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moominsuki · 11 days

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✎ᝰ BAKUGOU KATSUKI ; — 11:36 AM OR when you’re needy and he’s ready to help you. doesn’t mean he won’t have some of his own fun while doing it. (birthday special)

࿄ ! warnings - major nsfw. squirting. f!reader. kind of dubcon but not really. / note. hey… how y’all doing! i have no excuses this time lol. i also can’t promise i will be back! i couldn’t let this brew in my drafts forever, esp. on his birthday. but enjoy :} minors& blank blogs dni.

you: hey kats i miss you :(

you: katsuki? i need you

you sent those texts at around 11:36 am and it’s now almost an hour later, with katsuki being in a very important heroes’ meeting of some sort. now, katsuki never takes time or leave off of work only on the condition he’s practically spilling his guts onto the floor - and even so, he’d come in with his hands wrapped round his lower abdomen if he wasn’t chastised for showing up half dead.

this wasn’t out of the ordinary for you - you know, to text him all needy and sad. don’t get it all wrong, it makes katsuki’s heart clench to have to leave you to your lonesome when he’s busy and you’re not. he knows how you get when you get off your period and mixed when you’re also feeling poorly comes a combination of you feeling melancholic, sweet and also very needy. by the way, did he mention needy yet?

katsuki: what’s up with you? you ok?

his phone vibrates almost as fast as he tried to stuff it in his pocket and he inconspicuously looks down.

you: no… i need you :((

katsuki sighs looking at your texts, excusing himself from the meeting and giving what he’d consider sympathetic eyes to his friends before dialling up your number.

“you okay, princess?” katsuki frowns, “i know you ‘aven’t been feeling well these past few days but ‘m busy-”

“katsukiii,” you all but whine into the phone, mewling and he straightens up immediately at your voice, ears turning a cute shade of pink. oh. he knows this tone. he knows it all too well amongst the linen sheets of his bed.

“i know i shouldn’t be calling while you’re busy but, fuck, i need you, need you so much,” you gasp on the other side of the line, practically swimming in his bed, wearing only your cotton panties and a barely there tank top.

katsuki bites his fist, standing behind the conference room door, groaning quietly. “yeah?”

“mhmmm, i really do,” you simper, “you looked really good this morning an-and you smelt so good and… ‘m just really, really needy right now.”

katsuki should tell you to get a grip, dash some cold water on your face and put your fingers to good use but the way you’re moaning and whining across the phone is making all his blood cells rush from the rational parts of his body down to the irrational parts of his body.

“where r’you right now?”

“in your bed… just like how you left me,” you sigh, a pathetic and wanton lilt to your words. “all alone in this big and cold bed wishing my big, strong man would come home and give me what i deserve.”

your flushed face boyfriend all but snarls, teeth bared over the phone. “yeah? what d’you deserve, then, for interrupting me at work and and then begging me to come home and fuck you? cos that’s what you want, right? for me t’drop everythin’ and come running to you?”

“yup,” you hum, popping the ‘p’ and some rustling can be heard in the background. “well, ‘s your choice, really. i just… really need you, baby.”

you can hear katsuki’s deep breathing over the phone and you’re so certain you can hear the cogs in his skull turning, clicking as he mulls over this decision. he clears his throat, lamenting with a big sigh as if this is all one big inconvenience for him.

just at that moment, deku comes through the door.

“everything okay, kacch- dynamight? if you’re busy we can discuss this with you another time.”

“…‘m gonna have to head home for a little while… something’s come up. don’ wait up. i’ll be back as quick as i can.”

katsuki wants to bite you when he can make out the smile over your exhale through the receiver but you’re quick to hang up as deku reassures his friend in his naïveté, unknowing to the true purpose of his mid day return home.

when katsuki returns within 10 minutes since your call (usually it’s a 16 minute drive from the agency to home - pedal to the metal), you’re already on the couch, and your tank top does nothing to hide the hardness of your nipples and katsuki can see the shape of your cunt lips through your barely there panties.

no words are passed as you smile sweetly at your boyfriend, who kicks off his shoes and whose hands already at his belt as he stalks over to your seated body.

“how d’ya want it, huh?” you’re already moving back across the couch, legs spread.

“just fuck me please,” you whimper, “wan’ you to stretch me out with your cock.” you paw at his hips, at the waistline of his trousers that situate themselves in front of your face.

“you don’ want me to stretch you out first?” he muses, dropping down to his knees in front of your scantily clad pussy, thick fingers pressing on your covered clit and you hum, shaking your head.

“i can take it right now,” you gasp, and two fingers slip into your pants despite your protests at how you “don’t need to be prepped,” and that you “can take him right now.” alas, you shut up effective immediately when his fingers skim through your panties and straight to rubbing your hardened nub and you can’t find it in yourself to get annoyed when two digits slip inside you, curling up only for a mere second and jolting your body along with it.

katsuki pulls his dampened fingers out, effectively taking off your panties with him. “your decision. don’t get pissy with me later when it’s sore, because ‘m not gonna have it.”

you shake your head defiantly, utterances of “i won’t” and “just please fuck me,” meshing into a slurry of words.

he grabs your face to look at you. “you promise?”

you nod and he frowns, smushing your cheeks slightly. “you better speak up and fast, because i ain’t got all day, princess.”

“i promish! i promishh.” the words come out muffled against the grip of his hand. your boyfriend takes the answer anyhow, because he gets up from off his knees to impatiently throw off his blazer, then down his trousers and pants in one swoop.

there’s a smug look on your face and katsuki can tell you’re trying to hide a triumphant smile. he wants to wipe it off your face so badly.

“face down, ass up, pretty lady.”

you throw yourself around without a second to spare and katsuki stuffs a pillow under your hips, slapping your ass in the process. at any other time, you would’ve scolded him for leaving a print. instead you moan and arch your back, clenching cunt on display for his hungry eyes.

“fucking minx,” katsuki grumbles, settling behind you and letting the weight of his mostly hard cock tap against your pussy, delving between your puffy lips and rubbing against your hardened clit.

you try to be good, try not to say anything that might make him want to punish you but you’re growing restless at what feels like hours of torture (hours being mere seconds that is) and you sniffle out a weak “katsuki, please…”

his heart clenches at your tone and even when he’s trying to tease you, he can’t help but feed out the palm of your hand. he also can’t help that his dick pulsates in his grip at the pathetic tone of your voice.

“don’t rush me or i’ll leave you like this,” he grumbles, and you both know he wouldn’t dare, and you’re about to protest, turn your head to spit defiantly at him but it’s much too late for that. he sinks in, weighty and thick and it knocks the breath out of you. you practically face plant into the armrest of the couch and your teeth bites into the cashmere fabric.

there’s something about not being prepped before that makes this so much more intimate and sexy for the both of you, but the impending realisation that you will be sore tomorrow dawns on you as you feel the heft of his balls press on you. he’s right to the hilt and you’re full to the brim, gasping.

neither of you can get a word out edgeways or sideways - katsuki leans down to wrap a thick arm around your neck and though he can barely see your face, he can feel the salty tears dribbling down his forearm and he can most definitely hear the wordless cries coming from out your agape mouth.

“this is what you wanted,” he hisses, nose in your hair, his wide body trapping you to the couch, “don’t you fuckin’ complain later- fuckin’, shittt,” he groans, pulling back out slightly and getting sucked in by your silken walls. the living room has gotten 100 degrees hotter and he wants to blame you so badly, but you moan out his name wantonly, one hand around his own that’s slightly bruising against your neck and he’s putty.

“hurts so good,” you finally get out, toes curling when the tip of his cock hits against that honeyed spot. “jus’- jus’ like that,” you slur, legs shaking and thrashing when you feel katsuki’s hand slip between your bodies.

all he can focus on is how fast you got sloppy for him, the conjoining of your bodies, if only fleeting, is getting to him, if the clench of his balls has anything to say about it. his hand finds your throbbing pearl and a straying pointer fingers rubs on it firmly in broad, confident circles, and you choke, eyes crossing.

your body stiffens and you’re not even sure you’re speaking a coherent language at this point, but you garble out something along the lines of “i love you,” and “i can’t take it,” and a contradicting “like that, katsuki.”

behind you, he’s thrusting even harder and rubbing faster at your clit, pressing down with ferocity and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore, the tension in your bladder rising. even in the midst of a second, impending orgasm do you turn and try to kiss him, which he gladly accepts, tongue delving into your mouth and he inevitably hunches, grunting and huffing, red faced and shooting ropes of thick cum inside of you.

that’s when your second one hits, and it’s even heavier than the last, sprays of liquid hitting your boyfriend’s lower abdomen and you squeal, hips gyrating and katsuki doesn’t slow until you’re basically limp, collapsed against the softness of his sofa.

he kisses your head, pulling out and you gasp at the exit. no words are shared as he brandishes a damp cloth from somewhere - he must’ve gotten up in your daze, you didn’t even know he had left from behind you at all, and it makes you sigh, cheeks resting against the armrest.

katsuki cleans you up in typical, sweetheart fashion, passing you a blanket and your clothes like he always does after a romp, and it’s only when he makes you sit up so you can eat a banana and drink a glass of cold, fresh water do you say something.

“so i take that you’re not going back into work?”

katsuki’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and he looks away from you, pouting. you think he’s not going to say anything till he scoffs a short moment later, “…’s not like i had much to do today anyway… i’ll catch up with those idiots later.”

you don’t bite back your smile this time and he pulls you into his chest. “you better wipe that shit eating grin off ya face.”

“or what? you threatening me with a good time?” you giggle, wiggling your brows and he opens his mouth to bark back until you move your hips slightly and hiss.

“what was that?” he questions and you ignore him. he groans, swiping a hand across his face,“…y/n, i-”

“‘m not complaining!… but i would be lying if i said it’s not a little sore- hey!”

katsuki wraps you up in his arms, blanket strewn.

“what are you-”

“since ‘m taking the rest of the day off, might as well go clean up and have a bath… remind me to never listen to you again.”

“hey! it’s not my fault you’re such a brute,” you laugh as he kisses your face, walking up the stairs.

“not so hard!” you hiss in pain, “‘m sore!”

yeah. remind katsuki to never listen to you when you’re horny.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #༝˚૮ .♡ katsuki.#✎𓂃uma thirsts。°˖⌕#✎𓂃stamped: (my hero academia)。°˖⌕#bakugo smut #bakugou imagine #not proofread no beta we die like MEN #ok byeeeee

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loguetowns · 1 year

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the one that (almost) got away

roronoa zoro x fem!reader

it takes him 12 hours to realize

3.6k words

a/n: ok listen, i think i started writing this like 6+ months ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts bc idk how to commit to endings so y’all are gonna have to take this as it is. also i have no concept of how sailing works or how long it takes oops

9:00 pm

“y'know, there's really no point to a farewell party if the one leaving isn't there.”

you look up from your spot on the library floor. your eyes land on the green-haired swordsman leaning against the doorframe and you smile.

“i’ll be there in a second. i just have some more stuff to go through.”

zoro eyes the mess of books surrounding you, recognizing a few of nami’s atlases and robin’s textbooks. “you haven’t finished packing yet?”

“i’m mostly done. i’m just trying to decide which books i want to keep.” catching his eye, you joke, “why? you want me gone that bad?”

crossing the room, a scoff leaves his lips. nothing could be further from the truth.

“you got me. i am so sick of you,” he says with a grin. “can’t wait to get rid of the annoying librarian invading my napping spot.”

zoro plops down on the bench behind you, catching a whiff of your shampoo as he lies down. you sit with your back to him, sorting through your piles, but zoro can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

“you’re such a pretender, eh?”

zoro puts on a look of overdramatic offense, a hand on his chest. “me? you’re talking about me?”

at his poor acting, you turn around. you rest your chin on the bench, your face so close to zoro’s that one could only describe it as a kissable distance.

“you act like i'm all in your space, but nami told me that you never used to spend any time in here at all!”

“pfft, why would you ever trust what that con artist has to say?” zoro pokes your forehead. “you see it with your own eyes. am i or am i not here every day?”

you purse your lips as you think back to the last few months; he’s right.

you’ve spent most of your days in the ship’s library, and zoro has almost always stopped by. in the beginning, it would be for a few minutes, but over the last little while, he’d be in here as long as you were.

zoro smiles as he watches you think, eyebrows furrowed as you replay the last few months in your head. little do you know that this is exactly why the library is his new hideout. watching your pretty little mind work — doing what you love, thinking and studying and reading — is a far better use of his spare time than anything else he could be doing.

“anyway,” he says. “i guess your silly star stories have been a good trade-off.”

now it’s your turn to be mock-offended.

“silly star stories? you’re the one who asked about the constellations in the first place!”

“only because you kept talking about these fictional gods like they actually did something important.”

“says the guy who's completely enthralled by hades,” you roll your eyes.

“king of hell, god of the underworld,” he grins. “that’s my kinda guy.”

zoro laughs when you shake your head at him. he’ll never tire of teasing you; you are far too adorable with your little sigh and a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“did you know,” he says with a playful look. “that you still owe me about ten more constellation stories? d’you think you could squeeze in one more before we head up?”

zoro smiles at you, and you can't help but smile back.

you have so many treasured memories with zoro in this library; ones of just the two of you (him napping while you studied), ones with nami and robin (and sanji until nami kicked the boys out for their incessant bickering), and ones where the night listens in as you recite the history of the stars.

whether you were telling the story of another righteous deity enacting justice, or the tale of mere mortals who insulted the gods, zoro would listen with his eyes closed, lying across the bench as he is now, and you’d sit in front of him as you are now.

everyone’s waiting for you upstairs and you hate to disappoint, but some things are more important — like telling a silly star story to a silly swordsman.

“of course i can.”

12:00 am

raucous laughter and cheering that’s loud enough to deafen anybody; empty plates, once piled high with food, now scattered around the room; bottles on bottles of sake and rum and whiskey and every liqueur that one would hope to find on a pirate ship.

these are zoro’s requirements for a good time, and suffice to say that your farewell party has them all in spades.

zoro watches his friends’ tomfoolery from his spot at the table (currently, luffy’s trying to get franky to see how far he can slingshot him) when you plop yourself into the seat beside him.

