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jintaka-hane · 5 days

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@walmartmihawk!! I did it!!! My first request and I WAS SO EXCITED!! You have no idea how much fun it was writing this for you!

Ladies and gentlemen! Come get a ride with our favourite FIRST MATE!

A TRIP TO THE ONSEN

Masterlist

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Summary: Your crew convinces you to join them for a relaxing trip to an onsen. When you arrive, you find out the women’s section is closed due to maintenance issues, and you're forced to use the men’s area as a mixed bath. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 2800 Notes: Beckman x f!Reader, forced proximity, nudity but not very explicit, Reader is shy, Beckman is a gentleman, Red haired pirates are assholes XD

As you stepped into the men's changing room, you seriously considered turning around and walking right back out the way you came.

The place couldn’t be more different from the clean, orderly women’s changing area, with its wicker baskets arranged in perfect harmony on symmetrical shelves, and its pristinely rolled, white towels ready for use. No, the room you found yourself in—thanks to the sign that read, “due to a facilities issue, we kindly ask you to use the men’s pool as a shared space”—was a far cry from that.

The clothing of the current occupants—your crew—was strewn across the room in a careless mess, distinguished only by loosely categorized piles according to ownership. Each pile was a disaster of wrinkled sashes, balled-up t-shirts, trousers with one leg inside out, and the inevitable final touch, a pair of used boxers, briefs, or trunks, perched proudly on top. You let out a heavy sigh, recognizing your captain’s floral trousers, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the first mate’s cloak.

Were you really prepared to share an enclosed space with your crew members, as they had been brought into the world? The answer was a resounding NO. But the thought of sinking your body, aching after so many nights sleeping in a hammock, into the soothing waters of the onsen was too tempting to resist. Besides, you had an infallible plan. Slip in quietly, draw no attention, and position yourself as far away from them as possible.

You wrapped the largest towel you could find around your naked body, then placed your hands on the swinging doors that led to the pool. With your eyes closed, you took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and pushed the doors open... only to come face-to-face with Yasopp’s ass as he sank into the steaming, shimmering waters.

The mere sight of the sniper’s bare backside left you blushing, so you marched forward in long strides, avoiding any eye contact, carefully stepping around the towels your crewmates had scattered along the wooden edge of the pool.

“Hey! You made it after all!” Shanks called out cheerfully, resting his forearms on the edge of the pool to get a better look at you.

“Yes...” you mumbled, clutching tightly at your towel and rushing past him as quickly as you could. Beckman wasn’t far away and greeted you with a slight, elegant nod—a gesture you shyly returned.

When you reached the farthest side of the pool—and definitely not the prettiest, with a large pipe in plain sight on one of the walls—you sat down carefully on the edge making sure your towel wouldn’t betray you at the worst moment. You dipped your legs into the water and, with a calculated move, let the towel fall onto the wooden floor before quickly slipping into the pool.

The moment the mineral-rich water touched your skin, you felt relief and relaxation wash over your sore muscles. The water was soothingly hot, and the steam rising from its surface created an atmosphere of calm and tranquility. You dipped your head beneath the surface, letting the water soothe your face and scalp. As you emerged, ensuring the waterline reached at least your shoulders, you opened your eyes to find your entire crew staring at you. A flush crept up your cheeks as you became the center of attention, so you discreetly turned away, lifting your arms out of the water to rub them as if you were busy cleaning.

"Roo, stop staring at me," you shot, picking a random scapegoat as you felt all the men’s eyes glued to your bare back. Beckman was quick to react, giving the cook a good smack upside the head, splashing water on a few of the nearby crewmates.

“Ow!”

"Stop looking at her," his deep voice commanded, stern and reprimanding. "And you too," he added, smacking Limejuice on the back of the head too.

"Huh? Punch is doin' it too!" the long-haired blonde complained, pointing an accusing finger at his larger friend.

Shanks chuckled heartily and leaned in toward the first mate, speaking in a low voice, “Come on, Beck, give them a break. Don’t tell me you didn’t take a peek yourself.”

The first mate turned his back to you so you couldn’t see, then flashed a cheeky grin and mouthed, 'I did,' causing the rest of the crew to crack up.

For the next few minutes, they left you alone, allowing you to settle into the little haven of peace you’d created at the far corner of the pool. You focused on your own relaxation, letting the warmth of the water soothe your body.

“Oi” Yassop’s voice broke through the peaceful silence. “The owner said there’s a cold pool next door, and a bar close by. Who’s up for checkin’ it out?”

Everyone but Beckman nodded, and they began to climb out of the water, offering you the rather embarrassing sight of a row of bare backsides as they completely ignored the towels waiting for them. You dipped your head under the water again, staying submerged until they had all left, which they thankfully did quickly — as they always did when a bar was involved — sparing yourself from having to choose between a death of embarrassment or by drowning.

"How’re you doing, darlin’?" you heard the first mate’s warm, baritone voice the moment your head broke the surface of the water. His back was pressed against the side of the pool, arms casually draped over the edge, biceps flexing slightly as they rested there. You noticed how his broad shoulders lifted just a touch, the position making them strain. His wet, silver hair was tied back in a loose, low ponytail, and beads of water trickled down his neck, landing on his collarbone. You swallowed hard, silently grateful for the distance between you, knowing that your nerves wouldn’t handle being too close to him.

“Fine,” you replied shyly, sliding into the water until it reached your chin.

Beckman opened his mouth to say something more but then shut it, his sharp eyes narrowing as they shifted from your gaze to a point behind you. You heard the faint hiss of pressure behind you and turned to see the massive pipe protruding from the wall, vibrating slightly.

“Darlin’, something’s not right…”

“What—” you turned to find him looking at the pipe, his body tense and alert, the water now at his waist.

The pool’s swinging doors burst open, and the onsen’s owner rushed in, his face a mask of panic as his hands clutched his head.

"THE PIIIIPE!!! It’s going to explode!!!" he shouted, clawing at his face. "You, the strong one!" his finger pointed at your shocked first mate. "Try to contain it until I can close the valve! The water’s extremely hot, and if it blows, you’ll be scalded!!"

And with that, he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Beckman, a competent man used to urgent commands, sprang into action without a second thought. He pushed off from the edge of the pool, water splashing everywhere as he vaulted out, and grabbed his towel with a gruff grunt to tie it in a loose knot around his waist. Then he raced toward the massive pipe just behind you, while you stared in shock, eyes wide and jaw hanging open, unable to react to the sight of the first mate sprinting toward you, half-naked.

When he reached the pipe, he felt it with his hands, locating the exact point where a joint was giving way, and pressed on it, straining with all his might to hold back the increasingly vibrating pipe.

“Shit, shit, shit…” he muttered to himself, bending slightly to apply more pressure with both hands. He lowered his head, mumbling incomprehensible words until a perfectly clear “FUCK” reached your ears.

“What? What’s going on, Becks?” From where you stood, all you could see was his wet back, taut with the effort.

“Darlin’… I’m afraid I’m going to need your help here.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else. You always followed your first mate’s orders, no matter how peculiar or awkward the situation. So, putting aside your shyness, you scrambled out of the pool, knotted your towel tightly at your chest, and rushed to help him.

“Where do I need to press?” you asked as you moved closer, trying to ignore the striking muscles of his lower back peeking out from his towel.

“Right at my waist.”

“What?”

“My towel…” he explained as calmly as he could, “it’s slipping, and I can’t let go of the pipe. You’ve got to hold it for me.”

“Okay,” you said, trying to hide your reluctance. You lifted one hand, extended your index finger, and pressed it against the towel on one side of his adonis belt.

“Darlin’, it’s slipping on the other side too…”

“...Okay,” you repeated as you robotically moved your other hand to the other side of his hip, your face so close to his back that your nose nearly brushed against his defined shoulder blades.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” you lifted your chin to fix your gaze on the ceiling.

You hadn’t been in that position long when you heard him curse again, his hips shifting under your hands, tense and nervous.

“I think there’s another loose joint,” his rough, deep voice said. “Let me check…” He crouched down, arching his wardrobe-like back, and you stepped back to avoid bumping into him. “Yeah, damn… there’s another leak. Darlin’, you’re gonna need to help me contain it.”

“How?” your voice quivered.

“Get in front of me, hold the pipe where I tell you with one hand, and keep my towel in place with the other.”

“Okay…”

You let go of one side of his towel and moved to his side, waiting for instructions. He looked at you with his eyes framed by those characteristic deep lines on his face, and with a nod, he motioned for you to tuck your head between his arms. You complied, wedging yourself between his massive body and the pipe, your back practically touching his chest.

“Right there,” he instructed with a tilt of his chin.

You placed one hand where he directed, and pressed firmly.

“Now the towel.”

Keeping an eye on the pipe, you awkwardly fumbled at the lower part of his abdomen, trying to find the edge of his towel. Not finding it easily, you turned towards him, coming face-to-chest again with his massive, muscular frame. Your cheeks flamed red as you felt his stomach tighten under your hands, your fingertips tracing the line of his happy trail until you finally found the towel.

Beckman knew you were a very shy person. He had tried to approach you several times, and you had always shied away. And at that moment, he felt an intense wave of guilt for putting you in such a compromising position.

“Darlin’, I am so sorry ab—”

“—Beck,” you interrupted, noticing the pipe shaking and dripping dangerously from the other side. “I think I need to use my other hand to hold the pipe on that side too…”

He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before nodding. “Alright… do you think you can hold my towel with your knee?”

“... I-I’ll give it a try.”

You released his towel and turned so that your body faced his broad frame. Then, you extended your arm as far as you could to cover the new leak, successfully sealing the damage. Feeling proud that you had managed to control the situation, you lifted your leg—perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm—toward the first mate’s groin.

“Hey,” he chided, jumping slightly in surprise at the speed of your approaching knee. “Just… be careful.”

“Sorry,” you slowed the movement of your knee, pressing it gently against the towel just below his navel.

Seconds stretched into eternity in that position. Beckman, in an attempt to be as polite as possible, turned his face away to give you some space, his elegant cheekbone exposed to you. You were so close that you could see the details of the X-shaped scar marking his temple, and your eyes traced the small beard adorning his chin. The situation was extremely uncomfortable and awkward, but you both were convinced that any moment now the onsen owner would come and tell you he had managed to close the valve.

But, of course, anything that can worsen, will. So, barely a couple of minutes had passed when you heard Beckman curse again, his body twisting and his arms trembling.

“Darlin'...” His gray eyes locked onto yours.

“Huh?”

“The pipe... ah, damn,” he grunted, shaking his elbows frantically over you but still gripping the pipe. You noticed large beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. “It’s too hot. I—I can’t keep holding it. It’s burning my skin.”

Your lips parted in alarm. “What do we do, Beck?”

“I’ve got an idea… “ He cleared his throat a bit. "take my towel off, so I can use it between the pipe and my hands.”

“What?! No, Beck…” You felt your pulse quicken.

“Got a better idea?” he asked, his tone urgent but calm, his eyes flicking quickly to the knot of your towel at your chest. You followed his gaze, then looked back at him.

“Oh, NO. No, no, no—”

“My towel, then,” he insisted.

You swallowed hard, and removing one hand from the pipe, you nervously traced the edge of the towel around his waist until you found a corner to tug on. Just before pulling it off, you muttered a clumsy, “Sorry,” which made him let out a genuine laugh that rumbled through his chest.

“Oh, I'd way rather have you see me naked than lose my hands, Doll”.

You forced a shy smile onto your lips and gave the towel a quick yank to pull it free, your eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Alright," he said with endless patience, "now you're gonna need to crouch down a bit to get it around my hands."

This time, the smile didn’t come. You simply gave a curt nod, squeezed your eyes shut, and crouched down to a compromising level, feeling him step back to give you space. You helped him protect his hands, then straightened up as fast as you could, extending your arm to cover the pipe again, avoiding letting your peripheral vision wander too far downward.

And so, there you were, standing directly in front of your bare and broad-shouldered first mate, arms outstretched, each hand firmly gripping a pipe.

“Could be worse, you know…” Beckman grinned, trying to joke as he noticed the sweat beginning to form on your brow.

"How?"

"We could be dealing with sewage."

You weren’t sure if you were about to faint or burst into a nervous, hysterical laugh. You didn’t get the chance to figure it out either, because at that moment, you felt the knot of your towel begin to loosen around your chest.

"Oh, Beck..." you groaned, your voice shaky and weak. "I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. I—"

“What’s wrong, Darlin’?” His eyes darted between yours.

“My towel… the knot… I don’t know what to do, I-I can’t…” you said, tears threatening to spill over.

Beckman couldn’t stand to see you suffering. As first mate, his duty was to protect and care for the entire crew. And the sight of your doe-like eyes, full of desperation, broke his huge heart. So, without asking for permission or thinking twice, he did the first—and only—thing that came to mind. He respectfully shut his eyes and buried his head into your cleavage with a low growl, gripping the knot of your towel with his teeth just as it was about to come undone.

You stood there, frozen, blinking several times as you tried to process what was happening. Your heart started thudding in your chest, and your blood rushed to your temples, your face turning a fiery deep red as you couldn’t contain your embarrassment. And just at that precise and convenient moment, you heard a group of familiar male voices cheerfully making their way into the onsen pool.

The doors swung open, and the room fell into a sepulchral silence.

'Seriously, guys? Here?' you heard someone whisper.

'Well, well, Beck…' you recognized the unmistakable, mocking voice of your captain, singing out with a teasing grin. 'Didn’t expect this from you. So you wanted her all to yourself, huh?'"

You felt Beckman grumble against your chest, and when you looked down, you saw that his ears were even redder than your own flushed cheeks, the contrast with his pearl earrings making them even more striking. Your shoulders began to shake involuntarily as you snorted out a wild, uncontrollable laugh, realizing that, for once in your life, you weren’t the most flushed person in the room.

..........................................................................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita <3

#one piece #x reader #jintaka stuff #benn beckman #beckman x reader #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman fiction #benn beckman wives army #benn beckman x female reader #one piece fanfiction #red haired pirates #jintaka request

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deedeeznoots · 4 months

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Let’s Go to Malaysia, Yeah?

➺ Characters: Nanami Kento, Fem!Reader

➺ Word count: 2.7k

➺ Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

➺ Content: It’s smut so MDNI!! Specifically: Slight voyeurism (there’s no people around but you’re both outside), Oral (reader receiving), PiV, Creampie, Use of the word “wife” a lot, angst at the end because I don’t believe in happiness

➺ A/N: I thought about this on a random Thursday night at 1 AM and couldn’t rest until I wrote it into existence.

➺ Synopsis: You and your husband Kento Nanami go on a beach trip in Malaysia and have some fun in more ways than one~

The sound of chirping birds and ocean waves wake you up from your slumber. Still groggy, you instinctively reach for Nanami, but the bed comes out empty. Rubbing your eyes, your vision lands on the open windows, the sun slightly blinding you from the view. Though it would be nearly impossible to miss completely, the bright yellow sand standing in contrast to the deep blue ocean was a sight to see. Turns out, renting a small house by the beach in Malaysia was an amazing idea, something your husband came up with. Speaking of…where was he?

Hearing some commotion from outside the bedroom, you put on your robe and leave to follow the source. There, you find your beautiful husband making breakfast in the kitchen. Shirtless, the morning sun reflects off his back as he cuts up fruit. God he looked good, you thought.

Moving quietly, you swiftly hugged him from behind. He jumps up a little in shock before going “Good morning, darling”.

You giggle at his reaction and simply go “Hi Kento...” and leave small kisses on his back as he continues cutting fruit. Eventually, he drops the knife and turns around, looking you straight in the eyes.

“…yes?” You question jokingly. He doesn’t say anything, only giving you a small kiss on your lips. You had other plans though, and grabbed a hold at the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. Nanami groans in response, but doesn’t protest, lifting you up and placing you on top of the counter. As he slowly grinds himself between your legs, you joke “it’s so early…”. Your husband simply laughs and says “it’s never too early for my wife…”. As your tongues continue to intertwine, you begin to remove his pants when—

Ding

The toaster. The sound snaps Nanami out of what he was doing and he begins to remember his original plans for the kitchen. Lifting you up again, this time to help bring you back down to the floor, he tells you “Let’s not waste breakfast” with a laugh.

Somewhat disappointed, you comply anyway as you were a little hungry and Nanami did work hard to prepare it for you two. Sitting on the table, Nanami puts down a plate of toast and syrup with a side of fruit. You weren’t sure if it was because it was made by someone you loved, but it was possibly the most delicious meal you ever had. The bread was perfectly toasted, with the syrup acting in perfect juxtaposition to the crunchy exterior of the toast. The fruit was no joke either, perfectly cut into symmetrical shapes and acting as the perfect side to your meal. God, it was amazing. Your husband was amazing.

“…Baby are you listening?” Nanami’s voice snaps you out of your daydreams. “Huh…?” You ask, staring at him blankly. Shaking your head, you go “Oh… I’m sorry honey haha I was too focused on this amazing breakfast”, your voice slightly muffled from the food in your mouth. Your husband just laughs and goes “I was just asking if you wanted me to bring anything while we go on our walk”.

“Oh! Let’s bring the chairs so we can watch the ocean for a bit” you say, excited. Nanami nods and you two continue making small talk over breakfast regarding your plans for the day, enjoying each other’s presence along with the beach view through the large window in the living room.

“Man, that was a good breakfast! Thank you so much for that… you’re getting really good at making bread by the way” you say as the both of you walk around the beach. “Thank you, anything for my wife” Nanami chuckles, of course. Your husband always told you he’d give you the world, and you believe him. Why wouldn’t you? He shows you every day, and this day was certainly no exception.

The sand is hot against your feet as you and your partner find a place to set your chairs. Looking around, you point to an empty spot close to the ocean “what about there?” you ask. Nanami just nods and takes your hand to walk you both to the spot. You set both your chairs down as Nanami puts up the umbrella for both of you. He also offers to help you put on your sunscreen.

“Sure! Let me just go get it” you respond.

It started out innocent enough. You feel the slight cool of the sunscreen as your husband rubs the cream onto your skin. He started with your arms, being oh so diligent to make sure your skin was fully protected. He started again with your back, once again not missing a single spot. Once he got to your shoulders, however… that was a different story. Something about it felt more…sensual, and both of you felt the change in mood.

While rubbing the sunscreen on your shoulders, Nanami decided to begin kissing your neck. The warm kisses sent a cold shiver down your spine and you jumped up. “H-h-hey! What are you doing?” you ask, shocked. Your dutiful husband simply hums into your neck and continues kissing your most sensitive spots. Once the initial shock smoothed over, you got more into it. Leaning into his soft kisses and letting out soft moans as he continuously abused your neck. Not too much though, you were in public after all.

Well…kind of. See, one of the main draws of picking this specific spot to go to was because of how far it was from the public area. There was likely no people for miles, making it the perfect spot for you and your introverted lover to do all kinds of fun (in lots of different ways, of course). Still, anyone could theoretically walk to this side of the beach with no issue, but why would they? There was clearly nothing to see here.

Except I guess…a man in between his wife’s legs eating her out like she’s his last meal. “K-Kento! We’re in public!” you yelp out in between (now much louder) moans. “Shhh… it’s okay” he shushes, the vibrations of which are felt on your pussy, causing you to moan louder. “N-ngh, God— don’t stop!” you moan out, which simply makes your lover laugh. Pulling away, with only a string of his saliva working to connect the two of you, he goes “Careful honey, we are in public, remember?”. Frustrated, you grab him by his hair and lightly push him back between your legs. You were careful not to actually hurt him, of course, and you thankfully didn’t receive any complaints from him, as he simply goes back to looking up at you while sucking on your clit, at the corner of your eye, you can see the sunscreen, now carelessly tossed to the side.

Right. This started with sunscreen. What happened with that?

Right… after finishing lathering your shoulders he began getting to work on your legs. You were still lightheaded from having his lips on your neck, so you didn’t pay much attention while he continued rubbing the lotion on you. At one point though, he suddenly stopped. Confused, you’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he hushes you with a soft kiss. You comply, and are so zoned out that you don’t even notice Nanami beginning to remove the bottom half of the bathing suit you put on. “…May I?” he asks for your permission with his soft voice. Unable to deny him in the state you’re in, you nod. From there, he began kissing down your body. From your shoulders, to your breasts, to your stomach until finally, he made it there.

Which leads you back to the predicament you’re in now: where you’re a moaning mess as your husband makes out with your pussy. Like always, Nanami is diligent. Making sure to catch all your sweet spots and to pay extra mind to your clit. He worked slowly, but don’t worry, he was definitely getting the job done. “P-p-please…I’m close, I’m so close please Kento please”, you spit out through incoherent moans. Nanami doesn’t say anything, he simply flattens his tongue against your clit as your orgasm continues to build up. When you finally get there after a few seconds of riding Nanami’s tongue, you’re only able to see white for a while. Breathing heavily, your legs begin to tremble as you zone out, staring wide-eyed into space.

Nanami is seemingly unfazed, however, as he simply pulls your swimsuit back up and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips, allowing you to taste a bit of yourself. He holds your hand tight and says “Let’s rest for a bit and then let’s go swim, ok?” He smiles innocently, as if he didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life just a minute before. Slowly snapping back into reality, you kiss your husband’s hand and go “o-ok…”, still out of breath from what just occurred. Nanami let you take your time to cool down, showering you in affirmations of how beautiful you were and how he was sorry but simply couldn’t resist you.

