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tired-and-ticklish · 2 months

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Bonding Exercise

Sequel to “Rough Day”

Summary: Angel and Husk try to escape Charlie’s new idea for a bonding exercise, but The Princess, her girlfriend, and a certain Radio Demon are persistent.

TW: Tickling (slightly intense), Swearing, Slight Restraints, Alastor being a bastard, References to Alastor’s past, Angel Dust being Angel Dust.

Disclaimer: I do not support V*v*z*epop, I simply like the characters and exploring their dynamics, usually in silly ways.

Part Three

“One~”

Despite the distance the two demons had put between themselves and the Radio Demon, they both could clearly hear his voice, accentuating how absolutely fucked they were. Angel was a bit faster, his longer legs giving him an advantage, but Husk wasn’t far behind, running quicker than he ever had in his life or unlife.

“Split up!” Angel exclaimed, quickly turning down a random hallway.

“Don’t need to fucking tell me twice!” Husk replied, almost skidding to a halt as he course-corrected down an entirely different hallway.

Charlie stopped upon seeing them both go in different directions, pouting slightly “Now who do we go after?”

“How about you two go after our effeminate fellow, and I’ll go after Husker?” Alastor suggested, though Vaggie raised an eyebrow.

“We’re not trying to torture them.” The bodyguard replied, to which the deer waved a hand.

“If I intended to torture either of those two, everyone would know.” Alastor replied, the radio effects of his voice becoming more sinister, but just for a moment. “No, I simply think our dear bartender needs to smile a bit more!”

“Come on Vaggie, I think I know where Angel’s running!” Charlie exclaimed, grabbing her girlfriend by the arm before she could protest and starting down a different hallway.

Vaggie couldn’t help but give Charlie a smile, despite thinking the whole idea was a bit ridiculous. Still, it gave her an excuse to get Angel back for all the times the spider demon had messed with them, or done anything that pushed back his ‘progress.’ She also knew she couldn’t find it in herself to say ‘no’ to the Princess, especially when she got that determined glimmer in her eyes.

“Good luck, darlings!” Alastor called as they both ran off, before continuing his own pursuit of the bartender.

—

Angel ran as fast as his legs could carry him, listening for any signs of his pursuers. All he needed to do was get to his room and barricade himself in there until Charlie forgot this whole dumb idea. However, Hell was more likely to freeze over than its Princess giving up or forgetting any of her ideas.

The spider knew his room was close, and he hadn’t seen or heard any of the purseres. Maybe that all went after Husk? A small shudder went up Angel’s spine as he looked behind him. As much as he did not want to be tickled again, the idea of the cat demon being tickled by Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor was a fate he wouldn’t wish upon anyone in the hotel.

“Oh Angel!” He was torn from his thoughts, looking forward and almost screaming as he saw The Princess and her girlfriend, waiting right in front of his door.

“Found you.” Vaggie said, grinning mischievously.

Angel attempted to turn on his heel, but couldn’t slow down enough for it to be effective. His legs got tangled in one another, and he tumbled to the floor, groaning as he did. Before he could even attempt to get up and flee, the girls were upon him, Vaggie holding his upper pair of arms over his head, while Charlie straddled his waist.

“L-Ladies please,” Angel attempted to beg, tugging his arms as best he could. “Y-You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, we know.” Vaggie said with a sly grin. “But we want to.”

Charlie immediately started skittering her figures on Angel’s stomach, making the spider snicker. Angel attempted to shove the Princess off with his lower set of arms, but anytime he tried, Charlie would ‘accidentally’ tickle a bit harder, making him lose focus.

“C-Chaahahaharlihihihihe wahahahait!”

“Awww but Angel, you look so happy right now!”

“Behehehecause yohohohou’re tihihihihckling mehehehe!”

Angel squealed as Charlie’s claws made their way to his lower set of armpits, shaking his head. In his attempts to plead with the Princess, he didn’t notice until it was too late that Vaggie had changed her position, pinning his upper arms with her legs, soon feeling her fingers on his ribs.

“EEP! NohhoohoHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHerehehehe!” Angel shrieked, his face turning a light pink shade.

“Hey, Angel, do you have more or less ribs as a spider?” Vaggie asked, ignoring his pleas. “Guess I need to double check.”

“Dohohohon’t YOHOHOOHHOU DAHAHAHRE, Vahahahahagina!”

The pornstar felt Vaggie stop tickling him for a moment, making him realize he had just dug his own second grave. Any begging he could have done was soon cut off by the feeling of the hotel guard’s fingers slowly and torturously dragging over his ribs, followed shortly by her counting.

“SHIHIHIHIT SIHIHIHHIT IHIHIHIHI’M SOHOHOHOHRRY!” Angel cried out, kicking his legs as the girls continued tickling him.

“Two… three… Fiv- Wait, that’s not right.” The spider could practically hear the smirk in Vaggie’s voice “Can you hold still? I’m trying to count.”

“IHIHIHIHI CAHHAHAAN’T!” Angel whined

“Aww, sure you can Angel!” Charlie said encouragingly. “I’ll even go slower so you can focus!”

At that, Angel felt Charlie’s tactic switch from scribbling on his lower armpits, and a finger on each one just slowly start circling around the hollows, driving him up a wall. It tickled just enough to get him giggling, but also left him wanting more. The spider was starting to get the suspicion that somehow, someway, the girlfriends had gotten Cherri Bomb to tell them exactly how to destroy him.

“Five… six… Huh, you’re actually doing a good job.” Vaggie said as she tickled between his ribs “Guess the redemption work is paying off.”

“Well, he hasn’t asked us to stop.” Charlie pointed out, making Angel’s face turn an even darker shade of pink. “Maybe he’s enjoying this~?”

Fuck, despite how kind Charlie was, she was absolutely fucking evil when it came to tickling.

—-

Alastor hummed as he casually walked the direction Husk went. Sure, the Radio Demon could simply summon the bartender to him, but where was the fun in that? If there was one thing he loved more than the act of killing, it was the thrill of the chase. The fear and desperation in people’s eyes, the absolute panic that washed over as they were cornered, before he descended upon them.

An expression he’d like to see on that obnoxious, pompous, piece of shit television one day.

It was an expression he had seen Husker make many times over their years knowing each other. Though, often that was because the cat had done something to make the deer angry. Now? Now, Alastor would be seeing the hotel’s dear bartender making that expression for an entirely different reason.

It was one of the reasons he suggested to be the one to go after Husk. Not just due to their longer time knowing each other, but because the Radio Demon was already aware of what would cause the cat to break from his usual grumpy demeanor. Surely, people would assume Alastor of all people would think tickling was a waste of time, but oh, how he enjoyed it.

Spending time with both Husk and Niffty, he had learned a few things. Specifically, the maid wasn’t at all ticklish, whereas the bartender was entirely too ticklish for his own good. If nothing else, Alastor was known for dealing in extremes.

“Ah, there you are!” Alastor exclaimed, seeing Husk had run himself into a corner, the cat quickly turning to look at him.

“Shit, fuck, dammit!” A string of expletives left the bartender’s mouth as he tried to look for a way to escape. Any hopes of that were cut off by the shadows that followed the Radio Demon pinned the cat to the wall. “Look, boss, t-this whole thing is ridiculous.”

“Oh, on the contrary, Husker, I think this will be quite enjoyable!” Alastor said, looking the bartender over. So many good places to start, and each eliciting a different reaction from Husk.

Husk, meanwhile, tried to free himself. If he hadn’t known any better, the cat would have assumed Alastor somehow planned all of this. Which, he really couldn’t put past the deer, but planning for Nift to tickle Angel, leading to this whole thing? That was the type of planning not even the Radio Demon could come up with.

Mostly because no one could really ‘plan’ for anything with it came to the hotel maid.

“I recall this,” Alastor began, the claws on his right hand gently wiggling on Husk’s chin. “Being a wonderful place to start.”

The reaction was instant, the cat’s fur quickly puffing up slightly as he bit his lip. He wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction, not if he could help it. Of course, he had tried, and failed, in the past, but that didn’t mean he was just going to give in to the Radio Demon’s antics.

“Still trying that tactic, are we?” The deer hummed in amusement, moving his other hand to Husk’s side. “I never understand why you must make things so difficult!”