“this,” you say as your arm knocks against his, “is the best party i’ve ever been to.”

zoro takes a swig from his glass, “you haven’t partied until you’ve partied with pirates.”

“seriously! you guys are insane!”

as if to prove your point, franky chooses that exact moment to show off a juggling sequence involving a barrel of whiskey, a giant potted plant, and a squealing chopper.

you gasp at the spectacle but quickly dissolve into laughter when nami saves chopper, and it’s with both awe and pure excitement that you turn to zoro. laughter is etched into your lips, your cheeks are flushed, and zoro can’t help but marvel at how you’re even cuter when you’re having fun.

“what, you’ve never seen a cyborg man toss a speaking reindeer in the air before?”

you nudge him with your elbow, “well, excuse me for leading such a mundane life where animals don’t speak and men don’t tinker with their bodies.”

“ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

you look at zoro quizically.

he takes a sip of his beer, “most men do tinker with their bodies.”

it takes you a moment to catch his innuendo and zoro roars with laughter when the realization hits you. embarrassment tinges your pretty face and you shove him with a loud “ew, zoro!” but he can’t stop cackling.

“you’re disgusting!”

you make to swat zoro across the chest but he quickly catches your hand. he leans in to waggle his eyebrows at you, “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

you groan loudly, which only makes him laugh again.

perhaps it’s the alcohol that let his inhibitions go, or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t have much longer with you, but when you hastily change the subject and there’s no longer a reason for him to still be holding your hand, he doesn’t let go.

when nami joins you two, his fingers slips between yours and to his surprise, yours do the same. sanji joins your threesome, then franky and robin, and in no time at all, it’s no longer just the two of you at the table.

but zoro doesn’t care.

drunk, carefree, and more content than he’s ever been, zoro closes his eyes and smiles. he lives in the moment, and in this moment, he’s happy — happy with a full stomach and a full glass, happy to be surrounded by his favourite people, and happy that, under the table, you’re still holding his hand.

3:00 am

“and what’s that one?”

hands swinging between you, you and zoro dodge the tide as you roam further and further from the thousand sunny. the sand is cool under your feet and the tide kisses your toes with each step. your other arm is stretched above you, pointing at a constellation in the distance.

“what is this - a pop quiz?”

you smile, “i want to make sure you don’t forget about my ‘silly star stories.’”

zoro groans, “has anyone told you that holding grudges isn’t healthy? keeping going and you’ll turn into a bitter old thing some day.”

you stick out your tongue, “you’re just afraid you’ll get it wrong.”

“wrong?” zoro scoffs. “i’ve gotten the past six right.”

walking along the beach, you and zoro fall in step with each other and your footsteps match the ebbing waves in perfect rhythm. you smile in his direction and his chest is flooded with a warmth that has nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed.

“alright, let’s see what we got here.”

zoro follows your gaze at the cluster of stars you’ve chosen, and he grins when he sees the constellation. “really? at least try to make this hard for me, please.”

his cocky attitude leaves you speechless, making zoro laugh.

“you’re so annoying!” you shove him with your free hand and the force of his stumble pulls you along, and you shriek as he drags you into the ocean with him. he doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second — not when water splashes your legs, not when zoro’s pants get soaked as he spins you around.

your laughter is warmth in its purest form, the kind that you can feel all the way down to your cold toes. when he sets you back down, you give his hand a little squeeze, to which zoro answers back with a tender smile.

now with wet feet and a distance between you that’s even smaller than it already was, zoro continues to walk alongside you.

“moving on from your pathetic distraction attempt,” — you let out a dramatic gasp — “i’ll tell you exactly who we were looking at.”

pointing at the starry zodiac sign, zoro speaks with complete confidence.

“virgo the maiden, otherwise known as persephone, wife and muse of the best god of them all, hades—”

“fanboy much?” you tease but zoro pretends not to hear you (the little tug of his lips tells you that he does).

“—who snuck her a pomegranate seed because he couldn’t bear for her to leave him.”

zoro puffs his chest with pride, relishing in this one niche study of which he is now an expert. it’s incredibly endearing how pleased he is with his answer and you almost feel bad for correcting him.

almost.

“good answer,” you grin. “but you left out the little detail about how she was kept in hell against her will.”

zoro gasps, “are you accusing my idol of being a kidnapper?”

“your idol!” your cheeks already hurt so much from smiling but another giggle slips out. “first of all, these aren’t my accusations. historians have told their love story this way for years—”

“slander is what this is.”

“—and secondly, why would you want to look up to hades? he’s literally the antagonist in every story.”

“he’s the king of hell! that’s so bad ass.” zoro winks at you, “don’t be surprised if you hear them calling me ‘zoro, king of hell’ some day.”

“what’s wrong, demon of east blue doesn’t go hard enough for you?”

embarrassment rushes to zoro’s face and he’s never been more grateful for the night. “who told you that? was it usopp or nami? i bet it was nami.”

“i might hold a grudge but i don’t snitch,” you flash a mischievous smile. “anyway, let’s get back to how you want to be just like devil who tricked a poor girl in returning to the underworld.”

“come on, can you blame a man for doing whatever it takes to stop his beloved from leaving him?”

it sounds like an innocent question — harmless banter, really — but something in the way he says it makes you stop dead in your tracks. a silence falls and in its wake, all you can do is stare at the man you’ve spent the last several months with, the same man that you have to say goodbye to tomorrow.

moonlight falls unto the both of you and bathes zoro in soft light. it illuminates his eyes and when you meet his gaze, you see a sense of longing there that you feel in your chest. a longing for what, you don’t know — or rather, you don’t want to know.

at least, not yet.

so you hold his hand a little tighter, and underneath the watchful eye of the gods and constellations, muster a smile,

“i guess not.”

6:00 am

if this was any other morning, zoro would be awake and working out already. he'd be done his fourth set of bicep curls or, at the very least, working on his form. he could even be in the middle of deadlifts (because he knows not to skip leg day), but he definitely wouldn't still be in bed the way that he is right now.

the thing is though, if this was any other morning, he wouldn't have you sleeping next to him, curled into him like you were made to be a perfect fit.

he's never been more glad to still be in bed.

your breath matches the rise and fall of zoro's chest, perfectly in rhythm with the waves outside his window and the beat of his heart, like the universe meant for all these things to be in harmony at this one singular moment in time.

your lashes flutter in response when he shifts his weight.

he takes a peek at you, “psst, are you awake?”

eyes still closed, you manage a noncommittal grunt but your body says otherwise.

zoro can’t help but smile as he watches you start to wake up. your toes wiggle beneath the covers and you rub your eyes before looking up at him with an adorably sleepy look that he would love to wake up to every day.

if only he could.

you focus your gaze on zoro like he’s an anchor in a sea of slumber. the way that you look at him, as if he’s the only thing that you see, fills his chest with a golden warmth akin to the breaking dawn.

you offer him a soft smile, and zoro wonders if the sun knows that you glow brighter than it ever could.

“why are you up at this ungodly hour?”

he chuckles, low and tender, “’m used to it. i’m usually up by now.”

“freak,” you mutter. zoro laughs, and you can’t think of anything else that sounds more beautiful at six in the morning.

you’re not usually up this early but what you notice is that, at dawn, time has a habit of moving slowly. it’s as if the morning casts magic upon those who rise with the daylight — and you’re so thankful for that.

because if time moved any faster than this, you’d have to say goodbye that much sooner.

“are you going to miss us?” zoro puts his arms around you.

you murmur into his chest, “of course, i will.”

“who do you think you’ll miss the most?”

you give pause and zoro’s almost certain you can hear his heart beating a little louder — he can definitely hear it. he doesn’t typically get nervous like this but, then again, nothing about the way you make him feel is typical.

you seem to have come to a conclusion because you look up at zoro and he holds his breath.

“sanji.”

he blinks.

“wait, are you serious?”

you’ve never seen zoro looks so wonderfully scandalized before, and you burst into a fit of giggles. as soon as you start, he knows he’s been had. he scowls but only for a moment; for who could be upset in the presence of such twinkling laughter?

“silly man,” you snuggle closer, "of course i’m not serious.”

“okay, good.” you can hear the smile in his voice. “i don’t know if my ego could handle losing to him.”

zoro holds you close, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. his movements are slow, steady, comforting — ‘round and ‘round, in the same spot, like he’s drawing an invisible mark that is only known to the two of you.

"but, you know,” you hum, careful not to disrupt the peace. “you wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t what?”

“lose.” and after a beat, you quietly add, “you wouldn’t lose to anyone.”

and just like that, zoro’s on cloud nine, airborne and weightless. he’s always known that he has a place in your heart, but this is the first time that you’ve ever hinted about where that place may be. if he allowed himself to be hopeful, it almost sounds like a confession.

but almost isn’t good enough for him. zoro wants more — wants to find out exactly where he belongs in your life, wants to know if he can make himself at home there.

it’s a shame that he’s out of time.

you interrupt his thoughts with a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the ocean and his aching heart,

“will you miss me?”

more than anything.

9:00 am

surely, zoro’s dream to be hades has been granted. otherwise, why would it feel like he’s in hell, standing on the deck, all alone and watching your dinghy sail away from the thousand sunny?

zoro’s had his fair shares of farewells while aboard the ship, and to be honest, yours wasn’t any more emotional than anyone else’s. you left with a smile as beautiful as the morning sun and with far less tears than he expected (which he’s thankful for because he would hate to see you cry). as far as bittersweet goodbyes go, yours was definitely more sweet than bitter.

and yet, here zoro stands, with a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t explain. he can still see you from where he stands, and watching your little boat in the distance is the only thing that seems to settle his uneasy heart.

should he have bid adieu privately? maybe he should’ve left you with a memento of some kind? should he have done more than offer you a quick hug? was it his imagination, or did you hold onto him just a beat longer than you needed to?

zoro’s so occupied by these messy thoughts that he doesn’t even hear sanji approach him.

“well?”

startled, zoro can only stare at the blond cook. ignoring the dumb look on his face, sanji continues.

“what’d she say when you told her?” sanji nods in the direction of your boat.

“told her what?”

“that you love her,” sanji takes a drag of his cigarette, looking at zoro directly now.

he speaks so frankly, so matter-of-fact and candidly, that it takes zoro a second to really register what it is that he’s saying.

he loves you.

and as soon as he thinks it, the truth comes barreling through all the doubts clouding his head. clarity floods his chest as he comes face-to-face with what his yearning, pining heart has been trying to tell him this whole time.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you-

fuck.

he loves you.

and he never told you.

epilogue — 9:30 am

sails closed, your boat floats with the current and the salty breeze reminds you that your adventure with the strawhats has come to a close. compared to the never-ending bustle of the crew, it’s almost too quiet being at sea alone. the silence lends itself to your overactive mind, working full time to unravel the tightness you feel in your chest.

you’re lost in thoughts of what could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve been — so much so that you don’t even hear the commotion behind you. it’s not until you hear zoro call your name that you hear the frantic swimming and you whirl around.

“zoro! what-”

“can you help me first?” he splutters.

you pull yourself together long enough to run to the side of your dinghy, pulling a sopping wet pirate on board. zoro leans back, trying to catch his breath as you rummage through your things.

“are you crazy? do you know how far we are from the sunny?” you throw a towel over him before reaching for another. you start drying off his hair, frantically fussing over him.

“you think that just because chopper gives you the clearance that you can push yourself over the limit-”

“y/n.”

“this is why you’re always on house arrest! you’re actually insane, you know that?”

“y/n.”

“i know you work out, but for goodness’ sake, zoro, you’re only human-”

“y/n.” zoro holds your wrists, forcing you to stop with a start.

in all your worrying, you didn’t realize that you’d been gravitating closer to zoro until you’re staring into his dark, obsidian eyes. there’s clarity in the way that he looks at you. his eyes are shining with a fierceness that you’ve only seen in his worst fights, and you brace yourself for whatever comes next.

because you know that this will change everything.

“hades and persephone.”

“huh?“ you blink at him. “did you hit your head-”

“ask me if i think hades loved persephone.”

you stare into zoro’s eyes, desperation reflecting back at you. there’s a hidden question there and you understand immediately.

quietly, you ask, "do you think hades loved persephone?”

“i do,” he whispers. “i think he loved her and he would've been stupid to let her go.”

your breath catches. zoro places a hand over yours, surprisingly warm as his fingers find their home between your own.

the heavens watch on as the two of you finally open your hearts and give way to the stuff that myths and legends yearn for — a connection that can only be described as fated, destined, purely and resplendently magical.

the gods smile at the two lovers who find themselves falling into each other, laughing as you confess, over and over again,

i love you.

#zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #zoro fluff #one piece x reader #¡! ❞ [ fics ]#i know i just wrote a zoro fic BUT #this fic has been stuck in my drafts for too mf long #i didn't even proofread the epilogue bc fuck it #i just need her to go out into the world ok #i promise i will write non-zoro stuff soon #(maybe)#(jk i will)

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kitten-pile · 1 year

Text

pyramid head x fem! reader (smut)

>you try to escape him, but things don't turn out how you expected them to...

>rough, unprotected, non con consensual (dubcon??), size kink maybe? Pyramid head is very big.

You've been running for what feels like hours now, but in reality it's only been a few minutes. Running, hiding, crawling and crouching in a desperate attempt to escape from him ⸺ Pyramid Head.

Your situation isn't exactly the most pleasant. You can feel a cramp building up in your side, and in your leg, too. Your breath, hitched and getting caught in your lungs, comes out in ragged huffs and puffs.

Fuck. He's close.

The heavy, steady footsteps follow you no matter how hard you try to escape, and your mind instantly goes to the worst places.

Would pyramid kill you instantly the second he caught up? Torture you? Capture you? It's a sickening thought. You can only hope for the best case scenario.

Then, as if it were a sign from above, you see it⸺ a small opening through a chain link fence. The hole isn't a easy fit by any means, but if you tried, maybe you could escape.

The footsteps are getting louder. You can hear the screeching of pyramid heads weapon on the cold hard ground, menacingly.

If this is your only option, so be it.

