk with him- to waste time on him. To love him.

The imagery for this one is vivid- the rain. Ironic. Even in his own element he couldn't save you. He's hunched over you and mimics your shallow breathes, protecting your face from the down pour.

You can't get the words out to say how much you really, deeply love him. He keeps shushing you, trying to conserve your energy- He's panicking, too, hands unsure of their need. There were so many wounds, he couldn't possibly tend to them all.

The poor boy would whisper a beg- to let him go in your stead. He couldn't be left alone to survive again. Not again. He had too many lives he was carrying on his shoulders. Too many souls he was responsible for reaching heaven with, and he was never that good a man.

He's not asking God, he's asking you. And how cruel you were to not let him die.

'I can't- Y/N, I can't do this again.' He'd sound close to vomiting. A certain animalistic sound to his voice. Guttural, almost. 'You-You-God- no-no-n-'

But you'd be gone, unable and unwillingly to give him to permission he so desperately needed. Not deserved, He'd remind himself.

He'd all but rot next to you. The second your last breathe loosed, he'd stop breathing, too. Days would go by. Unmoving. Unfeeling.

I truly believe he'd die with you that day.

[luveline]

Oh my gosh Zombie!steve holds a special place in my heart. Please write more for this Drabble series

thank you for reading!! steve zombie!au —you and steve reunite after a morning apart. 1k, fem!reader

Steve's sitting by the fire unawares when you drape the spare blanket over his shoulders. His hair, wet from a quick scrub in the stream, has soaked the collar of his shirt. The blanket is a welcome warmth, your doting moreso. 

He puts his makeshift bookmark between the pages of his book and follows your face as you sit with him. The apocalypse and subsequent lack of movies has turned him into a bookworm through necessity. He worries about things too much if he has nothing to do, and lately that's always the case. 

"Hello," you say, crossing your legs. Your knee bumps into his. "Sorry. Hey. What chapter are you on?" 

He flips the pages until he finds the chapter header. "Chapter twenty five." 

"You're getting quick," you say. 

It's weird to him that after so many confessions, days spent in one another's arms, nights laying between each other's thighs, you still hesitate sometimes before touching him. You know how much he loves you, and you waver. 

"We could start reading them together again."

"I go too fast." Your eyes widen in recognition. "But you're quicker now." 

He doesn't mind missing the last few lines of each page if it means you'll lean your head against his arm for a couple of hours every night. Your breath warms his collarbones. Your cheek soft and smushed to his rigid shoulder. 

"Way quicker." 

He thinks you're beautiful. It might be hurtful to say you aren't everyone's type, and it's not that he felt he had to warm to you before you became his type or anything, but you have something about you that he loves. Maybe it's purely the way you smile at him, that silly devotion poorly smothered (that he hopes you'd find reflected by him), or maybe it's your eyes. Maybe it's the way you speak to him, half the time like you're worried he won't talk back, and the other half like you're the same person thinking all the same things. He's hungry for every thought you have. 

Beautiful, and he loves you. Steve couldn't be more sure about it, and everyday it gets worse. He wonders if it'll ever stop, or if one day he's going to wake up next to you and choke on air, astounded by the chances of it all. How did you manage to find him? What luck was it of his to get to keep you despite his bad behaviour? He knows he was never as kind as he should've been to start with.

He looks at you and he thinks, Fuck, she's pretty. 

Steve tosses his book down into the packed dirt and just stares at you. You look back unabashed for a handful of seconds he savours. 

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask. 

"No," he murmurs. "You're just beautiful." 

Your eyebrows thread together at the starts, a wrinkle creasing the skin between them. You don't believe him, your lips puckering into a small frown.

"Why do you say stuff like that?" you ask. 

"I really, really think it's true. That's why. I can't not look at you without thinking about it. Even when we're dirty and starving and smell like hot garbage," he says, shrugging gently. "You're beautiful." 

"You've been reading too many romance books."

"I get that it sounds weird," he says. "Doesn't make it less true. You're beautiful." 

"That's enough," you say with a grin. "Stop. If Eddie hears you saying that he'll make fun of you forever." 

Steve gives you a fake shove. "Sorry, I'm confessing my love and the first thing you bring up is my arch nemesis?" 

You wince though he's only kidding, more than aware of his Eddie Munson related jealousy. You both talk about everything without punches pulled these days, and you've assured him he's the only one for you, but he'd quite like to hear it again. 

"Sorry, that's my bad," you say, shuffling closer to him. You put your arm behind his back and kiss his shoulder, warmth unfurling from the contact despite the shirt and blanket between it. "I think you're handsome, too, but you know that. Beside the fact that I'd never really been naked in front of someone before, those early days were torture for me 'cus I thought you were, like, the handsomest guy I went to school with." 

"Just school?" 

