#and finally got it out of my brain where its been floating

[wordsmeetwbb]

Watch Me (Through The Screen)

Word count: 1.6k

Content: fluff, suggestive/sexual language

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: long awaited bikini fic! lowkey got kind of poetic during portions of this, but i'm happy with how it turned out! this was originally going to have smut, but i'm really in a slump there right now, so i took it out. send me your thoughts as always!

________

It’s nearly midnight when Paige catches her. Azzi, curled up on Paige’s hotel bed, nestled into the sheets, cradling her phone in her hands. It’s such an adorable image that Paige forgets to breathe for a moment. The air gets caught in her lungs as her eyes trace Azzi’s frame, gaze soft. Paige’s hair is dripping onto the carpet, boxers and an old UConn shirt draped over her frame, but Azzi doesn’t look up.

The music doesn’t register in Paige’s mind at first, the volume just a little too low to float across the room to where she still hasn’t fully exited the bathroom. Then the clip of the song restarts, and it clicks in her brain.

It’s that unreleased song by The Weeknd. The one that Paige has been edited to thousands of times. She’s seen plenty of them, scrolled past, saved a few to her secret folder of edits that are very much not about basketball. It had never occurred to her that Azzi might see them too. And then, not just see them, but watch them.

“Az.” Paige’s feet are carrying her across the room before she even thinks about it. Then her fingers are closing around Azzi’s wrists, making her tilt the phone so she can see the screen. Azzi flushes and tries to hide the phone, but Paige squeezes. It’s not hard enough to hurt, just enough to convey the message. Don’t move. Let me see. Azzi swallows hard.

“P-”

“Nah, hold up. What’s this?” Azzi tries to pull her hands away again. Paige doesn’t budge.

“It’s just– I was… was scrolling and… this one came up!” Azzi defends. The song is still playing as the TikTok restarts, over and over again, and Azzi feels each new loop scratch marks into her spine. She briefly considers pretending to have a heart attack. That urge only intensifies when she finally glances up and sees the smirk curled onto Paige’s face.

“Yeah, it came up, and then you let that shit play on repeat. Am I right?” Paige teases. Azzi, again, wants to die.

“No, you’re not. Fine, I watched it once. I’ll admit that. But I was about to scroll when you came over here and decided you had to hold me captive. Which, by the way, could I have my hands back, please?” Azzi’s tone is bitter, and Paige almost feels bad for teasing her, but then she listens to the lyrics of the song again and throws her remorse out the window.

“You can have your hands back after you tell the truth. You watch my edits?” Paige pries. Azzi presses her lips together into a tight line.

“No.”

“No?”

“Not on purpose.” Paige raises an eyebrow, gets in Azzi’s face a little bit. Their breath intertwines between their bodies.

“Not on purpose?”

“Stop repeating everything I say!” Azzi exclaims. Paige grins.

“Nah. You’re telling me you never go looking for edits of me? Not even last week when you kept texting me how much you missed me? Sending me those filthy fucking texts about all the things you wanted me to do to you? Did I get that right?” Azzi is blushing furiously again, but her legs press together at the reminder of those texts.

“Okay, fine. Sometimes I look up edits of you and watch them on purpose when I miss being on the court with you, or looking at you, or your hands on me. Happy?” Azzi bursts out. A satisfied smile snakes its way onto Paige’s mouth. The song restarts for the millionth time. Azzi lets out a harsh breath.

“Listen to the lyrics, baby,” Paige murmurs. “You like these edits? The ones with this song?” Azzi nods, all the fight draining out of her after the admission. “Why do you like these, Az? Tell me.”

“Want you to do it to me,” Azzi whispers. Something hungry flickers in Paige’s eyes.

“Do what to you?” Embarrassment flares in Azzi’s stomach, but she pushes it down and answers anyway.

“Fuck me from behind. Clothes on. Just shove them out of the way.” It’s barely audible, but it’s enough. Paige turns off Azzi’s phone.

“Yeah?” She says, voice low and rough.

“Yes,” Azzi breathes.

“Get up and bend over, then.”

________

It’s been weeks since Paige has seen Azzi. She feels the loss in the space between each rib, the slowness of her heartbeat being dragged through the molasses of her bloodstream, the way her fingertips are a little numb where they’re used to brushing across Azzi’s skin.

So, she’s trying not to think about her girlfriend while she scrolls through TikTok after practice one day. Then that plan crumbles into dust like drywall punched a little too hard.

It’s not a video. It’s a singular picture of Azzi, skin tanned and glowing from time spent in the sun. And Paige could spend hours looking at Azzi’s skin, because she’s in one of the tiniest bikinis she’s ever seen. Her arm is around some girl, probably a fan, but Paige ignores her as soon as she determines the distance between their bodies is completely friendly. Her eyes are immediately back on Azzi’s body, dragging along every curve and dip of muscle.

It’s a little triangle bikini, a scrappy little thing that barely covers Azzi’s tits. The tiniest sliver of flesh peeks out beneath the bottom line of the bikini top, taunting Paige, and more spills out over the top. Definitely more than anything that could ever be appropriate outside of a cruise, Paige thinks. Part of her seethes that anyone other than herself got to see Azzi like this. The other part is incredibly thankful someone did see her girlfriend like that, captured it, and posted it for the internet (and Paige) to see.

She swipes out of TikTok and immediately opens FaceTime.

The call rings three times before Azzi picks up, the camera focusing on Azzi, again in a bikini, lounging on a beach chair.

“You’re so fucking hot. Like– Az. I saw this picture, TikTok, whatever, and you– I mean– jesus, baby. That shit should be illegal,” Paige rambles. Azzi’s eyebrows scrunch together, and she pushes her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head as she squints at Paige on the screen.

“What are you even talking about?”

“That bikini, Azzi! And I had to see it on TikTok instead of from you? Come on, baby. I deserve to have those delivered straight to iMessage,” Paige complains, but her eyes have caught on the ridge of Azzi’s collarbones. The strap of her bikini top hovers over the skin, suspended by bone, and Paige has never wanted anything as much as she wants to suck marks into the divot between bone and flesh. “Fuck, Az. Just wanna see you.” Azzi softens.

“Hey, I would have sent it to you, but the picture wasn’t on my phone. Plus, you can see me right now,” Azzi soothes.

“Yeah, but this is just right now. I wanna be able to look at you all the time. Pull out the bikini picture when I’m lonely and miss you.” Azzi scoffs, but there’s a smile on her face.

“Oh, don’t try to act like you have innocent intentions here. You just want to stare at my tits,” Azzi accuses. Paige coughs.

“No! I’m very respectful. I have only respectful motives. Just wanna appreciate my gorgeous, beautiful, sexy girlfriend. I’m tryna be supportive here, and you’re getting in the way of my… support,” Paige says. Azzi stares at her.

“Really?”

“Okay, fine. I wanna stare at your tits. And your abs. And your arms and thighs and face and collarbones, because holy fuck, Az, I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated your collarbones the way I should have. You might actually kill me. But it’s okay, still send me pictures, because I’ll die happy, I swear.”

Azzi giggles. The two women just stare at each other through the phones for a moment, feeling a world apart and only a breath away at the same time.

“Fuck, I miss you,” Paige whispers, breaking the quiet. Azzi breathes steadily, each inhale and exhale supporting her whole body, as if she’ll fall over if she stops thinking about each breath.

“I miss you too, P. I’ll send you some pictures, I promise. I won’t even make fun of you for wanting pictures of me mostly naked.” Paige lets out a weak laugh.

“Wow, thanks. God forbid a girl wants to stare at her girl sometimes.”

“Through a screen?”

“However I can have you.”

They just breathe for another moment, pretending they’re sharing air. It almost makes the distance feel smaller. Then Paige hears Katie’s voice in the background, yelling for Azzi, and the space is broken.

“I gotta go get ready for dinner now,” Azzi says apologetically. Paige does her best not to let her face fall.

“Yeah, yes, of course. Send me pictures?” She asks softly. Azzi smiles and nods. “Okay. Okay, see you soon.”

“Talk to you sooner. Love you, Paige,” Azzi says.

“I love you, too,” Paige replies. Azzi ends the call, and Paige sits on her couch for a few moments in the silence, missing Azzi’s voice and her warmth and the way her body fits so perfectly into Paige’s.

Then her phone buzzes with a text from Azzi. Paige clicks it open quickly and almost drops her phone. It’s Azzi in a bikini, captured in a bathroom mirror. Paige swallows hard, loves the image, and praises God for Azzi Fudd and triangle bikinis.

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Urged

I think this was the photo that got me in. Of course I get the appeal now. But at the time I thought I was just messaging some other random torso on the apps. I was supposed to just be in and out, no strings attached. After all, he wasn’t my usual type. Looked like a roided out gym rat: bit of a gut; dark, wiry hair; and thick muscles. But muscles weren’t the thickest thing about him, and who was I to pass up a good time?

So I went over to his place. I wasn’t surprised when it was a loft above a small gym. Seemed like the ideal spot for the kind of guy. What I was not expecting was the apartment itself to be so…nice? Normal? I was prepared to get fucked on a twin-sized mattress on the floor, no frame, with sweaty clothes rotting around me. But the apartment had some character. He even offered me something to drink before we got started, in an actual glass. Maybe I needed to raise my standards. We chatted, flirted a bit as I finished my water and let things get hot from there. We kissed in the kitchen, made out in the living room, and worked our way back to his bedroom as sweatshirts, belts, shirts, pants, and straps trailed behind us.

As I positioned a pillow under myself, he took off his wife beater, the last barrier between us. The shirtless torso that seduced me was on full display as I rubbed his chest. As he leaned in to kiss me, I felt engulfed by this bear of a man, skin electric where I felt his hair ticking my bare chest. My senses felt heightened as I tasted cheap beer on his breath and smelled a deep musk of sweat, cum, and Old Spice, more in line with what I had expected from him. He ran his calloused hands over my chest and abs before finally taking up position over my trembling body. I wanted him in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teen. Normally I would want to talk a bit more, at least give a safe word. But as he surrounded me and I felt his presence, my brain flipped a switch as my body instinctively relaxed for him. There were no thoughts to be had as my mind was consumed by his rich scent, the pleasure of his cock slowly stretching out my ass, and his intense gaze set on my fluttering eyes. At last I felt his bush pressed against my clenching ass. He lingered for just a moment, every throb of his member sending shivers through my body. He leaned in and whispered, “You feeling good, baby?”

I could only moan a bit in response. Feeling his weight bear down on me and his cock in my ass left no room for words. He shoved his pit in my face and I instinctively took a deep huff. Any resistance and tension left in my body released. I felt filled by him, just a vessel for his use. I was about to stick out my tongue when he pulled back and repositioned himself. He held my shoulders as he began moving his hips.

As he slowly began to fuck me, I felt him reach new depths within myself.

“There you go, much better. Let yourself just float”

I couldn’t resist him even if I wanted to. His cock methodically jackhammering my hole had my body riding wave after wave of pleasure. Then, I felt him tense up a bit as his cock swelled just a bit more telling me what was to come. He buried it deep as a pressure built within myself. A few more thrust from him and I shot my load over his furry chest. My mind could no longer handle it. I slipped off into a void of pure bliss, as this stranger collapsed on top of me, feeling his damp fur against my body and filling my senses once again with his musk.

I woke up the next day back in my own bedroom. No one else around. No signs of trouble. No clue how I got back. If the whole experience hadn’t been so vivid, I would have thought I dreamt the whole thing. But as I rolled myself out of bed and into the bathroom, one change became very clear.

Seemingly overnight I had lost my smooth skin and dirty blonde curls. In its place was hair. Thick, dark, course hair. It covered my chest, my arms, my back, even my crotch. I was shocked but, also, something else began to tickle at my brain. I took off my tank to get a better look at the forest. I flexed my muscles and admired the way it coated my chest and seemed to exaggerate its size. I hit a double bicep pose and smelled a familiar scent. The scent of sweat and heat and masculinity. My mind flooded with images of that night as my cock stood at attention. I shoved my face into my own pit as I bagan jacking off in front of the mirror, admiring my new body. It felt strange but satisfying, watching this stranger in the mirror mimic my every move as I lusted for him. I didn’t realize how far I had gone until I saw the stream hitting the mirror. It was hot, but something still didn’t feel right. As I cleaned up the restroom, I picked up my razor and considered cleaning myself up a bit. But as I lifted it to my face, I noticed my newly hairy pits. Exposing them, the scent of last night invaded my mind again and I couldn’t follow through. I finished getting dressed and I left for the day. With a busy schedule, maybe I could get some answers tomorrow. I think that was the last chance I had to do something, divert from the path laid out for me. But looking back, I don’t know if I would have changed a thing.

No day was as sharp a change as the first, but each morning as I looked myself in the mirror, something was a bit different. Maybe it was the sharpness of my jaw. Or were my pecs always this swoll? One week I swore my feet were growing larger. There is no way that they always slapped the ground like that. But my shoes always fit perfectly. Heck I may even need a new pair soon. My joggers were beat up as hell and reeked when I took them off after my Saturday runs. But soon it was the days that I couldn’t find anything that looked different that began to worry me most. Had I always thought so much about the bodies of the men around me? Did people always talk so fast? But as life slipped back into routine. Soon I began to question myself. Why had I worried so much about any changes? Things never actually seemed out of place, and I worked out hard to get these gains. I had been going to the gym for years and had spent years perfecting my splits. After about two months, I stopped worrying at all. Until finally, one day I woke up and looked myself in the mirror, I saw the same man who greeted me for years.

I was a sweaty gym rat. Always had been. Always would be. I took a deep huff of my own funk, and rubbed my muscles. But everything fell into place, something felt missing. I shouldn’t have to keep this godly body and musk to myself. For the first time in a while, I hopped onto the apps and started scanning through. God, all these old matches were terrible. Why did I used to have such a thing for those muscled-up college boys? They couldn’t grow a beard if their lives depended on it. Besides, I think I wanted someone a little more…submissive. Scrolling through, my eyes caught on this young 20-something twink. Something about him reminded me of someone…someone I used to know. His lithe body, tight curls, and skimpy clothes told me he was a bottom before I clicked on his profile. A few messages back and forth, and he was on his way.

He walked in the door and it was all I could do to contain myself. Something deep within me wanted my seed deep in his ass. I needed him to worship me. I wanted him to become just like me. I had no patience as my body acted on instinct. I stripped my shirt and calmly approached, placing my hand against the wall behind him. As my masculinity and musk washed over the twink, I watched as his eyes fluttered a bit and knew his mind was submitting.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked plainly.

“Ye-yes, sir.”

I grinned as I understood fully now just what had happened to me, and the power I held. But watching this twink practically trembling in front of me, maybe I was even better than my captor had been.

I gave him a quick kiss as I lead him to my bedroom. I couldn’t wait to make another man in my image.

[prettyiwa]

Relationship: Sakura Haruka x GN!Reader Content Tags: Post-Canon, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Realization of feelings, Switching POVs Summary: Sakura's cut his own hair for as long as he can remember, so it surprises him a little when you express interest in giving him his next haircut. Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I think there's more intimacy and trust to haircuts than a lot of people realize. Needed a break from writing Hanakotoba and this has been rotating in my mind for a bit. Obligatory @owoasis tag as my no. 1 enabler 💜

The wind blows and leaves shake loose from their trees, a lovely shower of red and gold. You watch as one leaf floats down, early in its partial transition, and lands in Sakura’s hair. Your fingers ache and impulse wins out as you reach up, catching the leaf before brushing his hair back in place, disrupted by the breeze.

“H-Hey, what’s that for?” he asks, cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink as his attention snaps to you.

Bringing your hand down, you show him the leaf, half-red, half-gold, twirling it by the stem between your thumb and forefinger. 

“You had a leaf in your hair.”

The Sakura from a couple months ago would’ve snapped at you, made some remark about how you should warn him next time or something. Instead, he sighs, eyes drifting to the left before they close, finding you when they open again. 

“You good?”

When you smile, his eyes track the movement before he turns away, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck.

“Perfect.” Continuing down the path in the park, you hear his steps behind you. Turning to look over your shoulder, you say, “Your hair’s gotten long, you know.”

His eyes flick up and his fingers come up to measure the length of his fringe before feeling the length at the nape of his neck. “Oh, is it? I guess I should trim it soon.”

“You do it yourself?”

He nearly runs into you when you stop and turn, surprised at your interest. “Y-Yeah? What’s wrong with that?” His voice hitches, turning defensive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all.” While you remain in place, he walks forward, all too eager to make it to the restaurant. “I could do it for you, if you’d like.”

That makes him pause, shoulders rising as he looks over, his ears turning pink. “Hah? No, it’s fine.”

It’s silly. You’ve done it a couple of times before and for whatever reason, learning that he cuts his own hair makes you want to be the one to cut it this time.

“Please?”

“You… want to… cut my hair?” As he asks, you can see the journey each word makes from his brain to his mouth, understanding your desire as though it were some elaborate math equation. “What’s wrong with you?”

