#and ground that into dust by leading every single lap

[landonor]

that flat orange line at the top is extremely hot

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 2. Rules

Masterlist

Summary: Simon lays the ground rules and shows you around the house.

Warnings: Simon's email etiquette, very mild cursing, beginnings of obsessive behavior.

Sure enough, Simon had emailed you by Tuesday afternoon. You noticed how... unprofessional it was. Not that he had been rude or obscene, but it was obviously written by someone who never had to write many emails for his career.

here is riley's routine. she likes walks, usually 3 or 4 a day. she eats one scoop in the morning and one at night. she doesn't finish her food all at once, but she'll come back to it. if you're gonna give her more cookies, just two per day. fill water every morning. around the house, if you could just dust and clean up any dog hair, that would be great. let me know if meeting me tomorrow at 0900 for the key works. I ship out thursday. thanks.

Simon.

You chewed your thumb nail, reclining on your couch with a confused expression. Was he irritated with you for some reason? He didn't show it at the interview if he did have any hostile feelings... you reminded yourself that he was a rather gruff man, and maybe that just bled into his written words, too. You rolled your shoulders and started working out your reply.

Hello Simon! Tomorrow works perfect for me, I'll be there by 9 am!

Does Riley have any favorite places she likes to go? Any particular spots or trails she enjoys? Also, are there any rules you have for her, like being on the couch? Is she ok going to the dog park? Lastly, does she take any medications I should be aware of?

See you soon!

You sent the message, sighing and dropping your head back against the arm of the sofa. You were honestly thankful that you'd gotten the job, even if Simon was a rather stiff client. You finally quit your shitty job, and while you did still have babysitting your niece and nephew, you never charged for that - the only time you were "paid" for it was when you took them out somewhere fun, and your sister forced you to accept money for the admission fee.

So this gig fell into your lap at the perfect time. And the fact that you had beat every other person Simon had interviewed made your ego soar. It wouldn't be a bad idea to make a career out of this, you thought.

Your phone dinged - you held it above your face, and saw that Simon had already responded. You sat upright and opened the email.

she only takes aspirin when her leg flares up. no more than twice a day. no favorite trails, we just go around the block a few times. she can sit on the couch, my bed too, but she'll need help getting up. no human food is the only other rule. never took her to a dog park, but if you really want to, that's fine. she's good with other dogs.

Simon.

You frowned. Walking the same block every day, multiple times each day, sounded awful. It wasn't even close to animal neglect, but you couldn't imagine walking the same route every single time. If it didn't drive Riley insane, it certainly would for you.

You read back over the email, your eyes lingering on "if her legs flare up." Simon had never discussed Riley having arthritis with you - and you sincerely hoped that was the reason she had leg pain, and nothing else. You made a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow as you began to write your reply.

Understood. Thanks again!

"Here's the basement." Simon said, leading you down the stairs and into a dullish room. It had a cheaply-manufactured desk, what appeared to be a dining chair (not matching the dining set upstairs), a stuffed bookshelf, and some cardboard boxes filled with paper. A fan stood in the far corner, and next to it was the washing room. Much like what he had shown you of the rest of the house, it was bland and drab.

You looked around, letting out a polite noise of approval. Truth be told, Simon's life seemed awfully boring to you. Your mother had always told you that military men were always overly practical, in more than just home decor. They never cared much for the environment around them, as long as there was no mold, or anything similar. But you had never expected it to be so brutally true.

You knew he had a life outside of his home - from the way he described it, he was usually deployed more often than he was in his own home country. But you wondered - what did he do for fun, besides watch the telly? Did he have friends, and were they all like him? Any hobbies?

"If for whatever reason y' need to clean up a stain, you can find solution in there." He said, pointing to the washer room. "Other than that, nothin' much to see down 'ere."

You followed him as he trudged back up the stairs. Riley was sat upright on the floor, watching you and Simon move about the house with an observant expression.

"The only other things I'll ask you to do is hoover n' dust when it looks like it needs it." He said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "There really isn't much else t' do; of course, if you do see anything that needs fixin' you can always text me." He rolled his head from side to side, wincing as he worked out a crick in his neck. "Might not answer immediately, but I'll see it."

You nodded, standing in the walkway of the kitchen. Even with him leaning against the counter, muscles hidden under his sweatshirt, he was huge. For a brief moment, you imagined what he looked like on the field, dressed in his uniform and holding a gun - but you quickly shooed the thought from your mind before it had the chance to latch on and fester. "Gotcha. And just so I know, do you let Riley sleep with you?"

Simon paused in confusion before he responded. "Come again?"

"Like- you know, if I crash on the couch, is she allowed up with me?" You said, shifting your weight. You couldn't quite tell if Simon was irked by your question, or if he was genuinely confused.

He paused again. "Uh, yea, that's fine. If y' don't mind waking up covered in 'er slobber."

You laughed. "Nah, I'm used to it. A little drool never bothered me. Although, if I do need to wash up, am I alright to use the shower? Or would you rather I use my own back at my flat?"

Suddenly, it clicked in Simon's head. You were planning on sleeping at his house.

He had assumed you would just stop by for walks and meals - he didn't expect you to actually live here while he was gone, and he wasn't sure how it made him feel. He'd never had anyone else spend the night. Hell, no one ever visited, besides the rare occasions of the rest of the 141 stopping by. Even then, they never stayed for longer than a conversation or two.

But, once he took a second to think about it, he realized it might be better if you did stay - at least, while he was on missions. Riley would be bored out of her mind if she was alone that long, especially after spending the past several weeks with Simon constantly there. It would be good for someone to be there when he wasn't, and you seemed like you would be the best person for that, of course.

"Sure, 's fine." He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just don't touch my shit in there."

"Don't worry about that..." You said quietly, "catch me dead and cold before I touch a 3-in-1 anything."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was refreshing that you could handle his gruffness - most people treated him like a landmine, never wanting to say the wrong thing and set him off. You seemed to have taken life by the horns, like you weren't afraid to bite back at someone. He wondered if that was all for show, or if you really would snap back if he was to test you...

He pushed himself off the counter and reached into the drawer behind him, pulling out a spare key. He walked over to you and held it out. You were just about to take it, when he suddenly yanked it back.

You faltered. "Sorry...?"

"You lose this key..." Simon began lowly, "n' I'll frame you for murder. Understood?"

You gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He didn't really mean that... did he? You waited for him to laugh and say he was just joking... but he never did. His eyes bored into yours so intensely, making you shiver, as he waited for you to answer.

"Y-yes, sir. Understood." You said, voice wavering a bit.

He grunted in satisfaction, then handed you the key. You let out the breath you had been holding, then cautiously took the key, before immediately attaching it to your lanyard. You didn't want to take any chances at losing it - not after Simon's threat. You took a deep breath and smiled at him, trying to dust the exchange off of your shoulders.

"You can come 'round tomorrow after o' nine hundred, I'll be out by then." He said, turning sideways to moce past you and heading towards the door. You followed behind and rubbed Riley's head when you passed her; she let out a contented sound.

"Feel free t' use the kitchen if you'll be stayin' overnight." He opened the door for you and leaned against it.

"Will do, thank you!" You chirped, hovering on the landing outside of his house, right were you were two days ago. "Thank you for showing me around - good luck on your- mission- deployment, thingamajig!"

He huffed. "Promise I will, luv."

Your spine tingled in response to his comment. Get it together, don't get your knickers in a twist over a client. You thought. You straightened your posture and cleared your throat.

"Well, see you around!" You said with a smile, then hopped down the steps to your car.

Simon waved, taking a moment to watch you pull out of his driveway. He shut the door and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

He was an observant man - he had to be, with his occupation. Your reaction to being called "luv" didn't fly over his head. And it's not like Simon didn't know the effect he had on women... he knew how he looked, how he presented himself, and he saw the reactions it got him.

But with you, something felt different. He saw your reaction, and a part of him wanted to chase after it. To see what you would do if he continued to apply pressure to your weak spots. Would you blush? Would you call him out? Would you drop the gig altogether?

He thought about how easily the word "sir" had rolled off of your tongue. He thought about how you would look, all tuckered out on his couch, donned in whatever pajamas you decided to wear, your face peaceful and expression soft as you slept - he imagined you in his shower, the room filled with warm steam and the scent of your shampoo, water hitting your skin as you-

Riley barked, making Simon jolt where he stood. She stared at him, ears turned to the side as she whined. She could always tell when he began to dissociate, and knew just as much as he did that it wasn't a good sign.

Simon sighed, running a hand down his face. "Get it together, fuckin' creep." He muttered to himself. "I need a bloody hobby, f' Christ's sake..."

He blamed it on the upcoming mission. He would typically stress about it beforehand, and if there was anything else that could occupy his mind, he would fixate on it. Right now, unfortunately, you were the victim. But he buried it deep down into his subconscious - it wasn't fair to you.

He pushed himself off of the door and headed towards the washroom, adjusting his crotch as he went. He figured he should at least tidy it up a bit, since you would be using it. The only other people who had been in there were Johnny and Captain Price, and of course, they never cared if there were trimmers on the counter, or if the mirror had splotches from toothpaste residue.

Hopefully, he'd forget all about you - at least, while he was on the mission.

Next ->

Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae

[bigwishes]

A Night at The Club

[Trade for: @bribri66]

It was a Friday night and Frank had just gotten off late from work and was driving down mainstreet out of the city. He saw a bright glowing neon sign coming up right before his turn. He'd never remembered it being there and he drove this way home every single night. The sign shone brightly "Men's Milk Bar" written in bright pink letters with the neon shape of a man in a cowboy hat under it.

Frank was slowly approaching the turn off to get on the road to go home or to turn into the car park of the new gay bar that had seemingly popped up in the middle of the day. Frank flicked his indicator on and turned off into the carpark of the gay bar almost without even realising.

Frank got out of his car and walked towards the building, he could hear the music pounding outside and could almost feel it through the ground as he got close, lights shined out of the windows and pinks and greens flashed around inside. Frank walked up to the front and saw an enormous muscular man blocking the door and next to him a long line of men. The giant man turned to Frank,

"What do you want Jelly Man?"

The bouncer laughed at Frank as he pocked his large fat stomach and dusted crumbs off his flannelette shirt.

Frank stared blankly at the door and the bouncer chuckled

"sure buddy, don't get lost in there"

The bouncer opened the door and a roar of moans erupted from the lines as Frank cut straight through. Light shot out of the open doors and the heavy thumping of music spilled out onto the streets and called Frank inside like a siren song. The large grizzled man clumsily stumbled inside almost like he was drunk.

Immediately walking through the door Frank was saw two dancers standing before him.

the two men were built like bulls and flaunted it with every movement they made. The both of them approached Frank.

"Well hi big boy" the first said rubbing Frank's shoulders

"We don't get many guys like you in here" the second said patting Frank's fat belly

Frank blushed embarrassed trying to get the words out as the two dancers paraded themselves around him and rubbed up against him. Frank became more and more flustered as the two ripped men toyed and teased with him, slight comments about his guy, his hairy face, his stained and worn out work clothes. Frank wanted to react to being borderline bullied but he couldn't focus as he felt his dick desperately try to uncurl against the tightness of his jeans.

"I don't think our friend hear likes how loud it is Georgie"

"I think you're right Joey"

The two dancers smiled at each other as they ran their hands down Frank's arms, taking his hands in theirs. The two lead Frank through the crowds of men dancing to the music to a large pink stained glass heart shaped door. There was a small neon sign above it the read "Love Factory". The sign pulsed like a heart beat. The two dancers opened the doors and took Frank inside. As the doors closed the music almost completely shut out like the room was sound proof.

Frank walked over to a heart shaped bar stool and sat down, it squeaked and moaned clearly not built for a man of his size.

Georgie walked over to Frank and leant his arms against his lap making the chair squeak even more. Frank's face turned a deep red as he was eye to eye with the almost naked man leaning on him.

"I know you wanna be with us big guy" said Georgie poking his tongue in his cheek

"and I know you wanna be like us big guy" Joey smirked as he pulled something out of a small fridge tucked in the corner.

"Should we Joey?"

"I think we should Georgie"

The two devilishly smiled at one another as Joey placed a glass pint full of ice cold strawberry milk in Frank's hands

"All you need to do big guy is have a drink"

"and we're all yours"

Frank looked down at the milk, slowly brining it up to his lips, his gaze meeting the two dancers as he started to drink. It tasted like strawberries mixed with something with a slight spicy tang, like paprika. It fizzed and bubbled in his mouth and in his throat.

The two dancers began rubbing themselves against Frank, gentle touches slowly turning into groping and kissing. Frank couldn't focus on anything, he tried his best to entertain the the advances of the two dancers but there was only so much of him to go around, and he couldn't focus as there was a strange feeling in his stomach and an terrible itching spreading across his body.

Frank desperately tried to keep up with the two men whilst taking breaks to scratch and itch. He tried to ease the annoyance but whenever to began to itch his face or under his shirt the dancers quickly distracted him pulling his hands away, but every now and again, when he got the chance he felt different. The deep black hair on his face and across his body was getting light and lighter, thinning up, the chunky weight and layer of fat on his gut, chest and arms started to feel tighter and tighter. Even his raspy voice sounded slightly lighter as he moaned.

A few moments later and Frank began to feel dizzy, the tang and bubbling that took place in his throat and mouth had made its way to his brain, it felt like tiny fireworks were going off in his head. Frank slumped slightly on the stool as his dirty flannel work shirt slipped off his arms and back onto the floor. Frank tied to speak but instead of words coming out his mouth simply fell open and bubbly giggles came out instead.

Georgie was standing in front of Frank holding his wallet.

"Looks like his name was Frank, Joey"

"Hmmm he doesn't look like a Frank now"

Frank mindlessly rubbed his face which now felt baby smooth

"What about Frankie?" asked Georgie

"Oh I like that, what do you think Frankie" Joey asked the man formerly known as Frank

He just sat there slack jawed struggling to comprehend what was going on. His hands, once leathery and thick now smooth and strong found their ways creeping up his naked torso, rubbing his new abs and grabbing his pecs as he moaned.

"I think he likes it"

Frankie just sat there admiring his new body and worshipping himself.

-------

A few days had gone by and nobody had seen Frank, a missing persons report was called it but it mysteriously got marked as solved when two cops came into the club and got a free hour alone with the new hottest dancer.

Frank, the big chubby lazy officer worker was gone,

But lucky Frankie, the horny himbo slut was there to fill his place...

[hitlikehammers]

whole wide world

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, rockstar!Eddie, teacher! Steve, gooey-clingy-heart-eyes Eddie needs his Stevie ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, amateur musicals, steve needs to stop using a ladder unsupervised because nothing bad happened this time but eddie is concerned that is the love of his life, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day thirteen: Love is showing up when someone doesn’t ask ❤️ (@steddieas-shegoes)

look who's back, just like every other day, it's the rockstar husbands from je ne regrette rien being their codependent, desperately-in-love selves again! ♥️

“Goddamnit,” Steve curses the staple gun, the dry-rotted wood he’s trying to use it on, the acrylic-covered tarp masquerading as a backdrop leaving little crackle-dust everywhere every single time it fucking falls because the wood’s shit, the staples are shit, his co-advisor’s kid’s sick with the flu, the kids are in the band room rehearsing the opening number and Steve really cannot fucking believe he got roped into this to begin with, actually, like, how the fuck did the middle school guidance-counselor-slash-study-hall-monitor get conned into helping with the high school drama club, just because one of his JV soccer players landed the lead and bemoaned loudly enough during laps how they didn’t know if they’d be able to make the performance even work, because the choir teacher’s on maternity leave and the band director’s kind of a dick, and the needed more help—

Steve only is even in the high school for the goddamn athletics office. For, y’know, the equipments for the athletes.

Yet: here he is. Standing on a rusty fucking ladder that probably needs a spotter, to be honest, and if Steve’s admitting that then yeah, it definitely needs someone holding the goddamn thing, but here he is, already two hours after the final bell, trying to stick a painting of mattressesin a stack that only vaguely looks like mattresses so thank god that’s in the show title—

The ladder wobbles a little when he tries to catch the tarp-thing again but he can’t reach far enough without risking a long way down to a very hard stage floor, so the backdrop’s sacrificed back to the ground—a-fucking-gain—as he shifts his weight to steady the steps and it’s a close thing, he’s about ninety-seven percent sure he’s aimed the teetering feet of it back to solid ground okay but he glances around quick just in case, tries to figure if there’s anything he can grab for and let the ladder go on its own if need-be, and—

“That’s fucking dangerous, big boy,” a deep, and deeply unexpected, voice trails up from the floor, clipped with stress, with fear because Steve fucking knows that voice, and the ladder’s suddenly fully steady so he can turn and look and—

“Gonna give me a goddamn stroke or something, finding you up on one of these all by your lonesome,” Eddie’s staring up at him, and the words could be teasing, and Steve thinks maybe they intend to be, but: those eyes are too big. There’s a pulse Steve can count in that throat, even from seven-feet-up.

So he does what any man in love with his husband would do in the face of said-husband in fear, and for him: Steve climbs down careful, but quick, with Eddie’s hands scrambling to make sure of the ‘careful’ part as soon as he can reach, and then he turns, and then he lands on solid ground again to pull Eddie in and thank every colleague of his he’d been cursing in his mind for leaving him alone to do all this shit, because alone is the reason he gets to kiss his lover hard, and full; wrap around him and let him squeeze Steve to the point where it aches, where it creaks in his bones, like proof.

Lets Eddie attach his lips to suck a bruise, possessive and needy and protective all at once along his throat, and yeah:

Exactly like proof.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks when they pull apart just the slightest bit, because he wasn’t expecting Eddie to be home until probably close-on to midnight, let alone at the school well before five.

“Thought you could maybe use an extra set of hands,” Eddie shrugs like it’s a casual thing, showing up just to help out when he’s on a press cycle, and it’s evident even in his attire that that’s the case, if you know what to look for: more chains from his jeans, thicker soles on his boots just flirting with being platforms, at least two rings on every finger—save just one.

One has a ring, and a carefully-preserved and repeatedly-reinforced bread-bag tie: both serving the same purpose in very different points in their lives.

Point being: Eddie was wading through photoshoots and magazine spreads and radio spots and every fucking thing, and no matter how high he’s raising his eyebrow in a clear calling out of how he found Steve atop a shaky ladder as being obvious evidence of having use of an extra set of hands, the fact remains:

“But you’ve got the interview—“ the big ass interview with that shock-jock guy Steve kinda hates, but that’s a big fucking deal, and was the precise reason Steve wasn’t lamenting giving up his afternoon and evening to the at-least-halfway-to-lost-cause of the not-even-an-actual-full-fledged-theatre department: he wasn’t going to have Eddie home before bed anyway.

And yet: here stands the man.

“The boys have got it,” Eddie shrugs, like he actually doesn’t give a shit, and that’s…he does give a shit, he had sounded excited about it last night when they’d talked about their plans for the week over dinner, when Steve had bemoaned the travesty of this fucking production of Once Upon A Boxspring or whatever, and Eddie’d told him he was pretty sure he was going to be able to say fuck on the show even if they’d edit it, like he wouldn’t get in trouble, and he’d looked like a kid in a goddamn candy shop about it so yeah: Steve thinks he kinda did give a shit.

But he’s…not there.

“Gareth’s been itching to take the reins after he won out the final track list,” Eddie offers as explanation; “cocky bastard.”

And they collaborate on all the writing, music and lyrics, they’re not even the slightest bit competitive about it which would be hard to believe if all you saw of the members of Corroded Coffin were their goddamn shenanigans during a campaign; but the one think in their music that they docompete over?

Whose title-idea gets the opener on a given album. And Gareth did end up scooping them all when the execs came back with a shuffle. Steve had watched it unfold in real time; he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a grown man crow like Gareth had, and he is married to Edward fucking Munson.

So that’s saying something.

“Eds,” Steve tries to prod a little at the point of it all though, because Eddie’s got press, and this is a high school, and probably Eddie could get to the studio in time to catch the end of whatever, it’s prerecorded, he knows that much, they could squeeze a live interview in so they could probably do Eddie at the end and just shuffle it around, right, it’s easy, and that’s so much more important than this because this:

“Eds, it’s just a—“

“It’s the spring musical, baby,” Eddie says like he’s announcing the arrival of the president, of the Queen of England, then his eyes soften a little as he flicks at one of the real mattresses that will, presumably, be props for the actors if the show’s title isn’t a fucking lie: “you know that’s where my DM throne had its humble origins, before I elevated it to greatness?”

Steve did know that, not least because they’d smuggled Eddie in to DM a few special sessions before the gremlins graduated, and he’d taken his seat with regal aplomb every time, and Steve had learned that yeah, they used the random storage room that was mostly drama shit for Hellfire.

And the way he’d learned that was by sucking Eddie off hidden by some very ratty but very conveniently poofy ballgowns from a production of Cinderella.

“I missed you.”

Steve turns to him and blinks; Eddie’s eyes are on the mattress, his stance almost a little shy.

“You saw me this morning,” Steve doesn’t ask, exactly, but he…he’s not sure he’s following, is the thing.

“I was,” Eddie sighs, and flops to sit down on the mattress which, thankfully, is a mattress and gives a little, bounces under him.

“I was just feeling, I dunno,” he gives a shrug that fades into something like a shiver, and then Eddie’s arms come around too hug around his middle as he ducks his chin and, oh no.

None of that.

“I thought about you being, you know, you,” and Eddie gets to gesture at the mess of the stage only halfway before Steve’s catching his hand, lacing their fingers and pulling Eddie back up to standing, then back into Steve’s arms here he leans heavy, sighs deeper this time; relief instead of something shallow.

“Just you doing all this when you don’t even have a horse in the race, y’know?” Eddie muffles into the side of Steve’s neck, burrowed in tight. “And I was supposed to be in the zone about press and shit, and it just,” he shakes his head, which is more like the brush of his lips back and forth against Steve’s skin; “it wasn’t clicking at all, like I posed and did the looks and whatever,” and oh, Steve knows the looks, Steve has about half those looks printed out and framed in various parts of their home or tucked safe inside his wallet, whereas the other half he takes great joy in recreating at random to the chagrin of his darling husband, love of his whole goddamn life.

“Then Jeff asked if I wanted to duck out,” and Eddie smiles up at him, a little sheepish; they both know the boys can see right through Eddie feeling needy, or lovelorn; Steve’s grateful as shit for Eddie’s bandmates, their friends, for knowing when Eddie just needs Steve.

“I didn’t even think twice, just,” Eddie swallows hard, a little, peeking up through lashes and bangs as he exhales:

“Just wanted to see you before the middle of the fucking night.”

And what can Steve do in the face of that, really? He can’t argue it. Wouldn’t ever fucking want to.

“I love you,” he frames Eddie’s face and kiss the bridge of his nose, then soft between his brows as he breathes out with his whole heart: “so goddamn much.”

“Can you promise me you won’t do the,” Eddie tips his head behind them; “the ladder thing, at least not by yourself?” And Eddie’s eyes are so, so big again. “Like, pretty please, don’t do that again?”

“I won’t,” Steve swears it, and kisses him firm to seal the promise: “thanks for coming to the rescue.” Because there was a three percent chance Steve was going to wipe the fuck out from very very high, and he’s have survived it, but he’s not twenty anymore, and it would have fucking sucked, probably for a while.

