#i make a frowning link

[gloraeye]

[hjbender]

Images are fun to add, but be aware that if anything happens to the image host—in this case, if the Tumblr user ever a) deletes the post, b) deletes their blog, or c) gets their account terminated—the image will no longer be available.

If possible, save the image and upload it to a more reliable site.

favorite thing ever is leaving this gif in Ao3 comment sections

because A: a shocking amount of people don't know abt the 'img src=' trick to add images into comment sections, and B: well over half of the authors seem to really enjoy the sentiment

[psuejo]

❥ ceo!nanami’s camgirl gone corporate!

prequel.

you got him good, he’ll admit. hiding your face, occasionally wearing wigs on stream like you’ve dyed your hair, not often bringing up your personal life unless it’s silly, menial anecdotes.

kento would’ve never known it was his pretty little secretary fucking herself on live twice a week and not some random girl who looked similar, had he not ran his annual background check and found your email linked to that porn account.

a rookie mistake, truly.

“dirty girl,” he grunts, one thick hand pressing right into the small of your back, keeping your squirming form bent over his desk. “having a side job like that...”

your already-short skirt is rucked up and over your ass, the fabric of your pantyhose and black panties torn to shreds as kento bullies his cock into you.

and, god, you’re just as soft and warm and tight as he imagined, walls clamping down on him and sucking him in like a black hole. no matter how many times you’ve fucked yourself on your fingers or dildos, it’s nothing in comparison to the feeling of your boss stuffing you full.

just big and girthy — a monster of a cock on a man that you’d thought was average. it stretches you out, forces your insides to mold to the perfect shape of him and leaves you keening, nails biting into the wood of the desk.

“do i not pay enough?” kento delivers a swat to your tender cheek, and you jolt, another glob of slick gushing around his length. “is the work i give you too demanding? are you thinking about quitting?”

as if he’d ever let you do that.

you frantically shake your head, a moan crumbling in your throat with a particularly hard thrust. “n-no, ungh!”

he frowns, tilting his head to the side, and those thin wire glasses slip down the high bridge of his nose. “so what—” smack! “could’ve possibly provoked you—” smack! “to fuck yourself on camera for others to see, hm?” smack!

a sob claws its way free, and every harsh spank against your ass sends a delicious tingle to your messy cunt, one that has your eyes sliding all the way back in your skull.

how can your boss, someone so reserved and cordial, be so... cruel?

but, fuck, if it doesn’t get you soaking wet, and kento knows that too, can hear every lewd, wailing squelch of your pussy. sounds even better in person, he thinks.

“mmngh, i— i’m sorry!” an apology you both know is halfhearted. “pleaseee, sir!”

... sir?

oh, that makes his cock throb, and you can feel every pulse like it’s in time with his heartbeat. that honorific has always sounded so sweet coming from you normally, but now? with your voice hoarse and breathy and whiny?

it’s fucking heaven.

(but he doesn’t miss how you avoided the question.)

kento ups his pace to something brutal, a relentless in-out, in-out, in-out that snatches the air from your lungs and the sense from your mind.

“y-you’ve been fucking with me,” he snarls, low and mean. “acting like some simple corporate girl by day just to slut yourself out online at night. comin’ in here with short skirts that barely pass the dress code a-and low-cut blouses. hah— if i didn’t know any better, darling, i’d say you wanted me to... to find out.”

maybe you did. maybe you knew who anonworkaholic was all along, maybe you used that specific email to make your account on purpose, maybe you came just a little harder during streams because you knew kento was watching, was fisting that heavy cock and cumming right along with you.

so what?

it worked, right?

your lack of a proper response (moans and pants don’t count, after all) tells kento everything he needs to know, along with the helpful noises from your weak hole.

“o-oh, i know she did,” kento coos, and it takes you far too long to realize he’s not talking to you. “know she wanted me to see her on camera, rubbing that needy clit—” his hand slips between the two of you and does just that, swirling quick, decimating circles, “— and whining like she was, mm, in heat.”

your orgasm sneaks up on you, blinding and beautiful, every nerve in your body on fire. your sloppy pussy spasms around his girth, a broken mewl of his name leaving your open, drooling mouth as you drench his desk and whatever paperwork that’s been pushed to the floor.

“f-fuck, nanami!”

his pupils are blown, pitch-black practically engulfing all of that typical soft brown as he watches your body tremble. you sound so pretty, look so pretty, are so pretty.

it’s a miracle kento pulls out in time to spurt thick ropes of cum all over your back with a long groan, lashes fluttering while his balls empty themselves. this is the hardest he’s cum in a while, but it’s like they say: nothing compares to the real thing.

everything in his office is a mess — documents ruined, desk slick and marked by your nails, chair knocked onto the ground, paperweight shattered. yet he grabs some tissues and cleans you up, wiping his seed from your skin and smoothing your skirt back down before he leans into your ear.

“invite me on your stream next time, mm? won’t tell a soul.”

after all, that’s both of your dirty secrets now.

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, teasing and eventually violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- Oral (Female recieving) fingering, sexual tension, snorting cocaine off bodies lmaoo, coke lips just a lil, mentions of violence and mafia mentions- WC-6.9k

Based on Stripclub Owner Sukuna IDK how many parts this will be, maybe six? That mobster art in the banner is by Sketch B on X- CHECK it- LINK

<<<Part One - Playlist - Masterlist- Part Three>>>

Part Two

You’re yawning as you get your little boy ready to sleep, and your good friend and now babysitter Miwa comes in, a pretty smile on her face as she walks in and sees Touma, your little son yanking on your hair then. “Ow, hey now!”

You’re all laughing as you disentangle your hair, huffing a bit. “Sowwy, mama.” He says so cute, and you melt then.

“It’s why mommy wears a bun.” You tap his little button nose, earning a little scrunch of his nose, and then he looks at Miwa, opening his little hands.

“Miwa!” She giggles, getting down on her knees and opening her arms, he goes to hug her then as you get everything ready for the night.

“Are you sure it’s fine? I swear I feel so awful asking you…” You murmur, you’d just gotten a funds transfer that was far too much from Sukuna labled ‘sitter money’ which was hundreds of dollars.

“No, please, it's fine.”

“Um… is two hundred good?” You ask, as Sukuna sent another note saying ‘for you to eat something - you’ll need energy’ which made you blush insanely, memories from him yesterday making you overheat.

“Two hundred, what? That’s too much.” She says with a frown. “It’s one night, like a hundred?”

“Miwa…”

“Girl, I’m not taking two hundred for it.”

“It’s not even from me.” You show her the text then, and she has a blush of her own on her cheeks.

“He did that!?”

“Yeah… so please take it, literally it’s not from me, and I promise, he’s got plenty. Clearly..” She sighs, smiling a bit then as she studies you.

“You really like him, hmm?”

“It’s intense, Miwa.” You murmur softly, looking as your little boy is laughing and tapping on his tablet. “He makes me feel really pretty.”

“Oh baby.” She hugs you then, and you cling to her tightly. “You’re beautiful, I tell you that all the time.”

“I know, and thank you but like, the stretch marks that… he trashed on me for, Mr. Sukuna thinks they’re so sexy.” Your voice is just a breathy whisper, you don’t know how much Touma may or may not hear or know yet.

“Ugh, I’m so glad you left him.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes, shivering in disgust at the thought of your ex, it’s a common response to anyone with sense. “But Toji is kind of related?”

“Loosely. He’s different, I promise, than any of them.”

“I’ll trust it, but jesus the Zenin family is no joke. Just be careful.” You nod as you continue to get a bag together, blushing when you grab pajamas, you don’t know if you’re going to even use pajamas.

Sukuna did things to you that have never been done just existing, what’s terrifying is you know it’s probably a hookup, but after two years of nothing, even that sounds so good. But you’re scared that you’ll catch feelings fast with him, just his presence alone is intoxicating, as much of a drug as any of them push.

You certainly weren’t telling Miwa that.

Sukuna seems night and day from your ex, Naoya, as if they couldn’t be two more different men, despite the clear mafia ties. Something about Sukuna screams that he wants to protect you, and as independent as you are lately by being forced to be, something about him taking care of you was heady and addicting. You can’t stand how much you want it, want more.

“You’ve got those dickmatized eyes.” Miwa says with a sigh and you shush her, as she giggles.

“Not even… I… Miwa!”

“I’m kidding.” She giggles then, shaking her head. “The girls will be very happy to hear you’re meeting someone.”

“Don’t tell our friends yet, what if this ends… with nothing?” You murmur, and she shakes her head, blue hair falling softly.

“Look already, he's more thoughtful. You have fun, and shit if he wants to give me two hundred more to stay another night I will. Easy money for me.”

“Miwa!” She’s laughing and you can’t help but laugh too, before nervously biting your lip. “I feel guilty leaving, it’s one thing to make money, but it seems so selfish to just go do this.”

“Please don’t, he’ll have fun. Won’t you?” She asks him then, as he comes out with his tablet, slicing at fruit rapidly.

“Mommy go have fun!” You blink back tears then. “Mommy should smile, Miwa, smile!”

“She should smile.” Miwa’s hair falls over her brow as she picks him up, propping him on her hip, and your lip trembles a bit at just how sweet he is, before your teeth clamp down on it.

“I love you both, I swear. Touma baby, Mommy will be back tomorrow, will you tell me all the fun that you have?” You ask, feeling emotions catch in your throat, this would be the first night away from him since you all have been on your own.

“Mhmm!” He gives you a big kiss on your cheek, and you giggle at him then, but as you’re heading into your big old SUV, you tense when you see the number, pressing answer and sighing.

“What do you want.” You bite out, trying to sound firm despite the nerves eating you alive.

“That’s not a very nice greeting, sweetheart, don’t you miss me?” His voice makes you sick to your stomach, you tremble when you start your car, and he’s laughing. “Still got that old thing, I can hear it.”

“Well I own it, and it’s mine. So yes. What do you even want?” You murmur, and hear the dark chuckle of Naoya Zenin.

It’s disgusting, even his laugh.

“Just wondering how my son is.”

“Now you care? Sure didn’t on his birthday.” You hear his scoff.

“You’re such a bitch, as if you’d let me see him.” He mutters, tone changing from the cloying fake one to fully disgusting.

“I tried to let you, even after it all, it’s been your choice.” You gulp down some water that you’ve brought as you sit at the turning lane, blinker ticking loudly in the quiet car, as your heart races.

“Well maybe I miss you and Touma, did you think of that? Oh, I just bet you miss me.”

“I’m good.”

“Ha, you say that, but I remember things.” His voice takes on a purr now, you can almost see those narrow brown eyes, his malicious grin, how had you ever fallen for someone like that?

“Remember what?” You ask, voice harsh as you remember the last time you all had been together, after he’d cheated again. You’d been so fucked up from him you’d wanted to please him, to make him desire you, but there was no pleasure in it, shit Naoya himself had never been one to pleasure you.

Selfish in every single area including sex, you think you got off more from Sukuna fingering you for a moment than your entire relationship, just the way his ruby eyes looked at you was like a drug. The way he’d kissed you, how he wanted your pleasure, and did all this for a night. It was a million times more than you’d ever had with Naoya.

“You don’t remember me inside you, sweetheart?” He cooes, but you’re shivering in disgust at the memory.

“Sure I do, I’m good.”

“You act as if you could do better, as if you were even good enough for me.” There it goes, you think, while you’re driving down the highway toward the club, odd that it feels so comfortable so quickly.

“Yeah, if I’m not then why are you calling me, hmm?” You ask then, hearing his scoff, smiling as practically picture him losing his shit.

“Who’d want you after the kid but me? You act like you’re the same bitch you were when we met.”

“Lots of people, because guess what? I’m still hot, so fuck you.” He scoffs as you’re giggling.

“The fuck!?”

“Mmhmm, I’m still very hot. And if you don’t think so, go knock up some other poor girl I guess, then down her for the changes a baby makes to her body. Because I’m not it anymore.”

“You little-”

“I’ll block this number if you call for anything personal again. Our agreement states you should be talking through our app.”

“Yeah, really ya think I’ll listen to that shit? Why don’t you admit it, how much you miss me?”

“Because I don’t. Anyway, I have work.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” He demands in his slick tone, one that makes your tummy lurch.

“Bartending.”

“Hah, you were only smart enough to look pretty and blink those lashes, back to it hmm?”

“Didn’t you just say I’m unattractive, how contradictory are you?”

“You-”

“Goodbye.” You hang up the phone, shutting your eyes for a moment and gripping it tightly in your hand, shaking off the images in your mind, in just a week Sukuna, and shit even Toji as a friend, have made you feel better than you had since the split.

Getting cheated on back to back was not easy on you, but you feel like you can shove it all back and just breathe. You’re walking into the club then, seeing Gojo with a fellow tall, dark haired man, he’s beautiful actually you muse as you walk past them, Sukuna and Toji to the dressing room. Sukuna had already laid eyes on you though, and as you’re getting undressed he walks in.

All the girls scatter, his ruby eyes directly on you, and you’re trembling just a bit when he frowns. “What’s wrong, brat?”

“Brat?” You tease softly, blinking a bit when he steps closer.

“You look upset. Who do I need to kill?” You almost laugh, but he raises a brow, god how are this man’s eyebrows attractive!? You sigh then, stepping closer, naked aside from your panties, and you feel his eyes dart to your bare breasts.

“I’m much happier now.” You murmur, he sighs then, a big hand on your waist, taking you over, thumb slipping against the swell of your lower breast.

“Yeah, why?” He mutters, so gruffly, already throbbing hard under his slacks, as he thinks of everything he wants to do.

“Because you’re touching me.” Your vulnerability almost breaks him then, his lips parted in shock, he squeezes tighter, leaning down and cupping your face.

“Did you get the money for your sitter?” He murmurs, and you nod shyly.

“It was too much, but I’m sure she appreciates it.” Your hand comes to grip his strong wrist, heart beating erratically in your chest now.

“And did you eat?”

“Not yet.” You giggle, softly, he sighs then, lips a breath away.

“I’m not fucking kidding, you’ll need the energy.” His words and his tone make your mind wander, just how would it be, to have Sukuna inside you?

“Oh yeah?”

He smirks before chuckling, throwing his head back. “You’re cute, brat, oh yeah.”

“Hey!” You sigh now, stepping back as he eyes your breasts, and you pop your little tassels out of your bag, eyeing him then, watching him drink the sight in. “Wanna help?”

“Shit.” You kill him. Sukuna takes them and presses them, as the little sticky adhesive suctions on, but he’s cupping your breasts in huge hands, as one of the girls, Candy walks in, pausing. “What do you want?” His voice is so terse, it’s just nothing like the man that just asked if you got the hundreds he sent for a sitter and your lunch.

“Um… Mr. Sukuna… could you help me with mine?” She asks then, yanking her tassels off, bare breasted. She makes you tense a bit.

Naoya had cheated over and over, but you and Sukuna were nothing yet, shit you’d just sucked him in his office so far, that’s it. And maybe a hook up tonight? So you can’t be upset if he wishes to, you just look away nervously, leaning forward in the mirror to adjust your makeup and pulling away as he eyes her, so clearly irritated by her presence.

“Ask Toji or something.” He grumbles, before turning you back to him, your eyes glimmer then, with some moisture, making him stutter. “What’s wrong now, shit?”

“No, it’s… your…” You hug him then, making him freeze, as your pretty little body is against him, your breasts so soft on him, he wants to tear you apart, put you back together, make you his. His hands stall though, unsure as you look up at him with tears down your pretty cheeks.

Candy leaves as Sukuna’s mouth opens and shuts. “Brat, what is it?”

“You m-make me feel really… um… it’s stupid…”

“Out with it.”

“Sexy? Pretty? Wanted?” He blinks in confusion then, how could you ever not be, especially with the amount of attention you get here? “I’m not used to this.”

“You know you’re pretty, just… shut up, stop that shit.” He’s swiping at your eyes though, as you elicit emotions that make him insane. “Why’d you feel like you’re not, that brain fried from your kid or something!?”

“No… I just… shitty past.” He sees it then, you’re so hurt from something, and anyone who ever made you feel that way!?

Sukuna would take him the fuck out.

“Whoever says you’re not is trying to fuck with you, fuck your head up, so ignore that shit.” He says softly almost, still a little gruff, cupping your face then. “I have excellent taste, trust mine hmm?”

“Yeah.” Your lip trembles, and Sukuna can’t stop the word from spilling from his lips then.

“Beautiful.”

“I… huh?”

“Shut it.” He kisses you then, and you’re falling against him, pressed on the counter where he can see your back and ass in the mirror, tempting him just as much as your pretty breasts, he moans as he steps between your thighs.

“Did you say beautiful?”

“Shush it, fuck you’re annoying hmm?” You just giggle a bit, and the action does something odd to his heart, god you do something to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna.”

“Just Sukuna, shit.” He kisses you again before taking a breath, eyeing your body up and down slowly. “Wanna sit on my lap during this meeting? You may… have to have some coke on your body.”

“On me!?”

“Yeah but I’d like you there? Don’t smile like that, you’re too excited.” He says with a glare, you can’t stop it though. The way Sukuna makes you feel, even if this is just you two hooking up, it’s too addicting.

“Which outfit should I wear?” You hold up a few, when Sukuna picks a sexy little red number.

“Turn, I’ll snap it up.” You do as he says, he brushes your hair off the back of your neck over one of your shoulders, eyeing you in the mirror, when he’s done snapping it his fingers trail down your spine, sending shivers down it. His hands then grip your waist, pulling your back against him, and you feel him, hard and insistent against the small of your back under his dress pants.

“You like this outfit?” You manage to tease softly, he exhales then, trailing his big hands down your shoulders, then brushing the sides of your breasts, making your nipples taut under these tassels.

“What do you think?” He says gruffly, before stepping back, letting you both take a breath, he leans forward, palms on the counter, nipping at your shoulder with his teeth, making you gasp a bit. “Keep thinking how good you fucking taste, wanna bury my face inside you.”

“Sukuna…” Your voice is a whine, pathetic, your head falling to the side, as his palm now presses on your tummy. “You do that?”

“Do I do that?” He chuckles against your neck now. “Yes I do that, don’t tell me whatever shit ex you had didn’t.” You just blush now, looking down, and his brows raise in surprise. “And how long were you together?”

“Four years.”

“Not once.” You shake your head, and he scoffs, finger drifting just across your red lace, touching you over the material, finding you drenched, making him moan at the heat he feels. You’re soaking his fingers, turning to look up at him, your eyes dilated and lidded. “You want me to drink you up?”

“Y-yes. I do.” You admit softly, he chuckles as he studies the color decorating your skin, brushing his thumb along your cheek so overheated. Before Naoya you’ve had guys do it, and of course it felt good, but you imagine Sukuna will be this entire other level.

“You won’t ever want me to leave once I do.” You hear the vulnerability in his voice, making you pause before he backs away, clearing his throat.

As if you’d leave him if he was yours, does he not know what kind of man he is to you? How you feel? Well… no, not yet, you’re swallowing it all down, it’s new and it’s scary, and…

“First, be a good girl and let’s do this meeting, yeah?” His gruff words make you focus once more.

“Yes Sir.”

“Shit don’t say that.” He scowls, turning to adjust his raging hard cock up in his waistband, and your giggle earns a deeper glare. “Keep acting up.”

“I won’t! Promise.” He doesn’t give you the smile until you’ve already stepped in front of him, but it’s quite a dopey little smile, as he watches your ass bounce in the little outfit. There’s this possessiveness he feels he can’t explain, he wants to wipe out anyone who looks at you, and he barely knows you.

He can’t wait to have you cumming all over his face, can’t wait to drink your pretty pussy up until you’re a writhing fucking mess under him, he wonders, do you squirt or do you just drip? Has anyone gotten you off good enough before? Sukuna would fuck every thought out of your mind anyway, until it’s just him, because damned if that’s not all that’s in his head lately.

You both step out into the heady club, the scent of women’s perfume and men’s cologne mixing with cannabis and cigars, along with some fragrant incense burning somewhere. It’s smoky from the little fog machines, the lights strobing just so, highlighting everyone dancing, laughing, lounging. But all Sukuna can see or sense is you.

Even your scent, so sweet and intoxicating, is it  fuck your arousal he could damn near feel it, when you next to him, now, looking up just so, your face so pretty it’s damn near irritating to him, the music thrumming through until it’s pulsating both of your bodies. “Where to, Mr. Sukuna?”

“I said to call me just Sukuna, brat.”

He bets you’re blushing, even if he can’t actually see it. “Sukuna.”

God his name from those lips makes his cock throb, how will he focus on business like this!?

“Right in the VIP, c’mon.” He leads you in, where Toji has Candy on his lap, she scowls openly at you until Sukuna catches her, suddenly her scowl disappears, you can’t help but be a little amused.

You recognize Gojo, who is leaned back with an ankle crossed over a knee, grinning up at you with those insane blue eyes, even in the dark they’re ridiculous, you can’t help but smile back, he’s been very sweet to you so far. “Hey sweets, come sit on daddy’s lap, hmm?”

“She sure the fuck won’t, and you’re not daddy.” Sukuna growls, but you’re giggling just a bit as a couple more girls come in, and Sukuna sits next to Toji on one couch, across from Satoru and his friend. Satoru pouts at you.

“He’s mean, isn’t he?” The man next to him snorts, and takes your hand, bending over and kissing it, making you melt a bit.

“Suguru Geto.” He says, you smile before Sukuna has you yanked down firmly on his lap, you laugh a little breathless as you tell Suguru your name, and he watches amusedly when Sukuna wraps an arm around your hips.

“See how greedy he is with her?” Gojo says, but he’s soon amused by another one of the dancers coming by, handing him a drink. “Ooh, thank you.”

“That’s the girliest drink I’ve seen, little bitch drink.” Sukuna grumbles, Satoru sticks his tongue out, sipping on the pink concoction.

“Mmm, and I hear you’re already the star of the club, hmm?” Suguru says your name as a girl hands him a drink, and you shake your head nervously.

“She sure is, stop being shy, doll.” Toji says, tucking a lock of your hair back, before Sukuna glares at him and he chuckles. “Not that he lets her do much dancing, really.”

“Shut it Toji. Business time.”

“Boring.” Satoru leans back in his seat, long legs spread, and sipping his drink as Suguru leans forward, while a dancer lets him snort a line right off her thigh, lapping at the residue with his tongue and sighing.

“Satoru, focus.” He says in a calm tone, Satoru eyes you though as another girl comes to him.

“Wanna snort a line off you, mommy.”

“Satoru I swear to god.” Sukuna threatens, Gojo pouts now, blinking snowy lashes as Sukuna’s grip on you tightens brutally.

“I can’t take a line off the star girl?” Sukuna sighs, and you look at him then, lips turning up at the corners, as his ruby eyes narrow.

“Trying to make me jealous?” He hums quietly, you stand then, earning his hands slipping down your hips.

“I wonder if you’ll show me how mad you are later.” He smirks at you, raising a brow arrogantly.

“Think you can handle that, little brat?” You step over to Satoru, who exhales, sitting up straight then, smiling up at you.

“Look you’re defying him and everything, cute.” You roll your eyes as Satoru takes the snowy powder, tapping some gently on your thigh then, using this fancy black and silver card to line it up. “You’ve never done any, have you?”

“No…” You admit, and even as Toji, Sukuna and Suguru talk, you feel those crimson eyes boring into you, when Satoru slips his long fingers, your heel propped on the other side of him, and he wraps up a bill.

“What’s a good girl doing here though?” He asks curiously, plump lips turning up when he finishes rolling the bill.

“Single mom life is expensive.” He pauses then, blue eyes looking down a bit at your body, as you overhear the conversation in the background.

“And the Zenin family seems to think they have claim to parts of our territory, the Kamos are on board with Gojo now though, so that expands us and what we’re moving significantly.” Suguru says to Sukuna, who laughs then, throwing his head back as Toji grimaces.

“Don’t call me a fuckin’ Zenin, ya know that’s not my name.” Toji grumbles, considering he does use Fushiguro, but you can’t blame him, just look at Naoya? Who would want to be related to that?

“So you really are a mommy then. Hot.” Satoru says, before snorting the coke off your skin, one of his hands pressing into your calf as he does. Then his face is far too close to where you feel his breath tickle your inner thigh, he presses a kiss on your thigh then, earning Sukuna standing up and Satoru grinning.

