#dull dice

[graceful-stranded-thoughts]

Stacked dice

[windydrawallday]

Seeing people migrate here and there for that Meta AI made think if dedicating a blog just for my art appart from here but- Is such a hassle for me.

And I tried that before. Twice. It never soared but i know is mostly my fault because i tend to not be constant with an art style/presentation to appeal/retaint attention over my work.

Thats another reason why i never managed fandom centered/ask blogs because once more, im such an inconsistent being + my brain thinks is a chore/responsability jdfshgfsgsdjf

So, ill keep here and being as chaotical as a cereal box prize: youll never know if youll get a high quality well-painted figurine or an abstract mix of shapes and colors bahaha -jkjkjk-

[propertyofkylar]

mango sorbet time

[graveyardmouth]

i am the fucking definition of play stupid games win stupid prizes

[losergendered]

i just saw the tags on my last req,, yes i do like dethtech !!!!!!! -dice anon

eee yay!!! theyre one of my top artists dfgdhfgbj

[syrupfog]

Maybe in another world the poison Sanji’s mum took didn’t work on Sanji, or at least not in the same way. 

A child with black hair and dull eyes, and like his brothers he’s made to be a solider who follows orders. 

The difference is that he follows his mum’s instead of Judge’s. 

She’s distraught that the poison wasn’t enough, but she raises Sanji as best she can to be someone free, even if he can’t really be. 

He learns to cook because she asks him to (she wonders if she’s fooling herself when she sees just a glimmer of excitement in his dull eyes).

He guards her like a dog as she grows sick, this six year old who can’t even see over the counters. But he’s strong and can fight and all he knows is that what his mum says is what he does. 

And when she’s dying, she tells him to run. Says whatever happens, get away from Judge.

And when she dies, that’s what he does. Because he’s an emotionless machine, but he’s following her orders. She told him to be free from Germa, and to seek friends. He doesn’t understand the second part (“friends are a weakness” Judge had said) so he ignores it, but he goes.

He finds the Orbit at age seven and he already has cooking skills (and he’s super powered— he’s good at what he does). They’re creeped out by him, most of the cooks just try to ignore him or slink around him, this terrifying little kid who can dice hundreds of onions in an hour.

He doesn’t interact with them either— his mum said to be free, and he assumes this is “free”. He assumes these aren’t “friends”, at least they’re not like in the books she read him. No one has fought for him or offered to share their things with him, so these must not be them.

And then, of course, the Orbit is hit by pirates, and then hits a storm. Sanji ends up stranded with Zeff on that cliff. Why’d Zeff save him? Maybe it was the way he stood emotionless in front of him with those dead eyes. Said he had to get back to cooking like nothing mattered.

Maybe it was the way everyone else looked at him like they were scared of him, this little ten year old unaware of his effect. 

Maybe it was the almost imperceptible way he flinched when another cook came near him, like he was waiting for the next attack. 

It doesn’t matter now.

What matters is that Sanji’s on the island with Zeff and they’re starving, but Zeff gives him food. Zeff loses his leg for Sanji. These things are adding up, Sanji thinks this might be what his mum wanted him to find. 

He’s not sure. 

Uncertainty doesn’t fit well with him.

But his mum said to find a friend and Zeff fits what he knows, so he devotes himself like a soldier. When they get off the island, Zeff can’t get rid of him no matter what he tries (he doesn’t try too hard). 

They get a restaurant. 

Sanji works like a machine in the kitchens.

Zeff puts him on food prep for years and Sanji does it without complaint. No one is as good as him at finely dicing, at weighing and measuring to the letter. He even does the dishes when they’re behind, and only breaks one before he figures out not to grip with all his strength.

Zeff makes him a full fledged chef at fifteen. 

He always feels a little… conflicted about making Sanji work. The boy doesn’t have friends and doesn’t seem to desire them. He doesn’t have emotions. It feels wrong to make him work when he doesn't have the fight to object.

But Sanji’s his responsibility for some reason, and he’s accepted that. 

And once, just once, when Sanji is seventeen, Judge comes down in the middle of the night to find a full five course meal prepared. It’s nothing the Baratie makes. It smells of unfamiliar lands.

He doesn’t mention it to Sanji, and there’s no trace of it the next day. 

He wonders, though. 

When Sanji is nineteen, Luffy arrives with a cannonball through the wall. 

Zeff’s not too happy about that, but Sanji’s on red alert. He goes after Luffy with a vengeance.

Because that’s ZEFF, and if Sanji knows one thing it’s that he has to PROTECT ZEFF. 

Luffy’s enamoured with him immediately. He wants Sanji. He wants this man who cooks and fights with his feet (Zeff taught him that, Sanji added it to the rules— no hands, be free, find friends).

Sanji’s dull eyes barely blink as he tells Luffy no, that he’s here for Zeff. 

But then Luffy says the magic words. 

He introduces Sanji (who stopped fighting at Zeff’s directive) to his crew and says, “this is my new friend Sanji! He’s going to be our cook!”

It’s confusing in a way few things are. Sanji lives in black and white— but Luffy says they’re *friends*. His mum told him to find friends. But he can’t leave Zeff, who is also a friend. 

Sanji stumbles a little. 

And then the green haired swordsman mocks him for it. The smallest flame of anger lights in his belly, a single momentary spark. 

But that doesn’t matter because right now in this moment Sanji is processing having TWO friends. 

That processing comes to a halt when Zeff yells at him to leave. 

It’s simple again. 

He follows orders.

He joins the Straw Hats. 

He cooks. 

He fights. 

Luffy talks all the time about being free, and Sanji doesn’t get it but he figures Luffy will tell him when they manage to become “the most free”, something he has no metric of.

Also, Zoro is there. 

Zoro is a complication. Sanji’s not sure if he’s friends with everyone or just with Luffy. He THINKS it’s everyone. He doesn’t like living in greys. 

And Zoro likes to fight. 

He tries to rile Sanji up, every time. Makes comments about his food or eyebrows.

Sometimes it… well it doesn’t *work* but it makes that little spark hit deep inside of him again, and for a split second the world is brighter. And then it’s gone. 

Then Zoro pulls out his swords, which means they’re sparring, and Sanji is good at sparring.

They add more crew members. They go from island to island. Sanji protects his friends because that’s what he’s supposed to do, and he cooks, because he’s supposed to. 

And then some time around Water 7 he starts to dream. 

He’s never dreamed before.

He dreams of his mum and her warm smile. He dreams of his sister and her complicated expressions that he could never understand. 

He dreams of Zoro and the grin that stretches over his face and the way his earrings dance. 

He doesn’t get it. There’s no point to dreams.

What does it, what finally lights the spark inside of him, is Thriller Bark. It’s “nothing happened”. Zoro pushes him out of the way, stops him from doing the one thing he’s MADE to do, and then Sanji wakes up and realises what’s happened. 

And a whirlwind alights inside of him.

The world has colors and depth it didn’t before, as he’s flooded with ANGER, that Zoro would do that, WORRY, that Zoro won’t make it, PAIN and HEARTBREAK for his mum, and a new sort of loyalty, deep and unending, for his crew. 

He watches Zoro sleep as he processes.

And when Zoro finally wakes, when that worry abates a little, he YELLS at him. SCREAMS that he was a SELFISH ASSHOLE and HOW DARE HE and he’s IMPORTANT. 

And through it all, Zoro stares at him, wide eyed and probably high on pain meds.

And then, when Sanji finally exhausts himself, Zoro grins. That same grin from Sanji’s dreams, and he says, “I knew you’d make it.” 

Which is DUMB and makes Sanji EVEN MORE MAD because what does that fucking MEAN and he YELLS SOME MORE and by that time all the Straw Hats have gathered in shock outside the infirmary door. 

“Welcome to the crew, Curls,” Zoro says and Sanji wants to KICK HIM but he’s on death’s door already and Sanji knows how strong he is. 

So instead he collapses onto him and weeps, his emotions a confusing mess inside of him.

And eventually the door creaks open and Chopper slips in because he HAS to check Zoro’s vitals and then Luffy BOUNDS in and wraps his arms around Sanji and says “SANJI, MAKE ME MEAT” and Sanji SNAPS that he’s BUSY and Luffy LAUGHS and says “Okay but AFTER YOU’RE BUSY, MEAT.”

And later that night, after he’s made a MISTAKE in the kitchen because he got EMOTIONAL chopping vegetables, he sits in the infirmary again, forcing Zoro to drink broth. And he says, “I don’t know what happened. It’s like there’s too much of me inside me now.”

And Zoro says yeah. “That’s what living feels like,” he says. 

“I don’t like it,” says Sanji. 

“You ever disliked something before?” 

“No.” 

“Then congratulations.” 

Then Zoro reaches out and grabs his hand. His grip is weak still, shaking.

He says, “this is the point. You have to find things to live for, now.” 

And Sanji thinks. “I’m supposed to live for friends,” he says. “And freedom.” 

“The you’re on the right ship,” Zoro says. “What else?” 

And Sanji remembers a book his mum used to read. A long time ago.

“Have you heard of the All Blue?”

[heartfullofleeches]

Fletchers reaction to foxboy willingly kissing him for the first time

Yan Farmer Rabbit + Fox Hybrid Reader

[Reader has no mentioned gender but they are referred to as wife]

-

"Damn it!"

The knife clatters to the kitchen floor with a dull thud. Chest heaving with each pain breath, you fall to your knees - shirt clutched painfully tight in your claws as wetness drips down your cheeks.

Three weeks... Three weeks you've lived with the farmer and he hasn't asked you to lift a finger. This is it.... isn't it? It's finally happening. You were a such an idiot to think it wouldn't. He's testing you... A trial to see how useful you'll be to him in the long run.

"Hey, Sweetness. Something came up down at the general store. Shouldn't be gone long, but- think you can cut up the potatoes for dinner while I'm out? It's not hard. I'll show you how to do it."

He made it look so easy. Each slice against the cutting board so neat, precise - perfect. Just like him. What does he want from you? Does he actually think you'll make for a good partner? You can't even cut up vegetables to save your own tail- Just what the hell does he want from you?!

"Hun? That you?"

