#prompts open/closed maybe? LOL

[hirokiyuu]

i really do need to make a blog self intro for a pinned but...... honestly i might just make it an easy access for all the stuff that i personally want to reach whenever

[roosterr]

if ur requests are open, could we have like 141 falling asleep on the reader??? like different scenarios for each of them like price falls asleep accidentally and so does ghost while gaz and soap are like cuddling or laying on the reader :) i love ur writing so much <333

the 141 falls asleep on you

wc: 2.1k

hello!!! been struggling to love my writing for like the last month so i really hope you enjoy, and i'm sorry in advance lol its mostly fluffy but i just couldn't help myself with a lil bit of angst :)

price

✹ when you hear the front door open in the middle of the night – or, technically, early morning – the first thought your sleep-addled mind comes up with is that you're being robbed.

✹ with your heart in your throat, you sit up in bed and stare wide-eyed at the bedroom door, but your fear is short lived when a dull thud meets your ears, followed by a familiar curse that has you breathing a sigh of relief.

✹ your husband, coming home at last from a night of drinking with the other members of the taskforce, presumably stubbing his toe on the sofa that hasn't moved an inch since you put it there all those years ago.

✹ with a deep yawn, you get back under the covers and let your eyes fall shut again, the knowledge that it was john downstairs and not a burglar putting your racing heart to rest.

✹ you don't react when he clumsily slips through the door, fighting the laugh that threatens to give you away when you hear him swear under his breath after bumping into yet another piece of furniture.

✹ the cold air sends goosebumps rippling across your skin when he lifts the covers to clamber in beside you, but the chill is quickly chased away by his hands bringing you into his chest and his enveloping warmth.

✹ "and what time do you call this?" you tease in a whisper, opening your eyes to see his guilty ones looking back at you. the slight flush in his cheeks and his half-lidded gaze gives him a boyish charm that you can't even pretend to be mad at.

✹ "sorry darlin', didn't mean to wake you..." he murmurs in return, a sheepish smile pulling at one side of his lips.

✹ "well, i'm glad you had a good time," you punctuate your reply by placing a light kiss on the bridge of his nose, which prompts his smile to grow wider as he hugs your body to his own.

✹ "i'm havin' a better time now, love." he ghosts his lips over yours as he whispers, earning another tiny chuckle from you, his fingers tracing patterns into the skin of your back under your shirt.

✹ you can smell the whisky on his breath as he leans even further into you, and taste it when he closes the distance to devour your lips in a passionate, if slightly messy, kiss.

✹ he sighs into your mouth, his lips falling from yours when he rolls you onto your back to lay his head on your chest, and like a switch, he's dead asleep.

✹ "john?" you whisper, in a sort of disbelief that he was actually asleep just like that, but he doesn't even flinch when you gently poke his cheek. "oh my god…"

✹ once the morning rolls around, you both share a laugh about his drunken state from the night before, and he makes you promise not to tell the boys he passed out in the middle of kissing you.

✹ you just laugh and file it away for future blackmail.

gaz

✹ the two of you were watching a movie late one night, the first time you've had time to yourselves in months thanks to the never-ending workload you both seem to be under.

✹ the dim mood lighting of your flat combined with the comforting feeling of finally being alone with kyle is nearly enough to send you to sleep already, but your want to spent time with him keeps you awake.

✹ kyle watches you stifle a yawn as he presses play on the movie, and tugs you to lean against him with an arm around your shoulders and a teasing grin. "promise you won't fall asleep this time?"

✹ you look up to him from where your head rests against his collar and huff, a smile of your own playing on your lips as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. "maybe i should be the one asking that."

✹ the bags under his eyes leave no question about how tired he really is, but he was the one that insisted the two of you spend time together tonight, despite the exhaustion you knew he was hiding.

✹ "and leave you all by yourself?" he chuckles, "never, love."

✹ a comfortable quiet settles over you while you watch the movie together; kyle's choice, something action-y you've never seen before, but you know he's seen it a million times. he occasionally adds commentary to make you laugh which he, naturally, manages to do every time.

✹ as the movie plays, you gradually migrate to laying on the sofa on your back with kyle between your legs and his head on your sternum. you absentmindedly run your nails over his scalp, gently massaging his head while he hugs your waist.

✹ it's about two-thirds of the way through the movie that you realise kyle hasn't said anything in a while. you pause your ministrations, smoothing over his curls as you turn your gaze from the screen to where he lays on top of you.

✹ a soft smile lights up your face when your eyes land on his blissfully relaxed features, sound asleep and breathing in time with the steady rise and fall of your chest.

✹ you continue to watch the movie in silence, occasionally petting kyle's hair when he grumbles in his sleep. he deserves the rest, you muse, and something about how peaceful he looks means you can't even entertain the idea of disturbing him. and you would definitely tease him that he fell asleep like he said he wouldn't.

✹ even once the movie has finished, and your back has started to ache from the position against the armrest, you still don't dare wake him. tomorrow was an off day for both of you, so there was no need to go anywhere – as if you would ever want to, intertwined with your boyfriend and surrounded by his warmth.

✹ you close your eyes, give him one last squeeze, and whisper into the silence, "sweet dreams, kyle."

soap

✹ it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

✹ everything was supposed to go smoothly, you'd get what you came for, and you'd be home in time for dinner.

✹ but it hadn't happened like that  of course it didn't. you were on your way out, with johnny by your side, when a sudden noise from behind you caught your attention.

✹ you spin around to see a dishevelled soldier aiming their gun at you, but you noticed just a second too late. you can do little more than watch as they pull the trigger, a sick sense of horror travelling up your spine as time seems to slow down.

✹ there's a split second where you brace to feel the bullet lodge somewhere in your body, but that impact never comes.

✹ with a speed you didn't know he possessed, johnny tackles you to the ground and out of the path of the bullet, landing on top of you and pushing the air from your lungs.

✹ you lay winded underneath him, the sound of him returning fire vaguely reaching your ears but it takes a second for your mind to catch up.

✹ it’s quiet by the time you come back to your senses, johnny already pulling you to stand with a strained grunt.

✹ "johnny?" you frown, taking note of how he favours one side when he urges you to start walking again, "you okay?"

✹ "fine, darlin’, let’s just–" he winces, stumbling ever so slightly and trying to play it off by pushing you in front of him, "let’s just get home, aye?"

✹ your frown deepens. you turn around and stop him with your hands on his shoulders, and it's then that you notice how laboured his breathing has become.

✹ "you're not fine, soap!" your heart sinks as you watch the patches of blood on his leg grow steadily darker, "why didn't you tell me you were hit?"

✹ he doesn't flinch at the anger in your voice, or when you haul his arm over your shoulder and resume dragging him the rest of the way to the helo. he mumbles incoherent that sounds like an apology, but your only focus is getting him to safety and stopping the bleeding.

✹ the others are already waiting for you as the exfil site comes into view, and the moment they spot you shouldering johnny's weight they spring into action to help you.

✹ johnny is dragged up the ramp and made to lay on the floor as gaz and ghost make short work of packing the bullet wound in his thigh with gauze.

✹ you lift his shoulders and head to rest in your lap, grimacing at the pained groans he lets out when ghost puts his weight on the wound.

✹ "why didn't you tell me?" you utter, tilting his head back with your hands on his cheeks and meeting his distant gaze with your brows knitted together in concern.

✹ he musters a weak smile and lets his eyes flutter shut, the muscles in his face visibly relax. "i’m fine… ‘slong as yer okay, bonnie…"

ghost

✹ sometimes you wondered if ghost ever slept.

✹ he would always volunteer himself for the first watch, and he was up before you without fail every morning. on base he always seemed to be in the gym before everyone, and in his office after everyone else has left. he was frustratingly elusive.

✹ it worried you, that perhaps he had trouble sleeping. it made sense, however saddening, that someone like him wouldn't sleep well, but it was even worse that he brushed off your concern for him with practised ease.

✹ he made sure to take care of others, but wouldn't let you try and do the same for him. perhaps he thought you were joking, or that you were only being courteous, but your mind always goes back to one thing; the theory that, for some people, it's only possible for them to fall asleep when they feel safe.

✹ you wanted to be that for him, like he was for you.

✹ you do your best to forget about your rejected concerns for him, and the thought all but slips your mind until a mission two months later.

✹ it was long, drawn-out, and gruelling, and all you wanted to do was get home and have a shower hot enough to melt your skin. it had been almost a week since you've had a moment to catch your breath, and you were more than thankful to be on the way home.

✹ even if that meant being squashed into the back of an suv with soap passed out on your left and ghost on your right. gaz called shotgun and wouldn't give it up for anything, so here you were, shoulder to shoulder with the lieutenant you may or may not harbour feelings for.

✹ the five of you have been on the road for a couple of hours now. the conversation has died down by now and and the quiet hum of the radio was the only sound, besides soap's intermittent snores.

✹ you're on the verge of passing out yourself when a weight drops onto your shoulder, and you have to fight yourself not to jump with the start it gives you.

✹ your tired eyes look to the source and to your utter surprise, they find the dark fabric of ghost's balaclava resting against you, and when you tilt your head you can see the blond of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

✹ the sight brings a smile to your face. as subtle as possible, you shift as much as the limited space of the backseat will allow so his neck isn't bent at such an awkward angle.

✹ he fell asleep on you. perhaps it was just because of the exhaustion this mission left him with, but you like to think back on your theory from weeks ago as you admire the restful expression he wears.

✹ your stop fighting your own exhaustion and let your eyes fall shut, and with your last thread of consciousness you file this memory away for later, and hope that it really does mean that he feels safe with you.

[lavenderspence]

Missing the happy hormone | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: emotional reader, period mention, fluff

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Apparently Spencer Reid could make anything better - even the emotional disaster of being on your period

A/N: First, huge thank you to the cutie that sent in this request, you literally caught me while on my period so this was born. Also, here’s to my inability to write short fics, this is your only warning that i can make and will make anything long, lol. Also, my titles suck omg. And shoutout to my crazy bestie for making me a Mamma Mia girly, she rocks.

But also, happy one month to this blog! When I carved out this little space for myself a month ago I wasn’t really sure how I’d feel being back here and writing again, but so far it’s been a treat. A huge thank you for all of your support and love and thank you to my mutuals and everyone that interacted with my blog. 💕 Here’s to many more months to come!

Request: spencer x fem!reader on her period/ovulating and shes in tears all the time?? Im ovulating and have been crying for hours and keep calling my mom lmaoo he’d been so lovely and sweet I know it I can feel it in my bones

It was a slow day at the BAU. The most exciting thing in the 6 hours Spencer had spent at work was Rossi’s invitation to dinner the following weekend. 

Paperwork had piled high after their last 2 cases, so every team member was hunched over their desk, writing and revising reports. It was a never-ending cycle - finish a report, close the file, open a new one, and start all over again.

His eyes had started getting tired after four and a half hours, his hand had started cramping and he was down two pens so far, yet there was still a prominent pile on his desk.

He suspected Morgan and Emily might have pushed a file or two from theirs onto his load, seeing as he was getting done the fastest. Regardless, every few hours JJ was bringing even more to pile on top of everything that wasn’t finished, so buried in paperwork they stayed - no matter how fast he wrote or read, or how used to the load he was.

He was just thinking about getting up to prepare a fresh pot of coffee so he could function properly for a few more hours when his phone started ringing. He felt around the pockets of his suit jacket, where it sat draped on his chair, and then pulled it free. 

His display showed an incoming call, a picture of you as he hugged you, hands around your middle and face almost buried into your neck, a soft smile gracing both your faces. A scenery rich with reds, browns, and yellows stood behind you, the beauty of fall was nothing short of spectacular. 

The picture you’d taken last year when the team spent a weekend at Rossi’s cabin in the woods, surrounded by the beauty of landscapes and leaves, nature for miles. 

He accepted the call right away, a small smile on his face. 

“Hey sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, if a little raspy from misuse. He hadn’t talked much in the last few hours - just a distracted short answer here or a hum there. He was happy you were calling, though, welcoming the reprieve from the most recent report. 

It was silent for a few seconds, and he wondered absentmindedly if maybe you hadn’t called him on accident, and then there came a tiny little sniffle from your side. 

“Sweetheart?” He prompted, “Are you there? What’s going on?” Worry was starting to creep into the base of his spine, but he still remained calm and kept his voice gentle. 

“I’m here. Hi.” Another small sniffle, “All’s good. Just…I was just wondering how much longer you’d be gone.” Your voice was small,like you thought you might upset him by asking, and a little crackly, like you yourself were upset about something. 

His eyebrows furrowed, and he checked the time quickly - 3:57 pm. 

“Probably about two more hours, there’s a lot of paperwork we need to go through.” His eyes met Emily’s as she sent him a curious, questioning look. 

“Oh, okay.” The resignation was clear in your voice, “I’ll see you later then.” The call ended abruptly, and it took him a second to catch up.

He couldn’t help but feel like not everything was as good as you claimed it was. For one, you rarely called to ask when he’d be home - you knew his work could span into the late hours, or even stretch for days. You let him update you on any changes in his work schedule. 

In your interactions, your voice was usually upbeat and teasing - especially on the phone. Your kindness was always evident in your voice, as was your mood. You were a sunshine person, if he ever met one, that’s probably why you and Penelope formed such a close bond upon meeting. 

There was something that nagged him - a change in your mood he could pick up on just by your voice - too low, too small, and the cracks that he could now identify as he replayed your conversation in his head. You were keeping yourself from crying out, and yet there was nothing more apparent than the tears in your voice. And that made him worry. 

“Reid, are you okay?” Emily’s voice snapped him from the hard stare he’d been giving his phone in the last several minutes since the call ended. 

“I…I don’t know.” His eye twitched, and he cleared his throat before he tried and failed to articulate exactly what was happening - he himself had a hard time understanding. One thing he knew was that he needed to get home. “I..um, I need to go. Can you, please?” He asked, gusting at the remaining three files on his desk before he pulled his suit jacket on and grabbed his satchel. 

Morgan and Emily shared a mildly concerned look before they both nodded their heads, “Yeah, go. Text to let us know if everything is okay.” Morgan reminded him before he exited the bullpen with a fast step and tried to keep calm.

He was aware the situation wasn’t anything that he needed to be incredibly worried over - if something was really wrong, he knew you would have let him know. Yet, he couldn���t help the way his heart constricted by the sound of your voice, or the overwhelming desire to come home and gently hold you, see what could have caused this behavior. 

You were curled up on the couch, watching as Donna helped Sophie get ready for her wedding, the gentle melody of “Slipping through my fingers” filling the empty apartment. Your eyes were watering, to the point that everything was starting to get blurry. A shaky exhale left your lips.

Today has simply been a rollercoaster. Kissing Spencer goodbye this morning was the highlight of the day. What followed was nothing short of an emotional disaster. 

You’d teared up during breakfast, images of picking berries with Spencer flying through your mind. The desire to make it a reality was strong. 

Following that had come the overwhelming urge to bawl your eyes out, for no apparent reason whatsoever. Just cry and cry until you had it all emptied out and you could take a deep breath and continue with your day. So, cry you did, and then you’d finished with your chores for the day. 

Apparently letting it all out and emptying your tear supply hadn’t happened. Seeing as around 3:30 you’d started missing your boyfriend so much, the need to hear his voice had won out, so you’d called him. You felt the need to have him home to hold you because this month’s visit from mother flow was making you feel like a crybaby.

But then there was disappointment at the notion that you needed to wait close to 3 hours before that could happen. So you quickly ended the call before he could pick up on the tone of your voice, and then you shed a few tears. 

Now here you were, rewatching Mamma Mia because you really needed a pick me up, and once again, eyes shining as the tears started falling. At this point, it was a losing battle, so you let them fall, humming to the song with a broken voice. 

That’s exactly how Spencer found you, not a minute later. His keys were in his hand, the satchel on his shoulder, and he was just a little bit out of breath. 

The moment his eyes met you, they softened as he dropped everything and sat down next to you. His hand reached up and he cradled the side of your face, wiping your tears away. 

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” He asked in a whisper.

“Look at Donna painting Sophie’s nails, it’s...” You hiccuped, another wave of tears washing over you. “And you’re home, why are you home?” Your question was met with a furrow in his brow, as his thumbs continued wiping underneath your eyes. 