Using the last if your strength and stamina, you sprint to the fence and desperately start pushing yourself through. You try to squeeze, kick on the ground to push through, but your clothes are getting torn by loose ends and the fence is digging into your skin, and, and⸺

He's right behind you now.

You can feel the warmth radiating off of the executioner. He's sweaty. bloody. You can see his shillouette; he towers right over you, making you feel small. Powerless.

"N-no, no, please," You plead, but it falls onto deaf ears, "Please⸺ don't hurt me⸺"

You get cut off, because that's just about when you feel something hard press into your lower back.

Pyramid head doesn't instantly kill you. Instead, he hesistates, huffing and panting, like he's in some sort of pain.

But he doesn't dare hesitate to rip the flimsy clothes right off of you.

You let out a yelp of surprise, startled by the force as well as the cold air that pricks at your skin.

What is he⸺ is he doing what I think⸺

You're just about to make an attempt to escape when you feel his bruising grip on your hips, steadying you and locking you into place. You can feel him⸺ feel his hard throbbing cock press against your heat. No matter how much you want to think otherwise, you can feel heat pool in your gut, and it drips out of you.

Without any warning, pyramid head slams into you at full force.

Your mouth hangs agape as he continues at this ruthless pace, thrusting into you so hard you can feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix.

He's... big, so big, it feels like pyramid head gonna⸺

"Tear me into two!" You scream, lost in the pain and the pleasure, "Y-youre gonna tear into two, pyramid head!"

You feel tears cling onto your soft lashes, eyes watery with tears. Drool dribbles down your chin. So messy. So big...

"H-aah--" You pant, "F-feels so good, fuck! Mmph-"

Every time you wiggle, even try to move, Pyramid head grips your soft hips and slams you back onto his cock. He seldom makes noise, but he gives out small breaths and hisses as he fucks you.

You're going insane with all the pleasure! Whatever pain you felt tear at you before is completely gone⸺ all you feel is white, hot arousal.

The whole town could hear your screams by now. Your moans, your sweet moans, fill the air. You can hear the lewd slap slap slap of skin every time pyramid head's heavy balls slap against the back of your plush thighs.

" 's too much, f...fuck," you pant, feeling the tension build up in your core.

"gonna cum, gonna cum! 'M gonna⸺!"

Your orgasm hits you like a train, eyes rolling to the back of your head and completely blinding you with pleasure. Pyramid head fucks you through it, your body twitching and spasming around his length.

Pyramid head's hips begin to lose their rhythm, turning sloppy and soon enough, you feel his warm cum paint your insides white.

It's quite the feeling⸺ hes messy, and his warm seed spills out of your pussy tainting the ground below. But it just feels so good inside you.

Pyramid head pulls out, a string of his thick cum sticking to the head of his cock. There's loads and loads of cum, spilling out of you and dripping down your thighs. Your poor pussy is stuffed to the brim.

Your legs give in and you feel pyramid head tear open the fence, freeing you. He picks you up as if you weighed nothing and sets you onto your feet, wobbly and in a fucked out daze.

"Hah..."

Before he flips back his clothes like nothing happened, you catch a glimpse of his heavy cock, red and angry. You scramble for your own clothes, but before you can let out a word, he's picking up his sword and on his way out.

You feel like you're bound to run into him again.

#pyramid head x reader #dont worry about the positions ok #pyramid head #pyramid head smut #slasher x reader #slasher smut #pyramid head x reader smut #i wrote this in a state of mental distress so if there were typos or inconsistencies no there were not #ok? ok #/ not proofread

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nariism · 8 months

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come out and haunt me

pair. itoshi sae x ghost!reader

content: fluff, angst/comfort with a happy ending, reader is a ghost, platonic + romantic interactions, strangers to friends (to more?), slight pining

synopsis. sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over.

wc. 5.7k

You are dead.

As it comes to all mortal humans, you have died. You can't remember when, or how, or why— only that it is your duty to haunt this home, that you are abysmally cold, and that you are dead.

You don't know if you had any last words, what it was like to draw a breath, or how to stop feeling so cold. Cradling yourself somehow makes it worse. But you are dead, so what does it matter if you can't remember?

If you had aspirations and meaning in life, then you suppose you should try to find them in death, too. So you float around empty halls, deliberately bump into things just for the fun of it, and pretend that you aren't dead. It is purposeful enough.

There's a boy who lives with you.

You are dead, and he is alive, yet he seems completely unbothered by your loud, obnoxious presence.

Sae feels more dead than alive.

He is 13 years old when he moves into his temporary home in Madrid. It's old and worn. It is all his parents could afford with Yen in a foreign country.

His new home is despairingly lonely. It makes the heart in his chest sink into the pit of his stomach. He misses Rin. His parents. Japan.

He should be thankful. He doesn't mean to be a brat. But the small apartment is cramped and cold and smells like mildew. He's allergic to something in the walls. His light buzzes horribly when it turns on.

And, well. The place is haunted.

You are a ghost haunting an old, rickety apartment in Madrid.

You've never seen your reflection in the mirror, but you're pretty sure you look scary. There has been others before him— a young couple with a dog; a retired carpenter; a businessman complaining about how shitty work is over the phone. Each and every one of them have left you the same way: screaming, crying, colour drained from their faces and packing their suitcase before you could even say hello.

It's a little lonely, being a ghost. Sometimes you wish you came off a little friendlier. You have no ill intent, you're just bored. Bored and lonely and wishing to know why everyone thinks you're so terrifying.

The boy who lives with you is the first. He's the first to look you dead in the eyes and shrug you off. He's the first to fall asleep knowing your presence is watching. He's the first to leave out a bowl of warm, steaming rice for you even though he seems to know you can't physically eat it.

His company is silent, as is yours. It's better than nothing.

Sae is 13 years and 5 months old when he tells Rin his apartment is haunted.

"A ghost? Seriously?" Rin sounds unimpressed even through the static of the phone call. Take it from the kid who watches horror movies in his spare time. Freak, Sae thinks.

"Seriously. I have a picture."

He can hear his brother pulling his phone away from his ear to look at the image he just sent. The call goes quiet for a moment, and then Rin is scoffing in the microphone again.

"Quit messing with me." The younger Itoshi sighs. "This isn't funny."

Rin is only 11. He lives at home with Mom and Dad. He's not alone right now, in a place where everyone speaks a jumbled language he can't decipher yet.

He doesn't understand that even if Sae isn't being haunted, he shouldn't crush his brother's hopes that someone, or something, is watching over him.

"I'm not," Sae deadpans.

"Yeah, okay, and what does this ghost do, then?" He still sounds skeptical.

"Mostly just knocks over my books and stuff."

From his couch, he watches you bristle in embarrassment and scurry away into the darkness of the hall.

You are some sort of untethered soul, unsure of where your actual body rests. It could be 10 meters from this apartment. It could be in Antarctica, for all you know.

Okay, well, Antarctica is a bit of a reach, but you're certain that your body is somewhere. You wonder what kind of clothes you used to wear; what kind of music you used to listen to; what kind of hairstyle you used to prefer.

You wonder if these things are anything like Sae's.

He's all you have right now. It would be nice if you had some things in common. Maybe you could be friends, if he was ever going to acknowledge you to your face instead of gossiping to his brother.

You watch him quietly from the kitchen table, waiting for your bowl of rice. You must make some kind of face when he instead places a plate of eggs in front of you.

He almost laughs, you think. He hasn't shown any sort of emotion in response to you thus far, so it's hard to tell.

"Coaches told me I have to be stricter about my diet," he says out loud. It's the first words he has ever spoken to you. It's the first words anyone has ever spoken to you.

He eats his bland eggs silently after that remark, eyeing them disdainfully.

You have that in common, at least. You miss your warm bowl of rice.

Sae thinks you are funny.

He's only ever known ghosts to be malicious, benevolent beings. Things stuck in purgatory with no way out, forced to wander the mortal plane and thus turning into baneful monsters. Watching spooky movies with Rin has ingrained this into him— hardwired his brain into giving him goosebumps whenever you're around even though he knows you're harmless.

He has to wonder how anyone could ever find a ghost like you genuinely scary, with your avoidant eyes and that patience while you wait for breakfast.

He doesn't mind doing twice the amount of dishes. Not if it means he doesn't feel alone.

You do silly things, like shoving his belongings over when you want his attention, or sitting on the floor and blowing bone-chillingly cold air into his face when he's taking his midday nap.

He's discovered that your inconsistent corporeal interactions with the world are quite amusing.

"What's your name?" He asks one day over eggs that he's shoving around on his plate.

Silence. Of course.

"Don't have one?"

You shake your head, but really, you don't know. You can't remember.

Sae has never been the talkative type, but for some reason he just can't keep his mouth closed. Being a complete shut-in and not having anyone to talk to outside of his team would do that to him, he guesses. He's thankful that you at least don't seem to have a language barrier when he speaks Japanese.

"Should I name you?"

Your offended expression screams: What am I, a pet?

He just smiles, placing his fork down and observing you carefully. And the name he decides on dances at the tip of his tongue, sounds so sweet coming from his lips.

You can't help but think the name was meant for you, in life or in death.

You like listening to Sae talk.

He has a voice smooth as silk, so charming and boyish. He's young, you think. He told you once that you also looked rather young, and asked you how old you were when you died.

Even if you had an answer for him, it's not like you could have told him.

Sae is famous for his age, you discover one night while watching television with him. You're sitting on the floor and he's on the couch. You cause the TV to frizzle and crack with static but he doesn't shoo you away. Maybe he finds your presence more valuable than the background noise of the screen.

He's in a recording, playing what he calls "football"— light blue uniform, eyes wide with adrenaline, sweat sticking to his forehead and a proud shine in his expression. He isn't smiling by any means (you've also discovered that he rarely does), but you can tell he's happy.

"I'm going to be the greatest striker," he says from the couch. He talks about his dreams a lot, which is apparently what he used to do with Rin, but you don't mind filling in that role temporarily. "I'm going to be the best in the entire world."

You don't know anything about football, but you believe him anyways.

Sae is 14 years old when he gets his first contract payment.

This is his chance, he realizes, to move out of his shitty little apartment and into an actual livable home.

He has to consider if you'll feel lonely, if you even can feel lonely, and if you'll like hanging out with your next housemate, whoever it is that's unlucky enough to have a ghost befall them.

He's getting soft. If it were any other point in his life, Sae would have taken the chance to move out without hesitation. But you've been there for him since day one, kept him enough company — no matter how quiet — for him not to go literally insane.

You're the only thing he has in Madrid that he can come home to right now. You’re the only reason he even comes home at night instead of just sleeping in the locker rooms.

If not him, who else would feed you crappy bland eggs in the morning?

You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. At some point, it became his routine.

"I was thinking of moving out."

Your head tilts to the side. You seem perplexed by his statement.

"Like, leaving. Leaving here."

You blink at him, head tilting the other way. There's a look in your eyes that tells him you understand. There's also a look that tells him it's not your first time being abandoned, left in this terribly lonely, smelly apartment.

"I can never tell what you're thinking," he huffs.

You're still for a moment, just staring at him as if you suddenly can't understand Japanese. But then you get up from the table, walk over to the container of dry rice that's been untouched for so long that it's gathering dust, and knock it over.

"Hey," he scolds sharply, chair screeching as he stands. "I have to clean that, you know?"

You start moving the spilled rice into place. He watches curiously as you sort dry rice into a pile. You don't know any Kanji, he isn't surprised. But you know enough to draw him a universally understood symbol.

When he peers over at the messy counter, he finds himself staring at a giant X. Stay, it means. Don't leave.

That night, when he knows you've retreated into the closet where you seemingly go to sleep, he crumples up the lease for his new place without signing and burns the paper.

It's because he needs to make you eggs tomorrow morning. Only he would know to do that.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?"

You raise your head from the edge of the bed. You've made it a new habit to protect him in his sleep, from what he can tell. Perching yourself on the floor beside the mattress and resting there, head in your arms, making his sheets cold.

You shake your head. Of course not, he internally smacks himself. What a ridiculous notion.

He rolls himself over onto his side, looking at you from under his duvet. "So when you sleep, you don't see anything?"

Another shake of the head. He isn't sure you're understanding him. There's another pause as he peers at you, and then he sighs, eyes sliding shut.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?" He asks again, this time emphasizing his words in a different way and hoping you'll answer him the way he wants.

Your eyes shift away for a second, as if pondering. When you look back he's surprised to see that you look... bashful?

You point at him, then at yourself, then shy away again.

You. Me. Friends.

Sae feels silly that it makes his heart ache a little— the sadness carried in your face and a loneliness so powerful he feels it rattling in his own bones.

Well, the two of you have a lot more in common than he thought. How long had you been alone? Was that really all you ever dreamed of? Having a friend?

Suddenly, his doubts about his own dreams feel immeasurably small.

He reaches out to pat your head. His hand goes through you.

Sae is 15 years old when he packs up his belongings for a flight to Japan.

"I'll be back," he promises with a small smile. You believe him. He doesn't lie to you.

You wait patiently at the door for him for two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours. When he comes home, he finds you sitting on the floor like you always do with your head in your knees and a sleepy expression on your face.

He seems colder. More withdrawn, for some reason.

"Miss me?" Sae asks, but he's not even looking at you. He makes his way over to the kitchen and dumps a cup of rice into the cooker, suitcase abandoned at the door unpacked.

You trail behind him curiously, watching him in confusion as he washes it in the sink. He pauses, finally glancing at you before reaching over and dumping a second cup of rice in.

"I stress eat. Don't tell my coach."

The words don't make much sense to you, but you nod anyways.

For the first time in months, he places a bowl of warm rice in front of you. You do as he does, say thanks for the food in your head even though you can't eat, and observe him. You both sit quietly in the dim light of the apartment, moonlight beaming through your single rickety window.

He only gets four bites in before he puts his head in his hands and sobs.

You've never seen someone cry so hard before. Usually, they only do it when they first catch a glimpse of you and flee in terror. You've never known it to be such a painful sound— like a bird singing for the sky but never finding it.

Sae sits there for a long time just crying to himself, not caring that your presence is still watching. It's not like you'd ever judge him or have the voice to speak this secret, anyways.

"Fuck—" he hiccups, wiping up his face. "—Sorry."