Shit. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

You wipe at your eyes with the backs of your palms, scrambling to pick yourself off the floor before he sees you. He can't see you like this- The thunder of his footsteps fills you with a kind of terror you haven't felt since you got locked in that kitchen coop.

"Y/n?"

Your back hits the cupboard wall. Fletcher's large, imposing figure hovers at the door frame. Two steps into the kitchen is all it takes for him to march up to the table. To see your mistakes. Too thick. Too thin. Sliced indiead of cubed like he asked. The farmer takes a breath. He kneels down in front of you, hand perched on the tile a hairline away from your shivering legs.

"Hon-"

"Don't-" You bite. "Just don't..... I missed up. I always do. Why do you even want me here? I can't do anything right... I'm a terrible wife."

"Hey!-" Fletcher grips your shoulder, tugging you against his chest. "Don't you ever, ever talk about yourself like that. You're fine. It's okay. All you need is a little practice. Just calm down."

Liar- He's a fucking liar. "What if I don't get better with practice?! What if all I ever am to you is dead weight?"

Fletcher kisses the top of your head, voice small - crushed by the sounds of your sobs against his chest. "That's fine with me too, Sweetheart.... That's fine with me too. I didn't bring you here because I wanted a maid. I just wanted you. That's all I have ever wanted since I laid eyes on you. I love you- Always have, always will."

His hold on you lessens as your whines and sniffles crawl to a still. Your puffy eyes cross his as you lift your head from his chest. He tries to smile - delicately raising his enormous paw to the fuzzy flesh of your cheek. He rests his nose against yours - just like he always did when he was trying to comfort you or feel a connection, lips inches from yours.

"Whether you can dice up a thousand potatoes or not at all. Even if you make a mess of everything you touch. I'll always be here for you no matter what. I'll always love you - no matter what."

Your arms creep up to his neck, the space between you null as your lips ghost over his. Fletcher stiffens, unsure - fearful of scaring you off now if he takes the dive for you. And so you take it-

The kiss is hesitant. Gentle as the hand stroking at your back, washing away any doubts left of his conviction towards you. Tear drops fall at your skin, but you have none more to cry. Is he?... You pull away as the droplets drip from Fletcher's chin into his already stained tee.

"My bad." The farmer barks out a dry chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the flow. "Now's not the time to get emotional, but I just- I'm so glad to have you here. With me."

"I know... I'm glad to be here too now, but um... Fetch?"

"Yeah?"

Your ears lay flat against your skull as your stomach whines in hunger. "Can we... finish up with dinner now?"

The laugh Fletcher bellows is far less restrained. "Sure. What kind of man would I be if I let my wife starve? I'll tell you some more tricks will we're at it. You'll be a head chef in no time, sweetheart.... And even if you aren't - I'll cherish you all the same."

[nhlclover]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃

word count: 1.43k

summary: all you want to know is if ryan's into you.

warnings: drinking, cursing, touching? nothing explicit though, kissing

notes: based on 'into you' by ariana grande. okay so i wrote this mostly in a single evening and it seemed to get me out of a writing slump so i hope you guys enjoy!

I'm so into you, I can barely breathe And all I wanna do is to fall in deep But close ain't close enough 'til we cross the line, So name a game to play, and I'll roll the dice.

You adjusted the bottom of your dress, pulling it down a little more so that you didn’t accidentally expose yourself. You step into the bustling environment, scanning the room for your friends. You come up empty, only spotting two different couples dry-humping each other and a very intense game of pong happening in the middle of the room. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now if not for the fact that Ryan specifically asked you to come. And it’s hard to say no to Ryan…

“Oh, there’s a party at Michaels frat tonight. Come with?” Ryan asked, throwing an arm around the back of your chair.

“Gross, I hate frats.” You groan.

“Yeah but you like to party with me so…” Ryan says, giving you a cheeky grin.

God, it was hard to say no to Ryan. His boyish grin and the twinkle in his eyes that accompanied it had you weak in the knees. When his eyes lock with yours, you feel your breath leave your lungs. His presence alone had the power to render you speechless. You’re so into him to the point it almost hurts. A sweet dull ache.

“Fine.” You cave. Ryan responds by leaning over to you and pressing a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you out of your brief daydream and into a strong frame. “Hi.” He says softly into your ear.

You instantly recognize the voice as Ryan’s, stopping you from elbowing what you thought was a handsy frat brother in the stomach. When you turn to face him, Ryan nearly groans out loud when he sees your outfit. Your legs looked endless in your black mini-skirt, and Ryan knew he’d have to force himself to keep his eyes off your chest behind a tight black t-shirt. God, you looked good. So good. Your cheeks burn as his eyes trace your figure.

“You look great.” Ryan says, a lazy grin on his lips.

You fight off a wide grin that threatens your own. “Thank you.”

You consistently found yourselves close to crossing the line, teetering on the edge of friendship. But never had either of you worked up the courage to cross said line. Your connection was a dance, a delicate balance of shared jokes, shared moments, and the lingering touches that left them both wondering. You yearned to cross the line, waiting for the moment that Ryan would make a move.

Oh, baby, look what you started, the temperature's rising in here Is this gonna happen? Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move Before I make a move.

“C’mon, the boys are back here.” Ryan says, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards the back of the house.

You arrive in a living area, spotting Ryan’s teammates scattered on two couches. The pair of you sit down in empty spots, squeezing next to each other so that your legs are pressed up against one another.

Ryan seamlessly joined the boys’ conversation as they discussed hockey. You found yourself half listening in on their argument, which consisted of whether or not the President's Trophy curse is real. Mid-sentence, Ryan’s hand finds its way onto your knee, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Your heart raced as you glanced down at his calloused fingers resting lightly on your skin, the contrast between their rough texture and the softness of your knee sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the ongoing conversation around you, your mind was solely focused on the physical contact. He began to trace gentle, rhythmic circles on the inside of your knee, your mind turning to mush. His hand lingered there for a moment before his touch ventured higher. With each inch slowly gained, your mind raced with questions, a manic but silent dialogue echoing in your thoughts.

Was this the moment you had been waiting for? Was this the culmination of all the unspoken pining the pair of you had shamelessly done? Or was this just a continuation of the dance the two of you had been doing?

Every fiber of your being yearned for clarity, for resolution, for an end to the game of push and pull that had consumed your relationship. You wanted nothing more than to be done with the tiptoeing and the skirting around the edges of what could be.

So, baby, come light me up, and, baby, I'll let you on it A little bit dangerous, but, baby, that's how I want it A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you.

Ryan’s hand squeezing your knee pulls you out of your thoughts, and back to the present moment. Your eyes flicked to his face, meeting his expecting gaze.

“Did I miss something?” You ask, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “I kind of spaced out for a second.”

Ryan’s chuckle washes over you, his boyish smile appearing on his lips and melting away the lingering unease. “It’s okay,” Ryan reassures you. “I just asked if you wanted something to drink.”

“Oh, sorry,” You reply, a blush creeping on your cheeks. “Uh, sure. I’ll come with you though.”

Standing up, Ryan extends a hand, helping you up from the couch. He tells his friends the two of you will be right back, leading you to the kitchen with a delicate hand on your back. His hand sits dangerously low on your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine despite the oppressive heat in the house due to the amount of people.

Stepping into the kitchen, you find yourself alone with Ryan for the first time this evening. The atmosphere shifts, the ambient noise of the party fading into the background.

“What are you feeling?” He asks, motioning to the supply of alcohol on the counter.

“Are you playing bartender?” You ask, teasingly.

“Yeah, sit back. I’m great at this.” He says, supplying a wink. You chuckle softly, hopping up onto the counter.

“Alright, since you’re so great at this… I’ll let you pick my drink.” You say.

You watch as Ryan grabs two cups, pouring tequila and orange juice into both of them, before handing you one of them. “That’s it?” You ask.

“Babe, it’s a frat house, what did you expect a frozen margarita?” Ryan teases, slotting himself between your legs. The use of a pet name as well as the feeling of his hand back on your knee make your heart skip a beat.

You fall into conversation, telling each other random stories from throughout the week. You find yourselves talking seamlessly, punctuated by shared laughter. With each refill of your drink, you feel the inhibition that had been weighing on you slip away and be replaced by liquid courage.

Emboldened by the alcohol, you reach out, running a hand through Ryan’s dark locks. The conversation comes to a standstill as he eyes your face, locking in on the playful grin on your lips.

“Why haven’t you made a move?” You ask. Your words hang in the air between you two like a dare.

It isn’t until Ryan suddenly straightens up and your hand falls from his hair, that you realize how close he’d gotten. His brow furrows, Ryan’s expression briefly clouding with uncertainty. He stays silent so you continue, wanting answers.

“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to make a move.” You say, a little chuckle slipping off your tongue. “And I can’t wait anymore. I need to know. I need to know if you’re into me.”

Without a word, he closes the distance between the two of you, capturing your lips in a kiss. His mouth is warm, lips firm as they kiss yours. You don’t hesitate to melt into him, tasting the tequila and orange juice on his lips. His hands land on your thighs, gripping them tightly. A soft whimper leaves your lips when his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and then slides inside your mouth.

For a heartbeat, everything else ceases to exist and it’s just you and Ryan stranded in a moment in time. Every sense of yours feels heightened. The heat of his body pressing against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in your ears.

The kiss finally breaks, the both of you out of breath from the shared moment of passion. Ryan’s soft eyes stay locked on yours as he brings a hand up to your face, cupping your cheek.

“I’m so fucking into you.” He says softly.

[nina-ya]

Idk if you write for him, but would you be interested in writing a headcanon about Killer falling in love with an AFAB!reader or even the prompt for Three times he tried to confess and the one time he did? If you don’t want to then I understand ! I really love the way you write the interactions between a reader and a character, it makes my heart soar 💞💞 so I wanted to at least ask

Three Times Killer Tried to Confess and The One Time That He Did

A/N: Hi!!! I am so sorry this took a while to get to but here it is!! I wrote a lot more than I thought I would and I actually had a lot of fun doing this!!! I do hope you enjoy it my love Pairing: Killer x Reader CW: Wano spoilers in the second half WC: 2.5k

Matching aprons adorned you and Killer as you stood side by side in the ship’s kitchen. There was a playful and light energy in the air. Killer by your side certainly helped brighten the usually mundane task of preparing dinner for the crew. 