A few snickers came out, but the bartender was determined, trying to squirm away from Alastor’s hands. Said hands simply followed where the cat moved. Now, Alastor could use his powers to tickle multiple spots at once, but that was something reserved for those who pissed him off enough to face his wrath, but not enough to where he’d be satisfied by killing them.

“You know, Husker,” Alastor said casually, like he wasn’t tickling the demon before him. “When we were filming that ridiculous commercial for the hotel, I had half a mind to have our darling Niffty tickle you, just off-camera, so you’d be smiling!”

“Bihihihihite me!” Husk replied, doing his best to glare at the Overlord.

“A poor choice of words, considering who you’re talking to.” The Radio Demon chuckled, now slowly moving his left hand toward the bartender’s side. “You should really think before you speak.”

Husk tried to growl at Alastor, but it was cut off by the ticklish feeling on his side. More snickers gave way, the cat demon’s lips forming a wobbly smile despite his best efforts. He felt the deer’s right hand move from his chin and start poking his ribs, making the bartender snort a bit. He knew the deer was messing with him, taking his time before going right for Husk’s death spot.

“I never tire of counting your ribs, Husker.” Alastor mused. “Afterall, I need to make sure you’re all together!”

“Yohohohohou cohohohohocky bahahahastard!” Husk retorted.

Alastor tsked, and the cat felt himself start to panic as the Overlord’s hands went toward his stomach. “Always with the fowl language, that should be reserved for birds!”

If Husk could groan, he would. Of course Alastor had to get one of his stupid ‘jokes’ in while the bartender couldn’t just walk out of the room. Though, the puns did help whenever the Radio Demon wanted Angel Dust to leave him alone. He didn’t know what was worse, the Overlord’s love of ‘dad jokes’, or his insatiable sadistic streak.

“Wohohohuld yoohohhou stohohohp- FUHUUHUHUHCK!” Husk exclaimed as Alastor scratched and clawed at his stomach. The first of the bartender’s worst spots.

Once he was sure Husk couldn’t escape, Alastor snapped his fingers, causing the shadows to let him go as the bartender slid to the floor, still trying to run away from the Radio Demon’s fingers. The deer poked and prodded, even circling a finger slowly around where the cat’s belly button would be.

“Don’t cats enjoy having their stomachs petted?” Alastor teased, a small laugh track coming from him.

“THAHAHAT’S dohohohohohgs yohohoHOHOHO PRIHIHIHICK!”

“Ah, forgive me.” Alastor said, not at all sounding apologetic “I was never a ‘dog’ person. Cats are much more amusing!”

“Thhihihihihis IHIHIHISN’T AMUHuhuhuhuhumsing!”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, but you wouldn’t be laughing if it wasn’t!”

Husk was going to kill him. Okay, no, he wasn’t that stupid or reckless, but he was going to make sure the Radio Demon paid for this. However, Husk’s plans of revenge were cut off by the feeling of two of Alastor’s tendrils stroking his wings, causing the bartender to scream with laughter.

“You know, I think Niffty needs to brush your wings soon, when was the last time she did that?” Alastor asked, despite knowing Husk wouldn’t be able to answer.

Despite both Angel and Husk being tickled out of their minds, they both hated to admit they were having fun. Maybe Charlie’s idea wasn’t so dumb.

#hazbin hotel tickle #tickle fic #tickle #lee!angeldust #lee!husk #ler!vaggie #ler!charlie #ler!alastor #a LOT of ya'll wanted part 2 so here you go #will there be a part 3? probably. Angel and Husk need their revenge #sorry it cuts off weirdly I wanted to finish this before I disappear for a week to spend time with my bf

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exhuastedpigeon · 24 days

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I want to be your fantasy (maybe you could be mine)

Buddie | Explicit | 7.2k Bachelor party, former stripper Eddie, pole dancing, lap danced, smut, getting together

“Let me get this straight,” Eddie asked, voice as deadpan as Buck had ever heard it. “Chimney wants a classic bachelor party, but he doesn’t want to go to Vegas and he doesn’t want to go to a strip club and he thinks we’re too old to go to a regular club.”

“Yep,” Buck had his feet kicked up onto Eddie’s coffee table, a beer held loosely in his hand, his thigh pressed against Eddie’s even though Chris wasn’t there tonight so they didn’t actually have to sit so close.

“Which is why you made us watch The Hangover.”

“Correct.”

“Even though Hen is his best woman and she’s the one in charge of planning the party.”

“She asked me to help. I-I’m pretty sure I’m getting on Maddie and Chim’s nerves trying to help with the wedding and they asked her to give me something to do.”

“Well, did you learn anything about bachelor parties?” Eddie asked, voice no longer deadpan and instead a little teasing. Buck couldn’t help the flutter in his stomach when Eddie smirked at him, but he could ignore it.

“Maybe we can just go golfing?”

“Yeah, that could work,” Eddie took a sip of his beer. “Make a whole weekend of it and stay at one of those fancy ass golf resorts.”

“T-that’s actually a great idea,” Buck pulled his phone out to text Hen. “Getting drunk on a golf course feels like a very classic bachelor party.”

“It’s what we did for my cousin Diego a few years back,” Eddie smiled at him as he spoke. “We also went to a strip club that night though.”

“No strip clubs,” Buck said with a sigh. “This would be so much easier to plan if he wasn’t marrying my sister and if he didn’t have so many requirements.”

“You’re the man with the plan, you’ll figure it out,” Eddie said, clinking his beer bottle against Buck’s with a cheeky grin.

Buck sighed when Hen said no to the golfing and texted her back that maybe they should just go to a Dodgers game, Chim loved baseball. Baseball could be a bachelor party activity.

Read on ao3

#buddie #my fic #buddie fic #911 #ao3 had a meltdown and when I posted the fic it disappeared so I had to post again (I AM WEEPING)

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arom-antix · 2 months

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As part of a two-part reverse bang-bang, here's some more Valentines art to which @probablytoooldforthis wrote an amazing fic, Sweets for the Sweet! Please go check it out, I promise you won't regret it, and keep your eyes peeled for the second chapter - and artwork, of course - coming out on White Day aka the 14th of March!

Also, I this is an unrendered version, the finished version will be posted within about a week's time (hopefully) since I don't have access to digital drawing at the moment YuY

#this piece makes me so happy #and the fic even more so #i really wish i hadnt ended up on crunch time to even get this half finished version done but whoever said i was a responsible adult #whoever said i had time management skills #whoever said that was wrong #anyway THEYRE MAKING CHOCOLATES BECAUSE I COULDNT NOT #viktor is very concentrated UuU #also if any actual confectioners (is that the english word? idk) see this feel free to yell at me in the tags for everything thats wrong #my experience with making filled chocolates is extremely limited and very messy #so uh #this is probably not accurate #BUT THEYRE HAVING FUN AND THATS WHAT MATTERS #i like to think viktor has clips to keep his hair out of the way but he always somehow manages to lose them oh how sad how “unfortunate”#guess yuuri will just have to keep his hair up yet again how tragic YnY #also yuuri 100% knows viktors clips dont magically disappear but he cant get himself to say anything because does he really mind?#no #no he doesnt #not at all #he gets to lovingly brush viktors hair out of his eyes what in the world would he be complaining about?#yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanart #fanart #art #arom antix #arom antix art #katsuki yuuri #viktor nikiforov #viktuuri

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lee-lucius · 5 months

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Fatherly Love

Summary: Zeff isn't used to dealing with kids, especially not one like Sanji.

Word Count: 5,630

Warning: Mild spoilers for Sanji and Zeff's backstory (The Baratie Arc)

There is nowhere near enough content for Sanji and Zeff, and I had to do something about. I've only seen the live action and started reading the manga (hopefully it isn't too ooc 😅), but I'm already unreasonably attached to these two. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 💙

Zeff never saw it as anything complicated. When they finally did get off that godforsaken rock, Sanji had nowhere to go. And, well, he'd already given up a leg for the boy; he didn't see why he shouldn't give up piracy as well.

So they started over. Neither of them were ready to give up the sea, not until they found the All Blue, and Zeff always enjoyed sharing a meal. So they opened Baratie.