You look at him funny. He has no reason to apologize. He's just a kid. A 15 year old kid who needs to stress eat in the solitude of his lonely apartment right now. It makes your chest squeeze; an unfamiliar, horrible feeling that's completely new to you. You wonder if this is what all the anime he watches calls a heart.

By the time he finishes crying, his rice is cold. And when he looks up, his eyes widen. Your lips are trembling and you look like you want to shout at him, but you can't. You are dead. You're a ghost. You can't yell some sense into him, even if you tried.

In the pale moonlight shining into the room, he can see tears illuminated on your cheeks.

Sae is 16 years old when he meets his first partner.

"They're nice," he reassures you as he slicks his bangs up with gel. You shake your head in disapproval and he rolls his eyes. You always liked his bangs down, thinks he looks better that way. "Well, I can't stay single forever."

You scowl at him and swivel on your heel to stubbornly deny his claims. He just laughs.

"You're seriously jealous?"

You shoot him a glare.

"If you really don't like them, you could always scare them away. You are a ghost, aren't you?" He reaches up to pat your head as he always does. And as always, his hand phases through you.

He turns around to fix his hair again, leaning into the mirror to see himself closer.

You're not sure if you even have human features. You can't see them in a reflection, anyways. Even if you did, you're sure they're pretty scary.

You glance at Sae in the reflection. He looks as good as ever, no longer a scrawny little 13 year old kid who eats rice for breakfast every morning. You wonder if his partner is pretty like he is.

He must notice the chill in the air grow ten times colder— a telling sign that your mood is dropping. He turns around to see what has happened, only to find you sulking.

"What?"

You pout, gesturing to the mirror. He looks to the vanity, then to you, and he shakes his head with an exasperated smile.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he says as if this was a conversation he's been waiting for. And then he talks. Talks more than you've heard in a long time— since he came home from Japan, probably.

He's gotten meaner over the years. He was always a rude little kid, but being pushed around in football must have given him thicker skin and a sharper tongue. You've never known him to be a saint of a human, someone who speaks so eloquently in their descriptions. But here he is now, defying your every expectation like he always does.

He tells you what colour your hair is. Compares the shape of your head to a fruit you can't recall an image of. Gives you a detailed explanation of all your flaws and marks and why he thinks they're so perfect because it proves that you were indeed alive and human at some point.

"You're beautiful," he concludes casually, as if he's not turning the entire world on its head right now.

Silence fills the room as he waits for your response. You don't do anything but gawk at him, and he chuckles.

He doesn't show up to his date that night.

"Your hair got longer," Sae points out one day while he's scrolling through his phone.

Your eyes flutter open from where your head rests on the coffee table. You hadn't even noticed. Can ghosts grow?

"You know, I used to think you'd stay the same forever, but you've been growing up with me. It's cute."

Have you? Is it cute? Are you seriously so tethered to him that you've been unconsciously changing to match him?

Sae puts his phone down at your confusion. "Should I give you a birthday if you're going to grow up?"

You don't know what a birthday is. When he tries to explain it, you're even more perplexed. Ghosts don't have birthdays. They have... deathdays.

He puts a cake in front of you anyways and lets you blow out the candles.

Sae is 17 years old when he gets the eviction notice.

Four years. Four long, hard, unbelievably painful years later, and he's finally being kicked out of his house.

13 year old Sae would have celebrated. All he feels now is despair.

He doesn't tell you. He can't. How can he explain that he won't wake up every morning at 6am sharp to make you eggs? That you won't have someone around who will tell you every little thing that's changed about you from the last day? That you won't be able to doodle him little incomprehensible blobs with dry rice anymore?

He shouldn't care so much. You're not chained to this Earth. You might just disappear once he leaves, inperceptable to anyone else. The thought makes him so sick that he throws up that night. He tells you he ate some bad food.

Sae doesn't want you to feel sad or lonely, but it's not like he can just become a squatter in this place. His dream is to play football, not be thrown into jail.

You wake up one morning, and he's gone.

There isn't a note. There isn't an explanation anywhere to be found. There isn't even a trace of evidence that Itoshi Sae ever lived here.

Well, except for the plate of eggs and bowl of rice sitting on the stove.

You thought you would have been used to being alone by now. For some time, you were used to it. But that was many years ago.

You're not sure how long you've been haunting this apartment in Madrid, nor do you know how much time passes after Sae leaves. The world seems to come to a halt, actually. Without him, what fun is being a ghost?

Now you're just a lost soul like all the others. There isn't anything special about you. You're just the ghost that used to haunt Itoshi Sae and wake him up from his naps.

For the first time in years, you only know one thing. A singular fact that keeps you bound to this world: it's your duty to haunt this home. There is nothing else.

No one moves in after Sae leaves. No one new comes to be haunted. No one dares to set foot into this apartment. You remember that there were moments when life flickered inside of you, if even for just a fraction of your infinite time. The reason for that has abandoned you without explanation.

There's a knock on the door one day. You can't open it, and the person outside doesn't bother sticking around to see you phasing through the door to look around.

There's a birthday cake on the floor with candles that say '19' sticking out of it.

Only one human in the entire world would have deemed today to be your 19th birthday. He's nowhere to be seen.

He moves back to Japan on his 21st birthday. Sae is having trouble remembering what you look like, despite seeing you in his dreams every night.

It's a terrible realization. So terrible that it makes him sob into his pillow at night when no one in the world is awake to hear his anguish.

Japan is lonelier than Madrid. He never thought it would happen, and he blames you entirely.

He doesn't have anyone waiting for him when he opens the door to his luxury penthouse apartment. He only washes one plate in the morning. He wakes up from his midday naps undisturbed and rested.

Sae misses you deeply. And he can't help but wonder if you feel the same.

(You don't know what the yearning ache inside of you is. You don't know what to call it.

You miss him, too. You just can't put a name to the feeling.)

He doesn't stop seeing you in wisps; little blurs in his peripheral that make his head turn fast as lightning. Wherever he looks, you're gone.

It's not fair that you're a ghost who both literally and figuratively haunts him. He'd like to move on in life and forget about those 4 miserable years he spent living in that damned apartment.

He can't. Sae is incapable of moving on from that place. The irony of it is that you actually can't move on from that place, for some reason.

He would give anything to have you haunting him again. It doesn't matter where in the world the two of you are, if you were together everything would be okay. He's impossibly lonely without you.

You start to think that you're the selfish one.

The idea of leaving this terrible apartment in Madrid scares you to your very core— whatever soul is resting in your incorporeal body. It's not fair to place the blame entirely on Sae. Not when you're too wimpy to leave this place and find him.

Death is lonely without him.

One step forward, one day at a time. It's the advice Sae used to mutter to himself while getting ready in the morning.

One step forward, one day at a time. One step forward, one day at a time. And day by day, you're slowly inching closer to the door.

Sae talks to Rin and all he can think about is your confused smiles and head tilts. He talks to his parents and all he can imagine is how cold the room would be if it were you. He talks to his fucking therapist and thinks that all of her shitty advice can't compare to your quiet understanding— that your tears of solidarity are the only thing that could make him feel better.

It's fucked up, really, that he can't move on. His body is in Japan going through the motions: playing football, being famous, being interviewed and going home to nothing. His heart is in Madrid. You took it with you and refuse to let go.

You're the closest thing to love he's ever felt, perhaps— his only friend in Spain. His only reason not to leave. A ghost from his childhood that protected him in his sleep and ate bland eggs for breakfast across the table from him every morning. A ghost that would sit on the floor and wait for him to come home every day. A ghost that kept him company when he had no one else.

He loves you. He doesn't. He needs you. He doesn't. He misses you. He doesn't. Whatever. What does it matter now?

"So playing football has always been your dream?"

Sae stares blankly at the interviewer. He's reminded of a distant conversation: he is laying in bed looking at a ghost with a lump in his throat, and then he makes his first and only friend in Spain.

"Yes."

"And now that you're back in Japan, will you be playing for the national team?"

"I have no interest in playing on such a weak team." In other words, he has no reason to stay in Japan.

"So where will you go?"

Anywhere but here, he wants to say. In reality, he doesn't know where to go anymore if not to his old apartment in Spain. He just knows that he wants to come home to your sleepy face.

(That night, he makes two bowls of rice. He cries like he's 15 years old again and just ruined his relationship with his brother.)

You've never been outside before.

You've heard about it, almost entirely from Sae but also from little snippets of anime he liked to watch. It's brighter than you imagined it to be, and warmer. You're not sure you've ever felt so warm before— it's hard to when you are a walking freezer.

There isn't anyone to tell you where to go. No one pays you any mind. You wonder if you even exist anymore outside of the small confines of that old apartment.

Something tells you that you do.

You don't know where to start looking. He could be all the way across the globe for all you know, though he did used to talk about his home country.

You have no map. You have no sense of direction. You have no one to ask for help.

All you have is the soul caged within your ghostly body tugging in one direction, and wispy feet dragging your body along in response.

Sae is 23 years old when he finally signs the contract to play for Japan, after months of being pestered by Rin about it.

His relationship with his brother is complicated. On one hand, he feels as though Rin will never truly forgive him for what he did when he was 15. On the other, he looks so ecstatic to be playing football together again that Sae wonders if their discourse was imaginary.

Japan is just a smidge less lonely with Rin in his life.

He wants to tell you all about it. That everything worked out and it's fine now. That you can stop weeping for him and to wipe up the tears that fall into nothing.

He counts the distance between you. Fourteen thousand kilometres separate him from telling you how he's living his new dream: playing football with his little brother again.

Fourteen thousand kilometers, ten years of needing you, and a reminder set on his phone to buy you a birthday cake again this year.

His heart aches.

Japan is loud and busy and everyone is always in a hurry to get places.

You have to wonder if Sae really grew up in a city like this, and how he turned out so calm and unmovable. The street names are all in Kanji you can't read, but your soul tells you that you're going the right way, anyways.

There's a crowd gathering when your feet finally come to a halt. Lights flash and there are fancy looking people with microphones clamouring toward the center.

It's only a fraction of a second that your eyes meet, and then someone shoves him into the back of the car and they drive off.

He must be famous here, too.

Sae is 24 years old tossing and turning in his bed, wondering if you were just a figment of his imagination or if you were truly standing there under a streetlamp watching him.

It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed you into existence; on some occasions you feel so real that he nearly reaches out to attempt to pat your head, like he always used to do when he was younger.

He goes back to that spot a couple hours later. The crowd is long gone and it's the dead of night— no one would be around to witness Itoshi Sae looking psychotic.

He doesn't find you in that spot. Instead, you're two blocks down and crouched in front of the window of a 24 hour shop. There's an ad for sparklers, and though you can't read the poster itself, the picture makes you stare with wide eyes.

He crouches down beside you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

"Do you want one?" He asks. You look at him in a strange way and his knees grow weak beneath him. You nod.

He comes out five minutes later with a few packs in his hand, walking away from you down the street to the park. You follow him quietly as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

Sae holds one out, flicks the lighter in his pocket open and ignites the first sparkler. You watch it in fascination, ghostly form illuminated in warm orange and yellow light.

He smiles at you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

When the sparkler dies out, he lights another. And another. And another, until he's gone through all the packets he could afford with the Yen in his wallet right now.

As if 7 years of distance never existed between you, he reaches out to pat your head. His hand falls through you.

You think Sae's new apartment is pretentious, but it's clean and open and doesn't smell like mildew.

It's hard to imagine what kind of purpose you had before him— all your memories are flooded with his hands and eyes and bangs and small smiles reserved for you. You think that the only reason you were ever materialized into the mortal plane was to haunt him, and only him. Itoshi Sae's permanent looming presence.

He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, you've noticed he's been smiling more lately since you started waiting for him to come home by the door.

Sae is 25 years old when you fall asleep beside him in his bed.

You don't care that he's a kicker or a blanket hog in his sleep. It's not like either of those would affect you. He watches your sleeping face carefully, waiting to see if he would ever wake up from this blissful dream and be alone again.

But every time he wakes up, there you are.

You've grown since he left you in Madrid— you don't look like some lost little kid anymore, at least. He wonders if your souls are truly so intertwined that you would change alongside him, regardless of the distance.

Your eyes flutter open and his breath catches in his throat. You blink at him slowly in the pale moonlight, brows furrowed.

You point at him. Then yourself.

You. Me.

He nods in understanding.

When he drops a plate of protein pancakes in front of you for breakfast, you look confused.

"Oh, sorry. Do you want rice?"

You shake your head. You don't care what's for breakfast, as long as you're sitting across from him while he eats it.

"I'm going to be the world's best midfielder," he tells you one day. You're on the floor and he's on the couch, and it's like time had never even passed.

You don't know what that means, but it's his dream so it must be important. The most important thing in the world.

What you don't know is that it's not his entire dream. World's best midfielder doesn't mean a thing if he can't come home to tell you all about it.

You are dead.

You're a ghost haunting Itoshi Sae— one that followed him from Madrid all the way to Japan. You don't remember how, or when, or why you died. You can't remember what your face looks like either, no matter how much Sae tries to describe it to you.

You are dead. You're a ghost knocking over Sae's belongings to get his attention when you want it. You're the ghost curled up in bed with him even though he has to wear two layers to stay warm because of it. You're the ghost watching him rotate through different breakfasts that he says could never compare to a good old warm bowl of rice.

You are a ghost, and Itoshi Sae gave you a name. A birthday. A purpose greater than being a loud nuisance.

You are a ghost who likes to watch him light sparklers on his balcony. Who feels the things described only in the books he reads to you. Who learned to love somewhere along the way.

You are dead, and somehow alive at the same time.

(One day, Sae will be brave. One day, he will tell you he loves you. One day, he will thank you for waiting for him at the door when he comes home.)

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blindmagdalena · 7 months

Text

Trick & Treat

18+ 2.1k Dullahan!Homelander x F!Reader. established relationship, body horror, dirty talk, cunnilingus, cream pie. written for monsterlander mania

A world in which all supes are the results of humans experimenting on one another with the blood of Fae from the Seelie Courts. Homelander is one such amalgamation, and as a result of his Gan Ceann blood, he has a particularly neat party trick to show you.