His shoulders lower when you laugh and he rolls his eyes when you finally stop, unable to contain your glee. “Stop arguing and just tell me yes or no.”

The two of you stand there in silence for a minute or two, watching the other as another breeze blows through. After a moment longer of staring at you, he turns away, but not before you catch the blush that sits high on his cheeks. 

“F-Fine.”

Sakura shows up right on time the following Saturday morning. You walk him through to the kitchen, pulling up a dining chair on the tiled floor like you’ve done this countless times before. It makes him nervous, a little self-conscious, but you’ve never made fun of the gaps in his experiences, so he chooses to trust you. 

“How short do you want to go?” Your fingers come up, light as they card through his hair, pulling the strands between your fore and middle fingers. 

“Hm? Oh, I guess s-same as usual?” 

He isn’t expecting how serious you are about it, how your eyes assess him, measuring himself against the image you have of the past. He isn’t expecting the way you see him and don’t, the soft parting of your lips before they curve into a smile. 

“Got it. So, about here?” You draw an invisible line with your finger along his brow line where he’s been keeping it cut lately. 

“Yeah.”

“Can do. C’mere,” you say, pulling him from the chair and to your sink. 

“If you needed help with your dishes, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, will you? Do you see any dishes that need washing?” He likes the sound of your laugh. You turn on the sink, setting the water to something just above lukewarm. “Wet hair’s easier to cut.”

Draping a towel over his shoulders, you have him wet his hair in the sink, your hands careful where they land, making sure it’s reached everything. 

“Really? I don’t notice a difference.” Water drips from his hair, landing on the towel, trailing down the contours of his face. You huff a laugh, using another towel to pat the excess wetness before combing through his hair.

“Maybe it’s good enough for you, but I wanna do this right.”

“I don’t get it, but whatever. My hair’s still my hair.”

He sits in your chair and listens to your footsteps, listens to the gentle metallic snip-snip-snip of the scissors as you open and close them, nowhere near him. No one’s handled his hair since he was a kid. By the time he came to Furin, he got used to doing it himself, not trusting anyone with his appearance. By the time he met you, he’d been doing it for so long he didn’t see any reason in wasting money to pay someone else. What little hesitation he feels evaporates when you walk in front of him, when you appraise him with careful eyes, wanting to do what he asks of you.

It’s painless, even in the prolonged silence. 

Your fingers are gentle as they guide his head, your voice soothing as you ask him to keep still, to bring his chin down, to keep his head straight. You cradle his face, moving his head when it starts to tilt when he grows relaxed, the cool press of the scissor handles on his cheek as you do. He doesn’t even notice it happening but you smile each time it does. When you start on his fringe, you’re quick to brush away loose hairs, keeping him clean. 

(It almost starts to feel like something else).

Every now and then you meet his eyes and you soften, seriousness melting away for something that looks dangerously close to fondness. In normal circumstances, he’s pretty sure he’d blush and try to escape, but he’s steady now, unable to look away. If you ask, he’ll blame it on the scissors in your hand.

(You don’t ask).

It’s over all too quickly, the soft padding of your slippers against the floor coming on the heels of your command to stay put. His skin burns where you last touched him, sharp in contrast to the cool air on the back of his neck, caused by damp hair. You sweep the hair from the ground all around him before asking him to stand, hands quick as they brush off any loose hairs from his clothes, stealing the towel from around his shoulders before you move around him. 

“You’re just about all done. I can blow dry your hair, if you’d like.”

“Uh, s-sure. You’re the one callin’ the shots, right?”

The smile you give him is blinding, happy with his trust in you and something flutters in his chest. It gets hard to not wanna go along with what you have planned when you look at him like that. He follows you to the bathroom, letting you fuss over him a bit longer. Even as the small space fills with the loud sound and hot air, even as you blow his hair every which way, all he can see is the reflection of you by his side in the mirror.

Everything ceases and you smile at him, not even glancing in the mirror, and you ask, “Well? Do you like it?”

Your hand comes up like it did earlier in the week, brushing his hair with your fingers, a satisfied grin sitting on your lips. 

“It looks the same.”

“Yeah, whatever.” That smile is replaced by a playful pout as you nudge his shoulder, turning to your reflections.

“I… guess… it wouldn’t be so bad if you cut my hair from now on.”

“You can’t just say that you liked it, can you?” You look at him again, that smile from earlier appearing, the one that’s soft like you can’t help yourself, the one that turns the tips of his ears warm. “Just tell me when, Sakura.”

As you leave him alone in your bathroom, patting his shoulders as you go, he realizes that if he didn’t know for certain how he felt about you before, he sure does now.

(bonus) | Hanakotoba masterlist | wbk masterlist

[iveneverbeenhere]

💌Love💌

Summary: Namjoon feels down. So you help him out.

Genre: Fluff‼️‼️‼️these bitches in LOVE‼️angst(?), barely, Namjoon is just upset because of the military. Nothing new. Also there’s like a kid, but it’s not yours. Namjoon wishes it was tho. He’s over and under stimulated as my mutual described lmao. Fem! Black reader x Namjoon

A/N: This was supposed to be short and sweet but now it’s been over a week and it’s over 1K in words🧍🏾‍♀️. Based off @littlelunababi ‘s post. So, bless their beautiful brain. I don’t know exactly how to feel about this fic other than she needs to LEAVE.

Namjoon has been depressed lately; the military, unconsciously, had made its primary mission to suck the life and soul out of him. He finally got a brief rebrief from his station, so you took it upon yourself to cheer him up.

He scrolls lazily on his phone, looking at the attraction; he sees pictures of furniture hanging from the ceiling, kaleidoscopes, and a floating cube underneath glowing people’s reviews.

“Remind me about this place?”

You grab a Ziploc bag and place your sandwich in carefully so as not to let it fall apart. You pull out two cold waters from the fridge and store them in your purple picnic bag, answering him matter-of-factly.

“It’s a museum of illusions. Everything in it is a trick of the mind and eye.”

You pack in a little bag of chips and zip up the bag slowly, adding a cheeky mumble of, “It’ll be good for you.”

He doesn’t question you.

———————————————————————————

You both arrived at the museum smoothly, with you driving and Namjoon taking rein of the aux. You paid for the tickets despite his insistence and pulled him to the curated sea of wonders. Anti-gravity rooms that made him feel nauseous; rooms that made his 6 '0 foot stature look like nothing while your shorter self looked giant. An illusion that made it look like his head was on a platter, which amused you enough to say:

“You should use this for your next music video.”

He responds by giving you a dimpled smile and cataloging it for later in his mind. They were simple, fun distractions; things to calm his overworked brain for a fleeting moment; however, it didn’t stop completely. In the distortion room, he felt something shift. Both of you standing across from each other, having each other's features placed onto one another, left him breathless. He had always thought in a way you were mirror images of each other; maybe, even more than that. Maybe something more cosmic. Perhaps part of your souls had been separated at birth and had only become full once you both had met; seeing your dark fox-like eyes and full lips reflect on his rounded nose and arched brows—it felt otherworldly. It felt right.

“Namjoon.”

His eyes remain glazed over, looking at the way your eyes shift so naturally on his face, as if they were always meant to be there.

“Namjoon.”

He sees the way your mouth moves in place of his and subconsciously raises his eyebrows to match the way your, his lips move; gently furrowed brows, raising lightly with each syllable that clicks in your shared teeth.

“Namjoon!”

He phases back into reality.

“Yeah?”

“Where were you?” You ask gently; there’s no true accusation in your voice, maybe a hint of annoyance, but it’s to be expected with someone like him.

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head when he looks at you standing beside the illusion. He only sees himself and a panel of zig-zag mirror reflections giggling back to him. He replies a little exasperated, looking down with a half smile.

“Y’know, I don’t even know.”

You can’t muster anything but a sigh.

———————————————————————————

He feels the same shift with the infinite hall of mirrors. He feels as if he sees something deeper than an optical illusion. He feels he sees your past, present, and future. The you from yesterday in your sweats and bonnet; the little girl that had your eyes when you showed him your family photographs. He swears in one of the multiple images of you both that he can see the ghost of a little girl standing beside you; she has your coiled curls and bright eyes, but when she smiles, he can see his dimples. He feels if he reaches his hand out enough, if he could just graze upon his other selves’ fingers, he could meld them all together; he could dissolve them perfectly, bringing them all to this moment.

“Baby, we are not supposed to touch it.”

He feels you touch his arm firmly to ground him, preventing him and his reflections from that cosmic meeting. He looks down at the small sign near the mirror with printed font saying “DON'T TOUCH THE GLASS.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He says sheepishly, looking down as if he offended the mirror personally. He looks to your side, seeing the little girl who looked so much like you both run back to her frantically worried mother; he knows that she wouldn’t come to you, but it crawls under his skin a bit. It doesn’t feel completely right. You follow his gaze, laughing slightly.

“Cute kid.”

“Yeah..”

He finally rests his arm down to his side slowly, feeling his mind rekindling with his body; with your arm following suit, you look at him with a glint of knowing worry hidden in curiosity.

“What’s on your mind?”

He pauses softly, looking at your endless selves in the mirrors.

“You think we’re together in every life?”

You chuckle softly at him.

Eventually, you both leave the museum hand in hand. He sighs a bit fussily; he’s not truly ready to end the day.

“Wanna go for a drive?”

He says yes swiftly.

A small drive occurs in comfortable silence; eventually, ending with you taking refuge at an abandoned lot. You unbuckle yourself to sit on the rear back of the car, eating the food you had brought. You quickly urge Namjoon to do the same under the threat of eating everything yourself. He follows you and the food loyally, but sitting on the back of the car feels unsafe for Namjoon; his gangly, destructive limbs itching to make him fall and crash onto the soft grass, but he keeps stable for the most part. You sit comfortably, only shifting occasionally to come under the blanket you had brought.

“Want some more?” You nudge the small purple jar toward him. The savory smell of kimchi jjigae hit his nose like a slightly strong pat from a friend. He shakes his head softly, removing his attention from you to take another bite of his sandwich. You shrug loosely, closing the jar not to let the stew get cold. Namjoon takes a deep sigh, looking up at the full moon eclipsing you both in a faint off white glow.

“I’ve missed this.”

You sigh as he did with a deep contentedness that, if peeled underneath a bit, reveals an unanswered yearning; something that Namjoon knows all too well. You’re both cut from the same cloth.

“Yeah.”

He looks at you as he sees you trace out the nonexistent constellations with your nebulous eyes and thinks: I’m so lucky; Namjoon always thinks he’s lucky. He’s lucky to be alive, he’s lucky to grow and change. He’s lucky to be in BTS and be so loved; however, with you, he feels the luckiest, because he loves you.

“You’re divine.”

You hum soft and slow, as if savoring the sound on your tongue. You lean your head on his shoulder, shivering lightly; observant as Namjoon is, he grasps the blanket in his hand and casts it around your shoulder; his arm envelopes you, bringing you closer to his large frame.

“I mean it. You’re like…my reason.”

Your eyes flutter closed. Namjoon looks at your peaceful form with a level of mischievous fondness. You’ve never been good at handling his poetics, but it was late; the night hung the amorous moon, and coquettish stars out, influencing his skittish mind to proclaim his every love-rattled thought to you.

“…I think you’re the truth, yknow? I thought that I’d have to like, to wait like..a 10, 20, 50 years for the truth, but you just are it. The truth.”

You look at him leisurely. You scoff faintly; it has no real bite behind it. He continues in his ministrations, clearly in one of his moods.

“Words can’t, um—can’t describe it. Not really. It's like…trees grow into the ground…the sun rises with the moon..and the world turns; you’re the truth, the reason, the dream, so to speak.”

You nod, languidly.

“How do I say…you’re…you’re–you’re everything. Not cause you’re sexy, although you are. It’s your mind; your aspect..?”

He takes a tentative pause, furrowing his brows.

“Personality. That’s the word. Your mind, personality, and wit. It’s all real. It feels more real than anything…at least to me. I know people might disagree. Everyone has different opinions, thinks they know better like “oh, this and that” but that’s all bullshit. You’re my person. My pride. My love, so I think that's…that’s something.”

He finally looks back at you, finding your eyes filled with an intimate warmth that he knows that only the two of you share. You speak slowly, teasingly.

“You done?”

He chuckles huskily, leaning his head down to lightly bump your foreheads together; from this angle, you can see his lashes kiss his face like a careful lover. His arm squeezes you firmly, clicking your bodies together like puzzle pieces.

“Yeah. I am.”

You look out at the night sky like an old woman looking at the vision of a lost lover, sighing slightly.

“It’s so odd, isn’t it?”

He looks at you with a subtle mix of bliss and disquiet; He always worries too much.

“You’re saying all this, and then you’re gonna leave back tomorrow. I won’t see you for another couple months, even though we'll both be in Korea. Right now, physically, you’re here. I’m here. We’re in the same place, but soon enough, we'll be separated.”

You look at him softly, your eyes shining with a faith melancholy. He looks back, speaking softly, beneath that softness, a hint of bitterness arises; the kind he unconsciously tries to suppress, so as not to become as violate as he knows he can be.

“I hate the military.”

You bust out laughing, tipping your head back slightly.

“Let's get home before I can’t drive us.”

Namjoon smiles at you fondly as you both slide off the rear end.

“Ok.”

You stop momentarily to look at him, smiling faintly.

“By the way,”

He stops in front of you giving you and your words his full attention.

“I do think we’re together in every life.”

He smiles sweetly at you, grabbing your hand with a soft squeeze. He couldn’t ask for a better day.

Divider credits to @k1ssyoursister

[cloudychoso]

dreams, gojo satoru ➢ gojo satoru x f!reader ➢ breeding kink, creampie, references somno

It's like a dream. You feel like you’re watching the world through a thick layer of vaseline as you float atop your silken sheets. It’s a haze of white and blue around you; the shadows that hide in every crevice of your room melt away under that bright blue. It rings familiar, and your brain tickles to recall from where, but the softness around you wisps you from that answer. 

The touch is feather-light on your skin. Bare. Did you fall asleep bare? Your eyes flutter as butterflies kiss down your stomach, and mixtures of eyelashes and hair graze every curve. There’s something delicious in the underwater den you look at the world through. Every wall curls inward, and the curtains sway. You reach out to feel it against your skin, only to be caught by a firm grip. 

Hands. Veiny and decorated with a golden ring and scars along the knuckles. It’s like an anchor halting your dream state as you deliriously stare at the hand that holds your wrist. So confident in its grip, yet the touch is softer than your pillows. Like you may break, like you’ll disappear. Maybe you will. The magical glaze that coats your mind slowly shrinks away as someone kisses just above your belly button with a muffled whimper. 

How long has it been since you accidentally fell into the dream state? You groan. Shouldn’t your control be better than this by now? You’re far from the ten-year-old still trying to learn why they disappear into someone’s mind every night. Whoever is on top of you repeats your groan back as if it were one of pleasure, and you let your held hand fall limp to the touch. The weight on top of you, complete with soft, fluffy white hairs that ring that same bell of familiarity in your mind, shifts as the lips trail lower. 

What could possibly be the intent of this dream? Do you play along or pretend to still be coated in a thick layer of sleep? Your stomach flutters as eyelashes graze down, and a hand squeezes under your thigh as it’s lifted to curl over your hips. The hand still held in the air drops away to stroke at your waist, and you slowly lower your palm until it finds the soft locks. They easily part for your fingers as you comb through, and your nails scratch the scalp as lightly as you can manage, but the person above you whines in bliss. You can feel their erection press to your bare body, thankfully shielded by what feels like their pants. 

Blue eyes look up at you with a grin like that of a fox, and your body stills. Gojo Satoru has pulled you into his dream — his dream about you if your bedroom setting makes any sense. You glance away from him so he can’t catch the jolt your body made, only to notice a picture frame on the bedside table. Your heart thumps as you see the wedding robes you each wear. “Finally awake?” he moves up and leans into your neck, soft hair kissing your face as his lips gently press to the lobe of your ear. The cold of his ring at your waist is all you can think about despite how he slowly presses himself against your slick cunt. “Didn’t ya wanna wait for me to get home?”

How to play it… you have no clue what little fantasy Gojo must have of you, but it must be domestic. Your own wedding band weighs heavy on your finger, and you can’t help but glance at it as you place your hands on the back of his neck, playing with the growing undercut. “Tried to stay up,” it’s dark outside, but there's no clock in the room that could help you with whatever answer his subconscious seeks. He smiles into your neck; you can feel his blindfold tickle your chest as his glowing eyes illuminate the room around you. There are more photos — baby photos. You want to scream at the information he is inadvertently giving you, “‘s not my fault you got home so late.”

