#HAZE YOU FEATHERY FUCK

[cheollipop]

like a dream

navi | taglist

pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader x song mingi

w.c.: 2.7k

tags: smut, fluff, newly-established poly relationship

with only the orange hues of the lamp illuminating the room, they have you for the first time, and it feels just like a dream.

warnings: dom!yungi, sub!reader, fingering (f), unprotected sex (👎), multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, size kink (of course), some begging, drooling, sloppy kisses, nicknames (baby, darling, sweetheart, good girl, sweet girl), yunho's a little mean, and a tease, mingi is whipped, WHIPPED, some L bombs were dropped at the end, this is just straight up smut so don't come at me for the lack of an intro (￢_￢;)

A/N: thank you so much for the request!! this was my first time writing mingi and I enjoyed every second of it ^^ this fic made me experience every emotion known to man-- I was screaming, crying, debating with myself in the mirror, howling at the moon- ahem. anyway. happy reading!! (´ ∀ ` *)

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

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“Yunho, please,” you whined, voice breathy.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He whispered back.

The lamp in the corner of the living room cast warm hues over Mingi’s face, creating angular shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. His lips were parted, shallow breaths blowing against your heated skin, moving closer to press feathery kisses to your jawline. Your palm glided over his toned torso, down his chest and over his perked-up nipples to reach the prominent tent in his sweatpants. A wave of warmth rushed to your core upon hearing Mingi’s choked moan when you cupped his bulge, squeezing your palm around the outline of his cock to revel in the sound again.

Yunho pressed himself to your back, his long fingers curling deliciously into your g-spot. Your thighs shook where they straddled Mingi’s, your hips pushing back to meet Yunho’s insistent thrusts. His other hand wrapped around you to grab your jaw, twisting your face until he could meet your eyes.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

You shuddered as his husky tone reverberated in your ear, closing your eyes for a few seconds to take in the pleasure his fingers were sending up your spine before he gave your head a firm shake. You blinked your eyes open, working your palm harder over Mingi’s hard length as you answered Yunho’s question.

“Want Mingi to fuck me,” you whispered. “please, Yunho, can he?”

“I don’t know, sweet girl...” a smirk tugged at Yunho’s lips and he stared at the man slumped against the backrest under you, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth and his eyebrows knitted while you gave his clothed bulge the attention he desperately wanted. Mingi looked up at the older man and tried to make sense of his words through the haze of pleasure fogging up his brain. “What do you say, Mingi? Do you think you can fit in this tight cunt?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, fuck. Please, Yunho,” Mingi looked up at the other man, his eyes teary and glazed over with lust while his cock throbbed under your palm. “She can take it. Right, jagi?”

You nodded desperately, scrambling to undo the drawstrings on Mingi’s sweatpants before tugging on the waistband. Yunho scissored his fingers inside you, once, twice, before pulling out completely and swatting your hands away, pulling down Mingi’s bottoms himself until his cock sprung out and slapped against his lower belly.

You gawked at the length, the tip red and angry, leaking translucent precum over his smooth skin.

“Intimidated?” Yunho whispered into your ear, to which you gave a slight nod. “I wanna watch Mingi fill up this pretty pussy,” he gave your clit a firm tap. “can you do that for me?”

You nodded again, sliding your folds up his length until you reached the tip, watching as Mingi held himself up by the base and helped you position yourself over him. Yunho stood back, taking in the sight of you sliding down Mingi’s cock, taking him inside your fluttering heat – inch by inch – until he was fully sheathed within your walls. It burned, but Mingi’s head rolled back against the cushion and his mouth parted to allow a hearty moan exit, the sound gravelly and erotic. His eyes were scrunched shut, the hands gripping your hips promising blossoming bruises the next day. A string of drool streamed from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, and you leaned forward to lick it off his face.

You ground your hips experimentally, Mingi’s cockhead brushing over the spot that made your eyes roll back. “Mingi-”

“Fuck, (y/n), if you move I’ll cum,” he warned, lifting his head up to gaze at you through lidded eyes. But you rolled your hips again, a sly smile playing at your lips for a few seconds as you watched Mingi struggle – his eyes fluttered shut once again and a shiver shook his body, his hands digging into your hips in a failed attempt to keep you still.

Slender fingers wrapped around your waist, warm lips pressing against the shell of your ear and Yunho’s voice took over your senses once again. “Enough, sweetheart. We’ve waited far too long for this for it to end so soon,” he muttered, pressing a tender kiss to your jawline.

You looked down at Mingi guiltily, but the eyes that stared back at you were brimming with fondness. “Come here,” he cupped the back of your neck and lowered your head to press his lips to yours, keeping them there for a few seconds before poking his tongue out to taste you. You felt the fingers holding your waist slip away and a body plop down on the couch beside you, but Mingi finally thrusted up into your aching cunt and your mind turned to jelly.

He patted your hip before squeezing it, urging you to move at your desired pace. With your hands flat against his chest, you lifted your hips until only his cockhead remained encased within your tight heat before slamming back down, swallowing the whispered string of curses Mingi expelled into your mouth. Leaning back, you cupped the side of his face, running your thumb over his plush bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, grunting when you teasingly clenched around him, sensing him adjust his position.

With another squeeze to your hips, Mingi began thrusting up into you, sucking your thumb into his mouth for a few seconds before letting it go, panting heavily while relentlessly driving his cock into your sopping heat.

“How does she feel, Mingi-ah?” Yunho’s voice wavered, his hand palming over the obvious tent in his pants.

“Fucking amazing,” a groan vibrated past Mingi’s parted lips as he pumped his cock into you, angling his thrusts directly into your g-spot and occasionally licking over the pad of your thumb that was slowly straying out of his mouth, smearing saliva down the side of his face.

Yunho reached out a hand to flick your nipple, pinching it between two fingers then soothing it with gentle back-and-forth strokes of his thumb. “Mm,” he hummed. “Make sure to get her all nice and wet for me. Fill her all the way up, yeah?”

Mingi made a sound of approval and your eyes rolled to the back of your head – something about the way they talked about you as though you weren’t present made the pleasure building up in your lower belly even more mind-numbing. But when you peeked at their faces, they looked back at you with stars in their eyes, awestruck as they watched you bounce on Mingi’s cock. The succession of breathy ah’s escaping your lips, the sheen of sweat reflecting the orange hues of the lamp, the way your nails left red streaks over Mingi’s chest; your very being weaved itself into their psyche, as though you had placed a spell on them, forever tying their souls to you.

“Gonna cum,” Mingi mumbled, sliding his hand down to your drenched folds and circling two fingers around your clit.

He pulled your hips down until you were stuffed full of his cock, your body locking up as he painted your walls white, Mingi’s warmth paired with his insistent fingers over your clit sending over the edge with him. The dim room darkened further, your features contorting when your orgasm finally washed over you. Mingi’s lips pressed against yours to swallow up your broken moans, expelling his own into your mouth when you clenched around him, trapping his cock inside as it spurt out the last of his load, leaving him a twitching mess between your walls.

The kiss turned soft – the slow dancing of lips while a ballad played in your head, tender touches grazing each other’s skin while heaving chests met and parted between your bodies. You missed the hurried shuffling beside you followed by the muted thuds of clothes hitting the floor, too entranced by the plushness of Mingi’s mouth moulding against your own, his palm rubbing soothing lines over the length of your spine.

Hasty fingers gripped your hips, startling you away from Mingi’s touch as Yunho pulled you off the man and lifted your hips, disregarding the whine you emitted when cum began to seep out of your fluttering hole. He pressed his cock between your folds, sliding it through the sticky mess and groaning as his neglected cock finally got some attention. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

It took you a few seconds to process what was happening, still dazed by the force of your first orgasm. “One second,” you whispered while adjusting your position, digging your knees into the couch cushions and grabbing onto Mingi’s shoulders. The man under you held your waist, staring up at you with so much fondness it made you blush. You quickly looked back at Yunho, hoping the younger man didn’t notice the heat tinting your cheeks. “Please,” you wiggled your hips back at him.

Yunho breathed out a laugh, positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re killing me,” he muttered as he pushed in, the blend of Mingi’s cum and your arousal making the slide easy.

You slumped down against Mingi while your walls worked to accommodate Yunho’s cock, squeezing around him as he bottomed-out inside you. He bent at the waist to rest his forehead between your shoulder blades, his hot breath blowing against the slick skin. “Fuck, (y/n), I’m not gonna last,” you felt his lips move over your spine. “You have to relax, baby.”

Sucking in a deep breath, you did as he said, rocking your hips back against him experimentally, the soft moan that echoed from behind you spurring you into repeating the motion. Yunho was in heaven, the woman he’d wanted for so long was finally his – his to love, his to touch, his to hold. He ground his hips into yours, pulling out halfway before slamming back in, watching how your back tensed and relaxed as pleasure seared through your veins every time his cock split you open. You reached for Mingi, pushing your parted lips together while Yunho straightened up to watch his cock enter you.

Fingers tangled into the hair at your crown and pulled you off Mingi, pressing you flush against Yunho’s chest and securing you there with an arm around your waist. He adjusted his arm to grab a fistful of your breast, brushing his finger over the perked-up nipple while he pistoned his cock into your dripping cunt.

“I didn’t wait this long to have you so you could slobber over Mingi while I fuck you,” he growled in your ear, lifting a knee up onto the couch next to Mingi’s thigh. “Now be a good girl and show him how you’re gonna cum on my cock, yeah?”

You nodded desperately, locking eyes with the man under you while Yunho sped up his thrusts, the lewd melody of skin-on-skin resounding between the four walls. Mingi’s palms glided over your thighs, from your knees to your hips then back down, subtly squeezing the soft flesh along the way before repeating the routine. His fingers dipped between your legs, cupping your cunt to feel Yunho’s length stretching you open.

“Fuck, she’s taking you so well,” he cursed, flicking your clit with his thumb to the rhythm of Yunho’s thrusts, whining pathetically at the praise.

“Do you like it when we tell you what a good girl you are?” Yunho purred, untangling his fingers from your hair to grab your jaw. He twisted your face to look at you, leaning forward to slot his lips against yours before dipping his tongue inside to lick over the roof of your mouth. Your whimpers and moans came out muffled, Yunho’s lips pressing harshly against your own as he neared his release, his cock hammering into you until the room around you blurred. “I’ve thought about having you like this for so long, (y/n). Come on, sweetheart, give it to me,” he whispered against your lips.

Your thighs shook violently, and you would’ve fallen over Mingi if it weren’t for Yunho’s secure hold on your waist. Compared to your first high – Mingi guiding you over the edge and into a warm field of ecstasy – your second was more like a shockwave, curling your body as painful pleasure sent your nerves into overdrive, beads of sweat trickling down your temples and a blazing flush spreading over your skin. You shook in Yunho’s arms, a staccato of moans – broken and high-pitched – ripping through your chest as he continued his brutal pace, chasing his own high while elongating yours. A string of curses followed by a succession of your name sounded behind you, and warmth expanded through your belly. Grinding his hips into yours, Yunho milked himself of every last drop before finally pulling out, fixing his gaze on your core as a mix of his cum and Mingi’s streamed out of your gaping hole.

It took him a few seconds to pry his eyes off you, bringing his free arm under your thighs to lift you off the couch. Mingi moved to the side, allowing Yunho to lay you down on the cushions with your sore legs resting over the younger man’s thighs. He tugged the throw blanket off the back of the couch and covered you with it then kneeled on the floor beside you to press a kiss to your forehead. Mingi’s hands massaged your aching muscles under the fluffy blanket, a pleased hum vibrating in your chest at the gesture.

“Are you okay?” Yunho sounded nervous. “It wasn’t too much?”

You shook your head, an easy smile stretching your lips. “It was perfect,” you could hear the next question at the tip of his tongue, hesitance and worry painting his features, “I’m sure. I promise.”

The wrinkles between his eyebrows smoothed and he leaned in to place another kiss to the corner of your lips. Mingi watched from the side as the woman he was so infatuated with glanced between him and Yunho with hearts in her eyes, his chest bubbling with warmth and adoration.

“(Y/n),” he spoke, the rasp in his voice making the hair on your arms stand. “I love you.”

Your eyebrows raised and you paused for a few seconds, tears welling up in your eyes at the heartfelt confession. His eyes, so soft and loving, took in your features, down to the faintest mole painting your skin while his mouth curved into a smile that made your heart race. He didn’t seem alarmed at your sudden tears, the sparkle in his eyes glimmering brighter while he studied your face as though you were Aphrodite herself.

“I love you too,” you muttered, your bottom lip wobbling. Mingi’s hand found yours under the blanket, holding it firmly and giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. After a few seconds of wordless communication, you turned you head to the man beside you, gazing into his doe eyes that spoke aphonic words of poetry whenever they admired you, his smile colouring the world with vivid markers and crayons. “And you,” you reached your other hand to cup Yunho’s jaw. “I love you.”

You noted the subtle shaking of his bottom lip, his eyes glassy as he leaned down to pepper your face with kisses, whispered I love you’s tickling your skin as he dragged his lips from your forehead to your nose, then over your cheeks and jawline until he reached your lips. “This feels like a dream,” he whispered before tucking his face into the crook of your neck, hearing Mingi make a sound of agreement.

You giggled, carding your fingers through Yunho’s soft locks. Looking over at Mingi, his fingers rubbing comforting shapes into your skin, you wondered if it was a dream. The two men you yearned for, cried over, and thought you could never have, now surrounded you with their comforting warmth – Yunho’s steady breath blowing against your neck, his lips pressing feathery kisses to the delicate skin, and Mingi, eyes lidded with unending admiration and touch so soft it made you shiver all over.

Squeezing Mingi’s hand once more, you fluttered your eyes shut and allowed the two men to smother your senses, relaxing into the cushions as the love they so generously gave you seeped into your very soul.

“If it is… then I hope we never wake up.”

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[moonstruck-muses]

making out with sunghoon while high and then he eats you out and makes you ride him <3 bonus points if u reach ur peak while u Reach Your Peak

- 🐰

HEHEHE why of course cutie patootie x I hope like Sunghoon, this satisfies

The breeze rustles through the warm night, providing a cool relief in the late summer heat. You scratch at your bare ankle with your foot, leaning over the balcony edge, angling your face towards the wide expanse of stars above. You take a deep puff from the glowing joint in between your fingers, holding the smoke in for a long pause before exhaling it out, watching as the tendrils crawled up towards the heavens. You hear the door behind you slide open, and a few moments later, two large hands slide around your waist from behind, Sunghoon’s plush lips landing on the side of your neck, as he murmurs a muffled greeting.  

“Without me?” His husky voices seems to trail along your earlobe, spilling like honey into your brain. He snakes his hand up and plucks the joint from your fingers, taking his own long hit from it, before guiding it back between your lips, forcing you to take another hit. He smacks your ass and grabs one of your cheeks, squeezing it tightly. Fuck, he’s a hard on for you ever since came over, a smug grin on your face as you opened the door wearing one of his white button downs, the cotton stretching across your chest, and then hanging just at your upper thighs, barely covering your ass.

“Hoon!” You giggle between coughs from the smoke and you turn around to find Sunghoon’s thick brows quirked up, an innocent expression on his face as he takes another puff off the blunt, a languid smile spreading across his face. 

“What is it, Y/N?” You break off into another laugh, the world already starting to blur in colors and sounds as the high makes its way through your blood. 

“One more?” He offers, and your lips part with desire at his melodic voice. 

“Nooo,” you whine back. “I’m already so fucking high.” 

 Sunghoon takes his free hand and gently grabs your jaw, rubbing your bottom lip gently. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” He whispers, his pupils wide and dilated. His jaw hangs open, and you can’t help but fixate on his Adam’s bobble, watching it bob so prominently as he  looks you over with an insatiable hunger. You swear that in your haze his lips look softer and plusher than ever. 

“Hoon,” you mumble. 

“What is it, love?”

“I feel like I’m on a cloud,” you respond breathily, and both of you take the moment to drown in each other’s gaze.

Sunghoon gently takes his index finger and before you can process what’s happening, he’s staring intensely at you while his finger slides into your mouth. You close your lips down on him, sucking on it imagining what else your lips can be on. Sunghoon groans at the sensation, warm and tight around him. You look so perfect, practically drooling already as your mind slips from you, eyes closed,  and even in his own feathery haze, he can pick through the mist to know exactly what he wants.

Sunghoon pulls his finger out and snubs out the joint on the ash try on the small table next to him, and grabs you by the shirt front, kissing you hard, tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth. You groan against him and you grab for purchase, running your hands under his t shirt and digging your nails into his back. He grabs at your hips, exploring every curve of your waist and hips like it’s a new exploration for him. Sunghoon presses his thumbs into the divot of your hips at its most sensitive and you moan, feeling a gush of wetness. He kisses and bites at your lower lip, until both of yours and his are red and swollen and you’re breathless. 

“Baby, baby, baby,” Sunghoon says in a raspy voice, and you throw your head back, floating in and out of your body at once. 

“I need you Sunghoon,” You plead, and it feels like your words are being drawn out of you, spun around and unspooled. Sunghoon feels his core melt at the desperation in your town, dick so hard the both of you can feel it digging up against you. 

“I need you so bad, Y/N” He whispers back,  and he’s needed you since the first day he met you. You were bold and unafraid, but despite that you had the biggest heart of anyone he’d met. You were kind and loving, but fuck you’d never let anybody steamroll you. Every day he was with you, he fell in love more and more. 

Sunghoon, grabbed your wrist, and slid the door back open, not caring to shut it behind you as you both stumbled back inside your apartment and onto the bed. Sunghoon looks down at you as he hovers you, and his hands slide under the loose blouse, pressing into the wetness at your panties and you feel yourself sinking down, down, deeper into the plush sheets, through the mattress, down and up into paradise. You gasp at the sensation, wetness blooming across the thin fabric, and Sunghoon matches the way your lips part, letting out his own grunt. 

“I wanna taste you so fucking bad,” he groans, as he presses rough kisses at your jaw, licking and nibbling. 

“Taste me,” you beg, bucking your hips up. Sunghoon is quick and happy to oblige. 

He shimmies the soaked fabric of your underwear off your legs, and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, gently biting at it until the bruise forms. He drags his lips upward, tongue swirling your clit and the pornographic moan you cry out as he sucks your clit nearly has him spurt out release. Sunghoon expertly slides his tongue between your folds, greedily licking the juices leaking out from your wet cunt. He rubs quick and sharp circles with one finger on your clit, while he doesn’t slow his pace, tongue sliding in and out of you, desperate to get the angle that’ll make you come undone. Sunghoon ruts into the bed, your own pleasure getting him off. He practically suffocates himself in your pussy, the sweet taste of it, the way you’re practically soaking his face in your slick.

You grab the pillow, knuckles white, every sensation heightened from the weed. You grind your hips into Sunghoon’s face, trying to fuck yourself harder than he already is, and you feel the tightening knot in your stomach, the familiar shaking of your legs. Sunghoon must feel it too, because he pulls his tongue away and your hips still buck against the empty air, trying to find the release. He looks up at you, chin and lips soaking and kisses you hard against your mouth, while his hands pull down at the sweats he’s wearing with his boxers, fabric bunching at his ankles. 

You’re gasping and trembling, and barely get a second of reprieve before Sunghoon wraps his arms around you and flips the two of you around, so he’s underneath you. He looks up at you with glazed eyes through his heavy eyelashes and you feel your heart skip a beat. 

“Wanna see your tits bounce,” He rasps, and you obediently raise your hips, and he slides his length across your sopping folds, and as you sink down, both your eyes rolls back in sheer ecstasy. 

“You’re so fucking warm, you’re so fucking—“ His voice breaks off as you rock your hips and he lets out an animalistic grunt at the motion.

“I feel so fucking full,” you moan, feeling the way his girth seems to touch every part of your inner walls. His hands snake up your—his—shirt and he gropes at your breasts, twisting and pinching your nipples, making you whine, and with every sound and little exhalation, he feels cock twitch inside you. He grinds his hips against yours, moving up to impale your further, to hit that golden spot in you, and watches in pure delight at the way you arch your back and throw your head back, exposing your neck. He moves his hands down, guiding your pace faster and harder and you start to gasp incoherently.

“Hoon please…fuck.. I’m ah—“ 

“Cum for baby, please cum for me,” He pleads. You bite your lip, feeling the rush even through the high and then the wetness gush out as your orgasm rocks you. You fall forward, grasping onto Sunghoon’s shoulders, and your release is all it takes for him. 

“Oh Fu—“ He breaks off, and he grabs you tightly, body shaking as his own seed spills into you, yours and his release spilling out of your hole as you shake and gasp in tandem. You collapse onto him, and Sunghoon holds you tight, rubbing your back, neither of you wanting to pull out of the warmth of each other’s embrace. 

[macbethsymphony]

Port Wine & Sake | Chapters 1 & 2

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

wc: 5.8k

Chapter rating: SFW

Whole fic content/warnings: eventually NSFW and 18+, Female Reader, Enemies to lovers, slight alcohol abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics

Summary: You were tired of the fucking nuisances freeloading in your brother's castle, but it seemed you had no choice but to endure. A tumultuous romance between Roronoa Zoro and Dracule Mihawk's sister, set throughout the 2 year time skip.

Also on AO3 if you prefer

Your heels clicked violently against the cold marble floor, the feathery hem of your robe flowing behind you dramatically. “MIHAWK,” you roared, your voice echoing thunderously down the corridor as you strode with purpose towards the entryway. 

Your lip curled in disdain as you caught a glimpse of pink hair disappearing through the wall in front of you. You had enough of these fucking children freeloading in your brother’s castle. 

The specter princess, Perona, had been a source of trouble from the outset, her annoying negative hollows and ceaseless demands wearing thin on your patience. And then, she had somehow managed to summon another one. The green-haired boy, Zoro, had been barely clinging to life when he’d first arrived. He had been a monumental challenge to nurse back to health and yet he remained oblivious and thankless in the face of the colossal efforts you had made on his behalf. Instead of showing gratitude, he wandered the halls aimlessly, trying to escape this cursed island. Every time the pink-haired annoyance had brought him back, he had been on the brink of death, nevertheless his resolve never faltered. The determination was almost… admirable. Even through the curtains of your anger, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still alive.

You took a sharp turn, the reverberation of your stomps traveling through your legs. You dodged an incoming ghost with a grace that was becoming practiced ease. The fucking bitch was trying to stop you.

"MIHAWK!" Your frustration boiled over once more as you descended the steps, your fist clenched tightly around the expensive bottle of port in your grasp. The tie at your waist loosened, allowing your robe to fall open and reveal the thin silk of the jet-black slip you wore underneath. You edged at the limit of decency, the softness of your thighs, the roundness of your cleavage on display, but you didn’t care in the haze of your fury.

You spotted your brother’s silhouette against the glass of the front door, the two nuisances in tow behind him. Good. You’d settle this once and for all. The scorching intensity of your gaze caught the warlord’s glacial stare, a quiet conversation flaring between you. 

You closed the distance, the click of your heels a statement in themselves as the sound reverberated loudly in the silence.

“Sister,” he acknowledged you when the tips of your toes defiantly touched the edge of his boots.

You glanced up at him wordless argument still carrying on. You squinted in contempt. You knew that look in his eyes. “No,” you said coldly, in no mood for leniency. 

His gaze narrowed in turn, gaging your resolve. “I will hear them out,” he stated as matter-of-fact.

“You will not,” you retorted, unwilling to back down.

You spotted the pink-haired girl shift nervously in the periphery of your vision. It was rare to see her squirm. You scoffed in anger. Of course she would only show respect in the face of your brother’s power.

Mihawk’s stare remained steadfast. Your grip tightened on the bottle in your hands, knuckles whitening.

“These children have overstayed their welcome,” you added with a scowl. “You will send them on their way.”

“We shall hear them out, (Y/n),” He said in answer, moving past you, heading towards the dining room.

He’d used your name. He only did so when he was final in his decisions. Your jaw clenched as the two uninvited guests followed him. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you turned and followed too.

Perona eyed you with uncertainty as you made your way to your habitual chair. As brother and sister sat at their respective head of the table, she was suddenly acutely aware that her fate depended on the outcome of this conversation. Her gaze avoided yours as if she knew she was the primary cause of your vexation.

You sank rather ungracefully into the plush embrace of the red velvet, a deliberate act of rebellion against the stifling formality of the room. In petty defiance, you lifted the bottle of port to your lips, taking a sip directly from its neck, all the while keeping your stare fixed firmly on Mihawk. You couldn't help but smirk as a subtle twitch crossed his features. You knew all too well his contempt for such uncouth behavior; after all, fine wine deserved nothing less than the reverence of a proper glass.

As the seconds stretched into an uncomfortable silence, Perona's agitation became increasingly palpable, her movements growing more restless with each passing moment. "I-I'm sorry for causing—" she began tentatively, her voice trailing off.

Your scoff cut through her attempt at an apology, your tone dripping with disdain. "Save your breath," you snapped. You didn't even deign to spare her a glance, your eyes fixed firmly in a battle of will against your brother.

A snort from the green-haired boy punctuated the tension in the room, his amusement at the exchange evident.

Mihawk's voice sliced through the atmosphere like a blade through silk, his words commanding attention. His unwavering gaze swept across the faces assembled around the table before settling on yours. "We will hear their plea, (Y/n). That is final," he declared with an air of authority that brooked no argument.

Your teeth ground together, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. But you knew better than to defy Mihawk when he had made up his mind. With a begrudging nod, you reclined back in your chair, the bottle of port cradled against your thighs. With a subtle gesture, you indicated to Perona and Zoro that they could speak.

Perona shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes flickering nervously between you and Mihawk. "Um, well, you see," she began, as she tried to voice her thoughts. "We didn’t choose to come here. Kuma sent us."

Incredulity washed over you, as you turned your gaze from Perona to Zoro. His nod of approval to the specter princess's statement only heightened your surprise, coloring your features with a mixture of shock and astonishment.

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Your fucking coworker, Mihawk?” you shouted in anger looking back at the warlord.  

You observed the imperceptible shift in his stance at the revelation, but his expression remained unreadable.

The sound of young man clearing his throat drew your attention, prompting you to turn your head and meet his gaze. His eyes, steady and unwavering, held a firm resolve as he spoke. "I have no intention of staying," he declared with conviction, his voice carrying a hint of defiance.

You couldn't help but scoff at his confidence, your skepticism evident. Images of the army of humandrills surrounding the castle flooded your mind, reminders of the countless wounds you had tended to. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, boy," you retorted, your tone laced with doubt.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant, a sudden tension seizing his frame as your words hit their mark. You could practically feel the wave of anger emanating from him as he stiffened in his seat. It was evident that you had struck a nerve, and the glare he shot your way was nothing short of furious.

You met his gaze head-on, a sneer on your lips, refusing to back down. There was a challenge in your stare, a silent invitation for him to unleash whatever retort he had brewing.

