#but i will do that... with thousands of words

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.�� this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

[dunham-doodles]

A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

Remmick x fem!reader

2k words | Pure fluff

Summary: (AU - Remmick survived the juke joint.) It’s 1964 and you’re an artist who decides to draw the handsome stranger who keeps turning up at your door every night.

Tags: yearning; soft and sweet; lingering gazes; touching scars; 1960s music; puppy!Remmick; touch starved!Remmick

A/N: I wanted to borrow an idea I’ve seen used with Astarion from Baldur’s Gate 3. I love love love the idea of an artist drawing the face of a vampire who hasn’t seen their reflection in God knows how long.

“Hold still,” you ordered, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“This ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” Remmick said playfully.

“It will if you keep moving,” you shot back, only half joking. “Eyes on that horizon, boy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled out, rolling his eyes lightly. He tilted his chin in the direction of wherever horizon meant. Although his tone was sarcastic, a grin curled at the ends of his lips.

The night air was crisp. It was the beginning transition of spring into summer where the days warmed the skin like an embrace from a loved one but the nights remained cool like a reminder of their absence. The town had eased into sleep around you.

You thought the best thing about living out in the middle of nowhere was that there was no light pollution. Despite the dark, the sky was alight with hues of deep purple and blue like an ocean dotted with pinpricks of multicolored stars. In school, they taught you the names of each and every constellation that rotated with the seasons.

You found him right under Polaris. You had been awake after losing track of time. You were locked into your paintings so intensely, you didn’t see the sky turn. The ashtray was loaded with burnt out cigarettes, remnants of smoke curling in the warm glow of the single lamp glowing on the end table. You kept the window open to air out the smell, the soft trickles of a sad guitar playing through your stereo speakers filtering through the pane.

He stood at the end of the dirt path that served as your driveway, hands in pockets, curious, as if he were contemplating going up and installing himself into your life. You weren’t going to get a say in when or how.

You turned down the record as he got closer.

“There’s no need to do that,” he said, hands stretching out in the open air, “I came up here to ask what you was playin’ is all.” His blue eyes pleaded innocent.

“Lonnie Johnson,” you stated, an edge to your words.

He hummed low in his throat. “She sure knows how to play.”

“He,” you corrected, “Lonnie’s a dude.”

“H-He,” the stranger repeated, “He sure knows how to play.” A beat of silence strung between you awkwardly. He shuffled his feet underneath himself. “You wouldn’t mind if I sat and listened, wouldja?”

You chuckled to yourself. A strange white man asking you if you minded if he sat and listened to your records in the dead of night? Your eyes took a precautionary glance over where the trees met the boarder of your land for any sign of unsavory movement.

“You alone?” you asked finally. He nodded his head. You pursed your lips, weighing your decision in your mind. You turned on your heel, away from the window. You crossed to your record player, moved the needle to the beginning track, and turned the sound up a little louder.

You met the eyes of the stranger’s once more. His features reflected his gratitude. He leaned against the strong post of the porch landing and closed his eyes, taking in the music.

You shook your head. What a weird man.

He kept finding his way to your home every night after sundown.

“Whatcha got spinnin’ tonight?” he’d ask you without fail. You’d tell him anything from Etta James to Freddie King and he’d happily sit his ass down on your porch no matter who poured through those speakers.

Some nights he came with some 45s he thought you would like.

“The guy on guitar has to be one of my favorites from this decade,” he said, pushing the small disc into your hands. To be honest, you thought his music tastes were a little too old. Nothing he gave you was dated past the forties. But still, you admired the gesture. In return, you gave him a more modern musical education, opening his ears to the sounds of the 60s. He was floored the first time he heard Hendrix.

“Find a new favorite guitar player, did ya?” you teased.

It was nice having him to share your nights with. He didn’t make too much of a fuss; didn’t ask for anything to eat or drink, despite your offerings. He was perfectly content listening to your music and asking questions about your art. He praised the paintings, kept saying they belonged in the Louvre rather than hidden in this small town. You shooed away his compliments like water off a duck’s back but you couldn’t stop the blush creeping into your cheeks.

One evening, you decided you were gonna join him out on your porch. Armed with your drawing pad and a tin of charcoal sticks, you rocked yourself gently on your porch swing with your big toe. You had tucked yourself into an oversized crochet blanket, preserving your warmth as you waited for the sky to dim. You had the radio on instead of playing a record to save yourself from having to leave your seat. The tinny voices crackled over the sounds of the crickets singing.

“Evenin’ Remmick,” you called when you saw him crest your driveway. He told you his name some nights ago and you kept it on your tongue whenever he was near. You just liked the way his face lit up like Christmas whenever you said it.

“You waitin’ for me?” he asked, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Sure looks like it,” you replied. He crossed over to your place on the swing but leaned against the post of the porch landing instead. “You ain’t gonna sit by me?”

Remmick jolted like he touched an electric fence. “I didn’t know you were offerin’.”

You scooched over to make room for him and patted the empty space. “I don’t bite,” you winked. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were keeping down a really good joke.

The swing groaned under his weight. Your heart flip-flopped at the proximity of him. His brown hair curled at the base of his neck, grown too shaggy. His face was pocked with unkempt whiskers and a white scar cracked the left side of his cheek. You wanted to trace that scar with the tips of your fingers.

His blue eyes watched you carefully. Watched for any indication that his nearness was offensive somehow. He kept himself small, not daring to brush your skin. He moved as if you were on fire and he was trying very hard not to get burned.

“You’re gonna be my muse,” you declared.

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that,” Remmick smirked, “What do I gotta do?”

You picked up a charcoal stick and told him to face forward, keep his eyes on the dirt path ahead. The charcoal scratched the surface of the paper, debris crumbling onto your lap.

Santana crooned over the speakers on your radio lying on the kitchen counter inside. Remmick shifted under the weight of your presence.

“I think I like your music better,” he mumbled.

You breathed out a small laugh without looking up. “You’re too kind. Your taste isn’t too bad either. You just got an ol’ soul.”

Remmick pursed his lips. “You could say that.”

“Did you grow up here?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “No,” he sighed sadly, “You?”

“Nope. I moved out here a few years ago.”

“How come?”

“Just wanted a change. The city was too loud.” Your eyebrows knit together in concentration. Remmick took this moment to steal a look at you.

Your eyes flicked up at him through your eyelashes. The tips of your ears turned crimson. “Eyes forward, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy?” he tossed the name around his mouth like a shiny token. You bit your lip to keep from saying much else.

You twisted the length of your charcoal stick to match the angle of his nose before copying it onto your page. His shoulders slowly began to relax. His hands brushed down his thighs, right where your knee almost touched him. He curled his fingers as if to check that they were still operational.

“Can I look yet?” he asked tenderly. His pinkie stretch precariously, bridging the gap between you two. You could feel his nail ghosting on your bare skin. Your heart leapt into your throat, the lightest of touches already turning your nerves into an inferno.

“Just gotta work on the shading,” you replied meekly. He nodded, correcting his head. His finger never dropped. He began to soothingly stroke your knee back and forth, keeping time with the new song that played. It tickled you.

It was harder to concentrate now. From the briefest of looks, you noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching, chewing on words he almost felt ready to say. And what would those words be? What could he possibly say to make your heart race any faster?

To ease it along, you pushed your knee further into his touch. Remmick inhaled sharply in response. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt.

“Okay,” you said after a while, “I think I’m done.” You pressed the pad of paper to your chest before revealing it slowly to him. He cradled the pad in his calloused hands like it was a newborn.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, “This is me?” He asked the question like he wasn’t sure what he looked like.

“It’s a rough sketch,” you admitted, “If I gave it more time, I could clean up the lines and be more precise with the shadows.”

“When did I-?” he wondered under his breath. His fingers brushed the hair curled around his ears to the hair on his chin, trailing all the way to the scar that marked him. His brow furrowed as if remembering the fresh wound marring his face and the blood and pain that came with it. He covered it fully with his hand, ashamed to have you look upon it any longer.

“How’d you get that?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes tore reluctantly from his portrait. “I, uh…” he paused, “The war.” He locked back onto the sketch, studying it as if he hadn’t seen his own face in centuries.

“Is… Is everything okay?” you whispered. You gently pressed yourself into his side.

“Yes,” he murmured. He straightened his back and finally met your gaze again. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“Y’know, you can tell me if you hate it,” you chuckled, trying to make it light. “Don’t gotta spare my feelings.”

“No, I love this! I love—,” he started. “You did an amazin’ job.”

“You can keep it,” you said. Your hands met his and you lightly pushed the drawing pad against his chest. You leaned into his space, your touch lingering on his. Your thumb rubbed the side of his hand, returning the gentleness he showed you. Remmick’s lips parted slightly, exhaling a shallow breath.

“Thank you,” he spoke. His voice frayed like he hated that he broke the silence. You smiled softly at him. Your fingers reached and stroked the angry crevasse on his cheek.

He looked so fragile being held. His eyelids fluttered as he bathed in the warmth of your hand. He winced like it hurt but his head leaned into you instinctively. A soft trembling sound slipped past his lips.

“You are a wonderful muse,” you said. You leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on that scar. He dipped his head slipping past your ear before nuzzling in the crook of your neck. You gathered him into your arms, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Your fingers stroked the relaxed curls of his dark hair. His arms lifted with difficulty, still unsure if he was allowed this much, and rested around your waist. When you didn’t fight him, he pulled you in closer. You began to hum along to the song that wept from the radio.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the steady rocking of the porch swing on the light breeze and the feathery trail of kisses tied with promises of everlasting happiness.

[muwapsturniolo]

Drop the towel 🐰ྀི C. Sturniolo

"she's gonna be the fucking death of me-"

⟢ no warnings really, this is mainly fluff and involves a prank.

"What the fuck?"

Chris looks up from his phone, smiling as he sees his girlfriend. However, the smile drops as quickly as it forms, seeing her in nothing but a towel. His eyes dart towards Matt's desk, the monitors reflecting what's happening.

They were currently on live, streaming on Twitch, with too many people to count watching.

"What the fuck are you doing?" His words came out harsh, but he didn't care. She knew they were streaming; he didn't care if she was on camera. What he did care about was thousands of people seeing her so exposed. She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off, his voice laced with protective irritation.

"Get the fuck out, what the hell are you thinking coming in here dressed in nothing but a towel?"

"I just had a question! Stop yelling at me!" She does her best not to laugh at his obvious frustration. She knew he was pissed, and she knew why, but it was all entertaing to her.

"I'm yelling because what the fuck are you doin' kid?" He stands up, grabbing her arm and trying to push her out of view of the camera, but she stays planted.

"I just have a question!" She repeats, making sure to give him the doe eyes he always falls for. He glares down at her, a grunt of frustration leaving his throat.

"What the fuck is it?"

"What do you think of this?"

It all happens in slow motion.

Matt's eyes widen as Bun lets go of the towel, his hands fumbling as he tries to turn the camera off. Nick screams in shock, covering his mouth in a split second before reaching out as if he could stop it in time.

Chris tackles her onto the bed, his body landing on top of Bun's in an attempt to cover.

"Turn off the fucking stream Matt!"

"Oh my god, oh my god!"

"Why won't it turn off?!"

Bunny cackles loudly at their obvious distress, the fact that they didn't notice, and immediately jumped into a frenzy, truly bringing her tears of joy.

Chris snapped his head downward, giving her the dirtiest and annoyed look he could muster. "What the fuck are you laughing at?! Do you think this shit is funny?! About a thousand people just saw your dumbass flash us, and probably clipped it! What the hell is wr-" He cuts himself off, seeing the familiar pattern of his favorite pajama set adorning her body.

His brain short-circuits for a second, trying to understand what just happened.

He slowly rolls off of her, lying flat on Matt's bed and running his hands over his face in exhaustion.

"Jesus fucking christ Bun..."

She sits up and giggles softly, nothing but pure joy on her face at the series of events that just took place. Matt holds his head in his hands, completely in shock and anxious. Nick throws his head back in relief, slapping a hand over his heart.

Bunny stands up, simply waving goodbye to the stream and prancing out of the room as if she didn't just give the three brothers heart attacks.

They sit in a still silence, completely and utterly shocked by her prank.

"She's gonna be the fucking death of me-" Chris pushes himself off of the bed, already making his way out of the room.

"Bun! Get your ass in the room!"

[softsunnyy]

let's take some time

Jack asks you to take a break when the relationship starts to go in the wrong direction. And you suffer, but at least you believe you're both experiencing the same thing… until you see videos of a party at a bar and start to believe it was always one-sided.

4,3k words.

angst, angst, angst, but happy ending. Reader is kinda the problem here tbh, but at the end of the day they're just two fools who don't know how to handle their feelings.

as always, poorly written.

when the words left his mouth, you exhaled, as if he'd punched you in the stomach, though it didn't really take you by surprise. Jack and you had been having problems for the past couple of weeks, with arguments that left the air tense and made you cry in your moments alone. The relationship seemed to be slipping through your fingers, and you didn't know how to get it back. How to get him back.

and you let the days go by, trying to maintain a positive attitude and not look for trouble, but everything seemed completely useless in the face of chaos, since any comment could turn against you, and your boyfriend had made that very clear. Jack was becoming more and more distant, distracted, and a pain in your chest tried to warn you of this, tried to make you feel uncomfortable or insecure, but you wanted to ignore it and believe in the love you have for him, and that's how you find yourself facing this situation.

“i think we should take a break. I don't think this is doing us any good,” he tells you, looking down, too hurt to meet your eyes, missing the way you blink rapidly, trying to push away the tears that are starting to form, while your throat aches and your hands clench into fists on your thighs, making your knuckles turn white.

you opened your mouth a couple of times, trying to start a sentence, but no sound came out, your mind clouded. The silence stretched for a couple of seconds, until he finally looked at you. His red, irritated eyes making you think for a moment that this might be hurting him too, and then you dared, you asked him the only question you could think of.

“are you sure of this?” “do you want this?” you wanted to ask him too, but you couldn't; you didn't know what to say, what to do. You didn't know if the right thing to do was to fight for his love or let him go. You're not even sure he feels the same way you do, even though you're looking into his eyes, like you've done a thousand times.

and he hesitates, he stops for a moment, and then in a very quiet, raspy voice he says, “yeah… i think it’s for the best.” And then the decision was made, because you would never do anything to make him uncomfortable, and if he wanted to take some time, you would give it to him, even if it hurt you deeply.

so he removes most of his things from your apartment—like some hoodies, his underwear, his shampoo, his toothbrush, and much of his essence—while you look at him with complete sadness, feeling like he’s also taking a part of your soul.

and he talks to you, tells you he’ll bring your things from his house, that you won’t have to worry about going there, but you don’t pay much attention, because you feel your body cramping, a constant, stabbing pain in your chest, and an emptiness in your stomach that makes you want to throw up your entire lunch.

when he leaves, you can't even cry, not right away, not even when he said goodbye at the door, giving you one last kiss as if it were a final goodbye, as if there were no way back. Instead, you can only stare at the wall, sitting on your couch, your head completely lost, your body too heavy.

it's like something has been ripped from inside you, as if something is missing and your heart wants to escape from your chest to find it. But physically, you remain there, sitting on that couch you chose together, unable to blink, unable to eat.

and when the days begin to pass, it's slow, everything moves too slowly. The house feels cold, the sky is always gray, the food is less appetizing, and your routine becomes more and more tedious. Your friends try to make you laugh, convince you to go out, to try to have fun, but you get bored quickly, you just wanna go back to your room and lie on your bed in the fetal position, crying yourself to sleep while you think about how he must be feeling.

you try to think it's mutual, that maybe he feels bad too and will soon regret this, but hours, days pass and you don't get a single text from him, a single call from his brothers, a single comment from his friends. And when you see them on the street, they give you a sad smile, as if you had broken up, as if there's no other option, and you can't return the gesture, so you just look at the ground and keep walking.

you wanna avoid him, forget everything related to him, but his face is all over the city, and you see him, on the way to college, on the way to work, on commercials, news, even food boxes, as if life were playing a trick on you, forcing you to see his huge smile all the time, while he enjoys doing what he loves, probably not caring about you as much as you do about him.

and you wanna leave, you wanna visit your family, go away for a month if necessary, but you wanna disappear from the city. So you wait, you do your best to finish your classes, to wait until you can request time off from work, and then you take them with you as far away as you can, trying not to cry, not to pick up your phone, not to watch television.

and the first two days worked; you're laughing, watching the stupid things the people you love do just to see you smile; and life feels fresher, your shoulders don't hurt as much, the puffiness under your eyes is going down... until that saturday night comes, when everyone has gone to sleep and you decide to turn on your phone. Your finger slides across the screen, traveling between apps, answering messages, until you open instagram and see that one of your friends posted a close friends story. And something inside you told you not to look at it, to close everything and go to sleep, but you dared anyway. Then you saw a video. It was a party, at a bar you recognized perfectly. And there's music playing in the background, so you don't hear much, but you recognize Trevor, laughing too loudly while elbowing someone. The camera pans a little, and then you see him.