Eventually, you’re able to calm down enough to make your way to the ocean. Your legs still wobbly, you’re the perfect target for splashing. The cold water hitting your skin as your lover cruelly splashes water on you “Kentoooo…stop it! Haha!” You laugh as you splash him back, getting his hair wet. Getting serious for a second, he simply mutters “You’ll pay for that, darling”, before swiftly picking you up and spinning you around. Letting out a goofy scream, you go “Baby wait— you’re gonna drop me! Haha!”. To your surprise, he actually does drop you in the water. You were fine with this, as this gave you leverage to grab onto his leg and pull him down with you. Letting out a yelp, he lets out a hearty laugh as he falls into the water with a splash. “I win! Jerk!” you say in between laughs.

Though, he simply goes quiet and looks deep in your eyes. He lightly grabs your face and gives you a deep kiss. Pulling away, he whispers a soft “I love you”. Flushed, you’re about to say you love him back when you feel another cold splash against your face right and your husband’s laughter “…but you’re so cute when you’re mad!” He exclaims, standing up. “Hey! No fair! We were supposed to have a sweet moment!” You yell out as you climb up his back, forcing him to give you a piggyback ride. One he complies to, of course.

After having your fun, the both of you dry yourselves off outside before going back to your small vacation home. “I’m going to catch up on some reading darling, there’s some books I really need to finish”, Nanami tells you as he starts to enter the room. “Alright, I’m just gonna take a shower and then I’ll join you” you respond. He nods as he closes the door behind him. You had other plans, of course.

You were going to join him.

Though…it wasn’t going to be for reading. You still had to pay him back for his stunt at the beach, after all…

After your short shower, you enter the shared bedroom of you and Nanami. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that you were wearing nothing but a towel.

“Darling…” your husband looks up, taking off his glasses. “Aren’t you going to put some clothes on?” He asks, but you could feel it in his voice, he was getting riled up. You got him right where you wanted him.

“Hmmm…I don’t know darling,” you say, teasing him “I think I like things exactly like this”, as you finish your sentence, you drop your towel, showing off your naked body to Nanami. You climb on top of him and sit on his lap. He was hard. Why wouldn’t he be? His gorgeous wife was sitting naked on top of him. He simply smiled as you brought your face closer to his, your lips nearly touching. “While I appreciate the sentiment darling…” Nanami grabs your wrists as he flips you over on the bed “…it seems you forgot who’s in charge here”. He now stood on top of you, his large frame hovering above you as he brought himself closer to kiss you. Finally, your lips touch and the both of you get to work removing all of Nanami’s pesky clothes. You were thankfully already taken care of, so things were much easier.

Finally fully naked, Nanami lines himself up against you “I’m sorry baby…” he starts, “I know we usually do foreplay first but I need to be inside of you right now”. His dick is in perfect alignment with your pussy, where even through the smallest movement by you, you could have him inside. You’re just as desperate for him as he is for you, so you just nod and go “it’s okay… I’m already wet enough for you, see?” you say as you dip your fingers into your pussy before pulling out, showing Nanami proof of your arousal. He simply exhales a sigh of relief as he begins to enter you. Starting slowly, as to not hurt you, he starts with shallow thrusts until he’s all the way in.

Finally inside, he picks up the pace, looking you in the eyes the whole time. “God— you’re gorgeous you know?” he says in between thrusts, though you’re too fucked out on his cock to be able to pay much attention. You simply moan as you’re forced to take his dick over and over again. This makes him stop, and he looks at you. Before you can ask him why, he goes “Say it, darling”. “Say wha—“ you are cut off, “Say you’re gorgeous”.

“That—that’s so embarrassing Kento…” you reply. It did make you feel a bit shy to say affirmations with a dick inside of you, but Nanami didn’t budge, he simply kept looking at you until you said the words. “Okay…I’m gorgeous, the only one for you” you smile, it did feel good to say, but Nanami’s thick cock thrusting in and out of you right after you said it probably helped in that regard.

You began to feel the pit in your stomach grow, and you knew exactly what it meant “K…Kento… I’m gonna cum…” you moan out. Nanami softly kisses your wrists in response and says “yeah…me too darling, let’s finish together, yeah?”.

You both do just that, moans and grunts filling the room as you both reach your high. “I love you baby… I love you so much” Nanami moans out as he kisses you through your orgasms.

After you’ve both calmed down, Nanami pulls out and lays next to you. “Come here, darling~” he coos, pulling you towards him for cuddles. “I meant it you know, when I said you were gorgeous…you should say it to yourself more often” he whispers in your ear. You simply smile and give him a kiss on the cheek “Yeah…I’ll make sure to try. I love you baby…” your eyes meet his, and it’s almost like you can see the whole world through only his eyes. He gives you a deep kiss and as he caresses you to sleep he goes “I love you too, my beautiful wife”.

You groggily wake up to the walls of your room, a very different sight to the vacation home you were just in. It’s dark, with no windows open, and if you opened them, you likely wouldn’t be greeted to the soft waves of the ocean. What just happened? You think. Was I dreaming?

You instinctively reach for your husband’s side of the bed. It’s empty, of course. Still groggy and with possibly the worst headache of your life, you get up and make your way to the kitchen.

You make your own breakfast. A sad combination of stale cereal and milk.

It’s the reality of course, but one you’re still unable to accept. In this reality, there is no beach view, there is no cold ocean to splash in, there are no birds to wake you up, and most importantly there is no Nanami.

What is there though…are two tickets to Malaysia. Looking at them, the dates stand there bold, almost as if to mock you… spelling out the day you’ll forever hate the most.

NOV. 1ST, 2018

Yeah…that’s right.

You two were never able to make it to that trip, were you?

A/N: Like Nanami? He’s also mentioned in this fic!

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chrispleasure · 18 days

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LONG SLEEVES, c.s

summary!: chris walks in on you cutting

warning: mention of blood, fluff, angst, crying

you werent the type to struggle, a small always plastered on your face. out of the two of you, you were the happy one. constantly laughing and spreading happiness on everyone around you, hoping no one would catch on.

on the inside, everything hurt. the smile you once had, gone, replaced with a frown which would return everytime something happy got taken away. first you went through a horrible break up, locking yourself away for months, restricting your happiness. secondly, your grandma died, causing you to shut down completely, which meant shutting out your bestfriends, nick, matt and chris.

but you didnt get far, they came to your house with an unlimited amount of support and love. offering different movies, food choices, activities and even had a time where they would take over eachothers job. so you were never alone, not breaking any bad habits.

they helped you stay clean from all those gross habits, one of them being your cutting. which was probably your worse habit. having been done after every minor inconvenience. whether you said something stupid, accidentally made some one cry, got into an argument or just anything you throught you deserved pain for.

you didnt tell anyone, the triplets had to find out the hard way, walking in. it was quite traumatising seeing their faces go from excited to confused. walking into your room with the celebratory food for becoming six weeks clean from cutting which was supposed to be a suprise, they quickly hid the food and comforted you. “everything will be ‘right, ma.” they said to you, offering every sort of comfort.

you and chris became the closest during this time, he cuddled you to sleep everytime you had a nightmare. him being the one you went downstairs for when you woke up crying. he was the only one who could properly soothe you. the only one who could kiss you.

everything was great, he helped you and you helped him. he knew absolutely everything about you, you trusted him. but slowly you started growing away from eachother. he came home one day smelling like the ariana grande perfume you wanted, and when you tried to ask about it he quickly brushed it off and made dinner.

you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was sneaking around with someone. so you planned to talk to him about it until he snapped at you once he heard the words come out of your mouth. “your such a bitch! considering i have spent this past year caring and making sure you were okay! making sure you didnt cut! but clearly that wasn’t enough.” he stormed out of your house.

his two brothers followed after him, not thinking that you would need comfort. matt hesitated leaving, looking back at you but nick pushed him outside, reassuring you would be okay. you saw them both leave to go after chris, tears filling your eyes.

you just wanted to know if chris was loyal to you, if the ariana perfume was just a smell from the store he was at, if the bruises on his waist were from training, if the password on his phone was for his friends to follow but an exception for you.

immediantly, the urge to cut came to you. tears filled to the brim of your eyes as you rushed to your room, sobs escaping your pink lips. you ran into your room and closed the door, sitting down on the floor and running your hand under your bed, feeling for the blade you had left there a few months ago.

you felt it, immediately closing your hand and moving your hand. slowly, you reached to pull down your pants to your knees. “you deserve this. it’s your fault he’s angry.” you repeat to yourself as you cut symmetrical lines onto your thigh, watching as red beads of blood come to the surface.

tears fell onto your thigh, you reached out infront of you, wishing chris was there to comfort you. but your hand was met with the feeling of your wooden dresser instead. your eyes didnt leave the state of your thigh as the blood drew, falling down each side of your thigh.

hesitantly, you dropped the blade beside you. when you reached to your side to grab tissues, you heard the door open. “baby, i came to say sorry for—” he cut himself off once he saw you. tears falling down your face and blood dripping onto the floor. “baby— no!” he raised his voice, rushing to your side. he sat on the blade, not caring if it hurt him.

he placed his hand on your wrist, feeling how cold your once warm body was. you flinched, moving a little. “im not mad, i promise.” he says, his voice now full with love and concern. he grabs the tissues across from you and begins to dab the blood from your cuts onto the tissue.

you found your hand moving to his, he immediately interlocked your fingers together. “im here now, baby. i wont go anywhere.” he mumbles, focusing on cleaning you. once the blood dried and he got most of it off, he placed bandaids over the cuts.

he stood up, taking the blade and putting it in his pocket. “im gonna help you up and undress you. so i can run you a bath and get you nice and clean.” chris said, putting his hands under your armpits, helping you to your feet.

before anything else, he pulled you in for a hug. his arms wrapped around you, one around your back and the other around your waist. the arm around your back moved to your shoulder and moved your sleeve back, pressing wet kisses on your shoulder blade. “baby..you okay?” he presses soft kisses, keeping you close.

“i will be. with you to take care of me.” you mumble, looking at him. your eyes soft with a crave for his affection. he couldnt help but smile, pulling away to put his hand on your cheek, rubbing it gently.

you didnt know what to say, watching at his eyes went from your eyes to your lips. his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “can i give you a kiss, please?” he asks, licking his lips. before you can fully nod, his lips sit on yours, moving gently. he gives you a breather, guiding you gently to the bathroom.

one of his hands on your hip as he sat you down on the toilet seat. he turned around to turn on the bath, letting it warm up. “can you undress for me?” he asks you, sitting at the edge of the bath to keep his eyes on you.

you nod, standing up. you pull your long sleeve shirt over your head, taking it off completely. scars from your hands to your shoulder. your chest was restricted by your push up bra, which made your chest feel tight. “can i have help?” you asked with a soft grin on your face. he nodded and stood up, walking to you.

he placed one hand on your back to relax you, soothing your nerves before unclipping your bra, letting it fall off your body. he turns you around, one hand cupping your breast, rubbing it gently. “can you do the rest, princess?” he asks, kissing your forehead.

you nod and he walks away, taking his seat at the edge of the bath. you undressed further and got into the bath. the warm water soothed your aching body. even though some of the water made your thighs burn, having chris there made you forget.

everyday for the next few weeks he would watch you get dressed, ask if your okay and what your plans are. he would give you hourly kisses which lasted atleast a quater of an hour. he constantly checked your wrists and thighs and when you reached milestones he would take you out and treat you like a princess.

the end!

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo soft #fluff #light angst #comfort #sturniolo triplets

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gr1mstar · 8 months

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⁰¹’ Love letters - Nanami

▸ synopsis: it's the three-year anniversary of your relationship. arriving home, you notice a gift, a bouquet of flowers and a letter on the table. your boyfriend seems to have prepared a surprise for you.

▸ contains: nanami kento x reader, fluff, sfw, love note, letter, established relationship, just enjoy a sweet nanami, 1.1k words

▸ notes [MUST READ]: this is a series, and yes i take requests on who should i do next. also, for everyone the flowers, gift and letter are different based on their character and personality (or how i see them). so… who should i do next? [can be from jujutsu kaisen or attack on titan] it’s going to be valentine’s day soon so :))

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, the cool touch of the tiled floor grounds you. The scent of home surrounds you, a mixture of comfort and the promise of relaxation. The day has left you drained.

The living room lamps cast a warm glow, welcoming you. The familiar sight of your home unfolds — the worn-out couch, the comforting knick-knacks on the shelves and the sweet aroma of your boyfriend's cologne.

As you made your way to the kitchen, ready to see what you have in the fridge, you noticed something new on the kitchen counter. A vibrant bouquet of cyclamens stands tall in a crystal vase, their petals dancing in the gentle breeze from the open window.

Beside the flowers, you saw a neatly folded letter. Your name, written in an elegant handwriting, adorns the sealed envelope. Intrigued, you pick it up, fingers delicately tracing the edges as if unlocking a secret.

‘It has to be Kento," you told yourself, starting the process of opening the letter without ruining the envelope.

A letter. Handwritten, at that. After looking again at the flowers, you decided that it was time to read what your boyfriend left for you on your anniversary.

It was a shame you two didn’t have the day off, deep down wanting to fake a cold just to call your workplace to stay home. But Nanami assured you that the day was not going to be wasted, planning a fancy dinner and then a movie at his apartment.

‘It seems like he has tricks up his sleeve.’

Taking out the letter, you could see something else in the envelope. A mix of emotions floods you – surprise, joy, and a touch of disbelief. The destination reads "Malaysia," a dreamy place that now lies within your reach, a surprise awaiting on the kitchen counter.

In this moment, the weariness of the day evaporates, replaced by the excitement of the unexpected surprise.

“My boyfriend is the best, isn’t he?” you spoke to yourself, fingers on the plane tickets.

Malaysia was a destination both you and Nanami wanted to go on vacation at least once in your lifetime. But because of your schedule and his sorcerer job, you didn’t really have a lot of time to accomplish that wish of yours.

After a few moments of silence, you decided you were ready to read the letter you received, hoping that tears would not come out of your eyes.

His handwriting was beautiful and really neat. You could guess that he used a special pen to write the letter with. Your boyfriend used blue ink, every letter being almost symmetrical. You wished you wrote this beautifully.

‘Should I read this out loud? In my head?’ you asked mentally, your eyes looking at the letters on the paper. ‘Whatever, it doesn't matter.’

Dear my loved partner,

Every day I miss you is another day I fall harder in love with you.

I love you.

When I tell you that, I don’t say it out of habit. I say it to remind you that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. No matter where you are, a part of me will always be with you.

If I could, I would carry all your burdens, all your pain, all your stress, all of your heartache. I’d be sick for you. I’d be sad for you. I’ll do all of this and more just so I’d know you were smiling, happy, free from all the weight you carry.

I’m so proud of you, baby.

I’m not usually good with words, you see. Today I tried something new. Being our third anniversary together, I thought I needed to make something worth remembering. I know it’s not much, but I wanted you to know how I feel about you.

I needed you to know how much I'm addicted to you.

From the moment I met you, my life has been transformed in the most incredible way. You bring me so much joy and love, I can not explain in words. And so, I promise from the bottom of my heart that I would show you how much you mean to be everyday, for the rest of our lives.

I know I’m not perfect. I make mistakes and my jobs are eating my time. The time I should spend in your arms. But baby, I promise you that every ounce in my body screams for you, and your love.

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.

I love you. Today, tonight, tomorrow and forever. If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them. If I were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one.

I will kiss you every time you start to worry about your health and get lost in your own fears. I will always text you back whenever you text me, even if I’m only one room away from you. You will always have someone to lean on whenever you need it. I’ll always be there even when you don’t need me to be.

I want to see your kids growing happy and healthy. I know we don’t have kids now and we are not even married but I think I can’t resist much longer, because I love you so much that I want to spend every second of my life with you.

You’re the person I want to tell how my day went. You’re the person I want to share my happiness, sadness, frustration, and success with.

Because you’re the person who taught me how to love another person, how to cherish someone without fearing that they would leave me.

So, thank you.

I know you are worried about me and how maybe one day I will not come home. I thought about it for sometime now, and I think it’s time to quit, this time for real. A few years back, I didn’t have a place I could call home and so risking my life was not something I was concerned about. But now, after you became my home, I can’t do that anymore.

My love… I don’t think you understand how beautiful you make my world, just by existing in it.

I had never met a soul who could speak my language. Until there was you.

You, fluent in me.

Again, thank you, love.

I wish you a wonderful night and I confess that I can’t wait to see your pretty face at dinner.

With unconditional love,

your soon-to-be-husband, Nanami Kento ♡

*Cyclamen - Eternal cycle of life, which makes it the perfect flower that means forever. In Japan, cyclamen holds a special place as the holy flower of love.

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nikethestatue · 3 months

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How The Gift Was Made

Another short banger for my Elain Archeron Week. Enjoy!

“You said happiness comes in many forms. Mine is shaped like you.”

Stepping out of the townhome immediately reminded Elain of her life in the hovel. No, not the pretty street lined with white stately rows of homes, and not the twinkling faelights that decorated the trees and the wrought iron fences. It wasn’t the cobble stones that the street was paved with, or the young faelings who were dragging sleds behind them, speaking loudly and excitedly about the snow mountain in the park, upon which they’d sledding. A gaggle of slender young Fae maidens dressed in pink cloaks were walking with ice skates slung over their shoulders. The park boasted a huge ice skating rink and Elain wished that she could go there too. But she hadn’t skated in years and she was sure she’d make a fool of herself.

Nothing really reminded her of her bleak, dreary existence in the hovel, except for the cold. She shivered and sunk her hands deeper inside her rabbit fur muff. It was freezing and the ice pricked her cheeks and her nose almost immediately, urging her to go back to the house. But she squared her shoulders and hopped down the marble stairs and then quickly scurried across the front yard, opened the gate and hurried down the street. She wasn’t being evasive. Not exactly, but she also didn’t need everyone knowing what she was planning and where she was going.

It was a twenty minute walk and soon she was standing in front of a three story building–it was plain, with a simple, symmetrical facade of nine windows and a door. She knocked loudly and the door opened on its own, or maybe by some magic.

She was admitted to a wide, square foyer, neat and impersonal, with a stone staircase leading upstairs. Women, dressed in healer uniforms, moved quietly about the house. Not women. Females. She needed to remember that. They were females.

“Lady Elain,” she heard and turning around, she saw Madja, the Healer of Night Court.

She had no idea how old Madja was, but old enough to have wrinkles and white hair, which were tied around her head, in a style that Nesta usually favoured.

“I received your message, Lady Elain,” Madja continued. “And I would be happy to assist.”

“It’s just Elain,” Elain told her. “I am not a lady.”

The older woman gave her an assessing look and said, “Cauldron Made Seer is a lady, if I may say so myself.”

Elain didn’t know how to respond and therefore, didn’t say anything.

“Follow me then,” the healer beckoned, and Elain followed her through a series of rooms. Some were just sitting rooms–comfortable, spacious. Then they passed by three rooms, with glass doors. Elain peeked inside and saw long tables, behind which healers of various ages were working. Mostly, it seemed like they were making potions and salves, but others looked like they were practising some sort of magic.

Madja finally opened a door and ushered them inside. It was an office–rather plain, with a desk and a couple of chairs, a bench covered with vials and bottles and heaps of herbs, and bookshelves that covered two walls floor to ceiling.

“So, what ails you, Lady Elain?” Madja asked. “Your visions? Your…transformation?”

Oh, what a polite term for what had happened to Elain and Nesta. Transformation. It sounded like something that one would welcome. Something that one would seek out–a transformation. In reality, it was a little less glamorous.

Feeling her blood sizzle in her veins and evaporate, leaving Elain’s body a dry husk, while the blackness of the Cauldron pressed and pressed and pressed, until every bone in her body was broken and crushed into dust was not the ‘transformation’ she was looking for. And then, the reforging. Perhaps even more terrifying than the destruction of her frail human body. The re-forging of her organs and bones, fusing together, every muscle and tendon snapping into place, her new blood flooding her veins–all of it happening while Elain was fully conscious, trapped in the freezing darkness of the Void. She felt it all–how her new hair sprouted, follicle by follicle, how her nails grew, how she was able to see with her new eyes, how her tongue tasted the darkness, her ears amplifying every sound. She even felt her womb change–something happened to it, to her utter horror. Her natural womanhood was stripped away and something different was put in place. Something that would change the tidings of her cycles. Something that would…accommodate. She shuddered, thinking about it. An average High Fae male was significantly larger than a human man. The High Lords, the Illyrians were even bigger than the High Fae. And…well, she didn’t dare think about all that came along with that increased size.

“Nothing like that,” Elain answered, her tone clipped.

She didn’t mean to be rude, but she couldn’t help it.

It seemed like Madja noticed the array of emotions on Elain’s face, and simply nodded.

“So how can I be of help?”

Elain sat down and folded her hands on her lap.

Maybe coming here was a stupid idea?

What was she thinking? Why?

He…he didn’t care. He wouldn’t care.

It was…silly. Foolish even.

She got up and said, “I think this might have been a mistake.”

The healer smiled at her and said, “Please sit, Elain. Just tell me what you’d like and then I can decide whether I could accommodate your request.”

“A potion of sorts,” Elain explained. “For headaches.”

“Of course,” Madja didn’t seem surprised by the request. “But I will need a little more information.”

