CHARACTER: RORONOA ZORO
PROMPT: #89 LIFEBOAT
TOTAL FICS: 2/50
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MASTERLIST COMING SOON...
Zoro had heard once, when you learn life altering news you're often in the most basic of places; your living room, your bedroom, a stupid life boat.
He laid there inside the Mini Merry II, arms folded behind his head as Sanji moved around with a rag in his hand, trying to process what the ero-cook had just said. He was yelling, as usual, his curly brows moving around like waves on a tempestuous ocean.
"Relax," Zoro orders him, his one good eye narrowed in the blond's direction. Sanji busily wiped at Mine Merry II's head, before taking the ship's wheel into his possession. "I can't even understand what you're mad about."
"You're of no use!" Sanji yells, looking over his shoulder at Zoro. He sucks his teeth as they sail back from the remote island they had done reconnaissance from. Sanji does his best to remain out of sight on his return trip to the Thousand Sunny. "You just came to take a nap? You should have stayed back. This would have been so much better with Nami-chwan. Oh, Nami-chwan!" He whined, his eyes shining with barely contained admiration. "I would happily steer us anywhere for all eternity if it meant being by your side!"
Zoro grunts, not sure why Sanji would prefer to have to Nami's bossy attitude with them. The wind tousles Sanji's blond locks. Zoro thinks it looks like hay caught in a wind gust.
"What are you trying to say? You like Nami more than me?" He huffs again, finding that laughable. He was stronger, faster, he could drink more than she could, and he was better looking if anyone asked him. Plus, he was funnier.
Sanji barely hesitates.
"Of course I do!" Sanji decrees. "All you do is sleep and fight. Gimme a break."
Poker night was one of the nights he looked most forward to while on The Thousand Sunny.
Actually, if Brook was honest, every night was one to look forward to! Ever since he had joined, although he was nothing but bones, he felt life slowly seeping into his marrows. The laughter of his crewmates, their smiles and enviable youth. It had all been an honor to see, especially after floating on eerie waters with nothing but the ghosts of his long lost friends.
"Yo ho ho ho!" he laughed, eager to chase the blues away with his own mirth. "I can't wait to see how the night ends up. Sanji is going to end up in his tidy whities again."
Sanji nearly drops the cigarette from his lips, eliciting another thrill of laughter from Brook.
"That's because you and Zoro count cards!" Sanji accused, pointing a finger at Zoro. The swordman takes the bait as Brook predicted, and the pair of fighting lovebirds are grabbing each other's collars again.
"Stop it! You're shaking the table!" Nami yells, her glossy lips a tempting berry red under the light of the dining area. Brook watches her dreamily with one bony hand on his equally bony cheek.
"Nami-san," he starts, holding back his laughter. "If I win, can you tell me the color of the panties you're wearing tonight?"
"The hell I will!" she yells, turning her ire from the fighting duo to him.
"Yo ho ho ho!" Brook's laughter is louder than before, as he is overcome with joy. The din around the dining table is addicting. He never wants to leave this place. He never wants to be without them. "Don't worry, Nami-san. I'll be dead before I am blessed by you."
"why does it have to always be about knights?" because there's nothing hotter than a hulking mass of metal who could kill me with a flick of his wrist but instead gets on his knees and trembles as he restrains himself from begging for my touch. i'm not going to get that from some fur trader or councilor, am i?
SINGLE DAD ZAYNE (and mentions of non-mc reader)
WC: an easy 1.1k cause I was just exploring his character
CW: mentions of death, grief, and that's about it
A/N: Consider this more as a character exploration of Zayne in an AU where MC and him did marry and had a child, but she passed (suddenly at that) and now he is trying to find out how to navigate life, and fatherhood without her. This is part of my single dad zayne x non mc au pair universe. It takes place a little over nine month's from MCs passing. He's had an AU pair, for this scene, around three months. In this universe I'm still laying down all my plot points but MC's death isn't as black and white as it seems, and there will be cameos of Caleb, and more just not for this little scene lol
The alarm drags him away from his recurrent dream— the one where MC still smiles, still laughs; the one she's still alive and warm in his arms. Instead, he is forced to face reality, again, as the infectious pop tune from Winnie's favorite movie dances around his head. As the song hits its climax, Zayne roughly rubs his face, reconsidering his past choice of letting her pick out his alarm sound. Her dimpled smile, and round chubby cheeks float behind his eyelids making him forget any regrets.
It was worth it; to see her smile, was worth it, especially these days, when it was so rare to partake in happiness without the bitter aftertaste of guilt and sadness; as if he had no right to it, as if he had lost that to the Fates as well.
Dexterous fingers paw at sheets, comforter and pillow in search of the noise making machine. Zayne's eyes refuse to open although he knows this would make his task much easier. The responsibility of disciplining himself no longer lays solely in his hands when the sound of running feet grows louder.
Zayne braces himself, draping an arm over tired eyes to feign sleep. The bedroom door flies open with a cheerful cry of: "Papa!"
Before he can react, Winnie leaps onto his bed and—with her perfect aim—lands expertly on him on a belly flop; stomach to stomach. All breath leaves him to live within the giggles of his daughter as she climbs herself into a seated position—his diaphragm, her impromptu throne.
"Papa!" she calls again, her voice twice as sweet as her smile. "Good mornin'!"
His frigid hands hold her steady by her tiny torso before he is compelled to squeeze her round face between them.
"Good morning, my snow angel," he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep and tenderness. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yeah, Papa," Winnie chirps, drumming her hands on his chest. "But is it time yet?"
Her barely there eyebrows knit together in a frown. Zayne suppresses a laugh; his smile turning tight lipped.
"Time for what, Elowyn?" he asks her, gently bringing himself into a seated position. He scoops Winnie into his arms, as she squeals in a mixture of temporary fear and delight.
"Papa!" she whines, a chubby hand finding his chin. She grabs it as if that would keep him from disappearing—and from lying. "You know! Ice skatin'. We goin' skatin' yet?"
He contemplates teasing her but she looks absolutely serious, and he did not want to ruin their day by accidentally instigating on a tantrum. Instead, he blows a quick raspberry on one of her irresistible cheeks, eliciting another thrilling squeal from her. This was the most cheerful Winnie had been in a while, and he wanted to relish in every minute of it.
He carries her off the bed, and gently places her on the floor as he slips into his wore down house slippers. As he makes his way to the bathroom, he hears her soft little footsteps behind him.
"Winnie," he says calmly, finding his toothbrush. "Did you wash your face?" As she doesn't answer, and instead chooses to quietly play with his pajama bottoms by digging her hands into one of his pockets and giggling. Zayne figures he has his answer. "Come on, then. Dad will do it for you." He starts picking her up but freezes forgetting, not for the first time, that he had hired someone for that.
It wasn't easy for him to relinquish control, and while the idea of hiring an Au Pair had seemed like a great one in theory—in practice it still felt awkward, at times uncomfortable, and even unnatural. Still, he knew it was what was best for Winnie.
He pushes Winnie gently, a hand on her head, and stirs her out the door.
"Go find your Miss, and get ready. You can't ice skate if your teeth aren't clean."
Winnie turned her head to frown at him over her shoulder.
"Papa, that doesn't make sense!" she argued, and Zayne knew his logic was flawed but he couldn't tell her that. "You don't skate with teeth. You skate with skates!"
He couldn't argue with that, and luckily, he didn't have to force himself to. You appear like the angel he sometimes thought you were, soft smile and kind eyes, in front of his bedroom.
"Winnie," you call out softly, as you kneel down to her level. Your hand takes one of her elbows. "Shall we get ready? The sooner we get there the more fun we can have."
Winnie throws her arms around your neck, and you pick her up with a small grunt. Zayne watches the scene with mixed emotions. On one hand, he loves the sight of his daughter being excited, and content but seeing her in the arms of a woman that wasn't her mother prickled something in his chest; guilt freezes whatever warmth threatened to bloom, turning it icy black. A frown makes an intrusive attempt. Zayne manages to brush it off with a small shake of his head.
"I'll meet you both downstairs," he says before slipping back into the bedroom.
He sees something flicker in your eyes—perceptive as always. He ignores it, just like the dozen of questions he has about you near daily. Curiosity was a dangerous vice. If he didn't thread carefully, he'd venture into territory he wasn't ready to discover.
He finishes getting himself ready leisurely, although he can imagine Winnie's impatience. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch into a half smile. Normally, he'd rush to get ready so he could tend to her but having you around meant there was someone to keep Winnie entertained while he enjoyed a reprieve from the usual tight, and over packed schedule.
The path down the staircase feels eerily light. His feet land on each step but it feels as if they were someone else's feet, as if this was all a dream. Life simply could not be this easy, this happy. How could it possibly be when MC was no longer here?
Yet, the kitchen seemed cast in a warm and soft golden glow as he enters. You're there leaning against the kitchen counter, opening your mouth wide so that Winnie can feed you a piece of her pancake—and for a moment, he thinks he sees her ghost in the shadows of your face.
And just like that, the illusion is shattered. The kitchen darkens, and every noise is so loud he fights the instinct to run away.
It is Winnie that anchors him, with her little hand reaching out to grab his cold one.
"You ready, Papa?" she asks, looking up at him with bright shining eyes. If he looked close enough, he could see his entire future in them, and it was all love, love, love.
RORONOA ZORO X NICO ROBIN
WC: 3,496 words to be exact and I am not sorry
CW: uh...zobin I guess if you're against the ship it's your own warning, zoro who pretends to not be a loser, zoro has a praise kink believe it or not, now you know, you're welcome, some fluff, mostly zoro being clueless and robin being robiin
AUTHOR'S NOTES: this is zoro's POV from the previous fic I wrote for zobin which was from robin's POV. i love them very much they are so special to me. what other scenario should I write them in?
Sun kissed shoulders stung with the overly zealous affection of the sun. If Roronoa Zoro didn't know any better, he'd say the big burning orb in the sky was in love with him.
Air blew noisily through his nose, the only semblance of humor he was willing to allow himself for his ridiculous inner thoughts. Imagine that? The Sun in love with him? Who did he think he was? Some kind of deity?
He knew that word, and he knew how to spell and use it now, thank you very much. Robin had taught him as much a few days ago, when she was reading out loud from one of her books. It hadn't been intentional. It's just that as he was finding his sunny spot oddly comforting and lulling, Robin's equally lulling voice had drifted to him and caught his interest.
Zoro wasn't sure how they kept ending up together—in the same spots together, he should clarify. They weren't together. He looked up from where he was picking up the bag of soil to see Robin looking her usual distracted self. The warm ocean breeze softly blew through her dark hair, hiding her face from him in fractures. A strange feeling seized inside of him; a muscle pulled taut that he hardly used, painful and foreign.
Strength was something he was knowledgeable on. He knew how to hone it, and how to control it. It wasn't intangible, and unknown—like the uneasiness in his chest. A creature of habit, he focused on the bag of soil in his possession and switched shoulders for the time being.
"Where do you want it?" he asked Robin, noticing the thinly veiled hint of annoyance in his own voice. If he was any less shameless he would have been embarrassed at himself. Zoro's dark gaze swept over to Robin's silhouette. She stood there bathed in sunlight and utterly clueless to his dilemma. "Robin?"
He watched her eyes focus once more, and a smile bloomed like a delicate flower on her pale face.
"There's fine, thank you!" she said, her voice a warm toned melody. Zoro had to blink himself free from the weird spell, and followed her finger with newfound discipline. It was the best he could do to hide his embarrassment. He frowned at the empty garden bed, and had half a mind to ask her if she had made it before he reminded himself he knew better.
It was no big secret in the crew that Franky had a soft spot for their archeologist. Surely, this was just another one of his dedicated inventions. Zoro scoffed before he could stop himself, his mouth a crooked and disdainful as he rolled the bag off his shoulder. He watched it slump there, looking pathetic and powerless against the empty flower bed.
Good. It had it coming, he thought.
There was that feeling again, as if he was being watched. When he glanced over to Robin, she was watching him again in that quiet manner of hers—as if she was judging him with an indecipherable smile. He thought he had gotten used to it, but as of late, it was starting to make him feel anxious again. At least, that's what he was willing to name the feeling in his chest—the kind that fluttered, and buzzed, before warming the rest of his body.
"Robin," he said, calling her name he felt, for far too many times in the span of a few minutes. It felt like obsession, at this point, and his pride was threatening to lodge in the middle of his throat. Was she that bored by his presence?
The bag of soil became his punching bag once more, as it tore under his strength. He enjoyed the sound of tearing canvas. The ripping that he felt through his fingers was oddly satisfying but not enough to soothe his bruised ego.
"Are you even listening to anything I say?"
The words were out before he could swallow them back. He wanted to cuss himself out. If it was possible, he would have jumped into the sea rather than to sound like a petulant child begging for attention. What had gotten into him, anyway? Didn't he have other things he could be doing? Yet, there he was. The sun was hot on the back of his neck, fingertips covered in dirt, while being completely ignored by the one person he wasn't sure he wanted to impress.
"What am I even doing here?" he muttered, once again, his own damn mouth betraying him. He never even had this much lack of control when he drank.
He should get up and leave. He had done the heavy lifting—a task that he was positive she could have handled on her own. What was there left for him to do for her? Robin was completely self-reliant. She had survived on her own since she was a child even with the World Government on the hunt for her head. She had been through things Zoro could only imagine.
What did Nico Robin need from a swordsman like him?
"I'm so sorry, Zoro," her voice, like silk, wrapped around him, startling him into speechlessness. As he blinked quickly, his breath hitched in his throat. Robin reached into the bag. Her arm snaked like a vine between his. "I'm being a bit inconsiderate here, aren't I?"
His body tensed, not daring to move. If he did, he might touch her. Zoro wasn't sure if that was a good idea, especially not while that strange anxiety slipped through him once more, warming him down to his fingertips. There was a heat on his face he longed to ignore, and he hoped she did as well. As if seeking an answer from her, his brown eyes sought hers. They shone brighter under the sun, as if they had swallowed the sunlight themselves.
Zoro wasn't sure he had ever seen something so surreal.
"I should fill the flower bed," he heard her say—her voice adopting a new lilt to it. Zoro frowned. "You can't plant anything if there's no soil to begin with."
Unsure of the situation, and unsure if there was anything unspoken at all to fuss over, he decided to let it go. He was more interested in work he could do with his hands, than his brain anyways. Dirt felt real, solid under his fingers. He seized handfuls of it and tossed them into the empty flower bed, enjoying the sensation of it squeezing past his knuckles. As satisfying as it was, it was slow work, and he grew impatient. Sensing little protest from the unofficial project director, Zoro stood up, tilted the bag and emptied it all at once.
"Well done, Zoro!" Her voice was cheerful, inciting a strange sense of accomplishment. Zoro wanted to slice right through it. If it had a head, he would cut it off immediately. That blossoming smile was on her face again—and so was a dark hand print right over that bewitching grin.
He frowned, unsure of what to say or if what he was seeing was real for a second. He wanted to laugh, more than anything, but he didn't know if Robin would appreciate that. He felt the corners of his lips twitched as he tried to reign it in. She looked so comical. The usual cool, and effortless Nico Robin rendered into a physical comedy gag by the power of what—carelessness?
It almost broke him.
"What is it?" she asked, her clear eyes on his face. It was almost enough to make him confess.
He stared back at her, feeling his chest swell up. Wind danced around his ankles, warm and almost sensual. The silence between them invited further conversation—a secret space just for them, but he still didn't dare. Robin was so hard to read, and Zoro wasn't as big of a risk taker as he thought.
He shook his head once, ashamed; unable to bear looking back into her eyes that seemed to see everything. He shifted his weight to one foot, and looked down at them before directing his attention to the garden bed.
"What are you planting anyway?" he asked, eager to push past whatever had just happened—or not happened—between them; brushing his nose twice before hand. It was a nervous habit he couldn't quite quit.
"Ah!" Came Robin's excited voice, clapping her hands once. Zoro bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Her skirt moved elegantly despite her eager bounding steps in the direction of a tray of sprouts. She moved quickly, showing him some satchels he barely had a glance of before she was tossing them back down. Her excitement was palpable in her erratic movements. In a sense it reminded him of Luffy. "I'm so glad you asked. I have been holding on to these for the right climate. I grew what I could inside and after talking to Nami it seems there is no better time than now."
Roronoa Zoro stayed quiet as he stood there, his weight on one leg, knuckles pressed against his hips. He watched her through dark lashes, the sun was again shining around her. Was it her hair? Did it attract sunlight like flowers did butterflies? Was it normal for light to hang from someone's crown like a halo? Had he lost his damn mind?
He had lost his damn mind. Or he was hungry. Should he eat?
As he ruminated in a panic about his options, he stayed eerily still—only his chest rising and falling faster as he tried to talk himself off the ledge. Robin continued, a map or something in her hands now.
"Of course, being at sea means anything could happen. We could get swept away by a massive wave, or we could get eaten by a Sea King and all my planning would have been for naught."