“You’re gonna get killed.” Toji chuckles, and Satoru holds his hands up, as Sukuna places you behind him, grabbing him by the collar.

“I was just thanking her!?” He’s sputtering and you can’t stop your giggle, something was stupidly attractive about Sukuna like this.

“I’ll cut your dumb ass tongue out of your mouth if you-”

“Sukuna, chill. Satoru, apologize.” Suguru says calmly then, humor in his violet eyes, and Sukuna flops down Satoru right on the couch, he brushes himself off, laughing like a psycho.

“Sorry Sukuna, it's not my fault she’s so pretty.” Satoru earns another grab of his neck. “I said sorry!”

“Hands off.” He looks to you, his glare making your giggle stop, as he bends low over you, his big hands on your bare waist, your pulse racing, pounding in your ears as the room watches you both for a moment. “And you, you’re not leaving my lap anymore for the rest of the meeting, got it?”

“Yes, Sir.” You can’t stop the little smile when he sighs at that, before sitting down and firmly planting you on his thigh, Gojo winks over at you, earning an eye roll as you feel Sukuna’s firm thigh against your head, addling your mind.

“Now, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Sukuna clears his throat, one arm wrapped around your waist, dragging you further up his thigh, making you ache in need, more and more. “We absolutely have an active Zenin member approaching our area, and they’re doing a lot more than running drugs.”

“They’re running people.” Toji says, disgust in his voice, and your eyes go wide as you look at him.

“This convo too much for you?” Sukuna murmurs, and then you look at him, shaking your head and gulping.

“So we stop them, then.” Suguru says calmly, and Sukuna sighs.

“There’s no other option, considering who we’re talking about, not like they’ll make any deals.” Sukuna now takes some of the powder, turning you and sprinkling just a bit on the curve of your neck and shoulder, snorting it off you and then licking the line off your body, exhaling as he tastes you mixing with the numbness of the cocaine. “Fuck…”

It’s a murmur no one hears but you, but you feel him clenching you tightly, so protective, his hands not leaving you as they speak, little brushes against your back playing with your hair, all while your pussy throbs in need for him. But more so your mind craves to know more of him, just who is the man you feel so comfortable sitting on so damn quickly?

What makes him… him?

“No one hates the Zenins more than Toji.” Comes Suguru’s voice now, shaking you out of your reverie, you blink a bit as Toji laughs, downing a shot.

“She does.” He says your name, gesturing to you, earning the eyes of every man, including Sukuna, as his mouth parts. “Shit, sorry doll.”

“What’s he mean?” Sukuna asks tersely, and you sigh, shifting a bit.

“Do you have a connection to the Zenin?” Suguru asks curiously, you sigh again, that’s two sighs, Sukuna counts, while you tense, and he watches your jaw clench just a bit as he turns your chin to face him.

“They got something on you?” He asks quietly, and you look at Toji again, unable to really say the words.

“Her kid is a Zenin.” He says then, gruffly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw your shit out there.”

“Your kid is a Zenin?” He asks, you nod then, just a bit. “So your shitty ex is a Zenin?”

“He’s the shittiest of them all.” Toji mutters.

“Who?” Sukuna asks quietly.

“Naoya.” You whisper the name, bitter and disgusting in your mouth.

“Oh shit. Mommy, that's bad taste.” Satoru says, and you watch the room put their heads in their hands.

“I know, okay, trust me. Leaving him wasn’t easy, that’s why I ended up having to come here, it’s not like he has much to do with our son. Touma doesn’t even remember him. But he did call me today.”

“He did what now?” Sukuna’s grip makes you wince just a bit, it’s so tight. “If he calls you I really should know from now on, you have no clue how dangerous he is.”

“I was with him for years, I do know.” You stand then, taking a breath, and shaking your head. “I should go… dance or something.”

Sukuna’s saying your name, and Toji is trying to apologize, but you can’t stand another moment, wondering how even here Naoya fucks with you. But it’s just moments before Sukuna is yanking you off the stage, literally picking you up, and carrying you to his office, sitting you right on his desk. Your breasts are heaving up and down with each breath when he caresses your cheek, surprisingly gentle.

“What’d he say to you? Did he threaten you?” Sukuna murmurs, you shake your head.

“Just mean shit, like I must miss him, and who would want me. His typical poison he likes to throw, nothing more.” You swipe at tears that form, falling down your cheeks, and Sukuna feels rage destroying him from the inside.

“And you surely know it’s bullshit, hmm?”

“I told him to fuck off.” You smile just a bit, a hand slipping over a strong chest, one you wonder about, how far do these tattoos lead? How does he look with it off? The thoughts tantalize you to no end. “You helped me do that.”

“Good girl.” You exhale, biting your lower lip, as he spreads your thighs, standing between them and leaning over you. “If he calls you anymore, tell me, you don’t want to know all what he’s into, he could hurt you.”

“He never has, like physically at least.”

“Just promise me, I can’t protect you if you don’t.” You frown then at that, nodding.

“But my kid is most important to me, Sukuna.”

“Then I’ll make you both safe, even the little… kid or whatever.” He grumbles, melting you utterly, you blink rapidly, pulling on his tie, your lips a breath from his now, tasting the sweetness of his breath.

“Why are you so good to me already?”

“I haven’t been good to you yet. Or you’d be fucked out.” He says, whispering those words, you’re kissing him now, gasping when you feel the numbness of your lips, and he chuckles a bit. “It’ll go away.”

“Will I get…”

“No, it won’t fuck you up. But I will.” You’re back to kissing him, his lips working over yours again and again, big hand slipping down the small of your back. “Take the day off, I need you all day I can’t wait for later.”

“I can’t, Sukuna.”

“I’ll pay you three times your average day.”

You shake your head at him, lips parted in a moan when he presses his clothed cock against your dripping wet pussy, your hands cling to his suit jacket, whining out. “Don’t pay me, I don’t wanna be that way…”

“I’m fucking rich, baby, just take it. Give it to your kid, I don’t know.”

You snort at him, your entire body responding to his every touch. “Sukuna, you don’t give a little kid money like that!”

“I don’t know what you do with those things.” You burst out laughing at him, and he glares, while you swipe back a lock of pink hair. “Take. The. Day. Off.”

You certainly do take the day off, and soon you’re in the back of the limo you’d watched Sukuna climb into many times, but now it’s just you and him, and you’re kissing him, straddling his lap, nothing on you but that lingerie and his suit jacket. He’s under you, feeling your cunt against him, ready to fuck into you, fill you, you’re driving him so crazy he’s sensitive.

If he busts from this he will never forgive himself, so he pushes you off, on your back now, you’re breathless as you look up at him, his coat is swallowing your body, so small compared to him, your eyes locked on his, so gorgeous it makes him want to be stupid. He’d cum in you, give you more kids if that’s really what makes you so happy, fill you so good, keep you.

“Annoying.” He says then, and you blink curiously, not realizing the inner turmoil of the obsession he now has over you, this gorgeous mom who has a fucked ex, and a soaking wet pussy grinding up for attention against his thigh. This mom who he’d make a mom a million times over, and he doesn’t even know you.

“I’m annoying?” You ask curiously, he sighs now, nodding, and you just giggle a bit, more pretty, fueling his obsession as he grips your thigh then, rough thumb pressing against delicate skin. He watches your breath catch, as he feels his cock leaking precum from just touching you.

“So annoying.” He confirms, but it might as well be sweet words when he kisses you again, and then down your throat, until he gets to your pretty breasts, while the limo steadily drives you both, jostling you just a bit, only serving to put his face closer to where he wants to be.

“Sukuna, um… are you…” He’s kissing down your stomach now, nipping right at your belly button, tongue trailing a line that would previously make you so nervous, but with him you just feel…

“Fuck you’re perfect.” He murmurs, rough fingers suddenly slipping under your panties, making your hips buck up, clit twitching in response. “He really didn’t eat you out?”

“No, I didn’t… um, cum with him.”

What the fuck is wrong with him. Aside from the obvious.

“Hmm, then she’ll be all mine, hah.” You’re watching his eyes dilate to the point they’re black, sharp teeth biting at your thigh, while you’re drooling out of your little hole, finally he’s down there, eying your pussy in the back of this limo, groaning at the sight. “Oh you’re so fucking perfect.”

“Please, please.” You’re whimpering, and he smirks, before parting your folds, breathing on your clit and watching the little thing twitch for him.

“You’re so needy already, gonna be so fuckin’ easy, brat?”

“Sukuna please…” You glare then when he’s kissing right above your clit, your hands enwrapping in his silky pink locks, pulling just so, only making his cock harder for you.

“Need something?”

“Oh my god…” He’s spitting on your clit now, groaning as he watches it bubble and slip down your hole, and you’re squeaking, only earning his chuckle.

“M’gonna have so much fun with you, baby, shit.” He slips two fingers down and up your slit, still just breathing on your damn clit, as your hands fall from his hair, instead clinging to his shoulders, feeling the broad shoulders move under your touch. “Perfect pussy, fuck you for it, shit.”

“Fuck me for it!?”

“Better than I could even picture, stroking my cock every day this week, so much it’s raw damn near. Almost cumming from kissing, you do this shit.” You’re lost in the sensations of his two fingers sinking inside you then, pressing up and finding that spongy spot so fast you can’t breathe, screaming out, back arching. “There it is, dumb fuck couldn’t find it huh?”

“God no he couldn’t. F-fuck!” You whine out as Sukuna flicks his tongue against your clit now, a sensation you can’t describe, hot and sticky as it laps at your wetness, as he moans at your sweetness.

“Fuck….” Sukuna wants to tease you, but he’s done once he gets that taste fully on his mouth, he’s pulling his fingers out and burying his face against you, fucking your little gummy walls with his tongue as you shatter under him. He’s moaning against you, tongue lapping all the wetness pouring out of you, as you’re clinging to his hair so hard it’s painful.

It only urges him more, your moans, your cries, how pretty you look when he stares up at you, his thumbs holding your lips open so he can fuck you even better with his tongue. He feels your walls fluttering, gripping his wet muscle, feels you tense when his nose bumps your clit, you’re screaming out, so loud it’s echoing in the limo, and he knows it then.

He’ll never get enough of you.

Just tasting you is better than any girl he’s fucked, and there have been a lot, shit he’s never enjoyed eating pussy like this either. He’s one that enjoys tasting a woman, it makes him excited to get women off, he’s never been selfish. But to love it like this? God no one tastes like you.

You’re falling apart now, he can feel it, when you’re mumbling incoherently, sniffling, thighs squeezing his head, just urging him on more and more, as he drinks your sticky clear cum all up. Your sounds are filling his ears, mixing with the racing of his damn pulse, his cock oozing precum and making him sticky. He could cum just eating your pussy.

Fuck, he thinks he’s already in love with you.

“M’gonna, Sukuna I’m c–close I…” You’re whispering, pulling at his hair, as the sensation of him devouring you takes over, and he smirks up at you then, pulling off for the first breath you’ve seen the man take.

Is he human even!?

“Cum all over m’face, be a good girl, huh brat?” You nod weakly, fuck you need no urging to cum, but you needed to know it was okay, you want and crave his permission for some insane reason.

When he’s back buried against you, your body convulses, all this pressure in your tummy letting go, until your orgasm has your back arching, has your pussy drenching his handsome face. Sukuna’s moaning, hands tightly gripping your hips, drinking every bit of your arousal that pools, as your cunt now pulses around his tongue, and you’re crying it feels so good.

The orgasm breaks your brain, whatever was left of it from him, you can’t remember ever even having a damn thought but this. You’re whining his name out over and over as he pulls back grinning so damn sexy and arrogant from between your thighs, lapping his tongue up to your clit now, and you scream out hoarsely as he bites your little clit.

“Oh m-my god, f-fuck it’s too much!” He chuckles again, shaking his head as he slips two fingers back in your hole, now soaked and sucking them up so easy, as your pussy drools down his hand to his rings, to his rolex.

“You’re so messy, huh? Look at you, all over me, all over these seats, fuck.” He huffs, enamored with how wet he has you, and your eyes struggle to look down, you squeak a bit, so cute he smiles.

“I’m s-so sorry I’m n-never, Sukuna I’m gonna cum again, fuck!” He curls his fingers in your slick walls, you hear the lewd sound of the squelching wetness in the limo now, it’s obscene, mixing with his moans as he flicks his tongue on the underside of your clit. “Ah s’good-mnh!”

“Cum again for me, lemme drink you all up, messy girl.” You’re coming undone for him, with each flick of his tongue as he now presses up his fingers on that spongy little spot, and you see stars behind eyes as they roll back in your skull. It’s so good you’re crying as he rides out your second orgasm, slurping sounds of Sukuna drinking you even louder, just making it headier.

“Mnh… ngh… ah…” You’re unable to form a word, a twitching mess under him, while he licks more of your slick off his lower lip, grinning down at the mess he’s made you, your pretty face covered in tears and drool.

“Ah, look at you baby, so fucked out, don’t even have my dick yet, hmm?” He taunts now, fingers scissoring in and out as he leans over you, cupping your face with his other hand now.

“Want it, want it.” You’re reaching for him as he hisses, losing control once you find his bulge over his pants, kissing you again, now you taste yourself, making you lap the arousal off his lips, as you’re eagerly unbuckling him, for the limo to stop. He takes a breath, pausing your hand then, wrapping you back in his jacket and adjusting you, as you cling to him eagerly. “Need you.”

“Fuck if I don’t need you, driving me insane.” He grumbles, adjusting himself then, and soon you’re in the elevator, kissing again, riding up to Sukuna’s penthouse, you have your phone going off and he scowls at it. “Better not be him.”

“It may be Miwa.” You take a breath as you look at the phone, smiling then, it’s just a little picture of Touma happily grinning with a cookie, you show Sukuna, and he sees your damn face light up, making him falter a bit.

God you’re beautiful lit up.

Sukuna would do anything to keep you this way.

“He’s getting spoiled. Sukuna, thank you for this… I was so worried, being away for a night but… I can’t wait.” You say softly, as you step inside, you barely get to look around however, because he’s pressing you against a wall, leaning low and grinning now, white teeth glinting under soft white lights from the high ceiling.

“I hope you can keep up with me, brat.” He says, before picking you up in his arms like you’re nothing, pulling the hair at the nape of your neck. “You’re getting no sleep tonight.”

Kuna is so in love already aha. Part three coming soon (just like Kuna about to lol) There will be a LOT more drama and plot along with some freaky ass smut and a whole fuck session next chap. If you wanna get tagged and aren't already on one of the lists just lmk - also omg ty for the love on the first part!?!?!

If you're interested in Satoru from this here's his headcanons so far

Taglist #1 - @naammiii @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @uhnosav @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @waterfal-ling @the-dark-creature @lulunx @minaa-06 @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[aldisobey]

Love letter time. It was the triple s tier writing that got me thirsty, got me hungry, got me sharing and posting my shit for the first time. My training arc for sharing writing at all. @thedissonantverses you were my first comment, you kept me here. But let me.

I never read fanfiction. I didn't share my writing. But Veilguard was a comfort. I made a tumblr early Dec to get more of it. And found stories. Where had these been?? Fanfiction could be this?? Some published work doesn't touch. There was one day. Below is the read order of that day best I recall. I went long because I couldn't stop the love flowing to people that I was a fan of. And now? Today? Friendship. Its incredible how much fun it is.

@emmg - Herbarium - what an introduction. I liken it to a spiral. A slow sink. Except its not slow, you'll get stuck reading in the first paragraph and then she has you. You're finishing that story. It's part of you. Drawn in, winding in down, around? You feel it in the wrinkles of brain and coil of gut. And when you look back up from whatever you're in, wherever that voice left you, you still feel it there. The absence will ache you'll read it again. Favorite fic? All of them. Aftertaste has my favorite Emmrich. Charlatans ohmygaaaawd everything. And liiiiiiiich

@heylittleriotact - Visitation - yeah I joined at right time holy shit. I never new fanfic could be so good. Everything in horam viviere is, I wanna scream. A master at the sultry, the smut, and I say that with longing, desire, a jealousy. Such love there and...how to put, so real. There they are. I shouldn't be here. Caught guzzling their shake in the corner. Now I'm haunting the mortuary and still screaming over Casket Spray

@lavenderprose - Time Between - this was a different day but I was seeped in your meta posts by then and when I tell you I ran for the woods in search of a witch to give me your voice. Be thankful I didn't find her. Its clean. Its beautiful. I want to cry. I want to hold my loved ones and sing them lullabies. I had Emmrich hum a lullaby just because of this. And a shining beacon. Put it on the bookshelves chode fic is my new fav

@caffeinatedmunchkin - An Iron Hand in Velvet Glove - I've raved before. I'll rave again. This rewired some things. Made me evaluate others. There are lines that strike and others soothe. And I. I've read this at least four times. I'm still uncomfortable. I still don't. Im screamin again. Its not Emmrich guys. Its a founding. Its The Omen. Mind tags.

@jainydoe - Delirium - I'm still swaying from how silky smooth your voice is. The way you write? The words you choose? The rhythm you create? If you dropped a new fic and I was at a funeral I would excuse myself to the bathroom to read. I NEED IT. Like a drug. Misdirection, Simulacrum, VAMPIRE. The young hezenkoss and emmrich of simulacrum?? The whole feeeeeel of the vampire au. I'm a fish on shore, floppin, waiting for the flood i dunno its making me dumb.

Okay and this was a different day. But it rewired chemistry in my brain and provided yet further inspo.

@ollypopwrites - The Privilege of Worship - We still need the shorts. It still plays in my brain. It still gets me. And then you come out with Aureate?? With Pocket Full of Posies??! I could link every last one. I love your prose, your stories, its its...I. Everytime you awaken new things. The bounce and play of it. And fantastic dialogue.

And I never dreamed that I would be friends with you all. I'm always looking up and feeling inspired. You make me want to write more, write better, sexier, creepier, sweeter, loving. Your voices on my shit let my dumb brain call itself writer. And I'm still swooning. I'm still in love. I've found more love. More fics. But these inspired me back in my solitude, back in my single digit...Look I talked too much already, its all love. And theres nothing better to me than sharing all that.

Do y'all ever read a fic so good that it makes you want to elevate your own craft and also befriend the writer? It's almost like, "Hi! You write so well that you've inspired me to embark on a creative training arc. Also, can I yell about the character in your dms because you get it?"

[littleapplle]

Dearest writer, I would like to submit an order into your respected bakery! 🍞🥯🥖🥐

May I kindly get a NSFW A to Z Headcannon for Rafayel or Caleb? (or both if you don’t mind :3) I’m a huge fan of your writing and given that you are open for orders I figured I could try my luck in ordering something special 🙂‍↕️🥹

But ofc if this is too much of a hassle you may kindly ignore my order and move on 🤭🥹🥺 I shall kindly await for your response and I look forward to your masterpiece (even if it’s not my request) ���

nsfw alphabet ⊹ ࣪ ˖ rafayel and caleb

cw.: nsfw. real porn links!! must be logged in twt to watch.

note: oh anon you'll make my heart melt:( thank you for your sweet words, my luv. i'm so sorry for the wait, i wish i had finished this much sooner >< hope this is good enough tho bc i lwk feel like i did a terrible job <//3

rafayel

a = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): Really good! Rafayel can’t stand being dirty after sex and won’t really rest until you and him are cleaned up so you two always end up snuggling in his bathtub while he massages your scalp and scrubs your body lovingly. If you're not too tired, talk to him. He wants to hear your voice. How was it? Did you enjoy it? Tell him everything, he'll listen. Rafayel holds you so close you think he’s actually trying to get under your skin, literally.

b = body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner): If you asked, he’d say he loves every part of you and he absolutely cannot choose. If he really had to answer… your boobs. They’re the perfect size, feel good on his palms, your nipples don’t have a single moment of peace. You have to physically pull him away before they’re sore and puffy. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

on his body though… his hands, of course! It is with them that he creates his beautiful pieces and makes you come undone as his slender fingers press down on that spongy spot inside you.

c = cum (anything to do with cum): Will come anywhere you want if you ask him to but he really likes to see his cum dripping on your skin. Be it your stomach, your tits, doesn’t matter, he’ll go feral. As for the taste, it barely tastes like anything. It’s a bit salty and very watery but that’s it. ❤︎...

d = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): Really wants to photograph you. Be it during sex, just you touching yourself, anything. Definitely has a secret journal about you and wants to decorate it with your beautiful body and face. 100% has a polaroid of your tits on his wallet and has no shame at all.

e = experience (how experienced are they): Barely any. Listen, he has read erotica, studied human anatomy a thousand times and knows the human body like no one else but he never had sex with anyone but you so please guide him the first few times. Be vocal, he’s a quick learner, he’ll learn his way around your body in a second.

f = favorite position: Rafayel likes a position based on how easy he can 1. kiss you and 2. look at your face. Missionary lover, basic but nothing with Rafayel is boring. Sex with Rafayel tends to be SO romantic, he’s THE lover boy. He kisses you so sweetly, sucking hickies on your neck while his cock drags inside you slowly. Also looooves when you ride him! it’s a combo of everything he likes, you frowning in pleasure, your boobs bouncing AND you on top of him!! ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Oh sex with Rafayel is never serious! He’s always trying to get a reaction out of you, be it trying to make you laugh by pressing a kiss to that ticklish spot on your neck or by making the stupidest joke ever. Your laughter gets him going more than he’d like to admit.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): First of all,  yes, it is purple and second, he shaves very frequently. As a lemurian, he never had any issues with body hair since he didn’t have any. Nowadays, he’s grown used to shaving since his pubes sensory bother him.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Puh-lease, we are talking about Rafayel. The artist, the lemurian that lives and breathes for love, your one and only soulmate. Rafayel is obsessed with you, always has been, always will be. To have skin to skin contact with you, letting him see you bare and vulnerable and yet still trust him, it’s everything he’d ever wish for. Rafayel lives for romance, love and pure intimacy and he will show it to you in every touch, kiss and praise.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon): Before getting together with you, if he was ever really pent up and stressed, maybe once or twice a week. After you two got together officially, he doesn’t see the point in masturbating when he’s always glued to your side. If you’re away for whatever reason though? I believe he can get pretty needy and maybe, just maybe, rub one off.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks): Does body worship even count as a kink? Well, doesn’t matter. How many times do I have to say that Rafayel is OBSESSED with you??? There’s nothing that makes him hornier than being allowed to kiss your body. Praising you in every single language he knows is not enough, he needs your soul to be tied with his so you can read his mind and deepest thoughts about how lovely you are. Also, voyeurism, Rafayel is a closeted perv. He likes to watch, to take his time eyeing his food before actually diving in. Seeing you touch yourself without his intervention makes the knot in his lower stomach grow tighter and his skin hotter.

l = location (favorite places to do the do): Rafayel is too possessive to have actual sex in public so that’s a no. Anywhere in his studio is fine if you’re comfortable! Buuut if you trust him enough, please let him drag you to the ocean. There are no interruptions, no important phone calls, no Thomas to accidentally walk in, it’s just you and him where he’s most comfortable. It doesn’t tire him to be in his human form but giving his body a break and finally being in his real, lemurian form, feels like a relief from time to time. 

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): When you’re more petty than him and talk back. FUCK he could bust a nut right there. Or the fact that as a hunter, you can manhandle him just as easy as he can manhandle you. OR the fact that you’re not scared of him in the slightest. He would never hurt you, but if he wanted, a single song would be enough to make you go crazy and drown in the ocean. You’re aware of that, you just don’t care. That’s what makes him go insane.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs): Share you with someone. Although he doesn’t show it, Rafayel is extremely protective and can be very possessive depending on the situation. Letting someone else touch you turns him off completely.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): #01 pussy eater. Rafayel loves your pussy ok, leave him alone… Can totally cum untouched from just eating you out and is not embarrassed in the slightest. Actually really good at it too, like, 100% a muncher. Def tries to make you squirt on his tongue. As for receiving? Sure! It’s never unwelcomed. Just know that he will return the favor 10x better. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): Rafayel can be both. There is no red and blue with him, there’s purple. Rafayel can’t stick to a single thing forever. During his heat, he’s rougher, manhandling you around and bending you in whatever position he judges comfortable in the moment. When he’s feeling needy and clingy, he’s gentle. Rolls his hips against yours slowly, kissing your neck sensually while praising you in lemurian.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Not a big fan but he isn’t totally opposed to them. For Rafayel, sex is something intimate and he wants to take his time with you. He wants both of you to enjoy the moment with no rush. 