"No," you mumble, crossing your free arm over his stomach, nestling yourself under his arm. "Handsomest guy ever." 

He dips his head to touch his nose to the top of your head. 

"I love you," you say, scrunching his shirt in your hand. 

"Yeah, I love you, too. How was work?" 

"Bah. How was your day off?" 

Steve likes getting time off at camp, but it's pointless when you're not off with him. "Wasted. Missed you stupid, helped out with the kids at lunch anyways, spent the rest of it on that shitty book." 

"It's no good?" you ask. 

He loves your voice. It shoots through him like a spark, your genuine, lilting concern. 

"Shit. I don't think I wanna finish it."

"Skip to the end and go get a new one," you suggest. 

He closes his eyes and breathes in the smoky air of the campsite. You have this effect on him —of many— where you can quieten a hectic place. You sit down next to him and suddenly he's not sitting a ways off from the fire in the middle of the Michigan woodland, he's with you. Plain and simple. 

"I will." 

"Maybe I can help you vet some? Make sure you get one you enjoy this time. Or we can trade some of our credits for a new pack of cards. I'll teach you how to play speed."

"After you tricked me into being bad at gin rummy? Nah, you're okay." 

You force his head up as you lift your own, pinning him with your tender gaze. "You like losing. You do, you always say I have to kiss it better." 

He's a simple man. A kiss from his girl is all he needs. "Maybe we should get a pack of cards," he says smugly. 

You shake your head at him, but you're beaming. 

[birdy-bat-writes]

Anakin Skywalker x Reader Headcanons

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

A/N: I don't think there's anything that requires a content warning in here. Maybe suggestive content?

I'm a hopeless romantic so here are random everyday things I feel Anakin Skywalker would do that could be so romantic and attractive:

I don't know if guitars exist in Star Wars but in real life, Anakin would help you tune a guitar. Maybe you’re struggling to get one of the strings just right and he hears you playing from another room and walks in to see you strumming the strings over and over.

“Ani, while you’re here, does this sound right to you?” You strum along the strings and he walks over to you, wrapping one hand around your shoulder and listening closer.

“I think it needs to be a tad lower. Here.” He says, holding up the neck of the guitar to allow you to reach the tuning pegs better. One more strum and it sounds perfect and you both smile at the sound. Then he sits and watches you play with a goofy smile on his face that makes you blush so you play him a love song that makes him blush harder.

Bringing you food to your work or class and just dropping it off for you so he doesn’t take up your time. It’ll have a little note on it that won’t be crazy cheesy. Just sweet and thoughtful, like, “Don’t want you forgetting to eat again, babe :) Love you! P.S. I picked up the dry cleaning.”

Sometimes when he wants to be cheesy to get a rise out of you, the notes will say things like, "Do you like raisins? How about a date?" in a box full of raisins.

Coming home before you and he doesn’t want to change into pajamas just yet but he wants to be comfortable so he’s walking around with his robes completely open across the chest. And he doesn’t even seem to notice that you be taken aback to find him like this when you come home.

He’s walking around, setting the table, doing laundry, all half shirtless. He only realizes you’ve been staring a little before dinner and finds it really amusing.

For some reason I imagine him to be really clueless when shopping for groceries or necessities. From what I understand, the Jedi temple seems to have everything a Jedi needs within its walls; food, water, bedding, etc. So when Anakin tries to surprise you by cooking for you, he has to give up on his plan and call you to ask which store to go to for different ingredients.

He knows where the basics are, but if one store he goes to is closed? His whole plan is in shambles because he has no backup.

He mainly wears his robes but he owns shirts and pants, and some of them are way too small for him now, but he keeps them around for you to wear when you want something looser to wear and loves to see you in his clothes.

Anakin strikes me as the type of guy who'd be really good with dogs. Seeing him play around with a huge German Shepherd or a Mastiff feels like such an attractive thought for some reason?

Like, you two could be talking while sitting on the floor and while he's talking, he's smiling and petting your dog who's cuddled up against his leg.

Anakin would love to take you out on dates, but to maintain the secret aspect of your secret relationship, he has to take a few precautions.

He would find the most remote, beautiful planets to take you to. Dinner and dancing, walks along the... well, not the beach because you know, sand. But long strolls in flowery meadows and swims in lagoons with waterfalls.

Anakin would also be one of those people who just stop for a while and stares at you in awe. Not for long and usually not consciously, but he'll look up from what he's doing randomly and let his eyes wander around the room until they catch you in sight and he'll just let his vision focus there, a smile forming on his face.

It's almost gotten him into trouble when it happens in public.

He'll just watch you for a few seconds at a time admiring what he has in front him. you once asked, "What are you looking?"

"I'm looking at you."

"Why?" you laughed out.

"Because I can't help it sometimes. You're just so pretty." and you just shut up because now you can't form words.