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earthtooz · 2 months

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in which: you need to make it to liyue harbour in time so you can give kazuha a piece of your mind and a response to his love letter.

cw: fluff, 1.3k words, not too sure how canon accurate this is, potentially ooc-kazuha, gn!reader from inazuma, confessions, two wholesome idiots in love

a/n: for my little sibling @sixosix, i hope you enjoy

Liyue, out of all regions in Teyvat, is the hardest to run through.

It’s mountainous, your muscles will ache from going uphill, your ankles will be sore the next day from going too fast downhill. It’s grassy, the gravel is rough against the soles of your feet, and there is an abundance of hillichurls and samachurls waiting for you with their clubs and shields. Yet, they provide more motivation for you to outrun them, speeding right by their camps to get to Liyue Harbour in time.

Stupid Kaedehara Kazuha, when you see him, he’s in for an earful from you. Making you run from Lingju Pass all the way back to the Harbour, doesn’t he know how much you despise running for long periods of time?

A break is not plausible, especially when Beidou’s boat could leave the dock at any minute now.

When Liyue’s bustling harbour is in sight, it’s vast oceans appearing out the horizon, you feel like you can breathe. The sunlight glimmering on the ocean cheers you on, and you won’t stop until the waves are underneath your feet, the only thing separating you from them being wooden planks.

You push through crowds, too tired and determined to be polite and apologetic to shoppers you push aside. You run past Mingxing Jewelry, Wanmin Restaurant, and Master Zhang’s workshop, and don’t stop until you, yourself, are climbing onto the Crux. Crew members are shouting in protest at your sudden appearance, yelling at your unexplained entrance.

There are people trying to pull you off the boat, and you don’t really know where the strength to push off burly sailors came from, but you successfully fend off all of them, and find Beidou at the bow of the ship.

“Where is Kazuha?” You demand, decorum be screwed, nothing can stop your momentum now.

Her uncovered eye lights up in amusement, a hint of knowing behind her crimson gaze. “Right behind you.”

Lo and behold, the beige-haired in question was right behind you. “Uh, hello?”

“I have a bone to pick with you, Kazuha!” Stomping over to him, he grabs your wrist before you have another chance to talk, dragging you away from the bow of the ship where all the crewmates were unloading their cargo. (Beidou’s thundering laughter can be heard as he’s dragging you away, at least she’s not mad at your sudden intrusion.)

He stops when the two of you are on the quarter deck and turns to look at you with panic all over his face.

“What did I do?”

From your pocket, you pull out a piece of paper like it’s an incriminating piece of evidence, one that he’s stared at for too long, so much so that he can recall every dip and curve of the dry-pressed leaves he added on for a more personal touch. It has sat on his desk for ages, seen all of his turmoils and frustrations over delivering it to you.

The paper contains a mix of poems, haikus, and different confessions Kazuha has been harbouring in his heart for the past few years, ever since the two of you left Inazuma. Your hand clutching his gloved one as the two of you hurry onto Beidou’s boat with nothing but your visions, weapons, and the clothes on your back.

He has loved you for this entire journey, and words could not surmise the depth of his feelings, let alone a measly piece of paper. Some days, it sees the sun when he dares it to, but it always ends up right back on his desk, waiting for the day that it will leave Kazuha’s possession and fall into yours.

This morning was the exact moment. He slipped it in your bag before you went on your expedition, the two of you meeting for a quiet breakfast before his eight-month long expedition, and your two-week one. He had waved you goodbye as far as he could go before leaving Liyue Harbour, even staying on the outskirts until your group left his sight.

Nothing could have prepared him for seeing you so soon, not after putting that letter in your backpack.

“You’re a coward!” You accuse immediately, poking your finger to his chest. “A lousy coward!”

He takes it, knows that he should have just braved his fears and handed it to you in person, but the idea of being rejected on the spot causes his chest to ache in unbearable ways. The samurai rather you read it, then have eight months to prepare for your inevitable rejection.

Yet, he should have known that in the face of a storm, you are the only one brave enough to fight against the waves. Nothing ever goes the way he wants when it’s with you.

“You should probably sit down, Y/n, your legs are shaking and I’ll grab you some-”

Your hands fly up to grab the sleeves of his kimono, whether to stabilise yourself, or to stop him from leaving, or both, he stays. “Kaedehara Kazuha, I like you too,” you declare. “I just ran all the way from Lingju Pass, so I have nothing flowery nor sweet to say like your letter except that you are so very mean for making me come all this way.”

With one last heaved breath, you collapse to your knees. Kazuha, being the gentleman he is, freaks out and mimics your actions, clinging onto your shoulders.

“Y/n!” He calls out, his usually level voice breaching a panicked cry. “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this. Stay here, I’ll go grab water water.”

Listening to the samurai, you rest against a nearby pillar, feeling the dull aches in all muscles of your legs. Archons, you’ll feel the pain tenfold tomorrow.

Kazuha returns not too long with a canteen in hand, and he twists it open before handing it to you. After a few beats of tense silence, he speaks up.

“Honestly, I don’t really have anything to say either, I wasn’t expecting to see you for another eight months, and even then, I was expecting a rejection.” He admits sheepishly, a blush blooming along his cheeks. “Maybe an apology for making you run all this way just to see me is my first course of action.”

“Accept my confession first, jerk,” you punch his shoulder lightly, smiling up at him.

“I’ll accept anything so long as it’s from you, I thought I made that clear in my letter.”

“Don’t think you can charm your way into my good graces!”

He thinks it’s adorable that you’re trying to maintain your cool mask despite your inability to look him in the eye, even if he’s hardly faring much better. The usual lyricism of his words have faded, and his quick mind can’t think of anything poetic to say, as if your confession has intercepted all the functions of his brain.

You like him back, you like him back, you like him back, and he doesn’t know what to do with that information except smile like an idiot.

“Are you still going on your expedition?” asks Kazuha. “Your group must be waiting for you.”

“I told them not to, dumped my rations and things with them and told them they could use it. I’m not running all the way back now.”

“Then, does that mean you can join us?”

“I don’t want to intrude, and I don’t know if you have enough things on board for another-”

“-I’m sure Beidou and the crew wouldn’t mind. There are always extra rations, you can have some of mine if it gets to it, and our first stop is at sunset, so we could go and grab some clothes for you to bring along!” He quickly suggests, hope shining brightly in those crimson eyes of his, as if pleading for you to say yes.

The wind blows gently through his beige strands, and the moment feels enchantingly similar to one you had read in an Inazuman poem. Then again, Kazuha always had that effect; the ability to slow time and let you see the world through a different, prettier lens, even if the consequences were completely dire.

You want to continue seeing through his lens, exactly the way you did when both of you fled Inazuma and the Vision hunt Decree. And you want to see the rest of Teyvat the way he does.

“Okay.” You agree, “I’ll come along.”

#CUTIE KAZUHA :((#earthtooz: genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 3 months

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~all creatures great and small~ (amazing illustration by the awesome @david-talks-sw)

“And just what exactly is it that you’ve been doing?”

Obi-Wan had to stop himself from giving his fellow Councillor—and friend—a rather pronounced eyeroll.

“You tell me,” he said without taking his eyes off his clamoring little herd, feeling rather proud of himself. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Mace came up to his side and crossed his arms, looking decidedly unimpressed. He looked at Obi-Wan, then at his rambunctious little friends and their merrymaking, then back at Obi-Wan again.

“It looks like you have been avoiding meetings all morning.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his mouth. He carefully put his hands in his large sleeves.

“Have I?” He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop laughing if he saw Mace’s no doubt exasperated face, so he kept carefully looking onward. “You should have called me.”

“You know I did,” Mace griped, valiantly ignoring the racket and still boring holes in the side of Obi-Wan’s face.