Jack.

wearing a white shirt, with the top three buttons undone, sweat pouring from his skin, and a huge grin on his face. You can tell from his eyes that he's drunk, and from the way they laugh, you know he's really having fun.

you don't know when you stopped breathing, but you realized it by the sharp pain in your chest. Your hand shook, and the image was frozen, still in the calm, happy expression of the one who's supposedly still your boyfriend. And now you wanna throw up, you want to stop watching, but your eyes see the time, and you realize the video was uploaded a couple of minutes ago.

he's partying. That's what you thought, over and over again.

and you couldn't stop yourself. You watched every video, every photo, every update from the friends you had in common, seeing the whole group partying, posting captions like "he's backk," "mission take the dog out: done," while you felt the annoyance taking over.

you spent weeks crying, not knowing how to move forward, clinging to the things he left behind in your home, like a false promise that he'd come back, that this wasn't over. You spent nights remembering that last kiss, thinking about the thousands of things you wish you'd done differently. God, you even had to leave home, taking your family and going to the furthest place your savings would allow to get him out of your head.

and he's celebrating.

your throat closes, and you try to forget him, to go to sleep as if nothing had happened, but nightmares attack you, and you spend the night tossing and turning on your mattress, with different images of Jack forgetting you, changing you, leaving forever while you rot in that rented house.

now, what you don't know is Jack's perspective, because you don't talk, because you're trying to keep the no-contact agreement, so you miss out on the hell he's been living. He's been like a zombie for weeks, and arguing with everyone, friends, brothers, even his parents. Crying every night as he thinks about the things he would have done differently; remembering the stupid things he said to you in every argument, and replaying the images of how your light faded because of him, like he's a poison destined to kill you from the inside out. 

rejecting invitations, messages, calls. Getting up only to go play hockey, then going back home and sinking deeper into his misery, while he stares at the hoodie he never returned to you, hoping you won't notice, or that you won't say anything about it. It was his favorite, because it used to be your favorite. And it still smells of you, of your perfume that he bought you so many times before it ran out. Of your perfume that he bought again almost by instinct, and that now rests on his sink. Perfume he used to spray on the pillow, so he could sleep imagining you were still there.

nights convincing himself he made the best decision, because he couldn't bear to see you so sad because of him, while he breaks a little more with each passing day, feeling like all the fun and light in his life disappeared along with you, as if you owned his soul.

and his friends worry. Can you blame them? Jack used to be a party animal; fun, always there when you wanted to have fun, the best guest at any party, and that didn't stop when you started dating, but it has stopped now that you're not together, and they can firmly say they've never seen him so... lost. So out of his mind.

and they don't know what to do. They don't tell him about the times they've seen you, the things they've heard, they just try to get him to come out, but nothing works, until one day they all arrive together, opening the door to his house, turning on every light, settling in like they´re allowed. And Trevor and Alex drag him out of his bed, pulling at his feet as he tries to kick them, his voice hoarse from crying, but feeling so weak that fighting was useless.

together, they choose clothes, a cologne (your perfume, by accident), and force him to brush his teeth before leaving, leaving him with no other choice.

unfortunately, they take him to that bar, where you two went thousands of times to see bands play, to relax, to forget everything. And now each of those memories has come flooding back, making him feel dizzy, making his stomach turn, and unconsciously trying to walk back to the exit, only to be stopped by his friends. So he ends up drinking again and again, forgetting each drink, feeling lighter and dizzier.

he laughs at stupid things, and Trevor´s the best to keep him laughing. He sees phones near him, recording, taking photos, but he feels like he's floating, completely lost, sweaty, and forgetting for a moment everything that's happened in the last few weeks, as if it never happened.

and the hours pass, he keeps drinking, keeps having fun, and gets closer and closer to everything going dark. Then that song comes on, the one that made you laugh, the one you mocked so many times, claiming that '80s artists would be embarrassed, but you still danced with excitement, as if youth were eternal, as if euphoria were the only thing running through your veins, making him feel full of energy, even if it was the last song, at 2, 3, 5 in the morning. And then he begins to discreetly distance himself from his group, taking advantage of the alcohol to make them lose sight of him until he leaves the bar, holding onto the wall with difficulty, until he gets a little farther away from the music, taking out his phone and quickly dialing the number he couldn't forget even if he were almost passed out from drunkenness.

your phone vibrated, once, twice, three times, until you poked your head out from under the covers, your nose stuffed, your eyes swollen, and your throat destroyed, picking up your phone in irritation and answering it without first looking at who was calling.

“hello?” you asked, your voice raspy and making you wince. In the background, you could hear a bit of music, voices, and you frowned, confused, about to look at who was calling you.

“that song is playing.” You recognized his voice immediately, though the words came out too relaxed, almost incomprehensible. You sat up in your bed immediately, suddenly on alert.

“Jack?” you asked, though you didn't need confirmation. Still, he hummed, affirming it.

“that song is playing, the one that says…” and he began to sing, very poorly, slurring his words, getting the lyrics wrong too often. You were perplexed, not knowing how to interrupt him. “You hate that song,” he said when he finished.

“Jack, why are you calling me?” you asked, feeling the ache in your heart. One of your hands played with your blankets, trying to maintain your composure, even though hearing his voice broke you even more.

“i needed to tell you… because you’re not here,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the universe. As if he wasn’t calling his girlfriend, with whom he took some time, at 5 in the morning.

“yeah, well, i think we both know why,” you replied, harsher than you intended. And for a moment he remembers, remembers everything, so he falls silent, trying to think of a response. Suddenly more sober than he'd been all night.

“shit, i'm sorry, i don't know what i was thinking,” he said, completely remorseful, closing his eyes as he ran a hand over his face in frustration.

“it´s fine, now, since you remembered, go on having fun now that you're a free man.” And you hung up, knowing your voice had cracked on the last words; letting him go, when it was what you feared most. You began to sob, unable to stop yourself, throwing your phone to the other end of the bed, curling into a ball as your body shook violently, as if you'd ripped off the band-aid, and with it, something in your heart.

Jack, for his part, remained silent for a few seconds, the phone still pressed to his ear, but not hearing anything. And he tried to think, even in his state. He tried to reason, to guess what you were referring to, and then he remembered the photos, the videos. He thought about how everything must have looked, how you must have felt, and he wanted to throw up, feeling guilty, dirty, even though he hadn't done anything to anyone, but knowing that his actions had caused you some kind of harm.

and that night, he tried to go to your house, to look for you, to apologize in person, but you didn't open the door, so he ended up falling asleep outside your door, until one of your neighbors woke him up in the morning; a kind woman who always looked at you two with nostalgia, but now looked at him with pity. She told him you had gone on a trip, and told him when you would be back.

so he waited, day and night, trying to look presentable, but failing every night when he looked you up on social media again, or when he opened his gallery again and found all the photos, the videos.

he found himself replaying that nearly two-minute video of you over and over again; of you putting bows in his hair while you shared one of your precious bits of gossip, not realizing he was recording you until you looked down, blushing, laughing, and accusing him of having evidence against you, as if you were committing the biggest crime.

and he would unconsciously smile, seeing your big smile, your displays of affection, your little things that make you so special, and then he would fall back into that spiral of anguish, of guilt, knowing he had ruined everything by asking for that time; letting you go, as if he were giving up on the relationship.

when he felt like this, so sad, so lost, he always turned to you, to your arms, to your love, because you´re his light, his sun, the person who brought him back down to earth and reminded him that it's okay to make mistakes, to doubt, to want to do things differently, but that he shouldn't let himself be consumed by the "what ifs"; using his doubts as motivation to make positive changes, to stop falling and start climbing, even if it was at a slow pace. You had always been there to hold him, to take his hand and show him that he wasn't alone. But this time... this time you couldn't help him, because you both let go of each other's hands. And Jack doesn't know what to do.

for your part, your vacation was ruined, with nightmares every day, but trying to put on an act in front of your family; using all your energy to look fine in front of them, and being completely destroyed when everyone went to sleep. So exhausted that afterward it was almost impossible to move, every muscle feeling tense, hurting like shit.

and you're afraid to go back, to face reality, but the date is getting closer and you know it's time, so you pack your things, sighing heavily and returning to your apartment, which you know will be cold, lifeless, with his hoodies folded on your bed, as if waiting for you, without his scent, without his warmth.

the surprise comes when you arrive and a figure is waiting for you in front of your door, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking down, and wearing a cap over his hair, which is longer than the last time. He seems to sense your footsteps, so he raises his head and meets your eyes, which are wide open.

“Jack…” you whispered, in disbelief, walking slower and slower, as if he might vanish when you finish approaching. And he waited for you, not coming closer, afraid that you might run away from him after all. “What are you doing here?” he could hear how tired you were in your voice, even though your eyes still had a bit of their usual sparkle.

“i think we need to figure some things out,” he replied, seeing you frown, confused. Still, you let him in. And he moves with uncertainty as if it were his first time there.

“sit, i just wanna grab a bottle of water,” you instructed, leaving your suitcase by the entrance and starting to walk toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” you asked, trying to sound normal, even though your heart was pounding, about to burst out of your chest.

“no, thanks,” he replied, distracted, looking around, noticing that you hadn’t taken down the pictures of the two of you, and paying special attention to one of his favorite photos; one from when you were 15 and you went to see one of his games for the first time. He still remembers how all his friends spent weeks teasing him about how nervous he was, but it was all worth it when you kissed his cheek, congratulating him on his goal. God, his brain had stopped working at that moment.

when you returned to the living room with your water bottle in hand, you found him looking at the photos, and something inside you ached too much, so you decided to speak as you went to sit down, far enough away from him to contain your urge to jump up and hug him.

“what do you wanna talk about?” your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and, slightly blushing, he went to sit down, all too aware of the distance between your bodies.

“i made a mistake,” he said bluntly, impatiently, watching your eyebrows rise, and missing the way your heart skipped a beat, as if he had just said the magic words.

“what do you mean?” you asked, in a low, weak tone, as you opened your bottle so you could take a sip; your throat suddenly dry.

“i thought i was doing the right thing by letting you go,” he cleared his throat, but still didn’t stop looking into your eyes. “But losing you has been really hard, and i hate it.”

“it didn’t seem like it,” you commented, with some venom in your voice, remembering that party where you saw him alive, in his element. “I saw you laughing, celebrating, and our friends saying they were ‘bringing you back,’ as if our relationship had completely turned you off.”

“it wasn’t like that,” he interrupted, frowning, almost offended. “They were, but because i was..." he paused for a moment, trying to find the words "i stopped talking to them, i cried every day, i missed you too much. And they came that night, all together, picked me up, and took me with them.”

“to that bar.”

“to that bar,” he affirmed. “They had no idea, and i wasn't gonna ruin their night, so i decided my best option was to drink and drink until i could let loose and enjoy myself for at least a couple of hours,” he explained, but he still saw some doubt in your eyes. “I know that when you met me, i liked to have fun, maybe too much, but i didn't go to that bar looking for trouble, or an adventure, or whatever you think happened,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft, so as not to turn this into an argument. “God, i even called you. I got away from them and called you when that song came on.”

“it's a terrible song,” you commented, still weak, and after being silent for a few seconds, processing his words, taking another sip of water. And you saw him smile a little, relaxing his shoulders.

“it is, but i needed you to hear it,” he sighed. “For a moment i forgot everything that had happened, and i thought it would be the same as always, that you would answer me, that you would laugh…” he tried to get a little closer, regretting it when he saw you tense up. “But that didn’t happen, and when i listened to you, when i understood that you were hurt and believing something that wasn’t that way… i came here.”

“you what?” you choked on the water, looking at him with a frown, but surprised. “It was around 5 in the morning, Jack, something could have happened to you.”

“i know, but i stayed here, and in the morning mrs. Winnicott told me you had gone with your family, and that you would be back today,” he explained.

“so you just came to my apartment to try to win me back,” you said, though there was no venom behind your words and he just shrugged.

“did it work?” he asked, hopeful.

you were silent for a couple of seconds, considering everything. You stopped looking at him, and instead looked at your hands. He waited patiently, feeling his heart pounding like never before, completely terrified at the thought of losing you.

“there are things we need to work on, Jack, you know that, right?” you asked, looking at him again, seeing him nod. “We can't go back to the way we were, because i don't think i can stand more days of just arguing with you. Not again,” you continued, and he listened, really listened. “I want my boyfriend back, but i need you to promise me that we're gonna try, really try.”

“we'll make it work, i promise,” he replied without hesitation, reaching out to take your hand. This time you didn't stop him.

and feeling his warmth broke you, so you threw yourself into his arms, holding him as tightly as you'd ever had before, listening to him begin to sob, his face buried in your neck, his hands clinging to you, as if you could disappear at any moment.

there are still so many things left to say, so many boundaries to set, but for now you just enjoy the feel of his body against yours, like that 16-year-old Jack, who curled up on you when he felt he was failing, or that 17-year-old Jack who threw himself at you when he knew his dream was about to come true and he could take you with him.

you missed him, you missed him so much that you don't wanna let go, you can't, and you hold onto him with the same intensity, your tears running down your cheeks, but with a smile so huge it lit up his world once again.

it wasn't perfect. And you're young, you're gonna make mistakes, you're gonna cross boundaries, you're gonna get to know each other a little better. But right now, there's only one thing you're both clear about: you don't want to separate again. Not when you've both already found your home in each other's arms.

you're the end game; you just have to learn to live with whatever that means and comes with.

but you'd do anything, just for him.

[shelbgrey]

hi! i just saw ur post about twilight request i was wondering if you could maybe do a jasper or edward one about him falling in love with a human and they are each others first time and maybe reader accidentally gets pregnant if you’re fine with that!

Hypothetically speaking (Jasper Hale)

Paring: Jasper Hale x Human!Reader

Summary: after getting encouragement and a little sweet suduction, Jasper and his girl finally give into their passion. After that, it's like a switch. Jasper and her can't keep their hands off each other. But then the unexpected happens.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, fingering, oral(F receiving), soft sex, unplanned vampire pregnancy, blowjob tease, mentions of dark romance novels, dirty talk, Jasper being an absolute sweetheart.

MasterList ML2

Forks was never quiet, not really. Not with the rain tapping the windows like it had a secret to tell, or the wind slipping between the trees like it was chasing something. But tonight, the forest felt still—like it was holding its breath.

Y/n sat in the passenger seat of Jasper’s car with her legs crossed. The dashboard lights cast a soft glow across his profile - sharp jaw, golden eyes, that unreadable little smile he wore when he knew exactly what she was thinking but was too much of a gentleman to say it.

“you all right, darlin’?” Jasper asked in that smooth, honey-sweet Southern drawl, glancing over at you. His hand lightly rested on her knee, thumb brushing soft circles over the fabric of her jeans. Y/n bit her lip, cheeks flushing despite the cool air.

Y/n nodded, smiling. “I'm great” she said smoothly, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket that she'd somehow ended up wearing - she couldn't even form any words when he draped it over her shoulders. Jasper smiled like he’d let her steal anything she wanted, as long as it was his.

Jasper’s gaze roved over her form, lingering on the way his jacket hung off her curves, the sleeves falling way past her fingertips. He hummed, a low, amused sound.

“Careful,” he murmured, tilting his head as the car bumped over a pothole. His hand slid up her thigh, fingers drumming lightly against her curves. “Keep wearin’ my clothes and people’re gonna talk”

“What kinda talk?” she smirked, laying her head back against the headrest and turning her head towards Jasper with a crooked smile. “that the Cullens requited another innocent soul for their cult?” I joked. The people of Forks - especially the high school are full of conspiracists and quick to say the Cullens are strange.

He chuckled at that, that same low rumble that made her stomach twist. She could feel the chill of his palm through the fabric of her jeans, and his thumb brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

“Innocent,” he repeated, his smirk making his golden eyes flash. “You, darlin’?"

The car slowed as it approached the Swan residence where y/n lived with her uncle Charlie, rain drumming softly against the windshield. Jasper's hand slid further up her thigh as he pulled into the gravel driveway.

“I'm as innocent as they come” innocent? Perhaps she was, in the eyes of God maybe - physically. Mentally innocent? Now that's a bit treacherous as she clutched her V-card and used it as a bookmark in those dirty Dark Romance books Jasper keeps cluelessly buying for, not having a clue what's going on within the pages. Virtues, maybe innocent, but far from clueless.

He laughed again, the sound rich and warm like bourbon. His fingers squeezed her thigh gently before he pulled into the driveway fully. The car idled there for a moment as Jasper turned to face her. The rain was heavier now, pattering against the roof like a thousand tiny fingers. “You know,” he started, intentionally trailing off. His golden eyes caught hers in the semi-darkness, the streetlight casting shadows across his angular jaw. “For someone so 'innocent', you sure spend an awful lot of time alone with dangerous vampires”

“Oh, but have you seen that vampire?” y/n teased, leaning over the center conceal slightly and inches herself closer. “he's too attractive and charming to ignore”

Jasper's smile widened at the teasing, his gaze never leaving hers. He leaned in too, bridging the gap between them. “And you think that makes him less dangerous?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

Her grin grew wider, her eyes fluttering as her head tilted slightly as the gap got smaller. “he'd never hurt me” she mumbled, brushing her nose against his, there lips almost touching.

“Mm,” He hummed softly, their lips brushing again. “You have no idea how deadly a vampire can be,” He teased lightly, his fingers finding her hip bone. “I mean, what if one decided to-” y/n let out a squeek as she was pulled into his lap in a flash.

“-bite you right here,” he finished, his mouth hovering over the delicate curve of her neck. His hands gripped her hips possessively, pulling her back against his chest. “Or here,” He nipped at her collarbone playfully. “And you’d let him, wouldn’t you?”

She shuddered, her body melting towards him without a second thought. It took every ounce of Jasper's self-control not to claim her right then and there. His fangs ached, longing to pierce her perfect skin. He pressed a kiss to her neck, right where her pulse throbbed rapidly.

“Jasper” y/n breathed out his name like a plea, her fingers tangling in his hair. She tilted his head up towrds her. It was an invitation he couldn’t refuse. Jasper's eyes flashed with hunger and desire as he met her gaze. He didn't need any more encouragement. His lips crashed onto hers, fierce and passionate. One hand gripped her hip while the other tangled in her hair, deepening the kiss as if trying to consume her entirely.

The kiss was intense and overwhelming. Jasper's tongue pushed past her lips, exploring her mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperate. His fangs scraped gently against her bottom lip, a warning and a promise all at once. She tasted like heaven and sin combined, intoxicating him completely.

A small moan rumbled in her throat, to the human ear it was small enough the sound of the rain covered it. Jasper heard it all too clear. Y/n's hands brushed down his chest cautiously but daringly - like she was daring herself and him to finally take the leap, darling him to let himself ruin her. Her hands trailed lower, feeling his hard, cold abdomen under her touch. Then her fingers brushed the leather of his belt.

“Darlin'” Jasper's breath hitched as her fingers brushed the leather of his belt. He was rock hard, his vampire nature making him more sensitive than any human could imagine. The sound of the rain and her soft moans filled his ears, driving him wild with desire. But he wasn't gonna let them go over the edge. Not in his car, she was too precious to take something so valuable from her in a piece of metal on wheels.

He grabbed her wrists gently but firmly, pulling her hands away from his belt. “Not here, darlin',” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with restraint. He pressed his forehead against hers, trying to control himself.

“Jasper...” she started.

“Shh,” he placed a quick kiss on her lips, silencing her protest. His dark eyes bore into hers intently. “Listen to me, sugar. When I take you, and believe me baby, I'm going to take you - it's not gonna be in the backseat of my car”

“you're not afraid to touch me, are you?” she asked softly. The whole having sex with a vampire, it could go one or two ways.

Jasper's expression softened at her question. He cups her face gently, his thumb brushing over her soft cheek. “y/n, I'm terrified to touch you,” he admits quietly. “Not because I'm afraid you'll break, but because once I start, I don't know if I'll be able to stop”

“I trust you, Jasper”

Jasper's heart swells at her words. She trusts him, even though he's a vampire, even though he could so easily hurt her. It means the world to him. He leans in and kisses her softly, pouring all his emotions into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with determination.

“so what if we hypothetically,” y/n started, her voice dropped to a whisper. She kissed his neck. “if we go to my room, the lights are off... We take each other's clothes off, and we get into my bed?”