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): That depends on how far you two are going. Fingering you under the table at a banquet? Sure, why not. Getting a bit handsy and making out? Lovely. Actual sex? No. Not happening at all. Rafayel, even if he hides it, is a possessive creature. Your sounds and body are for his ears and eyes only. You’re his and he’s not up for sharing.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Normally, he can go for two rounds before falling on top of you tiredly. In heat though? He is not stopping. His mind breaks but his body still wants and needs more. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s come already, his hips do not stop against yours until he thinks you’re full of his eggs.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): Doesn’t own any but is not opposed to them. If you’re interested in trying it out and using them during sex, sure! He can work with that. Extra stimulation on your clit while his fingers are shoved on your cunt isn’t unwanted.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease): Now, is it really Rafayel if there’s no teasing? He is insufferable. He likes to see you work for it even though he knows damn well it’s him that will fold first in the end.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make): Sorry, he’s not holding back. He needs you to know how good you make him feel. His range is insane, he’d be grunting in your ear and suddenly his moans turn high pitched and beautiful. Rafayel can get whiny, he complains, he’s petty, he mewls and in the next second he groans and curses in his mother language in pleasure.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): I need to spread the virgin Rafayel agenda… He is a lemurian, he’s bound to you in a level that no human would ever understand. There are no “friends with benefits”, “situationship”, “hookup���, Rafayel has been waiting for you and only you. He doesn’t need it to be magical or perfect, he just needs it to be you.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): The prettiest cock you’ll see in your short human life. It’s genuinely nice to look at. Rafayel’s cock is pale, with the prettiest pink tip and cutest mole on the length that if you kiss, his knees buckle weakly and his head spins. It isn’t thick but it’s curved up and it drags deliciously inside you. I’d say #c7b2ab for the length and #d9a3a3 for the tip. In his human form, solid 6,7 inches (17 cm).

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?): Lemurians are creatures with many cycles. Rafayel has a high libido naturally, but during ebb day and his heat? He is trying to crawl under your skin. Ebb day makes him needy, sensitive and whiny, he just wants an effective way of cooling off. His heat quite literally makes him feral, he wants you and if you consent, you’re not leaving the water at all. At least not until it is over.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward): Pretty quick. After he’s sure you two are clean, comfortable and satisfied, he’s hugging you close and burying his face in your neck sleepily. If you feel like it, you two can chat. Rafayel loves pillow talk. If you’re tired and wish to be quiet, then it’s time to nap.

caleb

a = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): THE BEST. King of aftercare. Knows everything you want and attends to every one of your needs. You want water? There’s already a glass on your bedside table. You’re hungry? You want him to cook or do you want to order takeout? He’ll do it. You feel dirty? Let him run a bath for you- you get the idea.

b = body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner): In your body, definitely your ass. Always has been. Doesn’t matter what you are wearing, be it those old pj’s from your childhood, a new pair of undies, nothing at all, it all makes him feel like he’s gonna bust a nut on his pants.

He really likes his arms. Caleb has always worked out a lot since highschool and he’s really proud of how far he’s come. He likes how big they’re compared to yours, how he can manhandle you during sex and roughhousing, and how comfortable you look in his arms when you two hug.

c = cum (anything to do with cum): If you allow him to cum inside you, that’s all he’ll ever want to do. Caleb has a huge breeding kink, and the fact that you trust him enough to let him fill you up drives him mad. If you go down on him, he never lets you swallow it, he feels too bad to do so. Makes you spit on his hand and honestly thank god. It’s thick and slightly bitter but he cums so much you WILL choke. ❤︎...

d = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): Sigh, is it really a dirty secret if you already caught him at least twice? Caleb’s interest in your underwear is pathetic. At this point he’s not even trying to hide it anymore, he’s just shamelessly going through your drawers to find that old and stained pair you forgot to throw away. Bonus point if you catch him sniffing them and complain about it. Secretly likes when you scream at him and say “Gross, Caleb!”. Also wishes you let him keep your undies on during sex, it really turns him on.

e = experience (how experienced are they): None. Caleb has never felt any attraction to anyone but you his whole life. For years he has been waiting for the right moment for both of you so, you’re his first and last.

f = favorite position: Backshots. He loves your ass. There’s nothing better than taking you from behind, a hand wrapped around your waist while the other smooths the skin of your back. Also really enjoys being inhumanely close to you, doesn’t matter the position. As long as you two are close, you, safely in his arms, he’s happy. ❤︎...¹  ❤︎...² ❤︎...³ ❤︎...⁴

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Caleb wishes that you only see his outgoing and playful persona, created just for you and the sexual aspect is not different. He likes to make you laugh at any and every moment. If you whine in pain because his cock is too big, he’ll blow a raspberry on your neck to distract you and make you giggle. He’ll tickle your waist if you talk back. Anything to make you smile.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): It’s trimmed. Not all shaved and smooth but it isn’t unruly. Has the sliiiiightest happy trail peeking up his boxers. If it bothers you though, he’ll shave it in a minute.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Very romantic. At least he tries. Caleb wanted to be your prince charming, your knight in shining armor his whole life. Sex is one of the many ways he wants to prove he’s the best for you, that around him, you’re safe and can be yourself with no fear. He kisses you gently, whispering the sweetest words ever in your ear, massaging every sore spot in your body while wishing he’s worthy of your praise too.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon): Yeah… During his teenage years, he jerked off a lot. Caleb had a high libido but could not have the only person he wanted so all he had was his fist. Nowadays, before and after you two got together, i still believe he jerks off alot since you two are still very far apart, you living in Linkon and him in Skyhaven, though he prefers coming to you rather than fucking his fist by himself.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks): As I mentioned previously, Caleb has a huge breeding kink. Part of it is because he genuinely wishes to start a family with you in the future but also because he feels so close to you this way. Loves to keep his cock plugged inside you for a while before actually pulling out. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...²

His praise kink goes both ways. He’s always praising you for all of your achievements, not only sexually. Please praise him back, he’s trying his best for you, always. Tell him he is making you feel good, tell him you love him, that what he’s doing feels right. He might come on the spot.

Do I even have to mention his size kink… He is bigger than you. Caleb goes weak at the thought of being able to manhandle you into whatever position he wants you to be. And if he can press down on your tummy and feel his cock abusing your cunt? Ohhh yeah, yes he came. Don’t judge him. ❤︎...

l = location (favorite places to do the do): Caleb can only actually relax when he’s alone with you at your apartment or his. Preferably yours back in Linkon. He feels tense in Skyhaven and is always on alert. In Linkon though, he can let himself relax better knowing that you’re safer. Not a fan of kitchen sex specifically. That aside, anywhere is fine.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): You’re horny? So is he! Caleb has been waiting for you for years, saying he’s pent up is an understatement. Just say the words and he’s already looking at you with puppy dog eyes, waiting for an order.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs): Anything related to impact play. No. He hates the thought of hurting you and finds no pleasure in such things.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): Zero skill, no experience, but he has a dream. Show him how you like it, ride his face, pull his hair, order him around, hell, sit on his face. He’s a quick learner once he sets his mind onto something. 100% a giver and doesn’t want you to go down on him because it’s too “degrading” and he feels bad. Please go down on him. He’ll complain and try to pull away but he comes SO quickly, cock twitching, grunting, knees buckling and all. ❤︎...

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): … Rough. Listen, he doesn’t mean to be rough but he can’t help it. Your cunt makes Caleb malfunction, overheat and shut down. He’s dumbed down at the slightest clench around his cock and his hips have a mind of their own, snapping against yours harshly as he drools and kisses your shoulder in apology. 

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Actually likes them! You two are always very busy with your jobs and being distant from each other most of the time isn’t easy. To him, quickies are more about you than him. He wants to get you off so you feel at peace. He can rub one off later and you don’t have to concern your pretty head over it.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): No. Caleb hates, hates, hates the thought of taking risks with you. He’d rather die than having you be seen in such an intimate way. As for experimenting, yes of course! Be open with him, tell him what you’re into, what you want to try… Your wish is his command.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): From the lack of experience, Caleb can last two rounds max before you tire him out. That does not mean he’ll leave you unsatisfied though. He still has his mouth and fingers ready to satiate you. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...²

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): Absolutely not. Are you trying to get him killed? Caleb is jealous of anything that breathes the same air as you and you want him to accept the idea of having something else making you cum? Just shoot him already.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease): If anyone is being teased, it’s him. Although you two play fight a lot, Caleb isn’t one to be a tease during sex. He has been waiting, planning for this moment for years. Everything needs to be perfect. He can wait to get under your skin later.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make): He tries so hard to be quiet… he wants to focus on your moans, your moans are the pretty ones, not his. Caleb holds back, bites his lip, hides his face on your nape but nothing can make him shut up. The moment he enters you, he’s moaning, huffing and grunting like an animal.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): Caleb really enjoys all the attention you give him when he’s looking all scary and dominant in his colonel uniform. He knows you eye him hungrily when gets home, he won’t take the uniform off on purpose, he just waits to see how long it’ll take for you to fold and come sit on his lap, grinding your cunt on his clothed thigh. Won’t admit it but likes when you call him colonel, sir, mr. xia, etc.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): Alright mr. fat cock pack it up. It’s thick alright. I can totally picture him saying “biiiig stretch, pips” while shushing your whines. Thick base, thick and veiny length, fat tip. That’s what he's hiding in his boxers. 6,6 inches (~16,5cm) that stretch you out SO good, the veins drag inside you soooo nicely it feels like heaven. #a88479 for the length and #a66d5b for the tip.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?): Oh boy, do I even need to say this? We are talking about THE yearner. Caleb’s super pent up and dare I say he has a pretty high libido. He is always stressed because of work and he has been waiting for you for years. The moment you consent, he’s fumbling with both his and your clothes. 

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward): He usually doesn't sleep after you two have sex. He’s too busy watching you sleep to do so. Caleb is only at peace if he is sure you’re safe and comfortable. Poor boy barely has time to catch his breath as he’s running around the apartment getting everything you might need and want so you don’t have to leave the bed. Tell him to relax, ask him to lie down with you, bury your face on his beefy chest and make sure he doesn’t leave the bed, he needs it.

⊹ ࣪reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading!(*´▽`*)

[humanjarvis]

three things

“oh my god, how is it already 6:50? it was 6:10 the last time i checked,” you ramble, practically shoving your left earring in.

fiddling with his cuff link, sylus chuckles unhurriedly. “that’s how time works, sweetie.”

“shut it. we’re gonna be late,” you whine, whipping around to rummage through your handbag. “we’re gonna be late, and…”

pausing your panicked search, you look around the room forlornly.

“keys,” he drawls mercifully, paying your lost expression no mind.

“right. keys,” you sigh in relief, snatching your discarded keychain from the coffee table. “now where is my—”

“wallet?” he teases. sauntering up behind you, he wraps an arm around your waist and slips the leather case into your hands. “right here.”

frowning, you lift it to eye level, glaring at it suspiciously. “i swear, i left you in my purse. how did you even escape?”

an amused hum sounds from behind you.

“well, that’s it, i think.” pausing, you scan the room around you to double-check and give him a frazzled nod. “okay, yes. i’m ready, let’s go!”

you make it a total of two rushed steps before sylus blocks your path, wordlessly cocking an eyebrow.

“what?” you wheeze, heartbeat pounding in your ears. “sylus, we have to hurry! our reservation is at 7:00!”

in front of you, crimson mist suspends something small and black in midair. “phone,” sylus says, voice dipping with a fond sigh.

“oh. yeah. i guess i do need tha—”

dangling helplessly above you, your phone blinks to life with a new message. but before you can grab it, it rises several inches higher in the air.

with a lazy smirk, sylus settles his eyes on you expectantly. “are you forgetting something else, kitten?” he asks, checking his watch with a playful tsk. “we don’t have all day.”

for a moment, you gape at him, too flustered to play his guessing game. but as your stalemate continues, the gleam in his ruby irises clues you in.

slowly, you approach him, running your palms along his chest. “you’re right. how could i forget?” you whisper with a small smile. standing up on your tiptoes, you brush his cheek with a sweet kiss. “thank you.”

[osachiyo]

𝐖𝐄𝐓 ‘𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐘 ! ꩜ .ᐟ dr zayne

⟢ tws: n/sfw content, fem!reader, p*rn w/o plot, 0.6k+ words, fingering, squirting, stress relief, messy, dirty talk, praise, zayne is mentioned to be taller than reader, overstimulation, reader is hinted to be chubby + more .. you must be logged in on twt to see the link!

⟢ note: i saw this video on twt and thought of zayne immediately helppp >< header art by @/rororo_mg on X <3

imagine this with zayne . . .

You could tell when Zayne didn’t have a good day at work. Especially when he had that one look on his face— glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose and his hair messy, a frown etching on his lips and broad shoulders sagging as he entered through the front door. You lifted your eyes from the page of your book to your looming boyfriend, “bad day at work?”

Zayne only sighed deeply, shrugging his coat off and slinging it on the coat hanger near the door, “terrible.”

You slowly approached him, wrapping your arms around his neck, going on your tippy toes and pressing your soft lips to Zayne’s ear, “is there any way I can help, doctor?”

You felt a large hand wrap itself around your waist— pulling your body flush to his, something hard and hot poking your inner thigh as Zayne’s other hand lifted your chin up, his minty breath fanning against your lips as he spoke,

“If you insist, my love.”

..and that’s how you ended up in your current position. Legs pushed back and knees nearly touching your ears, pretty lacy panties pushed to the side and the fabric absolutely drenched with your arousal as Zayne’s precise fingers worked themselves in and out of your cunt.

“Stay still,” he grunted, taking his fingers out of your hole and rubbing your puffy clit with fast strokes— making your head loll back onto the pillow. “Nnngh— ‘s too much-!” You mewled, fingers desperately scratching the soft, linen sheets underneath as Zayne continued to torture your poor clit. “Nonsense.. I know you can take it, love,” he muttered under his breath, and you whined because you knew he was right— Zayne knew your body like the back of his hand, and he wasn’t afraid to use that knowledge to his advantage.

It should’ve been unfair how good he was at it job— he knew all the ways to make your pussy gush, and he was doing exactly that. You wailed once he shoved his fingers back into your sticky hole, your plush hips arching off the bed at the overstimulation. But Zayne wasn’t having any of it, he scoffed in annoyance before using his free hand to push down on your soft tummy— securing your body to the mattress as he continued abusing that one rough patch in your velvety walls.

“Fu— fuck, Zayne—!” You threw your head back, kicking your legs but to no avail, he only pressed on your tummy harder, increasing the pressure settling in your lower abdomen. Your cunt gushed out juices with each rough thrust of his hand, successfully soaking his wrist down to his entire bicep. The rolled up sleeves of his button up practically drenched with your delicious slick. Oh and his watch. His expensive watch that probably costed an arm and a leg now soaked with your precious juices— and Zayne couldn’t help but groan at the sight.

It wasn’t long before you came hard around his fingers with a high pitched squeal, pussy juices streaming out and absolutely drenching the man before you. “What a good girl, did s’well for me,” he moaned, slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt with a lewd ‘pop!’ before sticking them in his mouth and humming in satisfaction at the taste.

You could only watch as your eyes grew droopy and tired, your head plopping back onto the pillow with as you sighed. You closed your eyes, ready to doze off before you heard a soft clinking noise and lifted your gaze in confusion to look at the man in front of you.

Your eyes widened as Zayne’s heavy cock slapped against your soft tummy— the head dripping with precum as he spread your legs even further to get comfortable. You parted your lips to speak before he cut you off, “Zay—” “What? You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

His eyes darkened, gaze dropping to eye his cock resting on your stomach— the tip reaching right over your belly button, fuck he was huge.

“We were only getting started, snowflake.”

@𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 — ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ.

[fushitoru]

ranking types of hugs he'd be comfortable with another guy giving his gf! a nanami kento fic / drabble

cw: nanami kento x reader, a little suggestive maybe, established relationship, fluff, nanami is a green flag but he's just a man, light jealousy / posessiveness, crack, based off this (instagram link). gojo ver here

general masterlist

"Ranking types of hugs I'd be comfortable with another guy giving my girlfriend." 

Kento’s not the type to aimlessly scroll on his phone --- he prefers to be in the present, not deplete “his reserves of dopamine” too quickly, but right now he’s bored. You’ve yet to come from work---you’d texted him you were running late, buying some groceries---so Kento’s laid on the couch looking at his phone. Even though he hates using social media and the rabbit holes that result from said use, he answers your reels and TikToks religiously. After all, he values everything you have to say, even though they are a bit silly.

But just before he could respond to the baby fever videos you sent him----he does have to admit, it’s a bit cute---his screen auto scrolls onto the next piece of 30-second content, and with that, he’s hooked, observing the slots of rankings the filter auto generates for the guy on his screen.

For a bit, he multitasks on looking at the video and reading the comments, then frowns at how possessive they seem. 

catcher hug is 1000 bodies 😭😭

No one is hugging my girl

PUT EVERYTHING AT 11 CUH

a/n lmaoo these are real comments on the link above honestly i love when men are pathetic

Surely, it can’t be that bad … right?

Kento prides himself on being an emotionally mature and secure man. It’s not to say he doesn’t have his own flaws, but while it seems the rest of his gender has fallen to the gym bro gurus and alpha male podcast bros, he’s involved himself in constant communication with you and makes sure to educate himself. 

And yet. He doesn’t know he’s going to almost be on the brink of tears as he opens the filter to try it out by himself.

The filter shuffles, presenting the first option: A back hug.

Kento exhales sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn’t immediately react, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze. He ranks it a nine.

Then, the next: A slow dance hug.

His jaw tightens. The thought of you in someone else’s arms, swaying under dim lights, your cheek resting against another man’s chest—it’s enough to make something unpleasant curl in his stomach. Ten.

The filter shuffles again. One-armed hug. He sighs through his nose, rubbing his temple. Three. Acceptable. Barely.

e waits, trying to keep his thoughts level, but when the next option rolls in, his grip on his phone tightens. A slow catcher hug.

His face is blank. He blinks once. Twice.

Then, a deep, audible sigh fills the room as he drags a hand down his face, thumb and forefinger pressing against the bridge of his nose.

The image is unwelcome, vivid—someone else catching you, your legs wrapping around their waist, the ease, the familiarity.

His phone clatters onto his chest, and he stares at the ceiling. The muscles in his jaw are taut, his lips pressed in a firm line. A moment passes. Then another.

And that’s how you find him—lying on the couch, stiff as a board, staring blankly upwards like he’s contemplating the meaning of life itself.

“Sweetheart?” you call, stepping closer. You set down your groceries, taking in his unusually tense form. He doesn’t immediately acknowledge you, just continues his thousand-yard stare.

“What’s wrong?” you press, now more concerned. “Are you feeling sick?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, still staring at the ceiling. Then, in a voice that’s a little too measured, he finally speaks.

“If another man so much as thinks about catching you in his arms, I’ll break both of them.”

You freeze. Blink.

“… What?”

Finally, he turns his head to look at you, eyes dark and serious, but there’s something almost resigned in his expression—like he knows he’s being ridiculous but can’t bring himself to care. You’re surprised at the turn of events to---it’s unlike him to be so…possessive and droopy. It’s actually really cute---he reminds you uncharacteristically of a wet, droopy dog.

“I don’t like that filter.” His voice is calm, but his fingers twitch slightly where they rest on his stomach. “I don’t like thinking about other men touching you.”

It’s so unlike him—so openly possessive—that you’re momentarily stunned into silence. Then, amusement bubbles up in your chest.

“Did you just get jealous over a TikTok filter?” you tease, stepping closer.

He exhales, slow and long, closing his eyes briefly before muttering, “I was curious. I regret it.”

You bite back a smile, reaching down to brush your fingers against his jaw. He leans into the touch, almost instinctively, before sighing again.

“You’re the only one I want to touch me, Kento.” you reassure, and his lips finally quirk at the edges—barely, but it’s there.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “But if I ever see a man standing with his arms open around you…” He exhales one final time, shaking his head before murmuring, “… I can fight.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek before moving to put away the groceries, leaving him lying there, still brooding.

As you walk away, you hear him mutter under his breath, just loud enough to catch:

“Slow catcher hug… ridiculous.”

general masterlist

a/n first time writing for nanami kinda nervous :') i have def areas to improve upon but for the meantime pls accept this <3 thank you for the req cutie !! @girlyuuta choso ver is going to come too :3

[inseobts]

You around kids

fem!reader

characters: zoro, sanji, law, shanks and ace

tags: fluff, light comedy, established relationship, comfort, emotional bonding, humor

a/n: sorry it's all cramped but I reached tumblr's limits of blocks per post, so if you need a easier way to read this, click on the ao3 link!!

words count: around 2.2k - 3.4k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Zoro:

The sun is warm but not too hot. A soft breeze plays with your hair as you walk beside Zoro through the busy town streets. The island is new, full of life and color, and the crew has scattered to do their own things. Nami went shopping, Sanji chased after ingredients... or maybe girls, and Luffy? Who knows.

You, on the other hand, just wanted a calm day. A nice walk. No drama. Zoro didn’t have any plans, so he chose to stay with you.

“Didn’t feel like wandering off,” he said with a shrug “Plus, you always get lost.”

“I do not!” you argue with a little laugh.

“You got lost on the ship” he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, bumping his arm lightly with your shoulder “That happened once. And you’re the one to talk???”

Zoro just grunts, amused, and keeps walking beside you. His hands are in his pockets, his swords resting at his side like always. He walks with that usual lazy confidence, but you can tell he’s relaxed.

Then, you hear a small cry. Like a kid. You stop walking “Did you hear that?”

Zoro lifts his head “Yeah.”

You both follow the sound, turning down a quieter street. And there, near the side of a fruit stand, is a small boy. He can’t be older than five. His face is red from crying, his small hands wiping at his eyes. He looks scared.

“Hey, sweetie,” you say gently, kneeling in front of him “What’s wrong?”

The boy looks up at you with big teary eyes “M-Mommy’s gone…”

“Oh no,” you whisper “You got separated?”

He nods fast, then suddenly throws his arms around you. You nearly fall back from the sudden hug but Zoro puts a hand on the back of your head, gently, just to keep you balanced.

Zoro’s eyes widen. You glance up at him, then back down at the boy. He’s shaking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay...” you say, rubbing his back “We’ll help you find her. I promise.”

The boy doesn’t let go. He clings tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear too.

Zoro scratches the back of his neck “You sure about this? We could find a guard or something.”

You give him a look “Zoro, he’s terrified. Would you want a stranger dragging you around if you were five?”

He sighs “Fine. So we’re babysitters now.”

You smile a little “Just until we find his mom.”

Zoro folds his arms, watching the boy with a face that’s trying very hard not to be soft “What’s his name?”

You turn to the boy “Sweetie, what’s your name?”

He sniffs “Kenji.”

“Okay, Kenji,” you say with a warm smile “I’m Y/N and this is Zoro. He’s kind of grumpy, but he’s nice.”

Zoro makes a sound like a scoff, but he doesn’t argue.

Kenji peeks up at Zoro “You have swords…”

Zoro raises a brow “Yeah. Don’t worry. I only use them on bad guys.”

Kenji nods seriously, then looks back at you “You’re really pretty…”

Your face heats up a little. Zoro frowns “Kid, don’t start.”

You laugh, standing up slowly as Kenji keeps his little hand in yours “Alright, let’s find your mom, okay?”

Kenji nods, still holding onto you like you’re his lifeline.

Zoro walks on your other side, still acting cool but every now and then, you catch him glancing down at the kid. And maybe, just maybe, you see a small smile on his face. Just a little one.

You’ve been walking around the town for a while now, asking people if they’ve seen Kenji’s mom. A few shopkeepers shake their heads.

Some say, “Sorry, haven’t seen any woman looking for a kid.”

You try the market square next. No luck there either.