“Yes,”

“The potion would be for a male? Or a female?”

Elain bit her lip and finally answered, “a male”.

“A High Fae?”

She considered and then shook her head no.

“An Illyrian then?” Madja prodded.

“Yes,” Elain nodded.

“Lord Azriel suffers from headaches,” Madja confirmed and Elain frowned at her.

“How do you know it’s for him?” she snapped.

“Oh, well, I just assumed,” Madja said evasively. “No one knows about the headaches…but you.”

“How could they not know after all this time?!” Elain exclaimed, scandalised.

It was so obvious! She could almost feel the Shadowsinger’s pain when he was near her, especially when he was rubbing his temples.

“He is good at carrying his pain inside,” Madja explained. “He is stoic and the Fae are encouraged to withstand pain and not be affected by it. Illyrians especially.”

She cocked her head to the side and looked Elain up and down,

“And the fact that you knew…” her voice faded.

“What?” Elain pressed, puzzled by the healer’s ramblings.

“It’s just curious, is all. That you would know,” Madja shrugged.

“Why?”

“No one knew, for over 500 years. And you’d noticed it…felt it…within six months. Forgive me,” Madja got up from her desk and smiled, “unusual cases pique my interest as a healer. And this is most unusual.”

“But why?”

“Come,” Madja motioned to Elain to follow her and they walked over to the long bench. “Why? It’s just a bit strange, don’t you think? That Lord Azriel was the one to figure out what was ailing you. And now you have noticed his pain as well…”

Elain didn’t know what was so unusual about it.

“Mates can feel each other’s pain,” Madja mentioned, as she began fussing with vials and glass jars.

Elain snorted a laugh.

“He isn’t my mate.”

“No. Of course not. The Autumn Lord is.”

Elain didn’t respond.

She preferred not to think about that.

It was easier that way. To never think about it. That mate of hers.

“Come, you’ll make it,” Madja encouraged.

“What? No, I can’t! I don’t know how to.”

“I will guide you.”

“Can’t you do it?”

The healer smiled at Elain’s panic and explained gently, “You are Made, Lady Elain. Your power is infinitely stronger than mine. It’s vast and infinite. It came from the Cauldron directly. My power is just a sliver of yours, and most of it has been learned. Your power is natural. Believe me, you ought to make it.”

“Oh,” Elain contemplated it, but then unbuttoned her cloak and placed it on the chair.

“I will measure everything.” Madja began weighing out all sorts of powders and herbs, “and you will mix it.”

Elain supposed that she could do that. It wasn’t very difficult.

They worked in silence, the healer not much of a chatter–thank the gods. Elain didn’t feel like making small talk. She mixed the powders together in a shallow bowl, like Madja instructed.

“He would be able to mix this with any drink and it would dissolve,” Madja explained. “You can taste it.”

Elain wasn’t sure if she should, but she dipped her finger into the mixture and dabbed it on her tongue.

It tasted nice–floral.

It reminded her of her own scent.

Jasmine.

Madja watched, a small smile on her lips, but didn’t comment.

“I think he would enjoy it,” she said at last. “It tastes pleasant, no?”

“Yes, it’s nice. I taste jasmine.”

“Yes, indeed,” was all Madja said.

Madja made Elain make a paper cone, stick it in a small glass bottle and pour the mixture inside.

Elain still didn’t understand why Madja couldn’t have done all of this herself.

“What you’ve touched,” Madja watched Elain closely, “it will transfer to him,”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I am not exactly sure how it works, but like calls to like–your power, your good will towards the shadowsinger has transferred to the powder. It will make it more potent.”

“I doubt it,” Elain smiled. “But it’s a nice thought.”

Madja looked at her and stated with utmost seriousness,

“Do not doubt the will of the Cauldron. Or the Mother, for that matter. It is you, and no one else, who wishes him good tidings and health. You. And there is a reason as to why the Cauldron chose you. And him.”

Two weeks later

There was a tiny box left on the table by the window- a box that Mor lifted, squinted at the name tag, and said, "Az, this one's for you."

The shadowsinger's brows lifted, but his scarred hand extended to take the present.

Elain turned from where she'd been speaking to Nesta. "Oh, that's from me."

Azriel's face didn't so much as shift at the words. Not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed-

"I had Madja make it for me," Elain explained. Azreil's brows narrowed at the mention of the family's preferred healer. "It's a powder to mix in with any drink."

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

Feyre never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the bottle from Azriel's hand and examining it. 'Brilliant, 'Cassian said.

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, 'Thank you.' I'd never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and grey like veins of emerald. 'This will be invaluable.'

#elain archeron #azriel and elain #elriel #elain x azriel #pro elriel #elain #Elain Archeron Week #elain week 2024 #my fanfic #my writing

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izzy2210 · 3 months

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All The Time In The World

for @evashuu you literally helped me so much with this it's only fair

~~~~

Hob was grading essays, papers sprawled all over his usual table at the New Inn. It’s a few weeks after his stranger came back, Dream, he knows now. Dream, who’s sitting across from him, his hands politely in his lap, watching him work. He likes this, coexisting with someone in the same space, it makes him finally start grading these stupid essays he has to finish in two days. A student of his called it ‘body doubling,’ something that often works for people with ADHD. He tries not to think about what that means for him too much.

The door opens, the bell ringing, and he looks up. Speak of the devil, the kid walks into the Inn, their hands in their pockets. They spot Hob, and he raises his hand to wave, when their eyes go wide, and they make a U-turn in the doorway and start to walk away again.

“Rowan!” Hob shouts, and a few grumpy women side-eye him. Bummer, he thinks, I own the place. Rowan turns around again. “You should sit with us!” Hob smiles, and the kid rolls their eyes, reluctantly walking towards the table where Hob and Dream are sitting.

Dream turns slightly to look at them, and then his eyes widen, his jaw tenses. He spots their too-sharp teeth as they grimace, the jewellery in their too-pointy ears isn’t steel. “Hob..” he starts, but his friend is already busy scooting to the left in his booth, letting Rowan sit next to him.

“Rowan, this is Dream, a.. friend. Dream, this is Rowan, one of my students. I was just grading papers, already did yours.” Dream stares at Hob, then at Rowan. “Do you want tea? I could make you some tea. Myra-” he turns to the woman behind the bar, “Could you make Rowan some tea? On the house, it’s fine.” Hob grimaces, and Rowan twirls one of their rings around their finger.

Dream is still staring at them when Myra brings their tea, and Rowan looks at the floor, masking their fear with awkwardness. They can feel, sense that Dream is Other. It doesn’t comfort them. They got banished from the Faerie for a reason, and they aren't planning on going back. Maybe this creature is going to take them home.

Hob hands them their tea, and they take it, warming their hands, even though it’s not that cold outside. Hob talks, they think, but they aren’t listening, not really. They’re looking at the creature across from him, his jaw set tight, his eyes a piercing, unnatural blue. Hob doesn’t seem to notice the tension.

“Hob, are you aware..” Dream starts again. “Mh?” “Are you aware your student is.. Other?” He says, carefully, he doesn’t want to shock Hob.

Hob chuckles. “I know, Dream, that they’re queer. It’s something you can say, these days, you don’t need to come up with euphemisms.” Hob sips his own tea, and the little crease between Dream’s eyebrows deepens. That.. That is not at all what he meant, but he can’t let the Fae know he knows and that Hob doesn’t know- It’s all terribly confusing. Rowan chuckles nervously.

The rest of the afternoon goes that way, Hob talking animatedly, Rowan deeply uncomfortable, and Dream trying to pierce two symmetrical holes in their skull with his eyes.

Eventually, after some whiskey mixed in with his tea, Hob invites Dream over to stay, and Rowan excuses themselves. Hob will pay for his tea, he promises, and then Rowan hurries out of the Inn.

“Hob..” “Do you.. Want to stay over? Perhaps?” He asks, and Dream tips his head to the side, like a curious bird. Hob has never offered that, but it sounds.. Good. Dream nods, and Hob slides out of his booth, showing Dream the way up the stairs, to his apartment above the Inn. Pushes the door open, drops onto the plush couch while Dream just stands there, delightfully out of place between the brown bookshelves and green rug, Hob’s own little treehouse. Hob stares, and Dream stares back. They’ve always been strange like that.

Hob may be tipsy, but he’s definitely not thinking about how Dream’s lips would feel against his. Nope. Also not about carding his fingers through Dream’s hair, looking down at him as he puts those lips somewhere else, certainly not about letting Dream push him down onto the mattress, kissing him senseless and stupid while Dream’s fingers pet his chest, and move down, down..

No. Definitely not.

Dream clears his throat, a strange sound. “You.. You can sit, if you want?” Hob offers, and stares even more as Dream seems to fold in on himself like a goth lawnchair, tucking his sharp elbows and sharp knees in and sits down on the couch, sinking into it a bit.

“Ah, you’re sitting in the spot I used to sit in. The underside of it cracked, so it’ll probably feel a bit weird to sit there..” Hob knows he’s rambling, knows this is awkward, but he can’t do anything but let his mouth run, afraid that if he’ll stop talking thoughts will start to form in his head again, maybe even daydreams. He doesn’t know if Dream can sense those, but he isn’t keen on finding out right now, not with this mindset.

“It is comfortable.” Dream simply says, and Hob just nods. “This place is lived in. Some humans would call it.. Cosy.” Dream slides his hand over the fabric, Hob chuckles, and stares. “Yeah. That.. That was the goal. I have my books, my desk where I grade papers students write..” He smiles again, definitely doesn’t wonder how Dream’s hand would feel in his, or somewhere else..

“About your students.. Rowan Sorbus, as they call themselves, they are-” “Yeah, they’re something, aren’t they? Lovely kid to have in class, not afraid to ask questions, or question the textbook.” Hob smiles. Maybe Rown and Dream could bond, they are both.. Not from around here, to say the least.

“Yes, well..” Dream starts, and then sees how comfortable Hob is here, and stops. He.. He wants to see where this night is going, without the intrusion of telling Hob that his favourite student is Fae, and could potentially be dangerous. He doesn’t want to disturb his peace. And if he thinks about it, Rowan didn’t look all that threatening. Maybe he was wrong.

Hob talks, about difficult classes and incorrect textbooks, about old mad Hettie and new friends, and Dream listens, intently, scooting closer with every new story. Dream doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, but the stories are fuel for him, he can almost feel them. Hob tells them so well, he can almost smell the scent of new textbooks, old tea and a wooden desk as Hob tells him how difficult it is to grade papers on your own. He can feel the grains between his fingers as Hob tells him that he organised a company trip to the beach for the staff of the New Inn, and he can smell the sea as he tells him about that one time when he went fishing with a friend, catching an actual octopus.

“The smell of the ink brought me back, oh lord. M’hands used to be covered with it when I was working at the printing presses, god!” Hob sits up. “That’s when I thought you were the devil!” He chuckles, and Dream smiles softly. “Mh, and now I’m friends with you. Fancy me being friends with the devil.” He grins over at Dream, who smiles more.

Those smiles were rare, in the early days, but in this century Hob earns them in abundance, as he jokes, mocks and tells his stories. He relishes in them, loves them dearly. He speaks more, about all kinds of things, and when he glances at the clock he sees it’s past midnight.

“Hob, as much as I like your stories, it is late. You should retire to bed, I believe you have classes to teach early in the morning.” Hob hums, a little disappointed. “Yeah, I do.” Dream seems to tense up, suddenly, just a little, but Hob spots it. “Business calls in The Dreaming, my friend. Good night.” And then Dream is gone.

Hob sighs, and goes through the motions of getting ready for bed. Strips out of his shirt and trousers, brushes his teeth, has a piss.. All with a sort of pit in his stomach. It’s not exactly sadness, not exactly anger. Just.. Emptiness. He really thought he was doing it right. He gets in bed, and if he wraps his arms around the other pillow and shoves his face in it, expecting the smell of Dream but getting the smell of his laundry detergent instead, nobody needs to know.

——————————————————————

Rowan sleeps, and wanders. Through fields and grasslands, over mountains and ravines. They’re not sure what they’re looking for, but they know there’s something.

They drop down, exhaustedly, in an open field, watching the sky shimmer with stars. They hear footsteps coming closer, but the sound isn’t threatening, and they’re too tired to move, so they don’t. Sue them, they feel like they got exiled all over again.

“You are not from around here.” A voice says, a female voice, a voice they recognise. They find the strength to sit up. “You..” A small, pixie-like creature stands next to them, her brown hair short and choppy, her ears just as pointed as theirs. Their eyes widen, shit, they really can’t seem to be inconspicuous lately.

“You’re Ash-” “I don’t go by that name anymore. It’s Rowan.” They interrupt, a bit defensively. If they didn’t feel like they just ran a marathon, they would flee.

“Alright. I’m Nuala.” She sits down next to them. “I.. I know who you are. You were a real big deal. I’m.. I’m sorry.” They say, and she shrugs, sitting closer. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault I was gifted to him like an object.” At that, Rowan’s eyes widen, and narrow again. “Who is him?”

“The king here. He’s.. A bit of a prick, to be honest.” Nuala giggles, and Rowan chuckles with her. “He’s strange. Doesn’t really talk much, mostly watches.” She continues. “He did say he liked what I did with the decoration. He.. he is difficult sometimes. Doesn’t trust easily.” Rowan nods. “I know some people like that. They take a while to warm up, but-” “He can’t warm up. He can only tolerate, I think sometimes.” She sighs. “I.. I used to like him, dreamt of a relationship with him. It's all a bit ironic, now.” She chuckles wetly, and Rowan can feel their heart break for her. “What’s his name?” they ask, scooting closer. They’ve always been up for a good gossiping.

“His name’s Dream.”

Oh.

Fuck.

“Tall, pale, goth? Black hair, bluest fucking eyes you ever did see?” They say, standing up, suddenly not so tired anymore. Nuala frowns, “Yeah, how did you know?”

Fuck.

“I saw him today, he was all defensive and cold. D’you think I pissed him off? Would he have the power to send me back?” They ask, concerned. “I.. I don't want to go back, I’m good by myself, I really don’t need the pressure-” A silhouette appears on the horizon, almost seems to materialise there, and they stop talking. The figure gets bigger, and Nuala stands as well.

“There he is,” she says. “I.. I should go.” And in a cloud of sand, almost glittery pink, she’s gone.

And then they stand there, too tired to flee this impending doom, it seems. Did.. did he do this to them?

As he gets closer they see he’s wearing some sort of cloak, fire licking on the seams. He seems mad, powerful. Rowan doesn’t quite know what to do. They’re.. Scared.

“No need to be frightened, Rowan Sorbus.” He says, when he’s in hearing range. “Easy for you to say. What did I do to piss you off, eh?” They choose offence, no point in being nice. Dream’s eyes narrow. “I am not angry, Rowan. This, all of it.. Was a case of miscommunication. I was under the impression that you were planning on hurting your teacher, Hob Gadling. The Fae can be.. complicated creatures.” Rowan opens their mouth to say something, but Dream is quicker, “I now know. That that is incorrect, and it was.. Not good of me to make that assumption.” Rowan nods.

“No, no.. Yeah. It.. It’s okay. I’ve had worse. Why..” They have this nervous tick, where they rub the ridge of their ears, to check if they’re still as pointy. They wished they fit in more, sometimes. “Why are you so protective over Mr. Gadling?” Dream’s lips quirk, just a little, but Rowan spots it.

“We are good friends. We have been for quite a while.” Rowan frowns. “How long?” “You would not believe me if I told you.” They chuckle, nodding. “Mh, sure. Try me.”

“We have known each other precisely for six hundred thirty three years, one month and nine days.” Rowan whistles between their teeth. “Mr. Gadling’s immortal?” “He is.” “Wouldn’t have guessed, he hides it well. Although I could smell something Other on him. Maybe that’s just you, though. How long have you been together?” Do Rowan’s eyes deceive them, or do they spot a blush on Dream’s marble face?

“We are friends.” He mutters, and it sounds almost like he’s convincing himself. Rowan whistles again, and sits down in the grass. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you today, Dream. I’ve seen the way you are protective over him. You better figure stuff out. You might be defensive about him, but I am just as much. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Dream nods, slowly. “I.. understand.” “Do you understand yourself? Your feelings?” Dream frowns. “I am not interested in a therapy session with you, little Fae.” Rowan snorts. “Pff- Fuck. That’s now what I want either. I just want you to be good for Mr. Gadling. In whatever way. Friends, or boyfriends, whatever. Just..” They stand again, facing Dream, looking properly at him for the first time. He’s quite handsome. “Be good to him, alright? I.. I don’t want to lose my family again.” They ask, and Dream nods. “I will. Now wake up, little Fae. I think you will find that you helped me a lot when you get lessons from him again.” Rowan nods, and blinks. When they open their eyes, they’re laying in their bed, wide awake.

——————————————————————

Hob is sitting in the New Inn, the evening sun streaming through the windows. He has his eyes closed, he’s not grading papers, just enjoying his business, enjoying the weather, when the bell on the door rings, and he cracks open an eye to see Dream, out of place in his black trenchcoat. Hob grins, and waves him over.

“Hob..” He mutters as he sits down in the chair in front of him. Hob likes the way he says his name. “I have had an interesting conversation with someone last week. It made me realise certain things. These things are.. Better said in private, if you do not mind.” Hob frowns, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Sure, Dream.” He stands. “Is there something wrong?” “Not at all.” Dream mutters, and follows Hob up the stairs.

Hob falls down on his couch with a sigh that could only be made by fathers, and invites Dream to sit next to him. He does, and it’s a sight. Hob made sure to sit on the broken part of the couch. He remembers. “So. What was it that you wanted to say?”

Dream opens his mouth, and closes it again. When his lips part again, he can only say “I..” before changing his mind. Hob thinks he looks like a fish. A pretty fish, though. “Take your time.”

“I have been thinking.” Hob shifts in his seat, grinning. “That’s dangerous. Go on.” “And I have come to a realisation. About myself. However, it concerns you as well, yet I do not wish to change how things are going if you do not wish it as well, and I-” “Dream. Think about what you are going to say, and say it, please. It sounds serious.”

Dream sighs, frowns a little, and Hob’s eyes get drawn to the little crease between his brows, then the sharp edge of his nose, then the soft arch of his lips..

“Do you want some tea while you think?” Hob says, suddenly. Dream nods, absentmindedly. He looks like he’s piecing together a puzzle in his head, brow still furrowed. Hob stands, but Dream grabs his wrist gently. “Wait.” Dream stands, and now they're in front of each other, but Dream is avoiding his gaze.

“I have come to realise. That I care a great deal about you, Hob. More than.. humans would consider a friendship. I..” Hob's face softens, he almost melts. “Oh Dream..” Hob grabs his other hand. “I would like for us to..” “Be together? As like.. a couple?” A man can hope, Hob thinks. You never know with Dream, what he really means. Dream smiles, softly. “Yes. A romantic relationship.”

Hob sighs, smiling. He seems to melt, and leans his forehead against Dream’s chest, chuckling. “God.. that was smooth. So..” He pulls back, to look Dream in the eyes. He looks rather surprised with Hob’s touchiness, but not disturbed. “Could.. Could I possibly.. Kiss you, then?” Dream’s lips part, and they catch Hob’s attention, his eyes lingering there.

“I would like that, Hob.” Hob untangles one of his hands from Dream’s, brings it up to his face. He traces patterns over the smooth skin there, relishing in the way Dream’s eyes flutter shut, and he presses a soft kiss against his lips, lingering a little. He tips his forehead against Dream’s, and sighs.

“You literally have no idea for how long I wanted to do that.” He chuckles, and Dream opens his eyes. “It might have been centuries since I have been kissed. Millenia since I have been kissed so.. Lovingly.” Dream admits, and Hob pouts a little as he says it, bringing his hands up to Dream’s face. “That’s terrible, duck. You deserve it, really do, you-” “I would like to discuss this at a later time. For now, would you kiss me again?” Dream looks almost scared to ask, and Hob’s heart breaks. “Of course, duck. Always. Would kiss you always.”

Dream closes the gap now, and their lips slot together like two tectonic plates, creating volcanoes in Hob’s brain and ravines in Dream’s stomach. Dream tastes like lightning, Hob notices when he slips his tongue inside, like a thunderstorm, like the smell of wet concrete. It’s jarring, almost, but Hob has always loved nature, loved sitting outside in the rain while his mates cowered in their bunks. He can love Dream like that, he thinks. Love him even though he’s terrifying, love him even though he can be destructive. Hob will keep him from destroying himself.

Dream’s cold hand slides in Hob’s hair, tangling his fingers in the strands, and Hob lets out an embarrassing sound. Dream pulls back. “Are you all right?” he asks, concerned, and Hob chuckles slightly. “Yeah, duck. M’fine. S’just.. Been a while since I’ve been touched like that as well. You might not believe it, but the life of a history professor isn’t all that exciting. Think.. Think if we do more right now it’s gonna be even more embarrassing for me.” Dream frowns. “So you would enjoy..” “Maybe going to bed together? Cuddling? Kissing some more, if you want?” Hob slides his hand down Dream’s arm, tangling their fingers together. Dream lets him. “I would like that quite a lot.” “We.. We have all the time in the world to do the rest. For now, I just want to be cosy with you. Want to see how you wake up.” “I do not sleep. Not like you.” Hob chuckles. “Then pretend, for my sake.”

Hob lets his hand slip out of Dream’s, and leads the way towards the bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable.” He says, vaguely gesturing to the bed. “Gonna brush my teeth, have a wee.” Hob strips out of his shirt and trousers, and notices Dream’s gaze lingers, not with hunger, but with fascination. Hob slips into the bathroom, and quickly does what he announced. When he comes back Dream is still sitting on the side of the bed, his hands politely in his lap. Still in that fucking trenchcoat.

Hob walks over, and motions for Dream to stand again. He lifts his hands, and fiddles with the first button of his coat. “That alright?” He says, and Dream nods. Hob struggles with the second button, and Dream just waves his hand, letting the coat dissolve into dreamstuff. Hob gasps a little, and that amuses Dream.

Hob helps him out of his shirt, and watches as he slips out of his trousers. They’re both in their pants now, letting the other map out their body with his gaze. “Shall we..?” He says, nodding to the bed, and they both slide under the covers, facing each other.

Hob reaches out first, grazing his fingertips over Dream’s collarbones, then up his shoulder, down his arm. “You are cold.” Hob notices. “Does it bother you?” He traces back up his arm, cupping his cheek so softly, like he’s made of porcelain. “Not at all, duck. I’m always running hot.. It would be comfortable to be with you.” Dream smiles softly, and reaches out, mapping out the scars on Hob’s chest, running his fingers through the hair there, then back up, to tangle in his hair, bringing him close and letting their lips lock.

The kiss is soft, gentle, almost lazy in the way that there is no rush, there never is with them. Like Hob said, they have all the time in the world. They can figure stuff out in their own time. They might be a god and a witch, an idea and an immortal, but right now, they’re two men, cuddling together in bed, so in love there aren’t really words for it.

——————————————————————

In the next few months, Dream comes over almost daily, sleeps over about as much. They figure out a rhythm. Dream doesn’t eat, but enjoys watching Hob cook. Dream is enthralled by the television, and his favourite show is The Golden Girls, although he’d never admit it. Hob likes to offer Dream tea, and he actually drank it once or twice. Hob counts it as a win.

“My darling..”

And then there’s that. Hob started calling Dream ‘duck’ as soon as he could, but it took Dream a while to warm up to the fact that he is allowed to love Hob visually.

Hob hums in response from the kitchen. “Come here.” Dream murmurs, and Hob walks towards him, his shirt covered in flour. “What are you making?” “Cookies, duck.” Dream hums, and pats next to him on the couch. “Come here.” He says again, and Hob nods. “One second, duck, gonna wash my hands real quick.” Hob disappears into the kitchen, and comes back a moment later, cleaner now.

Hob walks to sit next to Dream, but he manhandles him into his lap. “Oh!” Dream hums, nuzzles his neck. “You are beautiful, my love.” Hob chuckles. “Mh, thank you, duck.”

“You have been having daydreams, my love.” Dream can feel Hob’s cheeks heat up. “You can see those?” “It is effortful, but yes. You are worth the effort.” Dream presses a kiss to Hob's jaw. “One daydream keeps resurfacing. You.. you want me to fuck you.” Hob lets out a strangled sound. “I.. well yeah.” “You want me to push you into the mattress. Touch you all over. Do not leave a part of you unkissed, unloved.”

Hob hides his face in Dream’s neck, presses a lazy kiss there. “Yeah. I do. But.. I don't know if you want to as well.” “I would love to, Hob. After dinner, perhaps?” He says it like he's talking about dessert, not about taking Hob apart piece by piece. Hob sighs, and it turns into a chuckle.

“I would love that.” He says, and presses another soft kiss in the crook of Dream’s neck. This time, Dream shivers. “Is that good?” Hob whispers, and kisses him there again, scraping his teeth over his skin a little, and Dream hums, a low rumble Hob can feel. “Are you trying to seduce me?” Dream rumbles. “Mh. Haven’t I already?” Hob kisses his neck again. “Quite successfully, might I add. God, you’re beautiful.” Hob fits his teeth over Dream’s Adam’s apple, and he grumbles, grabbing Hob’s arse and standing up, manhandling him to the bedroom, dropping him on the bed.

“You tease me, Hob Gadling.” Hob looks up at him, eyes full of admiration. “Sure do, duck.” Dream crawls over him, their faces inches from each other, as Dream runs his finger over Hob’s chest, turning his jumper into dreamstuff. “That was my favourite-” “I will make you another one. A better one.” “Dream..” “Please. Shut up.” And he kisses him, and it’s thunderstorms and electricity all over again, like someone put a spark to Hob’s brain. Dream lets Hob’s other clothes disappear, and runs his hands down his body, still kissing him. Hob lets out a “hmph-” tugging at Dream’s clothes, and they disappear just as easily.

“After dinner, right?” Hob jokes as Dream kisses down his body, and his chuckle turns into a sigh as Dream finds the sensitive spot in his neck. “How could I wait when you tease me like that, my love?” Hob groans. “You are.. Insatiable..” “Tell me your daydreams, love.” “You know..” “Tell me. I want to hear it. What do you want, my darling?” Dream is nuzzling his stomach now, and Hob smiles down at the sight, Dream’s pale fingers splayed out over the soft arch of his middle, his plump lips pressed against his skin where an especially big scar disappears into Hob’s trousers..

“Want you to fuck me, Dream..” Hob throws his head back into the pillows as Dream sucks a bruise into the skin of his hip. “Want you to eat me out first, is that alright?” “You are not telling me everything, my Hob. You want me to push you down, ‘face down, arse up’, as you think so unceremoniously. Would you want me to do that now?” Hob sighs again, lets out a “God yes please holy fuck-” and Dream flips him effortlessly onto his stomach, spreading his hand between his shoulderblades, pushing him down.

“You are like the sun, Hob. It took me a while to look at you, but you have so many marks, from so many centuries of living.” Dream slides his hands down Hob’s sides, down to his arse where he unmakes his boxers as well. Dream cups his arse with his hands, and Hob sighs, his face pushed into the pillows. “Please..”

Dream spreads his cheeks, and lets out a huff. “You..” “Mh, fuck- Did I forget to tell you?” Hob lets himself drop fully onto the bed, and turns around to face Dream. “I’m trans. I have a cunt. Is that.. A problem?” Dream lets out another huff. “Not at all, my love. Not at all.” He nuzzles Hob’s hip, fits his lips over his hip bone. “I was just surprised, you have never mentioned it before.” “Not something you go advertising around, duck.” “Mh. That is a shame.” Dream wraps his hand around Hob’s thigh, and lifts it so it’s resting on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the inside of it.

“Is this okay?” He asks, and Hob melts at the sight, Dream’s eyes shining so brightly, asking for approval at every move.. “It’s perfect, duck. This is good. Please..” Hob cups Dream’s face, and then moves it so his fingers are tangled in his hair, pushing him towards his cunt. Dream shoots look at him, and darts his pink tongue over his lips, making Hob groan.

Hob throws his head back, tangling his fingers in Dream’s hair as he finally does what he’s been wanting him to do for centuries. Hob babbles, keens, and Dream hums low in his throat, licking and sucking like it’s his last fucking meal.

“Dream, fuck.. Please-” Hob hooks his knee behind Dream’s neck, pushing him closer. “Fuck.. That’s good- Please..” Hob’s back arches, pushing himself further into Dream’s mouth.

The sensations are almost too much, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure that makes his head spin. Dream’s hands roam, squeezing and caressing, adding to the overwhelming pleasure. Hob’s moans grow louder, echoing in the room, a testament to Dream’s skill. Hob vaguely thinks about where he could’ve picked it up, but then Dream slides two fingers into Hob’s hole, shutting his mind off effectively. “So.. Fucking close, duck..” He groans, and Dream lets out a low chuckle, the sound going straight south for Hob.

“Dream..” “What would you like, my love?” Dream pulls back slightly, and leans his cheeks against Hob’s inner thigh. Hob looks down, and Dream’s lips and chin are covered in his slick. “Would you come right now? Or let me indulge in you even more, and fill you up, taking you the way you have been dreaming about?” A small smirk plays at Dream’s lips, and Hob fists the sheets, letting go and gripping again, trying to ground himself before even trying to properly form a thought. Dream tilts his head in question.

“Fuck, love.. Need you to give me a break after you suck my soul out through my cunt, goddammit..” He chuckles slightly, and Dream does as well, pressing a soft and wet kiss to Hob’s thigh, the hair there tickling his face. “What will it be, my love?” Hob sighs, pets through Dream’s hair while he thinks.

“I.. We have all the time in the world, right?” He asks, a soft smile on his face at the sigh of Dream’s eyes closed, enjoying the feeling. He hums. “Then we have actual infinite opportunities to do what I wanted to do. Right now.. I just want you to fuck me, duck. But I want to look at you.” Dream is smirking now, and crawls over Hob again, dissolving his pants into dreamstuff in the same movement.

“Quite the romantic..” Dream hums as he kisses at Hob’s jaw, who goes slack like putty at the touch. “I would love to fuck you, darling. Slow?” He mumbles, and Hob nods breathlessly, he cannot believe his luck, still can’t quite believe Dream is here. “Yeah, duck.. Want you to take me apart, please.”

“Then I will do so, my love.” He kisses Hob, slowly, and slides inside him with a sigh. Hob throws his head back into the pillows, his lips slipping from Dream’s, so he settles for pressing his lips to Hob’s neck again, starting to move slowly, deliberately, watching every microexpression on Hob’s face as he does so. Dream sighs as he moves, focussed on Hob, trying not to pay attention to the growing tug in his gut.

First, his lips part in a silent moan, then they quiver as Dream slides a hand down his body to rub Hob’s cock while he makes love to him. Then Hob almost squeals in delight, biting his lip to not make too much noise. “Duck.. Please- I’m gonna-” “Yes..” It’s almost a hiss, and Dream picks up the pace slightly, the soft sounds of them panting and skin slapping skin filling the room.

Hob feels electric, on fire, but also calm, like the eye of a tornado. It’s like Dream has finally found the off-switch to his brain, the only thing he can think of is Dream, Dream, Dream.

He wraps his arms around his lover, pulling him close when he comes, and if he sheds a few tears, Dream didn’t notice, he’s too busy creating novas in his eyes, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look pitch black. His lips are parted, kissed pink and glossy, and he feels so human, so vulnerable, so one with Hob. He collapses on top of him, panting.

——————————————————————

After, they lay in bed, cuddled up and cosy, warm under the blankets. Dream is resting, and a sunbeam caresses his face, filtering through his hair. His head is laying on Hob’s stomach, warm and happy. Hob’s cookies are long forgotten, the dough still laying on the kitchen counter where he left it. Dream doesn’t snore, but hums slowly, a rhythm that lulls Hob in and out of The Dreaming.

“We should get out of bed, perhaps.” Dream opens one eye to look at him, and frowns. “I do not see the need for that. We are happy, we are together.” Hob smiles softly, and sinks his fingers into Dream’s hair, earning a low hum from him. “We have other things to do, maybe?” Hob suggests, but he knows he’ll lose this argument. He doesn’t really care that much. “Mh. We, my darling, have all the time in the world.”