Jasper's breath hitched. The image she's painting is incredibly tempting. His hands grip her hips gently as he pulls her flush against him. “Hypothetically speaking,” he murmurs against her lips, “I'd make love to you slowly and deep until you forget your own name”

“Hypothetically” she nodded, pressing her lips against his softly.

Jasper groans softly as her lips meet his. The softness, the innocence in her kiss is driving him insane. He bites back a growl and deepens the kiss slightly before pulling away. “If we go upstairs, darlin'” he warns her, his voice strained.

“I'm ready, Jas” y/n cut him off, whispering softly.

Jasper's resolve crumbles at her words. He gets her out of the car suddenly, lifting her into his arms bridal style. He carries her into the house and upstairs to her room, kicking the door shut behind them. He sets her down gently on the bed and turns off the lights as requested. The room went dark except the fairy lights that was stung around her room - the fairy lights he had hung up for her.

Y/n stood up, staring up at him with doe eyes as the space between them grew thinner. Jasper watches her closely. His heart pounds in his chest as she stares up at him like that. He steps closer until there's barely any space left between them. His hands reach up to cup her face gently before he leans down to kiss her again. She moans softly against his lips, reaching up and slowly started to unbutton his shirt.

Jasper freezes for a moment, his breath catching in his throat as her fingers brush against his bare skin. He helps her unbutton his shirt quickly before shrugging it off completely. His hands then go to her dress, slowly unzipping it. The dress drops to the floor with a soft puddle. He takes a moment to admire her beauty in the dim light. She's wearing a black lace bra and panties set that makes his mouth water. He slowly unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the ground.

Her fingers traced up his jaw and into his hair, she held the back of his head and brought him down to her height. Their lips moved together slowly, but passionately. She pulled away to take a breath, she stared into his golden eyes as she started to lower herself down on her knees.

"Don't you dare," he says firmly but gently, catching her chin before she can lower herself any further. His golden eyes meet hers intensely in the dark room. “if that's your first instinct, then you need to lay off the dark romance novels” He sits down on the bed, pulling her up to stand between his legs.

He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap. He presses a soft kiss to her stomach before looking up at her with those golden eyes filled with love and desire. “You don't need to do that to make me want you, darlin', because trust me, I'm already losing my mind over every inch of you,” His hands trail slowly up her sides, making her shiver. “And you deserve better than that for your first time”

She shivered under his touch. He smirks slightly at her reaction, his hands moving to her hips as he pulls her closer against him. He stands up suddenly, lifting her into his arms again and laying her down gently on the bed. He climbs over her slowly, settling between her legs and capturing her lips in a deep kiss.

“are you gonna take your pants off?” she whispered against his lips as her fingers disappeared in his curls.

A crooked smile tuggs at his lips. “Yeah, Darlin' I will” he said said softly, kissing her again before reaching down to unbuckle his belt. He unbuttons his pants and pushes them down along with his boxers, kicking them off the bed. He watches her reaction closely. Her eyes darkened slightly as she bit her bottom lip innocently. He realizes that she has no idea how sexy she looks right now. His body tenses as her legs slightly spread wider apart, making him lose his mind slightly.

“isn't supposed hurt the first time?” y/n whispered softly.

He leans down to kiss her neck, his hands gently parting her thighs wider. “just a bit, especially if your aroused properly” he whispered in her ear, making her shiver.

Jasper trails kisses down her neck, chest, and stomach before settling between her thighs. He looks up at her with a soft smile before pressing a gentle kiss to her inner thigh. He starts to kiss and lick her softly there, preparing her body and trying to make the first time as comfortable as possible for her.

“Jasper” She moans breathlessly, gripping his hair in her hands.

"Mhm?" He hums against her core, his tongue licking slower and deeper, making her legs shake slightly. He realizes how innocent and inexperienced she is. She moans loudly when he finds a spot that drives her crazy. Her eyes roll back slightly at the overwhelming pleasure.

He smiles against her sensitive flesh, knowing exactly what he's doing to her. He continues his gentle assault with his tongue, wanting to make sure she's ready and wet enough for him before they go any further. He slips two fingers inside her slowly, making sure she feels only pleasure from this act.

“Oh, fuck” she moaned breathlessly, her head tilting back.

He chuckles softly, the vibration against her sensitive spot making her moan even louder. “You like that, Darlin'?” he asks, his fingers moving slowly in and out of her, his tongue never stopping its gentle assault. He can feel her tightening around his fingers, a sign that she's getting closer.

“Y-yes” she whimpered in pleasure.

“Good girl” He praises softly, curling his fingers slightly to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. He continues to work her with his fingers and tongue, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. He feels her legs start to shake uncontrollably, her hands gripping his hair tightly. He knows she's about to come undone on his tongue. He doubles his efforts, sucking and licking harder until she cries out his name, her entire body shaking with pleasure as she comes apart against his mouth.

Jasper slowly removes his fingers and kisses his way back up her stomach, chest, and neck before capturing her lips again. She can taste herself on him, and it makes her blush furiously. “Are you still okay, Darlin'” he whispers against her lips, his hardness pressing against her thigh.

She nodded quickly, her breath hitching. “Y-yeah, you?”

“y/n, I'm fucking perfect” Jasper says with a hungry smile. “But... you need to tell me if it's too much, okay?” he whispers, positioning himself at her entrance. He's trying to be gentle, but the fact that she's completely vulnerable beneath him is nearly driving him wild.

She nodded, Jasper grabed her chin gently, making their eyes meet. “use your words, Darlin'. I need to hear you say it”

“I will” y/n said softly.

He kisses her on the forehead softly before slowly pushing inside her, giving her time to adjust to his size. She lets out a soft gasp into his mouth, her nails digging into his back. He breaks the kiss to look into her eyes, holding himself still inside her. “Breathe, Sweetheart”

She nodded quickly, her heart pounding. After a moment she nodded. “I'm okay, you can move”

Jasper slowly pulls back and pushes back in, his movements controlled and gentle. He watches her face closely, making sure she's comfortable and not in pain. With each slow thrust, he goes a little deeper, stretching her slowly. He captures her lips in a soft kiss to distract her from any discomfort.

“J-jasper” she moaned desperately. “holy, shit”

He chuckles against her lips at her sudden expletives, loving that he can make her lose control like this. He starts moving a little faster and deeper now that he knows she can handle it without pain. Each thrust hits a spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back and her legs shake around his waist. “You're doin' so good, Darlin'”

She moans louder, grabbing a fist full of his hair. “Damn,” Jasper growls, feeling her heat tighten around him and her passionate moans driving him crazy. He picks up the pace slightly, knowing exactly how to angle his hips to hit that sweet spot inside her that makes her gasp. “Is this too much, y/n?”

“N-no, your perfect” y/n stuttered, her breath shallow.

“y/n, you feel fucking incredible” he whispers, his muscles clenching as she tightens around him. He supports himself by gripping the headboard tightly tightly, the wood groaning under his supernatural grip as his free hand traces patterns on her bare skin.

Jasper watches her closely - her small breasts bouncing with each thrust, her cheeks flushed pink, her hair spread out on the pillow like a halo. She's like a damn goddess beneath him, making soft mewling noises that go straight to his dick. He realizes that he never thought he could be this gentle or this in control with a human before.

“Jasper, I think I'm close”

“I know, I can feel it,” he groans, his own release building rapidly. He leans down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking gently as he thrusts harder and faster. “Cum for me, Darling. You're doing so good”

“Jasper” Y/n comes apart beautifully - legs trembling violently, back arching off the bed as a loud moan escapes her lips. The feeling of her orgasm squeezing his cock pushes him over the edge instantly. With a deep groan against her neck, he thrusts hard one last time and releases inside her.

“Holy fuck” he whispers, collapsing gently on top of her, careful not to crush her. He can feel his cum steadily leaking out of her while she's still trembling from her orgasm. His lips find her neck as he catches his breath, gently kissing the sensitive skin there.

“Oh god, J-jasper” she moaned, working on catching her breath as she lazily dragged her fingers through his hair.

Jasper's hands gently caressing her sides. He loves how she's still touching him, like she doesn't want to let go just yet. He nuzzles into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent mixed with their lovemaking. “Did I hurt you?” he asks softly, pressing gentle kisses to her neck. He knows he needs to pull out soon, but he's not ready to break this connection yet. His cock is still semi-hard inside her, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by her warmth.

“N-no, it was perfect” y/n said softly, smiling lazily as cupped both sides of his jaw.

“You're perfect,” he whispers back, nipping gently at her bottom lip. “A perfect fucking angel” He slowly pulls out, gentle enough not to cause any discomfort. Both of them make small noises at the sensation - hers a soft moan, his a satisfied rumble.

Jasper rolls off her slightly but keeps her close against his chest. His hand rests possessively on her hip while he studies her face with a soft expression. “We should clean up” he says reluctantly after a few moments of silence filled only with their gentle breaths.

“mm,” she nuzzled her face into his neck. “I don't think I can move”

He lets out a deep chuckle then, nuzzling back against her hair. “Well then, I guess I'll just have to carry you to the bathroom” Jasper slides an arm beneath her knees and one behind her back, lifting her up carefully. Y/n lets out a surprised giggle as he picks her up, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He carries her bridal style to the bathroom, their bodies still sticky with sweat and other fluids. He sets her down gently on the countertop beside the sink.

“Stay there,” he commands softly, turning on the faucet to fill the tub with warm water. He adds some lavender-scented bath salts, watching as the water turns a light purple. Once it's filled, he turns back to her, his eyes roaming over her bare skin. Jasper held out his hand to help her down from the countertop. He leads her to the tub and slowly lowers them both into the warm water. She sits between his legs while he leans back against the porcelain edge.

“mm, thank you” she mumbles softly, turning her head to nuzzle her face into his neck.

“You're welcome, my love” Jasper murmurs, wrapping his arms around her tightly. The warm water feels soothing on their skin, cleaning away the evidence of their lovemaking. He rests his chin on top of her head, just enjoying the peaceful moment with her in his arms.

--------(Jasper’s pov)--------

I never thought I’d know peace like this.

Not after everything. Not after the wars, the bloodshed, the endless years of loneliness and guilt. And yet here she was, wrapped in my arms, breathing softly against my chest in the quiet aftermath. The woman who had somehow calmed the monster in me.

Her skin glowed from the fairy lights filtering throughout her bedroom. I traced slow patterns on her back, still marveling at how warm and soft she felt beneath my fingers. Human. Fragile. And yet… unbreakable.

At first, I’d been terrified of touching her like this - of losing control. Of hurting her. But she trusted me, and with every careful step, every whispered reassurance, we learned each other. That first night, hesitant and tender - changed everything.

Since then… Well, it was fair to say we’d made up for lost time.

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Any moment we had alone quickly turned into heated touches, breathless moans, tangled sheets. The thrill of passion mixed with relief. Knowing I wouldn’t hurt her, made it addictive. I could sense her emotions constantly: her desire, her happiness, her love. And mine mirrored hers, endlessly.

It was bliss.

Until a few weeks later, when everything shifted.

She stood in front of me now, holding a small plastic stick in her shaking hand. Two pink lines. Faint but undeniable.

Pregnant.

I felt the shift in her emotions first - the anxiety, the shock, the disbelief. And then my own. A storm of questions erupted in my head. How could this happen? Have I not learned from Edward and Bella's mistakes? The odds should have been astronomical, even for a human-vampire pairing. Edward and Bella’s situation had been unique - Bella carrying a half-vampire child nearly killed her. How could I do this to y/n.

But she was standing here - healthy, glowing, very much alive.

I reached for her gently. “Darlin’... talk to me.”

Her eyes lifted to meet mine - wide, overwhelmed, but not afraid. “Jasper, I feel fine, really. This time it'll be different”

My thumb brushed her cheek. The love I felt for her swelled to the point of pain. “How can you be sure?”

“I talked to Carlisle before I came to you, there’s no sign of what happened to Bella. No accelerated growth. No-” she hesitated, lowering her voice, “No broken ribs, no bruising. Nothing. Just a normal pregnancy.”

I drew her closer, pressing my forehead to hers. The fear in me started to ease. “You tell me the moment you feel anything strange. Anything at all.”

“Of course.” She smiled softly. “Honestly, I feel…happy. Surprised. But happy.”

Her emotions confirmed it. A blend of awe, nerves, and deep affection. No fear. No dread.

I let out a breathless laugh, pulling her into a tighter embrace. “Well, sugar, I guess we’re even more compatible than we thought.”

She giggled, her voice light against my chest. “I guess so… We're not Edward and Bella”

“No. No we are not”

In truth, I still couldn’t believe it. After decades of guilt, war, and violence, I had somehow stumbled into a future I never thought possible. A family. A life that wasn’t built on survival, but on love.

I whispered into her hair, “I’ll take care of you both. Always.”

And I meant it with every inch of my being.

[kaijutegu]

What a handsome Komodo dragon!

Except... what's going on with those labial scales? Something about them looks off. And that row of spikes down the back, Komodos don't have that. And their nostrils aren't so round. Hm. I think I know what's happening here.

I did not realize that this was AI at first glance; I thought it was just a really heavy editing style. I saw the missing central toe, yeah, but Komodos will do that to each other sometimes. The other forefoot, the one with four toes, is positioned in such a way that the fifth toe could be hidden, and the lifted hind foot could be similar.

But if you know Komodo dragon anatomy like I do, the inaccuracies pop up pretty quickly. Still, it's not like it was during the early days of GenAI; what I'm seeing here is that the GenAI image algos are getting better at discerning what part of a picture is a Komodo dragon. Since the inception, GenAI has really struggled to make accurate reptiles. In the beginning, everything was an iguana... even the Komodo dragons.

Over time, the models have been refined, but there are still some pretty obvious anatomy differences- the slit pupils, the mouth shape, the overall definition of the snout...

And they often struggle with the tongue. This isn't what the inside of a lizard's mouth looks like!

There's a lot of talk about how GenAI is bad for the brain- but it seems like most of it is actually about writing. And I think we should be talking more about images, too. Not even just about the stolen training data or the erosion of opportunities for artists, but... what is such easy access to these generated images doing to our ability to perceive what's real versus what isn't?

Every single one of the images I pulled is from a highly popular stock photo site. In case you don't know what a stock photo is, it's a photograph (you can also have stock illustrations and stock footage) that's been licensed to use in different applications. These pictures aren't taken for a specific client; anybody who pays can use them within the terms of the image's license.

But all of these images- they're not photos. They're inaccurate illustrations. I recognize them for what they are because I spend a lot of time looking at lizards, but what if you've got someone writing a quick news story, or designing a science worksheet, or throwing together a museum brochure or a zoo sign? If they don’t know what a Komodo dragon is supposed to look like, they’ll use whatever looks convincing.

Images trigger something deep within us- you know that saying "A picture is worth a thousand words?" We're wired to trust what we see. But the problem here is that genAI doesn't create an image of the thing; it creates what its internal logic says is associated with the subject of the prompt. It all comes down to probability; generative AI makes images by looking at its training data and creating output based on what the data is associated with.

(For more info on how AI "sees" what it does, check out the LENS project, which you can read more about here.)

We don't see things the same way the computers do, and we're willing to trust images more than words. How many stock photos do you think you see each day? It's probably more than you think; after all, the average American sees around 5,000 ads per day. And while those photos are marked as AI generated on the stock sites, they aren't marked as AI generated once someone has licensed them. And if the stock site doesn't have what you need? No problem, just use the AI image generator to fake that photo yourself!

We already have seen political deepfakes and AI generated images used to spread misinformation. Did you see the image of an ICE agent arresting a Doordash worker? That was an AI fake, part of a larger hoax. Some of us are already learning to respond with increased skepticism to important images, because people have an agenda to fake those. But what about the less important images, the background images, the completely mundane images? GenAI seems to be quietly coming for them, and it's something we should be paying attention to, because if we're exposed, constantly and quietly, to generated images and are trained to believe it's photography, we'll be more accepting of the bigger lies when we see them.

I don't really know what the solution is here, other than for people to be aware of the stock image issue, and to stop using stock sites that allow generated images, like Adobe Stock. We can't put the generative AI genie back in the bottle, but we can at least be aware of the damage it's causing. And maybe part of the solution is to look for alternative stock and reference options. Maybe we'll start to see more photographers licensing their images directly, or putting together specialized repositories of images based around a theme or topic that they specialize in. The downside there is that it's less convenient than the stock model where there's thousands and thousands of images on every conceivable topic to choose from. I don't know what genAI is going to do to the traditional stock model, but I'm concerned about what the end results might be and what those results might do to our ability to perceive reality.

Komodo Dragon

[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.

[vingtetunmars]

Uncharted Territory

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: During a study session that turns into something more, a simple kiss on the forehead unexpectedly leaves Eddie completely hot and bothered.

Tags: fluff, humor, teasing, implied praise kink, new couple, established relationship, first time, reader is sunshine incarnate, tender intimacy, virgin!Eddie Munson. No description of Reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: This fic is inspired by this post by @sheneedsrocknroll92 , I thought it was funny and probably something that would happen to Eddie. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 1.8k

masterlist

You weren’t supposed to notice him.

Not in the way that mattered.

Eddie Munson knew his place at Hawkins High. Resident freak. Satanic panic poster boy. The kid teachers gave up on and parents warned their kids about. People stared, sure—but only long enough to whisper, then look away.

But you never looked away.

You smiled.

The first time was in the cafeteria. You were sitting with your friends, those pastel, soft-voiced types with glitter pens and locker decorations. You didn’t look like someone who would know his name, let alone say it. But when he passed your table, you lifted your head and smiled straight at him. Bright. Simple. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He almost dropped his tray.

The next day, you waved in the hallway. He looked behind him just to make sure it was actually for him. You laughed. Said, “Hi, Eddie!” like you’d done it a thousand times.

He spent the rest of the week convinced someone put you up to it.

Except… you kept doing it.

You showed up near his locker. Lingered near Hellfire with a soda and a snack in hand. Laughed at his dumb jokes even when no one else did. It was like you orbiting around his life was normal, like he didn’t have to prove he was worthy of it.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Because you were sunshine in a person. The kind of girl people opened up to without meaning to. The kind who said things like “you look handsome today” with complete sincerity, not even knowing the chaos it would cause in someone like him. Eddie was used to being mocked, dismissed, at best tolerated. You were different.

The scary part was how fast he got used to it.

He started looking forward to you. Every hallway run-in. Every shared lunch on the bleachers. Every time you curled your fingers around his wrist like it was no big deal. And then, the moment that flipped his world upside down—you kissed his cheek and said:

“I like you, Eddie. Just putting that out there.”

Then you smiled and walked off like you didn’t just detonate a bomb in his chest.