“You know, I didn’t take you for a cook,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow as you tossed a handful of various spices into the pot in front of you. “You seem more of the ‘slice and dice’ type.”

Killer chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “I have hidden talents,” he replied, glancing over at you. “I can handle more than just weapons, you know.”

You grinned, the banter flowing easily as you stirred the contents of the pot in front of you. As you moved to grab a spoon to taste your creation, your hand brushed up against his, and you both paused. The small kitchen suddenly seemed to shrink further as you exchanged glances that lingered a moment too long to be entirely innocent. 

It was moments like this, quiet and shared, that made it seem easy to just rip the bandage off and tell you the truth– to let you know that his feelings for you went far beyond camaraderie. 

With that in mind, he summoned the courage to confess and the words started to tumble out of him. “Hey, I–”

The kitchen door swung open with a bang, and Kid strode in, his boisterous presence loud and commanding as ever. “Is the food ready yet?” He asked, voice loud and slicing right through the moment. 

You jumped back, startled, and the spoon that was in your hand fell onto the floor, clattering against the tiles. “Oh hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual as if you were not just gawking at the first mate.

Killer sighed, frustration simmering beneath the surface as he watched his captain barrel right in with his usual lack of grace. Kid surveyed the scene and waltzed over to the stove, looking over at the various pots and pans that simmered and crackled with the awaiting meals. 

“Want to taste?” you quipped, picking up the mood as you scrambled to ease your embarrassment. 

Killer remained silent, the moment he was hoping for, now a memory. He didn’t have to force a smile, one of the perks of the mask that he wore.

The conversation turned dull as Killer once again found himself retreating into the comfortable role of a friend and a crewmate. Despite the interruption, he knew there would be more moments, other times when the words might finally find their way to you. But for now, he continued his cooking alongside you, content with the knowledge that he was even able to gather the courage to confess.

- - - There are these moments in life that seem completely and utterly perfect and today was one of them. Floating out on the seas, the sun shone high amongst a clear sky, it was not too cool, not too hot, the waters were not choppy, no enemies for miles upon miles. Today was perfect. And of course, you spent that perfect day outside, lounging around, playing games on the deck, doing whatever really to ensure the day wasn’t wasted. 

Killer joined the festivities, his mask reflecting the sunlight in a way that made it seem like he was quite literally glowing. Each subtle turn of his head cast the sun's rays in your eyes, prompting playful chastising from your end.

You two found a moment alone, leaning against the ship’s railing, watching as the sunlight reflected amongst the waves. “The ocean looks different every day, doesn’t it?” you mused, breaking the comfortable silence. “I could never get tired of it.”

He nodded, preferring to watch you rather than the horizon. “It’s certainly mesmerizing,” he agreed, though those words were more meant for you rather than the sea. 

The moment seemed perfect, sun shining down on the two of you, the world quiet and still, and you, right beside him, close enough to touch. Killer took a deep breath to steady himself, and he started, his words carefully chosen, “Hey, can I tell you something?”

You turned to face him, a curious smile lighting up your features. “What is it, Killer?” you asked, eyes bright with interest as you leaned slightly closer to him. 

He hesitated, the confession perched right on the tip of his tongue. But before he could continue, you interrupted his thoughts with a teasing remark. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were about to confess your undying love for me.”

Fuck.

His mind blanked, the carefully crafted confession instantaneously vanishing into thin air. Your words hit like a bucket of cold water, leaving him momentarily stunned. The laughter that followed your statement was teasing and light, but it did nothing to subdue the rising conflict in emotions within him. Killer opened his mouth to respond, but the words got tangled in his throat.

You chuckled, clearly amused by his reaction. “Relax, relax, just teasing,” you reassured, giving him a gentle nudge. “What were you going to ask?”

The moment had slipped through his fingers and the confession died beneath the wave of playful banter, not that he could ever get mad at you for that, anyway. He managed a smile, the words of his heart retreating to their depths once more as he replied, “Not quite.” He shook his head, pushing out a soft laugh of his own as he hid the frustration with humor. “Guess you’ll have to keep guessing.”

You grinned, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Alright, I’ll get it out of you eventually,” you promised.

While the moment had slipped away, you remained. And for now, that was enough. - - - Something had undeniably shifted after that encounter with Kaidou, after Killer ate that damn smile fruit. The fruit had stolen his ability to express any emotion besides happiness, twisting his laughter into a constant, cruel reminder of what he had lost. No matter how much he tried to control it, the laughter would mock him at the most inopportune moments.

Tonight was no different. The two of you sat on the deck of the Victoria Punk with the moon overhead, the soft source of light casting just enough of a glow for you two to make out each other's features. You were talking, your voice bubbling with melodious laughter as you recounted a funny story from earlier in the day.

He watched you, the smile beneath his mask nothing short of obsessive adoration as you rambled on, each syllable that you graced him with was a spark, igniting a fire within him that he longed to nurture with the truth he had hidden away. It was a struggle before to get his words of confession out, always right on the precipice before something shattered it. Yet, in his current state, he couldn’t even bear to think of you for too long before it started to hurt. It pains him, knowing that his advances have been set back even further because of the failure of a Devil Fruit planting seeds of insecurities that festered and consumed him unlike anything else in this world. 

As he listened to you, that warmth spread through his chest, combining with the constant dull ache of words unspoken. He was a prisoner of himself. He felt a desperate urge to break free, to let his true feelings rise and breach the waves.

As your laughter persisted, joy enveloped him and for a moment, he was swept away by the fantasy of what could be. The moonlight had painted your features in soft hues, illuminating the smile that never failed to make his heart race. And the longer he stared at you, the more those fantasies started to feel like a reality he could just reach out and grab. 

Before he knew it, he was speaking, the inkling of a confession rolling off his tongue as he started, “I… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” But just as the words hovered on the brink of escape, the laughter erupted, uncontrollable and wild. It spilled from his lips, tormenting him by grabbing the fragile confession and drowning it. His own voice betraying him was nothing but a cruel jest.

Your own laughter faded as you looked at him, your own features flooding with confusion and concern. “Are you okay,” you asked, bringing your voice down as you tried to navigate the situation. 

He wanted to scream, to tell you that he was trapped in this unrelenting cycle of torture that he couldn’t break. But all he could do was nod, the laughter still bubbling up, a mocking refrain that refused to be silenced. 

Frustration wound tight within him and he turned away, unable to meet your gaze as shame burned through him. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” he managed to choke out.  You wanted so desperately to know what was going through the blond’s mind, to get a glimpse of what he was really feeling at the moment, but you were not granted more than a second of wondering before he excused himself and walked off, leaving you in a state of confusion. - - - Killer let out a deep breath, unfolding the letter in his hands and reading it for the thousandth time. He had convinced himself that this was the only way to confess to you- the paper in front of him contained words that he could only dream of saying out loud to you.

As he read over the letter once more, you burst into the room unannounced, interrupting his thoughts. His eyes shot up to you through his mask, nervousness freezing him in his place.

You noticed the way that he froze up and your original purpose for coming into the room screeched to a stop as you asked, “Are you okay?” 

Killer sighed, accompanied by the laughter you had gotten used to, the laughter you often looked forward to. “Yeah, I’m okay. Did you need anything?”  voice wavered as his eyes glanced down at the letter in his hands with yours following.

Your curiosity piqued, your attention zeroed in on the piece of paper in his hands. “What’s that you got there?” you asked, stepping forward your interest only increasing as you watched him fumble to fold the letter as if he was trying to hide its contents from you.

Before he had a chance to hide anything, you reached out, your hand gently covering his to stop his movements. “Whatever it is, you know that you can tell me.”

The letter let out an audible crinkle as he gripped the paper tighter, his body hesitating at the thought of giving the letter to you. He had fantasized about this moment for nights on end, dreaming about the day he could lay his heart out bare for you. Each scenario played out perfectly in his head, yet none of the dozens of scenarios unfolded like this. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from handing the letter to you, locking in this version of events. Despite the strained laughter that spilled from his lips, every cell in his body screamed nervousness, from the slight tremor in the hand that passed the paper to you, to the vein in his jaw that was evidence of how hard he was clenching his jaw. The contents of the paper were a mystery and you found yourself almost too eager to unveil them.

You unfolded the paper, your eyes scanning the words etched onto it. Killer silently thanked the mask that covered his face, concealing the scarlet that flushed his features. Each and every word of his bare feelings sent your heart racing. Declarations of love, confessions he never dared utter aloud, and the fear that his uncontrollable laughter would ruin any chance at a sincere confession- all of it was there quite literally in the palm of your now shaky hands.

His eyes darted around before landing on the space between your feet, the silence certainly not helping his nerves. He stood there, seemingly frozen, as he waited for your reaction, breath caught in his throat. 

You looked up from the letter, your gaze filled with a mixture of about a dozen emotions- surprise, affection, relief, and something deeper. Killer’s own eyes locked with yours and you could hear the struggle to stifle the laughter that bubbled up in his throat. You took a step closer, folding the letter in one hand as the other reached out to him. 

“Killer,” you whispered, your voice filled with that same mix of emotions. You didn’t know quite what to say at the moment, opting for a different approach. 

You reached up, delicate fingers hesitantly gripping the bottom of the metallic mask. You gently lift the mask, your eyes locked on each inch of skin revealed with the passing moments. You stopped when the mask revealed the tip of his nose. Your hand moved to cup his face and your thumb ran over the skin, dedicating the feeling to memory. You leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek, watching as he tensed up beneath you, breath catching in his throat. If you could see his eyes, they would be as big as saucers at the action. 

The kiss lingered for a moment, the touch conveying what your own words couldn’t. You pulled back, taking a moment to pull the mask off completely and admire his features. His face was always softer than you imagined, the contours of his face complimenting him perfectly. The eyes, once hidden, now bore into your soul, pulling you in with each passing second. And those lips, the parted flesh painted a purple that you can’t help but want to smear at the moment. His breath was still uneven and he swallowed the laughter that usually would have presented itself by now, a thick silence filling the air. 