As Robin paused for breath, Zoro's left eyebrow rose a fraction. If he had lost his mind, at least he was no more crazier than anyone else in his crew if Robin's little speech was anything to go off by. He stepped forward to tug the drawn layout from her fingers, wordlessly declaring it his distraction from his inner thoughts.
"You could also die while eating an onigiri," Zoro muttered, turning the layout Robin had painstakingly drawn, color coded, and wrote notes on with careful penmanship here and there like he was waiting for secrets to pop out of it. He could go for an onigiri now, maybe four. As he thought about the list of foods he'd like to eat soon, Robin tried to take his distraction away. He snatched it back in time only to be thwarted by her Devil Fruit.
He gave in this time, letting her have the victory. At least that's what he was going to tell himself.
He watched her slip away from him, seemingly finding the garden bed more interesting than him. Zoro tried to find no offense to that but his pride was bigger than he thought; and here he thought that had been beaten out of him a long time ago.
"If you chew your food, you don't have to worry too much about that," Robin said coolly, as she laid down the layout she had claimed from him. He stepped forward to watch her work over her shoulder. The rocks she used to pin the sheet down caught his interest, and he frowned at them only to realize he recognized the artwork to be Usopp's. "Unless you're severely allergic to an ingredient in the onigiri. What a shame!"
As he figured, there really wasn't much he could do for her yet he couldn't control his next move. He found himself there, inexplicably knelt by her side, staring at the soil as if he could find answers buried in there. If he dug enough, could he get down to the reason for the strange feeling that liked to occasionally live inside the cavity of his chest? If he toiled, dug again would he find another side of Robin that he didn't know about—that no one did?
The sun was unforgiving above him, threatening to burn a hole through the back of his head. Zoro almost welcomed it, if the sun felt daring enough to take him on. It would be a welcome reprieve to all the insufferable thoughts. He didn't think he was much of a thinker; the irony was enough to give him a nosebleed if he continued to ruminate it further.
Robin was saving him from himself again.
She placed a shovel in his roughened hand, and he looked at her briefly—her cheeks bright and pink, eyes downcast. It was a sight that tempted him to drink it up to the point of intoxication.
He gripped the shovel's handle tighter, and got to work. He spaced out holes for the seedlings, doing the math in his head quite easily.
"Is that deep enough?" he asked, and a part of him—the one he wanted to behead—wished she would praise him again, like she did before.
"Yes, that should be fine. I'll go get the trays."
It was not the reaction he was hoping for, and he swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment. He clenched his jaw to keep from sulking, ignoring the risk it posed on his molars.
Robin made an attempt to stand up to get the trays , but Zoro pressed a calloused hand on her forearm, pushing her down gently. It wasn't her fault that he had lost his mind. It was entirely his responsibility.
"I got 'em," he mumbled, as he stood up, desperate to get away from her for a moment to breathe and gain his sanity back.
He wished the trays were heavier. He wished they were his confusing feelings, and his stupid wishes, and his childish desire for praise, that way he could have flung them into the ocean in a fake accident.
Instead, they were Robin's precious seedlings—ones she had told him, that she had taken the extra care to raise inside away from the unpredictable elements of the oceans. As such, he started walking them back to her, careful not to jostle them too much.
Unpredictably, his previous distraction flew into the air, and he reacted before he could stop himself by catching it with one hand. Not wanting to drop the trays, he shoved it into his shirt for later retrieval.
"How do you want these anyway?" Zoro asked, reaching her quicker than he had planned. He wasn't sure he was back to his regular senses, and didn't trust himself to make a fool of himself once more.
"By height of course," Robin answered. Zoro nodded, as if to say 'of course', as well. He should have thought of that. "Sunflowers in the very back, then coneflowers and then the zinnias."
Zoro watched her point at them, and nodded once to acknowledge her instructions. He grabbed what looked like the right seedling and tried to plant it in one of the holes in the back but was stopped by the feel of Robin's cool hand on top of his.
"Zoro," she said. Zoro's fingers twitched, as if they wanted to act on their own. "Do you know about the language of flowers?"
Zoro stayed silent, as she moved his hands, and a seedling, to the right spot. His heart hammered away in his chest. Together, they covered the seedling with dirt.
"I don't know," he said hoarsely, his mouth dryer than it's ever been. "Am I supposed to?"
Robin giggled, shoulders briefly shaking with her mirth. The sound played atop his skin, every single note stinging it's way up his spine. She bumped the back of her hand with his, and it was enough to make him hold his breath.
"I could hardly expect a swordsman like you to busy yourself with learning such things, but…" She guided him again to plant another seedling, her lithe fingers brushed over his. Zoro wasn't sure how much longer he could take this. "Would you like to know?"
Zoro reminded himself to breathe. Adrenaline coursed through him, the kind of head rush he usually found in battle. Every sense felt alive, he could smell her every time he breathed in—sweet and floral, like an expensive tea.
"Go ahead."
"Zinnias, for example," she pointed to the front line. Zoro squinted at the leaves. They hardly seemed different to him but he trusted her to know. "Symbolize enduring friendship and remembrance. Isn't that wonderful?"
Robin smiled at the seedlings, the kind of glow on her cheeks that she had when she would smile at Chopper—not that he had been watching too much.
Zoro shrugged, as if this would throw the weight of his own suspicion off.
"It also represents lasting affection."
Zoro's hands froze momentarily, before he forced them to work—his heart lurching painfully as if he had been caught stealing from the kitchen. Just what the hell was wrong with him? Was it sun poisoning? Was that what was going on? Because it sure felt like it. He was melting.
"What about these?" he asked, burying a coneflower that Robin had to save by shaking off a top layer of dirt.
"Coneflowers symbolize strength, resilience, and healing. Something I wish for you," Robin murmured before quickly adding. "All of you."
"I'm already strong," Zoro mumbled, looking away to frown at Robin. Was she doubting him? He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He wanted to remind himself this was Nico Robin not that stupid Ero Cook. She wasn't Nami either. There was no need to look for hidden meanings in her words. "And I'm not sick. I don't need healing."
Robin smiled back at Zoro, and the corners of her eyes crinkled.
"Yes," she said simply before turning her attention back to their work. "You're not sick."
"And these?"
Robin planted the last of the sunflowers with Zoro's help as a bemused expression took over her face.
"Sunflowers are my favorite," she said quietly. A warm breeze blew through her hair. Zoro leaned closer to hear her, and found that quickly to be a mistake. He could smell her again, more strongly than before. If he breathed deep enough, he could taste her scent in the back of his mouth. Robin looked up into Zoro's eyes.
His breath was arrested; anchored, thrown into the abyss. Still, he held on.
"They symbolize adoration, loyalty and devotion."
"Devotion," he muttered under his breath, his eyes finding Robin's face. He watched her quietly, his eyes tracing the planes of her face. What did Robin know of devotion? She seemed like a solitary creature, or at least she had been before joining them. If she was devoted to anything it was to her books. Was that what she thought of it?
And why did he care? Did he not have his own things to devote himself to? His own missions? Why was he bending his tiny brain in every direction trying to solve the mystery of Nico Robin like he was the archaeologist on the ship and not the other way around?
Irritation settled on the nape of his neck.
"You have dirt on your face," he told her simply.
Robin wiped at her face with the back of her arms. In her moment of panic, Zoro seized the opportunity and stood up. Now would be the time to retreat, although he'd be loathed to admit it out loud.
He looked down at her, a frown heavy between his brows. As silence fell between them again, Zoro felt guilt bite the back of his knees. He was a coward.
Zoro held out his hand to her. And he waited.
Her blue eyes, sparkling in the sun, took in the sight of his hand and Zoro wondered what she was looking for in them. After listening to his own heartbeat in his ears for far too long, Robin wrapped her cold fingers around his.
Zoro pulled her up, surprised at how light she felt. Slightly unsettled, Zoro stood there in silence, watching his shadow cast partially over Robin. The sunlight still found its hanging place on her crown—a suitable throne.
He tilted his head and scoffed softly—a gentle laugh that barely made a sound.
"I half expected you to plant a bunch of poisonous plants. I guess I was wrong again."
Now was the time to retreat, before he said something else that would give too much away.
"Again?" Robin asked his retreating figure. Zoro turned slightly to look at her over his shoulder with a sideways grin.
Would it be like this, every time? Her voice the sound that could stop him on his tracks, and reel him back like a fishing line.
RORONOA ZORO X NICO ROBIN
WC: 2.2k
CW: clueless zoro, weird girl robin, it is sfw nothing crazy, maybe mentions of death?
SUMMARY: robin has been planning a flower garden for some time but she never planned on having roronoa zoro volunteer to help her...
AUTHOR'S NOTES: this is my first ever zobin fic, and it is my first time writing from robin's pov. i tried to create a bit of whimsy with her inner voice. robin is well educated, and knowledgeable, but she does have a penchant for allowing herself to get lost in fantasy (which is often morbid). i tried to showcase that here without writing 20k, also I may have included some headcanons which i will talk about some other time.
Heat seeped into her skin, as the sun's rays kissed her browning shoulders. Although its idea of affection stung, Nico Robin welcomed it with open arms.
She was no stranger to pain, and she considered it a small price to pay for freedom. There were far more gruesome punishments she could imagine. For example, if Mr. Sun felt like it, he could probably choose to turn up the heat to such a degree, the sea around them would start to boil, and her skin would bubble bit by bit. Then, it would scorch black, and slough off her bones like putrid gelatin, as her shrill screaming voice died out in her throat.
That was definitely worse than a little stinging. If anything, at least now she could say it was Mr. Sun pinching her. That way she could make sure that she indeed was awake, and not imagining the fact that Roronoa Zoro had volunteered to help her with her project.
"Where do you want it?" he asked gruffly. The color of his voice was always softly tinted with some kind of mild annoyance. Robin would wonder if that was a sort of fatal affliction, if she didn't know any better. It indeed wasn't. She had looked it up, and no book contained such a malady. "Robin?"
Her name rolled off his tongue, bringing her back to the Sunny, under the sun and in Zoro's orbit. Slowly, she blinked, as a smile stretched her lips. She flicked a finger to a spot by the empty raised garden bed Franky had constructed for her.
"There's fine, thank you!"
Zoro rolled the bag of soil off his shoulder with the same ease he would lift those oversized weights he loved to train with. His strength was monstrous, no doubt, and Nico Robin couldn't help but be fascinated by it. Crystalline eyes danced over the curve of his biceps. The skin there was dark from the sun. Just how many bicep curls did it take to get to that size? Ten thousand? Hundred thousand?
"Robin," he said again, this time squatting in front of the bag of soil. Zoro's thick fingers tore at the bag. "Are you even listening to anything I say?"
Robin blinked, finally realizing her wandering mind was leaving her in a position where she was being inadvertently rude to Zoro. He started muttering again before she had a chance to apologize.
"What am I even doing here?"
His voice was slightly higher than a whisper. Had she not been making a pointed effort to focus on the conversation, instead of all her curious thoughts about him, she would have missed it entirely. Again.
Hair, soft as silk, slid over one warm shoulder as she tilted her head, like a curtain of starless night.
"I'm so sorry, Zoro," she said softly, kneeling next to him. She reached out between his arms, to dig her hand into the soil trapped within the bag. "I'm being a bit inconsiderate here, aren't I?"
Zoro's shoulders tensed immediately. Her observation skills were a double edged sword, Robin thought, as she took in Zoro's blushing cheeks through a sidelong glance that lasted longer than she intended it to. A part of her reveled in the newfound piece of information. The other felt humiliated in his behalf.
"I should fill the flower bed," Robin forced herself to say. Her lashes fluttered quickly as she tried to blink away the awkwardness. "You can't plant anything if there's no soil to begin with."
Zoro joined in without a spoken word. His big strong hands, grabbing handfuls of soil before he realized he could just tilt the entire bag in. Robin didn't even stop him. She was busy being a bit embarrassed that she didn't think of that in the first place.
She quickly placed a hand over her mouth, eyes widened in slight worry. She had been so worried about Zoro's health earlier she hadn't considered her own. Had she come down with something that was impairing her judgment?
"Well done, Zoro!" Robin said cheerfully, standing up straight and rewarding Zoro with a beaming smile; eagerness set into her bones. It was imperative she moved the conversation and mission forward if she wanted to keep control of the situation.
Zoro looked back at her, his eyes narrowed. There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he was torn between saying something or laughing—or both.
"What is it?"
Robin and Zoro stared at each other, as the warm ocean breeze danced around their ankles. Silence surrounded them in its safety net, and promised no judgment, yet Roronoa could only shake his head.
He shifted his weight in his feet, and averted his gaze to them, then to the raised garden bed now full with soil. "What are you planting anyway?" he asked after brushing his nose, twice, with the back of his hand.
"Ah!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands once in excitement. Robin's long legs carried her underneath her skirt to the trays of seedlings she had left discarded earlier. Next to it, was a weaved basket. From it, she procured an assortment of small satchels to show off before tossing them back down.
"I'm so glad you asked. I have been holding on to these for the right climate. I grew what I could inside and after talking to Nami it seems there is no better time than now."
Roronoa Zoro stayed quiet as he stood there, his weight on one leg, knuckles pressed against his hips. Robin's heart raced as she watched him observe her, silently, through dark lashes. She reached again into the basket for a distraction—and pulled out the layout she had drawn.
"Of course, being at sea means anything could happen. We could get swept away by a massive wave, or we could get eaten by a Sea King and all my planning would have been for naught."
As Robin paused for breath, Zoro's left eyebrow rose a fraction. He stepped forward to tug the drawn layout from her fingers.
"You could also die while eating an onigiri," Zoro muttered, turning the layout Robin had painstakingly drawn, color coded, and wrote notes on with careful penmanship here and there like he was waiting for secrets to pop out of it. Perturbed, Robin tried snatching it back. Zoro pulled it away, but before he could keep it any longer, a hand appeared out of his shoulder to hold his wrist in place.
Robin snatched it back, and knelt in front of the garden bed feeling as if the back of her neck was on fire. Maybe there was time for Mr. Sun to inflict his worse punishment yet. Maybe, just maybe, her skin would bubble and slough off her bones after all—exposing the very fiber that made her to the nosy Master Swordsman beside her.
"If you chew your food, you don't have to worry too much about that," Robin chimed in at last gathering her bearings. She laid the drawing on the ground flat, and pinned it in a corner with a painted rock; Usopp's contribution. He had drawn the different flowers and their names—a rock for each one so she could know what was planted where. "Unless you're severely allergic to an ingredient in the onigiri. What a shame!"
The only thing hotter than Mr. Sun at the moment, seemed to be Roronoa Zoro.
Robin was taken aback by the amount of body heat radiating from him as he knelt next to her—his steely gaze on the uneven soil inside the raised garden bed. Beads of sweat eased from his mossy green sideburns, and leapt off the sharp edge of his jawline to their pitiful deaths. Where they landed, Robin wasn't sure, and she wasn't keen on finding out. There were bigger mysteries to solve at the moment.
For example, how many times did she need to blink to formulate a thought that wasn't about the circumference of Roronoa Zoro's thick neck—and how difficult would it be to strangle him.
Lost for words, she handed Zoro a hand shovel. Luckily for her, he seemed to have some idea of what he was doing, and went about spacing out some holes for the seedlings she had brought out.
"Is that deep enough?"
Robin was impressed by Zoro's ability to focus under duress. Had she become so comfortable in her position among the Strawhats that she had lost her cautious edge?
"Yes, that should be fine. I'll go get the trays." She made an attempt to stand up to get them, but Zoro's calloused hand, pressed down on her forearm, pushing her down with enough gentleness to startle her.
"I got 'em," he mumbled, as he stood up.
His back looked massive from where Robin knelt. She looked away to count the rocks Usopp had given her; three for each flower. Robin placed the rocks inside the raised garden bed, in order of expected height. Her layout broke free from the rock prison and took flight. Robin gasped in surprise but Zoro's reflex stopped the paper's journey short.
He tucked it into his shirt, so that his hands were free to carry the trays.
"How do you want these anyway?"
"By height of course," Robin answered, happy to be the one leading. "Sunflowers in the very back, then coneflowers and then the zinnias."
Zoro watched her point at them, and nodded once to acknowledge her instructions right before trying to plant some of the Zinnias in the back. Robin almost didn't stop him, too stunned to process how quickly he got that wrong.
"Zoro," she said, placing one of her hands over his—the dirt between their touching skin felt intrusive. "Do you know about the language of flowers?" Zoro stayed silent, as she moved his hands, and a seedling, to the right spot. Together, they covered it with dirt.
"I don't know. Am I supposed to?"
Robin couldn't help it. She giggled, shoulders briefly shaking with her mirth. She bumped the back of her hand with his to get his attention. Zoro stilled, and Robin wasn't sure if he was still breathing.
"I could hardly expect a swordsman like you to busy yourself with learning such things, but…" She guided him again to plant another seedling, her lithe fingers brushed over his. "Would you like to know?"