Before he could respond, Mihawk intervened, his voice commanding attention. "If you want a small boat, there is one on the west side of the castle," he suggested, his tone both authoritative and diplomatic.

The tension in the room escalated as he pushed himself from his chair with a strained effort, the legs of the intricate piece of furniture grating against the stone floor. Perona's reaction was immediate, her panic palpable as she shot up from her seat with wide eyes.

"What the hell?!" she screeched in a mixture of disbelief and distress, her usual composure unraveling in the face of her companion’s sudden departure. "Don't leave me alone! You fool!"

Zoro ignored Perona's frantic pleas, his gaze fixed determinedly ahead as he limped towards the door with stubborn resolve. His movements were stiff and labored, a testament to the injuries he had undoubtedly sustained earlier in the day.

As you watched him limp away, conflicting emotions churned within you. There was a flicker of worry mingled with a begrudging sense of admiration for his obstinate resilience. Despite yourself, you couldn't help but scoff inwardly, the bottle of port in your hands finding its place to your lips once more.

A bitter chuckle escaped you as you took another sip, the rich liquid burning its way down your throat. What was the point of even caring? He seemed intent on getting himself killed, after all. Perhaps you should just let him, sparing you the trouble of stitching him up any further, elbow deep in blood.

Mihawk's gaze remained impassive as he observed the unfolding scene, his expression unreadable to most. But you could clearly see the hint of approval in the subtle tilt of his head, a silent acknowledgement of the boy’s determination.

Swordsmen and their damned pride.

As the door swung shut behind Zoro, leaving Perona standing alone in the center of the room, the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. Mihawk looked at you and you knew in that instant that he’d taken his decision.

“I will allow you to stay,” he said simply, eyes not shifting away from yours as he spoke to the source of your annoyance.

“You will?” The pink-haired pest smiled.

You ignored the hope in the girl’s voice as you bristled at your brother’s decree, the feeling of frustration simmering within you threatening to boil over. “And what about me?” you demanded, your tone laced with venom. “Must I endure this circus indefinitely?”

Mihawk’s demeanor softened, a rare hint of empathy shining through the golden hues of his eyes. “I trust you can handle the situation with grace, Sister,” he replied unusually gently.

You scoffed, a sneer breaking the elegance of your features. Grace. The word rang hollow in your ears as you fought the storm that threatened to reign over your temper.  

You sank further into your chair, your expression bordering on insolent. You had half a mind to continue the argument, but your pride wouldn’t allow this conversation to degenerate into pettiness in the presence of a guest.

The silence between siblings dragged on, only broken by the specter princess’s incessant worries for the swordsman who had just left. You smirked as you watched Mihawk’s patience grow thin, he hadn’t been in their company for an hour and he was already struggling. It was an almost sweet revenge, if only you didn’t have to endure the torture too.

“Perona, if it troubles you so much, why don’t you go look after him,” he snapped, although his tone remained cordial to the unknowing.

“What?! Why would I do that?” She screeched. Ah, there it was. Her petulance was back now that her worries were eased. “The idiot can die for all I care,” still, she stomped out of the room, inevitably going to find the younger swordsman.

You watched Perona storm out with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The girl's mood swings were like a tempest, unpredictable and chaotic. But at least her departure brought a temporary reprieve from her incessant chatter.

As the door shut behind her, you let the quiet rule over the both of you for a moment. You turned your attention back to Mihawk. His gaze was fixed on you, a silent question lingering in the air between you.

You met his stare head-on, refusing to back down. "I won't pretend to be happy about this," you muttered, your words laced with bitterness. "But I'll tolerate their presence... for now."

He nodded in acknowledgement, his expression unreadable as always. "I appreciate your cooperation, Sister," he replied, his tone even.

You scoffed, the rancor lingering in your voice. "Cooperation implies I have a choice," you retorted, your gaze flickering to the bottle of port still clutched in your hand. "But I'll play along... for your sake."

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint sound of arguing drifting through the thick walls. After a moment, you rose from your seat with a sigh, prompting Mihawk to quirk an eyebrow in your direction. You shrugged nonchalantly, crossing the room to the credenza where several bottles of wine lay.

Selecting one at random, you retrieved two glasses and carried them back to where he sat. You leaned on the edge of the table, observing him warily. Your tongue passed on your teeth as you deliberated how much patience he had left. With practiced ease, you uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount into each glass. The rich red liquid shimmered softly in the dim light of the room as you passed him the glass.

He savored the wine with a deliberate slowness, his eyes drifting shut in appreciation of the velvety flavor that danced across his palate. Though it still needed time to breathe, its initial taste was nothing short of delightful.

"It’ll do you good to be around people your age," he remarked casually, setting the glass back down on the table with a gentle clink.

Your reaction was immediate, a scowl breaking across your features in response to his comment. "Don’t you fucking dare," you started, your tone thick with bitterness and incredulity.

A warning passed his lips, your name was spoken softly but with a weight that carried a subtle reminder to tread carefully.

Your jaw clenched as you fought to rein in your temper. Instead of succumbing to the urge to snap at him, you leaned forward, your focus shifting to the intricate details of his coat. With practiced precision, your hand followed the seams, exploring the armscye, tracing the eyelets and the leather cord that replaced the traditional stitching.

Though there were signs of permanent stretching, you found no further damage, a small relief amid your frustration.

A gentle flick of your fingers against his neck prompted him to tilt his head, allowing you to continue your observations without interruption.

"How did you find the changes I made to the jacket?" you inquired, your attention fully consumed by the collar as you awaited his response.

He shifted slightly under your examination, a faint hint of annoyance evident in his demeanor. Yet, he remained cooperative, his own compromise to the situation, permitting you to inspect the garment without protest. 

As your fingers moved along the collar, tracing the lines of your craftsmanship, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. The jacket had held up remarkably well, even through the turmoil of a war. Truly, a reflection of your commitment to perfection.

His response came after a moment of contemplation, his voice measured as he offered his feedback. "The changes are subtle but effective," he remarked, his tone neutral. "The fit is much improved, the changes you’ve made to the sleeves allow for a better range of movement and increased comfort."

Your lips curved into a faint smile at his words, a glimmer of satisfaction creeping into your expression. It was gratifying to hear his acknowledgement of your efforts, even if it was delivered with his characteristic stoicism.

"Good," you replied simply, mentally tallying all the modifications you wanted to try for the next version. "Let me know if you have any requests for future alterations."

With a final nod of affirmation, you leaned back. Your gazes met each other in a far calmer display than before. Your fingers found the stem of your glass, taking a well-earned sip. “I am glad you are back safe, brother.” You said genuinely, your eyes gentle.

As the tension dissipated, you appeared more youthful, your features softening without the weight of anger. Mihawk couldn't suppress the faint smile that graced his lips as he raised his glass to his mouth, the crimson liquid flowing in smoothly. "It feels good to be back," he confessed, a sense of contentment evident in his tone.

You cast a glance towards the window, noting the subtle shift in the ambient light as dusk descended. The evening had drawn its curtains over the sky, painting it in hues of twilight. You hummed in consideration. "Since you are so insistent on letting them stay,” your voice dragged on in a gentle pause. “Please make sure to bring him back inside before he meets his end at the hands of those baboons," you said, the words leaving your lips with a reluctant resignation.

theHis brow arched gracefully at your demand. “He is more resilient than you think,” he assured you, his words carrying a loftiness of confidence.

His affirmation beckoned your attention back to his countenance. You squinted, trying to decipher the secrets hidden within the depths of his gaze. "Is that a sliver of respect I detect in your tone, Brother?" you taunted, the corners of your mouth curling upward in a playful dance, teasing out the nuances of his response.

You observed as he put his hat back on, rising to ensure your request would be fulfilled. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his tone laced with a trace of elusive admiration.

You snorted, as you watched him leave. It was a rare intonation, one you’d barely ever heard in all your years together.

 "Oh, and (Y/n)," Mihawk's voice cut through the air with a hint of reprimand as he stopped in the doorway. "Please do make yourself presentable when we have guests."

Your response came swift and sharp, a blade polished by an eternity of familial repartee. "I will take no commentary on my lack of propriety from you, dear Brother,” you retorted laced with a whisper of playful sarcasm. You looked him up and down, “But do try to keep your shirt closed... especially now that we have guests."

The warlord’s mask cracked for an instant, his eyes rolling almost imperceptibly, an acknowledgement of your jest. “You’re incorrigible, sister,” he let the door close in a heavy thud behind him.

“MIHAWK,” you shouted after him, knowing that even though he would not answer, he could hear you very well. “Do come and get me, when you inevitably come back with that boy tittering on the edge of death.”

And it did not take long until they indeed came to fetch you. With a sigh, you rolled the sleeves of your robe and went to get the medical kit. After all, there was little difference between stitching silk and closing wounds.

Roronoa Zoro needed to get the fuck off this cursed island, and he needed to leave NOW! He had to get to Luffy. His captain, no, his friend was alone. He should have been there, fighting by his side. If only he wasn’t so fucking weak… none of this nightmare would have happened. But, not only was his crew waiting for him, between the Thriller Bark girl's antics driving him up the wall, the looming threat of the man he’d sworn to defeat and your peculiar brand of insanity thrown into the mix, he was about to lose it himself. 

He reluctantly blinked his eyes open, greeted by a wave of pain coursing through his body. Each limb felt like lead, dragging him into a pit of exhaustion. His gaze, heavy with fatigue, slowly lifted to find your silhouette illuminated by the flickering candlelight, perched gracefully in the plush confines of the chair beside his bed.

Ah, that's right—he had passed out from the pain. Mihawk had brought him back from the brink of death and held him down as you’d patched him up. As he lay there, his eyes took in the delicacy of your traits, the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders, and the softness of your thighs, accentuated by the shortness of your black silk slip and open robe. What was he doing? Was he delirious from the pain? You were infuriating, unreasonable, flat-out insane. Nothing about you was pleasant, from that petulant smile to your awful bedside manners.

“Remarkable. You’re still alive,” you quipped with bitter sarcasm, wrenching him away from his thoughts, your eyes not looking at him, a deep frown of concentration marking your features. 

With meticulous precision, the small blade in your hands glided through a block of cheese as you tried to create the thinnest slice possible. He knew that knife. His stare narrowed as he placed it back in his mind. Was that the knife Mihawk usually wore at his neck? His gaze dropped to the chain attached to it. For fuck’s sake it was. It somehow pissed him off, hard. 

You let out a sound of triumph as you held up the paper-thin piece of cheese to your mouth, the light seeping through it before it melted against your tongue, the metal glinting tantalizingly as it touched your lips. You reached for the glass of wine at your side, taking a sip with closed eyes, delight on your features as you savored the taste.

He clenched his fists. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, mingling with a sense of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. Your carefree arrogance only served to exacerbate his agitation.

With a grimace, he forced himself to lean up on his elbow, ignoring the protests of his weary muscles. His gaze flickered to the creaked open door, the burning desire to escape clawing at him with renewed intensity. His captain needed him. He had a promise to keep, and nothing – not even his own battered body would stand in his way. 

Summoning every ounce of willpower he possessed, he pushed through the pain, determination slowly lending strength to his limbs. Before he could fully sit up, your eyes snapped dangerously to his, freezing him in his attempt. 

 “What do you think you’re doing, boy?” your voice was calm but the coy smile on your lips held menacing threats. 

His jaw clenched. “I need to leave,” he declared, his words tinged with desperation. “My captain needs me.”

Your gaze narrowed. “Is that so?” you mused as you slowly slid a leg onto the bed, your foot rising when it touched him. 

You let it fall none too gently, bare foot meeting his lower abdomen. There was defiance glinting in your stare as you raised your other leg with a smile, crossing your ankles over him and sinking in your seat comfortably. “You can try again when you’re healed.” You went back to the block of cheese in your hands, uninterested by him once more. 

The agony that staggered through him at your touch was deafening, he slumped back, lightly bouncing against the bed. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to stifle the grunt of pain escaping him. 

Fuck.

You were infuriating. With each passing moment, the realization of his own helplessness grew more profound, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. 

“Woman,” he groaned, his voice thick with anger. The single word, laden with frustration and exhaustion, slipped past his lips like a curse, hanging heavy in the air between you. Yet, despite the venom in his tone, there was an underlying note of desperation, a plea masked by his stubborn pride. 

You didn’t look away from the knife as it sliced into the cheese, the blade visible through the thin layer. But the way your brow arched in amusement and the ghost of the smirk gracing your features told him that you’d heard him well enough. 

“Yes, Zoro?” you replied innocently, his name drawled out emphatically from your plump lips. 

He wrestled the urge to snap at you. “Let me go,” he demanded with a resolute frown.

Your mouth curved into a sly smile, a glimmer of mischief passing in your eyes. You hummed in consideration, drawing out your answer. “And why should I do that?” you teased, sinking more comfortably in your chair, your feet inching ever so slightly closer to a wound on his chest. 

His muscles tensed instinctively, a moan of pain escaping him between muttered curses. “My captain needs me,” he repeated in a growl.  

You let out an annoyed click of your tongue when the slice of cheese broke in the middle of the block. Your eyes met his, all playfulness gone, replaced by a sharp displeasure instead. “Yes, yes, I know. Your captain needs you, you need to go back to your crew, three days or something, you’re already late, et cetera, et cetera,” you rambled on coldly. “You’ve said so over a hundred times, boy. It won’t change the fact that you’re bedridden.”

Tension lingered in the air as your words hung heavily in his mind. You muched almost aggressively on the broken piece of cheese before downing the glass of wine, stare not leaving his as he deliberated.

“I can handle myself just fine,” he retorted defiantly, trying unsuccessfully to rise from the bed.

His stubbornness was met with a derisive snort, your eyes rolling in exasperation. “Clearly,” you remarked dryly, your tone heavy with sarcasm as you gestured toward him with the cross-shaped knife in your hands, the chain rattling against the wood of the armrest in the sharp movements. “You’re the very picture of strength and resilience.”

His teeth ground audibly. If only your feet weren’t pinning him down, then he’d at least be able to make it to the door. He struggled for a moment, his soft grunts of effort the only sound filling the room.

“I won’t be kept here against my will,” he declared eventually, his hand grabbing at one of your ankles almost painfully, trying to pull it off him.

You raised an eyebrow at the unexpected tantrum, then you started giggling, until rich laughter flowed within you. “Against your will?” You laughed harder. “Are you implying I care about your well-being, little swordsman?” You brought the bottle of wine to your grinning lips, taking sips between chuckles.

He bristled at your amusement. “Release me, woman,” he snapped, his grip tightening around you. 

He didn’t notice the flicker of pain that passed your features in his rage. A flicker you expertly hid behind the facade of your smile.

“Oh my. Did I hurt your delicate sensibilities?” You snorted at him nonetheless. “Don’t worry, I’m not stopping you. If you want to leave, you can leave.” You paused, cocking your head to the side. “Or are my feet so heavy that you can’t stand up?”

Zoro's frustration reached its boiling point as he glared daggers at you, his muscles tensing with every fiber of his being. You were fucking mad. The urge to lash out, to throttle you, to break free from the invisible chains that bound him to the bed, surged through him like a tidal wave, threatening to consume him in its relentless grip.

But as he pushed against the weight of your feet, the searing pain that shot through his body served as a harsh reminder of his own limitations. With a guttural growl of frustration, he released his hold on your ankle, his hands falling limply to his sides as defeat washed over him like a suffocating blanket.

For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his ragged breaths. You watched him with a mixture of amusement and pity, the corners of your lips curling into a satisfied smile as you savored the taste of your victory.

“Ah, right,” you suddenly spoke when he finally closed his eyes in defeat. You slid your feet off him, reaching to the side table and tossing something on his chest. “Mihawk said there’s something about that captain of yours in the papers.” 

His eyes shot open. You couldn’t be fucking serious. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?!” He yelled at you as you got up from your chair, giving your ankle a few twists.

You ignored him, bending down to put on your heeled slippers. He tried to lift his arm, grab the paper. 

He NEEDED to know.

You waltzed to the side table, the feathery hem of your night robe grazing the marble of the floor as you sheathed the knife back and draped it around your neck. Your hand grabbed the bottle of wine and you turned on your heels, fabric bellowing softly behind you in a flurry of black. His hand fell to his side, paper crumpled in his fingers as he struggled to hold it long enough to see.

“Oi,” he snapped with urgency. “Woman, what does it say?” 

“Who knows,” you said in a singsong, humming a random tune below your breath. You moved to the door. “I didn’t understand it myself.” You crossed the threshold to the corridor.

Zoro panicked. Fuck. What did it say?

“Woman,” he yelled after you. “Fuck, come back here.”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

It took three days for Roronoa Zoro to decipher the contents of that newspaper, but he had figured it out. To your amusement, he was now sitting on the floor, his features etched with determination as he eyed your brother. You arched an eyebrow, barely hiding your smile behind the rim of your wine glass.

You looked at him curiously, the intrigue of his actions somehow extremely entertaining. Your gaze flickered to his face. It was easy to forget how young he was through that wall of will power. But as his mouth moved silently, as if rehearsing something, the softness of his traits hit you. He was pretty, you guessed, with his barely noticeable freckles and stubborn fire in his eyes. You cocked your head. Maybe even handsome if you were to put him in better clothes… after all those earrings of his. You licked your lips. Yes. You rather liked them.

“So, Zoro,” you drawled out, breaking the quiet atmosphere ruling over the room. “Did you figure out the code, or are you still trying to stare it into submission?”

Silence dragged on as he ignored you, but the twitch of a scowl that passed his mouth was answer enough for you. How adorable.

"Please," Zoro finally said, his voice uncharacteristically humble as he bowed his head toward Mihawk. "Train me as a swordsman!"

You choked on your sip of wine, coughing as you struggled to regain your composure. Perona let out a small, shocked gasp, her eyes wide with surprise. You glanced at your brother, trying to read his expression. His attention flickered toward you briefly, making sure you were alright before returning to his glass, making the younger swordsman wait. Oho , there was unmistakable displeasure in his gaze as he peered into the red liquid, swirling it absentmindedly.

“Are you asking your enemy for instruction?” Mihawk finally said, his eyes still avoiding Zoro. “I’m disappointed in you, Roronoa,” he admitted. “Shame on you.” You listened, entirely engrossed by the scene before you. It was by far the most entertainment you’d had in the past decade. It was rare to see Mihawk so expressive. It made you wonder what he truly thought of the man before him to react so. “I think I overestimated you,” he continued, his words punctuated by a long sip from his wine glass. “Get out of here. I have no time for a boring man.”

Oh, how you wished you could see the boy’s expression. You bet it was priceless. You noticed how he obstinately didn’t budge, his jaw tightening. Yet, he was not backing down. The weight of Mihawk’s scorn seemed to press on him, but his resolve was unshattered. You heard the unsteady breath he took in before continuing.

“I want to get stronger,” he cried out, somehow digging his forehead more intensely into the marble floor. 

Mihawk considered his plea as he filled his wine glass, the sound loud in the uncomfortable silence. “You were beaten by the baboons. I have nothing to teach someone like that.”

"I beat the baboons," Zoro declared, his voice reverberating through the room.

Oh! Interesting. You watched as clear shock registered on your brother's face. It was a rare sight, seeing Mihawk genuinely surprised. You couldn't help but smile; it was a reminder that even the world's greatest swordsman was human.

Mihawk’s gaze finally settled on Zoro, who was bowing deeply before him. The tension in the air was palpable.

"But I’m not so stupid as to think that I’m good enough to beat you," Zoro continued when the silence stretched on.

Mihawk's confusion was evident in his furrowed brow. "Then why are you bowing to me and asking for my guidance?"

Zoro took a moment to consider the question. "I want to beat you," he said simply, his voice unwavering. The straightforwardness of his answer was almost comical, and you couldn't suppress a giggle. Somehow, your amusement seemed to lighten Mihawk's expression as well.

"You’re asking me to train a swordsman who wants to kill me?" Mihawk laughed heartily, the sound loud and rich. “(Y/n),” he turned to you. “Teach Perona how to treat him, you’ve already done more than required of a graceful host.” 

You hummed in consideration. “I suppose I can,” you eyed the pink haired girl with slight annoyance.

She flinched at the coldness of your stare, her mouth opening in protest.

"And you, ghost girl, learn to treat him," Mihawk called out to Perona, before she could say anything. "The training will begin when you’re recovered," he added, turning back to Zoro.

Perona floated over, a mixture of curiosity and irritation on her face. "Fine, but don’t expect me to be nice about it," she grumbled, already on her way out. “Oi, you dumbass, come with me.”

Zoro straightened up, a determined glint in his eyes as he followed her out.

“You’re enjoying yourself, Brother,” you couldn’t help but muse as you filled your wine glass.

Mihawk's stare met yours, and for a brief moment, you saw the glimmer of amusement there. He took another sip, his demeanor returning to its usual stoic calm. "Perhaps," he admitted, the word hanging in the air between you like a rare treasure.

You leaned back in your chair, peering into the velvety darkness in your glass thoughtfully. "He's got spirit, I'll give him that," you remarked, watching the door through which Zoro and Perona had just exited. "Do you really believe he'll be worth your time? You’ve never taken anyone under your wing before."

Mihawk's gaze remained on the swirling liquid in his glass, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind. "He reminds me of someone," he mused quietly, almost to himself.

Curiosity piqued, you leaned forward slightly. "Oh? And who might that be?"

For a moment, you thought he wouldn't answer. But then, with a small, nearly imperceptible smile, he said, "Myself."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, the sound ringing through the room. "I see.”

Next Chapter

Masterlist

[romanoffsbish]

Craving You

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff (amab)

WandaNat x F!R

Picture Steve x Nat in CA:TWS, but astronomically better because it’s You, the reader. Also, Wanda and Nat have already met/were established. 😏 | 5,646 Words

Warnings: Violence/Injury | Emotionally Stunted R -> Sad Natasha -> Mean-ish Wanda

Smut: Mommy (W), Subby Nat | Nat has a penis |Handjob (W->N), Magic Restraints / Spreader Bar | Oral (All) | Unprotected Sex (R) | Degradation/Praising | Choking | Breeding.

18+ | Minors DNI | Labeled / Please Don’t Report

"Kiss me," Natasha commanded, yours eyes widened, but soon they fluttered shut as she yanked you in with her hands on your face.

Natasha groaned as you parted your lips, tongue sliding over her shivering bottom one. She prays that you don't feel her desperation to let you in so you could devour her whole. Fuck, she wanted nothing more than to indulge you, but this was only a failsafe on a mission.

It wasn't real. At least not yet, she hoped.

—

There was no time to become distracted, two Avengers on the unexpected run from Hydra tripping over each other in a mall is the opposite of the objective. Once she knows Rumlow is gone she's reluctantly, but swiftly removing her lips from yours. It's almost mechanical in nature; self preservation is what it invokes within you, it also feels regretful.

You're just unsure if it's because she detested your touch, or for having to pull away already.

"Keep focused Agent Y/L/N," she suddenly rasps, then clears her throat of her arousal. But she only makes yours worse as her hot breath fans across your face. Then the smell of vanilla hits you, and you quietly gasp, keeping in stride with her, "My coffee didn't spill, you finished it while I was getting my croissant!"

Natasha bites back her chuckle. You were such an idiot, which is why she glares back at you. "I said keep focused you wannabe mall cop."

You giggled, "Pipe down Romanoff." Natasha desperately wanted to—to do that to you.

She shook her head, refocusing on the task at hand so that she and Wanda can make their move on you tonight. With a soft smile hidden by the hoodie over her face Natasha allowed herself to wonder if you'd finally break and ask instead. At this point it came down to if you or Wanda said something, she was too nervous.

Once the two of you made it to the location you knew something wasn't right. There was an uneasy haze around the abandoned army barracks. It took a moment, but between the both of you you found a building that looked new, appearing to be a recent development.

Then just as your gut had tried to warn you, there was a whooshing noise that gave you mere seconds to tackle the redhead and shield her from the incoming explosion. Natasha hit her head, knocking her loopy, and leaving you to safely evacuate both of you from the rubble.

Every muscle in your body ached as you made it back to New York, and into your apartment. Steve was waiting there, with his kind looking friend you learned was named Sam. You flashed the new guy a smile, then took Nat to your bedroom so she could decompress.

"Here." You passed the dirtied woman a towel, and a pair of your shorts and a loose tank top. Natasha beamed internally, the woman more than excited to wear your clothing. Then you kissed her cheek. Nat's stony resolve that she couldn't let crumble just yet nearly shattered.

"Th-thank you." Shit. She couldn't even keep it together. The sight of your smirk had Natasha moving the clothes in her hand over her crotch. There's nothing seamless about it, it was an obvious boner block. Your feathery soft affection drove her wild enough to get hard.

You bit your lower lip, and whispered: "You're most certainly welcome my dear." It was hot, and incredibly unfair, but fuck, Natasha so badly wanted to kiss your smugness away.

Natasha brushed passed you, catching a whiff of you that only made her throb harder.

Whenever you got too close, she could feel an overwhelming need. She'd smell Wanda's Chanel *5 that you stole last Summer, and it works. It blends in so harmoniously with your natural scent. It's romantic to her, in the way that yours and Wanda's differ so much, but both entice her immensely. Your scent leaned more towards the floral, hints of Rose and Jasmine prominent. Whereas Wanda's scent was more woodsy, a mix of amber and vanilla.

Natasha got off to the thought of you three times in the one day you were involved on this hopeless mission together. The first being right after she made it to the bathroom. She'd taken a strikingly cold shower and worked to release all the built up tension the kiss had caused.

The next time came when you called her name in your sleep that same night, an incoherent little please falling from your lips before you had also whimpered her lovers name. Natasha came without even so much as a few thrusts.

Her boxers were ruined, but they were her only pair. And all you had clean were thongs. She had to hand wash them in your sink, slip into your shorts commando, and wake up by 6 so she could beat you to the morning routine.

Then the last time was when you were kneeling down on the ground a few hours ago on a nature walk meant to inspire solutions to the mission. For some reason you stopped, then the next thing the redhead knows is your face is eye level with the soft bulge in her pants.

You picked up a penny, "Heads up Natty. Make a wish." Natasha rolled her eyes at your antics, then she had to stop from rolling them all the way to the back of her head when you tripped and palmed her dick through her shorts.

Natasha waved away your apologies. Tears welling up in her embarrassed eyes. You tried to follow her on instinct and she became more frantic. Then you realized she needed privacy; a silent understanding, so you let her venture off into the shadows of the nature paths where nefarious things like this happened every day.

You shared a reassuring smile when she came back, she returned it easily, then in a blink you were in a battle, peace far from obtainable now.

Then the next thing she knows is she's trying to find you while the Winter Soldier hunts you all down. Already successful in dividing, so now she prays, hoping that he fails his conquest.

Fortunately he failed, but not without taking the both of you out, totaling Sam's car, and bringing up a conglomerate of issues for Steve.

