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sh4nksslvt · 23 days ago

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Sea Kings, Smart Mouths, and Stolen Hearts

A wandering scholar with the rare ability to read the Poneglyphs finds themselves entangled in the chaotic world of the Whitebeard Pirates.

PART 3 OF READER WHO CAN READ PONEGLYPH

whitebeard pirates x gn!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: Ace, Thatch, Izou, Marco

tags: fluff, sfw, harem, soft

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ffs cringe and oc

word count: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Moby Dick was a floating temple of chaos.

You’d been on board for exactly three hours when you witnessed a fistfight over the last bottle of rum, a man juggling knives while drunk off his ass, and someone trying to arm-wrestle a literal sea king. And for some reason, every single one of them tried to rope you into it.

You were sitting on a barrel near the railing, minding your own damn business, when a piece of driftwood floated by — a small, smooth thing, carved with ancient script.

Your fingers twitched.

The words called to you. Whispered in a tongue long dead to the world. It was harmless, but old. You reached out, brushing your fingers over it, murmuring softly.

“Hey, what’re you doin’?”

You didn’t even flinch when the voice broke your concentration. You finished reading the last word before looking up. A man stood there, grin too big for his face, hair looks like bread, scar on side of his eye. He's sun-browned and scarred, and a bottle swung lazily in his hand.

“Talking to wood,” you said dryly.

He barked out a laugh. ��Name’s Thatch. I like you already.”

“Is it because I didn’t scream?”

“Nope. It’s ‘cause you look like you’re about to either murder someone or seduce ‘em. That’s a rare vibe to pull off.”

You quirked a brow but said nothing. Thatch clapped you on the back anyway, nearly sending you overboard.

“C’mon,” he said. “You can sulk better at the fire.”

Dinner on the Moby Dick was less of a meal and more of a battle royale.

Men shouted, meat sizzled over open flames, and ale flowed like water. You sat at the edge of it, quietly nursing a cup of something that tasted like regret and old socks.

A man with fiery freckles and a grin to match dropped into the seat beside you. He immediately reached for your drink.

You grabbed his wrist without looking.

“Mine.”

He blinked, then grinned wider. “Name’s Ace. You’re the new one, huh?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “I’m the old one. I’ve just been invisible this whole time.”

Ace snorted. “Smartass.”

Thatch appeared behind him, slinging an arm around both your shoulders. “Told you, Ace — they’re my favorite.”

You were already plotting his demise.

It didn’t take long for the others to circle.

A man with long, flowing hair and sharp eyes introduced himself as Izou. He looked you up and down like you were a puzzle with missing pieces.

“You’re strange,” he said, not unkindly.

“Thanks.”

“I like strange.”

You raised your cup in salute.

And then there was Marco.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you from across the fire, golden eyes flickering like dying embers. When he finally approached, you were standing alone on the deck, staring up at a sky so thick with stars it made your teeth ache.

“You’re not like them,” Marco said quietly.

“Observant.”

He smirked. “What’s your deal?”

You hesitated. But the truth felt easier here, in the dark.

“I read things,” you said. “Things I shouldn’t be able to. Ancient things.”

“Poneglyphs.”

You stiffened, and Marco’s smirk turned sharp.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Your secret’s safe. Pops wouldn’t give a damn. Most of us wouldn’t either.”

You eyed him. “And you?”

“I find it interesting.”

You snorted. “You would.”

His laugh was soft. “Smartmouth.”

The next day, some poor idiots tried to attack the Moby Dick.

They came in hot — four ships bristling with cannons and swords, foaming at the mouth about bounties and revenge. You barely blinked.

The crew went feral.

Ace leapt into the fray with fire on his heels, Thatch laughing as he tossed knives with deadly precision. Izou shot a man out of mid-air, unfazed as blood misted the deck.

One fool broke through the chaos and made a beeline for you.

“Oi, scholar!” he sneered. “You’re worth a fortune!”

You sighed.

Raising a hand, you spoke a word older than kingdoms, and the man’s sword crumbled to dust in his grip.

He paled.

You spoke again, and the air around him shimmered — his boots turned to brittle stone, cracking beneath him. The third word sent him flying backward with a force that shattered the nearest mast.

The crew went dead silent.

Ace let out a long, low whistle. “Yo.”

“Did you see that?” Thatch yelped. “That was badass.”

Izou eyed you like you’d just turned into his favorite thing.

Marco, perched on the highest beam, grinned.

“Not helpless, then.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hardly.”

After that, you became a sort of legend.

The scholar who spoke to stones and made enemies vanish with a word. The one even sea kings gave a wide berth.

And the harem started forming before you could stop it.

Thatch started bringing you food, drinks, and increasingly ridiculous trinkets (“This is a seashell shaped like a butt, you’re welcome.”).

Ace followed you everywhere. Literally everywhere. You once found him outside the bathroom.

“What,” you demanded.

He shrugged. “Felt like it.”

"tsk."

Izou taught you how to braid hair. His hands were surprisingly gentle for a man who could blow your head off without blinking.

And Marco? He made it worse.

Sitting beside you at night, speaking of things he shouldn’t remember. Old places, lost names. His hand brushing yours when no one was looking.

You should’ve run.

You didn’t.

And the comedy never stopped.

Like the time Ace tried to fight a giant crab to impress you and got pinched in a place no man should ever get pinched.

Or when Thatch bet you couldn’t outdrink him and passed out three shots in, leaving you to doodle a mustache on his face.

Or when Izou declared you’d look better in one of his kimonos and actually wrestled you into one. (It did look good. You never admitted it.)

Even Marco wasn’t safe. You caught him napping once, a seagull perched on his head. You didn’t tell him. You let it happen.

Then came the Poneglyph.

Buried in the heart of a ruined island, half-sunken beneath the sea. You felt it before you saw it — an ache in your chest, a pulse beneath your skin.

The crew followed you in.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Thatch muttered.

“Maybe ‘cause it’s cursed,” Ace said, poking a skull.

“Both of you shut up,” Izou hissed.

You found the slab in the heart of the ruin. Black stone, ancient words glowing faintly. It sang to you.

And like an idiot, you answered.

You spoke the words.

Power thrummed through the ground, the air, your bones. The sea roared. The sky cracked.

The world shifted.

When you opened your eyes, you were on your knees. Marco was crouched beside you, worry in his gaze.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”

“What did it say?”

You hesitated. “War’s coming.”

His jaw tightened.

But then Ace clapped you on the back, nearly toppling you. “If anyone’s startin’ a war with you on our side, they’re screwed.”

Thatch grinned. “Dibs on being your right-hand man.”

Izou smirked. “I call left.”

Marco chuckled. “I’ll be wherever you need me.”

You sighed. “You’re all idiots.”

But you didn’t feel alone anymore.

That night, on the deck beneath a sky bleeding silver, Marco sat beside you.