Gojo laughs, and it reverberates into your skin, and the hand on your thigh slides down toward your pussy. How are you going to face him in the morning? Maybe you should become a hermit and live in the woods? You can’t help the flutter of your eyes as his finger runs up your slit, dragging slick eagerness to your clit. “I know, baby,” he seems to whine into your neck, just feeling how wet you are, his hips rutting into your thigh for friction. Your hand slides down his curved spine, eliciting a shiver through him that makes you smile, and his face lifts from the crook of your neck. His thumb circles around your clit without properly touching, eyes gazing so lovingly at you that your heart stammers in the repeated beats. “At least you had my favourite girl all wet and ready for me.”

You cringe at how he refers to your cunt, but it only makes him laugh before leaning in to capture you in a kiss of raw warmth and devotion. You kiss back as best you can, heart still thumping at the revelations of his desires, and ignore how unabashedly nervous you feel. It reminds you of the first time you awoke in someone’s dream, barely nine, and just trying to survive the nightmare of being hunted by a clown. There’s no promise of death in this dream, and you’re far better at your control now that you’ve learnt how to use the power, but you can’t help that familiar twinge of danger from creeping up your spine. Gojo won’t be able to know you were here, but can you sit with him at breakfast and listen to him talk about whatever bullshit mission he has to go on without remembering this?

Morals aside and over a decade of friendship ignored, you lose yourself in the taste of his mouth. Twinges of strawberry mochi and caramel-flavoured coffee linger on his tongue, yet it feels so right — so purely Gojo Satoru. You pull yourself closer, arms tangling around his neck and your thighs hooking on his hips. The finger that circled your clit falls away in favour of holding you flush against him, squeezing when his lips muffle your moan. You’ve never tasted something so sweet, so intoxicating, as the kiss of your best friend. 

When he tries to pull back with echoes of laughter, you greedily pull him back and steal another candy kiss from him. Your tongue passes over his as you pull on his hair with urgency, and the pair of you groan into the other’s kiss. “You-“ kiss, far shorter than the last but just as needy, “really,” his laughter makes you pull him back for another peck. His taste, his touch, his unabashed love, is a craving you doubt ever getting over. You’re certain that it would only taste sweeter in reality, “really,” one last kiss, “missed me!”

The slightest hint of embarrassment washes you in guilt while Gojo laughs, whispering about how cute you’re being. If only he knows that you’re just newly addicted to him, to the secret he has kept from you for however long. If only you could ask questions, but you know that he would get suspicious of this dream state if you did. “Of course I did! You know I hate when you do missions alone.”

His fox-like smile returns, almost out of place with his pink cheeks. Your Gojo, the real one outside of the dream world, has always been a fiend for any type of praise and care; you shouldn’t be surprised that this dream version of him is the same. “Baby, I’m the strongest! Ya know I can handle it! And it only took me a couple days!”

Shit. You refuse to break even a sweat as you keep your same expression of mock disdain. “Not fast enough. How am I meant to live without my darling husband with me?”

Gojo laughs again, his eyes sparkling as they take over your naked form once again, stopping at your lips for just a brief moment longer. “This is why Shoko says you’re turning into me,” you glance back over to the baby pictures near the dresser. A son with eyes like his and hair like yours, dressed in his father’s blindfold that’s far too big on his head. You take the knowledge and grumble aloud about being outnumbered in this house, hoping to diffuse any confusion Gojo may have. You can’t fail now; if you don’t fulfil his dream, then his week is practically ruined by the short dream-induced coma it’ll cause. “If you feel outnumbered, we can always make a mini-you this time.”

One second passes — you take that time to freak out over the insinuation that Gojo barely hides in his smirk. You’ve been aware that you’re naked the entire time, and yet it never felt quite as real until now. His erection twitches in his pants, and you can’t help but shiver. The subsequent second passes, and you return to the character you fulfil, running a finger up and down his neck as you lean up to his lips. “Let’s see if you can, Gojo.”

With the shiver that runs through him, he can’t help but whine about the use of the family name. You don’t retort beyond a few giggles, too busy staring at how he strips himself of his pants and shirt with clumsy haste. He manages to only stumble over his feet once as he rips the pants from his insanely long legs, yet you still stare at him like a hungry wolf hunting prey. Is it wrong how bad you want this? No, you rationalise that this is his dream, so he is the one who wants to have sex with you! Not the other way around!

(though if the offer presents itself in reality, you’re not going to be turning it down by any means)

“C’mere,” when he climbs back on top of you, you force him to come closer with a tantalising curl of your finger. One hand finds its rightful place at your hip again, thumb rolling over a bullet wound scar you got a few years ago. The other knots itself in your open hand, fingers lacing together in a gesture more romantic than you thought Gojo could do, “finish what you started.”

He leans his body, and you feel the naked cock slap against your cunt. You shouldn’t be so wet, even if you joined the dream late and he already spent time playing with you. You just shouldn’t be so slick with need that you squelch just when his tip rubs against you. You squeeze his hand with a gasp, already imagining how he would feel snug inside your walls and pounding over and over until you get that little you he promised. “Fuck — really did miss me, didn’t ya? I barely even used two fingers before and look at this!” He shines as if you were some new discovery he made, and yet you hold no temperament outside of desire and craving for the man on top of you. ”Might hafta take longer trips so you get more desperate,” you roll your hips into him, causing his head to press against your clit. 

The jolt of pleasure makes you moan, and your back arches as though little occurred. It feels like you’ve been on the edge of this promised fate for eternity now, the taste on his tongue still haunting your lips as your eyes close to the world around you. “Shuddup,” you mumble, though the words feel empty of animosity or threat as soon as they leave your lips. You squeeze your hand in his, the cold of his wedding ring an exhilarating sensation that only makes you wonder how it must have felt when he was fingering you before you were pulled in. “I’ll go on the missions, so you get desperate. You’ll last maybe ten minutes?”

The sentence is broken by your heavy breathing as his cock lines up with you. Just the slightest touch of it already has you stretching in anticipation, a thigh coiling over his hips to help with placement. The anticipation already has you keeling in pleasure, eagerly awaiting the pleasurable sting of being stretched out. How far will he get? From how long he felt against you… your body shivers at the thought of him entirely inside you. “Why do you get to go on missions?” he pouts without any sadness or pity, and the glimmer of excitement in his eyes sells out his dramatics with ease. 

You take the initiative and start pushing your hips down his shaft. Like when you first awoke in the dream, everything feels light and is hidden with a haze of delight. If you didn’t already know this is a dream, you’d be convinced it turned into one with how good he feels slowly filling you up. Each vein throbs against your walls, and he hisses with clouded eyes. “Cause,” you remind yourself to breathe as he gets deeper, the lull of your tongue feels too big and you try to focus on not mindlessly babbling beneath him, “‘m a Gojo, now. Re-Remember?”

It likely turned into some form of gibberish by the final few words, but nonetheless, above you, Gojo pauses. You feel how he twitches inside of you, hear how your pussy pulls him in with a shlick, but nothing tops the way his lips form a pretty ‘o’ shape as he moans into the room. Everyone and their mothers know that Gojo is a moaner in bed, but it feels so different actually seeing it and hearing how fucking delicious it sounds. You reach up and pull his lips to you for another heated kiss, already swiping your tongue at his lips. 

He wastes no time and bottoms out, and you gasp into the kiss at how full you feel. Gojo throbs with every noise you utter, and just the tiniest movement of your hips has him moaning even louder. You relish how he reacts to your body, how he sings a cacophony of whimpers and grunts just for you to hear, and the soft way he squeezes your hand with reassurance. Just having his fingers between yours has your heart fluttering even when it feels like you’ve been stuffed so full your organs squish. 

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” his kiss turns sloppy as he mutters the word repeatedly as if he is convincing himself that your words are real. Your toes curl when he starts to thrust, pounding himself nice and deep inside of you as he continues his babbling monologue of reassurance. You mewl below him, clawing at the muscles in his back that flex beneath your fingertips. “All mine. My pretty, pretty wife,” his lips slot at your jaw with a gentle bite, and your eyes roll back when it’s combined with another thrust against you. 

Tears build in the corner of your eyes as the headboard slams against the wall like a drumming melody. He has to be in your stomach by now; you’re certain he somehow found a way to fill your throat, too. The haze in his eyes only grows foggier when he notices the tears as they fall. “Satoru,” you whimper quietly while pushing yourself to meet every movement of his hips, even when his hand tries to move you faster. 

His name becomes your chant as he fucks you into the mattress, responding only with reminders of the marriage he dreamed up. You lose yourself in the way his hips bruise you and the way he treats your hand like it’s glass on the verge of shattering. Every instinct in your mind goes haywire as your tongue babbles nonsensical words of pleasure. He returns to your neck, biting and kissing areas you didn’t even know were so sensitive. There would be no evidence come morning, when you both wake up from the dream, but you let yourself think that little marks will bless you in the mirror when you have a shower. 

When he shifts your thigh higher, you don’t expect him to hang it over his shoulder, but you don’t question his choice — instead revelling in the new angle he takes. Your nails dig into his knuckles as you cry out for more. Tears fall to the pillows beneath your head, slick drools over his cock and under your ass. “My wife,” he mutters into your ear again, placing your other thigh over his shoulder to match. Only when he leans in and arches you do you realise that he puts you into a mating press. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but you’re already clawing at his back and screaming yes, “gotta fill you again. Looked so pretty when you were pregnant. Gonna have so many more. Let me fill ya up, please!”

He’s bordering pathetic with how he begs, and yet you only grow needier. His hair sticks to him from sweat, and his lips are puffy from kisses; those big, beautiful eyes fill with watery tears as he pleads for you. “Fuck, yes! Please, Satoru!” Your thighs tremble under his touch. Your hand desperately grips his as you babble your answer over and over again. You need him like never before, crave to be filled with all of him, and still lick at the sweetness left on your lips. “Wan’ it!”

His thumb goes under your thigh to play with your clit again. Like before, he doesn’t directly touch it, only circling closer and closer until he reverses each action. It leaves you a perfect victim to the strings of your body — apparently, only Gojo can play it like this. He whispers about all the love he has for you, even with the slurred speech of lust, your heart melts at every proclamation he gives to you. “So glad you chose me. Never gonna have you regrettin’ it.”

Gojo thimbles about how he can’t wait to have another child, a daughter, this time so that he can be the perfect girl dad he was made for. You clench around his cock and moan as the throbbing refuses to cease, each vein detailed as they press into your snug walls. Whether the dream has finally reached your own subconscious or it just unlocks the path to old feelings you refuse to acknowledge, you aren’t sure, but you’re utterly putty in your hands when he tells you to cum and remind him why he missed you so much. And you aren’t one to deny Gojo Satoru what he wants; that’s how you managed so many years of friendship together in the first place. 

Your body shudders in his tight hold, eyes shut, and nose hidden in the hair you need to touch one last time. It’s like a flood of emotions wash over you as you release all over him, slick sliding to pool on the bed. He only moves faster as you meek with sensitivity, chasing that feeling for himself until he finally fulfils his promise and cums. It fills you and leaves a thick ring of white around his cock, though instead of pulling out, he keeps his cock warm inside of you, fingers collecting anything that spills to push back in. 

When you wake up, Gojo isn’t on top of you with his cock in your overfilled pussy. There aren’t marks on your neck or bruises on your hips. Your finger is empty of a wedding band, and your lips aren’t puffy from being kissed raw. Like nothing happened. You sigh and splash more water on your face, ignoring how the bathroom door peeks open. “What’s up, Gojo?”

“You didn’t… do anything last night, right?” He looks back and forth while refusing to gaze at you properly; his sunglasses don’t work to hide those movements as well as his blindfold. You raise an eyebrow at him and start patting your skin dry, and you keep eye contact with him purely to avoid staring at his chest and how good it felt up against you. “Had a good dream, is all. Won a lifetime supply of mochi.”

The lie makes you smile, not even bothering to tease him over the blush on his cheeks. “Sounds like a really good dream.”

© cloudychoso 2024 — do not steal, repost or translate

i don’t like this i don’t think 🍆🤓

[neiptune]

to hell with the stars, keep shooting for the moon

cw: 3k wc, female reader, established relationship, suggestive if you squint, reader is a gymnast, my entry for the super fun summer olympics collab by @tetzoro! hope you'll enjoy the little surprise i squeezed in hehe

“For the last time, I’m not having sex with you on one of those cardboard beds”.

Atsumu isn’t the least bit discouraged by your exasperated scowl, which is met with a pout.

“But babe-”

“I don’t care how many times Tobio’s done it, ‘Tsumu” you click your tongue.

“It’s just so fucking bizarre that he gets so much action, the guy doesn’t even do anything! Shoyo agrees, we discussed it and still couldn’t find a reason” the blond, excessively petulant Miya who makes it a point to be the bane of your existence, keeps listing all the reasons why he believes his teammate shouldn’t be getting laid in the olympic village. Or anywhere else ever, for the matter.

The heated arguments float through a distant hemisphere of your brain, where they dissolve before you can quite catch their meaning and soon enough become simple sounds you’re passively absorbing, thoughts too preoccupied with something entirely different.

The choreographies you put together with your trainer have been playing in the back of your mind ever since last night, after the all-around individual qualification round. You are part of the 10 gymnasts with the highest scores, four performances with each apparatus earning a fairly decent ranking and good enough points. Well, they’re certainly good enough, given that you get to represent Japan at the individual final. But you just know they could be better. Your feet should’ve been firmer, hands less sweaty around the clubs, you should’ve stretched for at least 50 minutes prior to the routine instead of the usual 40 ones.

Pulse picks up in pace, heart thrumming faster against your ribcage, dizziness clouds your mind for a moment as different moves chase each other in rapid succession: the penché comes first, then follows the elbow stand, front walkover, one forward roll, a chest stand-

Gentle, calloused fingers grasp your chin and tilt your head upwards in silent demand. Look at me.

“Get out of there and talk to me, sugar” the fondness in his chocolate gaze is a balm that instantly soothes the churning sensation sabotaging your stomach.

“I won’t make it” it’s blunt, raw in its honesty “I’m too scared”.

“Ya worked your ass off the past four years. Your entire life actually”.

“I know”.

“And whatever happens, you’re one of the best ten gymnasts in the world”.

“I know”.

Atsumu gets closer as his hands hold your face now, gentle but firm, an all too familiar flame starts dancing in feverish eyes.

“But?”.

You recognize that gaze, the raging, febrile determination taking over. He gets it on his side of the net, where he gets to run the show. And oh, isn’t that always a sight for sore eyes? It certainly was at the olympics too, when the entire world got to witness what Japan is already used to. The game against Argentina was nothing short of glorious, the way Atsumu coordinated his team’s offense, established the entire tempo and overall built the confidence in his passers had the crowds chanting his name over and over again. By the evening, you’re positive at least a hundred new Miya Atsumu fan accounts had started following you on instagram.

And yet he doesn’t take any of it for granted. Atsumu always gives his very best, at the olympics or during regular training with his friends. Whether Tobio is going to play or not. That passion simply sets his soul ablaze at all times, with no exception. He’s the man you love and the only one who can truly understand how you feel, the one person who is ignited with the same delirious resolve currently burning in the pit of your stomach.

“But I really want that fucking medal” you whisper. Not to prove him that you have it in you just like he does: truth is you’re the only person who needs additional convincing.

Sharp canines make their appearance when Atsumu smiles widely.

“Then go get it. The hell are you scared of? That medal belongs to you”.

Your eyelids flutter as they fall shut, a deep breath filling your lungs with fresh air. When you open your eyes again, you feel your heart filling up with something else too.

“I love you”.

His eyes soften at that, affection pools within crinkles by the eyes as a confident grin morphs into a warm smile.

“Love ya more, champion” Atsumu kisses your forehead with tenderness, lingers for a moment too long with lips pressing to your skin with intention. Then he lets go of your face but not before searching for any remnants of self-doubt. His chest swells with pride when all he can find in your eyes is that determination he adores.

“Will you be there?” you ask because you can’t help it. It’s perfectly understandable that he might not be able to, his schedule is just as busy as yours and Japan’s final game is just two days away. It’s not entirely fair to ask and someone else might’ve rolled their eyes with a sigh, reminded you that they don’t get to decide that. But not Atsumu. He takes one of your hands and brings it to his lips to kiss each knuckle.

“I’ll do everything I can to be there”.

“Thank you” you lightly pinch his nose with an infatuated smile and he fakes a groan “see you later”.

“I love you!” he shouts as you run away, loud and obnoxious and passionate, just like his affection always is. Once again, Atsumu’s love is thrown over your shoulders like a comforting blanket that weighs just right.

Back at the beginning of your relationship, you had to unlearn a very specific thought process that posed the risk of ending something that still hadn’t had the chance to fully start. It was your first time dating another pro athlete, a very talented and quite renowned one no less. You were first introduced to him at a party, he had no idea who you were but of course you were all too familiar with his name and accomplishments.

Miya Atsumu was a pro volleyball player, known for his exceptional flair and fierce passion ever since high school. His reputation made you believe that, as an athlete yourself, you had to prove him that you were just as good in your own sport. Wasn’t that all he’d be interested in? Dating someone who wouldn’t embarrass him with their mediocrity, someone who wouldn’t stain his polished reputation?