If it came to a contest of wills, Obi-Wan knew he’d be hard pressed to match Mace’s stubbornness. He turned to face him, and inevitably let out a huffed chuckle. Mace looked annoyed alright, but he could do nothing about the twinkle in his deep eyes.

“You,” Mace insisted, no doubt trying to maintain what he probably hoped to be a convincingly stern demeanor, “have spent all day corrupting our next generation instead of going over mission reports.”

“Really, Mace—”

A yellow blur careening between the two of them nearly knocked them off their feet. A beige, more bipedal one rushed right after it, bumping into them both with equal speed if not equal force.

“Sorry Masters!” the youngling yelled over her shoulder without stopping.

Obi-Wan had to cough into his fist to keep from cackling.

“Obi-Wan.” Mace said.

“She apologized,” Obi-Wan pointed out with a brilliant smile.

“You still haven’t.”

“What for?”

Mace’s control finally cracked, and he thrust an accusing finger at Obi-Wan’s innocent face, ready to give into a rare display of unrestrained aggravation. Obi-Wan quickly batted it away and beat him to the punch.

“It’s a perfectly good way of teaching the younglings patience and control!”

Mace blinked at him, his mouth left hanging open, his finger still up and now pointing somewhere over to the right. He turned slowly, and surveyed the bustling courtyard in bemusement. The half-dozen or so pufferpigs that Obi-Wan had let loose there were being corralled by three times as many eager younglings, clone cadets and Padawans, and the animals all felt entitled to express the full range of their feelings on the matter in a loud and enthusiastic fashion. Little Mari Amithest was still running after the particularly rowdy creature that had mistaken Obi-Wan and Mace for Rodian bowling pins.

Mace’s eyebrows climbed to previously undiscovered heights.

“What part of this,” he gestured incredulously, “is controlled?”

“None of the pigs have puffed yet,” Obi-Wan explained seriously.

Mace’s eyebrows were now on their way into orbit. A moment passed. Then, his expression of astonishment seamlessly melted into curiosity.

“They haven’t?” he asked, considering the whole bunch with renewed interest.

“I told you, it’s a proven method,” Obi-Wan insisted, vindicated. He pointed to the far corner of the courtyard, where Katooni was showing some of the younger children how to feed a happy looking unpuffed puffer. “My Padawan has taught that one to do tricks.”

The squealing puffer was hopping from one foot to the other before avidly sweeping treats from the children’s outstretched hands.

Mace was now looking suitably impressed. More careful study of Mari’s chase was making it apparent that the animal she was after was not distressed in any way, but was—rather mischievously—trying to run off with her sash clutched in its stout trunk.

“You shouldn’t let emotions cloud your perception,” Obi-Wan reminded him in a serious voice.

“Hm,” Mace conceded magnanimously, impervious to the teasing.

The twinkle of carefully contained amusement that had been present in his eyes from the start had won over all other sentiments. A wet snort had the two Masters look down at the adventurous pufferpig that had made its way over to them. The amicable beast was fixing them with soulful blue eyes, candidly inoffensive. Its stubby tail was wagging quite politely. Mace distractedly bent down to pet the expectant critter on its broad, squishy face.

“It wants to smell your lightsaber,” Obi-Wan warned. “They like crystals.”

Mace straightened and put a hand on his hilt.

“The Mining Guild didn’t pick them up yesterday?” he inquired. “That was on the agenda.”

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“They tried, but for some reason all the identity chips turned out to be unreadable. There’s no way to prove who these fellows belong to.”

Mace gave him a flat look.

“Hondo stole them from a Republic transport.”

“There’s all sorts of things on Republic transports,” Obi-Wan reasonably pointed out.

“The transport was chartered by the Mining Guild.”

“Hondo wiped the manifest during his hijacking. There’s just no way to know.”

“Your Padawan was there to escort the Mining Guild representatives.”

“Some mysteries can never hope to be solved.”

The pufferpig had taken to bonking its head against their legs affectionately. Mace, bowing to the undeniable strength of Obi-Wan’s ironclad argumentation, very seriously gave the tenacious quadruped another pat.

“They’re not staying,” he reminded Obi-Wan firmly.

“Obviously not,” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “The Temple would be a terrible environment for them.”

His friend narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“And you’re not making me spend my time finding them a place.”

“Honestly, Mace.” Obi-Wan gave the affable puffer a gentle shove, and it obediently trotted away to a nearby group of younglings and clone cadets who were already entertaining one of its siblings. Obi-Wan wiped his hands on his pants. “Naboo has very responsible educational farms.”

“Does it,” Mace said mildly.

“Including a recently opened one in the Lake District.”

Unashamedly petty enjoyment rang in the Force.

“Don’t come to me when Skywalker tries to send them back.”

“Who says I’ll pick up when he does?”

Obi-Wan loved Anakin, dearly. Still, he hadn’t yet quite forgiven his old Padawan for retiring—running away—before they could make him shoulder his share of the sacred responsibility of wrangling the Temple’s significantly increased youngling population. It was Luke and Leia’s birthday soon anyway.

“You’re stooping to deviousness,” Mace said, carefully neutral.

Obi-Wan gave him a wry look.

“Never. Revenge is not the Jedi way,” he said just as calmly.

“It’s them you’re supposed to be teaching,” Mace said with a short nod towards the unruly bunch. “He’s had his turn.”

Speaking of teaching…

“Oh my,” Obi-Wan said smugly, pointing to a boy who had taken to carefully levitating a surprisingly compliant—if a little alarmed—pufferpig, “that wouldn’t happen to be Caleb, would it?”

His fellow Council member was now pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand planted on his hip.

“I must say, that young man is certainly very skilled at forming connections with animals. Depa must be very proud.”

“Just don’t,” Mace groaned. He whipped out his communicator. “He’s supposed to be meditating with Yoda right now.”

“That explains it,” Obi-Wan said.

Master Yoda was slowly ambling into the courtyard, looking quite pleased with what he was seeing. He poked misbehaving younglings with his cane as he walked, chuckling to himself when they yelped and hastily reached with the Force to make sure the pufferpigs stayed relaxed. The pufferpigs themselves were only curious, and in a sufficiently playful mood that the younglings’ offended squeaking was not enough to agitate them. Caleb had set down his floating puffer with all possible speed—and great care—at the sight of the venerable elder, and made ample and readily accepted apologies to the perplexed animal in the form of scritches.

Mace slowly put away his communicator. He pursed his lips.

“Obi-Wan,” he said slowly, “next time, just have them practice making friends with the stray tookas.”

That’s how his master had done it, and Mace had never had any problems with connecting with animals, large and small.

“Pufferpigs are much more even-tempered.”

It was all Mace could do not to facepalm. Giving up, he shot Obi-Wan one last dry look.

“Just do your damn paperwork.”

Obi-Wan watched him stride away, dignified and imposing. Of course, since he wasn’t exactly paying attention to his surroundings, with how focused he was on pretending he was above this whole situation, he didn’t notice Mari’s wayward puffer on a direct collision course with his legs. The poor creature, who hadn’t noticed Mace either, let out a terrified screech and promptly puffed.

The entire courtyard froze, watching with fascination as the inflated pufferpig bounced twice and slowly rolled to a halt. It made a sorry little squeak.

Resignedly, Mace closed his eyes and set to work on gently calming down the pufferpig with the Force.

The children loudly cheered.