“You belong here, y’know,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

“Not just as some scholar. As one of us.”

You stared at the sea. “Even if I’m dangerous?”

He shrugged. “So are we.”

He touched your hand, fingers curling around yours.

“Besides,” Marco added, a grin tugging at his lips, “you still owe me a drink.”

You smiled.

For the first time in years, it felt easy.

“Deal.”

#one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard crew #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #izou one piece #marco the phoenix #thatch one piece #oc #fluff #soft #idk man

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unintentionalseductress · 2 months ago

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Hi! I had a request if it's okay and I thought I'd send it to your inbox like you asked me to :))

The vision I kinda had for it was ultimately inspired by the fanart and now that I actually think about it, perhaps it's something like rafayel's an outlaw and she's the future queen or sm and they're having a secret affair and ultimately they're caught one day and so her father's furious cs like as you said in the Nanami one, she's supposed to be absolutely pure until marriage so when she's caught with Rafayel doing the dirty, it's absolutely js like 😨😡🤯 for her father, I didn't know how else to explain it srry 😭😭 but yh and so now her father's in a rush to marry her off without further embarrassment but then her and rafayel elope but they go through the deserts, like in the fanart, so nobody can chase after them and uh yh 😭 the only smut I envisioned would be at the beginning of it cs personally, I can't see them doing it in a hot and sandy desert 😖 so uh yh

But tyyy 🫶🫶🫶

-📚

Promised Sands

Warnings: MDNI, sex, angst, mentions of death and violence, reader experiences depression and thoughts of taking her own life briefly A/n: Book anon and I had a chat about this fic, and after getting more details, she said she wanted it loosely based off the Aladdin AU I wrote for Nanami . I am still writing the Zayne and Dawnbreaker fic but inspiration somehow found me and this ended up being written quite quickly. And this is only my second oneshot for Rafayel, like WHAT?! I don't write enough for him.

You sit miserably on your bed, staring out of the barred window at the silhouette of the city in the distance. The bars were a recent addition, placed to discourage you from trying to pull a Houdini a few days before your wedding.

Your future in-laws were already at the palace, no doubt being shown the lavish grounds and amenities they could expect once their son officially became your husband. The thought made you sick to your stomach because you neither asked nor wanted this wedding. The setting sun cast long shadows across the palace grounds and painted the sky various shades of gold, tangerine, and magenta, and your mind couldn’t help but wander to last week, when you had been unburdened by the prospects of marriage and your heart had been full of love.

You supposed you should have known better, but how was one expected to resist the natural pull of desires coming alive when your loved one was near? The longing of wanting to be tucked into their embrace, of feeling their lips on yours, and the press of your skin coming together as passions overflowed, the magic of it all glowing like embers from a fire, rising and disappearing into the air.

No one had suspected the Lemurian initially. It was well-known he was a gift to you, and that due to their unwavering loyalty bond, he would never be able to take advantage of you. But what the royal family hadn’t anticipated was that you would consent to being taken advantage of by the Lemurian.

Rafayel had been your steadfast companion for years, since you were a child and he had been presented to you on your birthday. And although you had given his freedom, he returned to visit regularly, bringing back gifts each time; bangles for your wrists, fancy hair ornaments, and little glass figurines that littered the small tables all around your room. No one had suspected that as both of you grew older, that you’d develop feelings for each other that went beyond master and servant. No one thought the princess with the blessed heart would choose him, someone that they had considered less than human, unfit to be your romantic companion in their eyes. But how wrong they had been, and when the king had discovered the extent of your affair, his wrath was terrifying.

When Rafayel had been discovered in your bedchamber fully clothed, while you lay naked on the bed with nothing more than a bedsheet wrapped around you, the king had demanded his life as retribution. You had screamed, begged and pleaded, and the memory of the king’s look of disgust was burned in your mind as you kneeled at his feet, clutching the bedsheet like it was armor. It had taken 4 men to restrain Rafayel, and as they dragged him away, you could still hear his grunts of pain as the guards had kicked and punched him as they took him away to the jail underneath the palace.

It had been a week since then, and you had trailed pathetically behind the king ever since, until he had coldly informed you that Rafayel had been beaten to death. There was no remorse in his tone, not even a slight offer of comfort. In the same deadpan voice, the king had informed you that your marriage to the prince of a neighboring kingdom had been arranged, and that no one needed to know you had been “ruined” before your wedding night.

Shortly after, he had hired some servants to put bars on all the windows in your bedchamber, and security constantly patrolled the wing where your living quarters were. It wasn’t necessary; you had lost the will to fight after learning about Rafayel’s demise.

You cried, feeling like your heart was breaking into pieces, bleeding, yet cruelly refusing to stop beating. Why couldn’t it halt, just give out and end it all? You’d considered taking your own life, yet each time you eyed the small dagger that you’d hidden under your mattress, an overwhelming bond held you in place; perhaps your self-preservation instincts were too strong. And thus, you fell into a trance, a state of being on autopilot. Dutifully, you had presented yourself to the prince, had allowed your handmaidens to preen and fuss over you, dressing you in fine silks, painting your lips the reddest of reds and patting rouge onto your cheeks to give you the look of a blushing bride besotted with her betrothed.

Internally, you were screaming, but your body felt too exhausted to muster the energy to match the rage boiling inside you. You had looked in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection that stared back at you. There were bags under your eyes, a grief-stricken droop in your posture, yet all your ladies in waiting tittered on about how beautiful you looked, and that once you were married you’d have more dresses than your wardrobe could accommodate. You felt ashamed. If any other person had been as close to you as Rafayel had, you’d be wearing the standard black gown that signified mourning. It felt like a smear on Rafayel’s memory that you were lamenting his loss so keenly, yet unable to show it in your attire.

Now with two days left to your wedding, you had resigned to your fate. Dusk had fallen, yet you can hear the cacophony of voices from the balcony. A pre-weddng celebration. Delicious smells wafted into your bedchamber, accompanied by the sounds of laughter and music. Everyone was celebrating your upcoming nuptials except you. Your handmaiden had attempted to get you dressed for the evening but you had been so uncooperative and listless that she’d given up, settling for the reassurance that at least you weren’t trying to escape anymore.

Suddenly, your stomach roiled, feelings of deep disgust welling up inside you and bubbling out like molten lava. You slammed all the windows shut, making no effort to hide your disdain for the sham of a welcoming party the king had put together for your supposed fiancé. You locked the door and began to tear apart everything in the room. You knocked over lamps unflinchingly as the delicate glass shattered onto the floor. You threw the fairytale books from their shelves, ripping out pages from some of them, tearing the pretty illustrations depicting princes and princesses getting their happy ending. You dipped your calligraphy brushes into various pots of ink and dragged them along the walls, haphazardly stroking chaotic lines of color into the walls. And you screamed all the while this happened. Tears flowed unrestrainedly down your cheeks. If they refused to let you honor him quietly in black, then you’d do it loudly, in the most violent shades you could find.