“Always, baby,” Eddie murmurs, still tight against Steve lips before he straightens a little, and this time he’s framing Steve’s face, but more holding him still in place, emphatic:

“Actually, amendment,” he says seriously, eyes darting between Steve’s a tiny-touch frantic: “next time you need to be on a ladder, you call me first,” he damn-well declares it, rather than asks; “so I can hold it steady.”

“My hero,” Steve breathes against him with a smile, and there’s not even a hint of teasing in it.

“I don’t trust any other hands to catch you, baby,” Eddie tells him, a little too raw; full sincerity bleeding from him all the sudden as he caresses down the cheeks he’s still cupping: “no one else in the whole wide world appreciates what you’re worth.”

“And what’s that, exactly,” Steve scoffs a little, playful where he’s held in Eddie’s arms but Eddie: Eddie’s holding him tight, now, and his heartbeat’s heavy where he’s moving to crush Steve to his chest, and there’s a little wavering pitch of something in his voice when he whispers:

“The whole wide world,” and oh.

That’s the answer.

It’s Steve’s answer, too, to the same exact question, but hearing it said so plain never stops feeling like the ending and remaking of the whole wide world, every time.

So yeah, Steve has to take a minute to swallow through the tightness in his throat, and maybe he does that with his forehead bowed against his husbands so they breathe each other in as a rule just in the course of living in the moment, together—and when the straighten up Steve steals a kiss first, quick but hard, with feeling, before he cracks his neck and sighs, taking in the scene that’s settled around them.

“Help me try and figure this out to hang?” Steve kicks at the tarp-tapestry, and Eddie walks its perimeter critically before frowning up at Steve.

“Think it needs some touch ups,” he pronounces solemnly, and fuck, yeah, all the color-dust from the useless staple-holes and the falling. But his husband’s actually really good with details, and matching colors, and using a brush, and fantasy settings—

“Paint’s in the back,” he says with a lilt of suggestion and Eddie lights up and grabs Steve’s hand to drag him toward the promise of painting, like maybe all he needed really was just…this.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[celestailio]

longing ( raiden ei x fem!reader )

outline: today marks a decade since the horrific cataclysm of khaenri'ah shook the entirety of the teyvat, and you are on a mission to find the raiden shogun who has mysteriously vanished into this unfortunate night.

contains: raiden ei x fem!reader, non human!reader, also reader is somesort of a general for the shogunate, angst, somewhat follows canon, kuni appearance, baby yae! takes place during the period when ei is contemplating her idea of eternity. blood and a bit of violence.

wc: 2.8k

a/n: first work dedicated to my one and only ei. i love you, my queen. please excuse any mistakes, i am still in the process of learning story writing and english is not my first language. picture credits. feedback is always appreciated <3

huff huff.

sounds of harsh breaths fill the air.

not here, too?

you stand in the middle of tenshukaku main corridors, panting as the disappointment fills you. the shogunate soldier standing guard near the entrance again asks you to leave the place. you can tell the man is tired of you roaming around the hallways, so you follow his order. exiting through the side gate.

you come to a standstill as your gaze wanders around the tenryou commission headquarters. people flocking in and out, some carrying dozens of scrolls, others leaving with souvenirs and sweets, all of which are to be delivered to the shogun.

this is the third time. this morning, a shrine maiden came to the kamisato estate. a serious look adored the lady's face as she whispered furious words to the lady of the clan. the shogunate was asking for you.

"the shogun is gone again."

the head leaders of the three commissions look down in worry. meanwhile, you try to process their words.

again? the first and last time, you had to travel all the way to the ruins decorating the perished land of khaenri'ah. there you found her sitting on the ground surrounded by ashes, head in her lap, the dirt getting onto her silk kimono. her spear right next to her.

the same place where makoto left ei behind forever.

you couldn't stop the frown crawling up on your face at the sight of her in such a manner. so used to seeing her demolishing demons and gods, ravaging lands alike with a flick of her blade. ever the warrior. always the strong.

but at that moment, she seemed so meek. so quiet. you thought of her as a flower that has suffered through the strong winds, the floods, the fire, through everything, till the end preserved its petals, only for the stem to break off. soon after, the petals fell one by one to their fate.

you remember speaking in a gentle voice as you stand near her in the swirling of the dust and moans of the dead.

"shogun-sama. let us return, the people are waiting for you."

you try to keep your voice steady, but every time you look at her, worry fills you to the brim. you try not to succumb to the urges. the need to hug her. the need to comfort her. but you know that you didn't have that privilege.

you remember, ei standing up, dismissing her spear, and leaving without uttering a word, not even a single glance. you could do nothing but follow in her footsteps, trying to ignore the slight sting you felt in your chest.

not this time though, would you need to travel to the demolished nation. this time, you knew where to find her.

an image of a woman standing with an umbrella amidst the sakura petals flashes in your mind.

please, ei.

it is kinda ironic, no? praying for the safety of a martial artist. your own god. but no matter how many demons she slays, how many shrines are built in her name, you never looked at her as your god. to you, she was just another lonely girl.

you breeze through the main city of inazuma, crossing the river and trying to escape a horde of samurais that always seems to be causing trouble in the byakko plain. you could defeat them easily, but you would rather not engage in a duel right now. right now, finding her is the priority.

the stony pathway leading to the grand shrine is treacherous, with slippery moss and tons of flora hindering your way. you always wondered why the commission hadn't repaired the stairs after the war. you reckon the common folk must be struggling to make the climb through the broken ladders and ladders vines. the electrogana sure is a much faster way of travel, but many people experience nausea after disapparating. still, it's not a problem. you'll gladly accept the help. anything is better than taking the long trek.

the electrogana drops you at one of the edges as you continue. only to stop in your tracks.

huh?

you look towards the small cave on the side of the mountain. the familiar flicker of electro is hard to mistake. you move closer and you see her. the shogun standing in front of a tori gate as it flashes with electricity, bright purple winning over the darkness. though, it quickly dies down as ei becomes aware of your presence.

"shogun-sama. i have been ordered to accompany you back.'' bending your head, you place a hand near your chest.

"let us return, the people are waiting for you.''

...

even after minutes, she gives no response. still, you stand on guard, desperate to not displease her. all of a sudden, a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder that sends shivers down your spine. head springing up, you find yourself drowning in seas of deep violet.

the shogun stares at your confused face before beckoning you closer to the tori gate. she moves in front of you, and once again, the same purple starts flickering through the gate as fumes of electro rushes past you.

your gaze settles on the shogun. eyes filled with adoration as you drink up the sight of your god in her glory. ei quickly makes work of the elemental energy as she opens up what appears to be some kind of portal inside the tori gate.

''come with me.''

her figures disappear behind the mystical waves of violet and sakura. you trudge behind her, extending a hand, swirling around the dense electro. it feels so soft, like her silk. soon the fumes engulf you whole, and in a second, you find yourself standing in an infinite place. the calm bluish tones are all you can see.

''this is a realm i conjured up through the last fragments of makoto's consciousness.'' at her name, you feel yourself stiffen. the tension coming back in slow waves.

''it's a shame that i could not manifest her last wishes.'' you stay still. eyes cast down at the imaginary puddles of water forming and disforming beneath your feet.

''i brought you here because i have something to show you.'' gaze flickering around her face, as ei summons something-or someone. the bright purple subsides, revealing a human male with puppets joints. he remains in the air, floating peacefully.

his midnight blue hair dazzles, and his face evokes the warmth of spring. he was strangely reminiscent of a certain someone you had wept for. the boy had such a perfect complexion-something only her hands were capable of.

''i made him a while ago. though he has yet to gain a consciousness.'' what? what's the meaning of this?

''you may be having some questions, so please allow me to explain myself."

in the moments that follow, you listen as ei as she explains her dream of making the humanoid being, a creation made through the forbidden arts of khaenri'ah, the next electro archon. she rambles on how this puppet will embody a steadfast will in response to the erosion.

all you could think of is why? you question her.

"i can never stand where she stood. i am not the right one for this.''

both of you return to the tenshukaku. ei makes a speech for the worried clan members. her loud yet graceful voice echoes through the wooden chambers, but you can only focus on your conversation from before. soon after, ei dismisses everyone, and you find yourself retreating to the kamisato estate.

it is not long after that ei calls for you again. she has been practically forward since your last meeting, not that you are complaining. the boy has gained consciousness, and she has asked for your assistance to guide him through the intricacies of adapting to the world. and so you give. like a parent to a child, you take care of the youngster. even though his body resembles someone no more than eighteen years old, you found out he is much more like a newborn child.

often times you bring the boy up the mountains to the shrine where you, along with the other shrine maidens, teach him about the arts and culture of inazuma. it was shocking how fast the boy seemed to grasp the teachings. perfectly writing kanji sentences in less than a week. her perfect creation.

he also seemed to enjoy playing with the young kitsune. miko. sitting her on his shoulders, both of them giggling as he twirls around. the big grins always seemed to warm up your insides. the pure joy seeping into your bones as you looked at them longingly.

other times, you take him to the tenryou commission for a quick lesson on survival. again, it amazes you at his ability to learn quickly. the boy seemed much more comfortable with a katana. out of joy, you decided to gift him one carefully crafted using the shogun's techniques.

ei occasionally visited during the trainings, a stoic expression marking her features, giving nothing away. you had the impression she was carefully observing, ensuring the boy was finding his place and adapting comfortably to his new surroundings. and you were more than happy to help him.

truth be told, you had begun to find the boy endearing. his eyes sparkled with curiosity and wonder and reminded you of the simplest joys of life. each moment spent with him was a wonderful gift, and you couldn't help but feel attached to him. the nameless boy had begun to mean a lot to you.

“y/n-san, what does this mean?”

“this word means love. something you might not fully understand yet, but it’s a very special feeling. it is what makes us care deeply for others, like how I care for you.”

the boy’s eyes widened with curiosity. “love… Is that why you always look out for me?”

you smiled softly, nodding. one hand reaches up to ruffle his silky soft hair.

“yes, exactly. love is about wanting the best for someone, even when it’s difficult. it’s why I believe in you. i will always be here for you.”

deep down, you sensed that something was bound to happen. you couldn’t shake the feeling that your lives were about to change in ways you couldn’t yet comprehend, though you continued to spend time with the boy with a heavy heart.

then, one day, those worries became a reality.

''as i mentioned, the boy is unable to withstand the gnosis. not a minute passes, and he is crying and shrieking in pain.''

''it doesn't stop there. he also appears to weep even in his sleep. he is yet to control the electro energy, too.''

ei shakes her head and prepares to leave the room.

''wait, even if he is not suitable for this role, i don't understand why must you abandon him. he has adjusted well, shogun-sama.''

it was absurd. so absurd. you thought.

''let him stay with us.'' you reasoned.

''no, no matter. i will not allow for this.''

''you see that too, don't you? that the boy has his own conscience. this fate would be too cruel for him, and i can not let that.'' a sigh escapes her. the lantern in the room illuminates her side, a golden shine, and you make out an emotion in her eyes you thought she was not capable of.

''but i adore him a lot. and it will break my heart to see the boy go.

tell me, where are you even planning to send him off?''

ei remains silent.

''the boy will remain safe here. shogun-sama, you can not just let him be out there on his own."

"enough. the boy serves no purpose anymore." ei exclaims, her sudden change of tone throwing you off. "there is no reason for him to continue living here." ei turns around, her patterned kimono sleeves flowing behind her, once again ready to walk off without any further confrontations.

"but i want him to stay. please accept my request." you whisper softly. eyes begging her to see your desperation. "he's the only family i have now. don't take him away from me."

you expected her to maybe throw in some half-hearted compassionate promises, but you are met with a glare, gaze sharp and rough.

"i do not care for your needs. what matters to me is this nation's future. if you are in disagreement, you are free to leave with him."

her words felt like hot iron against your skin. the realization drowns on you, shattering the fantasies you have been immersing yourself into.

you have committed the biggest sin. the sin of falling in love with your god. you fantasized about her touch, her love. while you were lost in your daydreams, you had forgotten that the gods were cruel and ruthless.

soon you prepare to for the boy's departure. the boy, along with the young miko, sits on one of the railings at the shrine, legs swinging back and forth, chatting about dango and festivals. waiting for the shogun to make her presence. you gaze at him one last time. you try your hardest not to break down, try to burn his face, his smile into your brain.

the shogun says something to the shogunate soldiers who had come with her, and leaves the shrine without looking at you. again, you find that familiar sting nibbling at your poor heart.

you smile, nodding at him. without hesitation, the boy walks up to you and hugs you tightly, frail arms wrapping around your mid-section with miko joining in seconds later. you return the hug back, squeezing your two precious tightly. eyes brimming with unshed tears. he looks at you one last time before he sets out and lets the soldiers take him away to his written fate.

"farewell, y/n. i will be back soon."

you stand there with miko in your arms. eyes longingly staring at the stairs leading to the shrine's exit, as if he will come back. as if this thing was some sort of joke. but hours later, he never showed up like he promised.

after returning to your quarters, you spend the evening crying in your futon. his remaining belongings are still perched in your closet. the sight of them twisting your heart as you continue to sob loudly.

you could only think of the conversation between the two shrine maidens before you returned home. your poor boy was not informed of where they were taking him. you could only think of some soldiers mentioning how the shogun was going to erase all of his memories and leave him all alone in shakkei pavilion in kannazuka. you could only think of how scared your boy must have been.

no one was going to save him. not you. not her. this was a divine lesson, and you have certainly learned every single bit of it.

after the boy's departure. ei stopped seeking you out. her sudden disappearance seared through your chest. you once again fell into the same old routines. from training to guarding and finally sleeping after a late night patrol in the city.

at least you could find some solace in the dreamscapes. ei would appear in your dreams. where you could finally express your love for her in the softest of touches, where you would have a perfect little family of three, where everything seemed okay. but your eyes would flutter open in the morning, heart heavy as you find yourself in the same old room time after time.

the news of the new decrees that the shogun had issues was terrifying people across the whole of inazuma. one of them closes inazuma's borders from the outside world. the lockdown of the nation is what drove you to request a meeting with the shogun. the yoriki in waiting denied you entry again and again until you had enough. this time you must speak to her.

the bodies rolled down the wooden stairs, drenching it in crimson. you paid no heed to their screams as you approached the entrance to her quarters. limp. with blood dripping down from your katana, splattering onto the flooring below, you stumble through the lavish doors, and like always, you find her sitting on the floor.

something is off.

but it doesn't matter. you have to convince her and reverse these changes or else. or else makoto, saiguu, chiyo. sasayuri, your boy, all of their sacrifices would go in vain. and you can not allow for that.

"ei! listen to me. there is no need for such drastic measures. this path you have decided to walk on is going to lead us all to destruction!" you rambled, trying to get your point across. throwing your katana near the corner, you hurried towards where she sat.

"please just-" the words died down as your breath hitches in your throat.

no...

the same puppet joints decorated her body, and suddenly, you are pulled back into the past. nauseous as a familiar boy with blue hair smiles at you.

no, it can't be.

the shogun opens her eyes. gaze devoid of any light. she speaks in a monotone voice.

"the one within this body does not wish to speak to you. kindly take your leave."

[dalliansss]

either Mairon/Finrod: complimenting them with every single outfit change of the trip

or -(second ask)

love paradise - summer vacation scenarios for your otp

Context: takes place in this fucked up verse.

Mairon walks down the hallways and Angband trembles around him. In the úmaia's chest is a chaotic storm; just moments earlier, Melkor had given him orders to evacuate from Angband, that the fortress has been lost, and he had best now go east, as they had long planned -- east, far east, to the land of Mordor which awaits, and where the foundations of Barad-dûr already await to support further construction.

Mairon wants to stay and help fight the war, but Melkor would have none of it.

He turns to the direction of his quarters with purpose. The double-doors leading thereat open without need of physical touch; only Mairon's thoughts. The úmaia walks into the ornate but pristinely-kept room, and finds his maksima still sitting by the dresser, as if the Host of the West is not yet upon their doors, as if Angband does not tremble, in anticipation of the Wrath of the Valar.

Maksima, Finrod, his prize -- his precious -- sitting there clad in black silk, riddled with oxidized gold chains and dangling earrings, brushing his hair.

"The world is ending yet here you are, insisting to be pretty," Mairon says as he stands behind the former elf. He cards armored fingers through that platinum hair. Finrod regards him through the mirror.

"You like me pretty," Finrod states plaintively.

"I like mine creations always pretty," Mairon purrs just beside a pointed ear. "Now arise, maksima, precious. We leave Angband in all haste."

The former elf picks up a burlap satchel and dumps all his jewelry boxes in it. Jewelry -- all of which were crafted by Mairon, where the úmaia had not created jewelry in Ages.

They flee then, even before Eönwë's trumpets could be heard.

--

The first time Finrod wears Mairon's armor, the úmaia purrs so loudly the very room vibrates. Black has always been Finrod's color, and how he owned that color as the years rolled by, as he sank deeper and deeper into the tar-pit Mairon dropped him in, kicking and screaming, all his spittle about righteous anger and needless cruelty forgot and ground into the dust, drowned in the mire of blood that ever sustains his unnatural existence.

Mairon stands from his throne-like chair, and he closes the distance between them, crushing their lips together and blood seeps between, dark, scarlet blood mingled with Ainu copper.

His own. His precious.

"As beautiful as the world under an eclipse," Mairon snarls lowly against those lips. "Beautiful," he repeats, and he digs his talons into Finrod's nape, forcing him to tip his head back, to offer his pearl neck, where Mairon sinks his teeth.

--

The ship creaks around them, and Mairon nervously holds Finrod upon his lap. He hates the sea; always has. It was not Melkor who has hated and loathed the sea; it had been Mairon. The elven loremasters could never get their own lore right. Melkor would swim in the Sea and face Ulmo unafraid, while Mairon...Mairon would never.

He runs his hand through Finrod's platinum hair. Snarls. They are bound for Númenor, and he has seen how that dúnadan Ar-Pharazôn had eyed his maksima.

Mairon's fingers twist the fabric of Finrod's clothing, but then he hesitates and does not tear asunder the seemingly-fragile cloth.

"Stay close to me, once we dock in that accursed land," Mairon snarls, the words in Black Speech pressed against Finrod's bare shoulder. "I will not let this scum touch thee. Do you understand?"

"On the contrary," says Finrod. "I would let him touch me, and when he least expects it, I shall bite him and turn him into my thrall."

"You will do no such thing," Mairon says. "Not yet. Yet I shall give you the dúnadan once our plans come to fruition. You will tear him limb from limb for me."

Around them, the ship creaks again.

"When we get to Númenor," Mairon continues. "Choose plain clothing, once it shall be given. Leave all ornamentations to me. You will be as plain as dirt, if need be."

Finrod gives a disdainful snort. "Me, plain?"

"Do this for me, precious. I will not let that scum touch you. Do you understand me?"

Their bond lashes with hurt that makes Finrod flinch.

"You have very strange ways to say I am pretty. But very well. If you insist."

@skaelds

[cupoftrembling]

The first thing Vera noticed was the flies.

Mariposa was not a particularly humid city, despite what its place on the coast of the Screaming Seas might lead you to believe. It was often cooler, even into the summertime, with wafting breeze coming from across the rocks on the Butterfly Bay. In fact, it is that cool breeze that allowed the city to become something of a mercantile hub, with the tradewinds stretching far across the continent, from the Coalition of Eastern Regencies to the Empire of Night. The air does not stick to the lungs, sweat does not coat the back of your head when you toil.

And yet, there the flies were. In the sticky, sweet air in Manor Tyra, just in the corner of the room, she saw them buzzing around a vent in the wall, flying in and out of the metal opening. They almost seem to dance, their humming almost melodic in its grating. They disperse across the room as they leave the air vent, maybe three, maybe four. One lands on a blood red chrysanthemum, one lands right on the cheek of the large painting of Rosalind Tyra, one lands on the brow of the head butler.

“Why do you want this position, Miss Hershal?” The head butler asks. If he notices it, if his brow twitching is in response to the little bug, Vera does not know. She did not quite get his name, with the introductions having been drowned out by the flies' incessant din. 

Vera responds, but not in any way she can really articulate. Something about dreams, as if every moment in Vera’s life was leading to her dusting and cooking. The buzzing of the flies has turned musical almost, as if their wings were harmonizing with the dust in the air, in the oscillation of the light coming from dim bulbs, in the growl of her stomach. Work was hard to find in Mariposa, but the corporate lords pay well.

The head butler coughs again, this time with less politeness and more hoarse. It is stern enough to bring Vera back to herself, as if he knew she was somewhere else. “So, Miss Hershal.”

Vera looks back towards the butler, still straining one ear to listen to the buzzing. “Please, Vera is alright I think.”

Behind the head butler, Rosalind’s daughter taps her finger just once. Enough to be almost imperceptible, save for the fact that she had not moved this whole conversation. The head butler scowles just slightly. “We prize objectivity here, Miss Vera. We may be a family, but we need to keep things courteous.”

Vera nods, a slight, warm and red blush creeps across the bridge of her nose. “Oh, then yea, um. Miss Hershal works.”

Rosalind’s daughter smiles. Besides her foot is a hunter’s ax. It leans against her leather boot. And even at this distance, Vera smells something of ash. The head butler continues. “Out of all the applicants, you’ve been selected for Rosalind’s personal aide. You must feel honored.”

Vera nods. “Oh yes! Very, very.” Her voice is dripping with faux sincerity.

“Technically, you’re the personal aide for the Tyra family as well.” The head butler rejoined. “Including Crimson, here. You serve at their pleasure. Tyra Logistics and Transportation welcomes you.”

The woman behind the head butler smiles and raises a single finger in recognition. Her grin is plastered in red rouge. She opens her mouth to say something, her teeth are pearlescent, almost clear. A single smudge of the lipstick marks her canine. “Charles.” Her voice is soft, lacking in any of the formality that the head butler prided himself in. “I might be getting ahead of myself, but-”

Vera’s face dropped, her hands fidgeted in her lap. The fabric of her dress was threadbare and hand hewn, her boots, which were still tapping on the ground in tune with the fragrant buzzing, were had nails driven through the sole. “A-Ahead of yourself?” Vera manages to get out. She brings her hands to her mouth in shock at the interruption. Tyra smiles.

“Really, Miss Tyra?” The head butler nods, refusing to look over his shoulder at the corporate lord behind him. 

“Oh of course I’m sure.” Crimson rejoins. She looks back towards Vera. “I think I’m ready to welcome you to the family, my attendant.”

Vera looks back at the woman. Crimson’s face is unreadable. It has a smile on it, and narrow eyes. But no actual emotion is anywhere to be found. She reaches over to her discarded glass of wine on the end table beside her. It is red and full bodied. One of the flies has landed on the surface, struggling to break the surface tension. Tyra brings the glass to her lips as the fly thrashes, as if she does not notice. A single drop of the bordeaux lands on her cheek. Her skin is like cotton, it absorbs the wine just as fast. 

“There are, of course, responsibilities to the task.” The head butler rejoins. Crimson brings the wine glass just below her lips. The fly has stopped thrashing. Its buzz still rings, maybe even a bit louder. “An important position such as this can’t just go to anyone.”