Kenji’s small hand is still in yours, holding tight like he’s afraid to let go. His other hand rubs at his eye now and then, but he’s not crying anymore. Still, he stays close. You’re like his safe space now.

You glance down at him “Kenji, do you remember where you last saw your mom? Were you near a shop?”

He shakes his head slowly “I was looking at fish. Then I turned and she was gone.”

“Fish,” Zoro repeats “That narrows it down to…everywhere.”

You sigh “We’ll keep looking.”

Kenji tugs on your hand “Are you tired? I can walk by myself.”

Your heart melts “I’m okay, Kenji. But thank you.”

Then suddenly he reaches out and grabs Zoro’s hand too and you both freeze. Zoro stares at the small hand holding his, like it’s some kind of bomb.

Kenji doesn’t notice. He just keeps walking like it’s the most normal thing in the world, one hand in yours, one hand in Zoro’s. As if he’s done it a hundred times.

You glance at Zoro, and your face gets warm. Really warm. This…looks kind of cute. No… more than cute. It looks like… a little family.

Zoro’s eye twitches. He knows what it looks like too.

A woman passing by gives you a soft smile “Oh, what a sweet family.”

You nearly choke “Oh! We’re not—uh—we’re just helping—”

Zoro mutters under his breath, “For the love of… please don’t let anyone from the crew see this.”

You whisper back, “Why? Afraid they’ll think you’ve gone soft?”

He scowls “They will. And they’ll never shut up about it.”

But he doesn’t pull his hand away from Kenji’s. Not even when the kid swings his hands a little. You try not to smile too much, but your cheeks still feel hot.

“Y’know,” you say after a moment, “you don’t look that grumpy right now.”

Zoro gives you a side-eye “Say that again and I’ll let you get lost on purpose.”

You grin “Worth it.”

Kenji suddenly asks, “Are you and the sword guy married?”

You and Zoro speak at the same time.

You: “W-what? No!”

Zoro: “Hell no!”

You look at Zoro kinda offended by his tone.

Kenji tilts his head “But you look like it…”

Zoro lets out a long sigh “Kid, you really trying to make my day harder?”

You can’t stop laughing now. Even Zoro, after a beat, smiles just a little. Just enough to make your heart do a little flip.

The sun’s still out, the breeze still nice and you still haven’t found Kenji’s mom, but…you’re doing okay. And as long as the kid keeps walking between you and Zoro, hands held tight, maybe it’s not such a bad way to spend the day.

Kenji’s hand is still snug in yours, and Zoro hasn’t pulled away from the other side either, though his eye twitches every few minutes like he’s trying to pretend it’s not happening.

You’re still wandering through the streets, asking around and scanning every corner for a woman calling out for her son. No luck. Then suddenly, Kenji tugs at your hand and mumbles, “I’m hungry…”

You pause “Oh… right. You haven’t eaten anything.”

Zoro groans immediately “We don’t have time to stop and eat. We’re looking for your mom, remember?”

Kenji’s bottom lip quivers “But… my tummy hurts…”

He rubs his stomach with both hands now, giving you the most tragic look you’ve ever seen. You’re done. Defeated.

“Zoro,” you whisper, “he’s so cute. Let him eat.”

Zoro crosses his arms “He’ll survive. Kids bounce back.”

Kenji grabs your arm again “Please… just a snack?”

Your heart melts into a puddle “Zoroooo…”

Zoro looks at you and you’re doing it too… That look. Eyes wide, soft voice, the tiniest pout. Now both you and Kenji are staring at him like abandoned puppies in the rain.

He curses under his breath “You guys are teaming up on me.”

You say nothing, you just keep pouting. He rubs his face like this is physical pain “Fine. Fine. Twenty minutes.”

Kenji jumps up and cheers “Yay!”

You smile up at Zoro, wrapping your hand around his arm “Thanks, babe. You’re the best.”

He groans again, but you catch the way his ears turn a little red. You head toward a food stall nearby, and as soon as you do, you hear a loud voice call out “Oi! Zoro! Y/N!”

You both turn and there they are.

Luffy and Sanji, carrying way too many bags and snacks.

Sanji’s eyes go wide when he sees the kid. He drops his bags “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

Kenji looks up at you, his mouth full of fried dough “Who’s the loud guy?”

Sanji points dramatically at Zoro “How could you?! You stole her away and now—now you even have a child?!”

Zoro blinks “What are you talking about? Do you know how kids are made?”

Luffy laughs “He looks just like your kid. You’re all holding hands and stuff. It’s so cute! You should make a real one!”

Sanji falls to the ground instantly “I’m dying. I’m literally dead. This is hell.”

You’re laughing too hard to speak.

Kenji, still chewing, leans over to Zoro “Are those your friends? They’re weird.”

Zoro sighs “You have no idea.”

Luffy crouches next to Kenji, nose almost touching his “Heyyy, what’s your name?”

“Kenji!”

“Cool name! You wanna be a pirate?”

Zoro grabs Luffy by the back of his vest and yanks him away “No recruiting children.”

Sanji stands back up, wiping his nose “Mon dieu… Y/N, if you ever decide you want real romance, you know where to find me.”

You smile sweetly “You’d have to fight Zoro for me first.”

Sanji turns pale, not because he’s scared but because you think of Zoro right away “…I’m good.”

Kenji tugs your sleeve again “Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much” you say with a giggle. Zoro mutters, “You get used to it.”

Even as the chaos unfolds, Zoro moves just a little closer to you. His hand brushes against yours again and Kenji, still holding your other hand, starts humming happily between bites.

After the chaos (and mild heartbreak) that was Luffy and Sanji, you wave them off with a tired smile. Sanji is still crying in the background. Luffy’s trying to steal a meat bun from someone’s cart.

“Bye, Kenji!” Luffy shouts cheerfully “Don’t forget to train so you can join my crew!”

“I won’t!” Kenji waves both hands like you’re sending off a ship.

You tug his sleeve gently “Okay, come on. Let’s keep going.”

Zoro mutters under his breath as you walk again, heading farther into the town “Out of everyone… they had to be the ones we run into.”

You smirk “Could’ve been worse.”

“No. That was the worst.”

“Even worse than running into ALL of them together?”

He gives you a sharp side-eye “Don’t push your luck.”

You giggle, swinging Kenji’s hand a little as you walk. He’s full now, calmer, but still sticking to you like glue. Zoro’s hands are back in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looks like he wants to complain, but he’s still here. That says enough.

Then, out of nowhere, Kenji tugs at your hand and looks up at you seriously “Miss Y/N? Can I call you Mama?”

You freeze. Everything around you stops. The breeze. The street noise. Even Zoro seems to pause mid-step. You blink at him “W-What?”

Kenji looks a little nervous now, like he’s not sure if he’s done something wrong “I know you’re not really… but you’re really nice, and you make me feel safe like my mama does. I miss her…”

Your throat closes. You don’t even know what to say. Tears prick at your eyes so fast you can’t stop them. One slides down your cheek before you can hide it.

You crouch down, hugging him gently, trying not to cry too hard “Kenji… I’m sure your mom misses you too. We’re gonna find her, okay? I promise.”

He nods, leaning into your hug.

Zoro is quiet behind you. For once, not a single sarcastic comment. When you glance up at him, you see that flicker in his eyes. Something soft. Something… careful. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. And somehow, that silence means more than words.

You’re walking again, slowly now. Kenji hums as he walks between you and Zoro, swinging your hands. He’s more cheerful after eating, even skipping a little. It’s almost hard to believe this is the same scared little boy from earlier.

Then you hear a woman’s voice, panicked and breathless “Kenji?! Kenji!!”

All three of you turn around, a woman is running toward you, her eyes wide with worry. Her hair’s a bit messy.

Kenji gasps “Mama!!”

He lets go of both your hands and runs to her. You and Zoro stop walking, watching as he throws himself into her arms. She catches him and falls to her knees, hugging him tightly.

“Oh, thank god,” she whispers, burying her face in his shoulder “I’ve been looking everywhere, Kenji, I was so scared…”

“I’m okay, Mama!” he says brightly “I wasn’t alone!”

You and Zoro stand quietly a few steps away, watching them hold each other. Zoro crosses his arms and says nothing. But his expression is… softer now. Thoughtful.

Then, Kenji turns and grabs his mom’s hand.

“Come on! Come meet them!” he says, tugging her toward you.

She lets herself be pulled along and gives you a teary smile “You… You helped him?”

You nod “Yeah. He was alone and crying. We couldn’t just leave him.”

She presses a hand to her chest, still catching her breath “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know what I would’ve done—”

She starts reaching into a small pouch “Please, I have a little money—let me give you something.”

You shake your head quickly “Oh no, really. That’s okay. We had… a good day, actually. He’s a sweet kid.”

Kenji beams proudly beside her. Zoro’s still silent, standing with that usual lazy posture.

The woman glances at him, hesitating “Are you sure? Maybe he wants—”

Before she finishes, Zoro shrugs “Y/N did all of it by herself.”

You glance over at him. That’s not true, you both helped. But he says it like he wants to make clear that the kindness was yours. You give him a small smile.

The woman bows slightly “Thank you both again.”

You nod, just about to say goodbye when Kenji suddenly throws his arms around your waist again.

You blink “Kenji…?”

He’s crying again. Quiet, but real tears, as he mumbles “Do you… have to go?”

Your throat tightens “Hey, don’t cry… You’re with your mom now. You’re safe.”

“I know,” he says, sniffling “But I don’t want you to go. I love you… you’re my best friend.”

Tears fill your eyes instantly. You hug him back, squeezing gently, as you whisper “I love you too, Kenji, you’re really brave, you know?”

He looks up at his mom “Can she stay with us?”

Her eyes soften “Sweetheart… she has her own life and friends. But maybe one day you’ll meet again.”

He wipes his face with his sleeve, still clinging to you. Zoro turns away slightly, trying to act like he’s not watching, but his ears are red and in his chest, something warm builds, quiet and slow.

You’re so gentle. So natural with children. And for the first time… He lets the thought sit. Maybe a future like that, with you, soft like this… wouldn’t be so bad.

Eventually, you say goodbye. Kenji waves and waves until he’s out of sight. You and Zoro walk in silence for a few minutes. Then… you feel something. Zoro reaches over and takes your hand.

You blink, surprised “Zoro?”

He doesn’t look at you, eyes straight ahead, face a little pink “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just… thought you might need it.”

You smile, squeezing his hand gently. A few more steps go by before he adds, quietly “You’d be good at it.”

“At what?” you ask.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly “…Being a mom.”

Your heart skips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye “Not saying right now. Just… someday. If you wanted that.”

You stop for a second, staring at him. He’s not blushing anymore. He’s serious.

You nod, eyes soft “With you… yeah. I think I’d want that someday.”

Zoro looks away quickly, but you see the tiniest smile on his face.

You let go of his hand and he turns to look at you surprised. But then you jump and put your arms around his neck as he grabs you by your waist to steady you.

You kiss him quickly but softly while saying “I love you so much Zoro, thank you.”

He’s still surprised but asks “What are you thanking me for?”

“To think of me when you think about your future.”

He blushes and starts to look away but you catches him saying “Of course I would.”

You smile as you let go of him and then take his hand again as you swing it and walk as you’re the happiest girl in the world, with your biggest smile one and humming a little cute song.

Zoro watches you all the time with the softest smile he ever had.

── .✦ Sanji:

The sun sets behind the island’s hills, painting the sky in soft orange and purple. You can already hear music and laughter in the air. The village is buzzing with excitement.

“We’re just in time for the Moonlight Festival” Nami tells everyone, smiling as a few locals greet her.

“They want us to join?” Luffy asks, his eyes already searching for food.

“Yes,” Robin says “They’ve prepared clothes for us. It’s part of their tradition.”

You glance around. The people here are wearing bright outfits, flowing skirts, golden sashes, beads, and flowers in their hair. It looks magical.

One of the village girls walks up to you, holding a folded dress.

“For you,” she says with a kind smile “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

Sanji’s eyes narrow, already hovering at your side “She always does” he says softly, brushing a hand across your lower back.

You smile and take the dress inside a small tent to change.

When you step out, the crew is waiting. Zoro looks away with a bored expression. Usopp whistles.

But Sanji… he freezes. His face turns red in two seconds. Then an elegant nosebleed.

“Oh my god, Sanji!” you rush to him as he stumbles back, heart-shaped eyes glowing like lanterns.

“You… You can’t just walk out looking like that, mon amour,” he gasps “I was not prepared. That dress—you… your everything—!”

You laugh “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am in love,” he moans, holding a hand over his nose “And now I’m dying.”

“Save it for later, lovebirds,” Nami rolls her eyes “Let’s go! The festival’s starting!”

The streets are glowing with lanterns. Drums beat in the background. Kids are running around with flower crowns. You hold Sanji’s hand tight as you pull him through the crowd.

“Wait, wait—look!” you gasp, pointing to a stall “Caramel apples!”

Sanji chuckles “Mon amour, you know I can make you better ones. Twice as sweet. Three times as shiny.”

“Yeah, but these are festival apples,” you grin, bouncing on your heels “It’s different!”

He groans playfully but fishes some coins from his pocket “Fine. Who am I to stop you from being adorable?”

You grab the apple and take a big bite “Mmm! Okay. Yours are still better.”

He smirks “Told you.”

You two stroll past more stalls. Roasted nuts, cotton candy, fruit juice in bamboo cups… you try everything. Sanji keeps spoiling you without complaint, even if he keeps saying, “You know I could cook all of this for you, mon trésor.”

You wipe a bit of syrup off his cheek with your thumb “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

You turn a corner and freeze “Sanji!” you gasp.

“Hm?”

“There!” You point to a game stall. Behind it is a giant plushie… a round, smiling bear with soft ears and a flower crown.

Sanji squints “You want that thing?”

“Yes! It’s so cute!”

But before you can step forward, a group of small kids run up.

“We saw it first!” one of them shouts.

“No way! I’m gonna win it!” another boy says, grabbing a ball from the counter.

You look at Sanji. He cracks his knuckles and smiles “A competition, huh?”

“Winner takes the bear!” the tallest kid says.

Sanji kneels to their level, grinning “Alright, little ones. You’re on.”

Sanji throws the first ball... Miss.

“Damn it—”

The ball bounces off the edge of the target, knocking over nothing but his pride.

“Too slow, old man!” the little boy cackles and throws his own. Miss.

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Oh-ho? You think you’re better?”

“I am better!” the kid huffs, grabbing another ball. Miss again.

Sanji leans in “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Your aim is trash.”

“So is yours.”

They go back and forth for the next minute. Ball after ball. Miss after miss. Neither hits a single target. Sanji’s hair is messier now, and the kid’s cheeks are puffed in frustration.

You cross your arms and bite your lip to stop laughing. Finally, Sanji steps back, hands on his hips.

“This game is clearly rigged.”

The kid points at him “You’re just mad because you lost.”

“You lost too!” Sanji snaps back, eyes wide.

“Only ‘cause you distracted me with your loud yelling!”

They both look exhausted and full of mutual respect…and mutual failure.

You walk up between them and say, “Okay. My turn.”

Sanji blinks “Mon amour, are you sure? It’s harder than it looks—”

“I wanna try.” you say, handing him the caramel apple you’re still holding.

You pick up the ball. It’s heavier than you thought, but manageable. You narrow your eyes, pull back your arm and… You knock over all three cans. Clean.

Sanji’s jaw drops. The little boy gasps so loudly, you think he might pass out.

The game keeper just laughs and hands you the giant plushie “Well done, miss!”

You grin and hug the bear tight “I did it!”

Sanji laughs, not caring at all about being shown up “You’re amazing!” he says proudly “Absolutely perfect.”

He kisses your cheek with zero shame “My talented goddess.”

But the kid… the kid is just staring at you now. Like something huge just clicked in his little brain.

“…What?” you ask, smiling at him “You can still try again, maybe there’s another plush—”

“I love you.”

You blink “Huh?”

“I don’t know why,” he says, completely serious “But I do.”

You stand there with your plushie, speechless. Sanji snorts so hard he has to turn around to hide his laugh.

“Is it the bear?” you ask gently.

The boy shakes his head “It’s your face. And your power.”

Sanji is wheezing now “That’s a strong statement, mon petit rival.”

“I said what I said,” the kid replies firmly, hands in his pockets “If you break up with him, I’ll wait for you.”

You pat his head “Thanks, but… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

He sighs “Fine. But just know… you’re my first love now.”

Sanji finally turns around, wiping tears from his eyes “I’ve been defeated. By a child.”

You both laugh, holding hands again. You keep walking through the festival lights, one giant plush bear in your arms, and the chef at your side.

The night deepens, and the music slows down.

Soft lanterns float above the square, swaying gently in the warm breeze. They’re glowing in different colors as orange, pink, soft blue, like slow-moving stars. Couples begin dancing in the middle of the cobblestone plaza.

Sanji gently tugs your hand “Dance with me, mon amour?”

You grin and nod “Only if you don’t step on my feet.”

“I would rather die.”

He places one hand on your waist, the other holding yours with a practiced ease. His touch is warm and careful, like he’s afraid to break you. You sway together under the lanterns, the sounds of violins and laughter floating around you.

“You look beautiful in this light.” he says quietly.

You look up at him, smiling “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. This moment is soft. Sweet. Just the two of you… until…

“HEY, Y/N!”

Your head jerks up. You turn. A small voice echoes through the crowd.

Sanji’s brows twitch “No.”

Walking through the legs of villagers, holding something behind his back, is that kid.

Your jaw drops “How do you know my name?”

He stops right in front of you, puffing his chest like a tiny warrior “The idiot said it like five times while we were throwing balls. ‘You’ve got this, Y/N! Knock ‘em down, Y/N!’”

You blink “Oh… yeah. That sounds like him.”

Sanji coughs “You remembered that?”

The kid pulls out what he was hiding behind his back, a delicate, glowing flower. Its petals shimmer like they’ve been dusted with stardust.

“This is for you,” the boy says, holding it out with both hands like an offering “You deserve something this pretty.”

Your heart does a little owh at the sweetness “Aww… thank you.”

You take it gently, not wanting to crush it.

Sanji, meanwhile, stares at the flower. Then at the kid. Then at you.

He chuckles lightly “How… thoughtful.”

You glance at him “You okay?”

“Oh, me? Perfectly fine,” he says with a smile that’s way too tight “Just enjoying the sight of my girlfriend being courted by an eight-year-old.”

The kid looks up at him “Nine.”

“Ah, of course. My mistake,” Sanji says, voice calm but eyes twitching “A mature gentleman.”

“Way cooler than you.” the boy mumbles.

Sanji crouches down slightly, still smiling “You want a kitchen knife to go with that flower, mon petit rival?”

You step between them, laughing “Okay, okay, enough. This is getting weird.”

The kid sighs and shrugs “I’ll just wait till you’re single. No rush.”

“There will be no waiting.” Sanji grits through his teeth.

“Time is on my side, old man.”

“SHE’S MY AGE TOO!” Sanji yells irritated.

You nearly drop the flower from laughing so hard. You pat the boy on the head again “You’re really sweet, but I’m staying with the idiot for now.”

“Forever,” Sanji corrects “She’s staying with me forever.”

“Yeah, yeah. For now…” the boy says, walking away into the lantern lights.

You turn to Sanji, still giggling “You were jealous.”

He raises a hand, dramatic as ever “I can’t believe he kept insulting me. I was not jealous. I was threatened.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He sighs “Okay. I was… mildly unsettled.”

You lean up and kiss his cheek “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He smirks again “And you’re always cute. But please… no more nine-year-old rivals.”

The music quiets. The stalls are closing. Lanterns start floating into the sky, some by string, some released into the wind with wishes written on paper. The villagers begin gathering near the beach and hilltops.

You stretch your arms with a happy sigh, the big plushie still tucked under one arm “It’s almost time for fireworks, right?”

Sanji nods and gently takes your hand “Follow me, mon love. I found us a better spot. Private. High up. Just us.”

“Romantic?”

He grins “Always.”

He leads you up a narrow path behind the main square, through a line of trees. A few lanterns hang along the way, giving the path a warm glow. Eventually, you reach a small wooden platform, almost like an old lookout. There’s a railing, a perfect view of the sky, and just enough space for the two of you to stand side by side.

You lean against the railing, wide-eyed “This is perfect…”

Sanji steps behind you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder “I know. Just like you.”

You snort “Cheesy.”

He kisses your temple “True.”

Just as the wind picks up slightly and you snuggle closer into his arms…“Hey!”

You both turn your heads.

It’s the kid. Again.

Sanji groans, stepping forward “Are you following us now?”

The boy crosses his arms “I think destiny wants me and Y/N together.”

Sanji points at him “She’s literally standing here with me, holding the bear I helped her win—”

“I pushed you to give up and her winning it, so technically I helped too.”

“You called me ‘trash’ and insulted me!”

“And yet… here we are.” He spreads his arms as if the universe just proved his point.

You lean on the railing, grinning like an idiot while they go at it again “I feel like I should get popcorn for this.”

The kid puffs up his chest “You’ll thank me when we’re married one day.”

“I am going to faint.” Sanji rubs his face.

You laugh softly, eyes crinkling with joy. The two of them are so dramatic in their own ways… Sanji with his poetic French curses, and the kid with his over-the-top confidence.

But then the sky explodes into light.

You gasp and rush toward the railing, hands gripping the wood. Fireworks bloom above the hills, one after another, bursts of gold, red, green, and silver painting the night. Some twinkle, some crackle, some swirl in spiral shapes like dancing stars.

“Whoa…” you whisper, completely forgetting the chaos behind you.

Then, beside you, another small gasp. You glance down. It’s the kid.

His eyes are wide. His mouth slightly open in wonder “They’re… huge.”

“Is this your first time seeing fireworks?” you ask.

He nods slowly “Yeah. They’re… kinda magical.”

You smile, your face glowing with the same light reflecting in the sky “Right?”

Behind you, Sanji watches the two of you from a few steps back.

You’re both standing at the railing, heads tilted up, eyes full of wonder, soft smiles on your faces. The flower the kid gave you is tucked in your hair. The bear still in your arms. And somehow, in that one moment, you and the kid… look similar.

Same joy. Same spark. Same heart.

Sanji feels something shift in his chest. Not jealousy. Not annoyance. Something deeper. Warmer.

He pictures this moment again, but years in the future. You, at the railing, holding a small hand. Your child’s hand.

Their eyes lighting up like yours. That same smile. That same awe. And he’s there too, arms around both of you. His future, clear as the fireworks above.

You turn around and catch his gaze “Sanji?”

He blinks and smiles softly “Sorry. Just… thinking about how lucky I am.”

You raise an eyebrow “Because we won the bear?”

“No,” he says, stepping forward to join you at the railing “Because I get to watch you fall in love with everything.”

You rest your head on his shoulder again, your free hand finding his.

“With me?” The kid says.

“NO! DROP IT!” Sanji yells at him but then they both smile and keep watching the fireworks as they keep blooming. And Sanji is already planning forever.

The last firework bursts in a shower of silver and gold, lingering like a sparkler in the night sky. Then silence.

Soft cheers rise from the village below. The glow fades, lanterns flickering low. The magic of the moment hangs in the air for just a little longer, like it doesn’t want to end.

You sigh, still holding Sanji’s hand “That was perfect…”

Next to you, the kid is still staring at the sky. But the fireworks are gone now, long finished. Yet he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His eyes are wide, his mouth just barely open. He looks like he’s still inside that wonder.

You smile at him “Hey… by the way… What’s your name?”

He blinks, like he’s waking up from a dream “Oh. It’s Tama.”

“Nice to meet you, Tama.” You kneel down a bit so you’re closer to his height “What do you wanna be when you grow up?”

Without hesitation “A pirate.”

You laugh softly “Really?”

He nods, proud “A brave one. With a big ship. I’ll visit all the islands with weird animals and floating rocks and treasure.”

Sanji smirks beside you, hands in his pockets “Then I guess we’ll keep being rivals even out at sea, huh?”

Tama gives him a sharp side-eye “I’ll have to steal y/n from you and out-pirate you.”

Sanji grins “Try me, mon petit.”

You giggle and ruffle Tama’s hair gently “Well, I hope we meet again when you’re out there chasing dreams.”