~~~

@rainy-days-and-nights @fellshish you might like this

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dreamling #hob gadling #morpheus #trans hob gadling

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p0ssywhippedcream · 1 year

Note

hey ophe! could you pls write a percabeth angst thing like they've started hanging out alone and you're feeling pushed out (maybe annie doesn't like the reader a lot) thanks!

💋💋💋💋

"Hey Perce! Your mom let me in, I hope you don't min-"

Of course. Of course Annabeth is here, in his room, on his bed. They're close too, much too close, you can see where their legs are wrapped together like serpants under the blanket. Percy closes his laptop, a look of panic flashes before he's tugging away from her, but not far enough; her feet are still on his calves.

"Y/n." Annabeth is eyeing you, cold and calculated.

"Annabeth, what are you doing here?" You try to keep your tone friendly but the wind is taken out of your sails and it comes out more of a rasp.

"Percy and I were watching a movie, what are you doing here?"

You make eye contact with Percy now. He's looking embarrassed and his hands are fidgeting but there's no sign he's going to back you up, of course.

"It's our one year, we're supposed to get dinner."

She nods and looks at him and he instantly breaks your staring contest to look back at her. It looks a little like a silent argument, just a few seconds of eyebrow twitches and head tilts and Percy's turning back to you. "Can we reschedule?"

You got your nails done, hair curled, makeup perfectly symmetrical and legs coated in a thin sheen on lotion. You've been waiting for this date for months, planning it for months.

You take a deep breath, turning to Annabeth with a renewed fire. Fuck this, fuck her, fuck their stupid friendship. "Can I speak to my boyfriend alone?"

Annabeth opens her mouth, probably to debate you but Percy's shaking his head and she's sighing, pulling her legs off of him and retreating to the living room. She leaves the door open, you can hear her and Sally excitedly chatting before you shut it.

"Percy-" You start.

"Y/n, it's not like that!" He's already defending himself and you have to count to five before you let yourself try again.

"I don't care. It's our anniversary, we've been planning this for months."

"I know," He's finally scrambling up, he can sense a fight brewing and he's grabbing your upper arms to calm you. "But Annabeth's been really struggling lately, with her dad and her stepmom. She needs me, I can't just bail on her!"

"Percy," You swat his arms off, "You've been bailing on me for her for much longer than her dad's been, what, yelling at her a little? You never explain what her problem even is! You just ask me to understand when you drop plans and disappear!"

"Well, that's personal, Y/n. I can't just share her private life!"

You're really boiling now. "You told her about my family. You told her and she went and mentioned it in front of a bunch of people! You trust her more than you trust me and clearly, you care about her a lot more too!"

"Y/n, don't be so dramatic. She was concerned about you!"

You scoff, he tries to touch you again and you barely hold yourself back from Zeus-smacking his infuriatingly relaxed face. "The only shit she could give about me is whether I'm spending more time with you than her. I don't know if you're dumber than I thought you were or what but her hatred for me is pretty fucking obvious."

His face drops a little but not enough, he's not hurting the way you are. He will. "You're being mean, Y/n. You need to stop, you're treating her unfairly."

You nearly growl at him. "Unfair is some girl cuddling with my boyfriend on our anniversary. You know what? Fuck you, Percy. I'm sick of being a thirdwheel in my own relationship and I'm sick of you giving her hall passes for shit you'd ignore me over."

You push past him, he trails behind you with confused and now finally desperate eyes. "Wait, what-"

You find your purse by the floor, glad you left your shoes on. Annabeth and Sally are watching from the kitchen with varying degrees of curiosity and wonder. You're about to open the door when he grabs your arm again, pulling you back a little.

"Y/n, wait. We can still go to dinner, I'm not mad."

You seriously want to hit some sense into your boyfriend. "Well I am, Percy. And I never want to go to dinner with you again, not if you're going to kiss her ass the whole meal." Sally's eyes widen and Annabeth's become slanted. She's angry, good.

You look back at him, he's scared. Maybe he finally understands that not everybody is loyal to death for people who don't deserve it. And then you're leaving, marching out to the parking lot with stuffed-up tears following your wake.

Percy turns back to his mom and his best friend with a fear he's almost forgotten eating at him again.

Annabeth walks towards him, wrapping him in a brief, warm hug. Then she pulls away and opens the door, gesturing him to go after you. Percy is really confused now, you were right that she'd never liked you very much but he didn't want to believe it was as intense as you'd said.

"She may not deserve you, but I definitely don't either, and she's the one you want." Percy nods and takes off after your steps, finding a parking lot void of your car and a devastation within he's never met before.

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csuitebitches · 1 year

Text

Interiors: Basics of Styles

The 9 Styles of Interiors are maximalist, brutalist, coastal, minimalist, rustic, art deco, Hollywood Regency, midcentury modern and modern organic and they all have unique characteristics. Let’s dive in.

Maximalism

* Bold colors.

* Bright wallpaper.

* Mixed patterns with contrasting motifs, like animal print, geometric shapes, or florals.

* Ornate accents, like chandeliers.

* Layered fabrics.

* Statement pieces.

Notable people: Kelly Wearstler, Martin Brudnizki, Dorothy Draper and the Greenbriar Resort

Brutalist

* Raw Materials. At its core, Brutalist interior design honors raw materials—showcasing the honesty of construction

* Geometric Shapes

* Textured Surfaces

* Unadorned Minimalism

* Focus on Function

Notable people: Le Corbusier, Marcel Breuer, Moshe Safdie

Coastal

* Natural Light

* Crisp whites

* Layered blue tones

* Jute textures

* Stripes

* Linen upholstery

Notable people: William Pahlmann, Amy Aidinis Hirsch, Brett Sugerman and Giselle Loor Sugerman

Minimalist

* Simple lines.

* Monochromatic or neutral color palettes.

* Limited furniture.

* Limited decorative objects.

* Storage solutions that keep the space uncluttered.

* Open floor plans.

* Natural light

Notable people: Donald Judd, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, David Chipperfield

Rustic

* Main Colors: Wood grains or browns, beiges, or warmer shades

* of white.

* Accent Colors: Muted colors - tans, reds, blues, greens, yellows,

* and grays.

* Shapes: Rugged, imperfect lines and silhouettes.

* Fixture Finishes: Iron, pewter, copper, or brass.

* Aesthetic: Imperfect but warm and inviting. Decor/Art Style: Animal hides and fur, antlers, throws, pillows,

* and rugs with simple motifs or patterns.

Notable people: Alexander Waterworth, Grey Walker, Katherine Pooley, Bill Hovard, Jean Stoffer

Art deco

* Streamlined, symmetrical forms.

* Geometric designs as ornamentation; it's common to see shapes such as: Trapezoids

* Rich material and textile palettes

* Ornamental light fixtures such as chandeliers or sconces.

Notable people: Jacques Ruhlmann and Maurice Dufrène, Eliel Saarinen

Hollywood Regency

* richly layered textures

* high contrast patterns

* metallic finishes

* vibrant colors

Notable people: Dorothy Draper, George Vernon Russell, Douglas Honnold, John Woolf, and Paul R. Williams.

Midcentury Modern

* clean lines

* muted tones

* a combination of natural and manmade materials

* graphic shapes

* vibrant colours

* integrating indoor and outdoor motifs

Notable people: Arne Jacobsen, Charles and Ray Eames, Eero Saarinen

Modern Organic

* The modern organic interior design style mixes minimalism, midcentury modern, and boho flair

* Clean minimalism and sleek lines meet nature-inspired shapes, organic textures, and rustic elements

* By adding natural textures and shapes, the modern organic decor is warm, inviting, soulful, and elegant.

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #q/a #getting your life together #balance #cultural education #rich bitch guide #interiors

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firefirefruit · 1 month

Text

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirty-Nine

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Spitfire

I’m going to kill Law.

No, really, I’m planning his demise.

Nami’s fingers gently interlock through my dark and unruly hair, neatly braiding two symmetrical strips across my head - but all that’s running under that brewing scalp of mine is how I can make Law pay for what he’s done.

Last night was the worst. With Zoro’s snoring and his random mutterings in his sleep, I was practically left wide awake, strewn across the open-spaced crumbling floor, my eye twitching in unbridled irritation.

And with my hand being otherwise occupied, I woke up like a mess. Dishevelled and barbaric, my hair kept slipping over my eyes and I was left there with no way of helping myself. At one point, I considered shaving my head clean - but before I could grab a sharp scrap of metal to de-hair myself, Nami had walked to the firepit of where Zoro and I sat like furious toddlers. She took one pitiful long look at me, and then had decided she had to intervene with my appearance.

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” she lightly says in my ear, her fingers looping through another dark brown lock into another. Her other hand pats my head, her orange hair entangling around my shoulders in a sign of solidarity. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe it’ll make you two learn to tolerate each other more?”

“But he sucks!” I whine out, stamping my free hand against the rocky ground. “He sucks at sleeping, Nami! You know what he so lovingly said in his sleep last night? Into my ear? ‘I’m going cut you down. I’m going to bury all your limbs in different places, so that even in your death you won’t be honoured.’ I was fucking horrified. I couldn’t sleep.”

Robin’s rich laugh echoes throughout the cave, her deep blue eyes fixed on mine. She tilts her head as if considering a thought, a finger pressed beneath her mouth. “I wonder how he’d cut you down with only one hand free to him.”

I gape at Robin and give her a thanks for adding more fuel to my nightmare spout; not to mention, I can feel Nami behind me with a massive grin on her face as she sprays a mist of water against my matted hair.

“It’s not funny.” I pout, eyeing the hot breakfast that Sanji’s so lovingly cooked up, all encircling deliciously around the firepit. “I’m not even in the mood to eat anymore. Zoro eats the size for two fucking orcs, anyway.”

Robin amusedly looks at me as she pointedly lays her book on the floor. She places her chin in the palm of her hand, which in turn makes me raise a brow.

Not knowing why, I hesitate for a second. “What?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Raya, but I can’t help find this a little entertaining,” she smiles, her eyes flicking to the area next to me. “Especially when Zoro’s sitting right next to you.”

I turn and for the first time in the entire morning, I realise that Zoro is indeed sat right next to me. As if he could even be anywhere else.

I slowly turn, meeting the gaze of someone who’s been pointedly glaring at me for a lot longer than I’ve realised, his bewildered look searing into me as if I’ve just insulted him.

My face falls.

Oh. I did just insult him.

“Really?” Zoro grumbles out, his mouth full of sausage and bread. He instantly drops the rest of his breakfast onto the plate, as if hurt by what I said, and, in a tantrum, wipes the grease on his trousers.