This was your grief. It was not theirs to control, and you felt the dam of emotions you had been holding back come flooding through. You allowed yourself to remember everything; nights spent on the balcony whispering your fears and secrets to him, using little henna cones to trace patterns onto his hands, and letting him do the same for you, marveling at how much bigger they were than yours, with those long, slender fingers. You remembered the softness of his hair and how the wind messed up his bangs and how his eyes turned into the most breathtaking shade of lilac as the sun caught them. The way his eyelashes rested like fans on his cheeks while he was sleeping, and the gentleness of his lips as he kissed you.

You didn’t care about the purity laws. You had done nothing impure, nothing worthy of the scorn the king had been giving you the past few days. What was revolting was the way everyone else was behaving, acting nonchalant like your childhood companion hadn’t been beaten to death within the very walls of this palace you had called home. So you kicked, your voice calling out his name like a wild animal, holding yourself to prevent your being from falling apart at the seams, your fingernails leaving little bloody marks in your sides as you did so.

When the rage finally quieted down, the room was in shambles. It brought you a great sense of satisfaction, your throat raw from your lamenting. Exhausted, you collapsed on the bed, and the anguish turned quiet. You could feel it still crawling under your skin but the cathartic destruction of your bedchamber had dulled it.

You knew you’d never love the man who was to be your husband. How were you to sleep with this man? This person who hadn’t even questioned the circumstances under which this marriage had been proposed?

Shivering from the adrenaline withdrawal, you bury your face into your pillow, desperately recalling all the times Rafayel had made love to you. Your hands start to wander, softly touching yourself, cupping your breasts, and sighing as your fingers wandered to the space between your legs.

Rafayel’s lips were cool against the heat of your bare skin. You were blushing from your lack of experience. There’s a playful mischievousness in his eyes as he trailed kisses down the column of your neck, coming to the valley between your breasts.

“Is your highness pleased?” He had teased, looking up at you slyly, enjoying the way your cheeks turned pink. You had averted your gaze, trying not to make it obvious how much he was affecting you, which had only amused him.

“It pleases me when you’re pleased, ya know?” His mouth had closed over a pert nipple, suckling with the perfect pressure that had made you whimper needily, feeling moisture gathering in your core. Heat gathered in your belly and your toes kept curling into the sheets as he pleasured you.

When you dared to look at him again, his eyes glittered with dark desire.

“Tell me my lady,” he had whispered as he’d pushed your knees apart to settle in between them. “Are you in need of my services? All you need to do is ask.”

Your breath had caught in your throat as his fingers gently spread your wet lips apart, revealing the little engorged bud in between them. Rafayel’s tongue gave it a wet lick and your back had arched in pleasure, a wanton noise escaping you. You had waited for him to continue but when you felt nothing, your eyes cracked open for a second only to see him gazing intently at you.

“I await your command my princess,” he had said patiently even though desire was eating away at him.

“Rafayel, please,” you had gasped. “I’m yours.”

Relief had flooded your system as his tongue found purchase between your folds, his spit gathering onto the swollen membranes as he tasted you. Your body felt like it was in heaven, becoming lighter and alive under his ministrations. The room had filled with the lewd, moist noises of his tongue lapping away at your slick folds, sucking your clit with care until your mind was a mess of hot need. You had struggled to reach the peak, almost losing concentration until Rafayel’s hand had reassuringly held yours and your fingers had interlaced with his.

The thoughtful gesture had been the thing needed for you to find the courage to tip into the abyss of desire where all that existed was him and the desires of your own body. You felt all the senses leave you as you orgasmed, your clit spasming in ecstasy as your hole fluttered in urgent need. Your thighs trembled and you moaned his name as he licked through the aftershocks.

After every last drop of your pleasure had been drawn, he’d held you against him, helping you come down from the intensity of the high. You could feel his erection pressing hotly against your thigh, barely contained by the thin fabric of his underwear. Boldly, your hand had slipped into it, grasping his length and stroking, drawing a hiss from him.

“Impatient princess?” he had asked with a lilt, trying to fluster you again, but his teeth were gritted at how good your small hand felt on his cock. He’d guided you, showing you how to hold him, how much pressure he liked, and once you’d mastered the movements, he’d allowed himself a brief moment of indulgence, surprising you when he stilled your hand.

“I won’t last long if you keep this up.” His hand brushed your cheek and he’d kissed you before rolling you under him.

“I promise this won’t hurt too much.”

Your body tensed when you felt his thick, rounded head probe your entrance, carefully notching into the tight space.

“Don’t worry.” Rafayel snuggled your body close to his, peppering your face with little kisses. “I’ve got you. Just keep breathing. Nice and deep.” His hands cushioned behind the back of your head and you trained your eye to focus on the fine ring of inky black that surrounded his mesmerizing irises. Your body stretched around him, the tightness almost unbearably painful, and Rafayel had paused several times to let you adjust, gently sheathing himself inch by inch, kissing away your tears. He’d stilled when he had finally bottomed out, and you realized your body no longer felt like it was being split apart. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in, and everything inside you changed.

Rafayel gave a testing roll of his hips and when you clung to him moaning, he’d picked up the pace, thrusting into you, merging your bodies into one. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and you held on tight as he pushed into new realms of discovery.

You withdraw your sticky fingers from your cunt, skin slick with sweat, glowing with the effort of giving yourself that orgasm. They could marry you off, tell the world whatever they wanted, but they couldn’t take away what Rafayel had shown you. You would play the obedient, meek, little princess for now. But someday, you didn’t know when, you would leave. You would find a way to escape from this gilded cage, and never look back.

This newly found resolve calms you, and you manage to fall into a fatigued sleep.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

There’s a tapping noise on the glass of your window, and you awaken abruptly, eyes blinking to adjust the darkness of the night. You find your heartbeat quickening as you spy a shadowy figure lurking outside the glass. Who had managed to get up there? You glance around your room for a weapon, then freeze when an achingly familiar voice calls, muffled through the closed window.

“Open up!”

You blink, looking wildly at the blurred stranger. It couldn’t be. He was dead. You scramble to your feet, trying to calm your frazzled nerves.

A ghost? Had he come to say goodbye?

With a trembling hand, you reach out to undo the lock, not daring to breathe as a tall man dressed in black leather pulls out a strange looking tool, cutting the iron bars in one go before swiftly entering your room.

“Rafayel?” Your voice is unsteady. You can tell he’s injured. His wrist had been splinted and his beautiful face bore bruises.

“Yeah, who else did you think it was?”

“They told me you were dead!” The words were a broken whisper.

“What, did you think I’m that easy to kill?” Rafayel tries to smile but his lips bear a half-healed cut and he winces as he does so. “Princess, I could never die so easily. Didn’t I promise that I’d get you out of here someday?”