“You called.” He answered simply. 

“But you said-” He stopped you before you could finish your sentence.

“I did, yes. But you sounded off and sad, so. Want to tell me what’s going on?” He prompted you gently as he pushed your hair back and pulled you into his lap after, feeling like you needed the physical contact. 

You weren’t ashamed to admit it, per se, but you were ashamed that your hormones had caused him to leave work and race home to be with you. 

“It’s my period,” you mumbled, hands wrapping around his neck as you hid your face in his chest, too tired to prevent your eyes from watering again. “It’s been going on all day. Randomly, I’d just get so emotional, and the tears would start. I was missing you so much too, and then hearing the song, bam, tears again. I’m so done with this Spence.” You sounded barely coherent, with your face pushed as close to him as possible. 

It all made sense now, you’d been cranky a few days ago, and then you’d told him last night your cramps were unbearable, so he knew you were on your period, but right now he felt like an idiot for not figuring it out himself. 

“It’s okay, everything is fine. The drop in estrogen and progesterone, following your ovulation triggered this. This in turn reduced the production of serotonin, your happy hormone. So, we just need to boost it a bit.” He whispered into your ear as you played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“How?” You sighed into his chest, almost being able to pick up on the sound of his heartbeat.

He got deep in thought for a few seconds as you breathed in his scent, and a sense of calmness slowly overtook you now that he was home and holding you. One of his hands was running soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand, fingers interlocked. 

“How about we take a trip to the store and get you some snacks? We’ll pick up dinner on the way home and then I'll hold you some more and you'll pick a movie for us to watch.” He suggested, kissing the crown of your head once, twice, and many more times until you gave him an answer. 

“Yeah, yeah, I think that would help, but just having you here has done wonders.” You finally laid your head against his chest, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiled, and so did you. Having him here really had helped immensely, and when had it not? He was your other half, your rock, and even when your emotions ran rampant or you were feeling down, just his presence, his touch, and his understanding were enough to make it all okay. 

Later in the evening, Penelope sent you a photo of Sergio sleep-hugging a little plushy you’d gotten him, and the waterworks started all over again. Luckily, Spencer was there, wiping your tears and kissing your head, saying a thousand things without actually speaking a word.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Requests are open for both Spencer and Hotch if you want to send any!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

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[sttoru]

♯ 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊.

⟣ sypnosis. kento has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. he decides to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in his affection at 3 in the morning.

⟣ tags. nanami kento x female reader. fluff, bit of angst, suggestive towards the end. reader gets called 'sweetheart, angel, dear' wc: 1.8k

⟣ note. okayokay finally an adition to my event heheh ive almost forgotten about it but then i saw this prompt & was like . ok nanami , i must write this rnnn no delaying anymore so here i am :3 its also very bad. i hate it sm LOL i hope u at least like it t_t

kento often asks himself why he had returned to the world he despised — the jujutsu society; his old high school. the sprawling curses everywhere are the main cause of his current misery.

he had been sent out on missions left and right, not catching a break in hopes of reducing any more civilian causalities than necessary. kento had even thought that maybe his previous 9-5 job wasn’t as bad as he had considered it.

overtime was every day for the sorcerer now. that wasn’t the worst thing - no - the fact that he was pratically living a long distant relationship with his beloved irritated him most.

a thought he had in his high school days reoccured in a moment of distress: ‘why not leave all those missions to gojo?’

you were still pretty understanding of his situation. kento appreciated that, though the guilt still ate away at him whenever he tried to sleep. an empty bed welcomed him each time he re-entered his hotel room — you saw the exact same scenery when returning home to your shared apartment.

both of you were adults; both knowing that life was unfair. the two of you being unable to see each other from time to time was a part of your life. kento and you still maintained a healthy relationship. that was all that really mattered in the end.

11:49PM. . . tonight wasn’t unlike any other night; you were preparing yourself to go to bed—changing into your pyjamas after showering, snuggling to a pillow under the covers and texting your lover one last message.

‘good luck on your mission as always! stay safe, i love you.’

you stare at your phone screen for a minute longer than intended. even if you tried to be mature about it — you longed for kento’s warmth and undivided attention. you want him with you, his strong arms holding you to his chest as you rest, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

you sigh defeatedly and put your phone down on your nightstand. just two days until you could see your partner again. you can hold onto that hope to keep you calm.

despite you trying to stay positive, you tossed and turned in your bed as you thought about kento’s safety. there was always a chance of him not coming home to you — always the possibility of that bed to be empty for the rest of your life.

all you could do was pray for his safety in your head whilst your eyes eventually closed from fatigue, your mind drifting off to a deep slumber.

03:14AM. . . kento opens the door he had wished to have opened way earlier. the door that lead to the place where his heart lays; the person who claimed his heart and soul for eternity. you.

he didn’t think he’d actually do it. kento had originally planned to finish his last job as soon as possible and then get home afterwards, but there seemed to be a change in routine.

the special grade sorcerer simply assigned the mission to ino — the person whom he could trust most to finish the job in one piece. as much as kento dislikes to put his juniors in possible risky situations, there are also situations where it’s fine to depend on them. besides, the mission could easily be done by a grade one sorcerer.

kento sighs. the familiar scent of your home was one he could recognise from miles away. one that could calm his nerves instantly. it was that same distinctive scent you carry; thus why your lover sometimes calls you his home.

‘i can’t wait to be home’ ‘i want to be home’ ‘i’m going home’ — all these sentences, which kento has uttered before in earlier conversations, weren’t referring to a place. rather to a person he held dear.

“oh, my sweetheart.” the blonde man whispers under his breath as his eyes catch the shape of your figure under the blankets. he quietly enters the master bedroom and closes the door behind him, not making a sound as to not interrupt your well-deserved sleep.

kento slowly undoes his dotted tie, along with the upper buttons of his blouse. he probably needs to go take a good shower before he could settle down with you — but that’d risk waking you up.

you look extremely angelic in his eyes. especially with your left cheek squished by the soft pillow your head rests on. you never once fail to convince him that you are indeed the woman of his dreams; the woman kento ever had and will have eyes for. it’s like you get more attractive to him as the days go on.

“mh,” your sudden and soft groan makes him realise just how disturbing his behaviour could be interpreted as. kento’s body was hovering over your sleeping one and he was just. . . staring at you with a soft smile. a smile which he didn’t even notice had permanently found its place on his weary face.

kento sits down on the edge of the mattress, callused hand gently tucking you in properly, putting the blanket over your shoulders to make sure you didn’t get cold. he can’t rest if you’re not comfortable— even if he himself was exhausted to the point his eyes were starting to feel heavy.

yet that exhaustion doesn’t last long. it never does when kento’s able to see you again after a tiring week of countless missions and other jobs. your presence alone grants him the energy to stay awake and take care of you. and himself. you’re the reason he keeps it going.

“i love you so much, my beautiful girl — my angel.”

kento sure was a romantic. even when you’re unaware and asleep.

he couldn’t help it; the feeling stirring inside of him. the feeling of adoration and love for you. you are simply resting, yet kento felt an urge to kiss you all over, show you the unending love he has for you. but. . that’d probably be disturbing your peace. you are sleeping after all. he

not that that would stop kento.

your eyes flutter open due to a sudden presence hovering over you. your entire face and neck area was feeling ticklish, like someone was placing tens of kisses all over the skin.

strands of blonde hair is the first thing showing up in your blurry vision. kento’s face follows afterwards as his head tilts back up, the warmth against your jawline disappearing along with it —

“ah, i’m sorry.” a low and almost guilty chuckle tumbles out of his sore throat. the visible confusion on your face makes him let out another, “shh, shh, it’s just me, sweetheart.”

your arms flew around kento’s torso the second the realisation dawns upon you. your heart went from a slow pace to one that caused your entire body to warm up immediately; the adorable reaction and increase in heart rate not going unnoticed by your lover.

you wordlessly hug him — almost still in shock by the sudden appearance. kento doesn’t fight off your tight embrace, instead, welcomes it with open arms. the delicate kisses on your skin continue, each being placed with precision whilst one of his hands keeps your head tilted a little — rough fingers being a contrast of the gentle grip they had on your jaw.

“i missed you lots,” kento murmurs, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth of your body, his lips refusing to let go of your neck, “i couldn’t wait anymore. i couldn’t be separated from you any longer or i’d lose it.”

his gruff voice sounded even deeper than it usually would. maybe due to the overuse of it during his missions. the lone thought makes you pout — the thought of kento working super hard just to provide for you both.

“i missed you more, love.” you mumble, bottom lip trembling a little as kento’s hug triggers a whole lot of emotions in you. his hugs were special, his muscular arms giving you a sense of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere. no one could hug you like he did, “you did well. you did so well.”

those were all the words kento needed. his lips come to halt right above your collarbone, his breath a bit heavy from how much he's holding himself back from doing more. one hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt.

“thank you, dear.” kento says. his words carrying a load of unending affection. your simple words of appreciation and encouragement makes him shiver in delight. this is what he longed for; this is what he did it all for.

it was clear. the answer to his question - of why he had returned to the jujutsu world, to become a teacher at his former high school - it was all for you. to be able to be with you, see you and hold you like this. to have someone like you appreciate all of his efforts.

“may i?” kento asks through a quiet whisper as he gently removes the blanket covering your figure, his eyes darting down towards your cleavage. he's asking for permission to cross that barrier — to cover you in the love you deserve.

you just stare at the blonde man above you for a second. you watch as he climbs onto the bed with you; the bed which was once empty and dull, now suddenly becoming your favourite place to be at. your fingertips graze against kento's sharp cheekbones. a habit you always did when you were appreciating his looks.

“go right ahead.” you answer with a confirming nod.

both of you were touch starved and had been deprived from each other's embrace for way too long. now was the perfect time to make up for all the time lost.

kento wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past him. he smiles at you, a gentle and handsome smile, whilst a few of his blonde locks fall over his left eye — his hands already prying away the blanket covering your shape. it was time to show you just how much he has longed for you.

“hold on to me, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you realise just how much i’ve missed all of you.”

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Artie grinned mischievously as his friends profile started to appear one by one. The app linked to the saved contacts in his phone and somehow they managed to extract a fairly accurate profile of Artie's friends, resulting in a couple avatars that Artie can choose and tweak to his likings. The app, called Chronivac, not only changed Artie's physique to look like a 30+ years old hairy muscle hunk, it also molded the reality in accordance to the final prompt Artie typed in, turning the 20 years old college dropout into a bonafide hunk living life lavishly from workout courses and OF, and he's about to spice things up in the life of his dear friends.

He started from Randall.

He started very methodically as he put Randy as the new name. Then, when the profile options opened, he started his work. Get rid of the glasses. Get rid of that acne scar and blackspot. Retain the face but make the jaw angular. Styling the hair so it's no longer greasy and moppy. Face done, now the body

Randall is quite a perv and his biggest turn-on is big titties, but well, most untouched virgin are perv anyway so maybe he should make Randy turned on with himself by giving him this large pair of muscle tits? Lol, that's hilarious, he thought to himself. Humh.....so maybe keep Randy as a 255 lbs fuckers? Well, turn all the fat into muscle and click "Optimize" because he can't be bothered to perfect Randy's muscle distribution.....hot damn that's one massive unit! Finalize the whole change with the short prompt

"Randy is a gym junkie and absolute freak of nature. He's probably the biggest 20 years old in the entire Americas. He's one of my mentee and he looked up to me as his inspiration, he even will not hesitate to take my cock if I instruct him to do so to get bigger, quite the dumb oaf he is,"

Click Save and then Process. Several seconds later, a transformed Randy appeared in the room that Artie booked for this holiday. Randy appeared to be sleeping while he got altered earlier, Artie just realized it's night time in the States so no wonder Randy is asleep. He will check him out later as he still have several more profile to go

Andy. Oh, yeah, the profile arrangement is based on surnames. Coleman, Randall. Garcia, Andy. Andy is Artie's bestfriend from childhood so Artie knows very well what Andy really wanted to look like.

Keep the name and lineage. A little tweak in his testosterone to boost that facial hair growth and make that balls pumped full faster with mini Garcias. Andy admired his hotter, older brother, Juan, so badass and clearly a true symbolism of what Latin American community deemed as macho, so Randall ensured that whatever feature Juan possessed, Andy is going to make that even better. Thicker hair, more defined abs, bigger biceps, bigger triceps, rounder delts, voice that trembles anyone that hear it, obviously bigger uncut piece of meat, more tattoos, all lodged in as part of the new Andy's persona. The avatar is looking quite a looker already so Artie just added a bit of simple prompt, click the Save button and then Process the changes. Andy suddenly appeared in the day bed next to Artie, still sleeping soundly and Artie just smirked as he continued his work

He tweaked Ollie's profile right after, making the pale and lanky 6'5" Norwegian-Lebanese former ballet dancer to be closer to his Lebanese roots as he shrunk him to a 6'1" muscle daddy. Ollie, or Olaf, quickly turned into Ali, and just like Andy, appeared in the same resort where Artie stayed

Michael is supposedly next on the list, but James is already quite distracting for Artie so he decided to work on James first. He's really not that close to James and to be honest, if it's not because James is Andy's college roommate, Artie probably would have 0 interest to befriend him. He might be clouded with jealousy because Andy seemingly enjoyed James company, and even worse, a little crush on him, but well, with a reality-changing app in the palm of his hands, why should he accept things as it is when he can change it? So, rather than focusing on the physical aspect, Artie simply turned his focus to James mental part. He smirked devilishly as he turned the pretty-much straight James into a horny, lustful bottom. Artie practically emasculated James and he felt zero remorse whatsoever as he then added to the prompt that James tagged along to this trip as he's a clingy cum dump that Michael fucked once in the seedy bar that he and Andy frequented. Yup, that's the plot of his change to the innocent Michael.

Artie quickly tweaked Michael profile, the smallest and shiest one in the friend group is now the horny beast who needs to fuck a hole in daily basis. Artie based all of them in the same city, the same apartment building even and then created this whole backstory of their ascendancy to the top of OF and independent adult industry in Michael's prompt space. When he clicked Process, the sound of James moaning in delight echoed all the way to the swimming pool, Michael is basically fucking the shit out of James

The noise also managed to wake Andy's up. Despite seemingly confused at first, Andy quickly find his senses and instead of freaking out or reacted in surprise, he seems to be very much comfortable and at home. Artie sighed with relief, thrilled that his little handiwork resulted nicely.

It seems like that Andy is totally not aware that his life has been dramatically altered by his own best friend that just whipped out his cock from the swimming shorts he's wearing. With a grin while his right hand started pumping his meaty cock and the phone flipped and locked in the table, Artie said

"Care to help a friend here? We can drench Ali to wake the fucker's up when we are close,"

[hoshigray]

Having thoughts about Toji crushing on a cutie little cinnamon roll. Maybe they go on a few dates before he finally gets her home with him, and just as things are heating up he realizes oh, she’s a virgin. That doesn’t mean he’s not interested, but it changes how he wants to go about it.

Noonie, yeeeeeeeeessss!!! I had the dumbest grin while reading this in my inbox teheheee~ Longer than I intended but what the hell lol hope you like it!!

Cw: dom! Toji x fem!reader - age gap (the reader is at least in their 20s and in college; Toji is around mid-30s) -missionary position - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - ass grabbing - pussy eating - biting (Toji bites your ears) - edging (fem! receiving) - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, sweetheart, mama, princess) - clitoral play - light comedy bc I do[n't] think I'm funny. Wc: 2k

"Ready, baby?"

Your body goes rigid, fingers playing with the hem of your shirred frilled cami romper. A shaky sigh seethes from a wary smile. "Yes." The man in front of you grins before opening the door to his place, and you enter to your doom.

Toji has been courting you for quite some time. It started with small greetings when he visited the café where you work for his usual order of black coffee. Then those greetings slowly evolved into casual chit-chat, prompting Toji to ask you out because he couldn't resist your kindhearted aura.

How could he when his day instantly brightens when you flash your gorgeous smile every time you see him? Or when you always give him a call or text anytime you return to your dorm after hanging outside campus grounds. And when you're done with work, you let him drive and drop you off at your dorm. But that's because he always stays at the café until you get off: watching you welcome customers who enter the space, offering free treats to kids, or giving him a tiny smile from the other side of the shop whenever you catch him staring. Makes him snicker like an idiot.