“We have napkins,” Nami quietly mutters out, judgement written all over her face.

My face contorts from guilt to irritation in an instant. “Well, excuse me for trying to have some girl time, Zoro,” I blurt out and eye him with disdain. “I need a way to get through this… imprisonment, somehow.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t we talk about how you accidentally flashed me when you were taking a bath?” Zoro grins with spite, a brow raised at me in challenge. My face falls, heat growing across my cheeks. Oh, gods. “One second you make me crouch on the floor to get you in the water, and the next second you try to get out, tackling me down all wet and n—"

I clamp my other hand over his mouth shut – sealed tight, air-locked – as I hiss, “It was an accident!”

Nami and Robin burst out laughing, moving their heads between Zoro and I as if witnessing a legendary sword-fighting match.

“Yeah, never mind what I said before; looks like you two are really getting to know each other without my help,” Nami impishly says, making us chained folk both roll our eyes and Robin chuckle louder.

For a moment, Nami hesitates, and before she sits in the empty space besides me, she takes the perfect moment to scruffle Zoro’s mossy hair, making him grumble and helplessly attempt to duck away from her looming hand. Nami only smirks and twirls a few of his green strands in her fingers, eyes glinting at Zoro with the slightest inkling of hope. “You need a hairdresser too, princess?”

“No.”

A kiss of teeth. “You suck.”

“Go bother the cook,” a muffle from a mouthful of sausage and bread quips back. Suddenly, a slow smirk rises on one side of Zoro’s mouth as he takes a moment to look at Nami in the eyes. “Talkin’ about that, didn’t I see you and him gettin’ all tolerant with each other yesterday?”

I look up in surprise, but Robin only smirks with her usual goddamn omniscient look in her eyes. Nami’s face has fallen as if Zoro’s just struck a knife in her face before a terrifying appearance of fury crosses her. A beat passes before Nami and I both shout out at the same time.

“What?” I gasp in betrayal, accusingly stabbing a finger at Zoro’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me anything!”

“I’m going to pummel you in the face,” Nami grits out through clenched teeth, her legs tensing as she prepares to lunge at Zoro. Instinctively, Zoro raises his free arm to block the incoming blow, bracing himself for impact. But the strike never comes.

Zoro hesitates, slightly opening his eye, puzzled by the sudden stillness. His confusion mirrors my own as I glance at Nami, expecting her fury to have landed by now. But instead of following through with her threat, she’s frozen, her gaze lifted to the ceiling, eyes wide with something that almost looks like awe.

My curiosity piqued, I follow her line of sight, craning my neck to see what has captured her attention. There, in the distance, my eyes lock onto a familiar beady-eyed beast.

Of course, I think, suppressing a wry smile. Great timing.

A silhouette of an unnaturally immense-sized dragon beats its wings in equal movements, with three tiny sized passengers scrambling on his stern – one of them clasping his straw hat on his head with a flimsy arm. Luffy’s screams bounce on any available wall, floor, and ceiling throughout the gaping tunnel, making Aragnus huff out through his snout in impatience.

I don’t know whether to grin or to snarl at the view – in one sense, I have some gripe with Aragnus, from outing me as some sort of deathstalker in the worst way possible. In another sense, he did what he had to do to keep me alive. I wouldn’t be here, curse-free and, more importantly, without any metallic shrapnel thorning throughout my body.

In any case, he’s not the prey of my fury today. No, that all goes to a certain doctor on board.

Luffy cheers again, his squawky voice reverberating through all our ears. I amusedly smile as I watch both Zoro and Aragnus unintentionally breathe out a resolute sigh at the same time.

Your brother has given me much discomfort this morning, Aragnus hisses through my head, his voice tinged with slight weariness. He has tested my restraint more than once. I’ve considered reducing him to ashes.

For half a second, my eyes widen after hearing his words. Brother. Luffy, my… brother? Not biologically, but I suppose… cosmically?

I push the thought aside and glance up at the massive dragon. Our eyes meet, and I can’t resist flashing him a mischievous grin.

Having a little servant-master bonding time? I didn’t know your courtesy also extends to Luffy.

Aragnus sassily huffs and looks away from me, as if trying to hide the non-existent embarrassment on his face. I serve you, and by extension, those that share your line. It is nothing more than so.

I snort and watch him soar closer and closer to our camp, his wings riding on the fresh breeze coming in within the interconnecting tunnels to each cavern. Yeah, right, I think to myself. If this old grump doesn’t like Luffy, he wouldn’t be soaring around right now, doing so many ostentatious mid-air tricks in effort of gaining his approval.

When Aragnus’s paws gently scrape against the claw-marked ground in landing, Usopp’s the first to slink off his back and onto the floor like quivering jelly.

“I… I’m…” Usopp mumbles out, unable to form a coherent sentence. Sanji curiously strolls over to him and pokes his pale corpse with the tip of his shoe.

“I told you to eat breakfast before going on that joyride, dumbass,” Sanji grumbles, his tone thick with disapproval. He then turns to Aragnus, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “Care to do me a favour, dragon?”

Aragnus responds with a low, unintelligible hiss, his beady eyes narrowing as he shifts his gaze to me.

What have I become? A mere trick-performing dog for your pitiful little camp? he grumbles in my mind.

I suppress a snicker, raising my brows in mock chastisement. You heard him, Aragnus.

With an exasperated flick of his wings, Aragnus allows Chopper and Luffy to slide off his arm before lazily turning back toward Sanji. Without warning, a tiny jet of flame shoots from Aragnus's snout, aimed directly at the chef.

“Shit!” Sanji yelps, jerking back as a small burn forms on one of his fingers. He shoots a furious glare at Aragnus, waving his hand to cool the sting. “What the hell was that for, you scaly bastard?”

Aragnus shifts his gaze from Sanji to me, a smug glint in his eyes. Sanji, still nursing his singed finger, turns to me with a frown, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief, like a scolded child.

Go on, Aragnus urges, his tone almost playful. Tell him what I said.

I sigh, shaking my head in resignation. “Aragnus says, ‘Oops.’”

Expecting Sanji to blow up at Aragnus’s evident sarcasm, I quickly pull out a plaster from one of my work bags and wave it at him as a distraction, making Sanji instantly zip his mouth shut and stare at me with a terrifying amount of adoration.

“How can you be so... so...” he whispers, taken by my seemingly incredible act of generosity.

“RAAAAYYAAAAAA!” Luffy screams, one of his arms locking around Aragnus’s paw, the other swinging maddeningly like a baseball pitcher until it blurs into only colour and no limb.

“Fuck,” I breathe out, my eyes widening in sheer terror with knowing what’s coming.

Bracing myself, I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing there’s no escape from the chaos that’s about to ensue. In a flash, Zoro reacts, twisting his body and pulling me into him, my head colliding with his warm chest just as Luffy releases his grip on Aragnus and catapults himself in our direction.

Luffy lets out a startled yelp as he crashes into Zoro’s back, his momentum abruptly halted. He bounces off and lands on the ground, immediately pouting as he looks up at us.

“Zoroooo!” he whines, clearly disappointed. “I was trying to surprise her!”

Zoro, now being sandwiched in between two cosmic-bound forces, grunts out a laboured huff.

“You were about to knock her head off clean,” Zoro pointedly says. He looks back at me for a beat and our gazes lock. An inscrutable look washes over him before realisation hits him. His arm disappears from my waist, the warmth of his touch instantly going as quick as it came – and for a brief moment, I wanted to yank his arm and place it back where it was. He peels Luffy off his back like a sticker, depositing him in front of us.

Luffy blinks for a moment as Zoro sorts him out, but when his eyes finally find mine, he grins wildly and twists his arms around me.

“Man, today’s a great day!” Luffy sings, adoringly squeezing me along with all the breath I have. “I have another sis’! Who woulda’ known?!”

“In a weird way, yeah,” I say, an unconscious tiny smile creeping on my mouth. I think the realisation just hit me now, with Luffy saying those words, that we are indeed in some way or another… family.

Zoro watches us, his eyebrows raised in surprise. His eyes flick between me and Luffy, clearly processing the unexpected bond. I just shake my head slightly at him, knowing he’ll probably bring it up later. It’s not like I can avoid the conversation—there’s no running away from him now.

“I wish I was the one who’s cuffed with you, Raya! It’s no fair Zoro’s the one who can spend all the time with you.”

“Trust me, it’s not fun,” Zoro says.

I elbow Zoro and glare at him. In turn, he only looks down at me and teasingly offers a smirk.

As we all begin to sit down, Sanji drags in a humongous tray into our cavern with steaming animal carcasses piled on it. With a swift kick, the tray gracefully twirls and slides, landing perfectly in front of Aragnus’s sat down body.

Aragnus growls out a hum of approval as he begins to dig in, but I look at Sanji with surprise. Sanji shrugs when he notices my questioning stare, a cigarette softly placed between his lips. The end of the cigarette slowly glows with glowing embers in sync to Sanji’s expanding chest.

“Can’t let these dragons starve - else they’d eat us for dinner, my love,” he says. In a hasty effort to change the subject, he nods at the glowing cuff between Zoro and me. “How did that happen?”

“I did it,” a measured masculine voice resounds in the corner. I turn to the sound, and only grit my teeth when my eyes lock onto Law’s. He offers a smirk when he sees my furious expression while coolly walking towards our campfire. The rest of his crew disperse from behind him, eagerly joining us with big grins; Bepo catches my gaze and gives me a sympathetic, yet uncertain, smile.

Sanji frowns at the surplus of Heart members, eyeing them as they begin digging in. “Didn’t know we were having guests.”

Luffy ignores Sanji’s comment, his eyes widening at Law. He shoves his wrist into Law’s face, making the latter scowl and bat his arm away. “Really? Can you cuff me too, Torao? Cuff me!”

“You’re not getting cuffed, Mugiwara. Get away.”

Luffy pouts and crosses his arms. “Why’dya even do it if you’re not gonna do it to me? I wanna join in on the fun.”

“Because,” Law enunciates, brushing past my captain and sitting intentionally right across from me, his eyes glinting at me with a certain kind of mischief, “They were getting on my nerves. I decided to give them a sweet taste of my revenge.”

His lie catches me off guard, and I give him a strange look. I was almost certain this would be the moment he'd spill everything—my true identity, the dark history behind my newly awakened power. But he doesn’t. Instead, he brushes it off as a simple prank, leaving me confused and a little suspicious. Is he planning something, or was this just an unexpected act of kindness? The way the lie slides off his tongue so effortlessly makes me narrow my eyes at him, unsure how to interpret his intentions. The double entendre in his words doesn’t go unnoticed either.

“So, you decided to bind them together?” Robin raises a brow.

Law shrugs, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth. “A harmless prank.”

“Harmless, my ass,” I mutter to myself, making Zoro snort out loud.

Law only smugly cocks his head at me in tandem to biting a piece of toast. A wave of anger pierces through me, seeing him act so nonchalant and unworried. If only I could just sink my teeth into him the same way he’s taking those bites of food.

I shiver aggressively, shaking my head as if trying to throw those awful intrusive thoughts away. What the fuck is happening to me? My own mind is coaxing me to submit to murder.

Zoro, in the corner of his eye, watches me with a frown on his face. I don’t know how long he’s been monitoring me, but it only hits me now that he’s intently keeping an eye on my reactions. But not once this morning have I seen him sheathe his swords to his hip; his hand hasn’t moved from his plate or his thighs and this makes me feel incredibly… out of sorts.

“Where are your weapons?” I mumble quietly, pretending to look at the rest of the camp and the members animatedly talking within it.

I intently watch his face to see if he makes any minute expression on it, but Zoro only shrugs in response. His lashes flutter and shadow over his tan cheeks as he looks down to his empty plate, his calloused fingers stretching across his thigh in idleness.

“I don’t eat with my swords,” he says, giving me a sarcastic eyebrow raise. I scoff at him.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

He pauses and looks at me, his gaze firm and absolute. “I told you before, Raya. I’m not scared of you.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering as he continues. “But I have this feeling you’re taking what I’m saying the wrong way, the way you always do.”

Instantly, I take in a sharp breath. My mouth opens and closes, determining on how I should respond to him, and for some reason, I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I hold his immovable stare.

Before I can respond, Luffy’s boisterous laughter cuts through the silence. He’s already engrossed in conversation with Usopp, who has finally found his voice after the dragon ride. Their lively banter echoes through the cavern, but Zoro's words still linger in my mind.

“You’re always like this,” Zoro continues, his voice softer now, almost like he’s trying to reason with me. “You overthink things. Sometimes it’s not that deep.”

I scowl at him, the defensiveness rising up before I can stop it. “I’m not overthinking anything,” I retort, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound.

“Sure,” Zoro replies with a lazy smirk, leaning back slightly. “Whatever you say.”

I turn my head away from Zoro, staring straight in front of me out of pettiness, but instead, my eyes accidentally lock with Law’s, making all of those repressed feelings within me start to coil tighter.

Revenge, another unwanted thought brushes against my mind. No, not revenge – justice. Attack him, fight him, terrify him for your freedom. That’s what I want. That’s what will sate my fury.

Law doesn’t miss my gaze darkening for even a second. He leans his torso over slightly, taking me in, tracking me with those troubled yet sharp eyes.

“I think you and I should talk,” Law steadily says, quiet enough so that it drowns in the midst of other peoples’ animated conversations. I think you and I should talk, before you do something that you’ll regret, he means. Before I fall victim to these vicious thoughts that only appeared when my true form was awakened.

I purse my lips and nod once, but intentionally, I eye the rest of the crew as a reminder that this area isn’t private enough. Law nods, standing up as he brushes crumbs from his jacket, whispering something unintelligible to Bepo before he coolly walks towards the other side of the cavern.

I look at Zoro and, in front of the others, obnoxiously say, “Well, I guess we should go and do some sword stuff.”

The end of his mouth twitches amusedly as he looks at me with a deadpan look. “Yeah. Totally. Can’t wait to do some sword stuff.”

Zoro rises to his knees with a deliberate calm, his eyes not leaving mine as he offers a hand to help me up. I take it, trying not to focus on the warmth of his grip or the way his rough skin contrasts with mine. Once I’m up, he releases me almost immediately, his hand dropping back to his side with a casualness that irritates me more than it should.

We begin walking toward the edge of the cavern, and I can feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on us. Nami and Robin, no doubt amused by the exchange, Luffy probably still sulking about not being involved, and Sanji… well, Sanji is always watching with that intensity he tries to disguise as casual interest. But I don’t dare glance back to confirm; I’m too focused on keeping my composure as we head toward Law.

Law, standing in the shadows at the far end of the cavern, watches our approach with an unreadable expression. The usual smirk he wears is absent, replaced by something more serious. It makes my nerves prickle, a sense of foreboding settling into the pit of my stomach.

I glare at him. “So, are you going to explain what you did to us?”

Law takes a moment to sigh, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose before taking a moment to fully look at the chain that bounds Zoro and I together.

“I wasn’t lying last night. Roronoa, you did fuck up,” Law mutters, taking a step forward to examine the damage. His fingers gently trace over the linkage as he looks up at me. “I was supposed to be bound to you – not to him.”

I laugh out loud, because that’s the only way I can react to hearing this piece of information. “Please, tell me, where did your logic disappear off to when you were brewing up this idiotic plan?”

He glares at me. “Answer me honestly, Raya. If you weren’t bound to Roronoa right now, would you have run away and disappeared from your crew just so that you didn’t have to face your possible doom?”

My laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a cold silence as I stare at Law. His question hangs in the air, heavy and unyielding. It’s as if he’s reached into my mind and pulled out the one thing I’ve been trying to ignore—the gnawing fear that if given the chance, I might just run. Disappear into the shadows to avoid facing whatever monstrous power has awakened inside me.

“Thought so,” Law says quietly, his tone less confrontational and more understanding than I expected. He steps back, giving me space, but the weight of his question still presses down on me.

“That,” an inked finger points at my cuff, “weakens your powers. It keeps you in check, meaning we won’t have accidental God outbursts whenever something mildly unpleasant happens to you. Until I do some more research on your powers and how we can help you from turning into another Tyr, that’s going to stay there as a precaution.”

I glare at him. “So, you’ve basically imprisoned me.”

“If that’s how you want to see it, sure.”

I bristle at this slightly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little bit too dramatic?”

“If you’re volatile now, what would you be like if your full powers are unleashed?” Law counters. There’s a pause where I shift from one foot to another, unsure of how to respond. He continues, frustration evident in his face. “Look, if either of you have any other solutions, then I’m happy to hear them.”

“Could you then at least unbind me?” Zoro intervenes, pointedly looking at the cuff encircling his wrist. “I don’t get why I’m roped into this.”

“You’re roped into this because you decided you couldn’t keep your sticky fingers away while I was in mid-incantation,” Law snaps, his eyes narrowing on Zoro. “I’m not redoing my work, Roronoa. It’s not a permanent spell, and it’d actually be helpful if you could keep an eye on things. Just give me a few days to learn more about Kozuki’s awakening, and all of this will be done and dusted.”

Before Zoro can open his mouth, Law turns his attention to me, his gaze piercing me with sincerity. “One of Tyr’s evident mistakes was not learning of his bloodline, of where all his power even originated from. It’d be wise if you did some research on your past, though I know that idea pains you. But the faster we figure this out, the easier you’ll have it.”

I narrow my eyes at Law, the weight of his words settling over me like a heavy shroud. Research on my past? The idea of delving into that unknown, murky territory is as appealing as walking barefoot on shards of glass. But the reality of the situation is unavoidable—if I don’t take control of this power, it will control me, and I’ll be no better than the monsters we’ve been fighting against.

“I hate that you’re right,” I admit, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable. “But I’ll do it. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m okay with being treated like a ticking time bomb.”

Law nods, his expression softening slightly. “I don’t like it either, Kozuki. But this is the safest way for now. I’ll do everything I can to help you figure this out.”

Zoro, still looking less than thrilled with the situation, tries to cross his arms but tugs me aggressively to his chest. Flustered, he steps away from me, ignoring my irritated expression, and gives Law a hard stare. “Look, just make sure you follow through, Torao. I’m not interested in playing babysitter any longer than I should.”

Law rolls his eyes but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Believe me, I’m as eager as you are to resolve this.”

I look between the two of them, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and irritation. As much as they’re both insufferable in their own ways, I know they’re trying to help. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need their help.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, turning to leave. I tug on my wrist connecting to Zoro's, making him grumble out a string of curses. Law watches us go, his expression unreadable, but I can sense the wheels turning in his mind. He’s not done with whatever plan he’s concocting, and that thought makes me uneasy.

But then, I pause in my footsteps without thinking; Zoro yelps and only barely steps away before he collides into me. I turn around and look at Law, my face set very serious.

“Law,” I mumble. He looks up from his thoughts and raises a questioning brow. I clear my throat, averting my gaze. “Thank you… for, um… not outing me to the group today. You could’ve done that and made it a lot easier for yourself, but you didn’t. I… appreciate it.”

Law’s expression softens, and he gives a slight nod, his usual cocky demeanour tempered by a rare glimpse of sincerity. “I’m not here to make your life harder, Raya,” he says quietly. “I just want to make sure we all get through this in one piece.”

I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then turn away, pulling Zoro along with me.

“Kozuki,” Zoro suddenly bites out. I look up, surprised in hearing the tenseness in his voice.

“What is it?” I stare at him, noticing the way his brows are furrowed and his mouth pursed deeply into a frown. I sigh and look down at our cuffs. “It’ll be temporary, Roronoa. It’s shitty, I know—"

“It’s not that,” he quickly cuts me off, his gaze locked on me with dead seriousness. “I need to piss.”

It’s the afternoon – and a hell of an afternoon it is. The clanking of metal against stone fills another cavern, a steady rhythm as Zoro sets up his gym equipment. The dumbbells, barbells, and various other heavy objects he loves to train with are neatly laid out, but the usual calm of his workout space is anything but. I sigh internally and feel Zoro unintentionally yank on my wrist again, almost toppling me over to the floor.

“Do you have to do this right now?” I hiss through gritted teeth, frustration already bubbling over me as Zoro on me tugs once again, making me almost dive headfirst into the cement. “I’m not really in the mood to be amputated today, you know.”

“If I don’t, I’ll lose my edge,” Zoro replies, his tone dismissive as he grabs a dumbbell with his free hand. His muscles flex, the veins in his forearm standing out as he starts his reps. It’s a sight that would have been impressive—if it wasn’t so fucking inconvenient.

I try to remain still, but every time Zoro moves, the chain binding us jerks taut, sending a sharp jolt through my arm and pulling me slightly off balance. It’s as if the chain has a life of its own, tugging me this way and that with every flex of his muscles. The constant, unpredictable yanking makes it impossible to find any sense of equilibrium, and the frustration builds inside me like a kettle about to boil over. Each time he lifts the dumbbell, I’m dragged along in a clumsy dance, my patience wearing thin as I fight the urge to scream and knock the weight out of his hands.

“Do you always have to be so intense?” I mutter, shifting uncomfortably as Zoro reaches for a heavier weight, his muscles straining with the effort.

He doesn’t even look at me, his gaze locked on some invisible point ahead as he methodically lifts the dumbbell, his biceps bulging with each slow, controlled movement. The sheer focus in his eyes is almost intimidating, as if nothing exists except the iron in his hand and the sweat on his brow.