Maybe it wasn't the best place for a kid to grow up, on a ship full of angry brutes, but the little eggplant got on well enough with the crew—Zeff made sure of that—and he seemed content enough. At least, better than he had been after their rescue. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't horrible, either.

But there were still moments that shattered their illusion of peace, like right now. Sighing, Zeff pulled off his sheets, slowly sitting up and slipping his legs off the bed, taking a moment to steady himself. It wasn't as easy as it'd been in his younger years. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the wooden leg, or the little eggplant's muffled cries that kept him up almost every night.

It was odd, considering what a deep sleeper Zeff had been when he was younger, but it was almost as if he had a sixth sense for when Sanji needed him; when he'd wake up, shivering and sobbing over his latest nightmare, Zeff woke up as well, lumbering over to his room to provide what little comfort he could for a boy who'd been through far too much.

Knocking lightly, he waited for Sanji's muffled consent before entering and closing the door softly behind him. He didn't know why he'd bothered giving Sanji his own room when Zeff spent the night there more often than not. Something about a growing boy needing his privacy; how simple he thought it'd be.

"Just me," Zeff said, as if they both weren't already used to this routine. It still made something stir uncomfortably in his chest every time, seeing Sanji's small figure curled up in his bed, blankets huddled around him like a faulty shield, head tucked into his chest to hide his tear-stained face, though Zeff still saw the way his shoulders trembled and heard the pained, hiccuping gasps Sanji tried to hide.

Zeff didn't say anything else. There was no reason to bombard the boy with pointless questions, especially when it only seemed to send him slipping further into a panic.

He never knew what he was supposed to do in situations like this. He liked to think his presence helped; after all, he was the only who'd been there with Sanji, though Zeff thought his issues began with something long before the shipwreck, and Sanji never stopped letting him in. But he'd never quite been a smooth talker, save for with women, and always found himself tongue-tied in situations like these. Zeff wasn't one for emotions, and Sanji was perhaps the most emotional boy he'd ever known.

There wasn't much to do besides perch on his bed, sitting as far away from Sanji as possible to give him space, and frown, trying to act as if his heart wasn't ripping in two at each muffled cry.

It must have been an especially bad night. Zeff realized that as his cries slowly quieted and his small, trembling frame steadily inched closer. Finally, Sanji's knee, barely a fraction of the size, touched his own. He was tense, more than before, and skittish, as if any wrong move from Zeff could send him running. It probably would. So Zeff did nothing, allowing Sanji his own time to decide.

They'd never been affectionate with each other. Zeff had never been affectionate with anyone, really, except for in the brief way that sailors met with women, something as intimate as these moments with Sanji but in an entirely different way.

Zeff had only ever used his body for that and fighting, which only made this harder. It wasn't like the other times Samji had reached out for him, right after the rock, or even in the midst of it, when he threw himself at Zeff in a moment of reckless grief, while Zeff wrapped his arms around him, trying to offer comfort in a way he didn't know how.

This was different. Slower. Intentional. Calculated, even.

It wasn't a helpless boy blindly reaching out to soothe the ache in his heart, but it was a helpless boy reaching out to him.

Sanji wanted him.

Zeff waited. Sanji continued to creep closer until he leaned into Zeff's side, and finally, slowly, gently, slower and gentler than he ever thought he could be, Zeff wrapped his arm around him, pulling Sanji into a hug.

Sanji buried his face in his chest, his own clumsy arms wrapping around Zeff, clutching handfuls of his shirt as if he was afraid to let go, afraid this would end.

"You're alright now," he said, voice gruffer, and a bit more emotional, than he intended. He lifted one hand, stroking his hair, the other rubbing his back, trying to remember what soothed him all those long years ago when he was a boy. "That's over. You're alright."

Sanji held onto him all night, crying until he finally slipped back into sleep, and Zeff stayed there, awake and cursing the growing ache in his back, until it was time for morning prep, when he shook Sanji awake, squeezing his shoulder one last time before leaving him to get ready for the day.

Neither of them spoke about what happened.

They barely spoke at all, save for a mini-screaming match when Zeff tried to drown Sanji's dish in oregano before it was sent out to his patrons.

It was a busy day, but at least they had had a functioning waitstaff for once—thank god for small mercies. Zeff didn't have the time to babysit Sanji, not anymore than usual, when he had to try and keep the rest of his rowdy crew in line, though he figured the reason at least half of their customers were there was in hopes of seeing the rumored fighting pirates.

There was hardly even a moment for him to sit down, rest his leg and back, and get some shut eye, though the sips of alcohol he savored between the lunch and dinner rushes helped.

But at the end of the day, he was more drunk on exhaustion than anything else, practically stumbling over his feet as he stalked through the kitchen, ensuring every surface and every dish was up to his standards. On days like these, the last day before they hauled up their anchor and moved on, his men tended to get lazy, a problem he could never solve no matter how many times he yelled at them. Except for one, who shared his dutiful dedication to maintaining a clean kitchen.

"Shouldn't you be heading off?" Zeff asked, glancing at Sanji as he silently swept the floors. "A growing boy needs his rest."

"I could say the same. Doesn't a shitty old man need his beauty sleep?"

He grunted. They both knew why he was so tired, and they both knew why Sanji didn't want to go to sleep, but they both said nothing. Didn't matter much tonight, anyway. They could both sleep in, supposing Sanji managed to stay asleep for once. Zeff put a kettle on the stove. Tea usually helped Sanji get through the night.

"Come here, kid," he called, after the tea was brewed. Sanji always preferred it sweeter, so he added a dollop of sugar and spoonful of honey, while he added something a little stronger to his.

Zeff kicked a stool in his direction, and he sat down, gratefully taking the mug that came along with it and enjoying a long sip.

"Not as shit as usual," he said, which was about as good a compliment as any, coming from him.

Leaning against the counter next to him, Zeff took a much needed drink of his own, glaring down at him. "You don't need to help me down here every night. Not that you're much help."

"'Not much help'? I'm the only reason people come to this shithole!"

"Mm. Are you then?" He didn't have the energy for this now. Damn kid.

"I'm the only half-decent chef you have!"

Zeff would never understand where his arrogance came from, not that it was entirely unwarranted. He had made Sanji his sous-chef for a reason, and it wasn't just his fondness for him.

"And who's the one that taught how to make those fancy little dishes, eggplant?"

"It doesn't matter when you drown everything in oregano."

"It's a delicacy!"

"It's for savages!" He slammed his empty mug on the counter, his one visible eye glaring daggers at Zeff, who had to resist the urge to laugh. It'd be a good few years before Sanji got anywhere close to intimidating him.

"You're too young. Palate hasn't developed yet," he waved him off, collecting his glass to wash it in the sink. No need making the kid do it, not when he was practically about to fall off his stool.

"No, you're too old. Can't taste shit anymore."

Zeff rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he always started a fight. Just his attitude, he supposed. He had to take in a kid with the worst personality imaginable. And it didn't help that he was eerily similar to how Zeff had been at that age.

"I can still see well enough, and you're done for the night."

Sanji stumbled to his feet, knowing he was right but not wanting to agree with him. "You look worse than I do."

"Mhm. Then let's both get to bed," he said, because Sanji was right too, and he couldn't bother to keep up with any more banter.

Nudging him in the back, Zeff wasn't prepared for Sanji's violent flinch that almost sent him toppling over. He resisted his instinct to reach out and steady him, figuring that would only make things worse. Instead, Sanji's fingers dug into the countertop, clutching it so hard his knuckles paled, and he turned towards Zeff, eyeing him wearily.

They stared at each other for a moment, silent, before Zeff sighed.

"Go on. Up to bed."

Sanji only nodded and trudged along. Zeff supposed they hadn't made as much progress as he thought. He'd have to be more careful next time.

Zeff always preferred days when Baratie was sailing. As much as he enjoyed the regular hustle and bustle, serving whatever customers had washed up that day, he enjoyed these quiet moments more.

It was good, standing on deck and watching the ship bob in the water, breathing in the sea breeze that was never the same when they were stagnant. He craved the movement, the sailing. And the quiet. Which made him feel like the old man Sanji always insisted he was. As if he was coaxing into retirement and savoring easy days on the sea.