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. Needing confirmation that he was indeed whole and human, you cup his uninjured cheek with an unsteady hand, feeling the heat of his skin, and the soft expulsion of air as it left his nostrils. Rafayel’s eyes soften, and he pulls you into a tight hug, reassuringly patting your hair.

“I’m here my love.” He presses a kiss to your hair. “But we have to move. Quickly. My comrades said they’d keep watch, but it won’t be long until they give the signal. We need to leave as soon as they do so.”

He looks around the room, inspecting the havoc. “What happened here?”

You manage a watery smile, dashing away a tear. “A funeral.”

No sooner had you said the word than a sudden flash of light burst into the sky. Peering outside the window, you see it ascend into the sky, before exploding like a firecracker, the lights arranging themselves to form a fishtail. Screams erupted from the palace grounds which had otherwise been peaceful.

“We’re under attack! Call the guards!” Voices echoed from the din, panic setting in amongst the citizens.

“That’s our cue.” Rafayel looks at you and there’s a hint of uncertainty in them. “Unless you’d rather stay?”

“Never.” You quickly tiptoe to plant a kiss on Rafayel’s lips. He’s startled for a brief moment, then breaks into a wide grin.

“Time to go my beautiful bride.”

He takes your hand and helps you out onto the narrow ledge of the window. It was pitch black outside, the fishtail signal’s brightness engulfing all the stars glimmering in the background.

“We jump.” He holds your hand firmly. “One, two, three!”

You wisely hold in your scream as you leap off the edge with cold nothing underneath your feet, plummeting a few feet before you suddenly bob up into the air. Looking down, you realize you’re standing on something soft and fluid. A flapping noise can be heard as whatever it is rises into the clouds and whisks you away from the palace. Night air wipes your hair as Rafayel holds you tightly to his side.

Once you begin to sail through an unbroken patch of moonlight, you glance down to see your vehicle was a giant manta ray, its flat, pancake-like membranes lazily undulating in the sky as it carried you into unknown lands.

Rafayel helps you sit on the massive creature’s back and joins you, protectively pulling you against him to shield you from the wind. You glance up at him.

“So you heard about the wedding then.” You probe and Rafayel nods, but you notice a flicker of rage in his eyes when you brought it up. Hastily, you add, “I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it. I only asked because you called me a ‘beautiful bride’.”

He turns to look at you, lowering his hood as he does so. “If I recall, I called you my beautiful bride.” The intensity of his gaze makes you blush and you quickly avert your eyes to the starry sky.

“What do you mean?” you ask shyly, then your breath catches in your throat as Rafayel digs into an inner pocket of his garb and pulls out a ring of gold, with a large sapphire set in the middle.

“My beautiful bride,” he repeats, and wordlessly slips the ring onto your finger. You look at it with tears in your eyes, then sniff as you’re pulled into his loving embrace. It was almost presumptuous of him not to ask, but wholly unnecessary in your opinion. You didn’t want to be anyone else’s but his.

Very little was said for the rest of the journey, but words weren’t needed. You knew there would be plenty to talk about once you got off this ride, once you were presented to Rafayel’s entourage, wherever they were. Instead you settled for the knowledge that he was alive, and that you were free from the expectations of the palace.

It was uncertain how much time had passed, but the manta ray began to descend, the air growing warmer as it got lower to the ground, casting a long shadow as it did so. You look around and sense the dry quality of the air, seeing the sand dunes that were everywhere and realize you were in the middle of the desert. The area was still and quiet as your ride landed with a soft thump on the sand. You and Rafayel disembark, and the creature vanishes into thin air.

“Where-?”

“Back to the sea. A god never forces a creature of the deep to remain on land for too long.”

You glance around and squint, seeing silhouettes in the distance that seem to be heading your way.

“That’s our party. Right on time.” Rafayel offers his hand to you, smiling.

“Let’s go say hi. I want to properly introduce them to the future queen of Lemuria.”

Your heart swells with affection, remembering all the times you’d talked about marrying him, about being completely his for all of time. Holding onto his entwined fingers, you take your first step into a life of beautiful freedom.

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog @xinnn6 @xiaoderrrr @evansdmitri @ravenclaw-jojo @cordidy @hesperisms @redactedbimbo @erebus-et-eigengrau @cheesemachine44 @decileste @thesoftuglywrites @belt0-0 @snatched-bubblegum-bitch @wynter-lily @delphiakira @melpomenes-muse @who-mentioned-rhys-larsen

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lads #lads smut #l&ds #l&ds smut #love and deepspace rafayel #l&ds rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader smut #seductress scribbles

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tojjist · 1 year ago

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𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 ↳ r. sukuna

in which: the king of curses left you the moment you announce your pregnancy to him. but after nearly losing you... he might be having a change of heart contains: very slight objectification of reader, reader is a half-curse, mentions of injury and near-death experience, reader is pregnant, slight mention of pregnancy sex, sukuna is really ooc tbh A/N: yall really wanted soft sukuna lmao. i js wanted to write something more in my own style instead of the tumblr style. It's all over the place really, also obv trueform! sukuna. w.c : 1.6k

“Sukuna-sama?” Your voice comes out a breathy whisper, barely audible.

“Do– ugh,” The pink-haired curse sighs. “Don’t call me that. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

You haven’t known Sukuna to be tender. Actually, scratch that. You used to genuinely believe he mistook the adjective for an affront. He probably still does, despite the sheer softness of his actions. His mind is a marvel far beyond your, or anyone else's, comprehension. And if Sukuna hasn’t always been complicated, his sudden switch of behavior recently has rendered unriddling the complex being that he is even harder.

“What do I call you then?” There’s confusion in your tone; confusion fused with unadulterated innocence. His eyebrows crease further. He loved how naive and ingénue you are. Such a simple, sheepish thing. Easy to lead one, easy to use, easy to hurt. But as of late, he’d come to hate it.

He hates that he hates it. He shouldn’t care.

“I don’t fucking know,” he snaps back. It’s enough to bring you silence, the somber tone he uses coming with a sense of finality.

Rough callouses are surprisingly gentle against your flesh—callouses that slap, bruise, grope, but never caress. Despite that, he pulls your underwear up your thighs with utter care. If you didn’t know any better, you might even dare call his actions delicate.

“Does it hurt?” He reminisces. Curious digits stroke your lower abdomen and across the swell of your belly, where an ugly scar sits. It decorates your skin with a long, uneven line of dried blood cells.

“It’s not too bad,” You assure, daring to test your luck by bringing your own hand to his hair. It causes the king of curses to pause. His ember eyes continue to stare at your scar, unable to swat your hand away for some reason. The wooden floor beneath him feels too cold. Or he feels too hot. He’s unsure.