Homelander always kisses you like he means to devour you. You’re certain he could, especially when your teeth touch the sharp juts of his canines. Never do they seem more like fangs than when he’s dragging them along your throat, licking the salt from your skin with a wicked, hungry noise.

“You said you were going to show me a trick,” you remind him with a giggle, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Mmmm, that I did,” he hums, walking into you, forcing you backwards until the back of your legs bump his bed. You laugh as he gives you a gentle push, sending you down onto the plush bedding with a bounce. “Think you can handle it? It’s an awfully spooky trick,” he warns, those fangs of his flashing in a brilliantly white smile.

Sitting up, you scoot forward on the bed so that you can begin working his belt loose. “I’ve handled everything else you’ve thrown at me, haven’t I?”

Dating Homelander has more or less been a gauntlet of how many strange quirks you can endure from a single partner. You’ve grown accustomed to his fussiness when it comes to the rules of hospitality, his severe aversion to any and all iron, his penchant for milk–he likes it best when you leave it out for him unprompted–and most importantly of all, his deep love of jokes and trickery.

“True,” he supposes, cupping either side of your face. He strokes the rise of your cheeks, smiling down at you with the kind of tenderness that makes your stomach flip.

Returning his smile, you tug at the zipper of his pants, but he stops you. “Ah ah ah. I’ll be the one giving you head tonight, missy. But first,” he says, which tells you he most definitely has a scheme in mind. “Undress for me.”

Huffing a playful breath, you withdraw your hands and instead pull off your own shirt. You shimmy out of your pants and underthings next, leveling Homelander with an expectant look once you’re fully undressed. He lets out a low whistle, leaning down to kiss you. “It’s like a self-opening present. Never gets old,” he says, nipping at your bottom lip.

“What’s the trick?” You ask, bouncing lightly on the bed.

He laughs. “So impatient! Fine, fine, alright, Christ,” he says, reaching up to the collar of his suit. He unzips a concealed zipper, and tugs the opening loose. Watching you, he places both hands flat over his temples, and gives you one last lingering look, lips curled in a devious grin. “Y’ready?”

Apprehension crawls into your gut and nestles there, your own smile faltering slightly. “Ready…”

You jump when he snaps his head to the side with a strange sound. It almost sounded like the tear of velcro, and before you can question what the hell it was, the wind is knocked completely from you when he lifts his head clean off his neck. No connective tissue, no blood, no gore. He simply holds his head up like a trophy, the bottom of it an empty, black abyss.

“Surprise!” He says, his disembodied head still grinning as he suddenly holds it out to you.

You scream, scrambling back on the bed, your eyes wide. “What the fuck! Oh my god, what the fuck? What the fuck, Homelander!?”

He starts laughing, kneeling on the bed. “Whaaat? I thought you liked tricks,” he says, placing his head on the bed while he adjusts his collar. “Yeah, we don’t advertise this one too much. Freaks people out,” he says, rolling his eyes. It’s beyond surreal to watch him emote like this, his neck cushioned by the bedding while his body continues to operate behind him.

Mouth agape, you continue to stare at him, a morbid curiosity slipping in amidst the horror. “How… How is this possible?”

“Same bullshit that makes flight and laser vision possible,” he says, watching you. It takes you a moment, but beyond the perverse enjoyment of your shock, you’re sure you see a flicker of apprehension in his expression. He’s waiting, you realize.

Waiting to see how you’ll respond. If you’ll reject him.

These are often the stages of your relationship with Homelander. He parts the curtain of himself bit by bit, daring you to flee with each confession about his existence. This is by far the most alarming reveal so far.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, the tension in your body easing.

He looks surprised, as if no one has ever asked him that before. Behind him, his body shrugs. “Uh, nope. Feels like stretching.”

“This is insane,” you say, crawling towards his head. Of all the things supes are capable of, you’ve never seen anything like this.

His smile slowly returns. “Pick me up.”

Your expression blanches. “What?”

“C’mon! Pick me up. Gimme a kiss,” he says, puckering his lips, coaxing you with kissy sounds.

Oh god.

“I…” You sigh. “...Alright, I’ll… Okay. Let me just…” You slip your hands behind his jaw, cupping the back of his neck, using your thumbs to brace him from tipping forward. “Oh, god, okay, I don’t want to drop–your head is really heavy,” you grunt, surprised by the density of it.

“Thirteen pounds, baby,” he confirms proudly.

“I was sure all the hot air would lessen the load,” you say, hefting him up to your eye level.

“Veeery funny,” he drawls. “Kissy time.”

After one last beat of hesitation, you lean in, bringing him close as you do. Closing your eyes, kissing him feels like it always does. His lips are as hungry for yours as ever, coaxing them into a dance. If not for the weight of all thirteen pounds of his head in your hands, you might forget anything was different at all.

Distracted, you don’t notice the bed dip behind you until you feel Homelander’s gloved hands on you, pulling your back to his chest, startling you. “God,” you gasp as you look back, a shiver running up your spine at the image of his headless torso poised behind you. “That is so fucking scary,” you say, returning your gaze to his head in your hands.

“Relax, babe,” he purrs, licking his lips. “You got your trick. It’s only fair you get a treat now.”

“What do you–oh!” You startle at the press of his fingers between your thighs, grip tightening on his skull. “You seriously want to–to fool around like this?” You ask, unable to do anything but fall back against his chest while his fingertips stroke your clit, his other hand sliding up your side, cupping your breast.

“Do I seriously want to eat your pretty pussy while I fuck you? Uh, yeah. I do,” he says, which admittedly lights a spark right at your core. “C’mon, sweetheart. Like this,” he says, taking his hand from your chest to grab a handful of his own hair, pushing your hold on him down, bringing his head between your legs. He nudges your knees further apart with his own, and brings himself close enough to drag his tongue over your clit, glancing up to watch you shiver, the glint in his eyes downright wicked.

“This is so weird,” you say, but it fades off into a moan as his tongue swirls. He only stops so that he can suck his own fingers into his mouth, thoroughly wetting them before he returns to licking your clit while his spit-slick fingers stroke your cunt, rubbing back and forth a moment before slowly sliding in.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, hips jerking. “Oh, ffffuck…”

It’s almost like being in bed with two different people at once. Homelander is as voracious as ever, licking and sucking every drop that spills from you. You feel his tongue lap at where your pussy is stretched around his fingers before dragging back to your clit, lips closing on it while the pointed tip of his tongue swirls.

“That’s it,” he says between the drags of his tongue. “Taste so fuckin’ good, babe. Ready for me?” He asks, slipping his fingers free. You’re not left hanging for long, the wet head of his cock eagerly nudging your pussy. He moans at that first hot press, giving a playful little growl as he nuzzles against your cunt, sucking hungrily at your clit.

“Yeah, yes, yes, m’ready,” you pant, thighs shaking. His head is getting heavy, but his tongue feels too good to let go of, or even adjust. “Don’t stop, keep–keep doing that.” He eagerly complies, humming against you while the head of his cock splits you open in one slow delicious slide.

You’ve had his head between your legs, and you’ve had the fullness of him inside you, but never could you have imagined both at once. The sheer heat of him is overwhelming, and you shudder bodily against him. His arms move to either side of you, and he nudges your hands out of the way, taking his head from them and relieving you of the weight.

“Touch me,” he groans against you, bracing you firmly in place within the bracket of his arms. You do so readily, slipping one hand into his hair while your other falls to his thigh, gripping it tight. He snaps his hips harder, knocking a moan out of you as he picks up a rhythm, his tongue never once faltering. Your breaths grow pitchier the faster he moves, his arms giving you nowhere to squirm, no reprieve while he fucks and devours you to his hearts content.

All you can do is hold on.

“I-I’m gonna come,” you whine, struggling to get the words out with the way each crack of his hips knocks the breath from you, edging you closer and closer to your climax.

“Me too,” he murmurs, though you feel it more than you hear it. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Do it. Wanna taste it when you come on my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck, Homelander, Homelander!” You cry, your nails biting into the fabric of his suit, yanking hard on his hair as your body locks up. The orgasm that hits is torrential, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you. Your thighs shake, and if not for Homelander’s arms braced on either side of you, holding you tight to his chest, you’d collapse.

All the while he sucks and licks you through it, fucking greedily into your quivering pussy, gasping hot and wet against your clit as he comes, too, fucking it into you as deep as he can while lapping up whatever spills on his tongue.

You sink back against him, loose-limbed and shuddering. Every pass of his tongue earns a jerky little thrust from you, the wet slide of it creating a burst of little aftershocks of pleasure.

Eventually, overstimulation begins to edge out your enjoyment. “Okay,” you rasp, giving his hair a gentle tug at the same time you pat his thigh. “Okay, good, good boy, that was… Fuck.”

Homelander pulls off of your clit with a pop, humming a pleased little purr. You completely collapse against him as he lifts his arms from you–lifting them over your head like the bars on a rollercoaster–and takes his head with him as he does. You hear a shuffle of fabric, and then an odd kind of crunch not unlike the one you heard when he first popped it off.

“Mmmmm…” He sighs, wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling at your neck. As he tenderly kisses up your neck, it's good to feel his lips where you expect them to be relative to his body again. “God, I’ve been thinkin’ about that for awhile,” he says, nipping playfully at your ear.

“I can confidently say that I had never once considered that,” you say, your words half slurred. You barely feel like your own head is attached after how hard you came.

He laughs, the heat of his breath on your ear giving you goosebumps. “Think you’d do it again?” He asks, voice pitched low and wicked, but you can hear the slight edge to his voice. You’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants to know that you liked it. That you like him.

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and you can’t help but smile. You kiss him, licking the shared taste of you both from his lips. He squeezes a little moan out of you, hugging you like he’ll never let you go.

“Yeah,” you say softly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. Part of you is surprised you don’t feel some kind of seam. “In a heartbeat.”

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #teratophillia #monster romance #monsterlander mania #my writing #smut #ok i had a lot of fun with this one fghjkl #threw in some folklore for shits and giggles #anyways enjoy!!!#not proofread bc my adhd would rather kill me

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sprucewoodmpreg · 2 years

Text

hi vaguely serious messy post about hermitblr and new members and just. letting everyone know that we’ve had history with cc interaction on here before that i think would be useful for people to learn about

Trafficblr/Hermitblr has seen a lot of growth lately, largely in part from people migrating over here from the DSMP side of MCYTblr. This in of itself is completely fine! New people jumping onto the bus with us are always welcome, and the growth of the community as a whole is really nice to see.

However, I have noticed a lot of these newer blogs sharing the same very specific behaviours, and if possible, I’d like to just make a few things about the community and our history clear. Because this isn’t DSMP, and the CCs here handle content creation and their own fanbases very differently to them.

While I’m not going to go in-depth on 2019 since I don’t have nearly as much information about it as other people do, I would like to say that back then, Hermitblr was kind of an active war zone. It was comparable to how Hermittwt is now, with infighting about shipping and similar topics being the norm (however in Hermitblr’s case many of these argument were far more personal due to the smaller fandom size). What I want to point out specifically however, is when one of the CCs, Cleo, was thrown into the community infighting. I don’t remember the specifics of it, but she was sent an ask asking about shipping, and her opinions on it, and eventually dealt with so much backlash that she was forced to leave the site entirely (this post here has a slightly more comprehensive summary, if need be).

I’m just a little concerned, because there seems to have been a slight increase in that demographic of people recently. Specifically, members of the community who want to rely on CCs to dictate what happens in fan spaces; for them to give us bullet point lists of what their exact boundaries are for every single situation.

This rarely ends well. As in, it almost always just causes infighting and hostility. There will always be people making content that will “break boundaries”, regardless of any creator’s wishes. However, this is usually mitigated by the fact that many of these CCs aren’t on Tumblr (at least not anymore....mostly). The problem arises when members of the community attempt to act as Heroes Of Justice, and go out of their way to send asks to other blogs, informing them exactly of how they’ve broken the boundaries of some 40 year old adult. This is all despite the fact that said adult will....never see whatever post went against their wishes. It just encourages policing and this weird superiority....thing, where despite the lack of content creators, people are still fighting to make sure that the site is clean from any possibly upsetting posts.

I say this all while also acknowledging that many of the creators in this sphere also don’t have a very comprehensive understanding of how fandom interacts with their “characters”. To them, “shipping” has always been RPF, and there are so many other aspects of the community that simply can’t be explained easily, as they haven’t been immersed in this culture like we have. This is to say that asking for “boundaries” is likely to get you a very confused and unhelpful answer, as the Hermits have always had a very different way of interacting and viewing their fanbase than the DSMP creators do. There is no “c!” or “cc!” to them, to put it simply.

Essentially, the Hermits are adults. They’ve been doing content creation for years, and I can guarantee you they’ve seen worse things in their lives than art of their Minecraft character kissing another Minecraft character. They’ve dealt with this shit before, and if they wanted it to stop, they’re free to make a post about it whenever want. And yet, they haven’t. They leave fandom up to us. Boundaries and rules and infighting and just...all of that? Let’s leave it to the Twitter users, please. Post what you want, make sure to tag your posts correctly, and we’ll all be fine.

Also, while I’m going to try not to rehash any discourse about inviting CCs to Tumblr, I also do just want to implore you guys to consider that the environment on Hermittwt is partially the way it is because of the active presence of the Hermits there, with people flocking for attention or a single notice, and obsessively checking posts to make sure they’re not potentially “boundary-breaking” and such. Please just consider that many people are here to avoid the dynamics of that site. Tumblr is a site for fans, not for the CCs. So we create content here for ourselves, and not for them. Having creators join almost always leads to the culture of their fanbase on here changing, with content posted in the maintags being catered more towards them rather than the fanbase. (This isn’t to say that they can’t join!! But at least keeping in mind why many of us are here in the first place and weighing that against potential CC interactions would mean a lot).

I fear that my point may have been lost a little bit, but I hope my explanation at least brings a little bit of light to why many members of the community here are wary of Creators coming over to the site, and also of how many newer blogs tend to treat the CCs. Hermitblr has had some really bad history in the past when it comes to this stuff, and seeing newer fans bring over similar ideas from DSMPblr just worries me a little bit.