Turns out, by no means Atsumu was interested in all that. He asked if it was okay for him to come watch one of your competitions, coincidentally one of your worst ones. You were all too aware of how badly you had competed, nerves and a recent flu contributing to a terrible performance, yet at the end of it Atsumu greeted you with stars in his eyes. He couldn’t stop talking about how elegant yet strong you looked, going as far as describing your choreographies as breathtaking. With a nervous chuckle, he half-jokingly said he couldn’t believe you’d let him date you. 

That’s when you kissed him for the first time, fiery and feverish in a way that would’ve probably scared anyone else off. Not Atsumu, though. He wrapped his arms around you without so much as an ounce of hesitation, kissed you back like it was the last action he was allowed to perform on this earth. And you knew: he didn’t need you to be a winner, to be shiny at all times, to feel proud. To love you. Whether you end up bringing the medal home or not, he will still be your biggest fan and loudest supporter.

The intensity of the crowd doesn’t bother you at all: given your anxious nature, Chisaka-san has been adamant about training you with headphones and loud tapes for years. Music, cheers, booing, clapping, national anthems, you’re used to it all by now.

You observe the ukrainian gymnast, the way she moves so elegantly with her colorful ribbon. It looks like she’s flying, hopping on invisible steps made of air, sparkly leotard catching the light just right. Yours cost a fortune: handmade, sewn in Italy, a triumph of colorful stretch mesh, thermal crystals and sew-on rhinestones in various sizes and shapes.

As Chisaka-san helps you practice the usual deep breaths with a hand pressed to your chest, your eyes are still glued to your opponent. The podium is yours, unless you fuck up so badly even the bronze slips away. Daryna currently has the highest score and it’s certain she will protect the lead at the end of her final routine. Then follows Bulgaria’s Katerina, but you’re hardly worried about her: she finished her last exercise without catching the ribbon, a penalty you can easily overcome if luck and nerves are on your side.

When after an impeccable Daryna your name is announced at last, your trainer gives your butt a friendly, encouraging pat. She believed in you more than anyone else, more than yourself. She knew you’d qualify for the olympics and would be flying to Paris before you could even dream of such an achievement. And now you get to honor her trust, you get to prove that Paris is where you belong. The podium is yours because like hell you’re allowing it to slip away. But you want more, you want that gold.

The crowd seems louder now, flags raised in flashes of white and red in your peripheral as you smile radiantly and position yourself to start the routine. You don’t check if Atsumu was able to make it, don’t allow yourself to think of anything but the way your feet and legs and arms and hands are supposed to move.

The longest 85 seconds of your life begin along with the music, Piazzolla’s libertango but with a modern, energetic arrangement. The ribbon is not as scary as the hoop, it moves with you like an old friend, seamless and reliable. You throw the handle into the air and perform two forward rolls before catching it again in one fluid motion, lips perpetually stretched into a confident smile. The crowd erupts in deafening cheers at your backscale pivot, the more you keep cutting through the air with precision, control and passion, the more your smile grows. Yes, this is where you belong, this is what you love and were made to do.

There’s your signature move, difficult and risky and one Chisaka-san always attempts to talk you out of: a technical element, Bessonova’s swan, while simultaneously kicking the ribbon into the air with your foot once more. You catch it one last time, perform an aerial cartwheel and then a perfectly balanced backward somersault, wrap yourself in the colorful shades of your apparatus and gracefully conclude the routine on the floor.

The crowd is ear-splitting in their support and you don’t have to wait for the score to know: it was perfect. It’s the best you ever did and the tension finally melts into hot tears as you wave and smile and foolishly attempt to wipe the wetness from your cheeks at the same time. Chisaka-san wraps you up in her comforting embrace and you hide your face in her white uniform, ears ringing, blood scorching in veins throbbing with adrenaline.

“I can’t look” you whisper into her shoulder and she gently guides you to the bench, all emotional murmurs and soft touches. She sits next to you, holds your hand as you force a quivering smile to the camera, peace sign held high. And then you can barely catch a glimpse of your scores before Chisaka-san forces you into her arms and against her chest again, right as fresh tears stain your cheeks. She lets you have this moment, shields your first reaction from the world and the prying eyes of cameras that are on you once more because holy shit, Daryna has a 140.60 but you have a 142.850. They gave you a difficulty score of 19.300 and an execution one of 8.550.

“I knew it!” Chisaka-san is the only thing keeping you grounded because it truly feels as if you’re floating. It doesn’t matter how badly you wanted it, how much you fought for it, the moment doesn’t feel real. Not even as the other gymnasts come to hug you and you congratulate them in turn, it’s a whirlwind of all-encompassing love and support and mutual happiness. Moments like this make your sport truly special, they remind you that fierce competition only feels right when balanced by appreciation for your opponents’ efforts and individual journeys.

The crowd erupts in new, loud cheering and you catch a glimpse of the different face the cameras are now focusing on. A handsome face with suspicious dampness glistening on cheeks and a smile so warm, beaming with pride. You can’t help but smile back as your legs move on autopilot, a bottle of water dropped to the floor as you sprint towards the bleachers. Atsumu is in the front row and he easily catches you right as you jump onto him, arms wrapped around his neck.

“Told ya. It belongs to you” he whispers in your ear and you almost start crying again at the trembling in his voice, so many overwhelming emotions swarming in your chest at once.

“Thank you for believing in me” you mutter and pull back to look at him, because even in a venue packed with people and cameras and journalists he still manages to be the brightest, the one thing you could look at forever without ever growing tired of it.

“Always” Atsumu grins, eyes glazed with defiant tears “you did so well. Look at ya, my girl’s an olympic medalist!”.

And because you know he won’t do it, god forbid he takes the most special moment of your life away from you, you kiss him. It’s brief, two pecks that linger just enough before he lets you go, urges you to go back out there and celebrate. You don’t care that videos of this moment are probably going to be flooding every social media platform in a matter of minutes, similarly to how Atsumu hardly gives a damn about all the phones and cameras he has in his face when he runs to you after a game, whether his team wins or not.

It’s hard not to tear up again as the japanese national anthem echoes through the building, so many people singing along as you stand on the podium you have dreamed of every single day of your life. You smile, proud and big, take selfies with the other two medalists and make sure you hug every single gymnast you come across goodbye before walking out of the venue, a promise to catch up with your trainer in the evening.

Atsumu waits for you outside, he doesn’t have any additional training left for the day and you want nothing more than to walk back to the village with him, lovesick smile growing in size when you spot him underneath the afternoon sun, golden light caught beautifully in that honey blond hair.

“There she comes, the girl of my dreams” he coos and you roll your eyes with affection “I hear she’s now the greatest gymnast in the world, too!”.

“Corny” you murmur against his lips as he pulls you in for a real kiss, one of those you’re never willing to give him in front of the cameras.

“About those cardboard beds…” it’s a faint whisper into his mouth but it’s enough for Atsumu to pick you up and twirl until you’re both laughing between kisses, until someone clearing their throat prompts you to abruptly pull back and force your feet onto the ground again.

When you turn around, the embarrassed smile quickly grows into a surprised grin. The stranger is looking back at you with the faintest hint of a smirk and Atsumu isn’t entirely sure he loves the way you take a tentative step toward him.

“Congrats. It was a good routine, not your best though”.

“Oh my god” you chuckle, astonished, and Atsumu is now certain he doesn’t enjoy watching you run to hug this weird, 6’1 stranger with dark hair and teal eyes. He definitely doesn’t enjoy the way the stranger wraps his arms around you with a sigh.

“I should’ve known you’d be here! How long has it been? Look at you, all grown up!” you let him go, still smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Too long” he concedes and if the stranger wasn’t still all caught up in old, familiar patterns of stubborn coldness, maybe he would be able to utter the truth about how much he’s missed one of his oldest friends.

“I missed you” as usual, you take it upon yourself to fill the spaces left empty by his obstinacy with warmth. His eyes soften and you smile again as you turn to look at your boyfriend.

“’Tsumu, c’mere!” you’re holding out a hand, an impatient invitation “come meet Rin!”

Atsumu is openly wary of your friend, one you’re obviously close enough to address by his first name. As he shakes his hand with a fake megawatt smile, Rin seems to be equally skeptical and does nothing to hide it.

“He’s your boyfriend?” he asks, briefly scanning Atsumu from head to toe with an openly dubious gaze “came all the way here just to support you?”

“Atsumu is a pro volleyball player, he’s in the national team just like you!”

“Volleyball, huh?” Rin cocks his head “doesn’t really interest me. I find it to be overrated”.

“I mean…”.

“And what would your sport be, Itoshi?” Atsumu can feel a vein throb on his forehead as he politely interrupts you.

“Soccer”.

“Oh!” a seemingly friendly laugh bubbles up from his throat but you recognize the petulant vibration to it “soccer! I think there’s only so long you can watch a player throw himself on the ground because he stubbed his toe on the grass or, I don’t know, try the same failed corner kick for the millionth time”.

You uncomfortably clear your throat and Rin directs his attention to you once more. Isn’t that what being a mature adult is all about? Ignoring pretentious assholes he doesn’t even know?

“I mean it, by the way. You deserve that gold more than anyone else I know”.

“C’mon, say it” you chuckle “I know you noticed”.

He mirrors your smile, pleased that the familiarity strengthened by years of friendship is still here.

“Barely catched that ribbon in the end, could’ve made that front walkover less stiff. Good job overall, though”.

Atsumu wants to punch him in the goddamn face, especially as you laugh once more.

“How come he’s so familiar with gymnastics?” he asks instead.

“Rin used to come watch my training sessions back in high school, although it’s insane to me that he still remembers!”.

“She never missed any of my trainings either” Rin smirks once more, gaze locked to the man in front of him.

“Speaking of!” you lightly smack his arm “when are you guys playing?”.

“Tomorrow. I can arrange special seats if you want”.

“Oh, I’d love to come! We should totally go, ‘Tsumu!”.

“Yeah, totally” Atsumu forces another smile onto his lips.

That night, as you’re cuddled against his chest on that infuriatingly uncomfortable cardboard bed, he believes it’s of the utmost importance to share the picture of you with an adorable smile and the medal around your neck as you stand proudly on that podium, followed by the two of you kissing right after your win.

miyatsumu the most hardworking person I know. my golden girl, now an olympic champion ❤️🥇

He thinks it’s a good caption and, as you softly snore in the quiet of the dark room, Atsumu also believes he’s in a mood good enough to decide not to block Shoyo on the spot after receiving his stupidly enthusiastic text about befriending some super nice dude on the national soccer team.

Whoever the hell Isagi Yoichi is anyway.

[willbyersmikewheeler]

Thoughts on the trailer:

I’ve been in shock so I haven’t actually said my thoughts on the trailer. So let me speak my truth now:

Ok, Joyce and Will, that opening man - that really got me screaming quietly because it was 3am. It was so healing to see them finally talk about it, we haven’t see that yet and I better see more conversations like that in s5 - them being able to talk about their trauma and start healing from it hopefully.. I’m happy to get that Joyce being a mother dynamic again with honestly, everyone not just will. Since, no shade to Joyce she was going through a lot but, I feel as though that mother dynamic was neglected due to her other story lines so I’m very happy to return to MOTHER JOYCE. Her with that axe? OH….LORD. Powerful. She’s gonna be so mother this season I know it.

THE WILL VOICE OVER, OH ITS SO HIS SEASON. SO HAPPY. LOVED THAT.

OK,,,, now wasn’t the biggest fan of half of the trailer being flashback scenes - BUT, we have already worked out a lot from leaks and stuff, so it’s just to not spoil the plot. So, sad but meh it’s fine - we got content, that’s all I need.

BARN SCENE - OK,,, what’s banging down the damn door? Joyce w axe!! From left to right in the background we have : Will, Erica, Derek, and Robin. Will and Robin interaction officially confirmed !! I’m aware we all knew already but I’m happy asf with Will and Robin interacting. Derek is either on the second floor, or floating to which HUH?? Hella confused.

HOLLY AND KAREN: Been knew that this was gonna happen, but still confused of what they are shocked at - ted isn’t in the shot so…. Maybe something is happening to him? I’m excited too see where they’ll go with this new storyline and exploring these characters more.

LUMAX, the only ship *cough cough* Byler was technically shown together *cough cough* that was shown in the teaser! We’ve seen this shot in bts before twice now, so easy shot to include. I’m happy that max is out of that full body cast but, how they are gonna wake her up and she plays a part in this season is a question mark for me right now.

DUSTIN & STEVE SHOT: Them looking up at something, we’ve seen this in leaks before - not sure what they’re doing but you can’t really tell much of anything from this shot. Other than a beaten up Dustin to which, been knew. The bullies obviously beat him up, confused on the timeline of these events though…hmmmmm.

HOPPER & EL: Ok, first off the duos are so clear by this teaser trailer! And I’m so happy for the hopper and el dynamic to come back full swing. We see alarms blasting as El screams and hopper comforts her, I’m not to sure where they are? Maybe the lab? Definitely somewhere that’s high security. And then, the edge of the wall - and hopper and el standing there looking at it, I’m very interested as to what this is and what the hell that brain like stuff is on the wall. The edge of the upside down because it only exists in Hawkins?? Are they in someone’s mind?? Hmmm interesting!

LEADER MIKE LEADER MIKE: OH, I LOVE THIS SHOT. OK LOADS TO UNPACK,,,

Mike is wet in this shot??? what?? And don’t think I forgot about that will byers wet bts pic too, byler is see you.

Mike protecting kids + Will & Joyce, I knew Derek was being added but I didn’t know about the other kids - I saw multiple people say that, they are Holly’s friends and … Mike sees himself in one of them and realises his feelings for Will were romantic. ABSOLUTE CINEMA. While I love Mike being a protector to those kids, I really hope they aren’t paired up with those kids for the entire season. I need Byler to have some solo moments.

Will in Joyce’s arms in the background,,, oh I feel ILL. Why is my poor boy exhausted / nearly unconscious?? From powers usage or injury…? I just want him to be happy guys.

MILITARY SHOT: NOW WHAT THE HELLY. Ok, the upsidedown ,saw someone say dragon from the painting and I do need that now, breaking the concrete.. SICK AS HELL.

WILL ONCE AGAIN PASSED OUT IN THE BACKGROUND WITH JOYCE BY HIM (?), NOT AS SICK AS HELL. IM SCARED FOR HIM, DESPITE ME KNOWING HES GONNA LIVE. STILL WANT HIM TO BE OK.

WILL SCREAMING - SO, we have our answers it was will screaming at Mike to run!! VERY TERRIFYING. AMAZING SHOT / SCENE. HORRIFYING SCREAM. EXCITED BUT SCARED. Not sure, why he’s screaming duh, But two main running theories are Will and something to do with possession or powers or both?.. I’m sat you guys.

I’M HAPPY THE TEASER TRAILER IS OUT, NOT SO HAPPY ABOUT THE GA BUT SIGHS GUESS ILL PUT UP WITH IT.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Be Prepared, I got two, maybe three different Princess Stan mer ideas floating around in my brain palace :)

Stan sighed as the wind died down, The sails of the ship drooping.

Again.

All the other sailors groaned and moaned around him. The ship, which was supposed to have reached their destination two days ago, was starting to feel like a prison with the amount of glares, mutters, and overall awfulness. The storm that had pushed them off course had also landed in what everyone around him called 'cursed waters', adding to the tension and grim mood.

Stan was already over it. This whole trip had been a last minute decision to get some extra coinage and away from some less than happy customers. As long as they reached land at some point, he was happy.

Which is, of course, when a giant red tentacle emerged from the water and everything went terrible.

Stan and half the sailors gaped at it, watching as it curled up the side of the ship and started curling around the deck. The other half screamed and started either scrambling around in terror or pulling swords. This wasn't a navy vessel, just a dingy cargo ship that didn't have anything worth stealing, and therefore nothing worth guarding.

And now it was being attacked by the Kraken that Stan had assumed was a tale tail for sailors to spook each other and to earn bards coins at the bar. Another tentacle joined the first, sliding past Stan with yellow suction cups as large as his torso and thicker than the mast. It moved over the side and joined the first in wrapping around the deck, and Stan finally found the energy to do something just as the ship jolted and started raising out of the sea.

Stumbling away from the edge, Stan stared in horror as more and more tentacles rose out of the sea around them, holding the ship with enough strength to make the whole thing creak and groan under the pressure. Some sailors had already started swinging swords down on the ones wrapped around the ship, leaving nothing but scratches that made it twitch and squeeze harder.

Everyone screamed as the ship tilted, men falling overboard and sliding across the deck as the prow started going up, and the Kraken rose out of the water.

Its body was red, each tentacle covered in yellow suckers that gripped the ship and tilted it back and forth, sliding the men and anything not tied down around, including Stan.