It took him a week to build the courage. A week of sweaty palms and bad dreams and practicing in the mirror. Then he found you after school, heart in his throat, and said something completely idiotic like, “I also like. You. Like-you. You, I like.”

You just grinned, slid your fingers into his, and said, “Cool. Because I think we look good together.”

Like it was that simple.

And, god, maybe it was.

You made it easy.

Eddie had no idea what the hell he was doing. You were his first everything. First kiss. First girlfriend. First person to call him “baby” like it belonged to him. He thought he’d mess it up. He still thinks that, sometimes. But you’ve never once made him feel like he was falling behind.

You make him feel… like he could be good at this.

You play with his hair when he’s sprawled out on your couch. You cheer for him when he wins boss fights in Hellfire, even though you barely understand what’s going on. You bring him peanut butter M&M’s and wear his Hellfire shirt, even though it’s baggy on you and smells like his cologne. And you hold his hand like it’s just what people do.

He doesn’t always know how to respond. He’s still learning. Sometimes his brain fries when you lean into his side or call him “pretty boy.” But he loves the way you look at him when you do.

Like he’s something precious.

Like he’s not some loser hiding behind loud clothes and louder words.

And two months in, Eddie Munson is still stunned every single day that he gets to have you.

That someone like you wanted someone like him.

That maybe—just maybe—he’s not entirely unlovable after all.

It’s late afternoon and the sun is doing that lazy golden thing through Eddie’s window, casting long, warm streaks across his bed. The two of you are sitting cross-legged on the mattress, notebooks and worksheets spread in a hopeless mess between you. Eddie’s handwriting is still a disaster, half the math problems are half-finished, and somehow there’s a doodle of a dragon in the corner of the page.

You should be annoyed.

But instead, you’re beaming.

“Okay,” you say, tapping your pencil against your knee. “You didn’t totally flunk that one. That’s, like, a B-minus effort. Maybe even a solid B. I’m proud of you.”

Eddie groans, flopping back dramatically on the bed. “I got five out of twelve, sweetheart.”

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “You got two right last week. That’s progress.”

He peeks at you through his hair. “Baby steps, huh?”

“Exactly.” You crawl closer, lifting a hand to brush the bangs from his forehead. He freezes beneath your touch, a familiar stiffness he still hasn’t grown out of. It’s not discomfort—it’s reverence. Like he still doesn’t understand how you touch him so gently, like you don’t think twice about it.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Simple. Sweet. Warm.

And that’s when it happens.

You pull back like nothing’s changed. But Eddie is suddenly dead quiet. His body tenses, his arms shoot around his torso like he’s guarding something, and before you can even blink, he’s curling up into himself like a human shield.

“Eddie?”

He lets out a strained noise. High-pitched. Embarrassed. “Yeah, no—I’m good. Just. Just need a minute. Maybe a few minutes. Don’t look at me.”

You blink. “Wait… are you—?”

“Don’t say it.”

“…Did a forehead kiss really just—?”

“Don’t say it,” he groans, pulling a pillow into his lap like it’s a weapon, dragging one of his old Metallica hoodies across himself in record time. His ears are bright red. His hair’s a mess from how fast he moved. He looks like he’s about to combust.

And you… start laughing.

Not cruel, not mean. Just startled, delighted giggles spilling out before you can stop them. Because this boy—this five-ten, metal-loving, D&D-obsessed chaos gremlin—just got hot and bothered over a forehead kiss.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes. “You poor thing.”

He groans again, flopping backward like he’s dying. “You don’t understand. It was too sweet. Too nice. My brain short-circuited. I didn’t even know that could happen.”

You slide closer, biting your lip to suppress another laugh. “Eddie, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! You just kissed my head and now I’m having a hormonal crisis. That’s not normal. People don’t just do that.”

“Actually,” you say gently, brushing your fingers through his curls, “they do. It’s just that most people don’t feel everything all at once like you do.”

You duck your head until your forehead rests against his. “It’s okay, Eddie. I love that about you.”

He stares at you. Flustered. Overwhelmed. And still very much refusing to move his pillow.

“…Okay, but like, next time maybe warn me before doing something that affectionate.”

You didn’t stop smiling.

Even after his dramatics. Even after he tried hiding under the pillow like it was a shield from the embarrassment of having a boner caused by a forehead kiss. You just kept looking at him like he was the cutest thing in the world.

Which, unfortunately, did not help his current situation.

You leaned over him, voice light and teasing. “Y’know… this is kinda flattering.”

He peeked up. “You’re flattered?”

“Yeah,” you giggled, poking his ribs gently. “It’s nice to know I can wreck you that easily.”

Eddie let out a low, half-strangled groan. “You are so unfair.”

“I’m very fair,” you said, tilting your head. “I just didn’t expect forehead kisses to be your weakness.”

“It’s not,” he muttered. “It wasn’t. It—god, I don’t know, it felt like you were taking care of me.”

You stilled a little at that. Your voice softened. “Well… I was.”

He looked up at you.

You bit your lip thoughtfully, then reached down, brushing your fingers through his curls. “You know… I could keep doing that. Taking care of you.”

Eddie blinked. “Wh—what, like… now?”

You nodded. Your voice was calm, careful. “If you want. We don’t have to. But if you do want… I’ll be gentle. I’ll go slow. I just want you to feel good.”

Eddie swallowed hard, pupils blown, breath catching in his chest. He was pretty sure his brain had left his body a few minutes ago. You were so soft, so sweet, so stupidly beautiful, and you were looking at him like he was the precious one.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “Yeah. I… want you to.”

You smiled at him like that was the best answer he could’ve given.

“Alright, baby,” you whispered, removing the pillow and climbed into his lap with slow, careful movements.

Eddie’s hands found your waist instinctively, holding you like you might vanish if he let go. You brushed your nose against his, pressing a light kiss to his lips first—then another, and another, deeper each time.

It started slow. Gentle.

Then his fingers tightened.

Then your hips rolled.

And by the time his head tipped back against the pillow, both of you breathless and warm, you were rocking slowly together, hips bumping in a soft rhythm, mouths never parting for long.

Your hands cupped his face.

His arms circled your waist.

And the world outside his bedroom melted away as you kissed him deeper—teaching him, guiding him, loving him like no one ever had.

Eddie was still staring at the ceiling when you flopped beside him with a satisfied sigh, your limbs brushing his.

There was a long pause.

Then, in a dazed voice, he mumbled, “I think I saw God.”

You burst out laughing, burying your face into his shoulder.

He turned to you, blinking slowly, curls a mess, skin flushed pink across the cheeks and down his chest. “Like. I’m serious. She looked just like you. But like—glowier.”

You nudged his side with a grin. “Are you trying to flirt with me after we had sex?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because now I really don’t want you to leave me.”

You laughed again, kissing the tip of his nose. “Baby, I’ve been your girlfriend for two months.”

“Yeah, but now I feel like I need to propose. Or like, write a ballad. Or get your name tattooed on my—”

“Eddie.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly. Unless you think the tattoo thing is hot. I’ll do it.”

You rolled your eyes, cuddling into his chest. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and pulled the blanket over both of you, his arms curling around your shoulders. “Ridiculous and lucky.”

You smiled into his skin, fingers drawing slow shapes across his ribs. “You did great, baby.”

There was a pause.

Then, a groan. “Don’t say that again right now.”

“Why not?” you asked innocently, already giggling.

“Because last time you said that, I got bodily betrayed, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to recover twice in one night.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you rest… for now.”

“Threat noted,” he muttered, but he was smiling—broad and crooked and deeply in love.

And so were you.

[l4wsrule]

⟢ ・⸝⸝ why are you crying ?

ׂ╰┈➤ how different one piece men would react to you crying over something stupid ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ

t͟a͟g͟s͟: ace, law, kidd, sanji .ᐟ , fluff, romance, sfw, comedy(?) in some parts.

n͟o͟t͟e͟: established relationship for everyone except kidd (depending how you perceive it, up to you.) i also wanted to include sabo but i currently ran out of ideas, so lmk if i should do more!!

　

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𓇼 ⋆.˚ : The sun hangs high in a cloudless sky, its golden warmth spilling over the polished warmth of the wooden deck. Gentle waves lapping rhythmically against the hull of the Thousand sunny.

A mild breeze stirs the sails, fluttering them lazily as the ship sailed on forward, the rigging creaks occasionally. Seagulls squawking and birds chirping from a comfortable distance in the vast horizon. But otherwise, silence reigned the vessel as everyone else was sleeping in their cabins during this peaceful morning. It was quiet, too quiet.

And then, there was you. Pacing back and forth around the kitchen, a panicked mess. You were basically a walking storm, trapped in skin. The scent of burnt food from a plate placed on the counter hitting your nose with an acrid, bitter edge.

The smell, of course, didn't go unnoticed. From a particular cook in the ship who quickly rose from his sleep and made his way towards the kitchen in quick strides. Pushing the door open in panic. His mind rushed with thoughts like : "Is it an intruder, a possible enemy attack?"

But those thoughts were soon completely erased as he was met by the sight of you standing there in the middle of the kitchen, a guilty expression on your face, like a child who just broke their mother's sacred living room vase. Taking a glance behind you, he finally identified the source of the smell, a black vapor of smoke emiting from the plate. His gaze soon shifting to yours again. His worried expression immediately softened upon seeing tears streaming down your face.

"Mon amour— What's wrong, what happened ?" He implored in a soft tone, walking towards you. His hands hovering over you as if he was scared you'd break the moment he touched you.

"Food.. it..- I cooked, and it burned, and — " You muttered out incoherently between sobs. You knew he hated wasting food more than anything else.

The cook wasted no time in pulling you in his arms, into a tight, comforting embrace. He had no idea what you were saying, but, despite whatever you thought, your tears were his biggest weakness.

" Shh.. M'lady, calm down, I'm not mad at you, please stop crying. " He cooed, deseperately trying to stop your endless stream of tears soaking through his shirt.

He didn't say anything for a while, and neither did you. Simply holding you in a comforting enfold, until you quieted down and gathered your thoughts.

You were the one ending the hush.

"I wanted to cook something for everyone before you woke up, since you always work so hard, and I burned it..." Your voice trembled slightly, as though you were confessing a sin.

Sanji simply stared down at you for a moment, before letting out a small laugh, tightening his hold on you, always ensuring and prioritizing your safety. He then lifted you up off the ground slightly, just enough to twirl you around in his arms.

"My love !! You're so cute I could die !!"

"Wh- Sanji !!" Your hands hung in the air, your eyes widening. You couldn't help but chuckle at the sudden gesture.

He eventually placed you down on the ground again.

"So.. you're not mad..?"

"Y/N, darling, if you told me you burned a man to ashes, I would blame him for standing in your way."

You chuckled at the reassurance, a faint blush dusting your already red, post-crying cheeks. He always had a certain way with words that boosted your mood in no time.

The blonde reached closer and wiped the remaining tears off your complexion with his thumbs, ever so gently. Treating it like fragile glass. His hands slightly cold, contrasting against your warm, roughed up face. Before placing a soft kiss to your nose.

"It's okay to make mistakes, let's remake it together before the others wake up, hm?" He reassured you, patting your back here and there.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ And so, the entire hassle was over, you eventually cooked the meals again with Sanji's help, he instructed you, carefully watching you, making sure you don't spill, burn yourself, anything of the sort. A proud, loving warm smile plastered on his face the entire time. It was both a means of bonding and teaching you more of his secret cooking tips he wouldn't tell a soul about.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

༯ ࣪ ﹏𓊝 ⋆. The moon hangs full above the idle mast, casting a spell on the currently anchored ship of the Whitebeard Pirates, lanterns swing from ropes, their golden glow flickering across their faces. The sound of crickets trilling in the grassy field ahead was loud, never loud enough to overcome their cheerful singing and laughters erupting like cannon, as they partied, for whatever reason.

Their excuse? "There is no celebration, we simply celebrate living through another day !" With half empty barrels of rum, sake.. you name it, beside them.

And you were there in the middle of them, on god knows how many bottles of rum. Probably not much, considering your tolerance. You couldn't afford to drink that much. Though you were already a tad bit tipsy, losing count of the previous ones.

Beside you, was your significant lover, none other than Ace.

"Cheers again!"

"Cheers ! To the charming lady who stole my heart ~ " He said with a cheerful smile on his face, the one he'd always wear. The one that always caused a flutter in your heart. His voice dropping down an octave at the last sentence.

You simply enjoyed eachother's presence, a bit too much. The sound of the crowd almost vanishing, that of boots stomping as the others danced with wild abandon, some arm in arm, some spinning solo.

Just as you were about to grab yourself another bottle, he did it. again. His signature move.

Ace's freckled face suddenly fell on your lap, his previous laughter soon replaced with a faint snore. Your eyes widened as you looked down at him. Hands suspended above your head, unsure of what to do.

You blinked a few times, processing it, and before you knew it, you unwillingly burst into tears. Probably due to the alcohol, but that was a conversation for another day.

"Ace !! Are you dead ?! " You whined, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. Tears helplessly falling along your tinted cheeks.

Noticing your fussy state amidst the chaos, Marco walked up to you, arms crossed, he let out an amused laughter at the two of you.

"Haha ! Y/N !! You really crying? Give him a minute or two, you should get used to it by now."

That didn't go through your head. Not the slightest bit. You continued shaking him like you're trying to reach a coin from an empty penny bank.

He soon rose from his— rather short slumber, looking at you with a dead, plain expression. Like you had just insulted his entire bloodline, accessing the situation in his half drowsy, half drunken head.

He raised an eyebrow as he saw the tears on your face. Upon noticing that, you promptly averted your gaze away from him, wiping them off using the back of your sleeve.

"..Were you crying?? " Portgas asked, a mix of worry and amusement stirring in his voice, each of the two fighting for dominance.

"Absolutely not." You affirmed, your response quick and sharp.

"Pehahaha ! You wereeee ~ " He insisted in a tune-ish tone. A laugh eventually booming out of him. A laughter that always brought warmth to your chest, no matter what. Even now, when you were pretending to be mad.

Scooting closer to you, he draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. His free hand curling into a fist and ruffling your hair playfully. "You thought I died or somethin' ?" The brunette teased, low chuckles escaping the back of his throat despite him. Holding himself back.

"..Could you stop doing that out of the blue? Atleast warn me beforehand!! What if you actually died?? What would I do with myself, Ace!" You dramatized, perhaps way too much. It's the alcohol, again.

He didn't exactly try to ridicule you or make fun of you, knowing how emotional you'd get in your light headed form. He leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the side of your head, patting your shoulder reassuringly.

"You're such a crybaby. I won't die, not anytime soon, and especially not because of this. Alright?"

How ironic.

"..'Better not, you fool.." You mumbled under your breath.

༯ ࣪ ﹏𓊝 ⋆. When you thought he hadn't heard you, well, he had. His earlier amused smile shifting into a warm, content one. Finding your tipsy, worried self oddly endearing. But brushing off this funny interaction aside, not wanting to bring down the mood, both of you soon placed your focus back to enjoying your quality time alongside eachother before the end of the night.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

˙✧˖🔧 ⋆｡˚ A gruesome fight had just ended between the Kid Pirates and another rookie crew, who foolishly thought they were good enough and actually stood a chance to match against your captain.

Your crew, of course, left the attack victorious. Albeit, the ship, Victoria, was left in a tremendously bad shape. And you were so kind to offer fixing up a few loose wooden boards.

Spoiler: You had no shipwrighting experience whatsoever.

And so you struggled, for hours. Deseperately attempting to fix the mess.. and you just may have made it worse. Though your pride didn't allow you to admit you couldn't do it.. or maybe the fear of telling Kidd. So, you simply chose to drown in silence.

You sat down, leaning against the railing. Smoothing your hair back and sighing, a few tears falling from your face with your forehead in yours hands, elbows propped on your knees.

This was dumb. Why were you crying?

You thought: everyone is so strong and reliable, You thought you could at least help with some measly ship fixing.

Zoning out, your mind eventually turned off, but your tears never ceased raining down your face. Until he passed by.

A deep, aggressive voice pierced through your earlier silence.

"Oi — You done fixing that up or what ?!"

You immediately flinched, standing up abruptly, with a hammer still in your hand. Face slightly reddened and puffy from your quiet sobs.

Kidd wasn't born yesterday, he certainely wasn't the smartest one in the bunch, either. But when something was wrong, he could definitely sense it.

" What the hell. Y/N. Crying, on my ship ? In my sight?? " He scolded roughly. A growl emitting beneath his words.

"I'm not crying, I just couldn't figure out how t —" You gave him a half-assed excuse, gripping the hammer tighter around your hand.

Eustass looked back and forth between you, the hammer, and the still unfixed mess behind you. It wasn't hard to put two and two together.

"Tch— You're pathetic, give me that." He commanded firmly, his tone as gruff as ever as he took the hammer from your hand by force in one swift motion. Kneeling down where the touching up needed to be done, and getting to work without another word.

"Captain, you didn't have to, I can—" You protested quietly, walking behind him.

"Shut up and actually make yourself useful— Bring more screws. Now."

Not another word was spoken from you. You quickly hurried off to grab more supplies, sighing in relief on your way.

˙✧˖🔧 ⋆｡˚ Why, relief? Because you knew. You knew he wasn't actually mad. That's just how he is. A tough exteriour, hiding a much more caring and reliable facade, especially towards you and the rest of his crewmates. You could tell he felt just a tad bit bad for your pathetic, sorry self. Though he would never admit it out loud. And he didn't necessarily have to, since you could read him like a book anyway.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

⊱ 🧊 ׅ ✧ ⋮ Onboard the famous Polar Tang submarine, where everyone else was busy managing whatever important stuff going on. You, on the other hand, were.. well, definitely busy, with something else.

Curled up in a ball on the couch of Law's office, wrapped around yourself like a cocoon, face buried in your knees. You weeped, uncontrollably. Like you just witnessed the sky shattering and falling above you. Your form shaking slightly with each sob errupting out of you.

And there he was, sitting on his desk, his multiple attempts at focusing on his work were futile.

He'd already tried comforting you, but those attempts were just as pointless.

He wiped a hand roughly over his face, as if he was giving up on life itself entirely.

"Will you stop crying over that already ? " He grumbled gruffly, his gaze shifting to you again.

"No !! I feel so, terribly bad, I wish the ground opened and swallowed me whole ! "

"So dramatic." Trafalgar sneered, rolling his eyes.

"You just don't get it!" You whined.

"Oh, I do get it." He affirmed amidst standing up, making his way towards you again. He sat beside you, awkwardly.

You were unconsollable.

"..Listen, I really don't think Bepo's the type to hold a grudge over you accidentally stepping on him— Hell, he doesn't hold grudges at all. He's just Bepo." Law assured you, placing an awkward hand on your back, patting it a few times.