#ficlet #mace windu #obi-wan kenobi #star wars #no order 66 #jedi order #jedi temple #my writing #yoda #caleb dume #katooni #loose sequel to my fic “villains and knaves”#Hondo stole the pufferpigs to sell them obi-wan confiscated them and now he’s not giving them back to the mining guild meanies

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princessbrunette · 20 days

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An outfit that each reader (pup , dear , kitty , and bun) would wear for a date night with their boys ?

date night fits !! 🐾

deer!reader:

lovessss beige it’s so true to her deer self. she likes to go more casual with a chunky knit cardigan but if she wants to get laid the second dress comes in clutch !!

kitty!reader:

ceo of the little black dress. the second dress is jj’s favourite — gets her slutted out at the end of the night soooo bad

bunny!reader:

i had endless options for this bc she’s just my style. she’ll always be seen with a fluffy toe shoe cos it’s sooo bunny core !! the heart cut out in the second dress is so cheeky rafe can’t keep his hands off but also can’t stop looking around to see if other ppl are looking hehe

puppy!reader:

pretty comfy n casual. the second dress looks so good but stresses john b tf out because she never adjusts it cos she forgets to— so she’s always nearly poppin a titty or showing everyone her ass each time she stands up 🙄

#anon #rafe cameron prompt #jj maybank prompt #john b prompt #pope heyward prompt #bunny!reader #kitty!reader #deer!reader #puppy!reader

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the-modern-typewriter · 8 months

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Can you write something about the protagonist being adopted by a family of heroes, but they just want to live a normal life, but the villain finds them? Please and thank you!

"So, you're the super new addition to the family."

Given everything that their new family had told them, the protagonist had been expecting it. Unfortunately, that didn't make it any less horrifying to hear the villain's voice behind them in the empty classroom.

The protagonist's shoulders tensed.

Someone would probably come running if they screamed for help. But what were most people going to do against the villain except die? Besides, the protagonist...

They turned, stomach twisting into a thorny knot, still clutching a paintbrush in hand. "I'm not going to fight you."

The villain raised their eyebrows at that, seeming amused. "Oh?"

The protagonist swallowed. "So if that's why you're here, piss off. With all due respect."

"Piss off with all due respect?"

"I have an art project to finish. It's 20% of my final grade."

The protagonist half expected them to saunter close, fearless and menacing, but the villain stayed where they were - leaned against the closed door in a long black coat and gloves. Everything about them was dark. A shadow come to life. Their smoky gaze roamed the painting over the protagonist's shoulder.

The protagonist was halfway through painting a seascape. Calm. Nice. Possibly twee, they knew that. The sort of thing that felt like it couldn't feasibly be in the same room as a supervillain like them.

"Yeah," the villain said. "If your teacher has beige walls and a puritan sense of right and wrong, they'll love it."

The protagonist's jaw clenched, but they didn't say anything.

The villain's attention fixed on them again, considering. "How is hero life?"

"I'm not a hero."

"No, you're a cataclysm waiting to happen. But I was being polite."

The protagonist flinched.

"That's why they took you in, right?" the villain asked, head tilting. "So they can keep an eye on you? Manage your powers?"

"They're helping me."

"Uhuh." The villain's eyes gleamed. "Do you think they love you? Like a proper little family?"

"I'm not joining you either," the protagonist said, after a winded beat. "So, again, with all due respect-"

"Piss off?"

"Please."

The villain smiled. "I'm not here to fight you. Or recruit you."

"Then why are you here?" The protagonist's voice quivered.

The villain shrugged, too light and careless for it to be true. "Curiosity. They said you wanted a normal life."

The protagonist could only imagine how that conversation had come up and gone down. They managed a small nod.

"You're not normal," the villain said.

The protagonist flinched again, despite themselves.

"Power like yours, destructive power, it wants to be used," the villain said. "Starts eating away at you if you don't channel it. Makes you ill."

The protagonist met the villain's eyes. Because, yeah, they'd noticed that.

"For what it's worth," the villain grimaced, like the very acknowledgement was disgusting. "I do think they're trying their best with you. I think they have good intentions. They always do. And better them, I suppose, then you being with someone who doesn't have any powers if things..." The villain twirled their fingers, and a smoky little mushroom cloud popped up from the tips.

"Yeah," the protagonist said, a little hoarse. That had been exactly their thinking.

"But it won't be enough. Their best won't be enough to contain you."

"We don't know that."

"I know that."

"This doesn't sound like curiosity."

The villain laughed, though it wasn't an entirely joyful sound. They straightened up off the door, finally taking that step closer.

"Curiosity in the sense that I'd like to meet the apocalypse. It's a one time experience. I'd kill you myself, but...you know. No guarantee that all that power inside you won't just go boom when you die. Better to adopt death incarnate, in this instance. Keep you safe. Love you enough that you don't want to end everything prematurely."

The protagonist felt bile, hot and acrid, rising in their throat.

"Piss off," they whispered. It definitely sounded more like please.

"You need to use your powers," the villain said, all laughter gone. "In small chunks. Micro doses. Otherwise you're going to be dead or blow us all up by the time you're thirty, and I would rather avoid that for as long as possible."

The villain reached into their pocket, pulling out an envelope. "A list," they continued. "Of the help you should be asking them for. They won't listen if it comes from me. But love isn't going to be enough, if you're serious about this."

The protagonist's brow furrowed. They hesitated; their family had told them not to take anything the villain offered. They took the envelope.

It struck them, after all, that the villain knew what it was to be a little bit monstrous. The villain hadn't chosen normalcy. But they knew, better than anyone else, didn't they?

The tension left the protagonist's shoulders. They sagged.

"Enjoy your normal life," the villain said, softly. "I hope you get it. And I hope, I truly hope, the rest of us will yet be lucky enough to survive you."

They bought the protagonist's art piece at the end of year presentation. The protagonist didn't know what to do with that information.

#villains and heroes #heroes and villains #writing #story #short story #creative writing #writing snippet #story snippet

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citrinae · 5 months

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caramel, salted.

sanji x reader

contents; you seek some free entertainment by venturing into the men's quarters. or: sanji is pathetic in two acts. explicit content, femdom, cunnilingus, facesitting, worship, smoking, sanji being his own warning. some fluff towards the end because i’m weak your honour. afab!fem!reader, wc: 2.6k, mdni. this gets lowkey unhinged at some point so proceed with caution i'm so sorry.

Here’s a thing you can tell about bored people: they’re handwork. More often than not you come to discover about yourself that boredom throws you into situations that would never cross your mind, disconnects you from yourself and moulds you anew as you witness the outcomes of your decisions unfold like a side-street circus act. And as much as you could agree with those who say that you shouldn’t put unfavourable behaviour down to some higher power with a weird sense of humour, neither could you deny the thrill, the restlessness, the refreshing sense of freedom you feel any time you let your body act on its own. Sometimes feeling bored leads you down to feeling creative.

Right now it finds you in the hallway towards the male quarters, leaned against a wall with your foot tapping uneasily against wooden flooring, a lingering “what if” pressed unsaid between crossed hands. What if, and why not, after all, when Sanji would collapse down to his knees at the smallest look you tossed in his direction. It irks you, truly, how you cannot get through the middle of a sentence without him complimenting—your thoughts, the tone of voice, ah, ma choue, apologies but your lips moved so beautifully around that word—or trying to get under your skin even more with his usual display of indiscretion. Like that time when he accidentally let it slide that he spends two hours a week siestaing by himself in the men's quarters.

But you’d lie if you said you haven’t been fueling it yourself, with elbow touches and furtive glances and leaning down his shoulder when you’ve had a few too many. Sanji unlocks something vicious in you that you cannot quite place, or simmer down, and despite it all, you’d often watch yourself with astonishment as you poked around for more.

It’s always so easy with him.

It infuriates you. It’s exciting.

Skipping a beat, you peer left and right for what you counted as the twentieth time before your steps lead you in front of an arch door at the end of the hallway. You knock. Once, twice, thrice, and you begin to hear some movement on the other side as you do. Loose, unbothered, “hurry up you freak”, Sanji trudges his step towards the door handle and peeks out.