But his favorite moment with you was the first time you two kissed on your third date. Oh, Toji could replay the scene all fucking day. With your eyes lidded, lips quivering and gripping onto his leather jacket as the man peppered you in kisses, he adored your display of pleasure. And it was even more adorable when you nervously bid him goodnight before entering your dorm room.

It was entertaining how he was the only one that made you — his cute little darling — so shy whenever he came too close. So much so that it turned him on, his desire to have you under him waxing inside him day by day. Except he doesn't, choosing to wait for the perfect time.

And now, when he finally has you where he's been dying to have you, Toji's allowed to indulge in your charm personally. There are shudders of anticipation around him as he kisses you on the couch, his big hands roaming over your form. A deep chortle vibrates his throat when he bites your bottom lip, resulting in a shivering whimper from your swollen lips. Oh, he's going to enjoy every second of this.

But as someone on the other side of the makeout session, you found yourself in an unpleasant position. Not because you didn't want to be here smacking lips with Toji, oh no. He was a great kisser, taking your breath away simply by his lips. No, the real problem was more personal.

Something so personal that it has your brows trench as Toji's hands snake down to your butt, kneading it like putty. Wait a minute...

"Mmmm, Toji, please wa—"

"Shhhh," he hushes you with kisses down your neck. "Taste so good, angel."

Something very personal that your eyes are towed shut when he creeps a hand inside through the bottom of your romper, a warm palm groping the soft flesh of your ass. Wait, wait, wait!

Something extremely personal that you gasp sharply when you feel two fingers sneak past your panties. WAIT!!!

You push Toji off you in haste, and the older man stops with his hands up defensively. He looks at you with confusion, tilting his head to examine what's wrong. You squeak and throw apologies his way. "I'm so so sorry! I'm-I'm just...umm...."

It takes a few seconds for Toji to piece everything together, with the way you're talking in quiet mumbles, your hands fidgeting with your romper again, and your eyes downward to avoid his gaze. His head straightens with eyes slightly wide. Is...Is she a—

"Are you a virgin, sweetheart?" Another muffled squeak confirms his suspicions, and you nod with hesitance.

What were you thinking pushing him off!? If you're gonna have your first time with anyone, why not be the man you're attracted to? But then again, it is YOUR first time!! In humiliation, you cover your face with your hands, the phone call you had with your best friend earlier replaying in your head ("Get it, girl! You either die a virgin or live long enough to get some good dick in your life." "That's the worst way to reference that movie!" "What-the-fuck-ever, go get that dick!!")

You can hear a chuckle from the man, and your eyes shut as you descend further into embarrassment. Oh God, I should've taken my dumbass home so I didn't have to deal with this later and cry myself to—

Your train of thought grinds to a halt when Toji pulls you into his chest. "Oh c'mere, ya cutie." He rubs circles on your back. "Did my lil' angel save herself up fr' me to deflower?"

"No, you perv!" He barks out a laugh above you, not helping this situation. "I just...I-" You try to retort, but the way he looks at you with a sly look and playful grin has your stomach flip. Why's he so goddamn handsome!? "I was just....never ready."

He hums pensively, still rubbing your back. He stays quiet for a while, and you don't bother fixing that while resting on his chest. He doesn't say anything until a minute later. "Think yr' ready now?"

"I don't know? Kinda scared..." You're honest. "But I...I really wanna do it with you, Toji."

"Then, do ya trust me?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, in that case," Toji carefully pushes you off him before he hoists you up bridal style. The swift motion catching by surprise as you hurriedly wrap your arms around his neck before he starts walking. Amused, he kisses your cheek. "Don't worry a thing, princess. Gonna take care of ya real good."

You gulp as your face goes hot. Oh, I definitely should've stayed my ass home...

Yeah, you definitely should've.

Fifteen minutes in, your senses are already clouded by the lapping motions of Toji's tongue on your vulva. You're lying on his bed, your figure writhing and back arching from the commotion between your legs. You tried to contain yourself by concealing your moans, yet your lips let the pornographic noises fly.

The last fifteen minutes have been spent preparing you for the big event. Toji started by fingering your hole, making you adjust to having a foreign limb within you. When you were wet enough, one digit became two, and you grabbed ahold of his shirt as he did his expert work on your soaking chasm.

Now in your nude, you let the man continue to prep you, his hands holding onto your legs with your pussy out for him to see, for him to toy with his wet muscle between your folds and drinking your essence.

"Ahhhh-Haaaah! T-Tojiii," you look so out of it, your head squirming around the pillow beneath you and your words slurred. You've already come two times; what more does this man need for you to be ready? "Oh God, it's too much fer mee, 's too muuch!"

A sharp cry exits your mouth when the man licks your clitoris, his deep forest green eyes peer up to look at you. He snickers, "C'mon, mama, you know I gotta have my girl ready to take in all of me." He flicks his tongue on your bud, and another yelp escapes your lips. "Lemme finish up here, 'kay?"

And he goes back to finishing you up, his hands grabbing you by the hips to bring you closer to his ravenous mouth. You clutch tufts of his raven hair, and his name comes out in incoherent babbles.

Your eyes start to water as your head gets dizzy with the raunchy noises from down south. Your cold sweat contrasts with your hot bare form, and the throbbing sensation between your legs festers under your skin.

Beads of sweat scroll down your forehead. You're close to release. "Hngg! Toji, I'm gonna cu-cummm!"

Suddenly, Toji removes from your legs, leaving you and your pulsing slits to the substituted cold air. You whine for your neglected orgasm that withers away, propping yourself up to beg him to give you what you want. But your breath hitches before you can make a complaint.

Toji is off his bed, withdrawing his shirt and jeans, freeing his cock from his boxer briefs. You can't help but stare at the member before you. Following the trail of hair from his lower abdomen, his erection sprung up with precum oozing out. Compared to your fingers or toys, his dick is way beyond your comprehension in length and girth.

Oh, to die from the first dick you've ever taken. How poetic.

Toji notices you ogle at his shaft, sneering as he returns to the bed. "Like what ya see, cutie?" You chew on your lip when Toji props your legs around his waist, a hand used to position his shaft to your leaky entrance. "Gonna start real slow, so take some deep breaths fr' me, 'kay baby?" You nod, internally bracing yourself for what's about happen.

The head of his cock touches your slit, and you jolt. "Relax, baby. It's gonna hurt if you're tense like that." He coaxes, your breathing securing you from the intrusion. He watches you; with each exhale, he pushes himself. The unfamiliar limb prying in your vagina and the pain you're experiencing is like no other. But you bite down on your lip to push through.

When the tip makes it in, you gasp. Gradually, Toji pushes his member further into you, stretching your tight hole to accommodate his girth. You try to compose yourself with even breaths, but you shriek when you feel his length brush against your G-spot. When the base kisses your cunt, Toji gives you a few minutes to adapt to him. "How ya feelin'?"

"So full..." You look at him with brows scrunched, eyes hooded, and tears streaming down your pretty face.

"Hmm, I bet." He wipes your tears with the rough pads of his fingers before slowly thrusting into you. You grip his shoulders for support, your pussy tightening around his length while your legs cage him. "Oooooh, Christ, you're so tight, mama. Drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

And you're about to be driven crazier when his hips pick up the pace, his dick hitting your sweet spots with precision. It's so surreal finally experiencing your first time, especially with Toji. Maybe it's because he's older and more experienced, but whatever expectations you had up until this point have been blown out of the water. The slap of his pelvis on your slick-coated folds fills his room, his throaty groans sound way too good to the ears, and his hot kisses on your lips make you melt. It all feels so electrifying.

Just when you thought you were undergoing it all, Toji slithers a hand down to your clitoris and swipes up and down on the pearl with his thumb. A choked sob leaves puffy lips, "T-Toji, I'm so close. Please, please, please, let me—Oh God."

"Hnnmph, oh shit—" He's close, too. He bends down to nibble on your ear yet licks the pain away. "I know, sweetheart. Come on me." His thrusts then go faster, a merciless tempo you were unprepared for. Shrieks go higher as your orgasm climbs up, and it hits you hard when Toji's fingers play with your clit again. Your climax sends shivers up your spine, your tender walls pulsating on Toji's cock.

And the older man pulls his dick out of your sensitive cunt, letting his come spill onto your stomach. It looked so lewd yet deliciously attractive, especially with him heaving on top of you with his black bangs sticking to his forehead.

When you two calm down, Toji scans your disheveled appearance and chuckles. "Damn, yr' gonna have me addicted to ya, princess." Your stomach was wiped off with a towel that Toji had on hand as you giggled aimlessly.

"Wanna go again?"

"......yes?" You avoid eye contact and turn away bashfully. He chortles and kisses your cheek once more.

"So fuckin' cute."

[felixknow]

Hi! Can I request 64 with felix please:))

~cookie🍪

64. "please pretend to be my boyfriend."

Thanks for requesting! This one is a drabble instead of fake texts given the nature of the prompt. I didn't re-read or edit it, whatever happened is what happened LOL.

1.1k, fluff? Felix prevents it from being angst <3

Your trip to the convenience store was supposed to be quick.

You and Felix volunteered to go for the whole group-- you because you weren’t essential to the recording session, and Felix because he wanted to stretch his legs after being stuck in that small room for hours, waiting for his turn to record.

“Changbinnie wants a smoothie but I’m afraid it’ll melt before we get back,” you say, going over the list in your notes app while walking behind Felix, trusting that he won't let you bump into anything.

“It’s only a ten minute walk. I don’t think it’ll be too melted,” Felix says. “It’s pretty cool out tonight. It should be okay.”

“Okay,” you mumble, glancing over the list once more. It should be easy enough to find everything, and you can probably offer to pay today-- Felix probably expects to do it himself, but maybe you can beat him to it.

“After you,” he says, holding the door of the convenience store open for you. You say thank you and hear someone snicker behind the two of you.

So it isn’t common to hold the door open in Korea, you think. It’s not like it’s unheard of. Why do people always scoff at it?

“Found Innie’s chips,” Felix says, pulling a bag off the shelf.

“I’ll go make Changbinnie’s smoothie. Can you also look for Han’s mini cheesecake and Lee Know’s chocolate?”

“Of course.”

You wander to the opposite side of the small store to the drinks section and go about getting a cup of ice, some fruit, some juice, and then you hear another scoff and a laugh over your shoulder.

“She hasn’t changed,” you hear someone say in a not-so-quiet whisper.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Still as ugly as I remember.”

A cold spike stabs through you. I know that voice.

Your heart increases and a cold chill runs down your back. No, please no.

You finish making Changbin’s drink and snap the lid on tightly. As you turn and rush back to the corner of the store where you left Felix, you catch a glimpse.

Of her.

The girl you thought you’d never have to see again when you graduated high school. The girl who tormented you day after day and made you dread even walking through the halls lest she be close enough to shout at you and get her clique of friends to laugh at you.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks when you approach him. A frown etches onto his pretty mouth. “You look upset. Did something happen?”

“Um… someone who…”

“Sorry, what? I can’t hear you.”

You motion for him to lean down, and you whisper into his ear “someone who used to bully me is here. Can you please pretend to be my boyfriend or something? I just need her to leave me alone or not see me or something.”

Felix immediately starts looking around and seems to make eye contact with someone across the store.

“Of course,” he says to you, wrapping one arm protectively around your shoulders. “I’ve got almost everything, I think. We just need Chan’s gummies and we should be good.”

You nod and walk along silently with Felix, keeping your eyes to the ground. Your hands shake just enough that you consider asking him to carry the drink instead so you don’t risk dropping it.

“Got it,” he says, smiling as he takes them from the hook, now holding a frankly ridiculous amount of snacks in one hand.

“Here, let me have some of those,” you say, reaching for him, but Felix pulls his arm back.

“No, my baby never has to carry anything when I’m around,” he says, beaming a sweet smile down at you. “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late to see my parents.”

He’s really invested in this, you think, slightly smiling.

“Y/N,” a sickly false-sweet voice coos behind you. “Is that you, Y/N?”

Felix lets go of you and goes to the register, dropping the snacks on the counter.

“Oh, uh, hi,” you say, slowly turning to face her. “How are you?”

“I’m doing so well. How are you? You look… the same.” She smirks.

“Babyyy,” Felix whines, coming back over to you and wrapping both of his arms around your shoulders. “Come on, give me your drink. I told you I’m paying this time.”

He kisses your cheek and takes the drink out of your hand, then looks up at your former bully.

“Oh, hello. Are you a friend of my Y/Nnie?”

Her expression falls, the smirk dissipating faster than it appeared. She’s starstruck--you can see it in her eyes as they shine with admiration and also confusion.

“Wait… aren’t you an idol?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, laughing softly. “Oops. We should get going.” Felix grabs your hand and pulls you with him to the register so you can finish your trip.

“Y/N, how did you start dating an idol?”

Felix frowns but maintains his composure, glancing over his shoulder as he talks to her.

“I saw her at a concert and thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world,” he says, taking the bag of snacks after saying a quick thank you to the cashier.

“But--”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, cutting her off. “We’re not supposed to discuss our relationship. In fact, I’ll have to have you sign an NDA because we’re not actually public yet. Would you mind waiting here? I’ll send a representative of the company.”

“Oh, okay…” she says unsurely. “Felix, can I get a picture with you first?”

“I’ll come back without Y/Nnie and we’ll take a picture, okay? I want to walk my girlfriend home safely first.”

“Yeah, of course,” she agrees, refusing to meet your eye. It seems that her tough facade has completely been destroyed in the face of someone as charming as Felix.

“Come on, jagiya,” he says to you, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

Once you’re out of the store, you expect Felix to drop your hand, but he doesn’t.

“Thank you so much,” you say softly, squeezing his hand. “I don’t know what I thought that would accomplish. I just… panicked.”

“I think I’ll probably get in trouble for that if she tells anyone,” he says. “I’m probably actually gonna have to send someone with an NDA.”

“She’s really gonna think we’re dating,” you say, giggling at the absurdity of it all.

“That’s incredible,” Felix says, laughing too. “She’s never gonna be able to say shit to you again, though, that’s for sure.”

“Oh my god, this couldn’t have gone better. Thank you, so much.”

“Thank you for letting me hold your hand,” he says, smiling over at you. “I’ve wanted to but I didn’t know if we were close enough for that.”

“After this we definitely are,” you say, swinging your hands a little as you walk.

“I’m so glad,” he says.

Since when has Felix been shy to hold someone’s hand…?

masterlist | Wanna see the other members? Ask <3 | Send me a number!

Do NOT repost my content on any website for any reason.

[aakeysmash]

hii, first time writing a prompt :)

maybe a drunk reader and sukuna has to take care of her and take her home, she forgot her jacket and he lends her his sweater. maybe established relationship?

(i love your sukuna fics hehehe)

i made this a bit angsty lol

"you look like a spider."

sukuna rolls his eyes, then turns around and keeps on dragging you by your hand, just like he has been doing for the past 10 minutes. "what the fuck are you saying now?"

you trip on your own two feet, again, and you have to stop, again. you see him closing his eyes and taking one big inhale. he's really close from breaking your neck. you wobbly get in front of him, squint and poke his chest with your freshly done nail. "you- *hic* have eight eyes. ouch!"

you frown, massaging your forehead. he just flicked you.

"spiders have eight legs, not eight eyes. and i do not have eight fucking eyes," he tells you, annoyed.

"okay but still," you pout. you look at him and- damn, he's really fucking pretty. even if he's blurry he looks like a king: he's only wearing a sweater, but he's the hottest man you've ever seen. you try getting on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek, but you almost fall face-flat on the concrete you're walking on.

"you stink, don't get close to me," he says, serious, dodging your attempt to grab his forearm. then he turns around and leaves you there, standing. you open your mouth to say something, but no words come out, so you just stare at his retreating back. you know you're annoying him badly. it's not like receiving a messy text saying your girlfriend is drunk and that she needs a ride could be pleasurable for anyone, especially if you told her to be careful while she was out with her friends and if the text was sent in the middle of the night. and especially if you fought before she got out.

you're a little bit lost in your thoughts, and walking has become really hard, and when you look up you don't see sukuna anywhere. you feel like crying. you hate when he gets angry, especially because you never know how to say sorry properly. you didn't think he'd leave you in the middle of the street, though.

you sit down on the sidewalk and decide to take off your heels. they're hurting your feet and they make you seem like a drug addict for the people that see you walk. not like you could care less without sukuna making fun of you for it. you went a little overboard, sure, but you don't leave a girl alone at night.

you start crying. you don't even remember why you fought in the first place; maybe something that had to do with mowing the lawn this saturday? or was it about last night's tv series? anyway, you start missing him badly, you just want to go to sleep and stop your head from hurting. plus, it's so cold tonight. why does he have to be this difficult?