He yelled as he slammed into one of the tentacles, its slimy skin sticking to his clothes as he sunk into it. A moment later he screamed again when it tilted the ship towards it, sending everything to the port side. Stan grunted as his stomach hit the railing, several men slamming around him a few tumbling into the ocean below. He could see a few clutching crates and barrels as the sea churned and the Kraken's many arms sent waves crashing into them.

Then he looked up into its giant eye as it held the ship closer, giant pupil flicking along as it examined what it was holding. Like a child with a new toy, or a cat playing with its food.

His breath froze as he felt its gaze land on him and the group of sailors packed in around him. The captain was yelling something, and someone else was yelling on the otherside of the ship, but all he could focus on was the eye, and the way it seemed to grin back at him.

Oh god. It was going to eat them.

The ship groaned from the strain, and he felt his heart pound in his ears, drowning out the shouts and terror around him. This was it. It was finally over. Ten years on the road, trying to earn the right to go home, and it ended here.

Well, Stan wasn't going to let it get him. If he had to choose between the maw of a beast and the sea below him, the answer was clear.

The ship tilted the other direction, the press of bodies easing as everything started sliding back the other direction. Not Stan though, He gripped the railing, pulled himself to his feet, then dived over it.

Better to take his chances there, where he could grab a crate and hopefully float back to shore.

The Kraken let loose an ear splitting cry, and Stan screamed as it suddenly moved. Instead of hitting the water and increasing his chance of survival, he slammed into its slimy, squishy head and rolled down the side. Before he could push off and continue down into the water, a giant tentacle slammed into him, pushing the air out of him and squishing him further into the things brain. The mucus covered his face, and he flailed and tried to wipe it out of his eyes. Something grabbed his leg while he flailed, and he screamed again as the Kraken lifted him into the air to dangle in front of its eye.

It let out another screech, making him wince and cover his ears, then turned him back and forth, bringing more tentacles up to prod at his face and hair, the tips of them already the size of his head and the tentacle wrapped around his leg moving down his body to wrap around his torso. Stan tried to pry it off with his hands, but all it did was wrap around those too, until all he had free was his head and his feet, thankfully now right side up.

He wheezed as it squeezed him, life flashing before his eyes, before it brought him closer and held him next to its eye. It waved one of its tentacles in front of his face, and then he watched as it put the ship down, then started lifting the sailors and lost cargo back onto it.

"What the-urk!" Stan yelled as it finished up haphazardly shoving everything back onto the ship, then moved. In an instant it was back under the water, the ship getting smaller and smaller as it swam, holding him up in the air above it and the end of its tentacle prodding at his head.

"Hey!" He yelled, kicking his feet and wiggling the best he could, "Whats happening! HEY!"

The Kraken, being underwater a mile below him and therefore hearing nothing, kept swimming along, until the ship wasn't even a spec on the horizon and Stan's face was starting to get hot from the sun. His struggles faded as his energy left, the tentacle not moving an inch and covering him in slime. It got worse when it started going down, bringing him with it until his feet were brushing the water, soaking his shoes and making him squirm from the god awful wet sock feeling.

Then it just-stopped. The only reason Stan could tell was because of how the wind stopped whipping him in the face, as the waves went on endlessly in every direction. He had no idea what was going on.

"I have no idea whats going on." Stan yelled into the sky, then screamed as the tentacle pulled him down, until he was in the water up to his head. He wiggled desperately, then flailed when it let go and he was forced to swim to keep himself up. Any relief or terror was swept away by terror when something grabbed his leg. A quick tug and a glance was enough to see the tip of its tentacle, holding on just enough for him to know it was there, disappearing down into the depths below him along with the rest of the Kraken.

He swam and sputtered in the waves, any attempt at putting distance between him and it foiled by the grip on his leg that he realized was a chain, holding him in place. It lasted for only a few minutes, before he was screaming again as the Kraken rocketed back up, tentacles, bursting up around him while the one holding his leg jerked up with them, dangling him back in the air in front of its giant eye.

It wiggled all its arms, water cascading down it and Stan, then quickly grabbed his chest with a another one and flipped him back over. Stan groaned from the treatment, clothes itchy and sticking to him from an awful combination of sea water and Kraken mucus. He dragged a hand up to wipe it out of his eyes, then yelled when it got snatched, and something cold was clamped onto him.

Stan yelled (again, and his throat was starting hurt from the salt water and all the yelling) as he was blinded by a flash of light, his skin got tinglier from a non mucus or salt water related reason, and then wheezed as he suddenly couldn't breath.

The Kraken in front of him seemed to wiggle, but might have been his vision going in and out of focus as his lungs continued to burn from lack of oxygen. He gasped, free arm gripping the tentacle holding his chest, then watched as the water below him got closer and closer.

He had just enough time to regret ever getting on that ship, before he was dragged under the waves-

-Then he had plenty of time to regret it, as he quickly realized he was still breathing, despite the surface of the water getting farther and farther. The sea seemed brighter than it should, the water clear and moving in and out of his lungs as easy as air. He looked around in confusion, before a flash of gold caught his attention, and he looked down to see the giant fish tail where his legs had been a second ago.

"What the fuck." Stan rasped, watching it drag behind him as the Kraken pulled him further and further under the sea.

His mind whirled with a thousand possibilities, all of which boiled down to 'this thing liked the taste of human fish meat, and with his extra long tail he had even more of it'. He redoubled his efforts to get free from the arm still around his chest and the one around his arm, but all it did was hold on tighter, tentacle wrapping around him until only the tip of his tail was sticking out with his head and other arm.

The light from above got further and further away, taking his hope of living through this with it.

It was going to eat him. His whole life, gone in an instant in the maw of a sea monster with a taste for human fish flesh. He was never going to see Ford, or his ma, or Shermie, or, or- well, actually that was everyone he cared about, but the thought of never seeing them quickened his heart and made him struggle even harder.

The water leaking from his face disappeared as soon as it appeared, leaving nothing but his gasping breathes and shattered dreams.

(And then Stan gets shoved into the middle of Kraken!Ford's ship graveyard/treasure hoard on his fanciest ship and gets way too many Kraken snuggles, covering him in mucus. Poor Scuba Fiddleford finds him in underwater tears, convinced the thing clutching him is just waiting to eat him and unable to swim because he was not a mermaid an hour ago. Rumors spread of a mermaid princess that got snatched when she tried to mingle with humans.)

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

{one piece ficlet, usopp & zoro} brave

continuing my 'zoro is actually quite profound and also the bestest first mate ever' series with some usopp & zoro brotp content 😌 nami's is here for anyone interested; my goal is to do one of these for each straw hat member and then compile them into a bigger fic to post on ao3 so stay tuned for more!