Tama glances up at you “What about you? What do you want to be?”

You pause. It’s not something you really think about. You look over at Sanji… messy blond hair, gentle smile, the way he’s still looking at you like the stars are in your eyes instead of the sky.

You shrug “I don’t care what I become. I just want to be with Sanji forever.”

Sanji freezes for a moment.

Then, he lets out a quiet breath, like someone just handed him the whole world.

His voice is soft “You’ll never have to wish for that, mon amour. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tama watches you both. He’s quiet. No more smug grins or snappy lines.

Then, slowly, he nods. He tucks his hands into his pockets and gives you a small smile, real and warm “Then it’s good the idiot is so persistent.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Hey—”

Tama doesn’t look at him. He’s looking at you “You’re really happy. I can tell.” His voice is calm now, like something inside him understands something bigger “So… I’m okay with it.”

Your heart softens “Thank you, Tama.”

Then, without fully thinking, you smile even wider and say, “Sanji, I hope our future baby is going to be like him.”

Tama blinks, clearly unsure what to say to that. Maybe even a little embarrassed. But he nods slowly, lips pressing together in a shy smile.

Sanji stops breathing.

He stares at you, completely still, as if the fireworks just restarted behind his eyes. That sentence… so casual, so soft… hit harder than anything tonight. Our future baby...

You’re thinking about it. About a future. About family. And not just that. You’re thinking about it with him. His heart squeezes in his chest.

You’re here, in his arms. You’re in love. And you’re imagining a child with his smile and your eyes, running around somewhere under the same stars.

You turn and see the look in Sanji’s eyes.

He’s smiling, but there’s something deeper behind it. Something full. Something that says, I heard that.

You just smile back, knowing he doesn’t need to say a word.

Tama shrugs and turns around “Don’t get too comfy though. I’ll be cooler than him someday.”

Sanji puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close “We’ll be cheering for you… maybe.”

Tama waves over his shoulder, heading back toward the village, lantern light flickering around him.

You and Sanji stay a little longer at the lookout, arms wrapped around each other, the flower still in your hair, and the last warmth of the fireworks still in your hearts.

The festival is over. But something even better stayed behind with you…

Love. Peace. And the promise of forever.

── .✦ Law:

The sea is calm. The deck is quiet. You wipe your hands with a towel and step out of the infirmary for some air. A peaceful day. For once.

“GUYS! GUYS!! I’m back!!”

Bepo’s voice booms from the ramp. You glance over, blinking. Law appears from the hallway behind you, arms crossed and already frowning. Penguin and Shachi pop their heads out of the engine room.

“Why are you yelling?” Law asks, sharp.

“I got everything!” Bepo shouts, jogging up “But also—uh—”

He’s carrying something. No. Someone. It’s a kid.

A little girl, maybe five years old, wrapped in one of Bepo’s spare coats. Her hair’s messy, face pale. No shoes. She looks completely terrified.

Shachi stares “That’s a child.”

“Bepo,” Law growls “You didn’t…”

“I had to!” Bepo pleads “She was hiding behind crates in the market. All alone. People walked right past her. Like she wasn’t even there!”

“So you picked her up and brought her here?!” Law’s tone spikes.

“I couldn’t leave her! I asked around, but no one knew her. No one cared! She wouldn’t talk to anyone but me!”

The girl looks around fast… strangers, loud voices, sharp tones. She panics.

Her eyes lock on you, maybe because you’re the only woman here at the moment, maybe because you’re not yelling, and suddenly she jumps out of Bepo’s arms.

“Wait—!” Bepo yells.

Too late. She runs straight to you and throws her arms around your waist, hugging you like her life depends on it.

You freeze.

“Woah—hey, hey,” you say softly, instinct kicking in. You crouch down, hands gentle on her arms “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She buries her face in your chest and doesn’t say a word. Everyone is staring.

“Y/N,” Law says, voice low “Do you know her?”

You shake your head “Never seen her before.”

“Then why is she hugging you like that?” Penguin asks, confused.

You rub her back carefully “She’s scared. She saw someone safe. That’s all.”

Law narrows his eyes, crouching beside you.

“Kid,” he says quietly, “what’s your name?”

“…Mimi.” she whispers.

“How old are you, Mimi?”

She holds up five fingers without looking up.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you remember anything?”

She shrugs.

Law stands up “Fantastic.”

“I don’t get it,” Shachi says “Why would she run to Y/N? Just randomly?”

“She doesn’t know me,” you say, still holding Mimi gently “She was just scared.”

“She’s still shaking,” Bepo murmurs “I think she really was in danger.”

Law opens his mouth to reply, but footsteps thunder up from below deck.

“Ikkaku!” Penguin says as she appears, out of breath.

“Captain!” she gasps, holding up a tablet “Emergency Marine alert. I just picked it up from the city’s comms.”

“What kind of alert?” Law asks, tone serious.

She flips the screen around “They’re searching for a missing child. Classified level. No name. No photo. Just this—”

She swipes again. A blurry snail-cam image. It’s Mimi. Wearing that same coat.

“…Shit.” Law mutters.

Everyone stares at the screen.

“Why are the Marines looking for a five-year-old?” Shachi asks, stunned.

“Classified level? That’s not normal” Penguin adds.

Ikkaku reads off the report “Orders are to retrieve the child alive. No reason listed. But every local base is on alert. They think pirates might have taken her.”

Mimi stiffens. She presses closer to you.

“…Bad men,” she whispers “Mama said they’d come…”

“Mimi,” you say softly, “do you know who the bad men are?”

She shakes her head quickly “The marines… that I had to run. Mama said… find someone kind. Someone who felt safe.”

She looks up at you then. Big, frightened eyes.

You smile gently “You found me, don’t worry.”

Law steps beside you, staring down at the kid. His hand brushes yours.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, “She can’t stay on deck.”

You nod.

“She stays below, for now” Law says, turning to the crew “And no one talks about her. Not a word. We figure this out before the Marines come knocking.”

Bepo lets out a breath “Thank you, Captain.”

Law glances back at you and Mimi “Don’t thank me yet. This is trouble.”

“She’s just a kid,” you murmur, carrying her gently as you stand “We’ll protect her.”

Law’s voice softens “Yeah. We will.”

The door closes behind you both with a quiet click. The hallway outside Law’s quarters is silent now. You and Law stand inside the dimly lit room, away from the crew, away from Mimi.

He leans against the desk, arms folded, hat on the surface next to him. His jaw is tight. You’re pacing.

“She’s five, Law,” you say “Five. And terrified. You saw her face.”

“I know what I saw,” he replies, coldly calm “But she’s not just any kid, Y/N. She’s being hunted by the Marines. That’s not normal.”

“She didn’t ask to be hunted,” you shoot back “She didn’t choose any of this!”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice rises slightly.

You stop pacing “Then why are you looking at her like she’s a problem?”

He straightens “Because right now? She is. She’s a risk. For all of us.”

You flinch.

“Oh, great,” you say, sarcasm slipping in “Glad to know your heart’s still functioning.”

His eyes narrow “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything! You’re acting like she’s a ticking time bomb!”

“I’m being realistic!” he snaps “You always do this—take in strays without thinking!”

You freeze. The words echo. You always do this.

Your chest tightens “Then is that what I am to you?” you whisper “Some stray you took in?”

Law’s expression shifts instantly “What? No—”

You shake your head, stepping back, voice low and bitter “Forget it. I’m done.”

He moves toward you “Y/N, wait—”

“No,” you say, turning for the door “You wanted to be realistic? Fine. Be alone with your logic. I’m going to be with the actual human being we rescued.”

You slam the door on your way out.

You sit cross-legged on the floor of the small guest room, paper and colored pencils spread out between you and Mimi. She holds a red pencil in her small hand, tongue poking out a little as she focuses hard on drawing something.

You force yourself to smile “That’s a very good cat, Mimi.”

“It’s you” she says, showing you proudly.

You laugh gently “Oh! I’m the cat?”

She nods “You were soft when I hugged you.”

You pause “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

She looks up at you “Are you mad?”

Your smile fades “Why would you think that?”

“You left fast. Like Mama did… when she was mad.”

Ouch.

You set your pencil down and reach out, tucking her hair behind her ear “I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“Then who?”

You sigh “Just… someone I love. We said some things we didn’t mean.”

She nods like she gets it “Mama and Papa did that too. Then they’d be quiet for a while. But after, they hugged a lot.”

You smile faintly “Maybe we’ll get there.”

Mimi turns back to her paper “Do you think my Mama’s okay?”

Your heart aches “I hope so, Mimi. I really do.”

You pick up a blue pencil and draw beside her in silence for a while. The sound of coloring fills the small room. For a little while, it’s peaceful again.

Even if your chest still burns with anger and something else you don’t want to admit yet. Not hurt. Just… disappointed.

The hallway outside the guest room is quiet now.

Right now, it’s just you and Mimi, surrounded by colored pencils and messy drawings. She laughs when your stick figure ends up with five arms. You giggle along, your mood slowly softening.

“Look!” she says proudly, holding up her latest masterpiece. It’s her, you, and what might be Bepo if you squint. You’ve all got huge smiles and stars around your heads.

“That’s amazing,” you say, genuinely impressed “Did you make me taller than Bepo?”

She nods “Because you’re strong.”

Your heart actually hurts a little at that “You’re the strong one, Mimi.”

She looks up at you, eyes wide and happy. It’s the first time she’s looked this light since she came aboard. Something warm blooms in your chest. You don’t say it aloud, but this feels… right.

She deserves moments like this. You both do.

There’s a soft knock at the doorframe. You turn and Law stands there. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just… watches.

You see his eyes flick to Mimi, then back to you. The scene freezes him. Like he’s seeing something he wasn’t ready for. Like he’s seeing you with a child in your lap, laughing, gentle, bright. Like family.

You look away first. Mimi doesn’t notice. She’s too busy coloring in the sky purple.

Law jerks his head toward the hallway, silently asking for a word. You hesitate.

Then slowly stand up, brushing your hands off “I’ll be right back, okay?” you whisper to Mimi.

“Okay.” she says without looking up.

You follow Law out into the hall. The door closes behind you, soft and careful. He runs a hand through his hair. He looks… tired. And guilty.

“I deserved everything you said earlier” he starts.

You don’t speak yet.

“I was angry. Not at you. At the situation. At how helpless it made me feel. It reminds me a lot of when… nevermind.”

Still, you wait.

“I wanted to do something. So I called in favors. Checked restricted comms. Dug deep.”

You lift your eyes to meet his “And?”

“I found out who her mother was,” he says “They were living on the outskirts of a Marine-controlled zone. Poor. Invisible. Perfect targets.”

Your throat tightens.

“She died,” Law continues “A week ago. Protecting Mimi. Marines were already closing in. Her mother fought back alone. Got her daughter away. Then…”

He trails off.

You stare “…Mimi saw that happen?”

He nods “But I think she doesn’t remember it. Or won’t. Trauma like that… it can block memories completely. Especially in kids.”

Your back presses to the wall “She… thinks her mom is still out there.”

“I know,” he says quietly “I was hoping she was. I wanted to go find her. Bring her here. Give Mimi the ending she deserved.”

You press your hands to your face “God…”

Law steps closer “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”

You lower your hands slowly, voice shaking “You thought I’d fall apart?”

“No,” he says “I thought I would.”

That makes you look at him.

“I saw you with her just now,” he says “And I thought… maybe we could give her something close to a family. Not perfect. Not planned. But something.”

Silence hangs heavy for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he says again “For the fight. For what I said.”

You nod slowly “I was mad. But I never stopped trusting you.”

He reaches for your hand. You let him take it.

“She’s all alone now” you whisper.

“Not if we stay” he says.

You squeeze his fingers “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s been three months since Mimi came aboard. She doesn’t cry at night anymore. She doesn’t flinch when someone raises their voice.

She laughs. Loudly. She steals snacks with Penguin, watches Shachi build models, draws on Bepo’s fur while he naps, and sometimes, when she’s really sleepy, she crawls into your bed without saying a word and snuggles between you and Law.

You and Law never talk about it, and neither does the crew, but everyone sees the way Mimi holds your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The way Law makes sure she eats, takes her medicine, wears a coat when it’s cold, even when he grumbles about it. The way her drawings now always have three people in them.

You, her, and Law.

She knows the truth now. She remembers it all… her mother, the chase, the moment she lost her, the fear. It came back slowly, in pieces, but she never fell apart.

She held on. To you. To him. And now it’s time.

You found a safe place for her, a quiet island far from Marine eyes. A good family who knew her mother once, who wants to care for Mimi like their own. A home with books, and warm food, and other children. It’s the best chance she’ll ever get.

She knows it. She understands.

But even understanding doesn’t make it easy.

On the third-to-last day, you find Mimi sitting with Bepo in the garden space at the top of the sub. She’s holding her sketchbook.

“Hey,” you say gently, sitting down beside her “Can I see what you’re drawing?”

She turns the book around. It’s you and Law again… only this time, she’s drawn herself in the middle, holding both your hands. Above you is a sun with a smiling face.

Your chest aches.

“I like when we’re together.” she says, matter-of-fact.

“I do too.”

She leans against your arm “You’re not mad, right? That I said yes to going?”

You pause “Never. Mimi, we want you to be safe. That’s what matters most.”

She goes quiet for a second “But I’ll still miss you. A lot.”

You stroke her hair softly “I’ll miss you too. Every day.”

She looks up “Do you think Captain Law will miss me?”

You smile “I know he will.”

That night, Law finds you alone in the infirmary, pretending to organize the medical supplies. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed.

“You’re avoiding me” he says.

“No I’m not” you lie instantly.

“Y/N.”

You sigh and sit down on the cot “I just… don’t know how to say goodbye.”

He walks in, quiet, and sits beside you “You don’t have to.”

You glance at him.

“We’ll find a way to see her again,” he says “Even if it’s just from a distance. I promise.”

Your eyes sting “She’s the best thing that ever happened to this ship.”

He nods “She’s one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

You look at him, surprised.

“I didn’t think I could… do this,” he says “Feel like this. But she made me believe in something again. She made me remember if Corazon and even understand him more now.”

You reach out and take his hand “She made us a family, didn’t she?”

Law squeezes your hand gently.

“And we’ll let her go,” he says “Because that’s what family does. We protect them. Even when it hurts.”

The crew stands in a quiet line on the deck.

Bepo is the first to kneel down, huge paws gentle as he hugs Mimi tightly.

“Don’t forget me” he says, voice shaking.

“I could never.” she whispers, burying her face in his fur.

Penguin gives her a pack of candy and awkwardly pats her head “Eat this when you miss us, okay?”

Shachi kneels next “We’ll miss you, shrimp. Stay awesome.”

Ikkaku lifts Mimi’s little hand and presses a friendship bracelet into her palm “For luck” she says, smiling even though her eyes are red.

Everyone says their goodbyes. Everyone hugs her.

You stand back, next to Law, holding your breath. Watching. Trying to stay calm. But your chest feels tight. Your hands shake and Law, quiet and steady beside you, notices. He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out and takes your hand in his. Warm, grounding. Solid.

You glance down, surprised. He never does this in front of the crew. Your fingers curl around his slowly. It helps. You’re grateful.

Mimi turns at last and walks up to you both. Her steps are slower now. Her smile is gone. And when she reaches you, she breaks.

Her small arms wrap around your waist so hard it knocks the air out of you “I don’t wanna go.” she sobs.

You drop to your knees and hold her, tears falling fast “I know, baby. I know.”

“I wanna stay with you. And Law. And Bepo and everyone. I don’t want a new house.”

“I know. But this is the safest place. It’s what your mama wanted. And we’ll still love you. Always.”

She shakes her head, crying harder. You don’t want to let go. You really, really don’t. And Law… he just stands there, quiet, one hand resting gently on your back as you cry into Mimi’s hair.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s there. Holding you up in the way he always does.

When you finally pull away, your eyes meet his and he gives you the smallest nod. You nod back.

It’s time. Mimi turns to him slowly.

She throws her arms around his legs without a word. Law stiffens.

Then, very awkwardly, he kneels and hugs her back. His movements are a little stiff, unsure, but he doesn’t let go too quickly.

“I’m gonna miss you, Captain Law” she mumbles.

“…I’ll miss you too.” he says, voice low.

You blink. You’ve never heard him say that out loud.

When she lets go, her eyes are red and puffy, but she wipes them on her sleeve like a little soldier. Then she walks with the woman who came to get her, toward the small transport boat.

But just before she steps down the ramp, she stops, turns around, wipes her face and yells, loud as ever “HEY!”

Everyone jumps.

“If you ever give me a little brother or sister,” she says proudly, “I better get to meet them! I’ll be the best big sister in the world!”

Dead silence. Your jaw drops. Law’s eyes widen just slightly.

The crew turns to look at you both and absolutely loses it.

Penguin snorts. Shachi wheezes. Ikkaku starts clapping. Even Bepo chuckles behind a paw.

You and Law look in opposite directions at the same time, completely red-faced, avoiding each other’s eyes like it’s life or death.

“I… what…” you stammer.

“I didn’t…” Law mutters.

Mimi waves from the ramp, beaming “BYEEEE!”

And with that… she’s gone. Leaving behind stunned silence, a warm sea breeze and a very awkward question neither of you has ever asked before.

The door to Law’s studio closes behind you with a soft click. The sound of laughter still echoes faintly down the hall as the crew keeps joking about Mimi’s parting gift.

You and Law don’t say a word.

You wave a hand dismissively toward the corridor like go away, and Law rubs his forehead in quiet frustration as you both walk deeper into the room.

You drop onto the old sofa with a dramatic sigh. Your legs flop over the side “That kid really knows how to drop a bomb” you mumble into a pillow.

Law says nothing. He just walks toward his desk and sits down heavily, glancing at a stack of papers that definitely aren’t important right now.

“…So…” he says.

You raise an eyebrow, still hiding in the couch.

He clears his throat “Have you ever… uh. Thought about… you know.”

You peek at him “About what.”

He doesn’t look at you “A kid. Of your own.”

You squint “Why are you talking like that? You sound like Bepo when he ate spoiled mochi.”

He shoots you a look and you laugh, then immediately groan and hide your face in your hands.

“Oh god, I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this.”

“You didn’t answer” he says.

You peek through your fingers at him “Did you think about it before?”

He shrugs one shoulder “No. Not seriously.”

He stands up and walks over. He kneels in front of you and gently pulls your hands away from your face, exposing your cheeks and all the heat blooming in them.

His voice is soft “But now… I don’t hate the idea.”

Your heart skips. Your mouth opens and for once, no teasing comes out. Just a quiet little truth.

“…Same,” you say “If it’s with you.”

His ears go red. He clears his throat again, standing up abruptly like you just slapped him with a compliment.

“Don’t say stuff like that so easily” he mutters.

You laugh, covering your own red cheeks again “You started it!”

He turns back to his desk, muttering something under his breath.

You’re not sure what he’s thinking. But his shoulders relax a little while his hand lingers on the edge of his chair, like maybe he’s imagining what another little voice in this room might sound like someday.

── .✦ Shanks:

The sun is warm on your shoulders. The smell of grilled fish, sea salt, and cheap beer fills the open-air restaurant. You’re sitting beside Shanks, your legs draped over his lap, one arm around his broad shoulders. He’s laughing loud, one hand resting on your thigh, a bottle in the other.

The Red-Haired Pirates are noisy,talking with full mouths, yelling jokes across the table, getting into friendly fights over who gets the last crab claw.

You’re smiling, head leaning against Shanks’ shoulder, completely relaxed. Then you notice a woman, maybe in her twenties, carrying a small kid, probably two or three years old, on her hip. She’s standing near the entrance, eyes scanning the place fast, like she’s searching for someone. Her brows are drawn tight, lips pressed together.

“Shanks…” you murmur, nudging him with your elbow.

He follows your gaze.

She spots you. Her eyes go wide with something like hope. She walks fast toward your table, clutching the child tighter, muttering “excuse me” as she passes the crew. The little one, a girl, blinks up at everyone with big sleepy eyes. She stops right in front of you.

“Hi,” she says, out of breath “I—Sorry to bother you. I know who you are. You’re Shanks’ crew, right?”

You blink “Uh, yeah. That’s us.”

The woman shifts her weight, bouncing the kid gently “I know this is weird. Really weird. But I—I need help.”

Shanks straightens a little beside you. His arm slides behind your back but he stays quiet, letting you speak first.

“What kind of help?” you ask slowly, looking from the kid to her.

“My babysitter canceled last minute. I’m already late for work—I’ll lose my job if I don’t show up. It’s only for a few hours. Please,” she pleads “I don’t know anyone on this island, and you… well, I’ve seen you in the papers. You’re not bad people.”

You open your mouth to answer, then close it.

The little girl is chewing on her own shirt, blinking at you with big brown eyes. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair’s tied up in a tiny puff.

You glance at Shanks. He’s watching you with that gentle smile of his. His eyes are soft. He doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes your hip lightly, like he’s telling you, Your choice.

“I don’t know anything about kids.” you say, voice low, nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” the woman says quickly “She’s easy. Doesn’t cry much. Her name’s Emi.”

The little girl makes a tiny sound, like she’s trying to say something but decides against it.

You look at Shanks again. He smiles wider.

“I’ll help you,” you say finally, sighing “Only for a few hours.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” the woman breathes. She kisses the kid’s forehead and whispers something into her ear. Then she hands her over to you.

The moment Emi’s in your arms, she goes still. Warm and small. A little heavy. She smells like soap and bananas.

The woman gives you her name, a quick “I’ll be back before sunset.” and then she’s gone.

You sit there frozen. Shanks looks down at Emi in your lap. Then back up at you.

“You look terrified.” he says, chuckling.

“I am terrified.” you whisper.

“Want me to hold her?”

You shake your head slowly “No… I think I got this.”

Then Emi sneezes on your chest.

“Okay,” you groan “Maybe not.”

Shanks is already laughing.

At first, Emi just… sits there. On your lap. Quiet, blinking, nose still a little runny. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t move much either. Just holds a tiny stuffed rabbit in one hand and sucks her thumb with the other.

You’re stiff as a mast. Shanks drapes his arm around your shoulders, whispering in your ear, “You’re holding her like she’s a bomb.”

“I’ve held swords with more confidence...” you mutter back.

He laughs, soft and deep, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear “Try putting her on the bench next to you. Let her get used to everyone.”

You do. Emi shifts to sit beside you, rabbit clutched to her chest. She peeks around the table. The crew watches her like she’s a sea monster that just learned to smile.

“Hi, Emi!” Lucky Roux waves with a toothy grin “Wanna try some pineapple?”

She buries her face in your side.

Yasopp chuckles “You sure she’s not scared of you, Y/N?”

“She should be.” you say dryly.

But over time, it changes. Slowly. Emi starts pointing at things on the table. A shrimp. A spoon. A shiny gold coin someone dropped. You tell her the names. You offer her a piece of soft bread, and she takes it with two hands like it’s a treasure.

An hour later, you’re wiping jam off her chin with a napkin and helping her clap to Benn’s bad humming of a lullaby tune. She giggles when you make a fish face at her. You giggle back. And Shanks is quiet. He watches.

Not in a smug or teasing way. He’s not smirking. He’s not laughing with the others when Yasopp says, “Look at this! Y/N’s got the mom vibe going strong!”

He just… looks.

You glance at him and find his jaw a little tight. His drink untouched. His gaze heavy on you and the child. Like he’s thinking hard about something he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“Captain?” you ask softly.

He blinks, like he’s been pulled out of somewhere far away “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

He nods. Too fast.

Roux leans over with a grin “Hey, Shanks. You gonna put a ring on it if she starts popping out mini Shank’s?”

Everyone laughs.

You feel your face heat up, heart thudding a little “Oh my God—can you all shut up?”

“I want to marry her.” Shanks says suddenly.

Silence. Everyone stares.

You slowly turn to him “What?”

He meets your eyes. His voice is even, but his expression is… different. Calm on the surface, but his eyes are darker than usual “If she wanted that too. Yeah.”

You feel Emi rest her head on your arm, yawning, rabbit smushed between her face and your side.

You’re not sure what to say. The crew fumbles between teasing and trying not to look too shocked.

Shanks finally looks away, picking up his drink again.