She was just trying to go back, maybe if she made the wish in lieu of skepticism then you'd still be fighting the good fight. Instead of for your life. She wants to go back to her reddened cheeks that indicated something naughty, not the ones she wears now with tear tracks.

To before you got stabbed, she got shot, and Wanda came in hot on your tails as you were wheeled into the medbay in shit condition.

Wanda was shaking, forcing the sobs back. She couldn't afford to lose it. You both needed her.

Nat ensured you, the unconscious one, with the three gushing stab wounds, got assisted first over her, with the one bullet wound that was imbedded and staunching the blood flow.

They'd insisted you go next, she grunted and sent murderous glares to anyone trying to get her into Cho's cradle. Noting that she was of a higher rank, making her scoff, "If she dies I'll use that rank to make sure you all disappear."

It was sickening, you were no less valuable for having less secrets. For being less corrupted.

She vowed to Wanda she'd get them all fired. She was fierce in her expectations, so you went in without any further fight. You were safe, for now that is. While Natasha stood guard, the witch went straight to Hill to ensure there was a safe house set up. She got the key, and returned to see you had woken up. Your groggy voice made her smile fondly. She imagined wanting to hear that sleepy voice every day.

In the heat of the moment Natasha tried to kiss you but you evaded it with fear in your eyes. It landed on your cheek and you scurried across the room. Unaware of how much that hurt the both of them. You were afraid to be loved, it was obvious how deeply your ex affected you.

It didn't excuse your reactions though...

Wanda glared at you from across the room. She held Natasha's defeated face against the soft cotton over her abdomen. It's virtually heatless, but it's scary enough to leave you wondering what she's mad about anyways.

The kiss? It was a mission, you might've savored the moment, but you knew it wasn't anything serious. Nat would never cheat on her girlfriend. Surely Wanda understood that...

The bombing? You didn't know until you did. Then you did all you could to protect Natasha.

The evasion? You weren't clueless, you knew they wanted you on some level, but based on how often Nat relieved herself you were sure it was only carnal. All your returned flirting and teasing aside, you just couldn't do it, even if your body craved them just the same, your heart would positively shatter if it was just sex.

You just weren't sure, Wanda's eyes were void of answers, and you didn't stick around long enough to find out. Her icy stare hurt. You softly called out a goodbye to them once you knew Nat was going to be okay. Then you just left, missing the look of longing both women were throwing at you. Wanda was only furious she didn't get to kiss you first. Your lips looked delectable, plump and hydrated. It was sinister how she wanted to tear your perfect smile into one indicating a rough night. It made her wet.

Natasha whimpered, looking up to the witch with tears in her eyes. The redhead was in love with you, Wanda knows that kiss hurt her more than it pleased her. Outwardly Wanda seemed like the soft one, she had such a friendly smile and Natasha mostly offered grimaces. Except for when she looked at you or Wanda. Her face always lit up at the sight of either of you two. She'd always been the romantic one, she loved, love—she wanted to kiss you under the stars.

Not on an escalator in perceived falsehoods.

"Get some rest detka," she whispered against her lips as she pecked them. "We'll make her understand when we get to the safe house."

When you made it to your spare room at the compound you found Hill there with a smirk.

"What are you doing here?" You groaned, and she feigned offense. "Is that anyway to speak to your commander?" You rolled your eyes. "Last time I checked Shield has fallen, as have you. I'm not sure what you want, but I have to change and get back out there to help Rogers."

"Nuh-uh, the witch and widow benched you," she teased. "You'll be staying with them in a safe house until Rogers and his friend fix this."

"No." You shook your head, eyes widening at the idea of being locked up with them.

"Which is why I have a bag of your things, I went and collected it all by myself. Made sure to even throw in a new set of lingerie of yours."

"Isn't Fury dying?" You exasperated and she snorted, "Not as fast as your sex life has."

"Knock it off," you whined, and the woman merely chuckled, "You first." You glared at her and she sighed, "Stop running. They want you."

"Maybe I don't want to be wanted like that."

Maria's features softened. "Y/N, they want you far more than like that. Wanda nearly killed me with a glare after you were rolled by on a gurney, and Natasha wouldn't let anyone near you while you were healing. Stop letting your past relationship dictate your happiness now."

"I'm trying," you sniffled, Maria moved to wrap her arm around your waist, you leaned against her shoulder. "I love them so much, of course I want them 'Ria, but I don't want to burden them with these feelings if they're unwanted."

"Y/N..."

"No," you cut her off. "Darcy only agreed to go out with me because she felt bad for me. Then she let me believe it was love for six months."

Maria squeezed your hip, you put a hand over hers, and felt the numbness fade at the touch.

"I loved her Maria, but to her I was a chore."

"Darcy's a bitch," Maria matter of factly stated. "Wanda and Natasha have their moments, but in the end they're total teddy bears. I'm telling you that you have nothing to worry about, they want you, but if on the 1% chance I'm wrong, they wouldn't hold your feelings against you."

"It would still be embarrassing," you whined, and she pinched your hip to draw out your babyish response. "Take a chance on yourself, I guarantee you won't strike out my dearest."

Maria stood up as soon as you'd sat back up. "Don't be a hopeless fool Y/N, return happy." You rolled your eyes. "That's an order Y/L/N."

"Wha-." The door slammed in your face, you were stunned. Maria is a walking HR Case.

Fortunately for her Shield was crumbling.

You began to sort through the duffle bag, you were planning on showering, because Cho's machine doesn't remove blood or grime. You looked for an outfit to change into, your hand suddenly stopped, and your fingers traced curiously over the lace of your lingerie set.

You lifted the set from the bag to see it was your newest. It was a lush swirl of pinks and reds on the bra and panties, each with a pretty pattern in white lace to enhance the pieces.

You'd thought of the couple when you bought this set. The deep colors and delicate lace just made you think of the women. Both were publicly headstrong, but behind only your closed door they were lovable goofballs.

For a moment you gave into the temptations Maria left at your door, and took a shower. You'd pulled a pair of cotton grey shorts over your butt, then pulled a V-neck shirt over your head. Offering a glimpse of white lace.

You took a few deep breaths as you packed your bag and as you made it down the stairs.

When you reached the bottom you found the couple waiting for you. Both with steeled features, picture perfect stoicism on display.

Soon you found yourself entering a cottage, judging by how long the flight was you're assuming it's Norway. The gorgeous green mountainsides and surrounding pools of a beautiful deep blue water also an indicator.

It had been a quiet evening, the couple spent most of their time avoiding you. Wanda was holding up better at the game, Natasha didn't want to be far from you, even if she was supposed to be mad at you. You were the most beautiful person around, with a heart of gold.

Who finds that and doesn't go absolutely nuts?

As soon as you left the kitchen with a sad smile Natasha whined. Wanda was right behind her a second later, her hand wrapped around her throat from behind. "I said let me handle it."

"But mommy, I need her." Wanda sighed, "I know detka, believe me, I do. Be patient."

Wanda had a plan, but it was only going to work if she got Natasha out of the way, so with a gentle push she guided her lover to the room.

"Take it all off detka, and wait on the bed for mommy," Wanda instructed, and Natasha moved with obedience while the witch went to the dresser drawer they'd just filled with toys.

Natasha sat pretty on her knees, with her hands clasped behind her back and her cock laying against her thigh. Wanda returned pleased with her, so she softened for a brief moment as she connected their lips for a kiss.

"Lay down detka," Wanda purred, hands gentle as they eased her into the mattress. "Mommy hates to have to do this." Wanda feigned remorse, but truthfully she loved doing this. "But since you won't let me handle Y/N alone, I have to restrain, and gag you." Wanda sent wisps of red across her lovers body that latched onto the headboard and encased her wrists.

Then she placed her legs into a spreader, her limbs instantly ached as she was forced apart. Her butt barely touched the bed, so her arms and legs were strained with her body weight.

"Mommy please," Natasha begged, but it was of no use, her words now muffled as she placed a ball gag into her mouth. "Shh, it's okay..."

Wanda lazily jerked Natasha off, getting her cock to stand upright, her tip slowly coating with pre cum. The witch ran her thumb over the slit and felt the warmth spewing out. She removed her hand then, just as Natasha was about to blow. The redhead had tears running down her cheeks now, and Wanda had never seen anything more beautiful. "I'll be back."

It didn't take long for the witch to find you, she knew that you'd be in the living room once they went to bed. She caught you off guard, you tried to get up to leave, not wanting to make her anymore upset, but she didn't let you.

Wanda flicked the TV off, and held you to the couch with her powers until she straddled you. She smirked as you groaned, feeling her wetness through your thin sleep shirt. Wanda was in a faded guns n roses tee, with nothing on beneath so you felt her wholly. "Wanda..."

"Shut up, Y/N." Wanda ignored your weak warning as she slammed her lips into yours, and immediately the room was spinning. You closed your eyes tight to try and calm down your system, but no matter what you couldn't get your heart rate back with Wanda on you.

Her velvety tongue slid over yours after she broke her way in with a harsh bite to your lower lip. You moaned unabashedly, there was no fighting how good she felt against you.

"Fuck, I've wanted to do that for so long," she groaned against your lips. "I was so mad that Nat got to you first, I wanted that honor."

"I can fuck you first," you blurted, it was a shock to the both of you. The willingness and subsequent confidence materialized out of thin air, and it had the desired effect, because Wanda was drenching you through your shirt.

"Or you can let me fuck you first," Wanda countered, her eyes dark with sinful desire. "Nat will be jealous, please let me taste you."

Your answer was a pitiful whimper, then you lifted the both of you from the couch and ran to the bedroom where you found a glorious sight.

Natasha was tied up and desperate, her eyes wet from a never ending stream of tears. You tossed Wanda onto the bed, then moved to kiss Natasha's cheek with a blink of tenderness.

Wanda internally aw'd, but in the moment she snatched you, and laid you down beneath her.

"Can I touch you sweet girl?" You nodded, then whispered a pleading yes. Wanda kissed you softly then her hands turned devilish as they roughly tore your clothes from your body. The witch hummed lowly at the sight of your lingerie, it was beautiful, you looked delicious.

Her fingers traced over the lace, feeling the intricate design as she held eye contact with you the whole time. Her hand eventually wiggled beneath you so that she could unclasp the bra, and blindly toss it across the room.

"That's new," you whined, and the woman chuckled around your nipple, sending a sharp shiver down your spine. "I'm sure it's alright."

The witch continued lavishing your breasts with attention, helping you to forget your concerns. Slow, and methodical as she sought to tease the woman to her right. "You smell so good detka, bet you taste even better." Natasha cried out, disappointment running its course through her as she watched Wanda eat you out.

*Keep your eyes on mommy detka,* Wanda called out to her telepathically, *Don't look away and I promise you'll get fucked by her.*

Natasha forced her eyes back open, watching as Wanda's tongue drove into you repeatedly, she wished to taste you from the source herself. To have her tongue be the reason you were whimpering and writhing on the bed so hotly.

Natasha came with a hump to the air as you did the same on her lovers tongue. Wanda cleaned you up with slow, precise strokes of her tongue, teasing you in the direction of another orgasm, but after a minute she pulled away with a grin.

She kissed up your body slowly, her breaths labored as they brushed across your skin.

Wanda whispered in your ear, "Go on detka, tease her while mommy catches her breath."

You hovered over her face, your body to her side as you removed her ball gag. A line of spit connected her to the plastic until she began to cough after taking in a breath too eagerly.

You waited for her to calm down before your hand slowly trailed down her body. Natasha watched you warily, her lower lip trembled as you fisted her bulge while gazing into her eyes expectantly. "Tell me what you want baby."

Wanda chuckled airily, "Good luck with that, she is a brainless whore when stimulated."

"Is that right Natty?" She nodded timidly, you smirked. "Good, I prefer my whores dumb."

Natasha's eyes crossed when you straddled her spread thighs, your slick warmth blanketed her erect cock. You giggled at the feel of her throb. "Fuck Nat, you're so desperate." Her hips bucked in acknowledgment, fighting against the restraints to hopefully slip inside you.

"Want you so bad Y/N/N," she whined, "I want you to fuck me, milk my cock, please detka."

You looked to Wanda who gave you a nod of approval, she watched you both intently. Nat however gulped as she watched you as you lowered yourself onto her. The both of you sighed when your hips finally met, and she moaned when you began to slowly rock yours. 

"Look at that detka," Wanda whispered, her nose nuzzled into the redheads. "Y/N's finally riding you, how does it feel?" Natasha smiled with pleasurable tears in her eyes. "So good."

The way she said finally had you rocking even faster, knowing this was a fantasy of theirs had you ready to fulfill it in the blur of a moment.

"You're so big Natty," you praised, voice sultry as you felt the building pleasure from riding her. "Can't wait to feel you let go inside of me."

Natasha's cheeks flushed a bright red, and Wanda looked at you with wide eyes, her shock lasted a few seconds before she was smirking. "You hear that? She's gonna let you breed her, but only if you make mommy cum first."

Natasha grinned cheekily, she pushed out her tongue, and Wanda chuckled heartily at her enthusiasm. The witch then waved her hands, relieving the persistent ache in Nat's shoulders as her upper body was released from the magical bonds. She swiftly slung her leg over her face and lowered her dripping cunt down.

Wanda had made sure to ride her face with her back to the headboard so she could watch you. Her hips harshly ground into Nat's obedient tongue as she watched you slowly falling apart.

A burning sensation on your clit had you opening your eyes, you met Wanda's crimson set and knew what was happening, the pit in your lower belly tightened impossibly, and you bit your lip hard as you tried to ride the wave.

"You gonna cum for us pretty girl?" Wanda asked, her voice dripping with desire as she watched you struggling to hold on. "Let Natty know how good she feels, I wanna see you come undone for us, help mommy out, yeah?"

Wanda crooked her finger, and you eagerly leaned in to kiss her like you both desired. It was sloppy as you couldn't stop moaning with the new angle. Natasha was incredibly strong, so the spreaders didn't keep her from thrusting up into you, her bulbous tip hit your g-spot with each thrust of yours she managed to meet.

The brunette bit your lower lip suddenly, the heat from her powers intensified, and her hand wrapped around your throat. "Let go detka."

"Fuck," you clenched, trapping Nat's cock between your pulsing walls as you saw stars. Wanda watched in awe as your slick gushed and painted the reddened thighs of her lover. Her own hips stuttered, and she came hard on her tongue as she screamed both your names.

Wanda fell onto the bed, causing it to shake as Nat was still being fucked by you, tears fell from her eyes as the jolt pleasured her deeply. She was already desperate to release, but the promise of letting go in your womb made it much harder to hold back. "Mommy please."

Wanda looked at you, you nodded once again, and she felt her heart flutter at the thought. Of you finally letting these walls drop, and letting them love you the way they've always wanted.

"Let go," she purred, "Fill Y/N to the brim."

A scream was ripped from your throat as you felt fresh hot, spurts of cum painting your walls. Natasha's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she came even more as Wanda squeezed her balls and tweaked her nipples.

Your body collapsed onto hers, lips crashing into hers as you sought the grounding touch. Natasha smiled into the affection, her heart was beating wildly with love as you made out. Moans never stopped leaving you, the feel of her throbbing inside of you kept you aroused, and it only got better as you got to taste Wanda's tangy essence on her plump lips.

"Holy fucking shit," Natasha gasped, you had gently removed yourself from her body, and the sound of your combined cum sloshing against her thighs made all of you go still.

"Fuck," Wanda breathed as she scooped some of your combined essence up, and brought it to your lips expectantly. Natasha leaned up on her elbows to watch, your lips parted, and you instantly gagged as Wanda fucked her fingers into your mouth, paying no mind to your throats existence, that was her goal after all.

“Isn’t she pretty Natty?” Natasha nodded, smiling softly as her hand reached out to wipe away the tears Wanda was causing to fall. Her lips then pecked your cheek. “The prettiest.”

Wanda slid her fingers from your mouth, a soft pop rang out in the room. The tension was palpable as she kept her eyes on yours as she seamlessly moved them over into Natasha’s. The redhead hummed around the intrusion, happily engaging in the swapping of spit.

“Mommy loves a set of good girls, ” Wanda beamed, then she leaned in to kiss you slowly as Natasha suckled and gagged on her fingers. Then she tapped the redheads face with the wet digits, and whispered, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

The rest was a blur, Wanda was nothing but gentle as she removed the toys, and moved to clean you up, all the while you cleaned Natasha up by way of a sloppy blowjob. The redhead stood no chance against your lips, so after she came down your throat it was lights out for her.

Wanda scooted Natasha to the center of the bed, and then clambered in behind her, she placed a kiss to your temple, then another to Nat's before she settled into the mattress for some much needed sleep after the long day.

The night was perfect, but the longer you laid there the more you felt an urge to run. It felt great in the moment, but now you felt used. As if bedding you was the goal here, you ignored the obvious loving touches, and the buff arm that was wrapped around you protectively.

Your mind was like a cataclysmic battlefield.

Wanda groaned softly into her pillow as the sound of scuffling roused her from sleep, she gently removed her arm from over her lovers waist, then she walked over to your rapidly dressing form. You rushed out the door, but you didn't get far as she wrapped you in her powers, and softly shut the door for Nat's sake.

"Why don't you get it Y/N?" Wanda's tone was tired, you shrunk as guilt washed over you, "This wasn't just some quickie, and it's hurtful that you'd think that." She shook her head in emphasis of her negation. "We love you Y/N, Nat fell asleep with thoughts of taking you on a date. She loves you beyond words, as do I, so why can't you let us, hm? Stop running."

"I-I," your voice was unbearably hoarse, thick with emotion, "It's all I know how to do..."

Wanda's defensive resolve fell, you sounded so dejected, your pain obvious, so she lowered you to the ground while briskly approaching you.

"You're not on the run anymore malysh," she whispered the words against your temple as she kissed your skin tenderly. "You're safe here with me and Nat. It's okay to trust, I promise we won't break it. Please, just let us love you."

"I want to," you admitted quietly, "I just don't know how." Wanda nodded, she understood wholeheartedly how life after Hydra can be.

She also remembers your ex, the wench that took your love, and squandered it. Who took your hardly given trust and broke it for all.

"We'll take it slow," she soothed her hand down your back before returning it to cup the back of your head, guiding your face to her chest while her other arm wrapped around your waist

"Whatever you need," she reaffirmed, Wanda wanted nothing more than to make you happy.

You hummed thoughtfully, "Fresh air sounds nice." Wanda grinned. "I'll make us some tea."

"Moya lyubov's?" Natasha called out, her raspy voice now deepened from sleep cracking as she broke out into a yawn. You and Wanda shifted so you could look at her. It melted your heart to see her pouting, eyes glimmering with unshed tears brought on by the both of your absence.

It wasn't hard, nor suffocating, to feel the love.

"Shh dorogoy," Wanda coo'd as she beckoned her over. Natasha waddled, navy green blanket wrapped so tight around her body that all you could see was her face when light cast through the shadows of the hallway and onto her.

Natasha sniffled pitifully, "I was all alone."

"We're sorry," Wanda relayed genuinely as she leaned in to kiss the redheads wetted cheeks. "Our love here needed some fresh air, so I was just about to make us some tea. Wanna come?"

Natasha beamed, head nodding quickly. "We can share my blanket!" You snorted, this was such a beautiful, new side to the redhead for you to see. She'd always been softer with you, but she was also evasively abrasive when she felt as if she needed to keep her guard up.

But now, under the glow of the moon you saw her in totality. Natasha was a sweetheart. Dangerous to nearly all of mankind, but she's cracked open and vulnerable for the two of you.

"That sounds perfect Nat," you replied nasally, Natasha swiftly dropped her blanket and looked between you and Wanda with concern. She pulled your face away from Wanda, and settled it right before hers. "What's wrong?"

Natasha might very well be feeling softened and subby, but she wasn't clueless. She was a spy for goodness sake. You shook your head, lips brief as they kissed her palms, one after the other. "Nothing sweetheart, let's go cuddle."

The redhead squealed as you scooped her up, giggling soon following as you kissed all over her face, the feather light touch tickling her pink. She hummed as your lips firmly pressed into hers, her tip throbbed but her cock stayed motionless. Her body was far too spent.

"Where's my kisses?" Wanda asked in offense. "I'm not making the tea until compensated."

Natasha twisted in your hold until she was on her tummy and able to crane her neck, offering Wanda her pursed lips. The witch breathed a laugh through her nose. Then she leaned into the contortionist with a passionate lip lock.

When she pulled away Natasha rolled back over with her eyes closed and lips raised. You leaned down to kiss her forehead and she purred while shifting closer to you. Wanda soon gripped your face, she waited for a go ahead, and once you nodded she kissed you.

There was a hunger to the way her tongue slid in your mouth, but it was heatless. She sought a moment of deep intimacy as she caressed the back of your teeth with the tip of her tongue. It was surprisingly sweet. Your heart beating out of rhythm when the tip of her tongue pushed down your throat. As you gagged she pulled away with a glistening smile. A tethered string of spit that connected you snapped as her lips had curled up. You mirrored the action.

"Go get comfy on the patio now loves," she commanded tenderly, "I'll be right there."

When Wanda followed ten minutes later with a tray full of everyone's favorite snacks, and warm mugs of tea you felt this foreign feeling of comfort roll over you. Their bright smiles, and warm caresses insinuations of love, and for the first time in a long time you willingly felt it.

But more importantly, you began to embrace it.

——

[seosracha]

PLEASE REMEMBER ME WHEN OUR YOUTH IS GONE jake sim x reader

SYNOPSIS-> when sim jake, the highest scoring student and an easily identifiable perfectionist starts falling for a messy and careless girl, he cant find any words in the world to express his love for the only star in his eyes.

PAIRING-> sim jake x fem!reader

GENRE-> angst, fluff, unrequited love, highschool au, oneshot

WORDCOUNT-> 5k

AUTHORS NOTE!-> this is one of my old ateez oneshots that never got the appreciation (I THINK‼️‼️) it deserved:///

PERM TAGLIST-> @bubblytaetae @qghosty @viagumi @artstaeh @bigtoewinwin @strwberrydinosaur @enhacolor @rendezrei @shinsou-rii @notrosemary

Jake wanted to be considered a perfectionist, since he strived towards outstanding scores, a foolproof attendance and he longed to outdo himself in anything he sparked interest in. The watch his friends gave him never left his wrist, and you could catch him sneaking glances at it every minute or so. Jake was never late. Guards who watched over the school's property often spotted him at the crack of dawn, studying for exams or finishing yesterday's homework. 

Beneath the orange haze of the early morning sky, Jake’s eyes flush wide open. His body is sticky and he can feel the hot sweat creep down his neck, as he forces his body to get up. Then it hits him, as his still blurry vision spots the light blue alarm clock amongst his school uniform. His body trembles, as the usually blue numbers don’t light up his face anymore. His chest heaves uneasily, as the palm of his hand rummages through the white bed sheets. Jake’s fingertips hit the cold black surface of his phone, and roughly  pull it up to the side of his damp thigh. He reluctantly opens his phone and the white numbers on his screen read 6:48. Panic subsidies the liberating feeling he woke up with. 

“So  fucking stupid” he mutters, but the admission alone was enough to calm his heart. 

It was early, yet the scary thought of a 90/100 points on his English exam found a place in his gut, and nagged him every time his eyes read over the four digits. 

A cold shower refreshes his puddled mind, and washes away the thick layer of sweat. Jake tries to relax into the cool water, the panic fading away into a fabricated confidence. 

 “I’ll ace this” he exhales slowly, and the unnerving thoughts vanish with each scrub. 

….

Your eyes flutter open, as you try to avoid the boisterous voice of your older brother. His footsteps echo through the small apartment, and you can’t figure if it's them getting closer or your head still in a state of pain. You abruptly rise as the wooden door creaks open, the fit figure of your brother emerging from behind it. 

“Have you seen my spare arrows? I really need them” he says, throat tight. 

His hair was messy, and you could make out spots of dry shampoo he probably applied earlier. He looked tired and sore from practicing late at night in the depths of his room. His figure is hunched over the door frame, the creases on his school uniform evident. 

Words leap at the tip of your tongue, and you clench your jaw to keep yourself from screaming right into his pretty face. 

“What time is it?” you ask, dodging his previous question. The feathery sweep of  chilling air alleviates the tension in your muscles. 

He shakes his head and rubs the tiredness off his face “It’s 6:48” he replied, the bright light illuminating his face. 

You cursed and slipped out of the warm covers. The cold air from your room's air conditioner settled on your bare legs. 

“They’re in the living room shelf” you finally tell him, and he exhales sharply, giving you a cheeky smile “You better give me a ride to school now, Jungwon” 

He laughs at your seemingly normal request and straightens his posture. He averts his gaze from the shiny floorboards, and looks straight into your sleepy eyes. 

“If you listened for once in your life, you’d know I have a competition today” he says giddly, and you have a strange wave of anger swarming through your body. You envied him perhaps, for being able to have a cheeky smile on the first thing in the morning. 

“You can still drive me to school?’ you reply and he just chuckles, stepping out of your dusty door frame to gather his lost arrows “Hey! I was talking to you” you breathe out. 

“It’s a ten minute walk. I’m not going in that direction anyways” he says loud enough for you to hear. He precisely opens the drawers and gently places his hand upon the arrows shaft, making little to no noise. His worst fear was the angry footsteps of his parents who were woken up by their child's antics. 

“You’re so annoying Jungwon” you sigh into the sunshine, that leaves it’s intense sparkle on the length of your tense shoulders. 

… 

Jake finds the school's uniform to be extra itchy today, as its fabric clings onto the recurring sweat on his body. His eyes furiously scan the emptiness of his poor decorated room, stopping at every metal object. 

He exhales yet another breath of disappointment, as the keys he’s been seeking for turn out to be his friends' sunglasses covered in the perfect way by stacks of crumpled paper. 

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. 

Jake can’t help but feel as if the world is against him on this day. Through the small window next to his bed, he can see the usually busy streets start to  fill up with cars and people. His body aches as the stinging sun burns into his skin. 

He hurriedly grabs the notebooks and textbooks off the messy shelf above his desk. The shelf was the only thing he let be messy in his life. He learned to live with its messy nature, and millions of unorganized worksheets. Jake isn’t even sure if these are the right books but the competitiveness in his veins leaves no time for a second checkup. 

Did he even do the homework? He’s not sure. 

… 

He slams the apartment door shut and so do you. 

He runs down the stairs with a thud but you choose to take the elevator. 

He drops the bag that hangs loosely on his broad shoulder, but you don’t so instead you keep humming the melody of a SKZ song. 

The hurry seems to stop as the both of you meet at the entrance. 

His great memory can resurface your smiley face anytime. He also can recall you being the last person to arrive in class, so considering the walk wasn’t too long he was shocked to see you up this early. 