"the fuck are you doing?" a voice comes from behind you. you jump a little and try turning around, but you're suddenly brought up by two massive arms, finding yourself face to face with your boyfriend. he's looking at you weirdly. it's so cold.

"oh. hi," you say, sniffling and trying to wipe your tears, only creating a bigger mess on your face from your mascara streaks. your feet are touching the bare concrete and you feel like a mess. you fidget while avoiding the eye contact he's trying to make.

"why are you- nevermind," he answers himself, exhaling hard. you close your eyes and try not to let more tears out, feeling like he's going to tell you you need a break of some sort, when a weird warmth engulfs you. you look at your shoulders, now covered by the jacket he always has in his car "just in case he gets cold". but you know he never gets cold, he always runs warm. he keeps that jacket in his car for you.

he gets one of his hands on your cheeks, angling your face towards him, then tries cleaning up your snot and make-up with a tissue. you look up at him, big eyes observing his every move. you're warmer now. his hand touching you is warm too, and he makes little circles on your skin. you know it's his way of saying he's sorry.

"you're so messy," he mumbles, his face extremely close to yours, kissing your nose lightly. you burst into tears again.

"yo what-"

"i- i thought you lef-left me here," you sob, leaning your head on his chest. he's paralyzed for a moment, then gets one hand on your small back and caresses your head with the other.

"baby, you were freezing, i just went to the car to get your- my jacket."

"i know but you were so-so annoyed *hic* i thought-"

"then stop thinking," he interrupts you. you still, then lightly nod, brushing your face on his shirt.

"not too much, pretty girl, this shirt is white," he chuckles in your ear, still massaging your scalp. you hum.

"let's get you home, m'kay? i'll run you a really nice bath. i'mma make sure you take aaaall your medicines and get you to bed, mh?" he mocks you, almost like he's talking to a child.

you softly punch his chest, then mumble, "the bath sounded nice."

you're swept off your feet, then he squats to get the heels you left on the sidewalk.

"then i'll run you one for real. everything for you."

you're already dead asleep when you get to his car, and he makes sure to kiss your forehead before closing the passenger door, a little smirk on his lips.

[wifeyoozi]

hiiii!!!! i adore your works and love reading them!! 🫶🏻 while scrolling through your profile i saw that your requests for ot13 were open! :) so i thought maybe i could request ot13 reaction to a s/o with tattoos? (doesn't have to be a full sleeve for example, just tattoos in general)

or if you're not really feeling it, maybe ot13 reaction to a s/o with physical touch as their love language? 🫣

i hope you're having a nice day / night and keep up the good work!! 💘

ot13 seventeen : when your love language is physical touch

ceecee's note : sorry for late post lol and also I'm doing the second prompt not cuz I'm uncomfy with tattoos in fact I have two myself but I just find the second one really fluffy tho if you want me to do another one with the first prompt too, you can ask again and I would love writing about it too <33

seungcheol : he's really clingy himself, so he loves that you show your love to him by constantly hugging him and cuddling with him. when not in front of camera, the two of your really look like those teddy bears who hug each other and have been stitchd at their hands so they can literally not be separated from each other. like two koalas.

jeonghan : doesn't respond to you clinging on him very actively like seungcheol but everytime you hug him, he'll automatically hug back and when you are just touch starved, he'll come and plop his head on your lap so you can touch him and hug him and cuddle him all you want.

joshua : my gentleman. not the one to usually start physical contactbut really loves when you do and responds with almost the same energy. loves having you in his arms and keeping you warm all the time.

junhui : secretly very cuddly. doesn't show it a lot at the start of your relationship. now he'll pout every second you are not physically in contact with him and is just as much of a cuddle bear as you are.

soonyoung : he also naturally has physical-touch as his love language. he is more often clinging on you that you on him and literally loves when you two are hugging so close there is not even space for vacuum between you two, cheeks squishing against each other.

wonwoo : physical affection isnt his love language but he loves being the recipient of it. there are very less people he is as comfortable to be so close and touchy with and you are one of them. he really loves having you cling onto him like you are a koala and he is your tree branch

woozi : he rarely responds to you cuddling to him always, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. he really loves it. he actually feels so loved and appreciated the way you are always holding on him. on rare occasions like when he is tired or just full of love for you, he'll initiate physical touch by hugging you close and clinging to you instead.

minghao : doesn't show on surface to others how much he loves having you constantly bother him with hugs and cuddles and touches but you do know that he really enjoys that just by how he looks at you and smiles at you and always has a loose yet firm hand resting on your hips or back everytime you are by his side.

mingyu : this big baby literally feels so happy every time you cling to him. though physical touch isn't his primary love lang, its definitely one of them. literally greets you with bone-crushing hugs everytime and is peppering you with kisses whenever you cuddle beside him.

seokmin : he loves whenever you are constantly touching him. loves seeing you smile when you hug him and breath full of his scent. hugs you every chance he gets because he knows how much you like it. would never push you off him or even tell you so whenever you are hugging or cuddling him, even if he gets slightly uncomfortable or his arm dies under the weight of your head.

seungkwan : all he really needs after the long day of work is being hugged full by you. it just so helps that you love doing so. literally relaxes under your touch every time, just increasing you urge to keep him close all the time. if you let go of him even momentarily, he'll get so sulky.

vernon : he isn't one to start physical touch by himself either, but is always really comfortable when you do so. doesn't even realsie when he wraps his arms around you and rests his head on top of yours while cuddling. just loves you being in his space when he loves you.

chan : he's the kind who keeps changing his love language to match his partner's. your love language is physical touch? well now so is his! literally matches your energy in cuddliness and touchiness all the time. will hold you close and tight all the time and kiss you all the time because he knows how much you love it.

[dinogoofymutated]

Hello, I love your writing!! And the Kurt taking care of an overworked lover really melted my heart 🫠💕 could I ask for a similar prompt with Logan? He's my #1 X Men man. If this ptompt is too specific no worries, feel free to make it work within your own parameters- but I live with chronic pain/illness, so maybe it could be someone with a condition that flairing up and they refuse to rest/ask for help, making things worse, and Logan finally steps in, maybe scoops them up in his big arms and lovingly forces them to take a break? Logan has such a big protective heart under all his gruffness, and I think we need to see more of it in the Fandom.

💖 Love and Bless You 💖

Wolverine/GN!Reader UGH I love this request!! I hope it's okay that i didn't write about a specific illness, but describe a general chronic pain/mobility difficulty due to it. I need to write soft logan like this more often UGH- also, I was picturing the flirty Logan from Wolverine and the X-men here. He's infected my brain and I need more versions of him like that lol. TWS: Chronic pain/illness. flareups.

If there's one thing anyone knows about Logan, it's that's he's crazy observant, especially with that sniffer of his.

Sure me might not be able to smell when you're in pain, but I 100% thing that he just -knows- when something is off. It's like a sixth sense. Like you move in a particular way or eat your "fuck I hurt" food and he's on you like a goddamn bloodhound.

It doesn't matter how much you protest, or how much you fight him on it, he's not willing to budge when it comes to letting you rest- and if he can sneak in a few extra cuddles, or more time in bed with you, it's just a perk.

    Today has been a rough day since you woke up, and you knew it would most likely get worse. 

    You were having a bit of a flare-up. Well, you say a bit, in all actuality, it was an uphill battle from here. There was just something off the moment you woke up. Your joints were stiff and painful, everyday actions became a chore, and you were hurting much more than normal. But, if there was one thing about you everyone knew, it was that you were certainly stubborn. 

    You’re in the kitchen currently, resting at the table after popping a batch of cookies in the oven. Jubilee had been begging you to make her some sweet treats, and with her coming home from a rather long mission tomorrow, you decided to surprise her. Your body’s timing was… unfortunate, but there was no stopping you now. You were exhausted after making the dough, and rolling it into balls. After you had popped them in the oven you had painstakingly walked to the fridge to put the rest of the dough inside, muscles protesting each and every step. You had collapsed into the nearest chair, leaning your head back with a sigh, which is where you are now. You let your eyes drift closed as you wait for the timer to go off, relaxing into the seat.

    “Hey~” You jump at the sound of the voice, opening your eyes to see a smirking Logan, his arms draped across the back of your chair. You let out a huff, smiling at him. 

    “Hi Logan.” You say sweetly. One of his hands reaches down to run through your hair, and you feel like a cat as you eagerly lean into the touch.

    “How are you feeling?” He asks. You hum, grimacing at the question.

    “Fine?” You respond, an unsure tilt in your voice. Logan raises an eyebrow at you.

    “Don't bullshit me, sweetheart. I know somethings off.” Logan rumbles. You make a face, sitting up from the chair as normally as you can as the timer for the cookies goes off.

    “It's just a minor flare-up. It's fine, I'm fine. I have to finish baking these cookies for tomorrow anyway, so I don't really have a choice.” You say. If he sees the way you stumble a little, he doesn’t comment on it. Logan watches as you take a moment before you open the oven, resting against the counter. You realize that you may have gotten up from the chair just a little too fast as stars spot your eyes. After a minute of rest, hyper-aware of Logan’s eyes on you, you go for it. You barely crack the oven door open before Logan grabs you by the waist.

    “Alright, that's enough.” He says. You yelp as Logan drags you away from the oven. He takes the cookies out quickly before he turns around and immediately throws you over his shoulder. Your yelp is more of a screech this time.

    “Logan! Let me go- what are you doing?!” 

    “I'm not gonna stand back and watch you do this to yourself. I'm taking you to bed.” Logan huffs. He’s already walking you out of the kitchen and into the other parts of the mansion as you hit your palms against his back, trying to convince him to put you down.

    “But- I- the cookies!” You cry out. Logan has already gotten to your door opening it as he carries you inside.

    “I got it. Now just- relax.” He says, plopping you down on the bed. The action has you a little dizzy, and Logan leans in to kiss you on the forehead before he tucks you under the covers. 

    “I'm going to go get you some water and vitamins. Stay. Here.” You don’t have time to protest before he’s gone, having shut the door behind him. You want to get up and chase after him, tell him that you don’t need any special treatment and that you were fine on your own, but you’re not sure you can really run right now- and the comfort and warmth of your bed and covers are calling you like a goddamn siren song. 

    You drift in and out of consciousness in bed until Logan is back, with a glass of water and vitamins as promised. He hands you a flintstone gummy as he sits on the bed, and you can’t help but snicker. Logan rolls his eyes, still having delivered vitamins as promised.

    “What did you do about the cookies?” You ask as Logan peels back the covers to lie in the bed with you. He pulls you close as he settles in, rubbing his hands soothingly across the parts of you he knows tend to ache the most. 

    “I put a new batch in the oven. I’ll smell them when they’re ready.” He says. You roll your eyes at him, resting your head against his chest. 

    “Thank you, you know. Not just for the cookies, but… for caring.” You whisper. He huffs a laugh, leaning down to kiss you on the lips this time.

    “You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. Just rest.”

[revasserium]

do you right series/multiple parts for zoro opla X reader. If you do could you write something angsty n maybe reader was a part the butlers crew before n stuff. A lot of angst but also fluff n cute zoro X reader moments. Thxxx

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

catch.

opla!zoro; 9,224 words; fem!reader, no "y/n", slowburn, disgruntled companions?? to lovers, fluff and banter, so much banter, nicknames ("kitten", "pretty boy"), semi canon-compliant, tiny bit post!opla, more plot than not

summary: zoro calls reader "kitten", reader calls him "pretty boy" back. story ensues.

a/n: ha. i have no excuses for this... it's not a series/multipart, but i do hope that the sheer length of it kinda makes up for that lol; tagging @dira333 and @bby-deerling

The first time he sees you, it is over daggers and bared teeth, a hiss working up your throat as you glare at him from the balcony of Kaya’s expansive estate.

“You’re gonna need a lot more than that, kitten.” Zoro’s smirk goes slanted as you leap off the thin railings to land noiselessly before him, your curved daggers striking against the edge of his swords with a metallic spray of sparks.

His smirk fades after that, replaced by a wild, jagged grin as he swings both swords around his body in a wide arc — but you’re backflipping up, too high in the air to be fully natural, your feet landing perfectly on the backs of his blades before you’re kicking off again, forcing the blades down and throwing him off balance.

“I highly doubt it,” you bite out, skimming by his cheek with a savage smile as he jerks to the side just in time to avoid having his face split open. But you whip back around and it’s all he can do to parry your blow.

The discordant clang of metal on metal rings out in the otherwise silent room as you both flicker around each other, him as steady as the tide, you as quick as the flutter of a sparrow’s wing.

“Where was that fake butler hiding you, kitten? You’re much better than those other two —” Zoro grunts as he narrows his eyes, digging in his heels as he parries another flurry of your quicksilver blows. Your lips curl in contempt as you swipe for his stomach and catch on the edge of his white-hilted blade.

“He wasn’t hiding me anywhere —”

The world blurs in a whirlwind of flashing metal — it ends with you hissing as you find you and Zoro on opposite ends of the cavernous room, amidst wood splinters and slivers of shredded upholstery. There’s a thin slash oozing blood down the side of his face and a long gash along your arm where his sword had nicked your bicep.

“Then why’re you with him?” Zoro asks, grimacing as he wipes blood from his cheek.

“Because, pretty boy,” you smirk at the way his eyes narrow, “the old tomcat owes me something. And I never forget a debt.”

Zoro’s eyebrow quirks, and for a single second, you can see the cogs turning behind his darkened eyes, “So… you’re only with him until he pays you.”

You grin, Cheshire wide, and a second later, you’re right in front of him, pressing up into his personal space with a finger trailing up the length of his neck. Zoro’s breath catches, and he’s acutely aware of just how open he’d been, how easily you might’ve decided to end his life had you replaced your finger with the tip of one of your curve-bellied daggers.

“That… and I happen to enjoy slicing things up, y’see…” your voice is syrup sweet and sharp as poison even as he jerks away from you, instinct thrusting his swords forward before he can stop himself. But you’re already dancing away with a soft, ringing laugh, shaking your head.

“Gonna have to be faster than that if you wanna catch me… pretty boy.”

You slink into the shadows, giggling even as Zoro grimaces and tries to chase after you, slashing at whispers and shapes in the dark. He makes it all the way down the hallway before Luffy’s voice catches his attention and he doubles back with a final look over his shoulder, an unsatisfied knot tied tight in his stomach.

The second time you meet, it’s over a barrel of dried sardines.

“We pick up another stray?” Zoro asks, frowning as you grin cheekily down at him from the bow of the Merry. He could imagine the way your ears might flick if you had them, the way your invisible tail might twitch from side to side, snide and all too satisfied.

“Yeah! Didn’t I tell you? She’s coming with us!” Luffy grins wide as he climbs up onto their new ship, giving you a hard pat on the back, “Welcome to the Straw Hat Crew!”

“Thanks, Cap!” you smile, slipping off the railings to help with the extra supplies.

Nami sighs as she joins Zoro on the docks, “Sad, desperate souls, like I said — but hey, at least she helped us escape.”

Zoro frowns, “She did?”

Nami rolls her eyes, “Who do you think undid all those locks on the metal shutters from the outside? Geez…”

Zoro grunts, catching another barrel of dried food as Nami tosses it up toward him.

After that, things… do not get better. You’re too quiet, too quick, and Zoro can never quite tell when you mean what you say or if you ever say what you mean. Your laughter sends shivers down his back, and he finds himself watching you, even when he doesn’t mean to.

By the time you’ve all reached the Baratie, it’s become second nature for him to keep his eyes trained on you, to take stock of where you are, to seek you out the first thing after he wakes and the last thing before he sleeps.

“Ah — apologies madam I didn’t see you there —” Sanji smarms as Nami’s eyebrows inch up her forehead. You bite back a grin as Zoro scoffs to your right.