But there was never anything easy on Baratie.

After he'd assembled his men to yell at them about their lazy behavior yesterday and lack of respect, they were dismissed and shuffled out of the kitchen, grumbling among each other but knowing better than to stand up to Zeff.

They'd be really punished later, but a light scalding was enough for now. Especially when he had other plans.

Sanji crept into the kitchen, eagerly buzzing around with a frantic energy Zeff rarely saw. That was another good thing about it. On days like these, Sanji was more excited than Zeff had ever seen him.

It was like there was finally life in the kid. His cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and joy palpable. He couldn't shut up either. The whole time he was rambling, trying to spew out his mess of ideas all at once that had been building up in his head since the last time they did this.

It really wasn't anything that special, and it always led to more than one argument between them, but Sanji liked to offer his input to these menu changes, even when most of his ideas consisted of trite, over-inspired pieces of shit. Though Sanji felt the same way about most of Zeff's dishes.

After gathering up all of his ingredients and managing to form his ramblings into something coherent, Sanji prepared his sample dishes with Zeff watching closely, correcting his mistakes or suggesting alternate techniques. Sanji was always surprisingly receptive to his advice, though he was always an enthusiastic student, and Zeff thought he preferred it when they were alone like this. Even if he still protested oregano coming anywhere near his food. Damn rebellious kid.

It took the entire day and only two fights that escalated so far Zeff worried Sanji would grab the knife on the cutting board and stab him, which was better than usual. They'd sampled enough dishes that neither of them were hungry, nor the rest of the crew, not when they called in a member or two for a third opinion, or a witness when their fights got especially heated.

The kitchen was a mess, but it wasn't their problem. Zeff wanted to head in early, and his crew had to be punished for their mess yesterday, so making them deal with disaster was only fair. With all of them working together, it wouldn't take too long anyway, unless they got into a fight—no, until they got into a fight, forcing Zeff to straighten them out again.

But until then, he pulled Sanji with him above deck to relax for a change.

The sun was already beginning to set; the sky fading into a pinkish-reddish color as Zeff sat down to watch it. Now he really was acting like an old man. Maybe he should start thinking about retirement.

He glanced at Sanji, but he seemed to be enjoying himself as well, even with something as simple as this. It seemed they both savored these little, simple moments.

Now would be a good time to continue their other training. Zeff had been teaching the boy to fight, only simple moves so far, though their progress was slowed by Zeff's own efforts to adjust to his new leg. But it was late, and they were both tired, even if yesterday was one of Sanji's better nights. He'd put it off for another day.

Zeff was so absorbed by his thoughts that he almost didn't register the movement in the corner of his eye. Not until Sanji was noticeably closer to him.

It was different this time. Maybe it was because of his excitable attitude today, or maybe he was starting to feel just a bit more at ease around him, but Sanji, in one quick, casual motion, pressed into Zeff's side, leaning against him.

His body was stiff, no matter how nonchalant he tried to act, and when Zeff looked at him closely enough, he could see the slight shake in his hands. It took a few minutes before Sanji began to relax, his tense muscles easing into the touch, and in another act of courage, he leaned his head against Zeff's shoulder.

He was warm. That was the first thing Zeff noticed. He wasn't used to being touched like this. Besides Sanji's fits after his nightmares and consoling his men who managed to survive the battle but not much afterwards, he hadn't been this close to someone since he was a child. Even then, no one ever reached out to him, curling up beside him the way Sanji did.

It was oddly comfortable, and Zeff found himself enjoying the affection more than he should. This was something he never could've imagined, not at his age.

While he never disliked children, he'd never been particularly fond of them either. And as much as he respected women, he never found one that interested him; no men either, so he never imagined settling down with someone, starting a family, not when his first love was cooking. But here he was, with Sanji. And he couldn't deny his growing affection for the boy, even if he was as rude and shitty as most of the grown men Zeff knew and more traumatized and disturbed than any child should be. He couldn't be sure—it was something he'd never experienced before—but Zeff thought his affection must have been something like that a father felt for his child.

It was a troubling thought that was becoming more persistent, and he had no clue if Sanji felt the same, but that was a problem for another time.

Now, it didn't matter. He simply shifted, leaning his own head against Sanji's to reciprocate the touch and imagined the nervous smile on the kid's face that he must've been fighting so hard to hide.

Maybe this had gone too far, Zeff realized, far, far too late to do anything about it.

It started simple enough.

Sanji had always been a fidgety kid, a fact that Zeff and practically anyone who knew him more than an hour could realize. He was never still, always moving, always squirming. And clumsy, too. He was prone to tripping over his own feet, something that their training had made marginally better so far, but Zeff still held onto the hope that he'd fall out of it with age when the rest of his body grew into his long legs.

Zeff didn't mind; truly, he found it more entertaining than anything else to see the boy bounce around the kitchen. It never interfered with his work, Sanji was far too professional for that, but there were times when Sanji's body moved and fidgeted around so quickly Zeff swore his limbs would fly off, and Sanji swore that he'd die of boredom if something didn't change.

So Zeff came up with a solution. A rather practical one, he liked to think. Instead of twiddling with his fingers or tugging at the strings of his apron or furiously flapping his hands, Zeff, like a practical seaman, taught him how to tie knots. Figured it'd pay off, considering how much of his life the boy spent on a ship.

He'd bring him up to the deck, show him the ropes and give a brief explanation, then show him how to tie every knot just right and send him off with a smaller scrap to practice.

It seemed to help, though they never talked about such things. Sanji simply practiced his knots, asking Zeff when he wasn't sure if he'd gotten it right, and he'd whip it out and practice anytime he got bored, during lulls between the dinner and lunch rush or at night, in bed, when he was trying to fall asleep.

Zeff didn't know how it ended up like this. He'd noticed Sanji's habit, how he'd begun to unconsciously twist strands into his complicated knots, like his apron or the loose fibers on his cheap blanket. It'd escalated fast.

Sanji must've known it would be another bad night, because he didn't bother going to his own room, instead silently teetering after Zeff to stay with him. He didn't like to be alone on bad nights.

There hadn't even been any sign of it, any indication; he simply leveled a heavy stare at Zeff and not asked, ordered him.

"Stay still. I need to try something."

"What are you planning?" He asked warily, recognizing that glint in Sanji's eye that was only there when he got up to mischief, an occasion that was becoming less and less rare.

"Quiet. I need to focus."

Then Sanji was sitting cross-legged in front of him as Zeff sat, back pressed against the headboard. He had to lean down an uncomfortable amount for Sanji to, much to his horror, reach his mustache as he began working on whatever convoluted idea he had.

Zeff wasn't sure what he was doing, as his eyes were firmly closed—and Sanji began yelling at him anytime he so much as tried to peak them open—but it seemed as if Sanji was styling his hair, hands working with a surprising gentleness and expected hurriedness, though it seemed as if his rush ruined his work, judging his heaving sigh every few minutes as he straightened out Zeff's mustache to start over. Always a perfectionist.

It was annoying, like Sanji always was, but Zeff found he didn't mind the intrusion as much as he thought he should. Not that or the tedious ache once again spreading through his back or the feeling of pins-and-needles in his legs that had fallen asleep under Sanji's weight, who sat precariously on top of them.

Perhaps he couldn't complain because he knew what Sanji had been like mere weeks and months before, and that boy never would've afforded Zeff with this casual closeness, one that made an unsettling happiness grow in him, because he knew that they were getting somewhere, that this makeshift ship was becoming closer and closer to the little eggplant's home, and that did, ashamedly, make Zeff happy.

"Okay, I'm done," Sanji finally announced, and Zeff let out a sigh, of relief or disappointment he wasn't sure.

"On with it then," he opened his eyes, this time without any urgent protest from Sanji, and shifted his good leg with a smile too fond for his liking. "Up so I can look."

Something resembling a scowl appeared on Sanji's face, but it was gone just as quickly as he scrambled off of him, rolling onto the side of the bed. Zeff took his time, ignoring Sanji's protests, to stand up, letting feeling come back into his limbs as he stretched before trudging over to his drawers, accompanied with a small mirror hanging above it.