In the dimness of the room, there is no light but the flickering glow emitted from the fire, ensconced within a cage of brick—a fireplace, by name. Yet, the warmth that enfolds you does not excrete solely from the flames. It originates from within, a pulsating heat that comes with the beat of your heart as a large palm finds your shoulder, urging you forward with an urgency that seems to echo through the very fibers of your being.

“What about this one?”His intense glare persists, averting your demure gaze. Never before have you witnessed him in such a state, making you wonder whether this demeanor is a consequence of recent events.

“It’s fine, I promise,” Your whispered words cause his gaze to harden even further, his thumb tracing over another, deeper cut nestled in the valley between your breasts. This one could have been fatal. The realization sends a shiver down his spine, unsettling him to his core. Sukuna, the ancient and ruthless curse, has borne witness to countless horrors in his long existence, inflicted unspeakable cruelty upon countless souls, but none have shaken him to his core quite like seeing you teetering on the brink of death. The memory stirs within him an unfamiliar sense of disquiet, a realization that his desires may have consequences far more profound than he ever anticipated.

The brawny curse grunts in response, opting to continue examining the scar. He’s careful to not stretch it as your human flesh would hurt.

Sukuna’s agenda never included leaving a child within you. It never even crossed his mind. Such muses were not to be entertained, especially not with you.

You. Yeah, you who doesn't try to kill humans simply for the pleasure it brings. You who takes life so lightly, as if you have several souls to spare. You who accepts every word Sukuna says as an indisputable fact, every order executed before he has a chance to reconsider.

You, who has shared your bed with the strongest curse more times than he cares to count, always intrigued him—an enigmatic subject for his manipulations. You, who confided in him the startling revelation that your half-cursed body now nurtures a growing fetus.

At first, Sukuna swore he'd never visit you again, adamant in his belief that he wanted no involvement in your pregnancy, leaving you to navigate the situation alone. Despite his capability to end your life without hesitation, he chose to spare you. Sukuna granted you a reprieve under the condition that he never crosses paths with you or whatever child you carry. He told himself time and time again that you would be a rather boring kill, not worth the effort. But it wasn't about the difficulty of ending your life—it was an excuse. He'd never admit that he doesn't want your blood staining his hands

Sukuna swears he’s not soft, that he doesn’t care for you at all.But the notion of being the one who brings you to your end does not enthrall him in the least.

He doesn’t care for the inferior likes of you, he reminds himself. That’s absurd. It’s laughable. It’s offensive, even. He doesn’t ‘care’, It’s simply curiosity that keeps him around. Curious of what kind of child the one you carry would come out to be. To see if they’d be worthy of being called his kin or not.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is dulcet, a melody that cuts his train of thought smoothly. Unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s a pleading tone, a need so urgent it's almost painful. He finds pleasure in that. Your perpetual longing for him, your unwavering loyalty even after his defeat by sorcerers the first time around—you kept him close like a devoted guardian to a fallen hero, even when you knew is anything but a hero. It's a power unlike any other—staying but not out of fear, it's a choice. A strong belief.

Balancing on his knees between her parted legs, he reaches out, his fingers finding purchase on the edge of the bed. His grip tightens instinctively, fingers slipping beneath the hem of the sheet as he steadies himself. With a controlled effort, he pushes upward, leveraging the bed for support as he rises to his feet

“Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?” He muses, his towering frame looking down at you. The flickering flames of the fire, their orange hues swirling and weaving a macabre tapestry around his countenance, lend him an aura of terror that would instill fear in any who behold him. Yet, unlike others, you find his presence strangely comforting. Despite the aura of terror he exudes, you've grown accustomed to it, finding solace in his formidable presence now more than ever before.

Your only reaction is to chew on the inside of your cheek, careful to not bite the fiber too hard. There’s an ambivalent air to him, remaining motionless as he towers over you. It seems as if he’s looking for something. Anything. He wants a reason to stay, but he can’t seem to find one satisfying enough.

He owes you nothing. But when you look at him like that… He’s never been one to falter at your pleading face, but perhaps he’s changing little by little. He staunchly refuses to acknowledge this change still, for him to do so would be an admission of vulnerability, a humiliation he cannot bear, even to himself. How he yearns for the willpower to end you, to push you away so you never obstruct his way like this again.

The worst part of it all is his acute awareness of why he feels so strongly now. He knows that it’s all him, and not at all you. He can pinpoint the exact moment he regret leaving your side. The memory is seared into his very core.

He wishes he could forget, to erase the haunting image of you, wounded and bleeding, from his mind.

It was when he came back a few days after his departure, for reasons he can’t recall, only to be greeted by the sight of a malevolent curse looming over you, hungry and poised to make you its next meal. He shouldn’t have intervened. It's the natural order—a relentless cycle where only the strongest survive, preying upon the weaker. He knows he's no exception. Nor are you.

But seeing you sprawled out on the floor, barely intact, with his child inside of you.

He gulps at the memory, feeling an overwhelming urge to touch you once more, to make sure you’re not some figment of his imagination. To keep you from harm. You’re so stupid, so goddamn naive. He doesn’t know what to make of you. Other than a fucking headache.

“What is it? What do you want, brat?” He hopes to catch some semblance of his normal attitude. “Get it over with.”

“Please stay,” You plead, fingers gently gripping the open kimono he had thrown on once finished with you. “Please, Sukuna-sama.”

He sighs. You’re so obstinate.

Perhaps it's his lack of understanding that breeds hesitation within him, or perhaps it's his inherently fierce nature. A thing like you deserves to be treated with the utmost delicacy, cherished and nurtured. Sukuna, with his staunch commitment solely to his ideals, can never be the one assuming such a role for you.

“You’re doing things to me, you know?” Sukuna gets down, kneeling between your parted legs again, placing a warm palm in either side of your hips and seizing you within.

Maybe… staying with you tonight wasn’t such a ludicrous notion. He’s the king of curses; he has all the time in the world to fret the trivial details.

#arabella writes #jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukun x reader smut #ryomen sukuna smut #dividers by benkeibear

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xoluvx · 8 months ago

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i need a fic where we have an intense make out w billie.. im talking clothes gripping,moaning, makeup ruining/lipstick idk js messy sexy ass makeout sesh🤪

if u do this my life will be yours.

give me your soul 💜

there was a certain hunger brewing deep inside you. a void that could only be filled by her. her lips. her touch. her burning embers.

the kiss was sloppy. her tongue running along your bottom lip begging to enter your mouth. your hands busied themselves in her hair. tugging at her strands while pulling yourself so close you could hardly breath. she tugged at the bottom of your t-shirt bunching it until her hands were touching your warm skin. burning in places so sacred. you moaned, melting under her touch.

you felt lightheaded, breathing heavily as you held each other tightly. whimpering, you parted your lips inviting her tongue into your mouth. your tongues tussled as her hands gripped your ass, squeezing and pulling you close. you pulled her hair and she snarled. she slapped your ass and a throaty moan spilled on her tongue as you let her totally dominate your mouth.

she held the back of your head with one hand and your eyelids fluttered as her fingers dug into your neck. the room filled with heavy breathing. sighs and moans and whimpers. noses clashing. teeth tugging on lips. so desperate. so hungry.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fic #billie eilish request #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish smut

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claymoresword · 1 year ago

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I Choose Her | Chp: 19

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: heavy themes, character death, mention of violence, death, grief, (somehow) a sprinkle of fluff

Note: hello! finally we're here, this is looking like the second last chapter, which is bitter sweet but I suppose it has to end at some point :( also I know this one is shorter than usual, and since it is very plot driven it may not be as fun to read but I hope the fluff makes up for it! the next chapter will definitely be longer and hopefully less depressing overall lol. anyway, that's it, as always endless thanks for your patience. hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character

You can feel heat prickling your skin, the quidditch pitch is a fiery blaze and you could only afford to stare in helpless despair.