“If you don’t mind me being so bold.” Vera asks, fighting back a smug smile. “If it's so important, why me?”

Crimson looks back towards the portrait behind her. Her mother’s kind face. It’s eyes are locked on Vera. Wine drips from the edges of Crimsons’ lips. The edge of Vera’s body was thrumming in time with the gnashing tune on the fly’s wings. She looks back up towards the vent in the corner of the room. A maggot falls out between the metal slats. Vera licks her lips slightly. Behind her, a single petal falls from off the chrysanthemum. The sound it makes while falling is the exact same note as the buzzing of the fly’s wings. Crimson scowles at the painting.

“Call it a mother’s intuition.” 

A pen click. The butler coughs. “Are you still interested?”

Vera turns towards the head butler and smiles. “Yea, I am, I think.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The servants quarters were surprisingly large. 

The last place Vera worked at, a home of a minor ambassador from a foreign land, was little more than a broom closet with a gas range. The air smells like sulfur and blood, laiden so thick that you could taste it on the back of your tongue.

The Tyra Manor did not smell like sulfur and the quarters had their own kitchen attached to it. Vera counted six additional bodies in the communal space. One was smoking a cigarette, one was playing chess with another. Each were young, attractive types, like Crimson Tyra was. Hard bodies, pretty hair. Obsessively clean, as well. One held a glass up to the light, his fingernails were bitten to stumps with not a speck of dirt or grime underneath them. That melodic buzzing could still be heard here, yet it didn’t seem to bother anyone in the room. Each of them were conversing, rapt entirely in their companionship. Vera could have been a fly on the wall for all she knew. She placed her bag on the ground next to the door, enough to be out of sight from the hallway, lest any of the Tyra’s see her belongings.

It was the man at the window between the kitchen and the common area who noticed her first. His teeth were perfectly aligned, and only slightly yellowed. His eyes had a slight band of copper between the iris and the sclera, and his eyelashes were long and inviting. He extended his hand up to beckon her further. It was at that moment, the other’s in the servants quarters turned to look at her. Not all in unison, mind you. But with a noticeable, almost deliberate delay in their towards her. Not unlike when an actor knows he is to be cut off in the script.

“New girl, right?” The man with the pretty eyes said as if they were waiting for her. Vera began walking towards him before he had even called her over. Yet when he spoke, when the words dripped from his mouth, she stopped, acutely aware of her movement. She felt them watch her and felt almost comforted by it. To be the center of their obsession, if but for a moment. The man continued, his smile still wide and boisterous.“Come come, get a drink in you.” 

She walks up to the window to the kitchen, as if this room was repurposed from some entertaining space. There were no stools next to the window, so Vera opted to stand. She wants to tell them she doesn’t drink, but can’t find it in her to lie. “Are we supposed to be drinking on the clock?” Vera asks instead.

“Bit of a teetotaler, hey?” The woman next to her responds. Her hair is auburn and she has long, slender arms. Her fingers are marred with scratches, each appearing now to only just be healing. Burrowing scars mark the length of her forearm. She sees Vera eyeing her and flashes her a coy smile. “Daphne.” She extends her hand towards Vera and she takes it. Her grip is delicate, and they hold for what seems a moment too long. 

“Vera Hershal.” Vera says almost off handedly. She still has not let go of her hand.

“You from Mariposa, Vera?” Daphne asks as the man with the pretty eyes fills a pristine glass with a slightly brown liquid. It sloshes around as if the consistency of syrup. 

“Who is?” The man with the pretty eyes chuffs, as if it was some grand joke.

“No, actually.” Vera smiles and takes her hand from Daphne’s to the glass. There is no discernible change in warmth between the two of them. “I’m from up north. Hinterlands. Near Verak.”

“You miss it?” Daphne asks, rolling her finger around the rim of her drink.

Vera takes hold of the drink in both of her hands. She rubs the ridge of the glass absentmindedly for a moment. The man with the pretty eyes leans forward a bit too far. So does Daphne.

“Do any of you actually hear that?” Vera finally asks. That buzzing, that droning, that gnawing sound. It was all Vera could do to actually pay attention to the two of them. It was at once melodic and dissonant, not altogether unpleasant. But its ever presentness, its continuity, flowed around hallways and into the rooms of Manor Tyra. There weren’t even any flies here, nor had she seen any in her walk down to the servants quarters. This place had looked scoured and clean, with hard pressed wood, treated with any sort of preservatives, and paneling placed at odd angles with secant points. The whole of the manor seemed to converge on what? All the pointing lines that focused on what? 

Daphne smiles. “No, not really.” Her thumb is pressing deep and hard into the ridge on the bottom of her drink. Vera furrows her brow. Her eyes dilate, her throat feels thick and full. Daphne looks over to Vera and nudges her with her own shoulder. “Not a lot of people regret moving to Mariposa, so I don’t blame you.”

Vera sighs and brings the cup to her lips. It is sweet, whatever is inside of it. Like rosewater, or hibiscus. Absolutely no discernable taste of alcohol. Like drinking liquified potpourri. Whatever grain or fruit the spirit was made from, this mixer almost fully masked its flavor. Vera, for a moment, closes her eyes, ignoring the frustration of being misunderstood building behind them. It does not taste like Verak. She is almost certain of it. But it doesn’t taste like Mariposa, either. She has had plenty of drinks in her stay here, and this certainly was not one of them.

“I’m Adrien.” The man with the pretty eyes finally coughs out. Vera opens her eyes and realizes just how long she had been drinking. The glass in her hands was half gone. “I’m the entremétier in the Tyra kitchen.”

“Which means he also cooks our meals too.” Daphne gesticulates towards the kitchen, glass still in hand. It was a small, cozy thing. Still unheard of in Mariposa, a kitchen for use only by the help staff. But the size of the Tyra manor almost required such atomization of labor. “He’s only typically on call when Tyra is hosting the Queen.”

“So it means, Miss Hershal, you’re stuck with me.” Adrien smiles and leans on the kitchen windowsill. His arms are toned and sinewy. He looks as if he’d be stringy, chalky in any sort of long standing soup. A thin, bristly mustache covers his upper lip, as if he was proud to be sporting it. “I hope the other’s like you just as much as the miss does”

Daphne snorts, undignified and beautiful. She is still shoulder to shoulder with Vera. “I think they will, yea.” She takes another drink. A fly, small thing with beady, crimson eyes, crawls from behind Daphne’s ear. Its wings harmonized with that buzzing that Vera could not get from out of her mind. If anyone saw it, no one made mention of it. The rest of the servants in the quarters were each obsessed with their conversational partners, enraptured with each other. The air was warm and sickly sweet. Like the potpourri that was at Vera’s mother’s wake.

“You’re so sure, huh?” Vera slightly bumps back into Daphne, separating the two of them for a moment.

“Yeah, you’re so sure, huh?” Adrien begins to pour himself his own drink. “You said that about the last girl, too.”

“What happened to her?” Vera asked.

“Rosalind liked her a little too much, so Crimson let her go.” Daphne sighed wistfully, as if she liked her just as much. As her mouth opened, that same buzzing came from inside Daphne. As if her lips were not making the same movements as they were before, like they were simply opening up for the noise to come out instead of forming the words themselves. “Our employer is a bit of a meticulous one.”

“Heard she works down near Le Marc street, in the lower wards.” Adrien lifts the liquor to his mouth and drinks it greedily. Liquid spills from the sides of his lips, his mouth open too wide for the mouth of the glass. His tongue lulls out the side.

“Nice one, too.” Daphne sighs, her voice almost drowned out by Adrien’s drinking. Like a pig drinking from a trough, guttural and wet. Vera looks at Adrien, at his bulging throat and his ragged breath when he takes the drink away from his lips. “Sweet girl, ya know? She brought a little basket of treats to introduce herself. Cared a bit too much. Cute little thing.” Adrien places the glass back on the table a little too forcefully, fills it again from the brown bottle, and then begins drinking again. The liquor spills around his hand, as if the act of pouring is foreign to him. He catches his breath. “Like, ah, you.”

“Is he-” Vera looks back at Daphne for a moment, then back at Adrien. His glass is on the table, he has resumed his previous position, resting against the counter. The glass is empty. It is dripping with condensation. A pool of liquid has formed from where he spilled the drink in haste. His hands are dripping wet. The words die in Vera’s throat.

Daphne raises an eyebrow. “Is he?”

Vera puts her own glass down.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“If you ask me, I think she has the Scarlet Song.”

The light is dim in their shared bedroom. Vera had, by chance, been assigned to the room that Daphne had been staying in. Two queen beds, facing each other on opposite sides of a room. In many of the workhouses of Mariposa, servants were assigned twin beds, as if to keep from any impropriety on company time. The walls were dark, with painted and stained wood paneling along the lower half of the wall. Vera had retired to bed some time ago, her arms behind her head as she stared at the ceiling.

When Daphne started to talk, Vera almost instinctively looked over to the corner of the room, on the side of where the door was. A single, budding chrysanthemum sat on an end table in that corner. It's leaves having all fallen off long ago, yet regrowing new ones outside of their budding season. She watches as a maggot crawls along the stem. Vera swears she sees it look at her.

“Scarlet Song?” Vera asks after exchanging glances with the maggot. She sits up in her bed, her nightgown feeling a bit too thin in the chill of the night’s air.

“Yea, Rosalind.” Daphne had already been sitting up, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair was up in a bun, her makeup had been removed. She had no wrinkles, at least less than she had during the previous day. Her hands were still immaculate, palms red from her repeated washing. “She goes out for a hunt in Blackvien years ago, then traps herself in her room.”

“Did you meet with her when you were hired?” Vera tilts her head to the side somewhat.

“Yea I did. We sat in the rose garden with her wife.” Daphne looks towards the dead chrysanthemum in the corner of the room, a plant she had been meaning to get rid of for some time. Its leaves have long wilted away. “She asked me some weird questions, then said congrats.”

“Oh,” Vera sighed. “Crimson and the head butler did my interview.”

Daphne sits up a bit higher. Her voice is still hushed. “See! That’s exactly what I mean.” She leans forward in the bed. “She goes on some hunting trip just before the last outbreak happened there. Comes back and locks herself in that room.”

“Or Crimson locks her in that room.”

“Might be.”

“Might be?” 

“Maybe she wants to keep Mariposa safe, or her mother safe.” Vera sighs and looks back towards the blooming plant. “It’s the disease of undeath, right?”

Daphne takes her arms from off around her knees and moves towards the edge of the bed. “Scarlet Song is a psychosocial illness. You don’t just catch it by being near someone who’s sick.”

“That wasn’t how I heard it spread.”

“Well obviously, if you’re around someone who’s sick, you might get sick.” Daphne rolls her eyes. Her iris glowed in the dim of the room. The way the stray light came in through the window, it almost made Daphne look like a cat you shined a light at. Red, like a photo caught mid flash. “But that’s only because you’re caring for them, because you pour so much into them.”

Vera brings her knees to her chest. The maggot begins to sing, harmonizing with the buzzing that had been blaring in her ears. “How do you get it then?”

“It worms its way into the parts of your mind that care.” Daphne finishes moving, sitting on the edge of the bed now. She was no more than a couple feet from Vera, but Vera could feel the warmth of her breath, the sickly, floral flavor on the tongue. Her lips were scarlet, her arms were slender and inviting. “Poisons your thoughts into obsession and infatuation. Makes you an object of desire, makes your vices just that much more apparent. Gluttony, lust, wrath.They call it the undead disease because of conservation of energy. All that obsession can’t just disappear once you die.”

Shambling corpses, replete of any desire but what was core to them.

“You hear voices, you see things, you misattribute motivations and feelings towards someone else.” Daphne gets up from off the bed. She is standing now, in naught but a night shirt. Her skin is translucent in the moonlight, like still water. Her eyes red and beautiful. “You could be infected, and just not know. It creeps into your mind, makes a vice of your heart.”

There is little now between their two beds, with Daphne standing square between them. Vera traced the lines of her shoulders, of her chin, of her lips. The edges of Daphne hummed and thrummed, as if their component parts sang with the maggot. Like a lichtenberg figure, Daphne seemed all secant lines. Convergent points, each inviting further study and obsession. Vera closed her eyes.“It almost sounds nice.”

Daph leans forward, towering over Vera on the bed. She raises a hand and, for a moment, Vera worries Daph might strike her. Her hand is now on Vera’s cheek, fingers finding themselves resting on her cheekbone. Vera, instinctually, bites Daphne’s palm. Daphne grips her head a bit tighter, blood running rivulets down into Vera’s hungry mouth. It is sweet, like the potpourri at her mother’s wake. Her other hand rests where Vera’s neck meets her shoulders, thumb placed gingerly just above her adam’s apple. Vera leans into the embrace, not sure whether Daphne will choke her or kiss her back. She would beckon either, readily and happily. Her skin was hot, roiling chaos. The cells across her body a throng of music, a veritable choir of blissful immolate. 

Daphne gasps, the heat proving too much for her. She opens her eyes and sees Daphne there, sitting on the edge of her bed, now seeming so far apart. Vera didn’t even notice her moving. Her skin was flush, her hands trembling, hand dripping blood onto her white gown. Daphne will not look her in the eyes, but a blissful smile is plastered on her face. She is shaking. “Yea, it does sound nice.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rosalind Tyra had a portrait of her wife on the bed stand next to her.

This was the first thing that Vera noticed when walking into the magnate’s room. Not the flowers that should have rotted months ago, not the empty plate picked clean of bones, not even the unmoving, veiled form that lay on the bed, covered by a single, white sheet. It was a simple photo, and the lights in the room had long been burnt out. A golden leaf frame surrounded the photo, with no glass covering it. The photo was yellowed and sour. Mary Tyra-Dayshaper was a young woman again, her hair it's natural blonde instead of the gray it was now. In the background, one of Rosalind’s kills at their chateau near Blackvien. Some grand reptile, head severed and blood dripping into a nearby patch of chrysanthemums. Mary was smiling, with a kind set of eyes. In her hair, a little flower pin. Sitting beside her, a child. Scarlet red hair and a bearded ax next to her. She was not smiling and she was staring a hunter’s stare at Vera.

The portrait was facing Rosalind’s bed, where she lay under a perfectly white sheet. No stains, like Vera had expected. No grime or muck or even dust. The room looked well kept, the room looked as pristine as the rest of the house. This is what Vera would be hired to do. To keep Rosalind company, to keep where she lays. Rosalind seemingly did not notice Vera’s entrance, even if the maid wasn’t particularly keen on staying quiet. As soon as she entered the small room, however, she felt almost reverent. As if her breaths must be measured as not to take too much oxygen, as if her feet must be kept in check lest it squash some beast underfoot. The stained glass window let in multi-colored light, trickling in and catching dust in its delicate beams. It was midmorning after a fitful night. The sky in Mariposa had that post-dawn haze, with nary a cloud in sight. Vera entered and shut the door.

The second thing that Vera noticed was the incessant, beautiful melody that had suffused the entirety of Tyra Manor had ceased as soon as she shut the door. It had become so much that Vera had almost tuned it out entirely by the time she woke next to Daphne this morning. And yet, in shutting it out, Vera had missed it in its absence. The walls vibrated, like being trapped in a room without air, like being stuck in the center of a storm. The silence rattles the wood, it rattles the bed frame, it rattles Vera’s bones.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tyra.” Vera says in a cloying affect like she was instructed. “Have you been sleeping well?”

The body does not respond. There is no rising and falling of the chest. Vera crosses the room gingerly. The tray in her hands rattles somewhat. The hem of her skirt rises with each step. Vera waits for a response that will never come. She places the tray down on the end table, next to the photo of Mary Tyra-Dayshaper. It is dried ham and it costs more than Vera will make that day. Mary is stout and elegant. Her sun kissed skin catches the Blackvien light just so and her hair smells of seabreeze and salt. 

“I have your meal.” Vera continues in rote repetition. Do not deviate, she tells herself.. “Will you eat it here or should we be expecting you down today?”

The body does not respond. Vera sits on the edge of the bed next to her in a fit of compassion. She was a nurse, before she was a maid. Back when money could be made in healing. She places her hand on the sheet almost absentmindedly, breaking the script. Perhaps she is just sleeping a bit tighter, perhaps she is just too cozy in the warmth of the morning. Vera creeps a smile as her hands reach the hem of the bedline.

“It’d be nice if you’d join us, I’m sure your daughter would-”

And that is when she hears it. The song. Not the disjointed choir of the maggots, not the single-noted sludge of the servants. But the whole of it. Every note, their counterplay, the harmonies, the sharps and the flats. It is like a cacophony of angels, like every tragedian of Mariposa was caught alight in a single, raptorious song. It is like screaming. It is like pain. It is like the crackling of ash and the dripping love of slavering mouths. It is incineration of the stars in the sky.

It is pure beauty and it drives Vera to tears. 

It drives her to the floor.

Sorrow was now burning into her cheeks. Her tears sublimating in time with the harmonies that now echo in her ears. She brings her hands to her face, as if she were to sob. A choked, painful note comes out of Vera’s mouth as the song stops, as she leaves Rosalind Tyra. She thinks she hears the whole manor scream.

The body does not respond. It sits there, mocking what obvious love Vera had felt come from her touch. This was not Rosalind as she knew Rosalind. Rosalind was the violent song that now dripped from her open mouth, not the meat sitting ripe and raw under the sheets. The song crawls from Vera’s pours like maggots. They stain the hem of Vera’s dress, mixing with the blood and bile that were pooling from her screaming, singing mouth. They are slick and inviting.

And then the discordance creeps back in.

Vera shoots her eyes towards the door as the incessant and beautiful song of the maggots is in her ears again, eyes burning from between her stained fingers. Red petals flow down her cheeks. And her mouth tastes only of song. In the doorway stands Crimson Tyra. Her boots are muddy and on her shoulder is a worn rifle. Its barrel still hot from the hunt. In her other hand, her dominant hand, her killing hand, was a hunting ax. It was bearded. It was dripping with ash.

“Did you do this to her?” Vera manages to get out as the song creeps behind her now fractiline eyes.

“I knew you’d break.” Crimson smirks, then quickly scowles. “What did my mother say?” Her voice is lacking any of the congeniality she once had. She takes a step forward, tracking the mud into the sickly sweet room.

Vera choked again, maggots spilling from her lips. She pulled herself forward. If only she could share this love with Crimson, maybe, maybe, maybe.

Crimson brings her boot down on what once was Vera’s hand, skin now splitting, unable to contain the flowers anymore. “I hired you for this reason, Miss Hershal.” Her voice was cruel, spitting and cutting. “Now, what did my mother say?”

“Sorry!” Vera sings, her bones breaking and eating away at her skin. “She says she’s sorry!”

Crimson sighs and frowns. She places the rifle on the floor. She hefts her hunting ax with both hands now. Its blade is dripping with blood. “That’s what she said the last time.” Crimson rejoins.

If Vera could just get to Daphne, just show her how beautiful this was when everything could be better. What once was Vera’s lips are replete with words and notes, some begging, some hateful, some pleading for violence. “I can make you! We can feel better!” Vera manages something coherent. “You need me! Love!”

Crimson smiles. She brings the ax above her head. Everything could be better, if she just opened her heart to the song. “I only needed you for this, Miss Hershal.”

Then, the body does not respond.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“We are in need of an entire new staff, Miss DuBois.” The head butler asks. Anne sat in front of him, her legs crossed at the ankles. Behind him, Crimson sat in her thick, leather chair. Behind them both, a painted portrait of Rosalind Tyra. “So, let me ask you. Why is it you want this job?”

Crimson smiles and taps her finger just once.

And the flies begin crawling from the vents.

[kookiecrumb]

JJK || Someway

Chapter One

masterlist • next

summary: You go on a non-refundable cruise with your LA realtor ex-boyfriend. Things get interesting.

tags: one bed trope, exes to lovers, mutual pining, stubborn!y/n, vacation, smut, angst, fluff, fem!reader x jungkook

warnings (per chapter): alcohol consumption, explicit/adult language, rich people

wc: 2.3K

Twenty missed calls. 

You were at the port and Jungkook was still nowhere to be found. 

It's honestly expected of him. He was never good with time management.

You're almost sure he's oblivious to it, too. He probably is cruising with the music all the way up unaware that he's going to be late for check in. 

You roll your eyes and turn off your phone, burying it in your Burberry bag before fixing your jacket. You stare out into the ocean, enjoying the view. It's kind of serene. 

If Los Angeles weren't such a shit place to live these days, you'd consider placing a bid on one of the ocean-side properties. It's not worth it, though. It would just turn into another excuse for Jungkook to hit up your phone again. 

He owns a couple of them. He's actually a pretty prominent luxury real-estate owner. It was hot, once. 

Anyways, he'd probably find some way to swindle you into checking out every single one of his properties, claiming that each one is the perfect match for you and really sell it-– he's good with his words. He couldn't talk you out of leaving him, though. You won't make the same mistake twice. 

Your phone buzzes violently. With a huff, you prop your purse on your lap and push the clutter around until you spot your phone. You pick it up and put it to your ear. 

"Hey!" You smile, just in case he can see you. "Are you close yet?" You can feel Jungkook smirking through the phone, but you're pleasantly surprised by a semi-mature response. 

"Yeah. I'll be there in five. You've got both our tickets, right? Mine and yours?" He looks over his shoulder and backs into a parking spot as he talks. 

"Uhh…huh," you click your tongue. "Just get here quick with your shit. I hope you got a  ticket for parking and everything." 

"Yeah–-" Jungkook turns the key to his Mercedes and pulls it out. It jumps from his hands and he catches it near his feet. He leans back in his seat and grunts. "Fuck," he says under his breath. "Yeah. Okay. Okay. Bye, Y/N," he hastily ends the call. 

This is ridiculous. You dust off your dress and fix your bracelet, standing up with your one suitcase in your right hand. Your purse is neatly stacked on top. 

Jungkook is practically wrapped in leather when he arrives. He likes to act taller than he actually is. He gives you a quick hug before gesturing to his ticket in your hand and then to the booths, as if he's not the one who was late. You shake it off and start walking. 

He struggles to catch up with you, but you're in a hurry because of him. Your tickets were for Black Pearl class boarding, and they were the very first class to board. You're just uncomfortably late at this point– not fashionably!

Once you arrive at the ticket booth, there are a group of servicemen waiting to tag your bags and carry them up to your suite. Thank God! You would have just made Jungkook carry them up, but this is far more convenient. 

"Good evening. Two please, Black Pearl Premium Suit, Class 1A. Thank you so much," you present yours and his identification to this kind lady. She gives Jungkook a suspicious look while checking his identification. That's when you realize Jungkook is wearing a facemask and a hat, covering his entire face. 

"She needs to be able to see your face, Kook," you tell him. 

Jungkook reaches his hand up to his hat and takes it off, lowering his mask in the process. 

This is the first time you've seen his face since he walked out of your apartment that one night. He catches you staring. 

With a look of disapproval, he pulls his mask back up and takes his IDs back. "Let's go."

As you climb up the plank leading to the entrance to the ship, you contemplate a couple ground rules you need to set regarding the room you'll be sharing. 

There shouldn't be any double standards. That means that, in one way or another, you'd need to respect each other's privacy, decisions, not ask questions about each other's personal lives, or insist on spending the day tied at the hip. 