“And… for you?” when Sanji finally turns his eyes onto you, you’re ready for him, leaning forward, your tongue slipping languorously across your bottom lip as you peer up at him from beneath your thick lashes.

“Got any Déesse? Ah, but you must have — an establishment as fine as this?”

Sanji takes a long breath; Zoro feels the air turn sour in his lungs.

“Of course we do — a woman of taste, hm? And… for the rest of you?” Sanji’s voice flatlines as he looks over the rest of the crew.

Zoro snorts, rolling his eyes, “A beer for me and… a few for my friends.”

Sanji shoots a curt nod his way before recounting the table’s orders, “A few beers, a milk —” he dips his head in Luffy’s direction, “a normal water in a normal glass,” a smile at Nami, “and… a bottle of Déesse — any preference on year, miss?” He twinkles in your direction.

“Oh… surprise me.”

Sanji sweeps into a theatrical bow, “Right away,” before gliding away from the table.

Everyone starts talking all at once —

“Why’re you ‘miss’ but I’m ‘madam?’”

“Great fighter, that guy — did you see him roundhouse that other guy in the face —”

“Wow… don’t tell me that worked on you?” Zoro scoffs as he turns to look at you.

You shrug, “Sometimes, it pays to meet people on their level, hm?” Then, your smile turns saccharine as you tilt your head, eyes flickering towards the triplet of swords caught in the small gap between the plush seats and the pillar to Zoro’s right.

“Right. Whatever.” His lip curls. Nami sighs, leaning her head back against the studded velvet seat backs.

“The two of you are gonna be the death of us…” she muses, laughing as you curl back into your seat with an exaggerated pout and Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, feeling heat crest up into his cheeks.

And later, it’s you who tries the hardest to talk him out of his duel with Mihawk, a dull, feline glint to your eyes as you glare at him from across the wide kitchen counter —

“You couldn’t even beat me in single combat — what makes you think you’d be able to best Dracule Mihawk, huh?!”

Zoro snarls as he rounds on you, “It’s not like I was really trying.”

“Seemed like you were doing a lot more than trying to me!”

“You were the one who ran away.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t have a death wish!”

“So you admit that you would’ve lost to me.”

Your eyes narrow into slits as you hiss, “Yes, just like you’ll lose if you go through with this.”

A muscle feathers in Zoro’s jaw as he slowly peels his eyes away from you and turns back to the methodical work of polishing his swords.

Later that night, you find him sitting in the Merry’s kitchen with his eyes closed, arms crossed, his swords lined up just so on the suspended table in front of him.

“You can stop sulking. I know you’re there.” He opens a single eye to peer at you as you melt out of the shadows near the door, your own arms knitted tight across your chest.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I’m meditating.” His eyes slip back closed.

You leap deftly onto the table and cross your legs, looking down at his row of swords.

“You’ll need more than a good meditation session to beat that old hawk.”

Zoro’s eyes snap open, his words taking on a hard, metallic edge, “What would you know about it?”

Your grin is crescent moon sharp as you tilt your head; you reach forward as if to tap a finger against the sheath of one of his swords. There’s a dull thump as Zoro makes to tug the sword away, but a second later, you’ve got his wrist pinned to the table’s marred surface. Your face is half an inch away from his and he can taste the heat of your breath on his lips.

“See? Not nearly fast enough,” you tut, still grinning as Zoro yanks his arm away.

“If you’re trying to change my mind, you’re doin’ a shit job.”

“No,” you sigh, jumping off the table, your feet eerily silent as always. You make it all the way to the door before turning to glance at Zoro over your shoulder. There’s an inscrutable look on his face as he watches you, and you allow him one last, little smile.

“I just… thought you should be well-rested for your own execution.”

The next morning dawns too bright, too early, the sky too blue and perfect. It’s a blood-hungry day, so your grandmother used to say, the kind of day that aches for disaster. You shiver as you walk silently behind Usopp and Luffy, trailing in Zoro’s shadow as he makes his solemn way to the docks to face Mihawk.

There’s a quick exchange of words before Mihawk’s eyes slide onto you; the faint upward tick of his eyebrow is the only indication you get that he recognizes you. But then, he’s cocking his head, and musing aloud —

“They say it’s good luck to have a cat on a pirate ship, but I’m afraid this one won’t do you any good today, Roronoa Zoro.”

“Oh god… he’s really doing this, isn’t he?” Nami’s hand slips into yours, squeezing tight, her voice nothing more than a terrified whisper.

You give a brief nod, squeezing back. On your other side, Usopp swallows hard, but Luffy doesn’t seem all that worried.

It’s a quick, brutal, and decisive fight, but you watch as Mihawk pulls back at the last second, Yoru slicing through the air, much slower and softer than you knew it could. Nevertheless, Zoro’s blood splatters the creaking wood beams below as he collapses. You feel your lungs slowly calcifying as everyone rushes to Zoro’s side but you stand there, frozen, the world tunneling around you, the wild thumping of your heart echoing in your ears as Mihawk slates you a single look before turning and strolling off back toward the Baratie.

You slip away in the chaos of everyone trying to get Zoro back onto the ship.

“Come to seek revenge for your little boyfriend?” Mihawk asks, casually leaning up against the near-empty bar in the Baratie’s mouth.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply, voice clipped. Your fingers are curled into fists at your side, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Mihawk gives you a single once-over before tutting.

“I see you’ve been sharpening your claws.”

“I see you haven’t,” you bite back. Mihawk rolls his eyes.

“Dear, dear — if even you’ve noticed something then I really am getting rusty. Though it has been hard to find a good sparring partner ever since Shanks lost his arm. Careless man.”

“Why’d you really let him live?”

Mihawk pauses in his rather thorough inspection of his nails to look up at you, lips twitching.

“I meant what I said — the world needs a few more wildcards and… I have a feeling he’ll be coming to find me soon enough.”

“You don’t take on students.” You don’t quite manage to keep the bitterness from your voice even as Mihawk shrugs.

“Just because I haven’t before, doesn’t mean I won’t ever. Now run along — I think your little swordsman friend might need some help, hm?”

You open your mouth to argue, but you hear the distinct sounds of Luffy’s voice echoing out from the kitchen, high and desperate, followed by the base rumble of Zeff’s voice. You slink into the kitchen between the flapping doors, watching as Sanji scrambles to gather Zeff’s knives.

“I’ll get the fish,” you offer, making nearly everyone jump as you reach for the freezer box.

No one has the time to ask any more questions as Luffy leads the way back to the Merry.

Nami’s eyes are wide and over-bright when you set the yellowtail on the table next to Zeff, and the whole room watches with bated breath as the old chef starts to work. Wordlessly, you tug out the large curved needles and place them at his elbow. He spares you a grateful grunt as he grabs them.

You take three steps back, letting out a long breath as you press your back to the cool wood of the doorframe, watching as Zeff stitches Zoro back together.

You spend the next two and a half days curled up in the small chair next to Nami’s bed, dozing every so often, at other times humming, or keeping still as Nami, Usopp, and Luffy take their turns next to Zoro’s sleeping form as well. You’re reciting a childhood nursery rhyme when Zoro finally wakes up.

“I thought cats were supposed to be quiet…”

“— and all the king's horses and all the king’s men — oh… you’re awake.”

“What about the king’s horses and men?” Zoro’s voice is thick and gravelly from disuse, but there’s that familiar twist to his mouth as he turns slightly to blink blearily up at you.

“It… it doesn’t matter — I should go tell Luffy —”

“No, finish the story, kitten.”

Your voice catches in your chest, and after a second, you sigh, dropping back into your seat with a resigned little laugh.

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men… couldn’t put Humpty back together again.”

Zoro hums, “Wow, cheerful little kitten, aren’t you? You always pick such nice things to say at a sick person’s bedside?”

“No, just the ones that really deserve it.”

Zoro laughs, the sound a base rumble that makes him wince, his hand shooting up to clutch at his chest. You lurch forward, catching yourself before you actually touch him, hovering there as Zoro opens his eyes and a strained sort of silence thickens in the air around you.

Like this, you’re acutely aware of the heat rising off of Zoro’s skin, the fact that his shirt is still pulled open to accommodate the thick bandages wrapped around his torso, the taut skin of his stomach, flexing as he takes in shallow breaths. Like this, you can count the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and see the pinprick black holes threatening to take over his eyes as they dilate.

It isn’t till you both hear the clatter of footsteps and Usopp flings himself into the room that you jerk back, blinking as Usopp gasps for breath, gesticulating wildly, rambling about Luffy and fishmen and a fight that’s broken out at the Baratie.

You glance down at Zoro, who sighs, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Go.”

“You stay put.”

“Right, like I’m goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

Zoro grunts, and you spare him one more sharp look before following after Usopp.

Three days later finds you all back at sea, with a newly minted member in tow, chasing after Nami’s shadow.

It does not take long to track her down, and when you do, the fight is — if not quick, then at least decisive. You’re not the only one who notices the stiffness in Zoro’s limbs as everyone eats and drinks their way through a whole night of merry-making.

“Back for seconds — must’ve liked it!” Sanji crows, slapping another spoonful of food onto Zoro’s plate.

“It was okay.”

“That plate says different.”

“Not hungry?” you jump slightly at Nami’s voice, and you lift your eyes just in time to see her eyebrows kick up. She cocks them at you before settling down by your side.

“Not often that you’re caught off guard — something must really be bothering you.” You can hear the edge of forced lightness in her voice, and your eyes flicker to the fresh bandage on right arm.

Events of the past few days flash behind your eyes and you cast her a small grin.

“Just thinking…”

“Sounds like trouble.”

“It does seem to follow me around, doesn’t it?”

Nami regards you with a curious look before scoffing, “Don’t you mean ‘us’?”

You frown, turning towards her. She slates you a glance before darting her eyes back to the party.

“In case you haven’t noticed… ‘Trouble’s kind of our middle name. If you don’t like it, then…”

Her voice trails off then, and the playful smile flickers like a flame caught in a sudden gust of wind. You press your lips.

“Never said I don’t like it.” You return her smile and see her firelight catch again.

“C’mon then — no more sitting around —” you let yourself be pulled to your feet, the pair of you stumbling towards the large bonfire where several of the villagers are strumming at battered instruments, though the music they make is no less brilliant for it.

“Ah, now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” Sanji says, tapping a bit of ash off a freshly lit cigarette as Zoro scrapes the final bites of food from his plate.

“Hn.” But his gaze lingers on the light-caught shape of you, a black dress hugging the curves of your waist and the bend of your hip, cascading out as you spin beneath Nami’s arm. There’s a softness about you he’s never seen before — something more than the damnable feline grace with which you fought or the steel-lined quickness and skill that forever nipped at his heels like a hungry dog, reminding him that he still had so much more to master, to learn — no, this is something else entirely.

Something lissome and light, something tantantalizing and sweet.

Something… lovely.

And it stirs something inside him too — something not at all sweet and light, though… no less tantalizing.

A semi-inebriated Nojiko manages to pull Sanji into the fray, and a moment later, you glance over to meet his eyes. A line catches then, hooked from the center of his chest to the dark, mesmerizing flash of your eyes, Zoro feels himself tipping forward.

Until he actually is, and there’s a bottle being pressed into his hand by a stranger he doesn’t even glance at.

He finds himself at your side, somehow, everyone spinning around the bonfire like marionettes on a massive stage, his limbs loose and a smile tugging wide his lips. At some point, he thinks he might’ve felt your hands in his, but then again, waking up the next morning face down in a pile of hay, a headache pounding behind his eyes, he thinks it’s probably just his imagination.

They set course for the Grand Line proper then, and everyone settles into a kind of routine. Though despite everyone’s initial protests, Zoro can be seen at the bow of the ship every sunrise and sundown, running through katas, grunting and wincing occasionally when his wound threatens to reopen, at which point you’d appear like a vague, disgruntled shadow, and shoo him back to bed.

“I’ll never best Mihawk if I don’t get better —”

“Exactly.” You pin him with a hard look; he can almost see your hackles rising as he huffs and slumps down into his hammock. You relax slightly, perched atop a rather precarious pile of barrels, but Zoro knows better than to doubt your balance.

“You’ll never beat him if you don’t get better first,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes as Zoro scoffs, pointedly twisting to face the other way. The ship rocks the hammock to and fro, and after a while, Zoro feels himself drifting off into that ever-familiar limbo of half-sleep, his mind wandering through the avenues of his memories, images coming in watercolor flashes, seeping into his vision.

“Tell me something,” he says, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

“Hm?” you barely make a noise, but he feels your presence in the corner of his room, has memorized the specific size and shape and weight of you such that he could pick you out of a moving crowd with his eyes closed, his face turned the other way.

“What do you want to know?”

“You had plenty of stories when I was unconscious — don’t you have more?”

For a moment, you don’t speak, and the silence is filled by the rhythmic creaking of wood, the soft splash of water against the ship’s hull, the occasional cry of seabirds, and the dull, muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from above deck.

“Once upon a time, a kitten was left by the roadside in a tiny village by her mother, who was sick and didn’t have enough milk to feed all her children, but it just so happens that a great big hawk was soaring overhead and took a liking to the kitten. The hawk picked her up in his great talons and brought her to a castle on an island, surrounded by thorns and briars and the most beautiful roses the kitten had ever seen. There, the hawk set her the task of hunting down mice so he himself could go after bigger, juicier prey — for you see, the hawk had long dreamed of becoming the greatest hunter in the whole wide world.”

At this, Zoro shifts to turn back towards you, peering open one eye to watch as you leaned back against the wall of the small storeroom he’d claimed as his own, one of your knees propped up, your arm hanging loosely over it, your other leg dangling down over the side of your barrel, your heel occasionally knocking against the wood with gentle little thumps.

You take a deep breath and glance down at him, a sad, faraway look in your eyes as you continue —

“Eventually, the kitten got very good at catching mice — she grew faster, stealthier, learned to sharpen her claws and teeth, learned to hide amongst the beautiful roses in the garden until the mice grew complacent before she struck. But no matter how much she begged, the hawk would never let her hunt bigger things. And then one day… the hawk took her up in his giant claws again and tossed her onto the beach — told her that there was nothing more he could teach her, and that she ought to find her own way in the world.”

You sigh, shaking your head, “What a liar…” you murmur, almost to yourself as you lower your eyes to your hands, “he never really taught me anything…”

And this time, it’s Zoro who remains silent, letting the quiet seep through the floorboards like the thick, morning mists, rising off of the water’s surface before the sun bakes it all away.

Then, he swings himself off the hammock and makes for the door. Before he can reach it, you’re in front of him, blocking his path with a bright glint in your eyes and a challenge in your smile.

“I’ve rested,” he says, plainly, taking half a step back.

“You’ll never get better like this —”

“Exactly,” he throws the word back in your face before sighing and looking away, “so… help me.”

You blink, staring up at him as he stares right back at you.

“Help you how?” You resist the urge to look away, swallow down the bitterness crawling up the back of your throat — I can’t even help myself —

“Mihawk trained you —”

“No,” you spit out, your shoulders tensing as you glare up at Zoro, “he didn’t — he did everything in his power not to —”

“Tch — you lived with him on that island and he trusted you with keeping the — the mice away —” a vein ticks in Zoro’s jaw as you watch him stare down at you, your heart thumping warm and wild in your chest, “just because he didn’t personally hold your hand and teach you his technique… doesn’t mean he wasn’t training you in his own way.”

You swallow hard.

“So what? It’s not like I can ever beat him.”

“You might. Or I might. If we help each other.”

You ball your fingers into fists, “What makes you think either of us stands a chance against him?”

At this, Zoro’s smile goes slanted — a raw, wild, blood-beat thing.

“Because I’ve seen you fight and I think you’re good. And… I know I’m good. Or at least, I know I’ll get there.”

There’s a certain quicksilver edge to the shape of his words that makes you look up, your eyes meeting his like the colliding cores of two tidally locked stars — something terrible and magnificent, a catastrophe of gravity and inevitability.

Your mind spins and for a second, you can almost see it, that distant future in which Roronoa Zoro becomes the best, better — even — than the best. The greatest in the world. You lean back, your gaze appraising.

“Tell you what — if you get good enough to catch me once… I’ll take you to him.”