You smile at him, and he doesn’t know if he should wave, smile back or maybe strike up a conversation. He doesn’t like the idea of an awkward walk to school adding onto the bad things that have already happened this morning. 

“Sim Jake! You’re a morning person aren’t you?” you say, and he can feel the tension in his muscles turn into a heatwave only he can feel the effects of, as he scrambles up a response. 

“I’m always up early” he replies and it sounds meaner than he intended it to be. Not like he wanted to be rude in the first place. 

“You seem a little grumpy for an ‘I’m always up early’ guy“ you quote and he feels  heat decorate his chiseled cheeks. The bitter taste of timeless greed ushered him into the depths of his own curiosity. What exactly was it that you wanted from him? Were you making fun of him? Or maybe you had a nice start to the hot summer day, unlike him? 

“I wanted to study for the english exam, but my alarm clock broke” he answers. 

You can see exhaustion lifelessly beam from him. 

“Ah, the exam! I’m sure you’ll do well” a smile pops up on your face, and Jake spots the dimples he never seemed to notice. 

Jake’s heart courses a steady blood through the canyons of his chest and uneasy stomach, as he wonders if replying with a simple thanks would be better than disagreeing. He didn’t want to seem eccentric. 

“Thanks. I’m sure you’ll do well too” he replies, and it feels as if the tension in his lungs fills up with oxygen once again. 

You make the incital move to leave the building, by stepping out of the moving doors. He is scared to do so, as the sun already looks ready to make him sweat his ass off. 

Jake exhales. His sneakers stalk towards your direction, and you smile as he finally pops out of his petrified state. 

“I didn’t exactly study for it, you know?” you reply to his non-compliment. 

He shakes his head, and chuckles. The sound of your voice seems to alleviate any tension in his muscles. 

“Why not? I mean this is a pretty big part of our grade” he murmurs. You roll your eyes playfully, and chuckle at the boy.

At this moment Jake wanted to fade away from the perfect class title. Maybe then you wouldn’t perceive him differently.  

“I was doing my nails! Do you like them? `` You beamed, and showed the baby blue gel nails into Jake’s face “You can take my hand in yours, that’s okay” you reassured him. 

He felt relief wash over his body, as he grabbed  your smaller hand in his wrought one. He looks at them closely, trying to figure out what exactly changed. He sensed that asking wouldn’t be an appropriate response to your hard work, so he just mustered up a kind response “They look great” he finally said, and for the first time you saw his sweet smile. 

The trees moved along with the light breeze of wind, birds sang a luscious melody and the sky was clear. Jake sinks into the beams of the midday sun, accepting it’s warm nature. It’s humid and noiseless. 

“Really? Seojun and Jungwon said they looked bad”  you laughed and he let go of your hand. “But I think you’re right,” you add quietly. 

“Yang Jungwon? The archery guy?” He was curious, since he knew Seojun well. She was Heeseung's girlfriend. 

Seojun and Heeseung we’re deeply and irrevocably in love with each other. They became one with one another, and shared the beautiful bond everyone envied. They sunk  in the commitment, intimacy, passion and admired the individuality they kept. Now, in 11th grade the fire they started was only growing, and even after countless hook ups, it still felt like their first time. 

“Yeah, archery Jungwon! He’s a senior and my brother” you explained and Jake nodded in understanding.  

“That explains why seniors never mess with you or Seojun” he chuckles and you hit his forearm. You never realized how built he really was. 

“Hey, you’d take that chance if you could too” you said and he hummed in agreement. 

He blows out a steady breath. Jake has never felt so comfortable with a girl. She gave him a mold and he fit perfectly. He’s grown weary of chasing after that which destroys him until he’s in deadly silence, burned to the core. He wanted to finally open up his arms and detach from the raw perspectives tight grip. 

“I’m really surprised we haven’t been talking earlier” you say after a brief moment of comforting silence, and Jake feels like the birds chirping tune has become more joyful, the sun joists a little brighter and the wind perfectly sweeps across his face. “I mean, Seojun and Heeseung have been dating since forever. Heeseung is your best friend right?” you ask, knowing the answer. 

Jake had many friends, or at least he thought so. His deskmate and platonic soulmate Heeseung, the mother of the group, Jay, the swim team captain and somehow his friend, Sunghoon. Then there was Sunoo who’d barely show up to class. Yet when he did, the whole class would cheer for their entertainment source, and wait for the chaos to begin.

He descends in the golden hope he’s been given. He breathes in the contentment and liberation the conversation has brought him to “I’ve known him pretty long. Although he never listens to me” Jake laughs and looks at you. 

“Seojun is so stubborn too! She never listens and ends up getting in trouble” you smile and he chuckles. 

Living the life of the remarkable couple that was Heeseung and Seojun, must’ve been so carefree and fun.  

“I guess they’re meant to be,” Jake said and the giggle that leaves your lips is carefree and sunny, and grounds Jake in his growing contentment. It’s astonishing how easily you encit this light from him. 

“No joke, they are. I always end up third wheeling when i'm sleeping over at Seojun’s” you said, and he gives you a questioning look “She ends up calling him on facetime” you voice an answer to his inner question. 

Jake felt as if he could talk to you for hours, but when the picture of the newly renovated school started becoming clearer, his heart sank. He started picking up various screams and he could see the 10 graders playing on the school's court. He also didn’t expect you to ever talk to him again. 

“Did you do the math homework?” you ask as the school grounds enfulge the both of you in a seemingly playful atmosphere. 

Jake shakes his head and you make a shocked face, which leaves him fearful. 

“It’s okay Jake,  Jieun probably did it” you answer with a gentleness you never knew your voice could possess, and reassure his inner dilemma. The usage of his name makes his uneasy stomach warm. 

As he expected you to leave his side, you never did. You walked  close to him, and he could swear he felt the positivity radiate off of you. Although you kept quiet, as you two walked up the never ending staircase. 

“Y/n! Why are you so early?” Seojun said, already all over Heeseung. He was pouting at her, and Seojun was applying her favorite cherry lip gloss onto his soft lips. She spotted Jake but that didn’t exactly answer her question, just enfudgled her in deeper confusion. “What are you doing with Jake?” 

… 

Jake tried to focus. He read over the sentence multiple times but it all felt like a blur to him. He found himself forgetting basic things, as his gaze couldn’t help but avert in your direction. 

After you two walked through the large wooden doors, Seojun kept on teasing you, and Heeseung almost instantly repeated her action but directed it towards Jake. 

‘Is she your girlfriend?’ ‘Is her your boyfriend’ 

‘Did you two already kiss?’ 

It was the consequence of having an annoying and childish friend. 

His warm hands tremble slightly, as he gropes the plastic pen. 

“What’s the answer to number five?” Heeseung whispers, but Jake ignores him. “Jaeyunnie?” he breathes out, and Jake kicks his foot with no answer. If only he had number five himself. 

He’d been skipping questions, now on number eight still not grasping anything printed on the paper. 

‘The period between childhood and adulthood is called?’ 

“Easy, youth” he whispers, and Heeseung turns into his direction with a pleadfull look on his face. 

A smile perks up on his lips as he writes down his answer with confidence.  Yet he sinks back into his chair, when the next question doesn’t sound so painfully obvious. 

‘Hugging someone who is hurt is a signal of?’ 

He sighs and writes down bravery but is sure the answer isn’t correct. He ducks his head low, dropping the pen. He glances down with a small smile, studying his dress pants. He gathers small pieces of lint, and throws them into the large pocket of his backpack. 

Jake sneaks another secretive glance at you, and you seem just as confused as he is. Although you keep writing so he assumes you're just shooting your shot. You try biting at your fingernails to relieve the stress, but soon remember they aren’t bare anymore. 

He stares at the blank, gray TV mounted on the wall. It seems like a dust collector, since the teachers never turned it on, but with the right remote it could show anything he wanted. Maybe even the answers to this impossible test. 

“I think it’s okay to not have answers,” Heeseung whispers. 

He tried to copy Jake’s answers but instead he spotted the page empty with nothing even scribbled over. Jake’s pen layed lifelessly just like the look on his face. 

“This is gonna hurt” Jake responds, but doesn’t remove his eyes from the TV. 

Softly, and quietly, Heeseung says “I know” 

He likes teasing Jake for his perfectionism, and longing passion for achieving great scores. Yet deep inside he has the need to comfort and reassure his friend at times like this. 

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, until he can feel the pain. He tries hard to muster up any answer that would at least give him half a point, but the bell relieves the pain as his eyes flush open. 

Panic rises as the calm aura subsides. He has to be hallucinating, but the students rising from their seats and handing in the test say otherwise. Time doesn’t even feel real anymore. 

“You want me to hand that in for you?” Heeseung asks, pointing to the empty paper. Jake shakes his head, and Heeseung just shrugs while walking off. 

“Babe I did so well! I didn’t finish one exercise, can you believe that?” Seojun squeaks, and wraps her long arms around Heeseung’s neck. He pulls her closer to his exhausted body and spins her around. She laughs and he just keeps on repeating how proud he is. 

“I knew you’d do well!” Heeseung says and she kisses his cheek, leaving a wet spot. 

Jake doesn’t understand how Heeseung isn’t envious of his girlfriend at this very moment. He bites his lip, and feels guilty. 

Maybe if he was in his friend's position it’d be different. Maybe if he could actually experience real love. 

His eyes catch your figure stalking towards the teachers desk, where the stacks of tests lay. With a sigh you let go of the paper, and smile at the teacher. Jake repeats your action. He doesn’t know if he did it because of you or perhaps he has come to a realization he won’t write anything. 

“I’m counting on you Jake” Mrs. Kang says and he flips the paper over to hide the fact he answered barely two questions. He gives her a polite smile in return. 

Some students are still glued to their chairs. Most of them are scribbling over their paper at an inhumane pace, and some look like they’re praying for a miracle. 

“So, how was it?” you ask, bringing Jake back to reality. 

He looks at you and smiles. All his worries fade away as you return one back, with the sweetest look on your face. 

Jake regrets not noticing you earlier. Then he wouldn’t feel like the side character to Seojun and Heeseung's story. 

What? 

“I knew this would happen. It went horrible” he answered. 

“Don’t worry! I didn’t answer a single question correctly” you say, and rub his shoulder. 

Jake feels the coldness of the classroom turn into a warm summer field. He bites back a cheeky response “I’m sure you’ll do better next time” 

“I don’t think so. I probably can’t even introduce myself in English” you giggle and he does too. 

“I think I just panicked” Jake says, and you pout. 

“Why? You know you don’t always have to be perfect. It’s fine to not be the best always” you voice with a dismal tone. 

His heart climbs, climbs, and climbs until it finally explodes into a flowered array of colorful sparkles. He feels as if his chest is on fire. 

“I’ve always put so much pressure on myself-” Jake starts but the couple interrupts him. 

“Let’s go outside! The archery team came back from their competition!” Seojun says, and you roll your eyes. 

“I really don’t want to hear Jungwon bragging right now,” you say. 

“Jungwon’s so cool” Jieun joins in and you make a disgusted face. 

“Not really. He’s off limits by the way, Jieun” you respond and she just pouts at you. 

Jake listens to the interaction unveil, still standing close to you. His hand brushes against yours. 

“I can’t believe you’d think I like your brother,” Jieun asserts sadly. 

“You do like him,” Seojun says calmly. Jieun gives her the scariest stare, and Seojun clings onto Heeseung's arm for protection. 

Jake fights the urge to laugh at their ridiculous approach to a seemingly serious topic. He’s reminded, fondly, of their immaturity- their youth. 

“Y/n don’t listen to this snake. Everything she says is a lie” Jieun looks straight into your eyes. 

“Whatever Ji. As long as your not making out with him in my house im fine with it” you say and Jieun bites her lip at the thought of having any intimate moment with Jungwon. You spot it. “You’re disgusting” you laugh and slap her arm. 

You then turn to Jake and pull out the pen you were previously scribbling over your exam with. You write nine digits on his hand, and he doesn’t understand what for at first. 

“Let's talk about this later. I want to help you” you say with a cute smile as Seojun starts pulling you towards the school's exit. You mouth a fast sorry, and leave him alone with Heeseung. 

“I can feel it coming” Heeseung sings and Jake just rolls his eyes leaving the classroom “Oh” he makes a frustrated noise, and looks for his next target. 

Sunghoon. Perfect. 

…

Jake’s finger hovered over the call button, his mind puzzled. He bites back his tongue. 

What if you don’t pick up? 

But when he accidentally touched the screen a bit too hard, and the dialing sound erupted through his phone's speaker, he had no choice but to accept the reality. 

Things happen for a reason. 

“Hello? Who is this?” he hears your voice. It sounds so full of life and delicate. 

“Uh, Jake. Sim Jake. I’m sorry if you're busy I just-” he rambles but you cut him off with a laugh. He pauses and feels embarrassment creep onto his cheeks as he lets one of his aggravating habits unleash in front of you. 

“No no, I’m not busy. I never am in a matter of fact” you say and he exhales a sharp breath he’s been holding in ever since the call started. 

Why was he so nervous? 

“Did you eat already?” you ask and he sits up straight on his bed. His nerves are now comforted by the mask of darkness, and his confidence grows with every inhale. 

“I did. Mom made jjigae. She usually never puts this much effort into dinner, and makes me eat out with Heeseung” Jake explains and you smile. 

Jake didn’t catch the moment where you two became friends. His far fetched knowledge wasn’t aware two people could bond so easily. The last time he hit it off with someone so easily was when Sunghoon joined their class last year. Some things as simple as this made him question himself. 

“Lucky” you expressed “My parents left for Busan this morning, and since me and Jungwon don’t cook, like at all, we had to eat leftover rice with some kimchi we found in the fridge” you explained and Jake thought about bringing you for dinner next time. 

He shook his head. 

“I tried catching up on some English, but I seriously can’t understand anything, Although I did make some sense of the last topic” you voice, not letting Jake speak on your last statement. 

A tingling sensation rushes down Jake’s neck and chest with a dangerous thrill. 

“Good” he lets out a shaky breath “I like that” 

“That sounded like you're trying to seduce me” you laugh, and Jake’s heart leeps unexpectedly. 

He wasn’t trying to. Or maybe he was. 

“Sorry” he mumbles “I’m just really tired, and I still haven’t finished the assignment” Jake explains and you feel bad for him. 

“Jake you need to stop overworking yourself. I know, we aren’t that close yet, but we all know you barely get any sleep” you scold, and his breath deepens. 

“I don’t want to disappoint anyone, '' his voice trembles. 

“You won’t. Jake this is highschool! You should be more careless, have some fun” you say “Maybe fall in love. Ah, I wish someone wanted me like Heeseung wants Seojun” you giggle. 

Everyone wants you. I want you. Don’t you know that? 

“Maybe you’re right,” he speaks with a low voice. 

“I know I’m right. I’m always right” you assure and hear a quiet, breathy laugh on the other side of the call. 

Jake thought you’d be the one to cut their conversation short, tired of his shyness, and drained from constantly coming up with an entraining topic, but you didn't. You didn’t hang up on him. Jake tossed and turned in his bed, regularly kicking off the bedsheets and bringing them back up when his body reaches an uncomfortable temperature. He listened to the soft sound of your voice until his mind seemed to shut it out, and his eyes eloped him in a universe of constant nothingness. 

“..she ditched me for him on my birthday! Can you believe? I was so pissed  at her for the whole week after that” you said and the other side of the line was quiet. “Jakey? Did you mute?”

Silence. 

You waited hoping to hear a response soon. 

“Oh, well you must’ve fallen asleep. Goodnight” you whispered softly, and smiled. 

don’t fall asleep next time!!!!!!! 

let’s get a meal tomorrow

i’ll tell you the story again hehe 

goodnight~~ 

…  

He had overcome his initial shyness. He spoke to you with a newfound confidence. 

It’s been a month. Or two. Jake can’t recall cause time spent with you never felt real to you. 

When Heeseung initiated your newborn friend group visits the beach in honor of graduation, Jake made sure to workout everyday, and follow his strict diet. He wanted to look good. 

For you. 

“You should tell us about how you found out you’re in love with Heeseung, Seojun!” Jieun beamed. 

Jake sits up rapidly glancing once again at the landscape in front of him. Soft wind blows and the hot sun seetles on his skin. 

“Not this again” you roll your eyes, and Jieun gives you a death glare. 

“I want to at least know what it feels like” she protests. 

“All of us have heard this story millions of times, Ji” you say and she acts offended. 

“I haven’t” Sunghoon declares, and takes a long sip of his ice cold water. 

Jake and Jay agree with him. You sigh and lay back down on the soft towel. The sizzling sand settles on your back through the material. 

“You’re just jealous no one loves you like Heeseung loves me” Seojun fights, and snuggles into the warm embrace of Heeseung's toned arms. 

I do. 

“Yeah right” you huff. 

“It’s hard for me to put into words what it feels like to be with Hee'' she starts and Jieun smiles “I don’t know the exact moment I knew, I just did. If you ever fall in love you’ll know it” 

“Even when he made me sad countless times, I still knew my anger wouldn’t last long. I started to love him for who he is on the inside. I started to love his flaws. The kisses and sweet words, they're still a first time feeling. He taught me answers that couldn't be obtained by counting. I have someone like him in my life and I know what I feel is real and will never compare to anything I’ve ever experienced. And if you love someone enough, they’ll always know where home is” she finished and Jieun was quietly fangirling, with a tear streaming down her rosy cheek. 

It felt familiar to Jake. He couldn’t quite grasp it yet. 

“Are you seriously crying, Jieun?” Jay interjected, and Jieun whipped the salty tear away with the palm of her hand. 

“Am not. The sun is just really bright, and I don’t have sunglasses” she protested and Jay just laughed. 

Jake felt awkward seeing how he changed after meeting you. 

He doubted his feelings for you. He could push them away. But he knew they were real. He learned to love every part of you. 

“I seriously need to get a girlfriend,” Sunghoon said, and Jay eagerly agreed with him. 

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the realization dawns on him. 

“It’s a lot of searching but sometimes the right person is next to you the whole time” Heeseung explains. 

Jake looks at your sunkissed figure at his words, but quickly averts it to Jay who was pouring water into his cup. He didn’t want to be so obvious with his feelings. 

“Don’t even think about it” Jake turns his head to Sunghoon, who is pushing Jieun’s figure away. 

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jieun pouts and crosses her arms. 

The blazing sun makes your skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together. Jake likes it. He likes it almost too much. 

…

Jake spends lonely nights in the darkness of his own room, thinking about you. The image of you laying next to him, makes his heartbeat faster, and an unfamiliar feeling becomes one with his bloodline. You consumed at least 50% of his brain. 

He gets deja vu. His finger hovers over the call button, hesitation and panic replacing the air in his lungs. 

Why does he feel like this? 

“Fuck it” he murmurs. 

‘You should be more careless, have some fun, maybe fall in love’ 

“Hello? Is everything okay” the voice he adores so much speaks through his speaker, and he almost forgets that he dialed your number already. 

“Hey, Y/n” he speaks with a low voice, afraid of the destiny spreading before him with every word. 

“Jake you seem off” you say, and he straightens up his posture. 

Stop being weird. 

Jake remembers sitting here, on his bed, after the trip to the beach came to an end, the sun setting, forcing himself to accept the first pieces of the truth that changed his heart for good. The time span between that and now feels like he’s discovered so much. 

“You’re the best thing that has happened to me” Jake confesses. “And I know you changed me” 

You hesitate, flustered by his sudden confession “For the better, right?” 

“I don’t know that either” Jake says, and his voice trembles. 

He looks out the window, and it reminds him of the day that changed the way he perceived things. But this time instead of a bustling atmosphere, it was almost unoccupied. The street was lifeless, because without a purpose it feels the same way Jake did before he met you. Empty. 

“It’s okay to not know” you say, and Jake is brought back to the day he sat in the uncomfortable classroom chair, nothing in his head accept you. It took him long enough to realize his mistake. 

Jake feels a pinching feeling overcome his body. His hands, his head, his body and his soul. He wanted to cry again but he  didn’t  want tears to disrupt the heartfelt moment unveiling in front of him. He learnt to be grateful for what he has, but he never experienced what it's like to get that taken away from you. 

“I wish I could feel you” Jake’s voice falls into a low rumble. 

You inhale sharply. 

“In my arms” he holds his breath “Warm, and real” 

“Don’t do this, Jake” you whisper “Please” 

Heartbreak was never so loud. 

A silence falls within the call. He’s stunned into silence. 

“I think I love you” 

Nothing. 

His eyes squeeze shut. His heart seems to stop pumping blood, as he doesn’t hear your voice. 

As you can sense Jake’s wiliting stature, you speak softly “I’m sorry for doing this to you” 

“No it’s fine. I’m sorry for ruining our friendship” he replies, tears forming on his waterline. 

You don’t disagree with him. His heart begins to shatter. He knows he’s lost you. 

Jake loved to absorb new knowledge, and study complex problems. He liked the feeling that coursed through him as he successfully solved a math problem or answered a complicated chemistry equation. The one thing he learned so quickly was how to love you. How to appreciate you for your individuality, and cherish the moments spent with you. 

But the one thing he couldn’t learn was how to stop loving you. 

I’m going to miss this

“It hurts” he whispers, not capable of holding the stream of tears anymore “But it’s okay” 

“Jake I really hope you find someone that can love you the way I can’t” you wince. 

Everything brings him back to the day he first met you. 

Because now that he won’t have you by his side anymore, the unlucky days won't magically turn better. 

He hates the fact he will never be able to hate you. 

He hates the fact that you are so imperfectly perfect. 

Jake’s quiet cries are the only thing consoling the immediate silence. 

“Please remember me when our youth is gone, Y/n” he says hanging up the call.

[lxndrys]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐞 (𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐞?) — 𝐞.𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> grief and trust don’t mix well. part one of three.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> blood, swearing, violence (weapons)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> ethan landry x carpenter!sister reader

ANY FILM BUFF would laugh at her - laugh at how she fell into classic trope of the horror movie survivors moving away to a different city, with delusional hopes of shedding her tragedy and scars.

But, realistically, what sane person could stay where half of her friends — boyfriend included — were either gutted or were the knife wielders themselves? And, the concrete jungle that is NYC wasn’t a stranger to greeting those with ghosts on their shoulders.

Her ghost? The bloodied and bruised shell of a once keen-eyed, ash-brown haired boy who adored her endlessly; killed by a psychotic fanboy who was nothing more than a whiny bitch when she slit his throat for what he had done to that boy of hers.

His (Dalton’s — her therapist said that part of acceptance was to still refer to him by his name, as opposed to some nameless wanderer in her memory) ghost was a companion through and through each day; he’d trace along her shoulder blades as a feathery reminder that he was still there, even as she left Woodsboro with the others.

NYC, once you peer beneath the facade of entertainment wannabes and elitist assholes, was a haven for ghosts of the past and their harbingers. But, anything was better than Woodsboro.

She only felt his ghost fading from its place in her conscious when she met Chad’s roommate; a meek boy with a tousle of brown curls, that didn’t look at her as if she would crumble at any second beneath the weight of the past. Perhaps it was her soul wanting to be relinquished of the crippling grief that had throttled it for nearly a year — maybe that’s why she trusted this boy, Ethan Landry, allowed him after that year to be in Dalton’s place as the doting boyfriend. Not a replacement, never, rather a step towards accepting Dalton’s permanent fate.

And, abruptly, Dalton was just another Woodsboro memory whether she chose it or not, residing amidst all the slashed youths in the small town.

Mindy, per her tendency to hand out cryptic forewarnings based on movie tropes, had told her how it never ended well for the main character who finds a new love interest after enduring tragedy — naming Sidney Prescott with emphasis in her example.

“Who are we to forget what happened to poor Sidney Prescott? Finds herself a new boy toy, and boom, he gets shot. Adore that woman and everything, but once death found her, it latched onto her and fucked up everyone else to make her miserable,” Mindy ranted, her rambles accompanied by the obnoxious crunch of a potato chip. Chewing, she gestured towards Y/N with a half bitten chip, “And, because you’re one of the main characters now in this franchise, you’re not immune to it. There will always be someone after us.”

Y/N decided her forewarning was more of a projection of her thorough dislike of Ethan, as opposed to a semblance of concern.

That’s why, now as she leaned against the doorframe alongside the subtly intoxicated Landry boy, she opted to disregard the squinted glare Mindy cast from the living room.

“Did she just come to this party to stare me down the whole night?” Ethan mused over the resounding bass that rattled the wood grain walls.

“She’s just cautious of newcomers, especially when they’re of the male species,” Tara laughed over the rim of her solo cup, a similar chuckle drifting from Y/N’s mouth a beat later.

“Don’t take it personally, dude. She’ll get over herself,” Chad shrugged, nudging slightly at Ethan’s side with his elbow.

“She might just have to wring you through the hazing process first, E,” Y/N smirked, bright tones of blue and white dynamically moving across the curve of her cheekbones as she smiled at him.

He begrudged an eye roll, the feigned annoyance betrayed by the smile that he reflected down to her. A belittling voice — his father’s — mockingly danced at the rear of his head at this thoughtless moment of adoration, disgusted that this girl was gradually consuming his senses. Ruining the plan.

It was fleeting, interrupted as Y/N’s hand fell upon his forearm, featherlight but enough to cast out the taunting whispers.

“Seriously, she is just quick to assume that everyone who enters our lives is out to slit our throats,” a half-hearted simper wandered across her lips, the gesture never quite reaching her eyes, “It’s nothing against you.”

Ethan hated — or at least acknowledged that he should be — at how an ember of sorrow coiled around the existent knot in his stomach, extending to the tension in his posture as he observed the sadness that festered as a glint in her gaze, as her mind wandered to the sorrows in her memories. The bravado of his father’s contempt for him meanwhile urged him to suppress every last ounce of sympathy he formed for the girl before him; torture him with the recollections of what her friends and perhaps even she had done to Richie.

No, some lovesick - perhaps even delusional - corner of his mind stifled the notion, she did nothing. Not her.

“But, can’t blame her for being so Fort Knox about who’s around us….especially after Dalton,” Chad more or less mumbled to himself, his own caution thrown to the wind by the flush of vodka in his system.

Y/N’s entire posture tensed with a hastiness compared to someone who’s fingertip was met with flame. Whilst this nonverbal response eluded the likes of a muddled Tara and Chad, it didn’t skirt past the attentive eyes of Ethan, whose brewing vendetta for the two teens increased ten fold.

The curly-haired boy seldom knew anything about Dalton; anything he was aware of came from media coverage about last years Woodsboro murders. A golden boy, track captain who died after running in between Y/N and one of the Ghostfaces, ultimately enduring the wrath of the blade meant for her.

“You really can’t handle your alcohol tonight,” Y/N only sighed in spite of the tension exuding from every vulnerability in her facade, “I’m, uh, actually gonna go get some air.”