She watched Zoro's lashes flutter, the sun making her realize that they were actually a dark green. Truly, she was far too gifted in observation for anyone's good.
"Go ahead."
"Zinnias, for example" she pointed to the front line—expecting them to be the shortest of all. "Symbolize enduring friendship and remembrance. Isn't that wonderful?" Robin smiled at them, picturing the faces of her crew mates. She hoped the flowers would grow as strong as them.
Zoro shrugged for all her enthusiasm. Robin was not put off.
"It also represents lasting affection." Zoro stilled, again, before continuing his work. Robin was almost convinced his already flushing face had gotten redder.
"What about these?" he asked, burying a coneflower that Robin had to save by shaking off a top layer of dirt.
"Coneflowers symbolize strength, resilience, and healing. Something I wish for you," Robin murmured before quickly adding. "All of you."
"I'm already strong," Zoro mumbled, looking away to frown at Robin. Silence filled the small space between their shoulders before he spoke again. "And I'm not sick. I don't need healing."
Robin smiled back at Zoro, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. Leave it to the swordsman to interpret her words that way.
"Yes," she said simply before turning her attention back to their work. "You're not sick." But maybe she was.
"And these?"
Robin planted the last of the sunflowers with Zoro's help as a bemused expression took over her face.
"Sunflowers are my favorite," she said quietly. A warm breeze blew through her hair. Zoro leaned closer to hear her. Robin looked up into Zoro's curious eyes. Their intensity felt oddly misplaced. It unsettled her. Still, she pressed on. "They symbolize adoration, loyalty and devotion."
"Devotion," he muttered under his breath, his eyes finding Robin's face. He watched her quietly, his eyes tracing the planes of her face. Her heart felt loud to her ears, so she focused on Zoro's scar instead. He never did give her straight answer about what happened to his eye. "You have dirt on your face."
Robin wiped at her face with the back of her arms, unsure if she was making it worse or better. In her moment of panic, Zoro had stood up.
He looked down at her, the usual frown back in place. As silence fell between them again, Robin wondered just what happened in that head sometimes.
Zoro held out his hand to her.
She looked at it, fingers coated in soil, light scars still visible on knuckles, and up his wrist and forearm; each a story waiting to be uncovered. Curiosity was her burden, and she seized it—wrapping her fingers around his.
Maybe one day, she'd figure out the secrets carved into his skin.
Zoro pulled her up with a strength that shouldn't have surprised her. Briefly startled, Robin stood there in silence, partially in Zoro's shadow—the sun shining on their heads.
He tilted his head and scoffed softly—a gentle laugh that barely made a sound.
"I half expected you to plant a bunch of poisonous plants. I guess I was wrong again."
"Again?" Robin asked his retreating figure. Zoro turned slightly to look at her over his shoulder with a sideways grin.
Robin felt the tug of a string pull her back taught.
"Robin," he called out.
"Yes?"
"You still have dirt on your face."
If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! Like I said, my first ever Zobin fic so I came up with a short scene just to get a feel for them. Should I write the same scene from Zoro's POV next? Maybe I'll write something different.
In the manga, Robin's eyes are originally brown. I described them as crystalline because I have gotten used to her blue eyes in anime. Another personal preference is my belief that Zoro's lashes are a very dark green.
Anyway thank you for reading a very indulgent piece of writing. If there are zobin fans out there reading. What are some of your personal headcanons?
Here, on this table top, lies a catalogue of seeds I have watered to some degree; some less, some more, and some have even sprouted but none are ready to be transferred and planted into the garden of the internet.
GETO X GOJO [word count so far: 311]
memories through pictures, gojo reminisces about the path, themes of grief, young love, missed confessiions / for the 'hola, verano' event that I am about 2 weeks late to.
ROBIN X ZORO [wound count so far: 532]
love this pairing, been meaning to write for them, Summer! Flowers and Robin just go together, and Moon and Zoro go together, but no moon tonight (unless we mean Robin's eyes), gossipy stars, Zoro in denial, a teasing Robin slowly leading the dance / for the 'hola verano' event that I am yes late to but plan to finish
SANJI X FEM READER [word count so far: 1.2k]
been working on this for over a year and should decide to give it up or finish it, but i like the writing I did get down so much i don't want to scrap it--but i am stuck on how to proceed; supposed to be a slow burn, y/n is a pastry chef, so i really want to get it right
ZORO X OC(or Y/N undecided) [word count so far: 4.5k]
4.5 word count but it's mostly outline, and disjointed scenes. i know the story, but i have to weave it together, i wanted to challenge myself to write an epic style fic with a Y/N but writing a character as a blank canvas can only take the story so far, so we shall see. / tropes: meet-cringe, slow burn, family, found family, the reluctant hero, the chosen one, forced proximity, second chance romance, stuck together, poly romance maybes
ZORO X PERONA [word count so far: 6 lol]
another story that lives in my head, but essentially it would be told from shifting POVs and it takes place when Kuma slaps Zoro into his own adventure, and he embarks on his training with Mihawk, while all the while an unlikely friendship blossoms wiith Perona. Will there be romance? Whomst to say. Maybe~
ZORO X MERMAID FEM READER X LUFFY [word count so far: 937]
knight zoro, heir to the throne prince luffy find a mermaid and now zoro is force to babysit the two of them.
CALEB X Y/N [word count so far: 7.7k]
7.7k of outlines and notes lol, the ending is not planned yet so I don't even want to start writing yet but maybe I should? Y/N and Caleb have known each other since HS and it is a NON-MC reader because I live for the angst and miscommunication. also it's another second chance romance as they meet as adults, and they end up sharing an apartment (forced proximity trope, am I predictable yet?). Modern AU because while MC exists in the story I didn't want to grapple with torin chip nonsense, at least not in this fic
SYLUS X Y/N [word count so far: 281]
in universe, another non-mc reader, because Sylus was around for quite a bit before he and MC got involved in any shape or form while her time in Linkon so this mostly takes place in the brutal and dark world of the N109 zone. Y/N was being exploited for her labor, and while being freed from nasty man's clutches she somehow ends up working for Sylus. Also, I really just wanna write Keira and Luke being unhinged and Mephisto being cute so this gives me an excuse to include them a lot.
SYLUS X YN [word count so far: 97]
modern AU, first love, second chance romance [listen, i have my preferences, leave me be]
ZAYNE X FEM MED STUDENT [ word count so far: 55]
i don't think i need to say more.
SINGLE DAD ZAYNE X AU PAIR READER [word count so far: 346]
in universe, but alternate ending? MC has died tragically (dun dun dun more on this later), leaving Zayne and their four your old daughter behind. Zayne did take a leave of absence from work for like 4-6 months but it is time he returns to work, and managing his schedule and his fatherly duties is difficult so he decides to hire an au pair because it is what is best for his daughter. and so the story begins.
ZAYNE X BAKERY STORE OWNER READER
in universe. y/n owns a cute lil bakery and zayne is their number one customer.
RAFAYEL X WRITER Y/N [word count so far: 1.3k]
college au? but it's still in universe so idk maybe just before MC story starts. age gap. older woman (y/n) younger man. second chance romance. academic rivals. enemies to friends to enemies to friends to lovers. wash, rinse, repeat. she fell first he fell harder.
XAVIER X FOOD TRUCK OWNER Y/N [word count so far: 413]
y/n is struggling with getting enough customers, after having dreamed of having her own food truck for so long. enter xavier, the mysterious odd customer who simply can't get enough of her food.
NOZEL SILVA X FEM READER / SFW(ISH)
WC: 4.9k
CW: nozel is an idiot in denial, y/n is also in denial (and spoiler alert: also an idiot), yami is there cause he is hot and I said so, beware the sun pls wear sunblock, skin cancer is real, content warning for nonsense cause it's full of it, nozel and y/n sitting on a rock K-I-S-S-I-N-G, lower your expectations okay?, that's what we got
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is my third entry for Hola, Verano! A Caribbean Summer themed collaboration hosted by me and @soleilnomoon . It is open to everyone who wants to participate. Please see the main post here on rules and theme information.
A get together at the beach for an overnight camping session of nonsense was not Nozel Silva’s idea of a good time. A good time would have been staying in the confines of his bedroom away from the likes of his squad, or Yami’s squad. A good time would be staying away—very very far away—from the likes of you.
Yet, there he was, at least ten feet from your near insufferable existence, under the unforgiving sun feeling like he was roasting from the inside out. Whether it was from the sight of you or from the blazing sun in the sky, Nozel was not keen on finding out.
There were spells to keep your skin from burning, and there were spells to even make you temporarily impervious to rain but somehow Nozel couldn’t think of one that would keep him from getting close to heat stroke. He blinked as a bead of sweat fell off his brow and onto his white lashes. There was definitely no spell—at least not one without irreperable risks—that could whisk the thought of someone from one's brain.
He could see your hazy silhouette made near intangible by the summer heat. Beside you was the insufferable oaf of a man that dared to call himself a magic knight—a captain at that. It was laughable. If he had been of the unthinking and stupid sort—he would, but he had a reputation to uphold—something you had no consideration for. Especially seeing your chosen attire.
Far be him from thinking you and him share in any way the same taste in fashion. After all, nothing seemed to bring you more joy than to openly, and publicly, test his patience and self-esteem by declaring him 'Unibraid' to anyone within earshot of your vociferous voice.
In fact, just reliving the memories was enough to produce a crushing blush on his pale cheeks.
This was an excuse he was willing to hold on to with bloodied knuckles as he stood there in the sand. He watched your tanned figure approach, while beads of sweat continue to slide down his temples. The pale yellow against your skin stood out like a field of canola flowers.
"Unibraid!" you greeted him, a quick hand reaching out for his forehead. Nozel elegantly sidestepped you, keeping you from habitually flicking his braid . He regretted even thinking anything remotely positive about your ensemble, or your skin under the sun, or your hair in the wind or— "You look like they just pulled you out of a pot of boiling water. You okay?"
Nozel blinked quickly. The sun and your illness inducing smile were far too bright for his light colored eyes. He was willing to consider this a good fortune as it somehow managed to block out Yami's face by a good 82%.
"I am perfectly fine," he enounced, voice clipped, throat pulled tight from the effort of not losing his composure.
Polite decorum obligated him to thank you for asking, but as a noble he was above such niceties. He also really wasn't thankful at all for you asking. In fact, he felt a fire easing up his throat— from the pit of his stomach; its hearth. If anything, your presence was already causing him physical distress.
"This is just how I look. Nothing has changed."
You stare back at him, the tiniest of frowns settles between your well groomed eyebrows. He loathed to admit they were beautifully placed, perfectly accenting the shape of your eyes. In the depths of their warmth he thought he saw a light go on—as the gears of your mind spun into action. He opened his mouth, eager to say something to stop you—anything, but nothing came out except an exasperated sigh.
"We set up a canopy tent not too far from here," you say, glancing quickly at Yami.
Nozel watched that stinky captain size you up with a smile as if he wasn't standing right there. Did he have no shame? Nozel's eyes landed on Yami's bare chest; glistening with sweat. He blinked quickly, and frowned, unable to control his eyebrows at the dozens of thoughts colliding in his brain at that moment. Yami was a shrewd pervert on top of being useless. Was he there for a bonding exercise that the Wizard King championed or was he there intent on seducing his subordinates? Shameful.
"I see," Nozel said tightly, near gnashing his teeth together to keep from inciting an argument. "You're capable of doing useful things after all."
He looked away from Yami, to the easier and calmer view of your face. You looked up at him with the sunlight hanging from your crooked smile. Nozel's knees nearly buckled then. Another assault from your obscure magic, no doubt. He'd unlock your secrets sooner or later, and report you to whom he needed to for your illegal use of magic. What authority had you to bewitch him so?
He blinked quickly again, sweat falling over his eyelashes. You watched him stand there in the heat, looking like he was melting by the second; even his braid looked like a vine wilting in the summer heat.
"Lead the way then," he tells you.
You look him up and down once and it was enough. Nozel felt near incinerated. A rouge rises even higher from his chest, up his neck, and swallows him whole under the tidal wave of its heat. You turn around to lead. If you noticed his full body blush you give no indication; however, Yami's hawkish eyes linger a tad too long on Nozel for his liking. Nozel does his best to challenge him by staring back, and tilting his head.
It seems to work in his favor for now, and as soon both, Yami and you, turn and begin walking, Nozel clamps a clammy hand over his mouth. He walks as steady as one can on hot lose sand. He wonders, for once in his life, if he made the right decision. Should he be there right now, at your heels, trying to win against his own body? Should he be there right now, in his attire that covered every inch of his body? He did wear light material. The fear of sunburn was far greater than his desire to remain cool. You'd only tease him if he burned.
No, correction, you'd tease him regardless.
He was lost in his thoughts, some of them including the practicality and ethics behind studying closely the shape and circumference of your ass. A single brow hitched higher on his forehead with each step you took. The elastic of your canola flower yellow bottoms was eager to ride up your cheek and into your crack. It was also eager into giving him some kind of cardiac malfunction.
You feet kicked up sand as you walked. Your voice nothing but an unintelligble hum in his ears. After all, he was struggling to concentrate over the sound of his own screaming inside his head. Nozel aimed his aggravation at the back of Yami's head. He imagined it smoking, then catching fire, setting the rest of his body ablaze until he was nothing but a scorched piece of carbon walking on two legs.
He laughed quietly, once, at the imagery.
It was nothing more than a scoff, but to Nozel that was him at the height of gaeity. Nothing could have amused him more at the moment. Just as he was content with his little isolated incident of personal revelry, you turn your head as you walk. You look at him over your tanned shoulder through your curled lashes. Nozel swallows back everything.
"D'you say something?" you ask curiously. Nozel looks at you—truly, for one moment before deciding not to answer at all. You leave another beat of silence before turning away from him to look at Yami. You shrug your shoulders. "Must have been the wind, or…" You pause dramatically and allow your dark gaze to sweep from Yami, across the sand to the other side of your walking troupe to the forest lining the path. "Maybe it's her."
Nozel stares pointedly at the beauty mark behind your left ear. If he could sneak into your head through it, he would tear your brain apart right this moment. Just what in the world were you talking about now? His attention is grabbed by Yami, who had just groaned impatiently. Nozel could literally hear the eyeroll in his voice.
"Are you really gonna start with that?" Yami asks you. Nozel hears you chuckle. Your arms go up, as you try to argue your innocence. "You can play that game with the new kids, not me."
Normally, Nozel would feel smug at this moment. Your wiles, and silver tongue had no effect on your current peers yet he couldn't help but feel slightly insulted all at once. If Yami was impervious to your insiduous charm, then where did that leave Nozel?
Just as he was calculating a form of retaliation you were probably not prepared for or expecting—you all arrive at the canopy tent that had been set up by other squad members. There he aims an icy glare at his siblings and the rest of the Eagles not fit for the title. Yes, this had been Julius Novachrono's desire but they didn't need to act like they were actually enjoying themelves, for crying out loud. Whatever happened to their pride? Their honor? Their loyalty? Their nobility?
Solid turns to greet him and immediately laughs, remarking at the sunburn on his forehead.
"Is there a shadow on your forehead or are there two braids now?"
He feels ice crystalize in his veins, little cracks that sound like steel throughout his body echo in his head. As he feels close to unleashing his strength, he feels a hand on his elbow. Nozel's face turns quickly to the assailant, to realize it is you standing next to him, and it is your hand grounding him.
It was almost enough to melt his spine. Nozel swallows a sigh, and shifts it—instead—into a deep breath, parting his lips dramatically as if he was trying to intake the patience and mercy required not to murder his own family in front of commoners.
"I. Don't," he begins in a choppy inflection. "Care."
And he didn't.
He didn't care what Solid had to say about his ridiculous sunburn that he couldn't even see. He did not care that Yami was barely holding back his laugh by clamping one ugly hand over his even uglier mouth. He did not care that his equally ugly subordinates were looking at him with mischief in their eyes. He also did not care that you were very clearly fighting your own urge to join them, if the twitching of your lips was any indication.
He excuses himself, something about having better things to do and frees his elbow from your hold. You watch him walk off, with every bit of elegance left in him despite the triangular shaped sunburn on his forehead. You spend the next hour trying to sort through everything everyone dragged to the beach as if your stay was going to be for weeks instead of just one night. Once people had been appointed to different groups: dinner duty, etc—you managed to slip away.
It couldn't be helped. You had never dreamed of labor, and thinking of cooking or preparing anything for a gaggle of semi drunk magic knights was not your idea of fun. What was your idea of fun, however, was finding a certain light haired captain to torment.
You knew better. You truly did, but you just couldn't help it. His reactions were entertaining and you loved to be entertained! If anyone was to blame it was Nozel Silva himself. He shouldn't egg you on, and in your opinion, if he really hated the attention you gave him he would have stopped it a long time ago. If anything, you could swear he almost liked it.
That was delusion. You laugh softly at yourself as you gently pad through the beach. You were now just making things up, but so be it. What was life without a little whimsy? At the rate you were going, in your line of occupation, you'd end up dead sooner than married. So what was wrong with having a little fun—even if that fun was wrapped with bows and ribbons of fantasies?