Zoro frowns, “What do you mean?”

Your grin quirks and you lilt your head, “Exactly what it sounds like — you get fast enough to catch me, and catch me properly then… I’ll take you to his island.”

Zoro stares. And then, his own grin stretches to match yours.

“Deal.”

Things change after that, the mornings and evenings no longer finding Zoro alone at the bow of the ship, but always with the shape of you flickering around him, the bright, hungry gleam of sun on steel flashing around you.

“Too slow —” you gasp, dodging beneath one of his swipes as he grunts and swings downward, nearly catching the tips of your hair as you spin away.

“But — you’re getting there,” you grin, holding up a hand as you lean back against the side of the Merry, your other hand pressed to your chest.

“Outta breath, kitten?” Zoro asks, smirking as he slowly sheaths his sword, sweat glistening along the planes and grooves of his chest.

“Hardly.” You flick him a disapproving look but there’s a tiny smile that threatens the corner of your mouth as he scoffs, reaching for a rag to dab at his forehead. You can’t help the way your eyes linger on the strong, sturdy ripples of muscles that flex along his back and shoulders as he straightens up either, and when he catches you staring, it’s all you can do to hold his gaze.

You don’t give him a chance to gloat. Instead, you swing your knives around your fingers and cast him a grin.

“Breakfast,” you say.

“Mm,” he agrees, just as Nami comes padding up onto the main deck, stifling a yawn and squinting at you both with a mildly disgusted look on her face.

“How the hell are you guys up so damn early all the time?”

“Ah, they say that cats are diurnal creatures — so they’re most awake at dawn and at dusk. As for the moss-head… I’ve heard that idiots don’t need as much sleep. Not as much brain to rest, y’know?” Sanji remarks, smirking as he brushes by Nami with a wink.

Zoro scoffs, wiping off his blade with a rough cloth, “It’s called bettering yourself. Not that you’d know what it means. All this time and your congee’s still runny as f —”

“Says the guy who can’t tell the difference between sunny side up and scrambled eggs —”

You sigh, ducking around the squabbling pair with a long, sinuous stretch.

“So… how goes the sparring, hm?” Nami asks, her voice dripping with innuendo as she follows you into the kitchen, her sleep-blurred eyes now sharp, her grin moon-sly and teasing.

“It goes,” you say, opening a cupboard and rummaging around for anything that catches your eye.

“I see… and is it going somewhere in particular?” Nami drapes herself across the long couch, her eyes tracking you as you move from cupboard to cupboard, and finally stopping in front of the fridge.

You hoist yourself up onto the suspended table, a glass of milk in your hands, “Depends on where this particular place is.”

Nami shrugs, “Dunno… just seems like Zoro’s spending a lot of time following you around like a lost little puppy these days. When was the last time he’s left you alone for more than say —” Nami makes a show of checking her watch, “15 minutes?”

“We’re just training together — and he doesn’t follow me around all the time —” but even as the words leave your mouth, Zoro ducks into the kitchen, his eyes skipping from you to Nami and back again.

“Waiter said we’re on our own for breakfast.”

“I’m good with milk.” You hold up your glass even as Nami snickers and Zoro nods, rummaging through a few cupboards until he pulls out a bag of jerky. At this, Nami’s eyes slingshot between the pair of you one last time before she sighs dramatically and saunters back out of the room, muttering something about conning Sanji into making proper breakfast.

The quiet twines around your ankles, soft and familiar. Zoro leans against the counter, the small bag of jerky untouched as he watches you sip at your milk. Heat curls along the curve of your spine as you feel the weight of his eyes tracking your lips, the bright pink flash of your tongue.

You swallow.

So does he.

“You’re getting faster.”

“You’re getting stronger.”

Your words overlap like the pages of a book, flipped through too fast.

You blink, and then — laughter. Your’s startled and shy, his soft and… you turn just fast enough to catch him duck his head the other way, shoving his hand into the bag of jerky. He clears his throat.

“Thanks.”

“What for?” you work to press some of your usual purr back into your voice, but it sounds strange and tinny in the wane morning light.

“For…” Zoro hesitates, and for a second, you find yourself leaning into the smooth weight of his voice, as if you might be able to catch his next words in the palm of your hands like bruised fruit.

“Alright — outta my kitchen, mosshead — lovely ladies like these should always start the day with a well-balanced meal.”

Sanji kicks open the door and Zoro glares. You’re already hopping off the counter, quiet as starlight, grinning behind Sanji’s back even as Zoro sighs.

“It’s not your kitchen, waiter. I’ve got as much right to be in here as you do.”

You try to slip away but Nami’s hand darts out to catch your wrist.

“Not so fast… kitten.”

Your entire face flushes at the word.

“I don’t know what you’re —”

Nami’s satisfied smile is more Cheshire than cat but you allow her to drag you up to the bow of the ship, half-concealed by her tangerine trees. Up here, the air tastes briny and sweet with morning air. Up here, you have you squint against the sea’s shattered glass light, cast up towards the dawning sky.

Nami leans against the railing and casts her eyes out towards the distant horizon. There’s always been a sun-kissed quality about her, the brilliant orange of her hair, the darkening patches of freckles scattered across her nose-bridge. You let her press her arm to yours and feel the warmth and soft of her skin.

“So. Zoro, huh?”

You sigh, looking down towards the dark emerald of the waves below. You watch as the water froths against the ship’s hull, peeling away in roils of white lace.

“A little cliche, if you ask me — y’know, the swordsman and the knife-girl? But… I guess it makes sense.” There’s a lightness to her voice that makes you laugh, a solidness to her words that makes you powerless to contest them.

“They say it’s good to have hobbies in common,” you offer, hoping to match the playfulness in her voice. Nami chuckles, making a noise at the back of her throat.

“Oh yeah, I bet ‘bodycount’ means something totally different to the two of you, huh?”

You let a real laugh break though then, your head tipping back and reveling in the sound. The rapidly rising sun casts everything in a dreamy, slant-wise glow — golden hour, you think you’ve heard it called. But you wonder if it’s might just be more amber than gold, standing here, laughing with Nami, you feel for the first time, a weight shift and slip from your shoulders. Like shedding a thick coat after a long day’s travel.

Then, the light shifts, a thin fog of clouds dulling out the sun’s light as Nami fixes you with her too-sharp eyes.

“He’s going after Mihawk, isn’t he?”

You sober as well, wetting your lips. “Eventually, yeah.”

“And… you’re helping him.”

You nod.

Nami sighs, dropping her chin onto a the heel of her hand.

“You… really think he can do it? Beat Mihawk?”

You take your time scanning the horizon. Without the transcendent glow of the rising sun, the waves are cooler, darker, and you know better than most the monsters lurking just beneath the surface.

“Mihawk’s only human,” you say. To which Nami scoffs.

“Right. That makes it loads better.”

You instinctively reach for where you knives would be, the empty loops on your belt like a persistent itch in your fingertips.

“At least it means he bleeds red just like the rest of us.”

Nami nods as you push away from the rails, retracing your steps into the kitchen where you’d left your knives.

Sanji is halfway through grilling mackerel with a steaming pot of miso soup bubbling on the stove. He gives you a wink and a knowing grin as you wander in, jerking his chin towards the hanging table where Zoro is running an oiled cloth along the length of his sword.

“In case you were lookin’ for your knives,” Sanji’s voice is silken tofu smooth as he turns back to his cooking.

Zoro doesn’t look up as you reach for your knives, laid out perfectly, already cleaned and oiled.

“I was doing mine anyway,” Zoro says, by way of an explanation.

You smirk, reaching out to tuck each one into its spot on your belt.

“Thanks, pretty boy, altruism looks good on you.”

You slink from the room before you can hear Sanji’s witty taunt or Zoro’s biting retort, a satisfied heat stirring steady at the base of your stomach.

The languorous days slip into sun-soaked weeks, and though it takes longer than anyone would’ve liked for Zoro’s wound to heal, it does. And the scar, well —

“I think it looks awesome!” Luffy says, clapping Zoro on the shoulder as you tug away the gauze to inspect the long thin strip of puckered skin, a few shades lighter than the rest of Zoro’s chest.

“Yeah, real… manly-like,” Usopp adds, arms folded, leaning against the far wall, fighting an expression between impressed slightly queasy. He backpedals immediately as Zoro casts him a dark look.

“N-not that you’re not real or manly already or anything like that! It just uh — adds to the allure, y’know?”

Nami makes a face, “Yeah, I don’t know about allure…”

Sanji grunts.

“When did this become a museum exhibit?” Zoro snaps, frowning at the entire crew, gathered around him as you unstick the last of the bandages from his now healed stomach.

“We just wanted to make sure you were alright, Zoro!” Luffy says, rummaging around for a snack now that he’s satisfied his first mate is properly healed.

“I’ve been fine for weeks,” Zoro says flatly as Usopp joins Luffy and Sanji wanders towards the window to let out a puff of smoke.

“Can you lean back a bit — I think it’s still not completely healed by your —” you frown as you try to press Zoro back, your palm splaying against his stomach as your free hand traces at the waistband of his pants towards where the large gash tapers into his right hip.

Zoro hisses between his teeth and the room goes deathly quiet.

You look up to find everyone staring, and then half a second later Nami leaps to her feet, talking loudly about a part of the East Blue map she wants to finish, Usopp stuttering after her about checking the knots on the main mast, and Sanji dragging Luffy by the scruff of the neck, insisting that they set up the fishing lines for the day.

The door slams behind Luffy and somehow, the room feels more full than it had been just a few seconds prior. The silence pulses between you, thick and pitched and expanding.

You clear your throat delicately, lowering your eyes back to the task at hand, doing your best to ignore the uncomfortable heat now creeping up the back of your neck.

“Can you —”

Zoro leans back wordlessly, propping his arms against the table, his hips shifting forward to allow you access.

You gently tug down the material of his waistband several inches to reveal the tip of the wound, still a bit raw and red, possibly from the friction of his clothes, or just his general lack of regard for his own recovery.

“Yeah, it’s still not all —” your voice cuts off as you look up to find Zoro staring, and the burgeoning hunger you find there stills your heart in your chest. It’s a strange, base, animal thing, caught in the swirling darkness of his irises, but he holds his breath, and so you do yours —

“Healed…” you swallow hard, reaching for the thick, pungent balm sitting by his left hand.

With slow, methodic movements, you uncap the balm and dip your finger into the sticky surface, reaching forward to run the tip along the soft redness of Zoro’s skin. Thinking back later, you might’ve been thankful for the sharp herbal fragrance of the balm to distract you from the deeper, muskier smell of Zoro’s skin, salted as it always is with sea and sweat, tempered with the unmistakable scent of steel.

But right then, all you can think about is the sharp cut of his hipbone as it slants down, and down, and —

You pull back when you’re done, making to wipe your hand on a piece of washcloth when Zoro catches your wrist in one smooth movement, pulling you up till you’re chest to chest, your body slotted between his spread open legs.

“Zoro, what —”

“Caught you —” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, but you feel it rumbling through his chest to yours.

“— You’re losing your touch.”

You narrow your eyes, “Not a chance — I was distracted, that’s not fair —”

You try to tug your wrist away only for him to tighten his grip. A fist-like something clenches inside your stomach along with his fingers. Fire licks at the base of your belly before climbing up your spine.

“Hn. All’s fair.”

You watch in near slow motion as his eyes flick down to your lips and back up again; you’re helpless to do else but mirror the movement. With your wrist still caught in his grasp, it’s almost too easy for him to pull you forward, to tip you into him till you’re nearly spilling over, till you’re scrambling back with half-caught breaths and wide eyes and your other palm pressing firmly to his chest, where you can feel the fluttering beats of his own heart caught just beneath your touch.

“I-if you’re gonna make a move, at least wait till I’ve finished wiping off my hands,” the words come tumbling out, more a reflex than anything else, but it makes Zoro blink and lean back just a few inches. His grip on you eases ever so slightly, and you tug your wrist from his grasp, expecting him to snap to, to jerk away, to blush or apologize, but instead, all he does is watch you mutely wipe at your hands with those dark, hungry eyes.

When you’ve finished, he quirks an eyebrow as if waiting for you to make the next move.

At this, you huff, rolling your eyes, “Come on*,* pretty boy — you can’t expect me to dress your wounds and make the first —”

The kiss is quick and searing and over all too fast, as most first kisses are. The second kiss is more patient, a slow easing in, a teasing of lips and and a testing of tongues. The third is breathless, hedging on urgent. The fourth — well the fourth is cut short by Zoro pressing his forehead to yours, the both of you panting.

“Wh — what the hell was that?” you ask, gulping down great lungfuls of breath as Zoro scoffs.

“C’mon kitten, don’t go gettin’ shy on me now…” Zoro smirks even as you lean forward to try and nip at his bottom lip, eyes flashing. He tilts your mouth back to his, and words are lost for a few more moments before you find them again.

“Who said anything about getting shy? I just wanted an explanation.”

Zoro makes an abortive noise at the back of his throat as you nose into the place under his jaw and graze your teeth along the skin there.

“C-can’t a guy say thanks for someone dressing his wounds?”

You pull back with a soft hiss and a sly smile; it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter.

“Don’t tell me this is how you’ve been thanking all your savoirs. I’ll have to go compare notes with Zeff —”

At this, Zoro grunts, wincing slightly as your belt presses against the inside of his hip where his wound is still raw. You pull away, startled.

“Sorry — I didn’t —”

“Hey.”

Zoro tugs you back with soft hands and an even softer smile, “Not sure I liked having you talk about Zeff while we were…”

You break him off with a helpless laugh and he joins you a second later. And then, before either of you can say more, Usopp’s voice echoes down from above deck.

“Land ho! Land ho!”

You glance back at Zoro, who slips off the table and has the decency to rearrange his clothes. You share a meaningful look before trying to pull away but Zoro once again catches your wrist.

This time, his lips are set and his eyes are just a tad bit harder than before.

“Don’t forget, kitten, you still owe me an island.”

You pause, peering at him beneath half-lidded eyes as your head lists first to one side, and then the other.

His eyes track yours before ticking down to your lips once more, where your tongue traces a path his own had run along not so long ago.

“You should know by now, pretty boy, that I never forget my debts.”

And just like that, your wrist slips from between his fingers, and Zoro’s left with nothing more than the taste of your mouth and the flicker of your shadow as he steps into the dim hallway.

Loguetown is a bustling place, a bleached button pressed into the chest of the East Blue, bright as a Marine’s new uniform. People blow through like fall leaves on the wayward wind and ships of all shapes and sizes dot every bit of tangible coast, their masts foresting the skyline until it’s barely visible from the docks.

“Need new swords,” Zoro announces as the crew all gather on the creaky boardwalk.

“Same. Could do with a few more knives,” you nod.

Nami tuts, rolling her eyes, “Well I’m getting a new wardrobe.”

“I’m gonna get some lunch!” Luffy grins widely as Sanji sighs, digging in his pockets for a fresh light.

“Looks like we’re stuck with the grocery shopping,” he says, nudging Usopp.

“Uh… I was actually gonna go check out some tech shops to find some parts for…” Usopp trails off as Sanji pins him with a look before shrugging, “Or… I mean, I don’t mind doing groceries first and then looking for parts.”

“Good man!” Sanji smiles, clapping him on the back as he frog-marches Usopp towards the market.

“No getting into fights, got it?” Nami looks between you and Zoro, “we need to be discreet.”

You bat your lashes, “Us? Never! We’ll be sweet and soft as kangaroos.”

Nami frowns, “Wait — kangaroos aren’t —”

You laugh, flouncing off towards town, “Never said they were!”

Zoro sighs before following after.

“It’s not your first time here,” he says after a while. It’s not a question, so you don’t provide an answer, contenting yourself with looking around at all the new shop fronts that had popped up since you were last here, and all the old haunts that have been here since what you’re sure is the inception of time itself.

“Where are we going?” he asks after several more minutes of turning down seemingly random streets.

You flash him a grin, “I know a place.”

When you duck into the arms shop, Ipponmatsu glances up from over his bulbous nose before doing a double-take. His eyes narrow to slits.

“You! You nearly robbed me blind the last time you were here! Get —”

Drop a bag of clinking Berry into one of the sword bins with a feline smirk, drawing a long finger against the hilt of some unnamed blade.