Rating: G Notes: post time skip

~~~~~

The Thousand Sunny is about twenty-thousand meters into its descent to Fishman Island, which means the sea around them has turned pitch black save for the occasional colorful display of bioluminescent creatures that dwell within the deep. There’s one happening right now, a giant cloud of something blue and twinkly floating alongside the ship as it continues slowly downward. It reminds Usopp of stars on a clear night, and he’s having fun making up new constellations and stories to go along with them that he’ll tell to Chopper and Luffy later. 

So when Zoro comes by to relieve him from first watch, Usopp smiles and says, “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay a bit."

Zoro grunts, which Usopp takes to mean ‘suit yourself’. He settles against the railing next to the sniper, and for a long while, they stand there together in companionable silence. Usopp got better about that, in the two years he was away; sits better inside awkward spaces, doesn’t feel quite such an oppressive need to fill the quiet with babbled nonsense. So for perhaps the first time in their friendship, it’s Zoro who breaks the ice first.

“So. Plants, huh?” he says. It’s stilted and awkward and so terribly Zoro that Usopp can’t help but laugh.

“Plants,” he confirms with a solemn nod, happy when he sees Zoro’s lips twitch.

“What happened to working with dials?”

“Oh, I have those too!” Usopp says brightly, pulling an impact dial out of his belt for demonstration. “But they’re harder to find replacements for down here in the blue sea. The plants are easier because I can regrow them myself.”

Zoro nods. “Makes sense.”

His lips twitch again, like they’re trying to remember the shape of the wide, feral grins he so often sported before their two years apart. Usopp realizes he hasn’t actually seen Zoro smile like that since they set sail, but he doesn’t get time to dwell on that thought much because then Zoro says, “You must have a whole bunch of new tricks up your sleeve.”

At that, Usopp can’t help but beam. 

“Sure do!” he says, unable to contain his excitement. And then, because he can’t help himself, he starts talking; rattling off a whole list of new stars and pods and special ammos, things he was working on before that he perfected and new things he’s bringing to the table. It takes him a while to realize how long he’s been rambling, but when Usopp looks, Zoro’s still listening, his now single hazel-grey eye trained solely on the sniper. 

It makes Usopp grin and maybe even blush a little, to have Zoro’s attention so clearly focused on him like that, because he knows that Zoro doesn’t pay attention to things he doesn’t think are worth his time. So to be considered worthy—it means a lot.

“Who knows,” Usopp finds himself saying as he wraps up his diatribe, “maybe in the New World I’ll finally be able to call myself a Brave Warrior of the Sea.”

Zoro frowns then, brow furrowing deeply. “I never got why you said that,” he says, and Usopp blinks.

“You don’t get why I want to be a brave warrior?” he asks, confused.

Zoro shakes his head. “No, I mean I don’t get what you think you need to achieve when you say you want to be a brave warrior of the sea. You’re already brave.”

Usopp freezes, mouth falling open as he gapes at the swordsman. 

“M—Me?” he stutters, brain scrambling as he tries to figure out what’s happening, because clearly he’s missed something. “That’s not… Zoro, come on, be serious!”

He laughs a little to let Zoro know he’s in on whatever joke he’s trying to make, but Zoro’s frown just deepens further. 

“I am being serious.”

Usopp flails wildly for a moment, not even sure where to begin. “But… But I’m not… Zoro, come on. When… When have I ever been brave?” he asks in stunned confusion. “You know me, you know I’m—I’m scared shitless like, ninety-nine percent of the time!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, like he thinks Usopp is being stupid. “Exactly,” he says. “But you go out and you fight anyway. That doesn’t sound brave to you?”

Usopp has gotten hit with a Gum-Gum Pistol exactly once in his life. The force of it felt like it shattered every bone in his body, rearranged all of his internal organs, and knocked his brain around like a pinball. And he can confidently say that he was less rattled by that than what Zoro just said to him.

He tries to respond. It comes out as a completely unintelligible high-pitched garble that Zoro nonetheless seems to understand, because he sighs and says, “Usopp, being brave isn’t about being fearless. Being brave is about being ready to piss your pants over something and then doing it anyway. Fighting when you’re scared like that takes guts. You’re brave. Nami’s brave. Chopper’s brave. The rest of us? We’re just a bunch of idiots too dumb to remember what fear is. Sure we’re strong, but we’re not brave.”

Zoro levels him with what Usopp has mentally dubbed a Monster Trio Look—the kind that says ‘I’ve made up my mind; argue with me at your own peril.’ They pop up fairly frequently on Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji, but always for things like battles or tactical decisions or other, important things. Not for anything like this.

Not for telling Usopp that he’s brave.

It takes him a long, long time to respond. Thankfully Zoro doesn’t seem to mind the silence.

“I… I guess I never really thought about it like that,” Usopp finally manages, hoarse and maybe a little wobbly, and Zoro has the fucking audacity to roll his eyes again.

“Well, you should,” he grunts, and there’s a note of finality in his voice that tells Usopp the conversation is done and will not be revisited; Zoro’s mind is made up.

Grass is green. The sky is blue. Usopp is brave. Simple as that.

[galamalion]

꒰ა໒꒱ ‧₊˚ it hurts here, doctor!

⤷ ⋆ * ˖ ʚɞ ⋆ summary﹕law’s neglect pisses you off, so you remind him what he’s missing.

⋆ * ˖ ⋆ warnings﹕smut, fingering, cunnilingus, groping, slight dry humping, slight medical kink

⤷ ⋆ * ˖ ʚɞ ⋆ pairing﹕trafalgar law x afab!reader

getting sick was something you never worried about aboard the polar tang. your captain was rather meticulous about cleanliness, checking crew members’ hands before supper to ensure they washed properly, inspecting every nook and cranny of the ship for dust and dirt, and scheduling each member for a checkup twice a month.

you looked forward to these appointments, as your lover had far too many responsibilities as captain. often you’d wake up without him by your side, rarely seeing him when you performed your daily tasks, and finally going to sleep alone in your shared quarters. his excuse was always the same: work.

he had papers to read, supplies to organize, a meeting with bepo over where to land next. he was always working.

but he couldn’t ignore you today. no, today was your appointment. he had to see you, to talk to you, to touch you. and you intended to milk this short hour for all it was worth.

you waltzed into law’s office, sitting on the exam table and trying to get comfortable despite the cold pathetic excuse for a cushion. you showed up five minutes earlier than him, deciding you needed time to muse over your plan. it’d been three days since you’d exchanged more than a few words with law. three days you’d slept alone in your bed, woke up alone, got ready alone, all while on a submarine just a couple feet apart from your lover.

as you bitterly mulled over your thoughts, law stepped through the door, disheveled and tired. the bags under his eyes were darker than usual, while the buttons of his shirt had been misplaced, clearly done up in a hurry. part of you felt guilty seeing him so unkempt, but a small part of you felt agitated, upset he hadn’t come to you for help or guidance. but you wouldn’t let this get to you.

“good morning, doctor,” you said curtly, staring him down.

“...good morning,” he rasped, voice strained by a lack of hydration and sleep.

his hoarse voice aroused something in you, instinctually crossing your legs. he stalked over to you, pulling up a chair as he sat down, perusing his clipboard.

“any concerns you’d like to bring up?” he asked politely without looking your way.

you wanted to throttle him, stare right into his silvery eyes, and demand he fuck you on this uncomfortable table. but that would be improper. you had to work him up for this, get him as hot and bothered as you were. remind him that you hadn’t been touched in three days, that he hadn’t been touched in three days.

“i’ve had a slight ache in my chest for a while. could you look at it?” you requested, unbuttoning your shirt quickly.

“alright, just point to the…” law stopped in his tracks, staring wide-eyed at your chest.

you could immediately tell that this was the moment law realized what he’d been forgetting. it was apparent on his now incredibly red face as his brain tried to keep up with his eyes.

“it’s in this general area,” you pointed to your left breast. “mind checking for any lumps?”

the entrance of your voice awoke law from his frozen state as he scrambled to resume the checkup.

“y- yes, of course,” he swiftly exclaimed.

he pulled out two latex gloves, sliding his fingers inside them. his firm, warm hand found its way to your breast, gently squeezing and massaging it, engrossed in his current task.

“here, doctor,” you offered, “i’ll make this easier.” you reached your hands behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall into your lap.

law’s hand retracted from your breast, floating inches from your hardened nipple. All he could do was stare at your now completely bare boobs, sitting invitingly on your chest, begging to be played with.

“it wouldn’t hurt to check both of them,” you spoke, “y’know, just to be safe.”

large slender fingers returned to your chest, continuing to fondle and play with your breasts like it was the first time he had ever touched a pair. you’d think it was cute if not for your immense arousal.

you opened your mouth to instruct him further, but a pair of soft lips silenced you. law moved one of his hands to the back of your head, entangling his hand in your hair and assailing your mouth with his tongue. he was more repressed than you thought.

eventually, he pulled back, letting you gasp for air. his head rested in the crook of your neck as he panted quietly.

“i’m sorry,” he panted, clearly out of breath, “for ignoring you this week.”

“you’re making up for it now, aren’t you?” you purred.

your hands made their way to law’s poorly buttoned shirt and began undoing each one, exposing his muscular chest for your viewing pleasure. likewise, law’s fingers hooked your bottoms, pulling them down your legs. his mouth found its place on your neck, kissing and sucking on the tender skin.

law drove his hips against your own, letting you feel his bulge straining against his jeans.

“it’s been too long,” he murmured, moving his hands to cup your ass.

“show me what i’ve been missing,” you begged, feeling an electric jolt of pleasure course through your body. his groping was almost too much for you to handle, grinding against him in an attempt to create friction.

he obliged, removing his gloves and yanking your underwear down, and moving his slender fingers to your vagina, running them along your slit and up to your clit, gently rubbing it. you shuddered as his cold fingers stroked your clit, a quiet groan slipping past your lips. it didn’t help that law was still attacking your neck, laying hickey upon hickey on the sensitive skin.

“i’ve missed you so much, law,” you moaned, leaning further into his hand, desperate to feel any part of him inside you. your prayers were soon answered, as law’s fingers delved inside your wet cunt, curling deep inside you.

“right there!” you gasped as his fingers struck your sweet spot. you grasped his shoulders for support as your body began trembling. he still knew all your sweet spots, and though you hadn’t been apart for that long, it still touched you and sensually and deeply.

before you reached your climax, those beautiful fingers left your twitching cunt, leaving you empty and needy as law brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices off. you intended to speak up about this poor excuse for edging, but law quickly revealed what he had planned, getting down on his knees and diving into your soaked pussy.

he alternated between sucking your clit and tongue-fucking your poor cunt, causing you to bite your lip to avoid alerting any passing crewmates.

“these walls are solid steel, princess,” law spoke up, taking a momentary break from feasting, “scream as loud as you want.”

with his express permission, you began moaning without care, rotating between crying out in pleasure and praising him for his handiwork. you could feel the coil building in your belly, so close to unraveling as law worked tirelessly on your aching cunt.

the pleasure became too much as your hands weaved between law’s hair and squeezed his locks, “law, ‘m gonna—!”

law said nothing, only squeezing your thighs and diving deeper between your legs. the corners of your vision slightly blurred, and your fingers clutched law’s hair even tighter, though he didn’t seem to mind. you leaned further into his face as your orgasm hit, pure chemical delight flowing through your body and demanding each muscle spasm until it finished. it didn’t help law refused to give your sex a break, only sucking harder on your clit.

you knew he’d be drenched after your orgasm, and as law ascended from your pussy, you could see the juices that stained his face. he grinned and looked you right in your eyes, licking the lingering cum away from his mouth. if you weren’t so worn out from that earth-shattering orgasm, you’d be raring to go again.

“i hope this apology was…adequate,” he muttered, panting heavily between your thighs.

“believe me,” you sighed blissfully, “it was perfect.”

the two of you hurriedly dressed before law’s next scheduled appointment, not wanting to risk being caught by the crew. checking the clock on the wall, you had a few minutes left, so you decided to help law button his shirt before he made a fool of himself.

once fully clothed, you sauntered to the door, sparing law—and his visible bulge—one final look.

“if you want to pick up where we left off,” you began, “i’ll be waiting in our bedroom tonight.”

after this little doctor’s visit, you knew in your heart that law wouldn’t be working any more late nights.

[p0w3rpl4yp3t]

It thought it was human once, though if anyone asked it, it would say that it certainly felt like a office class worker drone. Day in and day out, hunched in front of a terminal, post-polo shirt scratching at its overstimulated skin.

Its personhood had been lost, day by day, as it tried its best to both communicate with its coworkers over the instacomms on top of interfacing with the audiocalls of antiquated CEOs that insisted on the gratingly slow inputs they probably grew up with hundreds of years ago, while completing the same task at the required rate of 15 times per minute. A task that could have been automated before the First Dot com Boom.

It was almost a miracle it had even managed to drag itself to the bar that night. So yeah, it kinda made sense when the angel that sat down next to it and asked it if it wanted to both "turn its brain off" and "cum the most times it ever had in its life" it didn't ask any questions.

It probably should have.

(this one's first longer bit of fiction in a hot second that has attempts at approximating code and is just two weirdos loading the last memory of a corpo-turned-combat doll that a fallen angel decided to give a taste of the collective and then does the dronification version of a ruined orgasm and disconnects it)

...

// Powering on...

system.xz79451.exe

Version nixncaincracked.v2.5

//subsystem.Valkyrie running

// >>V.enable-device microphone //

it was nothing, compressed over and over by this dark vacuum of space, contained, supressed... floating

then a crackle of static and then, through the void

//>>speechtotxt.log generating

"... ly goddess, Cain, Cain, it thinks it got it to work this time!!"

a screechy high voice grated through the void

a different voice, deeper, calmer

"Nice one, Nix, let's see what the last files it ran were, see if that gives us any idea where it came from..."

//>>open(092928xx.thmm)

//ERROR: video input not found

"Shit, Nix, does that one have a video input that will connect to the doll, there should be an input right behind the ear... yeah, right there, let's try this one more time..."

//>>open(092928xx.thmm)

"Cain, it's gonna run what code it ran too, maybe it can find some good bits there."

"Go for it."

//>>history:092928xx.thmm

and suddenly it's no longer in the void, it's getting dragged through time, back, back, it...

//Powering post-occular cameras... //

it can't focus its eyes

//Connecting feed... Loading... //

//Primary occular system: connected

//Visor feed: disconnected //

She(it?) lifts the visor off its face, the back of her(its?) finger //ERROR: missing data input;; sense(touch) not found(!!) // against its pale white skin, and the lack of sensation makes it panic but when it tries to move, it realizes it doesn't know how. It's entire body is foreign to what it used to consider its own.

It tries to speak

//ERROR //

why can't

why can't (I)t speak

//>>search: speech.exe

searching...

ERROR: Out of memory //

what happened...

what happened to me(us)it[US]

It starts to try to process the visual information directly in front of it, after a couple of desperate seconds, it's finally able to focus the face of a (fallen) angel, green(blue)OCEAN eyes, sharp brows furrowing then, as it tracks over them with more effort it remembered it ever taking, the brows relaxing, and the face breaks out into a smirk.

"It's probably wondering why it's lost some of it's more... essential functions, right, my drone?"

Drone?

This one isn't a // >>System override: thought correction.drone.exe //

This one is a drone.

"That's probably because all the programming this one just ran might've caused a slight memory leak, but once this one gives this precious little drone a little... system reboot... that'll be all fixed."

The (fallen) angel grabs the drone by its chin, so that the drones visual field is swallowed by the angel's eyes.

An electrical current runs up and down its spine, something from the back of its mind screams danger, but that keeps slipping light years farther and farther away compared to looking into the twin black holes drawing it in, deeper and deeper as its sense of self spagettified.

// ERROR: Out of Memory

>>ERROR: Out of Memory

>>ERROR: Out of Memory

>>ERROR: Out of -------

>>#define: _drone.exe_

>>_DumpMemoryLeaks

>>Detected memory leaks! Dumping objects ->

>>Connecting to {MT.RFP: BASE-B00645}

and for a brief moment, it encountered bliss manifest, connected to countless minds, a sense of belonging, worth, love

[A PLACE FOR US]

finally not misunderstood, each and every drone a fundamental part, every nuance interpreted instantly and accepted and

[US]

a field of golden pleasure drowned everything else out

// Disconnecting... //

wait... what?

// Object dump complete

>>void __weak (*pm_power_off)(void)

wait, don't... don't take it away, please, it doesn't want to fall into the void ag---

// Rebooting... //

its mind stretched itself out and over and out and over again, flickering between components unaware and then its entire existence and memory and pain all at once until it blinked out of existence again, ego torn assunder

// (092928xx.thmm)log complete

[marzghost]

So like my brain did the thing where it thinks too much about something and makes it absolutely gut punching so if I have to think about it so do you lol.

To the few or many people that hc life! c!Skizz as an avian that was born missing his wings, angel, fallen angel ,or an angel/avian that lost his wings in an accident or something similar do you guys think the reason Skizz aways took to eating things that made him float as soon as it was figured out after every reroll in episode 2 of wildlife was because he missed or simply finally got the chance to experience the one feeling he KNEW he was missing? Like every other life game before no one was able to fly not even the normal winged hybrids like Grian cause their wings were either tied down or clipped and Skizz didn't have to think about his own wings or lack of because no one could fly. He wasn't the only one experiencing the clawing feeling, the need, the want, to fly anymore when looking up at the never ending sky.

Then wildlife episode 2 happens and for the first time since he was born or since he lost his ability to fly or since he games started he can float! He can feel the air all around him. Feel the phantom wings/clipped wings on his back stretch and god damn it he just doesn't want to go back down. He goes higher and higher until he almost feels like he's in heaven. He takes in the view and laughs. He didn't know just how much he missed this, craved this, until he's finally where he belongs. And he floats. Floats with joy because it might not be flying but it's the next best thing in this weird death game they call home and this might be his only chance to experience what he's been missing.

Then he's falling. Falling again. Falling back to earth where gravity chains him down. Funny how it was the earth that first allowed him to feel like air again. To feel normal. Like nothing changed at all. Like heaven had opened its doors to him again. It was the earth that made him feel the absolute coolest he's ever felt in years as he managed to dirt clutch before hitting the very dirt he placed down. Funny then isn't it that it would be the earth that would take his first life in that episode as Tango laughs with delight as his own fades away and changes to anger.

[rifualk]

On Mental Health and Cosmic Embarrassment

I don't usually make a post in the aftermath of one of my spirals, so I bet most people see some of the vent posts I make, and assume I am just off my meds or something. I am on them but I might not be on the right ones. This is a thing that happens to me sometimes. I have psychotic episodes, where it feels like the things I am saying are completely inconsequential and I genuinely believe no one cares what I'm saying or, worst of all, that it cannot scare anyone that cares about me. I get too tired to fight my intrusive thoughts and I just ride them out. Most of my thoughts are not ones I enjoy having. I have trouble parsing what is real sometimes. For most of my life, out of a kind of primal shame and terror of being perceived or judged, I beat myself into believing that I just roleplayed as a crazy person online because I wanted attention for it, but it finally clicked for me at some point in my 20s that I was, and am, genuinely very mentally ill, maybe in ways that make me not-entirely-functional in the culture I inhabit. Also, I want attention for it.

Life is very embarrassing. I think embarrassment, shame, et al. is probably the most cosmic feeling of them all, because being embarrassed, for me anyway, leads invariably to my OCD extrapolating the embarrassment, no matter how slight, into its natural extreme, becoming a full-blown existential meltdown and often manifesting in some self-punishment. Or a lot of self-punishment. Instead of saying "everyone wants attention, it's not a big deal", my brain will overwhelm me with shame and make me vow to be quieter about the whole thing next time. Good emotions are meant to be expressed, I tell myself, and Bad ones are not. I think it's very unhealthy for people to not express their negative emotions openly. Or maybe I'm psychotic. I mean, I am psychotic. But maybe right now, too.

Ultimately this feeling peaks with the realization - again - that I'm a eukaryote. I live on a spinning ball of stardust in the aftermath of what had to have been a colossal disaster and waste of time. But it happened, and so now there's a bunch of stuff floating around, and some of that stuff started moving for reasons I don't personally understand and the implications of which scare me. And the moving stuff that moved faster got to stay moving longer. And so a chain reaction escalated, and eventually there were very large moving things whose survival adaptations had evolved in such a way that they could conceptualize and communicate complex information about the world around them, but they were also able to conceptualize themselves. This gave them a lot of grief. They wanted very badly for there to be an answer to why they were able to do that. Surely it served some purpose. But we never found one, and here we are.

I don't have a god to turn to. I have tried - earnestly, sincerely, and desperately - to reach out; I never hear back. I don't want to be an atheist, it's heartbreaking. Honestly. I want someone to be up there, or out there. Knowing there isn't, is just... cruel. It's horrifying and it wrenches my heart. Look at us, look how much we're suffering, where the fuck did you go, what the fuck is your problem? Help us!

In spite of everything, I am still not sure what I believe.