The quaffle hoops once stood large and tall, you've flown by them countless times during quidditch practice, and multiple house matches. One of the best memories you've made at Hogwarts– reduced to ash.

Now the wooden stands are nothing but kindling for the fire that devoured them, they come crashing down in pieces of hot red ember.

Smoke is all you can smell in the air, thick hot ash and fear.

You can't move, still– you observed as the flames licked another banner, Gryffindor or Slytherin, they were no match for it's fiery wrath.

More students sprint past, careless and panicked, nudging you in the process. Now you are forcefully pushed further into the doorway.

It works as a shock to your system, a part of you astrayed amidst the chaos, but you had to keep running, in search of Hermione.

You propell down the main hall, soon approaching the gallery.

“Y/n!” Blessedly, you finally hear your love call out to you, but it was a shout of warning.

Somehow, you manage to narrowly dodge the curse coming your way. “Avada Kedavra!” You cast in return, without thought, almost second nature.

The Death Eater is thrown backwards, slamming through a broken wall and into a pile of bricks.

Your plan to advance forward is interrupted as you feel a presence fall into you, arms wrapped tightly around your neck.

The scent of your girlfriend's perfume is now smothered by the smell of sweat and dirt, but it provides you comfort all the same.

“I thought you were– I thought I lost you.” Hermione mutters, scattered, and all you want to do is hold her, kiss her, and take her as far away from the castle as you possibly could.

But as much as you would like it to be, fleeing is not an option.

Instead you cup her face in your hands, committing each feature of hers to memory, every dip and freckle.

“I'm sorry.” You say.

“It all happened too fast, I don't know how we got separated.” You finish, still trying to make sense of mayhem. You've both come face to face with death half a dozen times tonight, maybe more.

None of it makes sense.

“Guys, come on!” Harry's voice forces Hermione to break your gaze, she then tugs on your arm, guiding you with her.

Soon you find yourselves in a steady jog down the hallway, you turn a corner only to be met with a sight that stops the four of you in your tracks.

Greyback was bent over the body of a girl, his jaw clamped firmly on her neck, draining all life from his victim.

“No!” Hermione shouts. Frantically, she throws a curse, causing the werewolf to crash through the wall behind him. Now the beast has been vanquished, but it is too late.

Atop rubble and ash, Lavender Brown laid stiff and colorless, entirely unlike herself.

Her eyes are open, yet they held no trace of her. The girl's mortal soul, taken by death– ever merciless and violent, tonight, he spares very few.

Harry is first to snap out of the terror induced trance that you found yourselves in, consequently followed by Hermione.

Soon you move as well, but as you glance at Ron, you can't bring yourself to take another step.

Despite yourself, you find your hand reaching out to grab his shoulder. “Come on, mate.” You coax, but the man doesn't react to your touch, or your voice.

He continues to stare at Lavender– and the sheer absence of her.

“She's gone– she isn't suffering anymore.” You offer, hoping Ron would find some solace in your words, however minute.

He does.

Nodding, the ginger haired boy tears his eyes away from his deceased lover. The four of you continue your journey through the courtyard and down the winding stairs towards the boathouse.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Hermione's ironclad grip on your forearm doesn't falter as you follow Harry's lead, quietly approaching the boathouse. The four of you immediately crouch out of sight as you caught movement inside.

Voldermort's voice, faint and unsettling, it makes your blood run cold.

He continues to deliver his thoughts with a tone closer to a whisper, the four of you are forced to strain your necks to listen.

Soon you make out a second voice, and you share a quick look amongst yourselves. Trying your hardest to make sense of what was being said between the Dark Lord, and Professor Snape.

“Tonight, when the boy comes, it will not fail you, I'm sure of it.”

“It answers to you, and you only.”

Unsettling silence fills the air once more, and you feel inclined to shift closer to Hermione.

“Does it?” Voldermort finally inquires, and it is followed by a lack of response, for a beat, you wonder if Snape was still present.

“My Lord?” The Professor eventually says.

“The wand, does it truly answer to me?”

“You're a clever man Severus, surely you must know.”

“Where does it's true loyalty lie?”

“With you, of course. My Lord.” The Professor replies with just a gleam of hesitation, and for a reason unknown to you, it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand.

“The Elder wand cannot serve me properly because I am not it's true master. The wand belongs to the wizard who killed it's last owner.” Voldermort continues.

“You killed Dumbledore, Severus.”

“While you live, the elder wand cannot truly be mine.”

“You've been a good and faithful servant, Severus, but only I can live forever.”

Then, Hermione turns to you, and you give her a similar look of horror in response.

“My Lord-” Severus’ response is strained.

None of you are given a chance to react before a loud thud is heard, you see the Professor's silhouette hitting the glass before you.

“Nagini, kill.”

The panel vibrates violently, but miraculously, it doesn't shatter.

The sound of Snape's body hitting the glass repeatedly with every deathly blow, makes the four of you jump.

Then a cold gust of wind surrounded the boathouse, and soon, it was quiet again. Only the sound of water, and the noise of a boat hitting the wooden dock everytime it swayed. Snape's shallow breathing, unsteady and helpless.

Harry is first to move, he enters the boathouse, and the rest of you can only trail after him silently.

“Professor–” You stutter as you catch sight of the man laying on the ground.

Snape was a formidable man, one you used to fear, even respected.

He has never looked so small.

Harry crouches beside him, he places his hand on the man's neck as Snape lets out a sob. The sight was so foreign that you had to look away.

“Take them– take them.” The man pleads, incoherent at first, but quickly Harry understands his request.

“Give me something, a flask, anything.” The chosen one orders, extending his arm toward Hermione.

Your girlfriend does as she is bid, fishing out the object from her bag before passing her best friend an empty vial.

You watched with bated breaths as Harry held it up to Snape's cheek, collecting the Professor's tears. Once he was done, he cuped the vial firmly in his grasp.

“Take them to the pensieve.” Snape orders with all that's left of his strength.