You find the current object of your obsession sitting on a rock, his long fingers combing through his bangs. You notice, with a hitch in your breath, that he had undone his braid. Your steps quicken, as your heart does, even as you try to command yourself to slow down. Nozel was the easily spooked type—like a feral cat who thought he was above living out of the trash. You see him react, and bite down on your lip to keep the laugh down.
His lilac eyes widen at the sight of you, thin eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You even notice the slight flare of his nostrils, the slight parting of his chapped lips. At that, you tilt your head, both surprised and bothered that the sun had been so brutal on him.
"Need help?" you ask him tentatively, your eyes slowly move away from him to where he sat with one leg folded under him, two empty bottles of wine.
His ears go red when he notices you assessing the situation. You try not to think about where else his blush has run to.
"I mean…" You reach out a finger to your own bottom lip and tap it, not wanting to bring attention to his braid at the moment lest he start running.
You were going to ignore the fact he had been drinking alone. Perhaps he was affected more by his siblings teasing than he wanted to let on. He is quiet as usual, as if he was going through every possible scenario. One that included, you were so sure, catapulting you into the ocean so that he could be rid of you once and for all.
His eyes linger on your face. You feel them drag slowly downwards to your chest. If he was doing it on purpose, you're not sure, but by the way his eyelids hung low you were betting that he was drunk; or very well on his way to it. Mixing alcohol with the heat of the sun wasn't always the best of ideas. The only thing you know for sure is that his staring was making your stomach flip. You place a gentle hand on your navel, as if you were trying to warn your own body from betraying you.
"You're also sunburned," he mumbles so quiet you think you made it up.
The wind blows through his hair, as the sun is setting behind him. You blink away the light from your eyes and shake your head softly. There was no way you were getting caught up in Nozel's orbit. This was purely for entertainment. You knew better than to covet what wasn't yours. You, a lowly commoner, and a noble like Silva? The mere thought was laughable.
And you find yourself there, taking over a spot on the rock he was sitting on, laughing like the joke was shared one. It isn't until you feel Nozel's sharp gaze stay persistently on you that you realize what was happening.
"What are you laughing at, crazy woman?" he asks, just as softly as before but his words sound clunkier than usual.
He diverts his lilac gaze away from you to fuss at his open toed sandals. Despite his highly skilled acting, and despite the sunburn afflicting his face—you could tell he was blushing. You had observed him enough times, for long enough, to know. You knew, better than most the arc of his eyelids, and the straight edge of his nose. You knew, better than most how his bottom lip would tremble ever so slightly when he was carefully measuring his words, and how if embarrassed enough even his ears and neck grew red.
You drink the view of him in, as if you had been parched for days and cuss yourself out for it. It shouldn't bring you as much pleasure as it did, but it warmed your entire body. You were every bit as shameless as many said you were
"Are you going to sit there and pick me apart or are you going to let me help you fix that bottom lip of yours?" You ask him, digging through your satchel bag.
You shift your weight on the rock, the sharp bits digging into your backside. When you pull out the small jar of ointment to hand it to Nozel, you find him once again being swallowed up by another blush. Despite yourself, your lips are pulled into a tender smile. You know he was looking. He had been looking the whole time on the walk to the tent. You had counted on it.
Was it illegal for nobles to let go and have a little fun or was this just Nozel's idea of self-punishment? Is that why the wine seemed to have gone to his head? Maybe you were just used to Yami. Maybe all nobles were just this delicate.
"Whatever you have to offer is likely unfit for a nobleman's lips."
Still, he takes what you offer with a tiny nod of his head—his own way of saying thank you. You accept it wordlessly. In your time with him you had learned the facetious code of Nozel Silva. He was a man of few words, and the words he did say often held the opposite of his truths. Still, he could never hide it behind his actions if you knew where to look
You watch him struggle for a moment, amused that such a talented and capable magic knight was being outsmarted by a mere jar of ointment. The lid, as far as you knew, wasn't screwed on particularly tight but you often misjudged your own strength. Having had your fill of watching him stress and blush under your scrutiny you take the small jar back from him and unscrew the cap yourself.
"Is it because it is unfit for noblemen that you can't seem to open it?" you ask him, smiling down at the jar as you dab your finger in it.
Nozel tries holding his breath, captivated by the sun's amber rays falling over your skin; the way it seems to glisten with its own kind of magic.
Your eyes almost change colors with the sun; a fantastical transmutation that only you seemed to possess. He was suddenly keen on demanding you explain how you got that spell in your grimoire but common sense told him to keep it to himself, that he was drunk, that he had been out in the sun too long and now was thinking of nothing but nonsense; nonsense such as how beautiful your wrist looked, and how soft it must be.
He claims it as you bring your hand to his mouth, right before your fingertip can graze his bottom lip. You hold your breath, your heart suddenly in flight mode. The feel of his soft but strong fingers around your wrist is enough to make you want to forget hierarchy and decorum. Still, somehow you manage not to move from your spot. Your finger twitches.
"If you didn't want me to put it on for you, you could have just said that," you try to interrupt the tension, even force a laugh.
Nozel finds you extremely unfunny, as usual—that or he has lost all interest in your words. He carefully breaches the distance between you and him by moving your wrist closer to his face. Those violet eyes follow the path of your arm, to your shoulder, up the column of your neck. It's as if he's sucking up all the air around you. It is stiff, suffocating. You gasp audibly, trying to fill your lungs, trying to gather your bearings. You lose whatever you collected the moment his eyes stop to rest in yours; his mouth by your wrist.
There's a question swimming behind the depth of his eyes but before you can figure it out, he brushes his chapped lips ever so gently against the inside of your wrist and, just as gently, releases you.
You gather your arm quickly to your chest, flexing your fingers as if you couldn't believe they were still attached. You had never experienced an inebriated Nozel Silva before, and you weren't sure you could survive another meeting with this version of him. This was enough to take away all your inclinations for dare-doing. You were so busy counting your fingers and looking at your wrist for phantoms of his fingers (because you could still feel them there—warm, and captivating) that you missed Nozel staring at you.
He leans forward, inclining his head towards you. You blink at him in confusion.
Nozel clears his throat, and jots his chin at you while looking down his nose. He blinks quickly, feeling embarassed.
"Ah," you exclaim, finally realizing what was happening.
After all of that odd dance, he still wanted you to apply the ointment for him. You dab your finger in the jar again—the same jar that toppled over a little further down the large rock. You had to go on a little rescue mission, leaning over to pick it up and when you sat back down you felt Nozel's hungry gaze on you.
"Stay still." You ignore the way he looks at you, his quiet breathing becoming more ragged as he stares at your mouth.
His bottom lip is hot under your fingertip. You trace it completely, slowly—so slowly you're not sure if you're teasing him or teasing yourself.
The change in power dynamics was unsettling. You often craved his attention, lived for it; finding nothing more pleasurable than to see him unsettled and undone.
This was different entirely. This was all of his own choosing, and it made you want to die and live all at once. What you wouldn't give for him to willingly choose you? But that was a dream, and this? You were willing to bet he wouldn't remember in the morning.
"Done!" you say cheerfully, trying to drown out the buzzing in your ears with your voice.
You seal the jar, and throw it in your satchel eager to get away from this heinous rock but as you gather your things and prepare to jump Nozel grabs your forearm. He pulls you back and you gasp, startled, suddenly too close to his face and torso—you can smell the sweet wine off his lips.
"W-what? You asked me to!"
Nozel blinks at you, as he often did. You try to be patient, but between self preservation and selfless acts of kindness you wanted to pick the former. Yet, why didn't you? Nozel's lips part as he tries to speak, but he closes them again, his bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.
He reaches up with his free hand to touch his lose bangs, color returning to his ears.
"Ah," you hum. "Are you worried about that?" You reach out with some hesitation.
The last thing you should be doing is getting closer to Nozel but it was either that or continue to act like you had some kind of affliction. Inebriated Nozel Silva or not, you had some amount of pride and you would like to keep it, thank you, for as long as common sense allowed.
"It's not even that—" you hesitate as your voice dries out in your throat. Your fingers had parted his bangs, and you could once again see the very obvious triangular pale patch his braid left on his forehead since it was too thick for the sunrays to get through. You clear your throat and try again. "It's not bad at all."
Nozel stays uncharacteristically still, as your fingers work nervously to braid his bangs. You clip the end with the House pendant of his family. Once finished, you smile and flick it playfully, as you were accostumed to doing. Nozel usually scowled and reprimanded you but this time, a silly crooked smile pulled at his lips instead. You blamed the empty bottles of wine for his reaction.
"Now that my good deeds are done," you begin, trying to make another exit but Nozel's fingers once again wrap around you—this time on your bicep as he pulls you back down onto the rock, this time, even closer to him. You blush, well aware that you only missed landing on his lap by sheer luck. "What-What now?!" you demand nervously, trying to gain control of the situation.
"Not done," he says, his steely gaze on your face again. His lilac eyes have darkened, and his eyelids seem lower with every loud breath he took. You notice, much to your dismay, that his eyes are once again fixed on your mouth. "There's one left."
There's no time to react. His mouth descends upon yours into a tight lipped, warm and sloppy kiss. You reach out to him, fully intending to push him away from you but as the scent of his breath slips into you, you find yourself giving in. Your hands slide up his lean chest and find their temporary homes on the sides of his neck. Nozel pulls away briefly, and in that moment, dozens of words flock to your mind but before you could assemble them into a reasonable excuse he was kissing you again.
This time, he is emboldened by the feel of you. He grabs the back of your head with one hand, and places his other on the small of your back. If there was anywhere else he wanted to be, he could not think of it at that moment. All he could think of was the feel of your lips against his, the way you were pressed so tightly against his chest that he couldn't tell which heartbeat was yours or his. His tongue slips out of his mouth, cautiously adventerous, to swipe at your bottom lip. Nozel is amazed at how easy it was to give in to whims. He thinks he must be dreaming, and decides, for once, to just give in.
He nips at your bottom lip before veering off to your jawline, nipping and leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses on his wake. You sigh as he nuzzles the side of your neck, your hands slipping upward from his neck to his head, nails scraping his scalp gently. You feel Nozel shudder in your arms, and he holds you tighter. Then suddenly, his breath slows and becomes shallower.
You blink quickly, shock and realization settling into your tired bones. As soon as the conclusion seems final, his body unmoving half on top of you. You start to laugh, loud enough to startle anyone awake—but not Nozel Silva. As your laughter dies down, you accept life's twisted joke. You adjust your body weight, and Nozel's sleeping body, allowing him to use your shoulder as a pillow for as long as he needs to.
His warmth accompanies you as the sun sinks slowly into the water.
Nozel stirs after the sun has set, and the moon and stars are twinkling down at you—probably laughing at the sight. You stay still as he sits up with a jolt, looking confused and ill. He clamps a hand to his mouth and fixes you with an accusing glare over his hand.
"You are the one who fell asleep on me," you tell him, starting to move your legs slowly. Hordes of invisible ants dance under your skin as your poor legs finally gain some circulation. Nozel says nothing as his skin turns a light shade of green. You see him run off to another rock where you hear the unsettling noise of him throwing up.
Pride and common sense is telling you to leave that man be; to let him throw up whatever little he ate, and go about your day as if nothing happened because, surely, he would do the same if the situation had been reversed. Still, you hesitate, and instead act as if you were still preoccupied with doing stretches by the time he returns from vomiting his life away.
He stands there, soundless, and beautiful under the silvery moonbeams. It is irritating the way the sight of him captivates you. He should throw up again, right now, maybe that'll cure whatever ailment you had going on to make you feel such a way.
"I just…slept," he says a bit dubiously. You don't answer the unspoken question. Instead you shrug your shoulders, then turn around to walk away from him. Nozel watches you as you lead, your feet quicker than usual. He follows you silently, a hand drifting to his bottom lip.
A dream…? Yes, he must have dreamt the taste of you. Kissing you could only have happened in that kind of world. At least that's what he thought, but when he laid later that night in his makeshift bed he is impressed by his imagination.
He didn't know he possessed the skill to reimagine you so vividly and detailed, as if he had lived you before in other lifetimes.
HUNTRX / SFW
WC: 1.4K
CW: angst, mentions of death, dassit
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is my second entry for Hola, Verano! A Caribbean Summer themed collaboration hosted by me and @soleilnomoon . It is open to everyone who wants to participate. Please see the main post here on rules and theme information. This is a cute and short fix for Huntrx from Kpop Demon Hunters. A very fun movie that everyone should watch if you haven't already!
A vacation, a real honest to goodness vacation—is just what she needed. They had sealed the honmoon, once and for all. Considering all they went through and how hard they had worked this whole time—they had more than earned it. At least, that’s what Mira said and Zoey cosigned. Rumi was still not so sure but she was determined to live in the moment.
Rumi looked up at the blue sky. A few puffy dark clouds swam in it, floating in front of the sun partially covering it.
She should live in the moment. She had to.
After all, what else was she supposed to do? Wallow in the past, on the what-if’s and could have beens? She could be there all day. In fact, she could probably count every seashell in the shore of the beach they were lounging at and still not be finished. That’s how long she could go on worrying about things she couldn’t fix; things that were out of her control; things that she wasn’t strong enough to resolve; things she regretted.
So, no, she definitely was not sitting there wallowing under the sun with sunblock streaked across the bridge of her nose while Zoey and Mira tried to convince her to get out of her wet suit. Not at all. In fact, she was enjoying life to the fullest!
“You know,” Mira started in her usual flat-toned drawl. Rumi looked up from where she was burying her toes to observe her friend though her lashes. “Considering your coming out and everything.” Mira paused to glance over at Zoey. They exchanged a look and Rumi’s eyes flickered between them. “I mean,” she made a sweeping gesture at Rumi’s arm. “Your patterns. Anyway, you could have picked something more exciting to wear.”
Zoey leaned in close to Rumi’s face, her round eyes sparkling almost brighter than the sun.
“There’s still time to change your mind,” she said quickly in a sing-song voice, her smile stretching with each word spoken. “I brought a ton of back ups and I’m so sure!” Zoey enthused as she sat up, pinching the air as if she was lifting a pair of diminutive bikini bottoms (or tops). “We can find the perfect size! Remember, Rumi!” Zoey leaned in and grabbed Rumi’s face, squishing her cheeks between her hands. “We love you, just as you are!”
Rumi blinked quickly, her cheeks squeezed so tight, she thought her face might get stuck like that permanently. After a moment, she gently pressed down on Zoey’s wrist, prompting the girl to release her.
“This is not about that,” Rumi started with a soft laugh. She glanced over at Mira, feeling her sharp gaze on her. “Really! I just burn easily.” Mira and Zoey didn’t seem convinced. “And I hate tan lines!”
Zoe and Mira glanceed at each other, exchanging another one of their usual secretive looks.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Mira said with a small smile. Rumi was unable to hold back the need to roll her eyes; still, she smiled, wholly entertained by her friend. “Tan lines might just be your style, after all.”
They all laughed, and Rumi was just happy they could now joke about her long hidden secret. She had felt so much pain and shame over who she was, or what she was, that it almost seemed endless. In her despair, she had sunk to the bottom of a dark pit. It was only in part thanks to the beautiful light of their souls, and her faith in their friendship—and in them—that brought her out from the darkness.
The sun was sweltering. Rumi looked up with squinted eyes, completely blinded by it. She looked to her friends flanking her; Zoey’s beautiful bright eyes and contagious smile, and Mira’s cool, calm, and trustworthy gaze. All of it warmed her more than the sticky heat of the summer.
“I love you guys,” she said softly with a half smile.
Zoey and Mira’s smiles dropped off. In place, was an expression of shocked anticipation—as if they were getting ready to hear the most devastating news. Rumi laughed.
“Oh my God,” Mira whispered, a hand flying out to grasp Rumi’s shoulder tightly. “Do you—is there something else you need to tell us?”
Zoey held her hands together tightly, before taking one of Rumi’s hands in between them.
“Whatever it is, we’ll always be by your side. We can totally get through it together.”
“Guys,” Rumi said, shaking her head at them. She shook her hand out of Zoey’s grasp. “I’m just thankful you’re my friends, that’s all. Considering…” Rumi’s voice trailed off. Zoey’s frown deepened, as the corners of her mouth tugged downwards. Mira broke the tense silence by sucking her teeth.
“You mean Celine?” Mira nearly barked out. “Don’t you worry about her. I know at least six ways to make her say sorry.”
“Mira,” Zoey started calmly, and shoot a narrowed glanced at her as a warning. “Are those six ways even legal?”
Mira crossed her arms, her bright hair right in theme with the tropical climate of their vacation island. The color made her think of fruity drinks. Rumi would have killed for one right at that moment. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just saying, I can get it done.”
Rumi held out a hand, palm outward—a universal stop sign.
“Guys, it’s fine. It’s just awkward that’s all.” Rumi grew quiet again, and dug in the sand with her hands, watching it run through her fingers like all the words she wanted to say but couldn’t get out in time. “I just have so many questions, and I don’t even know where to start.”