“What,” he says, but swallows it soon after noticing you. He’s at his most casual in beige shorts and unbuttoned shirt, uncombed hair curtaining a fraction of his face. His voice chokes up in his throat while thinking of a thing to say to you.

His gaze feels heavy against you, and for a minute there you consider changing your mind. “There’s no way in hell I’d let you win this one”. Air piles up in your chest, stays there for a while. Yet your exhale is loud enough to make a decision for you. With a finger you start pushing him a few steps back, desperate to get inside without being seen, “Don’t say anything and lock this fucking door.”

He obliges, reaching the key to the room at a pace as fast as you expected of him. “It’s not the first time you lock yourself up in here, now isn't it?” You fold your arms as you further watch him rush the key into the lock. “You truly have no shame.”

“In my defense, sweetheart,” he leans against the door, his eyes glued to your figure. You soon notice he’s been holding his breath. “This time I’m not the one asking so enthusiastically to be alone in a room with you.”

You click your tongue. The room is dim and layered with wood that creaks the moment you press a footprint into it. Without another word you clutch Sanji by the collar of his shirt, glazing the surprise on his face with a kiss as you do. It’s a taste you relish, bittersweet with bergamot and the cigarettes he sucks on for dear life. Sanji moans against your lips, and it doesn’t get long until his hands are flattening all over you, too, as he lets you speed your way towards his hammock. Hands on hips, chest against chest. You rip a second whimper from him as your nails reach the skin under his shirt and dig themselves into his back. He kisses your jaw, buries his head into your neck. The low flicker of the hang lights and the sway of the ship blend with the staccato rhythm of your breathing; the salt in the air dissolves on the roof of your mouth like a broken promise.

When his tailbone hits the bedding, he dives a quivering hand for a smoke and lighter. A snap, flame eating through paper. But before he can even take his first drag, you’ve already snatched it from him, greedy and cruel and downright captivating, pushing it between your own lips with a self-indulgent hum.

Nicotine scrapes your lungs as you pull on the cigarette; ease yourself on one of his thighs. Sanji watches with his mouth open when you blow the smoke into his face.

“Darling, please,” he breathes out. “I—”

“I know,” you say, leaning at a finger’s length from his face. The tip of his cigarette is all stained with your lipstick and he drags on it like a starving man after you’ve brushed it back into his mouth. “You don’t deserve to be treated so kindly, you know that, right?”

Acknowledgement is a silent strain that forms inside his throat. He places a kiss on your collarbone. “I can make it up to you”, he says, lips climbing across your neck and up to your ear. “Please,” simple, breathless, taking your earlobe between his teeth. “I can treat you like a goddess, sweetheart, as long as you’d let me.”

“I was counting on that,” you retrieve the cigarette from his fingers. Seconds pass as you take another lungful and flick off the ashes into an improvised ashtray left on Sanji’s bed. “Now, lay on your back.” It’s an order, which he follows without protest. You know it’s a thing of instinct that he brings his forefinger to his nose while watching you slide off your pants and climb your way to his chest. Sanji earns his reassurance in the form of a smile and a peck on his bottom lip. “Good man.”

“Come here,” you hear him drawl, impatient, dragging your hips over his face. Without warning you begin to feel his tongue on the inside of your thigh and your breath hitches the moment he reaches your panties. At first, he doesn’t bother to take them off, his mouth delirious to enjoy your wetness through the fabric. Sanji turns out to be a quick learner, too, as he makes sure to press his tongue against the spots which have you sounding sweeter, tightening your thighs harder around him, and he seems to savour each moment he gets to spend entertaining you. He moans against your panties when your fingers bury themselves into his hair to guide his movements.

Heat builds up in your stomach. It’s not enough.

“You’re teasing me,” leaves you faintly, slowly. “I want to feel you for good, Sanji, c’mon.”

And you don’t know if it’s the sound of your voice, or simply the raw, unrehearsed ache to be touched which has been manoeuvring your movements ever since you stepped into this room, but Sanji is happy to further do your bidding if that means he’ll get to witness more. Fuck, and what a sight you are, rose-cheeked, teary-eyed, straddling his face with both the grace and urgency of a divine calamity; he’d never learn how to say no to you.

Pulling your panties aside, Sanji is gentle as he starts stroking a finger inside you. His tongue readies itself at your clit when he heaves, “Like this, darling?” Your hum is soft, enough. He leaves a sultry kiss on your clit before taking a minute to admire the sight. “So beautiful.” There’s a strange affection in his voice that urges you to turn your head towards the ashtray where your cigarette sits now, discarded and forgotten, but you cannot help but yelp again when his tongue rolls so greedily against you, revering you, drinking from your core as if he’d been eating from Dionysus' hand.

Even more than he enjoys hearing you, all dazed and unfocused, Sanji adores losing himself to the taste of your slick, adores it tenfold when your hand finds the side of his cheek encouraging him to keep up, “Should’ve had you sooner like this, huh. Starved and pretty under my pussy.” You start your own pace as you speak through shreds of sound, hips chasing your release in wet and messy bounces against Sanji’s face. “You must be thinking a good lot of me.”

Sanji lets out a heavy exhale. He did, in fact, shamelessly, pathetically, dream of this moment with you, a little after you’d joined the crew. Not once did he find himself jerking off to the thought of you, a smoky smile, your eyes on him, sweet nothings like apple and cinnamon into his ear before he’d smother you in kisses and eat you up. Taking in your perfume as he’d bend you over the counter of the kitchen, a halo forming round your hair where the light would hit just right. And a good number of nights passed with him trying to assess which flavour would work best with your voice while hanging from the sounds of his name.

“Fuck, fuck,” it’s ragged against you, sending shivers to your core. With your body swinging in the dimness of his room, Sanji feels like he hasn’t been weaker in his life, and it only takes him a meaner pull at his hair and a look at your bitten lips to come right here and now. He continues lapping at you through his orgasm, the sensation he coaxes from you as he does allowing you no time for whatever tongue-in-cheek comment you might’ve come up with in similar circumstances.

You settle on his name instead, and it melts on your tongue as his grip tightens on your hips, bringing you closer and closer to your edge. When you get there, your voice shudders on a deep vowel that you try to bite down into the palm of your hand. Wailed and open-mouthed, Sanji wastes no time as he licks against the dampness spilling over him, being taken through bliss a second time now with the image of your crescendo leaving electric shocks throughout his body.

The hammock is rocking silently under your figures. A moment passes as you stare down at Sanji’s lips, reddened and coated with your slick, parting for short breaths of air. He lulls your skin with a last peck on your thigh before dragging himself from your legs and reaching for the corner of your mouth.

“My compliments to the chef,” he says, his voice taking to fragranced. “This was exquisite.”

“That’s because you haven’t tasted today's main course,” taking his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Would you be interested in trying, sir?”

Sanji’s goatee is still wet from eating you out. The corner of his lips hitch an inch higher on his face as he fixes you, languid and hot. “Only if you promise to kiss across the rim for me, sweetheart.”

ii.

“Caramel,” his voice starts through a cloud of smoke.

You’ve been laying together in his bed, legs curled and shoulders peeking out bare from the covers. The room is hot and your eyes heavy and there’s a pillow slung on the floor beneath you shadowing the memory of minutes ago.

You shift your head to meet his eye. “Care to articulate for us lesser earthlings, Sanji?”

Sanji lets a couple of seconds pass as he ashes his cigarette into the tray. “That,” he explains, and it tugs a brow on your face when he does. “Melted sugar. Not as easily handled as some would think. But it’s sweet, easy to fall for, and really sticks to you afterwards.”