It was about what he'd expected. Zeff's mustache was styled into two somewhat unkempt braids, tied up with his usual blue ribbons. It wasn't half bad, not for the eggplant's first try, and Zeff didn't recall teaching him any braids. He wondered where he'd learned how to do that, but now wasn't the time for questions.

"Right. We done here?"

Sanji's cheeks puffed out slightly, tinged red as his face morphed into a pout. He always did wear his emotions on his sleeve, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Reluctantly, he nodded and stood from the bed.

Zeff turned out the lamp, settling back down into his bed and sparing a glance at Sanji. "You layin' down or not?"

There was a moment of awkward shuffling, Sanji's head darting back and forth between Zeff's bed and the door, looking as if he wished he had that rope on him to give his body something to do and soothe his mind.

After an uncomfortable amount of time passed, Sanji perched himself at the edge of the bed, slowly laying down, as if he was scared Zeff would change his mind and yell at him to scram.

He didn't. He had an extra blanket and pillow, so he didn't mind at all, though if he had to, he knew he would've given his own to Sanji to make him comfortable—the kid hardly got enough sleep as it was.

"Night," he grunted, then added, far too impulsively, "Didn't do half bad with the hair."

For a moment, he thought he imagined Sanji's muffled sounds of joy, but then he only laughed quietly to himself, thinking about all the trouble this dumb kid brought with him.

Zeff was going soft, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

Morning was quiet. Zeff woke up first, squinting at his window, watching the faint rays of light trickle in.

It was early, but he wasn't ready to go back to sleep. Instead, he carefully shifted in the bed, turning on his side to face Sanji. He was still sleeping, lying curled up on his stomach. Zeff didn't realize how much he moved in his sleep, not until Sanji woke him up more than once in the night with a flying limb.

He'd seen him sleeping before. After Sanji had crossed to his side of the rock and discovered Zeff's secret, there was less distance between them. Less reason to hide. And Sanji seemed to, for whatever reason, like the company of bitter old men, apparently as much as Zeff like the company of snarky young kids. But there were some nights when Sanji fell asleep there, with Zeff. He'd moved around too then, violently, thrashing so much Zeff feared he'd fall right into the ocean. He was prone to nightmares then too, but he didn't have any more tears to cry by then, just hiccuping gasps that sounded so painful coming from his dry, aching throat.

He wasn't having a nightmare now. His face was relaxed, not curled up in an aching knot of dread like it usually was. His chest rose and fell with calm, steady breaths. Zeff couldn't see it clearly, not in the dim light, but he heard it, and the noise was a comfort.

Another impulse. That's what Zeff wanted to blame it on. Say that his arm had a mind of its own; that he acted without thinking. He didn't know if that was better or worse than the truth.

But he did know what he was doing. And he wanted to. That was the reason.

That was the reason he reached his hand out, with a touch lighter and gentler than he ever thought he was capable of, combing through Sanji's hair to fix the disheveled mess.

It was soft and void of any obnoxious clumps, both traits he attributed to Sanji's fixation with his appearance. Just had to look good for the ladies, apparently. Not that any took interest in him. The little eggplant had about as much charm as one.

Hair straightened, his hand trailed further down, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the back of his neck. It was something he normally only did after a nightmare, when Sanji cried and clung to him, but it seemed appropriate now too. He thought it was good for Sanji. He always slept better when Zeff held him.

Except now. Sanji twitched, and Zeff worried he'd wake him, so he lightened his touch, fingers barely grazing the skin, and that's when he heard it.

A giggle.

The noise was muffled by the pillows, but it was unmistakable in the quiet of his room. Something high-pitched and boyish and utterly unexpected.

Zeff's hand stilled, staring intently at Sanji. His body was still and breathing steady. He'd heard Sanji talk before in his sleep, but laugh? That seemed odd. Unless it was something else.

Curiously, he continued his light movement, holding back a laugh of his own when he noticed Sanji squirm, twisting back and forth but trying so hard to hide it.

So he was awake. And Zeff didn't see why he shouldn't have his fun.

He changed tactics, switching to scratching at Sanji's neck, touch still light, using just his blunt nails.

There was another noise; this one was more like a muffled whine, low in his throat and barely contained. One of his arms shifted, trying for a subtly he had never been gifted with, and pushed the pillow further into his face, hiding his wide smile.

How stupid did Sanji think he was? He wasn't sure he actually wanted to know after this. And if Zeff said something, he knew it'd ruin the moment. He didn't want to.

He didn't, so he continued tickling the boy who he'd become uncomfortably fond of.

His hand drifted, grazing across the side of his neck in a way that made Sanji's shoulders scrunch up. He couldn't contain himself anymore, and soft giggles poured out of him. The kid was oddly cute like this, and that fond feeling he had for Sanji only grew.

Zeff was careful. They'd never done anything like this—he doubted Sanji'd ever even been tickled before—and they were still in a somewhat precarious position surrounding the kid's tolerance for any touch at all. He wasn't one to be playful, but Zeff figured this was the closest he'd ever get as he moved to new spots.

Sanji chortled when he scratched under his chin, and seeming to have given up the act of pretending to be asleep, kicked his legs when Zeff's fingers prodded at his ears. The strongest reaction came when he scribbled at his back—Zeff hadn't even known backs could be ticklish—making an alarmed high-pitched sound that Zeff could only call a squeal, grip around the pillow tightening, trying to hide his embarrassment or laugh or something, Zeff figured.

After a few more moments, Zeff stopped, pulling his hand away and waiting for Sanji to collect himself. It took a long time for his laughter to calm down, but Zeff only watched, unable to help his own amused smile.

Finally, Sanji removed his face from the pillow, looking up at Zeff. His face was completely flushed, and he had a large, dopey smile on his face that Zeff had only ever seen when he was talking to a girl. Dumb kid.

"Um…" Sanji brought the pillow to his chest, hugging it tightly and partially obscuring his face. "What was that?"

"Tickling. Ever happened to you before?"

He shook his head, eyes flitting away from Zeff with a sad look. He was quiet, seemingly lost in thought, and Zeff watched him, waiting for Sanji to gather himself.

It took a few minutes before he dropped the pillow, propping himself up. There was still a trace of sadness, but there was something else, something Zeff couldn't quite place.

His eyes were big and droopy, fatigue weighing down his lashes and a smile, albeit faint, dragged across his lips. In the quiet of these late nights and early mornings, there was something different about Sanji, more tender. Like the darkness of the sky cloaked them in a veil of security, wrapping around his shoulders and tucking him in with the same comfort of a loving parent.

Leaning closer, a yawn breezing past his lips, Sanji shifted further towards Zeff, mumbling, "'t's nice."

"Guess so," he grunted and, seeing the expectant look on his face, reached back out, curling his fingers into Sanji's side until he burst into another fit of giggles.

Zeff supposed it was quite nice.

Sanji, by some miracle, had actually managed to fall back asleep after crying for mercy.

Zeff wasn't tired, but he stayed, figuring Sanji wouldn't like waking up alone, and there wasn't much work to be done today anyway; he could let him sleep in. He grabbed a book at random from his shelf, biding the time by staring absentmindedly at the pages, his attention always somehow drifting back to Sanji. It was almost annoying, the grip that the kid had on him.

When he did wake up, scolding Zeff for letting them stay in that late and wasting so much of the day as if Sanji was actually the adult. It was stupidly endearing.

Zeff, like always, brushed away his concerns. "Then stop complaining and help me get ready."

"Help?" Sanji asked, indignant, and Zeff sorrowfully remembered what an attitude he had on him. "What do you need now, old man? A diaper change?"

Sighing, he only gestured to his face, watching the confusion spread across Sanji's face and sighing again.

"The braids," he huffed, untying the ribbons. "They need to be redone."

Sometime during the night, or perhaps during his horseplay with Sanji, the hair had become wildly unruly, strands unwinding and sticking out at odd angles.

Sanji stared at him for a long moment like he was stupid. Then asked, in an oddly anxious voice, "What?"

"You heard me. Get on with it."

He couldn't bite back his smile. His whole face lit up, and no matter how hard he always tried to hide it, Sanji still always wore his heart on his sleeve, and his joy was infectious. Shuffling closer, he carefully reworked Zeff's mustache, hair now slightly curled, into a neat braid, redoing them both a few times until he was satisfied with his work, staring at Zeff proudly.