Zoey got even closer, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Mira flanked Rumi, effectively trapping her in place. The sound of the waves coming in was calming. Rumi watched the ebb and flow of the ocean, feeling as if it was helping her calm her breathing. It did help, but it also made her feel nostalgic and sad. The ocean was so big and vast. It was the like the chasm between her and the truth of her past. She looked up at the sky and wondered where her parents were, and if souls go somewhere to rest, did Jinu ever get a chance to?
“You’re in your head again,” Mira murmured close to Rumi’s ear, causing her to jump. She chuckled darkly before attacking her side to tickle her. “Don’t worry. My tickling technique has a one hundred success rate in relieving all tensions and worries. All you need to do is…” Rumi tried to get away but Zoey was on her other side. “Stay still!”
Rumi screamed-laughed, and quickly got embarrassed by the sound that came out of her. Her face turned red as she tried crawling away to safety but Zoey blocked her off, only to tackle her back into the sand. Rumi landed on her back, and the girls piled on her—peals of laughter carried by the breeze to places unknown.
“Rumi,” Zoey said, tapping her still blushing nose. Zoey belatedly realized that she had gotten sunblock on her nose so she wiped it on Rumi’s bathing suit. “I know there’s a lot you don’t tell us and I don’t want to pressure you, but, I want you to know,” Zoey paused to look over her shoulder at Mira before continuing. “We’ll always be here for you and we’ll always be ready to listen. No matter what it is about.”
“Even if it is about your dead almost-boyfriend,” Mira said.
“Mira!” Zoey chastised after letting out a large audible gasp.
“What?” she asked as she got off of them, and knelt on the sand. She shrugged. “The least he could have done was kiss her goodbye.”
“Mira!”
“What!?”
Looking up at their bickering faces, the sun blazing behind them cast their heads in a blinding golden halo of light. Rumi smiled warmly. Where there is light, there is always a bit of darkness but the dark only wins if you forget to look back at your guiding light.
Rumi reached out as she sat up to place one hand, each, on one of the girl’s cheeks. They silenced immediately as they looked back at her.
“I love you guys,” Rumi said with a soft smile.
“Ew!” Mira exclaimed, swatting her hand away, and gagging once. “Stop it, you’re freaking me out!”
“Group huuuug!” Zoey sang, and brought an unwilling Mira and stiff Rumi into her embrace. The three friends sat there under the bright blue sky, no longer a single cloud in sight.
LADS RAFAYEL X NON-MC FEM READER / NSFW (ish)
WC: 10.08k
CW: (in no particular order) kissing, fingering, death, violence, blood, mentions of guns, crime and poverty, smut with a plot, angst
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first entry for Hola, Verano! A Caribbean Summer themed collaboration hosted by me and @soleilnomoon . It is open to everyone who wants to participate. Please see the main post here on rules and theme information. That being said, this is a Caribbean inspired story, meaning reader is Caribbean, brown, and described with a vague curl pattern. The rest is up to your imagination.
A warm current wraps around his torso, propelling him forward towards a new destination. The golden sunlight filtering through the turquoise waters paints his skin amber. It feels like a nostalgic welcoming. As if it was a performance put on just for his eyes, to guide him to a destined place he had only dreamed of. The sheer beauty of it made him want to wax poetic as he flicked his fin through the water. In reality, he was on a rather over dramatic quest for some very special seashells—his latest hyper fixation. Some may call his tendency to stress over the minute details in colors, shades, tones…obsessive, but Rafayel preferred to label it as passion.
It was that same passion that led him to that tropical island: the Island of Enchantment. He had traveled through warm waters in search of the rumored beach covered in hundreds of broken seashells of corals and pinks. It was said that at sunset, as the rays of light spilled over the sand on their way to fade beneath the horizon, the beach shore looked as if it had been set on fire. At the time of his travel, he couldn’t conjure up a sight more beautiful than what those words evoked in his imagination.
At the time, he had never met you, never felt you; never understood you.
At the time he hardly knew anything at all.
Under the surface, the light that surrounds him begins fading in its brightness. Rafayel swims faster, chasing the sun. A dark fuchsia ripples besides him, streams of navy bubbles are at every turn of his body. In the distance he can see the hot pink sun, and as his head breaks the surface of the water the sight of the shore line seizes the breath in his chest. Rafayel is slack jawed at the sparkling rose colored fire that runs across the shore, behind it are spindly palm trees swaying in the breeze.
He blows air through his nose, bubbles forming as he barely contains his excitement and he swims the rest of the way to the shore. As the depth of the water changes, he transforms—legs that almost feel foreign, trudge through the waves. The sand squeezing in between his toes causes the smallest crease to form between his brows but before Rafayel can worry about a crab friend scuttling across the top of one foot—he has to worry about the figure standing on the shore looking at him.
Tangerine kisses of light slide down your brown arms. They circle like halos around your bare feet before they bloom upwards and unfurl like pink ferns wrapped around your calves. As you stand on fire, wind plays in your curls. There’s a curious look in your sparkling dark eyes; one that threatens to inspire Rafayel’s own curiosity. He is struck by your presence, your silhouette in front of a faintly bustling coastal town. Something ignites within him, leaving the aftertaste of ashes on his tongue.
The large pink hibiscus tucked in your hair hangs perilously by your ear. Rafayel’s finger twitch at the sight of it.
“You came out of the water,” you say past rounded berry colored lips. Your voice carries easily in the wind, a clipped melody that tickles the back of his neck. Rafayel rolls his shoulders as if he could get you off of him—but you’re suddenly all around him. He smells the shea and cocoa butter on your skin as he steps closer, the wind tossing your curls the other way and loosening your natural accessory. The hibiscus flies through the air, petals swishing like a helpless butterfly. Rafayel raises one hand and catches it effortlessly.
“Weeeell,” Rafayel starts, frowning down at the flower as he turns it to and fro, observing the light and dark shades of pink on each petal. “We’re at the beach.” Rafayel looks up and observes you quietly, before reaching out his hand to tuck the hibiscus back in your hair. “A lot of things come out of the water, cutie.”
The expression on your round face is amusing enough that he’s tempted to laugh but he reminds himself why he was on the island in the first place. Laughing at a local would probably do very little in his favor.
“Well, if you’re not a sea God, and you’re not here to help. Then you should probably go back in the water,” you mutter, a frown settling heavy between your brows. He realizes, at last, that you’re holding an assortment of seashells in your arms. As you feel his gaze on your little mound of treasure, you hold them close to you protectively. “Because the other option is, you’re here to take something.” You pause to frown at the beautiful man before you. The pink sunset dances in his eyes. An unsettling sense of familiarity makes a home at the pit of your stomach. You feel saliva flood your mouth as you resist it. “Just like the rest of them. You’re not welcome here.”
Rafayel raises his hands, quickly taking a step back from you. You try not to be fooled by his mock surrender. A man with a face like his was never as innocent as their smile made them seem. Many had come with smooth words caught in their tongues, eager to act the friend and all they had done in the end was take advantage of what the island and it’s people had to offer.
Annoyance, and a simmering anger replaces the light in your eyes. It didn’t stop it from being any less captivating. It didn’t help he kept getting distracted by the flower in your hair.
“Wow!” he exclaims playfully, a lopsided grin pulling at his plush pout. “I didn’t know there was a feistier friend on this island than the crab I met earlier.” You don’t react. Instead you stare at him impassively, even as some of the seashells gathered in your arms make their escape back to the sand. Rafayel smiles, after blowing a small laugh through his nose. “Does this friend have a name? Or do I have to call you Shelly?” Rafayel grabs his chin inquisitively, brows furrowing together as he pretends to ponder deeply about this nickname. “Although, I gotta say…” he drags his words as he turns his face to smile at you—a smile so bright he threatens to make the sun rise again. “The name is nowhere near as cute as you.”
Rafayel has to bite on his bottom lip next. The magenta that is born on the apple of your round cheeks makes him want to draw flower after flower on the largest canvas he could find.
A breeze blows between you, and your hair dances in front of your face briefly before you speak your name. Rafayel smiles.
“I was right. Shelly wasn’t cute enough.”
“I really doubt you popped out of the water just to flirt with me,” you say in an unwavering tone, sticking your chin out as you square your shoulders. You sway slightly in your spot, your feet unstable in the sand. More seashells abandon your arms. Rafayel quickly reaches out and catches a few of them on the palm of his hand. You look down and try not to be impressed by his reflexes. “Sea God or not, I have very little tolerance for thieves.”
“Hey now!” Rafayel says, playing with the seashells in his hand. “I don’t like your tone! I haven’t stolen a thing, and besides.” Rafayel tosses a seashell in the air, and catches it. “Seashells come from the sea.” There’s a brief pause between you. Rafayel can almost hear the cogs spinning in your head. He chuckles. “That means, technically, they’re mine to take.”
“The beach belongs to everyone,” you mumble, fixing him with a dark look as you turn your back to him. Rafayel watches you make a short trip to a line of buckets. You drop the seashells into one of them. “And so does everything in it. Not that you care.” You words come out fast and sharp. It feels as if Rafayel should dodge them quickly. “You derelict God.”
Rafayel flinches and near simultaneously stands up straight, as if suddenly he was before a court of judges. There’s nothing to feel guilty over, but your tone implied he should at least look the part.
“I never said I was a God!” Rafayel defends himself. Your piercing gaze falls on his face, and chest, and back up to his head. The way you drag your dark gaze from his abdomen and up to his chest makes his heart race. “So throwing out insults it’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Well, in that case,” you interject, hands on your hips as you tilt your chin upwards, doing your best to meet his gaze despite your height differences. He wasn’t very tall, but it was enough to put you on edge. You sorely disliked being disadvantaged. “Someone stole your likeness and made a statue that looks just like you, and put it in the town square.”
“You have a strange way of apologizing.”
Rafayel frowns, as memories he’s not even sure are his come back like a foamy wave. He had been here before—or a version of him at least, a long long time ago. He’s so distracted by them, and how uneasy it made him feel, that he forgets he was trying to get you to apologize.
“Maybe an ex lover?” you mention conversationally, as if it was a real question up for debate. Your tone gives nothing away but it isn’t until Rafayel sees a small lilt of a corner of your lips that he senses you’re trying to mess with him.
“I can see why you’d draw that conclusion,” Rafayel answers playfully, following closely behind you as you gather a bucket in each hand. There’s a third, and Rafayel silently volunteers himself as he picks it up. His free hand digs in the bucket, feeling the broken sea shells between his fingers, sand quickly gathering on his pads. “Being so charming and good looking can be quite a curse, you know?” He places one sandy hand on his forehead for emphasis but despite him holding his pose you don’t turn around to look at him. His frown deepens as he picks up his pace, legs kicking up sand to the back of his thighs.
You turn around, and Rafayel’s lips stretch into a broad smile. His mouth opens but he is rendered speechless in his confusion as you point at the bucket in his hand.
“You can’t have those yet.”
“Oh, come on!” Rafayel whines sweetly, he tilts his head, his soft hair swaying in the wind with his movements. You’re almost compelled to give in. “I even carried it all the way up here for you. Look!” He lifts one foot then the other. “I even got sand all over me. Surely, you can part with a little seashell or ten or twenty?”
“Just bring it with you,” you mumble suddenly flustered by your unwarranted full body blush. You step still barefoot off the shore and onto broken sidewalk. Rafayel follows you closely, surprised by the amount of heat concrete can hold. He shifts his feet quickly in an impromptu dance. You look over one sun kissed shoulder and look down at his moving feet before smirking up at him. “Baby feet. ”
“Baby feet?” Rafayel repeated aghast, making his way down the sidewalk in a wobbly rendition of a game of hopscotch. “You’re walking on a 100 degree heated bed of concrete and you’re saying I have baby feet?”
You don’t respond, instead you stop briefly. Rafayel feels and hears the thumping of a rhythmic bass sound. He feels it even in his chest. He’s both moved and discomforted all at once by the sensation around his heart. He finally sees the car flying by and as soon as it was past them, you cross the street.
“Sounds like something a baby would say,” you tell him. He sees a smile flutter briefly on your mouth before your eyes are captivated by the food stalls lined across the beach. The smell of fried food, and the ocean breeze mingle together and fill up Rafayel’s lungs leaving him with a sense of borrowed nostalgia. He doesn’t know exactly what he seems to be missing but he seems inexplicably drawn to you.
“You have to admit,” Rafayel continues as you stop in front of one of the stalls. He lifts a foot briefly to eye the bottom of it with a frown. It was a bright pink, and stinging slightly. “It’s hot. It’s very hot.”
You ignore him again and focus your attention on the lady running the stall. He watches your mouth form syllables that when strung together he’s not sure he understands but it does sound slightly familiar. Unable to tell what was being said, Rafayel got distracted by the smells and sights. In a glass display, under a heat lamp, were large discs of what looked like fried dough peppered with little bright pieces of green and spices. The scent was rich, savory, and fishy all at once.
You’re laughing when you catch him staring at the food and he’s only slightly miffed that he is missing out on the inside joke. Only slightly. So much that he refuses to answer the unasked question in your eyes. The stall owner reaches into the glass display with tongs and pulls out one of the dough discs. She grabs the bottom with a bundle of napkins and hands it over to Rafayel. He graciously takes it although his eyes flutter to you briefly, as if seeking validation.
“It’s a cod fish fritter,” you tell him, with a tilt of your head so similar to his, Rafayel thought for a moment you were mocking him. “You like seafood, right?”
The smile that stretches your lips is brighter than the lights in the stall, brighter than the street lamp posts slowly flickering on one by one, and much brighter than the orange-pink sun sliding behind the horizon. Silence was his best weapon at the moment so he chooses to focus on chewing rather than to wrestle his emotions into submission.
Rafayel looks up, and sees garlands of seashells decorating the stall. He looks down just in time to catch you slipping seashells from his bucket and unto the stall owner’s hand. You cover her hand with both of yours and lean close to whisper something. He takes another bite of the fritter, enjoying the well balanced seasoning, salty and herbaceous; an addicting combination.
As you both leave the stall, you walk side by side. Your height difference more apparent to him now, as he looks down at the top of your head, curious curls growing out of it. He playfully bumps his hip against yours.
“What was that about?” he asks you. He takes another bite of the fritter, not willing to let it get cold in his presence. He didn’t think a lukewarm limp fritter would be as delectable.
“It’s for luck,” you respond after a moment. You nod at the passing stalls and business; the small balconies of homes that had been built decades before. “The seashells are gifts from the Sea. The Sea where all our ancestors go to rest. We cherish them as not only a blessing from the Gods but also as messages from our ancestors. It’s how we feel connected.”
Rafayel took in the sight of the seashell wind chimes, tinkling at almost every establishment with every breezy journey of the wind.
“Plus, they’re pretty.” You wear a lopsided smirk when he looks at you, one that tugs at the pit of his stomach. Rafayel clears his throat as little fires erupt throughout his body. He takes a finishing bite from the fritter hoping he could smother the flames with his appetite alone.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat—food or otherwise. His eyes are on the side of your face, beautifully illuminated by amber light. It dances over the apples of your cheeks like tiny clouds of fireflies. “Really pretty.”
“Is that why?” you ask suddenly, spinning on him, brows furrowed. Rafayel is so taken aback he briefly chokes. He coughs repeatedly and brings up a hand to his chest. You watch him, trying to decide if he’s faking it or not, before you decide not to tempt fate and clap him on the back.
“What? Weeeell…” Rafayel weighed his options: to lie or not to lie. “Yes and no.” Honesty was a tricky beast. Rafayel was no animal wrangler despite his affinity for understanding what sea creatures were thinking or saying. “I’m an artist, you know, cutie. Beauty is kind of my thing.”
You don’t look convinced so Rafayel moves on as his ears turn red.
“Anyway,” he interjects as he continues to follow you. He moves the bucket to his other hand now that he had all but scarfed down the cod fritter you had gotten him. “Now that you have realized I’m a non-threatening tourist—“
“When did that happen?” You interrupt, turning to the right and further away from the beach. With his options limited, Rafayel reluctantly decides to follow you. “Did I say that?”
“Well, not in that many words,” Rafayel quipped, adding a small skip in his steps to catch up to you. You crossed the street leading to what looked like a park or a town center. “You’ve let me tag along and you fed me.” Rafayel counted on the fingers of his free hand. “If I have to guess, cutie. I’d say you like me.”
You scoff.
“I do have a thing for strays.”
Rafayel felt as he was going to be swallowed up by the heat wrapping around his head. He coughed, in an effort to sort his thoughts and catch his breath. You, on the other hand, moved effortless even with a bucket in each hand. Barefoot, you walked upon cobblestone and towards the center of the park; past tall leafy trees, and low laying bushes full of flowers—the same that adorned your hair. He watches you reach a clearing, where a large fountain was. You walk towards it and set the buckets of seashells down. Rafayel was busy staring at your calves when you gesture to the fountain and the large statue in the middle of it—a powerful, majestic figure was sculpted as if he was standing on waves. His long hair was etched in rivulets as they curved around a lean and muscular body.