You eventually pulled your face out of your knees, sniffling, dabbing at your tears with the back of your hand.

"But— He looked so pained, and sad, and the way HE apologized because of MY mistake —"

"He's not sad, I was with him just a moment ago, he's playing cards with Penguin and the others like nothing happened. I bet he already forgot about it."

You paused. It was a long, dramatic pause. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole once again, but this time, for different circumstances. You just embarassed yourself, crying senseless over nothing. Though your tears finally stopped their ceaseless falling.

He blinked a few times, confused by your sudden silence, and the way you stared at him.

"..Really? He's not sad? Or mad at me?" You asked again, making sure, again, and again.

"I never lied to you." Law reassured you, times over, and over. As much as you needed.

With a now relieved smile, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close for a hug. He stiffened and stilled for a moment, a small, barely there blush brushing against his cheeks. But he didn't hesitate to hug you back.

"Idiot. You should really save your tears for more important matters next time." The surgeon mumbled against your hair as he plopped his chin ontop of your head. More of an advice than a scold, he didn't exactly like seeing you crying, and it showed, in his own special way.

⊱ 🧊 ׅ ✧ ⋮ He wasn't exactly the emotional type of guy. When it came to situations like this, or any situation, really. He was always more logical, rational, and critical. He acted on finding a solution rather than giving out comfort, but he learned to know how to balance between the two when it came to you, he deeply cared, despite not showing much through his cold and distant facade. Which only seemed to collapse around you.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

[alexseanchai]

[image 1: tweet by thisone0verhere: "TIL there is a word in ancient Greek (Kakotherēs) that means 'bad at summer' or 'unfit for summer' and it pleases me to know that this has been going on for thousands of years for I too am bad at summer"]

[image 2: part of a paragraph, transcribed below, with the word "heat" highlighted:]

For we see conception taking place in all seasons as well as being brought to a successful end. And if certain natures unfitted to endure summer hear are worse off in summer or, on the other hand, those unfitted to endure summer cold are worse off in winter, we shall not pay attention to the seasons, but rather to the specific condition of the body.

.

hey @audible-smiles do you by chance remember where you found that translation? I'm specifically after the title and translator, but if I search for that sentence without quote marks I get Ecclesiastes, and if I search with, I get fuck-all

.

I bet there's also ancient Greek wordplay about the causal relationship between hot weather and hot tempers

[fantasticfourthwingimagines]

hello! can i request something angsty with xaden or aaric or both ? maybe an injury in battle ?

Yes of course! I went with Xaden since I've already got a request for something angsty with Aaric. I hope you enjoy! Warnings: Description of almost death, injuries in battle

“You are nearing burn out.” 

“I’m fine.” You shot back down your bond to Beiste. If you had the energy to, you would have thrown your shields up.

Not that he wouldn’t smash right through them. 

“You are not.” He growled. “And you have not even mended-”

“I said I’m fine,” You cut him off. You didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “There are people much worse off than me right now. I can mend myself later.” The thought was confirmed as you bent down to a flier who was bleeding heavily from a laceration to their leg, their knee bent at an awkward angle. 

His voice was rough and gravely when he responded. “If you do not stop, I’ll be forced to do something you will not be pleased about.” 

Normally you weren’t one who ignored advice from your dragon, but right now there were more important things. So you focused on the flier, placing your hands near the injury. He jumped when you touched him, whether that was from the heat of your hands, or the pain you weren’t sure, but as you focused on pulling from that thread of Beiste’s power, his body eased. You barely registered your own pain lancing behind your eyes as you mended. 

Steam curled from your palms. The flier let out a strangled cry as the bone shifted. You held on. But the wound . . . 

It wouldn’t close. 

You dug deeper, gritted your teeth, sweat pouring down your temple. Your vision blurred. Just a little more. You could finish this. You had to. 

Then everything tilted. 

One blink you were upright. The next, you were flat on your back, staring up at a sky that swam with stars you couldn’t quite focus on. 

You heard a voice calling your name, two actually. One inside your head and one outside of it. Both sounded muffled, like you were submerged in water. You wanted to turn your head, to look, but nothing happened. 

Gods you were burning. 

That doorway to Beiste’s power was wide open and his power flowed through your veins like fire, scorching everything in its path. 

“Close the door!” 

Who had said that? Everyone still sounded muffled. 

The voice was right though. You had to close it. You needed to. You pushed against it, but it was like the door weighed a thousand pounds. 

Or maybe you were just that weak. 

Then the stars disappeared, and now you were looking at Imogen. She had pulled your head into her lap, brows pinched with worry. She reached down to touch you, but pulled her hand back when she felt how hot your skin was. “Get Bodhi!” She shouted over her shoulder. 

“You will not burn yourself out.” Beiste said, his voice low and urgent in your mind. “Close the door, brave one.” 

You wanted to answer him, to say I’m trying, but the words were stuck in your throat. So you pushed again, harder this time. 

It closed another inch, but not enough. 

Then someone else appeared. A familiar shape. Dark curls, tense shoulders, wide eyes that went darker with fear the moment they landed on you. 

It wasn’t the face you were longing to see, but gods, it was a relief to see him all the same. 

“She’s burning out.” Imogen told him. “Counter her signet and maybe it’ll help.” 

Bodhi didn’t hesitate. You watched his hand move in the familiar clockwise motion, and the slightest bit of cool relief flooded your system as you felt the magic start to diminish. 

“Now!” Beiste thundered. 

You shoved with everything you had left, and the door slammed shut. You could almost feel it reverberate through your skull as your mind collapsed inward with the effort. 

Your eyes slipped closed, but gods you were so hot. You didn’t know how Imogen managed to stay this close 

“Somebody needs to get Xaden.” You heard Bodhi say. 

No. 

You groaned, eyes still shut. The last person you wanted to see you like this, weak, wrecked, broken, was him. 

“Sorry, babe,” Imogen said dryly. “We’re way more scared of him than we are of you.”

“I’ve already informed Sgaeyl.” Beiste told you. 

You groaned again. “I hate you.�� You weren’t sure whether you replied in your mind or out loud. 

Beiste snorted. “I warned you. The shadow wielder will get you help the fastest.” 

“I’m fine.” You croaked. “I just need to lay here for - for a minute. Then I can help some more.” 

The heat in your body was dissipating, but something else was rising in its place 

Pain. 

Sharp. Hot. Relentless, buried deep in your side. 

Imogen shifted her hand, trying to make you more comfortable, and it brushed up against your hip, causing you to cry out. She jerked back like she’d been burned and gasped. “Get Xaden, now.” 

Before anyone could move though, the ground shuddered beneath you. 

A familiar sensation ghosted over your skin, soft as silk. A shadow.

Then you heard it. 

His voice. 

“What happened?” 

The fog in your head thinned, enough for you to pry your eyes open. 

There he was. 

Your tall, dark, avenging angel. You hadn’t seen him since the battle ended hours ago, but you knew he was okay. Beiste had informed you as much. You saw a bruise on the corner of his jaw, and a cut on the corner of his perfect mouth, but other than that, he did seem okay. He was safe. 

You wanted to reach for him. You wanted him to hold you. But you couldn’t move. Every breath sent fire lacing through your side. 

He called your name, but you couldn’t make your jaw unclench. The heat in your side was agonizing. Like someone was branding you with a hot stone. All you could do was watch as Xaden’s face came into view, brushing some of your damp hair out of your face. “Talk to me, love.” He said, his voice was low, urgent.

You tried. Your jaw clenched against the pain, but the heat in your side was unbearable. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare into Xaden’s eyes and hope he understood. 

“Xaden, her side.” Imogen’s voice interrupted. 

His gaze snapped to where she pointed, and you watched it happen. The moment his mask cracked. The strong, unshakable leader disappeared. 

And in his place, fear. Real, raw, unfiltered. 

“We have to get her to Brennan. Now.” He said, and you watched him try to pull himself together, but you heard it. The tremor in his voice, the panic bleeding through. 

Well that didn’t sound good for you. Gods you needed this pain to stop. It was too much, hot and sharp and everywhere now. Everything was so heavy. Your eyes fluttered closed, tired of keeping them open.

“No! Come on, you need to open your eyes.” Xaden’s voice broke through, closer now and desperate. 

Closing them felt so nice though. When you did . . . the pain started to fade. Not gone. But distant. Numb. You let go, just a little. 

“You will NOT fade from me, brave one. You are too strong.” Beiste’s voice roared in your mind, and you felt the ground shake again. “I am here, and I will not let you go.” 

You didn’t think you were going to be given a choice. Is this what it felt like? Dying? Not pain, but nothing? Numbness curling in, quiet and absolute. 

“I’m so sorry, love.” Xaden whispered. 

Then - you were being moved. 

Pain detonated through your body. You didn’t even realize you were screaming until you tasted the fabric of his shirt, mouth open, gasping against him. The agony returned in a wave so fierce it stole your breath.

He held you. Rocked you. His shadows tried to soothe the fire beneath your skin. 

Your screams faded to whimpers. The numbness returned. 

You were dying. 

“No!” Beiste’s roar shook the air, and suddenly you felt him. His massive warmth, his breath in your hair. He was right there. “You will survive this, brave one.” 

“Where the hell is Brennan?” Xaden shouted, voice cracking against your ear. 

Brennan wasn’t going to get here in time. The darkness crept in. Not Xaden’s soft, familiar shadows. This was heavier. Empty. Somewhere beneath it all, his shadows still curled around you, like hands trying to keep your soul tethered. 

Everything hurt. Everything was so heavy. 

Your head dropped back, but Xaden caught it, pulled you to him, pressed your forehead to his. “No, no, no. You’re not leaving me. Do you hear me? Fight this.” 

You wanted to. Gods, you wanted to. You didn’t want to be another person in his life that left him when he needed you the most, but you didn’t have anything left. You’d given everything to save others, and there was nothing left for yourself. Nothing left for him. 

The blackness rose, and with every bit of strength you had left, you looked down that bond to your dragon, shimmering gold, and whispered, “you made me better, Beiste. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” 

“You are NOT dying-!”

“Tell Xaden . . .” your voice cracked, barely a whisper, “. . . that I loved him. With every breath I had.” 

The last thing you heard was the screaming, raw, tortured . . . 

And then - 

Nothing. 

——————————

Waking up hurt. Not as much as dying had, but gods, your side ached. Every muscle in your body throbbed with exhaustion, like you’d run through fire and barely made it out alive. 

You weren’t sure you had, but you could move. 

You tested your fingers, just a twitch, and they obeyed. You exhaled shakily, relief washing over you. 

And then, warmth. A hand closed around yours. Familiar. Calloused. Steady. 

He’d been waiting. 

You heard him say your name, voice raw and low, squeezing your hand with the gentlest touch. “Open your eyes for me, come on.” Xaden whispered, meant for you alone.

This time, instead of having to fight them, your eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry for a moment, mostly lights and motion, but after a few slow blinks, the world came into focus. 

There he was. The man you loved, and the man you thought you’d lost. 

Emotion crashed over you like a wave. Your throat tightened. Your eyes burned. “Xaden . . .” You whispered, voice raw and hardly audible. You squeezed his hand. 

He let out a sound, a noise of relief, and then he was off his chair, his knees on the ground as he let go of your hand to wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your stomach like he couldn’t get close enough. 

You felt a twinge in your side, but you wouldn’t have moved for Dunne right now if she came down and demanded you two part. A noise caught your attention, and you glanced up in time to see Imogen closing the curtains around your bed, giving you a small smile as she made sure you and Xaden had some privacy. 

Your fingers slid into Xaden’s hair, and his entire body shuddered under your touch. 

You hadn’t seen him like this since the last night you two had together after watching your parents burn alive. 

Then, a flicker, that beautiful gold bond shimmering once more as Beiste’s voice followed, dry but fond: “Sgaeyl would like me to inform you that if you ever scare her rider like that again, she will eat you alive.” 

You almost laughed. Leave it to Sgaeyl to threaten you with death right after you’d nearly died. “I’ll try my best.” You told him, and a wave of affection pulsed down between you too. “I’m sorry, Beiste.” 

His voice came softer this time. Steady. “We will discuss your insolence later. For now, know that I’m glad you are alive, my brave one.” 

You closed your eyes for a moment, let yourself breathe. Yeah, you were glad of that too. 

When you glanced down at Xaden his face was still buried in your stomach. He was pressing kisses against you, so featherlight, you barely felt them. 

“Xaden,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. 

He looked up at you, and your heart splintered as you watched a tear slide down his cheek. 

“Can you hold me?” You asked, trailing your hand down his cheek to catch the tear. “Please?” 

You didn’t need to ask again. With some careful maneuvering, you were soon wrapped in his arms. Your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear while his hands stroked your body up and down until they stopped trembling. “The last time I held you,” Xaden whispered, breaking the silence like it hurt to speak it. “You died in my arms.” 

That memory was never going to leave you. Feeling so trapped inside your body, unable to do anything except fade as Xaden broke in front of you. The fact that it was your fault he had even gotten to that point made guilt churn in your stomach. “I wanted to save everyone.” 

“And I’d let everyone die.” Xaden said, voice broken, but unflinching, “Do you understand that? I’d burn the whole continent to ash before I gave you to Malek.” 

Your hands curled into fists in his shirt, and your eyes closed as his words washed over you. You did know that. Xaden had never been one to hide his devotion to you. 

“I fucking need you. I don’t care if that makes me weak or less of a man.” Xaden’s lips brushed your hair, and you shivered. “You can take everything - anything you want from me. Just not yourself. Anything but you.” He mumbled, his arms tightening like a vice around you. Like you were going to disappear at any second. 

Tears dripped down your cheeks, and shame thickened your throat. Xaden had lost almost everything, and you had gotten so wrapped up in trying to help, that you’d almost taken away the one thing you knew he needed more than anything. 

You. 

You wouldn’t do it again. 

The broken words escaped your lips, “I’m sorry, Xaden. I’m so sorry -”

He cut you off before you could say anything else. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Just . . . stay.” 

You nodded, pressing your cheek against his chest, right over his heart. “I’m staying.” You whispered. “For you.” 

And you meant it. With every beat of his heart beneath your ear, you meant it. 

You would stay. 

Always.

[2b4st4r]

hiiii. i love your writing sm😭 Could I request a Zoro fic that goes from VERY ANGSTY to comfort/fluff? Like they fought and it was heated/bad but they have this rule that if one of them opens their arms for a hug, the other one has to accept it?

pls i saw a tiktok abt the rule and i thought it would absolutely be so perfect for him 😭😭

The Sunny’s Silent Embrace

Zoro x F!Reade

Words: 5,488

Warnings: Verbal cruelty, Emotional intensity, toxic communication, female reader.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The Thousand Sunny rocked violently, a toy in the raging hands of the Grand Line. Rain lashed against the portholes of the galley, each drop a percussive beat accompanying the growl of thunder that seemed to shake the very bones of the ship. Inside, the air was thick with a different kind of storm—the heavy silence of defeat. The recent battle had been a brutal, unexpected loss, a collective blow that had landed squarely on the Straw Hats' collective gut.

You stood at the sink, the warm water doing little to thaw the ice gripping your chest. Your hands moved mechanically, scrubbing at plates that felt impossibly heavy. Sanji, bless his chivalrous heart, had offered to take over the cleaning, his voice a low rumble of concern, but you'd waved him off. The rhythmic motion was a distraction, a small anchor in the tumultuous seas of your mind.

But it wasn't just the sting of defeat that clung to you. It was Zoro. The thought of him, just a few rooms away, eating with the others, twisted something inside you. You and Zoro. The crew’s unwavering pillars, their steady calm in any crisis, the ones everyone looked to when things got truly dire. And yet, here you were, a chasm between you, built from the debris of an argument that had erupted amidst the chaos of battle. It had been quick, sharp, and unfinished, swallowed by the roar of the fight.

You replayed it in your mind, the specific moment that had shattered your usual seamless understanding. It had been during the scramble to protect a civilian outpost. You’d urged him to fall back, to regroup, seeing the overwhelming numbers closing in. But he, ever the stubborn sword-saint, had pushed forward, his focus solely on the immediate threat. “Just cut through them!” he’d grunted, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic edge of frustration. Your own retort had been a sharp, “That’s not always the answer, Zoro! We have to think strategically!” The words had barely left your lips before the true pandemonium of battle had enveloped you, tearing you apart and leaving the accusation hanging, unresolved, in the smoky air.

It wasn't that you two didn’t argue. Those instances were as rare as a calm day on the Grand Line, but when they did happen, they hit with the force of a tidal wave. Yet, even in those moments of fiery disagreement, you had a rule, a silent pact forged in the deep understanding of your intertwined lives: if one opened their arms, the other was bound to accept the embrace. It was a lifeline, a forced surrender to comfort, a promise that no matter how heated things got, your love for each other would always prevail.

But now, even that seemed fragile. The tension between you two was a palpable thing, a heavy cloak draped over the entire crew. They saw it, felt it, and their usual boisterous energy was muted, replaced by a quiet watchfulness. You were the mother hen of the Straw Hats, kind and nurturing, quick with a comforting word or a knowing glance. But you also had an unwavering spine of steel. You didn't suffer fools, and you certainly wouldn't let anyone, not even the people you loved most, stomp all over you. Not anymore. The past had taught you that lesson with brutal efficiency, leaving scars that ensured you would always voice your concerns, your opinions, your boundaries.

The warmth of the dishwater was a stark contrast to the cold knot in your stomach. You glanced out the porthole, seeing nothing but a blur of grey rain and furious waves. He was out there, in the dining area, probably oblivious to the silent turmoil raging within you. Or maybe not. Maybe he felt it too, this gnawing distance that felt utterly foreign to your shared world. You longed for his presence, the steadying weight of his arm around you, the comforting scent of him. But the unresolved words, the sharp exchange, hung in the air, a barrier you both seemed unwilling, or perhaps unable, to cross. Not yet.

You stacked the last sparkling plate, the familiar click a small victory against the turbulent weather outside. Wiping your hands on a towel, you surveyed the now-clean galley, a faint sense of accomplishment settling over you. Your stomach rumbled, a reminder that despite the emotional storm, your body still craved sustenance.

Opening the pantry, you grabbed a bowl and filled it with a generous portion of Sanji’s creamy seafood chowder, the rich aroma instantly warming you from the inside out. He always made it just right, packed with tender chunks of fish and plump shrimp, a perfect comfort food for a day like this.

Plate in hand, you pushed open the galley door, stepping into the dining room. The usual cacophony of the Straw Hats was muted, the boisterous laughter replaced by the drumming of rain against the sturdy portholes and a smattering of low, hushed conversations. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for an empty seat, but your gaze snagged on the most familiar one. It was your spot, the one you always claimed without thinking – right next to Zoro.