“You’re such a dork,” you find yourself saying with a childish giggle and a thumb swiped across Sanji’s cheek.

“Or helplessly charmed by you,” Sanji adjusts, finding your hand and stroking it into his own with a softness that brings heat into your cheeks. You leave it there.

The door handle jostles on the other side of the room. You freeze. There’s a thud at the door, and later a hurricane of them.

“Open up you stupid pervert!” It’s Zoro. His voice is all steam and gravel as it bursts through the silence. “Told you last time if you can’t keep it in your pants at least be a man like the rest of us and own it.”

Three swords lean untouched against a wall you just now come to pay attention to. You throw Sanji a look. He slaps his forehead, hisses under his breath, “Fucking shit swords.”

The knocks continue.

“Sanji he can’t see me like this,” you whisper, hurling yourself under the covers.

“You with someone there, louse?” Zoro’s voice.

“Storage room, dear, go. You’ll be fine there,” Sanji searches for you between cushions. Then, to Zoro, “Have you mismatched your pills again, mosshead? Go see Chopper for a check-up.”

“I’m gonna mismatch your guts soon enough if you keep trying to be funny with me,” pressure on the door handle, flurry of pounds, a kick.

With a short tilt of his head, Sanji points at the ladder leading below deck, and this time you decide to listen to him, jumping from the hammock and accepting the clothes he’s picked up for you as you rush towards the storage room. The place is dark and damp and you can hear the wood shriek above your head as Sanji works some steps about the men's room and to what sounds to be his locker. “Curious to see you try,” caustic, dismissive. He throws something over the hatch you’ve descended through.

You put your shirt back on. Above you, a key is slung into the lock. Boots bite into the floor soon after.

“Now,” Sanji again. “Was it that hard to wait? Bad-tempered bastard.”

“Fuck off,” Zoro snaps.

“Understandable.”

A pause.

“The hell are you doing here?” he adds on; he sounds confused.

“Wardrobe decluttering. You’d use one,” Sanji drones.

Zoro isn’t buying it. “And you locked the door for that.”

Silently your body rolls through your panties, your pants.

“Maybe I didn’t want you guys’ dirty boots on my wardrobe?”

Shoes, "no sound, I beg."

Zoro says nothing.

Your lungs tilt with the lack of air.

Sound of metal against metal.

“Got everything you needed?” Sanji presses on.

More steps. Door creaking, “You’re weird.”

And he’s gone.

The sigh that escapes you then is loose, deep. You take the moment to press your eyelids close for an outline of your day.

Sometimes feeling bored leads you down to feeling creative. Other times, it leaves you with a ripple in your chest down the ladder to the storage room of the Thousand Sunny.

When Sanji opens the hatch for you, it’s with a wide, pleasant smile, and you don’t think twice before latching onto his hand to help yourself up. “This time. I’ll let you have this, for now.”

Staring at the piles of clothing scattered about the room, “Next time we gotta be more careful with the rendezvous point.”

Sanji anchors to the most essential part.

“Next time?” he leans back, hand dug into the pocket of his slacks, his heartbeat dashing off his eyes.

“Yeah,” you catch yourself saying. Your smile is one-sided as you step forward, turning towards the door. You stop for a minute to run a touch across his cheek with the back of your hand. “Be nice and you’ll get another after that, and another.”

Sanji knows then, lifting his hand to his face, watching your hips sway their way down the hallway, that he’s been caught under your spell, fully, permanently, and he’ll do anything in his power to assure you he’s a place to return to.

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #one piece smut #sanji smut #mdni

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sassypossumm · 1 month

Text

Yellow Walls

Art Cred: superrbanana

Miguel reflects on a painful memory, the time he lost you to an anomaly...

Angst... pure angst here...

Drabble 297 words

“Yellow? I don’t think so, babe.” Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him.

“Miguel, you never let me have my way.” Turning your head to look at him you gave him a wide smile. Swatting his arm with the bright yellow paint swatch you turned back to look at the other options on display. Reaching out a hand you ran your fingers over the swatches and furrowed your brow. “Which one do you like?”

“I like this one.” He smiled, dipping his head to kiss your neck.

“I meant colors Mr. Smarty Pants.”

“Oh.” Resting his chin on the crown of your head, Miguel squinted at the wall of colors. “I don’t care.” Letting out a sigh of exasperation, you hung your head in mock shame.

“I’m disappointed in you, O'Hara, really I am.” He could feel rather than see the chuckle bubbling up from your chest. Squeezing your waist gently he turned his face to whisper in your ear.

“Any color but yellow, schmoopsie poo.”

“Yeah, that nicknames not sticking either.” Rolling your eyes, you slipped from under his arms and snatched a simple beige sample from the wall. Turning you pointed the yellow sample at him before stuffing it into your purse. “I’ll get my yellow walls out of you yet, O'Hara, just wait and see.”

Time Jump...

Miguel sat in front of his monitors, clutching a faded paint sample in his hand.

“Miguel,” Peter tried gently, only to be stopped by Jess’s hand on his arm. Silently she shook her head and motioned for him to give Miguel his space. Rubbing the worn edge of the sample for the thousandth time, he leaned his head against his knee. Absentmindedly he rubbed at his eye with the ragged square.

“I should’ve painted the walls yellow.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara #angst #i'm sorry but i had to...#miguel x reader

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beansprean · 8 months

Text

Except they all look good, damn.

(ID in alt and under cut, ref under cut)

ID: 1. Colin, Nandor, Laszlo, and Guillermo standing in a line against a wall with patterned wallpaper, wearing drag. Colin has on a drab 70s businesswoman look, with a plaid knee length skirt, beige blazer with shoulder pads, a cream silk blouse with a neck bow, a single string of pearls, a flat cap with a feather, cat eye glasses, subtle makeup, and a shoulder length brown feathered wig. He is holding a brown leather clutch in one hand and standing up straight, staring. Nandor has on a sleeveless brick-colored turtleneck with a heart shaped cutout at the chest, a thick brown belt, leather miniskirt, dark gray stockings helps up with garters, two gold bracelets, and gold hoop earrings. His hair is down, curled into big waves, and he has dark dramatic eye makeup on with dark red lipstick. He is grinning seductively at the viewer, hands clasped in front of him demurely with his butt angled out. He didn't bother shaving his legs or chest for this, as a treat. Laszlo is dressed in a pale pink silk nightie with a bit of ruffle at the neckline making up both thin shoulder straps. He has a long string of pearls and glittery dangly earrings, his hair is swept back from his forehead, and he is wearing soft dusky pink eyeshadow with baby pink lipstick. He smiles at the viewer like they're his good lady wife come to ravish him, strap falling off one shoulder, that hand gliding up his opposite arm demurely as his free hand clutches the material of his nightie to pull it up his angled thigh. Guillermo stands with arms crossed, looking self conscious, wearing a green v neck sweater over a collared shirt and pleated miniskirt. He is wearing his normal glasses and pantyhose but no visible jewelry, and has on a dark wig with shoulder length curls and bangs. His makeup is not overly heavy but well done: a shimmering brown over his eyes and a dusky reddish-pink on his lips, expertly lined to bring out their shape. Overlaid on the image, each man's face is circled in red. Text pointing to Colin and Laszlo reads "doing it for the bit (world's dullest drag show and secksy roleplay, respectively)". Text pointing to Nandor reads "doing it for the bit but looks good doing it (discovering things about himself)". Text pointing to Guillermo reads "that is a woman. (guy who's good at everything)"

2. Original version of this image; a photo from the 80s of the band Queen wearing similar drag, with text overlaid pointing to john deacon and bryan may saying "doing it for the bit", pointing to freddie mercury and saying "doing it for the bit but looks good doing it", and pointing to roger taylor and saying "that is a woman" /end ID

#wwdits #colin robinson #nandor the relentless #laszlo cravensworth #guillermo de la cruz #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described #tumblr if you transmisogynistically flag this as mature im stealing shit from your house

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msb-lair · 1 year

Photo

Clutch #3204 - Ursi/Orsi

Mated On: 2023-04-27 # of eggs: 1 Hatched On: 2023-05-03

Progeny:

Hatchling 8468 - Veilspun Male, Brown Speckle/Soil Freckle/Beige Ghost, Common - 15,000 on 2023-05-24

Comments: A second clutch from my veilspun fossil dragons.