Rafayel points but you cut him off before he can voice his opinion.
“Our Sea God!” you introduce with fake enthusiasm. You sweep towards it with one of your arms. “Our Guardian. Our…” You pause and Rafayel sees your shoulders rise and fall—but no sigh is audible from you. “Absent Deity.”
There’s a stain of shame that bleeds from his heart. Rafayel frowns as he tilts his head and places his weight on one leg. In the back of his mind, he’s offended he even felt it. Whether or not you’re trying to guilt him into action, or whether or not you genuinely believe he is the Sea God or someone who looks a lot like him—it is inconsequential. None of it has anything to do with him.
“I should sue,” Rafayel declares as he puts down his bucket by yours. His hands go to his slender hips. “I never agreed to this. I know it’s real easy to get obsessed with me,” he mused, a hand grasping his own chin thoughtfully. “But this is going a bit too far. Would this fall under defamation or identity theft?”
“You can have aallll the seashells here,” you enthuse, sweeping an arm around the town center. There were small little altars spread throughout, candles and seashells—and things made with them such as necklaces, bracelets, and bowls of powdered seashells in varying shades of pink. “If you protect the island, for once, as you’re sworn to do! The people’s very own livelihood is at stake.”
Rafayel sighs in frustration.
“Listen!” he starts pointing an accusing finger, his bottom lip sticking out in a petulant expression. “I already told you, I’m not this God you claim I am!”
“He looks just like you!” you argue pointing up at the stony face of the Sea God’s statue. Rafayel looks up at it at the same time as you do. As if on cue, you both tilt your head.
“He does…” Rafayel says quietly but turns to face you just as quickly. “But that’s besides the point. Why do you insist I help you, so badly? Everyone seems happy to me.”
You suck your teeth.
“You think because you walked past a few stores you suddenly know everything there is to know about the island? Unless you forgot, you said it yourself, you’re just a tourist here,” you tell him harshly. Rafayel notices your nostrils flare as you try to gain control of your anger. “You only see what we want you to see.”
Rafayel couldn’t argue with that logic and the stain in his heart threatened to spread further like ink on water.
“Then show me,” he said, his jaw tensing. “Show me what it is you think I don’t see.” He should have known then, that that was the perfect time to walk away—that the seashells simply weren’t worth it, that being right wasn’t even important or necessary. He should have known, but hindsight is not only 20/20 but also painfully unhelpful.
He knew nothing, even as you took his hand and smiled.
“Follow me, Not-Sea-God,” you tell him in a voice full of secrets and mirth. “I’ll show you what the Island of Enchantment is all about.”
You lead him down a small street—an alleyway. A cat screams as he flies by. Rafayel nearly jumps into your arms, much bigger than you as he was. You push him off yourself gently, and quirk a questioning eyebrow at him. Rafayel stammers an excuse but you don’t wait for it. Instead you grab his hand again.
“I didn’t think your one weakness was another stray,” you joked; words formed by a crooked mouth that becomes more enticing the more words you spoke around him. Rafayel swallows with difficulty, a heat spreading on the back of his neck.
“Depends on the stray, cutie,” Rafayel quipped holding your gaze as he reaches up to tap your nose. You scoff and turn to pull him along the alleyway, apparently unfazed but he thinks he catches you rubbing the tip of your nose, gently, with the back of one hand.
There’s barely time to think it over, barely time for Rafayel to weigh the consequences of this encounter. He’s too busy wrapped up in the scents, and sights of where your feet take him. Your hand is warm in his, your brown fingers holding on to him tightly. He squeezes back every now and then, as you weave through a crowd observing performers with painted faces tell a story. He even squeezes your hand as you chat up an elderly man selling shaved ice. Apparently he is your neighbor, and apparently you don’t like getting free stuff from him.
“I mean, if he’s offering…” Rafayel tries to stall you, thinking a tamarind shaved ice sounded tempting but you had other plans and drag him away.
“No,” you say resolutely. You pull him close as you lower your voice. “He can barely afford to feed himself. Why would I take away what he has to sell for free? It’s like stealing a bite of food from his mouth with no shame or remorse. I can’t do that.”
Rafayel found that a tad dramatic but as he followed you, you led him towards a dimly lit street with homes that seemed either abandoned or in desperate needs of repair. Elderly sat on hammocks on their balconies, fanning themselves with fans as the inside of their homes sat in darkness behind them.
“Some people can’t even afford to pay their utilities,” you whisper, as if you didn’t want anyone else to hear. “They gather whatever they can to preserve what’s left of their dignity. There aren’t many jobs, and fishing isn’t as good as it used to be. They have no choice but to do what little they can, whether it’s selling shaved ice or those seashells you came all the way here for.”
You nod in a direction, and Rafayel follows your line of sight to see a pregnant lady on the sidewalk. She seems to be selling in jars what looked like crushed seashells. Rafayel stops before her, entranced by her work. She sat close to the ground, working on a makeshift table made with a beat up plank and two cinder blocks. On there, she ground seashells with a mortar and pestle, and combined it with petroleum jelly and other ingredients.
She smiled up at Rafayel and spread the mixture on the back of her hand to show him.
“A pretty color for your pretty girlfriend,” she said before spreading it on her own bottom lip as if to show its purpose. You nudge him gently and give him a pointed look. Rafayel returns your look.
“As pretty as she is, she’s not my—Ow!”
You punish him for his ignorance with an extra tight squeeze of his hand.
“Ow!” Rafayel cries out again, trying to snatch his hand back. “Are you trying to incapacitate me?”
You smile, all gritted teeth, with a slightly murderous sparkle in your eyes.
“Pay her,” you whisper through clenched teeth. Rafayel clears his throat and tries to ignore the heat assaulting his cheeks.
“I don’t have…your coin,” he murmurs, feeling a little unsure. “But I can barter.” He finally slips his hand out of your captivity to remove a golden bracelet. He squats down and places it on the lady’s makeshift table. “Do you like it? You can keep it and I—“ He gestures at the jars she has lined up. “I’ll take all of that.”
The lady is so thankful, her eyes brim with tears. Rafayel waves his hand in a slight panic, as if that would keep the tears at bay. You laugh, and push him gently aside, helping the pregnant lady pack what she can into a bag. She thanks you both profusely as you leave.
Somehow, your hand finds his again. Rafayel stiffens slightly before giving up and allowing your fingers to interlock with his.
“I didn’t expect you to be so generous,” you tell him. “For a stray Not-Sea-God you’re easily convinced.”
Rafayel shrugs.
“I’m only trying to prove my usefulness!” Rafayel insisted with a casual shrug. Despite his nonchalance, you notice the tips of his ears reddening. “Besides, someone like her should be home resting. I can’t imagine it’s easy to grow a baby.”
“Still,” you say as silence falls between the two of you. “Thank you. Things like that used to be popular among tourists. You could see booths like that lined up along the beach. The tourists would get their face painted with that but…there was an accident.”
“An accident?” Rafayel stiffens as something moves in a nearby trash can. A rat squeaks and runs out. He breathes a sigh of relief, a hand to his chest. He hears you chuckle but chooses to ignore it.
“Yeah, someone had a reaction once. Allergies maybe?” You guess, pulling him down another street back towards the beach. “Anyways, that’s all it took. It was all the news talked about and the police came down and banned it. That’s why you saw her there in that alley. The cops pretend that side of town doesn’t exist. Nobody wants to stare at poverty in the face.” You pause. “Then you’d have to realize they’re human.”
Rafayel is quiet as you cross a street, back towards the beach, feeling as if he got involved in something bigger than collecting seashells.
“And then!” You chime in, irritated. He could almost picture it—your feathers ruffled up, as you chirp and hoot like an angry owl. “Outsiders!” Rafayel follows your eyes to a construction site. There were several signs stating to keep out. There were people camping outside, some still awake, playing instruments, singing songs of protest. “They decided to capitalize on demand. It’s supposed to be a cosmetics factory. Using…”
“Let me guess, the seashells,” Rafayel interrupted. You nod, as you both silently stood across from it, only the sound of singing and instruments filling the air. “Still, about this…” Rafayel turns to you with a helpless shrug. “I know what you’re wishing, but this is beyond my control, cutie.”
“Just think about it,” you tell him, your eyes are full of dreams when you look up at him. He could see an infinite of possibilities. “If you were really our Sea God, you could wash everything away. Make it new.”
“But…”
“But, you’re not, right,” you mumble at last, and wave at the protesters as Rafayel feels the fight leave your body.
He didn’t know what he was expected to do, but he chose to put it to the back of his mind. After all, you hadn’t agreed to giving up any amount of seashells, and your hand was still in his. He felt like that fact took precedence at the moment; especially seeing as every time your intertwined hands swung too close to your exposed thigh, the back of his fingers brushed against your skin.
It made his whole body feel warm; almost over heated. Rafayel shook his head lightly, hoping he could sort his thoughts out. Had he spent too much time away from the water? Surely, it hadn’t even been that long but the fact that night had fallen without him even noticing spoke for itself. He was lost in thoughts as he walked with you away from the construction site, when the smell of the ocean grew stronger.
You drag him, instead of the beach, to a crowd gathering near another food stall. The smell of fire roasted meat floods his nostrils, making his mouth water. You seemed less interested in the food and more on the gathered crowd. Music fills the area with joy. The percussions are commanding, demanding the people nearby pay their tribute. Rafayel watches their hips sway, as couples spin around each other with smiles on their faces. He sees you, out of the corner of his eye, hand over the bag of goods he traded for to two elderly ladies. They seem excited as they dig through the bag.
You let go of his hand slightly, only to grasp his fingertips lightly. You’re smiling as you face him, walking backwards towards the crowd as you pull him along. Rafayel feels a sense of dread sink to the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, cutie,” he says breathlessly, suddenly victim to a brilliant blush on his cheeks. “You really will regret this. I don’t advise it.” You don’t listen as you smile and shake your head. You pull him closer to you. “I’m really talented. I am so talented,” Rafayel says quickly, voice quavering as you slide even closer to him, your fingers resting on his wrists as you guide his hands over your body. “I am…good…” You place one of his hands on your hip. You take the other one in yours. Rafayel stares down, mistyfied that his fingers seemed very comfortable there on the curve of your hip. Traitors. “This, however,” he continues finding his bravery now that he wasn’t looking at the width of your hips but at your bright eyes looking up at him. You grin, completely disarming him. “I’m no good but if you don’t mind me stepping on your feet…”
On the pretense of teaching him how to lead—you actually do all the leading yourself, happily ignoring every time Rafayel miscounted and stepped on your foot. You maneuver his arms to spin yourself, and laugh at the faces he made.
“Come on, Stray!” You tell him, reaching up with your joined hands to tap his cheek playfully. “Focus. Watch my feet. One, two, three. One, two, three. It’s easier than swimming.”
“I am!” he barks back, sweat dotting his brow like a beaded crown. You laugh, and reach down to pat his hand on your hip.
“Hips!” you shout over the music. Rafayel only raises both eyebrows as a question. You laugh again, and Rafayel wonders if he should hate your laugh or hate the way it makes his skin feel bathed in warmth. “Loosen your hips. You know? Just sway a little. Feel the music.”
“I’m too busy counting!” Rafayel counters which earns another one of your melodic laughs. You smile and shake your head, and if he was more prone to delusions he’d think he saw a certain kind of fondness in the warmth of your eyes. You suddenly let go of his hand, and place yours on the flat of his belly. Rafayel stiffens, holding out his arms straight out at your sides, unsure of where he’s supposed to put them at the moment. You slide them up, and move even closer until you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck.
Your arms around his neck, body pressed against his, you sway to the music. Rafayel is amazed at your ability to multi-task. Your smile is lopsided and predatory. He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up as you lean closer. He knows this is probably a good time to leave. It would be the best course of action, and yet he wraps his arms around you, pulls you even closer until he’s sure there’s no space left to separate you from him.
“Then stop counting and just watch me,” you tell him, close enough he can smell vanilla from your lip gloss. There, he worried only about you; the way your body felt pressed against him, the way the percussions resonated in the cavity of his chest, how it felt like a call from the sea thrumming through his veins. The only thing more enchanting than the brass instruments passionate wail was the way your eyes looked at him. Your curls moved softly with each breeze, sometimes sticking to your glossy bottom lip. Rafayel cautiously, still stuck to your moving body—doing his best to keep rhythm with you—raised one hand to pull a curl off its sticky trap.
“How long do I watch you for?” He leans down close to your face. You blink rapidly, surprised at the quickening of your heartbeat. Almost immediately, there’s a heat rushing to your cheeks and all over your body. He’s so close you could count every eyelash, and every beauty mark on his face. “I’ve been watching enough to see your hair keep going to your lips. Three times now.” You say nothing, heart in your throat, and a sudden desire to do something stupid. “You should know, cutie.” His voice is husky, as his eyes darken, laser focused on your bottom lip. You bite down on it as a flood of heat spreads to your core. “I may not look it, but I’m a pretty jealous person. I don’t want others to have what I want.”
You swallow, almost missing your next step. You look down at your feet for failing you before looking back up again. You almost wish you hadn’t because the way Rafayel was looking at you was enough to send every thought screaming and running away from you. You clear your throat in an attempt to buy time; anything to formulate a coherent sentence.
“And, what is it…that you want?” You ask him. “Aside from some seashells?”
Rafayel watches you briefly before he smiles. He leans even closer, so much so you feel his breath on your lips. You swallow the taste of it.
“You’re real cute when you fight back, cutie,” he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. “But I think you’d be even cuter if you gave in.”
Your heart leaps. Adrenaline jolts you, makes you feel cold and hot all at once. You can’t think straight, all kinds of possibilities and options come running to the forefront of your mind as Rafayel brushes his lips against yours. Your lips part—to breathe, to taste, to kiss him—but he moves his mouth at last minute, and kisses your cheek instead.
“Come on,” he chuckles against your heated skin, and drags his lips upward. He presses his mouth gently against your temple before he grabs your hands and spins you out of his embrace. Breathlessly, you try to keep up with him. He pulls you back in, your back pressed against him. He sways with you to the beat. You feel something hard and hot pressed against your lower back. The realization of it makes your stomach flip pleasantly, and the heat between your legs pulses. The need inside you grows even deeper when you feel his soft lips brush against the side of your neck. “Isn’t there somewhere less crowded you can give up in?”
You turn around immediately, releasing yourself from his arms. He laughs at your furious expression. Your face feels hot, and your heart is hammering away in your chest. You feel a mixture of shame and disappointment taking over. You’re ashamed that you want him so badly, and disappointed in yourself. Is that all it took to seduce you?
“What do you mean?” you demand. Rafayel, instead, just laughs at you.
“If you don’t know. I know a spot.”
You look up at him incredulously. When you don’t move fast enough, Rafayel takes your hand. You snatch it back, and he immediately reaches for it again—not easily dissuaded despite your attitude.
“Cuuutie,” he whines, pulling you towards him. “Think of it as me paying you back for showing me around. Despite what you call me, I’ve actually been here before.”
“Ah-ha!” You shout and point up at his chin, as he drags you along. “See, I was right! You’re—“
“I’m not a Sea God!” Rafayel insists, rolling his eyes as he pulls you away from the crowd of dancing lovers, away from the food stalls, and away from the main roads lined by street lamps. He takes you to the beach with the shore made of broken seashells. He takes you even further, down to a path that has been cleared through mangroves.
“Where are we going?” you ask, trying not to trip over roots, or get knocked out by branches. “It’s so dark. I can barely see where we are going.”
Rafayel squeezes your hand and looks back at you with a smile so bright that even the night couldn’t obscure.
“You’ll see. Trust me?”
You hesitate before you squeeze his hand.
“Okay, I trust you.”
You keep moving forward, your hand in Rafayel’s. He pulls you through some low laying branches and you finally see where he meant to take you all along. The moon hung high in the night sky, and its light spilled on the softly rippling water. The air was full of the sound of tree frogs, and the soft splashing of the waves in the distance.
“Come,” he said in a soft commanding tone, leading you to a small row boat. You get on wordlessly, careful not to fall over. Just as silently, you watch him climb aboard and join you.
“When did you prepare this?” you ask him in confusion. “Did you have this here all along?”
Rafayel shrugs, as he pushes off the shore with the paddle. You look down, and see a light rippling to life underneath you. You gasp. Brighter than the moon, a brilliant blue that electrifies every part of you follows your path as Rafayel continues to paddle. You reach down, and dip your hand in the water. The water lights up everywhere you touch. The sheer beauty of it almost brings you to tears, and you look up at the night sky wondering what could be more beautiful than that moment and that place on your island. The inky night sky is decorated with blinking stars, like fairy lights.
You’re too enamored with the view that you only remember Rafayel is with you when you hear him laugh softly.
“What?” you ask him defensively, as you blush. Rafayel reaches over and fixes the flower in your hair.