“Killer,” you whispered once again, your voice steady as you attempted to find the right words. “Thank you… I didn’t know you felt the same way… I mean, I had this gut feeling, but seeing it here…” you held up the letter, the paper trembling slightly. “It means everything to me.”

You saw his muscles ease as relief washed over him. You couldn’t help but break out into a smile at the newfound warmth spreading through you two. You squeezed his hand gently, letting out a soft chuckle as the tension melted between the two of you. 

Without a word, you leaned in once again and met his lips in a kiss- a kiss of longing, making up for last time, complete and utter affection. It was a gentle kiss, expressing all the words you didn’t say. For a moment, everything couldn’t have been more perfect and the only thing in the world was the warmth of his lips against yours.

Just as suddenly as the kiss began, you pulled back, your breath mixing with his, the noise being the only thing to fill the air. It seems like only a split second that all of your troubles seemed to fade into insignificance as you both took in this moment- the moment that would change things for as long as you two live.

[cassowariess]

Look, I'm not a Gaiman fan, I've just been keeping up with the tag for updates about the allegations, and I have to say I'm deeply disturbed at how many young people I've seen say things like: "I want to kill myself" over the possibility of Good Omens 3 being cancelled.

I'm not going to scold you, but I cannot stress enough that this is not a normal response to have about a tv show, let alone any form of media. So as someone who lost a family member to suicide last year(for reasons unrelated to fandom) here is some advice I hope you will heed. Some of this advice is geared towards people with hyperfixations as I know the neurodivergent brain works differently.

First of all, for the future:

Do not put all your eggs in one basket.

It's going to become more and more likely in the future that you will be disappointed in someone who created something you loved. That's why it's important to have multiple things going in your life that keep you tethered instead of projecting all your emotional well being on the status of one thing. I know hyperfixations cannot be chosen, but extra interests can, so you need to cultivate a bunch of them. Go for walks and keep a nature journal, learn a new skill with free videos online (there are also communities built around certain hobbies like knitting etc so there's the possibility of making new friends too). You might not feel better right away, which is why it's important you do these things as a routine (such as once a week or more). It will flex and strengthen your emotional muscles.

It's not always possible, but have at least one of these interests be something that has nothing to do with being online. Maybe there's a book group in your town. Check local boards or listings for activities. Once again, there's the opportunity to make friends.

If you're stuck online, watch a movie with your online friends in Hyperbeam. Do this every week and pick a movie from a list of films everyone has chosen. Pick entertainment that has nothing to do with your fandom. Roll a dice for each week's movie.

If it is available to you, access therapy.

I realize this is not always possible due to costs or waiting lists depending on what part of the world you live in. Sometimes there are free groups that talk about depression. I live in the UK so unfortunately I don't know how prevalent this stuff is in the USA or other parts of the world, but your local council might have leaflets about community services and activities that are good for your mental health too, like community gardening once a week.

You don't need to tell the groups about why you are specifically upset, but you can tell them "life feels dull and pointless" which is why you're reading this, right? But the more you talk to people and try to do activities around other people, the less dull and pointless it will feel. I know it's hard to drag yourself outside, but it becomes easier the more you do it.

Talk to friends in your fandom, but also talk to friends that have nothing to do with it. I've been in enough fandom spaces to know how insular fandom can get and maladpative coping mechanisms some people can share that actually make things worse, not better. Go talk to some normies once in a while. Your fandom friends will still be there.

Finally, some suicide prevention hotlines, should you need them.

Link to international phone numbers and resources.

Look after yourself, remember people love you and remember, it's just a TV show. There will be other TV shows and other joyous things in your life, and next time you will have more of them. <3

Signed,

A fandom old who is not in your fandom.

[easy-there-leftovers]

Unhinged moment of weakness, but I am craving an Astarion x reader fic in which Astarion recognizes the player beyond the screen—

Whether he thinks they’re disgusting. Pouring over long hours on the game in the attempts to romance him, or thinks they’re amusing. Their diligence in the pursuit of the story and him, honestly, always an entertaining pastime.

All he wants is to meet you. The you that governs this caricature of who you truly are. The you that curses under their breath every time the dice roll deals you a bad hand. The you that looks forward to greeting him after a long and tiring day of higher education or work…

He will do anything to bring you to him. To ensure that another day will not come where he is faced with the Tav that can only be a diluted version of yourself.

Edit: On another note, wouldn’t it be fun if the reader was just the tiniest bit unconventionally attractive?

Sure, they’re not ugly but in comparison to their character, the beloved “leader” of their little party that they’ve prettied up for their own comfort, their eyes are ringed with darkness due to long nights spent on the game and doing art.

Skin, more dull as their only form of self care is through the escapism role playing gives them.

And hair all matted or frizzy as they believe no one will witness their unsightly appearance in the odd hours of dusk.

Yet Astarion does. And he is more confused about his feelings for you more than ever. He admits to himself that, surely, he could be interested in someone far more beautiful. Like your character. Gods, there are people far more beautiful than Tav anyway. And yet, it’s you. It’s you that he wants.

But why?

Edit 2: Update!! This brainrot is now a precursor and has a part 1 to a series!!

[dilf-din]

To be Known (To be Loved)

Frank Castle x f!reader

WC: 2500

Warnings: mentions of blood/gun violence, so much fluff & domestic bliss

Author’s note: so what if I want him to settle down and have a soft life and dote on his girl, don’t worry about it!!

It’s not that you were clumsy or lacked focus. That was the opposite of true. Nobody had an eye for detail like you. That’s what landed you your job as a crime scene analyst. The FBI even contracted you out from time to time when they did jobs in the city. They did today, actually. And though you had been doing this for years, sometimes it still made your stomach churn. And traffic was a bitch coming home, and you forgot to take the ground beef out of the freezer so you were trying to scrape some kind of meal together, chopping what was left of an onion with a too dull knife, and your hand slipped.

It wasn’t too deep, just a perfect slice into the tip of your pointer finger. It stung in the cold stream of the sink you were quick to plunge it under, your eyes already watering from the bruised onion you had been attempting to dice.

Not a big deal, just slap a bandage on it and remember to ask Frank to bring his kit to sharpen your knife set this weekend.

You sniffled and got back to work, sautéing scraps of leftover chicken with some fresh veggies, adding lemon and white wine and garlic and herbs. The air filled with aromatics and the sound of your 80’s playlist.

The tension that spent it days lodged between your shoulder blades was starting to wear away. All you needed to completely feel at peace was the sound of the key in the lock and boots down the hall.

Frank was a lot of things. Dangerous and safe, rough and gentle, commanding and kind. And he was always on time for dinner. Whether he limped to the door dripping blood or showed up early with a bottle of wine and flowers, he was dependable above all.

You didn’t even have to glance at the clock to know he would be there soon. You could feel it in your cells, like the waiting would be soon over.

AC/DC’s fast guitars faded into REO Speedwagon’s Can’t Fight This Feeling, and you found yourself humming along to the ballad. The opening and closing of drawers and the sizzled of the pans drowned out the quiet thump of boots against wood while Frank paused for a second to admire you, a love drunk smile plastered on his face.

He set a paper bag down on the island behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing warm kisses to your cheek, rough stubble scratching your smooth skin. You relaxed into his embrace, eyes drifting shut for a moment as you leaned against his strong chest and inhaled deeply the lingering smell of pine from his shower this morning.

“How’s my baby girl doin’?” Frank hummed into your neck, pressing a trail of kisses to the exposed skin he could get to with the collar of your shirt in the way.

“Got in a fight today,” you sighed dramatically, holding you hand up so he could see your finger wrapped delicately.

“Baby,” he lamented with equal drama, drawing your hand to his mouth to lavish in kisses.

“I’ll kill the guy,” he said sincerely, baby browns boring into yours, holding your hand to his cheek with a tender grip around your wrist.

“He’s in the sink,” you gestured over your shoulder, “If you can remember to sharpen him and his friends this weekend.”

“Course baby doll. Smells good in here,” he peeked over your shoulder at the pans simmering on the stove, “I brought dessert. Cannolis from Tony’s,”

“You’re too good to me,” you clasped your hands over your heart.

It was Friday, which meant Frank was home for the weekend.

His boots by your bed. His body next to yours. Breakfast together and movies on the couch and unlimited snuggles.

“You look tense, everything okay?” he queried as he brought his broad hands up to work out the knots in your shoulders.

“Just a long week,” you shook your head, “All I want is to take a long shower later.”

“I’ll clean up after,” he kissed your cheek once more and gave your shoulders a squeeze before setting off to find something to keep him busy.

He was always tightening screws and changing lightbulbs and air filters, doing whatever he could to make your life easier. Sometimes, on particularly hard weeks, you would unplug your router and call him to come tinker with your internet. Any big or small gesture he could give you, he would jump through hoops to do. You had never felt as secure or adored in any relationship before Frank.

After dinner, and of course your favorite dessert, Frank set off to clean the dishes so you could hop in the shower.

The shower took a few minutes to heat up, so you took your time removing your necklace and the makeup you sported to work. Your cheeks puffed from the scrubbing, and steam was starting to paint the edges of the mirror in front of you.

The last thing you did was peel off the bandage on your finger. The skin was still split badly, deep purple peeking out from under it. It would hurt for a few more days at least, you reasoned.

You left a pile of clothes in front of the mirror, and stepped behind the glass wall of your shower. Another shitty Friday in the books. This would be sure to wash away at least some of your woes.

Your neck turned under the hot stream, letting the water distribute over your hair, and only when you reached up to run your fingers through it were you met with sharp pain.

You hissed and quickly retracted your hand, “Shit.”

The force of the water was like a hundred small knives driving into the exposed nerves. The pain burned hotter than it did when you cut it.

Tentatively, you placed it back in the stream to see if it just needed a second to adjust, but were met with the same intense pain.

You choked down a sob. It was silly, really. When you thought about the loss you saw today and the blood stained carpet, the empty seat at someone’s table tonight, it was ridiculous to be this upset over a shower.

All you wanted was to wash away someone else’s pain and move on with your life, and you started feeling selfish. Words of self ridicule started ringing in your ears, and you pressed your forehead against the cool tile wall, crying softly, willing yourself to pull it together.