It was better than the ones yesterday; Zeff had to give him credit for that.

"Good work, little eggplant," he said, staring at himself in the mirror. "Now you go get ready. It's late."

Sanji, ever the dutiful worker, hurried out, but Zeff caught the blinding smile on his face before he left.

It was worth the odd stares he got from the rest of his crew, and none of them had the courage to say anything after Zeff stared down the first person who'd so much as uttered a word about it.

Unless it was a compliment, which he tolerated in silence only because it brought that bright smile back to Sanji's face, and the kid deserved the praise.

The day was slow and calmer than Baratie had any right to be.

There was an odd lightness in Sanji; Zeff didn't know if it was because of him, but he was glad.

And he was even happier when it seemed to persist into the next day and the next.

They still bickered, of course—the kid—his kid—just had to bitch about every little thing. They spent long days cooking together, sweating and struggling in their somehow always understaffed restaurant. They trained together on those off days, splitting time between cooking and fighting. And in those early mornings, late nights, and all the time in between, they regarded each other with a new softness, with the playful and affectionate touches Sanji had become accustomed to, the ones he craved.

And Zeff, forever worn out by the rude, annoying kid he'd ended up with, always indulged him, his little eggplant.

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golden-afternoon · 22 days

Text

Hi this sucks but idc rn. My entire brain is owned by beloved Kaedehara Kazuha at the moment and I wrote this in a fugue state of oh my god he's coming soon everyone stay calm the banner is coming!! Anyway, enjoy my nonsense and may all you Kazuha wanters be Kazuha havers!!

Warnings - completely unedited brainrot to paper, blood, bloody kisses, what the fuck why are they making out he could die

Knock knock knock.

The soft sound jolts you from your current reading. What? Last you checked you hadn't been expecting any visitors and especially not so late in the evening. Either way, you carefully place the bookmark in the place you had been and set aside the book on the table in favor of heading towards the door.

“One moment!” You call out to whoever was on the other side, undoing the lock before opening the door. “Hello…?”

In the fading purple light of dusk, you freeze in place at the sight of the man at your door. He looks beyond worse for wear with his cherry red eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and his snow white hair loose around his shoulders, looking messy and with more streaks of red than you are used to. His clothes are disheveled and worst of all, the blood on his face running in rivulets down from his nose, mouth and past his hairline. How much of it was his own and how much was from whatever unfortunate soul dared to cross him was unclear, but no matter what it sent alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Kazuha?! What-” You began to speak in worry, hands outstretched to gently reach for him to bring the wounded man inside, but he cuts your words short without a single word of his own.

One step forward and his arms were around you faster than you could process; one hand around your waist to draw you near to him and the other tangled in your hair, cradling the back of your head to keep you in place. Before you knew it, you were tasting iron, the unfamiliar flavor sending a shiver down your spine. Soft lips press to yours in a gentle, yet fervent manner, his whole body seeming to sink against you as he does, leaving you reeling and trying to stabilize you both as his fingers curl tighter into you, clinging to you like you would disappear. You had half a mind to protest, both from his clearly injured state taking priority and from the unfamiliar taste of blood seeping into your mouth, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. With a sigh, you gave in, kissing back in equal measure, your arms wrapping more gently around him than his hold on you was as you were unsure where and how severely hurt he was. The last thing you'd want would be to make it worse.

As he felt your arms wrap around him, his lips curled up into a smile against your own mouth, the simple action seeming to spur him on. He took another step forward, the action forcing you to stumble back a little. He kept going, silently goading you further into your home without ever once letting up on the intensity of the kiss, even managing to close the door behind you before bringing his hand right back to your waist in an instant.

Your head is spinning, heart racing, struggling to process it all when he deepens the kiss further, sliding his tongue along yours with practiced ease that makes your heart ache with want. Iron spreads across your tongue and for a moment it scares you, but the soft groan he makes as your taste floods his senses is enough to silence any such feelings. And if you were honest with yourself, something about his blood in your mouth was unlocking something deep within you to be dealt with later.

Ever so slowly, and far too soon, Kazuha began to pull away, his tired eyes opening to gaze at you with a small smile, his lips now smeared red as though it were merely red lipstick smudging from the heated kiss. Even in his messy state he looked absolutely ethereal, leaving you unable to tear your eyes away.

His one hand slides from your hair to gently cradle your face in his palm, his gaze slowly lowering to your own lips. In silence, he brushes his thumb along your bottom lip, gently pulling at the soft flesh with interest. You can feel your cheeks burn more as you realize after all that, you were likely covered in it too. As he always does, he notices your unspoken realization and he laughs softly, the sound coming out even more quietly than usual as he lifts his gaze to meet yours once more.

“Come now, don't be shy,” He murmurs, and you can hear the slight rasp in his voice. The wandering samurai pauses to lean close to press a quick, tender little kiss to your stained lips once more, pulling away with the softest of smiles. “I hope you don't mind my sudden appearance like this. It's just that… after storms and trials, I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather come home to.”

#sunny brainrots #a little bit of sugar #genshin posting #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x reader #if i disappear from the face of the earth its because he didn't come home and i am in Misery #kazuha let me rizz you up so you come home PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE #i had another one i was working on before this attacked me but i wont be able to finish it before the banner comes #because yet again sunny learns she struggles to just write drabbles instead of full blown fics lmaoo #come home kazuha #pls babygirl

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katsu28 · 1 year

Note

OMG grapple with rafe please 🤭🤭

i have not written for this man in a hot minute!! thank u for requesting ri my dear ILY <3

rafe cameron x reader, 1.8k

“You want me to take you down.”

“No, I want you to try.”

“You’re a child, Cameron.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re scared, aren’t you?” Rafe teased, holding your phone up high and away from your reaching hands. “C’mon, you want it back, you’re gonna have to come get it.”

“I’m not playing your game!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Just give it back!”

“Come. Get. It.” He repeated slowly, a drawn out proposition paired with the gleefully smug grin on his face that had you huffing in annoyance at your best friend. He tossed your phone on the armchair behind him, hunkering down into a guard stance. “You can admit defeat, y’know. Just say ‘Rafe Cameron is the greatest of all time’. I’ll even shorten it for you, you can just call me the GOAT.”

“How ‘bout I call you a donkey instead?”

He feigned being stabbed in the gut for a few dramatic seconds before pulling the imaginary knife out and pretending to drop it on the floor. “Low blow, but I can handle it.”

You rolled your eyes at him. There were two options here—play his game and try to take him down, or surrender and say those dreaded words. Naturally, you picked the one you had no chance at.

Sending a prayer to whoever was listening, you feigned left and went right, lunging at Rafe to the best of your ability. He didn’t fall for your weak attempt at a fake out, instead catching you around the waist and taking you down to the carpet with ease.

You noticed that he took the care to slide his hand under your head so it didn’t bounce off the floor. It would’ve been nice, except that hand retreated and pinned your wrist above your head before you could fight Rafe off. He did the same to the other hand too.

His knee slotted between yours for leverage as you wriggled in his grasp with no avail. You were pinned securely under his hands as he loomed over you.

“Told you I’d win.” He breathed, his grin very Cheshire cat-like. You opened your mouth to shoot back a witty retort, but your voice died in your throat when his head dropped down a little closer towards yours.

You suddenly came to terms with the very compromising position you were in with Rafe right now; your faces were mere inches apart, so close you could smell that damn mint gum he was always chewing on. So close you could see the scar hidden in his eyebrow he’d gotten when he’d crashed his bike when you were kids, the flecks of green in his blue eyes. In short, he was right there.

The tension in the room had quickly turned unbearably thick, too heavy for your liking, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break eye contact. Part of you liked the way Rafe was looking at you.

His eyes flicked down to your lips for a split millisecond before snapping right back up, and if you hadn’t been in such close proximity, you wouldn’t have noticed it at all. But you did, and so began the most devious plan that you really only had a few seconds to formulate in your head.

You pretended to struggle for a few more seconds before feigning giving up, aiming a pout up at Rafe. His mouth curved into a smug sort of smile, all previous intensity in those irritatingly pretty eyes of his long since forgotten. He probably thought he’d just won.