That should be easy, considering the amount of fun things to do. You open the pamphlet you picked up at the booth and glance over the events, seeing which ones are worth going to. 

The first one that caught your eye was comedy night in the showroom. After all the drama that has taken place, a good laugh seems like a good idea to let off steam. Comedy nights are not for loners though– it's clear you'll need a date. 

You've gotten to the point where you're comfortable with dating again. Finding someone to go with you should be an exciting process. 

Other than comedy night, there seems to be a few social clubs and even a casino on-board. You can imagine yourself now, laying luxuriously across a lounge chair with a seductive grimace, a perfect royal flush in your elegant grasp and your chips all in on the table. You're going to have a grand time– you're sure of it! 

Romance, adventure, relaxation, and discovery awaits you on this cruise and there's no way that you're going to let Jeon Jungkook from real estate ruin it.

The room wasn't any less of absolutely extraordinary. The carpet had been freshly washed. The kitchen came complete with an oven and an island with a fully-functioning sink. The living room area featured a 8K 120-inch TV and a balcony that extended to the ocean. And the bed– 

Bed. Singular.

Jungkook grazes his fingers over the sheets and hides a smirk. He lifts his head up to meet your fuming stare. 

His smile evaporates and he clears his throat. "I'll…call room service," he offers, picking up the phone.

"No!" You chirp. "Nope. Do not bother the kind service people. We're both adults. I'm an adult, you're an adult, and this is fine." You point toward the phone cradle. 

Jungkook raises his hands up in defeat and puts the phone back. "You're so stubborn, oh my God," he mutters. 

"What?!" You laugh. 

"Stubborn. You're so stubborn, Y/N. It's the staff's job to accommodate our needs. That's why we paid sixty thousand dollars," he replies, crystal clear. After a minute of examining your reaction, he dismisses the conversation.

You shake it off. "I'm headed out." Pulling off your boots, you dab some sunscreen on your face before slipping on your sandals and heading out. 

"Okay," he nods. 

Jungkook watches you disappear, out the door. God knows he needs this vacation. He's been running around LA chasing every opportunity he gets to find somebody still interested in his listing. 

The reality is that nobody of high status is moving to LA– nobody is moving to LA, period.

It only took a simple Google search for him to figure out why. His little friends down in the Houston area, even in crowded-ass Austin, houses are selling like hotcakes. Buyers are seeking out homes in upcoming neighborhoods and they're willing to abandon their lofty luxury apartments for a proper estate on the countryside. 

His agenda has been uncomfortably empty these past few weeks and it's left Jungkook with a sense of loneliness that he honestly hopes this vacation can finally get rid of. 

After all, he did plan this cruise with the intention of leaving his work behind and focusing on his…relationship…which is now in complete shambles. 

What is he moping about? There are plenty of fish in the sea. In fact, Jungkook is sure that on the other side of that door there are dozens of beautiful women from all across the country and possibly around the world just waiting to meet an eligible bachelor such as him. 

And as for you…You're probably on some guys arm, chatting over flirty margaritas. You've probably already talked your way into staying in his bed tonight. You've probably already got his number saved in your phone with little hearts next to his name.

Good. That's one way to solve the bed crisis. 

It's too much space for him alone, though. The nights get cold. The room gets too silent. Homes are supposed to be filled with laughter, conversation, company. He can't deny it. It's isolating. 

Jungkook had one thing right. You were drinking a flirty margarita at the poolside bar. Thing is, you bought it yourself. The closest you've gotten to a date was small talk with the bartender. 

As disparaging as it was, the chat was refreshing. You come to the realization that anybody and everybody who knew your business or your history was going to be on the other side of the globe in a few weeks. You have the chance to leave it all behind and relax. Whether or not that includes meeting someone new, it didn't matter. 

You sip your drink through the straw and cringe at the taste of alcohol. "Ah," you chuckle, "that's one way to get me drunk." 

The bartender shrugs, hugging his mixer as he surveys the deck through his sunglasses. His concerns lie elsewhere, most likely in the evening rush. "It's not that bad," he comments on the offhand. 

"It is vodka, after all." You pluck the skewered cherry from the glass and scrape it into your mouth. 

"It's barely vodka," he sets down the metal cylinder with a clink and leans on the counter. "You'll survive." 

You raise an eyebrow and let out a surprised laugh. "I'm not a lightweight!" 

"Never said you were, ma'am," he replies, picking up a damp cloth and wiping down his work station. 

"Then what are you saying?" You press, amused. 

The bartender shakes his head and smiles. "It's just…not the first drink I'd order." Fair enough. Content with his answer, you return to gazing out at the city. 

Jungkook is passed the fuck out on the bed. His arms are starfished across the width of it. His phone is loosely cradled in his hand, displaying the time. His peace is about to be disturbed. 

Slowly but surely, the rumble of the cruise ship shakes him awake. He breaks into a full-body yawn, expanding until he shakes. "Mmmh! …" 

His eyes peel open with curiosity. "What,, is going on…" he sings to himself, standing up and stepping around the room. He pauses and glances out the room. "Oh! The whole thing is moving." A smile spreads on his face. 

It won't be long now before they arrive at their destination, he thinks. 

Upon his whimsical realization, he decides on taking a shower to maybe grab some dinner. 

He's sure that he has at least a few reservations for the high-end restaurant on-board, a table for two. It's under his name.

He picks up the pamphlet the woman handed to him earlier and examines it. He flips to the second page. 

There's a full-page advertisement for the restaurant on it and on the bottom it indicates that the place is located on the West Wing. 

Jungkook reminds himself to check which dates he reserved as he pulls off his shirt and heads to the bathroom. 

As the day passes, more and more people flood the deck. At some point, it gets too crowded and you find yourself needing some solitude. You're hesitant to label yourself an introvert, but there is a reason you paid extra for a secluded suite. 

This vacation will serve as a mindful reset to all the hectic activities of everyday life in Los Angeles. It's an ironic name for a city a few wildfires away from burning hell. 

New York is too cold. Miami is too humid. Chicago is too windy. You couldn't imagine selling any of your properties now.

Jungkook could sell you on a house with just one tour, though. He's good at what he does.

You've always appreciated a man who excels in his field of profession– in comparison to those who sit on their asses all day and pick at their teeth while preparing a listing. Accomplishment is incredibly attractive. 

You keep this in mind while you stab at a salad with an ocean view. You've departed from the bay now, and there's nothing ahead but clear skies. Wistfully, you watch the waves appear over the horizon as they make their way toward the shore. 

How many uncharted creatures lie underneath that big expanse of endless blue? How can it be that this boat of steel– a miracle of engineering– floats so passively above it? 

You hum, picking another apple slice from your light dinner. It all seems rather impossible. 

A clean vase beside you holds a bunch of daffodils, tied in a bow with a burlap sting. Underneath it is a menu. 

The menu is made of paper, and it lists a variety of items such as food, drinks, and specialty alcohol. 

You don't drink, but a moscato sounds tempting, given the atmosphere. New Jazz is played over the light murmur of the people. Their conversations float in the air, a bright trumpet solo illuminating the noise. 

A soft eruption of "Happy Birthday!"s followed by a cheer is heard. 

This is a moment of peace. You find comfort in your own company, but still…

In the depths of your wounded heart there is a space reserved for the man you once called your lover, the one who probably…has his arm around some girl while chatting over flirty margaritas. 

That's a lie. Jungkook drinks beer. 

He always drank beer and soju. He's genuine. 

You set the menu down and a waitress appears to take away your finished plate. Before she turns, you stop her and ask for a glass of moscato. She complies and beelines for the kitchen. 

You're left alone. 

-

a/n: I have the next chapter ready but I'm gonna wait until next Friday to post it

Unless one of you guys ask for it earlier.

[aenaxes-moved]

reverie

[crosshair x f!reader] kashyyyk is beautiful at night. crosshair takes advantage of the moment of peace to sneak away. you follow.

warnings: none, just some snoggin’ with cross (you can technically read this as gn!reader if you disregard the petname)

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: NO SPOILERS! this is me coping with the current crosshair situation :’-) i wanted to explore his softer side because dammit he’s got feelings (he might be a little out of character but my house my rules heheh)

“Nice hideout you have going on.”

“Had,” Crosshair corrects without looking up, too focused on carefully wrapping a rag around the scope of his firepuncher laid carefully across his lap.

Had you heard him speak one short year ago, when you were fresh out of GARMC orientation and shunted straight onto the Marauder, you would have certainly taken the sniper’s curtness for frigidity. And you had, for your first few months with Clone Force 99, taken his flat intonation and pointed tone with a timid squeak every time he’d come in for a bacta patch or hypodermic needle.

But things were different, now.

There is no deflated resignation that he’s been discovered, hidden a good few paces away from where Tech sits entranced by the wizened green Jedi master. Nor is there icy snarl curling at the edges of his lips, that you might deign to interrupt his alone time with Darling (nobody got between Crosshair with a microfiber cloth and Darling, not even Wrecker). Instead, he acknowledges you in his cool nonchalance, beckoning in the most backhanded of ways. You grin, seizing your welcome and ducking under a thick loop of vine into the small clearing where he sits perched on a boulder.

“Was Master Yoda talking too much?” you laugh, dropping down onto the balls of your feet as you peer up at Crosshair (who still won’t tear his laser focus from polishing over the dark metal of his rifle). You wrap your arms around your knees and grin when he groans.

“General Yoda is fine; it’s Tech that keeps prattling on with him,” Crosshair mutters, scrubbing a touch more aggressively at the base of the scope.

“Oh, Cross, let him have his fun,” you chide playfully, finally earning you a disdainful glance and a raised brow. “It’s not every day that you get to interrogate one of the oldest sentient beings in the galaxy.”

“Did you just call the general old?” Crosshair snorts, flipping his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.

“Crosshair, how dare you accuse me like that!”

“You said it,” he shrugs, and you catch a glimpse of a fleeting smile before he turns his head back down, away, towards his rifle.

You huff, and for a moment after, there’s silence. Mostly because you know that even your best retort would be effortlessly shot down, but in part to just indulge, to look quietly at the ornery sniper you’ve come to call a dear friend, to take in him and all of his tall, confident quietude. You both know that he knows what you’re doing, drinking him in, but he says nothing every time.

It’s in these brief reveries that you catch him in his softest, purest, state, methodically cleaning the firepuncher, disassembling, reassembling, replaying the soothing knowledge and practice that every piece had its rightful place. Things would align. Even with his chin turned down, his features nearly obscured by the shadows of the jungle canopy, there’s just enough light yet to make out the slight upward turn of his lips, a wry smile around his toothpick as he unclips his scope.

“So why are you here?”

The daydream is broken, and you flicker your eyes up to his with an embarrassed cough when you notice he’s been staring back. And if his smug half-smile has anything to say, it’s a triumphant and coy I caught you.

“Well,” you laugh, quietly pushing down the rising heat high in your neck. “I wanted to try to see the night sky on Kashyyyk before we leave, but I’m too scared to go alone.” You plaster on the sickliest of smiles you can, batting your lashes up at Crosshair in the way that would have Wrecker at your beck and call in seconds, but one that you know has no effect on his brother.

“Bullshit.” Crosshair rolls his eyes, but he’s already snapping the scope back onto Darling and sliding down from his perch. “Only things in the galaxy you’re scared of are porgs,” he says as he fastens his rifle into his pack and slings one strap over his shoulder, offering his free hand down to you.

“They—they have weirdly sentient eyes, okay!” you snap a bit hotly. You blame the warmth blooming across your cheeks on the fact that only Crosshair knows about your fear of the terrifying little fellows, not that he’s squeezing your hand and hefting you onto your feet.

“Why not ask Wrecker to take you?” Crosshair asks, letting go of your hand—to your relief and dismay all at once—and brush off whatever undergrowth sits dusted over your shoulders. “He’s sappy.”

“He’s busy making friends with the Wookiees.” And butchering Shyriiwook while he did it.

“And Hunter?”

“He’s also making friends with the Wookiees.” It’s not entirely untrue, if learning how to whittle blades out of branches counted as friendly bonding.

“Echo?”

“Also... making friends... with the Wookiees.”

You both know Echo has probably long since fallen asleep after a dose of painkillers for his fall during a particularly messy bit of the firefight. You could have actually told Crosshair the truth, but a part of you won’t take your chances—depending on Crosshair’s mood, he’d send you back to wake up his newest brother and return to shining up the stock of his rifle. But instead of calling your bluff, Crosshair simply shakes his head and sighs, extending his hand to you.

Mind suddenly and miserably blank, you stare mutely at his outstretched palm, an offering, then up at him.

“Come on, you said you were scared,” Crosshair teases, a lazy, sloping smirk curved over his features. He beckons you with a single flick of his fingers. Smug bastard, you think.

“My hero,” you snark back, but you’re quick to close the distance. Even if it takes bearing a bit of his snide sideswipes, you’re surprised at how easy it is to set aside your headstrong pride and simper for the sniper’s attention (though he’s giving it much more freely than you had anticipated). Palm to palm, the cool fabric of his blacks between you, you secure your grip around him as snug as you can.

Crosshair leads you quietly through the underbrush, going so far as to lift drooping vines and push aside especially tall ferns for you, all the while keeping as secure a grip on your hand as your grip on his.

It’s comforting, even while tamping through the darkness. You trust all of his brothers with your life, but maybe, just maybe, you trust Crosshair just that much more as he leads you deeper into the jungle.

After an short trek, you arrive at another clearing, the ground barren and drier than the damp, brush heavy terrain you had come to know during the Kashyyyk campaign. It’s no bigger than the armory floor spread on the Marauder, but as Crosshair pulls you into the clearing, you realize it’s not the earth beneath your feet that commands your wonder.

Crosshair nods his chin up, and your eyes are quick to follow. It’s the pearlescent glow of the three moons high above the treetops, shining clear and soft down through the canopy skylight.

Two moons float above in the bluish gray darkness of the galaxy, the third moon peeking from behind a few trees, in between them, a delicate freckling of stars, twinkling planets, comets ambling quietly through space. You’re barely aware of the grin spreading across your face as you soak in the night sky. It’s everything you had hoped it would be.

And with Crosshair at your side, it’s just that much more.

“Found it while I was scouting,” Crosshair’s voice comes, soft through the ambient silence of the jungle. Even in your rapture, you can feel his eyes on you, lingering on the green earth and watching your wonder far up in the sky.

“It’s amazing,” you breathe, and you squeeze his hand. You tear your eyes away from the starscape above to meet Crosshair with a smile. “Thank you, Cross.”

The sniper is quiet as you meet his gaze, trained on you with an indiscernible expression, a depth in his dark eyes you have only seen once before when you caught a glimpse of him at the helm, looking quietly into the expanse of space laid out before him.

It’s peace, you decide. A stillness, a calm, the quietest respite in the midst of this war. You gently rub over his knuckles.

“Close your eyes, y/n,” Crosshair finally murmurs, barely above a whisper, his gaze unwavering. And your eyes are already fluttered shut when you hear something hit the underbrush and a crunch of dirt under his boot as he steps forward and loops an arm around your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut a bit tighter as you press up against the battle-worn plastoid of his chestplate and feel his fingers splay over your hip.

Warm, rough fingertips gently pinch your chin and tilt your head up just so. A soft breeze wafts over your cheeks, carrying with it the woody musk and cloying pollen of the forest around you, and it is in that moment that you realize that he had dropped his glove onto the forest floor, had left it there and chosen to hold you in his bare hand, smoothing his thumb over your skin.

“There’s a good girl.”

The only warning you get is a ghost of a breath gently exhaled onto your skin before there is warmth, pulled close and steady and sweet as Crosshair gently tugs on your bottom lip.

He’s soft, you think mindlessly through the blissful haze between your ears. You faintly register the taste of the lavender balm you had bought him planetside on Crucival as he trails his hand up from your hip, over the dip in your back, and up to cup the base of your neck, pulling you closer.

All that teething’ll dry you out you had told him, and he’d scoffed something along the lines of soldiers—especially clones—not needing or wanting luxury goods. And yet you taste the telltale floral notes on his skin. You foggily wonder if he keeps the little tin on his ammunition belt as he kneads firm, steady fingers into your neck. You’ll gloat about it later.

There’s lavender, and then you taste him, just a trace, when he drags his tongue over the plush skin of your lips. At some point, you’ve brought your hands up to curl at the base of his head, threading through neatly cropped silver strands, and you part your lips. Finally, finally you can taste him on your own tongue.

He’s battle weary, laced with the slightest tang of synthetic wood treatment bleached into his toothpicks, anxiety bitten and jaw clenched. But here, now, only the faint residues of that tension remain in his impossibly gentle, unhurried motions. Running his thumb from your chin to the corner of your jaw, he tugs, tilting your head and gently tugging your tongue into his mouth.

Warmth blooms through your chest, steady and soft, a pulsar light glowing through the darkness, and you pull him closer.

He pulls away first, if only by virtue of your fervent wish that this moment might never end, nipping lightly your bottom lip in parting. And when the heat radiating off his skin is no longer close enough to warm you in the cool forest night, you slowly open your eyes, hoping that you won't wake to the durasteel ceiling of your bunk glaring down on you.

It's not a dream, Maker bless.

Crosshair stands before you, barely half an arm's length away and already flicking another toothpick between his lips as he smiles, open and soft in the moonlight. Without his persistent scowl, his piercing gaze, he looks so, so achingly young. And, if only for a moment, free of the burdens of war. Just a simple man bathing in the starlight in the jungles of Kashyyyk.

He's beautiful.

"Hi, Cross," you whisper, voice doing little to hide your lingering daze, and you watch, eyes wide with starry wonder, as Crosshair shakes with quiet laughter, eyes closed and shoulders sloped low.

"Hi, y/n," he chuckles. He fixes you with another unreadable look, this one different from the first. It's softer and mellow, vibrant in thrumming waves of bliss, content.

But before you can decide, he reaches down to pick his glove off of the jungle floor, tapping off the dirt on his hip and then, without hesitation, stuffing it into his ammunition belt. There's a brief flash of purplish metal in the pocket he chooses. The balm. You were right.

He catches your astonishment with a soft huff and clips the pocket shut.

"All that teething does dry me out," he teases, but there is only quiet acknowledgement, gracious and still as he extends his ungloved hand to you in the waning moonlight.

You stare at him, dumbstruck.

"The general probably knows we're gone. Come on," Crosshair's smile shifts, assuming a much more familiar smirk to accompany the sharp, snarky lilt that washes over him. He flicks his fingers at you, rolling his toothpick between his teeth. "Be a good girl for me."

There's the Crosshair you know.

"You're insufferable," you mutter, the heat blazing on the tips of your ears as you duck your head. But you reach for him anyways, reveling in the slow slide of your skin over his palm, your fingers finding home intertwined with his.

"Such a good girl," he chuckles, lifting your knuckles to his lips for the barest of chaste, fleeting touches.

"I will make your next hypoderm hurt like hell," you grumble.

"Oh, I look forward to it."

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Leggiero (Chapter Three)

aIn collaboration with @bethanysnow

Small touches, looks, and wine-soaked daydreams lead to whispered conversations on balconies' edge. Put out cigarettes in the middle of the night. Let lips touch as palms do - eventually...

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word count | 7111

Tag list | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitermoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you@vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @dacey0eg @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @bidet-and-legolas @ginny-lily

***

The bus rumbled underneath Damiano as he turned around in his bunk, the humming of the vehicle drowning out the clatter and chatter of his bandmates in the background. His head was pounding, but less because of the little alcohol he had consumed the night before and more because of the thoughts that had kept him up all night. This morning, he had made sure to be up before Y/n would come around for her wake up call, got ready and then all but crawled into the bunk on his bus for more sleep. They would play a gig in the evening, but for now he was thankful for the 6-hour drive to Oslo with nothing to do.

He could almost feel himself drifting off, body tired out and mind exhausted, but instead all that he saw when he closed his eyes were scenes from last night.

The room was filled with laughter. Music and Vic’s singing, as Damiano let himself fall onto the bed next to Y/n. She looked gorgeous, hair down, relaxing, a champagne flute in her hand and a slight smile on her face. Even though he knew she’d be worrying about what Thomas was doing to the room and how she was going to get them out of bed the next morning. But mostly she was just gorgeous and he told her so.

His hand reached out before the contemplation of this action had been finished in his brain. The adrenaline from the first show of the tour had him flying, soaring, and there was nothing that could possibly bring him down. Her eyes showed surprise but she didn’t pull away as he put a strand of her hand behind her ear. The gesture was small but Damiano felt like he was on fire, briefly stroking the soft skin under his fingers before pulling back.

He found himself babbling about his hair, but he was much more interested in what she had to say. He wished she would talk about herself more often - so much of his personality was so out there, so much information about himself was literally out there, in magazines and interviews and photos, but she had her walls up, even when they were joking, even when she seemed to be talking freely.

“You’re getting more interesting with every second I’m around you, you know?” The words slipped out of his mouth so easily. She went over it just as easily. Did she not care? Did she not find him interesting? He had hoped for some sort of reply or reaction, but she just continued talking. Maybe she wasn’t interested in him… His brain only allowed the thought for a minute. No, he told himself, she simply was this way. Cool, calm, collected. He was sure he would be able to get her out of her shell further one of these days. He wasn’t going to stop trying.

Next thing he knew, she had thrust her phone into his hand, some picture of her from years ago. He didn’t care much about the outfit or the makeup or the questionable hair, it was her smile that drew him in. There was something carefree about it, something unabashedly confident, something she seemed to have lost since then. There was no way back for him he realised in that moment - it might as well have been this woman or no other ever again.

Next thing he knew, he was complimenting her again, calling her darling, but this time he didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. The drink that had been in her mouth just a second ago was now spluttered on her clothes and some of the bedding. He was about to ask her if she was alright, but she had jumped up from the bed, hands trying to hide her reddening face, and dashed to the bathroom.

Fuck, what happened?

“Damiano! What did you do to the poor girl!” Vic shouted in amusement from across the room. He simply waved it off. He wasn’t actually sure what he had done and it bothered him more than he would like to admit - especially in front of his bandmates. Maybe he had come on too strong, tried too hard, had made it awkward. His plan had been to pay her compliments - not scare her away with them. He would have to reconsider his course of action.

When she came back, it was only to say a quick goodnight, waving and leaving. She only spared him a brief glance, no smile or any reassurance that they were fine.

It had not stopped going through his mind. This morning, she had pretended like nothing had happened, but he knew she had been avoiding his gaze and her smiles didn’t seem quite as genuine as they did before. Damiano let out a low groan into his pillow. This was a mess and a half.

The curtain of his bunk was drawn back harshly, revealing Ethan’s face.

“Why would you scare me like that!” Damiano complained. “I could be jacking off in here!”

“Well, I want to assume you wouldn’t do that in a semi-public space such as this,” Ethan replied with contemplation on his face.

“What do you want anyway?”

“Victoria sent me and told me to tell you, I quote,” Ethan cleared his throat. “‘Stop moping, Damiano, it’s no fun'. So, there you go.”

Without another word, Ethan turned back around, leaving the curtain open, and walked back into the kitchenette of the bus. Out of the corner of his eye, Damiano could see him stealing a bit of fruit from the fruit bowl. He felt no motivation to join them.