“If I knew this would make you speechless I would have brought you here sooner.”
You swat at his arm playfully, lifting your butt from your seat, causing the boat to rock. Rafayel’s eyes widen as he steadies you by holding on to your elbows.
“Careful, cutie. If you fall over, all my hard work will be for nothing.” You look at him suspiciously and resist swatting his arm again. “Isn’t this a much better spot for it?”
You wrinkle your nose, and suck your teeth. Rafayel shrugs as his face dons and innocent expression of confusion.
“For what?” you mumble, your frown grows deeper and deeper. Rafayel’s smile widens as he leans closer. The boat rocks slightly, and you place a hand on his chest as if to stop him from moving closer. “You’re gonna topple us over.”
“It’s okay,” he says with a teasing smile. You can’t help but notice his eyes are on your mouth. You feel your body heat up immediately. “I’ll be gentle.” Your heart speeds up, pounding furiously against your chest. As it attempts to escape, you try to at least keep a hold of your breath. You feel yourself gulping loudly as you try to regain control if the situation. The hand on his chest curls around his shirt. “If I can’t have the seashells. I want to ask for something of equal or greater value. It’s only fair.”
Your throat runs dry. Swallowing now is an almost impossible task. You fear choking, but you fear missing a single expression on his face even more. Your eyes take him, from the soft curve of his bottom lip, to the sharp edge of his eyebrows. You follow his jawline to his ears hidden behind soft curls of hair. As if possessed, your hand finds its way there, to the arch of his ear. Rafayel shivers at your touch.
He holds your wrist, his long elegant fingers sear your skin leaving invisible tattoos your eyes won’t ever see but your soul will always carry.
“Like what?” you hear yourself ask, but your voice sounds foreign to your ears. His thumb, slightly calloused, brushes against the pulse of your wrist; a beacon that guides it into beating faster and faster. He suddenly pulls you towards him, expertly adjusting you on his lap. Water splashes onto the boat.
Rafayel’s laughter is light, teasing, and disarming. You feel all your defenses shattering down into the water around you. They sink to the bottom like relics of an ancient civilization.
“I think a kiss would be a fair trade.” He says with a soft smile. Behind his eyes you can see mirth dancing in the purple and pink hues; the light of the bioluminescence casts his face into an ethereal glow. He brings your hand to his face, and rests his cheek on it. “What do you think, cutie?” He asks you. Rafayel turns his face to nuzzle your hand, and drops the softest kiss on the crook of your palm. With his lips still pressed against your hand, he looks up at you through his lashes, shattering whatever was left of your resolve.
You don’t open your mouth to agree. There are no words left for you to say. You could argue you. You could deflect. You could demand the truth and demand to know his reasons but you knew that the mysterious man from the sea would never break himself open for you; at least not so easily, at least not yet.
You reach out to him with your free hand, sliding it around the curve of his neck, before grasping his nape. Your fingernails scratch his skin, eliciting a hiss from him. His lips part as he lifts from your palm. You seize the moment, trapping his open mouth with yours. You slot your lips against his, claim his bottom lip into your mouth. His eyes flutter close the moment you take control, his hands fumbling with your body as his brain screams to bring you closer, at any cost, whatever it is. He grips your hips and pulls you down against his erection. The boat rocks, almost making you lose your balance. You gasp as you break the kiss, your eyes darting to the water nervously but Rafayel brings you back to him, one arm wrapping around your torso, the other holding firmly to the side of your head.
His mouth is hungry against yours, demanding your attention, and everything you can give him. His tongue is soft yet scorching, a contradiction you could easily get addicted to. He drops open mouth kisses down your neck, while his fingers dig into your hips. Rafayel’s teeth snag on your neck as he nips playfully. You gasp and grind your hips, pleasantly surprised to find him as aroused as you are. Your soft pants so close to his sensitive ears nearly make him lose control.
“Do you give all strays the same treatment?” he breathes against your clavicle, dropping soft butterfly kisses along it. You tilt your head, giving him more space as goosebumps roll over your body with each wave of pleasure. Your hips keep moving, eager to elicit more pleasure from the friction with each gyration. You hold on to his shoulders for support, and turn your head up to the sky. The stars are beautiful, and you pretend they’re a map you have to follow on your way to ecstasy.
“Don’t be silly,” you reply near breathless, so close to your orgasm it makes it hard to think much less talk. With one hand digging into his hair, you bring his mouth closer to your chest. Rafayel drags his lips against the neckline of your top, as his hands slide up your sides and to your breasts. He cups them gently at first, but when you moan at his touch, his grasp becomes more possessive. “You’re not even a real stray.”
He looks up at you, and you smile, eating up the attention. The way he looks at you emboldens you, makes you feel beautiful and powerful. You eat up the way his jaw slackens, the way his mouth drops open while his beautiful eyes grow heavier and heavier. You feel as if you’d collapse any moment, so you rest your forehead against his.
“So?” you ask softly, hip still moving in that dangerous hunt for pleasure. Heat tightens in your core, you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. Rafayel’s hands slide from your hips to your ass. You feel his fingers dig into your backside, and you bite down on your lip to keep quiet. “Isn’t this better than a few seashells?”
“Weeeell,” he drawls, his signature playful voice heavy with lust. You’re beautiful under the moonlight, your curls stuck once more to your face and lips. Rafayel laughs softly, and brushes it away, only to take its place and kiss you on the lips once more. “If you were wearing nothing but the seashells right now that would be really nice.”
“That can be arranged,” you mumble. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time?” he jokes, before he clamps down on one of your shoulders. “You’re so confident.”
You chuckle and turn his face with your hand so you can bite his bottom lip as revenge. Rafayel moans slightly, as he adjusts you on his lap. Now that you’ve caught your breath, you feel yourself coming back to your senses. You shift slightly on his lap, suddenly hyper aware of his arousal.
“I have a question,” you murmur, cheeks aflame. Rafayel smiles and tucks the flower back in your hair. It was hanging for its life to a single curl.
“You’d rather ask questions than kiss?” he jokes. He kisses each of your cheeks. “What an interesting little fishy.”
Despite his charms, and his kisses, and the sparkle in his eyes, you are not dissuaded.
“What is your name?”
Rafayel seems to ponder it over. Silence falls between you. The sound of distant tree frogs, and crickets fill the night air.
“Rafayel,” he says finally. You smile and repeat his name. You repeat it softly, rolling each syllable around your tongue as if you were savoring the letters that made up who he was. “Finally. Nice to meet you.”
He smiles softly at you, but the way his eyes lose a bit of spark scares you. He holds you closely, and rests his forehead against yours.
“It has been an honor to know you,” he whispers, the back of his hands brushing down your neck. “I’m only sorry that I have to leave you. So, I think right before I go, I should leave you with something to remember me by. I know how forgetful humans can be.”
You brush your nose against his. Goodbye seems so permanent so you can’t bring yourself to say it. Instead you trace the planes of his face with your fingertips, brush your lips against his once, twice, thrice. He trails soft kisses from your cheek up your jawline, and to the pulse point under your neck. There, you feel his lips part and he kisses you fiercely with an open mouth. It’s hot, and the way he’s forcefully suckling on the spot there makes you aware of what he is doing. It shouldn’t turn you on so badly, that he wants to mark you—as if you were his to keep but your hips didn’t get the memo. They move with new ferocity, as soft little moans drop from your swollen well-kissed lips. You cry out his name, when you feel you’re close, his hands slipping under your skirt to touch the sensitive skin of your thighs. His fingers slip past the elastic of your underwear, tracing dangerous circles on your ass.
You shut your eyes tightly, even as you feel Rafayel switching to the other side of your neck to suckle. You don’t think about the consequences. You let pleasure take over, you let his fingers explore you, as they find their way to your aching core.
“Yes!” you cry out in an urgent whisper as you feel him poking. He slips one finger inside you, even as you rock your hips, tilting your pelvis slightly to allow him more room. Rafayel laughs against your ear and inserts a second finger. “Just like that.”
“Don’t worry, cutie,” he coos, his fingers moving in tandem with your hips. Your eyes roll back as you feel the stretch, you cry out once more when he curves them, expertly finding your weak spot to exploit. “I’ll give you just what you want.”
Rafayel kisses you into silence, devouring every moan and sigh that was trying to fly out of your mouth. His fingers scissor inside you, and relishes on the silky wet feel of you. You’re warm, and inviting and a part of him would like nothing more than to lay you on your back and fuck you like his body desperately craves. Still, he doesn’t give in, and focuses on your pleasure.
“Almost there,” he teases with a grin at the sight of the glazed over look in your eyes. Your mouth is slightly open, shoulders slouched as you fall victim to pleasure. You whine against his neck, dropping sloppy wet kisses. Rafayel picks up the pace, fucking you with his beautiful long fingers, until you cry out one last time. He hums as you clench around him, feeling a desperate pull at the pit of his stomach. He resists it still then.
You’re not sure how long you rest there in his arms, coming down from your orgasm, but you blink away the fog thanks to a beautiful melody he is humming. You look up and straighten up, embarrassed.
“If you come back and change your mind,” you say in a playful tone. “Maybe I can part with a few seashells after all.”
“I won’t,” he says with a laugh and stands up suddenly. You look up at him in confusion right before he falls backwards into the water. Startled, you gasp and you’re busy trying to balance yourself on the boat. You peer over, trying to spot him somewhere in the water but the ripples he left behind are lit up in a bright green luminescence. You take a deep breath, and try to accept the fact that he’s gone. That he’s gone. That Sea God or not, it felt as if something special had transpired that night.
Suddenly, he breaks the surface of the water, and plants a wet kiss on your lips. You blink startled, amazed at the sight of him transformed. His muscles glisten under the moonlight.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t come back,” you mumble, startled but wanting to have the last word. Rafayel smiles up at you.
“Mm, about that,” he hums contemplatively. “We’ll see.”
Rafayel slips under water. You wait there, as minutes go by but Rafayel doesn’t come back.
He comes back the next day, right before sunset. His feet hit the shore, relishing in the familiarity. It had barely been a full day but he felt as if he had learned so much. He follows the paths you led him down, surprised at finding the food stalls closed. He goes to the town center, and drops a few seashells he picked up at the beach on one of the altars. Then he turns down the road he bought all the cosmetics from. There was no lady in sight with her swollen belly. Rafayel hoped she was resting at home on a comfortable bed. She looked like she needed it.
As he continues to walk, his thoughts stray to you. Your mischievous smile, the way your eyes capture the night lights, your mouth against his, the smell of your skin. It all comes into his mind like fractured images. He tries to build them up, like a puzzle, or a kaleidoscope. Entertained with just thinking of you, Rafayel finds himself in front of the construction site for the cosmetics factory. In front was a crowd, rowdy, shouting—not at all the determined but peaceful singing of the prior night.
Rafayel blinks in confusion as he sees the police clash with the crowd, pushing back with riot gear—shields against unarmed civilians. A bang and a smoke startle him, he hears cries from all directions, hears shots ringing out—and your voice.
He calls out to you.
“Don’t fight back up!” you yell through the crowd. Rafayel tries to follow the sound of voice. “Don’t shoot. They’re unarmed! Why are you doing this?”
He sees you there, pushing back against police officers. Your face is a mixture of anger, and anguish. When you yell and cry, he can feel the sense of betrayal in your voice. He tries to move towards you but every time he does, he’s pushed back by the crowd, or he gets caught up in a glob of smoke that burns his eyes and lungs.
He hacks and coughs, looks for you through blurry eyes. He calls out your name and hears you calling him back. He advances towards your voice. Finally, the smoke clears and when your eyes meet he feels he can breathe a little bit easier. Your hand reaches out to him in the distance.
“Rafayel!” you voice calls out, chased by the echoing sound of a bullet. You’re frozen in place. Rafayel freezes as your expression changes. He watches, in icy terror, as red blooms on your chest like the petals of an unfurling flower. His legs feel like lead, he drags them, curses at them to move faster. When he reaches you, you collapse in his arms, your eyes never leaving his face.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, and despite the lack of volume in his voice, there is a sense of command there that makes you want to meet his expectations but each breath is painful. You feel as if you’re choking. Your vision falters, bright white, then his face, over and over again. “Listen to me. Listen to my voice.”
You reach for him but it’s like clawing through fog. Everything you grasp is intangible. You cry out in frustration. Then, the images still, and you see him—his eyes brimming with unshed tears, his hair in disarray. He smells like the sea and smoke.
“You came back,” you mutter, your lips stretching into a tired smile. Rafayel holds you tighter in his arms. He brings up one of your hands to his cheek, just like he had done before; and just like he did before, he kisses your palm. “I knew you’d change your mind.”
He says your name against your bloody hand, over and over.
“Shh,” you try to soothe him, but your eyes are so heavy. You’re so so tired. It seemed pointless to fight it when you could just rest your eyes. “I’m glad…I got to see you again.”
You had always seen the world in shades of pink, and green. You suddenly remember the sunset by the beach, the way he rose out of the water, the last rays of light spilling over his shoulders. You remember him standing there, looking at you as if he saw right through you to your core, and you remember the way he said your name—as if he had breathed you back into creation. He watches you smile before you gasp loudly, once—lastly. His hands tremble as the light in your eyes dulls, but he doesn’t look away. It would be a dishonor. When there is nothing left, he gently closes your eyes, and carries you through the crowd.
He barely hears the yelling, the crying. The tear gas doesn’t distract him. He pushes through the clouds, letting himself feel everything—the anger, the pain, the stinging in his eyes and lungs. He feels the warmth of your body slowly slipping away, and he lowers you down on the floor by the fountain of the Sea God you thought looked so much like him. Rafayel’s anger grows at the sight of your lifeless body, tears spilling over his heated cheeks. As he clenches his fist, he hears the water in his ears.
“The Sea gives, and the Sea takes,” he spits through clenched teeth.
The water of the lake where he kissed you, unexpectedly roars to life. It rushes over its banks, spills into the streets and into the food stalls. People scream as they’re caught by surprise. They run for cover, others taken by the sudden current. Water reaches the construction site, and it tears its way inside, dragging sediment and debris with it. He picks up your body once more, and walks towards the beach, the water parting wherever he stepped; as if it did not dare get in his way.
The sun continues to sink lower into the horizon, the familiar pink stained sky welcomes him back to the beach. A lump is in his throat as he does his best to fight it. You look peaceful in his arms, as the last remaining light spills over your face. Colors he once loved, filled with feelings of tenderness, joy, adventure, hope—now leave a bittersweet taste on his tongue. Although he had expected to say goodbye to you one day, he could have never predicted it would have been this way.
Fate was a monstrous thing—like the sea, it gave and it took without mercy.
He holds you close to his chest, as he sinks back into the water, with the pink of your story in dyed into his mind.
guess who's back, y'all (hint: ✨ it's me, babie ✨) i missed everyone fr fr ;-; i've been away for far too long, i know i know. but yk how these things go. to everyone who has stuck around, ily so much and i'm smooching all of ur cute foreheads 🥰️; and to my new followers, holaaaa it gets real wild around these parts.
anywayyyy, presenting a kaia & sora caribbean coconuts production™ — 💛🦀🍊 hola, verano! an anthology collab 🍧🦀💛 — a summer & caribbean themed collaboration event that will run for the entire month of august. sora and i will be posting a fic every sunday & everyone is welcome to participate! that being said, mdni please & thanks. anyone who submits must be 18+, i stand firm on that. fics should be summer and/or caribbean themed! use whatever prompts you want; fics can be as long or as short as you like (but please nothing under 500 words, we want a lil substance here folks).
i'll add everyone's contributions as people post to the masterlist later on💛💕
all fandoms are welcome (comics & video games included)! if you do decide to participate, please tag @queserasora and me and pls use our tag so we can find you! we are really excited for this, y'all you have no idea.
please don’t forget to check out my rules before submitting 💕
🌴 once again, the collab is open to all fandoms (games & comics included). you don’t have to follow us to join, just make sure you are 18+ (mdni pls & thx) and that any character you write is adult-aged for the fic.
🌴 sfw & nsfw fics are allowed — if you decide to write dc please check my rules tag it appropriately. minimum word requirement is 500 words (there is no maximum, bc we're long-winded over here).
🌴 repeat characters are allowed.
🌴 multiple submissions are allowed.
🌴 you can write character x character, character x reader, or character x oc! whatever works for you.
JULIUS NOVACHRONO X FEM READER / NSFW
WC: 3.9K
CW: choking, fingering, penetration
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first Black Clover fic ever, and my first Julius fic, so please forgive me for any short comings lol. I tried to capture Julius' playful nature. Also this is my first fic after a long time of not writing one so if my writing is rusty not it ain't. You didn't see anything wrong here, carry on. I wrote this for @soleilnomoon who asked me for this Julius fic like maybe 20 years ago so here I delivery it during the apocalypse of 2025. I hope you're happy bestie. If you like it, I love it. [insert awkward smile here]
I - LIGHTNING
He remembers the crashing thunder resounding in his ears the moment right before his eyes first met yours; a lightning bolt in the dark granting clarity to the silhouette of your existence.