“Face it, you can’t—” Whatever gloat he was about to throw your way was cut off by you leaning up towards him, pressing your lips against his. Rafe made a strangled sort of sound right off the bat, freezing immediately the instant your mouth touched his. Just as fast, he kissed you back eagerly, way more eager than one friend should be kissing the other. And as cliche as it was to say it, fireworks erupted in your belly, bursting against your ribcage like it was the goddamn Fourth of July.

You only hoped he couldn’t hear how loud your heart was pounding in your chest.

His grip on your wrists loosened, one hand coming down to brace himself on the carpet while the other planted itself next to your head. The way he was kissing you so firmly nearly had you melting, but the little voice at the back of your head was yelling at you to remember what all this was for. No, you weren’t kissing Rafe Cameron just for shits and giggles; you were on a mission. And no matter how good it felt, how right, you’d be damned if you didn’t complete it.

You bent your knees, planting them against his firm chest and pushing up—not hard enough for it to hurt, but hard enough that you caught him off guard. Before he could register what was happening, you had him flipped on his back, tables very much turned with his wrists trapped in both your hands.

“Gotcha.” You breathed, mirroring his earlier smile now that you were the one with the upper hand. Rafe’s Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped hard, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously. Maybe you were completely misinterpreting the situation entirely, but it almost looked like he wanted to kiss you again. You clambered off him quickly to rid the thought, snatching your phone off the cushion and shoving it into your back pocket. “Good game.”

Rafe stumbled to his feet and cleared his throat, hunched shoulders straightening as he brushed the nonexistent dust from his polo. “I should—I’m gonna, uh, get going. Wheeze asked me to help her with something for school, I should go…help her with it.” Lie. He just didn’t know what to do other than go.

“Right, yeah, of course. You should go.” Lie. You just didn’t know what to do other than let him.

He rocked on the balls of his feet awkwardly a few times, hands shoved into his shorts pockets awkwardly. “I’ll text you later?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, uh. Bye then.”

You watched him leave, watched him let himself out and make his way down the walk and climb into his truck, wanting to say something more but losing your chance the second he drove away.

“Shit,” You breathed, burying your face in your hands. It seemed like a smart plan at the time, but now having said and done it, kissing Rafe—kissing your best friend who didn’t feel the same way about you—was the stupidest idea you’d ever had.

-------

You’d just gotten settled into bed when you heard a commotion at your window that sounded suspiciously like pebbles clinking against the glass, and you knew who it was in an instant. There was only one person who preferred the throwing rocks at your window method over texting, so when you padded over and peered outside, you weren’t surprised to see Rafe grinning back up at you.

He motioned for you to open the window and you did, retreating back to the warm comfort of your blankets as he climbed up the tree next to your room and slid inside expertly. He’d probably done the same maneuver a million times throughout your lives, though this time it was different. This time, you weren’t just two best friends having a late night hangout. The same tension from earlier was back, only this time, your kiss weighed heavy on your chest.

“Hi,” He said quietly, brushing the leaves out of his product-less hair. The action made the soft strands flop over his forehead, giving him a younger, more boyish look. You always did enjoy this version of him.

“Hi.” You echoed, trying to ignore the feeling it sent flip-flopping through your stomach. Rafe always gave you that feeling.

“Mind if I sit?”

“‘Course.” Rafe sat a sizable distance away from you at the foot of your bed, broad shoulders hunched, leg bouncing. You knew this change in demeanor was because of what you’d done earlier.

“Can I ask—”

“Is everything—” You pressed your lips shut, motioning for him to speak first.

“Can I ask you a question?” He repeated, smoothing his hand over his knee as if that would stop it from shaking up and down. You merely nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to say or do anything else. “Okay. Okay, cool.” He cleared his throat, inhaling a quick breath and letting it out just as fast. “Did you mean it? Earlier, when you kissed me. Was it real?”

“Real,” You repeated, tilting your head at him.

“Yeah, real. Like, did you kiss me because you just wanted to win, or because you actually wanted to? Was it a real kiss? With like, real feelings behind it.”

You knew what you wanted to say, but you just weren’t sure if you wanted to say it. Because if you said it out loud, that would make your feelings real and not just a nagging feeling deep in your chest. If you said it out loud, there was no taking it back, no fixing things if everything went wrong. This would be permanent.

But with the way he was looking at you, the way he knew you, there was no point in lying. “It was real, Rafe. I wanted to.”

His mouth fell into a surprised little oh, but he was quick to shift his reaction. “Think maybe you’d wanna do it again?” He asked, a genuine question marked with a hopeful smile curving his lips.

You only had time to nod before Rafe was right up against you, hands sliding up to cup your face softly, lips meeting yours even softer. The ring on his index finger was cold against the warmth of your skin, leaving a coolness in its wake as his hand moved to settle at the back of your neck. Your hands found themselves twisting into the front of his faded Kildare Academy sweatshirt, bringing him closer to you.

This kiss was much sweeter than the first. While that one was spur of the moment clumsy, this one was tender. Less like working towards an end goal and more like going with the flow, seeing where you’d end up.

Rafe was panting by the time he pulled away, chest heaving as his eyes searched yours for any ounce of regret and came up empty. Then he smiled, big, wide, relieved. You didn’t think you’d ever get tired of seeing that smile, especially when it was aimed at you.

“I’m gonna be completely honest with you, I would’ve won if you hadn’t kissed me.” He insisted, giving your neck a playful squeeze. You opened your mouth to protest, but he pressed another quick kiss against your lips. “But I don’t even mind that you played dirty, because now I’ve won the best prize of all.”

“Oh, boo. That was so cheesy, Cameron.”

“I got my girl, I’m allowed to be cheesy for once.”

#first time writing in a month can i get a hell yeahh from the rafe girlies #okay im gonna disappear back into the abyss i just wanted to let u folks know im still alive n kickin (kinda)#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #non canon rafe cameron #non canon rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #obx #obx netflix #drew starkey

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cypher05 · 15 days

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so about that eclipse. huh.

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teal-fiend · 4 months

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A rich observer/prey hires a pred to come to their private events and parties. They give the pred a designated area, maybe behind glass, a small metal fence or even a cage. They have the pred dress in avant-garde dresswear, their skin and bare abdomen bejeweled and decorated in golden paint like a Klimt painting.

Before or at the start of the event, the pred is given prey to consume. Their job for the rest of the night is to pose, lounge about, slowly digesting their meal as the party goes on - a sort of live performance for the guests. In the way that drug lords keep a tiger on a golden leash, diamond collar, an absurd performance of luxury and power.

The pred is not allowed to talk to guests, and they would rarely make eye contact. They are in this moment an expensive art piece rather than a person. But they do get paid well, and they get a free meal.

Maybe they’re even on a contract with their boss, where they will live on their estate, the pred’s employer feeding them prey for theirs and their guest’s entertainment.

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faeriekit · 8 months

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Health and Hybrids (X)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here and this is part ten oh gods this was gonna be short at some point oh fuck

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bath boy took a bath! It was only a little gross! ...Ok JK it was quite gross.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Gifts from Medical, coming through!”

Wally barely feels the way Bart whacks him with a spare pillow case, but the whiffing noise is kind of a clue that the teen wants him to slow down. Or, in all actuality, Impulse probably wants Wally to buzz off, but Wally’s got boxes and boxes of tinker toys in his arms and nowhere else to put them down, so there really isn’t an alternative but a direct route to his destination.

“Go away!” Bart complains, and whacks the back of Wally’s head with the pillow case again. Wally hopes it’s one of the clean ones. He’s seen the ones that Bart’s favorite patient has…used. “No adults allowed! Bats said so!”

That's true. Batman had said that. “Well,” Wally says, dodging his way to the curtain to Bart’s clear dismay, “Medical said it was alright, and we all have to listen to them. They also packed gifts for your bud, so…”

Bart grabs onto the back of Wally’s suit and digs his feet into the tile. “Thatdoesn’tmeanyoucanbargeinhisspace!” the kid protests, teeth gritted, as Wally drags him across the floor with nothing but a determined gait and a tiny bit of the speedforce. (Just a little.) “It makes him nervous!! And then he’ll bite you!”