“Can’t you just stand still for an hour?” he finally replies, his voice steady, barely winded, as if he’s unaware of—or perhaps indifferent to—how much he’s disrupting my balance with every lift.

“Easier said than done,” I grumble under my breath, struggling to find my footing as Zoro powers through his routine. His focus is unbreakable, each lift executed with precise control, his muscles flexing and unflexing with mechanical efficiency. Meanwhile, I’m left to wrestle with the constant tugging of the chain, the metal links clinking with every one of his movements.

I grit my teeth, determined to stay as still as possible, but it’s like trying to stand on shifting sand. Every time Zoro hoists the weight, the force of it sends a jolt through the chain, yanking me off balance. My feet shuffle awkwardly, trying to keep up with the relentless push and pull, but it’s no use. The more I fight it, the more my frustration builds, the irritation bubbling under my skin like a pot about to boil over.

Seconds stretch into minutes, each one dragging on longer than the last, my irritation growing with every lift, every clink of the chain, every muscle that Zoro flexes without a care in the world. I can feel my temper fraying, the last threads of patience snapping one by one until finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Would you just stop!” I snap, my voice echoing off the cavern walls, the words bursting out of me with all the pent-up anger I’ve been trying to hold back. I yank my arm back in a futile attempt to steady myself. Zoro grunts at me pulling away from him, his torso ever so slightly being pulled towards my direction, yet not enough where I could make a convincing point.

Zoro pauses, lowering the weights with a huff. He looks up and glares at me. “If you keep complaining, this is going to take forever. Just deal with it.”

I narrow my eyes at him, mocking his condescending tone. “Maybe if you weren’t so damn single-minded about this, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

Zoro’s eyes finally meet mine, and there’s a flicker of something dangerous in them, a darkness pooling in his grey iris. The sweat across his tan skin reacts with his mossy green hair, allowing it to lay matted and wet across his forehead. I can’t help it – I can’t look away from him, the way the muscles in his jaw tense as his gaze darkens, locking on me with such intensity.

A bitter smirk curls at the corner of his lips, a teasing glint in his eye as he slowly lifts his free arm. The movement is deliberate, almost taunting, and I can’t help but watch as his biceps flex with effortless strength. His rough, calloused fingers rake through his hair, pushing the damp strands back into place with a careless grace.

“You’re really pushing it, Kozuki.”

“No, you’re pushing it,” I childishly bite out.

“C’mon. You haven’t even seen half of it.”

I scoff out and raise my brow at him. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

Zoro’s smirk is slow and deliberate, curving with a dangerous edge that sends a shiver through me. His gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch, a look so charged it silences any retort I had prepared. “You really want to know?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost taunting.

Before I can respond, Zoro drops the weight with a resounding thud, the sound reverberating through the cavern. His movements are fluid, every gesture calculated as he turns toward me. In one swift motion, his arm wraps around my waist, and suddenly, I’m lifted off the ground, my breath hitching in surprise as I’m drawn tightly against his chest.

“Wait, what the fuck—” I gasp, my hand instinctively reaching out to steady myself, fingers clutching at the firm muscle of his shoulder. But Zoro doesn’t hesitate, his grip strong and steady as he shifts me effortlessly, pulling me closer until my feet leave the ground completely. The way he holds me with such ease and power leaves me momentarily speechless, my pulse racing as the reality of our proximity sinks in.

“So eager to complain,” he teases, his voice a deep, rich rumble that seems to resonate through my entire body. “I figured I’d put you to good use.” His words are laced with amusement, but there’s a challenge in his tone, one that stirs something inside me I hadn’t anticipated. He begins to lift me higher, his muscles flexing with every powerful movement. The sensation of being pushed upward, with him guiding me so effortlessly, is dizzying. Then, just as smoothly, he draws me back down, bringing my face dangerously close to his. The warmth of his breath grazes my skin, the closeness of him overwhelming, almost intoxicating.

“You’re such a brute,” I hiss, trying to muster some irritation, but my voice betrays me, coming out softer and more breathless than I intended. Zoro’s smirk deepens, his eyes gleaming with a knowing amusement as he senses my wavering resolve. He lifts me again with the same ease, his hold unyielding. Sweat glistens on his skin, tracing shimmering paths over the defined contours of his muscles as he moves. His gaze remains fixed on mine, a playful light in his eyes as he watches me struggle to maintain composure.

Realising I’m outmatched, I allow my body to relax, surrendering to his strength. He manoeuvres me with such confidence, as though I weigh nothing, and the way he handles me sends a thrill through me, awakening something deep within that I can’t quite explain.

Without warning, Zoro pulls me back toward him, his movement gentle yet firm, until our faces are just millimetres apart. His breath brushes against my cheeks, warm and teasing, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. His eyes, sharp and focused, flick from my lips back to my eyes, mischief dancing in his gaze. “You’re a lot lighter than my usual weights,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that wraps around me like a caress. “Maybe I should add some difficulty.”

With that, his fingers begin a slow, deliberate exploration of my waist, tracing the curves of my body as if committing each one to memory. His touch is light but intentional, his hands gliding over my hips with a lingering caress before he suddenly shifts his grip. A surprised yelp escapes me as his arm slides lower, his strong fingers gripping my thigh as he lifts me higher against him. The movement pulls me flush against his chest, the solid strength of his body pressing into mine, and I can’t help the way my breath quickens in response. My legs dangle helplessly for a moment before instinct takes over, and I wrap them around his waist, desperate for balance and a semblance of control that seems to be slipping away.

“Put me down, or so help me Gods,” I snap, but my voice betrays me, a sultry edge creeping into my words that I know he can hear. His smirk widens, the satisfaction clear on his face as his voice drops to an intimate whisper. He pushes me upward, positioning my midriff against his face, his calloused fingers tracing the tender skin beneath my thighs with a touch that is both possessive and gentle.

“Why?” he murmurs, his breath warm against me. “You’re finally being useful. Besides, you seem to be enjoying this.”

I hate that he’s right. I hate the way my body reacts to his touch, the way my pulse quickens as his muscles shift and flex beneath my hands. The way he holds me, the firm yet tender strength of his grip, the heat radiating from his body—it’s all doing something to me that makes it hard to think, let alone protest.

“I-I’m not…” I stammer, but the tremor in my voice reveals the truth, the unsteady rhythm of my words making it clear. I clear my throat, struggling to keep my expression neutral, to fight against the overwhelming sensations that have taken hold of me. “I’m not feeling anything.”

Zoro chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through his chest and into me, connecting us in a way that feels almost tangible. He pulls me down again, this time bringing his face so close to mine that I can see the faint flecks of darkness in his stormy grey eye. The intensity in his gaze is almost too much to bear, a magnetic pull that draws me in even as I try to resist. “Liar,” he whispers, his breath mingling with mine, a quiet challenge that sends another shiver down my spine.

His hand slides up my back, his fingers pressing into the small of my spine, urging me even closer until the space between us is nearly non-existent. The heat of his body seeps into mine, his presence overwhelming in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything but him. I can feel every inch of him now, every subtle shift of his muscles, every breath he takes. It’s overpowering, this closeness, this connection that seems to vibrate in the very air around us.

“You’re such an ass,” I mutter, but the words lack any real force. My pulse pounds in my ears as I take in the details of his face—the way the scar over his closed eye stands out in a lighter shade against his golden skin, the sweat that glistens on his neck, tracing elegant lines down over his defined collarbones and disappearing beneath the dark fabric of his shirt. His presence is magnetic, impossible to ignore, and I can feel myself being drawn deeper into his pull, unable to resist.

Zoro’s grip on me tightens, the possessiveness in his touch growing as his breath hitches slightly when I shift against him. My fingers dig into his shoulder, gripping him as firmly as he holds me, as if we’re both clinging to each other, caught up in a moment that feels charged with energy.

“Are you done complaining now?” he murmurs, his voice rougher than before, a low growl that sends a thrill through me. His breath fans across my face as he speaks, the closeness amplifying every sensation, every emotion swirling between us. He tilts his head towards me, his lips only a mere fraction away from mine. “’Cause I can deal a lot more damage if you push me.”

I open my mouth to retort, but the words falter as I feel his grip tighten just a fraction more, his body pressing closer to mine, enveloping me in his warmth. The room around us seems to shrink in size, filled with an unbreathable heat that consumes us both whole.

But just as quickly as it began, Zoro suddenly releases me, lowering me back to the ground with a smoothness that leaves me stunned. The absence of his touch is startling, a cold shock to my system, and I have to fight the powerful urge to reach out, to pull him back and demand an explanation for the storm he’s just stirred within me.

“Let’s get back to training,” he says, his tone more controlled now, though there’s still a hint of that dangerous edge lingering in his voice. He averts his gaze away from me, staring at a spot in the wall across from him.

I silently nod, trying to ignore the lingering heat in my veins as we return to his workout routine. But as Zoro picks up his weights again, I can’t help but feel like something has shifted between us—something that can’t be easily ignored.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not entirely sure I want to ignore it anymore.

I try to shake off the feeling, to push away the frankly baffling mix of sensations swirling inside me. The irritation, the heat, the connection that seems to hang between us like a thick fog. I know I should just let it go, move on, and pretend that nothing happened. But I can’t. Not with the way Zoro’s gaze flickers toward me every so often, not with the way his muscles tense with each movement as if he’s trying to keep himself in check.

An hour later, the clanking of weights eventually slows, then stops altogether. I look over to see Zoro wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his eyes still glued to the floor in that usual contemplative way of his. I can’t help but notice the slight tremor in his hand as he sets the dumbbells down, the brief pause as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

“Alright,” Zoro finally says, breaking the silence with a gruffness that belies the uncertainty I can see in his eyes. “I’m done for now. Let’s find a place to crash.

I nod, grateful for the chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the cavern. The chain between us rattles as we gather our things, the sound a constant reminder of the bond that keeps us tethered—both literally and figuratively. We move through the dimly lit tunnels in silence, our footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Neither of us speaks, but the quiet isn’t entirely uncomfortable. It’s more like an uneasy truce, a temporary pause in the ongoing battle of wills.

The small cubby hole barely has enough room for the two of us. The walls feel like they’re closing in, every breath of mine echoing against the stone as we awkwardly settle in for the night. The chain binding us together makes the situation even more uncomfortable, the metal links clinking with every slight movement.

Zoro lies beside me, his eyes open and his body tense, as if ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. The silence between us is heavy, filled with the unuttered sentiments we’ve exchanged in glares and scowls. But despite the discomfort, there’s no real anger left—just an odd sense of acceptance that this is our reality now.

I shift slightly, trying to find a position that doesn’t strain my wrist or press me too closely against Zoro. He’s warm – too fucking warm, actually – his presence a steady reassurance even as it irritates me. The silence stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. We’ve said too many apologies in the past, and if I’m being honest, they’ve lost their meaning; now, it’s just about getting through this without driving each other insane.

I’m trying to find sleep, but it eludes me. My mind keeps replaying the events of the day—Law’s words, his insistence on me having to comb through my bitter past, makes me less tired and more agitated.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Zoro murmurs, his voice low and rough from fatigue.

I turn my head slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes are half-lidded, but there’s an alertness in them that tells me he’s not as close to sleep as he appears.

“Hard not to,” I mutter, shifting slightly to ease the stiffness in my neck. “It’s been a long day. And having to sleep like this isn’t helping. In fact, this whole setup's fucking ridiculous.”

“I mean, you’re making it worse by moving around so much,” Zoro grunts, his voice rough with fatigue.

“I can’t help it,” I retort, frustration bubbling up as I try to wiggle free. “You’re taking up all the space.”

“There’s only so much space to take,” he bites back.

I huff, annoyed but also too tired to keep arguing. Instead, I settle for glaring at the darkness, my body tense as I try to find some semblance of comfort. The silence stretches on, thick and heavy, but I can feel Zoro’s presence beside me like a physical weight.

After what feels like an eternity, Zoro finally breaks the silence, his voice low and rough from disuse. “You ever think about your family?”

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden question. Family isn’t something I talk about often, and certainly not with someone like Zoro. But there’s something in his tone that makes me pause, makes me consider answering honestly.

I turn to him. “Why the question?”

“I would’ve told you earlier, but I didn’t know you were a Kozuki for a while. I’ve met some of your family, you know.”

I purse my lips and search his gaze, but he doesn’t offer me any sort of reaction. I huff and look up at the dark ceiling, my free hand resting across my chest, fingers thrumming out of agitation.

“Law did mention that you met them,” I say. He doesn’t respond; instead, he closely watches me, as if wordlessly telling me to continue. I clear my throat. “Hiyori gave you the Enma, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did,” Zoro admits.

I purse my lips and train my eyes on the ceiling. Hiyori. The sole reason I regret leaving Wano; the girl who gave me reason to keep on living whilst I was back in that confined world with their confined beliefs of what women can do with their lives. My heart pulses sourly; thinking of what she must feel like, what she’s doing… Would I ever see her again? Even now, with my unpredictable awakening, those chances are growing slimmer by the moment.

“She…” My voice cracks slightly, making me quickly clear my throat as if to cover up the poor blunder within my defences. “She must have trusted you very much to give you a piece of our heritage.”

Zoro remains silent for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches me wrestle with my thoughts. I can tell he’s not the type to pry, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, a need to understand. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentler, lacking the usual roughness.

“Hiyori’s strong,” he says simply. “She didn’t just give me Enma because she trusted me. She did it because she believed it was the right thing to do, to protect Wano.”

I nod, my thoughts drifting back to my time home. The memories are hazy, but they’re laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. I can still see Hiyori’s determined face, the way she carried herself with grace despite the weight of her responsibilities. It’s strange to think that she’s still there, carrying on the legacy of our family, while I’m here, far from home and bound by chains—both literal and metaphorical.

“She’s always been strong,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “Stronger than I ever was. I admired that about her. She would stay, even if it meant she would fuck up her life and her dreams along with it. I… Well, I run away from things a lot.”

“Oden ran away a lot,” Zoro mentions. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

I laugh out loud. “See, I’d normally be upset with a comparison to Oden, but I guess that’s pretty accurate.”

I pause and look at him, a thought flashing across my mind. Enma’s still broken into bits; that being completely my fault. “I promise I’ll get Enma fixed soon, though… I think facing that sword had been a nightmare of mine for a while. She holds a lot of…bad memories, but I think that she might be the key to finding more about my past.”

Zoro purses his lips and looks down as if he’s about to say something. He hesitates for a moment longer before finally opening his mouth. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, I don’t think I can face that sword right now, anyway.”

I raise a brow and look at him, completely taken off guard. Zoro’s not the type to just admit something like that. “What? What do you mean?”

He sighs and avoids my gaze, shifting his head toward the black ceiling.

“Sometimes… I feel like Enma brings the worst out of me. It feels like if I slip up in my mental defences, I could be consumed by her power and then… turn into someone… really evil.”

Zoro’s admission catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for words. The Zoro I’ve come to know is so sure of himself, so unyielding in his strength and resolve, that hearing him express doubt—especially about something as significant as Enma—is jarring.

“I didn’t think you’d ever admit something like that,” I finally say, my voice softening despite myself. “I guess even you have your limits.”

His gaze flickers to mine, a shadow of vulnerability passing through his eyes before he masks it with his usual stoicism. “Everyone does,” he replies gruffly. “Even someone like me. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give up. I just need to get stronger—to control it, not let it control me.”

I nod, understanding more than I’d like to admit. The fear of being consumed by power is something I’m all too familiar with. “It’s not easy, is it? Facing something that could potentially destroy you.”

“No, it’s not,” Zoro agrees, his voice low. “But it’s the only way. If I let fear hold me back, I’ll never achieve my goals. And I can’t afford that.”

For a few minutes, we both remain silent, both savouring the words the other has said, our minds beating against the dark shadows that try to consume us within the night.

A realisation crosses my mind, and before thinking about it, I turn to Zoro.

“You’ve never told me about your family, you know,” I quietly mention. I look at him hesitantly. “Is there a reason?”

Zoro's expression shifts slightly, his gaze turning inward as if he's considering something he's not used to sharing. For a moment, I think he might brush off the question, but then he speaks, his voice low and measured.

“I don’t really have much of a family,” he begins, his eyes still focused somewhere distant. “At least, not in the way most people think of it. I grew up in a dojo. My sensei, he took me in when I was a kid. And obviously Kuina.”

My lips curl upwards in hearing that familiar name. Obviously Kuina. She was the rock that supported us both; she was there for us in two entirely different ways, yet, still, she had made such a similar impact.

“Obviously Kuina,” I repeat with a smile. I curiously search for his eyes within the deep darkness of the cavern. “So… you had no other family?”

Zoro hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between mine and the darkness of the cavern. It’s clear that this is a topic he doesn’t delve into often—if ever. Finally, he sighs, as if deciding that there’s no point in hiding it from me.

“No,” he says quietly. “Not really. My parents died when I was young. Too young to even remember their faces. After that, I was on my own for a while. I don’t really remember how long, just that I had to survive.”

I listen in silence, my chest heavy with the weight of his words. His story is all too similar to mine. While I had more family than him, I left Wano all too quickly. I only had Gramps and Kuina. Only two strong currents in my life, one of them having passed away far too quickly.

My throat grows thicker as I think about Gramps. That old man – that loveable pain in my ass… who would’ve known he would’ve been the target of something so sinister. I hope he’s okay. Gods, I just hope he’s still alive.

I clear my throat, shaking those dark thoughts away. I take in Zoro’s softened appearance, his gaze taking me in like a wide-eyed German Shepherd who only just remembered how to become vulnerable.

“And now you’re here; ‘Pirate Hunter Zoro.’”

“I guess.”

“Don’t you think that nickname’s a little too outdated for you? I mean, you’re part of a pirate crew.”

He shrugs, flexing his sore arm. “I never really cared about all of that.”

I scoff. “You should! I’ve got some killer nicknames for you, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Zoro smirks, his gaze lingering on mine for a little longer than it should. “Give me a list, then. I’m interested.”

“Okay, so the first one’s Marimo,” I say with a straight face.

Zoro’s face falls into a scowl, tugging on his cuff so that I’m instantly pulled towards him. “Ha ha ha, you’re so funny, Raya. You should turn into a part time clown.”

“And then the next one’s Sword-mouth. Get it? Cause you have a sword—”

“That’s fucking bad.”

“Okay, okay, what about Bullhead? That’s my favourite.”

“Bullhead?” Zoro repeats with a sceptical raise of his brow. “You’re really reaching with that one.”

I smirk, feeling a surge of playful energy course through me. “Oh, come on, it suits you. Stubborn, always charging headfirst into things… It’s perfect.”

Zoro rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement in his gaze. “You really like pushing my buttons, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” I admit with a mischievous grin. “It’s just so easy to get a rise out of you. You’re like a bull seeing red. Maybe I should consider making a red cape for you.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re asking for it, Kozuki.”

“Oh, am I?” I say, leaning in just a little closer, my tone teasing. “And what are you gonna do about it, Bullhead?”

Zoro’s eyes narrow, the playful glint in them taking on a sharper edge. He doesn’t respond immediately, instead, he lets the silence stretch, the tension between us growing thicker with each passing second. Then, in one swift movement, he grabs my wrist—the one bound to his by the cuff—and yanks me toward him.

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls me down onto the makeshift bed, his grip on my wrist firm but not painful. He’s over me in an instant, his body hovering just above mine, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. The chain between us clinks softly, the only sound besides the rapid beating of my heart.

“You’ve been pushing me all day,” Zoro murmurs, his voice low and rough. His eyes, darkening with something far more intense than irritation, lock onto mine. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time you see what happens when I push back.”

But before I can respond, Zoro shifts his grip, grabbing my other hand and pinning it above my head along with the chained one. His strength is undeniable, and the way he’s holding me down, with just enough pressure to make it clear that he’s in control, sends a thrill through me that I can’t quite explain.

He lowers his head, his breath hot against my neck as he murmurs, “Why don’t we think of nicknames for you, huh?”

My pulse quickens, a heat rising in my chest that has nothing to do with the close quarters we’re in. I can feel the roughness of the stone bed beneath me, the coolness of the air on my skin, but all of it fades into the background compared to the weight of Zoro hovering above me, his presence completely overwhelming.

"Nicknames for me?" I murmur, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to keep it steady. I try to inject a bit of the usual sarcasm into my tone, but it falls really flat – embarrassingly so. I swallow down my pride as I defiantly look into his gaze. "Like what?"

Zoro smirks, but it’s not the usual cocky grin; this one’s intense, more primal, and it makes me hold in a small breath. His eyes flicker over my face, taking in every detail, every reaction, as if he’s cataloguing it all for some future purpose.

"I’m thinking…" He pauses, his grip on my wrists tightening slightly, just enough to make me aware of the power he holds over me right now. "Something that suits you. Something that captures that fiery temper of yours. Maybe… ‘Spitfire’?"

I scoff, trying to sound unimpressed, but there’s a flutter in my chest at the name. "Spitfire? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?"

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, and it sends a wave of heat through me. "It’s fitting. You’re always spitting fire, whether it’s with your words or your actions. You’ve got somethin’ that could burn anyone who gets too close."

He gently picks up my hand that’s tethered to his, carefully eyeing the bruises that have formed beneath and around the cuff that’s so tightly linked over my skin. “Or… The Whining Witch? Since you love to scream my head off.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s an awful name.”