Tara, with a frown that cast a discomforting tightness around her mouths, glanced at her sister with pity in her doe-eyes, “Y/N/N—”

“No, it’s fine. I kinda can’t stand being around a bunch of frat fucknuts in Ghostface masks, anyway,” the other girl was prompt to interject, sounding profoundly frustrated, something that bubbled painfully beneath a front of nonchalantness. She discarded her nearly empty cup to the adjacent side table, then hastily retrieved her dorm keys from her purse, “See you back at home, T.”

Tara’s mouth shifted as if to continue her actively failing effort to make Y/N stay, choose to ignore or even berate Chad for his loose tongue. Ultimately, however, she held onto reluctant silence as her friend quickly turned her back, agitation in her gait as she departed through the open front door. The younger Carpenter girl blinked away her concerned gaze from the distancing figure of Y/N, and to the Landry boy who spared no second before pursuing her into the October evening before she could.

—

SHE GAZED TIREDLY AT THE VAGUE STARS that simmered through NYC’s light pollution, having settled onto the curb a few houses down from fraternity house; the devastating combination of vodka’s numbing grasp and Dalton’s mention, throttling her sense of direction and desire to be alone.

With her side cradled against the lamppost’s slender pole, arms tucked in a cradle in her lap, her intoxication was bordered by an impression of forebode — as if the ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of a boy who was failed, raced delves info her rigid shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane, from her friends — Ethan — still in the house behind her.

For a fleeting moment, she screwed her eyes shut away from the flicker of streetlights, replaced by the distinct sense of being in Woodsboro; the blinding white fear of being chased like feeble prey through the corridors of Amber’s house…of being harshly pinned to the bathroom floor by Richie as he tinkered the honed tip of his blade in her Amber-inflicted wounds, only for Dalton to tackle his weight off her bloodied chest….of heaving in a crumpled mess on the floor as Richie brutalized Dalton….how she clawed her mangled self off the bathroom mat, grabbed the scissors from the marble counter and slit Richie’s own throat. How Sam assumed the responsibility of his murder so she would be spared the media scrutiny.

All memories that the acrid anodyne that is vodka couldn’t touch with its palliative influence.

Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure to the wounds she could see within the dim light projecting from the hallway. Dalton subtly gasped through gritted teeth, his blood now painting her hands and her own wounds distanced in her mound of worries.

“Come on. The ambulance i-is on its way…Sam and Tara are w-waiting downstairs,” Y/N urged through the agony that trembled through her frame as she attempted to propel him off the tiled floor. He quickly thwarted her limp effort by bracing his hand against her forearm.

“I think I just…I think I just need a second, Y/N/N,” he almost panted through his clenched teeth.

Glancing up in his flurry of pain, he could see her with horror petrified amidst the lacerations and tears on her face, it being no different than the feeling devouring his chest as she begrudgingly nodded at his words.

“Y/N!”

The pale hand that sought to extend through the hopeless, burdensome gloom of Death retreated at the presence of Ethan’s voice.

Her eyes dubiously opened to allow reality to resume, Ethan’s lanky frame bounding into her periphery. A low oomph split from his lips as he dropped himself entirely onto the vacant side alongside her on the curb, their knees fleetingly touching in his maneuver.

“You didn’t have to leave the party,” she mumbled, an exhausted gesture towards the residence that still thrived with drunken twenty-something’s and questionable music.

“And what kind of boyfriend would that make me?” the corner of his mouth faltered with a half-hearted quirk, observing as her head bowed, chin coming to a lean against her chest as she toyed with the hem of her costume.

Stress stretched a horizon beneath her ragged eyes as they shifted tiredly towards him, murmuring of a vague appreciation, and his reluctant hand reached forward to ease away the flyaways that dropped away from her updo.

“Do you want to talk about it?” a previously stifled morbid curiosity fell through the cracks in his caution….a question perhaps his father or sister would have fashioned into this conversation. His discomfort with the fumbling in his thoughts prompted a quick amendment, nervous hand snapping away, “You don’t have to or anything though, just wanted —”

An intense stare then bridged between their eyes as his agitated hands eased into a heap on his lap.

“I know,” her chest deflated with waning misery, her response subtly slurred amidst the breathy alleviation, as the fabric of her costume was dampened by a few lithe tears.

Y/N sucked in her cheeks, the teary glint in her subtly bloodshot eyes betraying her on every front, her bottom lip now gradually quivering as she looked down. A burrowing ache washed over her like the long laggard waves on a beach, the ache clashing with the alcoholic temptation to just lay everything out, reveal to Ethan just how fucked up she is even if he could already see it.

“But this night is miserable enough,” was her ultimate decision as she dryly chuckled. Mindful of her costume, she steadied her knees against her chest, leaning her cheek against her kneecap.

The moonlight cast a grayish, silver lining onto her features as she peered towards him with a lopsided smile encouraged by the alcohol in her system.

That deranged whisper of macabre desire wilted beneath the smile she cast towards him, vanishing into a recess of his mind where everything that could ruin this — her — resided.

And that’s was how it was most days; a thrashing tug-of-war between the instilled desires of his family and those of a boy who adored a girl he could never be worthy of.

“I should probably get home before Sam finds out where I am…and throws away the key after locking me in my room,” she exhaled with exasperation, shifting herself to the curb’s concave edge to stand up. The movement up from the curb was ultimately cumbersome, telling of the dregs of alcohol that stirred in her system still.

Stifling the bitterness that cooled in his veins at the mention of his brother’s assumed killer, Ethan reflected her movements as to ease her subtle swaying by settling his hands on her biceps.

“Whoa, whoa, you good?” he murmured, breath fanning over the rouge and silver tears on her cheekbones.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” a dampened smile accompanied the slurred facet of her voice, hand clasped around his wrist that relaxed against her shoulder.

Beyond his own control, crimson flushed against the collar of his homemade knight costume — adequate conversation was always an embarrassing shortfall of his, a flaw his father prided on deriding him about.

“You don’t have to answer,” Y/N teasingly rolled her eyes, a light nudge spared to his arm upon regarding the scramble for a response within his chestnut eyes. Her hand then rose to brush away at his tousled hair beneath his costume’s headpiece, “Walk me home?”

He nodded, the gesture nearly too earnest, “Always.”

And he tried not to engross himself in the thoughts of about having to see Quinn. About how every inch of his moral being fell nauseated at the notion of abiding to their family’s plan for retribution. About how he wanted to keep Y/N as far away from them.

[raccoonfallsharder]

florescence❀ (a meetgroot*) year four: formation ⋆˚✿˖°

[NEW 9/24] ❤︎‬❤︎ my very long and ongoing birthday gift to the rocket fan community ~ thank you for sharing this space with me ♡♡♡ florescence❀ masterlist | read year four on ao3 navigation | fanfiction masterlist | art masterlist

read year four on ao3 | florescence❀ masterlist navigation | fanfiction masterlist | art masterlist

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 5/6 years | word count: pending. everything blossoms. rating increases. see warnings below and on ao3.

“I like it,” he interrupts quickly, his voice somehow straddling the knife-edge between sharp and raspy. “I frickin’ — I like it.” Your smile tugs wider on your lips. “Yeah?” He shrugs, and his burnt-ruby eyes shift away to some hidden shadowed corner of the cottage ceiling. He huffs a breath — almost a scoff, if not for the strangled yearning you can hear folded into the sound. “I mean. It’s fine. Whatever.” You chew your lip, and take a page out of his book, dropping your lids to half-mast and gazing at him through hooded eyes, lashes heavy. “I bet I can think of some other things you might like.”

He blinks. “Okay.” You feel the curve of your lips twitch again, cheeks lifting your eyes into soft crescents. Oh, he’s not getting it. At all. You’re surprised, based on the heat you sometimes see gathering in his lava-glowing eyes — the knowing smirk that so often tilts the corner of his mouth and presses one fang into his lip. But he seems only perplexed as you lean forward, eyes flickering with something dark and warm before he shutters them. They fly wide when you lift yourself to your hands and knees, pupils following to eclipse that ring of molten red as you slowly begin to crawl toward him. You tip your back into a little arch, letting your hips roll and sway as you lope toward him on all fours. His eyes get bigger and bigger — the beautiful soft brows of his mask arching higher and his pupils swelling and blooming like dark moons, catching firelight and fickering into flat copper coins as you move through the room, all the way until you’ve knelt yourself right at his feet. It’s a spot you’ve sat in a hundred times before, curved at the base of the chair you’d long ago decided was his — but it’s different now. You know it is, because you’re making it different. You coast your fingers against the  bottom hems of his jumpsuit, up the outer seams on his calves, and then dance your fingertips over his knees — watching his sharply-drawn inhalations through the feathery haze of your lashes.  “What are you doing?” he asks, and it’s almost choked. “Sweetheart,” you purr. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

read more ao3 | florescence❀ masterlist

WARNINGS: dirty talk, seduction, striptease, fellatio, praise to the nth power, body worship, nervous rocket, implied dom rocket, dirty talk, mentions of sex toys and anal play and tit-fucking and The Tail, (accidental?) sensation play/marking with claws, use of "slut" (affectionate), mentions of creative positions, aftercare, outdoor sex, lots of feelings. a near break-up.

“The only chance we got is to get to the other side of the universe as fast as we can and maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to live full lives before that whack-job ever gets there.”

rocket & groot leave their friends behind on knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the shi’ar galaxy.

MDNI & support banners by @/saradika-graphics flower & lantern dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[hhighkey]

Decode // Chapter Ten, Red Wine

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

Note, meh about this chapter but also tried to flesh out the explanation of what happened of her job over a year ago hope it makes sense

Masterlist

-

When Sabine came to, a cold dread washed over her, chills racing down her spine. With numbing drowsiness still prevalent, she tried to move but she was groggy, her attempt to sit up cut off as a harsh feeling around her wrists burned. Haze. Then a panic jolted inside her, cutting through the heavy fog. She tugged. Nothing. She yanked again with all the might she could muster while her heart hammered against her ribs. But with her hands above her head as she lay on a wooden table, attempts would be futile. 

Craning her head up, neck sore, she glanced around through blurry eyes, a plain room all that met her. Blank walls, dresser in the corner, and a lone window. It was open and a cold draft leaked in, Sabine shivered as she fitfully tried to free herself ignoring each gnawing pang. God everything hurt, she couldn’t pinpoint where it originated, feeling like death all over. Head pounded. Sides tender with sharp pain. And legs throbbing, slow to move as she tried to kick them. 

The rope rubbed excruciatingly against her skin. She gasped trying to make leeway. Trying to get at least one wrist hand. But tears pricked her eyes and high pitched, hoarse whimpers passed her lips as the twine burned as it left her raw, a warmth trickling down her wrists that stung. 

“I wouldn’t do that.”

She blinked furiously, trying to make out the figure amongst the blinding light that closed in on her. Trying to place the voice, its familiarity taunted her. It scratched the back of her head, light and feathery, a kind of pain that traveled down her spine as if paralyzing her from how hard she strained. 

“See, you’ve managed to hurt yourself already.” The voice tsk’d. 

Giorgio. His name splayed red in her vision, the letters etched out, Flashes of him in her mind, from the first time they met to when she saw him out on the street the other week.

A burst of hate bubbled and spewed out her chest, causing her to tug at her binds once again, “Fucking hell.”

“A nun shouldn’t say such things.”

Her eyes widened as cold realization sparked. Another rush of memories, this time of decaying, dead bodies amongst a fitfull of books and research. An onslaught of spinning thoughts that screamed at her to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

“Wait.”

“Oh I can see it- the answer’s on the tip of your pretty little tongue.” Giorgio spoke with glee, a twisted grin on his lips.

“Are you- behind all this?” 

He moved closer causing her to spasm, yanking at her binds once again with pitiful desperation. The rope burn only increased, only made her wrists inflamed and red. Sensitive. Exposed. Even the air caused them to sting much to her chagrin who found herself in a precarious situation. Stuck. Vulnerable. All with a man she despised who was more than a clown who reveled in harassing others. She thought him truly harmless past that, not a murderer. Not the demon who haunted her dreams!

“I was shocked to see you with the great Dracule Mihawk, yes I know who he is. How’d you get him to come along on your pathetic adventure?” 

“That’s none of your business.” She whimpered. Tears flowed free and she cursed herself for it. 

“But it is. I’m supposed to be having my fun. Yet a Warlord of the Sea prances on in! Do you know who accompanies you?” His stern eyes stared at her with blazing fire. She wished she could shrink into nothingness, “Do you realize how strong he is? What he’s capable of?”

She shook her head as she began to sob between her teeth. She tried to fight it, “N-No.”

“There aren't many in our world that are more powerful than him.” 

Ghastly words. Sent numbing shocks of electricity down her spine, down her nerves from her head to her toes. Blood rushed to her head, feeling beginning to go null in her hands. 

“Then he’ll kill you.”

“Yes. But I’ll have the fun I’m missing out on by killing, with you!”

“Explain the demon. How?” She demanded as if she were in a place to, trying to wrap her head around how his scheme was possible.

“Artistic touch.” Giorgio’s eyes raked over her, a glint in them, “Let's get you up, figured tying you up would send a message. Don’t try to run, girl.” 

As if she could with the lack of feeling in all her extremities. How her vision pulsed from the throbbing behind her temple. Bile churned in her gut. Nausea rose in her throat as he helped her to sit up after undoing the binds. Sabine immediately cradled her wrists trying to shy away from him, trying not to hurl as his hands felt her up. Disgusting fingers prodded at her sides, at her arms, feeling the strands of her hairs.  

“If I’m being honest, I’m terrified. It took days of planning to get it right, to lead him away convincingly it had to be perfect. A man like him sees through weakness. I’m all tired from it. I need rest, my heart hasn’t stopped racing.” 

“Please- let me go.” She begged, already reduced to her fear and her instincts to appeal to him. To at least try and convince him to change his mind. She could only imagine the litany of ideas he had in his head towards her. 

“No no. You know I’m behind the killings.”

“You ate a devil fruit, right?” 

“Mhmm. I’m glad you’re not stupid to believe it was really a demon.” 

“How… it was a nun… it-”

“I can pray upon what people fear, bring it into physical reality. Use it as a puppet. You religious folk are just easy, easy to guess what you fear deep down. Watching you lot fight my puppet with prayers? Oh! I couldn’t help but play along, leading you to think that cheap music box was its source? Brilliant on my part.”

Giorgio pulled her to her feet and as she collapsed he caught her. Steadying her, he held her waist as they began to walk out the room. Legs felt like marshmallows. Like she’d spent months out on the sea finally to come back ashore. Head whirling, she must have hit it when she went unconscious in that bathroom. The memories of how she’d turned to come face to face with the “nun demon” upon turning around, made her cringe. And his touch as they walked down a dark brick hallway was like being thrown under violent waves, only to be held down. The man behind her nightmares. Behind her self doubt. The reason she went on sabbatical- now led her to an unknown location as her wrists continued to bleed. Had kidnapped her! Tied her up!

Sabine’s body goes lax as she became lightheaded, she stumbled and folded in half. Giorgio cackled as she puked, emptying her stomach contents and then bile. Spewed jokes as she coughed up nothing, gagging and face turning red. Eyes bloodshot. Snot running down. 

“You…” She straightened, stumbling as she lasered in on him, “Let us think we helped.”

“Yep.”

“And while you protested against the church during our investigation?”

“Right again. I would have done it again too if you came back with more priests, with that cardinal who works in the archive. Instead you brought a Warlord.”

Her life felt like a lie. Were all her beliefs turning to be false? She didn’t want to be a nun, conformed to survive. She struggled due to what she believed to be a demon. All the while her subconscious told her it wasn’t over. And a man was behind it. A simple, small man who tried to stain the church for fun. The reason behind her sabbatical felt like a lie, one big slap in the face. 

Dizzying, she went to step back, only to be wanked forward. He dragged her by her arm, uncaring for her cries as the raw skin of her wrists burned.

Where was she? Half rotted floorboards. Crumbling walls. Shards of glass below empty windows. Outdated furniture with layers of dust. As if she were transported to an earlier time period, or in the matriarch’s room with her horrid taste in decor. The air was thick with after rain, sweet and earthy and it invaded her senses as she remembered it was raining when he took her.

An open space, a collapsing fireplace that’d seen better years, a centerpiece of the room. An upholstered maroon couch in front of it. A hardwood table far too low to the ground held a litany of alcoholic bottles, from half drunk to empty, to full. It left a sour note in her mouth as he forced her to stumble towards the couch, then waved his arm in a grand gesture as if an open invitation to sit. 

Which she accepted, not as gracefully as she intended, her limbs still stiff as she moved. How her grown tangled up in her legs before she plopped to the couch, eyes refusing to leave Giorgio’s body, just in case. Looking for any sign of movement as her heart was beating steadily in her throat. Was this a trap? 

The silence between them was excruciating. Unknowns swirling violently, as Giorgio padded to the wine as if he were playing ‘the good host.’ Two glasses sit pliant. Purposefully, she knows. 

It took a minute, a gruelingly slow one, for him to uncork a new bottle. The deep red wine poured into the glasses filling them halfway. Taking them up into his hands, he swirled them just so before handing one off to her. Sabine would not drink it. The smell was pungent as it wafted up to her nose, causing her to gag. 

Shrinking into the furthest corner of the couch she was able, she watched him sit on the other end. How he drank the wine, far too fast as half went down with ease. He looked conflicted, she saw it in the midst of the fanatically far away look he held. Ideas bloomed while her body ached, forced to tell herself not to give out. Not to give in to how her wrists felt they’d fall off any second, or how her vision swayed every few seconds. 

A solemn look washed over Giorgio. Morose eyes, staring through the half empty glass as if he was somewhere else. Sabine squirmed as she watched from her chair, studied him then studied her surroundings. Even though he seemed distracted, lost in thought she didn’t want to try anything. There was something peculiar going on, her chest tightening and mouth feeling dryer than usual. Her eyes flitted to the bottle of wine then to the glass beside her. Temptation. She steeled herself; if the Sisterhood had taught her anything was how to refuse such, how to live with nothing even if she wanted everything. 

“Do you know what wine symbolizes?” Giorgio finally broke the pregnant silence in the room that felt it would burst from the building pressure. 

She shook her head as a befuddled guise crossed her face. He talked to hear his own voice or to get a rise out of her, Sabine had to remind herself. And what did such symbolization have to do with this? 

“Red wine is supposed to be the blood of the Father, correct? So it could mean love, wisdom, light? But some believe it to be death, like myself with its bitter taste. I think it fits the deep red color well, like it really is blood. White wine is probably for all that spiritual goodness bullshit, it's easier to get down.” 

How he looked at his glass, eyes glazed as if he were far away, it was haunting. His lips twitched. And for the first time, Sabine knows she’s gazing upon true evil. And she thought she’d been around it before. But this thing in front of her… Made her quake. 

“What… are you trying to say?” Her voice wavered, she tried to keep it steady. Careful. 

“You’re a Sister, no? I’m confessing my thoughts to you.”

“Normally that’d take place in a church.” Sabine didn’t intend for her tone to come across as harsh, but it did. 

“The location shouldn’t matter.” He huffed, “You won’t be able to out smart me, dear, I know what you’re trying to do.”

Dear. The affectionate term off his tongue did not fill her with butterflies like when Mihawk said it. Instead it made her feel dirty, as if coated with thick layers of ash as her stomach churned. 

“I’m not trying anything.” She murmured, focusing back on the wine glass in her hand. Watching the small sloshes of the liquid as she tries to keep her hand stable. It was starting to feel like dozens of pounds, she wanted to be rid of it.

His head fell to one side, “Are you not going to drink any?”

“I’m not.”

“Pity. Hand it over.” He motioned for her, holding his arm out taut as he leaned forward. As if they were two friends sharing a drink and having a chat.

They aren’t hanging out- he had no right to act so casual! Not while she’s teetering on the edge of a full breakdown, of going comatose from the stress picking her apart. 

She watched with disgust as he knocked it back with a long gulp, not bothering to hide her contempt. His teeth stained maroon as he grinned, swirling the remainder of her wine. There was not enough room between them. Sabine wished to disappear into the old couch, let it swallow her up to save her from the discomfort and anxiety that plagued her. 

“Why did you return? I never minded you last year, you were polite, clearly not an idiot like the rest of those church folk we deal with on a daily basis in this city.”

“I’m..” She cleared her throat, her heart feeling as if it skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to go about it. He was a tea kettle sitting over a fire, any moment he could begin his shrieking and boil over, “Here by chance. The crew I was with stopped for supplies, I couldn’t bring myself to go with them.”

“I see, I can fill in the rest. You’re just investigating on your own. But how did you meet the Warlord? I doubt he’s a patron of your church.”

“By chance as well.” 

“By chance.” He made a retching noise, tongue out before continuing, “Boring. I’ve been watching you, because by the Father intrigued me last time you were on this Isle. I couldn’t get you out of my head, wondered if you noticed everyone I started killing resembled you?”

She went rigid, the breath stolen from right out her lungs. 

“I suppose not.” He shrugged, “No matter, I’ll tell you anyway… I dreamed of you like I’m sure my demon I created to taunt the church haunted you. I really jazzed up the dead, unnerving nun shape for it. I promised myself if you ever came back, I’d take you. I hoped you would, you seemed like the type who wouldn’t let things go even with the doctored finish that night with your prayers. I’m glad I was right.”

As if the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees she began to shiver, a frigid breeze wrapped around her. It licked from her exposed ankles up to the skin of her neck. Goosebumps swarmed all over her skin. 

“Take me?” It was barely above a whisper.

“Well I don’t know if I want to kill you or keep you. Never figured that part out.”

“We only met a few times, never savory encounters.” She stammered, words tripping over one another unable to keep up with the speed her brain was processing at. Thinking about every time they’d been in the other’s presence, she could count them on one finger! And never had she taken away something pleasant from those interactions, just a gut feeling that there was something wrong with the man. Unsettling. A troublemaker at least. No wonder she couldn’t sleep at night, convinced danger was still amuck.

“Doesn’t matter. You left your impression on me, much like the strange minx who did a decade ago that I almost ruined myself for. Whole story, I won’t tell. But I’m a man who becomes obsessed, all my boundaries and senses blur as one. I blame the devil fruit, really. A puppet master only knows manipulation, that fucked with my head, who cares if I cannot swim? It’s exhausting to pilot a shell while having to pilot myself.”

Sabine wanted to ask why he was telling her all of that; why he would spill his rambling thoughts that felt like a monologue of sorts. Spilling every idea, all his plans out haphazardly. Whether to disarm her or not. She also wondered if he didn't realize it, that if being in her premise allowed him to lower walls. People trusted nuns- in the sense they’ll tell them their dirtiest secrets. He had to be confessing or using her as an outlet for his guilt, she told herself. 

“Then don’t.”

“Hmm?” 

She reiterated, “You said it’s tiring using your devil fruit ability, so don’t use it.”

His face cracked into glee, a hideous cackle falling from his lips. He laughed from the depths of his belly so hard he fell forward from where he sat, soon wiping at his eyes. 

As he howled in entertainment from her suggestion, frustration grew in her chest. 

This was ridiculous! 

Sabine rose with suddennes. Giorgio immediately stopped his mocking hysterics, how quick his face could morph into an emotion on the opposite end of the spectrum. A vexed look crossed him, a brow raising, watching her. He watched how she brushed off her dress with a huff, stared him dead in the eyes and turned to walk away. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” He stood. 

“I’m not tied up anymore, you’re being punitive, I’m leaving.”

“You’re not my guest! You’re a prisoner.”

“I didn’t realize prisoners got offered wine.” Waking up tied to a table had worn on her in a way she hadn’t realized until now. Her body ached, screamed for proper sleep in a proper bed. She had no patience to spare with this game of his, she wasn’t thinking straight either. If she were she would have known not to test a killer the way she was, ignorant and childish it could have appeared. But all Sabine wanted was to escape his perimeter and this wretched building that felt it was caving in. 

And she ached for Mihawk. But perhaps that ache, that knowledge of him caused her to be reckless. Caused her to try to stand up to leave. Because she knew he’d come for her, it’d be any minute now, especially since she wasn’t sure how long since Giorgio had taken her. Her trust in Mihawk ran so deep that she dared this stunt, when perhaps she would have played along better to observe and plot. Exhaustion was wearing her down like thousands of pounds sat upon her shoulders. 

A shadow moved in one of the doorways, a quick flash, yet Sabine just caught it. 

She seized. Planted in her spot as Giorgio stalked towards her, like she was his prey. A sudden awareness that they were not alone, that another pair of eyes watched her. Darkness she knew all too well. Darkness that followed her since last year, plagued her in the night. Tendrils of pitch black that would choke her, claws that would sink into her, death. 

She watched a figure form from the dust that surrounded them. A small tornado like vortex that imbued a slimy like gook she recognized from the victim’s bodies. It morphed, grotesque like until it mirrored that of a person. 

Her stomach dropped. A strangled cry choked out as she cried out into her hands, pupils large and shaking with distress. 

There it stood; with its black eyes and blood red lips. The monster of her nightmares in front of her, standing lax like the puppet it was. It did not have the same vicious movements as it was void, null and it continued to shatter what she once believed. 

“Remember the broken pews? The broken stained glass? Strong winds? All party tricks I can whip up, creating puppets starts quite the wind storm.” 

“I’m going to be sick.” She gagged, feeling dizzy as she swayed. 

Pain shot up her legs as she sank to the floor, knees scuffing against the hard floor. Pulsating in her head, surroundings were hazed and littered with black dots. 

Footsteps sounded, then appeared in front of her. Sabine didn’t have the will to look up as the floorboards creaked and he crouched down. No will to jerk away as he used his pointer finger to force her chin up. Gazes connected like a lightning rod and it sent jolts down her spine, she swallowed hard to not throw up. 

“I have plans. Be good and stay, huh? Your friend will watch over you for me, so wander all you want but you won’t get to leave leave.” 

Under the watchful stare of what she once thought to be a demon, Sabine stayed in that spot. She stared at her wrists, at the ugly marks that maimed her skin. That still throbbed from layers of the epidermis being removed from the ropes, beads of fresh blood and dried that had trickled down. 

She’d pull herself together, she just needed a minute, a minute with the evil in the room. A minute to wallow and think, then she’d look around. Right? Yeah, it sounded like a good idea. And as her body thumped to the ground, she’d finally get some well needed rest. 

-

posted: august 22 2024

taglist : @zzbloody-animezz @honeybeezgobzzzzz @mythical-goth @iraaiitz @moonmaiden1996

[ramu-ego]

Helloo it's Ness anon again :)

I was thinking about Ness getting off by humping your pillow and sniffing your panties, he also humps your pillow just like how you make him so do it when you're around ♡

(nsfw) SHOW ME :: xfemdom!Reader

alright bullying Ness is growing on me ngl ♡ - requests open cw: fem!Reader, dom!Reader, exhibition themes, scent kink, pillow humping, masturbation, mild humiliation kink, unedited word count: drabble character(s): Alexis Ness

"Alright, show me."