You heard the shuffle of Frank entering the adjacent room to sit on the edge of the bed and tug his boots off, thud of his gun on your nightstand, and the unbuckling of his belt.

“Somethin’ wrong?” his low voice rumbled over the running water.

“I can’t wash my hair,” you admitted pathetically, sniffling from the corner, “It stings so bad.”

“You’ve sewed yourself up with no anesthesia and gunshot wounds and I’m sitting here crying about a little cut,” you continued.

You heard the pad of Frank’s feet on the tile as he stepped into the shower and wrapped himself around your wet frame.

“I don’t expect you to be tough as nails, sweetheart,” he murmured into your shoulder, pressing a kiss there, “I love that you’re so tender. You’re too good for all this shit. Stay that way.”

He cradled the sides of your head with two strong hands and turned you to face him, catching your mouth in a long kiss. Frank kissed like he was a starving man and you were the first food he had seen in days. It was enough to make your stomach flutter.

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before gathering your hair into the water and raking his wide fingers through it.

“What are you doing?” you asked with red eyes.

“My girl said she wanted a shower,” his voice came out husky. Brow furrowed with concentration, he smoothed water through every strand, cradling your scalp so gently.

Overcome with emotion, you tucked your forehead into the safety of his neck, nuzzling your nose against his throat as he worked the tangles out of your hair.

The same hands that had snapped necks and pulled triggers were lathering your hair in shampoo and holding your hips close to his.

Your hands wandered his arms and back, grazing over scars and wondering how he got so lucky every time. He must’ve had one hell of a guardian angel. Whatever it was, you felt equally lucky to be here with him, to be his.

The two of you stayed mostly silent. Frank asking the occasional question.

“‘S’that hurt? Is this okay?”

When he finished with your hair, you stepped out of the way so he could quickly wash himself off, reaching for the shampoo you kept on the shelf for him.

Sometimes when he was gone for days at a time, you would wash with his soap and sleep wrapped up in one of his shirts.

Frank drew you into his embrace once more, and you rested easily against his chest with warm water creating pools and streams over the shape of your bodies together.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured.

“I couldn’t,” he said dryly, “My back is killing me.”

“Let’s go lay down, old man,” you teased, reaching to turn the water off.

“Alright smartass,” he laughed with one of his crooked half smiles, following you out of the shower and pinching your ass, eliciting a yelp.

Frank pulled on a pair of joggers and perched on the counter watching as you towel dried your hair. He leaned slightly forward with his hands curled under the edge of the counter. The muscles in his arms and chest were perfectly sculpted, glistening under a light layer of condensation while the steam filtered out of the bathroom.

You chose one of Frank’s black tee shirts and a pair of old cotton undies.

Frank waited patiently while you dabbed on a few creams and moisturizers, fussing with your hair and examining the split ends.

“Beautiful,” he hummed, leaning into your space to steal a quick kiss.

“Almost done,” you reassured, raking a cream through your hair.

“Take your time. I’m enjoying the view,” he smirked, craning his neck to take a peek at your ass while you leaned forward into the mirror.

“Perv,” you teased.

“Only for you, baby,” he smiled.

It was autumn in New York. The sun set quicker and quicker each night. Lazy orange light colored your room with flashes of brown and crimson leaves just outside the window. On your nightstand burned a cinnamon candle, and the rest of the lights were dimmed to set a warm mood. The sun and flickering flame cast wispy shadows on the wall.

On the tv across from your bed, there was a Great British Bake Off marathon playing with the volume low. Frank had pretended not to be interested at first, but it wasn’t long before he was criticizing cakes alongside you. It was something you could both agree on as background noise.

Frank sat straight with his back against the headboard, and you nestled between his legs leaning against his chest.

Callused fingers ran up and down your arms, toying with your hands and occasionally slipping in your sleeve to caress your shoulders. Physical touch was one of your chief love languages, and Frank was fluent. He had spent enough of his life alone and longing that when you were together, he indulged in every touch and kiss.

A deep exhale parted your lips and he shifted slightly.

“Is somethin’ else botherin’ you?” he asked after a considerable length of silence.

You didn’t know how to answer.

“Just seems like more than a cut finger got you in a funk today,” he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, pressing half a kiss there.

“I don’t want to bring work home with me,” you clamped your eyes shut and buried the side of your face into his chest.

“I come home caked in the shit I deal with every day, and not once have you made me feel like it’s an issue to you. You can talk to me,” he said matter of factly at first, but his tone softened into a gentle pleading.

Let me in.

You drew in a shaky breath.

“It was another homicide today. Guy killed his girlfriend. Don’t know why. Shot her in the stomach four times. She was dead when we got there, but her face,” you trailed off, “I’ve just never seen someone look so afraid. I don’t know if he was there when she died, or if she was alone, or what’s sadder.”

He sat in silence, intently listening.

“I know you see this kind of stuff every day, but it still gets to me,” a tear rolled down your cheek and you quickly swiped it with the back of your hand.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, tugging at your shoulder to turn you towards him.

You swung a leg around so you were straddling him, your hands toyed with the chain around his neck.

“Baby, the people I see are bad people. People like your guy that got away today. Seeing the other side always hurts. You’re not weak for that,” he hummed. A strong hand cupped your cheek and turned your head slightly up to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry that happened,” he whispered. His brown eyes were overflowing with sincerity.

You wondered how one man could contain such wild contradictions. Gentleness and violence didn’t often walk hand in hand, but they did when Frank Castle was around.

His voice was like gravel and velvet. His kisses were both hungry and adoring.

With one hand on your face, his other rested at your waist, balling up the tee shirt and rubbing circles against your hipbone with his knuckles.

“You’re good at what you do. ‘S’okay that it weighs on you.”

“You too,” you countered softly, and you saw another level of defense in his eyes melt away, the corners of them softening almost imperceptibly.

“C’mere,” he pulled you into a tight embrace. The warmth of his bare chest burned through the thin barrier of his shirt across your frame. His arms felt like a fortress around you. You had never been afraid since he came into your life.

“You’re my peace, you know that? None of the rest of that bullshit matters to me. This is what matters,” he murmured softly into your ear.

You pushed lightly off his chest to look him in the eye once more, “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

He scoffed and turned his head with a shy grin, pink creeping into his cheeks, “Don’t go around tellin’ people that. Ruin my street cred,” he laughed lightly.

His heart drummed steadily beneath your hand. He made it another week and so did you. And you would keep making, you had vowed. For moments like this.

[tarot-bimbo]

PICK A PILE♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

What does your future spouse look like?

1. 2. 3.

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Pile 1

Okay so pile one I am seeing someone who works out he or she is most definitely strong they could pick you up. I am seeing like 5'11 he could be that height or shorter I am hearing short king 👑 this person is definitely not so tall they could even be shorter than you actually. But you like that obviously, this person is gonna be your Husband most definitely gonna try to put a ring on your finger REALLY fast. You got lots of wands and swords so I am taking that as he definitely is not gonna disappoint you in bed and if this is a girl then she definitely has a wap lmao one of you may get shy a lot. There could be an age gap I am seeing short hair maybe black or white curly. He could be Italian or from Germany? He could like the beach a lot when you do get with this person he is most definitely gonna take you to his favorite place on the beach. He could also live by water or you two will meet by water. He's rich like not Beyonce rich but he doesn't have to work ya know? He's I can see he has chest hair and if you are a man reading this she definitely has really bug breast or really small. If you are a man reading this I think you definitely have a thing for milfs or they flock towards you and if you are a woman a lot of older men throw themselves on you or that's just what you prefer. They definitely have a big house. Possibly does gymnastics. They could also wear a lot of red or layered clothing. For men I am seeing a girl who mostly wears long dresses and for the woman I am seeing a man in formal get up honestly or like really layered clothing like the aesthetic boys you may see on Pinterest with the baggy layered cloths and stuff. Whoever they are they can dress. They like to cover up a lot tho maybe a cancer I thought of a crab going in their shell suddenly. They definitely also have a high role in their workspace and could even own their own business. Big bosses are what they call themselves 🤣. They have a very heavy accent probably not from the same place you are. Probably an earth sign. I rolled my zodiac dice and you got Aries,Virgo and Gemini.

( I hope this pile resonates with you. I love you☄️)

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Pile 2

Okay so pile twooo Already I am getting your person is loud and their personality. They keep you guessing. They definitely party,like the party doesn't start until they arrive. Your person is definitely clumsy I almost mixed two tarot decks😵‍💫. Definitely day dreams a lot they are very care free they might see the world as one day it's gonna end why not ruin it first? Okay so this person talks a LOT like never a dull moment with them tho. They could travel a lot honestly I ain't getting a lot on look but like green eyes dark hair and eyes, you may think their eyes are very intense and intimidating. They like wearing a lot of hats tho they could possibly be 25 and up. He works he's not rich or anything but he can most definitely spoil you. They definitely like touching you in public and being in nature. They are a lot to even handle not gonna lie but they are also very closed off. They don't want to tell me too much they like surprises and they know you probably hate waiting and stuff. I am also seeing dark red hair like cherry red. He's talking about how he dyed his own hair and has to mix multiple colors. I think you or them might like both genders. Heavy on loving animals might even be an Instagram influencer. I am seeing you two are closer than you think 🤔 my phone buzzed as confirmation on that. They will always be on the phone with you texting FaceTime regular calls it doesn't matter as long as you two are talking. I rolled my astrology dice to see what zodiac sign you would get and I got Aquarius,Libra and Scorpio so these could be in their birth chart.

( I hope this pile resonates with you. I love you☄️)

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Pile 3

Okay so right off back he may look like that dude from Ghostbusters Dan Aykroyd but when he was in his prime. They are on the thicker side and honestly they just might work a lot then go home and do nothing 😅 I am seeing you are the one to spice up there life might even be a chef. He has longer hair definitely not black but not honey blonde more so like a dirty blonde or like a golden brown. He likes to garden and build things. They are the type of you say that your car was messed up could fix it even if they are a woman this could shock the shit out of you. They could look like total dork glasses and everything. Favorite movie could be revenge of the nerds. I am getting a lot of older references and shit oop they definitely have a potty mouth 🫢. But I think both of you are older than most ( please don't take that the wrong way 💖) or just really have a thing for old stuff. They definitely live in the city but when they get with you I see you two might move in a place with more land and green fields I heard like Oregon but I have no idea what that place looks like 😅. I used my astrology dice to find out potential zodiac signs. Aquarius, Libra, Capricorn. You got two of the same zodiacs from pile 2 might wanna rest that too or not 🤪.