“Really? I think it’s pretty good.”

“Stick to Spitfire, buddy—"

Without warning, Zoro lowers his head, his lips grazing the bruised skin of my wrist with a feather-light touch. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture catches me off guard, making me bite down on my lower lip to keep from gasping.

His tongue flicks out, tracing the bruise with agonizing slowness, and I feel my legs tense in response. The sensation is electric—a tantalizing blend of pain and pleasure that causes my breath to hitch in my throat. Throughout, his eyes remain locked on mine, never breaking contact, as if he's studying every flicker of emotion, every reaction his touch elicits.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady, to mask the effect he's having on me.

Zoro doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he continues his deliberate exploration, his tongue tracing the marks left by the cuffs with a maddening precision. It's as if he’s soothing the pain, but there's something more in the way he touches me—an unspoken claim that lingers beneath the surface, making it clear this is about more than just concern.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes have darkened, filled with a heat that mirrors the burning sensation spreading through my chest.

His voice, a low, rough murmur, breaks the silence. "I'm making sure you remember who you're dealing with, Spitfire."

The way he says it, the way the nickname rolls off his tongue, sends a jolt of something intense through me. My pulse pounds in my ears, my heart hammering in my chest as his calloused fingers gently stroke the tender spots on my wrist. A part of me wants to push back, to reclaim some measure of control, but another part—a larger, more insistent part—is drawn in by this side of him, captivated by his raw intensity.

Then, without warning, his mouth is on me again, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of my neck. I gasp, my back arching instinctively as he trails his mouth lower, his teeth grazing just enough to leave me on edge, caught between anticipation and desire.

“Zoro—” I start, but my voice cuts off as his tongue flicks out, teasing the pulse point at the base of my throat. I groan out without the ability to restrain myself, squirming under him, but he holds me steady, his grip unyielding.

“You talk too much,” he whispers, his breath fanning against the wet column of my throat. “Maybe I should find a way to keep that mouth of yours busy.”

His breath is so warm against my skin, his lips so close to mine that I can almost taste him, yet he doesn’t close the distance. Instead, he continues to toy with me, his fingers tracing patterns along my side, his touch light and provokingly slow. His hand slides up, brushing against the curve of my waist, and I can feel the heat pooling in my stomach, desperate for it to be released. Zoro’s eyes are locked on mine, powerful and filled with something that makes it hard to breathe.

He leans in, his mouth hovering just above my collarbone, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, goosebumps bubbling all over my body in anticipation. My fingers dig into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor me, but he only smirks, his lips ghosting over my skin without making contact.

“You’re torturing me,” I manage to whisper, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

“Am I?” he replies, his voice a low, teasing rumble. His hand slides up my back, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer. “Or are you just not used to someone who knows how to play the game?”

“You’re such a—” I hiss, yet again, but the words die in my throat as his hand slides up, under my shirt, and his rough fingers brush against the bare skin of my stomach. He smirks against my neck, clearly pleased with the reaction he’s pulling from me. His fingers trail higher, exploring, tracing patterns on my skin that leave me trembling. I should be pushing him away, but all I can think about is how much I want more.

“Calm down, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. “You’ve gotta learn to be patient.”

And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, when the bound coil between us is so tight it feels like it might snap, something shifts. There’s a soft, metallic clink, a sound that breaks through the haze of desire and pulls me back to reality. Zoro freezes, his head lifting as his eyes flicker down to the source of the sound.

I follow his gaze, my breath catching in my throat as I see it—the Kozuki Coin, the last gift Gramps ever gave me before he was taken away, rattling out of my pocket and onto the ground. The sight of it is like a bucket of cold water, dousing the fire that had been burning so brightly just moments before.

“Oh,” I say, my voice cracking in a mixture of surprise and grief. “That’s…”

The golden coin glints in the dim light, its intricate design catching the eye, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The weight of what it represents settles over me like a heavy shroud, pulling me back from the edge of the precipice I’d been teetering on.

Zoro’s grip on me loosens, his gaze lingering on the coin for a long moment before he looks back at me. The darkness in his eyes has softened, replaced by something more contemplative, more grounded.

I reach down, my fingers brushing against the cool metal as I pick up the coin. The weight of it in my hand is familiar, comforting in a way that nothing else is. I turn it over, tracing the intricate designs with my thumb, and for a moment, I’m lost in the memories it holds.

But then, as my fingers continue to brush over the face of the Kozuki coin, a sharp sensation travels through my hand, as though the coin itself has a pulse—one that syncs with my own heartbeat. My mind starts to blur, the world around me melting away as a tingling sensation runs down my spine.

Suddenly, a loud, metallic clink echoes through the cavern, jerking me back to the present. Before I can process what’s happening, an explosion rips through the air. The blast is so powerful that it sends a shockwave through the small cubbyhole we’re hiding in, causing the walls to shudder and dust to rain down from the ceiling. My heart lurches as I realize it came from my backpack, which had been lying just in front of the cubbyhole.

“What the fuck just happened?” Zoro hisses, wide-eyed and looking alert, his fingers brushing over the empty spot at his hip where his swords usually are. He curses to himself and hastily begins to look around for his weapons, wherever they might be.

But my eyes catch onto something. My fingers reach for the back of Zoro’s hand, trying to pull him back into the moment. “Wait, look,” I whisper.

The force of the explosion knocks the backpack back against the wall, tearing it apart. My belongings scatter across the ground, torn fabric and charred remnants of supplies I’d packed now little more than useless debris. Smoke curls up from the remains, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning.

I stare at the tattered remains in shock, my pulse pounding in my ears. Amidst the destruction, something catches my eye. There, in the centre of the wreckage, untouched by the blast, lies Gramps' forgotten logbook.

The worn leather cover is surprisingly intact, its edges barely singed, standing out starkly against the charred ruins of everything else. My hands tremble as I reach out to pick it up, the familiar weight of it grounding me.

“How?” Zoro mutters in surprise.

“I don’t know…”

With a mixture of confusion and disbelief, I open the book, flipping through the pages. Not a single word is smudged; the ink remains sharp and clear. Even the delicate, brittle paper seems unaffected by the explosion. I turn page after page, searching for any sign of damage, but it’s as if the logbook has been preserved by some kind of magic.

As I continue to flip through, a sudden sharp pain lances through my finger. I yelp, more out of surprise than actual pain, and look down to see a thin cut on the tip of my finger. Blood wells up and smears across the page.

Before I can react, the blood starts to seep into the paper, spreading out in thin, crimson lines. The words on the page blur, shifting and twisting as though they’re being rewritten in blood. The entire page begins to change, darkening until it’s completely red. Then, as if the logbook itself is alive, the transformation spreads like wildfire, turning every page into a deep, dark crimson.

The leather cover follows suit, its familiar texture shifting beneath my fingers. The logbook vibrates in my hands, the edges of the pages curling as they harden, morphing into something else entirely. My eyes widen in shock as the logbook twists and reshapes itself, the leather stretching and smoothing until it forms a hilt—a weapon’s hilt.

My breath catches as I realize what I’m holding. The logbook is no more, replaced by the unmistakable handle of a sword. The leather is supple yet firm under my grip, perfectly fitted to my hand. Etched into the base of the hilt, just where my thumb rests, are the words:

“You weren’t ever much of a reader. Clumsy oaf.”

I stare at the inscription, a lump forming in my throat. Gramps’ familiar scrawl brings a flood of memories crashing down on me, his voice echoing in my mind, teasing and affectionate. But before I can fully process the message, my eyes are drawn to the top of the hilt, where a hollowed-out coin holder gleams in the dim light. The metal is polished, almost as if it’s waiting—waiting for something specific to complete it.

The Kozuki coin in my hand suddenly feels heavy, as if it’s pulling me toward the hilt. Without thinking, I lift the coin and set it into the holder. It clicks into place with a satisfying snap, the metal fitting perfectly as though it was always meant to be there.

The moment the coin settles, the entire hilt seems to come alive. The face of the golden coin begins to shift, the once-familiar emblem of the Kozuki clan dissolving like liquid metal. In its place, a new symbol emerges—a silver emblem of a helmet with a star etched across its screen, gleaming with a cold, almost ethereal light.

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, the coin begins to melt, the silver flowing down the hilt like molten steel. It moves with a purpose, cascading down in shimmering waves, shaping itself into a blade. The transformation is mesmerizing, the metal expanding and stretching, forming into a massive, two-handed longsword.

The sword is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. The blade is a brilliant gold, the metal glowing with an otherworldly light that seems to pulse with energy. It’s enormous, easily as long as I am tall, yet perfectly balanced in my grip. The edge gleams razor-sharp, catching the light and reflecting it in a dazzling array of colours.

I stand there, the sword heavy in my hands, the weight of it grounding me as the realization of what has just happened sinks in. This is no ordinary weapon. It’s a piece of my heritage, a manifestation of the power that’s been lying dormant within me, waiting to be awakened.

Zoro stares at the blade, his eyes wide with shock and something else—something like respect. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face says it all. This is a weapon worthy of a warrior, and in this moment, I feel the weight of that responsibility settle on my shoulders.

The sword hums with power, the energy coursing through it resonating with something deep inside me. It’s as if the blade is an extension of my own soul, forged from the very essence of my being. I can feel it, a connection so strong it’s almost overwhelming, and I know, without a doubt, that this weapon was meant for me.

The metal blade hums, its resonance vibrating deep within the recesses of my mind. The sound is a low, pulsing thrum, like the distant rumble of thunder or the echo of a heartbeat. It’s an ancient sound, carrying with it the weight of countless generations, the whispers of those who have come before me. It vibrates through the sword, through my arm, and into my very bones, a steady rhythm that matches the rapid beat of my heart.

At first, the noise is nothing more than unintelligible static, a jumbled mess of sounds that scrape against the edges of my consciousness. It’s like trying to tune an old radio, the signal crackling and popping as it searches for the right frequency. The noise grows louder, more insistent, until it drowns out everything else—the distant echoes of the cavern, the sound of Zoro’s breathing, the pounding of my own heart. All of it fades into the background, swallowed by the static that floods my mind.

And then, through the chaos, I begin to hear something—someone. A voice, distorted and faint, like it’s coming from a great distance or through a wall of water. It’s a voice I’d know anywhere, no matter how garbled or distant it might be.

It’s Gramps.

“Raya—” The word is drawn out, his voice cracking as it forces its way through the noise. There’s a slur to his speech, as if he’s struggling to form the words, like he’s fighting against something—pain, exhaustion, maybe even fear. The sound of it makes my chest tighten, my breath catching in my throat.

“Gramps?” I whisper, my voice trembling as I clutch the hilt of the sword tighter. “Gramps, is that you?”

“Raya… oh gods, Raya!” His voice is raw, frantic, and filled with a desperation that sends a chill down my spine. It’s like he’s drowning, each word a struggle to the surface before being pulled back under. “They… they got me… they… the ink… it’s—”

His words come out in a jumbled mess, fragmented, and broken, as if he’s fighting to stay coherent. The pain in his voice is palpable, and I can hear the faint sound of sobbing, choked, and muffled as though he’s trying to hold it back but failing.

“Gramps, where are you? What’s happening?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it wavers, betraying the panic that’s beginning to creep in. The connection between us feels tenuous, fragile, like a thread that could snap at any moment. I need to hear him, to understand what’s happening, but the words are slipping through my fingers like sand.

“Find Trafalgar Law—” Gramps croaks out, his voice faltering. There’s a long, agonizing pause, and for a moment, I think I’ve lost him, that the connection has been severed. But then he speaks again, his voice weaker, more strained. “Gods, oh Gods, Tell… tell Luffy, too… they’re… they’re all—"

And then it cuts out.

22 notes · View notes

muffinsin · 9 months

Note

I got a wholesome idea

Cassandra getting injured when she went out to hunt a game to make it into a present for her female s/o, but it suddenly got cold so a Lycan was able to overpower her, her mother went to get her and brought her back injured to the point she couldn’t do anything on her own. Her partner helped her, she fed her, bathe her, changed her and so on. cassnadra though, she was reluctant to accept because she doesn’t want to get babied but she still allowed it because she couldn’t do anything by herself. As it was Cassandra’s bedtime she embarrassedly asks her partner if she could lay on her lap and the partner says of course and she starts playing with Cassandra’s hair while humming her to sleep. (You can decide to add anything else) I hope you don’t mind me being specific again. And thank you for always taking my requests

-Rambunctious anon

I love specific requests! Thank you rambun’! Let’s get into it!😚 relatively long one this time!👀

Masterlist

Cassandra didn’t quite think her plan through. It was the first day of spring, and excitement to be able to hunt again soon had taken her over completely

She hadn’t even considered the possibility of the temperatures dropping again.

A gift was all she looked for, a beautiful one at that. And she was such a skilled huntress, surely the task would be easy for her! She didn’t even bother letting her sisters know she ventured outside and into the forest.

She wandered in the woods for a long time, trying to settle on what to bring her. Her legs hurt after mere moments and forced her to swarm entirely- the forest floor was wet and cold, covered in a layer of snow.

Perhaps a carved out heart from a mighty beast? No, what use could you possibly have for that?

Fur? To keep you warm and healthy. She could skin a varcaloc for you! But then again, you had blankets fluffy and warm already…

A large animal’s head? A boar’s head, maybe! Yes! Surely that would be the perfect gift for you!

Too caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized the temperature dropping until she felt the stringing pain of the cold surrounding her. How long had she been outside?

The sky had turned darker already.

The light breeze was enough to have her bite her lip to stifle her moans of pain.

The tears forming at her eyes at the cold pain burned against her skin- they felt frozen, but she knew they weren’t.

She attempted to swarm, and felt the cold pain pierce her entire body. Out of shock she landed on the ground, screaming as the snow pressed against her through the clothing.

It was so cold!

An inner struggle started out inside of her; calling out to her sisters or not.

She knew her sisters could get Mother or you, who could help her once you two found her. And she really, really wished for nothing more than to be lifted into her mother’s arms, off the cold snow and into warm embrace.

But she was Cassandra Dimitrescu!

Surely she would not need anybody’s help! What a weakling she would be if she called for aid!

Cassandra made her way back towards the large castle, her arms wrapped around herself protectively. She shook and hissed at every little breeze.

Using her thin cloak, she wrapped it around herself like a protective layer. But it barely did a thing, instead merely caused flies to drop to the ground, which she carefully picked up and cupped in her gloved hands

Was she able to see herself, Cassandra would see the blue-greyish colour her lips and ears had adapted

The brunette truly hated the cold!

She kept pushing forwards, and forced down tears the moment they dared slip from her eyes when the wind picked up and light, symmetrical snowflakes fell from the sky.

It was so cold.

She saw the castle in the distance, but it seemed so far away. Could she truly get there?

Cassandra yelled and screamed in pain, so loud it scared off a few crows in the trees and deers that had stuck around, when her legs gave in.

Her eyes widened upon seeing her ankle’s and feet’s dark grey, stony colour and texture. She was sure they would break off any moment.

Cassandra felt fear.

She didn’t want to die, not like this, not just then!

She hissed when she attempted to stand and a part of her ankle broke off, sending her back down in the snow. By then not only her ankles, lips and ears, but also her cheek, cleavage and arms had adopted the sickly grey colour.

She threw her head back, screaming loud.

It was an unusual, banshee-like scream she knew her sisters would hear. It was a scream filled with pain and fear that didn’t suit the brunette.

Just when she was about to let out another call, a growl caught her attention.

Golden eyes set on the lycan circling her. She cursed- she was no prey!

And still, she could only crawl helplessly with her sickle in her hand, unable to rise from the snow. Her gloves barely did a thing.

She felt her nimble fingers hardening and worried for a moment they would fall off.

“Stay, mutt!” She cursed. The dog would not listen. It snarled at her.

Cassandra brought down her sickle when it charged.

And still, her sitting position gave her a huge disadvantage. She screamed when teeth dug into where her neck met her shoulders and ripped out a large chunk of meat.

She screamed even louder when the area started crystallising immediately, the cold unforgiving and harsh

She kept bringing her sickle down on the beast, her arms shielding her face as the creature straddled her. Her legs were useless, she was unable to swarm

Cassandra almost laughed bitterly- would this be her end? Brought upon by a measly lycan?

It didn’t seem so, not if Alcina Dimitrescu had a say in it.

Cassandra’s golden eyes widened when the creature launched itself at her yet again, claws extended and grazing her crystallising cheek just before longer, sharper claws dug through the mutt’s middle.

She breathed out a sigh of relief and let go of the breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

“Mother”, she choked out. Her throat was ice cold and ached painfully. Frozen tears stuck to her cheeks.

The matriarch immediately withdrew her claws, tall hands reaching downwards as she gently picked her middle child up.

Cassandra let out an ear piercing scream as a part of her waist came off, flies breaking off and landing in Alcina’s outstretched palm. She felt hot and cold at the same time, and hard, as though her skin was pulling together.

She barely felt her mother brush frozen hair strands out her face, but felt warm lips connect with her forehead.

She didn’t protest when Alcina pulled her impossibly close, the dragon’s grip tight on her child. Cassandra felt too weak to lift her head, instead resting it against her mother’s warm neck.

Her nose brushed against the woman’s throat, silently begging for a taste of the blood beneath. Alcina granted her this, knowing it would warm her near-frozen daughter.

And yet, when Cassandra slowly and with great effort parted her lips and opened her mouth, she felt too weak to push in her sharp teeth and drink the warm fluid below her mother’s thick skin.

Alcina sighed when she felt the younger woman slump against her, tucking her closer and protecting the brunette with all her might; her hat off her head and perched over Cassandra’s unconscious form, hoping to shield her from the merciless wind.

She would be alright, it wasn’t much farther to the castle.

When the brunette awoke again, she felt too many things at once. She coughed uncontrollably, air barely rushing through her lungs.

Warmth and coldness at the same time, claustrophobia from the thick blankets and arms tightly wrapped around her, fear and embarrassment as she recalled what had happened.

She hasn’t realized how heavy her breaths were until she felt your hand on her cold cheeks. Her breathing calmed, you smiled at her.

The brunette’s cheeks were cut and awfully grey, her neck even more so. Cassandra let out a disoriented whimper as she realised the lack of a choker on her. Had Mother abandoned her for her mistake? She reached up to her cold, cracked throat. Tears nearly swelled in her eyes at the lack of her necklace.

As if reading her mind, you took her hands in yours. They were ice cold and cracked at places. She relaxed when she saw the necklace handed to her and held it tightly against her burning chest.

She coughed again.

“We removed it to tend to your neck, sugar”

Your words made sense. They calmed her.

She looked down upon herself, pulling away the warm, heavy blankets. She wore one of your tank tops, her shoulders and arms cracked and bandaged at places, her entire torso full of bandages. In the gaps between them she saw her own, cracked skin. It made her feel nearly sick to see a hole in her body between one of the bandages.

Her legs were hardly any better. She was put in one of your trousers, warm and comfortable, loose around her skin. Leggings, you had called them once, she recalled.

Her feet were covered by thick socks, although they felt better. Her ankles sported many wrappings around them. She tried not to focus on them; it felt as if they would snap in two should she get up. Her legs and thighs were bandaged and cracked, skin grey and stony. She remembered the lycan’s claws slicing through them.

And lastly her hands, cold and cracked, yet intact. She looked at you, unsure of what to say. “How do you feel?”, you asked instead. She shrugged. Her throat felt so sore and painful, she didn’t feel like talking.

She noted your presence in the room; your clothes laid on her floor from when you must’ve changed, canvas and dried paintings laid on her desk and scattered around it.

For how long had she been passed out on the bed?

Cassandra watched quietly as you climbed into the bed, but eagerly pressed her body against yours. You were so warm…

Golden eyes flashed dangerously for a moment when you pulled your hair to the side and tipped your head, presenting your neck to the brunette. She was starving, and you knew that fully well.

“Have a bite, Cassandra”

She wasn’t sure if it was an offer, request or order, but she didn’t think twice. She barely had enough sense left to hold back from mauling you, instead tried her best to be careful as she dug her teeth in you.

She moaned pleasantly at your warm bloody humming when she felt you pull her closer. The blankets were nice, but she preferred you warming her up. Your arms around her, your warm blood down her throat. She felt it ease the pain inside of it, the roughness of her skin caused by the cold.

Cassandra relaxed further when she felt your fingers running through her dark brown hair, untangling it and gently scratching her scalp

You smiled at the silent purrs you received in response. She was so relaxed around you, it filled you with pride.

She pulled away for a moment, panting as your blood ran down her chin. She feared taking too much. She was never good at holding back, never had been, and didn’t want to risk losing you no matter how her body ached for more of your delicious, warm blood.

You didn’t feel dizzy yet, nor a headache. She could drink a little more.

Cassandra felt you guide her head back to the wound, gently pressing against the back of her head. She licked the wound, a small smile pulling at her lips from your whimper. The sadist couldn’t help it, but you loved just that.

Her silence was worrying, although you were glad her throat was given time to heal. Had it not been for her happy whines when you scratched her scalp, you would have feared her vocal cords were damaged severely.

Cassandra’s eyes felt heavy. She pulled away and made sure to clean your wound before eying you again. Golden eyes slipped close as you used your thumb to clean the blood off her chin. She sucked it clean when it was presented to her and whined when she felt your hand withdrawing from her hair.