TL:DR - Just...please treat the Hermits like the adults they are, and keep in mind they have a very different dynamic with their fanbases to the DSMP creators. Asking for “boundaries” and granting CCs control of the fanbase will likely lead you nowhere; attempting to police fanspaces here just brings up bad memories of times when Hermitblr was a much more miserable place to be in. Plus, if you want CC interactions, please just go to twitter. Nobody here wants to deal with an attempted “cleanse” of the site to make it more palatable to CCs.

#i hope this is ok. again im not. trying to police or be a ''fandom mom'' or fucking. whatever #just giving my 2 cents on the subject. take it or leave it i don't care im not the boss of you and you dont have to listen to me #also gen if you see this and want me to remove your post just send me an ask and i'll take it out #discourse #if i said anything goofy or fucked up lmk because while i did try 2 proofread this im also not very concise nor clear #just gonna hit post. assuming this isn't gonna get more than like. 20 notes anyway so i likely wont have to worry abt ppl getting mad @ me

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moo-blogging · 7 months

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Nothing in my head tonight but laying in bed with Levi, slowly falling asleep.

It has been raining all day now. The room was dark and cold. The window was left ajar for the chilling wind to come through. The soft music of the rain falling on the tiles echoed in your room.

But here you were, cozy in bed, tugged safely under a layer of thick blanket and snuggled closely to the love of your life. Levi had one arm around your shoulder while his other arm acted as his head rest. You had one arm around Levi's torso and anothrr tugged between your body and his.

It was a productive day. Levi picked you up from the bakery you worked in. You both ran in the rain, laughing as Levi tried to shelter both of you under his jacket. You took a quick warm shower before cramming into your small kitchen making dinner.

Forkful of food and kisses were shared on the dining table. You did the dishes as Levi cleared the table. It was a rare occasion to get into bed so early, but the weather was too good to do anything else.

Listening to Levi's heartbeat and feeling his warm radiating from his thick hoodie calmed you. It made you sleepy. You snuggled closer to him. Levi moved beneath you, landing a kiss on the top of your head.

"Goodnight, bunny." He whispered with hsi hoarse voice.

"G'night, bunny," you echoed.

Shifting his postion, Levi wrapped his arms around you and you fell asleep.

#levi fluff #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou #levi x y/n #midnight thoughts #levi x you #aot x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi drabble #ok im too tired to proofread #love you all

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patheticgirlsteve · 1 year

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Steve is fucking tired. Exhausted, even. He doesn’t get much sleep, as a rule, but last night had been even worse than usual. The nightmares were ceaseless, each one waking up him up in a cold sweat or with tears on his face, and every time he managed to fall back asleep it didn’t take long before another one came along. Eventually he just threw the towel in, giving up on sleep for the night.

He had thought about calling Robin, but had quickly dismissed the idea. She was definitely sleeping and he didn’t want to wake her up and drag her into sleeplessness with him. Plus, there was the fact that she had parents who actually lived with her and he didn’t want to risk waking them up either and having to explain why he was calling their daughter at four in the morning.

So he had gone downstairs and pulled the glass doors to the backyard open, had sat down next to the pool and stared at the sickeningly blue water. Each ripple felt like it was mocking him, taunting him for his inability to save Barb, his inability to get back into the water, his inability to truly move on.

He had ended up spending the next two and half hours staring at the pool with unfocused eyes before realizing the time and snapping out of his trance and rushing to get ready to pick up Robin and Dustin to take them to school. He had driven them both before on even less sleep than he had gotten tonight, they would be fine. He would never let either of them get hurt if he could help it.

Picking up Dustin had gone as it always did, Dustin having way too much energy for the early hour and talking Steve’s ear off about his new favorite topic: Eddie Munson.

Eddie fucking Munson. Dustin could barely stop singing the guy’s praises for long enough to take a breath and Steve was getting tired of pretending it didn’t bug him. He was getting replaced in Dustin’s life by a two time super senior. Like, what the fuck? Just because this guy plays Danger and Demons or whatever the fuck it’s called, he’s somehow better than Steve? Yeah fucking right.

Steve remembers Eddie from school. Obviously he remembers Eddie, the guy makes himself impossible to forget. Steve remembers him being loud and obnoxious at every possible opportunity. He remembers Eddie’s wild hair, his mischievous eyes, his long ring-covered fingers. He remembers that whenever he glanced at Eddie across the lunch room (his eyes seeking him out for no particular reason) Eddie was always already watching Steve. He remembers their eyes always meeting with a startling and, quite frankly, terrifying spark of something that Steve was unwilling to look too closely at. He remembers being the first to pull his eyes away every single time, jerking back from the eye contact like it had somehow burned him.

So, yeah. Steve remembers Eddie Munson.

And as if that wasn’t enough to remember him by, Steve still sees the guy every single week when he picks the kids up from their game. Every single time, Eddie throws him a smirk that makes Steve’s stomach feel funny and a wave and waits to see all the kids get into Steve’s car before getting in his own and driving away.

Eddie’s hair has grown longer in the time that Steve has known him, and the way it always catches the light in the setting sun outside the high school is, well, it’s not something Steve dwells on.

Dustin is still talking when they pull up to Robin’s house. It’s close enough to the school that she could technically walk, but with all of her band stuff it was easier for Steve to pick her up on his way there. Plus, he liked it. He loved Robin, she was the platonic love of his life and if he could spend a few extra minutes with her every morning then he absolutely would.

Steve is yawning painfully wide when Robin yanks the passenger seat door open and throws herself inside of the car haphazardly. Dustin makes an indignant exclamation as she tosses her backpack and trumpet case into the backseat.

“Hey!” His voice cracks a little bit and normally Steve would give him so much shit for it, but he’s too fucking tired to tease him right now. Luckily, Robin picks up his slack. He doesn’t make out what she says exactly, but it sounds scathing, and Dustin’s response sounds equally biting.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve takes his eyes off the road to look at Dustin in the mirror and shoot a glare at Robin. “It’s too early for this shit, either be nice or be quiet.”

“Someone’s grumpy this morning,” Robin says. She turns around to bare her teeth at Dustin threateningly when he kicks her seat. Dustin is still a little intimidated by Robin, which Steve usually finds hilarious but he’s not laughing about it right now. “You look exhausted, dude. Did you even sleep last night?”

Steve sighs and wipes a hand down his face, letting it drag. “Barely,” He says and he sees Robin’s sympathetic grimace from the corner of his eye. “A couple hours.”

“Steve,” Robin pokes at the side of his head, messing with his hastily and messily styled hair. He tries to swat her hand away while still keeping an eye on the road.

“Jesus Christ, Rob,” He manages to smack her hand away from his head. “Do you want me to crash the car? Cut it out!”

She reaches her hand back up to gently run her fingers through his hair, an affectionate gesture that she knows Steve loves. “I’m worried about you, Steve, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Dustin chimes in from the backseat, giving Steve a pointed look at flicking his eyes to Robin’s hand in his hair. Steve just rolls his eyes because he’s used to Dustin’s well-meaning but entirely futile attempts at setting him up with Robin by now. “This is, like, the third time this week, man. Is it even safe for you to be driving?”

He leans forward and Steve frowns as he pulls into the school parking lot, slowing down as they approach the drop-off spot in front of the building. “Dude, why aren’t you wearing your seatbelt?”

“Because I needed to be able to lean up here, this conversation is important for me to be a part of, considering it’s my life that’s at stake.” He imitates Robin with a sharp tug to Steve’s hair.

“Ow! Hands off the hair! God, you’re dramatic,” Steve huffs in exasperation and a swat at Dustin like he’s a particularly pesky fly, fighting down another yawn. He directs his gaze towards Dustin’s in the rear view mirror. “You’re not gonna die, I’m perfectly fine to drive. Nobody’s gonna get hurt with me behind the wheel, I promise.”

THUD.

Steve slams the breaks as he hears his car collide with something. Oh god, someone.

Everyone in the car screams, excluding Steve, who shouts, “Oh, fuck!” before putting the car in park, turning it off, and leaping out to check on the person who he just hit with his goddamn car.

“I am so sorry, man,” He scrambles to the front of his car, eyes landing on a sprawled out student with dark curly hair and a leather jacket. Fuck. Of course he just accidentally hit Eddie Munson with his car. He’s never gonna hear the end of this. “Shit, Munson, are you okay?”

Steve crouches down in front of Eddie, who has pulled himself into a sitting position and is rubbing at his temple. Eddie’s eyes dart up to Steve’s and even in this fucked up situation, there’s still that confusing feeling somewhere deep inside him when their eyes meet.

“I know you’re not my biggest fan, but I never thought you would try to kill me, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice is breathless but not biting. He’s teasing Steve. “With all of these witnesses, no less.”

Steve looks up and, yeah, there’s a crowd that has gathered to see what’s happening and he catches snatches of whispers, “King Steve,” and “The Freak,” coming through in between gossip.

“I really didn’t mean to hit you, I’m so sorry,” Steve continues to apologize. “Dustin was talking shit so I was telling him off and I wasn’t looking where I was going and I’m really really sorry,” He tries to explain, wants Eddie to understand that Steve really didn’t mean to do that.

Eddie is looking at him with an odd expression, and it’s certainly not the kind of expression that one directs at a man who just hit you with a car. The look in his eyes is amused and… soft? It makes Steve’s cheeks heat and he finds that he can’t pull his gaze away until he spots a trickle of blood streaming down from where Eddie’s hand is still pressed against his forehead.

Steve reaches his hand up without thinking, pulling Eddie’s hand away by the wrist and leaning in closer to inspect the source of the blood.

There’s a small cut on Eddie’s forehead, nothing too serious but Steve still feels like shit for being the one to cause it. “Let me patch this up for you before you go in.”

Eddie squints at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Dustin takes this moment to speak up, coming up behind Steve and aiming a sharp kick at the center of his back.

“Fucking ow, Dustin!” Steve turns his head to glare up at the fuming teenager.

“You deserved it!” He shrieks in that way that only Dustin can shriek. Steve notices the crowd around them has started to dissipate, now that it’s clear that nobody is dead or seriously injured. “I mean, I know you’re jealous of Eddie because I’ve been spending more time with him lately, but I didn’t think you would try to kill him over it!”

“I didn’t try to kill him, Jesus Christ, Dustin,” Steve rolls his eyes. “It was an accident because you,” he points a finger sharply at Dustin. “Were distracting me from the road.”

“You can’t just blame me for you hitting a pedestrian, Steve,” He says his name with such disrespect that Steve feels something hot and angry flare up in his gut. He takes a deep breath to calm himself before speaking again.

“Rob,” He turns to Robin who has also gotten out of the car and is watching this whole exchange with sharp eyes. “You and Dustin go inside, you’re gonna be late. I’ll take care of Eddie.”

“You expect me to just leave him in your care?” Dustin cuts back in with his arms crossed over his chest. “After you just ran him over? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“He didn’t run me over,” Eddie speaks up and Steve’s head whips back to look at him. Eddie catches his eye with a small grin before looking back up at Dustin. “It sounds to me like you were distracting the driver and this is more your fault than Harrington’s.”

Dustin gapes at him and Steve has to fight back a laugh at the totally shocked look on his face. “But—“

“No buts, go inside with Buckley,” Eddie doesn’t let Dustin get any argument in. “Nurse Harrington will take good care of me, won’t you, big boy?”

Steve freezes, his entire body going confusingly warm and he knows his face is red, if Eddie’s growing smirk is any indication. “Uh, yeah, I— uh—“

Eddie takes pity on him, despite being the one to put him in the situation to begin with, and claps him on the shoulder. Steve has to fight a sudden and inexplicable urge to lean into the touch, but Eddie removes his hand before Steve can even begin to question that instinct. “See, Dusty? I’m in expert hands. Practically an EMT, good old Stevie.”

Robin snorts and doesn’t bother trying to hide it, shooting Steve a Look that Steve knows is supposed to mean something but he doesn’t know what. “Come on, Henderson, let’s leave these two to play doctor alone.”

She tugs on Dustin’s backpack and drags him over, turning him around to face the school and pushes him forward. Dustin grumbles and shoots another look back at Eddie and Dustin, but he doesn’t fight it when Robin nudges him forward again.

As they leave, Robin gives Steve one more extremely pointed look. He’s never told her about the weird way that Eddie makes him feel, but he has a feeling that she knows already and that she knows exactly what those feelings mean. He senses an inescapable conversation with her on the horizon and looks away from her.

Unfortunately, that leaves him looking at Eddie. Eddie who is looking up at Steve with curiosity and that same strange mix of amusement and bizarre affection that Steve just cannot fathom. He realizes that he’s been holding Eddie’s wrist this entire time and quickly lets go of it, the brisk fall air hitting his skin in startling contrast to the warmth of Eddie’s skin under his. The blood on Eddie’s face drips off of his chin and spurs Steve into action.

“Okay,” He pulls himself up into standing and reaches both hands down to pull Eddie up after him. They end up standing chest-to-chest, not nearly enough since between them. Steve takes a step back and releases his grips on the other man, who looks almost bereft when Steve lets go of him. The expression doesn’t last, Eddie covers it quickly and Steve doesn’t think about it. “Take a seat on the hood, I’ll grab the first aid kit and we’ll take care of that cut, sound good?”

Eddie nods and takes a step back towards the car. Steve turns around and pops the trunk to retrieve the massive first aid kit that he stores in his trunk next to his nailbat. He slams the trunk shut and returns to the front of the car, where Eddie is now perched, his legs swinging in front of him.

Steve sits down next to him, paying close attention to the distance between them, making sure to keep it wide, and snaps open the sides of the kit to begin pulling out the things he needs to clean and bandage Eddie’s face.

“Holy shit,” Eddie remarks, watching Steve pull out some sterile wipes, a disinfectant, and some bandages. “Didn’t take you for a doomsday prepper. You keep all this shit in your car?”

“Yeah,” Steve opens one of the wipes and starts working on cleaning the blood and (thankfully) minimal debris off of Eddie’s face. He doesn’t think about how intimate it feels to be this close to the other man and to be touching his face so gently. I’d he tells himself enough times that he’s not thinking. about it then maybe eventually it will be true. “I babysit a bunch of teenagers, you can never be too prepared.”