***

“He alright?” Y/n whispered to Thomas, who was sitting close to her, guitar on his lap. He just shrugged. Ethan rejoined the group with an unreadable expression on his face, sitting down next to Victoria. Y/n shot him another concerned look, but he simply shrugged as well. She shook her head and got up from her spot, walking over to the counter to make breakfast for everyone. Getting out the waffle maker. Putting the Moka pot on the stove and filling it with water. Too early in the morning for rock and roll. In the background, she could hear the band discussing rehearsals and the show in Oslo.

As soon as the smell of food hit the three bandmates, they were all over Y/n, hovering around the little kitchenette, pushing and shoving each other to be first. Y/n looked at all of them in turn. Thomas was currently standing on the couch, raising his hand to smack an unsuspecting Vic who was looking the other way. A single raised brow from Y/n got him back down onto the ground.

“Hey! I’m older, I go first!” Victoria pushed Thomas back.

“Maybe, but it still took your mum nine months to think of a good joke,” Thomas retorted.

Ethan turned around, chuckling at his friends’ banter - but Y/n’s reaction was far more blatant. She started to laugh, a loud, almost cackle that the band had never heard before. Her smile easily reached her eyes and she gave a little applause at Thomas’ joke. “I- I;” she gasped in between laughs, “I know it’s not that funny but it just got me, sorry!” Finally managing to bite her tongue, she went back to serving breakfast.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n saw Damiano leaning so far out of his bunk to find out where the sounds and the laughter were coming from. The driver though couldn’t have known it was a bad moment to go over a pothole. With a loud thud, Damiano crashed out from his bunk and onto the hard floor. Chili, excited at the prospect of being able to reach him, ran over to lick his face.

“Eh! Chili, hi. Vic! Come get your dog!” He groaned, picking up the golden fluff and sending it back to her owner. She trotted away happily, over towards Victoria, who was a giggling mess after seeing her friend’s fall. He rolled his eyes at her grin.

“You gonna come join us, sleepy boy? I made coffee,” Y/n said, still trying to keep the peace between everyone. Pouring coffee into a mug, she walked over to Damiano and bent down, handing him the beverage. “I don’t really care if you want to spend the entire day on the floor, but I think your fans might tonight. So come join the party, hm?” Her voice was soft and enticing. Damiano’s eyes sparkled at her invitation. But still, his face was burning red. He sighed and nodded.

Y/n stepped back, taking the cup after he had taken a long sip, and reached her hand out to him. With a swift movement, Damiano was back up on his feet, immediately losing his balance and crashing into Y/n’s shoulder. More blushing on his part. He had not been expecting this amount of strength from her. Not caring about his little bump into her, she dusted him off, picking some fuzz out of his hair, her hand so close to his face, yet so far. She handed him the coffee once again and gave him a smile, before going back to her little corner on the bus as everyone devoured their breakfast.

Damiano watched as she tidied up after everyone had finished, constantly making sure what was effectively their home during tour would stay homely. She always looked like she belonged, and he admired her for that. After one last wipe down of the counter, she quickly addressed everyone on the bus, asking if she was needed for anything else right now, and after a round of head-shaking from everyone, she grabbed her laptop and retired to a quiet corner on the bus. It was only when she briefly looked up to find his eyes and gave a slight smile that he realised he was still watching her every move. Embarrassing, he scolded himself.

Damiano started fumbling for his bag, grabbing a notebook and a pen. He had too many thoughts running around in his head, too many images and ideas about Y/n, and he felt like the only way to get rid of them was to write. Maybe he’d even be able to make something out of it. Anything would be better than staring and dreaming about her anyway.

***

Two more hours until Oslo. With a heavy sigh, Y/n pushed the laptop away from her, neck cracking as she finally moved her bones a little. Suddenly, a pair of hands came down onto her shoulders. She only flinched for a moment before she realised it was Damiano, slowly starting to massage her tense flesh. Her head fell forward and she waved her hand to have him keep going. His fingertips digging into hours of uni work, work work, other work. Tension all living in her neck being slowly worked away by the singer.

"I'm not gonna turn down a free massage," she chuckled, feeling his talented fingers remove knot after knot. Then, suddenly, they became softer. She could hear Thomas in the background shouting something at Damiano. Taking his attention away from her, and all it left was soft fingertips on the sensitive skin on her neck. Dancing along and leaving goosebumps in their wake without him even knowing what he was doing to her. She shivered under such a light touch. A groan left her lips as she was falling deeper under his spell. At this point, she didn’t care. A very pretty man was smoothing his hands over her neck and shoulders and it was nothing short of lovely. Normally this wouldn’t be on Y/n's top list of things she would allow - but a 6-hour bus ride and sitting in one place for most of it was a killer.

I could fall asleep like this - fuck…

She was snapped back to reality when she realised that Damiano was once again staring at her screen, asking what she was working on, hands never moving from their position. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to concentrate like this.

“Oh, I’ve, um,” she awkwardly fumbled with the laptop, “I’ve been trying to memorise this sonnet. I’m doing a course on Shakespeare this semester and we’ve been told to pick our favourite by him and I think I finally decided on mine. It’s Sonnet 128 - um. One of the only sonnets to give you an actual scene in place. It’s from the perspective of this guy watching a bard and just craving to be touched, used, kissed by this person. To have the same sort of attentive mastery be directed at him instead of the player’s instrument. Describing the person listening to this bard play… Wait, would you just like me to read it to you?” Y/n looked up at Damiano. He nodded as he slid into the seat beside her. She moved the laptop so she could see its screen still and began to speak.

***

Sitting next to her wasn’t as bad as Damiano thought. After working on her neck and shoulders, her perfume had rubbed off onto his skin. Light and warm, not super floral, but he didn’t peg Y/n to be a flower kind of woman anyway. Looking at her face now, he noticed things he hadn’t seen before. Faint freckles, little lines around her eyes, the pink tint on her lips. Her hair was done up again in a bun. He could see a couple of bobby pins trying to hide in her wild hair. Then she started to recite the piece and his chest was exploding. He felt as if he was watching winter melt away and spring come.

“How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st”

Oh, what he would do to be her muse, Damiano thought. Her voice, low and soft, was like music itself to him, never mind the way her eyes lit up at the words she repeated from the screen. A little light inside of her, one he hadn’t encountered before.

“Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st”

Her fingers were just as sweet, his mind piped up as he tried to listen to her more closely. Some light polish on her nails that he hadn’t noticed before, but now that she was scrolling through the laptop, it was like he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Quickly exploring images of them tangled in his hair, scratching down his back ever so slightly. Stop, he told in his own head in vain. Just stop and listen, for once. Yet the ideas of her he had hidden away kept demanding attention.

“The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,”

He tried so hard to concentrate. To listen, to take in the words she was reciting, to grasp their meaning and what they meant to her, but it was hard, getting harder. In an uncalculated move on his part, his arm swung around her shoulders, not pulling her closer, just letting her know he was there, right now, right here, with her. His hand resting on her upper arms, feeling the warmth underneath the fabric of her blouse.

“Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,

At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand!”

His eyes travelled up from her fingers, over her soft and curvy figure, her delicate neck, to her blushing face. She was blushing an awful lot with him and he had not yet figured out completely if this was a good sign or not. Either way, he thought she looked adorable, a natural pink on her cheeks. Slightly restless eye movements that didn’t match up to the words she was reading, a certain nervousness overtaking her. He wanted to make her blush like that for the rest of his life if he could. He silently wondered if she would blush that much if… if it was just the two of them, alone in some random hotel room, a whole world of exploration before them.

“To be so tickled, they would change their state

And situation with those dancing chips,

O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,

Making dead wood more blest than living lips.”

His eyes betrayed him, flicking down to her lips as soon as she said the word. Soft, a light tint on them, pronouncing every syllable in the most mindful way. He wondered if she would let him kiss her. What. His brain flickered between two emotions. Yes, yes, yes. He would give everything to feel her sweet mouth on his, getting her close, inhaling her scent, pouring his every thought into a kiss. No. What was he thinking? She was their assistant. Strong, gorgeous, fiercely independent, and surely not interested. Right? He couldn’t help wondering. Would she let him kiss her? Would she want him to? Had she thought about it, the way he was right now?

“Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.”

Their eyes met and Damiano hadn’t even noticed how much closer he had edged towards her. It would only take a little bit, one more breather, a tiny motion, to put his lips on her, to feel what she was feeling, and the way she looked at him had him craving, obsessing and he almost dared himself to do it, when a voice pulled him out of his thoughts, pulled him away from her.

“Y/N! I don’t understand how the waffle maker works!”

Damiano had never wanted to kill his bandmate more than at that moment. With a groan he turned around, seeing Thomas fumble with the appliances in their little kitchen area, a dumbstruck look on his face, and puppy dog eyes pleading Y/n for help. She only gave a low chuckle, before getting up and walking over to the guitarist, leaving Damiano with a head full of thoughts that all circled around her.

***

That was close, Jesus Christ! My face is so warm… how are his eyes that pretty? How have I never noticed that before? I wonder if he was thinking about the same thing as I was back there…

***

The crowd was roaring out by the main stage. Crew held their places waiting for the queue to go. The band stood off stage trying to sneak a peek at the audience. Hundreds more people than they were expecting. Y/n sat in a metal chair that was dubbed ‘her chair’ so she could watch the performance from behind the main curtain to cheer the band on without being seen. The lights in the main room were being lowered, the playlist that had been on in the background slowly being turned off, as the noise of the audience got impossibly louder. The band was getting nervous now, the good kind of nervous. Thomas jumping around to get his energy levels up before they would get the sign to get on stage. Y/n smiled at them in turn, returning a little wave Ethan was giving her. Just as they were given the go-ahead, and all of them started to jog on stage, Damiano took a little detour, sending her a smile that would set all the butterflies free in her stomach, before pressing a little kiss to her forehead. He was gone before she had a chance to react. Yet, she froze. Damiano looked back and it was the most perplexed, confused, and adorable expression he had ever seen on her.

It was an expression Damiano couldn’t get out of his head for the rest of the concert, even long after she had lost it - and he knew she had because he couldn’t keep himself from looking over at her every now and again. He was fascinated by the way she watched them.

And if she was watching? Well, then he was going to put on a show.

He pulled all the tricks he knew - well those that were fitted to the situation and venue. During one of their songs, he decided to pull his favourite one. With a low grunt, he ripped his shirt apart, throwing it across the stage, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Until he looked over to where his top had landed and his eyes fell onto Y/n, standing beside the stage, now with a performance-rich torn tank top on her face. Maybe his aim had been a little off. The look on her face as she removed the fabric made him laugh. At least she isn’t hiding now, he thought, before going back to the song.

During “You need me, I don’t need you”, one of the covers they had chosen for the night, he couldn’t fight the grin, knowing his favourite lyric of the night was coming up.

“Melody music maker, reading all the papers, they say I’m up and coming like I’m fucking in an elevator.”

Where Damiano would usually take the chance to suggestively hump the mic stand and focus on the audience, this time he did it while looking straight at Y/n. Her face clouded red, eyes looking at him with a flustered glare. He simply winked at her.

Similar things kept happening throughout the night, any song to do with sex or romance, any innuendo, it was all directed at her. To him, it was all about her all the time, and he made sure to let her know.

***

After one last encore, the band left the stage, the sound of the crowd chanting their names in the background. Once backstage, they all exchanged hugs, all pumped up from the adrenaline and the successful show. A massive gift basket sat in the corner, filled with beers, chocolates, some skincare products, and flowers, along with a note from the venue welcoming them to Oslo and thanking them for playing. Vic immediately grabbed Y/n.

“When we get back to the hotel - up for a girl’s night?” Wriggling her eyebrows at the assistant, she picked out some of the products from the red tulle in the basket.

“As if I could say no to you.”

***

“Okay, what’s first, face mask or red wine?” Victoria asked, holding up both items in her hands as she followed Y/n into the hotel room, Chili yapping at both of their feet, dying to get attention from anyone.

“I will pour the wine if you open the face mask stuff,” Y/n decided, picking up Chili for some snuggles, before putting the dog down on the bed and grabbing the wine glasses. “Don’t have a girls' night often, so this is nice.”

“I keep having them with the boys but it’s not really the same,” Vic laughed. “They never want me to pluck their eyebrows or anything! Oh, and please be careful with the wine around Chili, I drenched her once and it didn’t come out of her fur for ages.”

“You - you did what now? Wait, nope, I don’t wanna know. But to be honest, I would kill to get Ethan on my lap with some tweezers in my hand. Boy, does he need it. Not by much, sweet guy. Just, uh, you know?” Within a moment or two wine was being poured and handed to the blonde. “I didn’t know how much you would want but we can always add more,” Y/n stated, hopping onto the bed next to Vic.

“Oh, very sweet guy with unpredictable hair, really!” Vic said, grabbing the glass and downing more than half of it in one go already, before sitting down next to Y/n with the little pot she had opened and a little applicator for the cream. “That’s so fancy, I usually just slap it on my face with my fingers.”

“Same! Thinking we’re posh fucks, aren’t they?” Y/n grinned, looking at the tiny skincare items, another sip of wine. Chili curled up between the two women. “You looked like you had fun at the concert.”

“It’s so good to be back on the road and I feel like we’ve really found ourselves as a band now. We’ve only played two shows but it’s already my favourite tour. I’m convinced it’s because you’re here, too, by the way, you really fit in with us,” Victoria smiled at her, sipping from the glass, then putting it away on the nightstand and motioning for Y/n to do the same. “Come here, I’m gonna do your face.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that. You guys have been absolutely killing it. You got here by your own accomplishments and will, that’s hard to do. I am far more surprised at how well I’ve been able to fit in with you all. I’m, uh, as you can see,” putting the glass away, she scooted to face Victoria, “not as… ‘rock and roll’ and I would have assumed you’d want your assistant to be. But glad I got stuck with you though.”

“Oh, shush,” Vic said, sternly, as she began applying the cream to Y/n’s face. “You fit in just fine. Firstly, I think we definitely need someone to keep us grounded a bit sometimes and secondly, I am absolutely convinced there’s a lot more rock and roll in you than you think - you just wait until you’ve been exposed to us for longer, you’ll see!”

“Well, I agree with the grounded part. You realise that today during breakfast Thomas was climbing on the sofa about to smack your head just to get further in line? That boy does not stop.” She relaxed into Vic’s touch, silently deciding that girls' nights needed to be a more regular thing. This was great. “Ethan said something similar - something about ‘head banging right along with everyone else’. You all have it out for me don’t you?!” She asked, putting on an overly dramatic, surprised look.

“No, he didn’t!” She exclaimed, astounded. “I’m gonna get him back for that tomorrow. Anyway, Ethan was right, you won’t be able to resist our bad influence forever, Y/n! So, have you been to gigs before taking this job, or is this still something new to you?”

“I have been to gigs before, but they were more music festivals, and I was never one for EDM or anything. The heat and lots of glittery, sweaty people drunk on warm beer? No, thank you. Or they would get a new assistant for a tour and the job would end. Not in a bad way, it's just how it is as an assistant. You do your job until they don’t need you anymore.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s the wine or you, but I don’t think I’ve talked this much about myself really since I started this job. Not this particular job, mind you, but the whole P.A. thing.” Y/n chuckled, pulling her hair back into a tighter ponytail to keep out of the way of the fancy skincare.

“Hm, now I just keep thinking of putting glitter on you and getting you in the middle of a good punk gig one of these days,” Vic giggled as she finished up Y/n’s facemask, motioning for her to return the favour. “Let’s make the most of this wine then, I’m going to pour you another glass and you tell me a bit more about yourself.”

Grabbing the little pot of face mask, Y/n gently held Vic’s face, slowly applying the cream. “I’m going to be an alcoholic by the end of the tour, aren’t I? Um, well, I had a boyfriend, he was a prick, we broke up. My best friend lives in London in our old flat. My favourite films are old Hollywood romances. ‘Singing in the rain’, stuff like that. I dunno really. I’m just Y/n. Though I was thinking we should find a way to line Damiano’s trousers so that if they - when they rip apart, you see the lining and not the man’s underwear. Not that I think he cares, actually.” She truly was unable to turn work off completely, even on a night off.

Victoria couldn’t contain the giggle, receiving a scolding look from Y/n, who almost put the cream in her hair by mistake. “Thinking about Damiano’s underwear a lot, huh? Can’t blame you, that man is as pretty as they come. You can be happy they’ve all not gotten to the point where they just hang out on the tour bus in just their boxer shorts, but believe me, that day will come sooner or later!”

“I have not!” She insisted as her face betrayed her, telling a completely different story. “That is unprofessional and objectifying. I hope it doesn’t happen at all. You saw my face before when you all decided to ‘put on a little show’ in the dressing room.” She took the glass from Vic to take a sip. “Anyway.” She started blending out the face mask with fingers, careful not to get it into Victoria’s hair. “Would there be anything you want to know? I am never good at talking about myself.”

Chili nuzzled into Victoria’s leg, getting more needy. “I don’t want to cross any boundaries here, but honestly - why do you work so hard? I’ve only known you for like three days but you never seem to relax, you’re always either busy working for us or working on your projects and when you have a minute to breathe you end up cleaning after us or just going above and beyond taking care of us. I’m not complaining,” she held her hands up, laughing. “It’s great, but it’s a lot, huh?”

“Um… I can’t lie. Not to you or the band. Lying isn’t good for you anyway. But.. I don’t know. Lots of stuff happened before I moved to Italy. Lots of not-so-good stuff. So, I had a lot of reserved pent-up energy, still do. So I had to find ways to put it into things. Now I put it into my work because it’s my new dream. I put it into the band because I care about you. I want to see this tour do well…” Y/n stopped for a moment, caught off guard by the question, looking back and forth between Victoria and her own reflection in the wine. “I want to prove to myself that I can achieve and be successful. I am also a giant workaholic, though, like it’s bad,” she giggled, as Chili now put a paw on Vic’s thigh, demanding attention.

“Well, if you gotta do that whole workaholic thing, I’m glad you’re doing it for us,” Vic smiled, placing a soft hand on Y/n’s arm. “Just make sure to make some time to let loose every now and again. I’m sure any of us would be happy to help you with that.” She turned on her phone to check the time. “I should probably get this mask off now, give me a second,” she explained before getting up and skipping to the bathroom sink.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Y/n said, also taking note of the time. “Doesn’t Chili need to go out now? There’s no grass on the balcony or I’d let her do her business here.” She stood up, placing the wine glasses on a little counter, trying to force the cork back into the bottle. “Thank you for tonight though, we should make it a thing.”

“Yeah, I’ll take her out for her evening walk now.” Victoria came back, hair slightly damp from where she had washed her face too hastily. “But let’s definitely do this again, next to Ethan you’re like the most calming person on this tour to hang out with.” She moved to give her a hug, only to realise Y/n still had the mask on, so instead, she opted for an awkward shoulder rub and a giggle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You do realise it is my job to follow you around and see you tomorrow? Like, that is what I am paid to do. But hell, I’d still do it if it wasn’t my job,” she smiled, nudging Vic’s shoulder. “Now go get Chili out and then get some sleep yeah? Important things like sleep, food, water, everything you people seem to keep forgetting about!”

“Well, that’s what we have you for now, don’t we?” Victoria laughed, picking up a whining Chili and already halfway out the door. “But you get some sleep too! No working through the night, I am ordering you to bed - as your boss!”

“Of course!” Y/n laughed, shutting the door behind the bassist. After taking off her mask, she put the rest of Vic’s leftover wine into her glass and went out onto the balcony with her laptop. Pulling out all the bobby pins and the hair tie, she ran her fingers through her hair, brushing out the knots and letting it hang loose. The light from the sunset had long been gone by the time they had gotten to the hotel. Only street lights and the blue screen were illuminating the space of the balcony. The outdoor space was large enough for a table and chairs. The street down below was faintly noisy as people and cars passed by, but not enough to disturb her peace and quiet.

***

So much for an early night, Damiano thought, staring at the screen of his phone, as Ethan slept soundly in the next bed. With a sigh, he kicked the blanket off his legs, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, and sneaking out onto the balcony without waking his bandmate. Maybe a smoke would help. His eyes drifted from the rather unspectacular view out front to where he noticed movement to his right, only to see Y/n on her own balcony, right next to his.

Y/n was relaxing in her chair, glass of wine in her hands, mouthing the words to something on the computer in front of her. Entirely focused on whatever she was working on, she didn’t notice Damiano’s door opening and closing. She took a drink of her wine, leaving a dark red stain on her lips, then stood up to face the street. Laptop on her arm and looking outward, she mumbled the words on the screen to herself. He just about managed to make out what she was saying.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with brief- Wait, no. Grief. Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Who is already sick and pale with grief. Stupid tiny font is gonna be de death of me,” she mumbled, trying to zoom into the text.

Damiano watched her, a chuckle on his lips, both amused and amazed at seeing her play out the scene on her own. With a quick flick of his lighter, he turned to his cigarette, taking a drag, wide awake. The low light of the moon was illuminating her figure and her hazy movements and for a while he allowed himself to simply be fascinated by her. By the way she moved. Performing fully committed to the open air. Then she made a particularly dramatic, sweeping gesture in her monologue and he knew he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Hey there, Juliet.”

The surprise went through her like an electric shock, she was stumbling over nothing, almost dropping the laptop from her arms, as she turned around towards him so fast, he was sure her hair was going to give her whiplash.

“Ah fuck - Damiano?!” She gasped delicately into the night. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

Hopefully, for very different reasons, he thought to himself.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly replied. “What are you doing? It’s almost 2 am.”

“You know I could very well ask you the same thing.” She looked at him accusingly. “If you didn’t have the day off tomorrow I’d be ordering you back to bed immediately.”

Damiano briefly considered a suggestive comment, but instead, let the cigarette between his lips keep him quiet. Y/n was putting her laptop away now, sinking back down into the lounge chair as he walked over to the edge of his own balcony, leaning over the railing to get a better look at her.

“You know I’ve not forgiven you for your antics at the concert tonight yet,” she suddenly stated, pulling him from his thoughts. The smirk flashed over his face naturally. He wondered if she was blushing again, but the little light the moon and her laptop screen gave off didn’t tell him anything. He was hoping she was.

“I promise I didn’t mean to hit your face with my top,” he laughed.

“But you obviously did mean everything else you did!” An accusing finger was pointed his way. “I did not appreciate that.”

For a second he flinched, wondering if he had gone too far, crossing a boundary. But then she looked back at him with a smile she was obviously trying to push away, unsuccessfully. Glass of wine in her hand, she sauntered over to him, while he put out his cigarette on the railing. She leant over her own railing, mirroring his movements. At a slow pace, like she knew he was watching, she sipped from her glass. His eyes falling to the way her neck was exposed as she threw her head back, tracing the soft skin with his glances until she set down the drink. There was a droplet of red wine on her lip and he wished their balconies were closer together, fantasising about reaching out and wiping it away, feeling just how soft she would be under his touch.

“Not that… I didn’t like it.” She paused. “Also not the first time I’ve been hit in the face with a shirt. So there’s that.” Y/n laughed.

“Now you’ve got me curious - who else would hit you with a shirt? Are you trying to tell me you’ve been to strip clubs?” Damiano laughed. Teasing her came easy to him.