He was there, as expected, hunched over his own meal, eating in that silent, focused way of his. The space beside him seemed to hum with an unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the usual warmth that emanated from your joined presences. The rest of the crew, scattered around the large table, seemed to be conversing in hushed tones, their eyes occasionally flicking between you and the silent swordsman.

With a sigh that no one seemed to notice over the rain, you made your way to the table. The wooden floorboards creaked softly under your steps. You pulled out the chair beside Zoro and, with a subtle clatter of the bowl against the wood, plopped down.

The sound of the rain outside seemed to amplify in the sudden quiet, as if the ship itself was holding its breath. You picked up your spoon, stirring the rich chowder, trying to appear nonchalant, as if the heavy atmosphere was just a figment of your imagination. You listened as Franky described some minor repairs he’d made to the Sunny, his voice a rare subdued rumble, and Usopp chimed in with a story about a close call he’d had earlier. Robin offered a quiet, insightful remark, and Chopper fretted over the general well-being of everyone after the rough battle.

Then, a cheerful, familiar voice cut through the muted conversation. Luffy, who had been devouring a mountain of meat, looked up, his wide grin instantly brightening the room despite the circumstances.

“Y/N! You’re finally here!” he exclaimed, his voice full of genuine delight, completely oblivious to the lingering tension. "We were just talking about... well, mostly about how hungry we all are!"

His innocent interruption effectively halted the low chatter, drawing all eyes to you. You offered him a small, tired smile, feeling a flicker of warmth from his usual effervescent spirit. The weight in the air, however, remained.You offered Luffy a soft smile, a genuine warmth briefly touching your eyes. "Hey, Luffy. Yeah, I just finished up in the galley. This chowder smells amazing." You gestured to your bowl before taking a spoonful, savoring the rich, creamy flavor.

The conversation slowly picked back up, though the underlying tension remained. Chopper recounted his part in the battle, his small voice tinged with a familiar frustration about not being able to heal everyone at once. Franky chimed in with observations about the enemy's unexpected tactics, and Nami, ever the strategist, began to dissect the flow of the fight, wondering aloud where they had gone wrong, her brow furrowed in thought.

You listened, contributing a nod here and there, the warmth of the chowder a stark contrast to the cold knot still residing in your stomach. Zoro, as usual when a post-battle debriefing began, remained silent. He just ate, his gaze fixed on his plate, his jaw working steadily.

"I think," you finally interjected, setting your spoon down with a soft click against the bowl, "that our biggest mistake was underestimating their numbers. We went in thinking it was a standard skirmish, but they kept pulling out more reinforcements. And..." You paused, glancing briefly at Zoro before looking back at Nami, "...we got separated too quickly. When we split up, our usual coordination went out the window."

Your voice was calm, clear, and unwavering, as it always was when you voiced your tactical insights. You didn't shy away from pointing out flaws, even your own. It was a trait the crew relied on, a way to learn and grow from their setbacks.

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled from beside you. Zoro finally lifted his head, his single visible eye glinting with an uncharacteristic sharpness.

"So," he drawled, his voice a low, rough rasp, "you're saying we should've just run away then? Or maybe just stood there and waited for an invitation to fight on their terms?" He let out another scoff. "Always got an opinion, don't you? Especially when it's about what everyone else did wrong."

The words hung in the air, cutting through the already thick atmosphere like a sharpened blade. The crew went silent, all eyes wide and fixed on the two of you. Luffy had even stopped chewing.

You felt a hot flush creep up your neck. You hadn't expected such a direct, sarcastic attack, especially not from him, and not in front of everyone. Your jaw tightened. "That's not what I said, Zoro, and you know it," you replied, your voice losing its calm edge, a hint of steel entering it. "I'm talking about strategy, about adapting to the situation, not about cowardice. There's a difference between a tactical retreat and running away."

He merely grunted, pushing his empty plate away from him with a scrape that grated on your nerves. "Right. And you're always so good at judging everyone's 'tactics' from the sidelines, aren't you?" His gaze met yours, colder than you'd ever seen it. "Maybe if you'd focused less on telling others what to do, and more on keeping up, we wouldn't have had this problem."

A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humor. "Keep up, Zoro? Keep up?" Your voice rose, the controlled facade you usually wore crumbling under the weight of his barbed words. "I was trying to make sure we didn't walk into a trap! Someone has to think beyond just 'cut 'em down,' you know! Someone has to think about the crew, about the innocent people we're supposed to be protecting, not just the next swing of their sword!"

He slammed his fist on the table, a loud thud that made the plates jump. "And someone has to have the guts to actually fight instead of standing there analyzing every single variable! Sometimes, Y/N, you just have to act! Your 'thinking' got us bogged down, got us scattered, and it almost got innocent people hurt because you hesitated!"

Your eyes blazed, the usual warmth replaced by a furious fire. "Hesitated? I was being prudent! Something you seem utterly incapable of! You charge in, headfirst, every single time, and expect everyone else to just clean up your mess!" You gestured around the silent room, at the stunned faces of your nakama. "Look at us, Zoro! Look at what your impulsiveness cost us today! We lost more than just a fight; we lost valuable time, valuable resources, and we almost lost people because you couldn't listen for one damn second!"

His face hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "And what about your 'prudence,' Y/N? You're so busy being the rational one, the 'mother hen' who has to guide everyone, that you forget to actually trust us! You act like we're a bunch of helpless idiots who need you to constantly point out every single flaw, every single mistake! Maybe if you weren't so busy 'correcting' everyone, you'd actually be present in the fight!"

The words hit you like a physical blow, stripping away layers of carefully constructed composure. "Trust you?" Your voice was barely a whisper now, thick with unshed tears, but the raw pain in it echoed through the silent room. "I've always trusted you, Zoro! More than anyone! And I thought you trusted me! But clearly, that trust only extends as far as me agreeing with every damn reckless move you make!" You pushed your chair back with a violent scrape, standing abruptly. "Maybe I am too much of a 'mother hen' for this crew! Maybe my 'prudence' is just a burden to your boundless ambition! But at least I don't just blindly stumble through life, leaving a trail of destruction in my wake!"

He rose too, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "And at least I don't constantly try to second-guess everyone, especially when they're in the middle of a damn fight! Maybe you should just stick to your dishes, Y/N, since you're so good at cleaning up after everyone else!"

The air in the room became brittle, ready to shatter. The rain outside seemed to intensify, matching the storm brewing within. The crew watched, horrified, as the two people who were supposed to be their anchors, their unwavering strength, tore each other apart.

A gasp rippled through the room, quickly stifled. You stood frozen, your hand gripping the back of your chair so tightly your knuckles turned white. The accusation, the sheer, dismissive cruelty in his voice, hung in the air, a physical blow.

"Just stick to your dishes," he'd said. "Since you're so good at cleaning up after everyone else."

Before you could even formulate a retort, before the searing pain could fully register, Zoro pressed on, his voice a low, venomous hiss, "Or maybe you should just go back to being the 'helpless little orphan' everyone always had to save, huh? Is that what you want? To be 'taken care of' again, because you can't stand to actually pull your own weight?"

The world tilted. The rain outside, the groaning of the ship, the stunned faces of your crewmates—it all faded into a dull hum. That detail, about your childhood, about the orphanage you’d barely escaped, the endless feeling of being a burden, the constant need for others to 'save' you—it was a vulnerability, a deep-seated insecurity you had only ever shared with him, in the quiet, safe moments of your shared intimacy. It was a wound he knew intimately, a truth you’d laid bare, trusting him completely. And he had just weaponized it.

The silence that followed was absolute, suffocating. Even the incessant drumming of the rain seemed to cease. Every eye in the room was fixed on Zoro, then on you. Your anger, so fierce just moments before, dissolved into a chilling, hollow ache. Your expression, once fiery, settled into something utterly cold and distant. It was a look of profound betrayal, a raw, exposed hurt that cut deeper than any words.

You simply stared at him, your eyes wide and unblinking, the vivid emerald of them now clouded with a pain that spoke volumes. The anger was still there, but it was overshadowed by a desolate emptiness. Without a word, without breaking eye contact for a single, agonizing second, you turned.

The scrape of your chair as you pushed it in was unnaturally loud in the oppressive quiet. You walked to the door, your steps slow and deliberate, each one a hammer blow against the silence. Just as your hand reached the doorknob, a rough, guttural sound tore from Zoro’s throat.

"Y-Y/N!" he rasped, his voice uncharacteristically strained, a note of desperation, perhaps even regret, lacing his tone.

You didn't pause. You didn't even flinch. With a soft click, you opened the door and stepped out, vanishing into the storm-lashed corridor, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of seafood chowder and a shattered calm in your wake. The door swung shut behind you with a soft thud.

Zoro sank back into his chair, the sound of the closing door an echo in the suddenly cavernous room. He picked up his fork, his knuckles white around the handle, and resumed eating, his gaze fixed on his plate, avoiding everyone's eyes. His jaw was clenched, a muscle working furiously. He devoured his food with a grim, almost violent determination, as if trying to swallow down the words he'd just spat out.

The rest of the crew remained frozen. Luffy's usual boundless energy had completely deflated, his eyes wide and unblinking, his half-eaten meat forgotten. Nami looked pale, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes darting from the closed door to Zoro, a mixture of shock and utter disbelief etched on her face. Usopp’s jaw hung open, his usually expressive face a mask of profound dismay. Chopper whimpered, burying his face in Robin’s side, trembling. Robin’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes were narrowed, a dark intensity in their depths as she observed Zoro. Sanji’s lit cigarette dangled forgotten from his lips, a wisp of smoke curling upwards as he stared, his face a tight mask of icy fury directed squarely at the green-haired swordsman. Franky's usual loud demeanor was replaced by a stunned silence, his cybernetic arm resting heavily on the table, his sunglasses doing little to hide the shock in his eyes. And Brook simply sat, his skeletal hand clutching his cane, his empty eye sockets conveying a silent, bone-deep sorrow. No one spoke. The only sounds were the incessant roar of the rain, and the almost savage clinking of Zoro’s fork against his plate.

The silence at dinner stretched, thick and suffocating. No one dared to speak, to break the fragile, shattered peace that now hung over the Sunny's dining room. Zoro continued to eat, each movement of his fork a grating sound in the oppressive quiet. His face was a mask, unreadable and stark, yet the tension in his shoulders and the rigid set of his jaw spoke volumes of an internal battle. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge the accusing stares, the pitying glances, or the sheer horror etched on the faces of his crewmates. It was as if he had walled himself off, a formidable fortress of guilt and stubborn pride.

Nami eventually pushed her plate away, the remains of her meal untouched. She glanced at Sanji, who was still fuming silently, then at Luffy, whose boundless appetite seemed to have vanished. Even Usopp and Chopper, usually the first to break any awkward silence, remained uncharacteristically subdued. Robin simply watched Zoro, her expression serene but her eyes holding a deep, knowing sadness. The storm outside continued to rage, mirroring the tempest that had just torn through their bonds. It was the worst argument they had ever witnessed between the two people who were the very bedrock of their crew.

Meanwhile, you were far from the stifling atmosphere of the dining room. You hadn't gone to your shared cabin; the thought of being in such a confined space with the lingering scent of him, the memories of your shattered intimacy, was unbearable. Instead, you found yourself on the upper deck, exposed to the full fury of the Grand Line.

The rain plastered your clothes to your skin, stinging your face with its cold onslaught. The wind howled, a mournful cry that seemed to echo the ache in your chest. You didn't care about getting soaked, didn't notice the chill that seeped into your bones. All you felt was the searing burn of his words, the shocking betrayal of him weaponizing your deepest vulnerability.

You walked to the railing, gripping the wet wood so hard your fingers ached. The Sunny bucked and swayed, battling against the relentless waves, but its struggle felt insignificant compared to the turmoil within you. Tears, indistinguishable from the rain streaming down your face, blurred your vision as you stared out at the churning, dark expanse of the ocean.

"How could he?" you whispered, your voice ripped away by the wind. "How could he say that?"

The words echoed in your mind, a cruel mantra. "...helpless little orphan... taken care of again... can't stand to actually pull your own weight?" He knew. He knew how much you had fought to shed that identity, how hard you had worked to prove your worth, to become independent, strong, reliable. He knew it was the very reason you pushed so hard, spoke your mind so fiercely, refused to be silenced or dismissed. And he had used it against you, twisted it into a weapon in the heat of a moment.

Your body trembled, not from the cold, but from the raw, exposed wound he had inflicted. The anger was a dull throb now, overshadowed by a profound sense of desolation. You had given him your trust, your whole heart, laid bare the most fragile parts of your past, believing he would protect them. And he had shattered them with a single, cruel blow. You closed your eyes, letting the rain wash over you, wishing it could wash away the pain, the betrayal, the crushing weight of everything that had just been said.

Time stretched and warped. Minutes bled into what felt like hours, the relentless rain and wind a fitting soundtrack to the turmoil in your soul. You stayed at the railing, numb to the cold, the sea a vast, indifferent canvas for your pain. The memory of his words, of that look in his eye, played on a loop, each repetition tearing at the fragile remnants of your composure.

Then, through the howling wind and the drumming rain, you heard it. The soft, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of familiar footsteps. Your heart, already a raw nerve, lurched. You didn't need to turn around. You knew that heavy, measured tread, the way he always moved, even when trying to be quiet.

The footsteps stopped beside you. The air, already heavy with moisture, suddenly felt charged with an undeniable presence. He didn't speak. He simply stood there, a silent sentinel in the storm, his familiar scent of salt, steel, and something uniquely him, reaching you even through the downpour.

You kept your gaze fixed on the tumultuous ocean, your jaw clenched. The thought of looking at him, of seeing the face that had just uttered such cutting words, was unbearable. Yet, the fact that he had come, that he was standing there, silent, beside you in the driving rain, stirred a tiny, unwelcome flicker of something. Was it concern? Regret? You crushed it down. It didn't matter. Not after what he had said.

The roar of the wind and the relentless lash of the rain were the only sounds between you. You gripped the railing tighter, your knuckles white, your gaze still fixed on the chaotic sea. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to move, to run, to escape the suffocating presence beside you, yet you remained rooted.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Zoro’s voice cut through the storm, rough and low, almost swallowed by the wind. "Y/N."

It was just your name, but the way he said it, strained and thick with something you couldn't quite decipher, made a shiver run down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. You didn't respond, didn't turn.

"Look," he continued, a rare tremor in his tone. "What I said back there… about your past." He paused, a harsh breath escaping him. "That was out of line. It was... I didn't mean it." The admission was grudging, forced from him, but it was there. "I was angry. And I lashed out. I shouldn't have said that. It was a shitty thing to say."

You remained silent, the bitterness a cold knot in your stomach. An apology, of sorts. But was it enough? Could words, even regretful ones, truly mend the sharp, tearing pain of betrayal?

He shifted beside you, the movement subtle. "I know I screwed up," he muttered, his voice still low, almost a growl. "I know I say stupid things when I'm pissed. But… that was different. I know that."

You could feel his gaze on the side of your face, a heavy weight that you stubbornly refused to meet. The rain plastered your hair to your skin, making you shiver. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him how deeply he had wounded you, but the words felt lodged in your throat, choked by the sheer enormity of the pain.

A long, tense silence settled between you once more, broken only by the angry sea. Then, Zoro let out a frustrated grunt, a sound of self-loathing. "Damn it all to hell," he cursed under his breath, the words ripped away by the wind.

You felt it then, a slight movement beside you. He turned, and without another word, without preamble, his arms opened.

It was the rule. The unspoken, unbreakable pact. The gesture, even in this storm-lashed moment of profound hurt and anger, was unmistakable. His arms were open, a silent invitation, a forced vulnerability in the face of his own cruelty. It was a desperate plea for connection, a surrender to the one thing that had always pulled you back from the brink of absolute despair with him.

The rain beat down on your exposed skin, chilling you to the bone. Every instinct screamed at you to resist, to turn away, to let him feel the full weight of the chasm he had created. But the rule… it was there. A promise, forged in happier times, that no matter how deep the cut, how bitter the words, the embrace would always be accepted. Your breath hitched, a silent battle raging within you.

Your body felt heavy, rooted to the spot, a silent testament to the anguish that still gripped you. Every cell screamed in protest, urged you to resist, to push him away, to make him understand the depth of the wound he had inflicted. But the rule. It was a covenant, a sacred vow made in moments of profound love, designed precisely for the times when words failed, when anger threatened to consume everything.

With a ragged, shuddering breath, you finally turned. Your arms, heavy with reluctance and a profound weariness, slowly lifted. You stepped into his open embrace, the cold rain still lashing around you.

The moment your arms wrapped around his broad back, a familiar warmth, despite the chill of the storm, spread through you. His arms closed around you, a strong, unyielding hold that felt both like a cage and the only safe harbor in a world gone mad. Your head came to rest against his wet shoulder, and you could feel the rhythmic thud of his heart against your ear, a steady beat that was both maddeningly familiar and utterly alien in this moment of raw pain.

There were no easy apologies, no immediate flood of tears. Just the raw, exposed nerves of two people who had just torn each other apart. The scent of him – salt, steel, and the undeniable musk of his skin – filled your senses, a potent reminder of everything you were to each other, everything that was now so precariously balanced.

He tightened his grip, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, as if trying to absorb your hurt into himself. His voice, when it came, was muffled against your hair, stripped of all its usual sharpness, raw and laced with something akin to desperation.

"I'm an idiot," he rasped, the words forced from him. "A complete, utter idiot. I didn't mean it, Y/N. None of it. Especially not… about your past. That was unforgivable. I know it. I swear, I didn't think. I was just… angry, frustrated with the fight, with myself. And I took it out on you. The one person I should never, ever hurt." He inhaled sharply, a shaky breath that felt more like a sob. "I'm so sorry. I’m so damn sorry."

The sincerity in his voice, the rare admission of such profound self-reproach, finally broke the dam within you. A choked sob escaped your throat, and the tears, indistinguishable from the rain, began to flow freely down your face.

"How could you, Zoro?" you whispered, your voice broken, your hands fisting in the fabric of his wet shirt. "You know… you know how much that means to me. How much I fought to get away from that, to prove… to prove I wasn't just that helpless child. How could you throw that back at me?"

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with a gentle hand, forcing your gaze to meet his. His single eye, usually so stoic, was filled with a raw anguish, a genuine regret that mirrored the storm in your own soul.

"I wasn't thinking," he repeated, his voice rough. "It was a cheap shot. A dirty blow. I knew it the second the words left my mouth. It's because I know how much you fought, Y/N. Because I know how strong you are, how much you've overcome. And in that moment, I was so consumed with my own frustration, I used the very thing I admire most about you against you. I was a bastard."