Benn watches him for a long second. Then quietly says, “Alright, alright. Let’s not scare the kid, huh?”

And just like that, the noise starts up again. Jokes. Laughter. Loud plates. Big bites.

But Shanks doesn’t joke anymore, and you don’t miss the way he keeps looking at you like there’s something he’s not saying. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

Then everything fall falls apart when Emi gets bored.

One minute she’s snuggled against you, soft and sleepy, her rabbit tucked under her chin. The next she’s on her feet, running full speed down the middle of the open-air tavern, arms flapping like wings.

“EMI!” you shout, scrambling to follow her.

Your drink spills. A spoon clatters to the ground. Shanks laughs under his breath and gets up with you, already moving.

She darts under a table where two drunk fishermen are playing cards, crawls past their feet like some kind of tiny demon, and pops up between a tray of grilled squid and a candle.

“I got her!” Yasopp calls out, lunging, but Emi ducks and keeps running, laughing wildly now, barefoot and fast.

“She’s gone feral!” Lucky Roux howls.

“Shanks!” you bark, spinning around helplessly “Stop laughing and HELP!”

He grins, but there’s warmth in his eyes as he moves quickly, circling the tables “Aye aye, sweetheart.”

You try one side, he takes the other.

“Emi,” he says, crouching low, voice gentle, like he’s speaking to a scared animal “Hey, baby girl. Wanna play a game? It’s called Freeze. Can you freeze?”

She stops. Looks at him. Wobbles on her feet.

You sneak up behind.

“Gotcha!” you grab her mid-spin, lifting her up like a sack of potatoes.

She laughs and squeals, legs kicking.

“She’s a slippery one.” you mutter, holding her close, out of breath.

“I like her spirit,” Shanks says, grinning as he brushes a strand of hair from your face “She reminds me of you.”

You squint at him “You’re not funny.”

The crew starts clapping. Yasopp whistles. Roux raises his mug “Now that’s a team, huh? Look at them. Mom and Dad of the year.”

“Oh, please—” you start, but Shanks just reaches for Emi’s little hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Teamwork, right?” he says softly to her.

She nods. Then sneezes again. Right into his chest.

You burst out laughing this time and say “That’s karma.”

He wipes it off with a napkin like it’s nothing.

You sit back down together, Emi now curled in your lap again, finally tired. Shanks stays close. Not just beside you but with you. Helping. Watching. Smiling softly when Emi dozes off. But he’s still quiet. More quiet than usual.

Your eyes keep drifting to him. The way he’s looking at the girl. The little frown he doesn’t even know he has. The way his hand rests on her back like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He used to be like this with Uta. And Luffy, too. Soft. Present. Gentle.

You haven’t seen that part of him in a long time. You missed it.

“You okay?” you ask under your breath, while the crew starts arguing over dessert.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then finally, “Yeah.”

You stare at him a little longer “Are you lying to me?”

He smiles, but it’s not the usual cocky grin. It’s smaller. Tired.

“I’m not sure what I’m feeling,” he admits “Just… thinking, I guess.”

You squeeze his hand “About what?”

He shrugs, looking down at Emi “About a lot of things.”

And now you are quiet, because something in your chest shifts. Soft. Strange. Familiar.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like you’ve already given him something he thought he’d never have again. Or maybe it’s the way it suddenly feels… real.

You. Him. And this small, chaotic moment that makes everything else disappear.

The sun starts to dip, painting the sky in gold and peach.

You’re still at the tavern, Emi snoring softly on your shoulder, her little fingers tangled in your hair. Shanks sits beside you, quiet. His arm rests behind you, not touching, just there.

And then she returns. The woman bursts through the crowd, her apron flying, face flushed with panic. The moment she sees you, she stops, hands over her heart like she might collapse.

“Oh my god—thank you. Thank you so much,” she breathes, almost crying as she rushes to you “I’m so sorry I took so long. I owe you my life.”

You wave a hand gently “It’s okay. Really. She was good. A little fast—like, sprint-across-the-rooftops fast—but… I had fun.”

Emi stirs and opens her eyes.

“Hi, baby.” the mother coos, arms outstretched. The little girl shifts toward her sleepily, and you pass her over with care. For a second, Emi resists, her hand still reaching for your shirt.

Your heart squeezes a little.

“Thank you again,” the woman says, eyes filled with real gratitude “If you’re ever on this island again, please come find us. I mean it.”

You smile, brushing some crumbs off your lap “Of course. Be safe.”

You watch them go, mother holding daughter close, disappearing into the market crowd. And then it’s just… quiet. Too quiet.

The crew starts packing up, joking softly, but there’s a change in the air. A stillness you don’t like. You look at Shanks.

He’s already looking at you.

Not grinning. Not teasing.

Just watching you with that faraway softness in his eyes, like you’re a slow dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. Like maybe, for a second, he saw something more than just this moment.

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his.

He squeezes back but doesn’t say anything.

The walk to the ship is slow. The crew’s laughing again, arguing about who drank the most, but it’s like the volume’s been turned down. You and Shanks trail behind.

Still no words. Not one.

That night, the sea’s calm. The stars are out. You’re both in your cabin, door closed, boots off.

You lie on your shared bed, watching him stand at the window, shirt half unbuttoned, red hair catching the moonlight, and you’ve had enough. You sit up.

“Alright, Red,” you say, crossing your arms “What’s going on in that dumb, beautiful head of yours?”

He looks over his shoulder, startled “What?”

“You’ve been quiet ever since Emi left. You’ve said maybe ten words total. And I know you. That means you’re thinking. Hard.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck “Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Nope.” You crawl across the bed toward him, poke his side “Try again.”

He sighs “It’s… complicated.”

“So is your face, and I still look at it every day. Try me.”

That gets a small laugh out of him.

You press your forehead to his back “You don’t have to hold things in with me, Shanks. Not the serious stuff. Not the scary stuff. Especially not the stuff that makes your eyes look like that.”

He turns slowly, leaning against the window. You slide your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you too, finally. Breathing in.

“Seeing you with her,” he says softly “With Emi.”

You wait.

“I kept thinking about Uta. About Luffy. About how fast it all went. How I blinked and they weren’t mine to hold anymore.”

You don’t speak. Just hold him tighter.

“And then… I saw you. Just being there. Caring for this tiny stranger like it was nothing. Laughing with her. Holding her. And something in me just… ached.”

You tilt your head up “Ached how?”

He looks down at you, eyes serious now “Like I wanted that with you. And I didn’t even know how much until I saw it.”

The words settle deep inside you.

“You’d be a good father.” you whisper.

“You’d be the best mother.” he says back instantly.

Silence again, but this time it’s full. Of possibilities. Of truths unsaid until now.

“I didn’t say anything,” Shanks adds, brushing a hand through your hair, “because I don’t want you to think I expect that from you. Or that I’m pushing it. I just… couldn’t stop seeing it.”

You lean in and kiss him slow. No rush. No pressure. Just soft and sure.

When you pull away, your voice is warm and quiet “Then keep seeing it. I don’t mind.”

You kiss him. Long, soft, deep.

The kind of kiss that says more than either of you can find the words for. His hands settle on your waist, grounding you, holding you like you might drift away if he lets go. And when you finally break apart, you stay close. Forehead to forehead. Breathing the same air.

Now it’s your turn. You exhale shakily “I always saw you with Uta. And Luffy. The way you held them, talked to them, made them laugh… the way they looked at you.”

Shanks closes his eyes, lips pressed together.

“I used to watch from the deck,” you continue softly, “and I’d think… that. I want that with him. Our own little chaos. Our own quiet moments. Our own family.”

His grip on you tightens just a little. His thumb strokes your hip, slowly.

“I never said anything,” you admit, voice quieter now “Because I thought… maybe you already had your turn. Maybe being a dad again wasn’t something you wanted. Like, maybe Uta and even Luffy were your ‘once in a lifetime’. And I didn’t want to be selfish.”

Shanks pulls back just enough to look at you fully, eyes wide, voice rough “Selfish? Y/N… You have no idea how wrong you are.”

You blink.

He cups your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek “If anything, I was scared you didn’t want that. I never wanted to put that weight on you. My name. My crew. My life.”

You both laugh a little, soft and breathless. And then he says it “I’d love to see a little you run around the ship.”

Your heart does a full spin in your chest. You both collapse back onto the bed, side by side, hands tangled together, staring at the ceiling like it holds the future in its stars.

“I think she’d be loud.” you say, smiling to yourself.

“She?” Shanks grins “You’re already picking sides?”

“I just know. She’d talk back to Benn by the time she could crawl.”

“She’d steal Yasopp’s sake and blame it on Lucky Roux.”

“She’d steal your cape and wear it like a dress.”

“She’d make the whole crew bow to her by age four.”

You laugh. He laughs too. Your fingers tighten around his.

“She’d be soft like you,” he adds suddenly, voice lower now “Kind. But dangerous.”

You glance over at him “She’d be brave like you. Wild, loyal, always smiling.”

He sighs, almost dreamily “I can already hear her little feet running on the deck.”

“And your big voice yelling ‘don’t climb the cannon!’”

You both break into giggles and then silence again, but this time, it’s wrapped in warmth, in hope.

Shanks turns his head to look at you. You’re already looking at him.

“I mean…” he says slowly, raising one eyebrow, “we could start working on that little Y/N… like… right now.”

You gasp “Shanks!”

He smirks wickedly “What? I’m just saying. We’re both here. The ship’s quiet. The moon looks nice. You’re cute. I’m cute. It’s called destiny.”

You snort “You’re impossible—ah!”

He attacks, fingers darting to your sides, tickling, making you laugh and squirm under him.

“Shanks! Stop!”

“Never!” he grins, pinning you lightly with his weight “You’re stuck now. You told me your secrets. I told you mine. That makes us legally married in pirate law.”

You laugh until your cheeks hurt. You wiggle, but he’s strong, gentle, always careful. And then you stop moving. So does he.

Your eyes meet again. Closer now. Breath mingling.

That softness returns. Like a wave pulling you under, not scary. Just deep. Full of something quiet and forever.

You reach up and brush his hair behind his ear.

He leans into your touch.

“Hey,” you whisper “I love you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your palm “And I love you more than I thought I even could.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. No rush.

The kind of kiss that makes the world outside the cabin disappear and maybe, tonight is the beginning of something new.

── .✦ Ace:

The sun is warm, the breeze is salty, and Ace is doing what he always does when he’s not fighting or eating: walking too close to you with that lazy grin on his face.

“You sure you don’t wanna race?” he asks “You lose, you buy lunch.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’ll cheat with your fire.”

“Not true.” He places a hand on his chest, all dramatic “I only cheat if I’m losing.”

You snort “So always.”

He gasps “Betrayal.”

The two of you walk down the main road of a small island town. It’s quiet, peaceful, one of those places that doesn’t care much for bounties or pirate crews. People nod, wave, smile. Ace stretches, yawns, and puts his arm lazily around your shoulder.

“Maybe we should stay here a few days,” he says “Nice change from all the running.”

Before you can answer, a small voice says “Is that Fire Fist Ace?!”

You both turn. Two kids stand by a fruit stall, one boy, maybe six, and an older girl, probably nine. The boy’s eyes are wide. The girl looks like she’s not impressed yet.

Ace grins “Yeah, that’s me.”

The boy lights up “No way! My dad told me you can burn down a whole ship in one punch!”

Ace shrugs, clearly proud “Depends on the ship.”

The girl, however, is staring at you.

Her eyes narrow “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blink “…Her?”

She steps closer, pointing at your waist “You’re the swordwoman who beat that Navy officer in Loguetown. The one who fights with two blades and never loses.”

You look down at her, surprised. She’s serious. Ace whistles.

“Wow,” he says “I didn’t know I was walking around with a legend.”

You nudge him “Shut up.”

The girl keeps going “They say you cut a cannonball in half.”

You sigh “It was already cracked.”

Still, her eyes sparkle. The boy joins in, bouncing excitedly.

“She’s so cool! Are you really pirates?!”

“Guilty,” Ace says, holding up his hands “But friendly pirates.”

“You don’t look friendly...” the girl says.

Ace grins “Good. That’s the point.”

Then the boy tugs at your sleeve “Can I see your sword?”

You crouch to his level “They’re sharp. Not safe for kids.”

He frowns “I won’t touch it. Promise!”

You glance at Ace, who’s watching you closely, smiling like he’s waiting for something. You sigh and slowly pull one of your swords just a little from the sheath, just enough to show the edge. Both kids gasp like it’s treasure.

“Can you teach us how to fight?” the girl asks suddenly.

You blink “You’re nine.”

“So? You were probably younger when you started.”

Ace chuckles “She was.”

You give him a side-eye “Stop helping.”

The little girl folds her arms “You could just show us something. Like a move. Just one.”

You sigh again but you’re smiling now “You’re very stubborn.”

She shrugs “You have to be, if you wanna be strong.”

Ace leans against a wooden post, arms crossed, amused “Sounds familiar.”

You glance at him “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean… yeah.” He grins “It’s the first time someone’s asking you for autographs instead of me. I’m letting it sink in.”

The boy tugs your coat again “Please? One move?”

You finally stand, looking at the open space near the dock “Fine. But just one. Then you leave us alone and go home, got it?”

The kids cheer and run to the clearing.

Ace follows, whistling “You’re gonna start a sword school at this rate.”

You roll your shoulders, then pull your blade halfway out, just enough to flash the steel. You drop into a stance, slow and firm. The kids go quiet. Then, with a sharp breath, you move. One swift, elegant slash through the air, so fast the wind shifts. The tip of your sword stops just above the ground, and your coat flutters around you.

The boy’s mouth hangs open. The girl’s eyes are huge.

Ace whistles “Show-off.”

You sheathe the sword in one clean motion.

The girl points “That was awesome! Can you do it again?”

“No,” you say, but you’re laughing now.

The boy runs over and hugs your leg suddenly “You’re my favorite pirate now!”

You blink, surprised. You pat his head awkwardly “Uh. Thanks?”

Ace watches you, your hand gently resting on the boy’s head, your stance still grounded, strong but soft. You’re not trying to impress anyone. You just exist like this. Capable. Calm. Kind. Something shifts in his chest.

You look up at him “What?”

He shrugs “Nothing. Just… didn’t know you were this good with kids.”

“I’m not,” you say “They’re just clingy.”

The girl now grabs your wrist “Can I hold your sword?”

“No.”

“Can I touch it?”

“No.”

“Can you teach me how to fight like that?”

“No—”

Ace walks over, laughing “C’mon, sweetheart. Be nice.”

You glare at him “You help, then.”

He lifts his hands “Nope. I’m just the fire guy. You’re the star today.”

The boy turns to Ace “Do you two live together?”

You and Ace exchange a look.

He grins “Something like that.”

The girl squints “Are you married?”

You cough “No.”

“Are you gonna be?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Ace just laughs and says, “Wanna help me convince her?”

“YES!” the kids shout in unison.

You groan and walk away “I regret everything.”

Ace follows, hands in his pockets, that lazy smile still on his face, but his eyes stay soft. He watches you gently shoo the kids away, then thank the fruit vendor with a quiet bow. And in that moment, he knows. Clear as day.

“She’s not just strong. She’s not just mine. She’d be the best damn mom the world’s ever seen.”

He doesn’t say it out loud. Not yet. But he’s thinking it. Hard.

You and Ace are sitting under a tree near the edge of the village, sharing a bag of sliced fruit.

“You think they’re gone?” you ask, biting into a juicy piece.

Ace shrugs “Maybe. Or maybe they’re forming a fan club.”

You nudge his leg with your boot “I don’t need a fan club.”

He gives you a lazy grin “No, but you deserve one.”

You roll your eyes, but your ears go a little pink.

Then, a small voice calls from down the road “WE’RE BACK!!”

You groan “No.”

Ace grins “Yes.”

The two kids come running, the boy nearly trips over his own feet and stop in front of you, proudly holding up folded paper sheets.

“Look!!” the girl says, unfolding one “We drew you!”

You blink “…You what?”

They hand you the papers. The drawings are messy, full of wild colors, but so full of heart. One is of you holding two swords, a big smile on your face. Another shows you and Ace together, tiny figures with stars around you. A third shows you with a little kid, sword in hand, standing tall.

You pause at that one. Ace leans over your shoulder to peek. His voice is softer now “Is that supposed to be your kid?”

The girl nods proudly “Yup! We made a story about you! You’re a pirate mom who protects her ship and teaches her kid how to be strong.”

You stare at the page, silent. The boy holds out a few crayons “You can draw too, if you want!”

Before you can say no, he’s already sitting down, opening another paper. The girl joins him. They look up at you, smiling.

“C’mon,” she says “We wanna make a whole crew!”

You glance at Ace. He shrugs, trying to act casual “Up to you.”

You sigh and sit down cross-legged in the grass “Alright. But I’m drawing the captain.”

“That’s YOU!” the boy says.

You raise an eyebrow “I meant me.”

They laugh.

You start sketching. Nothing fancy just simple shapes. You draw yourself with a pirate hat, a tiny sword tucked in your belt. The kids start adding characters around you: themselves, animals, someone with a frying pan who’s probably Ace.

You’re focused, smiling to yourself as you add waves and stars and a sun.

Ace just watches you from where he stands, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. There’s a heat in his chest now that has nothing to do with his powers. It burns deeper. It’s watching your hand gently guide the boy’s when he can’t get the lines straight. It’s hearing you ask, “Want me to draw your pirate flag too?” in that soft, patient voice.

It’s the way you look down at the page like you’re already imagining a future.

“This shouldn’t make me want her more,” he thinks, frustrated “But it does. She’s drawing little pirate stories with them on the grass. She’d be the kind of mom who makes the world feel safe.”

He swallows hard and looks away for a second, like it’ll calm him down... It doesn’t.

You finish your little drawing with a final scribble of wind in the sails.

“There,” you say, holding it up “Captain, crew, and treasure.”

The boy claps “It’s perfect!”

The girl leans over to look “Yours is way cooler than mine.”

“Nah,” you say, nudging her arm “You’ve got better colors.”

They beam like you just handed them gold.

Ace is still standing nearby, arms crossed, pretending to be relaxed, but his jaw is tight.

You glance up at him “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah.” His voice comes out rougher than he means it to. He clears his throat “Just… warm.”

The boy tugs at your sleeve again.

“Hey,” he says, eyes wide with curiosity “Do you have kids?”

You blink. Ace freezes.

The girl adds quickly, “You’d be a really cool mom.”

There’s a beat of silence. Just the wind and the scratching of a crayon. You sit back slowly and shake your head “No. I don’t.”

The boy frowns “Why not?”

You laugh softly “Because I’m still busy being a pirate.”

“But you could be both,” the girl says, very seriously “Like in the drawing.”

You smile at that “Maybe someday.”

Your voice is calm. Light. Like you’re just answering any question. But Ace… Ace is not calm. He watches your face as you say those words “Maybe someday” and his heart lurches. Because now it’s real. Not just a fantasy in his head. Not just a warm thought. You’ve imagined it too now.

He doesn’t say anything. He just walks over slowly and sits down behind you, arms resting over your shoulders as you lean back against his chest.

“You’d be amazing at it.” he murmurs, low so the kids can’t hear.

You glance up “At what?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft and a little wild at the edges, like something’s breaking open inside him “At being a mom. I mean it.”

You pause. Then, quietly, you ask, “You think about that?”

He nods “More than I expected to. More than I ever thought I would.”

The kids are still doodling, totally unaware. You say nothing, but your hand reaches up and rests gently over his. That’s all he needs.

The kids eventually stand up, arms full of drawings and unfinished paper pirate maps.

“We’re gonna go show these to our grandpa!” the girl says.

The boy nods “Thanks for drawing with us!”

You wave, still sitting in the grass “Stay out of trouble.”

The boy grins “Bye, pirate mom!”

You blink “I’m not—”

But they’re already gone.

Ace snorts behind you “Pirate mom, huh?”

You roll your eyes and lean back into him again “Don’t start.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder “Too late. You’ve got the role down already. You give good advice, threaten people just enough, and draw cool flags. What more could a kid want?”

You hum “A dad who doesn’t set the house on fire?”

He grins “I’d try to keep it contained.”

You laugh, light and warm “You’d accidentally roast our laundry.”

“Okay, yeah, but I’d teach them how to blow stuff up responsibly.”

You fake-think “Hmm. Dangerous. But useful.”

He smiles, but then falls quiet. You feel the shift instantly. His arms wrap tighter around your middle.

“You were really sweet with them.” he says softly.

You shrug “They were cute.”

“You were cuter.”

You snort “Gross.”

“No, seriously,” he murmurs “I was watching you and thinking… like, really thinking—”

He breaks off, then tries again “That I wanna see you like that again. With… our own.”

You smirk “You mean with a mini version of me bossing you around?”

He groans “Oh god. A tiny you would be terrifying.”

“Admit it. You’d love it.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I would,” he says, suddenly serious “I really would.”

You look up at him. He’s already looking down at you, eyes soft, mouth slightly parted, like he’s realizing it all over again.

You tilt your head, grinning “You’re so obvious, Ace.”

“Am not.”

“You were practically glowing while I helped that kid draw a sword.”

“I was not glowing!”

“You sighed like five times.”

“I didn’t—”

“You had your sappy ‘I’m in love’ face on.”

“I always have my sappy in love face on.”

You laugh, twisting in his arms to face him fully “True.”

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m serious though,” he murmurs “Someday. I’d want that. With you.”

Your voice softens “Yeah. Me too.”

You kiss him slow, sure, and just a little teasing, then pull back with a grin “But if the kid turns out chaotic like you, I’m blaming your genes.”

He laughs against your mouth “Deal. But if they’re scary with a sword by age seven, that’s all you.”

You smirk “We’ll make a terrifying little pirate together.”

“Perfect.” he says, smiling like he already sees it.

[andraxicated]

yacht sex with sylus purrrr

tags: nsfw | p in v | fingering | dirty talk | every filthy shit my cooch can think of | reverse cowgirl into the sunset

Summer with Sylus is always composed of luxurious trips and tiny designer bikinis that barely cover your skin. And him, looking like an absolute snack with his abs basking in the glow of the afternoon sun. He has sunglasses on, and yet he feels you checking him out before making a move on him. You climb to his lap like a kitten, and his arm naturally goes to your waist to secure you on top of his cock.

"Wow, someone's excited" You tease, slotting yourself perfectly for him to feel the throb of your pussy.

"I don't think I'm the only one who's excited, sweetheart" He removes his sunglasses and places it on the table. Caressing your face before tucking stray hair behind your ear. "May I check?"

"Thought you'd never ask" You whisper as your lips go for each other in a passionate kiss. He graces you with his tongue, and you let him in as he moves your panty to the side to feel the wetness. He groans as you immediately soak his fingers, entering his large finger and slushing more of your goodness. You pull away to take a breath, but he catches you with his lips, not letting you go as he adds another finger to the mix and moves with a fast pace. You squirm in his hold, feeling the high that builds up as you tighten your hands around his shoulders. You melt deeper in the messy kiss to ground yourself as you approach your high, but Sylus has other plans to make you cum. He pulls his fingers away and you frown, yet he only smirks and lets you watch him put his fingers in his mouth.

"Fuck me now."

"No kitten, let's watch the sunset. You said you wanted to watch the sunset on my yacht, didn't you?"

You furrow your brows and huff, "Yes, I did...but I want you right now too"

Sylus smiles and turns you to face the incoming orange glow in the sky. He nibbles on your ear, kisses your cheek, and whispers, "Why don't we watch the sunset together while you ride me, hmm? So we can fulfill both of my pretty girl's wishes?" He wastes no time untying the bra of your bikini, his huge hands cupping your pussy as he massages them before tearing the panty to the side.

You gasp, "Sylus! That was Dior!"

"You have plenty of Dior stuff, baby." He lines up his bulbous head to the entrance of your pussy and penetrates your walls, pounding you upwards as his thick thighs slap against your own. He has his grip on your waist like a steering wheel, guiding you to move your ass to his rhythm.

Obscene sounds come out of your mouth as he continues to drop you on his cock. He meets your body as he batters your insides up, relishing the feeling of your warm walls sliding on his cock. He throws his head back as you squeeze on him. Your whines music to his ears. He knows he's the only one who can make you feel this good. Sylus' cock is the only thing you'd bounce on, and he swore you shake your ass just for him, just like what you're doing right now.