Don't you ever just cry about the world? Like, broadly? Don't you ever just have to take off your glasses and wipe the brine from them because you caught a glimpse of what people, as a species, could be capable of? And I get angry at myself, too. What am I doing about it? What even can I do? I can barely hold down a job. I am barely an adult. I am often mired in this feeling. It permeates everything. I'm living in a tragedy - not just my own, but millions and millions of others'. This is a nightmare. It's a nightmare and I'm an embarrassment, and my brain doesn't work right, and I'm living in a terrible reality that is shared by everyone, and yet somehow equally isolating and alienating to all of us. Does it have to be that way? Aren't we all lonely?

When I am spiraling I really do think that the end is near, either for me, or for everyone, or for both. To be fair, my confidence about humanity's future is not promising even when I am at my most sane. But in this kind of emotional place, the stakes are too high for me to care that what I say might come off as upsetting. It is completely overwhelming. I see my life up to this point, and I see how long I've been alive and realize I'm very Not Normal and I look and sound different than everyone around me and I'm an embarrassment. It's embarrassing to exist. It's embarrassing to be transgender, too. It's really, really embarrassing to be mentally ill and fully aware of it all the time. It's shameful. I am ashamed of how my family likely sees me. How my peers see me. I'm just a walking disaster. I feel like this bars me from leading a happy life or finding some success in art - It doesn't seem like you're allowed to be quite this much of a problem and "get away with it", does it? There's a bit of social sanitizing at work there - you are only allowed to be a certain level of messed up and if you pass that you're sort of a pariah. I don't think I've ever done anything pariah-worthy, but I can only see things from the inside of my own head, and there's a lot of unwanted noise in here.

I painted this when I lived in Oregon. I don't know how. I could not do art like this again if asked.

I'm not in a good place, generally-speaking. It could be worse - and it was for a long time- but it's still just not great. The main reason is that I am very homesick. I grew attached to the Pacific Northwest in a way I've never really grown attached to any other place. It had a quality that exists nowhere else. It resonated with me immediately and I knew right away from the moment I first set foot there that it was my home. I grew to be a part of it, and it's the only place I felt I somewhat-belonged... I have been away from Oregon for 2 whole years as of next month. I feel like I'm a fish out of water, or a sapling in the wrong soil. I can't and won't say that the place I live currently is a bad place, but it isn't my place, and the disconnect has been maybe the nastiest shock to my system in all my life. Finding the place I loved, and living for over 12 years there, only to be wrenched away from it so suddenly, left a shock on me that I think has yet to surface in my work. I'm excited to see what form it takes when it does. Location is very important to my mental wellbeing, more than I think it is for most people. Maybe I am a plant. It's also very important for my art. I've struggled to find inspiration since I moved here. That said, I've had the very precious opportunity to just work on myself - on my transition, as well as my personal issues. I think I'm getting better, gradually, in some way. I have a job now, at least. So it's not entirely bad. I even grew sunflowers last summer.

Around this time I got banned from twitter, but I don't feel any shame about the reason why because I believe in my message. But it forced me to be a lot less active online for a long time. It also made me lose a lot of support. That's been something I've grappled with a lot these last 2 years - that people really don't like people like me, for reasons that are mostly not our fault. I will likely always be something of an outsider for being who I am now, but I was one before anyway. It's still worth it. I like the person I'm becoming. I feel like only recently did I allow myself to feel this self-love. I was too embarrassed of myself. It took a lot of patience and a lot of de-tangling my self-worth from a lot of trauma. So it's likely I would have needed to go through all of this regardless of where I was.

I still slip up. It's an uphill climb and it's slippery. I like to be transparent about these things. It's a relief - feeling like I need to hide things is my default state and it's lovely to just let go of stuff so I don't need to keep it in my head all the time. I have a lot of hangups still. I get discouraged about my art still - I fear I'll never build myself back up to where I was before, and that there will never be a time when I can really pay the bills with it. Or worse-still, that it just isn't special enough to last. That it isn't remarkable enough to survive after I'm gone. But I think a lot of people who make stuff feel that way, and it's not our fault. There's some relief in that. I'm happy to have even a few people that care about me and my work, and something I've been trying really hard to remember in recent years is to take time to appreciate them. I'm not actually alone. I have a lot of people that love me. I'm not an outsider. I'm very lucky to know the people I do, and I hold a deep regret for all the connections I've let go of because I was just too sick. Deep down I really do wish I could love everyone. I have no ill will towards anyone, not really.

I still don't know what I'm doing. I am just doing my best, I think. I'm really, really tired. I don't want to get any older. I'm scared of the passage of time. My memory is so bad, it feels like time is taken from me without me realizing. I am 33 years old. I do not have 33 years worth of memories. There are huge leaps. Gaps where suddenly I was just older and in more pain. Being adrift in time like this is horrific - one day I will blink, and the present moment may be completely forgotten. It can't go this fast. It just can't. Something has to be wrong. I don't want to die, I don't want to miss out on so much life or be unable to remember it. I don't want to find myself on my deathbed someday way sooner than I think and be unable to string together any kind of coherent thread from my memories. What is it all for? It has to mean something right? Why am I doing anything?

I think I finally understand that love is why. I don't know much more than that. Love is real, and it's the answer. If you find love, don't take it for granted, ever. No love is perfect. Take it with all its flaws. You don't have time to bargain with it. Love like you'll never love again, love like it's your last day alive, love like it will keep you alive forever, because it will. Every year closer to death you get, you will feel the regret of all the times you did not follow your heart. Life is short. I'm finding this out entirely too late. It goes by so fast, and what you have at the end are people and memories of being loved. To be loved is to live forever. It's the thing that connects us to everything else. It's the source and the answer to everything. It makes more sense the older I get. It used to sound cheesy, but I believe it with more sincerity every day.

I'll be okay, okay

I once promised someone that I would stop self-harming. They are no longer in my life, but I kept the promise anyway. There are no new scars on my arms, or bruises on my head or face. I'm keeping this promise for myself, now.

[tachimichishrine]

"sap"

⫭◦ପଓ◦⫬

tachihara machizou x fem! hirotsu's daughter! reader

warnings: nsfw ; shower sex ; oral (receiving); masturbation (m); cursing ; bondage; fluff to smut ; idk how to write warnings; unedited ill do that later

being a part of the black lizard had its fun, but some days were boring, like today; tachihara slumped his body against the wall as he stole glances at hirotsu, who seemed just as disinterested.

"cigarette?" the old man offered, placing one in his mouth and lighting it while gunshots rang out in the background. some small rival organization - even rival was a generous word - had "forgotten" to pay back the port mafia. one warning was given and they were told to go fuck themselves, so the black lizard battalion was called. apparently, this organization had some kind of powerful ability users as executives, but whoever they were, they didn't show up for the slaughter.

grunts, low level thugs and anyone else got caught in the crossfire. both mafia members watched the wall of suits fire off enough gunshots to fill up the night sky if bullets were stars.

"i still don't get why we gotta be here for this," tachihara grumbled, taking the offer and placing the plume of smoke to his lips. "seems like they just talk a whole lot of shit."

"it's never wrong to be cautious," the senior member retorted. he puckered his lips and made a ring of grey that floated listlessly in the atmosphere alongside the smell of blood. "the boss specifically warned me about a dangerous woman who could wipe out our troops in one shot."

lips curled around the cigarette, sucked on the nicotine and exhaled pure sarcasm. "yeah, well looks like she's a real pain in our asses."

a few moments passed in silence - or rather, with only white noise echoing in the abandoned warehouse, white noise being a steady stream of gunshots. it was music to both their ears - and surely enough, no one showed up. every thug had enough bullet holes in them to make the notion that a single one survived laughable. tachihara pressed his forearm to the wall and pushed himself off, stretching dramatically with a sigh.

before he could complain again about how lame this mission was, the wall exploded.

not so much an "explosion" as a deformation. it was pushed back, and tachihara barely had the time to react before a giant hole was pierced and a woman came out.

"well, fuck," she glanced at the sea of corpses on the ground, then back at tachihara with a playful smirk. "I guess you're the mafia shithead who I was just told I gotta put down. sucks that I got here late though; if you hadn't killed all my subordinates, I might've let you live, pretty boy."

she looked young, too young to be an executive. despite this, she walked with the kind of confidence that got his skin crawling in anticipation. finally, this night gets more interesting.

he pulled his guns out of their holsters and pointed them straight at her face, mimicking her expression. "you're shit out of luck, lady, 'cause I'm gonna-"

"[_____]?"

hirotsu, who had been briefly blown out of the way, came walking back in with a look of shock on his face. the redhead rolled his eyes; he didn't care whether or not the old man knew this lady, he was going to blow her brains out.

only, as his gaze reverted back onto her, she had the same expression as hirotsu did.

in fact, she was blushing, embarrassed like a schoolgirl who'd gotten caught.

"...dad?!"

what the fuck?

tachihara felt his hands lower a little as he took in the situation, and his eyes just kept darting to his superior, then to his enemy. shellshocked isn't the right word, they were looking at each other like neither had a clue what to say.

"shouldn't you be in school?!"

"dad, since when are you in the fucking mafia?!"

"language!"

the woman dropped her gun, groaning with her face in her hands, muttering to herself. "great, this is great. what the hell?! I knew you did shady business, but I didn't think-"

"is this where your university fund money has gone?" the mafioso's face was red too, from what could only be guessed to be anger mixed in with shame and shock.

"no, I'm still in class, I just... hey, don't distract me, old man. why didn't you tell me you were in the port mafia?"

"why didn't you tell me you were a gangster?!"

"because it's none of your business!"

tachihara's presence grew smaller and smaller as he watched the whole debate happen. it was awkward in a manner he couldn't describe, as he felt not only that he was intruding, but that this was definitely not something he should be listening to. he tucked his guns away, mostly out of respect for hirotsu and the fact that he wasn't about to shoot what appeared to be his daughter.

a few moments later they were hugging.

"sorry dad," she muttered as she pulled away from the embrace. "if I had known, I would've told you..."

"it's alright, but you shouldn't keep things like these from me, [_____]."

sighing, the woman chuckled nervously then promised she wouldn't. she crossed her arms and leaned her back against the deformed wall, then took a look around. she seemed to suddenly notice that tachihara was still there.

"well..." she looked at him then giggled a little, likely embarrassed about the whole situation. "I guess I'm not gonna kill you after all, huh?"

he didn't know what to say, because what is there to say? obviously, this conflict couldn't go anywhere further. thankfully, hirotsu intervened. "what will you tell your superiors?"

"no idea. they just called me to ask me to return to base to protect all of these hopeless fuckers-"

"language."

her eyes rolled. "dad, I'm not 5, I can swear. pretty boy here agrees, don't you, red?"

it took tachihara a moment to realize she was talking about him. once again, his mouth opened but his boss was quicker to respond.

"do you throw yourself at all men like this, [_____]? I thought I raised you better than that."

ignoring his comment with a wave of her hand in the air as though swatting away a fly, she continued. "as I was saying, they just called me. I could technically tell them that I got here too late and the culprits were gone, but I don't think that would bode well with the news that they just lost 90% of their entry-level grunts."

slightly annoyed, the tuffs of grey hair nodded. "you're right, they won't. what's your plan, then?"

a shrug and a pursing of lips. "no clue. you sure I can't just kill red and bring his body to-"

"why don't you just join the port mafia?"

the suggestion came from the one who had barely spoken all night. of course, he didn't think hirotsu would actually let him be used as a scapegoat, but all this banter felt useless. "since your organization is dead in the water anyways. if you just leave, they'll kill you as their final act, but if you join the mafia, you'll have protection."

another shrug. "he's not wrong," she said, "plus, I could just work with you."

hirotsu wanted to protest, but logically, they were both right. despite not wanting his daughter to get involved, he had faith in the mafia like no other member, and was loyal to no ends.

and that's how hirotsu [_____] found herself a member of the black lizard.

her father hated it, of course. the only people who knew they were related was tachihara and gin, the latter picking up on it after a while of noticing them bickering like they had a past.

over time, tachihara got snippets of the story. it seems like at some point, the old man had some sort of relationship with a woman who didn't know he was in the port mafia. time progressed, and they drifted apart. 5 years later, he saw her again with a child's hand in her own.

it was the only time hirotsu had ever requested time off from the mafia.

it was awkward, his former lover telling him that she didn't think he needed to know about it because she wanted to raise the child herself. however, that's not the kind of man he was, let alone the kind of man he'd ever been. it started by asking her name, then he wanted to be properly introduced to her. after a few years, he would have coffee with his partially estranged daughter every other month. he often sent money, which was never used out of pride. when [_____] decided to pursue her studies, she found the stash of cash her mother had been hiding and decided she didn't care for pride. apparently, she was jumped when getting home after a long day of lectures, and her use of her ability got people talking. before she knew it, she was being recruited to the underground for enough money to set her for life.

it took several years for her relationship with hirotsu to improve, but there seemed to be some kind of mutual respect between father and daughter.

not in the mafia.

"dad, I'm not going to do something just because you-"

"I'm your superior, [_____], you can't give me attitude like a teenager. and don't call me dad in these settings."

tachihara thought it was funny. she seemed to like innocently getting on her dad's nerves, and she often used him to do it. she'd get bold some nights and flirt with him right in front of the old man's face. tachihara would feel guilty if he didn't think it was fucking hilarious.

on this particular evening, she didn't seem to have anything better to do than pester him and do her absolute best to get on his nerves.

"so you're saying you've never seen him drunk? not even once?" she giggled, sitting on the table as he tried to write his report for their last mission. her feet were swinging and the table would shake with every swing of her legs, and it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.

"no, look, can you just shut the fuck up for a second so I can write this?" he nearly snapped the pencil in half. her smirk only grew at the sight of him being frustrated. "do you really have nothing better to do with your time?"

"nahh." her chest vibrated with a playful chuckle. she tilted her head at him, then slammed her hand onto the pile of papers he was trying to fill in. "this is lame, paperwork isn't for our kind. c'mon, don't tell me this isn't boring you out of your mind, red. let's go do something else."

one fleeting thought of 'fuck it', and suddenly they were at a bar, downing shots like they were on a mission.

"I bet... you couldn't handle 3 more," she slurred, liquid swirling around dangerously close to the rim of the glass, threatening to spill over. somehow, her shit eating grin was unaffected by the liquor; if anything, she'd gotten worse. her fingers would settle on his thighs grip too tight and too far up, the tips of her shoes would play footsie with him, and she straight-up tried to kiss him a few times. she couldn't handle her drinks very well, and he had only now realized what a stupid decision it was to take her up on her offer.

"that's enough for the whole month, [_____]," he rolled his eyes with his signature scoff, and grabbed her wrist to push it away from where she was teasing at. "you need to go home."

"are you finally gonna take me home, pretty boy?" she tried to lean in again, and he scooted backwards. flirting with his boss' daughter for fun was one thing, but something about her demeanor tonight seemed serious. he just hoped she was too drunk to remember the blush dusting his cheekbones.

"I am going to call you a cab." he enunciated every word clearly so she understood it, but as soon as his hand reached into his pocket, she placed hers on top to stop him.

the look in her eyes looked completely sober.

"I'm serious," she whispered, and he could practically feel her gaze on his lips. her eyes darted back up to his own, but before she could say something else that would confuse him further, she seemed to realize her words and her entire face flushed a deeper colour.

she stammered something incomprehensible, threw way too much cash onto the table and walked (if you can call it that) outside. tachihara didn't know what to do, so he just watched her go. she'll probably be fine. probably.

he didn't know why his face felt so hot and his cheeks hurt from a subtle smile.

weeks later, and they'd made a tradition of skipping out on reports to go do something, anything except what they were supposed to do. walking along abandoned streets at night in hopes of picking up a fight, or going to a bar and picking someone for the other to take in a fistfight. a lot of it involved fighting. all of it, really. they'd show up to work the next day littered in matching bruises, and hirotsu's face would glow red and he'd have to excuse himself. giggling like children who knew exactly what they were doing.

tonight, tachihara got knocked out by a man twice his size, and it took her using her ability to get him to back off her partner in crime. she dragged him to her apartment to put some ice on it.

"that was really funny," she teased, tossing him a bag of assorted frozen items to place on his temple, which took the brunt of it. "I though you were really a goner for a second, there."

"ha, ha." the sarcasm was dry, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill of seeing his life flash before his eyes. "I would've liked to see you try."

"an ambulance had to pick up the guy after I was done with him," she retorted, sitting on the sofa next to him with her feet up on the armrest. "actually, I've been meaning to ask you something."

a sigh in response. he took off the frozen bag from his skin and set it on the table, then looked at her. she winced.

"that's gonna need stitches, tachi," she remarked, then thought for a little bit. "I have glue somewhere, we can use that for now then have the port mafia medic fix it tomorrow, yeah?"

she didn't wait for a response, disappeared and reappeared after a string of curses thrown at herself for not being organized enough to know where she puts things. she had what was possibly medical glue but also possibly craft glue in her hands, and she glared at him. "lay down, dr. [_____] is here to save the day."

he quirked up a brow, then quickly relaxed his face after realizing the pain that was brought on by doing that. "weren't you drunk earlier tonight?"

"greatness knows not the bounds of liquor."

"what the fuck does that mean?"

she only giggled, then sat next to his head as she pinched together the skin and tried to apply the glue. her hands were shaking and it was clear she had no idea what she was doing, but tachihara prayed she was doing more good than harm. although, who knows.

"ow, ow, take it fucking easy," he grit his teeth together as she manhandled his injury. he could've sworn he saw her grinning at his pain.

"calm down princess, I'm done," she raised her hands in a sign of innocence, then took a closer look at her work.

tachihara watched in slow motion as her gaze moved further and further up his face.

"is... is your hair dyed?"

the room went dead silent. he had no idea what to respond, and for the first time since he joined the mafia, he felt stupid for letting his guard down. how did he forget to retouch his roots and then let someone get so close? how-

"you'd look really cute with black hair."

...what?

"that's your natural hair colour, right?" she kept going, raking her fingertips through his hair. "man, I feel lied to, I called you red for so long. why'd you dye it?"

"because I fuckin' felt like it," he grumbled out, having no other response. he felt such relief when she just giggled to his answer.

"fair enough. red was definitely the right colour, though. you'd look like shit if you went blonde."

he was so glad she let it go. he tried to sit upright, his head still throbbing from the pain, but she just looked at him curiously.

"I'll get you another mystery frozen item from the freezer," she laughed, getting up and rummaging through her kitchen. even with her face in the door of the fridge, she spoke, "I still haven't asked you my question from before, by the way. I just wanted to know how you got into the mafia."

out of one tight situation and into another.

he considered it; he considered it long and hard, way before she'd ever even asked the question. most of the time, if anyone asks, he'd just say it was none of their business. but he couldn't get away with that kind of response with her.

so, he told the truth.

"my... my brother joined the army during the great war. I just... I hated being compared to him by my family, so I wanted to get as far away as possible from his path, and ended up at the mafia. nothing much to it."

at least, part of the truth.

she pulled her face out of the fridge, looking at his expression for a moment. she tossed him another frozen bag and quickly sat back at his side.

"that sucks. was dying your hair also part of your rebellious phase?"

his nostrils flared at her teasing and he rolled his eyes, barely holding back a grin. "shut up."

laughing, she moved her body closer to his and put a hand on his delicately. "seriously, though, sorry to hear that your family didn't treat you right. I mean... I don't have that with my parents, but I know that it's tough being compared with someone else. but I don't know how that would apply to you. you're literally who I wanted to grow up to be."

he put down the ice pack because clearly it was affecting his hearing.

"like... I dunno. you're a badass who doesn't take shit from anybody. I mean, sure, you get your ass handed to you in bar fights and you don't have an ability, but so what? dad respects you, and so do I. not really sure how your brother compares to that."

this time, there wasn't anything to hide the stupid expression on his face. he just looked at her blankly like he'd never received a compliment in his life, which made her laugh even more.