You weren't lying either. Panties dangling on one finger in his face as you stood above him with your other hand on your hip. Ness knelt over the pillow in a joking manner when he'd off handedly mentioned he used it to jerk off. Big eyes staring up at your behind his mop of curly hair. He'd said it. He just hadn't expected you to put him to the test like this.

"Show me." You insisted again tapping your foot and dangling your panties closer to his face, "You're already this hard and these are almost clean panties." A wink and his face grew redder, "Almost clean, of course."

"I can't- Just- And showing you-" Ness fumbled, tripped and grabbed at a reason to not go through with it. Harmless foolishness now had him throbbing in his boxers. Visible tent growing between his legs as he caught a whiff of your panties. The mouth watering scent of your dried juices on the crotch of your panties. Ones he knew spent half the day rubbing against your slit. Now within arms reach for him to have.

"You can have em," You draped the fabric over his face so Ness's cute innocent look was obscured by the lewd notion of panties across his blushing face, "As long as you let me see you cum."

It was a deal he couldn't pass up. Stupid if he did in fact. The second you laid the strong scent of your panties on his face there was no other choice. He wanted them for himself.

Scrambling to get himself free of his boxers. Only a button standing in the way of his aching cock and the cool face of the pillow. Ness pushed the fabric slit down around the base of his aching cock. Not even touched. Only temped with your panties. His cock head purple and begging for attention. Ness groaned the first time he drew his fingers down his shaft and tapped himself against the cold fabric of the pillow. A quick reprimand by you above him. Reminding him that you wanted to see him use the pillow, not just jerk off.

Feeling the flush coolness of the pillow finally touch the underside of his aching cock. Ness groaning into the panties across his face. He finally reached up and mashed them more into his nose. Eyes fluttering behind his bangs when the scent of your cunt filled his senses. Immediately feeling the need to run his tongue along the inner part of your panties. Tasting the tang of your juices and rutting his hips into the pillow under him.

Consumed quickly by the addition of your panties on his face and his nose being buried into it each passing second. Ness utterly refusing to take them off his face as his hips kept rutting into the pillow. Cushiony sides from the feathery pillow engulfing his cock when his thighs began to squeeze together. Sandwiching his length in the smooth fabric Ness couldn't control himself like he'd anticipated. Between the lewdness of your panties now mashed into his nose and his tongue gliding over the dirtiest parts. And your eyes on him and you watching him like a hawk. Ness had no idea this would have ever been so much fun.

"My god look at you-" You voice, mocking and playful, snapped him from his haze. Giggling behind your hand looking down your nose at the man fucking a pillow at your feet clearly on the edge of loosing it, "You fucking little perv. Sucking on my panties was enough to make you fuck a pillow??"

"N-No-" Ness tried to deny it. Though fighting with you over it made him throb all that much harder. Barely able to keep his eyes open, sucking on the spit soaked crotch of your panties and fucking the pillow with the only friction on his poor cock. Your words kept coming and Ness tried to deny every last one of them. The accusations of his depraved lewdness were true though. He'd never wanted to cum so badly in his life.

"Aww look the little freaks going to cum on his pillow like a perv-"

Ness didn't even have the voice to defy you. His stomach felt like a rushing wave hit him and before he knew it you were right. Cum spilling over the surface of the pristine white fabric. Watery ropes of cum shooting as far as the edge of the crumbled pillow and rolling off it's cotton surface before getting a chance to soak in. Cum that dribbled off the pillow as he came was only half of it. The rest pooling around his tip. Soaking slowly into the fabric of the pillow case. Ness riding out his own orgasm gasping with your panties half in his mouth as he tried to suck on them but just couldn't focus. Helplessly fucking his tiny pool of cum on the surface of the pillow as he milked every last drop of his own cum out of him. Giving up finally when he had nothing else in him and his legs gave out under him. Leaving him sitting on his cum stained pillow as his cock throbbed from the after shock of such an orgasm.

Picking your now wet panties off the degenerates face. You barely had to worry about the half lidded idiot kneeling before you. Ness trying to catch his breath with his cummy pillow between his legs. You smile and wad up the crotch of your own panties before dipping them back into your pants. Dragging the spit soaked fabric up your slit before tossing it back on his face. The snail trail from your own juices prominent on the part he'd been sucking on when he came. Ness scrambled to get the freshly dirtied part of your panties to himself and not rubbing anywhere else. Leaving you to wink and tell him that maybe next time he can just taste it fresh from the source. That was, if he had any more fun secrets to tell you about.

[teddy-bear-baby]

Their Deadly Flower - Eleven

(A/n: Finally got some time and energy to put into my writing again. Enjoy, my Lovelies!!)

Pairings: Ghost X GN!Reader, König X GN!Reader

Warnings: NSFW (MDNI!!), highly sexual(Minors and those uncomfortable please skip to the first time jump marked by "~~~~~"), slight angst

Prolog - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Here - Twelve

     You’re not sure how things got out of hand so quickly, but there’s no stopping it now. Not that you wanted to stop it, you’d been thinking about this for so long. You yearned for this moment, lusted for it for weeks on end, and now you were finally here. Your head thrown back, howling like bitch in heat while Ghost and König have their way with you. Both of them pummel into your tight entrance while you grasp for anything to stabilize yourself.

     It’s all you can do to hold yourself together as you cling to Ghost’s shoulders. There was no gentleness in this moment, carnal instinct taking hold of the three of you. Your whole body bounces in Ghost’s hold as he keeps you up, his arms hooked under your knees as he thrust harshly into you. König grasps your hips from where he stands behind you, his fingers threatening to leave bruises in their wake though his thrusts aren’t as harsh. They had you trapped between them, completely at their mercy.

     “Such a good little flower, you are.” König coos against your ear, voice raspy with lust and pleasure. “Look how well you take us. So good for us, Liebling.” His praises send shivers through your already trembling body as they continue pounding into you. 

     All you can manage in response is a needy, drawn-out moan as an all-too-familiar coiling feeling begins to tighten in your abdomen. Your body aches in all the right places with your quickly approaching orgasm. “Oh, fuck.” You whine as your eyes screw shut from the building pressure between your hips. Your back arches, your chest pressing into Ghost’s as you claw his shoulders in a feeble attempt to keep your climax at bay. 

     Ghost groans as he gives a particularly harsh thrust. “Don’t close those pretty eyes of yours, Love.” He pants a bit as he shifts to grip your ass, hiking your legs further up his arms. They both hit a bit deeper with the new angle, sending harsher jolts of pleasure rippling through your tired body. The feeling is blissful, toe-curling, as it rips a scream from your already sore throat. “I want you to see those eyes on me when you come undone.” He growls out. “I want to watch as we rip every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body.” He punctuates his growled statement with a few deep, hard thrusts.

     You can’t think straight, your mind has completely turned to mush and your body is swiftly following it. You peel your eyes open to look at Ghost as you continue to moan and mewl. Your head spins when you find those gorgeous eyes staring back at you, full of lust and desire. Your breath hitches, a silent scream set in your features as König’s hand wraps around your waist. His hand works deftly between your thighs to stimulate you further. Your body wracks with more harsh jolts of sinful pleasure as you teeter on the edge of nirvana.

     It all becomes too much, you can’t hold it together anymore. So you let go. Throwing yourself haphazardly over the ledge of ecstasy. Your climax washes over you with a blinding white heat as your body shakes harshly from the force of your orgasm. You’re only just coming out of your hazed state when you feel König’s hips snap into you harshly, rasped praises and groans spilling from him as his fresh seed drips from where you’re connected. 

     König leaves feathery kisses over your shoulders as Ghost chases his end. Ghost’s hips stutter as he loses himself, each sloppy thrust is harder than the last. “Fuckin’ hell, Babe.” His voice is strained and husky as he gives one final, deep thrust. His eyes screw shut, head tilted back as he gives you every drop he can muster, a whined groan falling from his lips. His knees buckle slightly as he slides himself out. 

     Your heated skin begins to cool rapidly as Ghost relinquishes his hold on your legs, slowly lowering them. You shiver at how empty you suddenly feel, your muscles pulsate around nothing as your feet finally hit the floor. You sway a bit as you try to make your legs work to no avail. Your whole body feels like jello and if it weren’t for König’s arm still wrapped around your waist, you’re certain you’d fall.

     They help you to your cot and lay you down before both disappear from the room. You lay there and relax for a moment as you think of everything that’s happened over the past two hours. A lazy smile graces your lips as you remember the stupid joke that started it all. 

     “..it would give you guys time to work on this little act. You know, a grumpy old man and his anxiety-riddled wife. The kind that bicker over nothing.” You let out a small laugh as the rest of the morning plays out in your head. Admittedly, hiding in the bathroom was a terrible idea. There was nowhere for you to go and when you finally emerged they were both still standing there waiting for you. The way your heart leaped from your body as Ghost practically manhandled you into the room with your cot. They’d both antagonized and teased you for a bit before everything turned serious. 

     Ghost’s steady hand on your upper arm turned into both men fondling you as they raced to get your clothes off. It was such a sudden shift, you barely remember Ghost hoisting you up by the knees as the two sandwiched you between them.

     You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps entering your room. Your eyes catch sight of the all-to-familiar skull mask as Ghost makes his way to you with a bottle of water and a protein bar. You smile at the thought of him taking care of you after what he’d just done to your body. “Thanks.” Your voice rasps a bit as you reach out and take the offered items.     A few moments later König enters the room with a damp washcloth and begins helping you clean the mess on your thighs.

~~~~~.

     After a few hours of rest, you decide it’s time to get up and figure out your next move. Your legs wobble a bit as you stand from your cot, your hips aching as you make your way from the room and down the hall toward the stairs. The house is eerily quiet, which isn’t abnormal but it’s still mildly disconcerting. The stairs creak under your weight as you move down them. Your eyes scan the living room, hoping to find one of your large companions. It’s empty, not a soul in sight as you lower yourself off the last step. 

     “Ghost? König?” You call into the still air of the house hoping for something, anything in response. You receive nothing but silence. An odd sinking feeling befalls you as you step toward the dining room. Something was off, something felt wrong, very wrong. Your heart begins to race with anxiety as you find the dining room and kitchen empty as well. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and your racing thoughts. Everything is fine, they’re probably just in their rooms, quietly relaxing as they wait for your next orders.     You wanted so badly to believe that everything was fine, that they’d both appear at the top of the stairs waiting for you as you made your way back to their embrace. That wasn’t the case however. You check both of their rooms, finding them both empty aside from the gear they had stripped from themselves the night previous.     Anxious fear sets in as you double and triple-check the whole house, even venturing into the untouched basement just to be certain. You scurry through the house back to your room, grabbing your radio and doing the only thing you could think to do in your panicked state. You hold back fearful, anxious tears as you radio back to main base, getting in contact with Price and Laswell.     “They’re gone, just gone.” Your voice is quiet despite the urgency of the situation, almost in disbelief. How could they have just disappeared? There’s no way two large men could just disappear in a matter of hours. There had to be a reason behind it. Maybe they’d gone out for a walk or something. That wouldn’t make sense, you all had your orders and neither of them were the type to go against orders unnecessarily.     “Who’s gone, Iris?” Price’s voice from the radio in your hand breaks you from your distraught pondering. “Ghost and König?”     You nod absentmindedly as you stare out the front window of the house at the car you’d all come here in. “Yes.” Your voice nearly breaks as you try desperately to contain the tears threatening to flow from your tired eyes. “Ghost and König, they’re gone. I’ve checked the house three times. I can’t find them anywhere.” Your voice begins to shake with the panic you’d been trying to push down.     “Alright, take a breath for me okay?” Price’s voice remains as calm as ever. “When did you see them last?”

     The question he’s posed makes your heart jump as your mind goes back to that morning. The way they’d held you between them as they worked together to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. “I...” You do as Price recommended and take a deep breath, clearing your mind just enough to get out an answer. “This morning. I saw them this morning.” Your voice becomes less shaky as you focus on the task at hand. The important thing right now is that you remain calm enough to answer questions to help find them.

     The radio crackles slightly before Laswell’s voice joins the conversation. “What time this morning?”

     “Around ten o’clock. I took a nap and when I got up, maybe thirty minutes ago, they were gone.” Your panic begins to invade your words even as you try to force it away. “The car is still here. Their gear is still in their rooms. I-I don’t know what could have happened.” Your hands shake slightly as you stare at the radio waiting for a reply.

     “Okay, Iris,” Laswell’s voice comes through again, sounding almost hesitant. “I’m going to send Price and the other two boys to your location early. I need you to sit tight, alright.”

     “What about Ghost and König?” You knew it was a stupid question. Nobody knew where they were at this point, nobody would have the answers you were looking for. “I just,” A heavy sigh falls from your lips as you compose yourself as best as you can. “Okay, I’ll be waiting.” You don’t wait for a response before turning the radio off.

~~~~~

     Your mind races as you wait rather impatiently for the others to arrive. Pacing the house over and over as thoughts of König and Ghost flood your mind. What had happened? Where did they go? How hadn’t you noticed them leaving or being taken? A fuzzy feeling begins to form all through your body as your panic grows exponentially. 

     Your hands tremble as tears begin flowing from your eyes. You’re overwhelmed by all of the thoughts and feelings that course through you. You couldn’t even be sure where they were or what they were doing. They could be perfectly fine somewhere in the city, taking time to work through whatever issues they had with each other. Something in the back of your mind told you that it was a fever dream though. You’re certain they would have told you if they were going somewhere.     After what feels like an eternity of pacing, you find yourself seated on the kitchen floor in the same place you’d eaten breakfast. You stare at your shaking hands as they rest your lap, contemplating what your next move will be now. Surely your higher-ups will want to continue this mission with or without König and Ghost, though you doubt most of the team will be so willing to move forward. Your breath comes in soft, labored pants as more fearful tears fall down your cheeks. 

     You allow yourself a moment to just feel, no thinking or planning, just feeling. Your head slowly falls back against the wall behind you. Dread, sadness and fear overwhelm your senses as you stare blankly at the old ceiling. You sit for a moment like this, taking in the sight of the cracks and cobwebs that litter the material overhead. It’s not until you take a deep, shaky breath that you notice the undeniable scent of fresh outside air invading the staleness of the interior of the decrepit house.

     Your brows furrow as confusion sets in at the oddity. Your head snaps to the side as your eyes find the lone kitchen window to your left. The window glows slightly with the light of the setting sun. The soft light gives you a small glimpse into what may have happened while you were resting earlier. You jump to your feet, swiftly moving the small distance between yourself and the window. You find that it’s cracked slightly, the small opening allowing fresh air to seep into the room. 

     Your eyes flit rapidly over the surface of the window and the things that surround the area, looking for anything that would prove your thoughts wrong. Sadly, all it does is further confirm your fears as your eyes land on a handprint that’s disturbed the dust on the window sill. The phantom shapes of fingers clearly pointing into the house, making your fears become more of a reality. Someone had come in through this window, how far they had made it was still unclear. What was becoming clear, however, was the fact that your men had most likely been taken by someone. 

     Your head spins as you think through all of the people who wanted to get their hands on 141. The possibilities are truly limitless, but your thoughts halt on a very specific woman and the people she worked with. Alice. Your team still had her in holding, trying to get as much information out of her as possible before turning her over for imprisonment. Perhaps her people had been watching 141 this whole time, waiting for a moment to take her back. Your head begins to spin again at the thought of all the things that could be happening to Ghost and König right now. You know the in’s and out’s of enemy capture and interrogation and none of it was pretty.

     Your mouth goes dry as you begin to sink to the floor, fearing for the lives of the two most important people in your life. Even through the heartache with Simon and the complications that each man had caused with your connection to the other, you still needed them both. You need them to be okay, to be safe and near you. Your whole being yearns for them to be right there with you, holding you and telling you everything would be fine, even if it was a lie.

(Don’t forget to ask about joining my tag-list: @josieguts @strangepuppynightmare @theredviolets @poohkie90 @giulia2372 @fillechatoyante @buckysjuicyplums @running-writing @darkravenqueen98)

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Sunshine pt. 2

Written: Nov 12 2019

Ray Merrimen x Black Female Reader

10 Years Ago

Ray kissed your neck. His hands drew your palms to his chest as he leaned into your shoulder. You lay upon him, resting your body against his warmth never the wiser of his intentions. He licked the skin there, his hands gliding up the hump of your ass over the smooth skin of your spine until he cupped your face.

“I love you.” His voice was light but muddled in tone. A morning husk that often reminded you of the first time you met him years ago. A younger Ray, a teenage asshole who ditched first period to sleep, only to drag his ass in at the end of third with sleep still in his eyes.

“Ray…” his name always tasted sweet in your mouth. You whispered his name again and it turned into a moan as he kissed you.

You slid down his long abdomen, rubbing the heat of your vee along his taut muscles. You are slick and willing but Ray squeezed your thighs forcing you to stop.

Smooth, his voice silkily rolled over his tongue as he spoke. “Sunshine.”

Though you noted the waxy, perturb tone in his baritone voice. It annoyed you a bit but you felt victorious when his head fell back to the pillow. Your hips rocked front to back over his length, his brown eyes focused on the stippled white ceiling in a haze of lust.

For a moment he laid like that, swept up in you and the heat of your thighs but as you began to grip his shaft Ray’s head rolled back to you while his hands fell to your shoulders stilling your motions.

“I have to go soon. There’s no time for this.” He said.

You kissed his clavicle and then you lightly kissed the warm skin of his pectoral. Ray’s body tensed. You began to lick over his stiff nipple with a wide stroke. “There’s always time for love,” you said softly. “You don’t have to go…” you said between licks.

You felt his hips grind up into you, the length of him brushes against your wet folds. The tip of his cock throbbed, the dull wanting aches shot up his shaft. If your body was the heavenly release, then the lead up was purgatory. He was standing at the pearly gates awaiting entry but there was no time to confess his sins.

It was too late. There was never enough time.

You pulled away from him. The setting gold sun blasted through the window and caught the ebony and crimson of your curls. Horny, ready to fuck as he was he couldn’t help but be reminded him of the little sun catchers on his grandmother’s front porch when he looked up at you. Soft fingers wiped over his cheek as you laid down light feathery kisses along the way.

“Hey, I gotta go.” Ray rasped and planted a kiss on your pouty lips.

Ray rolled you over with a tight grin thinning his lips. Naked, Ray stepped out of bed and began to dress quickly. You curled around a pillow, drawing your legs up close and wrapping your arms into it and wished that it was Ray.

“You don’t have to do this.” You whispered.

Ray glanced back at the bed. You were watching him with those big brown eyes. The sun was soaking into your brown skin and at the same time casting a heavenly halo around your coiled form. He paused, a few seconds considered your words. But it was dumb. Why stop now? You couldn’t understand.

“We don’t have enough. So if I don’t do this you can kiss that car good-bye, those clothes in your closet-“

“Alright.” You cut him off and sat up, your naked breast became exposed but Ray did his best to ignore the flashing extra skin.

“It’ll work out.” He grunted as he hiked his jeans up. His tone is reassuring but leaves little room for that guarantee in you. Crime wasn’t reliable. Sometimes you can get away with it. But most times it can come biting you in the ass again.

When Ray does not come home that night you worry. But it was normal. You always worried too much when he was out on a job. It was the way this worked. 9-to-5’s were not his type. So it was natural for things like this to happen, as thin and uncertain as they were, took time to complete.

But two days later the worry turned to horror.

You tried to make sense of what was happening. Your calls went unanswered, as did your pleas to the accomplices that tossed their burner phones when you came calling.

It wasn’t until the next week when the police crashed into your home. Knock-knock, and then a giant clash of plastic and kevlar and too many masked officers to count that came barreling into your apartment.

They took you in the night. Half-dressed, hair still wrapped and going on little to no sleep they held you in a cold bright cell.

You knew that this was part of the game. If he had ever been caught you swore to God you would never tell. And you didn’t. Even when they threatened to throw the book at you.

And you kept your promise afterward too. After his sentencing you drove one hundred miles to the prison he was housed. You walked in, beaming a comforting smile and holding your head high when you saw him. Being his brave girl. It was the first time to see him in three weeks.

But Ray stared at you from across the sticky metal table in the visitor section. His buzzed hair grown out a bit more, darkness under his eyes to match the plumb colored bruise on his cheek. Little emotion was expressed, he blinked, nodded to your words. Until you finally decided that you too would just sit in silence.

“I don’t want you to come back here.”

Your hands shook but your voice was steady as you softly spoke back. “Why? You can’t think I’m just going to leave you in here…”

“Don’t come back. You’re a loose end.” He clipped back.

“What?”

“You fucking heard me.” Ray’s voice was sharp, commanding.

“So we’re off?”

His voice was still ringing in your ears when he spoke again. “It was never on.” He said flatly.

“I lost my job-“

“Get out.” Ray stood up from the table, hands cuffed in front of his hips and stared down at you from his six-foot five-inch frame. “Don’t come back.”

And after that, you didn’t.

Now

St. Tropez. French Riviera in October. Tourists have all but vanished in the coastal town. You followed Ray’s instructions along the way leading to the sophisticated seaside village. Now you sat in a little bistro near the weekly market. You felt off about it. The Place de Lices buzzed with the hum of people and the smell of sweets, and breads offered there. Your eyes moved the crowds, sometimes lingering for too long on very tall men in hats. You hoped it was him.

You had wished for a week that when you stared at the back of a man more than six feet it was Ray.

And like a kick to the gut you realized that maybe you were wrong about Ray.

Again.

Maybe he had left you once again to figure out what came next.

So you ate a small dinner, drank too much wine and left the bistro heavier than you arrived. You swayed when you walked. Your hair hung in your face, strands of curls stuck to your cheeks, a bit of sweat beaded on your top lip as you struggled to see the path in front of you.

You decided to take the long way back to your little hotel. Might as well take in the sights for what they were. You decided with a hiccup. A dizzy train of thought sped through your mind that perhaps this shit with Ray was off.

Because it was never on, remember? You laughed at yourself as you walked. A tarry, rigid giggle bubbling up from the pit of whirling doubt and moderately priced wine. He had told you that once.

So why were you here?

Your head tilted back, panned your eyes up that darkening French sky as your body became wrapped in the pale yellow glow of lamps along the way. You took the lonely feeling growing in your heart. You could smell the water. The breeze on your skin felt like a comforting kiss from a man you couldn’t wrap your mind around.

And the wine, the damn alcohol was sitting on your stomach. The slosh of it was ignored but you loved the numbing effect inside and out.

You remembered the jail. The day Ray all but said he didn’t want you. There wasn’t much left of that memory. Only the smell of wet dog the jail had cultivated and the icy glare of his eyes when he told you to go.

Now, the only memory that came first when you thought of Ray was him laying on top of you. The two of you wrapped together in an embrace decades in the making that the only sound you could make when you thought of it was a sigh.

The stoic gestures of Ray had always been there, even from the beginning. But this Ray, your Ray, was different now. Somehow more quiet, and more adept at holding in plans meant for the far future that you questioned his actions in the present.

Like now. You hiccup again and then paused along a stone fence. Another wave of the alcohol-induced dizzies you stood there with your face to the sky.

It would have been better to be more on guard.

But you weren’t.

And you were snatched.

Ringing in your ears, a bang from your temple pulled you from a dreamless sleep.

The lack of clothing concerns you but not near enough to truly shock you. It had to be Ray. 

You shift around on the soft sheets until you lay flat against the bed. Your head rolled to the left, the right, it looks different than your hotel room. A decent room with sparse decorations, a pile of clothes on one of the chairs in the corner and a lingering smell of men’s cologne.

You think back to the bistro. You were drunk but not wasted.

A shadow. It had been a large shadow from near you along the fence and a prick to your neck had been the last thing you remembered.

The only door creaked, lazily swinging in the southern France breeze drew your eyes back to the right. Along the floor dark leafy shadows swayed over the stone flooring. They seemingly merged into a dark outline against the bright morning sun. It got bigger, swelling in size until the shadow overwhelmed the light.

Around the corner, you could hear heavy footsteps. Ray stepped in with only a pair of cargo shorts and sandals. Water dripped from his nose as his head swept in your direction.

“Good morning,” he said gravelly as he smiled.

“You drugged me.” You croaked and then hold your breath as he began to peel off his soaked shorts.

“Had to—you would fight back.” He chuckled and dropped his box briefs.

Your eyes fell to his cock, limp but quickly gaining girth but you looked back up to him. “Wouldn’t have to fight at all Ray if you would have shown up.”

Ray began to walk toward the bed. Slivers of sun caught the green in his brown eyes as they roamed from the sheet to your bare chest.

“I’m a wanted man.” He pressed his knee into the bed followed by the other. “I had to make sure you weren’t followed.”

You began to gather the sheet up but Ray grabbed it back and pulled hard on it as you scooted back further against the headrest. “You can’t be mad at that.“

Ray tugged again the white sheets slipped from your fingers. And when his lips touched yours any thoughts of the budding animosity was pushed away.

Maybe it wasn’t important. Perhaps now being in his arms was the apology you had been seeking for the last decade that led up to last night.

And when Ray’s tongue licked between your thighs, his thick fingers gripped your silky skin it was a promise. His palms, not as smooth as you remembered, roughly scrapped along your thighs you wondered how long this would last.

Ray lifted his head and stared into your eyes. He rose above you a slight grin plastered on his lips under the slick of you and spit he mumbled: "I’ve missed you.” and then kissed your lips, ducked his tongue inside your mouth.

He was inside you before another kiss. No warning to the power you knew he held there. He pushed harder driving his length deeper. Desperately you clung to him letting him take what was his.

Your Ray missed you.

He was close. His hardening cock, the fevered thrusts. Ray was lost in you.

You missed him too. You watched his hooded eyes stare into your mouth, his eyes fluttered with his final pump filling you with warmth.

You didn’t cum. But you got something else.

You had your Ray.

Ray falls to the sand.

You smiled hard down at him, you don’t suppress the laugh coming up. In a burst of giggles, you sit back down on the lounger holding your chest and stomach.  

He had tried to dig a hole. Not just any hole—THE hole. Little did he know that halfway through its construction he would abandon it only to fall into it hours later.

Ray looked up at you from the cool sand.

“I knew that was there.” He grinned and then got to his bare feet.

Amused, your eyes dance from the hole back to his sweaty face. “You’re an idiot.” You said still clutching your chest from the ache.

“I’m your idiot.” said Ray and sat on the lounger with you and pulled you into his arms.

Your head rested on his broad warm chest. The strong flutter of his heartbeat under your ear and an arm stretched across his waist made for a perfect feeling. 

You missed him too.

“Only because no one else would put up with your shit.” You chuckled back, settling into his heat.

“No.,” he said, his voice hummed in your ear over the sound of his heart.

“No, what?” you asked, tilted your head up toward him and the fading grin on his lips.