( I hope this pile resonates with you. I love you☄️)

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(if you are looking for a private reading please let me know mwah(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠))

I hope you enjoyed this pick a pile♡

[stellar-skyy]

hello!! could i order an iced honey and vanilla tea for aventurine?

“order up! i have a drink here for aventurine, an iced honey and vanilla tea!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: sometimes, all you need is to feel loved. and, as his closest friend, he will make sure you know you are. ii. CWS & NOTES: reader is insecure. platonic aventurine x gn!reader. hurt/comfort & fluff. 0.8k words. iii. A/N: i was so excited to see someone rq the platonic version of this prompt! also. please know this is my first time writing aventurine and i haven't played most of the penacony questline (i have been spoiled for the entire thing though-) so if the characterization is off i am sorry.

��Why are you friends with me?”

It caught Aventurine off guard, truth be told. For a moment he could only blink, staring at them dumbly while the question fully registered in his head. After a few seconds of processing, he managed a single word: “What?”

“Why are you friends with me?” They repeated, a tinge of frustration coating their words. The question settled in his mind, but still, he was at a loss for words.

How could he possibly answer that, when the two of them had been acquainted for so long that his life and theirs seemed fully intertwined? The question only planted the seed for more to sprout in his mind as he pondered it; whys melting into hows and what ifs. He struggled to imagine a life where he’d never met them all those years ago, a life where he never found someone to dull his sharpened edges and fill some fraction of the emptiness he felt inside.

They were a match that fit too perfectly; two lonely people, who’d tasted a life without solitude and couldn’t quite bring themselves to leave it behind again.

Yet, their friendship was a double-edged sword, one seemed to cut Aventurine from both sides. It took every ounce of self-control in his body to stop himself from digging his claws in and clinging tightly enough to them to make sure they wouldn’t leave. Simultaneously, another part yearned to push them so far away that he would never be able break them like he did with every other bright thing in his life. The thought of being alone again felt suffocating, even if the back of his mind still whispered that it was only his deserved fate.

On good nights, when they were at the tables with him, he insisted they were seated right beside him—his “good luck charm,” as he put it. He chased every moment, the flash of a smile on their lips when the dice roll just right, a barely stifled laugh at his jokes. No victory could outshine the few moments of pure, untainted contentment he felt when they were by his side.

It was almost laughable that they were questioning why he’d chosen them, when he was the one who didn’t deserve someone half as incredible as they were. He should be asking why they had settled for someone cracked and missing as many pieces as he did, not the other way around.

“What about you?” He asked, in lieu of an answer. “Why are you friends with me?”

“I already asked you.” They protested. Aventurine, being the good friend he was, ignored them.

“You’ve known me long enough to be acutely aware of my flaws, and yet you still stick around. Why is that?”

“Uh…” They hesitated for a beat. “You’re not—”

“Don’t deny it. Just answer the question.”

“Well, I guess…” They draw out the first few words, thinking. Aventurine kept his face neutral, despite the pounding of his heart. “Flaws are just flaws, aren’t they? I don’t think you could find a single one here that’s without their fair share. You’re still a good person despite them, and I enjoy your company regardless.”

The back of his throat had grown dry. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to quell the wave of emotions that almost swept him off his feet, forcing them back into the furthest reaches of his mind to unpack later.

“See!” He said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Exactly my point, why would you be any different?”

“That’s not what I was saying.” They murmured, shaking their head.

“What is it then?”

“It’s just… I’m not that important, am I?” They asked, not meeting his eyes. “I mean—You have other friends, don’t you? And if you had the choice, I’m sure you’d rather hang out with them than me, wouldn’t you?”

“You want to make that a bet?” Aventurine raised an eyebrow. “Because, my dear friend, that is a gamble you will lose. For starters, who I find important isn’t up to you; it’s up to me. And me has decided you are an incredibly important friend that I value very deeply. You can stew in your self-pity as much as you want, but that won’t change how much I care about you.”

“You really mean that?” They asked, in an almost inaudible whisper.

“Of course. Can I?” He asked, opening his arms out. They looked up briefly, and gave him a small nod, so he pulled them forward against his chest. He hugged them tightly, as if they would vanish into nothing if he let go. Their hand clutched the back of his jacket, their cheek pressing against his shirt.

Neither of them were without their cracks, it seemed, but maybe that was why they had connected in the first place.

“I’m friends with you because I want to be friends with you,” Aventurine said softly. “You mean the world to me, and it kills me that you don’t realize it.”

He knew he was little more than a hollow shell, but with them, he almost felt whole. It was almost enough for him; he could only hope it would be enough for them too.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[kaizokuniichan]

Poker Face

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Summary: A cocktail waitress in the Gran Tesoro casino takes a liking to Zoro and you can’t stand it. Reader is toxic. Pettiness ensues.

Note: Takes place during Film Gold although it’s just the backdrop. No canon characters apart from Zoro.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warning: Basic toxic behavior, degradation, spitting, hair pulling, devious back shots

Tags: @eelnoise @bby-deerling @kibblz-n-bitz @sunshinescribes @sleepymarimo

You were going to kill him. You were going to throttle him if he didn’t get that busty cocktail waitress’s hands off of him.

All night you’d been trying to convince yourself that the woman was simply doing her job of preying on the weak-willed desires of male patrons in exchange for their lecherous ogling. But Zoro wasn’t just any male patron, and her needling went far beyond a means to an end. She wanted him, and she’d done everything outside of plop herself into his lap to make her point.

Cacophonous hoots and hollers from the other Blackjack tables dulled in your ears as you watched the woman scratch her talons up and down the starched sleeve of his cream suit jacket. He remained infuriatingly obtuse while draining another glass in his typical, uncouth manner. Though he continued to ignore her advances, you still ground your teeth when her blood red, coffin-shaped claws dug into his arm. There was only so much of his obliviousness you could take—after all, he wasn’t the type to allow just anyone to put their hands on him. At this point, it appeared that he was playing some sort of game to fuck with you. For what reason, you couldn’t say.

The urge to ruin her perfectly installed lash extensions with a violent slam to the table spread like venom in your veins as an envious green serpent curled and coiled into a hiss behind your darkened eyes. He was more than aware of the murderous intent licking at your fingertips, yet he refused to spare you any glance or make any move to shove the woman off. Yes, he was most certainly fucking with you.

Another roll of dice bounced softly onto the felt tabletop and the man beside you raised his glass with a jubilant shout. He’d been hopelessly trying to win your affection by purchasing all of your drinks and asking you to blow on the dice as his “good luck charm”. He is quite handsome you thought to yourself as you admired him. A bit on the older side, and much more clean cut than what you were used to, but cute enough all the same.

With wicked ease you ran your fingers down his arm to mirror the wretched tart on the other side of the table. You caught the polite man’s warm smile and tried to picture yourself falling for someone more elegant like him, but unfortunately your heart had already been claimed by the rugged, classless oaf sitting on the other side of the table.

Before you could stop yourself your feet carried you to the other side where the two of them sat—her head resting on his shoulder, and his eyes flitted to you when you stood in front of them.

“Well, isn’t this cozy.”

He’d only been mildly thrown off by the acid in your tone, but she had more sense to cower.

“I’m sorry, is there something that you need?”

You couldn’t decide if you were satisfied with the tremor in her voice, or annoyed that she’d even dared to speak to you.

“This doesn’t really seem like very “professional” behavior.”

“I’m…sorry?”

The woman was an idiot. Anyone with half a brain could see you weren’t in the mood for mindless chat, especially with someone as irrelevant as her. You chose to ignore her and returned your attention back to him.

“Are you really doing this?”

He remained silent while little flickers of amusement tickled his lips. The woman eventually gained enough sense to disentangle herself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was your-“

“He’s not. Have at him sweetie.”

You placed a palm to his face and mushed it as you walked past while simultaneously knocking your shoulder into hers. Under her breath there was an utterance of some sort that involved the word “bitch”, and it took everything within you not to whip back around and hurl your purse at her head. No use damaging a perfectly good bag.

As your heels clacked across the marble floors your body trembled with rage. A stiff drink probably would’ve done you some good but you weren’t in the mood, and the rest of the crew were off gallivanting around the casino but you had no desire to join them.

As luck would have it, a stool was vacated right as you arrived, and once settled in your seat, you plopped your purse on the counter and rolled your shoulders. The tension in your muscles slowly faded, and the heat simmering beneath your skin was cooled by the vent blasting overhead.

Your short-lived luck soon met its end as your attempts at flagging down the bartender were unsuccessful. After several fruitless waves, you made the decision to just end the night, but your movements were halted when a warm hand softly touched the small of your back. The touch was much too unfamiliar to be anyone from the crew—and certainly not that damned swordsman. You geared up to tell off the unwelcome guest but when you turned around you were met with the sensual gaze of the handsome man from the previous table.

“Need some help?”

You flashed him your most dazzling smile. He deserved it.

“From you? Of course.”

You heard his short intake of breath and knew you had him completely hooked—not that it took much effort really. From appearances alone it was obvious he was someone who easily garnered lots of attention. And yet you were the one who’d bewitched him, and he longed for your company. He wished to serve you, and you began flirting with the idea of allowing it. Hopefully that shitty asshole a few tables over had a perfect view.

The harried bartender finally arrived with your seltzer and lime, and your prior annoyance was quelled by his sincere apologies. The gentleman stopped your hand when you offered a tip, sliding his card over instead.

“Someone as pretty as yourself should never open their wallet.”

You snapped your clutch closed with a smirk. The guy was completely entranced.

He sat down beside you and began to ramble about his name, where he was from, and whatever it was he did that made his pockets long. You were sure it had to be interesting, but all of his words were diluted by the fog of your lingering jealousy. It was unfair to him, but you needed the distraction to keep yourself from being vexed for the rest of the night.