#Clutches #Ursi Dragon #Orsi Dragon #Hatchling #Veilspun Male #Veilspun Breed #Veilspun Hatchling #Speckle #Freckle #Ghost #Brown #Soil #Beige #Common

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inkdrinkerworld · 7 months

Note

soft!hotch x non bau!reader. like maybe he comes home from a long case that wasn't supposed to end for a while longer, and it's before they move in together so hes surprised to come home and find her curled up in his blankets

aaron is all shades of exhausted when he gets into the suv back in virginia. he's been gone for two weeks, the case hard and grueling and two weeks without even being able to see you felt like it was neverending.

his eyes are hardly open when he pulls into the garage. opening his front door, he realises something is different.

the inside of his house smelled like apples and cinnamon, the sofa was neat and cleaner than he had left it, like it had been vacuum cleaned and the folded throw blanket looked new.

you'd been here. it warms his heart a little that you'd been here, even while he was gone.

"honey," he murmurs when he pushes open his bedroom door to find you cozied up under his thick duvet. "oh honey." he watches your face smushed into his pillow, and clutching a small beige fawn he'd gotten you at a fair a couple months back.

quietly, he snaps a couple photos on his phone of you before starting to the shower. before he can help himself, he presses a kiss to your lips and then goes to shower.

by the time he's back, you're blinking your eyes open slowly. "you're back early," your voice is groggy as aaron gets in beside you. "was it okay?"

aaron knows what you mean, "yeah, go back to sleep honey. we can talk in the morning."

you nod, leaning into aaron till your face is tucked under his chin. "i missed you," you say gently.

"i missed you too honey, so much," he kisses the top of your head gently, rubbing your back as you start falling asleep again. "best thing that ever happened to me."

#aaronhotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x black!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x yn

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pseudowho · 3 months

Text

Infiltration, Chapter Eight: Unchained

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

*SMUT/NSFW/18+*

THE FINAL CHAPTER!!

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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Kento broke into a jagged run, as an almighty roar burst from the writhing mass above him, the many faces within it screaming in shrill tandem. Kento stumbled, slipping in the rot, cutting his palms open on shards of bone and gristle on his way to you, still hanging, chained, against the wall.

Kento's hands clamped instantly to your face, crying out in disgust and panic as he smeared it with blood and rancid muck. His hands roamed you desperately, from chains, to face, to sliced belly, to waist, to chains, uttering frantic breaking moans-- "no no no, darling please, wake up, I can't do this, I can't do this, please, please". Your pale, lax face shot through him like shards of ice and he sobbed, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your mouth, trying to push life from his own body to yours.

His shredded palms settled on your chains, and Kento roared in frustration as he felt his Cursed-energy output dwindle to nothing the moment he touched them. Kento spun, dropping to his knees and scouring the floor for anything he could use. His hands were scattered, stinging, and landed on a discarded, gouged long-bone; a femur, mostly intact. The biblical darkness crept closer above him, hungry, eager, tentacles and limbs slapping down the walls of this vast deep well towards you.

Brandishing the femur as a weapon, imbuing it with every shred of power he had, Kento stepped into the hit and slashed the wall above your chains in a devastating blow. A spray of damp brick and rubble had the wall buckling, and as the chain's tethers were released, your body slumped downwards. Kento caught you, shielding you from the falling debris, cradling you in his arms as he, you and the chains slapped to the slick icy floor.

Clutching your body to his, Kento begged you to live, begged the empty chamber around him for help-- "I can't-- I can't help you-- don't go yet please don't go yet, we can make it, you can make it...fuck, please!" His trembling hand crept to your belly, glugging blood in lazy, weakening pulses, and Kento's eyes drifted closed.

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"I can get her to Shoko, Nanami-san. It won't be a problem...I know you hate working late. I'm sorry."

"This isn't work. This is...something more. I needed to be here. She needed--" Kento's voice cut off as Ijichi continued to bow his head in apology before him. Kento felt the first heavy splatters of warm summer rain, the sky pregnant with humid downpour. Kento looked to you-- bloody, eyes fixed in mute horror, wrapped in his suit jacket in the passenger seat of his car.

Kento tipped his face back towards the sky, eyes closed, Ijichi unable to see how his face twisted in helpless agony, rage, disgust. He felt the heavy spatters of raindrops on his cheeks, his glasses. He did not know for how long he stood, still. His beige suit had turned tan, his navy shirt sodden, stuck to him, black and warm in this tropical storm.

He wished to be wiped clean. He wished you could sleep and forget. He wished to be baptised and ordained in the arms of someone more powerful than him. He wished, he wished, he wished.

Kento blew it all away, smooth and restrained as he felt trickles run down him, from his shoulders to his belly. He looked back down to Ijichi, his glasses removed and pocketed now, his gaze passive, authoritative.

"She's uninjured. No need to make any more work for Shoko. I'll get her home and...and safe." Ijichi's face contorted in apology again-- not vague apology; sincere apology, grief for the unlived life he had to administrate.

Ducking under the un-trickling veil once more, Kento reached his car, hesitating for just a moment on the door handle before stepping in, sodden against his leather seats. With barely a sideways glance to you, he reached over, the backs of his fingers ghosting over your bare arm. With a grunt, Kento rumbled the engine to life, setting the heaters to maximum.

Kento twisted in his seat, unbelted, and gently grasped your hands. As if dead, in rigor mortis, your limbs refused movement, tight against yourself as Kento tried to urge your hands towards the air vents. He huffed lightly as you trembled, trying to draw your hands back.

"I can't bring her back," Kento strained, his voice tight with regret, "but I can keep you warm. Please. Darling."

Your arms relaxed, melting under Kento's warmth and urgency, and you allowed him to press your hands to the leather-sweet whoosh of warm air. You trembled, nauseous and numb. You stayed this way as Kento reached around you, threading the belt and buckling you in before fixing his own. The car rolled to a start. You had little to no memory of the journey home.

Kento had carried you to your door, seeming so small in his arms, in his suit jacket. Placing you down with utmost delicacy, Kento gripped your upper arms as if afraid you'd fall, before cautiously letting go. He eyed your lock, and surveyed you; no keys, he surmised. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an army knife, multi-functional, well-used, Scandinavian branded. Within seconds, the lock of your door was jimmied open and you were ushered inside.

You had vague memories of being lovingly cleaned with a bowl of warm water, a gentle soft cloth meticulously cleaning blood from your fingernails. Of being verbally dressed, Kento's voice smooth and encouraging outside your bedroom door as your shaking hands pulled pyjamas on. Of being fed, hot soup brought in steady mouthfuls to your lips. Of being tucked into bed, hair stroked out of your free-flowing tears. Of his steadfast presence in the armchair beside your bed as you drifted into an uneasy sleep.

You awoke, your home empty, the apologies for which seemingly drifting like dust-motes in the air around you. Kento had cooked, cleaned, left fresh clothes out for you.

In your shame, and your grief, you saw yourself as a burden. Kento gave you space, always wondering if it was too much or too little.