"That's it kitten, move that body."

The sun is forgotten from his view, all his focus on the jiggle of your sexy ass and how his cock disappears into you. But you, who have the perfect view of the sunset, feel high in the sky with all the ecstasy you're feeling. You bounce as hard as you can, impaling yourself on his hard cock even if it tears you apart and your hips hurt. You cry out his name, and he shushes you with pecks. "You can do it, continue."

Sylus hurts so good, along with the butterfly kisses and bites he presses to your back to motivate you. Your gaze flutters at the setting sun, reflecting on the water beautifully, making you want to kiss him because the moment is perfect. But it's like your minds are linked because Sylus suddenly grabs your chin and kisses you like there's no tomorrow. He pistons in and out faster, creating wet sounds from your pussy, and you can already feel the incoming soreness tomorrow. Such a thick cock penetrating you always leaves you limping like a lamb. Sylus presses his head strategically against your sweet spot, targeting it like a game as you falter in his hold. You ended up letting him hit your womb while laying on his chest to lazily look at the view as he does all the work.

He chuckles, "Leaving all the work to me? That's not nice" Sylus repositions and manhandles you like a doll. His muscled arm hooks under both of your thighs, lifting your body close to him as he administers his final thrusts for you take it like a good girl "Your pussy is so tight, fuck"

You cry and bounce to help him climax, snaking your arm to the back of his head to pull him in for another messy kiss. He responds hungrily as his cockhead beats up your cunt a few more times before you pull away to scream into the sun, shaking and overstimulated by the release you just had. Your contracting walls and cum washing over his dick triggers his own high, groaning deeply into your neck as you caress his hair while warm sticky liquid floods your insides. You're so used to having him raw that the feeling of his cum adds to your climax and relaxes you. You don't even mind the mess he made between your legs.

Sylus stays inside and soothes your lower body with his massages, knowing they were dead after all the exercise you did. He calms you down and peppers kisses all over your face before landing on your lips. You look up at him and smile, hiding your face on his chest before staring at the sun going down the horizon.

"Round 2 in the shower?"

You ask and his dick twitches back to life inside you.

[leafyeyes417]

Slightly to the left

(Okay so I read this post LINK and I had a duplicate brainwave split off and came up with this. Read the original post though, it’s really good.)

—————————————————————————

Danny sighed, sitting in the Gotham Cemetery. Clockwork had told him to come and rescue a newly undead from his grave at a specific time. A Jason Todd. He had a bunch of items prepared for after the guys revival. A hoodie, some food and water, a blanket (because sometimes there is cold and then there is cold), and some ectoplasm, though that was only for himself.

Looking at his watch, he saw he had another 10 minutes. He released another sigh, sitting on the second blanket he laid down to keep from getting dirty. He turned his head a minute later, hearing a faint crunch of footsteps. He frowned. Why was someone showing up when he was about to rescue someone from a grave?

Soon the person in question appeared in the gloom. He was broad shouldered, on the taller side, dark hair with blue eyes. The man stopped a distance away, frowning.

“What are you doing? This isn’t a place to make trouble in.” He said sternly.

Danny raised an eyebrow, glancing at his watch. 3 minutes left. “I’m here on a job. I’m just waiting for the correct time to proceed.” Danny answered. Normally he wouldn’t answer so easily but he had a feeling there was shenanigans involved of the Clockwork variety.

The man’s face twisted slightly, an unreadable expression flashing across his face. “What kind of job would have you waiting in a cemetery? Are you planning on grave robbing or something?”

Danny huffed. “You want to know? Name first.”

Growling slightly, a strained, “Bruce Wayne.” was gritted out.

Danny paused. “Bruce Wayne? Adopted father of Jason Todd here?”

Bruce glared. “Speak. Now. What are you planning to do to Jason’s grave?!”

Danny waved a hand. “Well, it’s your lucky day. In fact, I’m here to empty it, since it is no longer necessary.”

Bruce paused, confused. “No longer necessary?”

Danny nodded. “Yep.” Glancing at his watch, he noted it was right on time. “Time for me to get Jason free. One moment.” Then he laid down, intangibility over him as he leaned down, reaching, his hand finally grabbing a grasping hand. Soon a newly revived Jason Todd was on the blanket next to him.

Bruce himself was a mess. Jason was alive?! His previous questions and observations had disappeared like smoke, his entire focus on Jason. He barely had the frame of mind to let himself be directed to allow Jason into the hoodie and be wrapped in a blanket as he hugged Jason. Tears slipped down his cheeks, he would be able to make up for his mistakes, anything for his son.

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Part 5)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader, mentions of death/dying, cursing

taglist: @fknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams @babygirl-panda19 @picnicinthegarden @96jnie @xxfaithlynxx @wrimaira @reni502 @lazypostfandomer @augustdxjiminx @hey-airam @vevlvtcherie @marquitas-en-verano @ma-cherie-lovely @zeskyzed @imnikki @shiorihoshino @mentaltrouble2201 @sylustoru @imaginarytheatre @seris-the-amious @zoyadarling @sanghyuksgasolinestationscream @young-adult-summer @iamawkwardandshy @r0ckb1n @openthenyoor01 @malleus-draconias-rose @syyyy4ever @yutterfly @xsammijoanneex @reni502 @animegamerfox @hao-ming-8 @angelicspaceprince @codedove @bxtchopolis @nommingonfood @esylwen @phisen @gojosbedwarmer @rubyninja1 @lemonn015 @cordidy @blueesmiski @yunhogrippers @sleepykittenenergy @thatsbunnysmind @lumi-s-garlic @splaterparty0-0 @soulaandshere @sillyfeeakfanparty (OMG I CAN'T TAG ANYMORE HELP)

note: one last part next. and a big thank you to the love on this series. y'all make me wanna cryyyyy 🥹🥹🥹

Masterlist

Sylus eyes flickered over the screen scanning every area in N109 Zone’s security cameras hoping in one of them he'll see you but for some reasons he can't.

The frustration is slowly creeping to his skin. He doesn't like the obvious fact that you left him with no explanation, that he is too late. That it took him long enough before giving you the assurance that you needed.

But most of all, he didn't like it that he inflicted such an amount of pain on you that you had to leave him quietly.

For every moment that passes without any news of you, Sylus can feel the anxiousness in him double in numbers. He won't stay still. He needs to find you now.

He grabbed his jacket and was about to get his keys when he heard footsteps approaching his directions.

He hoped that it was you. That you decided to finally come back and maybe hear him out. He quickened his steps but when he saw the red link on his wrists glowing, immediate disappointment consumed him.

“Sylus, I kept calling you but I was sent straight to voicemail," she said with a pout.

“MC, now is not a good time. Please take your leave." he coldly said.

It made her frown and he knew that she's not used to him saying no to her. But it had to be done. He didn't define a proper boundary before and now his life is a mess so even if it's late, he will do his best to straighten up his act.

Maybe if he did this the heavens would smile at him and make you go back to him.

“MC? I thought I'm Miss Hunter? Or Kitten? What happened? Did Mephisto throw that away by the window?"

He just stood there unmoving. Hearing her say that is an additional punch to the gut. Sylus didn't hide anything from you including this. And even if he can't control what he feels, he should've taken control of the things he says.

It's not right to call her those pet names when you exists and it must've been hell for you to hear that rolling off his tongue so naturally.

"I said leave.” he finally managed to get a word out of his mouth.

“Why? I thought we were spending time together to establish our connections? For us to get synced when using our evols?” She inquired with an obvious irritation in her face.

If it were before he lost you, he might have laughed and teased her about it and will add a little bit of sass to rile her up more.

But now? All he can think about is how insensitive he is. An asshole even.

No wonder she left.

No. He can't think like that. He needs you back and he will do everything to see you tonight.

Sylus took a deep breath. He can feel his brows twitching. Every second wasted here is a risk for your safety and what if you come back and see her? What would you think?

He doesn't know exactly why you left but he is not stupid to not know that it has something to do with Miss Hunter.

“I don't want to have any connections with you," Sylus answered.

“What do you mean?"

“See this link?" He asked and showed her his wrist.

“Yes. That connects us, right? You, me, grew from the same soil, kindred spirits like you said." She recounted their previous conversations.

“Good. Now I want us to get rid of it. I want you to get rid of it."

Sylus can see the gears in her head turning at every word he says. He knows he's asking for too much. She doesn't even remember cursing him but Sylus is desperate. He needs to find you and he needs this connection to finally be broken.

He can live without half his soul. He's been doing that for a while now, but he cannot live without you.

"Are you out of your mind?” She exclaimed, "I don't even know how we got tied together and now you want me to break it?”

Sylus is losing hope. He doesn't want her to remember. What's the point? It will hurt her, it will make all of this complicated … but he also needs to break free from this curse.

He will make this conversation quick. He needs to get this out of the way.

“Y/N is missing," he said. “She left me and I know it's because of my own stupidity, but it also has something to do with this bond, MC."

“I-I don't understand,"

“I will explain, but not now.” Sylus met her gaze making sure she understands every word he says, "A lot has happened in the past and it had something to do with a curse that binds me to you in every life we live. And you know what's the worst part? We're always doomed. We don't get to be really happy. I always end up dead and you end up killing me … grieving me.”

Recalling it all, it leaves a bitter taste in his tongue. Always cursed to die, to suffer. To love her but always end up dead. It drained him of hope, of joy, of life.

"It made me who I am today because of all those experiences. Living day to day just to wait for the time that I'll die. But that changed here. It changed because of Y/N. I get to experience the things that I thought I was desensitized of. She made me hope that I can break free of this cycle.”

Sylus held her hand. Begging.

“So please, think of it. Help me find a way to break this cycle."

With a single tear and a shaky voice he begged. “Please let me go."

"Let me go!” You screamed and tried to kick Luke and Kieran. "Get off me!”

"No can do, Madame. You need to go home. Boss Man is going crazy looking for you.” Kieran said. "He's flipping the base inside out just to find you.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “Ah so he does remember I exist? I was so close to being free and you just have to drag me back."

Indeed, you're so close to leaving the N109 Zone. Just one step and you're out of their radar but just before you can run, Mephisto’s blocking your way followed by Luke and Kieran.

“I know you've been having a hard time lately and the boss is really at fault. But come home for now. It's dangerous out here. He has a lot of enemies and they won't hesitate to use you to their advantage.” Luke said. “Plus, he has alerted everyone of his trusted alliances and the whole base to guard every entrance and exit in N109 Zone. Even if you manage to step outside you'll be dragged back home.”

“Fine. I guess I have no choice." All that running and hiding just to come back to base and it's not because you want to, but because you can't. You're sure that the moment you run, Mephisto is already tailing you and alerting everyone. Plus, you can't really outrun a bird.

“If you really want to leave, and you have enough reasons, Boss is not heartless enough to cage you. I know that you know it very well." Kieran said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You didn't give him an answer. You just walked with them to their car and closed your eyes. You can hear the twins updating Sylus that you're with them.

Right … Once you get home, you have no choice but to face the inevitable. You planned to just leave him be and let him live his life with Miss Hunter, but he just has to find you when you don't want to be found.

You're too busy thinking of every possibile thing that you'll say to Sylus and didn't notice the time it took before the car stopped in front of his home. Luke and Kieran left you saying something about giving you privacy. You can't really tell. You're not paying much attention.

Just as you were stepping down from the car, you saw Miss Hunter. Anger bubbled in your chest. You're here being dragged back home with the thought that he's looking for you because he cares but then you're gonna see her here?

You were about to march back to the car when you saw the state that Miss Hunter is in. Her eyes are puffy and red. Looked like she cried. Once she saw you, she avoided your gaze and muttered a brief “I'm sorry," and left.

It was weird. What's happening?

Behind her you saw Sylus running for his life. Immediately, you thought that he's running after her. That's the natural order of things right?

“You're back, you're really back." His hard body slammed yours and you were engulfed in a tight hug. You can feel his erratic heartbeat and his shaking hands that cradle the back of your head.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?"

You looked at him. Your heart is splitting in two.

This is your Sylus. This is the Sylus you loved. The one who only looks at you. The one that loves you.

He's back.

But why now? Why now when you decided that you're done? You tear your gaze away from him.

“Sweetie, please say something." He begged, cupping your cheeks to make you look at him.

“I know I have not been a good boyfriend, but please hear me out, okay?” His voice breaks as he talks to you. You can hear fear, desperation and sadness in them. “I love you, I really do and I'm choosing you. I'm choosing us —”

A hiccup escaped from your lips. Since when did you start sobbing? You didn't know. But your tears are free flowing now. All the hurt that you kept hidden is now out in the open.

“But you left. You left me. You chose her. You always choose her." you said. Like a kid who lost her precious toy, you cried and hit Sylus's chest. “I know everything. You don't have to lie. Sweet Evil Trap, huh? Half of your soul? I know that. I read them in your journal."

“How can you tell me you love me when you have her? You were waiting for her. Not just once but in every lifetime." You sobbed as he pulled you to a hug. He didn't say a word. He just let you pour your heart out.

“All I wanted was one dinner with you. A time for just the two of us, but you're so ready to ditch me because she called. A-and I realized that no matter what you say, that no matter how much you tell me you love me, I can't really compete with her because you don't love me as much as her."

You tried to pull away from him but he just held you closer.

"That's not true, no, no, I love you. No one else. It's just complicated, darling. We have this bond —”

You snapped and pushed him away.

"That stupid bond again! How many times do I have to hear that? How many times do I have to be slapped by the fact that I do not have any connection with you? That you need to discard me as soon as possible to be with your soulmate!?”

He grabbed your wrist when you tried to walk away. “Listen to me first! Yes, there's a bond connecting us but I want it gone! AND IT'S NOT A FUCKING SOULMATE BOND IT'S A CURSE!"

He raised his voice at you and that made you shut up. He never yells at you. This is the first time. And you expect anger to fill his eyes but it's pure sadness and pleading that you give him a chance to tell his truth.

“Sylus,"

“It's a curse, alright? She cursed me to always have my soul tied to her. Yes we did have a past, it was beautifully tragic. She had to kill me. I had her kill me so I could save her. But it gets tiring over time. It gets tiring to always live just to die. I relived that life multiple times and I was not happy anymore.”

You see his tears flowing now. You want to wipe them away but you're stoned in place still trying to process what he said. So when he kissed your hand, you didn't pull away. You saw that it gave him a little relief so you let him continue.

“And then you came. You came and changed everything. For once, I wanted to be happy again. To be selfish again. To live for as long as I can just to be with you. I may have been a fool as of late, but that's the life that I was accustomed to.”

"Once she's here, I know it's a matter of time for me to die and I willingly throw myself in there. Because that's the fate I have to live. And this bond? This energy linkage makes sure that I hurt every time I try to defy my fate. But because of you, for once I have the desire to take control of my life again.”

You cannot stop crying now hearing all of that. He wipes your tears with his thumb and planted kisses on your temple. You mustered the courage to reach for his face and wipe the wetness off his cheeks. He leaned in to your touch savoring every moment.

“I talked to MC, I asked her to help me break the curse she bestowed upon me." He said kissing your palm. “I'm choosing you, sweetie. I'm choosing this life. So please, please let me make it up to you?"

You take a deep breath. You have decided.

"I love you. So, so much,” you gave him a quick kiss. "And thank you for choosing to live your life as your own.”

His hold on your hand tightens, "Baby, please.”

"But I still need to leave.” New waves of tears flowed from the both of you. "I know that you're telling me the truth and you're genuine, but the problem here is not just in your situation with MC but with the conflict on myself as well.”

"Sylus, I'm insecure and I'm having a hard time accepting that you're choosing me. In my head you're saying this because you're guilty. Because you're a good person and you can't bear to see me hurting so you're sacrificing your own happiness just to cater to me.” you said.

“Do you see the point I'm making? I acknowledge your bravery for choosing us, for choosing your happiness, but I also have to make this decision, Sylus. The hurt I felt won't be mended and healed just because you told me all of that. So I need to go away for some time. To heal, and find it in myself to trust you without any speck of doubt. You get me right? If I don't do this, I will just end up hurting you more because I am broken.”

“I need time, Sylus. Time to process and heal. And if by the time we see each other again and you're still feeling the same thing and I am as well, then maybe we'll go from there."

It was hard for Sylus but he knows that you need this. That you both need this. So despite not liking the idea of you leaving and the fear of the possibility that you won't be back, he nods his head. It was his own fault that you're thinking that way. He broke you and mere words are not enough to mend your heart.

He will live his life as his own. He will hope that you will keep him in your heart because he is sure that he won't be able to find anyone to love aside from you.

“I understand, darling." he replied, “I am so sorry for putting you through that, but please know that I love you and if ever you find it in your heart to come back to me, you know where to find me."

That same night, you packed your bags and left the N109 Zone. Sylus took you to Linkon. He remembered looking at your back as you walked away. Your shoulders obviously shaking as you cry.

That night was the night that Sylus felt the loneliest he has ever been. That night, Sylus wished that you'll find happiness and come back to him.

But if you don't?

Then he'll just be content and happy that even for a brief time it felt like he truly lived again.

OMG last part? Hmm Yes, No, Maybe so?

Reactions, reblogs and comments are welcome please let me hear them. Thank youuuu

[thekinslayed]

A Kitten Among Dragons

summary | In an attempt to close their growing distance, Aemond visits his sweet sister to find her accompanied by a furry friend.

pairing | prince regent!aemond targaryen x younger sister!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! v innocent reader, dry humping, making out, aemond teaches his sister dirty things 🫢, slight manipulation, big bad aemond creams his pants LMAO

wordcount | 3.4k

note | this idea came after my heavy disappointment of not having the cats included in the show mixed with the hc that peepaw def favors his granddaughters :) didn't intend this for be this smutty, but i got carried away oopsie

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated! (divider graphic link)

It was hard to deny that Aemond had neglected you as of late. Between organizing battle strategies with Cole, sitting on his brother’s council, and dealing with his own... problems, the second son hadn’t so much spared a brief visit to his younger sister to check on her wellbeing. It was a notion so unlikely of him, you were his favorite after all. This headache of a war was driving them apart, and he would be direly bereft if he would lose you next. Anyone but you. 

But duty was always calling, even more frequent now that he was regent. Hence, as soon as he had dismissed his council, his feet led him quickly to your door. What greeted him was most certainly a surprise, with you on your knees on the floor, bent over while fixating on something underneath your bed.

“Come, kitty! Why do you hide? There is nothing to be afraid of!”

When his initial shock had surpassed, his confusion promptly followed. Aemond cleared his throat, gathering your attention. You turned your head to look at him, greeting him with a quick “Oh hello, Aemy”, before returning your attention to the floor. Your arm was buried underneath the wooden frame in an attempt to reach the little creature, making you huff in exertion.

“What are you up to, my sweet?” your brother asked, approaching your kneeling form. He was tempted to mirror your position to take a peek, but he remained standing. 

“I– Gods, hold on, I can feel her. Come on, little one!”

His brow raised when you finally pulled out the critter from beneath your bed, a triumphant smile spreading on your face. It must have been one of the cats brought by Otto after Aegon had hung all of the ratcatchers. They were littered about the keep, some quite diligent with actually catching vermin while most merely hung about and shat everywhere. Such creatures did not interest Aemond, hence the look of contempt on his face at the one you carried like a babe. 

It was a furry little thing, fur white as snow, but its paws gray as though they were dipped in ash. A green ribbon was tied around its neck, no doubt of your doing. “Why are you keeping one of those things? They are not to be pets,” he scolded, which earned him a frown from you.

“She is my pet. Grandsire gave her to me before he left,” you reasoned, sulkily walking away to plop down on your chaise. Your brother had followed suit, settling beside you to watch you play with the feline on your lap. It looked to be quite young, quivering on its frail legs in an attempt to stand. You watched it with a fond smile, stroking its soft fur. “I have little companion as of late, though she has kept me quite entertained,” you told him.

He couldn’t deny the pang of guilt at your words. Before the war, you had been practically glued to the hip. His days were spent by your side, in the quiet aisles of the library, under the warm sun in the gardens, even in the skies with Vhagar. You would wake early enough to catch him training in the yard, before sharing a meal immediately after. Aemond was your constant companion, your fiercest protector. The war had changed much of that, and he was the only one to blame. 

The prince scooted closer to your side, breathing in your sweet scent. It was one he dearly missed, had thought about on the journey from his victory in battle. “I am sorry, sister. ‘Tis my fault, I have neglected you too much,” he said, covering your hand with his calloused palm. The sparing glance you bestowed him was an arrow straight to his heart, and a stab to his soul when you pulled away, lowering to sit on the floor to play with your kitten instead. It was silent, save for the quiet giggles that bubbled from your lips as it chased the frilly handkerchief you dangled around. 

He figured you were right to keep your space from him, to save yourself from being tainted by his blood-stained hands. You were so good, so pure. You were the best of all of them. It was by some miracle that an innocent being like you was born into their sludgy, miserable lot. You were saved from the madness of a Targaryen, and the greed of a Hightower. No, you were formed from the Mother’s rib, brought into the world with lightness and purity. 

His mother was right to keep you sheltered away, brought devoutly under the faith of the Seven so you may be guided into the righteous path. Perhaps they just might spare you from this brutality, this hell. They may have not saved poor Helaena, but Aemond prayed there was still hope for you. 

A little feline was what you are, in a den full of dragons. Despite the dragonfire in your blood, the egg in your cradle did not hatch. It only hardened into stone after years of hoping, of fruitless waiting. It was what tethered you to Aemond in the first place, forming a formidable bond in your shared isolation. And then he claimed Vhagar, had lost his eye, and then he was not the same. You remained devoted to him regardless, uncaring of cutting yourself on his sharp edges. He was all broken glass, and you were the most pristine porcelain no hand could ever forge. 

“They have brought Aegon back, haven’t they?” you asked quietly, still focused on your cat. Aemond helplessly stared at the back of your head, clenching his fist to prevent the urge to caress your head. You wanted your space, and he would respect that.

“Yes, have you gone to see him?” he replied, to which you responded with a shake of your head. “No?” Your pale tresses swayed with your movement, light and soft like feathers. You had ceased waving the embroidered cloth in your hand, fidgeting with its laces instead. Aemond could only watch as you shifted to hug your knees, head dipping. 

“I am frightened,” you whispered. 

“Of what?” he asked in concern.

“That I won’t be able to recognize him.” Your words made him pause with an odd throb in between his ribs. There was no doubt the state of unrepair the elder was in. All marred flesh, and broken bones. He had lost half a head of hair, and his right ear melted like the Conqueror’s armor that had been plastered to his flesh. It was no sight for you to gaze upon. 

Aemond had a hand in his brother’s agony, there was no denying it. But the fool was in his way. Aegon had been told to do one thing, and yet he had failed to even accomplish such a simple task. He was not needed on the field, nor anywhere else, really. Rook’s Rest was not his battle to fight, but Aemond’s. Although, the younger might have him to thank in the grand scheme of things. His brother’s idiocy made him regent, protector of the realm. Aemond had expected you to be proud of him, to be the first to run into his arms in glee with his new position, but you couldn’t be any farther away from him now.

“My own family has felt like strangers as of late. Mother won’t let me come to the Sept with her anymore, Helaena hasn’t been herself since….” you mentioned, finally turning to face him. Though it had only been as quick as a blink, for you have reclused yourself once more, returning your gaze to your pet. It was amusing itself now, rolling around on the embroidered carpet while wiggling its legs. “I scarcely recognize you.”

His frown deepened at your words, even more so at your indifference. It was true. He had not been himself as of late. He had let his weakness get to him, had allowed his temper to go unmanaged. In a pathetic attempt at reprieve, he let his feet lead him to a place that had scarred him, to a person whom he sought a false sense of comfort. She would never give him that, nor the touch that would effectively soothe him. He had only ever found it in one person, in you. Yet he would not begrudge you, despite all his greed.