“Dancers. With aim as terrible as yours, Mr. David. And I don’t know if you want the answer to the second question,” she smirked. When they were alone like this, she seemed more at ease. That, or it was the wine. He didn’t know.

“Dancers, huh? Think you could teach me a thing or two? Or, you know, were you just watching, lusting over sexy men?”

“Ah! I would do nothing of the sort. Most of the guys there weren’t into girls anyway. Wouldn’t do me much good… Damiano, I could teach a lot of things. You to dance? God help us all.” She made a dramatic cross across her body, laughter twinkling in her eyes.

“Now, Y/n, I’d let you teach me whatever you wanted,” he winked. “Preferably something… active, hm?” He could keep from laughing as he saw her unimpressed face, staring him down and shaking her head. He’d rile her up for the rest of his life if she gave him the chance.

“I once met this Italian guy, came to the studio. Thought he was God’s gift to dance. But you Italians all have that, bravado, confidence, whatever you wanna call it. Well, after learning the first intermediate step, he fell flat on his face and went back to beginner lessons. You gonna be like that?” Raising a brow at him, she leant further over the railing on her side.

Damiano puffed up his chest, comically, trying to make himself appear bigger in a useless attempt to impress her. “Now, you’ve obviously not met the right Italians yet, amore mio. Sounds to me like you need a real Italian to show you the way.”

Just like this morning, she burst out laughing, letting out cackles that filled the air with joy. “Sorry - not laughing at you. Just thought what you said was funny.” She looked down, and as dark as it was, he could see the same signs he had seen before. Shy expression, holding herself close to her body. The slight panic of not knowing what to say. “You’re real Italian, alright. You seem to always know what to say. Now is that an Italian thing or a Damiano thing?” She asked, sarcastically, to deflect the fact that her face was heating up.

Amore mio…that's what did it. He felt like he was unlocking a single puzzle piece at a time, slowly putting her together and making sense of her. He couldn’t wait to get the whole picture one of these days. “Maybe it’s a you thing,” he simply said. The night was making him strangely comfortable with being honest. “Maybe you just bring it out in me.”

“Eh - I’ve been told I bring out a lot of things, never a savant before.” She was still looking down, at her hands, starting to pick at her nail polish. Some little nervous tick that he hadn’t caught onto till now. “It’s late, you should go to sleep, Dami. I am sure that bed is missing its handsome owner right about now.” She started to look far away, picking up the wine glass and taking the last sip.

He had barely heard what she had said - too focused on her calling him Dami, for the very first time. It was like a little shudder running through him, knowing she was growing closer to him as the time passed. “Are you okay, though? I’m sure my bed will survive without me a little bit longer.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me, I worry enough as it is. Tomorrow is a day off, so I won’t be waking you up in the morning, bus call isn’t until later. Um, but I will be getting breakfast. Is there anything you would want?”

“As long as it involves coffee, I’m happy. I’m sure you’ll pick out the perfect thing anyway.” Damiano watched as she nodded, moving towards the balcony doors and away from him. He felt like grabbing her just to keep her there. He straightened up as well, just barely backing away from the railing. As she left he looked at the space she once occupied, feeling like he could almost make out the outline of her body where it once had been.

Amore mio...

[myonepiece]

Hey! I love everything you do, its so good and i've read every single one :P ! I just want to know if you can do something with zoro, law and sanji with s/o who is scare of the dark please :D

Zoro, Law, Sanji reaction to their crush asking to sleep with them because they’re scared of the dark

description: the crew (of each character separately) is camping on an island because it was dangerous to go back to the boat now or something like that, and their crush asks to sleep with them because they’re afraid of the dark

warnings: none

a/n: I know you said s/o but I had this cute idea and I thought crush worked better than s/o so I hope thats okay ��

wc: 1594

*Law and Sanji under the cut

♡ Zoro

the crew had set up camp in a clearing in the forest, making a campfire and setting out a few sleeping bags they had picked up. you were already dreading sleep on account of all of the trees surrounding, the way they already cast shadows around the ground and didn’t show what was lurking in the far branches. 

Sanji cooked some barbeque and Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper danced around the fire for awhile. it was truly and enjoyable night, but when the sun began to descend you moved closer to the fire, trying to stay in the light as much as possible.

Zoro, who had been watching you throughout the night, noticed this but he thought it was because you were cold by the way you hugged your kees to your chest.

the crew eventually said goodnight and fell asleep, leaving you shaking by the fire and Zoro leaned against the tree behind you.

when you moved even closer to the fire Zoro got worried.

“oi ______, don’t get to close or you’ll burn yourself.”

you didn’t respond, or even look back- so Zoro got up and walked over to you, crouching beside you and poking your arm. you jumped at the contact, startled by Zoro’s sudden appearance next to you.

“ah Zoro you scared me, aren’t you going to bed?”

“mhm, are you?”

“I’m going to stay awake for a bit longer.”

Zoro stared at you for a moment, noticing the way you shivered in the heat of the flames, the way your eyes held waves of fear, clearly you were unsettled.

“what’s wrong?”

you glanced to you side at Zoro, the fire making shadows dance across his face.

“nothing really, I’m just kind of afraid of the dark.”

you chuckled half-heartedly but Zoro frowned. he wasn’t going to judge you or anything, he knows people have different fears and the dark is a common one.

“is there anything I can do?”

Zoro’s own cheeks heated at the suggestion, and yours soon followed with a soft smile towards the swordsman.

“no it’s okay, you can go to sleep.”

he stared at you for another second before humming in acceptance, rising to his full height and turning around as he walked back to the tree he was sleeping against, a flicker of movement in the trees caught your eye and made your heart beat spike. 

“Zoro.”

the man looked over his shoulder at the call of his name, you were shaking more visibly and your eyes were wide trained on the dark between the plants on the other side of the clearing- the sight of you so scared pulled at his heart.

“can- can I sleep with you tonight?”

you looked over you shoulder at him with a deeper blush on your cheeks, but Zoro wouldn’t say anything because he had the same but even more so.

“sure.”

he didn’t even have to think about it, only needing a moment to comprehend that his crush asked to sleep with him- and this meant you felt safe with him right?

he dropped down against the tree and patted the spot next to him as he leaned his head back. you got up from your spot reluctantly, hurrying over to Zoro and  sitting beside him, instantly curling into his side.

he had his arms crossed then, to flustered and shy to put one around you even though he knew you would probably appreciate it- but when you leaned your head on his shoulder he rested his cheek on top of it. 

and further, when you woke up the next morning Zoro had arm wrapped around your shoulders holding you closer against his side, he had moved it in the night once he knew you were peacefully asleep meaning he could let himself sleep too.

♡ Law

the crew was sprawled out across the clearing a fire burning in the center.

the moment Law announced you wouldn’t be able to get to the ship at this time you started to feel anxious, worried about where you would be sleeping. and when you found out you would be camping, in the dark, your anxiety built up.

the change in your exterior and attitude was quickly noticed by Law. he kept an eye on you the whole time the crew was setting up, watching the way you were simultaneously paranoid but more distracted than usual. he saw you check around the surroundings but he didn’t know what for. 

when the sun began to set and you took a spot close to the fire he still didn’t know exactly what was wrong but he was getting worried- there were no visible wounds on you and you didn’t seem to be in pain, just scared. 

he couldn’t sleep when the rest of the crew did, and he didn’t want to either because you seemed to be even more afraid than earlier. when he saw you stay practically attached to the fire and glance worriedly at the enclosing darkness, he finally figured out the problem.

he got up from his seat leaning against sleeping Bepo, carefully moving around the bodies of his crew and towards you. he called your name before he reached so he wouldn’t scare you with an unexpected appearance. he saw you jump at the sound and your head whipped around. 

Law came closer and dropped down beside you, staring intently at you before bluntly saying,

“you’re scared of the dark.”

your cheeks heated at the embarrassing fear that he had realized, you nodded and faced the flames again.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s silly.”

“no it’s not, it’s common.”

you looked at Law who was still watching you and you smiled softly giving him some relief that you were feelings even slightly better.

“is there anything I can do to help you sleep tonight?”

“can I... can I sleep you?”

you saw Law tense and his eyes widened, a light blush dusted his cheeks.

“it’s okay if you don’t want me to I can jus-”

“you can.”

Law stood up and outstretched his hand down to you, taking it gently and pulling you up to lead you back through the sleeping crewmembers and to Bepo’s side. he sat down against the bear and gestured to the spot next to him. you sat down and an awkward silence filled the air. 

“you can put your head on my lap if that’s more comfortable...”

you barely heard Law’s mumbling but you moved over slightly so you could extend your legs and place your head on Law’s legs. it took a few minutes before he relaxed beneath you, his hand slowly going to rest on your head. he began to softly stroke you hair, lulling you to sleep while he kept an eye on your face to look for any sign of fear or discomfort.

♡ Sanji

the whole crew was excited for camping, having a few games already planned and Sanji had plenty of food to make barbecue- you were the only one on edge about sleeping in the forest surrounded by who knows what.

everyone was distracted by their excitement so no known noticed the change in your demeanor. 

you partook in the games and the dancing and everything with the hope of tiring yourself out or at least distracting your self. 

when the sun was setting and while everyone was eating the delicious food Sanji had made, the cook was watching you while you took your first bite, waiting for your opinion. you took a bite and smiled up at him, telling him it was delicious- this is when he noticed something was up because usually you were more enthusiastic about his cooking. he frowned slightly and crouched down beside you with a concerned expression.

“_____-swan is something wrong?”

you sent him a quick glance, 

“I just have a... a small irrational fear of the dark.”

Sanji nearly fainted at your cute innocent fear, but he didn’t think that would make you feel very good.

“that’s not irrational, fear of the dark is very common it’s nothing you should be ashamed of.”

he smiled softly at you.

“is there anything I can do make you feel better?”

“do you think... do you think I could sleep with you tonight?”

the amount of self control nd willpower it took to not squeal was overwhelming. his grin widened greatly and he nodded happily.

“awh of course _____-swan! I’ll put the dishes away and then we can sleep!”

once he was done putting the ingredients and dishes away, making sure everyone was satisfied and Luffy couldn’t reach anything, and saying goodnight to everyone as they fell asleep, he pranced back over to where you sat against a fallen tree with your knees pulled to your chest and your head resting on your arms.

“oh ____-swan I’m sorry I took so long!”

he gently took your hands in his and took a seat beside you.  you took your hands from Sanji and settled into his side, assuring him it’s okay. despite being in the edge of the fire’s light and beside Sanji, you were still visibly shaking. Sanji looked down and pouted at your scared form, feeling his heart clench.

“can I hold you _____-swan?

you looked up at the blushing cook, nodding at him and sitting forward momentarily so he could slip his arm behind you. he turned in his seat so that you were leaning your head against his chest- he slowly rocked back and forth while you drifted off to sleep, but not before he promised to protect you while you slept.

[stiltonbasket]

[soulmate au! prompt] Lan Wangjis reaction to hearing his soulmate laugh for the first time in 16+ years after wwx is resurrected

“Wangji! Wangji, wake up, look at your Huan-da--daifu, what’s the matter with him?”

His brother was beside him, shouting into Lan Wangji’s ears while the thick, cloying scent of battle gore seeped into his nose; but for once in his nineteen years, Lan Wangji could not find the strength to answer him. His spirit was nothing but an open wound, forever rent in two by the blow of his zhiyin’s demise--and no matter how desperately Lan Xichen called, the anguish in his voice could not match the bone-deep torment of Lan Wangji’s frayed bond, slashed to ribbons and cast asunder like a tattered war-flag left to unravel in the wind.

“Come away from him,” he hears one of the healers cry. “His soulmate is dead, Zewu-jun--it will be a wonder if he knows you at all until the shock is over!”

But the shock never faded, not entirely; and when Wei Ying reappeared at the Yiling courier station three months later, Lan Wangji cleaved to him heart and soul, almost as if he were the lost beloved whose name Lan Wangji would never have the chance to know.

__

When the part of his heart that once belonged to his mingding zhiren awakes for the first time in twenty years, Lan Wangji is certain he imagined it. After all, he felt his soulmate’s death as if their life was a little beating heart, being torn bodily out of his flesh so that he would perish in his absence; but he had lived on after that, and often imagined that he could feel his soulmate’s laughter despite the gaping void in the bond they left behind.

But when the laughter rings out again--insistent, wild, desperate like Lan Wangji would have been, if he ever had the chance to welcome a beloved newly returned from the grave--he leaps out of the tea-serving stall where he meant to wait for Sizhui and Jingyi (Jiang-zongzhu has already gone ahead, so determined to see his nephew win the hunt that he refuses to let the child lead his disciples on his own) and rushes up the mountain, neither knowing nor caring where he goes as he goes somewhere.

It can’t be, he thinks wildly, suddenly remembering the battlefield in Heijian where he felt his soulmate die. That feeling cannot be mistaken, not like this, and it has been half my lifetime since--

And then, as if today’s revelations have no limit whatsoever, he hears a warped, broken strain of music warbling out of a flute.

That is a terrible musician, is Lan Wangji’s first thought.

That is Wangxian, is the next.

Almost before he knows it, Lan Wangji reaches a flat, dusty turning in the road, and freezes at the sight of a thin young man standing there, playing his heart’s song on a crude bamboo dizi as if the melody had been written for him, and drawing Wen Ning away from the rest of the crowd. Lan Wangji is rooted to the spot, unable to think or move or breathe as Wen Ning leaps away amid the chaos, jumping straight past Jiang Wanyin--and Jiang Wanyin gives chase, letting out a roaring bellow and charging into the trees with the Jiang disciples at his heels, and then the man playing the flute falls to his knees and weeps.

But he is laughing through his tears, sucking in air and expelling it again as if he fears that he might suffocate, and Lan Wangji watches as his son and nephew run to his side, helping him lift his head while Jingyi fumbles in his qiankun bag for a bottle of water.

“He really is a lunatic!” Jingyi cries, clearly panicking: he most strongly resembles his Nie xiao-shushu in moments of crisis, especially when the crises involve ghosts or unquiet spirits. “Is it safe to make him drink water, Yuan-ge? Will he choke?”

“Gongzi,” Lan Sizhui says urgently, patting the man’s hand as Lan Wangji finally musters up the strength to move towards them. “Gongzi, did Jiang-zongzhu frighten you? You don’t have to worry about him, all right? You saved all our lives at Mo Manor last night, and we wouldn’t make you go with him anyway--you haven’t done any harm, even if you do cultivate the dark path!”

Cultivate the dark path--

Lan Wangji’s head is swimming. On the ground about six paces in front of him, the young man seems to be working himself up into a frenzy, letting out shouts of manic, high-pitched laughter and sobbing at the same time, and his eyes--a curious shade of grey, which Lan Wangji has only ever seen on a single beloved person--are fixed upon Sizhui’s, drinking in his every feature like a man guzzling water after nearly dying of thirst.

Wangxian.

Zhiji.

Lan Sizhui, who was first his beloved’s child before he became theirs, A-Yuan--

Vaguely, he wonders if his own heart, still registering the joy of his fated beloved after over two decades of silence, could possibly have stopped beating.

“Lan Yuan,” Lan Wangji says: loudly, and clearly, making the man crumpled in the dust shake from head to foot. “Hold Mo-gongzi upright for a moment, so I can lift him. We will bring him back to Gusu.”

Wei Ying--for this unfamiliar-looking Mo-gongzi can only be Wei Ying, to play Wangxian so earnestly and nearly cry himself sick at the knowledge that A-Yuan is alive and well--gives a little gasp in Sizhui’s arms, tearing his gaze away from him and staring at Lan Wangji, and then he makes a small, hurt sound and faints dead away onto Jingyi’s lap.

“Shufu!” Lan Jingyi howls, completely forgetting that Hanguang-jun is the correct honorific to use in public, even for him; and looking ready to faint himself, unless Lan Wangji intervenes. “Uncle, I think he’s dead!”

A sharp pang goes through his chest. “Do not say such things, A-Yi,” Lan Wangji scolds gently, rushing to Sizhui’s side and lifting Wei Ying into his embrace. “Look, he is still breathing. Now, round up your classmates and follow me. We are leaving.”

When Sizhui and Jingyi finally turn away (casting several glances over their shoulders as they go, as if afraid that their mysterious savior from Mo Manor really might die by the time they get back) Lan Wangji waits for the rogue cultivators to clear out, and then he bows his head over Wei Ying’s and cries.

You came back, he sobs to himself, taking Wei Ying’s cold hands in his and pressing them to his lips. Wei Ying--you came back to me!

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester: Miracle and Simon

Pairing: Dean W. x Wife!Reader Pov: Dean Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst, Dean, dogs, talk of infertility, sadness, overall fluff, comforting Dean, Sam is mention. Summary: Y/n and Dean learn after a long time of trying for children that Y/n is unable to bare a child. With this news, they decide to wait. When Dean comes across two very cute pups how can Dean pass it up? Word Count: 2.3k A/N: Written for band-psychos 1.5 followers writing bingo challenge. This is sad, but good at the same time. By the way, I have absolutely no clue what it's like to be told that I won't be able to have children, so what I may say may be wrong. Also, I'm sorry if this is something that affects you. Square: First Pet

Dean Winchester Master List

Main Master List

Tag list: @band--psycho @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @hit-meup69 @doctorlilo @fofisstilinski @wonderfulworldofwinchester

Month, turned into years of trying for a baby. It was okay in the beginning, but it turned into constant disappointment. Not disappointed in Y/n or myself. Just overall disappointment in the situation.

How we had been stripped of the ability to have kids. Y/n being stripped of the chance of being the best mother I know she can be. I felt more hopeless, and helpless than I had in any other part of my life.

My darling wife unable to bare a child, unable to be the most gifted thing in life. Unable to become a mother. That day was horrific, She cried in my arms and spent the drive back home in silence.

She stayed away, she had moved back into her old room. Forcing everything that we had built to be crushed. She pushed everything and everyone away.

It was horrible, she wore her ring still. Years of marriage, years of trying. Years of our life being shut out. Being put behind a wall because she felt as if she wasn't enough, wasn't worth being with.

There were nights of course I'd try and make conversation with her, but it always ended in silence, or in me talking enough for the both of us.

The few months that she pushed me away were the hardest, hearing the loud sobs echo through the halls. Not hearing her voice at all was the worst of it all, not being able to see the bright smile that used to blossom on her face was horrible.

So many things that I wish that I could change for her, so many things that I wish that I could make better. Better for her, better for me, but most importantly better for our relationship.

Finally one night.

Hearing a soft knock on my door, even with it being ajar. "Dean.. Can I come in?" Y/n asked, barely poking her head into my, our room. I was still a little confused on that one.

"Of course honey," I said pulling the bedspread back so if she wished she could climb into bed with me. She walked in slowly, not bothering to shut the door behind her.

She wore an old shirt of mine, sleep shorts, and her slippers. She looked just like she has always looked comfortable, but the look on her face was a displacement of how she looked. Her voice was white, heavy purple and black circles under her eyes, her face even looked a little bit too skinny.

Y/n say slipping her slippers off before climbing to the bed with me. "Hey." She said timidly like, "Hey baby," I said. During the time she had taken to be by herself, I had done more than enough research about what happened when women learned that they were infertile.

How they need space, or how they didn't like to be touched, how they could have outbursts of many different emotions. It's been five months and now Y/n's back in our bed. I'm hesitant to touch her, I think she can tell.

"Let me first say that"

"I missed you"

We spoke at the same time, speaking at the same was something that we always tended to do... God to hear her voice was amazing, like cutting butter so smooth and calming. She was so perfect to me no matter what was going on outside of this moment right now.

I smiled, and Y/n smiled back at me. It wasn't a full smile, but it was true and halfway there. "Do you want me to go first?" I asked not wanting to push her if she wasn't fully comfortable with it.

But if she wasn't comfortable with it then she wouldn't have come to my... our room and sat down next to her husband. Right? 'Stop asking so many questions.'

"If you want to Dean." She said her voice starting to waver. She's going to start crying, start talking Dean.

"I'm going, to be honest with you here. I don't know what to say.' Smiling afterward, ' I... I want you to know that you aren't alone in this, I know now that you needed your space, I want you to know that no matter what you think I don't blame you at all, not once. Because I'll forever love you. I've also been reading a lot,' Y/n was smiling now, raising her eyebrows at my reading comment. 'Anything for you Y/n you know that, but regardless I've been doing some reading on this situation, how this may affect us, you and myself. I just want you to know that I'm here for you." I said finally shutting my mouth.

She didn't look like she was going to cry anymore. Y/n was smiling a bright tooth-grinning smile. "You know Dean even when you don't know what to say you always manage to say the right thing, every single fuckin' time," She said through her smile.

Is it weird to say, but I know when Y/n is at her most happy because she curses. She spouts out every single bad curse word there is known to man. Just to tell you how happy she truly is.

God, I missed her smile. You don't realize just how much you miss something or even need it until it stops coming into your life and then comes back into your life a bullet.

I reached out to touch her, but I'm still hesitant. Very hesitant she most definitely saw that. When I went to take my hand back to my lap, she reached out grabbing my hand.

She's so soft, and her hands god how I've forgotten how much smaller her hands are to mine. Look at her hands, look at that ring, still shiny and glistening under the light of our room. That ring I think is what brought her back to me, no scratch that I think our love for each other is brought her back to me.

I had been looking for weeks after Y/n finally came back. Everything needs to settle down before I can even prompt the question to her. I want her to feel safe, I don't her to feel pressured or like I might be trying to replace the idea of children.

I again dived in and did the research for my idea. Sam even helped me, helped me to try and find the right one for her and me. Sam knows a lot of things but he especially knows this about me. When I do something I do it all the way, no half-assing anything and that only becomes ten times more when Y/n is thrown into the situation.

Doing the best research I could with the help of my brother of course. I found the best thing, not something I necessarily like the idea of but anything to help Y/n.

Anything for her.

They passed my screen, and before I knew it I was scrolling back up to them. In the loud and bold letter, it read.

These two come together, a pit bull and a golden retriever. Price is free, just come and pick them up today.

It just clicked, you ever have those types of moments. Where you can feel deep down in your mind, and body. Gosh, I'm really starting to get more and more like Sam.

I shouldn't say that because honestly, that's how it was for me when I first met Y/n. But that is most definitely a story for another time. I jumped from my seat sending the library chair to slide and then fall against the tile floor.

"Are you okay?" I heard Y/n's sweet voice ringing from behind me. 'Shit I forgot' "Yeah I'm fine, I just remember that I forgot to grab something when I was out earlier," I said, turning jamming my phone in my back pocket, calmly walking over to her, and kissing her temple saying bye.

I rushed, driving down the gravel road that leads to home sweet home. If nobody knew what I was doing they'd probably all think I was trying to get away from a murder that I just committed.

The drive to pups was silent. I'd driven baby so many times alone, but this time it just felt different. My impala was the first one parked, a few people close behind me. I rushed up to the fairly older man. He looked over my shoulder, he huffed before waving the other people off.

"Now listen heree son, I'm given' you 2 pups for nothing, so I don't want to hear anything." He said stepping down the porch and walking in front of me to the red broke down barn.

"They're in here. All yours." He said pulling back the door and then walking back to his barn house. Pointing in a very general area, there were 2 pups as the old man called them. Curled up into each other, 'cute' I thought to myself.