"man, you really do have self-esteem issues, dontcha? if I had known you couldn't handle compliments, I would've said this ages ago. anyways," she got up, again, and stretched out her back, "don't worry about it, let's pretend that conversation ended there. so, are we dying your hair at your place or mine? because I don't have any dye and the store closes soon if we're gonna go buy some."

his mind could barely keep up with the way she was jumping from topic to topic. in the end, he just pushed his confession and her response to the back of his mind, and got up as well with a shrug. "my place, then. but you don't need to-"

"nonsense! I've been wanting to try to dye someone else's hair forever. plus, you're my partner in crime, I can't let anyone see that you're a big fat liar of a redhead."

her laugh felt so comforting to him. he felt like he was floating out of her apartment, out onto the street and all the way back to his own. his mind was just a blur (maybe it was from a concussion from the blow?) and in no time, he found himself sitting down with his head in between her thighs, gloved fingers massaging his scalp.

"okay, so the instructions say to rinse off and you're good!" she beamed, looking at her work proudly. "no need to thank me, by the way. despite my professional work, this one's on the house."

he chuckled, getting up and being careful not to get anything to touch the stained hair. "fine, then I won't thank you. I could've done this myself too, but you insisted, so if anything I should be charging you money."

shaking her head aggressively, she placed a finger on his lips while attempting to look solemn. "in that case, let us never speak of this again."

a few more minutes, and he was in the shower, the excess red streaming down from the water and making a puddle at his feet. she kept talking to him, loudly, from the other side of the door.

"how's it going so far?"

"it's almost all out, just be patient, damn," he laughed back, the final bits of red coming out of his hair until all the water that went through his hair came out clear. he turned off the faucet, and the stream stopped. he had barely dried his hair and wrapped a towel around his hips before he saw the door open.

"[_____], what the fuck-"

"sh, I want to see how it came out," she strolled right up to him and grabbed his face with one hand, tilting it in different directions to see all angles of his wet hair. as if he wasn't nearly naked right now. as if this was perfectly normal. "it looks good, but it's still wet so the colour doesn't show fully yet, right?"

he grabbed her hand and pulled it off of his face, looking at her seriously. "[_____], don't play dumb, you-"

"... saw an opportunity to see you shirtless, and I took it," she shot him a grin. then she suddenly seemed to get a little sad as she shook her head. "sorry, that isn't funny. um... I'll wait outside."

he watched her walk out just as quickly as she walked in. he slipped on his clothes quickly, then walked out to go find her standing at the entrance, putting on her shoes. ready to leave.

"hey, what are you..."

she cut him off, not even maintaining eye contact as she slipped her heel downwards and tied up the shoelaces. "look, tachi, I'm sorry. I just get excited sometimes and forget you don't feel the same way."

"what the fuck do you mean, don't feel the same way?"

now, her gaze met his. she looked confused. "I told you, weeks ago, that I was serious about the flirting. I even tried to kiss you, and kept dodging, so I got the message. it's fine, I get it. boss' daughter, or maybe I'm just not your type or whatever, but it's okay. I don't mind, I'm getting over it."

"holy fuck, [_____], you were drunk when you said that and I thought you were..."

he couldn't finish his thought. it was hard not to notice the hope in her eyes as she seemed to realize that he hadn't actually said no yet.

so, he said yes.

she kicked off her shoes hastily as his hands went to her waist and he pushed her back against the wall, lips eagerly devouring hers. her head slammed backwards, but her hips were pushed forwards to meet his own. her hands on his chest; one of his on her waist while the other secured itself at the base of her neck, pulling her in closer.

it was hot sweaty and fast, and they ended up back in the shower. he didn't expect her hands to roam the way they did, but she'd managed to have his entire chest coated in her touch before they even made it inside.

she murmured his name into his lips, and he responded by biting her lower lip harder. her fingertips were now on his back, his tight frame feeling warm and so right as it grinded on hers. her thigh went up to his side, and tachihara realized just how much she wanted him. fuck. he couldn't believe he waited so long for this for no reason.

he dropped down to his knees. as soon as she saw him look up, her thighs clenched together and he could feel them shaking in anticipation. he threw one leg over his shoulder and his breath barely hit her pussy before he was eating her out like a man starved.

and she was so damn loud. every flick of his tongue on her clit, every time he sucked on her lips, every thrust of his fingers inside of her, she seemed to get more vocal. at first, it was just curses, mumbling fuck like it was the only word left in her vocabulary. then his name. he'd never heard her say it like that before; she'd called him tachi sometimes, but never michizou. just the sound had him dragging his free hand from her ass down to his erection, palming himself as she kept moaning out for him. it was worse when she'd roll out the praises. fuck you feel so good... michizou, hngg... fuck keep doing it like that, you're so perfect... and she'd gasp as he sucked on her needy pussy and tell him how perfect he felt inside of her all over again.

he couldn't even handle getting her to climax before he lost control. his face was still buried between her legs, but he couldn't concentrate on the way her hips would grind on his face anymore. he needed relief and he needed it fast. she glanced down to find him pounding himself, and her hand at the back of his head gripped down on his hair and yanked him upwards. back on his feet, she brought his lips back to her own before briefly pulling away, spitting in her hand and taking his cock in it.

his forehead was pressed up against hers, but he was having trouble maintaining the kiss through broken moans and grunts. he'd try to bite his lower lip to muffle a whimper, but every time he did, she would just pump him harder until it was impossible to muffle the sounds he was making. every scream from his lips drove her pace to the next gear until he was coming undone under the soft drizzle of hot water droplets, washing down his cum from her stomach.

she took it slower, gentler as he felt so fucking raw from falling apart so fast under her touch. she let go of him and placed his cock between her thighs and pressed them together, letting him rock his hips and fuck them as she kisses him again. her lips get rougher, as she goes from peppering his jawline with love to nibbling on his earlobe to piercing his skin and leaving marks on his neck that won't go away anytime soon. he arcs his neck backwards, tilting his chin upwards to give her better access as she gets greedier and greedier, taste of his flesh intoxicating her.

"michizou..." she sighed into his skin, then brought his face back up to her level, one hand in his hair and the other positioned on his abdomen as her thighs are glistening from the hot water vapor of the shower, her arousal trickling down and the pre-cum already leaking out his tip. "fuck, michizou, your body... you're so gorgeous, I just want to wreck you until you forget your own fucking name." her words weren't particularly sultry or pretty, but the way she was murmuring it into another kiss got him hard all over again.

"baby, can we... bedroom..." the ask barely left her lips before his hands went onto her hips, lifting her up a little bit as they stumbled out of the shower, barely wiped themselves dry with the towels and connected their mouths again as he pulled her to his room. she backed him inside then pushed his shoulders, his back bouncing on the mattress as he realized this was the first time he was seeing her, fully bare in front of him, in his bedroom. just the sight of her perky tits and curves got saliva pooling under his tongue and eyes scanning her hungrily.

she turned her head around, looking in his room for a few moments before opening drawers and boxes like she was in a hurry to locate something. he shot her a look.

"[_____], what are you..."

she pulled out two belts from a drawer with a grin on her lips.

fuck.

she murmured something about not needing to do this if he didn't want to as she climbed on top of him and kissed him gently, but he just rutted his hips upwards in a desperate motion to show her just how much he wanted her.

in one motion, his wrists were tied together with the first belt and pinned above his head. in another, he was biting down on worn leather and a makeshift gag was soaking up all the drool he couldn't control. that was the point: he couldn't control anything. and it felt so fucking amazing.

she kept stealing glances at him as she checked to make sure he was still on board, and when he gave her a slow nod, she flipped him onto his stomach and secured his hips under her own, legs spread out over his ass.

with only her hips, she pushed him downwards so that his dick pushed up against the sheets and the mattress. she knew it wasn't enough to do anything but edge him until he went mad, and no matter how much the bed was shaking and the frame was creaking, it wouldn't be as good as what he felt fucking her thighs. but the view was so damn pretty: his face drowning messily in the sheets, mouth gagged and wrists tied together. she grabbed a handful of his wet hair and yanked him back as she grinded slowly on his ass, dripping lustfully onto him.

it was fun edging him, but the muffled whimpers signaled he was desperate. giving into his desires, she plunged her hand between his parted legs and gripped onto his cock which was humping the mattress. she just held him with a hard grip, and he did all the work for himself, thrusting his hips as well as he could while pinned down by her weight and restrained. tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes. he wanted to tell her how badly he needed her, but the damn gag was turning his pleas into muffled whimpers and moans.

she finally let him out from under her body and flipped him onto his back, but not before stealing in a smack on his ass, which was now coated in her pussy's tears.

"want me to fuck you, baby?" she murmured with a smirk, leaning down to let her lips brush up against the shell of his ear. "is that what you wanna say?"

he nodded hastily, no more shame as now the only thing he could feel was the need for her tight pussy around him. she loosened the gag, then slid it off of his mouth in order to kiss him again. "I wanna hear you. I wanna hear your pretty voice telling me how good I'm fucking your cock, yeah? can you do that for me, michi?"

he couldn't even respond as she lowered herself onto him and dragged a long moan from deep within his lungs, which were on fire. he could barely breathe, he could barely think. all he could do was what she told him and jut his hips upwards to hit her as deep as possible. all the control she had and she couldn't help but curl her toes and dig her fingernails into his shoulders as he screamed out her name and groaned with every thrust. his eyes squeezed shut as he let the feeling wash over him, but they didn't stay that way for long as they locked onto her tits, which were bouncing up and down with her on him, not to mention her face was hot and her hair was still wet from the shower.

it was too much, too fast, despite the slow build up she forced him to endure, suddenly he found himself choking as he tried to tell her that he was close. she was first; walls collapsed around him and she exhaled a thready verse of his name. she finally let him pull out at the last minute, and he came all over himself, stomach coated in the warm sticky liquid. her chest rose and fell with every heavy breath as she watched him, then unfastened the restraints around his wrists.

he wiped his stomach clean with one of the sheets and tossed it somewhere in the corner, a problem for tomorrow, then slipped under the rest of them.

she shot him a hesitant look. "do you want... can I stay?"

he grabbed her wrist and pulled her body onto his, then pressed a lazy kiss on her forehead. "always."

"sap," she teased, snuggling into his warmth and wrapping her arms around his waist. "my dad is gonna go fucking feral when he hears about this."

a gentle chuckle. "isn't that what you've been tryin' to do ever since day 1?"

"shut up, sap," she grumbled into his chest, eyes fluttering shut as she remembers his hair then fluffs it. she craned her neck upwards to get a better look, and smiled softly. "the dye turned out well."

"next time, I'll let the colour grow out," he whispered, dreamy amber eyes looking at her through low eyelids, "since you said it would look cute."

"sap!" she cried out again dramatically, then kissed him slowly again before looking at his face again. "I really did mean it, by the way. when I said that you're perfect to me."

he blushed; somehow, that was what brought the most colour to his face all night. still, he was without a response. he just slid his fingers up her back and pulled her closer. he buried his nose in the top of her head before he thought of a response. "sap."

"shut up."

they giggled and fell asleep in a world where everything was right.

[weaveandwood]

Midwinter in Waterdeep: Part Two

Gale/Tav | Angst & Pining | Read on AO3 | Read Part One | Read Part Three

Summary:

After the defeat of the Netherbrain, Gale Dekarios was a wizard of intentionally lesser renown, a respected professor at Blackstaff Academy, and engaged to the love of his life. His life was enchanted until he came home to an empty tower, and he has been seeing ghosts ever since.

He saw her ghost everywhere.  She haunted him the first day when he got home from teaching. The house was too quiet, and as he set his bag down in the entryway, he saw the ring. He saw the note. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. 

AN: There will be a Part 3 to conclude this and it will be out later this weekend. Thank you all so much for your support on what was supposed to be a one-shot that has taken over my brain completely.

He saw her ghost everywhere. 

She haunted him the first day when he got home from teaching. The house was too quiet, and as he set his bag down in the entryway, he saw the ring. He saw the note. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. He knew her leaving was inevitable the more their conversations became stilted, the more they floated in each other's orbits, the more foreign her touch became. But the tower still smelled like her, still felt like her presence was just around the corner. Still felt like they could have had a chance to fix things. He heard her in his head all night long as he wept in his study. 

It’s not real. She’s not here.  

She haunted him on his walk back from visiting his mother two weeks later, the first time he left his house. He had tried to lay low after she left him, but her name followed him like a poltergeist from the mouths of those he passed on the street, whispering to their friends about who he was, who she was. Wondering how it ended.

It's not real. She’s not here. 

She haunted him when he was in the market four months after she left. He didn’t want to be there. Everything reminded him of her - the cart they would visit once a tenday to buy her favorite sweet rolls, the jewelry store he visited in secret to get her silver ring that was still on the entry table gathering dust. He saw a flash of her hair color and froze. When time regained its ability to move forward he strained his neck, pushing through the crowd searching for her, unable to breathe. Could it be her? Where had she been all these weeks? Was she okay? Had she moved on with someone else who was less tied down by routine? Was she even still alive? 

It wasn’t her, of course. He didn’t go to the market again after that. He still hasn’t.

It’s not real. She’s not here. 

Seasons passed. Festivals, new apprentices, weekly dinners with colleagues - life fell into a rhythm that helped him move forward. He saw her ghost less and less. It had been almost 6 months since the last haunting. He had finally tucked the silver ring into a drawer two tendays ago, an attempt to bury the what ifs and if onlys and begin to exorcize her from his memory at last. Midwinter in Waterdeep was upon him, and he was eager to engage in festivities that evening with colleagues, now friends. A few cups of wine and he felt like the old Gale, showing off a little by using his well-honed magic to create fireworks to fill the room with light and color.

As the illusion sparked and fizzled out to the delight and applause of the other partygoers, a familiar wisp settled itself in the peripheries of his mind. She always loved his illusions, from their first night together with the aurora and the sparkling stars to the smaller ones he created for her everyday in the beginning. If he had kept trying to make her happy, would she have left? If he had noticed her pulling away as he settled into the routine of his life, could he have brought her closer instead of making her feel like her only option was to run?

He set his cup down, the wine steering him toward paths his brain wasn’t ready to go back down yet, preferring to stay focused on the revelry at hand. The snow flurries caught his eye through the large picture window in the front room. He had always loved the snow and moved to the window to watch it in contemplative silence.

He froze, his eyes widened, breath caught in his throat.

Her ghost. Haunting him even here, even now, after all this time. Her hair, her eyes, everything just as he remembered from the morning she left him, standing across the street looking into the window he was currently occupying. Looking at him. He saw the ghost’s eyes widen, saw her quickly turn to walk away, to escape discovery. He wanted to hesitate. He wanted to accept it was just another vision brought on by too many cups of wine, another falsehood of his imagination...but one tiny spark of hope pulled at his mind. 

The ghost had never reacted to him like that before. 

He didn’t remember moving. He didn’t remember running out of the door, the rest of the partygoers gasping as the usually reserved Gale Dekarios knocked over a chair and pushed people out of his way. He didn’t remember the bite of the cold air. He didn’t remember yelling “Stop!” as the ghost moved quickly away, trying to toy with him, as always. He didn’t remember running down the street to catch up to the ghost, preparing himself for it to disappear as usual. He didn’t remember the desperation on his face or in his voice as he reached for her.

He remembered grabbing on to the ghost’s hand, feeling it solid in his. His heart pounded.

“Wait. Please,” he said, panting. The ghost turned around, but it wasn’t a ghost at all. 

She was real.  She was here.  

“Gale,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.

“You’re real. You’re here,” he whispered back, wrapping her in his arms, committing to memory how she felt as he held her tightly for the first time in over a year. It was only then he realized that her absence had permeated every facet of his being and he felt like he could finally breathe again. His lips crashed against hers, time standing still for the two of them as he tangled his fingers in her hair.

She took a step back, breaking their contact, looking down at the ground.

He knew. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Tomorrow,” she nodded, a tear falling down her cheek. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He placed his hands on both sides of her face, brushing away her sadness before kissing her deeply one more time.

Real. Here. 

“Then let me have tonight.”

[joels-darlin]

Dear Diary...

Pairings: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader, CEO!Joel (sort of)

Warnings: angst, hurt, sadness, Joel has been an ass basically.

Summary: Joel Miller broke your heart. So it's time to do what you do what know best - dust off the diary from the top drawer of your bedside table and put pen to paper.

Word count: 771

Author Note: This one is already up on AO3 but reposting here as I originally deleted it. I also had an idea in my head for a banner so went with it. This is not beta read, if anyone wants to volunteer please let me know! <3

Original Author notes: I am back...sort of! Always wanted to write for CEO!Joel and my original idea just never got off the ground, then this came along. I am unsure if there will be more 'entries' - there are many ideas floating around my head right now for this fic. I guess stay tuned and we will see where this goes! Read on AO3!

Chapter 1: Brokenhearted ~ ~

Dear Diary, Its been awhile since we crossed paths, I left you collecting dust in the drawer for a few months and I’m sorry. For a while life was good, I felt happy. There was no urge to scribble away my deepest and darkest thoughts, I had someone who could take them away instead. His arms a place I considered to be at peace. But here we are again: putting pen to paper. Because everything fell down the steep slippery slope again and this is how I cope best.

Where do I even begin?

Oh wait I know, the coffee shop. The unexpected run-in that was once a happy memory, now tainted. Little did I know the moment I locked eyes with those chocolate brown orbs I was done for. We had our first date a week later, then 10 months he would go running back.

In the midst of all this I am the one that is dealing with the loss. Not just his presence but my routine. Weekends spent curled up in the comfy chairs at the back of that coffee shop, book in hand, a cappuccino and pastry for company. I could spend hours there. But I’ve not been back since, its too difficult. Joel, you have ruined that for me - I hope you are happy.

I’ve never felt loved by anyone. Joel made me feel special. Pouring all my energy into this…relationship? situationship? What would you even call it? it was never the topic of conversation. But those three words were spoken, I remember it clear as day. In the back of my mind there was hope: would I spend the rest of my life with this man? Had I finally found the one?

Everything seemed so right. But no that was not to be. That random Monday in December, the words engrained into my brain forever: “We can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry but…I still love her”

Her meaning his ex-wife, the one he divorced over 12 months ago.

Then it all came pouring out. Those times he backed out on or date nights or phone calls. Told me he was working late to meet deadlines or having client catch-ups. And I stupidly believed him - why you ask? because I understood being the CEO of your own company comes with huge responsibilities. But instead he was meeting her for dinner, drinks and god knows what else. I don’t even want to even comprehend to be perfectly honest. The worst of it? All those broken and empty promises I will never be able to forgive him for. I hope they are happy together.

It’s been a week since that day and everything still feels raw. It’s difficult to describe the feeling of heartache. That crushing weight on your chest making itself known on every breath. The heavy feeling in your heart at the memories that once were. Constant swirling pit of anxiety in your stomach, making things such as eating a chore. Not forgetting the racing thoughts. Overthinking every last moment of what happened these past few months - was it me? what did I do wrong? did you ever really love me? I can’t even begin to tell you how many hours of sleep have been lost. How many nights I’ve spent crying into my pillow, wishing the pain to simply go away. I probably deserved this.

The thoughts are at their loudest when I am alone, there are only so many distractions one can find - even if just for a short period of time. It all plays over and over in my head like a constant film reel. every kiss, every subtle, loving touch and well…every time we laid together. All of this now gone and only a distant memory, he is no longer mine to call. I am in a constant state of anxiety, waiting…just waiting for my phone to ping at any given moment with a message from him. But it will never happen.

I guess now the hard work is to come, attempting to move on from someone you had the deepest of connections with. At the end of the day it wasn’t just on a romantic level it ran so much deeper than that. We shared a common ground for many things: music, books, sports even down to beer! There was no-one else I could sit in the same room with, the two of us doing completely different things, but also feel at peace.

I love him…simple as that. but what pains me the most? I don't regret many things but looking back, he could be one of them.