“Don’t go”, she croaked out when she was lowered back on the bed, voice raspy and shaky. You smiled at her, pressing a small kiss to the corner of her lips, avoiding tasting your blood on her. “I would never, sugar”

In the next couple of days, even weeks, you were coddling Cassandra to no limit. At first, she was amused at this, believing it was a joke. Her amusement lessened in time.

“I’m not a baby!”, she complained a couple of times a day. She felt frustrated with how slowly her body was recovering. The gashes and slashes of the mutt’s claws couldn’t heal fast as long as her skin was recovering from the cold, which it took its sweet time doing.

And the worst of it all? She couldn’t even move properly, too wary of her ankles. They had improved, and yet when the socks and bandages were removed, they still shone grey and were hard as ice.

She was restless, and annoyed. She wanted out of her bed, too.

For what it was worth, Cassandra liked the bath times she received. Albeit she thought it was unnecessary for Alcina to lift her out the bed and put her in the filled tub, she did appreciate the hot water on her cold skin.

Even more she appreciated your skilled hands massaging shampoo in her hair. And even when she whined in protest each time she was lifted out the tub and put back on her bed, sheets changed into fresh ones, she loved the time that followed after her bath.

You always made sure to keep her entertained, starting with a nice back rub and massage in which you warmed her cold limbs with warm massage oil, ever so mindful of the cracks still adorning her beautiful skin.

Cassandra snickered often as you did this, enjoying your blush whenever she asked, knowingly, how come certain regions of her bare body needed more squeezing and massaging and kneading than others.

After this, she was often entertained by watching you paint. You had attempted reading to her, which Cassandra stopped after mere minutes, restless and bored out of her mind.

She liked whenever you brought Cassandra her weapons too, and when sometimes, when a dish was brought to her, she received some of your blood as dessert.

At night, nightmares often plagued her mind, or her wounds made it difficult to sleep. Cassandra dreaded nighttime.

She eyed you as you climbed into bed, ready to fall asleep with her. She couldn’t stand another night of it! She wanted to sleep comfortably for once! The pillows were either too low or too high, too hard or too soft, her back hurt and she couldn’t rest on her side, worried she would move too much in her sleep and end up causing damage to her already healing body.

You tilted your head at her when she just stared at you blankly.

She frowned, then shook her head, then eyed you again. You knew the signs she unknowingly gave whenever she was about to ask for affection, and stayed quiet, allowing the brunette to take her time.

Eventually, her lips parted and a silent request was spoken.

“Can I sleep on your lap tonight?”, she asked. Her voice was still raspy, but her words sounded less painful.

You smiled, stretching your legs and patting them. “Of course, darling”

She blushed at the love she heard so clearly in your voice, her head resting on your legs. She sighed. Not too hard or too soft, not too high or too low. She growled quietly at the back of her throat, smiling when you set your hand on her head and stroked her hair.

More quiet purrs.

Cassandra felt you pull the blanket upwards, until it covered her plenty and its warmth protected her cold limbs.

“Goodnight, Cassandra”

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #resident evil village #rambunctious anon #cassandra dimitrescu x reader

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pinklybleu · 4 months

Text

Bed (s)

Summary: Wandanat and bed trope.

Words: 1419 words

A/N: This wasn't the fic I was planning to post but it was the one I finished so this is what you'll have. Also, I don't know how I managed to do this when I should be finishing my performance for my finals so I wouldn't need to take my subjects (3 of them) for next year.

Natasha hates being blindsided, and if Tony ever shows his face to her in the next few weeks, she’ll give him a black eye to remember this specific situation by. Maybe two. Just to make them symmetrical.

"Where is she?" asked the redhead as she passed by Clint.

"Who?" he asked back with his voice muffled by the large bite of food in his mouth.

Natasha rolled her eyes, a bit disgusted by the sight. "Maximoff. where is she?"

"Have you tried looking?" Clint swallows his food.

Now, Natasha loves Clint. She really does. He's like the brother she never had, but now he's starting to become the brother she'd like to punch.

Natasha felt her left eye twitch. She takes a deep breath to calm herself down before she accidentally released all of her ire on Clint, even the ones that is currently directed at Tony. Tony. That cocky bastard. Just he waits. What was he thinking accepting a mission for Natasha and then pairing her up with the newcomer?

"Nat?" Clint asked after Natasha didn't answer almost a minute later. He moves to take another bite from the food in his hand before it was snatched away and thrown out the tower window by Natasha.

"Wha- Nat!" He was then ignored by the spy who was now walking away from him. What was she thinking, asking him of all people? Never mind. The only people coming to mind who would answer her properly are Steve and Bruce. Just her luck that the first person she comes across is Clint.

Natasha spent the next half hour looking for the brunette and still didn't see her. Really, why in Thor's name is the Avenger's area in the tower so large? Do they really need that much space?

A crash was heard and a subtle shaking was felt. Normally Natasha would ignore it but she heard the voice of the younger woman she was looking for. Natasha walked faster towards the direction of the crash and was met with the sight of Steve staring at his shield that is imbedded into the common room wall, and Wanda frantically saying sorry.

"Maximoff. Get ready, we leave in an hour." Natasha voiced; her tone devoid of any emotion before walking out.

Wanda, who now stopped apologizing to the soldier, followed the redhead with her gaze till the red of her curls was out of sight.

"I see you were avoiding Nat." Steve snapped her out of her thoughts when he suddenly spoke. She turned back around to look at Steve who was now holding his shield in his hands leaving the gaping almost two feet long hole in the wall. They would've been more concerned about said hole if Tony wasn't rich, which means he could easily pay for the damage to be fixed.

"What? No. No, I'm not." Wanda shakes her head.

"It's fine. I understand." Steve chuckles while wiping the dust from his shield. "Romanoff could be a bit-"

"Terrifying?" The brunette immediately chimed in.

"...Intimidating. You find her terrifying?" Steve asked, humor lacing his voice.

The silence that answered Steve made him laugh. Wanda made the decision to leave the common room and go back to her bedroom and pack what she'll need while Steve continued to laugh, clutching his stomach.

Almost an hour later, Wanda was back in the common room, sitting on the sofa with her duffle bag beside her. She stared at the crack in the wall to get her mind off of her nerves while waiting for the older woman who seemed to always intimidate her just by being in her presence.

Wanda heard someone clearing their throat. She turned around and saw the spy leaning at the doorway with her own duffle by her side on the floor. "Good, you're here. Let's go."

She immediately scrambled to follow the redhead who turned around and started walking towards the elevator leading the tower's underground parking.

Inside the older woman's car, Wanda sat in the passenger seat looking down at the folder that Natasha handed her as soon as she sat down. Inside were a few files with limited information on them about the location and what they are after. The brunette wanted to ask the spy about it, if only Natasha didn't look so intimidating when Wanda turned to look at the woman who was concentrated on driving silently.

"It's only a recon." Natasha's voice made Wanda flinch in surprise but she tried not to let it show. She turned to Natasha with a confused look at her face which made the redhead sigh.

"We are only going to scope the area. They aren't going to give a full-blown mission to someone new." Wanda nodded in understanding. She's actually relieved that she wouldn't be doing any type of fighting whatsoever. If it was up to the brunette, she'd rather not do it ever again.

It took another three hours before they reach their destination. Wanda stared at the building in confusion while Natasha was picking up both of their nags from the trunk. "It’s a... warehouse?"

"Hmm?" Natasha looked at her before looking at the building in front of them. "Yeah." She answered before walking inside through a door hidden in plain sight.

Wanda was still skeptical till she followed the older woman inside and was met with the sight of what seems to be a living room with sparse decoration. "This is one of the safehouses that Tony made specifically for the Avengers. Sadly, there is only one bedroom which means we'll have to share."

The brunette nodded, opening the door leading to the bedroom before stopping and staring gob smacked at said bedroom. Natasha noticed her just standing in place and followed till she was beside the younger woman.

Natasha, for the second time that day, felt her left eye twitch at what she saw. Inside the spacious bedroom was ten queen sized bed. It took up most of the space, barely leaving any space to walk past, that it would be a little hard to navigate in the dark without bumping and tripping over everything.

"Tony." Natasha grumbles, rubbing her head in frustration. She sighed in defeat before heaving the duffle bags into two different beds across each other, but not before hitting her knee on one of the bed’s leg.

"Fuc-"

Wanda scrambled towards Natasha. To help in some way, but she herself hit her knee. In a different bed of course, harder than Natasha hit hers.

"Ah! Ow!" The brunette laid down in the narrow space between two beds, on her side, while holding on her bruised knee.

Natasha hobbled towards the younger woman to check on her. Cursing Tony's name so many times in her head, she looked at Wanda on the floor with tears brimming in her eyes.

The redhead glared at the wooden bed while she formulates some sort of plan to get back at Tony for being the reason this event even happened. "What the fuck is this bed made out of? Mahogany?" Natasha groans as she throws herself down on the, thankfully soft, mattress on one of the many beds.

The redhead flinched in surprise when a limb suddenly grasped on the leg she has dangling at the edge. She was about to scream bloody murder when she remembered the witch who was still lying down on the floor. She'd probably sit up and check on what the younger woman needed, but her knee was bruised, as is her ego. Letting the younger woman see her in such condition, it's embarrassing. She's supposed to be this certain type of figure that would strike fear in many with only just hearing her moniker.

It's shameful that the one thing that beats her was a wooden bed.

They stayed that way for a couple of minutes. Natasha, face down on the bed while Wanda was on the floor still holding on the spy's leg. "You don't seem scary right now." Wanda spoke, her voice soft, giving Natasha's leg a soft squeeze.

"Ugh. I'm killing Tony."

"Why do you look so happy?" Bruce asked Tony while they work on something in the lab.

"Oh, you know." Tony chuckles. "I kept hearing this beds trope from a few people at SI, and thought I'd give it a try with the little witch and Natashalie."

"Ah. The only one bed trope. Yeah, I heard of that." Bruce smiles, shaking his head in amusement.

"Wait, you only need one bed?"

#black widow #natasha romanoff #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #wandanat #natasha x wanda #wanda x natasha #the bed trope #but not really #the avengers

37 notes · View notes

writing-havoc · 2 years

Text

Breakfast

♡ Summary: After a mission has an unexpected complication, Kaz plans breakfast for you.

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): Body dumping

♡ WC: 2.4k

I'll probably rewrite this when I have the brain power. Or give it a part 2.

This is an au for you have to physically be near your soulmate. After a period of time, being away from your soulmate makes you exhausted and drained, until eventually you rot away.

Reader should be gender neutral? It usually is but my mind was elsewhere completely when I spit this out.

Hope you enjoy <3

Please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes

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"We cannot let him leave!" Kaz shouts over active gunfire, turning around and planting a bullet into the neck of one of the assailants. "What he knows cannot be shared with his employers."

Jesper reaches around the crates, the boards filled with holes as damn near coming off. Three thuds sound against the concrete floor, a fourth and fifth sounding into the room following two whistles.

"As much as I would have liked to chase right after him, we were a little preoccupied." Jesper quips, hesitantly peeking around his hiding place.

Kaz grits his teeth. "Thank you for that astute observation, Jesper. Truly, I had no idea."

"All clear." Inej said, crisp and a little biting. "If you two plan to stop having a lovers quarrel."

"Kaz, my beloved." Jesper stands with little restriction. "We have outdone ourselves."

Kaz stands, walking out from behind the busted crates. A few more shots and there would be hardly any crate left to protect them. 7 men are on the ground, some piled on eachother and others crumbled to the ground, legs and arms in positions they couldn't be in comfortably.

Though that hardly matters now.

What really does, is getting the scientist into ropes and hauling him into a boat to be tossed into the drink.

The place they're in is humid and definitely Grisha-made. The walls are too flat and brick floors too perfectly symmetrical to have ever hoped to be made by the ordinary man.

The hallway stretches on for miles, breaking off and branching like roots. It was completely devoid of natural light, the only thing keeping them from wandering in the dark was the occasional torch at halfway marks and bends.

There's only forward and right from where they stand.

"The map says down there are two hallways, each with 3 rooms attached. You two split and tackle that direction." He feels his heart skip, an arrhythmia akin to a squeeze around the muscle. "Ill go this way. Check every room as quickly and as thoroughly as possible, and then come find me."

"Roger that." Jesper immediately darts down the hall, eager for a chase. Inej stares at Kaz for a moment as he fingers his chest. But before she can ask, he turns and starts down his own way.

There's three exit points down the way he's heading, and truthfully he's counting on the assumption that the chemist doesn't know where they are given that he only arrived here a week prior.

He looks in the first room, seeing nothing except a desk and chains bolted to the wall.

This place was designed to be confusing to anyone who managed to escape. Durasts would change the walls around every week or so to designated configurations torturers and workers would have to memorize. But nearly a decade ago, they moved their base of operations and collapsed any and all exits and entrances.

Until someone else found it, and now we're here.

Boots stomped against the ground, a wheeze exiting someone's lips down the hall. Kaz drew his gun, immediately on guard. He advanced, halting when the door nearly thirty feet down busted open, a disheveled and scared chemist walking out and staring into the room behind him.

Kaz wasted no time and fired a round, which missed when the lucky bastard tripped over his own feet.

He looked up like a startled deer, then clambered to his feet and took off in the opposite direction.

Kaz cursed and put his fingers in his mouth, whistling so loud his own ears rang. "Stupid scientist and stupid running."

He picks his cane up by the arm and takes off after him. Catching up shouldn't be the hard part. Figuring out where he went within this maze will be.

He memorized as much as he could, this way in particular, but there are certain sections that are becoming more than a little fuzzy as the day goes on.

There's a tug at the nape of his neck, one that causes his eyes to nearly roll to the back of his head.

It's probably-

Kaz feels it full force as he rounds a corner, target slamming into a wall and sprinting to the left and down a long corridor. That trademark exhaustion, limbs and head feeling heavier, and his mind just about grinding to a halt.

It's more than a little disorienting. The back of his skull feels almost numb and his thoughts aren't connecting.

More than anything he wants to lay down. Just take his cane, lean against the wall, and rest.

But he can't. He knows how this works, and it's more than terrifying how very little that seems to help. That despite knowing what was happening and what he needed to do to fix it, he could barely put one foot in front of the other.

He should be used to this by now. It's not as if Kaz fucking Brekker is a stranger to exhaustion, to the feeling of wanting to just rest and rest and rest. He felt it for a long time when burning rage and vengeance weren't enough to keep him going.

It surely wasn't a feeling he experienced often, especially not in recent years, but he's felt it before, and has powered through it every single time.

And yet here he struggles, hand gripping the head of his cane so hard he can feel the muscles in his fingers tearing and breaking as they're pinched between bone and metal. The pain doesn't help.

Jesper catches up quickly as Kaz drags himself on his own two feet down the hall, turning down the very path the loony old chemist took.

"You doin' alright?" Jesper asks, scanning him up and down. "He didn't get you did he?"

Kaz grits his teeth, pushing through the mind fog and righting himself. "No, he didn't 'get me' Jesper."

He feels Inej coming up behind them before she ever makes her presence known. But when she does, he wishes she would just recede back into the shadows from wence she came, because the next words out of her mouth are "We need to get back to Ketterdam" and she shoots Jesper a pointed look.

Jesper gets it almost immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose with crinkled eyes. "Just our luck that this would happen."

Somehow he gathers the energy to not whack Jesper's shin with his cane, shaking his head and taking a deep, lung stretching breath that makes his vision a little blurry.

"Jesper, catch up with the chemist and hold him wherever he's decided to squeeze himself. This corridors a dead end and as far as intel goes, there's not an exit around here."

"On it." He quips, and takes off down the hall, searching through the doors.

Inej stays by his side, giving him an analytical look that he'd prefer she would direct around the room that they entered.

It was a storage closet, wooden crates on raised metal stands to prevent them from potentially getting wet and rotted. An iron rack was pushed on the far wall into the corner, boxes and bottles of powders and strange liquids glowing from the torch light peeking through the door.

"Do you miss them?" Inej asks.

His heart hurts. "Miss who?" He fires back, a childish attempt to ignore the fact that he really, really wants to go back to the Slat.

"The baker down the lane." She scoffs, moving to face him directly. "Your soulmate, Kaz."

His heart hurts even more, eyes a little bit easier to keep open at just the mention of your being.

Soulmates. The attachment of two souls that were, for all intents and purposes, intended to be together. Once you meet them, you won't know that you've met them until you experience what Kaz is unfortunately experiencing now: crippling exhaustion and nigh dissociation.

It's funny, how it works. It's one of the biggest epidemics of the modern man. Because too many times will there be brief meeting by chance, and then two days later, you're barely able to stand.

How does one keep catalogue of every person they've met in the days prior? They don't. And more often than not you'll find a person leaning against a wall, fighting their insides to just find their person.

It's miraculous no one has figured out a method to avoiding this.

For the most part, it manifests as a sadness, a feeling of loss, even grief, when away for long enough. For others, like himself, it's tiring. It's this nagging feeling of nothingness clawing at his being and dragging him down to the ground, beckoning him to lay down and wait.

It's imperative to find your soulmate before it progresses past this.

If you fail to do so, you will die.

However, it takes a bit longer than most think. There are people who have survived a month from the start of their symptoms before they came close to death. Others, it took a week before their loved one perished.

It all depends on your bond, on your relationship as a whole.

Which is also why the very mention of your name from a foreign body is just enough to get him going again. To straighten his back, set his head straight, and turn out of the room.

"Ill be back in Ketterdam soon enough." He said, quickening his pace to the next door.

Kaz will be fine. It's only been a few days since he's been away. No doubt you'll be experiencing your own symptoms soon.

He's got time.

He has to tell himself he's got time.

The boat jostles beneath him, the rhythmic back and forth and sea ambience calming and rousing him all at once.

The chemist was already at the bottom of the ocean, lungs filled with water and rocks sewed into his stomach. Whatever information he hoped to share now lost to time.

For now, he just had to focus on staying awake and getting back to you as soon as possible.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to touch you for this whole bond to work.

It's relieving everytime he thinks about it, that merely talking to you is enough satiate the hunger his soul has for you. How it wants to listen, and feel. Feel the way your own brushes against his, coating him with a warmth that feels welcoming and a light hum that's entrancing.

Tea and breakfast should be perfect, tucked into his office and papers with wet ink drying to the side.

You've always loved breakfast foods. Whether it be pancakes, bowls of fruit, oatmeal with cinnamon and about a pound of sugar, granola over yogurt with blueberries and strawberries- even a mash of runny eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon were on your list of things you'd enjoy.

He quickly does the math, and decides that something light and airy would do nicely.

You're not going to want anything heavy for a day or two after he gets back.

Fresh, airy and fluffy bread with cinnamon butter sounds right up your alley.

He feels lighter just thinking about it. Your insistence on making the bread yourself, going to the market to pick up the supplies and coming back to make multiple rolls instead of just one, flicking flour at him and getting white all over his black coat, your glee when you could smell the bread from inside the oven.

It all makes the snickering coming from Jesper worth it.

"Theres only one person I know who could make you look like that." He smirks, leaning an arm on the edge of the boat.

He neglects to bring Jespers mum into the conversation, and says, "I'm simply thinking of the markets."

Jesper makes a sound of mock understanding, drawing out the vowel. "Yes yes, how could I be mistaken. Everyone knows you love a long stroll through the crowded market on a mid summer afternoon."

"He does if a certain someone is involved." Inej says, stepping into the sunlight. Her skin reminded him of rich coffee, a thin sheen of sweat coating her face.

Perhaps you'd stop at a bakery during your stroll. This time of year they usually had at least one of your many favorite pastrys on display.

"At least he's not dragging himself anymore." Jesper chuckles, to which Kaz shoots him a glare. "Your bond is so strong that just thinking about eachother is enough to stave off the early separation effects."

"Even if it sacrifices longevity," Inej places a hand on the edge of the boat next to Kaz, watching the waves hit the side, "it helps to serve as a reminder before it's too debilitating. The Saints have blessed you."

"The saints have done no such thing. I would have been dead if the roles were reversed. Its tedious."

Yet that's not true. It wasn't tedious in the slightest. While he didn't particularly enjoy the feeling of wanting to lay on the floor and stay there, he did enjoy you. Having an excuse to have you on his mind. Thinking of everything about you.

"5th Harbor!" A younger Dreg, Randy, calls out.

Kaz looks to his right, seeing Kerch soil much closer than he expected from the way it was called out.

"No kidding." Jesper grins, Randy's face turning shades redder and looking away.

The moment the boat is docked, Kaz hops off and lands on the deck. It's second nature the way he scans the ground briefly, and then plans a route.

The weather isn't bad, he thinks. Almost perfect. The walls between buildings are still damp, and the air is humid, but not unbearably so. The sun is disappearing through stray clouds, but it's still warm despite that.

Salt and the faint smell of rotting wood reaches his nose, but so does perfume, cologne, and the tell tale signs of a busy club. Noises from open bedroom windows, a child screaming with joy, unintelligible chatter from passerbyers fill the air.

You'd love it out here.

He enters the Slat, Jesper following not too far behind and Inej bounding up the wall and into the second floor through an open window.

As much as he wants to see you, needs to see you, business must be taken care of first.

But when he greets you.

Oh, when he hears you...

It'll be enough to conquer the nation.

After breakfast, of course.

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Tags:

@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows fanfic #six of crows x reader #fanfic

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