He was slipping away, you could see it, the way his head was nodding to the side as he slowly fell limp against the glass, his gaze far away and vacant.

The man whispers something intelligible to Harry, perhaps intended for his ears only. In half a heartbeat, Snape was dead.

–

Harry reaches over to gently shut the Professor's eyes.

You step closer, with the intention to lay Snape on the floor properly, so he may be put to rest with some dignity, but before you can suggest it, a blinding pain courses through your arm.

It makes you groan aloud.

Hermione reaches out for you, but then a voice penetrates the air, sudden and invasive.

The Dark Lord is merciless in his attempt, he has lost every ounce of patience– you could feel it in your arm.

Hermione clasps her hands over her ears as Voldermort delivers his second message.

“You have fought valiantly, but in vain. I do not wish this.. every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat, in their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity.”

“Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate.”

“If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child, who tries to conceal you from me.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

As the four of you walked through the empty courtyard, you can't help but notice just how quiet it was, something that would usually be considered a comfort, is now incredibly unnerving.

“Where is everybody?” Hermione asks, but her question is soon enough answered once you push the doors open to the Great Hall.

The space is unrecognizable.

A scene from a nightmare.

There is not a candle in sight, everyone operating on the bit of light provided by the moon. You spot Mr Filch, sequestered in a corner, miserably sweeping piles of rubble out of the way.

Your stomach turns as you make your way through, an endless line of bodies laid upon makeshift cots.

You can't help but look upon all their faces, one by one. All these bodies– they were once sons, daughters, somebody's friend or lover.

The air is snatched out of your lungs as you spot a familiar face.

Nymphadora Tonks lay unmoving beside her husband, their hands outstretched as if to touch each other– even in death.

“No..” You mutter in disbelief and Hermione follows your gaze, she let's out a sharp gasp.

It could have easily been you laying on that cot.

It could have been Hermione.

The thought alone made you nauseous, you could physically feel your stomach turn. You decide you had to get away before you wretched.

Before you could however, a desperate wail snatches your attention. You look up to find Ron in the distance, he sobs uncontrollably as he knelt over his brother's dead body.

You watched as Ginny held him, now they are both sobbing helplessly.

Molly could do all but console them. What agony it must be, to watch your children die before their time.

There is so much pain, too much– you had to get away.

You turn to leave the Great Hall, or what is left of it, with no destination in mind. You simply needed to escape.

Away from grief, away from death, if there was ever a chance of evading it tonight.

“Y/n!” Amidst suffocating torment, no voice has ever sounded as sweet. Hermione swiftly catches up to you, her hand slips into your own.

Your palm now felt calloused and rough. It is caked with dirt and dried blood, but Hermione holds it firmly in her own still.

“Don't leave without telling me like that, we can't separate again.” Hermione scolds, and you offer an apologetic look.

“I just need to get some air.” You explain, but Hermione doesn't question it, in desperate need of an escape herself.

“Come,” She merely coaxes, tugging on your arm.

You soon realize she aims to guide you somewhere secluded, but it seemed impossible. Everywhere you looked, it was death and destruction. Your home; a battlefield.. a gravesite.

After wandering for some time, you finally find a place to sit, the flight of stairs leading up to the Headmaster's Tower remains vacant and mostly intact. Although pieces of stone would break off from the sides ever so often, when compared to the rest of the castle, it was hardly worth acknowledging.

Hermione takes a seat on the step, gesturing for you to do the same next to her. Your girlfriend runs her fingers through your disheveled hair, tenderly moving it out of your face.

Neither of you speak just yet, even after all that's happened tonight, she manages to smile at you, honest and bright. It nearly breaks you.

The thought of living even a day without her was excruciating, you can't lose her tonight, under any circumstances.

“We'll be okay, we've made it this far.” Hermione utters out loud, as if she had just read your mind.

“It'll all be over soon.” Your girlfriend says, but you catch the faint tremor in her voice. She was fighting back tears.

Yet, you could only wrap your arm around her as she rests her head on your shoulder.

After a prolonged silence, you decide to redirect the topic of conversation, however macabre it may seem, you somehow saw it as the perfect opportunity.

Afterall, you could both use a little bit of joy right now.

“There's something I've wanted to ask you– it is going to sound mad, but I need to say it. before it's too late.” You stammer, a sudden sense of nervousness setting in, you take in a deep breath to calm yourself.

“What is it?” Hermione inquires, by the way her brows furrowed you could tell she was concerned as you spoke vaguely.

You quickly realize that it was too late to back out, you needed to take the leap, and hope that Hermione will catch you.

Amidst a sigh you stand up so you could move a step down.

“This is definitely not how I planned to do it, but–” You mutter, looking around before it occurred to you to utilise the ring you already had on your finger.

You take it off as you got down on one knee, albeit somewhat ungracefully. Hermione's eyes widen at the sight, but she doesn't say anything as of yet, watching you intently.

You extend your hand in front of you, and your girlfriend's gaze shifts to the Slytherin crest ring pinched between your index finger and your thumb.

“Hermione Jean Granger, if we make it out alive tonight– would you do me the incredible honor of being my wife?” You finally manage to utter the words you have longed to say.

Hermione's eyes were no longer wide in shock, but her expression is now unreadable. You couldn't tell if she was about to burst into tears or laugh in your face.

In the end, she does neither, but she still struggles to find the words.

“Y/n, I–” She stutters before averting her gaze.

“Are you sure?” Hermione finally asks, meeting your expectant stare, and you can't help but let out a chuckle.

“I have wanted you since the first moment. I knew I loved you from the first time you smiled at me. and I knew I wanted to marry you the first time you ran your fingers through my hair. and then our first kiss– I truly thought if we couldn't be together, I'd die.” You spoke from the heart without missing a beat, not caring about just how dramatic you might have sounded.

“I used to think that I'd be just fine on my own. I didn't believe that I could ever care for someone the way I do for you.” Your voice breaks ever so slightly, you swallow before continuing.

“Hermione when I'm not with you– it feels like I can't breathe.” You barely manage to say, your throat tightens, as a tear escapes your eye.

“my love–” Hermione coos, her own eyes now welling up with tears. She approaches to grab your forearm, although not harshly, she guides you back on your feet.

Your faces are mere inches away from each other before she would crash her lips against yours, a kiss that is restless and unchecked yet somehow equally tamed and loaded with love.

“Of course, I will marry you.” She declares once your lips part, she wipes the tear away with the pad of her thumb, and your heart sings.

You are unable to contain the large grin on your face, one Hermione had no issues reciprocating.

“Really?” You ask, mainly in relief rather than actual disbelief.

Hermione pauses as if thinking of an adequate response

“Well, I do think we should at least wait a year or two, at least until after we finish school.” Hermione admits, and you scoff, even in the midst of a war her priorities remain unchanged.

“but–” Hermione says, grabbing your face so she could force you to meet her gaze once more.