“There. That should set us even. And… you did try to swindle me first. Plus, I’m here on proper business today — my friend is in the market for some swords.”

Ipponmatsu’s eyes remain slits, but his fingers twitch as he edges toward the bin, snatching the sack from it and clutching it to his chest.

Zoro glances around at the various blades hung and displayed around the surprisingly spacious shop. The distinct unctuous tone of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by the shopkeeper, but he seems too distracted by the sack of Berry to snipe any further.

“Well,” Ipponmatsu gruffs after a few more seconds, “I’m watchin’ you… oh…” his eyes slide from you to Zoro and then to the Wadou Ichimonji at his side. Zoro almost feels the man’s jaw go slack for a second before he slams it back into place.

“E-esteemed swordsman, sir! That blade — at your side — if I might just take a look —”

You’re perched on the cashier’s counter faster than either of them can blink, one leg crossed over the other, feet hanging idly off the side, a palm pinning Ipponmatsu’s greedy hand to the surface, an almost bored expression on your face as you squint down at his fingers.

“Hm… don’t they say that swordsmen ought to take good care of their hands? I could feed a whole family of mice with the dead skin of your cuticles.”

Ipponmatsu yelps and tries to jerk free but your hold is firm, and Zoro has to fight down the amused grin twitching at the edge of his mouth. He’s felt first hand how strong your grip can be, how unnervingly quick the pressure is there, slicing off circulation with the precision of a blade.

“W-what do you want?!” the shopkeeper looks wildly between the pair of you.

You shrug, “Like I said, we’re in the market for some swords. I’d just like to make sure we keep all the dealings above water, hm?”

Ipponmatsu glares at you for a second longer before all the fight goes out of him and he slumps against the counter.

“Oh, alright alright! Look at the damned swords — it’s just… you’ve got a mighty good blade there. You’d do well not to lose it, ” he jerks his chin towards Zoro’s blade, “or get it stolen,” his eyes flash back to where you’re now cheerfully perusing a collection of knives in the far corner, the space you’d inhabited on the cashier’s counter static with your absence.

Ipponmatsu rubs as his wrist. Zoro nods.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t worry — I’ve got no interest in katana’s. I prefer more subtlety myself.” You swing a pair of serrated claw knives around your fingers as if testing them for weight before putting them back.

All in all, it takes half an hour, a cursed blade, and some groveling on Ipponmatsu’s part before you and Zoro stroll out of the arms shop with two brand new katanas strapped to his side, and a fresh set of throwing needles tucked into your belt.

You take off in a random direction and Zoro follows after. You pass through a wide open square brimming with people and slip into a dark alley between two buildings made of carved marble so white it almost hurts the eyes.

Zoro is quiet as he walks behind you, until he isn’t.

“So, what’s the story?”

“Oh… just something from a past life of mine,” you answer offhandedly, fluttering your fingers through the air.

“Yeah? And how many of those have you got?”

You shoot him a piercing look and a crooked grin, “Some number between one and nine — take your best guess.”

Zoro falls silent again as a pair of drunken sailor careen by, arm in arm, belting a sea shanty.

After a while, you turn, “Hey, how’dyou know there was even story to begin with?”

Zoro ticks up an eyebrow, his hands resting one on top of the other over his newly obtained sword hilts as the pair of you wander through the tributary streets, ducking under awnings and slipping through crowds.

“With you, there’s always a story.”

He feels your eyes on him first, and he lets you watch him for a while, his own eyes slipping from store fronts to shop windows. Occasionally, he lets himself linger on the reflection of you and him — him made of so many solid, hard shapes, and you, soft as water, quick as light, elusive as any shadow.

“Then… how do you think this one ends?” you ask, your eyes meeting his in a reflection of a window across which you can see the a vague Nami-shaped pile of expensive clothes.

“This one?”

“Yeah. Ours.”

Zoro grunts, letting his gaze flick away, “What makes you think it’ll end anytime soon?”

He catches your smile and you let him, “Who said anything about soon?”

He feels the prickle of heat as it crawls up his neck and clears his throat.

“Well then, maybe when I become the World’s Greatest Swordsman.”

You frown, suddenly contemplative.

“So… it’ll end when you beat Mihawk?”

Zoro shrugs, “Might. Or it might not.”

Your frown deepens as you turn to face him proper. Through the glass, Nami catches sight of you and is waving you in, pointing at a rack of clothes glittering in sequins and patched in colors you’ve never imagined putting on your body before today.

“No? Won’t that be when you become the greatest in the world? When you beat him?”

Zoro turns, and there — just there, caught in the light of his eyes, the spark of something as he looks down at you. There’s a smile pressed between his lips that’s part mischief, part hesitancy, and all earnest truth.

“World’s a big place. Might have to check around to make sure there’s not a better swordsman out there, somewhere.” His voice is low, hope twisting beneath its rippling surface.

You feel your heart skittering your chest, the warmth in your stomach crystalizing into something more than simple curiosity and harder than desire.

“Ah… right. That does pose a problem, doesn’t it?”

Zoro makes a consenting noise.

“So,” he says, with a tone of light finality as he turns back toward the window behind which Nami is now twirling in front of a mirror in a truly lurid dress of hot pink.

“So…” you say, feigning an air of defeat as you sigh, “I guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet, pretty boy.”

“Hn.” Zoro, for his part, doesn’t sound too upset with the proclamation.

Just then, Luffy’s voice shouts from behind you both and you turn to find him waving.

“Zoro! You have to come look! There’s a guy at the market selling Sea King Meat!”

Then, Nami finally pokes her head out from inside the clothing store, now sporting a pair of blindingly bright disco pants.

“C’mon! There’s like a million dresses I put aside for you to try!”

You and Zoro turn back to each other in a single, stolen breath. Your eyes collide, and Zoro smiles. A small, brilliant, unguarded thing.

“Go on, kitten. I’ll catch up to you.”

You toss him a wide, lingering grin.

“Right. You’d better.”

Zoro waves as he turns towards Luffy, “Don’t worry. I will.”

[fraugwinska]

Hello, wait are your requests open? 😅

If yes - i have an idea? :)

Per Charlie's decision everyone goes out for a night out in the town. You stay at the hotel as you weren't feeling well. Thinking the hotel is empty you carelssly leave your room and head to the bar and lounge area. To your surprise it's already occupied - Alastor is drinking whisky and listening to jazz on his old radio. He is already tipsy as he starts slowly dancing with himself. You don't want to interrupt but before you can go back he calls to you and asks if you want to join him. I just really need some tipsy and more relaxed Alastor thay slowly openes up to the reader. Bonus scene: you two fall asleep on the couch and wake up to the whole group staring at you two with the wildests reactions lol

This was such a cute prompt - Thank you for suggesting this, dear Anon! It's a little shorter, but I really like it - hope you do too! :>

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

More than words

Thirsty. You are thirsty.

That's the first thought you had when you woke up from your nap. Hell really had eternal suffering, with migraines being just as annoying and painful in hell as they were on earth. You had woken up with pain behind your eyes, and you knew in that exact moment you had to tell Charlie you wouldn't be able to go out tonight, because knowing yourself it would last the whole day and leave you exhausted by the evening.

You peeled yourself out of bed, realizing with relief that the pain and the dull pressure were gone almost completely. One or two glasses of water and a strong espresso, and maybe you were even able to get a good night's sleep. So you threw a cozy, fuzzy cardigan over you and headed to the kitchen. You had expected creepy silence, since it didn't happen often that everyone went out all at once, so you were surprised to hear the faint sounds of pianos, trumpets and drums when you were halfway down the staircase. Maybe Charlie or Husk had left the radio on? Without real reason to you tiptoed the last steps down, peeking around the corner of the corridor leading to the bar. What you saw made you both speech- and breathless.

Alastor, with a glass of whiskey in hand, humming along to Boogie Man by Sid Phillips, eyes closed and dancing just for himself – tipsy, slightly uncoordinated swing steps that might've looked impressive if he wasn't... drunk? At least a bit buzzed, that was for sure.

You watched him in fascination, tapping and twirling, while you contemplated what to do. The only way to the kitchen was through the foyer, which meant you had to pass the bar, ergo Alastor. But you weren't sure how much he would appreciate you catching him in this... state. Yes, you were on good terms, you would even go as far to say you were friends, but that stage of relationship was far too fresh to risk changing it by angering him. You decided that your bathroom sink had to provide the much needed water and fuck the espresso, you turned around to sneak back to your room.

„Oh, I didn't know there was an audience for my show!“

Fuck.

You glanced over your shoulder – Alastor looked you straight in the eye, swaying a bit, grin loose and eyes a little clouded. He sounded more amused than angry, something you didn't expect, but were fucking grateful for.

„Sorry, Al... I didn't think you were home, I just wanted to get some water and head back to my room.“ „Ah,“ Alastor took a sip of his drink, golden brown liquid leaking from the corners of his mouth down to his chin. With careless fingers he wipes it away. „So eager to leave little ol' me hanging...“ He pouted. Alastor, the radio demon pouted. You asked yourself if you might have migraine-incited hallucinations.

„Alastor, are you... okay?“, you ask, carefully turning to him.

„Fantastic dear, just fantastic.“, he muttered, eyeing his now empty glass, „Although drinking in company would certainly be more pleasurable than drinking alone.“

He walked back behind the bar, steps still a little wobbly, and poured himself another, giving you an opportunity. It was the deers crude way of handing you the choice - You could leave now, if you wanted.

Instead, you wrapped the cardigan tighter around yourself, suddenly very aware of your lack of decorum, and with a few steps, you were in front of him, sliding onto one of the stools. Alastor tilted his head at you as you leaned on the counter, both elbows on the slightly sticky surface and face in your hands, sighing.

„Alright tapper, as long as you don't bring my headache back, pour it away.“

----------------------------***----------------------------

„... and wouldn't you believe it, the next time this idiot saw me he just ripped off his whole arm and threw it at me!“

Alastor laughed, loudly and boastfully, slapping his thighs. You joined in with your own laughter, more like a cackle, tongue and restraint loosened by his choice of drink for you – mint julep, apparently one of the only cocktails he knew how to mix, being a favourite from his time in the 1920's. The fresh and cooling drink went easily down your tongue, and both of you had been chatting away for the last hour, mostly Alastor telling you funny anecdotes and you laughing at his stories till your mouth went dry.

While you drank slowly, Alastor rushed every drink down his throat like a parched man. With wonder you watched him, amazed by how much he could take, word unslurred and speech still crisp and transatlantic. The only indicator of his drunkenness: his choice of words became more and more crass. It made you giggle uncontrollably whenever he used profanities that were so unlike him. 

“Can you blame him? That poor man probably didn’t want you to rip it off again - might just do it himself and save the trouble!” “I didn’t even get to the best part, darling - He owned a fucking second hand shop! Ha Ha HA!” He bellowed with laughter,looking more like a mischievous school-boy than a terrifying overlord and you slapped his arm. “Alastor, stop, you’re making this up!” “Absolutely not, it’s the irony that makes the story even more comical.”

You shook your head, stirring the mint leaves in your glass.He was much more easy-going than normal, his cheeks tinted in a pretty shade of red. The biggest difference was his everlasting smile. Tight and wide normally, it had become a loose, content one, playful without the malice it usually carried. He looked even more handsome that way.

“A penny for your thought, cherie.”, he chuckled, arms crossed on the countertop and leaning in closely. The proximity brought the smell of bourbon, warm wood and nutmeg with hints of vetiver. The stronger version of his natural scent. Tasty. The thought shuddered through your mind and you swallowed it quickly with the rest of your own drink. “I just thought about a Chaplin quote that came to mind.” He leaned on his hand, blinking in curiosity, half-lidded eyes telling you to continue - you and him had a thing for his movies, you've watched City Lights together multiple times. “A man's true character comes out when he's drunk.” You mirrored his gesture with a smile of your own, bringing your face even closer to his, which seemed to startle him. “And I gotta say it’s a shame you’re not drunk more often.”

Alastor pulled back, grasping for the whiskey bottle as he avoided your gaze. You were confused - had you offended him? You sat yourself upright, ready to apologize, when he cut you off.

“Better not to reveal this kind of secret to just everyone, my dear. It’s only the ghost of a man long gone, anyways.” He sighed at the bottle in his hands, realizing it was empty. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Please, you may tell that yourself but I’m not a medium. That man isn’t gone. He's only hiding, deep down in there.”

Foolishly your brain didn’t remind you that Alastor didn’t like to be touched. You reached out, putting your hand flat at his chest, right where his heart would be. As for Alastor, his alcohol-dazed mind couldn’t catch up with what you were doing fast enough. Your palm pressed down, receiving the soothing, soft warmth he always radiated through your sensitive skin, like an old radio that had been left on for too long. His eyes widened, you felt him inhale sharply, yet it took another few seconds for him to react, flinching back.

His barstool wobbled, swinging dangerously, and like in slow-motion he fell backwards, only letting out a small, ulfiltered “Shit!” before he disappeared behind the bar. You jumped up, stuttering “Sorry, sorry, oh fuck, I’m so sorry!” while you hurried behind the bar to help him up. He was sprawled out on the floor, almost like a starfish, his chest shaking and an arm thrown over his face. “Alastor, I’m so sorry, are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Fuck, I’m so….”, you stopped abruptly when he burst out laughing. He wheezed, shaking with laughter, and you fell to your knees beside him, relieved and at the same time unnerved. He sat up, still holding his chest with one hand and patting your head with the other.

“Moments like these remind me why I like you so much, darling. Such a blue-eyed, air-headed doe you are.” You met his gaze, ready to banter, but the sad tint in his expression made you decide against that. Instead you shuffled nearer to him, slowly sitting up on your knees, to give him the option to push you away. He didn’t, only watching you closely. You wrapped your arms around his head, pulling him close, his cheek resting on your chest, tight enough he had to hear your heartbeat.

You held him like this until you felt his hands on your back, returning the embrace. HIs breath was warm and heavy on your skin. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was holding back tears. Maybe he was. You just stayed like this, holding him in your arms. Words were unnecessary, unwanted even. Him and you weren’t close enough yet to bring everything he should share into words. But you would be there, whenever that moment came, and for now, this was the right way to express what couldn’t be said. Much more even.

When he pulled away, he did it gently, a soft and thankful smile on his lips. “I think the bar has run dry, my dear.” He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up. You took it, and he left your hand in his as you stood face to face. “How about a warm nightcap to end our day?” ----------------------------***----------------------------

“... You are seeing this too, right? I’m not trippin’?!” “Shhhh! Don’t wake them up.” Charlie hissed at Angel, her eyes round like saucers, staring over the backrest, as did the others. “How can this creep still smile even when he’s sleeping?!”, Vaggie whispered loudly. Angel gave her a sly smile. “You’d smile too if a hot girl slept in your lap like that.” Husk groaned, pulling a paw over his face. “It’s too late and I’m too sober for this shit.” “SSSSSSSHHHHHH! Leave them alone, go! Go to bed, quietly, all of you!”, Charlie shushed them again, shooing them away from the sofa.

She quickly ran to the nearest cabinet, pulling out a thick blanket which she carefully draped over your and Alastors body. She took a few heartbeats to internalize what she everyone saw when they came home.

You looked like a couple. Of course Charlie knew you weren’t. Alastor - half-laying, half-sitting asleep on the sofa - had his arm around you, his head resting on the top of your head. You were serenely slumbering while nuzzled against his chest, legs pulled up and looking like you were mended to his side. You, too, were smiling. On the cofffee table in front of the sofa were two cups of what looked and smelled like hot milk with honey, the porcelain still faintly warm to the touch and the liquid barely touched. She suppressed the squeal she wanted to squeal.