His thumb gently wiped a tear from your cheek, the touch both rough and impossibly tender. "You're not a burden. You're never a burden. You're… you're my anchor, Y/N. My reason for fighting, half the time. You make me better, even when I'm too much of a fool to see it. And I hurt you. God, I hurt you."

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand a small comfort against your chilled skin. The storm outside still raged, but here, in the circle of his arms, a fragile peace began to settle. The anger hadn't vanished completely, the sting of his words still lingered, but the crushing weight of betrayal was slowly, incrementally, lifting. He was admitting it, truly admitting it, without a shred of his usual pride.

"I need you to listen to me too, Zoro," you said, your voice still thick but gaining strength. "I'm not trying to tell you how to fight. I'm trying to make sure we all come out of it alive. Sometimes, charging in isn't the only answer. Sometimes, you need to think. And I need you to trust that I'm coming from a place of care, not judgment."

He nodded, a slow, solemn movement. "I know," he murmured, his gaze steady on yours. "I know that. And I do trust you. More than anyone. I just… sometimes I forget how to listen. How to actually hear what you're saying, instead of just reacting. I promise, Y/N. I'll try to be better. For us."

The rain continued to pour, washing over you both. But in the quiet understanding that settled between you, a different kind of calm began to emerge, a fragile, hard-won truce after the storm.

You leaned against him fully, the tension slowly bleeding out of your muscles, replaced by a profound weariness. The solid warmth of his body, even through the soaked fabric of your clothes, was a comfort you hadn't realized you desperately craved. The tears had slowed to a trickle, mingling with the relentless rain. You simply rested there, in the circle of his arms, listening to the pounding of the rain and the steady beat of his heart. The argument hadn't magically disappeared, the sting of the words wouldn't vanish overnight, but the chasm between you had begun to close.

After a long moment of shared silence, the only sounds the relentless storm, Zoro let out a soft, low chuckle. It was a genuine sound, a rare warmth in the face of the raging elements, and it vibrated through his chest, a comforting rumble against your ear.

"You know," he murmured, his voice still a little rough, but with a hint of his usual easygoing tone, "we're gonna get sick out here."

You managed a weak laugh in response, the sound a little rusty from the tears and the cold. "Probably," you agreed, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. His eye, still holding a hint of lingering remorse, also held a familiar warmth, a promise of forgiveness and reconnection.

He tightened his arms around you once more, pulling you even closer for a fleeting moment before releasing you. "Come on," he said, stepping back slightly but keeping one hand on your arm, a gentle anchor. "Let's get inside. We've got a lot of warming up to do."

As you walked, side by side, back towards the comparative warmth and light of the ship's interior, the storm outside continued its fury. But for the two of you, hand in hand, a fragile peace had begun to settle, a promise that even in the harshest of storms, your bond would endure.

[nightplvmes]

it's cold

zayne one shot (love and deepspace) • anon req Zayne uses his evol to immobilize your wrists...

⋆｡° | pairing : zayne x fem!reader ⋆｡° | temperature play, use of cold/ice and his evol, consent-focused dynamic, caring dom energy, playful teasing, needy reader, takes the lead but makes sure you're okay, oral sex, p in v ⋆｡° | word count : 4.3k (4,349) ⋆｡° | autor note: this req took me a little longer than usual because i wanted to do it right. pls remember english isn't my first language but i did my best!! :) likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

it started with an ice cube. you could still remember that vacation when you and Zayne stayed at one of the best hotels in the area. you two had dinner, watched a movie, and you didn't remember exactly how things had escalated so suddenly but at some point, you had started asking for his cold hands on you and an ice cube sliding across your skin.

maybe it was due to the timing; you weren't thinking clearly, but you could still remember the words that had come out of your mouth. practically begging.

a gasp escaped your lips when you felt the cold ice cube against your warm skin. you were sure it had already begun to melt due to the heat emanating from you because you felt the small drops sliding down your skin… or maybe it was also due to the mixture of Zayne's breath because you heard his teeth hit the surface of the ice and he began to slide it down your spine until it reached the small of your back. his lips closed around the remained of the ice, and he gently sucked on your skin, making you release all the heavily held air.

you felt Zayne move away from you. it took you a few seconds to regain your composure, and you finally turned around. you let your back hit the mattress, your chest rising and falling, and you could barely focus on anything other than the memory of the ice sliding over your skin. you didn't know when you'd developed this sort of taste… or fetish. did it have to do with Zayne? was it because of his evolution? you weren't entirely sure, and you'd never given it much thought.

Zayne positioned himself on top of you again, without putting all his weight on you. you closed your eyes, Zayne stretched out beside you, and his fingers reached for another ice cube on the table next to the bed. you hadn't fully understood why he went to the trouble of making ice cubes himself when he could create them with his evol. perhaps in an attempt to experience something different. with the help of his lips and teeth, he caught the ice cube and leaned down to run it over one of your nipples. you felt your delicate skin become firmer against the cold, making you gasp. Zayne let out a satisfied sound as you felt yourself slowly begin to lose feeling there.

"Zayne…" you moaned, pushing your hips against him. his hands gripped you tightly, running over your curves. you felt his touch begin to turn cold, and you knew he was using his evol to cool his own hands. enough to make you gasp, but not so much that it became unbearable.

your breathing was heavy as you threw your head back and bit your bottom lip in an attempt to keep from letting out another moan when Zayne focused his attention on your other nipple. you snorted as a thousand thoughts started crossing your mind. you wanted his attention, you wanted him, but in a different way. there was something else on your mind, and you couldn't say it out loud if he kept distracting you like that. it was when you felt the cold making you lose sensitivity again that you dared to speak.

"Zayne…" Your voice sounded heavy, letting out a gasp as you felt the drops of water sliding down your skin because the ice had finished melting. it took him more than a couple of seconds to come to.

he looked up, and Zayne's piercing eyes met yours. his breathing was labored, his cheeks slightly red, perhaps from the heat of his own body. he remained silent, and you knew he was waiting for you to continue talking.

"remember… remember what we talked about the other night?" your voice was a mix of shyness and embarrassment. his chest was still rising and falling, and Zayne had to do his best not to capture one of your nipples in his mouth again because he knew otherwise, he wouldn't be able to fully pay attention to you.

the memories of that conversation came flooding back. of course he remembered because it had been the same night you'd insisted that one of the foundations of a healthy relationship was talk about everything, even if you two already talked about everything. Zayne was one of the people you trusted the most in the world… you'd dare say he was actually the only one. that's why you'd told him, your cheeks flushed, trying to draw it out as long as you could because you could barely stand his piercing eyes on you while he waited for you to continue.

there was a small fantasy in your mind. maybe it was much more than a fantasy because Zayne had once taken your wrists in one of his hands—and the fact that he'd only used one of his hands had turned you on beyond belief—and had kept you partially immobilized while he took care of pleasuring you. he'd also done it once in his office while he used his tie to keep your wrists immobilized. maybe that's why you'd developed a taste for feeling immobilized beneath him. it turned you on, and you wanted to experience it again… with a little something extra.

Zayne nodded after several seconds. his breathing became agitated as he remembered when you'd told him that. he wasn't the controlling type; if you stepped on him with one of your heels, he wouldn't even complain because it was you. but he also understood the things you liked, and he didn't mind at all as long as it didn't put you at risk.

"do you want me to tie you up?" he finally asked. his voice was husky and low. you could almost tell a thousand things and ideas were starting to run through his mind… or maybe it was memories of things you'd done before.

"something like that… I was thinking you could try something else," you murmured, running your fingers down his chest. you felt how hot his skin was and watched the way his breathing became heavier at your touch. it took you more than a few seconds to admit what was on your mind and what you wanted to try that night. "I thought you could add something extra and not use strings or something."

"what would we use?" Zayne's voice now brimmed with a mix of curiosity and maybe… some concern, as a quick glimpse of what was on your mind flashed through his.

"why don't you…" a two-second pause felt like an eternity. "your evol." those words had come out of your mouth without much thought, hoping for the best. Zayne remained silent, processing what you were saying, but his face told you he needed more information, so you sighed and spoke again. "you can freeze my wrists, right?" you raised an eyebrow, thinking that maybe he hadn't fully understood your vision, or maybe he couldn't even do it, even though you knew it was almost impossible because you knew him perfectly.

"no," he shook his head without much thought, which made you feel confused. he moved away from you enough to sit on the edge of the bed, but one of his hands continued to leave light caresses along your legs. he knew his words had come out too abruptly and could see the confusion on your face, so he quickly spoke again in an attempt to repair the sad expression on your face. "it's dangerous, it can hurt you. the cold can cause burns."

you snorted because the words "cold" and "burns" sounded impossible in the same sentence, even though you knew it was entirely possible that if someone was exposed to the cold for so long, it could cause damage. "but… I'll be okay. we have a safe word and all." you slid to the edge of the bed next to him, resting your chin on his bare shoulder. Zayne's touch began to rise up your thighs; he seemed to be considering it, even though he wasn't.

"it can cause tissue damage. did you know that?" one of Zayne's hands took hold of your wrist, the tip of his fingers caressing your skin. "your veins ran through here, the skin is thin here and it could be too dangerous. no." he shook his head again, causing a sigh of frustration from you.

you'd almost forgotten what it was like to date a doctor.

Zayne noticed the slight pout on your face and felt guilty. while he didn't mind fulfilling your little fantasies, he wasn't going to put your safety at risk because of one of them. the only reason he'd tried several things was because none of them put you at risk. but he hated seeing that expression on your face… luckily for him, something came to mind.

"I have a condition." you raised your face curiously. now he'd caught your attention.

your lips were parted in disbelief. it took some of the fun out of it, but you knew there was no other way Zayne would agree to what you'd proposed.

he had disappeared into the other room for several seconds until he arrived, hiding something behind his back. there was a playful smile on your face until you saw what he'd placed in front of you: a pair of gloves. cold-proof gloves. your brow furrowed, not understanding much of what they would do… until it reached your mind and hit you with a mixture of disappointment and… something else. thousands of ideas began to run through your mind. maybe if you put the thinnest fabric over your wrists, some of the cold might seep in. just enough to feel it on your skin, but not enough to hurt you.

"you want me to wear them?" he nodded. "but it'll take away the fun." you snorted, looking at him.

"then it's no deal." Zayne shook his head. he was about to turn away, but when he heard the chuckle that fell from your lips, he quickly knew he'd won that argument.

the feeling of the gloves on your hands was… different, but it hadn't taken you long to forget about it because your mind had wandered elsewhere: Zayne's lips against your skin.

gasps escaped your lips as you tried to think of anything other than how his lips made you feel. you were sure you could come from his kisses only. Zayne placed one last kiss on your chest, your hands tried to wrap around him, but you felt his fingers close around your wrists, the fabric of the gloves stung the tips of your fingers.

"your hands are too naughty," he murmured. his grip was firm but not strong. a gasp escaped your lips as for a second you felt immobilized by him, and again that smile formed on your lips. "hold still, okay?" he murmured, leaning down to place a peck on your lips.

you nodded as you watched him slide on top of you… his chest in front of your face. your gaze traveled down to his chest, and for a second something crossed your mind. what if you ran your tongue over his skin? and… a sound of ice hitting the warmth of the room distracted you. you raised your gaze and tried to see above your head. Zayne had begun to create ice on the gloves. he seemed so focused on his task that you couldn't tell if the tingling in your stomach was because you were starting to feel like you couldn't move or because of the way he looked over you.

you could see the glints of ice on his palm, making sure it touched the fabric of the gloves but not your skin. you felt some of the cold seep through the thin fabric over your wrists. It wasn't too much, not even close to how ice cubes felt on your skin, but… it was different. you liked it. seconds later, Zayne carefully returned to his position over you, running his hands over your body. your breath hitched with anticipation, and you felt your insides quiver with excitement.

you tried to move your wrists, but it didn't work, except for the soft crunch of the ice, but it didn't break. you tried to move your hands toward Zayne, but all you got was a few cold drops on your skin from the melting ice. the knowledge that it was ice that was keeping you immobilized was enough to make you almost tremble.

"you look so beautiful like this," Zayne murmured, placing a kiss on your cheek. that had brought you back to reality, now you were completely at his mercy. he could do whatever he wanted with you, and you were okay with that. not only because you knew Zayne would never hurt you, but he made you feel safe. you would never have been willing to explore something like that with anyone else.

"we can… you can." a gasp left your lips as his lips moved down to his neck. you threw your head back, giving him better access to the skin of your neck, where Zayne began to suck gently, enough to probably leave a mark. his lips began to leave a small trail of kisses down to your chest, passing through the valley of your breasts, where he spent several seconds that felt like an eternity. "I need…" you closed your eyes when his lips captured one of your nipples. you couldn't think; the words definitely wouldn't come out of your mouth, and there was no way you'd think of anything other than Zayne's lips on your skin.

"you need to use your words," he murmured against your skin. he remained motionless for a few seconds before sucking on your sensitive skin again. "come on, use your words." this time it sounded more like an order… was it an order? you couldn't even think that clearly at that moment.

"I… I need your attention." it had barely been a whisper, but it didn't seem to bother Zayne. he wasn't planning on demanding more from you when he knew you could barely open your lips without letting out a moan.

"where?"

you huffed in frustration. he knew exactly what you meant, yet he kept asking questions in an attempt to toy with you. you were going to speak, you were going to tell him, but instead, you shifted in place. you watched as Zayne's breathing became labored as you spread your legs and felt the cold air travel over your body, and a few droplets of melting ice began to slide down your arms. you looked at him with shining eyes, you knew that at another time, Zayne would have shaken his head and asked you to say it with words.

but in those moments, he didn't have the brains to think about anything else. the way your body was slightly tense because you couldn't move, and the way your chest rose and fell because of your heavy breathing. that was enough to stop him from thinking about anything else. he wanted to feel you on his tongue. you heard something rumble in his chest, probably a moan or a sound of satisfaction. you felt the cold palms of his hands grip your thighs tightly, making you gasp, he was making his hands cold on purpose. he settled between your legs. you made an effort to look down and pay attention to the way Zayne looked between your legs. you wanted to slide your hand in and grab the strands of his hair, but you were immobilized, and that made you snort.

Zayne murmured something to himself when you felt his breath against your sensitive clit. suddenly, you stopped feeling the cold of his palms on one of your thighs, and seconds later, you felt that same cold against your sensitive nub. a moan escaped your lips, and your hips instinctively pushed away from him, but you quickly relaxed. "you're so sensitive," he murmured against the skin of your inner thigh.

"stop playing with me," you gasped, trying to push your hips against him in an attempt to get more of his touch. your tone must have been annoyed, that's what you had in mind, but it actually sounded like a small plea.

Zayne smiled to himself and finally gave you what you wanted. his hands held you tight enough to keep you open for him until you finally felt it… his tongue darted between your folds, and you heard a satisfied sound rumble against your sensitive skin.

"ah, ah-Zayne!" your hips bucked against his mouth, seeking more, but he pressed your hips against the mattress beneath you, keeping you still. one of his hands slid up your thigh, pushing it back, allowing his tongue better access.

a curse left your lips as you tried to slide one of your hands back into his hair to pull him closer, and you realized you were immobilized… again. you closed your eyes as Zayne's tongue wrapped around your sensitive nub, concentrating on the sensation of his tongue playing with you. you heard the ice cracking around your wrists, the cold seeping through the gloves was barely noticeable, but the small, cold drops sliding down your arms were still enough.

"Zaynie…" that nickname had left your lips without thinking. Zayne moaned with satisfaction as his tongue slid toward your entrance. your wetness filled his tongue, and he didn't bother to hide how much he loved the taste of it. "I won't last long—ah!" the words barely left your mouth in a murmur.

Zayne paused for a few seconds, long enough to raise his gaze and stare at you. he remained silent for a few seconds as one of his fingers slid back to your clit, making you gasp. his piercing eyes were on you, as if he were teasing you with his light touches, enough to make you gasp, but not enough pressure to make you cum on his tongue. "I want to feel you on my tongue," he murmured before sinking back between your legs without warning.

you felt your eyes roll white with pleasure. your hips bucked against his tongue, searching for more. this time, he didn't even bother trying to keep you still. Zayne let you ride his tongue wantonly, seeking your own pleasure as his thumb continued to press against your clit.

“ah, mmph! I'm cu-cumming!” the ice clinked again as your wrists were tugged on. Zayne moaned against your sensitive skin as he felt your walls clench around his tongue as you came. he held still for a few seconds, even as your hips tried to move away from his mouth. his thumb continued to move over your clit for a few seconds until he finally heard your ragged breathing calm down.

he finally pulled away from you, just enough to watch you try to control your breathing. your wrists were still as he leaned over you and ran his cold fingers over your skin.

“are you okay?” he asked, placing a kiss on your cheek. you nodded, feeling a little dizzy from your orgasm. the drops of melting ice began to run down your arms more quickly. Zayne licked his lips, still tasting you on his tongue as he gave you a few seconds to recover. his erection was beginning to feel painful; you could see the small droplets sliding down the tip. "does it hurt?" he asked, referring to the way you remained immobilized, but you shook your head. he continued checking that everything was in order when your words caught his attention.

"I want to taste you," you blurted out suddenly, taking him by surprise. he blinked, feeling like he was going to lose control when he saw you like that: with your flushed cheeks and that sparkle in your eyes.

Zayne ran his fingers along your jaw. he was silent for a few seconds, and for a second, you thought he wasn't going to refuse. but when he shook his head, something in your chest stirred with disappointment. "not yet." he leaned down to press his lips against yours. you gasped, bucking your hips against him, but Zayne held you tightly enough to keep you still.

you could taste yourself in your mouth. you wanted to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you… that's when you suddenly became aware of the ice around your wrists again. you snorted when Zayne pulled away from you. his hands traced a small path down your thighs, and he spread your legs again. your breathing became heavier; you were still sensitive, but not enough to stop him. his intense eyes fixed on you as he settled between your thighs. your chest rose and fell from the mix of arousal and the slight stirring that lingered in your body after that orgasm.

Zayne leaned over you, his lips brushing against yours, causing you to gasp. that seemed to have ignited something in him, due to the way his fingers cupped your jaw, his lips crashing against yours. his free hand took advantage of the fact that you were lost in the kiss to slightly lift one of your legs. he slipped into you with almost agonizing slowness. you didn't even bother to hide the moan that escaped your lips, causing you to break the kiss.

"shit, Zayne…" you moaned, trying not to get lost in the sensation of him inside you. how long has it been since the last time? probably a week, and that had been enough to nearly drive you crazy. because how were you supposed to maintain control when Zayne looked so damn good doing anything?