Eddie hums like he understands, and maybe he does, but he also doesn’t seem to fully buy into Steve’s explanation. He lets it go, though, opting instead to tease Steve some more.

“You spend a lot of time with teenagers, huh, Harrington?” He asks and Steve doesn’t look at his face as he picks up the disinfectant.

“So do you, Munson,” He does look up now to quirk an eyebrow at him and is pleased when Eddie’s grin widens. “From what I’ve heard, the kids just can’t get enough of you.”

“I was about to say the same thing about you,” Eddie doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze burns against Steve’s face as he’s directing his attention to carefully applying the ointment to the cut. “I believe Dustin mentioned something about you being jealous? You know that kid adores you, right? He basically worships the ground you walk on.”

Steve squints at him, pulling away to take in all of Eddie’s face. Eddie’s expression is open, his eyes wide as always, and Steve feels unmoored by it.

“Yeah?” Steve asks and Eddie nods. “Well, he’s got a real funny way of showing it.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh and Steve thinks that if they were just a bit closer he would have felt the puff of air against his face. Tries not to feel disappointed that he didn’t. “Yeah, that kid has a serious attitude problem.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve commiserates as he reaches for a bandage. “He’s a brat.”

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie agrees and Steve laughs lightly. He peels open the wrapper and leans in to line the center of the bandage up to Eddie’s cut. He’s taking more time than he should, Eddie is already late for class and Steve knows that he probably can’t afford to miss much more, but he finds himself not wanting this conversation to end. He wants to continue sitting this close to Eddie and to touch Eddie’s face. He feels a little crazy just for thinking it.

“Yeah, it’s the tone,” Steve agrees as he smooths the bandage down flat against Eddie’s skin. He lets his hand linger for a second too long before he pulls back. He thinks he sees a flash of disappointment on Eddie’s face as he removes his hand, but it’s gone so soon that he thinks maybe he was just imagining it. Again. “He looks up to you a lot too, you know?”

Eddie watches him for a moment before responding. “Yeah, I think you might be right.”

Steve nods, unsure of what he’s supposed to say next. He’s never exchanged more than three words at a time with Eddie before and he wonders now why he had waited so long to do so. He gives Eddie an awkward pat on the shoulder and slides off of the hood, packing up the first aid kit and snapping the clasps shut. He feels Eddie’s eyes on him the entire time and wills himself not to blush under the attention. He feels his ears get warm and knows that he’s failed.

When he turns his face back to Eddie, he’s startled to see that Eddie had silently scooted closer to him, still seated on the hood of the car. His face is right next to Steve’s and Steve feels frozen where he stands. He doesn’t breathe as Eddie’s eyes dart back and forth between his own because he’s afraid of shattering the strange tension of the moment. Eddie’s searching for something in his eyes and Steve doesn’t know what.

Apparently, he finds it, because he leans back with a delighted smile and releases a loud laugh that makes Steve’s stomach do something funny. Steve thinks that Eddie has a nice laugh, he thinks he wouldn’t mind hearing it more.

Eddie slides off the hood and scoops up his book bag, which was still on the ground in front of Steve’s car. He slings one strap over his shoulder and begins moving away from the car, walking backwards and grinning at Steve as he goes.

“Thanks for patching me up, Nurse Harrington,” Eddie salutes him and Steve fights the urge to reach out a steadying hand when Eddie stumbles a little bit on the curb.

“Sorry for hitting you with my car,” Steve apologizes again and Eddie’s answering laugh is bright and just a little too loud. Steve is starting to get used to the sound of it even though he’s only heard it twice.

Eddie’s laughter tapers off and he stops making his way toward the school to tilt his head at Steve for moment, obviously pondering something. Steve waits patiently if a little nervously for Eddie to figure out what he wants to say to him.

“Next time you want to talk to me, you can just ask me instead of trying to run me over,” He says and his tone is teasing enough that Steve doesn’t feel too terribly guilty about the words. “If it was a desperate bid for my attention then it was a waste, since you already had it anyway.”

And with that he smirks and turns on his heels. Steve watches him stroll towards the doors of the high school at a leisurely pace and knows that his face must be making a truly embarrassing expression that he is very glad no one is around to see.

Eddie reaches the doors and turns to give Steve little wave before slipping into the building.

Steve turns back to his car, still holding the first aid kit in his hands. He looks at the hood where Eddie had been sitting and wonders for a brief insane moment if the metal is still warm.

He shakes his head to clear it of whatever weirdness has taken over his mind. He yawns, sudden and wide and uses his free hand to rub at his eyes, his momentarily forgotten exhaustion returning even stronger after that whole ordeal. He thinks he’s due for a nap.

#okay i only kinda proofread this sorry #i’ve never hit anyone with my car so i’m not really sure what kind of injuries eddie would sustain here #ok bye i have to go now #steddie #steve #eddie #ficlet #fic #my writing #anya.txt

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save-the-villainous-cat · 3 months

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Request here my dear

Villain offers a massage to hero because they know how exhausted he is after so many battles. Villain is very skilled and relaxes hero but when the hero has to get up he realises hes got a bit of an issue in his pants :)

Give us some sexual tension don't be shy ;)

"I get it," the villain said. "That much responsibility on your back. No wonder you're stiff."

The villain smiled to themselves as they dug their fingernails into the hero's back, dragging them down. And they weren't the only one enjoying it: the hero moaned in response and curled his back a little. To remind the hero who was in charge, they pressed him back into the bed and tutted.

"But I am still surprised that you crawled to me and begged me to either punch or hug you. Our golden boy is really at his limits, hm?" The villain put a flat hand on the hero's back and rubbed gently. The hero had been in their apartment quite a few times already. Never on his own terms, it was mostly the villain dragging him here to stitch his wounds. But admittedly, the villain enjoyed not being alone.

"I had a long week," he said, his face half-buried in the villain's pillows.

"It's Wednesday."

"So?" he asked, more exhausted than the villain had expected.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" they asked.

"Nah." He didn't even look at them. Unfortunately, the villain got a little too distracted by him. They looked at his broad back, big muscles relaxing, his body breathing rythmically. The villain was a little hot, not really knowing where their eyes were supposed to stay. It was a little overwhelming.

"I've been told I'm great at talking. About stuff like that." The villain let their hand travel up and down the hero's back, tender fingers moving in patterns and lines. The hero took in a deep breath and his head turned around, two sleepy eyes checking out their enemy.

"I'm gonna smell like you if I keep laying here," he said.

"See it as payment. You tell me what happened and I won't kick your ass."

"You decided not to kick my ass. I wouldn't mind a fight."

"Oh, really?" Once again, the villain let their nails scratch over the hero's back and this time, the hero squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling heavily. "Do you want to beg me to break your bones? That's a strange request."

"Fine," he mumbled. "I got transferred."

"What?!"

"Yeah, like half across the country. Fucking sucks." The villain didn't know what to say. The hero was the only reason why they had moved here. He was the only reason why they stayed.

"Christ, that's not..." The villain swallowed. Their fingers were still going up and down the hero's back but the villain wasn't even aware how close their fingertips were to the hero's waist band.

"I know, I tried to argue with them but they were convinced I needed to leave the city," he said. "I hope it's not because of us but I think it is."

"What do you mean?" the villain asked but they knew exactly what he meant. They weren't allowed to do this. To be in bed together, to know where the other was staying, to stitch up each other.

It wasn't normal.

"People might know about us. I don't really care about that. Reputation or gossip - I'll still save people and I'll still love the people that I love. It doesn't matter to me what they print." He still didn't really turn his body. "Can you move your hand?"

To the villain's surprise, they discovered that their hand had been on the hero's lower back for a little too long. They found another way up the hero's back.

"So, you're moving soon?"

"Unfortunately," he said. "Believe me, I am still trying to fight it out, it's just a lot of paperwork."

Well, what exactly held the villain back, then?

They hesitated. This was stupid.

But then, they leaned over and kissed the hero's cheek. The villain felt their own heart banging against their ribs, making them almost panic. However, the hero - although he seemed surprised - pressed a kiss to their lips. It was quick and awkward and for a second, the villain could only stare at the man in their bed, the only person that was important.

He turned a little and the villain couldn't help but go in for another kiss. Harder this time, more passionate. The villain had nothing to lose now. They were tired of pretending they weren't yearning for him and his body. They were tired of pretending not to notice his muscles or his messy hair or his raspy voice in the morning. Totally tired of pretending they didn't like his dumb jokes or how he didn't even have to stand on his tip-toes to reach the villain's coffee.

"Wait..." he murmured, "get on top."

And the villain did. The hero pulled them on top easily.

"Oh. Oh."

"Don't even-" But the villain had to giggle and moved their hips a little, just to rile him up even more. He could only moan quietly and grab the villain's thighs to stop them. "You're evil."

"You deserve a good goodbye," the villain answered but in reality, they let him struggle for twenty minutes until their hand finally dove down.

#“dont be shy” they say...#dont you know ive been in the trenches fighting so yall can have some smut #unbelievable #“spitting on smut” yuck who in their right mind would-#ok nvm #not proofread i am studyngi gimem a break #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #villain #hero #hero x villain #heroxvillain #request #an answer for an ask #suggestive #nb/m

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skrunksthatwunk · 2 months

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every time i remember hiei and yusuke's little ritual of sparring whenever they see each other for the first time in a while (usually as they're about to face a big threat) and how hiei just wordlessly attacks him and yusuke takes it with good humor (for the most part) i lose my fucking mind and i need someone else to understand so so bad

hiei opening with unexplained violence, acting like the murderous demon everyone takes him to be, and yusuke seeing through it as just how hiei is, and meeting him where he is in this non-malicious but combative intricate ritual bs. they met through violence and communicate through it but it's out of an admiration for skill, for what can't be said with words, for their reliance on each other as equals, as teammates. they share a past of ostracization, resentment, and a desire to burn the world down for its treatment of them the others don't. hiei feels seen in and understood by yusuke. i don't think it needs to be said that hiei doesn't have many people he considers equals, or peers, or teammates. and yusuke was the first to trust him. to see him as more than a monster. to have blind, unearned faith that he could do good, and that he could be better. yusuke changed him. his trust and friendship changed him. and so for that ritual to rely on that trust—the thought that hiei wouldn't actually turn on him, wasn't trying to betray him or hurt him or get his revenge like he used to claim—makes those scenes so poignant (read: makes me want to howl into the night air). it's about the dance. it's about what they know they have in common beneath the posturing and machismo, the ways they are alike deep, deep down, and the way they both know that and never speak of it.

i also think it's because hiei's afraid of losing him. it's especially obvious in chapter black, but even in DT he's got to make sure yusuke—a dumbass who only got his powers recently—is up to scratch. no matter how he feels about humanity, he doesn't particularly want to see yusuke lose everything he loves either. but mostly he couldn't stand to watch yusuke fall. and because he knows yusuke's in over his head, he's testing whether he has to distance himself and prepare for yusuke to abandon him (via death) like everyone else. he doesn't do this with kuwabara because (at least in the DT's case) he'd been training him. he knows, for the most part, what kuwabara can do. (he also doesn't have that same closeness, both because kuwabara doesn't trust him and, perhaps, because he's doing the distance thing pre-emptively bc he thinks he's weak, unlike yusuke). and he doesn't do this with kurama because he believes wholeheartedly in his skill, centuries of experience, and demonhood. humans are fragile, and hiei needs to reassure himself that yusuke isn't.

hiei claims he wants revenge and postures like a rival, but he never goes all out and he never tries this seriously. he fools around with yusuke because if yusuke lost and hiei proved his superiority, hiei would have to leave him behind. and as much as he wants to prove his strength, as hungry as he is for validation (centering fighting prowess because violent is all he's ever been allowed to be), he can't stand the thought of that. he feels that he is yusuke's equal and peer (and friend), whether they're equally strong or not, but because a part of him still thinks fighting's all that matters (and because he wants to protect him and thus himself), hiei must make himself believe that yusuke is as strong as him. so he checks in on him for reassurance via sparring, but never actually tries to hurt him. in conclusion, i am so normal

#i have so much love in my heart for kuwameshi and i respect kurahi but let it be known that before it all i was a yusuhi enjoyer #mostly because i was a hiei enjoyer and his relationship with yusuke is the most powerful to me. idk i love it when love changes people #BUT that said this all applies platonically as well. they care about each other so much guys #yyh #yu yu hakusho #hiei #yusuke urameshi #didnt proofread this sorry if it's a mess but im a mess ok #yeahh you guys all thought i forgot about yyh didntcha. joke's on you because that's my wife. my wife the television series yu yu hakusho #it always comes back to yunk yunk babeyyy

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loguetowns · 1 year

Text

blood red.

cw. mentions of blood/wounds, swearing.

fangs bared and flaring tempers. animosity in every look, an intensity that bubbles from just being in the same room. hate burns red, but then again, so does love. after all, isn't hate still an emotion of passion?

king is annoyed. he's pissed off, irritated – maybe even angry.

he drums his fingers against the fabric of the armchair. there’s a rip in his shirt, his hair is a mess, and – worst of all – his helmet is broken. he pushes his hair out of his face, irked that he can’t tie it up.

the bane of his existence walks in with a first aid kit. he sighs, loudly and obnoxiously, and you glare at him as you sit down.

“don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

“who’s the one that made it difficult in the first place?”

without missing a beat, you simply state, "that would be you."

you carry on, unwrapping bandages, as king merely gapes at you. ever since kaidou placed you under his supervision, you have been nothing but disrespectful, disobedient and disruptive to what should have been an otherwise simple job.

"i'm not the one who tried to climb out a 10-story window," he hisses. "i should've let you fall straight into those thorns."

"no one asked you to help," you reply coolly.

the absolute gall of you.

"believe me, i don't care if you die," he squirms in his seat, biting back the sting of his cuts. "but kaidou wants you alive."

"as if i care what kaidou wants," you mutter as you cut away at his shirt. when he pulls away, you hold down his arm. "stop moving."

the idea of some brat ordering him around makes his blood boil, and if it weren't for the fact that he'd likely start bleeding again, king would love nothing more than to put you in your place.