Your hair, swirling tendrils plastered to your damp cheeks became illuminated in flashing fragments, photographic negatives he couldn't blink away. There was a joke dancing somewhere in the back of his mouth; something between 'look what the storm dragged in' and 'have you ever fallen in love with the curve of someone's cheek'. But between his heavy tongue and the persistent thunder, he lost the right timing to speak.
For once, he felt speechless.
"Don't just stand there," your voice broke through the sound of rain. "Don't you want to get out of the rain?"
II – THUNDER
“Well, look at that,” says the man with an eye patch, the same man Julius sidesteps as he obstructs his perfect view of you in the sun. Albeit, it's not that sunny, and the sun is filtered through impossibly gray clouds; clouds that could never put a damper on your smile.
“I know,” Julius says smoothly, his lips curling into a smile. “Isn't she a beauty?” His head tilts and his eyes soften as he takes you in. Julius raises his arm to wave at you. You look a little confused as you wave back.
“No, I'm not talking about her,” Eyepatch says, moving so he was back to blocking Julius' view of you. He was typically already easy to distract, that much Julius knew, but your presence was practically impossible to ignore. How could anyone fault him? There was no way he could keep himself from just dropping everything he was doing to admire the soft timbre of your voice, or the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, or the way the wind danced in your hair as if every strand of it was alive.
“What?” Julius mutters, doing his best not to sound affronted. His brows draw closer together in a frown that feels out of place on his face. It isn't an expression he dons often, and he is unaccustomed to the unpleasant feeling in his stomach. He couldn't ruminate over it right now. There were more pressing matters. Julius dismisses the feeling and Eyepatch's look of concern with a wave of his hand. He feels a hand close around his chin, and his face and eyes are dragged away from your laughing face to the dirt road now occupied by magic knights on horseback. Between them, they have a cart with them, dirty blankets stained with blood covering what he could only assume were bodies.
“There are more pressing matters than romance, Julius,” his friend murmurs with equal amounts of impatience and kindness. “Focus, will you?”
Julius stood in silence as the rest of the knights marched on, his eyes narrowed, but on occasion his gaze would drift back to you. As it went, his priorities always included magic at the top, but what was magic without a little romance?
As if by that same magic he loved and was fascinated by, you turn your face to meet his gaze. The sky nearly splits with the sound of thunder. You both look up immediately then back at each other, secretive smiles stretching your lips. Julius feels his chest tighten as he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes from the distance separating you.
“Looks like it's going to rain!” he ventures to call out. Next to him, he hears Eyepatch groan and mumble something about being obvious. If Julius's observation was an annoyance to you, you don't show it. Instead he is delighted to hear the soft tinkling of a giggle carried down to him by the wind.
“Are you trying to get caught up in it?” you ask him with a small tilt of your head.
“It's pretty warm. Might serve to cool us down.”
“Or slow us down.” You nod in the direction of the camp and start walking. Julius ignores Eyepatch's word of warning and trots towards you until he is walking breathlessly next to you. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath and he uses it to the best of his ability to inspect the profile of your face. Inside him, Julius could feel his soul quiver.
“I didn't know you to the be the type to be against adventure,” he says cheerfully. He smiles, hoping you're aware he means no judgement.
“I'm not,” you retort just as cheerfully, your lips pursed as you do your best to stave off a smile. “I'm just against becoming a soaked noodle in public--or getting struck by lightning.” You aim a lofty look in his direction, paired with an arched eyebrow; it is near lethal. He feels his heart stutter.
“Are you referring to that day?” He asks you. You glance at him silently as a reply. Julius chuckles before he plows on but not before he artfully avoids a puddle. “I had it perfectly under control.”
“You could have died!” you tell him loudly, your voice rising in pitch, eyebrows high on your forehead. Julius' smile becomes warm. “We could have died.”
“That was never going to happen.” He sees your lips part for breath as you geared up for your next argument. Julius speaks even quicker. “I was never going to let that happen.” Your eyes meet his, and Julius can hear something sizzling; in the air, in the sky, all around him, like searing hot lightning. “Ever.”
After a prolonged pause, you break the silence with a disbelieving scoff. “What?” you look up as a challenge lurks behind your captivating eyes. “You think yourself the Wizard King or something?”
Julius laughs, delighted by every word you speak.
“Would that impress you?” You shrug one shoulder, and Julius wonders how the soft roundness of it could be so tantalizing. What magic had you just performed to make him think of the skin underneath the fabric, the softness of it, the scent of it?
“Maybe,” you answer at last, looking up at him through your lashes before you walk faster, leaving him behind with his thoughts and a heat that was beginning to shoot into his nether regions.
“If that's what it takes then,” he mutters, stepping oddly as if he suddenly grew interested in doing walking lunges. You look up confused, as if you didn't catch all his words, and look even more perplexed for his actions. Julius is surprised to find that there's blood left to go to his cheeks. Funny, he thought all of it was currently busy with his very inconvenient erection.
“D'you say something?”
Julius furiously shakes his head. He feels a hand clamp down on one of his shoulders. In the time he was taking to adjust himself, Eyepatch had caught up to them.
“Nothing worth remembering, I can guarantee you that,” Eyepatch chimed in with his unsolicited opinion. Julius shot him a tense smile over his shoulder wishing he could beam him away with the simple power of his charm. Unfortunately for Julius, he didn't possess that kind of magic but he was sure that someone somewhere out there did and he would be keen to meet them at least once. That way he could ask them if they had ever used their power to get rid of a very pessimistic gray cloud with two legs and a mouth.
“I was saying!” Julius said loudly—even louder than usual, as he escaped Eyepatch's grasp. “We should race back to camp. Last one there gets to do all of tonight's cooking.” He doesn't wait for you to agree before he starts, laughing as he hears your protests.
“That's not fair!” he hears you shout. “You don't even cook!” As he looks over his shoulder, he sees you racing towards him wearing a fierce expression that makes him howl with laughter.
III - Hail
It sounded like the window was being pelted with rocks. Your penetrating gaze flies to the arched window behind Julius, as if you could incinerate the imagined risks with one look alone. Somehow the thought of someone trying to harm Julius was enough to make your skin feel prickly. Thunder moved raucously through the sky as sweat clung to the dip of your lower back. It was insufferably humid. Your misery was made near palpable every time he looked at you.
If he had any idea of the effect he had on you, would he be apologetic? Would he laugh; enigmatic, friendly yet unapproachable? Would he find any excuse, as he always did, to suddenly disappear from view although his eyes always lingered on your mouth, as if he wanted nothing more than to venture into you instead? Or—by some impulsive whim—take advantage of your weakness and finally succumb to the same kind of madness that consumed you?
You blink yourself back to the present, his melodious voice taking up the space of his office, as the storm raged on outside.
You near forgot what you were in the office for, in the first place.
"Anyway, that was the report," you mumble, hands behind your back, fussing with the rings on your fingers. "Not very exciting, is it? Most missions aren't." You wanted to addend your statement almost immediately. You wanted to let him know, that indeed, most of your missions had been stale, boring, and uninspiring without his company. Yet your tongue remained stapled to the roof of your mouth; soldered by an invisible flame you had no protection from.
"Exciting is what you make of it!" Julius said, in his stereotypical cheery voice. He had an incredible skill into turning everything he said into some motivational speech. Perhaps his real magic was the gift of gab. Julius walked around his desk, fussing with a new magical artifact; the latest object of his attention.
"Besides," he said softly this time. His eyes flicked towards you from across the desk bringing with them an unexpected warm breeze. "It's you." There is a heavy silence that almost takes physical form. You feel yourself drowning in it as he chooses his next words carefully. "I wouldn't dream of calling you dull."
You laugh, as the instinct to fight off his honeyed words seizes your body. You fantasize about falling into his sticky trap every night but the moment you feel a toe dipping into the warmth substance you buck; a bull refusing to give in. You couldn't understand what was wrong with you; as if you were the machination behind your own destruction.
"Weeeell," you start, dragging your vowels as you drag your feet through this ridiculous exchange. As you stall, a deafening thunder catches both of your attentions, right before the room falls into darkness. In the dark, it's as if his breathing grows louder, and louder, until it's all you can hear. You clear your throat as you try to shake free from whatever spell he was casting on you. You hear him moving in the darkness; feel him. "What are you doing?"
It wasn't your intention to sound accusatory. He laughs anyway, his feet soft on the floor. You take a hesitant step back as you feel his body heat grow nearer. Lightning strikes the sky, and for a moment, his silhouette is white against your eyes. It feels as if it would burn forever.
"Looking for you," he says after a while. You feel him in front of you, and after blinking repeatedly and quickly, your eyes adjust in the darkness. You see his face, softened by shadows, but nothing could snuff that treacherous light in his eyes. It was enough to take your breath away.
"Why?" You ask. You draw your hand back as he reaches for your wrist. He tries again. "What for?" Julius hums contemplatively as he finally borrows ownership of your wrist. You feel his fingers drop lower, his thumb caresses the hollow of your palm. You consider it a miracle that your knees haven't buckled.
"What else for?" he murmurs as he lets go of your hand, to barely hold on to your fingertips. The option to run is there on his soft grasp "I have to get to you before you escape again."
It should be diabolical the way his gaze burns through the darkness; a fire erupts within you as the storm rages on. Before you can protest further his mouth is on yours, his lips softer than you could have imagined. His hands are warm on the small of your back, as he presses you against him. You feel them move upward slowly, as his tongue presses against your lips gently. It's a tentative kiss, as if he wasn't sure you'd let him cross the line yet.
You hesitate as usual before you finally give in, bringing your hands up to rake your nails through his straw colored hair.
You part your lips and it's all the permission he needs. His kisses become hungrier, soft moans drowning in the back of his mouth as he explores yours with his tongue. His breath is intoxicating, sweet like malted barley. His teeth snags on the sensitive skin of your neck, making you hiss. He punishes you by taking hold of your ass and lifting you on the desk. You hear items tumble to the ground.
"I didn't take you for a brute," you mumble breathlessly, as his trembling hands take hold of your clothing, pulling and tugging until you sit naked on his desk. His mouth is searing against your skin as he sucks on the hollow spot of your neck. His hands knead your breasts carefully. "I take that back," you remark with an arch of your brow. You crane your neck, doing your best to look down your nose at him. You see him bumping the tip of his nose against the chain around your neck. "You're being gentler than a mouse right now. Do you think me so fragile?"
"You're as fragile as the storm outside," he mumbles distractedly against the mound of one breast before he turns his face to seize your nipple. You inhale sharply at the feel of his teeth. Goosebumps run down your body, all the way to your toes, and they curl tightly as his lips lock around your breast. Your back arches as he sucks, and you try to drown out the small whimper that bubbles up. Heat spreads and consumes you. Every breath you take feels more urgent than the next. His hand slips between your legs, his calloused fingertips expertly finding the swollen bundle of nerves that so desperately needed his attention.
At the pressure, you squirm and moan. He finds your actions punishable, or must have, because he immediately clamps down on a shoulder. He trails wet kisses up your neck to your earlobe as he rubs circles on your clit. You moan louder this time, and you can feel his lips stretch into a grin against your cheek.
"You're being so obedient," he jokes. You frown despite the pleasure making you tremble, your bottom lip quivering as you fight off another moan all in the name of telling him off but he silences you with a quick kiss; salve for your bruised ego. "Of course!" he sings as he laughs. "I admit. This should be considered cheating."
He inserts a finger slowly into you. You tense up. Julius stills his hand.
"You don't want me to?" he whispers softly, his brows drawing together in the darkness. You see his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his tanned skin. Once again, the office is intermittently illuminated by the lightning outside.
"I need a moment," you mumble, your hand finding the necklace around your neck. You fist it nervously in your hands, fingers playing with the medallion as you often did when nervous. Julius tilts his head down to kiss your moving hand. He looks up at you through his lashes and you nod. "Alright," you say softly. There's a quiet moment before he starts again, slipping his finger the rest of the way around your tight walls. You're slick, and warm. His mouth drops open as he loses himself to the sensation, a tingling feeling shooting from his navel to the tip of his dick.
"Sunlight," he pants, inserting another finger that takes your breath away. Your head lolls as you enjoy the stretch, watch him with lidded eyes as he scissors his fingers playfully, testily.
"What?" you spit out, teeth clenched as you fight your irritation for the sake of the impending orgasm. Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip.
"What's that necklace you keep holding on to?"
You blink, trying to focus instead on the way you move your hips in tandem with his hand; it was unsettling how easy it was to fall into his rhythm but what did it matter when it felt this fucking good?
"This?" your voice is a squeak that brings color to your cheeks. You swallow the lump of embarrassment down. "It was a gift. From my grandmother." Did he really need to ask you these kind of questions when he was curving his fingers in such a manner? Did he forget he was two knuckles deep into your pussy?
"Ah," was his first response before he allowed silence to fall between you. Rain pelted the window, but somehow the increased panting coming from you seemed louder. You press your lips together to keep from moaning. As you try to be as quiet as possible, it seems Julius was determined to be the opposite. His fingers worked arduously, enough that you could hear the pockets of air slipping around your arousal; a wet sound so devious that made you victim to a full body blush. From his mouth, were short little words of appraisal, all of which made you wand to catch fire and disappear. "Mood killer," he mumbled in between them before he went back to praising you. "Such a pretty pussy though."
"What?" You cough, and move around, his fingers slipping out of you. You see him pout dramatically before you tear your eyes away from his face. Perhaps you shouldn't have because you spot a smear of wetness on his desk that threatens to make you speechless. "I'll take the necklace off."
You begin to, but Julius stops you, one hand on your hand, and another on the inside of your thigh.
"No, don't," he says gently, a crooked smile taking over his sweet face. He pushes on your thigh with his free hand and slips his lower body between your legs. "Keep it on." You lower your hand. He cups your face gently. Your eyes are ensnared by his. You swear the moonlight is drawn to his irises. You're mesmerized by it, as his fingers travel down the column of your neck. You blink, feeling his erection press against your throbbing core. He presses his hands against the base of your neck before he snatches the necklace in his fist. You choke as he tightens the hold, your eyes widening with a mixture of fear and arousal. "I like it."
He holds you there, between fear and pleasure, as he brings his free hand to guide himself to your entrance. He pokes gently, his eyes low and heated. You stare back at him, and realize belatedly he was waiting for your okay. Unable to speak, you spread your legs wider hoping that was enough to clue him into your consent.
You realize with a start, it certainly must have been, as he slams into you. You gasp out, blinking through the tears as you try to adjust to his size. You squeeze around him involuntarily, fingers grasping at his hips.
"Good," he mumbles, and leans down to kiss you once, twice, before his hips start moving once more. He thrusts into you, creating a rhythm that threatens to disarm you. You feel your apprehensions falling apart, like old thread. You choke out another gasp, his fist refusing to let go of the chain. He shakes it slightly when you try to close your eyes, to focus on the feeling tightening at the pit of your belly. Your eyes flutter open with a start to see him looking down at you, observing you with fascination; his brow knitted together, his lips glistening and parted. "Keep your eyes on me, Sunlight. If you look away, I'll disappear."
You almost headbutt him for the threat but he angles his hips and takes away your will to fight. You moan despite yourself, thrilled by the way he too couldn't keep quiet. His grunts and moans, arouse you, make you feel as if it's only you and could only be you who makes him feel this way. You give in to the delusion, allow yourself this small respite. It would be short lived, you knew. You feel his hold tighten around the necklace, feel him bring himself closer to you even as he slaps his hips against yours repeatedly.
His breath is hot against your face, as he presses his forehead against yours.
"I warned you," he breathes out in a whine. You swallow, unable to form a sufficient thought. "Look at me, Sunlight. Please."
Your eyes meet for a moment, but you shut them tight, feel your walls tighten and quiver as an orgasm wrecks your body. Your legs twitch around his hips, and he kisses your eyes, your cheeks, your forehead right before he reaches his own climax. His hips start to slow, just as yellow light spills in the room, power returning once more. Slowly, he lets go of your necklace, and just as slowly he stops moving against you. You can't help but notice he hasn't pulled out. You look up at him, feeling very wet and sore in between your legs.
"Oh," he says as if he had been struck with a brilliant idea. He still doesn't pull out. Instead, his fingers trail over your neck, his free hand tilting your chin up so he can get a good look. "There's some bruising," Julius says casually. As if looking like you had survived a kidnapping was an ordinary every day appearance. "Maybe you should edit your report. Embellish it a little. Ah!" He looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "You did this on purpose didn't you?"
You blink up at him, and slap his chest as you try to scramble off the desk. Julius seizes your hips and pulls you close instead.
"What are you talking about?"
"You were complaining about how boring your report was. Was this your way of making it exciting?" Your mouth twists, and he laughs through the slew of cuss words you launch out at him. "Alright, alright." He kisses you, even through your annoyed mumbling. "Don't be mad but promise me this? From now on, you'll only give your reports to me, and only me. Lest you get ideas."
stormborns
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