The squeak of Handsome Stranger’s chair blew aside your bitter thoughts when he tried to subtly inch closer, so you threw him a bone and adjusted yourself to allow the slit in your skirt to reveal more skin. Embers of his desire glowed deep his eyes, and he took a nervous gulp of his scotch before speaking.

“I hope I’m not being too forward but I would love to invite you back to my penthouse suite for a little nightcap, if you were so inclined?”

Your suddenly rose when you felt a piercing, steely glare from somewhere off to the side. Observation haki was not something you were completely practiced in, but it always seemed to appear in the most convenient times.

It was unfortunate that this sweet man was an innocent casualty in the toxic web he’d been ensnared in. The dim lights of the casino reflected in his enlarged pupils as he waited expectantly for your reply—as did the gruff man in the distance.

“Oh I would love to. But I have my nightly upkeep that I must maintain. Lots of serums and oils and creams to remain all nice and soft and sweet for tasteful men such as yourself. I wouldn’t want you to catch me looking anything less than perfect.”

He leaned closer and gently placed a cool hand over yours.

“If you come with me tonight I’ll have people that can handle your every need. Just stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

The guy was smooth, you’d certainly give him that. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles and he cocked his head to the side as if to bring his lips to your cheek, but a large hand grabbed his shoulder and forcefully shoved him back.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Well. That barely took any time. You’d planned on at least allowing the man to walk you to the elevator.

“Excuse you,” you pouted theatrically, “that was very rude.”

Zoro slipped between the two seats to block the man from your sight.

“You done having your fun?”

Still playing nonchalant, you removed your lipgloss from your clutch and applied a few swipes across your lips.

“I don’t know what you mean. Please step aside so I can finish chatting with this lovely gentleman.”

Zoro side-eyed the man still gathering himself from being nearly toppled over and let out a dry laugh.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re gonna have to do a lot better if you wanna get a rise outta me.”

You sniffed and pretended to touch up the rest of your makeup though you knew it wasn’t needed—you looked absolutely divine.

“Well clearly it has, otherwise you wouldn’t be over here harassing my-“

“Your what?”

The man finally straightened himself out and stood by your side.

“Miss, is this guy bothering you? Shall I call security?”

Aw, what a sweetie. You began to feel a little bad for him when he was shouldered aside by Zoro’s massive body.

“So,” he scoffed, still ignoring him, “not only are you tryna piss me off, but you’re doing it with someone who thinks you’re weak?”

“Not everyone needs to use brute force to get their point across Zoro. We’re not all Neanderthals.”

Zoro’s face morphed into a taunting smirk that filled your belly with lava.

“True. But I know someone who needs brute force when they’re being a hypocritical brat.”

You fought the urge to tug him closer by the lapels of his suit jacket and bite his stupid lips just to shut him up.

The head of the unsuspecting man ping-ponged between your prickly jibes, and he stepped back as the realization of his use as a ploy began to sink in.

“I think I’d better just go.”

Zoro flashed him a maniacal grin as he stumbled away, and you began to gather your things when his arm hooked around your waist to drag you back into his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well,” you sighed as you tried to pull yourself free from his grasp, “you’ve effectively ruined my fun for the evening so I’m off to bed. Maybe you should go find your little girlfriend from earlier.” You heard him snicker as you walked away.

A sea of affluent casino-dwellers parted as you lead him back to the elevators, and he pressed his hard body into your back as he reached out to push the button. His warm breaths against your neck melted your glacial attitude, and his closeness was so foreboding that the levy of your sanity nearly collapsed.

The elevator doors slid open and he pushed you inside as a crowd of elaborately dressed guests exited. The night was fairly young so it was unlikely that anyone from the crew would come looking for you.

The lift climbed the floors with smooth efficiency and paused occasionally to allow more guests to enter and exit. The excitement in the box was palpable though it couldn’t quite penetrate the curtain of tension separating the two of you from the rest of the crowd. His fingers curled firmly around your hip and the subtle poke in his slacks left you breathless. Glancing at your glossy reflection in the gold-plated walls proved to be a mistake as you were met with menacing eyes and a callous grin that promised retribution.

You were under no impression that you’d part ways once you arrived at your floor, and your hands shook as you searched your bag for your key. Anxiety clawed at your chest when he swiped the key from your hands to slap it onto the card reader, and the soft click of the locking mechanism signified the final nail being hammered into your coffin. You were fucked.

Before you could gain your bearings you were shoved roughly into the wall with your arms pinned behind your back and a harsh mouth pressed to your ear.

“Bet you’re real proud of yourself, aren’t ya?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you wobbled on your heels.

“You’re the one who started all of this with that slutty harlot downstairs.” Your sane mind would’ve admonished you for using such degrading language towards a woman, but your morals had been cast aside the moment he’d stepped out in that delicious cream suit—effortlessly sexy as always.

His low chuckle carried the rumblings of an approaching storm that rippled down your spine. “All I did was sit there and mind my drink. I can’t help it if a random woman has some kind of agenda.”

“Come on Zoro, you’re not dumb. You know what her agenda was, and you could’ve shut that shit down, but you didn’t.”

He loosened his grip on your arms when he felt your muscles strain but then re-tightened it when he remembered you mushing his face earlier.

“Why should I have shut her down,” he asked smugly. He obviously was living for your embarrassment.

“Because she’s not even someone you’d be interested in fucking.” He quirked a brow in surprise.

“Oh, she’s not?”

You chose not to speak and he pressed himself into your backside—the imprint of his arousal nestling between your cheeks.

“And who’s someone I’d be interested in fucking then?”

You had no witty reply as he pulled your long skirt up your thighs, so slowly you could almost feel every satiny fiber rub over your skin. He bunched it around your waist and gave your ass a squeeze.

“You played too close to fire the sweetheart. Now I’m gonna fuckin ruin ya.”

With a swiftness even you weren’t prepared for, he ripped off your lacy underwear and tossed it aside where it lay in tatters on the marble floor. He turned you around and shoved a thigh between your legs to prevent your escape. Not that you ever would.

“You chose the right guy to piss me off you know, knowing full well he wasn’t gonna rough you up the way you want.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just having an innocent conversation.”

“Don’t play cute with me, you knew what you were doing.”

He forced your head back to leer at you through those stupid green-tinted sunglasses and you wanted to smack them off his face. Dick. How could he make something as tacky as wearing sunglasses indoors look sexy?

“Why have you been fucking with me Zoro?”

“Someone had to wake your ass up,” he murmured with a satisfied smirk.

You realized just how foolish you’d been—you were never the one who was in control. The man was an analytical genius, and you were always meant to be the prey. Your carefully curated web of petty games paled ten times over in comparison to anything he could construct.

“Okay. Since you’re the one that’s clearly in charge here, whatever am I to do?”

He rolled his eyes. “Quit the blushing good girl act and get your ass on the bed.”

“Couldn’t I at least get a kiss first,” you pouted and fluttered your lashes. You knew he hated when you pretended to act sweet and demure.

“No. Clearly you don’t deserve it yet.”

You must have taken too long for his liking for he took matters—and you—into his own hands by hoisting you up and throwing you over his shoulder. The weight of your body had hardly ever been an issue for him—what was an issue was your smart ass mouth.

“I’m surprised you could even find where the bed is.”

Your suite was fairly large so realistically it could take more than a few steps to actually reach it, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood for your diatribes. With a scoff, he roughly deposited you onto the luxurious bedding.

“The worst thing I can do right now is leave you here unfulfilled and unsatisfied, so maybe you should keep your mouth shut.”

You buttoned your lip and began unbuckling your shoes, and his eyes softened as he watched you wince while wiggling your toes.

“Dunno why you even bother with those things anyway, you know you can’t stand on them for more than an hour.”

“It goes with the outfit,” you sighed, tossing them aside.

“It’s a shame you’re not gonna get anymore wear outta that outfit.”

You leaned back on your elbows and watched him pull off his suit jacket and unzip the jumpsuit underneath down to his waist, though he didn’t remove any more than that.

He grasped your ankle to pull you back to the edge of the bed and tore your skirt apart at the slit as if it were rice paper. In the blink of an eye you were left bare and splayed before him like a feast waiting to be devoured. And oh how ravenously he would devour you—gnashing his teeth as he pulled you apart, and leaving nothing but the entrails of your bleeding heart behind. And then he’d sink his teeth into that too.

With his length completely exposed he flipped you over and propped you up on your elbows. His hand pushed your head down into the mattress, and he slapped your ass a few times, smiling to himself as you yelped from each impact. You felt him bite into the meaty flesh of your ass before following it with another harsh smack, and you hoped a reddened imprint of his teeth and hand would remain on your skin as a dirty reminder.

“I know you can do better than that. Spread your legs and arch your back more.”

Annoying as always, he demanded more while giving you virtually nothing. Your first instinct was to display disobedience, but his threat of leaving you high and dry made you compliant.

“Please Zoro, I’ve waited so long.”

You heard a clattering behind you that you assumed was his sunglasses being tossed aside. His rough fingers slid up and down your opening, and you whined when he refused to probe any deeper. You wiggled your hips in a wordless command.

“You’re such a needy girl, aren’t ya? Where’d all that fake innocence go?”

His fingers continued to tease you while he taunted, and your annoyance gave way to desperation.

“Zoro please. I’m begging you, please.”

A harsh smack on your pussy made your knees buckle.

“The begging’s nice, but I’m still waiting to hear an apology.”

You’d do anything but that. He was the one who started all of this.

“No?” He sighed in exasperation. “Alright then. Guess I’ll just leave you here to take care of yourself.”

“No wait!”

His hands crawled up your spine to grip your shoulder and the back of your neck, and he leaned over to tickle your ear with his lips.

“You want my dick that badly?”

Your tears wetted the sheets as they spilled from your eyes.

“I do, I want it so bad. So fucking bad. ’m sorry for being a brat.”

“Yeah?” His voice was strained. Clearly he was also holding himself back from giving in until you’d truly earned it. After a final swipe of his fingers along your slick folds he tapped your ass with his cock a few times before positioning himself.

“There it is. Keep begging for it.”

He gifted you with his tip, but your euphoria was short lived when he refused to fill you any further. You needed to feel every pulse that beat along the veiny underside of his length. As he stretched your walls torturously slow, your relieved whines were muffled by the silken sheets. The wait had been torturously long.