“No, I wouldn’t want anyone else,” said Ray wrapping both of his arms around you encasing you in his protective embrace. “There’s only you.”

He peered down at you over his cheek barely moving his head before he looked back at the white-tipped waves.

“Donnie wants to meet up.” He said softly, almost under his breath as an afterthought.

But you caught it, and the meaning, even if he did not express it. Donnie was the architect of the last job.

You sit up on your palm and look down at Ray. Your dark eyes burning holes into his passive expression only makes you slap at his chest.

“Don’t you have enough?” you asked. "God, I can’t believe this shit.” You sat up fully now and pulled out of his arms. “You have millions, millions! So god damn greedy, Ray. Why?”

“It’s full proof.” He said, still laying on the lounger his fingers crisscrossed over his chest. He didn’t move, barely even opened his lips as he spoke. “I’m not greedy. It’s for us. Imagi-“

“No!” you shouted, paced over the sand as it gritted between your toes. “This is –“ You turned back to him, still unmoving, and shook your finger at him. “This is for you. Always. You do this shit. The world doesn’t owe you, Ray. You can’t just steal what you want as if it doesn’t matter. Do you want them to catch up with you? To us? I can imagine that!”

You dragged yourself, dejectedly, away from Ray on the beach. You felt the sadness, the disrespect rising up from the pit of your stomach. And even when you returned to the room it hadn’t lessened. Instead, your eyes swept around to the messy bed, a pile of Ray’s clothes on the floor, and an empty bottle of wine taking in the mess he had left behind.

He was always leaving shit behind.

Even you.

“You’re right.”

You turned around to find Ray standing there. His expression still passive he stared at you, he ducked his hands into his cargo pockets and waited.

It concerned you he was so easily swayed. That was not the Ray you were used to dealing with. Not the man of the past who would have gleefully left you behind to follow his own path.

“I’m right about what?” you asked, crossed your arms over your chest and studied him.

“About that job. About me…I don’t want to be that anymore.” He said simply and took a long step near you. “You’re enough.”

You were impossible to look away from. Dark coils sweeping over your damp forehead, your brown eyes watching lovingly over the scene, a happy smile pulling your full lips over white teeth.

It was a dream. Ray decided this moment right here superseded all other moments. Not even the wedding, the birth of the second or even the third kid could compare to this moment.

You lifted your skirt, squatted down near the creation one of his sons had constructed. He was smart like you, reckless like his father and Ray stared as your hand moved the little door open and closed on the castle of wood and stone he had created.

The Alps stood, gray rock and snow-capped peaks, in majestic contrast against the vivid green pastors, and the wood homes billowing smoke from their well-worn chimneys.

The oldest and tallest of the bunch ran over pushed on the shoulders of the youngest son playfully. Fighting brothers, but best friends, he teased his younger brother before clapping him on the back.

You stood watching them. Hands on your wide hips you gazed at them tease each other, Ray was sure you were remembering their birth and imagining the kind of men they would grow to be. You loved to talk about it. Sometimes, in the dusk of sleep, you muttered to the air of how much they looked like him.

A girl, the youngest, about five years old bounded down the hill from the house and wrapped her arms around your waist.

Chestnut curls caught the wind, blew around her rounded chubby face as she turned to Ray.

She pushed off from you and ran toward Ray and into his arms where he willfully pulled her on to his lap. Her small hand wrapped around his four fingers, squinting she stared up at Ray stroked his smooth face before pinching his chin.

Ray tickled her, under the arms around the ribs sending her screaming in a fight of giggles back to her mother. Ray’s eyes followed and then landed back on you.

The little nick-name he used seemed fitting more than ever. The white alpine rays of the sun steadily cascaded under the horizon turned orange and yellow. Your skin absorbed the light, shined more beautiful than he had ever seen it. His sunshine.

You were enough.

[dykeishheart]

The Dragons Of Enura

New excerpt of Saints in the Desert!!!!!!!!!!!!! I actually fucking got there!!!!

It's like, 4500 words. Took me a hot fucking minute. Anyway, enjoy the chapter where I introduce dragons, aspects of Enuran culture, philosophy, and some light desert ecology (fantasy). Also there's a big fuckoff huge pile of dead bodies because like. War.

“Hold. Something stirs.”

Damian stood, the rumbling of the earth growing beneath him. Leander gripped his pike tight, white knuckled on the shaft. The rest of the men behind them stopped short, looking around to see nothing but sand. What remained of the Enuran town burned behind them as it had all night and into the morning. Fear of curses and magics unknown rattled through the men.

“Damian… I think we’ve upset something,” Leander said, his eyes forced closed to not see his lieutenant witness his fear.

“Dragon. They got ‘em out here in the desert, I heard so from my cousin. They live in the sand! Big as a galleon, they eat-”

“That’s enough, Bertholdt,” Damian snapped, cutting him off.

Leander started walking again, pacing hurriedly into the desert. Damian blinked, then followed after him. He heard armor and weapons clink and rattle behind him, hushed whispers passing amongst the men like barn flies as the troupe walked away from the morning sun. The rumble was getting closer, heavier, and more sustained.

A solitary tree stood in the dunes ahead. Damian knew not what kind. As the ground shook, so too did the dry and feathery boughs, needles dropping off snaking limbs. Leander stopped again, looking out at the tree. The ground was still for precious seconds, a stillness almost as concerning as the shaking earth before it, before the alien tree was swallowed into the ground below.

“What in the name of God…”

The earth erupted. Sand blasted the men and filled the skies, entire dunes obliterated into the wind. A thick haze of reflecting sun in clouds of dust blinded Damian to everything around him; he couldn’t open his eyes to the dust storm for more than a half a second lest the sand shred them open. Tears welled in his eyes. The power of the storm against his body felt as if the weight of the entire desert had crashed into him like a ship careening into rocks. Damian reached his arms out to find Leander crumpled on the ground ahead of him. He crawled over the top of Leander to shield him, however little good it would do now. Damian felt an eternity of sand settle on the two of them as they laid on the ground, breathing heavy, pained breaths of mortal terror.

It was all he could do to keep from seizing up and dying of shock, just holding onto Leander. He was right. The world felt as if it was ending in this sad little corner of the desert. A bed made for a curse, and he was lying right in it. As his eyes held shut against so much sand, his vision was nothing but fire. Fire as far as his mind could tread, as far as the horizon of his imagination, burning eternal behind a grinning madman.

The sand slowed, settling a mighty weight on Damian’s back. He could hear Leander struggling to breathe. He hurriedly pushed himself off of Leander, and carefully wiped his eyes. When he finally dared open them, Damian saw sand strewn about Leander’s face thick enough to almost entirely obscure it. Frantically he started brushing off as much of the stuff as he could until blessed breath was heard in Leander’s mouth. Leander coughed violently, a dry drowning just narrowly warded away.

“Dragon! I told you! It’s a fucking Dragon!”

Damian whipped his head around, scanning the horizon. He saw nothing. He looked back down at Leander, then hoisted him up by his shoulders.

Leander opened his eyes, shock mounting in them as the light dilated his pupils. He raised his hand to Damian’s cheek, touching him as if he wasn’t truly sure he was real.

“Lieutenant! Behind you! Get down!”

Damian’s head was swimming. His vision went black. Voices were calling to him but they were far away, just vibrations through water. His stomach turned. The smell. The pit was calling to him.

“Are you okay? Damian? Here,” the short priest said, forcing a gourd of water into his hands.

Damian stared at the man, dumbfounded. He had lost himself in memory. He blinked, then looked down at the gourd. It had been so long since he drank.

“You disgrace everything our glorious kingdom has fought for. To think you would take the charity of these savages. Do this and damnation far greater than you can imagine awaits your paltry spirit,” spat the king like so much venom.

“I… I cannot accept this of you. You will die where I will not. You have greater need,” said Damian, pushing the gourd back.

“My god, drink the water. We’re a short walk from the river and we have two more gourds full. If you hold still a gardener might eat you as you are, so please, eat and drink with us.”

Damian hesitated. He looked behind himself, but the king was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to the priest. He nodded to Damian, urging him to drink. Damian looked down at the yellow gourd in his hand and gently pried the stopper out.

“I understand your hesitation. We are not without fears of each other. I do not forgive you, but I do not wish to harm you. You may drink.”

“Speak for yourself,” said the younger man off to Damian’s side.

“Quiet, fishmonger.”

Damian looked back to the priest and considered his words. He wondered how many men in his army would’ve given a starving Enuran a scrap of food, even if they had enough to spare. He wondered how many would spare water for a thirsty countryman, even. He wondered if the gesture was one of kindness or fear. He took the gourd up to his mouth and drank, the flavor of the water greeting him in bittersweet homecoming.

The water was a bitter shock. His tongue absorbed much, dry as it was. He could feel the rush of it down his throat, the skin cracking on his lips anew as he drank. The weight of what he had denied himself became clear in the wet of his palate.

“Thank you. I am glad you have ceased this cruelty to yourself,” spoke the short priest.

Damian stopped drinking. The words turned in his mind. He looked to the priest. “What did you say?”

The priest smiled a world-weary smile. “Young men who wish to learn about the world often think to be either blind gluttons or martyred as ascetics. Both are paths of foolishness, as they are fosters of cruelty, either to others or oneself. You cannot gain wisdom through violence.”

“I killed thoughtlessly. I don’t think a man who does that should have an easy time of things.”

“You have a strange idea of what would constitute justice. I fear the man who made you saint of such things,” said the taller priest.

Damian looked at him, anger in his eyes. “In a just world I’d have died long ago. Murderers don’t deserve to live unpunished.”

“Aye, and your death would surely bring all your victims bounding back from the belly of death itself to live once more. Tell me how many innocent men you might have killed if only you were told they were murderers? And for what?”

Damian’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t even form a reply. He had already proven the man right. All that time ago, on the day he became a saint, he made the lie a reality. It had cost him his only love.

Damian looked down to the sand at his feet. “No. They will never come back.”

The priests exchanged looks. Damian could not know what they were thinking to each other, but whatever it was, they nodded to one another.

“Damian. We have come here today to witness a great tragedy in Enura, but also to work. Such things are always opportunities to bring life out of death, much as the gardeners do. Come with us. If you truly wish to receive penance, do so with learning rather than violence,” said the shorter of the priests.

“Mother, you cannot be serious,” protested the fisherman.

Mother? Damian looked at the young man, then back to the priest. He looked closer at the short little man, clothed as he was in loose robes to obscure form as much as protect from sun and sand. A decidedly mannish face greeted Damian’s eyes, and the voice Damian had heard matched this quite well. Damian’s confusion must have been obvious in his face; the priest examined him in kind with eyes that did not seem concerned with his understanding. It was a face that said not to ask whatever questions he had, but that would not answer them either way if the warning was unheeded.

“Will you come with us? There is much to be done,” spoke the taller of the priests. The shorter priest kept his eyes on Damian, looking for any reply.

Curiosity bested him, and Damian asked a question. “What does he mean by mother?”

“My son means to say I am his mother. It is an idea which needs no explanation, unless I have sorely misunderstood how Kelsyid children are raised.”

Damian’s suspicion was correct; the answer would not come. He looked down to the gourd in his hand and took a final swig of the bitter water. A soreness in his muscles crept in with a droning persistence, as if vitality was returning to him as laborious digging through his veins, an unpleasantness that was toned by the reminder of him still being alive in some regard. Damian’s stomach gnashed at the rest of his insides, squirming in search of anything to digest now that water had woken it from dormancy.

“I suppose I don’t have much choice. I will come with you, but I fear I’ll not be of much assistance unless you have a lot more water.”

The short priest smiled at him, her face wrinkling with delight. “I’m glad you’ve come around. Come, we go to the river. I hope you like fish.”

***

The river was near enough to the pit that it could still be smelled as if it were under Damian’s nose. After so many hours in its magnetism, Damian had come to regard the smell as a companion, bound were the two as flies and shit. Fish Damian did not recognize were sizzling in an iron pan; the fisherman had produced both when the four of them sat down by the river’s edge. The noonday sun was hot over-head and the sand was hot under-heel, and the smell of cooking fish was all but drowned in the quagmire of rotting bodies.

Damian surveyed the landscape near the river. Scrub brush was abundant here, far more than he had ever seen in the Wasting Sea. Gnarled and twisted trees with weeping, feathery boughs dotted the land, standing each as solitary moments of interrupted terrain. Damian had never seen trees of this nature back home. Trees back home were tall and thin, uniform to a degree, and bunched together, branching only at their tops to form dense canopies of needling green. To see trees so sparsely planted, twisted and knotted and ugly, was so alien as for him to wonder if they were even trees at all. Damian had heard from more traveled soldiers that Enurans don’t use lumber to construct their homes or to craft their weapons, but he had always wondered how that could be. If their wood was this crooked and misshapen, how could they use it?

Damian’s idle musing was cut short when the fisherman produced an oddly shaped knife with a bone handle in front of him, gesturing to take it. Damian looked up at the young man and saw a much softer expression than he’d come to expect from earlier in the day.

“Take this, and come with me. We’ve carving to do.”

The priests nodded and assumed supervision of the cooking fish. Damian stood and took the knife gingerly in his hand. It felt immediately intuitive to hold, comfortable between his thumb and palm in a way that suggested decades of use in exactly the manner he had held it. The bone was dry and cool, soft in a way Damian did not expect, and porous to the point that it seemed to drink the sweat of his palm. The blade was a hard iron, and Damian tested the sharpness of its edge by raking his thumbprint across it flatways so as not to cut himself. Its edge was marvelously maintained. The fisherman was dedicated to his craft, this much was clear.

“This is a beautiful tool. You must use it with pride,” Damian said to the young man.

“Indeed. It’s an inherited craft, as is the knife. My father was a smith. The bone was his father’s. If I’m lucky, I will give this to my child one day.”

“You did not become a smith like your father?”

“Do children follow their father’s work in your country?”

“Typically, yes. Apprentices aren’t realistic for common folk. My own father was a fisherman as you are, but I chose a life of soldiering after he died.”

“Hopefully you will put soldiering behind you, so your sons and daughters might be fishermen instead,” said the young man, wistfully.

Damian hadn’t even thought about the possibility of having children. Could he even do so?

The fisherman had started walking out toward the trees, and Damian followed him. When they arrived at the gnarled thing, the young man pulled a small axe out from somewhere underneath his robe, then set about the tree, examining it with a keen eye for some detail Damian couldn’t guess. He must have found what he was looking for, for after a few moments the young man began hacking at a bump in the wood. After a few decisive chops, the bump was pried loose and rolled into the young man’s hand with a bounty of sap in tow.

“Do you see these burls? They are places the tree has hurt before,” said the young man, sticky sap coating his fingers. He turned the burl over in his hands. “They are the hardest wood of the tree, most difficult to carve but they give us beautiful eproxa.”

“What is an eproxa?”

The young man began chopping a second burl on the tree as he spoke. “I do not know its translation in Kelsyid tongue, but they are ritual items. We use them to represent our dead in the festival of the gardeners. We carve them from wood here where the oldest of the white bean trees grow. I’ve heard other towns to the south of us just use stones because the white beans do not grow there,” explained the fisherman. He plopped the newly cut burl into Damian’s hand, sticky sap dripping off the thing.

“The closest word for us would be ‘effigy’ but we don’t typically make them to honor the dead so much as rally soldiers on the eve of battle. Our town did not celebrate it but I know of a place in Kelsys where an effigy of God’s disciple Rhea is built out of dried sticks on the week before soybean harvests and placed in the middle of the markets. Most Kelsyid effigies are built to burn the night before battle, and they typically depict the enemy.”

The fisherman considered his words. “Enurans do not build effigies as you describe. Eproxa are small things to hold close, but I suppose the two are both meant to inspire. If you must call it anything in your tongue, I would say it is a talisman. But eproxa is a word which is close to us, so I hope you can appreciate the difference.”

The young man sat down in his place beside the fire and ran his hands across the sand to clean off the sap. Damian followed suit, watching as the young man started carving into the burl in his hand with his own knife. The bone handled heirloom sat uneasy in Damian’s other hand, suddenly feeling as if he shouldn’t be holding such a thing.

The pan of fish had been removed from the flames earlier by the priests, and they now stuffed the fish with herbs of an unknown kind.

“It smells wonderful,” said the young fisherman, not looking up from his carving.

Damian watched as the short priest removed a folded animal skin from her leather bag on the ground. She unwrapped it and produced a flat bowl with a wide lid made of some kind of red pottery. It looked similar to the clay pottery Damian had seen from the towns of the northern coast in Kelsys, but different in a way he couldn’t place. Removing the lid, the priest took four thin flatbread circles from inside and set them across her lap. She placed a single stuffed fish in the center of the flatbread, then rolled the whole thing up in such a way that one end of the newly formed cylinder was closed in on itself. The priest handed the wrapped fish to Damian.

“It is a favorite of mine. Do me the honor of complimenting my cooking?”

Damian could finally smell the herbs more strongly now that the finished meal was so close to his nose. The scents reminded him of basil, but he didn’t recognize the leaves so it must’ve been a different plant. He laid the heirloom knife across his lap so that he could hold the wrapped fish with both hands. It had been weeks since Damian ate any food; his mouth ran wet as soon as he opened it to take a bite. To be truthful, he might’ve enjoyed eating wet clay after so long of nothing at all. His own estimation of flavor – skewed as it must’ve been – made little difference. The fish tasted incredible. He could taste an overpowering aroma from the herbs, bathed in the juices of the fish and the sheep’s milk butter which it had seared in. He’d never eaten anything like it. The flatbread was warm in his hands as he savored the first bite of food he’d had in his immortal lifetime. What a marvel to be welcomed back to his senses, to taste something that wasn’t sand and desolation.

He looked up to see an expectant look on the priest’s face as he forced his throat to remember how to swallow. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and all he could manage was a nod. Satisfied with his answer, she went about rolling the remaining fish so the four of them could eat together.

***

Damian took the wood burl in his hands. Lunch sat amiably in his belly, the first time anything had done so since his time with the Coyotes. He wondered how they would be faring. The fisherman sat next to him and held his partially carved burl in an instructive pose for Damian to copy.

“Envision the endpoint of the cut. Place your blade shallow and push, using your thumb to guide the blade gently to its home at the end of the cut. Force is not your friend here, only self-assured movement. If you use too much force the knife will twist under pressure or you will break your grip. The cut will be ugly and you might nick your other hand.”

“What am I creating with these cuts?”

The fisherman paused and thought to himself before answering. “I suppose you do not feel the same things we do about death. We create eproxa to please our dead, so usually their faces or their favorite items in living times. There are too many dead here and too few living to make appropriate eproxa for all of them before the gardeners arrive. Make whatever pleases your heart.”

Damian puzzled over what exactly he meant. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to please his heart anymore. The fisherman’s comment about death felt pointedly accusatory, but Damian couldn’t protest it. The young man was telling the truth.

“You keep mentioning these ‘gardeners’ but I don’t follow what you mean. Who are they?”

“If I am correct in my predictions, you will meet one tonight. When you do, be respectful,” said the fisherman with a certain finality about his voice.

Damian would have to get used to unsatisfactory answers, it seemed.

“I’ve yet to ask your name. What do you like to be called?”

“By you? Nothing. My mother may be more graceful, but I will not pretend not to hate you. I am teaching you these things because it pleases my mother, not because you have a right to know them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are not. You are ashamed.”

Damian could not form a reply. Anger heated his blood, but it quickly subsided. The young man spoke truthfully, but to acknowledge his assessment twisted the knife in the wound. He looked over to the priests, both of whom were carving their own eproxa, neither of whom acknowledged the conversation.

The ground began to shake. It shook in a way that Damian had hoped was only a dream. It shook with the waking of something terrible.

“We have less time than I had hoped, it seems. Come, Damian. Let us head closer to the bank,” said the taller priest, taking the shorter one’s hand to pull her up.

“We have to run! Are you crazy?” Damian dropped his wood burl, barely carved at all. He was frantic, sweat beading his brow.

“Damian, calm yourself. The ground shakes with life. You are in no danger,” spoke the shorter priest.

“No danger? It’s a fucking dragon! I’ve felt this before, right before I was nearly eaten by a monster!”

A mighty wallop met the side of Damian’s head, followed quickly by the hot desert sand. His vision spiraled with darkly spun webs. His stomach turned over and tied itself in knots from his concussed head and the shaking earth.

“Never disrespect my mother, and never disrespect the gardeners,” the young fisherman shouted, barely coherent through the thick clouds swirling in Damian’s head.

“You didn’t have to do that,” the tall priest chided.

“He had it coming.”

“Fuck. Okay, I’m sorry. God,” Damian groaned, holding his pounding head, “you could’ve just given me a warning.”

“You will not die,” said the fisherman, chuckling.

Damian couldn’t understand how the three were so calm. What on earth were gardeners? Were they the dragons? Did Enurans truly have mastery over these beasts? He looked up at the three, each seemingly unconcerned. How could this be their reaction to the same monster that buried his men in the sand and nearly ate them all that time ago? And why would they hold a festival for it?

The taller priest extended a hand for Damian to pull himself up, which he accepted. He winced as his head throbbed.

“You throw a hell of a punch.”

“I hit you with your sword pommel,” the fisherman said through a massive grin, holding up the sheathed blade.

Damian couldn’t even be angry. The man’s clear enjoyment of the moment was infectious. The circumstances were ridiculous to the point that Damian felt like laughing with the young man.

“Let us get out of the way. To the shore, quickly,” said the fisherman’s mother.

The four of them hurriedly walked to the river’s edge, Damian looking over his shoulders to try and see where the dragon would erupt. The rumbling had subsided for the moment, but that could change rather quickly from his experience.

“There! Behold, the gardener emerges!” The taller priest pointed beyond the fire; far off before the horizon sat a mound of sand and shrubbery, shifting with something below.

Damian froze as he absorbed the sight of it. Wings colossal stretched slow and stiff out of the earth, casting off mountains of debris in shrugging wakefulness. A head followed, black and speckled with orange, yawning maw bedecked in spilling sand. The behemoth shook its limbs, leaving the craterous hole of the earth to fill with its castoff bedding. It stood true to its myth, tall and wide as a galleon on the northern coast, its frame truly transcendent in scale. Damian felt a hand on his, pulling him downward, but his eyes were fastened tight on the monster before him.

“Damian, kneel before the great bird. Please do not dishonor yourself.” The hand pulled more insistently.

Damian couldn’t tear his eyes away. The towering wings of the beast slacked back down to the ground and splayed out as if a great lantern spilled its oil across the land. The creature shook itself off of the rest of its sandy blanket and the rest of its lingering sleep, then turned its massive head skyward. It opened its cavernous maw and opined a guttural howl, the kind that rattled bones, pierced eardrums, fractured daytime sky. Damian wondered momentarily if this was a howl to its kin, some kind of summons like the baying of a pack animal in the evening hours of the hunt, or if it simply howled to feel that it still could after waking from a tomb.

The dragon crept toward the corpse pit, its sluggish movement shaking the earth with each heavy step. It raised its leathery wings, creaking with newfound mobility, and beat them downward with torrential force. The desert erupted with sand once more as this great terror launched skyward, blowing debris far and wide in a brilliant plume. Damian stood in awe of this thunderous cloud, standing now outside of it to truly appreciate the sheer terror that had enveloped him those many months ago. To watch such a thing from a distance was beautiful in its own way, haunting as it was to experience from inside the cloud. The dragon descended, its flight ultimately akin to a leap for such a large creature despite being such an incredible distance. Its wings billowed upward to drag against the fall, letting the colossal lizard land with far more grace than it looked to possess at first blush. The innumerable corpses looked paltry to such a megalithic beast.

Memories danced a sonorous dance in Damian’s eyes. The mouth of a hungry abyss, so deep to create its own horizon in which to be enveloped. The lot of them spared the snapping jaws, wide-eyed and terrified, each man leaving alone – even as they walked together – after being changed by such twisting fear. He recognized this ghastly face, the pattern of orange and black under eyes so dark they swallowed the sun. This was the beast that Leander struck with his pike that fateful day. Damian was sure of it. He took shaky steps toward the dragon, knowing not what compelled him but knowing that he dared not falter.

[synonymroll648]

So far, the biggest takeaway Keefe had gotten from today was this: learning to ride a feathery dinosaur because it was a fun bonding opportunity between him, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend’s parents was all fine and dandy—unless his meds wore off. Then learning to ride Verdi became literal fucking hell. 

He was trying so hard to not let the war between him and his body show on his face. Trying so hard not to grip her neon green plumage too tightly. Trying so hard to keep making quips and keep smiling and keep snickering. 

Because this was supposed to be fun, and had been fun. Keefe hadn’t ever heard Edaline laugh this much before today, and even if it was because he went into wrangling Verdi with levels of overconfidence to make Icarus look humble and went crashing in a similar fashion to the long-dead human that probably wasn’t even real, making Edaline laugh was making Edaline laugh. And getting Grady to open up about how he’d somehow done worse than Keefe his first time riding a dinosaur was a bonus. 

Plus Sophie being around and being Sophie. That was always a big win. 

As well as, y’know, riding a literal T-Rex. Just around her enclosure, but, like, she basically had the same amount of land designated to her as a human farm. They weren’t exactly going in circles around a petting zoo. (Not that Keefe was 100% sure all his senses would be able to tell the difference in surroundings right now, but he was trying not to think about that.) 

He was just starting to relax his grip more and thinking he’d be able to dismount without clueing anyone into how looking at anything at all was giving him anxiety with a touch of motion sickness when Verdi stopped slowly limping alongside Edaline abruptly. And at first, Keefe thought it wasn’t a big deal that she’d frozen up randomly—and then all the Ruewens below shouted, “Verdi, no!” from varying distances to Keefe. 

Keefe’s thoughts snapped from Oh, her bad leg must need a break like Fitz’s does sometimes to OH SHIT. 

OH SHIT quickly evolved into OH FUCK I’M GONNA DIE when Verdi didn’t just sprint way faster than Keefe “Extremely Rookie Dino Rider” Sencen could handle, she jumped up in the air like she somehow knew what the human Olympics were and decided to participate in one of their jumping competitions. All Keefe could see was a trippy haze of Verdi green (if he weren’t on the verge of hurling, he’d probably say Verdi verde), sky blue, and white and yellow something. Multiple white and yellow somethings, moving rapidly. 

He had zero clue what those somethings were until they started squawking, and a memory of birds loitering outside Disneyland for food clicked their non-scientific species name into place: seagull. The somethings were seagulls. 

And Verdi, according to Grady, historically found seagulls to be delicious snacks. Still did, if the quick opening jaws was anything to go by. 

Keefe panicked, and blindly (hah) grabbed patches of feathers on what he was pretty sure was Verdi’s neck, and yanked. The rush of air billowing against his clothes and skin and poor, poor hair was already a lot, but it got significantly worse when Verdi threw her head back with a roar and writhed. One seagull smacked into her nose like it belonged in a cartoon, but didn’t catch on her teeth before flocking away. Verdi writhed violently in the air, probably as her wordless way of saying, Get the fuck off my back, you snack-stealing feather-snagging son of a bitch. 