"you feel so good," he murmured, gritting his teeth. he could come just seeing you like that underneath him.

you thrust your hips against him again, making him moan. he gripped you tightly to keep you still, you couldn't do much with your immobile wrists anyway. "please move," you moaned. you were trying not to sound desperate, but it was too difficult. Zayne looked at you for a few seconds, and for a second, you feared he was going at his own pace. but he gripped your hips tightly and began thrusting into you, slow and deep at first. your back arched as you felt him hit every exact spot. "fuck, fuck," you muttered to yourself.

the ice cracked again as you tried to free your wrists. a moan escaped your lips and Zayne felt like he couldn't hold back any longer, even if he tried. he gripped you tightly and began moving faster. "shit… you should-" a pause, then another deep thrust into you. "keep making those sounds," he murmured, running his fingers along your jaw. he knew how you constantly tried to contain your moans, even though he liked hearing them.

you nodded, your lips parting, and you forced yourself to stop hiding your moans. your hips desperately ground against him, trying to find your own pleasure. the heat inside you was beginning to grow rapidly. maybe it was the combination of still feeling somewhat sensitive, or the fact that Zayne was the sexiest person you'd ever met and you could cum just by looking at him.

"god, Zayne… I'm not going to-" you moaned, feeling the heat building in your belly. your moans grew louder; the neighbors probably thought something was up.

you weren't going to last long, and he seemed to notice. Zayne's fingers dug into your skin without hurting you, speeding up his movements. the wet sound of their bodies together filled the room, mingling with your moans and the light crackling of the ice around your wrists.

suddenly, it was all too much. Zayne's hoarse moans, the cold drops of ice sliding down your arm and the way he pounded inside you. your back arched, your eyes closed and you felt yourself clench around Zayne as your orgasm hit you so hard that your body lost its feeling for a second.

"shit, you…" Zayne wasn't the type of person to curse and yet, in those moments, that word had slipped out without a thought. he thrust into you one last time, twice more until he felt himself spill inside you. you gasped, trying not to move too much because of how sensitive you were, but Zayne continued moving slowly until he finally stopped.

he kissed your cheek as he pulled out of you. his breathing was still ragged, and a layer of sweat covered his back. he took a few seconds to observe how you looked beneath him, with your red cheeks, your disheveled hair and your labored breathing.

you were too dizzy to know what he was doing. you just felt him moving over you, somehow managing to melt the ice around your wrists, finally freeing them. his fingers brushed the skin of your wrists, making sure you weren't hurt. "we have to do this again," you said, breaking the silence. your words took him by surprise, and a small smile formed at the corner of his lips.

he nodded, leaving a peck on your lips. "you need to rest," he murmured, removing your gloves. suddenly, you felt strange; you almost didn't remember you were wearing them.

there was still a slight trembling in your legs, as you struggled to process what had happened. but you definitely had to convince him to do it again in the near future.

[villainessbian]

can I break it down? no? I'll do it anyway

on the topic of time (I'll stay on time and grammar related to it, because literally, thousands of pages from dozens of authors on the topic), he says that Hopi L1 users have a different concept of time than Indo-European language L1 users because there is no single word for "time." Hopi L1 users would just... not understand time as viewed by the "Standard Average European" (his model of supposed universals in European thought and languages).

He said some things about tense, the exact meaning of which is not suuuper clear. The things he said have been interpreted as meaning "there are no tenses" or "there are three" (present/past as one, future as one, and always true as one) - both by his opponents and proponents. His proponents have at some point called these moods, rather than tenses. Based on the realis and irrealis (true and not-true-at-least-not-yet) distinction.

As an aside, a mood without tense is a stupid concept and any linguist who calls irrealis a mood had better come up with a typology of irrealis tenses. Especially linguists of English. Show me how it's not a modal use of the preterite, cowards.

Later he dropped the term "tense" and called it "affirmations" instead. i.e. are you affirming that what you say is a "factual report," or is it "something you expect," or is it "the norm"? His claim here was that it was not tenses... because the Hopi don't have those. And so the cycle goes on.

That's on tense. Now moving on to aspect... look. One of the things he calls an aspect. That's just a repetition suffix.

Let's compare:

Hopi:

ho'ci (it bends at an angle) // ho'ci cita (it zigzags with several angles)

pa''ci (it is notched) // pa''ci cita (it is serrated, it has many notches)

p'i'va (the ground has a gully) // p'i'va vata (the ground has several gullies)

English:

to daze // to dazzle

to crack // to crackle

to prate (archaic word for talking) // to prattle

to sniff // to sniffle

Adding -le and sometimes doubling the last consonant is not an aspect in English. Whorf claims that adding -ta and doubling the last syllable is an aspect in Hopi. But these two processes do almost the exact same thing, in almost the exact same way, with a clear iconic link between form and function.

English aspects do look super different. I talk (present tense, "zero" aspect). I am talking (present tense, "continuous" aspect). I have talked (present tense, "perfect" aspect). No idea what it would be like in Hopi, but consider the scope of differences and what it implies about how you position yourself compared to the "talking" action when you say one or the other, to be compared with the simple and objective "this is repeated" sense of the repetition suffix.

TL;DR Whorf had some ideas but overall he was kind of a hack and the question "how much of a hack was Whorf" is one of the biggest linguistic debates, ever.

[hansungie01]

PERV!JISUNG

Word count: 2.1k words

Contains: Basically jisung is a little perv and starts fantasizing about his best friend. This was a drabble but i don't know that 2.1k words really counts lol. Anyways enjoy!

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

Jisung had always been a good friend to you. You had called him to show off a few outfits you had bought that day at the mall, which included some new lingerie.

You and Jisung were close, so these kinds of things weren't typically awkward. You had flipped the camera towards the mirror while you showed off some particularly revealing lingerie, rambling about how much you love the way it fit you and how it looked.

Meanwhile, Jisung could only nod his head and part his lips as he looked at you in the mirror on his computer screen. You were stunning; he'd seen you a thousand times before, but this time was different. He couldn't quite understand why. The way you flipped the camera over each time you tried on a new set, displaying your body for him and running your hands over your body, describing the way it felt and bragging about all the good deals you got while shopping.

At least he was pretty sure that's what you were saying. He could feel pressure in his lower half, and the waistband in his pants was suddenly noticebly tight. He was harder than he'd been in a long time. He was almost mad at himself for being turned on by this, because you were his best friend, and best friends don't generally get each other hard like this.

But what irritated him the most was the fact that he was genuinely enjoying himself. No, he was loving this. Watching your body on the screen, imagining how fucking beautiful you would look naked, underneath him, on top of him, anywhere. He was ashamed of how fucking hot this was - thinking about all the dirty things he could do to you, and you had no idea. You’d probably call him a perv or a freak, and he wouldn’t mind that. He was, he couldn’t deny that this was so, so wrong of him.

But the only reason he hadn't ended the phone call was because 1) he physically couldn't look away from your body and 2) what he was doing wasn't that bad, as long as you didn’t know, right?

So Jisung took one of his hands off his phone, dragging it down all the way down to his pants. He shifted his position in his bed, so that it looked like he was just adjusting and not that he was about to touch himself.

His breath hitched as his palm came into contact with the bulge in his pants, thankfully able to conceal his reaction by biting his lower lip and nodding at something you were saying.

He wasn't sure what you said, or if you had said anything at all - his eyes were glued to the curve of your body in that lingerie and the way it made your chest look. God he loved your chest.

Slowly, as if he were trying to test to see if you'd notice, he started to move his hand back and forth, reliving some of the discomfort his hard-on had caused. He couldn't help but start to imagine it being your hand - with you sitting on top of him, rubbing down on his length from the outside of his jeans, smiling at how easily turned on he was.

You’d call him a perv, and make fun of the fact that he was already spilling precum onto your hand.

His hips began to buck forward as the idea of you teasing him for being a perv was turned him on even more. Soon enough, the feeling of his hand wasn't enough anymore, and he needed more. He was watching you closely, spinning your body in the mirror, showing off every stitch of that damn lingerie that you could, unaware of how much it was affecting your best friend.

"Fuck", he jumped. He hadn't even realized he had now stuck his hand in his pants, and the contact of his hand against his dick through his boxers had snapped him back to reality for a moment.

"What was that Ji?", you asked, looking back up at your phone, eye brows raised, mouth opened slightly, concerned that he had hurt himself.

"Nothing, I almost dropped my phone from my hand. Don't worry, I'm fine”

He wasn't fine. Not at all. He'd saved himself that time, but soon enough, he could feel himself getting closer as time went on. He glanced up at the top of the screen to see the time, it had only been about five minutes. His pants had become soaked with his precum, he was starting to feel the warmth of it on his hands. He was hoping you wouldn't hear the sounds of his low grunting, the sounds he wished you were making with your pussy riding his cock instead.

He thought to himself, he couldn't finish in his pants, right? He was already embarrassed that he had gotten this far, and he knew he'd had to wash his pants immediately after anyway. He also knew it would feel so much better if he just unzipped his pants, enough for him to fully indulge in his dirty thoughts, enough to touch himself and finish on his hands. That way, he could just wash himself without making much of a mess.

And so very carefully, he reached to unzip his pants completely, feeling his throbbing length in the palm of his hands. Impulsively, he let out a deep groan, one that was quiet enough so that he could play it off as a cough.

He began to jerk himself off as his thumb rubbed along his tip every now and then, trying his hardest not to let out any indication that he had been jerking off to you, his best friend.

"Ji?", he heard your voice on the other end of the phone, and his actions froze. Well, at least most of them. He couldn't help but to keep bucking his hips into his hands, eager to finish even now.

"Yeah?", Jisung said, his voice rather shaky. He was starting to get nervous, there was no way you hadn't suspected anything by now. But he couldn’t help himself, the feeling was becoming addictive and there was no way he was stopping now.

"Do you like this one, or the last one I wore more?", you asked. Jisung sighed as his hand relaxed, relieved that you hadn't caught on to his shameful actions on the other end of the phone. He quickly answered with "the last one", not even sure which one he was referring to. The way that each piece of clothing fit your body made him think about how nicely his hands would fit in the curves of your skin instead.

His hands were rubbing up and down his length at a quick pace now, and he found it harder and harder to control himself. His hips were twitching uncontrollably, lifting off of the bed so that he could thrust into his hand even harder. He glanced down at his length, and the thought of you riding him crossed his mind. Your legs placed on both sides of his hips, your hips rolling against his while you made yourself cum on his cock. He bite his lip harshly, enough to draw blood. He didn't care. In that moment, he wished so fucking badly that he could replace his hand with the feeling of you. That he could watch you on top of him, hear you moan out his name, see you shake as your orgasm washed over you.

He'd imagine how good you'd look with the head thrown back, your hands on his chest, hips stuttering. He'd reach his hand down to rub your clit, the other gripping your hip so hard as if you'd fall if he let go. His tounge sticking out the side of his mouth, his eyes watching your chest, then your face, and down to your pussy. He wouldn't need to watch his movement, he's sure he'd be a pro at touching you just the way you liked. You were his best friend, and he knew you so well, so there's no way in hell he'd have a hard time getting to know your body as well. God, he could cum just looking at you, but the idea of you using his body to cum would drive him mad.

He wouldn't even care that his hair was messy, his sweat sticking to his skin, he wouldn't care how dirty he looked. All he'd care about is you.

Jisung tightened his grip around his length slightly with the fantasy.

And that was all it took for him to lose it.

He knew that if he continued like this, you'd find out what he was doing. Snapping back to reality once more, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Uh hang on , y/n. I gotta mute for a second", he said, and without waiting for your response, he had muted himself and tossed the phone across the bed he had been laying on.

Finally, he could cum without worrying about what you might say, what you might think of him if you knew he was getting off to his best friend. He shuffled down so his head was now on the pillow, just like in his fantasy.

But what he didn't expect, was for his orgasm to hit him the moment he began to think about the possibility of you finding him like this. He started to moan to himself, calling himself a perv and imagining it was you. He could imagine how you’d sound, with your cocky tone and a smug look on your face. “You’re such a perv”, you’d say as you rode his cock. “I bet you like being called that, hm?”

"Oh fuck, yes", he groaned, speaking as though you were right there. “Fuck, baby, just like that. Make me fucking cum.”

With one last thrust toward his palm, his hips stilled as his head rocked back into his pillow, the images of your body on his phone screen and the fantasy of you riding him still etched in his head.

His release coated his hand, dripping down to his balls and falling onto the bedsheets. Usually he'd grab a towel, but he had no time. His head was dizzy; he couldn't remember the last time he experienced an orgasm that hard. It took him a few moments to regain his strength before he lifted his head, looking down at his phone across the bed.

“What the fuck”, he said. He soon realized he had nothing to clean up with, at least not here. For now, he’d have to leave it, just long enough for him to hang up the phone. He reached over to his bed side table to grab some napkins he had left for, you know, special occasions. At least he was prepared in that sense.

A black screen. The call had been ended. Had he accidentally hung up the phone when he was trying to mute?

He sent a quick message to you, apologizing for hanging up. He couldn’t call you back, not when his hand were coated in his own cum and his breath was still heavy. He almost dozed off, not noticing the time passing by.

And suddenly, the door bell rang.

“Fucking hell”, he jumped, tossing the bed sheets over and getting up to grab the hem of his pants. He shouldn’t even be answering the door in this state, but on the off chance that it was Chan or Changbin, he figured he better. He ran to the bathroom, washing off his own cum and adjusting his clothing. It wasn't perfect, but at least they wouldn't be able to guess what he was just doing.

He still couldn’t believe this was all from you, how he couldn’t control himself long enough to hold a fucking phone call with you.

Whatever, he thought. As long as you would never find out, he could keep it a secret.

He walked over to the door, and to his shock, there you were, standing in doorway with a smile on your lips.

“Fucking perv”, you smiled, stepping into the room. He stood, confused. When did you..?

“Learn how to mute your phone before you go jerk off to your best friend”

His heart stopped as you reached over to grab onto his shirt, pulling his closer into a kiss. He couldn’t respond, due to the pure shock he was in and because of the fact that your lips were pressed against his, preventing him from talking.

He’d get to live out his fantasies from just moments prior, and he’d love every second of it.

[centrally-unplanned]

I thought this was a well-framed piece on changing tastes in US literature - there absolutely has been a marked shift in what kinds of books are widely read over the past ~50 years. It also slots into some of my own themes around "what happened to all the capital-g Great People" discourse - will there be a new crop of "American Authors" a la Hemingway, Updike, etc, or is that passé, and if so why? Yingling (correctly imo) pushes back on the "death of literary fiction" as being something created wholesale by the internet and trends like declining attention spans - the death happened well before the internet took over everything (it was firmly established by the 2000's), and people do in fact read long books, just as much as they used to (most people never read hefty literature in any era).

Yingling instead posits that this shift is also not due to a change in reader taste, but instead more in "supply" - the death of easy revenue streams for literary authors, changes in how publishers operate, the chasing of awards and genre niches over general readers. To simplify, he believes that one could be an Updike of Our Era, if only one of sufficient talent truly tried and the gatekeepers pivoted to encouraging that. There is truth to the supply issues, but here I think he is overreaching - the supply is instead reflecting the changing demand.

This error is most exemplified in one of his arguments around why it hasn't changed, namely that people still read old literary fiction:

For one, people still read plenty of literary fiction, what they don’t read is contemporary literary fiction. Books like Pride and Prejudice, War and Peace, The Brothers Karamazov, etc still sell many thousands of copies every year, more than even big hits in contemporary literary fiction.5 And look at any survey of contemporary audiences' favorite books. Plenty of literary fiction there.6 So I think there’s a strong enough warrant here that the ‘taste-change’ hypothesis can’t be right either — unless the internet made people’s tastes magically shift away from contemporary literary fiction but not classics.

I don't specifically blame the internet, but I think this is revealing about the author's blindspots - people's tastes absolutely "magically shift" to classics over contemporary works! There is this thing, it is called status? Humans love it, they do so much because of it, and sometimes they even read books due to it! People are reading classic literature precisely because it is classic, it is "the canon". They are also Schelling Points to make reading social - you can easily form a book club around Wuthering Heights because everyone is "supposed" to read it; no one has to read whatever is #46 on the bestseller list today. That in fact drives a lot of media consumption more generally - people read the "hot new thing" and the classics so they can be a part of the wider conversation of society.

From this lens, from where the conversation is, I think you can see more shifts in the demand side that our author misses. He compares the best selling fiction of the 1960's, which was mainly literary fiction, to a sample from 2023:

It Ends with Us by Colleen Hoover It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros Atomic Habits by James Clear2 Dog Man: Twenty Thousand Fleas Under the Sea by Dav Pilkey

Which highlights that three of the five are romance novels (the others are a kid's book, which I don't think says anything, they don't "compete" with literary fiction; and a... nonfiction self-help book? So a typo by the list makers? Let's just ignore that). Now, for one, I would note that this being heavily female is saying a lot about how demand has changed, but that is a bit too obvious to belabor. Instead, I wanna interrogate that word "romance" - I don't think it means what the author wants it to. Let's look at It Ends With Us:

The story follows florist Lily Bloom, whose abusive relationship with neurosurgeon Ryle Kincaid is compounded when her high school boyfriend Atlas Corrigan re-enters her life. It explores themes of domestic violence and emotional abuse. Based on the relationship between her mother and father, Hoover described it as "the hardest book I've ever written".

I'm not saying this is Blood Meridian or anything, but this isn't Harlequin either - it is blending romance tropes with the introspective, the memoir, and some topical politics. At the same time that "literary fiction" has declined, other genres have "grown up" - they cover a lot more diverse ground, targeting demos more specifically and expanding their narrative and thematic scope.

There have been several literary cultural movements specifically playing with this kind of broadening - the decline of lit fic coincidenced with the "memoir boom" of the 90's & 2000's, where "ordinary people" wrote creative-fiction-esque retrospectives on their lives, which you can see covers a lot of similar ground. Hell, to tie it back into gender a bit, if I wanted a serious story about politics & war back in the day, pulp fantasy wasn't gonna do that for you - but it will today! The 2000's was an entire decade of fantasy novels "growing up" (ymmv on how well ofc), and you can get your discourses on the nature of fascism Star Wars™ flavored if that is your tea.

Yingling essentially rests his hat on the idea of the "general reader" being out there still, like literary fiction has deserted them. But I think at least in part, this is a story of evolution, not devolution; in the 1970's we didn't make enough non-general literature to make specialists of the masses. But we do now, they have learned what they like, and aren't particularly interested in coming back to generalist fare. With caveats ofc, there were always be the Hot New Thing and universal appeal, etc - but being sufficiently talented is not going to make that the standard again.