'I've already been gone for too long, hurry up Dean.' I said to myself. "Do they respond to commands? Like come, or no?" I asked as I slouched down to the height or near height of them. He hummed and said a few things under his breath.

"Come here," I said gently, just like if I were talking to Y/n. I know that as husband and wife you're supposed to talk about things before you just go outright and do them, but I kind of figured that Y/n wouldn't have any cons to having some furry children. It would most definitely take her mind somewhere else for the moment.

Waking them up from their shallow sleep, they were both wary at first, but grow to be giving me kisses had me rolling around on the dirty ground.

"Come on son!" The old man said. I jumped up from the ground dusting my clothes off and whistling for the dog's attention. "Let's go" They followed us out of the barn and chased after each other. There was no need for a transaction seeing as he just wanted them gone.

I whistled again, both chasing each other and coming to a fast stop in front of me. I was hesitant to let these pups in my baby, but anything for my girl, for her happiness, anything for her.

Both jumping up and finding a comfy spot and laying down. I speed back home, I'd already been gone for much longer than I originally wanted.

I once again speed down the gravel road heading to my home sweet home. Parking in the garage caused the pups to raise their heads. That being the first time, at least they don't complain about my driving like Sam does. That's rather nice.

I opened the back door and let both of them slip out. Yes at that moment I had realized that I had in fact told nobody of my plans, and I also had nothing to give them food-wise.

Letting them into the bunker they seemed to feel at home, but the more odd thing was that they didn't seem to care about anything other than finding Y/n.

An odd moment, it's like Sam said years ago sometimes animals can sense evil, so why can't they sense happiness or even sadness. I wonder?

The two of them led their own ways to the door of our bedroom. "Sit," I said quietly. They looked at each other and sat down, well actually they laid down.

I knocked and then came in seeing at it was also my room. "When'd you get back?" Y/n's honey slick voiced asked. "Just a few moments ago, love...." There was a comfortable silence between us, but Y/n always knows.

"What are you hiding Winchester?" She asked, pulling the sheets from her body. 'No don't get out of bed' "I need you to stay in bed for this surprise if you will." I said gesturing her to lay back down. " Be ready okay?" I said opening the door,

There sat a golden retriever and a pit bull. I heard her gasp "Dean?!". Behind me I saw the two dogs slowly sit up fully, they looked over at me, then over at Y/n.

I nodded and whistled. The pitbull was the first one to reach Y/n his nose nudging her arm. "Dean?" I heard again, so I turned I was smiling, the dog has already made a way onto her lap. "We.. are.. you." Y/n was most definitely stumbling over her words.

"Yes, they're ours. I thought that if we y'know. We could find a way to take care of something. I think he likes you, baby." I said walking all the way into the room having the golden following close behind me. "Yeah and I think she likes you, Dean." She said, patting the pits head.

"They need names," I said nodding to let the golden know that it was okay for her to jump up on the bed. I want my bed to remember them too, cause my bed is memory foam.

"Miracle and Simon. What do you think." Y/n said resting her hand on top of the pits head. "Whos who?" I asked, Y/n pointed at the dog taking up most of my lap, "That's Miracle" then moving and pointing over the sleeping pup in her lap snoring "This, sweet boy is Simon." She said a single tear falling down her cheek.

"What's wrong honey?" I asked "I know that I didn't even ask you if this was okay," I said worrying as more tears fall down her soft warm-toned cheeks.

"Nothing is wrong Dean, I just remembered that I wanted to maybe name our son Simon when we finally got pregnant." She said, I wiped her stray tears and said, "We've got our son and daughter just in fur version. And being together is enough for me." Kissing her forehead. A whispered, "Thank you Deanie Beanie." I rolled my eyes and kissed her forehead again.

Completed on: 05/24/2021

Posted on 05/25/2021

[the-lady-writes-what]

21. Hizashi Yamada and Shouta Aizawa

          Theme: Fox spirits/gods

          Kinks: Threesome, double penetration, biting, marking, praise kink, oral      (receiving), breeding kink (if you squint), polyamory/polyandry

Sorry this is a little late. My brain was like, I know I said I was going to make these short one-shots but how about we make them bigger? 

(The gif has nothing to do with the story, obvi)

Masterlist

You climbed up the many steps leading to the shrine. This was your last resort. The humiliation induced by your vicious ex-boyfriend still left gashes in your heart. Your curse was that you fall in love too quickly and are blind to all faults until it's too late. Your most recent misadventure in love had been so cunning, so cruel that you wasted three years of your life with a man who was, in the words of your best friends, a massive cunt. Manipulative, emotionally abusive, but the cherry on top was the rumor he spread about you having an S.T.D. you'd gotten while cheating on him. Mind you, he was the one with the sexually transmitted disease. You were spared because you hadn't slept with him in recent months. The sting was a deadly blow to your self-confidence and trust in men.

After months of battling depression and anxiety, your aunt suggested a remote village trip and visit this exact shrine. Upon arrival, you were acutely aware of all the women either paired off or visibly pregnant. You noticed this at arrival. It was small at first—a lot of couples paired off, two by two like swans. Then, when you approached the marketplace and asked for directions, you noticed how the shopkeeper was pregnant, along with her sister and sister-in-law. There weren't many single men or single women as far as you could tell. Even a male couple looked happy.

You wanted to burn this town to ashes.

It was insulting, really. You came all this way just to have happiness and love shoved in your face while you, the miserable wretch, were forced to pine. You tried not to scowl as happy couples passed you by. Keeping your eyes focused ahead of you was all you could do to avoid knocking the smiles off their faces. Now, here you were, mounting the steps to a shrine shrouded by pines and red maples. Leaves rustled on the steps, which drew your attention. Fallen leaves littered the stairs and the shrine's sacred grounds, but that seemed awfully unauspicious. Was there no groundskeeper, no shrine maiden, no priest to clear them away? As you reached half-way up the hill, you noticed the smell in the air. Not a bad smell, but it was pervasive all around. The scent invaded your senses. It smelled a lot like jasmine and patchouli. You didn't think much of it and thought it was just someone burning incense at the shrine.

Two masculine figures lounged in the garden. One looked indifferent while the other moped. The latter was blonde; it matched the protruding fox ears on his head and the fluffy, swishing tail patting his thigh. He rested his head on the lap of the former, who appeared much like him except his hair, ears, and tail were black as ink. This one wore an indifferent expression. He looked out into the garden as he made a mental list of all the things he had to do around the shrine. Weeds had encroached where they weren't wanted during the summer and now choked the garden. Fall arrived early this year and made the trees shed their leaves too soon. The steps, as well as the grounds and roof, were covered in maple leaves. The inside needed moping, shining, dusting, and replacing oil lamps. There was still the matter of the hole in the sanctuary's ceiling that needed mending. But was there any human around to do it? No. The last priest died over fifty years ago. Shouta, the black fox, and Hizashi, the blonde fox, had been left alone to answer the whims of pilgrims.

It was almost thankless work. Ensuring happy marriages, love matches, and fertility was hard work when one was forced to clean their own shrine. As long as they were tied to this spot, Hizashi and Shouta had no other choice. The only thing more embarrassing than a shrine-god having to clean up his own shrine was a homeless one.

"I'm starting to miss the old man," said Hizashi. "He was so much fun to drink with. At least he had a sense of humor. Unlike the other fuddy-duddies, they tried to send us."

A few months after the last priest's death, his congregation tried to settle another to take his place. The successor was stern and took his job too seriously for Hizashi's liking. 'He's too dull,' Hizashi used to complain. Shouta wasn't much of a fan either, but it was more due to Hizashi's constant sighs and complaints that drove him to chase the priest away. Shouta ensured that no other settled down for too long. As far as the pair was concerned, the priest who died fifty years ago was their last worthy priest.

"It's so boring and lonely up here. There's no one to play with," Hizashi complained.

Shouta rolled his eyes. Hizashi was in one of his moods again. Boredom took a toll more on him than his 'co-worker' and sometimes lover. It was easy to get bored of making love for fifty-odd years while still working a thankless job. Only occasionally did some old lady or grateful newlywed came to offer incense and drop a donation. Whenever there was money, even a scrap, either Shouta or Hizashi would venture down the hill to mingle with the humans for a little bit. Men or women often flirted with them, but they couldn't decide on a partner they could both enjoy. Instead, everyone was declined.

"Maybe we could call up Nemuri and see what she's up to?" Hizashi suggested.

Shouta gave a flat answer. "No."

Hizashi pouted and went back to his pouting.

"You're no fun," said Hizashi.

"I know." Shouta petted Hizashi's ears to placate him.

Suddenly, a shudder rippled through both of them. They looked at one another. A smile quickly spread across Hizashi's face.

"We have a visitor!" He jumped up at once and dusted himself off.

"We have visitors all the time," said Shouta, but this was a lie. Visitors became fewer after the summer once pilgrims got their desire.

"But did you feel that, Shouta? A poor, miserable, broken-hearted young woman just crossed the path of our statues, and she's heading this way. Don't you feel it? Oh, the poor dear?"

The shrine-gods knew the hearts of all those who entered. It was their specialty to work in all the matters of the heart and the bedroom. Sniffing out broken hearts was a talent they both shared, but Hizashi was the more sensitive one. A fractured heart held an aura that most humans couldn't detect by sensing it alone. Sometimes it was a trifling matter. This time, however, Hizashi felt far more significant pain. Betrayal called out to him like a widow. He hadn't even seen the woman's face but could smell her despair, hate, and ache from miles away. She needed help.

Shouta felt it too. He pitied the human and wondered what brought her to that state. His curiosity was peaked, which didn't happen very often, if at all. Her presence was a sad one, and it threatened to taint the whole shrine with her negativity. Negativity drew hungry ghosts and pesky imps like moths to a flame. All of that meant more work for him. Aside from wanting to protect what little dignity his shrine had left, it was his duty to help this miserable wretch.

"Can we introduce ourselves, Shouta?" Hizashi's bright green eyes twinkled with mischief, hope, and something else Shouta could not easily define.

Shouta weighed the pros and cons in his head. By the time he came to a decision, he could hear the woman walking into the courtyard. Her voice was carried on the autumn wind. She was curious too, likely wondering why a shrine was seemingly left abandoned and in disarray. It would be rude to let her go forlorn after a trek up the hill.

You passed under the second torii gates and a second pair of fox statues. There were no lion-dogs as you saw in most other shrines, but this one had a strong love for foxes apparently. You looked at the water in the pavilion used for ceremonial purification. You cringed at the slightly brackish water and used very little to purify your hands. As soon as you got to the nearest restroom, you were going to scrub your hands raw. Walking down the narrow path leading to the inner sanctuary, you kept noticing very odd things. The shrine was in massive disrepair with cracks, debris, and brackish water. It wasn't a complete eyesore, but something did not feel right. There was not a soul you could find; loneliness pervaded every inch of the place. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you walked on. You found the spot where wishers and pilgrims wrote their prayers on wooden plaques to hang them up. While there were plenty of rustling in the wind, they weren't very many. You scrawled your desire for a loving partner, happiness, and to forget the man who wounded you so deeply.

You hung the plaque alongside the three dozen blowing in the wind. You went further ahead to pay your respect at the small public shrines built on the side of the shrine's complex. There were only two buildings. One foot across, seven feet long, and six feet tall, they were impressively big for small shrines. These were the only buildings uncovered by leaves and pines branches. You marveled briefly at their pristine appearance. In your bag, you brought along the incense your aunt prescribed. You retrieved two sticks of carnation incense and dipped the stick end in the bowl of sand. You lit the incense, clapped your hands twice, and said a prayer. You did this twice at both shrines.

You turned your back to face going all the way down the hill again when you spotted something at the corner of your eye. At first, it seemed like your mind was playing tricks on you. Out of the corner, you thought you saw a ball of glowing blue light flicker in the window of the main shrine. The main shrine was off to limits to everyone but the priests and shrine maidens. This was where the kami, the god, was housed and worshipped by the clergy. You turned to see if what you saw had really been there. Another flash of blue flickered in the window and then another. You swallowed hard, but curiosity pinched at you. You wanted to know. With a quick glance around, you wandered over to the main shrine.

You cut over the grass and walked into the oratory. There were no voices or footsteps other than your own. You called out to anyone who would be listening, yet no one answer was given. Your voice carried down the halls. However, just because no one answered, it didn't exclude the idea altogether that no one listened. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you drew closer to what you assumed was the forbidden connecting hall that led into the inner sanctuary, which was supposed to be off-limits to the public. As far as you could tell, no one was around to stop you or tell you no.

You took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Your heart pounded inside your chest. The halls were so dark you had to grope around just to find a wall. You tried to turn around and head out only to get yourself more lost. It was as if you were stuck in a maze. Every direction looked the same, and turning around seemed to make matters worse.

In desperation, you called out, "Hello?"

Still no answer. You trekked further in the hopes of running into someone, anyone, and get them to show you the way out. You hoped that they had a flashlight on hand. You would barely make out your hand in front of your face if you held it up.

Another flash of blue had you whirling on your face. You whipped your head in that direction. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt a pair of eyes bore a hole into the back of your head. It didn't feel like something glaring at you, but the sensation frightened you nevertheless. You took off in the direction of the blue flash. Yet another appeared up ahead, further along than the previous. You started running after it. More appeared, and each grew more distinct in shape and color than the last. You managed to get close enough to hear the hiss and flicker of its fire. You stared at a ball of blue flames with its tongue licking the air. It disappeared into nothingness and reappear off in a different direction.

You found it hovering in front of a set of shoji doors. It disappeared once more. Lights flickered behind the rice paper. You pried your fingers against the seams and pushed the door open. Lamps lined the walls. They burned with pale blue and white flames behind their screens. You approached with caution and gripped your bag straps tight.

Wooden floors creaked beneath your feet. You mentally cursed yourself for dragging your shoes inside the holy place, but the longer you glanced around the room, the more it seemed that this was not an ordinary shrine. The room had a lower portion accessible by three steps, and a red mat covered much of the space. A shrine rested on the floor on the other side. In each of the four corners was a vase that held carnation flowers. Somehow, all the flowers were in perfect condition and thrived in the forgotten space. You stepped carefully towards the shrine when you felt something behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. Not something, but someone and just a someone but someones. It wasn't the fact that you finally met another person at the shrine or that they were men that gave you alarm. It was the ears sticking out on top of their heads, the tails swishing back and forth behind them, and the regal manner in which they bore themselves. The one in a black yukata folded his arms across his chest and looked quite serious, probably because you were trespassing. The other man wore a red yukata, but he appeared far more friendly than his companion. He smiled broadly at you as if you hadn't just broken one of the most sacred, unspoken rules about behavior at a shrine. You swallowed hard and bowed from the waist.

"I am so sorry for intruding, sirs. I-I didn't mean to intrude…I got lost and couldn't find my way out. I'll leave immediately if you just show me the way. I promise I'll never come back and disturb another shrine so long as I live!"

"Easy there, little sparrow. No need to get riled up," said the friendlier one.

Slowly, you raised yourself up. You looked at them again, still bewildered by their ears and tail. They were either the strangest priests you were likely to ever come across, or they were—

"What business do you have here?" Asked the more somber fellow.

"I-I" You choked on your words. "I had a boyfriend who did rotten things to me. I was hoping to, to, um, to…" Your voice trailed off.

You were too distracted by the fox ears on their heads. They looked too real to be fake, but how was that possible?

The blonde one snapped his fingers.

"My eyes are down here, love," he chuckled.

Your cheeks darkened with embarrassment. "Please, if you could just tell me how to get out of here, I'll leave you alone."

Your first instinct would be to bolt for the door. When you glanced behind them, the doors had been shut when you remember having left them open. Were these demons standing in front of you? Is that why the shrine seemed so empty?

"Leaving so soon? But you haven't even heard our proposal yet?" Said the blonde.

Your brows furrowed. "P-Proposal?"

The black-haired fox-eared man slipped something out of his yukata sleeve. It was your wood plaque you left hanging outside. His ebony eyes gleaned over your wish and read it aloud.

"I don't know who will answer this, but I want to find true love, a life partner who will never stick a knife in me and twist. A man, or frankly anyone who will love and care for me. Please bring me happiness and make me forget about the man who abused me for three years. Is this your wish, Y/N?"

Your face drained of color. "How do you know my name?"

"We have our methods. I'm Hizashi. The dour one is Shouta. It's lovely to meet you."

"W-what are you?" You ventured to ask.

"We're the shrine gods. It's been lonely up here for a while now. The priests haven't been to our liking for the last fifty years, so we're forced to take care of the place ourselves, which is rather insulting if you think about it," said Hizashi.

"And…what are you the gods of?"

"Love, fertility, happy marriages, love-matches, all that fun stuff," answered Hizashi.

"Are you the reason why every other woman I met in town is pregnant?"

Hizashi answered, "Of course. We've been blessing this region with successful pregnancies for centuries. There hasn't been but a handful of miscarriages in all these years thanks to us."

"We're not the cause of the pregnancies if that's what that face is for, Y/N. We just ensure that the infant comes to term and reduce sterility in men and women," said Shouta, who had apparently been studying your face very closely.

Your blush darkened.

"Otherwise, this town would be full of half-fox spirits roaming around, wouldn't it?" Hizashi laughed.

"Okay…" You thought for a moment about what you were going to say next. This was all too surreal, but this was better than feeling miserable. "But what do you want from me?"

Hizashi and Shouta exchanged looks. A soft smile crept upon Shouta's face.

"We'll grant you your wish. On a few conditions," Shouta began. "As you can tell, our shrine is in dire need of—what do you humans call it nowadays? T.L.C.?"

"Tender love and care?" You said.

"Yes. That. Our shrine has been in disrepair for some time, but as much as the villagers enjoy making offerings, they aren't too keen on cleaning it. As you can imagine, it's rather embarrassing cleaning up your own shrine," Shouta continued.

"So, what you're saying is that you'll get me a decent boyfriend if I clean your house?"

"We can do better than, little sparrow," said Hizashi.

You felt his eyes wander your body. You couldn't help but shiver. Out of fear or anticipation, you couldn't tell at this point. You might have been hallucinating for all you knew.

"How would you like to be the wife of a god?" Hizashi laughed again. "Or two?"

"W-Wife? I just wanted a boyfriend who loved me. I don't remember asking for polyandry. Besides, why would you tie yourselves to someone human and mortal."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said Hizashi.

"What do you say? Help us repair the shrine, and you'll have something better than a boyfriend. It sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?" Asked Shouta.

"Yeah," you said incredulously. "A little too good to be true. What's the catch?"

"You would have to live here and 'maintain' the shrine's cleanliness and reputation. We could get someone to teach you to perform the kagura dance. Learn a few things that would make you useful around the shrine and to the villagers. A shrine maiden, for all intents and purposes."

That did even things out. You weren't tied to your apartment, especially since it still had the ghosts of your past boyfriends lingering in there. You didn't go to college, and you hated your job. Becoming basically a shrine maiden and marry a pair of fox-gods seemed like a step-up from your hum-drum life.

"Hypothetically, if I agreed to all that, how would we go about making it official? Are we to have a big wedding? Does Ōkuninushi* have to be involved? Is there supposed to be a ceremony we have to follow?" The questions tumbled out of your mouth one by one in your unusual state of mind.

"So many questions. To answer all of them in one go, here it is. All you have to do is enjoy yourself," said Hizashi.

Before you could ask what he meant, Hizashi closed the gap between you. His mouth was suddenly on yours, and his hands settled on your backpack's straps. Your load was unburdened by your shoulders. Hizashi's hands ran through your hair, holding your head hostage. You heard Shouta's footsteps come along beside you. He worked your shoes off your feet and your socks as well. When he arose, Shouta's hands found your waist. He snatched your head away from Hizashi to kiss you himself. From there on out, it was a frenzy of hands, mouths, and tongues teasing you.

The first thing to go was clothes. Hizashi and Shouta worked together to get rid of the annoying layers that kept them from feeling up more of your skin. Your autumn outfit suited the chilly weather outside but was ill-fitted for their current needs. Their hands peeled off each layer of clothing until you wore nothing but your bra and panties. Somewhere between removing each item of clothing, one of them summoned an extra-large tatami mat out of thin air. You landed softly on the sleeping mat, cradled between them. Their kimonos were disposed of in the same manner as your modern clothes, with one exception. They were both utterly naked underneath their yukatas. Your blush spread down to the top of your chest at the mere sight of their hardening members.

"You look so pretty blushing like that, Y/N," said Hizashi.

He took his place between your legs. Hizashi playfully snapped the hem of your panties. He seemed to enjoy your small yelp as the elastic snapped against your skin. Shouta sat on his knees and pulled your back flush against his chest. He unclipped your bra and tossed it aside. Hizashi pulled at your underwear until the fabric tore. You opened your mouth in protest, but all the words stopped in your throat to make room for the moan. Shouta palmed your breasts and tweaked your nipples into stiff peaks. Your ruined panties were forgotten as soon as Hizashi settled one of your legs over his shoulder, and he ran his long tongue along your slit.

"It's been a while since we've laid with a woman. You'll have to forgive us if we're a bit rusty," said Hizashi.

Hizashi ran his tongue along your slit again and hummed at your taste. His tongue dove between your folds and pinched your clit. Meanwhile, Shouta kept at his administrations to your chest and kissing your shoulders. You arched your back when you felt the tiniest pinprick of sharp teeth graze your skin. Shouta smirked at you and gave you a nice look at the fangs he had. Hizashi had the same situation going on. You could feel his teeth carefully caress your sensitive bits.

"Do you like my teeth, Y/N?" Asked Shouta.

You bit your lower lip and nodded.

"Then you're really going to like this." Shouta lowered his head to the spot where your neck met your shoulders.

He bit down, but not hard enough to draw blood. His hands continued to tease you while his mouth and teeth left dozens of love bites all over your neck. Hizashi pulled his head up from between your legs. He watched for a moment how your face twisted in ecstasy as Shouta marked your lovely skin. It didn't take long for the idea to get in his head that he should do the same. Hizashi brought his teeth against your inner thigh and nipped. He repeated the process over and over until both of your legs bore his teeth marks and hickies. You squirmed for them. Heat traveled in two directions, to your head and your lower belly. Hizashi resumed his task of fucking you with his tongue and added two fingers to help him in this endeavor. Soft squelches from you gushing over him was enough to make you never want to leave.

"You're so pliable, and your breasts are breathtaking," Shouta sighed next to your skin. "Are you about to cum, Y/N?"

You bucked your hips to the rhythm of Hizashi eating you out. Slowly, you nodded. Your fingers clutched Hizashi's head, mindful of his ears.

"Then," Shouta whispered the next part in your ear. "Cum."

Hizashi worked faster, pumping and licking your cunt. You grabbed for Shouta as pleasure ripped down your spine. Hizashi and Shouta shoved you face-first down the precipice. Your walls clenched tight around Hizashi's fingers and tongue while your jaws hung open. No one else could make you moan as loud as you did. And likely, nobody else ever will.

When Hizashi came up for air, his mouth and chin were drenched your essence. He leaned up, but instead of kissing you, he planted his lips on Shouta's. In turn, Shouta licked Hizashi's mouth to get a taste of you for himself while he was at. Shouta reached down and played with your clit while making-out with Hizashi briefly. You felt their members stand proudly against your body, and your inner walls clenched at the thought of one or both filling you to the brim.