But Aemond was weak for all that you would give him, if any at all. He could never go long without the sweet home he found in your arms, in every kiss you would bestow on his scars. In a bold attempt, he reached forward to place his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly. “I am still me, hāedar,” he said, gentle and warm. Such manner of speech was unlike the cold, one-eyed Kinslayer, but here, in the quiet of your chambers, he was neither of those things. Not in your presence. A budding hope only ever sparked brighter when you met his good eye, wide-eyed like a doe. You had mother’s eyes, beautifully round, yet none of the sorrow that dampened her brown orbs. Aemond could only hope it stayed that way. 

You leaned into his touch when he cupped your jaw, pressing a soft kiss into the inside of his wrist. It was then your brother finally sank to the floor, sitting flush beside you. With a gentle urge, he opened his arms, beckoning you closer. You were all too eager to bury yourself into his warmth, arms finding their home around his neck. Your melancholic sigh wisped the ends of his hair while he planted a kiss on yours, aquiline nose breathing in the familiar scent of rosemary in your hair. “I prayed for you, lēkia,” you mumbled, lips pressed into the pale expanse of his neck. Your warmth was immediately missed as soon as you pulled away to look at him. “I prayed the gods would protect you in battle, and they did,” you told him, to which he smiled at fondly. Though it was shortlived, for you had frowned at the thought of your other brother who laid in your father’s bed, barely holding onto his life. “Though I hadn’t prayed enough for Aegon, and look what happened to him now.”

Tears had started to dampen the corner of your eyes in a flash, lips quivering downwards. One had been traitorous enough to roll down your cheek, leaving its trail on your flesh. Aemond was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. Large, calloused hands cupped your face, urging you to look at him. “No, sweetling,” he soothed, planting a kiss on your cheek. Thin lips caught every salty droplet that escaped your eyes, shushing the sob that had you hiccuping. Your brother pulled you in close, flush to his chest, to his heart. The heart that only ever beat for you. “Be easy on yourself, sister. The gods have decided our brother’s fate, there is naught else you could’ve done.” His tone was firm as he spoke, though never harsh. With a sniffle, you nodded, before planting a kiss on Aemond’s cheek, a sign of your silent gratitude. The small touch alone had warmed his entire being, had his blood running hotter than it already did. It was agonizing that you remained unaware of what you do to him, of how easily you could make him weak. He could only sigh as you planted your forehead against his. “C-can you do that again?” he whispered. “Please?”

You obliged, planting a kiss on his cheek, then one on the other side. His arm kept you close, silently urging you to swing your leg over his hips to straddle his lap. His loins were starting to stir underneath your warmth, only taking a mere second the moment he felt your weight. Such was your power. You continued to pepper kisses across his face, unaware of how your brother could feel the pulsating from your pearl. With a tilt of your head, you pressed your lips against his in a peck, taking him by surprise. “Aemy,” you had said against his lips. A dreamy hum was his only response, his good eye closed from the dizzy haze you left him. “Do you suppose we could try what you taught me last time?” 

The devil between your thighs resisted the urge to smirk at your request, oozing with desire. He raised a brow at you in question, tilting his head to the side. “Last time?” he asked, feigning curiosity. You bit your lip timidly, absentmindedly trailing your fingertip in circles on his collar. 

“Yes, when you showed me how to…” you trailed off, looking at him with hope. 

“How to what, darling? Tell me,” he urged. You shifted about in his lap, timidly looking away. A squeeze on your hips encouraged you to use your words. “To do that thing with… with my tongue.”

Aemond’s grin widened at your words, utterly triumphant. With a nod, he urged you closer, reconnecting his lips to yours. He started with a simple kiss, then with a thumb on your chin, he propped your mouth open and his tongue slithered into your warm cavern. It had prompted you to do the same, following his lead by licking into his mouth. The hot muscle was quite rough with the little dots that functioned to make you taste, and he had such a distinct flavor that felt quite different from your own.

You tried to keep up with his pace, adorably enough, visibly out of breath once you both pulled away. Your cheeks held a slight tinge of a flush, running straight across the bridge of your nose. Aemond pinched your cheek between his fingers, nudging his nose against yours. “You are quite good, sister,” he teased, chuckling amusedly when you blushed. Your lips stayed connected for longer, exchanging tongues and spit in an easy, unrushed manner that made Aemond feel woozy as though his body was lightened by poppy milk. Through the blissful fog he found himself in, the silver-haired prince started to feel your hips squirm, subconsciously rubbing against his cock.

With a whine, you pulled yourself away. “It hurts,” you frowned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“What hurts, my love?” he asked, ignoring the thumping in his ears in anticipation. He had to be patient in his efforts, calm, lest he scare you away.

Your fingertips found the hem of your skirts, lifting the green fabric to your hips to expose your smallclothes. A damp spot had created a mark in between your thighs, glistening with your arousal. Aemond gulped, resisting the urge to palm the growing stiffness in his breeches at that moment.

Gods, you were going to be the death of him.

“Does it always hurt?” he asked, mouth growing dry at the sight of you. 

“No, but it did the last time we did this. Though it has grown quite uncomfortable this time around,” you pouted. 

What a sweet, innocent little thing you were. There was no doubt you held no knowledge about these things. Your sheltered upbringing and strict lessons from the Septa have left you thinking that the ways of the flesh are of sin, only to be done between man and wife. But gods, there was a world out there Aemond wished to show you. Mother would have to forgive him for many things he has done, including teaching his sister such debauchery. Better him than anyone else, he supposed.

“I can help take that pain away if you want,” he offered. 

“Won’t that be wrong, brother? Septa Luelle said—”

“I know, sweetheart, but it won’t be anything like that, I promise.” Your eyes flickered to look into his good eye as you contemplated, resolve crumbling with the comforting smile he offered you. It only widened as you nodded, his slim cheeks dimpling in satisfaction. His hand on the small of your back urged you to press your weight back onto his lap, guiding hands shifting your hips back and forth. You had gasped upon contact, amazed at the stiffness that had grown in between his thighs. 

“Were you hurting too, Aemy?” you asked, worry painting your features. Aemond bit back a groan, nodding his head meekly.

“A bit, but I am starting to feel better, sister. All thanks to you,” he responded. His words made you smile, encouraging you to move your hips at your own pace. You mewled, throwing your head back in delight. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

With a furious nod, your hips quickened as the funny feeling in your tummy grew. You held onto Aemond’s shoulders to steady yourself, while your brother rested his head on the chaise’s cushioned edge. It was soon evident you were growing tired of using your thighs, and so he planted his feet firm onto the floor, and Aemond’s hips lifted to meet yours. Your arousal had started to stain the front of his breeches, dampening the dark fabric with your cunny’s tears. The thought of tasting it on his tongue was enough to make his cock jump in his trousers, his tip no doubt weeping tears of its own. How wonderful it would be to get a taste of your sweet ambrosia. 

“A-aemond…” you moaned, burying your head into his neck. You held onto him as though you were about to drown, clutching onto the smooth leathers of his doublet like a lifeline. Your release must be steadily approaching, apparent in the steady whines that fell freely from your lips. It began to grow in volume, and Aemond had planted his lips back onto yours to swallow down your moans.

You lapped at him with desperation, spit smearing past your lips, though neither of you cared. Your release broke through you with little forewarning, coming with a cry of his name. Aemond had always thought you beautiful, but as your eyes screwed shut and your jaw fell slack, he was sure there was no other mortal being who could ever come close to your beauty. You looked like a goddess reborn, with your flushed cheeks and glistening lips. The sight of you alone drove him to his end, creaming his trousers like a pubescent boy. It left a clear stain on his trousers, yet he cared little.

“That felt quite nice, won’t you say?” he asked, equally dazed from the high of his release. You bit your lip, nodding, before burying your head into his chest with a giggle. Satisfied, Aemond caressed your back comfortingly, planting small kisses into your hairline.

There was no way for him to ever let go of you, not when he had you moaning his name so sweetly like this. You were his and his alone, his little kitten. He would find a way to make your union happen, to have you both married under the eyes of the Seven before his enemies’ corpses go cold. Hells, he would marry you now, if you wanted. He would find a Septon the moment you asked for it, or have the robes readied if you wished for a ceremony done by your Valyrian ancestors. He would do it all, and he can, now that he was regent. Mother would surely be displeased, with the growing animosity between her and Aemond, and the fierce protectiveness she held for her youngest daughter. But she would have to accept it either way. Who else was more suited to be your husband but he? Aemond would rather see the realm burn twice than have you married off to some insignificant lord. No, none else would hold a truer love for you than him alone. It’s been proven by the gods deeming it fit to intertwine his soul with yours. 

A scratching by his side had pulled him from his reverie, turning to find your little feline. You took her into your arms with a coo, practically shoving the furry thing into Aemond’s face with a grin.

“Pet her,” you urged gleefully. You stayed settled on his lap, much to his delight. Aemond shook his head to refuse, but he could never really deny you, could he? Sighing, he caressed the cat, scratching the spot in between its ears per your instruction. It purred with his touch, reminding the dragonrider of his mount whenever he would do the same with her maw.

“Hm, she’s quite like Vhagar,” he mused. It didn’t take long for him to enjoy playing with the furry thing, spending the rest of the remaining daylight by your side.

Perhaps cats weren’t so bad.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Liberties [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After ruining the biggest night of your career, Loki ruins you, too. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Dickish Avenger!Loki. Language. Workplace romance. Rough(ish) smut. (w/c 3.1k)

Folds of your expensive black dress swished as you stormed down the corridor of the forty-sixth floor. Everyone was still at the event. Or, The Shitstorm as it would now be known. Shame. Shouting at someone would really help right now.

You tore out the earpiece and slammed it on the nearest desk, shoving a pile of papers off the side for good measure. Laufeyson.

You’d spent months concocting the perfect debut for that greasy-haired, peacocking, gangly-limbed motherfucker. Did he say ‘thank you’? Did he smile and mind his P’s and Q’s and pose with the New York glitterati like he was supposed to for one night?

Nails sank into the soft flesh of your palm. Course he fucking didn’t.

After he’d gone off script during his speech, stating he could fix the woeful state of Earth’s political spectrum in thirty-seven minutes, it had all gone downhill. Insulting politicians, flirting egregiously with their wives…with their husbands.

The cool glass met your forehead as your rested against the door with your name on it. Director, it said. It didn’t feel like it. Fucking Laufeyson. He was unmanageable—just like his hair. He didn’t even comb it—bastard. You’d specifically requested it.

There was a bottle of whisky hidden in the bookcase behind a doorstop project management manual. You glanced down the empty corridor a final time and slipped inside the dark office, making straight for the bookcase. Pulling out the book concealing your beautiful, impending numbness, you frowned. The bottle was—

"I’m afraid I took the liberty," someone said.

You screamed, lobbing the book in the direction of the voice. It hit the flat, black back of your office chair with a pathetic thump.

The chair swivelled: glacial, infuriating. But you already knew. It was that voice; the one that made it impossible not to imagine him making snide remarks while he fucked you from behind with a fist knotted at your scalp. And besides, you could see the wavy, rumpled crown of his greasy fucking hair over the rim of the chair.

"How did you…What the hell are you doing in here? This is restricted—"

"Restricted?" Laufeyson barked out a weak laugh of reprimand. "Please."

He raised a hand, gaze fixed on the ornate glass of amber liquid cupped in his palm. It had been a present from Stark for your promotion, and the sting of your nails on your palm burned new. "This is really rather good, considering."

"Considering what?" "That it was produced on this planet." His eyes slid to yours, upper lip twitching as he said, "Another thing to add to its sparse list of accomplishments."

You pulled another book from the shelf and threw it at his face. It missed.

Loki didn’t flinch. He just sat there wearing his favourite smirk; one foot resting on his knee and his shadowed eyes glinting with curious observation. He’d removed the suit jacket—the one specifically tailored for this event—in his requested colour, a lush emerald green with gold trim.

Dickhead. You’d run yourself ragged for his petty demands. And then he’d fucked it all up anyway.

Realising your eyes were lingering on the suspenders stretched against the wall chest muscle, you tore them up to his face and forced coldness into your voice. "I literally left the event to get away from you, before I punched you in the face; you realise that?"

"I do."

You threw up your hands and turned towards the window, arms folded; watching the flash of traffic on the street below like luminous ants. Spotlights flashed across the night sky, crossing and weaving against each other in celebration of the biggest night of the year. "Stark will fire me for what you did."

Loki’s laugh was accompanied by a splutter of liquid. You shot a glare over your shoulder, catching him press the back of a hand against his mouth and shaking with mirth.

"I think not. Stark cares only for publicity—and…" He extended a hand with a self-congratulatory flourish before resting an elbow on the armrest, brushing a finger to his lips. "He knows what I’m like," he added with a coy brush of a smile.

Heat exploded beneath your skin.

Before you could think it through you were towering over Loki, a hand spread against his sternum. You pushed against muscle, letting the chair tilt ominously backwards. Loki’s eyes widened fractionally, dark eyebrows peaking in genuine surprise. "If you've ruined my career I will hunt you down and I will—"

"Hunt me down?" Loki purred. His eyes dropped to your hand pressed to his chest and rose slowly to your face. "I’m right here, as you can plainly see. No hunting necessary." His rumble caught on the T. "Being accosted, no less."

You released him with a grunt.

"Couldn’t you just behave? This was your big night…your official launch in the team, your new start. Why couldn’t you just be good for once?"

"Good?" Loki’s voice hardened. A green, glowing rectangle unfurled in the empty air beside his shoulder, and a shot from the ad campaign you’d organised several weeks ago filled the space.

Emblazoned in Stark Industries font across the image of Loki looking like a sexual apocalypse in a skin tight leather combat suit were the flickering words, ‘God of Mischief.’ And then, Loki said, "It’s in the name, darling. The one you selected—a new start was never part of the agreement, nor was it suggested. I believe the phrase was, ‘refreshed branding'…Was it not?"

He shifted, and somehow the muscles in his legs were outlined in the soft glow of a thousand skyscraper windows. "Same package, different wrapping, as it were."

Your brows rose, trying to keep the brittle defeat from your eyes. "Your behaviour tonight was unacceptable. You can’t go around comparing global foreign policy to Thanos’s bowel movements."

Loki waved a hand, sliding the glass over the desk with a scoff.

"My behaviour is always unacceptable; it’s part of the allure. The populous long for something raw, something unexpected. Something unmarred by inane pleasantries and fakery." His eyes slid upwards, nailing you like gas lamps in darkness. "Take you, for instance."

It was your turn to scoff. "I don’t see what I have to do with this."

Loki leant back in the chair, eyelids drooping. His tongue nipped over his lips in a flash of pink. "You very much want to have me; I can see it. I can smell it."

Your jaw loosened, mortification prickling over your skin as he added, "Carnally," as if it required explanation.

"You’re out of your fucking mind. I can’t stand you."

Loki’s lips curled, and you hated how much you wanted to suck the smirk off his goddam mouth. "Correct on both counts, I’m sure. It doesn’t change the inescapable reality that you want to know what I taste like."

Your tongue shaped words, and then you choked on them as Loki unfurled from the chair: all long limbs, slutty curls and slimfit tailoring. Oh Christ.

Your bare shoulder-blades met the window as he meandered across the floor without a care in the world; bladed cheekbones casting shadows across his skin; assassins emerging from the dark.

"You want to know what I fuck like," he said, words stirring like treacle. "Whether I’m generous, whether I’m as good as they say, whether I’m as brutish and punishing as part of you hopes I would be."

He stood in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, and leant forwards until his breath was hot on your forehead and the expensive cologne wafting from the open buttons of his shirt drifted up your nostrils. A short puff of mirth exhaled against your skin before he added, piercing, "But most of all, you want to know what I sound like when I cum."

He was awful: conceited, rude, imperious. But, fuck, he was right.

Your sweaty palms slid against the glass as he straightened and waited for a response. He sighed, and you found yourself staring at the strain of the buttons down the front of his shirt as he did.

"As I thought," said Loki, bored. "Paralysed by your desires—wasting away in a pit of indecision and regret as so many of your ilk." He shrugged, arms wide. "So be it."

Your hand shot out, yanking the nearest suspender and pulling his mouth to yours. Loki’s hand flew to the surface behind your head, and the wall of glass trembled.

His warrior body pressed firm against your chest, crushing you in the scent of desire and the primal heat radiating from his skin while your hands fisted in his hair and the god groaned into your throat.

He pulled back, frowning as your hand grasped at the erection pressing against his trousers. "Let me be clear," he growled. ‘I am no one’s pet. I will not be tamed. Is that understood?"

"Oh, will you shut up?" You tore at the buttons of his shirt, regretting the lack of nuance, before adding, "but, like, keep talking though."

Loki’s chuckle vibrated against your palms as the shirt slid over the curve of his biceps and then you were raking at his perfect skin, pulling his mouth to yours in a hateful mess of tongues and need and fire that ripped through your body.

Nimble fingers made quick work of his buckle, and Loki’s hands ran up the curve of your thighs, pushing the folds of your dress around your hips. "I've been longing to break you in..." he muttered, eyes shining in the light from New York’s glittering skyline.

You yanked his hair, and Loki hissed with pleasure. "I’m not a virgin; weirdo," you gasped, grasping his thick, perfect cock in a punishing fist.

His lips spread with a wolfish grin. "Ah, but you’ve never been fucked by me."

One of his hands slipped between your legs and trailed through the wetness it found. He moaned softly, massaging your clit like oil. Your head fell against the window as he slipped a long, elegant finger inside you. It was disgusting how much you wanted him, and you’d let yourself feel every, traitorous moment.

His digits curled, stoking the same, exquisite spot again, and again— "such a pretty, warm cunt," he whispered, filthy—as whines slid from your lips. "And to think, you’ve been denying yourself."

Loki tsk’d, his free hand playing at your exposed neck. He sucked a bruising kiss into your throat as hot cum welled around his fingers, holding you upright, balanced against the thigh shoved between your legs.

"Fuck me," you gasped, grappling at his shoulders. He said nothing. You met his eyes; slivers of blue visible on the rim of wide, black pools. "Like…fuck me, fuck me."

"I knew you’d want me rough," he said quietly, drawing his knuckles down your cheek. The hand fell to the neckline of your dress and before you could even inhale, a mighty rip sent your dress scattering across the floor.

Loki’s covetous eyes roamed your chest, your body; his chin dipped, his eyes glazed with lust. "Over there." He motioned with his head.

You followed the order and gripped the back of one of the two chairs positioned by the window. Leather slid under the sheen clinging to your palms. Loki’s touch cupped your hips, his hands grazing appreciatively over bare skin.

"I knew it would be tonight," he murmured, pressing his cock into the base of your spine. His breath was hot on your throat. "As soon as I saw the utter loathing in your eyes; I knew it would be the one."

He twisted your hair back, biting the curve of your shoulder with unbearable erotic restraint. You pressed your ass into his crotch, moaning his name under your breath as he traced a finger down your spine until he reached the cock leaking precum over your skin.

Positioning between your legs, he rubbed the column twice through your slick lips before sheathing himself on the third.

The two of you gasped in unison; the guttural growl of Loki’s voice making your knees tremble before he delivered the first, devastating thrust. The force of it sent the chair screeching over the floor.

"G-gods…you’re tight," he choked, withdrawing and circling the crown at the tip of your channel. "I knew you would be perfect…but…but…"

Another thrust and the chair hit the window, but you didn’t care. Loki filled every part of you; you’d never felt so exposed, so free, with every fluid buck of his hips which made stars burst behind your eyelids. He bottomed out with a grunt of your name, balls slapping against your clit, one hand flying to the glass above your head and making a messy streak as it fell.

"Not enough," he said, breathless. The god pulled you upright and kissed you with the force of a storm, gathering you in his arms. The next thing you felt was the cool desk on your ass, Loki spreading your thighs and the utter joy of him breaching the empty space inside you he’d ruined for all other men.

One hand roughly palmed at your breasts, the other cradling your skull as every trinket you’d every owned rattled on the desk. Somewhere, something cracked. He went harder, pounding deeper with each snap of his hips that slapped against your skin.

There was a clink, a melodic roll, and then a smash. The sharp scent of whisky filled the air. You began to look but Loki pulled your chin to face him.

"On me," he ordered, eyes narrowed. There was a faint flush in his cheeks. "On me. Always."

Your legs wound around Loki’s hips. One kiss slid into another, his bucks becoming frantic as climax burst inside you with a rattle of his name. He lowered you to the desk, sliding his glistening cock from your cunt and kissing down your abdomen.

As you craned up, slack-jawed, the god delivered a single, earth-trembling lick up the centre of your pussy; gathering himself on his tongue. He swallowed, pacing behind you and seating himself on your chair.

You sat up, observing him over your shoulder. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, thanks to you, pale skin shimmering pearl in the honeyed gloom. He looked up beneath his lashes—smouldering—slender fingers wrapped around the cock protruding from splayed fabric; pumping in fluid strokes.

He cocked an eyebrow, and it was as good as a beckon from one of those slender fingers.

Shifting from the desk, you sank to your knees, and Loki’s legs widened. The fabric of his trousers creased maddeningly over the meat of his thighs.

"Tell me you haven’t thought about this," he said, baiting. He could smell lies as keenly as sulphur. "That you haven’t wanted to choke on my cock."

It wasn’t a question.

You fixed your eyes on his as you settled a hand around the root and swallowed the tip.

Loki’s eyes rolled back, head falling to the back of the chair. Black waves dripped down his shoulders like spilled ink, every thrust of his hips into your mouth making new combinations of filthy curses rattle from his chest.

A hand settled on your head, following the motion as your mouth worked back and forth along the length of him: sucking, licking, grazing the sensitive tip with your teeth. Loki hissed, fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fucking Norns, you are a slut," he muttered appreciatively.

You doubled down, and soon Loki’s balls tightened. Something shifted as he stiffened, the hand in your hair flying to the armrest. His breaths were short, moans brief and ragged as he fought himself. "Finish me," he growled, tapered to a whine. One, calculated suck was all it took. Loki’s climax trembled down his body, spurting into your mouth like a tide of warm, smooth butter. Your tongue circled the tip, massaging him through the throes as his body shuddered a final time and a staggered sigh rocked the air.

A finger slipped beneath your chin, tilting up to meet his expectant smirk. "Well?" Loki asked, eyes glinting. "Was I everything you dreamt of?"

The lazy smile on your face evaporated. You brushed the hand aside, covering your breasts. Loki frowned.

"There’s no need for that, believe me." He guided your hands into his and pulled you to his lap. "Do you recall when I mentioned this realm’s sparse list of accomplishments?" You grunted reluctant confirmation. Loki sucked your earlobe between his teeth, releasing a contented sigh. "Your body is most definitely on that list." He paused, breath catching. "All of you, truth be told," he added quietly.

Before you had time to process what he'd said, you were standing.

Loki’s fingers fastened the buttons of his shirt with unnatural speed as you stared forlornly at the ripped dress on the floor. Fuck. There was a sweatsuit hanging in the small wardrobe stashed in the corner. That would have to do—you could slip out the side entrance, no need to…

"I’ll see you downstairs?" Loki asked, all business. He looked at you expectantly as the bespoke forest green suit jacket melted over his torso like paint. You’d forgotten how good he looked in it and resolved never to forget it ever again.

The god carded a hand through his hair, letting in fall in wild waves. The outline of his erection was still visible through the tight trousers. Did I really just fuck…Loki Laufeyson? A sick pride sprouted in your belly.

You crouched and picked up the tattered, black fabric. "I don’t think so, I mean—" Loki’s kiss cut you off. He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away.

"I’ll see you downstairs," he repeated softly. "Someone has to make sure I’m behaving myself, after all."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to stare as he swaggered to the door and shot a grin through the glass panels as he passed.

He has a point, though. You couldn’t let him go unattended. What if he gets one of the senators’ wives alone? What if he sexes them up...like me?

The thought, however ridiculous it would have been an hour ago, was like a knife between your ribs.

You scurried to the wardrobe concealed in the corner and opened it, cursing the fact you didn’t keep a spare office dress like the slinky bitches on TV.

You stared, blinking several times.

Hanging in the wardrobe was an identical dress to the one lying shredded on the floor. Almost identical. You pulled it out, holding the hanger up. In the glow of the midnight skyline, green jewels glittered around the neckline, woven in intricate patterns that melted into the folds of skirt. A note was pinned to the bodice. I can be good, it said. Our secret.

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[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”