He slid his cock between your lower lips and the lubricant of his precum mixed with the wetness leaking from your pussy. One of his hands grasped your wrist to twist it behind your back and he repositioned himself once again at your entrance.

“Even though you don’t deserve it, I’m gonna fuck this needy pussy anyway.”

You gasped and sighed thankful whimpers as he pressed forward and stuffed you with a burning stretch. You’d have to adjust to his girth—every single part of his body was impossibly thick and wide. Calloused fingers tripped over your clit in an attempt to loosen your muscles, and before you knew it the two of you were fully connected.

His fingers crawled into your scalp and hooked around your tresses to tug your back, and you clenched walls and you unhinged your jaw with a deep moan. Finally, for the first time tonight, your desires were being fulfilled.

His hips snapped against your ass and all you could do was lay there and take it. The stillness of the room was rattled by the harsh slaps of your skin connecting and your rhythmic whiny moans. He was quiet, save for a couple of low grunts as he held you in place to mercilessly slam into your sex. He seemed disconnected—using you as his own personal toy to get himself off, so you were then taken by surprise when his gravelly voice finally acknowledged you.

“This what you needed to get you to behave? You’re something else. You know this is only meant for me, right? This is all mine, understand?”

He pulled your head further back and cupped your jaw, and you could see his eyes glow red from your peripheral.

“Yes. I understand.”

“You understand what,” he demanded as he smushed your cheeks together.

“My pussy is yours. I’m all yours. Only yours.”

You felt his cock throb inside you and he cursed under his breath. His groans rose in volume when your tongue slid and curled between the two fingers he’d stuffed inside your mouth, and he pressed them further down your throat to make you gag.

“Fuck, you’re so needy. Look at you tightening up around me.”

You heard him chuckle and he removed his fingers to caress and grope your curves—pinching your nipples and squeezing bruises into your skin. He never ceased his thrusts as his hand slid between your legs to circle your puffy clit. Jolts of pleasure electrified your nerves as he defiled you—hammering away until your foundation crumbled to dust.

He finally let go of your hair to hike his knee up on the bed and your body flopped bonelessly onto the mattress. The bed frame knocked noisily against the wall from the merciless onslaught, and you mourned the definite loss of your security deposit.

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder to draw out more of those precious sounds he loved so much while his tongue licked to soothe the raw skin. You could hear the faint tinkling of his earrings clinking together when he nuzzled the crook of your neck.

“Stop being so quiet. Use that big mouth of yours and let me hear you.”

You gulped, filling your lungs with muggy bits of air.

“I don’t…want anyone to hear.”

His movements stilled.

“Yes you do.”

The air in your lungs was trapped as you held your breath.

“Why would you stop?”

“Because I know you’re lying.”

His cock twitched and he relinquished some of his practiced control by sensually grinding his hips, achingly slow. A totally different rhythm from what he’d started with.

“I know you wish that waitress could see us now.” His voice had dipped to an intimate murmur as he stroked your walls. You could hear the crude sounds of how slick and slippery you were at the base of your connection—he’d reached so deep that he prodded your delicate center.

“You want her to see who all of this belongs to. That I’m all yours.”

You whimpered with every rough slam of his hips, and he picked your head up to crush your lips together. His tongue invaded your mouth and you gripped the sheets as trails of saliva trickled down your chin.

He ceased his invasive overtaking of your mouth to lick up the wetness dribbling down your jaw.

“Open your mouth.”

His voice was a puppeteer that held the strings to control your body. You opened your mouth in a stupor and stuck out your tongue, and he chuckled at your immediate compliance before spitting the remnants of your saliva back into your mouth.

“Hold it there and keep your tongue out.”

You dared not disobey. He kept your head in place to examine your face and you rubbed your ass against him in an attempt to get him to fuck you harder. He smirked and finally let go of your jaw.

“Swallow.”

Immediately you closed your mouth and gulped, savoring your tastes mixing together. He continued grinding against your ass until he pressed you back down into the mattress to resume his rough thrusts. You went to bring your fingers to your clit to help yourself along but he yanked your hand away and pinned it back onto the bed.

“Nuh uh,” he tutted, “you don’t get to finish. Be good and lay there.”

You whined and begged him to let you cum but he smiled wickedly and selfishly chased his own high. Even if you weren’t permitted to touch yourself, his cock still reached the deepest depths of your insides—kissing that fleshy patch of bliss which left your body immobile. His grunts became faster as his balls slapped against your ass, and the squeaks of the weakened bed frame synchronized with his frantic thrusts. You chanted his name and arched your back as he gripped your waist to pound you into the mattress.

He fucked you in a frenzy—biting incoherent curses into your skin. And with one last slam into your abused pussy his body seized and he groaned as he released inside of you so fully that it spilled out to form a ring around the base of his cock. Your walls fluttered as you desperately rubbed your clit—still keeping your back arched to hold him in place as you rushed to follow. It only took a few firm circles around your bud before the muscles in your core tightened and your legs shook as electricity spread throughout your body to shock every one of your nerve endings. You let out a cry into the sheets and Zoro thrust lazily to help carry you along until you sighed weakly and relaxed.

He pulled out smoothly and the warmth of his cum slid down between your thighs and onto the floor. After straightening back up he turned you around and finally pressed his lips to yours. You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck, and his hands came down to squeeze your ass a few times before giving it a smack.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked as he laid you back down onto the bed and laid next to you.

“That was so mean,” you giggled as you rested your head on his chest and dragged your fingers over his pec.

“You deserved it. Acting like such a brat, as if it wasn’t obvious that I’m already yours. And you’re mine.”

Your body buzzed from his words and you cupped his cheek to kiss his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

[aphrogeneias]

it's been seven hours and fifteen days —

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (soulmate!au)

summary: an inventory of the things you kept hidden over the years.

word count: ~1k.

warnings: just your usual angst, stream of consciousness.

author's note: a little something before the big update 🤍

series masterlist

There was nothing special about it at first glance.

Just an old shoebox, weathered with time. The shoes that came with it no longer fit, not since you were in middle school — the “good ones” your mother made you wear on special occasions. The cardboard had loosened up at the edges, ripped a little bit at the seams, the bottom giving out under the weight of its contents.

You didn't really like touching it, opening it. That's why, ever since you found a purpose for it, the box lies under your bed, undisturbed until a new thing — small and precious, meant for you to protect — finds its way to you.

You would be lying, however, if you said you didn't touch it once in a while. When homesickness held your heart hostage, not letting up until you held a part of him in your hands. Late at night, when the gaping hole in your chest where Eddie was supposed to fill aches more than the dull pain you'd grown numb to.

At the very bottom, that edition of The Fellowship of the Ring. Pages yellowed over time, the gold details on the cover faded and chipped, the red cover that was once bright now pale. It was once a well loved book, read to your soulmate by his mother before he went to bed, cherished like the little boy he once was. Hiding it was your way of cherishing it, keeping her memory alive for him.

You'd never told Eddie, but you'd read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy after you left home. Picked them up from the local bookshop and devoured Tolkien’s words in a way to feed the longing that made a home inside of you. It only made it worse, though, when each word on the page translated itself to his voice in your mind.

You re-read them every year.

A plastic Star Wars mug, also yellowed with time. You were pretty sure it came with a matching bowl, remember seeing it at the Munson’s trailer. You wonder if Wayne ever noticed it was missing among all the other mugs he proudly displayed on his wall.

You also often wondered if Wayne knew about your secret. Ever observant, but never one for many words, Eddie's uncle must have known something was off between you, especially in the last years of your friendship.

His uncle who lost his soulmate suddenly, a girl he used to exchange letters with. Eddie told you that, one day, when they were both young, she'd simply stopped responding. He speculated she must have been married off to another man, but Wayne didn't want to talk about it.

She, whoever she was, was on your mind when you'd cut contact with Eddie. Wayne too, his tired blue eyes and weathered expression. Had you cursed his nephew to a similar fate?

That question kept you up at night.

A mesh bag, dotted with tiny silver stars, held a simple set of black dice in it. Eddie's first set, purchased at a game store near Hawkins. You remember how excited he was about it, and how distraught he was to lose it, even though he's bought many others after that one.

An assortment of jewelry, all silver. Silver rings, a woven leather bracelet — the most recent item in this melancholic collection — a wallet chain, an upside down cross necklace from what you liked to call Eddie's Ozzy years. You thought about wearing them sometimes, but the guitar pick necklace already sat heavy between your collarbones, sometimes too heavy to bear.

A Hawkins Public Library card, the last book recorded in 1987 — a sci-fi you recognized — a year after you left. A handwritten note addressed to Gareth. A black pilot pen. A cassette tape, empty, still new. A green scrunchie, much unlike anything else Eddie owned, and it equally intrigued and hurt you to think about where it might have come from.

A pin, a black eye pencil, a train ticket, a song lyric on ripped notebook paper, still unfinished.

They were reminders of him. That Eddie was real, that he was, despite your distance, still living his life as normal. Recording tapes, reading, rehearsing, working… bound by a red thread that led his every move back to you.

Sometimes you thought of anonymously mailing it all back, getting rid of the guilt. It felt wrong, for all this to be one-sided. It felt like stalking, like stealing, even though these were meant to be yours, in the same way Eddie himself was supposed to be yours.

Supposed to. Intended, alleged. Not really, at the end of the day — not in this lifetime, anyway.

When you put these things back, regretful as if you'd been caught touching something you shouldn't even though you were alone in your room, back in the box, back under your bed, you couldn't help but wonder if Eddie had one of these too.

Looking up at the mold stains on your ceiling, you asked yourself if he did this too with the few and far between belongings you let yourself lose along the years. Does he wonder about you? Has he ever longingly touched an earring missing its pair, a tube of half-finished lip gloss, a post-it note, and thought about who you were?

Tossing and turning, you shrugged to yourself. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. Knowing him, they probably ended up in a dumpster, or given away. That's what you told yourself to quiet down that voice that made you grow hopeful.

You stomped it down, yanked away at the thread that connected you to him, violently, like a rebellious child in a rage. It never loosened, never faltered.

It only grows stronger. The box remains untouched until the next sleepless night.