Shouta and Hizashi kissed one more time. Hizashi peeled you off of Shouta just long enough for the latter to stretch out on his back. You were turned around. Shouta gestured with a 'come-hither' crook of his finger, and you crawled towards him. His hands grabbed your hips, made you straddle him, and pressed the blunt head of his cock against your slippery, wet cunt.

"Are you ready?" He asked. It was child's play holding you up like that with his cock more than ready to impale you.

You nodded your head. Shouta slowly, carefully pulled you down on his cock. It stretched you open again. You sank down on him until you were fully seated. You tried not to let your eyes roll into the back of your head. Shouta then grabbed your shoulders and pulled you down. Hizashi was right behind you, fisting his cock. He wasn't as big, but he was just as long. Hizashi placed his other hand on the small of your back. You felt his cock probe the area where Shouta was already preoccupied. Something clicked in your head. Shouta grabbed and clutched your hands. Beads of sweat ran down the side of your face while Hizashi brushed his cuck against your cunt.

"Look at me," said Shouta. "Look at me. You're going to be fine. We'll make you feel so good."

"So very good," Hizashi cooed.

You tightened your grip on Shouta's hands. You stared at his face as Hizashi pushed forward, stuffing you close to the point of damage. You were well-lubed up to take both of them, but in practice, this was your first time having two men fill you at the same time. Inch by careful inch, Hizashi pushed into your cunt. When he was fully seated, he let out a long sigh.

"I can feel both of you against, and it feels so good." Hizashi shuddered.

"Can you move?" Shouta asked Hizashi.

"Give me a minute."

You were given a few minutes reprieve, and in that time, you felt your lower belly swell. You felt them stretch you to impossible measures. Though tears stained your cheeks, you never felt more pleasure. The mixture of both pleasure and pain blurred the lines. It wasn't long before you were being pushed and pulled in either direction, their cocks fucking you deep.

Wet skin slapped against skin. The men you were sandwiched between grunted and moaned your praises at your ability to take them both so deep. There weren't any words you could say with any cohesion. Words became meaningless when being fucked into oblivion. Hizashi and Shouta worked in tandem. When one pulled out, the other plowed right in. Both cocks kissed your cervix as they drove themselves, and each other, wildly into your cunt. You felt fluids rush between your legs that mingled with your sweat. You squeezed Shouta's hands and buried your face in his chest.

Higher, higher, and higher still, you were flying. You bit Shouta's chest as their cocks thrust in and out. Your brain turned into mush at this point. All you cared about was getting fucked on their cocks forever. Little else mattered beyond that.

"I'm close," said Shouta.

"M-Me too," said Hizashi.

"Then let's finish it."

Without another word, they started to drive faster than before, and you thought it was impossible. Shouta returned your bruising grip and rammed upwards to meet Hizashi's downward thrust. They both moved quickly and headed towards coming undone inside you. You felt it too. Your walls spasmed and fluttered around both their cocks, though the stretch made it hard to tell. They shifted into an erratic pace rather than a smooth move. Their cocks drove harder into your cunt. Animalistic grunts filled the room as both Shouta and Hizashi slammed home. You screamed your climax just at the same time they did. You kept screaming while ropes of cum warmed your belly. You were moaning into Shouta's chest as you felt buckets of their seed filled your womb. There was nothing for you to wonder about why they were the gods of fertility and pregnancy.

Hizashi pulled all the out first. He massaged your shoulders while Shouta lifted your hips off him. Hizashi's long fingers dabbed some of the cum dripping down your thighs and pushed it back inside your weeping pussy.

"You gotta keep it in, ya, little sparrow. You want to be a good wife to your husbands, don't you?" Hizashi cooed.

*Ōkuninushi- mentioned in both the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki as the god of nation-building, agriculture, business, medicine, love, marriage, and fortune

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Enticed.

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader (Enola Holmes)

Warnings: None.

Summary: You had sworn that you would never take on another case with the famed detective - that is, until Sherlock pursues you to a cottage.

A/n: Surprise!! Here’s another soft piece for you lovely people <3 Honestly, the love that you gave Telegrams & Teacups made me want to cry and hug you!!

It was a fantastic morning when you stepped outside and took in a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. The skies may have been slightly overcast but the rays of sunshine fought their way to emit a glow that made you appreciate the countryside more.

Note to self, thank Mrs Hudson for the wonderful suggestion.

Wanting to take full advantage of the day in its glory, you decided to duck back indoors to grab a book and an apple as you had found a recently-trimmed oak tree that always struck you to be lonely.

After locking up the cottage, you walked only a short distance before climbing atop its lowest hanging branch and then over to the next one above. It was quiet when you settled yourself against the bark, its natural grooves pressing an indent into your back through your clothes. And it remained quiet for the next hour where you found yourself lost in the novel until a man’s voice broke through.

“I’m starting to see why Mrs Hudson would not stop talking about this place.”

You knew exactly who the voice belonged to and, despite being surprised that he had sought you so far out in the country, decided to keep your eyes fixed on the pages. His voice came from below and sounded so clear that it was plainly obvious that he was looking up at where you rested. “The beauty is unrivalled.” He added.

“I thought I told you that I was no longer interested in taking client cases?” You asked, shuffling a little as a small piece of bark pricked you from behind.

There was a short chuckle from Sherlock and you heard him take a seat at the base of the tree - you peeked from the side of your book cover and saw the man leaning back against the stump, his brown hair tousled in waves from the wind.

“I believe the words that you used were ‘I need to get out of this place before I go mad’ - a tad bit dramatic but not entirely incorrect.”

Noticing his movements to turn and look back, you quickly dived back behind the book to mask your face. “I do not blame you for what happened during our last case. It was most inexplicable.”

“Nor I blame myself.” You turned the page not having read a single word further from the minute Sherlock showed up but it helped give the illusion that you were busy. “But as it happens, I am no longer interested in solving mysteries. I am trying to live life anew, far from evil professors and deceased widows.”

“Far from me...” Sherlock’s murmur was so soft that you almost missed it had it not been for the way every noise-producing creature had fallen silent.

You wanted to retort with a clever ‘emotions are unnecessary’ jab but thought better of it as it became clear that Sherlock had been thrown into a dilemma when you left.

The detective had gone quiet and all you could hear was the soft wind rustling against the tree leaves.

“Fine.” You sighed, setting the book down on your lap. “Tell me about this new case that drew you here.”

He had come all this way to seek you out that it would be rude to send him back without at least inquiring about what had caught his attention.

Sherlock cleared his throat while you took a bite out of the apple that you had brought along.

“There is a doctor who has recently gone missing - a Mr John Watson.”

Why did that name seem familiar? You swallowed the crushed fruit and leaned forward with a small squint. “Watson? I believe Mrs Hudson was speaking to one of her friends about his arrival from across the sea just two weeks ago.” You remembered. “What makes the disappearance peculiar?”

“The man’s last visit was to the state secretary whose body washed up last night.” Sherlock replied and looked up to see the way your lips parted as your mind began to piece the facts together.

“Sherlock, that’s not possible. The state secretary was here in town for the night markets yesterday. This is... most strange.”

How could a dead man be in two places at once and what was the link to the missing doctor?

A mischievous smirk tugged on the corner of Sherlock’s mouth as he straightened his shoulders before setting his palms on the ground to lift himself up. “Well, I came out here to follow a lead and I had been hoping that you would be kind enough to help a stranger in strange lands but...”

Oh, the man was clever. He knew how to reel you back into the land of mystery with a simple case that had you enticed. Abandoning the apple entirely and the book, you laughed and steadied yourself against the branch as you got to your feet.

“You are impossible, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock had dusted his pants of the dry leaves and turned just in time to see you jump off, his arms raised enough to catch your fall. Still with you in his embrace, he leaned forward with a smile of his own. 

“Impossible is hard not to love.” He said.

And oh, how you loved it so.

Masterlist here

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

Big, Ugly SOB

Warning: typical Walking Dead themes, smut, probably other stuff, be advised.

SHANE BABIES! THIS ONE”S FOR YOU! Slow burn, angsty, love, smut, it’s all here gals! Please like, reblog, and comment! I’d love to hear from all of you! 

Part One!

She grabs her pistol and heads out the door of the small shed and does a perimeter sweep before shutting the door. With a deep breath, she starts towards the high ridge. Heaving a sigh, she turns around and writes a note for anyone who may find her.

‘Headed to the ridge. Higher vantage point. Curious about Atlanta but not sure I’ll go.

If you need supplies there’s a day’s worth of jerky and some supplies in here.

Best of Luck’

She truly hoped that she’d find someone she knew. As a patrol officer of King County, she hadn’t run into a single other officer that she knew. Though, she didn’t take the main roads, as she knew the cost.

Hiking up the ridge through the woods, she hears soft talking and the voice strikes her deep in her soul. She knows that voice. The deep southern voice talking low just out of eyesight.

“Excuse me? I don’t mean to alarm you but I’m just looking to join a group--You are one big, ugly, dumb son-of-a-bitch.” There was the owner of the voice. Snorting, she quickly covers her mouth as she sinks to the ground cackling under her hands. Shane’s eyes glance to the old man next to him and back to her as she sits on the ground staring at him with a look of wonder as tears roll down her face.

“Officer Duke?” He hushes as a grin sweeps across his face. Pushing passed the old man, he grabs her hands and pulls her to her feet.

“It’s Lottie. C’mon Walsh.” She chuckles, reaching out and pulling him into a warm embrace.

“It’s Shane, silly gal. I can’t believe it. Look at you. Ugly and big, yes baby girl that’s me.” He croons, holding her arms out wide to look her over. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he turns to the old man and waves him over. “This is Lottie. She was one of the Sheriff’s Deputies like me. Lottie, this is Dale. Dale, Charlotte. C’mon Duke, this way.” He crows, hooking arms with her and dragging her along. As they break into a small clearing, she finds aa small group of people, including Lori and Carl.

“Hey, where’s Rick?” She asks, looking to Shane. His face sombers and he waves her to him.

“He’s gone.” He whispers, looking at Lori with a longing she could only describe as a silent plea of a lover. With a single blink the look is vanished from his face and he pats Lottie on the head. “Come say hi.”

“Lori, Carl, you two look so tired.” She coos as Lori’s face lights up. A blonde across the way eyes her with a disapproving look, but a younger blonde bounds up to Lottie with a grin and a hand shoved out to greet her.

“Hi, I’m Amy. The crabby one is my sister Andrea. That’s Carol and Sophia, Ed’s away in the tent. He’s not much fun. That one is Daryl, he’s a loner. And that’s T-Dog.” In order, Lottie’s eyes meet every face she’s introduced to, and most stick out a hand. Except for the crossbow weilding man, Daryl, she nods confidently to herself.

“I’m Lottie.” She waves, ducking over to Shane and hides behind him.

“Darlin’ I’m gonna head over here and get some water. Find yerself somethin’ to eat and get comfy. You can share my tent. Go get situated. Lori’ll get you acquainted around.” He waves Lori over and Lottie watches the exchange with wide eyes as Shane’s drink in Rick’s wife.

“Thanks Walsh.” She smiles awkwardly before disappearing into Shane’s tent. Spending her first day in the tent with Walsh, she puts her bags in the corner and rolls out her makeshift blanket, made of a couple sweatshirts and tee shirts she had found. Shane steps into the tent and sees her sitting in the corner and his eyes drift to the less than adequate bedding and he frowns.

“Hey, tell you what. I’ll take first shift on watch tonight and you can sleep in my sleeping bag, on the foam pad. It’s better than the rocky ground, Duke.” He holds up a hand to silence her and she feels her face heat up.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t do that--”

“I wasn’t asking. I’m telling you. I’m on watch first tonight, so you have to keep my sleeping bag warm. If not, I’ll--”

“Have Lori do it?” She whispers, and sees it strike a nerve on Shane’s face.

“You shut your mouth about that. Okay? Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on.” He barks, jamming a sturdy finger into her chest plate.

“Sure. I’d be that mad if there was nothing going on too. Rick’s dead, Walsh. Ain’t no shame in keepin’ his wife and son safe. You done good so far.” She assures, laying on her blanket and curling up against her bag.

“Hey baby girl. I said-” he leans down and hoists her up, putting her on his sleeping bag. “-to use this damn thing.” He croons, giving her head a soft pat before taking his gun and stepping out of the tent.

 Morning comes and she slips from Shane’s tent and out into the daylight. For only a second, it almost felt like the summer you went camping with the boys on the lake three years ago. Carl was too little so Lori had stayed home and it had just been Lottie, Rick, Shane, and Leon Basset, another man she hadn’t seen since the world ended.

“Mornin’ babygirl.” He croons, patting her shoulder as she walks up to the group of people sitting in chairs in a circle, finding a seat next to her and Lori.

“Mornin’ ugly.” She groans, pushing his hand up her shoulder to her neck where the kink is. Softly, he rubs the knot from her neck without a word.

“Darlin’ get you somethin’ to eat. Lori, can you grab her a plate?” He croons, patting Lori’s knee. She gives Lottie a half-assed mad look before rising and grabbing a plate with eggs and toast. Placing it into Lottie’s lap, cshe huffs under her breath, mumbling something.

“I’m sorry, what?” Lottie asks, looking at Lori.

“Not a damn thing.” She barks, giving Shane a dark look before heading into her own tent a little ways away.

“Yo, Duke. Over here. You take watch up top, I’ll be out and about. You see walkers, more than two, you give me or Daryl a heads up. Okay? And if you see more than that, give us more than a heads up. Okay?” He briefs her like they’re back on the force before leading her up to the look out atop the RV.

“Okay, I’ll holler if I see a bunch. Is someone supposed to take over for me later?” She asks as Shane hands over the binoculars.

“Yeah, couple hours Daryl will be up. Glenn and a few others went on a raid this morning, so when they get back they’ll do a round of watch. When your watch is over come find me.” He disappears down the ladder and she watches through Shane’s binoculars as Shane himself and Lori slip away into the woods out of the line of sight.

Once they reappear, Lori’s clothes are disheveled and Shane’s licking his lips with a prideful smirk on his full lips. Sucking in a breath, Lottie watches a moment longer as Shane takes a moment to tuck his shirt back in and lick his lips once more. Reaching up, his fingers sift through his jet black, fluffy curls and gives Lori--what he thought was-- a sneaky wink. Lottie watches the horizon and sees a white refrigerator truck barreling towards their camp and a red Charger wailing through the quarry, echoing off the walls. First the car comes to a stop and Shane charges them, yanking the relay out that belongs to the horn. Glenn steps out, jittery with excitement.

“You guys, this new guy absolutely saved our asses.”

“Glenn this group is big enough. Quit taking in strays.” Shane hushes.

“But your girlfriend isn’t one? Sorry, listen man. This guy was awesome, some kind of police uniform, not sure. One second,” the small Asian man sprints to the truck and when the binoculars land on the driver, she nearly falls off the RV.

“Holy shit.” She whispers, losing her footing a second time and tumbling over the edge. As she lands on the ground next to Dale, Shane’s eyes drop to her and he lands in the dirt next to her.

“Damn darlin’. New guy that hot?” He chuckles, helping her to her feet and dusting her off. With a quick once over, he finds nothing broken or busted, so he proceeds out to greet the new guy but stops dead in his tracks. Rick. Holy shit.

“Lori? Carl!” He shouts, falling to his knees as he hugs his family. Her eyes land on Shane in utter shock and he just releases the breath he’d been holding. “Duke. Shane.” He drags the two officers into a warm hug and she and Shane reciprocate.

  As night falls, she steps into the tent with Shane’s sleeping form and carefully steps over him. Laying down on her blanket, she hears some rustling around behind them, but she goes to sleep. Rolling over, she finds an empty space where Shane was. More rustling. A groan. In her groggy sleep, she ignores the sounds outside and grabs Shane’s pillow.

“Shane?” She asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Standing and stepping out the tent, she stretches backwards and is grabbed from behind. “Walsh, knock it off-oh shit.” She gives a whine and tries to run away. The walker tries to bite at her ankles, grabbing her pant legs. “Shane! Shane!” She screams , grabbing for anything on the ground to stab the ugly monster, but she grabs for the only thing near her. A stick. Kicking with her foot and knocking the diseased thing off her, she stabs a stick through his leg. Skittering to her feet she backs into something behind her. Another walker grabs her and she shrieks, this time Shane twists around and fires a rifle into her shoulder, killing the walker. He grabs her up and hoists her over a shoulder.

“Did it bite you? Baby girl?” His shouts become foggy and distant as she floats into unconsciousness. “No! C’mon darlin’. Rick! Rick come over here! Someone please!” His desperate cries echo through the camp as Carol grabs Lottie and carries her to the RV.

“Check for bites first.” Dale barks, jabbing at Lottie with the barrel of his gun.

 Early morning rises and she whispers to Shane, who’s sitting next to her, his hand on her arm and head on his arms.

“Shane, Walsh.” He jerks awake and stands erect.

“Mornin’.” He whispers, starting for the door.

“Where you going?” She asks, giving him a soft smile.

“I was just checking on you. I gotta tell the others you’re awake.” He gruffs, heading back to the door.

“Shane.” He stops again, searching her face for something. He walks back to her and leans down, taking her hand into his. “I saw you sleeping.” She whispers, gripping his hand.

“Ya, so I fell asleep there. What of it?” He barks, shifting from foot to foot.

“You were worried, weren’t you?” She coos, smirking at him.

“No. I knew you’d be fine.” He assures, patting her hand.

“Really? That doesn’t really seem accurate, Walsh.”

“Leave it alone.” He grumbles, thumping lightly down the stairs and out the door.

 A few hours later, she hears a couple soft female voices talking about her. “…..she’s just lucky Shane’s got a raging hard on for her…”

“.….she hasn’t lifted a finger here yet…”

“.…got attacked and Walsh left the group to save her. Such bullshit…”

“Amy probably wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for that girl..-”

She steps out of the RV, groaning in pain with every step. Shane rushes her, reaching out to take her elbow, only to be shoved away weakly.

“Babygirl--”

“No Walsh. No more. I can’t deal with this. These bitches over here, whom I can hear claerly in there by the way! Won’t quit bitching about what I haven’t done. So I’ll just be over here.” She barks, pushing Shane away again. He huffs, watching from afar as she staggers over to the bench and grabs the legs of a walker. Grunting, tears running down her face, she sees Glenn grab the shoulders, but when his eyes meet hers he drops it immediately.

“Hey, maybe you should just sit down--”

“No. I’m gonna help. Grab the other goddamn end and lift. With your knees. Jesus christ.” She hoists the body up and carries it across the field. As they sit the body on the ground, her arms quaking, she drops the feet and crumbles to the dirt beneath her.

“Goddamn it.” Shane skids to her side, dust clouding around them as his hands grab her arms. “I just want you to relax. C’mon babygirl. Let me help you--”

“Get away! I can do it on my own!” She screams, shoving him away. “Just please, leave me here, Shane.” She shoves him once more and rises to his feet, heading over to Carol, Andrea, and the hispanic woman.

“You guys better keep your traps shut. She was shot and she was injured, and here you are, not doin’ a goddamn thing, bitchin’ about an injured officer who can’t lift anything. Kettle callin’ the pot black shit now, isn’t it? Leave her out of this shit.”

The next morning the group gets up and ready to leave, Shane leading her to his Jeep.

“Darlin’ get in.” He buckles her seat belt without a second thought.

“Quit treating me like your girlfriend, Walsh.” She mutters, pushing on his shoulder.

“I’m not.” He nips, grabbing her arm and throwing it away from him.

“Oh really? Were you gonna go around and buckle in every woman out there?” She barks back, raising a brow at him.

“Well no--I’m just--”

“You just suddenlt have this urge to keep me safe from harm? Like my goddamn boyfriend? You’re not Walsh, okay? So just quit. I can do for myself.” She drives, letting him head out behind everyone else.

“Okay, babygirl. I’m sorry. It’s just--when I thought Rick was dead, it hurt. Right? A-a-a-and when I saw you come through that brush like an angel, I just-hell, you almost had my ugly ass crying. I was just happy to see you.” He makes conversation while he’s driving. They get to the highway and slow to a crawl. The motorhome stops up ahead and all the others in the group get out to inspect.

As they ravage the hundreds of cars, like time stopped, they find lots of useful things.

“Bet ya’ll ain’t never wanted water so bad.” Shane chuckles, popping the cap on a waterjug and soaking himself. She watches on, laughing to herself as Shane bathes in it. His eyes land on her, grabbing her arms and pulling her to the truck, popping another cap and gently pulling the rag she’d tied up her hair with and shook her curls under the water. “Ooh! Babygirl, you look so good with those wet curly locks!” He cheers, giving her a sopping wet hug.

“Walkers!” The screech is enough to freeze her in her tracks.

“Everybody under the cars.” Rick’s gentle voice carries and Shane grabs her hand, pulling her under a box truck.

“Walsh, look. I can lead them away--”

“Ssh. Shut up. Do you remember that shoot out with me, Rick, and you? And you said that we wouldn’t make it out, and what did ol’ Shane do?” He asks, patting her arm. They lay on the hot concrete under a box truck, the various sharp stones digging into her knees and arm.

“You got us out.”

“And you didn’t think I could did ya? But I did, babygirl. So trust me again. C’mon, darlin’. You just roll your front against my back as tight as you can, okay? We’ll make it again. Trust me. Now ssh. I see a bunch a’ feet movin’. Don’t make a goddamn sound, babygirl.” He whispers, breathing out as he feels her huddle as tight as she can against his back. “I got ya baby. I got ya.” He coos almost as a breath, trying to be silent. “Lemme have your hand.” He whispers, her hand snaking over his ribs and grabs his open hand, squeezing. “Take a deep breath, let it out slow. Show time.” Her mouth bites into his shoulder, he shivers and squeezes her hand tighter. One of her legs slips over his and she’s almost melded into him as one person.

When the horde finally works through, Shane looks over his shoulder to find her asleep against him. Gently shaking her, as she awakes, and looks confused. For a moment, she looks like a glorious sunny day sitting by the lake under a shade tree after a long nap under the summer sun.

“You look like you had a good nap.” He chuckles, rolling to face her, still on the ground and their noses almost touch. “Wow, last time we were this close you remember what we were doing?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, pushing awkwardly at his shoulders. “I think it was some stupid party and we were playing seven minutes in heaven.”

“Yeah, and I got to second base with Haley Duvall that day. You were a prude though. You shut down so fast, even when I tried to score.” He chuckles, leaning dangerously close to press his dry lips gently to her cheek.

“I did, Walsh. Then we went from cops to surviving this ugly ass world now.” She crows, hearing a blood curdling scream. It draws them both from this happy cocoon they were in, and she scrambles from under the truck.

“Hey, also?” He leans so close his voice is but a whisper of hot air over her neck. “Don’t ever bite my shoulder like that again unless you plan to finish what you start.”

“Shane I--” He gives her a dark smirk and a wink, making her body tingle.

“What was that?” He asks as he gaits over to the group.

“It was Sophia. She ran off, Shane. Rick went after her.” He grumbles, grabbing Lottie’s hand and heads for the woods.

“We gotta find that kid.” He states as they slip into the woods.