“It is a yes, without a doubt. I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else.” Your girlfriend states earnestly, and your smile returns.

You eagerly grab her hand so you may slip the ring onto her finger.

Hermione stares at the piece of jewelry, silently inspecting the intricate carving of a snake, before finally kissing you again.

The feeling of Hermione's lips against your own allowed you to forget the impending threat of death. With her you believe that you could survive anything. This war will be over soon, and you will marry her. Whatever it takes.

Hermione breaks the kiss only when you are both gasping for air, she embraces you tightly, as if trying to savor the feeling as much and for as long as she could.

Harry emerges from seemingly out of nowhere, you open your eyes as you hear footsteps. Hermione releases you so she may turn to her friend.

Harry's stare was distant, troubled. In truth, he looked sick. You dread to find out exactly what he's witnessed within Snape's memories, neither you nor Hermione mustered the will to ask.

Unexpectedly, Harry is first to break the silence.

“Where's Ron?” He mutters, finally looking between Hermione and yourself.

“He's with his family still.” Your girlfriend explains. Then the chosen one nods, and he starts to fade once more, disappearing into his own head.

“Harry what is it?” Hermione asks, when Harry looks up at her again, his eyes are glossed over with tears.

“There's a reason I can hear them, the Horcruxes.” He remarks. “I've known for awhile, and I think you have too.”

The newfound resolve in his voice makes your entire body stiffen, soon Hermione is crying again.

Harry possessed a bravery you once envied– but no longer.

He plans to confront the Dark Lord and the thought of it made you ill, he shouldn't have to go through it alone. It seems your girlfriend shared the same sentiment as she spoke her next words amidst soft sobs.

“I'll go with you–” She suggests, but her best friend is quick to turn her down.

“No, kill the snake.” Harry says, glancing between the two of you.

“Kill the snake and then it's just him.” He asserts. Hermione practically throws herself into his arms.

You watched as she cleaved to him hopelessly, Harry doing the same in return.

Soon, The Chosen One shifts his gaze towards something behind you, and you swiftly turn around to see Ron standing a few paces away.

The expression on his face suggests he had been standing there for some time.

His eyes were tired, glazed over with what resembled apathy– or perhaps the harrowing inevitably of acceptance. You could not say for certain.

One thing you did know; in order to defeat Voldermort, Harry Potter has to die.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #slytherin au #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #harry potter #hermione granger smut

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dee-writes-anime · 2 months ago

Note

Oh! I js came up with this omgggg oopsie that i didn’t put it in the ask i currently did😖😞😔

But can u also do that reader can transform into a dragon?! If you could! (Like vermithor from house of the dragon?)

Ok! BAIIIII

(Only do the ask i js did and this if you feel like it ^^)

Monty!

The Sky and the Sea

FEATURING Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

SUMMARY A dragon and a suneater: both slaves to the sky and sea.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, Amajiki being his shy self, mentions of ostricised reader

AUTHORS NOTE I love the dark magic dragon idea, @montybooks, but I really wanted to lean into the dragon vibe, hope you don't mind that I changed things up a bit! <3

The air smelled of rain. The storm hadn’t broken yet, but Tamaki could feel it in the way the sky hung heavy, like it was waiting to let go. The wind churned through the trees, rustling the leaves, whispering warnings against his skin. He adjusted the collar of his jacket, fingers twitching at the hem. He wasn’t sure why he had come.

That wasn’t true.

He knew exactly why.

The path up the mountain was steep, lined with jagged stone and twisting roots. It was dangerous this high up—the kind of place where a single misstep meant never being found again. The others never came here.

Because of her.

She was the reason why the air felt heavier. Why the village below whispered stories of fire and death. Why the ground seemed to tremble when she breathed.

A monster, they called her.

A curse.

But Tamaki had never believed in monsters.

Not when he had seen the way her lips curled into a knowing smile. Not when he had watched the wind twist through her hair as she stood at the cliff’s edge, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.

Not when she had spoken his name like it was something worth remembering.

Tamaki reached the summit, boots scraping against loose gravel. And there she was, standing at the precipice of the world, back turned toward him. The fire behind her had burned low, its embers glowing like dying stars. She wasn’t wearing a coat despite the cold. She never did.

"You’re late," she murmured without looking back.

Tamaki’s stomach coiled. She always knew when he was coming.

"I—got caught up," he admitted, voice barely carrying over the wind.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting in the dark. "Shy hero," she mused, lips quirking. "You hesitate, but you always come."

Tamaki swallowed.

He didn’t know how to answer that.

He wasn’t sure there was an answer.

The wind howled through the cliffs, but she didn’t flinch. She never did. There was something about her—something still, even in the face of chaos. As if the world around her could shatter, and she would only watch.

"Why did you call me here?" he asked.

She exhaled, turning back toward the abyss in front of her. "Because you don’t listen to warnings."

Tamaki stiffened. "Should I have?"

A slow smile, sharp at the edges. "What do you think?"

Before he could answer, she took a step forward—just slightly, shoulders rolling back. The movement was subtle, but he recognized it.

The shift.

The stillness before the storm.

And then—her body began to change.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle.

It was a force of nature.

Tamaki had seen transformations before. He had seen quirks that twisted skin and bone, shifting human forms into something beyond. But this—this was different.

This was not human.

Her breath came out sharp, curling into steam. Her shoulders hunched, spine arching, and then—her body began to grow.

Limbs stretched, bones cracked, and her skin darkened into something glistening and ancient.

Not skin.

Scales.

Golden, burnished in the firelight, reflecting the glow of the embers behind her. Her hands curled into claws, sharp and gleaming, built to tear. Her spine lengthened, twisting, her body expanding until she no longer stood—she loomed.

Wings erupted from her back, unfurling wide, casting shadows over the cliffside. The moonlight caught against them, shimmering across the membrane stretched between bone. Her nails lengthened into talons, black as onyx, gleaming sharp enough to carve through stone.

Horns curled from her head like a crown of jagged gold.

And her eyes—

Her eyes were the same.

Golden. Bright. Knowing.

Tamaki didn’t run.

His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he didn’t run.

Instead—he stepped forward.

The dragon lowered her head, breath warm against his face. Smoke curled from her nostrils, the scent of burnt embers and something older than time itself. The ground beneath them trembled under her weight, but Tamaki’s steps were steady.

He lifted his hand.

And pressed it against the scales of her snout.

Heat pulsed beneath his palm, the slow, steady rhythm of something vast and eternal.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t breathe.

And then—she leaned into him.

A sound rumbled from her chest, low and deep, a purr that shook the air.

Tamaki felt something in his ribs twist. Something heavy. Something alive.

"You’re not afraid," she whispered, her voice carried by the wind.

Tamaki closed his eyes, fingers curling against her scales.

"No."

A slow exhale, smoke curling from her mouth. Then—a knowing smile. "Good."