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There was a pause between heartbeats as panic ebbed away. Kento felt a wave of warmth sweep through him, ushering him, as soft as a wave, to a state above his own body, outside himself, as weightless as a breath. The wave swept back out to sea, taking Kento's warmth with it; he gave it, its strength amplified through his willingness, trickling out through fingertips.

With a gasp and a thump, Kento's heart started again, and you twisted, coughing in his arms, gripping his biceps with cold fingers. Kento choked, gasping and coughing, and you climbed up his lap, your eyes feverish with pain and confusion. Kento swayed, drained.

"You're back-- you're...you're back," he stuttered in disbelief, shaky hands lifting your top and stroking reverently across your intact belly, before rising up to cup your face, his eyes brimming with relief, adoration, joy. You shook, wet cold seeping into your bones, still feeling the handle of death's door in your grasp.

"Kento...what did-- what did you--" Your voice trailed off, disbelieving as you knelt, wet-steel-chafing chains clanking on your wrists. With matching soft smiles, you leaned towards each other, foreheads pressed, clinging in the dark.

As you opened your mouth to speak again, you felt an instinctual sting run down your spine as something powerful, something old stabbed out of the gloom behind you. You grasped Kento, rolling him sideways with you, and felt the air split beside your cheek as a foul black tendril shot like a lance, missing you by a hair's breadth and piercing, instead, into the brickwork on the opposite side of the well.

Kento lay on his side, stunned-- he hadn't felt anything approach. He and you had almost been impaled. His near-fatal exhaustion left him reeling, scraping the barrel, his Cursed-energy depleted by the first and only successful Reverse-cursed technique of his life. He couldn't feel the toes on his broken leg now, and, concerningly, the burning pain had reduced to dull, hot throbs.

As blood whooshed through his ears, sound crept back in and he heard you-- "...up! Kento, get up, we've got to go, we've got to get ou--" Kento felt you stand and draw his arm over your shoulders, and you lifted him with the vigour he had sacrificed to bring you to life.

You roared with exertion as you half-dragged, half-carried Kento partway across the chamber, until he seemed to find his own again, and stumbled with you, his pale face clenched with determination. Ugly crunches shook the ground behind you. Diamond-tipped black tendrils stabbed through the dark, missing you both, rending the ground as the eldritch horror above you roared, hungry, hungry, hungry.

Reaching the rungs of the ladder clinging to the well, you gazed up, stomach sinking as you realised the corrupted goddess blocked your ascension to safety, even if you did both make it up the ladder unscathed. In mute devastation, you gaped. Kento pressed his palms to the wall, pressing his ear flat to it, knocking experimentally with grazed knuckles.

As Kento stepped backwards, drawing back a fist to bring the wall down, seeking a break in the foundations, the fast approaching black tendrils retreated upwards with a snap and a screech-- you both heard shouts above, and the Goddess bellowed, jagged and shrieking, in pain, under attack.

"Nanami! Nanami?" Kento stepped forward, eyes skyward at the sound of Ino's voice. The Goddess reeled backwards, uncovering the surface of the well, and a rumble sounded above, debris falling as she slammed into the walls of the Shrine. Hope sprang up in both of your throats, wordlessly clutching hands as the sounds of battle sprang down the well.

"Nue!" A great masked owl swooped down towards you, landing with a skid, bones crunching beneath its great talons. Upon its back, Megumi leaned forwards, reaching a hand out to you. You faltered as Kento pushed you forwards, and you dug your heels in.

"No, Megumi. Kento first. He's injured." Kento spun to you, clench-jawed and fuming before you pushed him to Megumi. Before Kento could argue, Megumi pulled him towards Nue, and Kento stumbled, clambering upon great red feathers before urging you up into his lap, his thick forearms bound around your waist. With a gut-lurching jolt, the ground leapt away beneath you, and you and Kento felt the frigid slap of snow against your cheeks above the rim of the well.

Landing upon the ground, stepping off, your vision filled with the dreadful horror of the corrupted Goddess. You gasped, recognising the naked human form at its core, buckling under the weight of the twisting bodies and tendrils bursting from its back, vast, almost filling the huge hollow chamber. The woman who had spat venom at you, beaten you to within an inch of your life, on only your second night in the village--

"Emi," you breathed. The pale form of the woman was as a corpse, animated and possessed, as the poisoned Goddess poured out of her, the vessel too small for her containment. Kento was momentarily paralyzed beside you, stunned and reliving his final fight with Haibara Yuu, against a Cursed local deity; boyish terror stripped him bare, no longer a man, no longer a young adult, just a child, a boy, left to fight alone in the dark--

"I'll go," Kento forced, desperate to make amends, bile churning in his belly. You spun to him, to argue, and he interrupted, "I'll go. This needs to end, we need to finish her--"

You stared at Kento in disbelief. You stared into the chaos around you, at brutal short battles being waged between the sorcerers of Tokyo and the remaining few cult members. You stared at Ino, Megumi, Yuuji, Maki, Nobara...all fighting desperately, to keep the eldritch Goddess at bay, fighting a losing battle. You ran your hands in anguish through puzzle pieces, desperate, desperate--

"...but they're dead," you spat, as Kento gripped your shoulders, breathing heavily in his agony, frowning, questioning.

"I...what?" Kento was drowsy, drunk with threatened collapse. His eyes blurred as you nodded frantically to him, cupping his face in your palms.

"The people...the people they fed to the Goddess, they're dead, but that Cursed-energy...is too much to be her own. If they're dead, their Cursed-energy should have died with them."

You watched as the information trickled into Kento, his slim brown eyes flickering as his mathematical brain whirred, remembering Father Tatsu, remembering the brothers' techniques...

"...well no, he...the Father he...stole the peoples' Cursed-energy first and imbued the Goddess with it, to...to make her strong."

With a dull thud of realisation, Kento understood. Ino hit the floor with a sickening crash beside him, scrabbling upright again, his bloody nose oozing out through his balaclava. The Goddess shrieked, black arms flailing, now some eerie creature of the deep, and wildly overpowering the team sent to destroy it.

"Fuck," Ino spat, lurching sideways, staggered, "how is it so fucking strong?"

"The Father who originally transferred all the Cursed energy is still alive," Kento barked, "Father Shinzu. It's the only way, if the original Cursed energy owners are dead." With a hopeful pang, Kento realised the same applied to Father Tatsu, who would be rendered all but harmless with the death of his brother.

"So, kill the transfer-guy, Goddess goes back to being a pussycat, yeah?" Ino nodded, joining the ranks of sorcerers now backing away from the writhing Goddess, "Oh! Almost forgot..."

Reaching behind his back, Ino pulled something harnessed from under his sweatshirt. Kento could have cried to see his spotted blunt-blade, heavy and trustworthy in his hands again. Kento felt he had nothing left to give, but was suddenly safer with his beloved weapon to fight alongside. Kento squeezed Ino's shoulder, and Ino almost melted at the strength of silent thanks passed through him by his mentor.

Reaching out for your hand, Kento impeached you with eyes and words; "come with me," he pressed, leaning down, nose to nose, "we finish this together, or not at all." Hands grazing his jaw, pressing your lips and forehead slowly to his, you nodded.

"Together," you whispered. Kento gripped you by the waist, bound together, as much for him as for you.

"Ino," Kento rumbled, "you hold her off. We'll kill the Father. This will all be over." Ino grinned, saluting, and turned to take charge of the motley crew of sorcerers.

Looking keenly at Kento, you saw the slow blink of his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders, how his grip wasn't as true on his blade as usual.