Altruistic. That was the best word to describe what randomly pulling on a midair dinosaur in order to try to save a handful of birds that were a little too much like Keefe (always toeing the line between dumbassery and bravery). The attempt to save the seagulls? Successful. Satisfying, in the long run (hopefully), because it meant he didn’t have to have to live with the memory of dead creatures hanging from Verdi’s bloody jaws. 

Selfless, because it took Keefe’s sense of safety and broke it down from Not the best but not the worst to I can almost guarantee I’m gonna break my dignity and bones in the next minute. 

Keefe and Verdi were hurtling to the ground now, protesting sounds still snapping out of her jaws. Instinct had Keefe clinging tighter and screwing his eyes shut, because he was this close to hurling from all the movement his now-fragile system couldn’t handle. (So much for having only a touch of motion sickness.) He chanted “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” on repeat into Verdi’s skin and—

Grady shouted “Sophie!” in his My Child is in Danger voice, and Keefe’s at-this-point-useless-eyes snapped wide open. His neck dared to crane upward, gaze scanning for her, even though the speed of his fall only made things blurrier. 

In second or two, the fall stopped. Without impact. 

Verdi went from making noise to clearly trying to wriggle without much progress, and that’s when Keefe shakily sat up. Grady and Edaline’s concerned stares fixated somewhere that Keefe couldn’t see through Verdi’s head. Pointedly ignoring the nausea rolling around his insides like Lady Cadence’s blasted boat on Ravagog’s river, he leaned to the side until he could see what exactly they were looking at. 

That what, unsurprisingly, was Sophie Foster. But the surprising part was her holding her hands out and bracing her legs in a way that elves only did when they held up heavy objects with telekinesis. A crease between her eyebrows usually meant worry, but for once it was more so physical stress. 

Probably. 

Before Keefe went down a rabbit hole of debating whether or not that was an upgrade or downgrade from his girlfriend’s (girlfriend’s!) usual, he glanced down at the ground, and wow, okay. Depth perception hated him as much as the rest of the world. Including his retinas. Awesome. 

Keefe’s hands clung further into Verdi’s fur, in spite of that getting in the way of what he probably should be doing. “Should I—” he cleared his throat of its rasp and voice cracks, “Should I jump off?” 

“Please,” Sophie grunted. 

A quick breath later, Keefe released his hold on Verdi and slid off the side of her. He tried to time when to tuck into a roll to cushion his landing, but his feet hit the ground significantly sooner than he expected. A curse hissed out of his mouth at the pain shocking up the soles of his feet up to his shins before he could stop it. Or stop his ankle from rolling. He hopped up onto one foot to alleviate pressure, which worked for about a second tops before he lost balance in his carelessness and went gracelessly sprawling out onto the grass. 

Fantastic. Dirt and dew all over the side of him was sure to be an A+ fashion look. Totally. 

Keefe dully recognized the thud of Verdi’s weight gently hitting the ground. He closed his eyes. All the reasons to pretend his body wasn’t in the middle of a mutiny against all the things he wanted to do didn’t really matter to him at this point. Getting thrown around on a dinosaur was a good enough coverup excuse for what was really bugging him. His body laid still, but his head whirled like he’d decided to give being a living frisbee a spin—supremely stupid pun intended—not piss off Verdi. The sensation of it all was too much, too big inside his brain for the thought of I should make sure Sophie’s okay to stick around.

The dark of the backs of his eyelids was nice. His eyes could register that properly, at least. And gently skimming his fingers along the textures of the ground within finger’s reach was a nice distraction from lemonade-gone-wrong taste of his stomach acid begging to come up his throat. Voices bickered in the distance, but that was nothing new to Keefe Sencen. Tuning them out and wondering about ridiculous, unimportant things was a familiar solution. And a nice addition to his sad arsenal of distractions against the riot his insides were stirring up against him. 

His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter with the third possibility he’d dreamed up (They looked at my hair from a distance and wondered why a dinosaur was carrying something with a head of chips or crisps or something and wanted to check it out) when frantic footsteps started dashing his way. Muscles all across his body froze with the fear that it was Verdi on her way to clobber him. But just as he realized the weight and sound of them was far too light to be her, Sophie’s calls of, “Keefe! Keefe, are you okay? Keefe?” reached his ears. 

Well. So much for the main reason behind the crease between her eyebrows existing being physical exertion. (His eyes were still shut, but he could see it crystal clear in his mind’s eye. He’d bet precious human money on it being there if he opened his eyes and miraculously managed to see her properly.) Distress strained every word that came out of her mouth now. 

And he was the cause. 

On an intellectual level, he knew it wasn’t the same. Knew that freaking Sophie out from lying motionless on the ground after slipping off of Verdi’s back was different than telling her again and again that he couldn’t come home from being an undercover Neverseen agent when it wasn’t even worth it, in hindsight. But his emotions connected the dots between Cause: Me being ridiculous and Effect: Sophie stressing and ran as fast as when he stole his mom’s jewelry out of Candleshade to sell at a pawnshop to get by in London. 

Which is why in the end, it was guilt threatening to spread like a virus through his whole headspace that got Keefe to prop himself on one arm and raise his head to open his eyes. (He’ll never tell Sophie that, though. She’d worry more than she already had.) Blissful darkness gave way to two different trippy views of Sophie skidding to a stop in front of Keefe and nearly toppling over onto him in the process. 

If Keefe could actually tell what her expression looked like through both eyes, he’d probably feel the air punched out of his lungs at her concern for him. Thankfully, only one of them had a shot at doing that, and it was the one that had its vision all fuzzy from being pressed down into the dirt. 

So he couldn’t actually tell what her expression looked like, and it gave him enough semblance of stability to crack of a joke. “Awww, are you tripping over yourself because of me?” He winked, just to drive home the idea that he was perfectly fine. The idea in application to himself in this moment was a lie, but this was a comforting lie. Not about anything critically important, either. 

“Yes, because you looked like you were unconscious and that meant I needed to check on you ASAP,” Sophie huffed. “Do you have a concussion?” 

“No,” Keefe said too fast. He cringed at himself. That wasn’t a lie, but it was pretty close to giving away the things actually going haywire. 

Colored spots receded from the vision in his eye that was pressed up against the soil, and make out the frown twisting her pretty mouth downward. Don’t think about kissing her, Grady’s who knows how close by, DON’T THINK ABOUT KISSING HER—oh bloody hell, her hair looks so nice when she leans down like that and her curls sway like she’s straight out of a fairytale—

WHOA, whoa, soft hands was his last coherent thought for the next few seconds once she cradled his face. Keefe’s prediction of Sophie’s concern wiping him out was even more correct than he thought it would be, and not only did he forget how to breathe, he forgot to mask his feelings in his endeavor to decipher hers. Drown in hers. Drown in a bittersweet mix of anxiousness and affection and holy shit, was that awe? Worst vision known to elvinkind be damned, just this by itself was a big enough consolation prize for him to be okay with it all.

It got better when he realized her exhales puffed gently onto the lower half of his face. She tilted his head, and he went willingly. Went leaning into her palm, went lowering his lashes, went on hoping hoping hoping he was reading this right and she’d give him one of those oddly expert kisses that blanked his whole brain, considering her self-proclaimed “inexperience”. 

Sophie brushed her thumb across his cheek, and he made a soft noise as warmth trickled and tickled its way down his back. Thoughtfulness that wasn’t his swung into delight, and Sophie giggled. “Can my favorite oversized housecat look at me, please?” 

Indignation flung his bare minimum walls and masks back up, but her sentence had reached him from what felt like underwater, and Keefe talked before processing what it’d really meant. “Housecat? We’re outside!” 

Sophie’s giggles grew into loud laughter. “Fine, fine. My favorite oversized domestic cat, are your ears ringing?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m okay,”

“Do you have a headache?” 

“Uhhhh…” Keefe scrunched his eyes shut and focused on how his head felt. “My head’s not pounding,” he offers. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Keefe said, and then winced at how it sounded similar to when he told her no suspiciously fast. 

“What does it feels like instead, then?” 

Normal, he was supposed to say, but that’s too obvious of a lie. Sophie deserved honesty anyway. What was the honest answer? Hazy? Spinny? Pseudo-vertigo? Fuzzy? “Confusing,” he settled on. 

“Like you’re feeling confused, or your headspace feels somewhat out of your control, or…?” Keefe opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. “Hang on, you’ve gotta be uncomfortable, here, let’s just…” Sophie’s hands slid down and off his cheekbones and jaw and onto his torso, rolling him over. Then she wrapped her arms all the way around his ribs and heaved him up to her. Her chin knocked into the top of his head, and he grimaced. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, give me a second,” Keefe let her position him how she wanted, and oh, his head’s pillowed on her thigh, just above her knee. And one of her hands was soothing over where her chin hit him, and his remaining capability of thinking shriveled more with every pass-through of her nails combing against his scalp. 

This is a good way to go out, Keefe thought, just as Sophie asked, ”So why does your head feel confusing?” 

Keefe tensed. Which was worse: dooming his dignity or resigning himself to feeling like shit indefinitely, since it was anyone’s guess how long Sophie would stick by him in the face of physical illness?

“Okay. Bad question. Got it. How about this—is there anywhere else that’s not feeling so great?” 

“You’re making me think too much,” Keefe groaned. It came out a little too genuine, and Sophie’s face twisted with an apology. He rushed to cut her off this time. “Joking, joking. Uhhhhhh, ankle’s not super happy but it’ll be fine, my side caked in dirt is a little grumpy too but not as much, hands hurt a bit from using a death grip on Verdi—actually, my body’s just upset in general,” he laughed, and then quieted when she didn’t laugh with him.

“How can I help?” she asked earnestly, and dear mythical beings above, he wasn’t sure he’d make it out of this conversation alive. She was too sweet. How’d he get this lucky?

“Just being here helps,” he breathed. 

hey hey heyyyyy!! i have. 6 pages of the sokeefe gift fic that i'm scrapping (restarting the draft again, here's to hoping third time's the charm like it was with the qpr keefex fic). would you, mayhaps, want me to just. throw all 2.6k of this at you

Yes please do this

[sinfvldelight]

MATT BOMER’S FACE GIVES ME SO MUCH SEROTONIN

   (⊙﹏⊙✿) WHAT DO WITH SEROTONIN

[comatosebunny09]

Playing with Fire [ Pt. 2 ]

Genre: Angst, Romance, Modern AU, Smut

Warnings: Implied Sexy Time, Female Reader, Cheating, OOC Kyojuro, All the Feels, Word Vomit,

Soundtrack

Again, I do not condone cheating. Please enjoy and thank you so much for reading!

@lovecraving

—drawn from your slumber by a gentle buzzing at your wrist.

You reach through your weary haze to silence your smartwatch; it reads 05:56 in bold neon.

Shit.

You were out longer than intended, swept away by the currents of sleep and the afterglow of last night’s festivities. You attempt to peel yourself from the bed, but …

Well, you see…

Toned arms hold you in place, draped possessively about your waist. He stirs, having felt you jostle around. A muted groan leaves him; brings a smile to your lips. He tugs you ever closer, melding your back into his torrid chest; feathery hair tickling the crook of your neck. Glancing over your shoulder, you behold him, and you can’t even.

He’s bathed in dusky slivers of sunlight which seep in through the blinds. His features soft like cotton, mouth parted slightly as he breathes steadily against you. Hair sticks up every which way, wild like a fire tearing through the underbrush. He is much too cute this way. If not for the circumstances that brought you together, you would stay to admire his beauty. Remain in his arms until the sun sits proudly in the sky, but…

You don’t belong here with him in this bed.

In their bed.

Memories of last night push through your mind like film reels, reminding you of just how vile you are. Searing, furtive touches. Breathless kisses pressed into erogenous zones. You both mapped out the planes of each other’s bodies for hours, wishing to engrain your features into each other’s memories forever. How you missed the feeling of being wanted; being needed. Touched by him and only him, brought to the precipice repeatedly.

You bite your lip, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

You knew what you were getting into when you accepted his invitation. When you let the Vodka loosen your tongue, your inhibitions, and when you let it wrest your panties from your hips. He belongs to another, of that, you are certain. Why he let you slither into the tiny cracks of their relationship in the first place, you may never know. However, you must leave before you widen the fissures of his heart even more.

“Kyojuro,” you grouse, tapping his arm. He moves again, peeking at you through his untamed mess of hair with one eye.

“Mm?” he mutters into your shoulder.

“I have to go.”

“Hmm? Why, baby?”

Baby?

Fuck.

You ignore the wrenching of your gut, spurred by being called something so familiar, so intimate. Does he call her baby, too?

“Got to pick a new soldier up and help them get settled in.”

Something akin to a growl leaves his mouth, laced with exhaustion and desire. Nimble fingers curl into your jaw, angling your head back until he captures your gaze with his incandescent eyes. He encases your lips with his swollen ones, pilfering a soft whimper from you. Parts for just a moment, a hairsbreadth of space betwixt your mouths.

“Can’t you,” he begins,swooping in for another, noisy taste.   

“Stay…” Smack.

“Just a little while…” Kiss.

“Longer?” Smack.

You hum against his mouth; jump as rough fingers close around your nipple, plucking it to a hardened peak. How delicious it would be to stay and go another round.

No. No. You’ve already overstayed your welcome. Best to leave before you complicate things even further.

Biting down a moan, you tear yourself from his embrace, curling yourself into the edge of the bed. He looks at you inquisitively, anguish suddenly overtaking his countenance.

“Maybe some other time,” you exhale, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

How dare you try to be modest after what you did.

He mumbles an “okay,” after a beat of time passes, shoulders slumping in defeat. Rough knuckles graze your forearm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. This tenderness: you don’t deserve it.

Don’t deserve him.

However, you can’t help the slight quirk of your lips or the flutter of your heart at the words which leave his mouth next.

“Can I walk you to your car, then?”

—

You’re a disgusting woman.

That’s what you tell yourself as you wind him so easily around your finger.

The elevator doors slide shut, swathing you both in fluorescent lights and heady feelings. He wastes no time closing the distance, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Takes you into his arms with powerful hands sliding down to cup your supple ass. He kisses you, ravenous and desperate. Greedily soaks up your cattish mewls, pouring his own lovesickness into your mouth.

He wants this; wants you. That much is obvious. However—

You’re vile and disgusting and this is still so very wrong no matter what angle you try to look at it from. Yet, again, you make no move to stop him this time. Instead, you twine tiny fingers in his hair, slanting your mouth to deepen the kiss. He grunts, the sound decadent and viscous like chocolate syrup, and you honestly can’t get enough of it. He squeezes and fuses your loins together, his clothed dick prodding your moistening sex through the thin fabric of your jeans.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why won’t you stay again?

It isn’t until the elevator pings that your amorous spell is broken. You push away from each other, smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothes, your hair; looking about the lobby for familiar eyes. When you see no-one, he squeezes your ass again, escorting you out of the elevator.

You giggle, this moment all too familiar. Once upon a time, this was an everyday thing. Him grabbing onto you for purchase as you slid under the prying eyes of the world, letting everyone know that you belonged to him and only him. There is this sinking feeling in your stomach, pooling in the pit of your gut like molten lava. However, you’ll bask in this moment a little bit longer. Forget about him once you’re back at home, left to your own devices.

Kyojuro guides you to your car in the parking lot. Ushers you into the driver seat with a playful swat to your bum.

He hasn’t stopped smiling since you left his apartment, you note.

He leans over your opened door, ensnaring your lips in a lingering, tender kiss.

“Will I get to see you again?” he asks, the galaxy swimming in his irises. Grins with so many teeth and childlike mirth.

“Maybe,” you say, a smirk canting your lips. “No promises.”

“I’ll take it!”

You laugh bewitchingly as Kyojuro closes your door. Taps the hood of your car twice, eyes never leaving yours. You peel out of the parking lot, watching him fade into a fiery blur in your rearview mirror. You barely notice the hot tears pouring like rivulets down the sides of your face. The realization of what you have done and what you still want to do descends on you with its crushing weight.

You slide under a red light, producing your phone from your pocket. You shoot your best friend a text, hoping that she’s up at this hour. You need someone, anyone.

‘Sis,’ it reads, fat globs of tears blurring your vision.

‘Sis, I fucked up.’   

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[diejager]

Together, yet World's Apart

Cw: angst, fluff, implied smut, war, bad family relationships, hate towards refugees.

Note: not proofread, was simping for Nyx Ulric-

Wc: 2394

His touches were gentle, feathery soft as he ran his thumb over the curve of your lips, almost hesitant in fear of hurting you. Blue eyes peering down at you with pure adoration, lips curving into a content smile. His other hand came around the waist, tugging you towards his uniform-clad chest - a mark of who he worked for and who he was - fingers deftly massaging you over your own shirt. His character oozed of softness, light and adoring, it clashed with his gruff appearance, hair buzz-cut on both sides and locks braided in the traditional galahdian style, with his stubbled chin that tickled your cheek and neck whenever he would nuzzle into you. He was the softest lover you could ask for, protective and caring of you even if he was miles away fighting for a Niff-free kingdom.

"Nyx," you sighed, mouth moving to kiss his thumb with the loveliest face you could pull to show how much you missed and worried about him. "I missed you."

Nyx Ulric, the man you promised yourself to as he did to you, not yet married, but your hearts pounded for each other, wanting, needing only one another. He, a galahdian refugee that fled from Galahd after the Empire took over, and you, an Insomnian native, born and bred into nobility that had promised riches since childhood. A refugee turned glaive, truly something he should be proud of, along with his moniker of hero - he is - but it came with glares, hateful words that pointed at all refugees who sought peace in the crown city.

"A refugee?! Are you out of your mind, (Name)?!" your mother screeched, flinging her arm out to show how repulsed she was. "You're from the (L/n)! You shouldn't be with a dirty rat! I didn't raise you to have such low standards!"

You cried out in defence of Nyx, telling her all that he had shown you - what other men never showed you - he gave you his time, his heart, his love. Other men you met through your mom only cared for the fame and luxury your name gave, not you. You despised greedy men and women, heartless with eyes only for what they could get from nobility.

You lashed out at your mom with the same aggression she had, cursing her for calling Nyx derogative names, and slandering his selfless character.

"I don't care what you raised me with! I love him as he does with me, he likes me for me, not the money marrying me could give! Everyone you showed me were pigs!"

"How DARE you say that to me! I raised no daughter of mine like you!"

"You didn't raise me for shit, mother. Madeleine did! You didn't even see me at my graduation, you didn't care for me at all until I turned 18! So don't come at me with your 'I raised no daughter like you' bullshit!"

"I thought of you whenever I was out of battle, you're the face I wish of seeing, " he mumbled, smoothing his calloused thumb on your puckered lips before meeting them with his own.

They were dry from his time in war, thickened from exposure to all sorts of dangers. He kissed with desperation, a deep and hungry kiss filled with want. You reciprocated with the same vigour, nails digging into his leathery coat and pushed your chest closer to his warm body, standing on your toes to push back. Your nose bumped his as you pulled away to breathe, gasping for the few seconds he gave before searching for your lips once more. His fingers ran through your hair and pulled lightly, letting you breathe between heated kisses and tilted your head to deepen every kiss, his tongue running against yours as you lapped each other up.

Words were spoken between gasping and kissing, lost to the moment that hazed your minds, too occupied with your makeout. Pulling and pushing until your back met the wall of your shared apartment, Nyx laid his forehead on yours, both panting after minutes of senseless kissing. Heaving heavy breaths, you peered into each other's eyes, filled with an undying love.

"Fuck- I missed this- missed you," he closed his piercing blues with complete ease, nuzzling into your neck. "Missed you so, so much."

You could smell him the musk and sweat that rolled off him in waves made you melt within his hold, his stubble familiarly scratching your naked skin.

You stormed into your father's office, frown twisting into a scowl as his bored expression greeted you. Your loud and overdramatic entrance left a boom echoing through the halls of your house, you left them open, you didn't bother keeping this conversation a secret.

"You told Nyx to stop seeing me," your tone was deathly quiet - the calm before the storm. "How could you? Isn't keeping me here enough for you?"

He hadn't stopped his work, he prioritized his work over family - he always did without a single hesitation - it was naive of you to think that he would let you do as you pleased.

"I did as I saw fit, (Name). For you and your future," his reply was curt, short and inexpensive as he was with you and every one of your siblings.

Most of you had grown to despise your parents, growing to cherish your refugee nannies like a child loving their parents. Most of you had grown distant and rejected the idea of being a normal family, you knew you did.

"For me? HA! don't make me laugh, father. All you did was for your own good," you spat, still standing near the open entrance, feeling the worried stares you got from the workers.

"Be respectful when you talk to your father, girl. I did it because I know what's good for you and what is not. Am I understood?" he didn't look at you once, from start to bottom, his eyes never met your face.

Your blood boiled inside your veins, and a snarky remark almost slipped from your tongue at that moment, but you knew rage would be wasted on your dad, calm and thought-through words would shake him from his stoic stupor.

"Respect is earned, not given, father."

You saw him stop whatever he was doing, millimetres away from the paper.

"You have done nothing to earn such high regard from us, your children, in all our lives."

His hand shook, pen creaking under the pressure placed on it. He was trying to hold back his rage beneath his cold facade, and you wouldn't let him, you would shake him to his core before you left this household for good.

"Our nannies, all refugees, have earned more respect from us than you and mother. It would be wise to rethink your ways if you ever wish to have an ounce of respect from me."

His expensive pen broke, splintering in pieces as he slammed his hands over the desk's surface, abruptly standing up. His (e/c) burned with wrath, glaring at you through his lashes. You almost chuckled at his face. You turned and walked off, ignoring his angry shouts with a smirk. Workers bowed and showed their admiration for your actions through their small smiles, careful to hide it from your screaming father.

You hid your face further into his jacket, closing your eyes to have a clearer smell of him. You could feel and smell him, nothing was holding you back from touching him, from smiling at him, from kissing him and from loving him.

"Just the two of us here, "he hushed, walking backwards until his feet met the sofa and fell back into the soft cushions. "Together, nothing else matters."

You hummed, curling into him with the intent of sticking to him for the rest of the day. You gazed up, fingers carding through his long locks with swollen lips perked in a smile.

"Just us, Nyx."

Those words had sealed the deal. You embraced him that evening until the sun gave place to the moon, his warm touch lighting fires across your skin, tracing lines written in his confession of love to you with his lips and hands. He went over your face, down your neck and shoulders until they wrapped your hips and finally your thighs. Clothes strewn messily around the bed during the heated exchange, mind numb to all outside your apartment.

The night was young by the time you laid still, legs hooked under the covers and arms around each other. Hushed words were shared in the tired daze, memories uttered that made you laugh and the reassuring scratch of Nyx's stubble. His tone chest, littered with scars felt soft beneath the pads of your fingers, tracing the tattoos that painted his cheek, neck, arms, back and fingers, none were left unattended by you.

"You have a new scar, Nyx," you peppered his shoulder with a kiss, over the new mark. "When?"

"An accident, but if it means getting kisses from you, I might have to rethink my strategy," he laughed, pressing his nose to your hairline. "Months ago. Six, it sounds so long ago. Reminds me that I've been gone for half a year, missed you, huh?"

"I'm flattered, but I prefer having you return to me in one piece," you couldn't help but smirk at his little joke.

Nyx snickered, hearts filled with enough love to drown the world in it. You were all he could ask for, having you made him the happiest man alive.

He had his back turned to you, shoulders down and head lowered in submission, defeat painted his face with a frown. He wouldn't listen to you, he couldn't bring himself to do this to you. What if something happened to him during one of his expeditions, if he died, you'd probably get the news months after, whenever the glaive returned to Insomnia. He could see how heartbroken you'd be, crying with snot and red, puffy eyes - you would still be pretty to him even if you had snot everywhere. He couldn't face you with the knowledge that you needed someone who could care for you at all times, to be able to care for you without having to leave for weeks on end without any news, to be able to build a family with you and help you nurture your children. You needed someone who wasn't him . It broke him in pieces knowing how much you deserved and how much he couldn't be able to give you.

"Nyx... is this- is this about what father told you?"

His silence only affirmed your fears. You knew him as strong and selfless, always putting others before himself - in this instance, your future over his heart - he could be brave and powerful, but people often forget that he was but a man. He would let his insecurities take the best of him, made him distance himself from those he cared for and ignore his needs.

You reached out to him, palm flat against his back. You urged him to face you, he complied with the slight tilt of his head. How painful it was to look at him. His blue eyes - the ones you loved staring at for hours upon hours without getting sick of it - shone with unshed tears, darkened with sadness that showed you just how mu h he put you before himself.

"Nyx, I don't care what he says. You make me feel whole, you feel like home," you confessed, tears brimming from your eyes, ready to fall from your lashes like dripping rain. "My place is by your side, nowhere else. 'You're mine as I am yours', isn't that what we used to tell ourselves?"

"(Name), I- us, glaives, could die any day, and you'd never know how or have a body to bury. I can't imagine giving you this pain, you need someone who's always here, not me-"

"I don't need a goddamn leech, Nyx! I need you! You're all I've ever wanted and all that I want."

You grasped his arm, forcing Nyx to face you. You saw how his hands were clenched, his visage contorted in pain, sadness and want, a devastated state of a great man. Your hands felt his cheeks, rubbing the tattoo under his right eye with tearful words. You didn't want him to push you away because he feared you'd cry or be heartbroken from his passing - you would, naturally - you trusted him far too much to think he'd curve over and die from the Niffs. You had confidence that he would always return to you, either wounded or sick, he'll always be back where you needed him to be.

"Do you have no faith in yourself, hero? You're the Nyx Ulric! The one all glaives, refugees and I look up to. I don't care if you're rarely home or can't build a family with me, none of those matter. What does, is you. You, Nyx Ulric, are the one I am ready to die for," you mumbled, lips inches from his frowning mouth.

He gulped, lips twitching slightly as his breath hitched, it looked like he would cry. You pecked him, trailing from his lips to his eyes, kissing his pain away like he would do to you. It seemed to work, his arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you as close as he could without hurting you. His trembling lips pressed hastily on yours, a messy and urgent kiss that led his tear to fall; finally, the facade of a hero fell and his weakness as a man surfaced. You'd take care of him, and you'd share the pain and sorrow like lovers do.

You cried with him, hands grasping his back and face, pulling him in with the intent of never letting go of the man you gave your heart to. He didn't complain, only succumbing to the torrent of emotions between you two.

"Don't ever leave me, Nyx," you wailed, fingers intertwining with his, nose and forehead pressed together to gaze into your eyes.

"Never, I promise."

"I know you'll always come back to me."

"And I know you'll always be here waiting for me."