Oh, yeah, the biting. Wally stops at the edge of the curtain, hands on the gross gray fabric. Hrm.

“Uh.” There’s gotta be a solution to that. He looks down at Bart’s weird mop-head hairstyle. “Will he stop if I bring gifts?”

“Nah. He’s going to eat you.”

…Great.

“Bossy,” Wally decides, even if this is, in the end, for the alien-kid’s sake. Bart squawks. “Oh well. I gotta deliver these anyway. Hey, stranger; I come bearing gifts from your medical team! Uh…hiss if you get mad, I guess?”

Wally bumps the free-flowing curtain to the side with his hips, showing off the aforementioned pile of toys in his arms before poking his head in.

The cluster of darkness on the bed, being largely a mass of black in the vague shape of a humanoid, says nothing.

Bart crawls underneath Wally’s outstretched pile of deliveries so that he can go straight up to the bitiest occupant of the Watchtower proper. The teen kneels down on the floor, put his chin on the entity’s cot mattress, and leans up on the bed up at the shadowy mass of teenager up above him. “I can tell him to go away if you want me to,” he tells the entity, who sort of…turns? Towards the speedster. “I could beat him up.”

Wally snorts. No he couldn’t.

“…I could get Superboy to beat him up,” Bart immediately amends, which, hey! Not nice!

…True, maybe, but not nice!

The shadow-kid doesn’t get up and leave, and he doesn’t start hissing or throwing things—both things Wally is pretty sure he’s capable of. And, well, Wally has a job to do, and unless the alien entity teen actually discourages him from doing it, Wally’s going to do his best to help the kid out on this one.

“Bart, if you really want to help him feel comfy when I pop this on his bed, get between him ‘n me, please.”

Impulse, thankfully, holds off on sulking. He hops onto the alien kid’s medical cot-bed, carefully tucking in a blanket beneath him as to stay…sanitary.

Wally’s got to admit. It doesn’t smell so hot in here. Maybe he ought to have let medical wrestle him into some hygienic gear instead of zipping straight down. Eh. Too late now.

Wally carefully releases the pile of presents from the kid’s medical team onto the bed— snatching one or two bouncers out of the air before they fall onto the floor.

Bart and the nameless alien kid lean in closer to inspect the colorful packages. “Oh, sweet!” Impulse exclaims, eyes wide. “Hey, look, you got new stuff!”

New stuff is right. Finance lets medical essentially decide their own budget; purchase orders of new physical therapy tools are consistently approved even with oversight. In this case, it looked like the team was more than happy to take advantage of that goodwill with a run to the local children’s educational shop.

There are boxes upon boxes of colorful children’s toys on the mattress. Bart looks like Christmas has come early. The alien kid looks—at attention? At least? His claws gently rake over the rainbow-bright cardboard boxes, turning them this way and that so that he can see.

Wally zips away and zips back with a chair for himself. The cot is gross, yes, but more importantly, Wonder Woman has made very clear in her notes that the bed is part the kid’s perceived personal space. Violating that trust with the alien-entity-kid is largely a non-option. If they want to hold themselves up to the standard that J’onn was able to impart in their brief conversation, they have to be kind, careful, and considerate of his personal space.

The Flash (the second) hops into the chair. “Want to help the kid open the stuff, Impulse? Might be hard with his. Uh. Hand claws. Claw…hands?”

They both look at the aforementioned being’s hands. The claws look like hands and sometimes they look like claws, but they mostly don’t look like anything. If Wally stops paying attention, he legitimately thinks he’s alone in the room with Bart and a stiff breeze.

“…Fingers,” Bart finally decides on. And then he beams. “Yeah! Okay. Hey, look! Let’s open this one!”

The kid-alien-thing mostly seems to respond to the brightly-colored and waving object in his vision and Bart’s cheery tone. Still, react he does. The amorphous form gets closer, tilts forward, and shimmers ever so slightly with attention as Bart begins to narrate his unboxing of colorful grip-shaped silicone toys, with little suction cups on the ends so that they can stick to things.

Bart sticks one to the kid’s side table. It takes the kid a second to observe, come to a conclusion, and then—fumblingly—claw the bright blue sucker off with his fingers until it comes free. The wobbly form of a teenage alien tries, misses, and then tries again to get the suction cup to relatch onto the table. The purr at his own success vibrates quietly through the room. It…the sensation shivers through Wally’s body.

It feels very, very weird. A little too personal. Like…the sound is embedded beneath his skin. Wally carefully scratches at himself, but the sensation of fingers on his suit doesn’t get rid of the feeling brushing against his muscle layer.

Bart doesn’t even react to the feeling, even if he can tell that Wally’s getting twitchy. “Tim thinks that most of his being is extradimensional. That’s why I can tell what he’s up to more; he zings in the speedforce.”

Wally slowly pushes himself up in his chair. “Wait, really?”

Bart doesn’t look up from his new project: unwrapping the cling wrap from dry erase lapboards. They look like they have the alphabet dotted along them in little spots of blue ink. “Mmhm.”

That’s… “Does Barry know?”

“I dunno.” Bart shrugs. He’s too busy watching his friend watch him unwrap preschool toys to give a clearer answer. “You can text him I guess. I think it’s just a theory, but he’s not biting you for being in his space right now, and he’s hissed at like everyone else who’s been here. Hey, look!! This one’s slime!”

Wally half gets up out of the seat. “Okay, okay, I think that one—“ He’s gone and back in a couple of nanoseconds, a plastic cafeteria tray clutched in his fists. “—That one needs a tray, I think. Don’t mess up the sheets with your new goo just because you’re excited.”

Impulse, teen speedster from the future, and a so-far nameless, bodiless alien teenage entity, share a vaguely textured cafeteria tray as they smush purple and yellow sensory beads around in rough circles. There are other toys that get opened, but are left largely untouched: a clock puzzle with insertable shapes serving as the numbers, and a 3D drawing pad with reusable cords on a velcro backing. The winner of the batch seems to be the colorful sensory beads in little tubs, considering that the two recipients of the stuff seem to gravitate back towards it with every new unboxing.

Of course, the favorite has to be the messy toy. Honestly, Wally should have guessed. Whatever. The plastic and wrapping trash is gone in seconds, leaving the kid’s space nice and clean, since apparently Wally is hanging around to be adult supervision. He might as well help out a bit.

And, apparently, the alien kid has something of a heart in his not-quite-present body; when Wally’s done throwing the trash out, the kid’s projectile of choice to chuck at Wally’s torso is a red block of floam putty sensory beads, matching the red of Wally’s suit.

…Wally’s going to take it as a nice gesture. The kid is purring and playing and generally disarmed, so this is probably an attempt at bonding.

The kid has a toy. Bart has a toy. Wally has a toy.

“Thanks,” he says, and unwraps the plastic on the stuff.

The alien might not have words to respond, but he purrs, and he purrs, and he purrs, and Bart hums right along with him.

And they knead putty together.

💚👻👽👻💚

Toys for injured ghosts:

Squigz™ Master Set

Squish & Squeeze Sensory Beads

Double-Sided Early Writing Skills Lapboard

Shape Sorting Clock

Rainbow Cord & Picture Pattern Maker

Yes I used real toys and went on a fake shopping spree; I used a combo of Lakeshore and Melissa & Doug, mostly looking for stuff that either aided with fine motor skills, language acquisition, or both. They know Danny doesn't speak English and they know he has trouble with his hands, and at least one of the Medical team has to have or has young kids, and this is what they came up with collectively. Do they resent that Wonder Woman got to him first? No, definitely not. :( They did try to find toys that weren't outrageously condescending, though; no dolls, no fine motor toys meant for, like, ham-fisted babies. The fact that the toys are, like, equally interesting to Bart, is, like...unique to Bart. Maybe Kon, too. I feel like Tim gets to watch Cassie, Bart, Kon, and the alien play around determinedly with the Squigz while he's defrauding Lex Luthor from his laptop nearby lol

#Barry: I think...everyone is hanging out without me. :(#Batman: ...I feel that all the time #Barry: What?#Batman: *smoke bomb* *disappears*#Barry: ???#dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw medical #tw gore #tw body horror #uh #gross #health and hybrids #dcu crossover #cryptid!au #danny phantom #faer fic

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