"Yuuji," you called, and the boy turned to you with wide eager eyes, "Nanamin's hurt. Come with us." Kento frowned at you again, cross at having been identified as weakened. Yuuji looked at his father-figure, concerned, afraid. With a pause and brief hesitation in the swirling snow, Kento nodded once. Yuuji bounced to attention, the three of you hushing out through the snowstorm, beginning to make your way down the hill back to the Fathers' quarters in search of Father Shinzu.

Visibility was next to nil in this sea of white. The scarlet torii gate split through the storm, but it looked...warped, irregular, as if shattered by something, or someone--

Kento lifted you by the waist, throwing you into a snowdrift with a roar as an almighty crunch split the ground between you, a devastating seam running up the path towards the Shrine. Kento's ears rang, and when the sound faded, all he could hear was his own agonal gasping, so desperately exhausted.

Dust settled over the black crack in the earth; Father Tatsu stood, snarling in pain, twisted over, wrenching his fist from the earth.

"Enough of your interfering, Tsuda," he bellowed, convulsing like a wounded bear, "you and your slut can go hang." Kento snarled back, seeing red as gut-churning rage filled his belly at Father Tatsu's slur. Yuuji circled to the side, head low and ready to pounce. You were gone, lost somewhere in the snow drift.

Kento twizzled his blade once in his grip, before rocking forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he panned for scraps of Cursed energy, and found gold. He brought his blade down on the junction of Father Tatsu's neck and shoulder, and the old man crumpled to one knee, crying out in pain, his body woefully unable to contain his stolen power.

"You're dying," Kento hissed, teeth bared in fire and fury, "and you're taking us all down with you." Father Tatsu laughed, one hand on the blade, shaking, his teeth gory with the blood of his bitten tongue. He spat a thick glob of blood and phlegm into Kento's eyes, and Kento's head snapped involuntarily back. Father Tatsu took his chance, kicking Kento's injured leg out from beneath him.

Yuuji bullrushed Father Tatsu, all vigour and inexperience, and was hit with a gut-bursting blow to his belly. As Yuuji fell to his knees, retching and vomiting, Father Tatsu stood over him hands clasped together in one great fist, Cursed-energy belching out of him, to strike a deadly blow to the back of Yuuji's head.

A warning jangle rang behind Father Tatsu, and his head turned imperceptibly, too slow to stop you wrapping your arms round his neck, throttling him with the restraining chains still clamped to your wrists. The thin old skin of Father Tatsu's throat tore beneath the icy chains, their power dulling his Cursed-energy for a few crucial seconds.

"Now, Kento-- NOW!" you screamed, clinging to Father Tatsu as he bucked, strangled. Kento forced himself upwards, and the downy flakes seemed to slow around him, as he entered a state somewhere between rage and serenity. With a crack and flash of black and red, Kento brought his blade down on his own forced gradient.

Father Tatsu died instantly, split from neck to groin in an attack which sent you flying back in the snow. Skidding to a halt, you would remember Kento this way for the rest of your life; black long coat flapping in the wind, snowflakes melting into his bloodsoaked hair, heaving with white-knuckled rage against the monochromatic landscape.

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You would not allow Yuuji to kill the comatose old man, surrounded by his own weeping wife and begging nurses.

Shackled to life with cruel intention, brain dead after his efforts to combine Emi with the Goddess, Father Shinzu's bedroom was incongruously crowded by medical equipment. Sounds of life were replaced by regular, irritating bleeps, the mechanical hiss-whirr of a ventilator, the steady march of his own enforced heartbeat.

"I'm sorry," you choked, sincere and nauseous, walking forward with conviction, your fingers settling over pumps, and machines, and devices, the pretence of life, "it has to be this way. He has to die."

Father Shinzu's wife darted forwards as you began to turn off equipment. Her tearstained, twisted face broke your heart as you ended Father Shinzu's life support. Yuuji flung out an arm, holding her back, pale as he watched you work.

Father Shinzu's heart beat for only a few moments after the beeps of the equipment ceased...and the room soon rang with the reedy bleep of his heart flat lining, as his wife screamed at you to stop, furious helplessness in her eyes. Yuuji let go of her, turning with his face in his hands as Kento entered the room.

You stood, eyes closed and silently weeping. The overwhelming pulses of Cursed energy from the Shrine died with Father Shinzu. A few ear-splitting screeches from the top of the snowy hill...and, the unmistakeable silence of the grave.

"You bitch," Father Shinzu's wife screeched, lurching to her feet, rushing at you, and you had the barest moment to see a metallic glint in her hand, "you ungrateful bitch!"

A field of black in your vision- a dull thud, a gasp of air leaving lungs.

"Nanamin-- NANAMIN!"

Your hands shook, head shaking in silent disbelief as Kento dropped to his knees in front of you, and he stared, stunned, at the knife in his chest. He turned to look up at you, apologetic, questioning, confused.

You caught him before he slumped sideways to the floor, struggling to heave his bulk into your lap, sobbing and crying out for him as his breaths grew wet. Sound closed in on you as you begged Kento, hearing Yuuji beg the medical staff in the room for help, corralling them, grabbing them.

As you stared around for help, wild-eyed and sobbing, you felt a large, warm hand come up to cup your cheek. Kento coughed, lips stained with blood, as he gazed up at you with such a tender smile that you wracked with tears, clutching him to you.

"...love you...always knew-- I always knew--" You shook your head as Kento nodded, smoothing his thumb down your nose, across your cheeks, committing you to memory.

"You owe me a date," you wept, pressing your lips to his forehead, "you can't-- you owe me a date--" Kento chuckled, wet and weak...and silenced. You shook him. His body was loose on your lap, a soft smile fixed on his lips, his eyes drifting closed, the run of his blood over your lap stopping.

"Kento-- no-- KENTO!"

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It was a crisp, bright day. Ijichi grieved its passing as he grieved the passing of friends, colleagues, strangers-- administrating, administrating, administrating.

Yaga Masamichi sat opposite Ijichi, a swirl of steam rising from the coffee pot between them. He flipped slowly through folders, an uninterpretable grunt voiced after each one.

"Too many dead," he stated, blunt and low. Ijichi hummed, solemn.

"Imbuing a fertility goddess with Cursed energy..." Ijichi sighed, "...and for what? A dead cult. Dead sorcerers. A dead goddess." Ijichi sighed again, deeper this time, "And so much paperwork."

"So much overtime," Yaga hummed. He stopped, reminded, "speaking of overtime, Ijichi...how is Nanami?"

Ijichi looked up, smiling.

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"...stab wound penetrating the left lung, one very broken leg, some cracked ribs from the CPR, abrasions...you're lucky the medical staff there helped you, Nanami."

Nanami grumbled, still aching and scarred, despite Shoko's efforts to heal him after Father Shinzu's doctors and nurses had intervened.

Shoko almost giggled, taking a long, slow draw on her cigarette, "I wouldn't have helped you if you'd just murdered my patient in front of me."

"The murder was all mine, actually," you piped up, batting away Kento's sore hands, buttoning up his shirt for him as he pressed his nose and lips to your hair, "but this guy, just can't stop himself from being a hero--"

"--darling, I was just doing my job--"

"-- swooping in at the last minute to save me--"

"--really now, you think I'd just let you--"

"--and he still owes me a date."

Kento laughed despite himself, fixing you with a stern look; "Darling...read the room."

You pursed your lips in mirth, cupping Kento's face in your hands, staring into each others' eyes, seeing only each other and the promise of a better life. Shoko smiled fondly at you both, tapping at her cigarette thoughtfully.

"I'd say you two deserve a holiday. A real one."

Kento leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, basking in your warmth; "Where should we go, my love?"

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Infiltration is finiiiiiiiished! 🎇 ❤️ 🍾

Thank you so much to all my readers; those who have been, those who are, and those yet to come.

You've all made this so much fun.

Yours, faithfully,

Haitch xxx

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