"i'm not the problem," you continue, ignoring his death glare. "you're the one that's been hissy this whole time. you must be nothing special if your only responsibility is babysitting."

at the attack on his pride, his last thread of patience snaps. "you annoying brat! can't you just fucking cooperate?"

"fuck you!" you finally crack, a fierce anger taking over. "you want people to cooperate then maybe don't lock them up!"

"i wouldn't have to lock you up if you weren't such a pain in the ass!"

"i wouldn't be a pain in the ass if you weren't being an ass to begin with!" you grab his arm. "now fucking hold still!"

you slap disinfectant on king's bloody gash, and he howls at the sting. "that hurts, dammit!"

he glowers at you, seething at the pain. you tell yourself that he deserves it, but – to your annoyance – you can't bring yourself to relish in his suffering. unfortunately, you're not nearly as heartless as king is.

there's a twinge of guilt as you take in his dirty clothes and blood-stained skin.

he wouldn't be in this mess if he didn't rush to catch you.

to king's surprise, you don't make any sort of retort or taunt at his outburst. instead, you press your lips into a thin line and start wrapping his cut in silence. you apply the bandage firmly, but gently, and it doesn't go unnoticed by king.

too angry and proud to say anything else, king merely looks away as you finish dressing his injuries.

"don't move," you deadpan when you're done. "raising your arms will only open the wound."

"fine," he grits. he shakes the hair out of his face, growling in irritation when it don't move the way he wants it to.

you watch as he sighs in resignation, and that stupid voice inside you tells you to do the right thing. you curse your guilty conscience.

"here, let me help."

you stand behind king, carefully gathering his loose curls together. the air is thick with awkwardness as your gentle hands betray the hostility that you're both used to. you start tying his ponytail and take a deep breath.

"thank you," you say in a voice barely above a whisper. "for saving me."

king stills, at a crossroads for how he wants to handle this. it takes this small admission of your gratitude to make him stop and realize the gravity of the situation.

he did help you.

king – one of the all-stars of the beast pirates, right-hand-man to kaidou – showed you mercy when he had no reason to.

and you – captive of the beast pirates, prisoner against your wishes – showed him a grace that he doesn't really deserve by tending to his injuries when you had no reason to.

still staring at the wall, he mutters,

"you're welcome."

like it or not, the two of you are stuck here together – and maybe with some time and a little bit of kindness, you could learn to like it.

part of my (ongoing) character + colour series!

#one piece king x reader #op king x reader #king x reader #one piece king #one piece x reader #not proofread and i'm not sorry about it #to the anon who requested king + red ages ago: this is so long overdue and idek if you're still around but #i couldn't let this hunky giant go and this scenario has been living in my head ever since #so pls accept my humble apology #anyway if you thought that this scene seems familiar #it is (heavily) inspired by that scene in beauty and the beast when belle is tending to the beast's wounds after she saves him #that movie taught me everything i need to know about enemies-to-lovers ok #¡! ❞ [ fics ]#¡! ❞ [ reqs ]#.cc

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 4 months

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thoughts on society but not really

[Hi maggots, it's me, your kind of scarred mascot. I already made a post about the carnage that I witnessed in taking even one step into the ofmd fandom, so I won't go there.]

But at this point tumblr is where I go to for comfort and social interaction so here's me making a post before I pass out with the medications. The sore throat is killing me and honestly it's all a bit blurry right now, so things are gonna be not very clarified. Clarity. Idk.

I don't know at what point reality bleeds into fiction, and fiction bleeds into reality. I suspect not a lot of us do. More importantly, I have no idea what the consequences of that overlap are, and the whole artist from art theory. Like, if trans people get joy from the Harry Potter franchise, where JKR is a transphobic piece of shit, should they give up their joy for no fault of theirs or continue to indirectly support her? As a trans guy, I still find comfort in what the fandom created. Why is everything so messy-

Anyway fandoms, they're all so strange, aren't they? Whole communities with defined roles that also evolve and overlap, fade out and emerge. But physically they don't exist. Or do they? Are fandoms the people/the fans, or the source material, or the fanon material, or the canon creators, or the canon cast/crew/publishers? Which fans are representative and which aren't of the fandom as a whole? Is it about numbers or is it weighed against the intended message of the show and its impact and other factors?

Jesus christ my hands hurt I'm so close to passing out hnngh painkillers are wild.

hello maggots if anyone sees this i'd like a hug and some love, please? *holds out arms*

sending you all love. and comfort. it's a fucked up world. i hope i bring you some joy in it. i know for sure that you all do.

i'll hopefully function a bit more if the illness doesnt get worse, so I'll continue with GO/DW then. Maybe OFMD, though I'll have to see how without damaging my mental health severely. i think i used tumblr too much today i made a fake show and an ad for GO and honestly i do not remember what i did. night night.

#asmi #ofmd #good omens mascot #mascot #fandom culture #fandom #canon #fanon #weirdly specific but ok #maggots #society #separate the art from the artist #valid or not? idk #idk anything #im too tired to proofread this #or read the tags i put #goodnight my lovely maggots

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skyward-floored · 3 months

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I have so many questions about Warriors and his magic. And the triforce. What is happening, why is it happening, and how did I not know this sooner?

XD Well I’ll give you as good of an explanation as I’m able!

So at the beginning of Hyrule Warriors, Link is just a soldier trainee of sorts, just doing drills and sparring and stuff and not wearing a helmet the dummy. When an army of monsters attack Hyrule, the trainees aren’t supposed to go fight but Link runs out anyway because he’s Link you know.

Impa and Zelda are both impressed by his skill and they start wondering if maybe he’s the hero (Zelda actually saw him earlier while he was training, they made brief eye contact). They can’t be sure though, and there’s a lot going on and the castle’s being attacked and they all lose contact with Zelda and then Link finds himself face to face with this dragon knight guy named Volga.

Link does okay but Volga finally smacks him out of the way and decides to kill him, and Impa comes to help him, but Volga decides to just blast them both to death with his fire breath. Link jumps forward at the last second and throws himself in front of Impa, but the fire engulfs them both.

Except... it doesn’t work. Because Link has his hand stretched out and the Triforce of courage is protecting both him and Impa from certain death. Turns out she was right— Link is the hero, and has a piece of the Triforce.

And in lu, he actually has a large scar from the incident!

Now that’s the only time Link explicitly uses the Triforce to help himself, but it’s obviously something he can do, even if it’s subconscious. For the rest of his magic though, he’s able to use it much more freely.

For starters there’s focus spirit— which is actually an ability that everyone can use, not just Link— once your magic meter is full, it essentially heightens your focus and makes you hit harder, culminating in a big attack right at the end. You’re also glowing as you use it, and it takes a while to get enough magic to use it at all, which means it’s pretty powerful I’d say. I wonder if Warriors’ll ever use it in the comic or not?

The other big magic thing is one of Link’s main weapons— the fire rod. Link shows off a great proficiency with it, and is able to do several different attacks with the thing, including sending a big fire dragon out that spirals around and hits stuff. It’s one of his main weapons too, so obviously he’s pretty good at it!

And of course, the less obvious magic of his fairy friend Proxi, who gives hints and basically speaks for Link. He can obviously talk to her, plus... the great fairies seem to have a keen interest in him (yikes).

Now I’m sure there’s more magic he uses that I either haven’t unlocked or can’t access (since I have the “boring” version of his game XD) but I think that’s mostly it. Does that answer all your questions? (hopefully this was helpful!)

#answers from the floor #lovely gryphonlover #long post #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu warriors #hyrule warriors #it’s both ok #anyways yeah I hope I got it all #I’ve sort of got a headache so I didn’t proofread as much as I maybe should’ve 😅

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rachelsrandomwritings · 3 months

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Wishing On a Star That's Just a Satellite

Ahhh ok, I haven't written anything in years, but I have recently become obsessed with BES and felt like I needed to write about Mizu so here is my probably trash attempt. Also based on the line from the song Satellite by All time Low

Modern! Mizu x Fem! Reader

y/n loved Mizu. She loved the way her eyebrows furrowed when she was. Loved her Mizu’s commitment to any task she undertook, never able to do anything halfway. y/n loved her dry wit and ability to think of a comeback to any jab. She loved her loyalty. Loved the way she protected her friends. She loved her strength and her ability to make a stand when necessary. She loved her eyes and the way they almost seemed to shine. She loved her with every part of her soul, but more and more she realized that might not be enough.

The two had met in their first year of college, while stuck in a first-year orientation class. y/n noticed Mizu as soon as she walked into the lecture, silently hoping the girl would sit somewhere close by. By some stroke of luck, Mizu took the seat diagonally behind y/n. While bummed she wouldn’t be able to see her, y/n sent up thanks when the proximity allowed them to be put in a group together for the semester-long project. It was that very group that would become y/n’s closest friends in college. Though giving only a mediocre presentation for the final Akemi, Ringo, Taigen, Mizu, and y/n left the class tightly bonded. The group did everything together, study dates in the library, movie nights rotating between apartments, and crashing frat parties whenever they got the chance. Those nights were particularly fun with Mizu and Taigen always finding ways to show off against the brothers until the group was eventually kicked out.

It was through these collected interactions that y/n got to know the girl who had caught her eye back on the very first day. The more she learned the harder she fell. She listened intently any time Mizu talked about her past, living with an adoptive father growing up in his auto repair shop. It was clear from the way she talked that her past had shaped the woman she was today, and y/n wanted nothing more than to know all of the little details, to understand the girl who made her heart beat so fast. When all of the friends were around y/n could mostly keep her nerves and feelings under control, but anytime the two of them were only she suddenly lost her ability to keep up a conversation, responding too quickly and never knowing what to say next.

It was silly for y/n to think none of their other friends would notice, and before too long Akemi cornered her with questions. Unable to deny it, y/n revealed the strong crush that had been growing for months. Thankfully Akemi promised not to tell right away but encouraged y/n to express her feelings. Too shy and afraid of the consequences not only for herself but also for the friend group y/n decided she had no choice but to get over Mizu. She pushed away thoughts of the girl throwing herself into her studies. She stopped showing up to friend group events in an attempt to clear her mind.

That was until one night, out with another group of friends and admittedly a little too drunk, y/n ran into Mizu, literally. y/n was walking off the dance floor stumbling to refill her cup when suddenly she found herself caught in the toned arms of the girl she tried so hard to forget. y/n looked up, breath hitching and her eyes made contact with the ice-blue ones. “y/n” Mizu stated bluntly looking at the girl in her arms, “It's been a while.” y/n’s mind raced attempting to come up with an excuse for her absence, but instead decided to ignore the comment. “I’m so sorry I didn't mean to run into you, I was just headed that way.” y/n said pointing in a random direction and attempting to slip out of Mizu’s grasp and get away as quickly as possible. She started walking only to find herself being pulled back gently by the wrist, y/n turned back cautiously curious. Mizu cleared her throat, “they all really miss you.” She stated, taking a step toward y/n. Feeling braver than she ever had, y/n stepped in as well. “What about you, do you miss me?” Mizu’s eyebrows furrowed surprised at y/n’s words. “Of course I miss you, we’re friends.” y/n felt the word ‘friends’ cut through her heart like a knife. Unable to control herself y/n responded, “Yeah friends why can’t it ever be more than friends?” y/n felt the tears roll down her cheeks, and leaned her head against Mizu’s shoulder. Shocked by y/n words Mizu took a second trying to understand what had just happened. Before too long she gently grabbed y/n’s chin tilting it up to look at the girl’s face. y/n looked at her, embarrassment for the words she had just said filling her stomach, she began to apologize but was cut off by the feeling of Mizu’s lips of hers. y/n relaxed immediately into the kiss stepping in closer and wrapping her arms around Mizu’s neck.

In the following weeks two would meet constantly attempting to figure out what everything meant, and where they stood with each other. After years of pining y/n couldn’t believe that Mizu was finally hers. y/n made her way back into the friend group apologizing for her behavior, and the group celebrated when the two announced their relationship. Everyone was warm and supportive caring so much about their two friends and loving the joy they brought one another. On their first official date, Mizu planned a picnic to watch the sunset at a local land preserve and the couple found themselves laying out for hours discussing any and everything. The night began to grow dark and the star shone brightly. Seeing a flash of light y/n gasped point up at the heavens. “Did you see that, I think that was a shooting star!.” Mizu grabbed her hand humming in response, smiling at the excitement on y/n’s face. “Ok so now we both have to make a wish!” y/n said closing her eyes tightly knowing exactly what she would ask for. She opened one eye peeking over at Mizu to see if she was making her own wish. Seeing her eyes y/n waited until they opened, and asked the question everyone knows can never be answered. “So what did you wish for?”, Mizu just shook her head a light smile on her lips. “You know I can’t tell you that. If I do it won’t come true, and I want this one to come true.” y/n pouted curious about what the wish might be, but all was resolved when Mizu rolled toward her and kissed the pout off of her lips.

Their relationship would continue to grow and that is how y/n would come to find what she hated about Mizu. Mizu was insecure with a tendency to push everyone away. Her past relationships had ruined her ability to trust or rely on anyone other than herself She much favored dealing with things on her own. Any problem was immediately bottled up, or solved with force. When trying to address concerns between them Mizu often got defensive, fighting back against any attempt by y/n to work on things Arguments led to silence and avoidance. In one fight it took two weeks for y/n to get more than a passing comment out of Mizu, which hurt. y/n did everything in her power to be available for the other girl but found that Mizu still kept up high walls. It hurts to give your all to someone and be blocked out in return. It hurt to be in the corner of someone who tried their best to kick you out. y/n found herself countless times crying to Akemi about the pain of loving someone who refused to let you in when it really mattered. Sitting on the corner of the bed, the girl she loved curled up sleeping, y/n knew what had to be done. She knew that until Mizu had worked on herself, the two of them would never work. She cried silently as she wrote a goodbye note. She folded the note, standing to place it on the nightstand, before leaning down and placing a light kiss on Mizu’s temple. She grabbed the bag she had packed earlier and walked out, knowing that her wish from all those months ago could not be fulfilled now, but hoping one day they might be brought back together. Hoping that it really was a shooting star and not just a satellite.

#mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai #first fic in years #i hope this is ok #also haven't proofread it

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