After she was done, she quietly took a few steps back, scanning that you were both still fast asleep, then she took Vaggie’s hand and together they headed to their own room. Charlie knew you weren’t a couple. But she also knew that was only a matter of when you would become one, not if.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | you’re almost a victim… (part 2)

♡ fandoms; House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal/Silence of the Lambs, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of violence and cannibalism, kidnapping, stalking, suggestive content

♡ notes; I’m kinda surprised this prompt won out for a part 2 but very happy lol, I had some fun ideas.

the whole gang is not here, just some kinda kinky guys again- I feel like this doesn’t work super well for every single slasher? only some of them are psychopaths AND perverts

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Bo Sinclair

> bo was having a rough day

> your friends had been putting up one hell of a fight, killing the first four was a huge pain in ass

> so by the time there’s only two of you left, he hasn’t even gotten a proper look at you

> it’s not until you come back to the gas station, wide eyed and begging for help that he finally notices you

> god you’re cute- you can be last

> he drops the nice guy act and gets you to the chair- rough as always and threatening you the whole way

> but then he notices it’s all a lot easier than usual today

> he glances up and can’t help but grin

> your cheeks are bright red and your chest heaving- you like being restrained

> “i’ll be good- promise—“ you mumble before he can be a smart ass

> he gags you anyways, but he praises you as you open your mouth for him to stuff the rag it in

> he can hear you whimper as he does and he’s just itching to leave so he can come back

> he leans over, one hand planted between your legs to steady himself

> he can hear your breathing catch as he simply kisses your forehead, snickering as he leaves

> you were really something

> a pretty, obedient little something that would last way longer than a day if you kept it up

Danny Johnson

> he’s worried you saw the flash of his camera through your window that morning

> he’s normally so careful, he can’t believe he slipped up like that- honestly he’s surprised you didn’t call the cops

> you must have been too groggy, or maybe it wasn’t as dark as he thought it was at the time. maybe you noticed but didn’t put two and two together

> he needs to kill you soon anyways. he’s been watching for a while, and he’s wasting time

> he settles back into his usual spot where he can see perfectly into your bedroom

> he sees you frown just a tad as you pick up the phone call from an “unknown number” - but you still pick up

> “Hi there, doll .”

> he’s called you more than once, this “ghost voice” that’s been terrorizing you- and god is it a nice voice

> a nice voice that says vile things. some of them just violent, some…well some things you like too much

> you can see you make an expression he doesn’t expect. you bite your lip, cheeks pink

> he’s seen that look before…not for Ghostface, of course, but for Danny

> you were easy enough to befriend, and it just gave him more opportunities to keep tabs on you

> like most people he charms, you clearly have a crush on him, and that little lip bite is about the same face you make when he flirts

> maybe he’s just seeing things

> you couldn’t be that perfect.if you were he would have to keep you around

> he continues on and on, observing you carefully

> and you just keep getting more and more flustered, even when he’s threatening to choke you stupid

> “you know you’re so cute when you blush like that,”

> what you say next comes just about as close to scaring him as you can get

> “Thank you, Danny.”

Hannibal Lecter

> you weren’t quite as close to victimhood as one might assume

> but he was a fast killer once he had a mark set- you had to impress him more than a bit to be considered and then ruled out

> you start as his patient

> you’re a meek thing, easy to read and fragile

> you’re practically asking to become an entree

> if you taste as good as you look, you’d be his best dish yet

> it’s not hard to get you alone outside of an appointment

> you’re delighted when he invites you to a dinner party- you’ve heard great things about his little get togethers

> and he even lets you help him get ready, setting the tables

> the conversation become macabre as you discuss some recent murders that police suspected were committed by a cannibal

> that he committed for the sake of the dinner party, naturally

> he corners you before you can realize it - he likes playing cat and mouse

> you giggle nervously and look up at him

> he’s got a hand on the wall above you, and he notices your eyes linger on his toned forearms

> many patients and victims have crushes on him, it’s not surprising or a deterrent

> though it surprised him the gristly conversation wasn’t bothering you

> “yknow, it must be nice to know you’re safe from that serial killer in the neighborhood. If he is a cannibal, he’s most likely to chose someone more sedentary.”

> you leave him there, as if you hadn’t said something so delightfully offputting to find a vase for the table

> maybe he could do some further studying….

[pursuitseternal]

My dear, could you write something with spawn!Astarion x reader using 15 and 18, pretty please?

Love your work!!

(just realized I sent this without saying if it’s with spawn Astarion or ascended Astarion lol)

“Oh for a skeleton key…”

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Asks Prompts

CW: Astarion being a smug bastard, is that a lock pick or are you just happy to see me?

“Can you tell me what you did wrong?” he’s laughing in your ear, his voice making you smile even as you search the store of the Zhentarim in the Underdark. In your hands is the evidence of your failure—your last lock pick, broken into useless pieces.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer back at him, annoyed.

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to hear you admit it…” he gloats. “Just speak true… darling. Say you need me and my skilled fingers….”

You roll your eyes so far back you wonder if they’ll stick. “I’m not gonna say it…” you huff, folding your arms over your chest.

“Shame,” he purrs, “that chest looks promising, let’s hope for gold…” He leans in to kiss your cheek. “All you have to do is say please, my cheeky little pup, and I’ll help you crack it open.”

You just give him the most annoyed, teasing, disgruntled look you can muster, even if your heart is pounding to be so close to him. “You can’t guilt me on this. You should really just help because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Ha!” He laughs so loudly, the spores of the closest mushroom burst and make you a bit befuddled. Or maybe that’s just what it’s like to be so close to your vampiric sometimes-lover. “You should know by now, when have I ever done anything just because it was the right thing to do…” His tone is melodramatic and mocking, arms twirling as he mimes a bow. “Astarion the altruistic is a fairytale,” he teases, pulling you close to him again. “Astarion the devilishly handsome… the dexterous god amongst men…”

“You’re not that good,” you huff again, careful not to roll your eyes at him again.

“Better than you… you need practice with your hands, darling if you’re going to lead us to our survival against the Absolute.” He pats himself, pulling out one pin of a lock pick to slide effortlessness into the chest’s padlock. Then, he flashes you that smug, fanged smirk. “Oh dear, I can’t seem to find the other piece to my tool…” his hand grabs for yours and presses it into the waistband of his pants. “Be a dear and look for it for me, while I do all the hard work and keep this pin in place.”

“What?” you snap, his hand sliding yours into his pocket.

“Time to demonstrate your own dexterity, darling. I know I have that other pin somewhere on my person,” he chuckles, that arrogant, seductive laugh of pure sin. “Fetch it for me, and I’ll take care of your little lockpick problem.”

You feel around his pocket, his leathers so tight, you barely have room to move around in it… you can feel a few gold coins… some gems he’s nicked along the way… and then something presses into your palm.

And it isn’t a lockpick.

Your swallow is so audible, even you can hear it bouncing on the cavernous Underdark walls.

“Oh… for a skeleton key,” he taunts as he has while picking locks an innumberal time. “Found it yet?” he mocks. “You do know what you’re looking for?” He thrust his hips into your hand, his one freehand holding you by your arm, the one digging into his pocket. “A reminder? It’s long and dull at one end… and it’s an incredibly powerful tool when wielded with my skills…”

You snarl, disgruntled and having had enough of his smug attitude. As you pull your hand from his pants, his grip stays you where you are. “Ah, ah, pet. Don’t you want this chest looted? If you stop…” He pushes your hand back into the depths of his pocket where you feel his erection fully twitching in anticipation. “If you stop, I stop. And if I stop, you’ll never get the reward of what’s inside…”

[ikigaisvt]

quiet love

in which your boyfriend vernon likes showing his love for you in a quiet way.

pairing: vernon x f!reader words count: 2k content: childhood bestfriends to lovers, fluff, domestic warnings: so soft but very corny, contains pretty common prompts imo, vernon's love language is not words of affirmation lol, implied that kids are mean to vernon, mention of driving, drinking, loss and exes, reader is sick at one point (the flu), a lot of food/eating talk, they are so healthy youre gonna throw up, soooo much physical affection they make me SICK (holding hands, kissing, playing with each other's hairs, hugging etc), babe/baby petnames note: omg im alive?!?!? hiii!! it's been so long since i posted a fic! this one is a birthday gift for the loml @vcrnons <3 happy birthday, u know it all already but don't forget i love u sm!!! i hope you enjoy this childhoodbff!vernon (it's ur thing) who's very very in love but very very shy to say it. hope anyone else who sees this fic enjoy too! don't forget to interact with this if u liked it, rbs are very very very appreciated! thank u<3 (also this was proofread by tired me so if there is any mistakes, ignore it pls thanks <3)

Vernon has always been a man of a few words; when you first met him in elementary school, he was the quiet boy and nothing could get him to speak apart from spinning tops and his favorite cartoons. Still, you decided to befriend that calm boy – at the time, people used to think you were only being nice but deep down you knew: you were making a friend for life.

Going through all of the different steps of childhood and teenage hood with Vernon by your side was an experience – you raised hell together, driving your parents crazy. But it was also having a best friend to experience each other’s every first times: first partners, first time driving, first time getting drunk but also first breakup, first bad haircut and first loss. You have seen each other through everything. No, you have watched over each other through everything; wherever you were, Vernon was standing two steps back, making sure you were always safe. And wherever he was, you were always standing two steps back, making sure he was always loved.

And that’s how you both fell in love. It was slow and secure; falling in love with Vernon was never complicated or painful. It was how things dropped into place and none of you ever denied it; at the time you knew you were meant to be ��� maybe you always did. And so, you let yourself fall into each other’s arms, a safe place, full of quiet love.

You were 24 years old when Vernon first wanted to tell you he loved you; yet, he didn’t have the courage to fess up. Having spent his whole life showing his love through actions, he had a hard time saying it out loud. After a nice date to the cinema and the restaurant, he drove you back home, small talk and look exchanged during the trip. As soon as he puts the car in park, he reaches out to hold your hand, his thumb drawing circles.

“Had a nice time tonight?” he asks.

“Of course I did,” you answer, a blush creeping on your cheeks, “You know I always do with you,” you add, reaching out to cup his cheek.

“You need to go, you have an early day tomorrow,” he tells you, kissing your palm.

“Yeah, I’m going,” you say as you reach down for your bag and open the door, “Let me know when you’re home, okay?”

“Of course,” he says as he holds your face between his hand, “You do the same,” he adds against your lips before kissing you softly.

“It’s literally two steps away, I’m already home,” you chuckle as you exit the car.

“Won’t leave until I get the text, babe,” he smiles as he leans over the center console to look at you.

You roll your eyes sarcastically at him but still, your lips go up into a smile as your cheeks reddens from the way he so apologetically loves and cares for you. This boy would do anything to make sure you see how much he adores you. So, you wave him goodbye and it’s only when you close your front door and his phone buzzes with an i’m home :) drive safe, text me xx that you hear him drive off.

The second time he almost confessed to loving you was when you were 25. You had just gotten over an awful flu that got you bed ridden for days, unable to go on with your schedule as you normally would. You were sleeping the sickness off for hours on end, only waking up when Vernon knocked on your door to check up on you. Honestly, he knew it was only the flu, but he was so scared for you; in his eyes, you always appeared as the strongest women on earth so seeing you so weak and tired pulled at his heartstrings. He thought about confessing his undying love as you were blowing your nose – maybe it will magically heal her, he thought one night. But deep down he knew you needed someone to help you out physically and so, he did. He had taken such good care of you; he kept your home clean, did the laundry and helped you out to the shower if needed. He had thought about doing the cooking but he knew his poor skills wouldn’t get you to eat at all. So, even if you couldn’t finish your plates, he had ordered your favorite meals all week, even if he didn’t really like some of those.

It's been a few days since you last had a fever, so even if you were still blowing your nose and coughing a little bit, you could still get out of bed and hang out with Vernon. You two decided to have an at-home date, ordering your favorite meals and watching the show you recently started together. Since you were less sick you could finally finish your plate and eat more than usual; even after finishing your food, your stomach was still grumbling.

“I’m still hungry,” you whisper to yourself, not thinking Vernon would hear you.

“Yeah?” he asks, still looking at the TV as he holds a spoon full of food in the air, “Want a bite?” he says as he looks at you.

“Is that okay?” you ask, not wanting to take away his favorite food. Even when you were sick, you saw how Vernon only ordered your favorite foods – he deserved to have every bite of his favorite dish.

“Of course it is!” he smiles at you, extending his spoon in front of you, “You like it?” he asks, waiting for your nods of approval.

You nod enthusiastically, giving him a thumbs up with a smile, “That’s so good!” you exclaim before Vernon reaches for your plate. You look at him, wondering what he is up to before you see him fill your empty plate with more than half of his meal, “No, no, no,” you say, trying to reach for it as Vernon puts it out of reach from you.

“You need to eat, babe,” he says as he puts the dish on your lap, “Go on,” he smiles, patting your head before turning his attention back to his almost finished meal and the tv.

You smile down, cheeks red from your boyfriend’s attention. You notice how he gave you the tastier part of his dish – meat, veggies and a lot of gravy with a good amount of rice – and he kept most of the rice and only a piece of meat for himself. You start to eat happily, re-adjusting your position on the sofa to be closer to him. It might have been a year and a half since you started dating with no I love you’s said, but you know this is how he shows he loves you. And that is enough for you – it will always be.

It's now been two years since you started dating Vernon; you’re 26 years old, living with your boyfriend, your two cats and waking up every day with the love of your life next to you. Life is beautiful and you could not ask for more. To celebrate your anniversary with Vernon, you planned a trip to your hometown - only a 1 hour-drive from home – so you can have your date where you first kissed: at the cinema. If someone told Vernon he would one day ignore a movie to give his attention to a human being, he would have laughed at their face. But here he is. Countless of movies and shows watched with you right there, next to him, and yet you always steal his gaze away from the screen. You are just so beautiful, he thinks to himself. And when he sees you, laughing at a stupid joke from a character, he smiles with you. Not because the joke is funny, no, but because he cannot watch you without his heart filling up and his feelings pouring out onto his lips. He knew since he woke up that day, on your 2 years anniversary, that he would say it. It had been on the tip of his tongue since the first time he saw you in elementary school, smiling at everyone and saving bugs, but he always held it back. He thought it would be too soon, too fast, too much – but how can love ever be those things? he realized recently. He had said I love you a thousand times already through his actions, he had said he loved you out loud to his friends, his family, his cats. He thought now was the time you should hear it. So, all day, his head was in the clouds, thinking how to bring this up, how to say I’m in love with you to his soulmate. It happens when you pull him into your apartment at 1 am, your anniversary already over. You both get rid of your shoes, the tiredness of the day finally falling on your shoulders, before you pull him into you for a hug. Your arms stay at his waist, his heart going thump, thump, thump against yours as his cheek rest on the crown of your head.

“Gonna let you go to sleep,” you mumble against his shirt before letting him go, “I’m gonna shower.”

“Hey- babe,” he says softly to get your attention, his hand wrapping around your wrist, “need to tell you something,” he tells you as you’re pulled back against his chest, hands on his front as one of his rest on your waist, the other one covering your cheek.

“Everything’s okay?” you ask, rubbing circle on the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah, everything’s good,” he whispers, his eyes going down to look at your lips and up again, “You’re pretty,” he speaks under his breath, a blush making its way on your cheeks – and his.

“Thank you,” you smile as you reach for his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, “You’re not so bad yourself,” you whisper against his lips.

He holds onto your cheeks, your foreheads resting against each other, “I love you,” he murmurs so low you think you made it up but as you open your eyes and see tears in his own, you know this is nothing but real life.

“Oh,” you gasp softly, taken aback, “I love you too,” you say, smiling up at the love of your life.

“I know this was long overdue and I’m sorry it took me so long-“ he starts to babble, uneasiness bubbling in his chest before you cut him off with a kiss.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, playing with the hair at his nape, “To me, you’ve said it a thousand times,” you reassure him as he blushes, chuckling softly at how you always find the right words for him, “But a thousand more wouldn’t hurt,” you tease slightly, making him snort.

“I love you,” he repeats, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as yours find a resting place at his waist, rubbing his back over his shirt.

“Again,” you say with a smile in your voice before kissing his chest in an I love you too.

“I love you,” he says against your hair, his hands making its way under the straps of your dress.

“Again,” you ask him, never getting enough of these words flowing out of his lips.

“I love you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, leaving a kiss behind, “so much.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing this,” you whisper, your hands meeting the end of his shirt, “I love you,” you say as you touch his bare back.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says like a mantra, “I’d unlearn any other words so all you could hear is my love for you,” he whispers, his eyes meeting yours, before your lips collide – just like your worlds did so many years ago.

You’ve always found reassurance in this quiet love you and Vernon were giving each other – but maybe you liked your love being a little louder sometimes.

thank u for reading! hope you enjoyed hehe <3